[FLUTTERRAPE] Diplomacy


                                            Originally posted on 26/11/2022, but I didn't give it a paste until now.

                                            ---


                                            >A herald's announcement is bellowed, and you pass through into Canterlot palace's great hall.

                                            >A vaulted ceiling crowns the chamber, and the walls play host to a procession of stained glass depictions of past Equestrian heroics.

                                            >Most common of all is the replica of Her Highness, Princess Celestia.

                                            >The Princess stands flanked by two Royal Guardsponies, their coats washed to such a gleaming white that by comparison Celestia herself seems an off-whitish pink.

                                            >Your own halberdiers tighten the grips on their weapons' hafts, but remain stoic.

                                            >They are professionals hand-picked for this journey, and you have complete faith in them.

                                            >As you stride forward, your men keeping close, Celestia smiles warmly. She meets you in the middle, and there are a few seconds to allow for the faux-customary stare down between guards.

                                            >Pony sizes up human, human sizes down pony, as is often the case when dealing with their diminutive race.

                                            >Celestia herself meets your eye-level, is perhaps just below it, and that suits you well enough.

                                            >In the world of diplomacy and negotiation, every advantage, even the most subtle difference of height, can be used to effect.

                                            >"Anonymous of Hominida, it's a pleasure to meet and welcome you to Canterlot." She curtsies.

                                            >You bend at the waist, your genial face masking your disquiet.

                                            >The usual pleasantries are exchanged, and all the while Celestia's unblinking mares glare at your own unblinking men.

                                            >If they were to spar, would your guards win? They are both veterans of campaigns against the Dogs, but have no experience fighting ponies. Few have ever fought ponies, especially not humans.

                                            >The sole reason why is currently enlightening you about the stained glass and the trouble involved in getting one particular pane cut; an amusing anecdote about miscommunication and the troubles that followed.

                                            >You've been in this job long enough to catch the hint.


                                            *


                                            >Your men are statuesque behind you, resuming their self-appointed roles as mare-glarers, and Celestia's own seem content to reflect the humans' efforts, neither party's facial features erring from apparent simmering contempt.

                                            >This quiet antechamber off to one side of the palace complex is cosier than you'd been expecting, but it also means the parties are pressed closer together.

                                            >By your estimate, your halberdiers could lance Celestia's guards with the tips of their weapons after a single step forward.

                                            >From the stony grimaces of the men, they seem to be working the same scenario through their heads.

                                            >The Princess and yourself sit at an oaken table opposite each other, draft papers and inkpots strewn across a map of the realm that dominates the surface.

                                            >It could be the disorganised mess of an undisciplined student.

                                            >But to the likes of you, and presumably to Celestia, it's the beginnings of a trade agreement to secure food for Hominida.

                                            >You come to this table at a disadvantage: You have little to offer her, and she knows that.

                                            >In truth, you've put more stock than you would have ever preferred in her widely spoken-of magnanimity.

                                            >"No, we cannot."

                                            >Her rejections are casual and delivered in a tone that seems at once apologetic and firm.

                                            >The smile she's worn the entire visit hasn't faded, the playful glint in her eye has never waned, and in fact with each passing remark seems to grow in lustre.

                                            >She is at home, and you are a guest. A home-territory advantage.

                                            >And a further disadvantage unto you still is your age, or her abundance of, specifically.

                                            >The myths surrounding her say she is over a thousand years old.

                                            >Court Mage Horace scoffs at the idea, claiming the most powerful mages in human history only lived to be two-hundred.

                                            >But he isn't here, looking into those cerise eyes. If he could see them, what would he say? He's never lacked bravado, but you like to think he'd still his tongue if he could meet her.

                                            >"Further to that, we would require that the caravans enter Equestria via the northern-eastern pass, approaching Rainbow Falls by way of the Yaket Range."

                                            >You lean over the table and furrow your brow at the region she's pointing at with a quill-tip.

                                            "That would add a week onto the journey, at least. Why not cut through your northern territories here? Are they not safe?"

                                            >"Those territories are not technically ours. They are the domain of Princess Cadance. The Crystal Empire has been semi-autonomous for a decade, and one of their wishes is that Equestria doesn't direct trade or transit routes through their territory without their permission."

                                            "Surely this, Princess Cadance, would see reason in our request? We're sending merchants, not armies."

                                            >"I'm certain she would, but that would require her consent. She would need to meet with you as well. I am sure she would be open to the possibility of a trilateral agreement. Would you like me to send for her?"

                                            "I'd appreciate it. How soon can she arrive?"

                                            >"Three days by rail. We can accommodate you until she does, if that would please you?"

                                            >One of your guards shifts his feet. A small gesture, but you understand his discomfort.

