This chapter contains at least two moral lessons, so that's double what we would normally get from a MLP episode. Also, while you're looking for those, Waldo is hiding in the background. Find him and you win a prize!

Celestia strolled through her private gardens, Bucephalus in tow and Cecil tagging along at her left, jogging to keep up with the long strides of the larger horses. Bucephalus was a storm cloud of indignation, the white scar on his black head like a lightning bolt of betrayed anger. He had said nothing since the moment Celestia had adjourned the court and asked him to come with her, and for the time being Celestia was enjoying the quiet. She often came here for peace and for opportunities of clear thinking, and typically the grounds would be closed to visitors while she took her walks. She was not about to spoil the sanctity of the moment by trying to argue with an irritable war horse.

The small group found their way to a pond in the center of the garden. Mallards paddled about lazily on the surface, occasionally dipping their heads under water to scuttle for food or to do whatever it is mallards do. Celestia found them adorable, and she looked forward to the seasons when the waterfowls would have ducklings to follow them around in lines. Bucephalus, personally, would have liked to believe they were trying to drown themselves, and he figured they'd succeed, too, if not thwarted by their malevolent buoyancy. Cecil attempted to reach out and pat one on the head, but it shrank beneath his hoof and nervously kicked its way to safety.

"Well, what do you think, Cecil?" Celesita asked.

Bucephalus glared at his princess. Cecil stared back at her for a second to make sure that he was the one definitely being addressed. "Oh, well, I think that the mood of thoughtful about the future and almost pensive turned out to be a very good mood today," he said.

Celestia gently laid her eyes upon Bucephalus. He had her most fluttering and indifferent of attentions.

"I think we have about a fifty percent likelihood of survival," he remarked.

She looked at him more directly now. "Really," she stated in disbelief. What on earth was he sulking about?

Bucephalus cocked an eyebrow at Celestia. He didn't like being second-guessed. "My goddess," he began.

Celestia turned her head from him. "My general," she interjected, "I'd be cautious about your tone. Historically speaking, wartime is when it is most likely that a high-ranking officer should lose his job."

Bucephalus sighed, then briefly ducked his head in a cordial manner. "My Lady Celestia," he continued, "Before an army commits itself to war, the general has to know two things: itself and its enemy. All I know is our own army! I can only plan half of any battle!"

Celestia glanced back to the war horse again. Her eyes informed him that he was on probation.

"I'd like to impose a draft," he said.

Celestia groaned. Bucephalus shook his head and stamped his hooves on the ground. "Aren't you taking this seriously?" he demanded. "One way or the other we're going to war!"

"I haven't made that decision yet," Celestia replied, calmly.

Bucephalus began to pace up and down the bank of the pond. He did this two or three times before stopping. "The fact is," he snarled.

He waited, took a breath, and began again, this time calmer. "The fact is," he said, "That the decision has been made for us. Even if we hold out hope for the best, we still need to prepare for the worst."

From the corner of her eye Celestia watched him. The tips of her mouth turned to a vague, modest smile. "General," she said serenely, "We have been presented with two options. The first of which is that we assist Nyarlathotep in a conflict we know nothing about. The second is that we defend ourselves from Nyarlathotep, who we also know almost nothing about."

"So you can see-" Bucephalus tried.

"I can see," Celestia went on, "That both of these options have been presented to us by Lord Hastur, and by extension Nyarlathotep. They're naturally weighted so that the most preferable route is the one where we send him assistance. However," she waved her head haughtily about, "I haven't presented us with any options yet. I still need to draw my hand from the deck."

Bucephalus grunted. He didn't seem to know quite what he should say to this.

"I agree with Lady Celestia," Cecil piped, quite certain of his stance on things. He was just happy to be here. The prime minister's job is to help mediate conflicts.

Bucephalus thought something the temperature of liquid nitrogen about Cecil and his opinions at that moment. "Still," Bucephalus said, "I feel that it wasn't the best idea to send the dragon diplomat away with the duke. There are a lot of questions that need answering, and this will only put a hold on things!"

Celestia placed a hoof beneath her chin and gazed expectantly at the war horse. "Don't you think the diplomat is odd?" she asked, conversationally.

Bucephalus balked. "Yes!" he cried.

"I think he's odd," Cecil, added.

"Well what do you think he's here to do?" Celestia asked.

"I-" Bucephalus stuttered, "He's here to coerce us into joining a war!"

Celestia shook her head. "I'll be honest," she said, "I'm not entirely sure what is going on."

"Yes," breathed Cecil. He was completely on the same track as Celestia, here!

"I'll tell you a story," Celestia continued. "Only about a century ago there was a con pony on the loose who went by the nickname 'Marigold Foal.'"

Bucephalus sighed. "Is this going to be a long one, milady?" he asked.

"Only if you interrupt!" Celestia snapped, and then she began.

The Marigold Foal was a pony notorious for brilliant and sometimes elaborate schemes that often claimed millions from wealthy aristocrats. Celestia's people chased him for years without gaining any ground, typically due to the methods he used to make his living. He would leave his targets feeling foolish, and if not that, they were sucked into plots that were illegal and thus couldn't be taken to the proper authorities. As a result, even when Marigold struck somewhere and came away with outrageous sums of money, it would go unreported.

He would sell fake counterfeiting machines to otherwise honest ponies, would trick ponies into handing money over to him to bet on supposedly fixed races, or would even convince them to invest money into nonexistent businesses he claimed to have insider information on. On some occasions, he had the audacity to rent old banks or gambling lodges that had been shut down, and he would use them as a front to run scams. In these cases, ponies would deliver money right into his hooves, thinking they were dropping off their wealth at an honest establishment, only to find the entire place abandoned the next day.

