You are Princess Ellowynelle, stranded on a lesser plane after a crazy night of flexing on some human mages. The barbarians didn't even know how to summon a wine elemental. Things get a little hazy after that demonstration. You would think that you would have picked a nice, civilized plane to portal to, even when affected by strong spirits. But no, drunk you decided to go so far down from the Prime Material that there are no elves, or even portal shunting areas. So you ended up flying like a servant out of an enchanted or perhaps cursed forest. Spying the only place worthy of your dignity, you teleport to what you find out is the local princess's balcony. Say what you will about these uplifted unicorn creatures, but they have a perfectly regal and accommodating royal.

Princess Celestia herself shows you to an adequately decorated room, and has a servant prepare an unfamiliar, yet fragrant tea. You had worried that she would have difficulty understanding your situation, but that was not the case, exactly.

"Ah, another traveler from another world. Are you human as well?"

You blink. Your instincts from courtly intrigue tell you that she means no insult, despite her words. This really is a backwater plane.

"No, I am an elf. We live much longer, are more magically potent, and generally superior to humans."

Princess Celestia looks surprised.

"How much longer, would you say?"

What an odd question.

"They wither away in a century, maybe two if they are lucky and magically inclined. I will most likely see two millennia pass by before I go to the Shining Isles."

Princess Celestia brightens at that. Literally, her fur coat begins emitting a faint glow.

"It will be good to have some new company for the centuries, then. Assuming, of course, that you don't find your way home by then."

In that moment, she reminds you uncomfortably of your mother when you returned to the palace after a 50 year apprenticeship under your uncle Archmage Mord Ih'Kai. Desperately eager for your company, yet resigned to how fleeting your time together may be. You attempt a sincere smile.

"I'm sure once I find a way back, I'll visit from time to time. We princesses have to stick together."

Princess Celestia relaxes the tiniest bit, and you feel a little guilty about probably lying just now. Ugh, maybe you will make it a truth eventually. Regardless, there are more important things to worry about.

"Speaking of royalty, will I have to worry about meeting the King or Queen? Or regent, perhaps?"

Princess Celestia sighs, and you sense this is a question she has answered far too many times.

"I'd like to say that you are already meeting with the regent, but it's unlikely that my sister or I shall have the opportunity to step aside for another. I took the title "princess" in hopes that my little ponies would choose their own ruler, or perhaps as a signal that they are collectively the Queen over me. Instead they just praised my humility and gave me more power than I ever wanted."

You are somewhat unfamiliar with the concept of "more power than you wanted", but you put on a sympathetic expression.

"At least they can't argue as much when you choose to delegate?"

Princess Celestia huffs.

"To my face, they don't."

Ah.

She shakes her head to banish her growing foul mood.

"I'm afraid we've gotten off track. I'll have my top magic researchers assist you in any way they can, of course, but given how little progress they've had with getting Anon to his home world, I suspect their coordination will be more valuable than their expertise."

You tilt your head forward slightly to acknowledge the point.

"That may be, but magic practitioners can vary greatly among the myriad planes. I may yet learn something from them."

She takes a sip from her teacup, eyeing you speculatively.

"Could I ask a favor of you?"

You raise an eyebrow.

"You may ask."

Celestia sets the cup down without a sound, a small frown forming on her mouth.

"Anon has isolated himself, ever since he arrived. Not going to slumber parties, throwing away the monthly spa pass, just working at his forge all the time. While you are here, could you check on him from time to time, maybe see what is wrong with him? Since you have more experience with humans, perhaps you'll have more success than me or my little ponies."

And now the resemblance is uncanny

”El, could you talk to your brother? He's been reading Drow philosophy books again, and the servants report the smell of sulfur coming from his room. It's only a phase, but he's going to be utterly unmanageable for the next decade if you don't talk some sense into him.”

You repress a sigh at the memory and bow your head slightly.

"I'll see what I can do."

It's not like you have to actually do anything, according to this oral agreement.

As it happened, the researchers are worse than useless. They think the multiverse is arrayed like a sea of bubbles, rather than the infinite strata of segmented membranes radiating from the Prime. And they completely lose focus when a stallion servant walks in with a tray of snacks. At least the pastries are good here; they are seasoned with a nice, subtle flavoring. After an entirely wasted hour of trying to teach the basics of interdimensional physics, you pretend to be exhausted from your ordeal and excuse yourself. Rather, you are more restless than anything.