                                            >This is a foreign land, far from home, that humans have never visited. The balmy weather this far past Mount Everhoof is uncomfortable enough, and a petty part of you regrets wearing your ornamental greatcoat. A pettier part yearns for the icy winds of Felstrum, where such a garment would be of use.

                                            >Your eyes and a finger trace what she called the "rail line" up to the so-called Crystal Empire.

                                            "I could always visit her myself..." you mutter.

                                            >"I'd advise against that. Far easier for all parties to convene in Canterlot."

                                            >You lean back in the chair and scratch your groomed beard, pondering. You've already made your mind up, but appearances are everything in negotiation.

                                            "Then we'll acquiesce. Thank you for your hospitality, Princess."

                                            >"It's my greatest pleasure, I assure you."

                                            >Her smile is radiant, and you find yourself wondering how they all manage to get their teeth so white.

                                            >You can't imagine a regular, non-magical pony using a toothbrush, so perhaps an illusion? This land is full of them.

                                            >Her attention switches to a piece of parchment, nonchalantly materialised before her with a mere shimmer from her horn, and an enchanted quill dances in precise lunges and stabs across the page.

                                            >Your hand finds the pendant hanging around your neck as you watch, and you nurse it between a finger and thumb whilst the pony writes.

                                            >You'd gone forty years having never seen a single one of these creatures, only to find yourself in the heart of their civilisation within weeks.

                                            >By nature humans are insular, an isolated people.

                                            >But needs must, and the worsening blight at home demands diplomats such as you to go farther afield in search of aid.

                                            >Reaching out to the Princess was realistically the easiest assignment.

                                            >Before you left, you'd heard whispers of a colleague being sent to parley with the Queen of the Dogs. You don't envy him in the slightest. You hope it was a man, at least. A woman wouldn't stand a chance, not with the Queen's... tastes.

                                            >You settle in your chair and reflect Celestia's cheer back at her.

                                            >You can tolerate the warmer climate, there's less chance of it end with your head on a post.


                                            *


                                            >"A productive day, all told. But I must say, it's been... centuries, since I last saw a human. Most ponies don't even know you all exist up there. Is the Tower of Grainfast still standing?"

                                            >Celestia saunters away from a decanter set atop a chest of drawers, two glasses floating in a glittering cloud.

                                            >You accept one gingerly, taking private discomfort in the way her magic tingles your fingers as you graze it. Your hand leaves the field faster than it entered it.

                                            "You know of Grainfast?" She nods. "Well, there -is- a tower on the highest peak of the Dire Range, The King's Sword, we call it, though we know the name of its builder. It's mostly crumbled to nothing. Did you know Grainfast?"

                                            >She swirls her drink in its glass and hums, taking clear pleasure in recollecting old memories. How old, you wonder.

                                            >"Of course. He was an explorer-scholar from the plains that would later become Trottingham. Interested in stars, that's why he packed his things one day and headed to the roof of the world, I want to say, nine-hundred years ago now."

                                            >Your brow furrows, and the furrow grows as she speaks, until:

                                            "He was a -pony-?"

                                            >"A cantankerous one, but yes. What did you think he was?"

                                            >You feel your cheeks warm and sip the drink -- some sort of bourbon -- gratefully.

                                            "Our historians suppose he was human."

                                            >Her expression hints at sympathy, but remains mostly placid.

                                            >"He almost certainly had human helpers in constructing the tower, not that I ever knew for certain, but no, Grainfast was a pony. Pegasus, actually. Quite rare to have a pegasus so taken with astronomy in those days."

                                            >She settles onto a cushion, or a mass of them, near you.

                                            >"And what about you, Anonymous. What are -you- interested in?"

                                            "Furthering the well-being of my people. I serve Humanity," you say with a reverent bow of the head.

                                            >She snorts. You look up, perturbed, to find her quite blatantly laughing at you, and she only calms when she sees your expression.

                                            >"Oh, Anonymous, come off it. We're alone, aren't we? The diplomat role is fine and well in front of the guards, but it's just the two of us. Haven't you ever had a drink with a negotiating partner before?"

                                            >Your previous negotiating partners all tended to be more feral, and chiefly concerned with sabotaging any talks so they could return to goring your countrymen.

                                            "I... apologise, your Highness, but it seems improper to be so informal. I am here on urgent business."

                                            >"We're all engaged with urgent business, but that doesn't mean we can't take a moment to unwind every now and again."

                                            >The decanter floats from the drawers and past your head. It clinks, the only sound in the plush, dark-oak and burgundy lounge.

                                            >"Please: drink, relax, forget your troubles at home for a while."

