"What are you doing in my bed?!" Twilight Sparkle shrieked. Before I could begin to answer, she screwed up her face in an expression of utmost disgust, like an infant after being fed a slice of lemon, and clamped her hooves over her clenched eyes. "Oh, Luna's full moon, we didn't, did we? We did! I remember everything!"

Gripped by panicked disgust, Twilight scrambled away in a flail of hooves and bed sheets, but her long tail had become matted to my inner thigh with substances that, shall we say, Princess Cadence would be more than comfortable discussing openly, but not Princess Celestia. [You need to buy me dinner first.] A sharp tug that painfully ripped out a hoof-full of my coat and she was free, but, apparently disorientated by the same deleterious effects of a hangover upon her motor skills that I suffered, she tumbled over the side of the bed and fell in a heap on the floor, wrapped up in the duvet like a cigar.

The door violently swung open, striking the wall with a loud 'bang' that felt like iron spikes being driven right through both ear holes. Spike stood there at the door, bleary-eyed from apparently having been woken suddenly. I assumed that his bedroom was close to Twilight's, but given the surprising volume her little lungs could manage with that scream, it was likely that the entire castle, as vast as it was, heard it. Perhaps Luna was giving her lessons in the Royal Canterlot Voice.

"What's the matter this time, Twilight?" he said, rubbing his face. His manner implied this sort of thing was a regular occurence in the household.

However, when he saw me, he looked suddenly very awake; his large eyes narrowed to slits and his lips turned back in a snarl in some sort of juvenile imitation of an angry adult dragon, only without any of the menace. Nevertheless, I couldn't help but feel more than a little perturbed, as though he may not have been able to eat me just yet, I was still very much flammable.

"Oh!" exclaimed Twilight, forcing a manic grin to her face as she skilfully unwrapped herself from the duvet. Her smile was far too wide to be anything but wholly insincere. Her voice, too, was likewise far too chipper and upbeat to truly sell the illusion that everything was, despite all outward appearances, completely fine. "Good morning, Spike!"

Spike, not being quite as stupid as he looked, arched an eyebrow. He then jabbed a stubby talon in my direction, and said, "What's he doing in your bed?"

"Prince Blueblood was, uh..." Twilight trailed off, her jaw flapping open and closed but with nothing resembling coherent words coming out.

Realising that it was down to me to resolve this awkward situation, I cleared my throat. "Well, Spike," I said, offering my best imitation of a standard Twilecture, "when a stallion and a mare like each other very much, they start to get certain urges..."

"Shut up, Blueblood!" Her horn flashed, and something clamped down on my muzzle quite firmly, such that, try as I might, I couldn't so much as move my lips let alone open my mouth. Touching it with my hoof, I found that it was encased in something that felt as smooth as glass. Try as I might, I could not dispel the spell, as my magic, being quite feeble and unrefined, seemed to slide off it like rainwater off a conservatory window. It was folly of the highest regard to even think I could attempt to undo even the simplest of Twilight's spells. Although, all things considered, it was good that she felt merciful enough to allow me to breathe, however, never one to be silenced by a mare, I decided to signal my displeasure by wordlessly mumbling and waving my hooves around. I was ignored.

"What's going on?" said Spike.

"Nothing!" said Twilight, a little too quickly. "Why don't you get started on everypony’s breakfast? We had a busy night, so we could do with lots of pancakes. Not that Prince Blueblood and I had been doing anything we shouldn't have, because we didn't!"

Faust forbid that two adult ponies have a drunken liaison together, but as I sat there, watching Spike look on dumbly as the limits of his knowledge and experience had been stretched just a little further by this revelation, I contemplated just how much trouble I could be in if this got out. My tendency towards pessimism, or simply a realistic view of a universe out to punish me for some horrendous sin committed in a past life, was only enhanced by this awful hangover, being the metaphysical sort that leaves one feeling entirely separated from the natural order of things. While I, noted philanderer, cad, and bounder, could get away with frequent dalliances with mares considered to be out-of-bounds owing to some sort of real or potential marital status, this was the one mare, outside of certain very distant family members, above me in the social pecking order. I concluded, as I sat there dumbly with Twilight's magic clamped around my muzzle, that I was in deep trouble, unless I could keep her from getting too angry; something told me that crawling out of the window and sneaking across the garden, as I am usually forced to do when caught, wouldn't be of much help here.