You wander the streets of Canterlot, taking in the rustic charm of the city. All these little three-story mansionettes, winged servant ponies flitting about with packages and ornamental armor. Everyone around you trying to be discreet about gazing in wonder at your perfect figure. And nothing fun to do anywhere. After patronizing the third barely acceptable tea shop, you are quite done with this plane. You fly up to a handy rooftop and meditate, casting lines of magic through the local membrane, sending a spark of awareness along each one.

You aren't surprised to find that you don't recognize any of the neighboring planes, but what is surprising is that so many above and around are nearly empty voids. The few that have significant thaumic readings also are riddled large dead areas. It's as if something very large had grazed on the thaumic field. That complicates things. You won't be able to merely face due Prime and jump, you'll have to map out the voids and thread your way through this tattered patch of the multiverse until you get out of the damaged area. It's going to be like navigating a three-dimensional maze while only being able to see a foot in front of you.

...

This sounds like a problem for future El. Besides, you have to pee.

You cast the sanitizing spell a second time on your room's bathroom, and cancel the silencing spell from when you were relieving yourself. You may have to apologize to Mother when you get back, you did end up using spells from the Standardized Maid Spellbook. To be fair to your past self, there is no way you could have known you would end up in such a humble, backwards plane. You flop onto the bed and stare at the gilded ceiling. A decade or three of this. You allow yourself one sigh, then you stand with a firmness of purpose. You are going to do what you always do when you are bored and restless.

You find Anon readily enough, the ponies are all too happy to direct you to the unusual smith. On the outskirts of the city, the shop is built with rough slabs of granite and a lighter grey mortar. Smoke drifts in a lazy column from the back of the shop. The door is closed and presumably locked, considering the "closed" sign. Not that it will stop you. You teleport inside and look around. Swords, spears, and hammers hang from the wall, with little paper price tags on loops of twine. It's all terribly rough and primitive, a perfect reflection of their maker. You smirk at the imagined slight.

"Looking to protect yourself or deal some damage?"

You turn your head sharply to find the human leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. You sniff.

"I can do that just fine on my own. I am Princess Ellowynelle, highest mage of the Silver Willow Order of Magi, mistress of all disciplines. And you are?"

You wonder how badly he will mangle his etiquette.

"Anonymous. I don't claim to be the best blacksmith in Canterlot—, Yore Land's got that honor. The mare's steel is legendary. All I ask is a fair chance."

You narrow your eyes at him. Every instinct is telling you he's making fun of you, but you don't know in what way.

"For the last time, I'm not interested in whatever passes for blacksmithing around here-"

"Got some good pieces out here, if you're looking to buy. More inside."

You scowl at him.

"You done?"

He grins.

"Need something?"

The only thing keeping you from burning this place to the ground is your desire to stay on good terms with Princess Celestia. And the only thing keeping you from teleporting or otherwise storming out is the knowledge that it’s exactly what he wants. Thankfully, magic has a solution, like it always does. You cast a simple truth-compelling spell on him, the bolt of silvery light getting a satisfyingly alarmed reaction out of him. It will wear off within the hour, less if he has any sort of magical training.

"Wha-"

"Are you alright, Anonymous?"

He scowls.

"I'm pretty worried about whatever spell you threw at me, but otherwise I feel fine."

The human blinks, obviously unpleasantly surprised at being compelled into honesty. You smirk.

"It seems your friends are worried that you aren't taking enough time off for yourself. Why is that?"

He clenches his jaw, and you can feel the spell strain under his willpower. Admirable, for one of such a lowly race.

"Should they be worried, yes or no?"

He nearly spits his answer out.

"No."

You wave your hand, dismissing the tattered remnants of the spell.

"Good enough. Maybe talk to your friends more, and we won't have to do this again. Goodbye, human."

And then you teleport back to your room to giggle endlessly. Oh, how you miss being able to toy with people like that. No thaumic oversight to abide by for your public image, the freedom is nearly worth being on such a backwater plane. Nearly.

Six months later, and you are getting severely irritated. Finding a path back to the Prime is proving to be far more difficult than you expected. It seems a chaos spirit ran wild here a few times, and that is playing havoc with the membrane boundaries. Any given membrane has at least six different planes it borders instead of the usual one, with irregular cycles that you have yet to find the pattern to. So you are taking a break, hanging out with Celestia's sister. Who also reminds you of family, but uncle Mord Ih'Kai this time. Luna takes a swig of milk, waving a half-eaten chocolate donut in her forehoof.