                                            >You hesitate, but it's her easy smile and reclination that win you over, and you throw back your drink, emptying the glass.

                                            >It has a good burn. It's a far cry from the spirits miners use to keep themselves going in the deep places, but it's nuttier to compensate.

                                            "Very well, let's have at it, then."

                                            >Celestia fixates on you, and her face creases into its biggest smile yet, her cheeks rising to meet her eyes.

                                            >"A drinker, are you?" The enchanted decanter fills your glass again, though you lean back a bit from it, lest the magic graze you again. "We'll have to tend to that."


                                            *


                                            >Argus and Paisley, your chosen guards, sit quietly on their beds.

                                            >Far from the royal suite on high you've been granted for your stay, they are sequestered at the base of the tower and its three-hundred steps to the top.

                                            >Though amidst the flagrant displays of Equestrian wealth beyond the grey stone walls, you think they prefer the more familiar barracks setting.

                                            >There are pony guards across the way, but the bunk room's door is shut for prying eyes, though you can't speak for ears, not knowing a pony's earshot the same way you can guess a dog's.

                                            >"Few days then, sir?" says Argus.

                                            "Seems that way," you say, having finished your account.

                                            >"And were the drink as good as it smells?" Paisley adds with a grin.

                                            >You clear your throat into a fist, and the two of them chuckle as old friends do.

                                            "Quite good, Paisley. Nutty. But that leads me to my next point."

                                            >You glance again at the door, and the two halberdiers lose their smiles, leaning forwards.

                                            "Don't get distracted," you say in a low voice. "The drink I was offered was mild compared to what we're used to, so you can drink a fair bit of it before getting a buzz, but don't let them sideline you with baubles or gifts. We're here on a diplomatic mission, farther than any human's been for centuries. We're on our own down here, and only have each other. We have no friends outside this room."

                                            >"They won't get to us, sir," Argus says in his broad tone. "We've been sizing up them guards of hers all day. We could take 'em, me an' Paiz. Already got a tactic if push comes to stab."

                                            >"They've been givin' as good as they got though, I'll say that," says Paisley. "Reckon they're Celestia's guards for a reason. Good at glarin', s'what I mean."

                                            "Is that your measure of a soldier's worth? How hard they can glare?"

                                            >Argus puffs out his cheeks and rubs his beard.

                                            >"Oh, you don't dismiss a good glare, sir. Takes training and experience, that. Took me decades to get mine right."

                                            "Then as long as you all stick to glaring, we should be on our way back northward in a few days. Just until this 'Cadance' gets here, if she even exists."

                                            >"You think it's a trick, sir?" Paisley says. "Couldn't get a read on Celestia, pokerface like Ratty back home, she has. Seemed genuine, though."

                                            "Suspect -everything-, my good man. This place gets under my skin."

                                            >Your hand finds your pendant. Unspoken, the other two touch theirs.

                                            >"Don't you worry, sir," Argus says, nodding. "We got you outta Granite Depths, didn't we? Buncha oversized kids' toys aren't gonna stop us."

                                            >Paisley sniffs and bobs his head.

                                            >"They do smell nice, though."

                                            "Paisley," you warn.

                                            >"Just sayin'," he shrugs. "Smell like... summat familiar. Like I've smelled it before. Summat old, like a memory."

                                            >He shrugs again. "Just sayin'."


                                            *


                                            >When morning breaks, you rise in time to see Celestia grasp the sun, and for a moment your heart is in your mouth.

                                            >You stagger back from the balcony hanging off your tower-room, and your fist clenches your pendant.

                                            >The pony stares unblinking at the golden horizon, her horn thrumming with unknowable power.

                                            >She stands not far below from you, on a balcony of her own, and at first doesn't seem to notice you, but when the sun has crested the lip of the earth she turns her head to grin straight up at you.

                                            >It drives a cold spike through your chest.

                                            >The pony beats her wings once and launches herself to your tower.

                                            >You stumble farther back into the room, the backs of your knees meeting your bed as she lands neatly on the balcony, ruffling her wings before settling them.

                                            >"Good morning, Anonymous. Well? What do you think?"

                                            >You must look a frightful state, for her mood evaporates.

                                            "A coincidence, it must have been--"

                                            >Your words fail you. Your knuckles are white and the pointed metal of the pendant bites defiantly into your skin. There is a wetness in your palm.

                                            >Celestia's mirthless gaze trails between your hand and your ashen face.

                                            >"Have humans truly forgotten that ponies are the stewards of the sun?"

                                            >She shakes her head, her expression troubled.

                                            >"It was only a matter of time," she mutters, and you only just hear her.