Spike, meanwhile, frowned and sucked in a deep breath. "Ri-iii-ight," he said. "Will he be having pancakes?"

I nodded with great enthusiasm, hoping a big serving of breakfast would help settle my churning stomach. However, Spike rolled his eyes, blew a raspberry, and slammed the door shut with a force equal to what he used to open it. Alone together once more, Twilight breathed a heavy sigh of relief, sounding like the gas being let out of a trans-continental airship, and collapsed likewise into a heap on the floor beside the bed.

After a few seconds of waiting for her to remember that I was still here and very much incapable of speaking, I crawled on over to the side of the bed. The sheets and the duvet still clung unpleasantly to my sweaty coat, such that I had to keep peeling it away as I crawled across it. Once there, I reached down and gently tapped Twilight on the shoulder, and when she flinched and looked up at me, I pointed emphatically at my muzzle.

"Oh," she said. Her horn flashed and the pressure around my jaw disappeared. "Sorry."

"That's better," I said, rubbing at my cheeks. "Now what in blazes was that all about?"

Twilight squinted up at me, and I wondered if I was about to be sent on a one-way journey to the moon or some other celestial body befitting my apparent crime. "Do we have to talk about it right now?"

I sat on the bed, with my hindlegs dangling off the edge. Resisting the sudden and inexplicable urge to pat her on the head like a faithful dog, I merely shrugged and said, "Well, no, we don't have to talk about it if you really don't want to. Instead, we can just pretend this never happened and carry on with our lives, except each time we meet again will be marred by this unresolved problem, potentially crushing a new and emerging friendship between us."

Her brow furrowed into a frown. "Are you saying we're friends?"

"With benefits." Don't look at me (this manuscript?) like that, there was no way in Tartarus I or any other stallion could resist saying that. Her retort, however, came in the form of a rather large and heavy pillow, wrapped in purple magic, hurled with great force at my head. It connected with a 'thud' and knocked me clean over, and I lay there on the comfortable, warm bed, contemplating simply allowing the plush mattress to whisk me away back into the gentle emptiness of unconsciousness. There was no such luck, of course, as I rolled onto my side I saw Twilight had turned and lifted her head to face me, at first with a look of concern, but when she discovered that she hadn't accidentally killed me with the pillow, her exasperated scowl returned.

"No chance of round two, then?" I said, affecting a cheeky grin. Twilight growled in response, and held the pillow threateningly over my head. "I'll take that as a 'no' then."

"Look, Blueblood," she began, apparently finding some degree of solace in doing what she did best - lecturing ponies. I propped up my head on my hoof, while she laid her weapon down amidst its soft, cushiony brethren on the bed. "You might be the sort of pony who sleeps around with anything on four legs, but I'm just not that kind of mare."

"You could have fooled me," I said. "Then again, you read an awful lot, so I imagine the spectator sees more of the sport."

Twilight glared daggers at me. "You wanted to talk about this, so if you could just be serious about it..."

"What's there to be serious about?" I said with a shrug. "Let's put this into perspective, shall we? We are two adult ponies who clearly drank far too much at a party and then slept together; hardly the most shocking thing to ever transpire in good old Equestria. And the fact is, Princess, if you didn't feel at least some modicum of attraction to me, there is no way you would have allowed me into your chambers and into your bed regardless of how inebriated you were."

"I guess," she said. "I mean, you're right, I did want it, but if I wasn't drunk then I don't think I would have."

"Well," I said, inching myself closer to her until my forehooves dangled off the bed, "as I said, there must have been something within the two of us for this to have happened. How about a dinner together? Come to my palace; my chef, Sous Vide, is a true artist."