"Those legs, it's enough to turn a mare to sin!"

You nod along, feeling nostalgic as you half-listen to the lustful ranting.

"Begging for it, practically."

Luna snorts.

"World's too soft, practically rotten. Used to be, I could pay his guardians his groom's price, and ride a stallion until sunrise. Now..."

You swallow the bite of your bovarian cream. Say what you will about the rest of the plane, but the food here is pretty good, provided you don't eat the stuff with hay in it.

"Now you can't even slap an ass without getting reprimanded."

Luna nods gloomily. You aren't much happier, Celestia lectured you for hours on being respectful to stallions, though you still don't understand why that would be. It doesn't help that you aren't getting the looks you used to. There are still some ponies that haven't seen anything like you before, but they are getting rarer and more obviously curious, rather than awed. You aren't used to being ignored like this. Oh, hold on, Luna is ranting again.

"I looked, he doesn't even have ball bras!"

That is kind of odd.

"The slut!"

Ball bra enchantments are actually pretty intricate, you often find yourself trying to figure out the specific variation of the array, to the disgust of the stallion. Luna growls.

"Stars have mercy on him..."

She stills, memories of her exile haunting her eyes. She whispers,

"Stars have mercy on me..."

The chocolate donut crumbles in the grasp of her hoof.

"But Anon will be mine, or he will burn!"

Hold on.

"Anon? As in, Anonymous?"

Luna comes down from her throes of passion.

"Yes, him! Haven't you been listening?"

She actually looks a little hurt, and you feel that weird para-familial guilt again.

"Sorry, I just didn't catch when you first mentioned his name. But it makes sense that he doesn't wear a ball bra, that's a piece of clothing local to this plane."

Luna accepts your apology easily enough, wiping the crumbs from her hoof on a napkin.

"Then you will help me woo the tempter, won't you?"

You resist the urge to groan. How does Luna even have that same terrible taste in romantic prospects?

"A mare like you has much better options than some sooty, sweaty ape."

She bites her lip.

"Mmm, sweaty, dirty Anon..."

You don't know why you even try.

"Let's get this over with."

Anon pours the iron into the cast, then sets his tools aside.

"What can I do for you, your honors?"

You snarl,

"Your majesties."

He shakes his head.

"I'm just a humble blacksmith, not a royal."

Luna's tuft is fluffing in a way that tells you her brain is running from the secondary control room in her ovaries. She licks her lips.

"I could make you a royal, if we had foals, because consorts are honorary-"

Anon raises his eyebrows at her.

"Are you seriously proposing to me?"

Luna tries to smile confidently, but she is too busy being worried and glancing at the crotch of his pants. You roll your eyes.

"She's mostly in it for your body."

Luna blushes, but nods.

"I like long legs, I cannot deny."

Anon rubs his chin.

"How about friends with benefits? I am rather curious what it's like to fuck a princess."

Luna's wings extend instantly, smacking into your face. You rub the impact site and scowl at her. Credit to Luna, Mord never got this far with a woman, though humans are notoriously promiscuous, so it's not as surprising. Your best friend on the plane gives you an apologetic smile.

"Sorry about that, Lowyn. But now we are sexfriends with a hot stallion!"

You tilt your head.

"We are?"

Luna looks at your face, then Anon's.

"He just offered, not a minute ago."

Anon opens his mouth in realization.

"You were asking for the two of you? I just thought... well. Do I have to include the knife-ears in this?"

You bristle.

"Have to? You ought to be in rapture of the idea of earning my slightest affection. Fortunately for you, you don't have to worry about proving yourself worthy of me, since I refuse to so much as touch you!"

He scoffs.

"Who'd want to touch a skinny, flat-chested bitch with more bile than blood?"

The air around you crackles with your arcane fury.

"Just because your pitiful human eyes can't see-"

"ENOUGH!"

Luna's roar reverberates in the smithy, tools and weapons rattling on their hooks and in their drawers. And there's the archmage side of your uncle, reflected in Luna. She is projecting mana into the air at a nearly suffocating density. You reflexively abandon all spellshaping you were doing. Anon merely pales. Luna glares at you, Anon, and back at you.

"So it's fine. Neither of you is interested in the other. Lowyn, how about you go back, and Anon and I will talk."

You press your lips together in a flat line.

"Fine."

Luna eases off the pressure, and you teleport back to your room in a huff.

Fucking humans.