                                            >She steps forward. "Ages pass so quickly, but knowledge that is neglected across generations is easily lost, and you seem to have lost much."

                                            "But how?"

                                            >"It is only magic. I can tell you've not forgotten -that- much," she nods at your trembling fist. "Does it hurt?"

                                            "What," you gasp.

                                            >You're alarmed by your own fear; your legs tremble and your forehead, armpits and cheeks are burning. How is it that you're so unsettled? You, previously unmoved by the most rabid dog warlords condemning your people.

                                            >But why wouldn't you be? Here you're isolated, surrounded by an alien people not contacted by humans for centuries. Their customs are foreign, their magic used openly and flagrantly, a stark comparison to the conservative uses of the court magi.

                                            >Celestia steps into the room proper, her movements gentle, and her power uncurls your fist with a delicacy at odds with its evident might.

                                            >A sigh leaves her as she does, and she looks at the crimson-daubed golden pendant.

                                            >She seems less interested in it than your hand, and with a flourish of light the punctured skin of your palm mends.

                                            >Celestia settles beside you on the bed.

                                            >She watches you for a moment, gradually tracing shapes over your creased face.

                                            >"I think it's time Humanity rejoined the world, Anonymous. Much has changed in the centuries you've been left alone up there. I..." she bites her tongue.

                                            "We aren't alone," you shuffle away from her. "We are ever at war with the Dogs and the creatures of the deep."

                                            >In another action that defies her pristine decorum, she rolls her eyes.

                                            >"Find me a single nation on this planet that -isn't- at war with the Dogs. Dogs, or the Griffon diaspora, or changeling hives, or whatever hellish things are crawling around under the surface this week. Equestria is a peaceful nation, but we have our fair share of incursions every now and again."

                                            "Humanity is vigilant."

                                            >"No. -Equestria- is vigilant. Humanity is -stagnant-. I look at you and I see a man of... thirty?"

                                            "Forty."

                                            >"Still, so young, and you look twice your age." She wets her lips and considers herself before speaking in a more intimate tone. "It pains me that you're so ignorant of the past."

                                            "Our historians are well-practised at--"

                                            >"You don't know about -us-, Anonymous. -That- is what pains me." Her wings ruffle. "Humans and ponies once did far more than trade, once upon a time. We lived in proximity. It wasn't uncommon to see humans living with ponies, and vice versa."

                                            "Long ago enough that our records bear no mention of it. As far as we know, humans have always lived in the north."

                                            >She nods, a distant look about her.

                                            >"It was a -very- long time ago. We were divided during the reign of Discord, and it wasn't the same after that."

                                            >She places a hoof on your leg. You jump, but remain seated.

                                            >"Our peoples were close. I was... friends... with a few men," she offers a smile. "Imagine how pleased I am to see men once more walking among ponies."

                                            >The Princess shifts a bit closer.

                                            >"I remember a time of stallions befriending women, and mares befriending men. We were united in... friendship."

                                            >She says the last word with a vague smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

                                            "Then let's hope this trade agreement is the first step to mending the torn fabric we once shared," you say, trying both to bring her around to the purpose of your visit and to end the frankly uncomfortable conversation.

                                            >Celestia blinks, and rises with a laugh.

                                            >"Of course, of course. We'll all be friends again, soon enough. I wanted you to know I've had a response from Princess Cadance: she'll be arriving by Thursday, and we can continue the discussions properly then."

                                            "Excellent. Thank you for contacting her." You look around at your room and nod. "My men will be comfortable here. I've spoken with them, and they won't be a nuisance."

                                            >Celestia grins.

                                            >"I assure you, they'll be taken care of -very- well." Her nostrils flare. She steps closer, and they flare again. "Now, when was the last time you had a bath?"


                                            *


                                            >The personal bathhouse of the Princesses is more opulent than anything in any of the great houses you knew growing up.

                                            >The taps are gold-plated, the floor fashioned of hewn, polished marble, and a lilac smell lingers in the air.

                                            >Celestia leads you through the doors and you look around, admittedly dumbfounded.

                                            >For a moment, you again forget your diplomat's training, and stare slackjawed at the naked wealth on display around you.

                                            >Only when the mental phantasm of your teacher-scholar Ignatious bellows at you to pick your jaw off the ground and "Act like a God-damn human instead of an animal," do you collect yourself.

                                            >Unfortunately, Celestia sees you doing so and laughs in her good-natured way.

                                            >"They are relatively new, and Luna had the same reaction when she first returned from the moon, if that's of any consolation."

                                            >You nod, only to find yourself with a new problem, and your most delicate one since coming to Equestria.

                                            >Celestia removes her regalia with magic and strides bare down the steps and into the pool.