"Blueblood," she said, her voice no longer angry, but soft. My stomach dropped and my heart felt like it was caught in a vice; I knew that tone of voice all too well, as it was the same one that I used in similar situations with the roles reversed. "I like you, Blueblood, and I'd be lying if I said there was nothing between us. And, I have to admit, last night was fun. But I think you know as much as I do that it couldn't work out between the two of us, just yet, I mean."

So, this is what it was like, thought I, and I didn't like it. Embarrassed and angry, I hopped off the bed and gathered up my clothes that had been hurled onto the floor in that night of passion, while she watched with what looked like a shamed expression on her face.

"I'm sorry," she said, watching me awkwardly.

"Don't be," I said, trying to fold up my ceremonial dress tunic but getting it completely wrong, so I just bundled it up and draped it over my back. Drape Cut could press it later. "Like you said, it was just 'fun'. I'll buck anything with four legs and a pretty flank, and that night it just had to be you. It could have been any one of those mares at the party - Rainbow Dash, Applejack, Market Garden - but I picked you."

"I'm not saying it'll never work," snapped Twilight, somewhat defensively. "I don't know why you're suddenly acting like this. You just said there's nothing to be serious about. Unless, you really think there is."

That realisation struck me like a velvet glove slapped across my muzzle. I stood there in mute horror as I understood that, as with most things, she was completely and utterly right. Just why did I react like that? Unless, deep down within me I really did think that there was at least the potential for something more than a brief fling. Either way, I was a damned fool for thinking that Princess Twilight Sparkle of all ponies would be the one to fill it, or that she'd be at all interested in exploring the slightest hint of a potential relationship.

"No," I said, making my way to the door. "There's nothing, Your Highness. Like I said, we got drunk and did something silly together, and nothing more."

"We can still be friends," she said, holding out her hoof. "We'll write to each other."

"Of course." I should have said something, but there was nothing that I could say to magically make this better; it was better to allow this to linger in awkwardness and then die a quiet, dignified death than to drag it out for longer until even friendship between us would become impossible.

I stepped through the door and shut it behind me. The castle appeared to be empty, as I expected the majority of the guests were still recovering from hangovers, so nopony saw me lean against the cool, crystalline wall and beat my hoof into the side of my head until I felt suitably chastised for my idiocy. This was all still salvageable, I hoped, but it would take a damned sight more honesty and work than I thought I was worth. Perhaps Drape Cut might have a plan.

Aside from a brief run-in with Colonel Fer-de-Lance looking for the kitchens, I made it back to my guest room without much further issue. Once there I had a cold shower in the en suite bathroom, which did much to clear my head, as though the soap and water cleansed the fog from my mind as it did the filth and sweat from my coat. The sound of running water and the rare sense of isolation allowed me time to reflect; my track record with relationships, by which I mean genuine relationships with mares and not the sort of until-dawn-do-us-part dalliances that I was used to, was abysmal, bordering on non-existent. Faust knows I have had as much yearning for companionship as much as any stallion; yet a reputation for a caddish disregard for the feelings of my temporary partners and a view of marriage warped by an aristocratic system, which views such things only in terms of political gain, meant that the moment I felt anything greater than base lust, I had little to no comprehension of how to act upon it appropriately.

So, that was that, I decided. Whatever it was that I thought I had felt, and as I had explained to Twilight years ago in that dreadful siege, feelings of affection were luxuries that aristocracy, of which she was now a member, were denied. There was nothing to do except to bury those emotions, steel oneself, and carry on with a veneer of noble aloofness. That shower probably took a bit longer than I had planned, but it did the trick; feeling a damned sight less embarrassed than before, but not quite up to my usual self, I dried myself off and gathered up my clothes.

