My wagon ride took me right to a holding cell to wait for hours until I was given an audience with the Princess. If I had not been so upset, I might have been able to make a comment of the city as I saw it during the approach: They call it Canterlot. I can remember that it is situated upon the side of a very tall mountain, and is built mostly of smoothed stone and precious metals. If I were to compare it to anything, I might state that this place's architecture reminded me of the ancient library upon the planet's surface back home, with paved streets of stone as well. Perhaps I was just in a nicer part of town as I was being wheeled through like a freak-show attraction, but I would describe the general culture of the citizens here as posh.

The cell I was eventually taken to, though without proper heating or cooling, did have a rather nice bed compared to what I am used to on Terriel. There was also a clean wash basin and a cloth rag supplied. Perhaps cleanliness is not denied those who are punished with incarceration here; however, my possessions within my backpack, including my notebook, were once again stripped from me and taken away before I was locked into a single cell alone. I was expecting chains on the dungeon walls and instruments of torture to be lining the room when I was carried here at blade point, but I can say I was pleasantly surprised by how brightly lit this dungeon is kept, and the fact that I did not see a single rodent while I was in there. I would say it is a preferable living space to even most apartments, but it lacks Stratus access and television (also a pool and tennis court).

After a few hours of staring at the wall while rocking myself back and forth with my knees hugged to my chest on the bed of my cell, one of the guardsmen (large pegasus ponies adorned in golden armor, mostly male from what I can see; in fact, it is the largest grouping of male ponies I have seen thus far, which might mean there is a drafting system in place of sorts) called me to attention and told me to come along.

"What's going to happen to me?" I asked him reluctantly as I compliantly followed him out of the now unlocked cell door. I was not sure I wanted an answer to that question, as it might very well snuff out the rest of my waning and feeble hope.

"The Princess will decide your judgment and your fate, prisoner," he informed me, motioning with his head for me to follow as the cell door slammed open loudly, "I am simply to deliver you to her."

"There's obviously been some sort of mistake, Sir," I tried to reason as I heeded his request, walking in front of him with my hands cooperatively visible . "I've never stepped foot in this place before today. The idea that I'm some sort of assassin is really just ridiculous."

The guardsman refused to answer me: Prodding me to continue walking forward with an outstretched wing. I know for a fact that the hallways he led me through, with a curt: "Right," "Straight," or "Left," when we came to an intersection within this enormous structure, were the largest I have ever been in. I was not sure if the breathlessness that I was feeling during our 'stroll' was from the awe I felt at the beauty of the rising columns in the halls and the woven tapestries above us, or if I was hyperventilating from panic. No matter how large the corridors were, however, even if they had only been a few feet long, they would have felt like the longest hallways I had ever encountered.

Have you ever had the chance to walk towards your own death? To be accused of a crime you would never have committed, and to know that you are marching yourself to the end of your own life? Could you make that march gracefully?

I couldn’t.

I am surprised with how much the guardsman put up with as he escorted me through the halls. I pleaded him to help me: To just listen to my side of the story and give me a chance to offer my alibi. I bargained with him promising favors, money, information, or anything else I could offer if he would do me the justice of letting me escape. I shouted at him in fury about the injustice of my situation, and how it was just bigoted profiling against me since I was different from them. All the while, the same stoic and stern expression stayed upon the guardsman's face. He never once told me to be silent, or to mind my place, or struck me with a hoof. Looking back now, I am rather grateful that he had shown me that much mercy.

After what seemed to be an endless walking of the mile, I was led into a grand throne room along a red carpet. The large, colored pillars towered above me that hold up the high ceiling, and the stained glass windows threw a myriad of colors onto the stone floors. I was captivated by the awe-inspiring size of the room, noting the hanging braziers above me that threw down a bright light around them, and the stories that must be told upon the decorative engravings of the room and in the stained glass windows. I did not even notice her until the Guardsman told me to halt and approach no closer.

A pearly white pelt upon the image of royalty set high above the palace floor. My breath halted in tension when I viewed her immense size; not that she had huge muscles or was corpulent, but she was simply a very large creature compared to the ponies. Her horn was long and spiraled, leading up to a dangerous-looking point at the end. Feathered wings rested folded at her sides as she sat above me atop a dais to look down upon the lower floor of the throne room. The mane that flowed upon its own accord, since there was no draft in the room, did not seem to be made of hair at all, but I believe was a bending of light itself instead of a tangible object. Her hooves shined with polish, and she was adorned in golden jewelry that must have symbolized her position.