                                            >The waters embrace her, and she remains submerged for a few seconds before bursting free and tossing her head.

                                            >"It's warm, I promise! It should remind you of the hot springs I remember there being north. Have you ever bathed in one?"

                                            "Once or... twice. I apologise, your Highness, I hadn't thought we were actually bathing."

                                            >"You ought to pay closer attention, then, Anonymous. I -did- say I would be taking one."

                                            "I thought it..."

                                            >You could explain yourself, but your opening words sounded petulant even to you. In that instant, you think, of all things, of Dogs.

                                            >Specifically the Bitch-Queen, Regulda. How has your rumoured diplomatic comrade fared with her? You doubt there will be any baths in the subterranean lairs of the Spinebacks, let alone Princesses inviting him to bathe with them.

                                            >You grimace, stiffen your upper-lip, and remove your coat.

                                            >As you fiddle with one of your many belts and a few dozen buttons, you curse the seamstress that put this ensemble together.

                                            >Fashionable it may be for the diplomatic caste, it's a terrible bother to remove in a haste.

                                            >Though your thoughts are hyper-focused on such trivialities only because Celestia is watching you from the water.

                                            >She makes no remarks, not even a giggle.

                                            >She simply watches with a uniquely intense look as you discard your undershirt and britches.

                                            >You pause momentarily before pulling off the last article, your underwear, taking the subtlest deep breath and remembering the hateful expression of Ignatious, spectrally judging your no-doubt "Fucking lacklustre performance, lad."

                                            >With less grace than you'd hoped, you descend into the bath and find yourself face-to-face with the ruler of Equestria.

                                            >She hums and drifts closer to you.

                                            >With her wings settled on her back, she looks alarmingly close to a swan, and you unconsciously fear being pecked at for a moment.

                                            >"See? The water's fine."

                                            "It's enchanting, Princess, thank you. Will Princess Luna be joining us?"

                                            >Celestia's eyes widen imperceptibly. Had you not been stood so close, you doubt you would have noticed.

                                            >"She'll... be asleep at this hour, I'm afraid."

                                            "Just us, then."

                                            >She comes closer still, and your foot drifts backwards, but you stop yourself. Again you must force your mind to interpret this rationally.

                                            >You have been brought into a bathhouse, convinced into nakedness, and now stare into the eyes of your negotiating competitor. You've never seen these sorts of psychological games be played before, but you like to think you're a quick learner.

                                            >The wiser men at home may have stories of this sort themselves, where unorthodox tactics were employed to keep them off balance.

                                            >Perhaps this is how pacifist Equestria undermines their rivals.

                                            >You'll not be caught unawares, and so you stand firm and even lean forward, pressing the initiative.

                                            >Celestia's expression becomes more attentive as you do, her lips curling.

                                            "You'll have to forgive me, I don't make a habit of washing around others."

                                            >"We can help one another. I will have need of those hands shortly."

                                            >You nod, judging the small of her back to be a no-doubt impossible place to reach for a quadruped, although, with her magic...

                                            >"There are brushes poolside, and coat shampoo, if you would..."

                                            >She turns her side to you and waits expectantly, one eye looking back through her aurora mane.

                                            >Ignatious' craggy face fills your mind as you wade through the hip-high pool to the edge.

                                            >"When in doubt, confidence, boy," he growls. He was more dog than man. "Don't know what you're doing? Act like you do. That's the diplomat's way. Don't even dare let 'em see weakness, or they'll eat you alive out there."

                                            >You very much doubt Celestia would eat any part of you, though an unexpected and unwanted idea of her chewing your fingers off with those broad, flat teeth passes your mind's eye momentarily.

                                            >There is a moment where you stand dumbly at her side, brush and shampoo bottle in one hand, and your un-nibbled fingers resting against the coat of the mare before you.

                                            >"I won't bite," she offers, and seems to take joy in your pale expression.

                                            >She hums as you lather her coat and drag the brush back, staying with the grain. You're reminded of your family's huskies, and pretend you're grooming one, though stop short of muttering "Good girl" to yourself.

                                            >The Princess sighs as your fingers work into her coat in concert with the brush, and murmurs things under her breath you don't pick up on.

                                            >Her dock rises and lazily flicks, the magical hair of her tail proper lashing water across the pool behind her.

                                            >"Wonderful work, Anonymous. This must come naturally to you, though I expected as much. Very well done... it's been far too long."

                                            "You've bathed with humans before?"

                                            >"An aeon ago. It seems grooming is a racial talent amongst your kind."

                                            >She leans her weight closer to you, and her flank comes to stop against your leg, her tail rising again.

                                            >You think nothing of it beyond another possible attempt to throw you off and get inside your mind, so you diligently groom her, ignoring her hums and soft coos, until at last you stand back.