The application of a crisp white dress shirt, a well-cut navy blazer with flattering shoulder pads, drape, and a nipped waist for a masculine silhouette, and a louche cravat around one's neck did wonders for one's sense of well-being. After half an hour or so of preening in front of the mirror, suitably armoured for the day ahead and with those frightful scars of mine concealed, I was ready for what I knew would be an awkward and uncomfortable breakfast.

Breakfast was held in one of the smaller of the many dining rooms that the Tree of Harmony had so thoughtfully provided for Twilight Sparkle, apparently having decided that, as Princess of Friendship, she might be called upon to host a number of dinner parties for different guests separately but simultaneously. [The simpler and more logical explanation is that there were a large number of empty rooms that had to be furnished by Twilight herself, resulting in many rooms with the same purpose.] Compared to the party of the previous night, it was a much quieter and more restrained affair. When I arrived, a number of the guests who had stayed the night were already present and tucking into plates of pancakes. The room was of a modest size, at least by my standards, with a number of circular tables dotted around the place and each with four or five chairs. About half were occupied by officers, either naked or in civilian clothing, and each in wildly varying states of hangovers; General Market Garden looked to be completely fine, Colonel Sunshine Smiles looked merely tired, Cannon Fodder was happily stuffing his face with pancakes with his usual lack of regard for the appetite of others, while Captain Red Coat appeared to be completely and utterly comatose. [General Market Garden did not drink that night, as she was a teetotaller.]

I spotted Twilight Sparkle at the table with Sunshine Smiles and Red Coat, while the other three Princesses had spaced themselves out in the room and had sat with the other guests. For a moment, our eyes met across the room, before she blushed, looked away, and resumed her conversation with Sunshine Smiles. Now, I had a choice; sit somewhere else and make further awkward eye-contact with her across the room, or sit at that same table and try to carry on as though I hadn't been drunkenly riding below her crupper just a few hours ago. The latter seemed like the best option, and I trotted on over, weaving around the tables and chairs, and sat down beside her.

"Good Morning, Princess!" I said cheerfully, and then nodded to the other guests. Sunshine Smiles reciprocated in the usual way, while Red Coat waved his hoof lazily in my direction and then proceeded to rest his head on the table. Twilight, however, apparently did not expect me to be so bold in my endeavour to pretend that everything was fine, and spluttered out a bewildered greeting followed by an awkward chuckle.

Spike then waddled on over, bearing a plate piled high with pancakes, fruit, and cream. He wore an apron stained with flour and fruit juice, and upon his head was a tall, white chef's hat that was crumpled a little in its middle. His face twisted into a snarl as he tossed my plate onto the table with some force and then stomped away as angrily as his stubby little legs would allow him to. There was a face on the pancakes made out of blueberries, strawberries, and whipped cream, and while everypony else's bore a happy countenance, mine did not. It was the very definition of anger and hatred given form in the medium of breakfast; its strawberry eyes, whipped cream frown, and maple syrup snarl spoke of a deep, fundamental loathing of my very existence that thus far has not been replicated in any other art form since. I had to commend Spike for it. If his intention was to convey the utmost displeasure of what I had done with his alleged 'sister' then he had done so most eloquently.

Somepony sat on the vacant seat to my right, and when I looked up to see who it was I saw that exact same hatred reflected in the face of Shining Armour. Before I could say a word, he grabbed my blazer's lapels with his hooves and pulled me so close that our muzzles were less than an inch apart.

"Shining!" whispered Twilight from my left. Everypony else on the table stopped and watched, except for Red Coat, who had fallen asleep on his pancakes. "What are you doing?"

"Listen very carefully, Blueblood," hissed Shining Armour, his voice barely above a whisper and positively dripping with rage and contempt. "I know what you did, you pig, and if you so much as even look at my sweet, innocent little Twiley again I'll rip you a new- a new... oh, geeze, Blueblood, the look on your face!"