I was in the presence of the Princess of Equestria: Princess Celestia.

There was a unicorn tending to her carefully as I watched: She was the same size as the ponies back in Ponyville, sporting a taupe pelt with a crimson-red mane and wearing a saddlebag with a red cross embroidered onto it. This caught my attention as I saw a strip of gauze wind carefully around the Princess' neck, and as the unicorn's head moved, I saw a red stain upon the new gauze. Finally the wound dressing was completed as the guardsman continued to stand next to me silently, and the unicorn brought her supplies back to her saddlebag.

"Thank you, Cross Stitch." The creature spoke with an almost angelic quality to her voice, smiling warmly down at the crimson-haired pony who bowed in return.

"Would it be alright if I returned tomorrow to see how the healing is coming along?" The pony asked this with concern, finally looking back up to the princess.

"A watched pot never boils, and I would think the same thing is true of wounds and healing. Please, don't worry; I'm sure it will be fine. How about I call you if anything new develops?"

"Very good, your majesty," responded the unicorn as she excused herself and trotted past us while we waited on the carpet. She made sure to keep a wide berth from me as she passed, eyeing me cautiously the whole way, until she was eventually behind us and continued with her trot.

"The prisoner is here as you requested, Milady," stated the guardsman standing at my side as he received a nod from the matriarch.

"I can see that, thank you. Boys, please go and secure the door while I speak with our visitor."

"Milady, I humbly request that you consider keeping at least one of us with you around this – thing," stated one of her personal guards: Brawny-looking steel-grey unicorns stationed at the sides of her throne.

"I will be fine. Go on, secure the door and watch the hallways. I wish to speak with the human alone. Tell any other visitors that I will speak with them at the next available opportunity."

"Very well, your majesty."

After the ponies in the golden armor had vacated the room, I was left standing there uneasily in front of the throne as Princess Celestia stared me down in examination (or perhaps contemplation). Either way, I felt thoroughly scrutinized, and all I could think to do was respectfully drop to one knee before her in hopes to not cause an issue of disrespect.

Silence lingered between us for a handful of unbearably tense minutes before she finally cocked her head to ask me, "So will you just kneel there and stare at me? Have you nothing to say?"

I babbled useless noises for some moments, trying to consider a few good words within a mind petrified by fear. "I, I had assumed that I was awaiting your decision..."

"The only thing I've decided, Benjamen, is to hear you out," she responded, continuing her powerful gaze down at me. The way she watched me only happened to make me more uncomfortable down on the red carpet, bringing a quake to my bent knees.

"I'm not sure what to say then. I have no idea what these charges against me are about. I've never stepped foot in Canterlot before now; I have no idea how or why I am being charged for assassination. I also have no idea how you know my name, since I've yet to introduce myself..."

At that, her horn glimmered with an otherworldly aura, and from a rather plain-looking bin beside the throne, I saw a small cylindrical object float towards her and rest upon a hoof that she held up. "Are you saying that this is not yours?" She then used her telekinetic powers to present the object to me, letting it hover close to my face down on the ground level.

A small wooden cylinder with fabric appended to the end for stabilizing it in flight. The other end had a light, knapped stone secured to it. It appeared to have been used, as the light-colored wood was stained a dark red (almost black at this time) from drying blood. It was a bolt – my bolt.

Before I could say anything, I heard the familiar sound of the wooden nut of my crossbow being wound back into a readied position. The Princess now had the crossbow resting within her hooves and was using her horn to manipulate it in contemplation. A loud snap, like the crack of a whip, sounded off as she pulled back the trigger after setting it and let the weapon discharge an empty barrel.

"That's... that's impossible... that's not mine," I began to stammer, "My crossbow is a pile of ashes by now. It was engulfed in fire. I never even fired it past the testing range. That can't be mine. How did you get it?"