                                            >Her head is drooping low, lips almost touching the water, eyes closed gently in a look to total serenity.

                                            >"Oh, I've been a fool," she whispers, and you spend the next minute silently trying to unpick that statement.

                                            "I think that ought to do it."

                                            >Her eyes snap open and head jerks up to see you standing back from her, rinsing the brush off in the water.

                                            >"What-- Oh, I see. I apologise, I'd lost track of the time. Shall I... do you?"

                                            "Don't trouble yourself, your Highness, humans don't require much upkeep."

                                            >You promptly dunk your head under the water, then lather your hands with shampoo and work it into your scalp and under your arms, roughly scrubbing away at yourself as the Princess stares.

                                            >In under half a minute you dunk yourself again, and regard a nearby fogged mirror with a satisfied smile.

                                            "That'll do, I think."

                                            >You glance at Celestia, and you could almost say she looks disappointed.


                                            *


                                            >You stand in the barracks doorway, unnerved at what you see.

                                            >The equipment and most of the uniforms of your halberdiers lie in neat piles atop immaculate bedding, but the men themselves are absent.

                                            >They've been absent for a day, and a growing knot in your stomach suggests treachery.

                                            >The palace staff, and their celestial ruler, insist the men are out enjoying the pleasures of Canterlot. You would like to believe them, but wiser men might call that naivete.

                                            >Each time you consider foul play, the cherubic images of a bathing Celestia grace your thoughts. It will disarm you for a spell, but you then become wary of your own mind. Were the night-time drinks planned? The bathing? Have you been lured into a false sense of security?

                                            >The sunlit valleys beyond these walls are as alien to you as the Red Reef Sea. It's easy to view them as foreign, and thus dangerous.

                                            >Surely not, you think. But then, -why- not? You three men are alone in an equine ocean, who would sail to your aid if you sank?

                                            >You touch your pendant and whisper a prayer.


                                            *


                                            >For the third time in as many days you dine with Celestia.

                                            >Although, you are alone now. There are no guards, neither your own, nor Celestia's.

                                            >"Have your men returned?" She says as she cuts into a piece of fish, something you were surprised to see on an equine plate, but it is apparently a delicacy she's grown a taste for.

                                            "No. I've not seen them since last night."

                                            >"They will be safe in Canterlot. It's a charming city, there are no criminals to worry about."

                                            "Criminals are the least of their concerns. They can hold their own against gutter-dwellers."

                                            >She smirks in her own little way and chances a bit of wine.

                                            >"I'm sure. What of you? Any combat experience?"

                                            "Aha, not as experienced as my men. I'm more a talker than a fighter."

                                            >"With a body like yours I'm surprised you haven't given a sword a few swings. I imagine you could hack it, so to speak."

                                            >You can't help but quirk an eyebrow.

                                            "A body like mine?"

                                            >Her gaze drops to your chest and lazily, openly, traces your contours.

                                            >"You keep yourself in good shape. I imagine that's the mountains you come from; all that trekking up and down the slopes."

                                            "Yes, the fjords keep us hardened, especially the winters."

                                            >"Have you never thought of moving south? Your people might find the warmer climate more appealing. They did, once."

                                            >You consider this, or more consider the cucumber impaled on the end of your fork, and frown.

                                            "Humans live for the fjords. We wouldn't do well anywhere else. No, no, the roof of the world is our only home."

                                            >Celestia grows her own frown and sets down her cutlery, leaning forward.

                                            >"Now, that's not true at all, Anonymous. Have I not said humans and ponies once lived as neighbours?"

                                            "But that was an era ago."

                                            >"Yet it was still the case. We lived together for longer than we have lived apart."

                                            "It would be too great a change."

                                            >"It would solve your food problem."

                                            "But where would we settle?"

                                            >"Here, in Equestria."

                                            >Your mask drops and you regard her bemusedly.

                                            "In--"

                                            >"Your people would be invited to live amongst us. Why not? We did it before, and we can do it again. I am old enough to remember the r-- friendships we once forged together. It wouldn't be right to deny the mares-- and stallions, too, of course, of Equestria man's gentle touch, especially after you've all been gone for so long."

                                            >She sits up, striking you with a level gaze of unexpected sincerity.

                                            >"Anonymous, I have thought about this since I first received your letter wishing for aid. I would like to forgo a trade agreement in favour of integration. Bring your people to Equestria, you yourself may even live here in Canterlot, if you wish."

                                            >You find yourself shaking your head.

                                            "Logistics, Celestia, it's too many people to move all at once--"

                                            >"We would help you move."

                                            "My wife..."