Shining Armour, Prince-Consort of the Crystal Empire and former Captain of the Royal Guard, broke into a fit of hysterical laughter. Bewildered, confused, and still more than just a bit terrified, I managed to push his hooves away from my lapels, doing my best to smooth down the crumpled fabric, so I could just slump back in my seat and watch, dumbfounded at the display. Indeed, everypony on the table was looking at him, and I spotted Cadence, who sat on the other table entertaining another group of officers, trying to conceal a giggle by daintily holding a small teacup to her lips.

"That was too easy," said Shining Armour, once he managed to recover enough to speak, though his face was still twisted by a huge grin. He then glanced under the table, leaned in close, and whispered into my ear, "You didn't wet the floor, did you?"

I spluttered out a hasty response: "Certainly not!"

"Shining," said Twilight, hissing from my other side. "That wasn't nice, and how in Celestia's name did you find out, anyway?"

"Spike told me," he said with a casual shrug. "He thought he could get me to beat Blueblood here into a messy pulp, just like old times. I mean, you're both grown-up ponies, aren't you? And Blueblood's helped me out of a few scrapes before, anyway, so I'll let him have this one. Can I get some pancakes too, please?"

He got his pancakes, and the rest of the meal proceeded with a tense sort of formality. Aside from that odd display from Shining Armour, everypony carried on with a very hostile sense of etiquette that reminded me perfectly of my foalhood meals with my parents, when they deigned to allow me to dine with them. Conversation, such as it was, was terse, tense, and unfailingly polite, and never drifted once from society's pre-approved 'safe' topics such as the weather, local sports, and the on-going conduct of that murderous war to the south. Twilight remained the consummate hostess, apparently having suppressed whatever feelings she had towards Yours Truly following our little spat earlier, though an experienced socialite such as I could detect the thin cracks in that regal facade.

Colonel Sunshine Smiles was the first to leave, and he took Captain Red Coat, slipping in and out of varying stages of lucidity, with him. Once I had finished my plate of pancakes and my tea, I saw no reason to linger any longer than I had to, and so spared Twilight any further embarrassment. I said my farewell, curt and polite, and as I got up to leave, however, her hoof brushed against mine and lingered there briefly.

"Good luck out there," she said, giving my foreleg a light stroke. "Make sure you come back in one piece."

"Yes, that's the goal in war, is it not?" I said; it was the sort of thing Commissar Blueblood the Hero was supposed to say, complete with a cocky grin and perhaps a wink. Nevertheless, we said our goodbyes and I trotted on back to my room to pack for the train ride home, though as I left the dining room, I could feel Twilight's eyes lingering on the back of my head.

The journey back was uneventful, being spent catching up on lost sleep, and as was much of the remainder of my stay in Canterlot, barring two incidents of note. The first was picking up my star spider silk armour from Rarity's shop in Canterlot, the Canterlot Carousel. Unlike her Ponyville boutique, this was more in keeping with the usual aesthetic of traditional haberdasheries, as the space afforded by the more rural shop was a luxury in our capital's older districts. Rarity herself was still in Ponyville or gallivanting off somewhere at the whims of some magical map, which was just as well as I’d rather not risk her wrath if she had found out what I had done with Twilight, so instead I was taken care of most agreeably by a tall, leggy mare from Trottingham named Sassy Saddles.

That minor dalliance aside, the armour itself proved to be everything that I had desired; it fit like an undershirt beneath my dress shirt and tunic, and a few careful tests with one of the many swords in my palace's armoury proved it to be at least resistant to cutting and stabbing, if not fully proof. It would, however, prove to be an effective insurance for when I faced the enemy in battle once again. As a garment, however, it was certainly as beautiful and elegant as Rarity had promised. Despite it being a form of functional armoured underwear, her dedication to the craft of tailoring certainly showed through in every single stitch. The fabric itself was wonderful too, having a soft, satin sheen to it that belied its strength and durability. I wondered if I could have ties made out of this stuff, and hopefully without nearly bankrupting my estate again in the process.