"It was delivered to me...," she began, before taking a few moments to wind the nut back into a readied position and look down at me with one brow raised. "It was delivered to me loaded, and it happens that since I was not ready to receive it..." At this, she let the crossbow drop to the floor where it rattled for a split moment before sounding off with another snap of discharge. "... Perhaps you are bright enough to hypothesize what happened next."

"Delivered? It was on fire! It burned up in my hands! I didn't send it to anybody!"

"Funny thing about dragon fire," Celestia began as she set the crossbow aside and pulled the bolt back towards her to stow them both away and out of sight, "It's how that little dragon, Spike, sends me my student's letters. When he lit it on fire, it was sent to me. Peculiar that he chose to do that instead of just burning it normally. So, do you now agree that this may indeed be your weapon?"

It hardly seemed possible to me, but it still made sense. I nodded slowly and agreed: "It is my weapon."

"Good, since we have that understood, now for the questions that really do matter. Why did you make it?"

I first thought that to be a dumb question; why else would someone make a weapon? "To defend myself and those around me."

"Armor is for defending, Benjamen. Weapons are for causing harm to somepony else. You mean you planned to harm with the intent to not to be harmed?"

"That's…! That's... correct."

"Why?"

"I was threatened by an anonymous sender calling himself Dog-Ears Pink. I was worried that he might try to hurt me, or one of my... friends."

"You found Dog-Ears Pink though. It was just a baby dragon with a jealousy problem. You planned to kill him out of fear that he would hurt you?"

"No! Never!"

"Then why did you load the crossbow?"

It took many moments before I could answer that question with any confidence. "To use fear as a tool to dissuade him from his course of action. He was violent, and I hoped to end the confrontation before things got out of hand."

"You meant to scare him into standing down?"

"Exactly."

"I'm rather interested in how you say this as though it is something not uncommon. Do your people threaten children with weapons as a custom?"

"No! Well, not exactly. Not with weapons."

"So you threaten children?"

"It is understood that the concept of crime and punishment must be taught at an early age. Corporal punishment is common for children who continue to misbehave, so the understanding of doing something they are instructed not to do will result in physical discomfort. You're making it sound like we're savage brutes."

"And you're making it sound like you threaten and beat children."

"I'm sorry that you do not agree with some of our customs," I submitted, knowing that arguing such a point would win me no favors, "As for why I loaded the crossbow, I was simply trying to end the conflict before it became violent."

"So you were using fear, the same tool that Dog-Ears Pink had tried to use against you, to get your way as well? You wanted to use the threat of violence to end the possibility of violence?"

"... Yes." I had to admit defeat. I could argue day and night about whether what I did was morally sound or not, but she had simply asked if that was what I had planned to do. It was, and it was still better than having her believe that I would actually shoot him.

"I see," she nodded, before pulling free my backpack from the same bin. "Instead of making a weapon, why did you not ask your friends for help?"

"I did not wish for them to get hurt."

"So you took full responsibility for what would become of them?"

"Yes."

"So much as to deny them the responsibility of defending themselves?"

I did not answer her for once, getting the feeling that she was nitpicking all of my decisions in the past days. I cannot think of why she was doing this, but it was rather obvious to me that she was scrutinizing my actions down to every potentially incriminating detail.

"Well?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I have already answered this question, Your Majesty; I was afraid they would get hurt."

"No, that was the answer to why you did not ask them for help. I want to know what compelled you to take full responsibility for their safety upon yourself."

All I could do was shrug. "I do not know, Your Majesty."

"I have an idea why...," she mentioned offhandedly, before changing the topic to avoid granting me any clarification as to what she meant. From my backpack, she extracted my notebook and began letting the pages flip idly as she looked for something specific. "A very interesting little book you have here, Benjamen."

"That must be how you know my name."

"It is. I took some time to read up on what you've been up to since you got here. I can see where you've met with my student. How is your tooth, Benjamen?"

"It is fine, Your Majesty."

"Still hearing music in your head as well?"

"I am, yes."

"Well? What's it playing right now?"

"A solo piano instrumental piece called 'Nevermore'. Princess, I apologize, but I feel that you're deriving pleasure from my situation. I would request that you act professional: Sentence me and stop playing around."