                                            >Celestia snorts. You narrow your eyes.

                                            >"Yes, I supposed that would be an issue... She will warm to Equestria once she is here. You especially, I think, will warm to it."

                                            >You lean back in your chair, putting distance between you and her insistence.

                                            "And why do you think that, Princess?"

                                            >"Come now, haven't you enjoyed your time here? The drink, the company, the bathing. Does the food not taste perfect? Do you not find ponies appealing?"

                                            "It... has, but I fail to see--"

                                            >"When you were brushing my coat, did that not feel natural?"

                                            >You hold her level gaze, and carefully comb over recent memories.

                                            >It was like brushing a dog, nothing more. You don't know how the Princess interpreted it, but to you it was only as remarkable as caressing the head of a cherished mutt. Something warm, old... familiar.

                                            >A notion stirs. You crush it before it can take root.

                                            "You are a hospitable people, it is true. But I came here to discuss aid for my people, if we cannot come to an agreement on that front, then my men and I will leave tonight. I see no point in wasting more time."

                                            >"Did you not find it strange that I was so eager to meet you in person?"

                                            >A moment of silence stretches between you.

                                            >"That the ruler of Equestria would be so keen to meet a diplomat from a reclusive, warlike species?"

                                            "It... didn't occur to me that anything was out of the ordinary."

                                            >"I have been waiting for Humanity to make contact for nearly a thousand years. I never extended a hoof myself for fear of what I might find up there, for all I knew, Discord could have corrupted your whole species as he did to the Amphibos, but to know that you're alive and well and seeking aid?"

                                            >She polishes off the rest of her wine glass and licks her lips.

                                            >"Anonymous. An era go, humans and ponies were, joined at the hip," she says with a smirk. "Ponies were the gentle keeper of the land, and humans were our zealous protectors. Humans tended to our borders, and we tended to our... humans."

                                            >A shiver passes through her from tip to tail.

                                            >"Did you not feel it in the bath? The ancient call of our more primal habits? Mares and men would often bathe together, lie together. Stallions and women also. Ours is a shared history, torn in two by Discord," she spits the name, "and never repaired once the chaos was done. We must mend it. For the sake of our peoples, we -must-."

                                            "Princess Celestia, I don't know what in the Hells you're talking about, but I must ask that you stop."

                                            >She clamps her mouth shut and regards you with a mixture of hurt and anger.

                                            >"Do you not understand? We were -made- for each other. Ours was the ultimate expression of natural symbiosis. Two species, wholly different, uniting to assist one another. Together, we were indomitable, that's why Discord tore us apart!"

                                            >She stands.

                                            >"There will be no trade agreement. You must return to your king and inform him that our peoples are to be joined again, I must have it!"

                                            "...You?"

                                            >"We! Ponies, I--"

                                            >She shivers again and refills her wine glass, draining the whole thing as soon as she's finished pouring, but still she trembles.

                                            >Her composure evaporates before your very eyes, and your inner diplomat would be cheering your hollow victory if you weren't suddenly so aware of your own danger.

                                            >"D-Damn it," she gasps. "Damn it all to Tartarus, it's been too long, I can't stand it!"

                                            >The table launches to the side, its contents crashing to the floor in an unholy racket, and the pony rushes you.

                                            >Your heart lurches once, and your fist clenches over your pendant on instinct.

                                            "Shield me!" you bellow as Celestia bears down on you.

                                            >She yelps and flinches away, for a torrent of white magic explodes from everywhere around to blanket you.

                                            >A dome-shield forms, the rare display something you've only seen a few times in your life, and you release the breath you were holding as Celestia stops before the barrier.

                                            >She glares at you through the translucent veil. Argus' words echo in your mind, and now you understand him. You swallow the lump in your throat at the intent you see in those eyes.

                                            >The pony's eyes trail away from yours and down your front. They settle on your fist.

                                            >You withdraw it, revealing your golden oak-tree pendant glittering with arcane force.

                                            "As-- as a diplomat, I am protected by the Ward of Sanctuary. It is custom for all diplomats to be protected such, so that no harm may come to them."

                                            >Celestia doesn't back away. She doesn't stand down, nor does she show any sign of regaining her sanity.

                                            >Instead, she merely taps the barrier once, her horn glitters, and she smiles.

                                            >"I'm pleased to see that you're still making use of this one."

                                            "The Ward is a primordial magic, you can't abuse--"

                                            >You stop. Celestia has thrown back her head and is laughing again.

                                            >"Primordial! Primordial! There really is no excuse for humanity to be hidden away anymore. You've forgotten everything worth knowing! You've forgotten your magic, your history, and your -mares-."