I trust readers, whosoever finds this document long after I have passed (I hope), will not think me a braggart for having written about my liaison with Princess Twilight Sparkle; while sleeping with an alicorn princess certainly did wonders for my self-esteem in the short-run, once I got over the subsequent rejection, in the long-term there were unpleasant consequences which, in hindsight, I really ought to have seen coming. Drape Cut, being rather more perceptive than I, gave one of his rare but insightful instances of unasked-for advice. I remember it clearly, along with the icy sensation of dread that crept up through my bowels as he explained while serving me my afternoon tea.

"If you'll permit me, sir," he said, laying the tray of scones and tea on the table in the drawing room. "Rumours of your amorous relations with Princess Twilight Sparkle have circulated amongst my colleagues in the Adytum Club. I feel that it is in your best interest, if I may be so bold as to step beyond my bounds, to remind you that Her Royal Highness the Princess of Friendship is not the frustrated wife of a noble-stallion nor a Prench courtesan. I fear that if this indiscretion was to be made public, it would have the potential to escalate into a scandal that no amount of generous donations to our educational facilities can distract from. Especially, sir, when one considers certain members of your own family would no doubt see this as an opportunity to make a move against your title."

[Prince Blueblood had the habit of deflecting criticism of his numerous scandals in his late teens and early twenties by making generous donations to schools and universities across Equestria. These donations were often made without any thought as to how these institutions would use them and were far in excess of their actual needs, leading to such instances as Ponyville Elementary School having five hundred microscopes for a class of eighteen students and the University of Canterlot founding the Prince Blueblood Endowed Professorship of Equine Sexuality.]

I hadn't considered that, but now that it had been brought to my attention, the increasingly frequent visits from my sisters suddenly made a whole lot of sense. Sangre and Azul, identical twins who had been married off to Prench nobles who also happened to be a pair of identical twins, had never attempted to hide their envy of my taking of the regal title simply because I had the good sense to be born first.

"Power," one of them, Sangre, I think, had said, when I had lost patience with the two of them haunting my palace's drawing room one day and I demanded to know what they wanted.

"Yes, power," said the other, probably Azul. I never did work out how to differentiate between the two despite growing up with them, but as they spent nearly every waking hour together and were physically and psychologically identical to the point of obscenity, there was very little point in treating the two of them as separate individuals. They were one pony spread across two bodies, and their husbands were no better.

"I meant right now," I explained. "And other than power."

"To tell you that your behaviour is unbecoming of a prince," said one, "and that Papa would be very disappointed if he could see you."

"You've become popular with the lower orders," said the other. "And popularity is so terribly vulgar. It would be better if somepony more deserving had your title."

They were referring to themselves, though how they would agree to share one title between the two of them I don't think they had worked out yet. Presumably Sangre, born two minutes and thirty-three seconds before Azul, would take it should anything happen to me. Though I was safe in the knowledge that while the both of them, and many others in my extended family, wanted that which gave my life some modicum of meaning, they were all far too lazy and indolent to do anything at all about it besides complain. However, should this silly little affair with Twilight erupt into a scandal beyond my power to control, they wouldn't have to do much to take what they had wanted their entire lives.

At least I could rely on Twilight Sparkle keeping quiet out of sheer embarrassment, hardly being the sort herself to boast about such things anyway, and through her influence the discretion of Shining Armour, Spike, and her friends could be maintained. As for the others at the table, Colonel Sunshine Smiles' was hardly the sort to gossip and Captain Red Coat was barely aware of what was going on around him. Anypony else at the party who had somehow discovered what the two of us had gotten up to that night could be dismissed as spreading scurrilous rumours aimed at besmirching the honour of a national heroine. With the initial panic over, cold and rational thought reassured me that all would be well. At least, however, until I got to the front, when I would have more immediate problems to deal with.

Speaking of which, I expect I have rambled on about my time in Canterlot for far too long. The pony who finds this document will likely agree with that, and wonder why I spent all of this parchment and ink to write about parties and tailoring and politics instead of the exciting battle. The answer to that is simple - I'd much rather write about such trivial things than that particular piece of horror. Nevertheless, I feel that I must exorcise those demons from my mind and my dreams, and perhaps doing so will give my last years in this mortal realm some degree of peace.