She looked taken aback at first as I said this (and probably at the growly, frigid way that I said it). She was making fun of me, enjoying my fear, and possibly expecting to raise my hopes just to see the look on my face when she dashed them by sentencing me to execution: If you're going to die, at least do it without being made a fool of, right? "Oh my," she began, setting the notebook down to begin examining me once more, "It seems your journal is fairly accurate then. You are rather quick to assume, and at that, assume the worst. Are you saying it's so wrong for somepony to want to be friendly with you?"

"When they are going to send me to my death in the near future, yes."

"See, there it is again. I've never said anything about that. All I said I had decided on was hearing you out, and since you had nothing to say, I was helping you deliver all of the facts. I just wanted to know how I ended up with a wooden bolt lodged in the side of my neck."

"I've been charged with attempted assassination though. You ordered your guards to arrest me for trying to kill you."

"Once more, you've let your conclusions get the best of you! My guards arrested you for trying to assassinate me. I merely got shot in the neck by somepony's brilliance, and then was asked to pass a judgment on it."

I cannot describe why I had the strangest urge at that moment to strike my head against one of the stone pillars until I stopped breathing. With a sigh of exhaustion, I finally slumped down dejectedly to ask, "So does this mean you're not going to execute me?"

"Benjamen, I have a question for you: If you were in my position, what would you do? What would you decide?"

It took a while to consider my answer, but instead of silence, I happened to prattle. "I should say that I would let myself off the hook because it was purely an accident, and perhaps get my top scientists (or magisters, or whatever) on the task of helping find the human a way to get back home. This is just what I would want, however. If I were to use precedence from what I know of Terriel... then I would sentence the human to a quick death to be televised as a warning to future usurpers that I will hold my position with full force."

"But what would you do, Benjamen?"

This question caught me off guard as she waited on me with a curious quirk of her brow. "Me? I don't know. I... I would probably... the issue remains that the human did something disagreeable: Whether he intended to use it for a noble cause or not, he did craft a weapon, and I would have ended up getting hurt by it. At the same time, it was an accident and there was no malice in the act that brought me to harm. I think that I would rehabilitate the human: Perhaps give him a community service project that would teach him an ethical lesson relevant to his crime and then have him placed on probation to ensure that he would cause no more trouble. The biggest question on my mind though, Your Majesty, is still... what are you going to do about me?"

She has a smile that could make even the heart of the hardest man sigh, I think. Princess Celestia beamed at me after that and nodded. "I like your ideas, Benjamen. I think I'll give them a try. Until I've thought of a task suited to teaching you a proper lesson, you will remain here in Canterlot under royal supervision. Does that sound fair, Ambassador?"

"Yes, but... wait, uhm... I'm not an ambassador..."

"You're from a far away country, and you're speaking with foreign leaders. Is that not close enough for you?"

"I'm not an elected diplomat though."

Celestia winked at me as my backpack and notebook were tossed to me from the throne. "I doubt whomever you’re worried about had the chance to elect somepony else for the job. I think they'll forgive you for stepping up during a time of need. What do you say?"

"Thank you, Princess," I uttered, looking down at my possessions and trying to comprehend my new situation: I wasn't going to die. Not only was I not going to die, I was now an ambassador? A foreign diplomat? I'm going to be residing in a castle? Shocked and speechless, I tried my best to excuse myself from her presence.

"You must be rather exhausted after all of this. Go clean yourself up and rest then, Ambassador. We'll speak again soon, since I am rather curious to know more about your homeland."

"Of course, Your Majesty... Uhm, I'm sorry that I don't have more to say. All of this is new to me."

"I can still banish you to the moon for a thousand years if that would make you more comfortable."

"I probably won't be alive for more than a hundred."

"I can still banish you to the moon for the rest of your life if that would make you more comfortable."

"I would rather you didn't."

"If you say so, Benjamen. The offer is always open just for you," she giggled, which I think means that she's joking. I really hope she's joking. "Oh, and I wanted to say that I think you were right on what Applejack expected a "Thinkin' Type" like you to come up with for sleeping in the house."

If I had not been so shocked, I might have shown a bit of concern that she had been reading (and subsequently commenting on) my personal thoughts, but as it were, I could only stupidly repeat, "Thank you, Princess."

"Write something nice about me in there when you get to your room, will you?"

I think I've done her justice.