                                            >You take a few steps back, the shield flowing with you, keeping pace, but so does Celestia.

                                            >"The Ward was created to protect diplomats, that is indeed true, and it is still being used today, also correct."

                                            >She leans close, her snout almost touching the energy.

                                            >"And who do you think -created- the Ward, Anonymous?"

                                            >You can only stare.

                                            >And continue to do so, as Celestia's horn sings, and the pendant around your neck trembles.

                                            >In a flash of heat that has you yelling and pressing a fresh burn on the skin of your neck, the pendant and the chain it sits on shatters into a hundred white-hot pieces.

                                            >The veil corrodes, rapidly growing spots in its pristine surface expanding to gaping holes.

                                            >Soon it dissipates entirely, and Celestia proceeds forwards, and you backwards.

                                            >"-I- created the Ward to be the new diplomatic norm, to encourage dialogue between nations."

                                            >Then, she is on you. She wrestles you to the ground with her magic, and your efforts, the efforts of a man self-described as a talker, not a fighter, are useless in the face of this foreign overlord of the sun itself.

                                            >She stands over you, looking down in triumph at her prize, and always, always trembling.

                                            >Her tail is flagged and her eyes are wider than they've yet been, focused solely on you.

                                            >"I created it, little man. Which means I know how to break it."

                                            "Please-- please, whatever you want, I'm sure we can come to an agreement."

                                            >"We'll definitely be coming, you can be sure of that. It's been too long, Anonymous. I've not had the touch of a man for far too long."

                                            "But my wife, I'm faithful to--"

                                            >"No human man was ever faithful to his wife after lying with a mare. Neither was a human woman faithful to her husband after lying with a stallion. That's just the way things were."

                                            >She slumps to the ground, on top of you, sandwiching you between her heft and the cold stone floor.

                                            >"And as the sun is my witness, I -will- resurrect the old ways. Sending me that letter was greatest thing you ever did for mankind."


                                            *


                                            >King Alistaire the Second listens to your report with rapt interest.

                                            >"And they wish to invite us in? Truly, just like that? What about the trade agreement for the food? Did they not want our deep metal?"

                                            "There is plentiful food in Equestria, enough to feed our people, if we would only make the journey, which they will assist us with. Celestia stands ready to spare every resource she can to help as many men reach Equestria as she can. Fate wills it."

                                            >Alistaire leans back on his throne. He drums two fingers over his lips, deep in thought.

                                            >Finally, he sits up again and addresses the men stood beside you.

                                            >"And you two, Argus, and Paisley. What did you make of Equestria?"

                                            >Argus and Paisley, your halberdiers, who haven't managed to fully wipe the dreamy smiles off their faces since they got back from Equestria, and Celestia's guards, glance at each other.

                                            >Argus clears his throat, still smiling.

                                            >"S'like a dream down there, my lord. Paradise. Everything a man could want..."

                                            >"And a woman too, I hope, halberdier. As I understand, you have a wife and child to worry about. Will they be willing to make the journey south?"

                                            >"Huh? Oh, her, yeah, she'll be fine too."

                                            >King Alistaire settles back in his throne and muses for another moment.

                                            >You stay stood as still as you can. Your pelvis still hurts, despite the journey back having taken two weeks.

                                            >"Perhaps it -is- time to rejoin the world. There is only so much the fjords can offer us... At the very least, it'll be good to give the Dogs a break. We could always sail back up the Brinmouth and give them all a bloody good thrashing when we get bored of the good life in the south, eh, boys?"

                                            >He laughs, and his court laughs with him.

                                            >Alistaire nods.

                                            >"Yes, I think we shall take this... 'Celestia's', offer. Anonymous, return to Equestria and deliver the good Princess my word that we shall make the journey in one month's time."

                                            >You tense up.

                                            "R--return, lord?"

                                            >"Yes. That won't be a problem, will it?"

                                            >Your muscles scream in silent protest, and your crotch tingles fearfully.

                                            >A hand clasps your shoulder.

                                            >"Not to worry, my lord," Paisley says with a boyish grin, "we'll get him back there quick as you like."

                                            >"Good man," says Alistaire. He smiles at you, then frowns. "For heaven's sake Anon, you don't need to look quite so shaken, it's only a quick messenger run. Not like it's a conjugal visit, right, boys?"

                                            >He laughs.

                                            >His court laughs with him.

                                            >You laugh weakly, and in your mind you can ear the screams, pants, and bestial demands for "More" and "Harder" as loudly and vividly as though they were still happening.

                                            >Your knees go weak. Paisley grips your upper-arm in a vice-grip to keep you steady.

                                            "Thank you, King Alistaire. This will be for the betterment of... of both our peoples."