The 1st Battalion of the Night Guards, of which I was the unhappy commissar, had completed its re-training and was to be sent to the front. There it would be joined by the rest of the Guards Division and the First Army for what Field Marshal Iron Hoof was euphemistically calling 'the Big Push'. In order to prepare for it, I, as political officer, was to be sent on ahead to do something, I wasn't sure what exactly, to make sure the battalion's arrival would be as smooth as possible. I spent about a day or so considering chartering a one-way flight to Klugetown and claiming political asylum there now that the slavers there had been dealt with, but I wagered Luna would follow me even to that benighted little spot on our fair continent. Considering what was happening there, concurrent with the war and unknown to ponykind at the time, it was a good thing I saw sense. [The Changeling Wars coincided with the Storm King's seizure of power in Klugetown, in the aftermath of the Royal Guard's prior campaign against the slavers there.]

So that was that; back to the front. That's such a simple phrase for something that held so much horror and dread for me, and though it was always there in the background throughout my stay in Canterlot, leaving its bloodied hoofprints over everything I saw, it still felt quite distant and remote, such that when the day finally approached it was quite a shock. I spent the night before in a horrendous state, alternating between fitful sleep with strange dreams and just sobbing into my pillow, but though the night dragged on with the maddening tedium of insomnia, the dawn finally came as it must always do.

My uniform, new armour, weapons, and a few personal affects were packed up in a suitcase and given to Cannon Fodder, who had come to collect me. I made a round of farewells to my loyal staff who would continue to look after the palace and my affairs for me, and then it was off to the station.

I felt sick for the entire journey, and not just because I was stuck next to Cannon Fodder for hours on end in an enclosed train carriage. What should have been a very pleasant journey in which I could read, ponder, or just watch the majesty of Equestria rush past was ruined utterly by the thought of the dreadful fate that awaited me; one that had I not wasted those weeks and months in Canterlot pretending it was not to come I might have found a way to weasel out of. The hours bore on, and the green and pleasant heartlands became the parched plains of the south, and there was a dreadful sense of déjà vu as I repeated that same journey I had made those years ago when I began my unhappy career.

This time, however, we did not stop off at Dodge Junction but carried on, the carriage having off-loaded all of its civilian passengers by now. The train slipped through Black Venom Pass on the new supply line, past the logistics depot, and finally stopped just outside Fort E-5150, now given the less unwieldy and more apt name of Fort Nowhere. Having reached the end of the line and my destination, we disembarked, emerging into the harsh sunlight, blistering heat, and choking humidity of the Badlands, onto the very last outpost of civilisation. It all felt very terribly, dreadfully familiar; rather like returning to an abusive home, I imagine.

The fort had changed much since I was last there, being evacuated in a stretcher. Over the course of the Twilight Sparkle Reforms and the resulting build-up of the new First Army, this tiny pre-Equestrian outpost had been transformed into a vast encampment that would, in the near future, house over fifteen-thousand troops. [I Corps, which was to lead the offensive into the Badlands, and consisted of the Guards, 3rd, 7th, and 12th Divisions.] The keep and its walls were now little more than a miniscule portion of this entire camp, which sprawled out in a mass of tents and primitive wooden structures all around the formerly empty plains that surrounded it.

The train might have deposited me on the outskirts, but I was still greeted with a veritable hive of activity. The ponies and mules of the Logistics Corps had mobbed the goods wagons and set about unloading the supplies that keep an army marching, but beyond the creaky wooden platform a seemingly endless swarm of soldiers marched, drilled, trained, or just sat around off-duty in a clearing ringed by tents.

Entering a military camp of this size is an assault on all senses, and can be utterly overwhelming for those unprepared for it. The sight of so many ponies, the sound of incessant chatter, barked orders, and marching hooves, and indeed the smell of what was effectively a medium-sized town crammed into a relatively small space, devoid of the luxuries of privacy and solitude we take for granted, was incredible and unsettling; this was to be my life now again, either for the next couple of years or until something terrible happens to me, whichever came first.

"Do you see anypony here to collect us?" I asked. The stench of Cannon Fodder's body odour, overpowering even that of the camp's inhabitants, alerted me to the fact he had finished collecting my luggage and had emerged onto the platform by my side.

"No, sir," he said, looking dumbly around at the platform. The remaining few officers on the train had disembarked with us and were soon swallowed up by the crowds, and often getting in the way of the loggies trying to offload and organise the crates of supplies. My orders had been to report to General Market Garden, and I had assumed that somepony, likely a low-level staff officer with the ink on his Academy certificate still wet, would be sent to collect me. I suppose with the excitement of the imminent Big Push, even the arrival of Princess Celestia's favourite nephew warranted no special treatment.

"Well, where in blazes am I supposed to go?" I snapped.

"The General's probably in the castle," said Cannon Fodder, ever the quiet voice of reason and logic.

That seemed as good a place to start as any, thought I, and at least in there I could get some shelter from this abominable heat. I had been standing there for less than a minute out of the shade and already had sweated right through Rarity's armour and my tunic, though it was something of a mild blessing that perspiration stains tended not to show up on black, at least until it turned a sort of grey-ish brown with all that dust. This, coupled with the incessant, droning noise, occasionally spiking with sudden bursts of activity from Faust-knows-where in the camp, meant that I was already starting to get a mild headache and an almighty thirst. The sooner I was sequestered away in my quarters, away from all of this nastiness where I could at least pretend I was back home in Canterlot during some sort of heat wave caused by vindictive pegasi whom I had neglected to tip, the better.

I was about to hop off the platform, not bothering to try and find the stairs down, when from out of the crowd emerged a familiar pony in a black and red uniform. When I saw him, I was so shocked by the incongruity between the pony I knew and the severe and formal uniform of a commissar that I could scarcely remember his name. His earnest grin, so eager to please his social betters to get even the slightest recognition, stirred up the name from my subconscious, along with a more recent memory of when I might have behaved in a rather appalling manner towards him.

"Second Fiddle?" I blurted out.

He had by now reached the platform, though standing below it he had to crane his neck further back than usual to look at me. "It's Commissar-General Second Fiddle," he said, grinning and puffing out his chest like some sort of ridiculous bird trying to establish dominance. "But just in front of the troops."

His uniform was similar to mine, being a black, double breasted tunic with red piping, a crimson sash around the waist, and a black peaked cap with a winged skull emblem, but in addition to being ill-fitting his differed from mine in the gaudy trinkets that festooned it. The severe and formal uniform had been rendered ridiculous and showy with the addition of a white sash from his right shoulder to his left hip, and yellow aiguillettes tipped with gold were wrapped around his foreleg and chest like small, constricting snakes. The epaulettes were studded with gold pips, apparently signifying his high rank, and in spite of the ever-present dust that was already staining my finery they and every button and badge shone brightly in the stark, white sunlight. Most conspicuously, however, he wore a long coat draped over his back and shoulders like a cape, fastened around the neck with a gold chain from which hung a polished enamel sun-and-moon pendant. All in all, I thought he looked unbelievably silly, as he apparently tried to convey as much authority as possible with excessive ornamentation, but in over-doing it had the precise opposite effect.

So, this was his 'exciting new opportunity', and a fortnight ago I had rendered him completely insensible with drink, smeared pitch over his cutie marks, and left him in the tender care of Canterlot's finest so I could go off and rut a stranger in peace. Judging by the way he seemed to be pleased to see me I could safely assume that he had little to no memory of the incident, or he was a damned sight better liar than I could ever hope to be and was about to cheerfully lead me straight to a gallows. At least his coat on his flanks had started to grow back, from what I could tell.

"Come on, Blueblood," he said, beckoning me over with his hoof. "Let's not keep the General waiting."