One particular example stood out in Celestia's mind, when Marigold set up a trick with so many layers that nobody figured out what he had done until he himself revealed it. As it started, Marigold spent some time studying a retired tycoon by the name of Sprinkles. Sprinkles had settled down on his millions and was living off of interest and various royalties that were still paying dividends into his old age. However, having worked all his life to amass his fortune, Sprinkles found he was missing the excitement and stress of business dealing. He felt old and out of the game; everything was coming too naturally, and Sprinkles wanted a little excitement back in his life!

Enter Marigold, who had recently introduced himself and made friends with one of Sprinkles' butlers. Marigold, seemingly unaware that the butler was working for a pony of any monetary pull, remarked to his new friend that he knew of a beautiful mansion on sale for next to nothing, but Marigold wasn't sure where he might find a buyer with enough money to want the place. As low as the cost was, Marigold admitted, the down payment was still well beyond what the common working pony could afford, and Marigold only knew of the mansion because his uncle was one of the accountants involved in putting the place up for sale.

Marigold explained that the cheap price was a vengeance being perpetrated by his uncle. His employers treated him and all of his uncle's co-workers with disdain, and they worked them like slaves for very little pay. How fortunate for his uncle, then, to find the job of selling his employers' old property falling into his lap! Marigold's uncle thought he might be able to toss the property for a third of what it was worth, and then the buyer could turn around and resell everything at a more competitive rate. His uncle hoped he might get cut in on the profits from the new sale, and to this end the uncle had contacted Marigold to see if he would help out.

The butler, after being promised a small part of the money, agreed to set up a meeting with Sprinkles as soon as possible. Sprinkles, taken in by the story, agreed to meet Marigold, and soon he was caught on the hook. Marigold was a vivacious and congenial individual, Sprinkles believed, but fundamentally Marigold seemed to be an honest country colt. At last, Sprinkles agreed to help with the deal – his blood was running again with the hopeful joy of making fresh cash, discretion completely blinded by the fantasy of tomorrow.

Marigold introduced Sprinkles to his uncle, but also to another individual: a prize fighting pony that Marigold was managing. Marigold was a fight promoter, Marigold explained, and as long as they were taking a long trip he wanted to make sure his fighter stuck with him and got some good training. Sprinkles thought nothing of this, and the four colts took a train northward to meet with the businessponies and to make the crooked deal.

The arrangement was set to take place at a hotel room Marigold had purchased for the stay. Marigold's fighter was staying with them, so of course the businessponies saw him. One pony remarked that he, too, was sponsoring a fighter, and he began to critique Marigold's athlete. This touched a nerve with Marigold, and the two ponies had a heated disagreement right there in front of Sprinkles even as he prepared to hand over his money for the mansion. Eventually, the businesspony challenged Marigold's fighter to a match and placed a substantial bet on his own fighter. Marigold agreed, and afterward all the paperwork was signed.

Once the businessponies left, Marigold's uncle was furious with Marigold for throwing his money away like that. Marigold was not a bad trainer, but his fighter was on an amateur level, and the businesspony's fighter was a professional athlete! Marigold felt awful about the whole thing, but then came to a decision. They were already about to con the businessponies once. Why not con them twice? Marigold would fix the fight! Of course, for that he'd need a little more cash.

He begged Sprinkles to loan him just enough scratch to bribe the professional fighter. At first Sprinkles was reluctant, but once they met the professional, they found him compliant and willing to take a dive. After this, Marigold was able to convince Sprinkles to throw his hat in the betting ring too. Why not get a good deal out of it? With a bit of prodding, Sprinkles contacted the businessponies and agreed to pay twenty percent more on the mansion if Marigold's fighter lost, and he'd pay twenty percent less if the fighter won.

When the ponies met for the event, Sprinkles brought everything. The paperwork, the money for the mansion, and the extra twenty-percent. Everything rode on the the businesspony's fighter taking a dive, but if that pulled through, Sprinkles, Marigold, and his uncle all stood to make a fantastic sum of money. The fight started off at a reasonable enough pace; the match looked believable, and indeed, Marigold's fighter revealed that he was by far the inferior opponent. At some point into the third round, however, a terrible mistake occurred. The professional fighter misjudged one of his kicks and delivered a bone-crushing blow with his hind legs to the face of Marigold's competitor.

Marigold's fighter collapsed to the floor without offering a hint of resistance, his body flopping ominously to the ground like a sack of manure. Blood began to pool around the fighter's head, where he lay unmoving. Marigold himself checked the colt, and announced that he was dead. The businessponies, with the horror of realization dawning on them, began to panic. They were very influential around town, and this entire fight was an illegal, unsanctioned event! It was unlikely they'd survive an arrest for this sort of thing, and it was quite possible, they cried, that they may well be tried for murder!

The businessponies gathered up everything and fled the place. Marigold and his group ran as well, and once back at the hotel, still in a fit, they agreed to part ways as swiftly as possible. Marigold had never been to the city and he had never met Sprinkles, and the uncle would go back to his usual work without a word. Sprinkles agreed, and the very next day rode a train home without stopping to look back. Sprinkles had left all his money behind, he realized, but he was not about to return to beg for it. In any case, he didn't even know how to get into contact with the businessponies who had taken it, and he would rather lose his cash than his freedom.

The death of that fighter haunted Sprinkles for some years afterward, and he no longer craved excitement or sought to make another devious dollar. That had certainly been shaken out of him, and he passed away without ever knowing that Marigold's fighter had survived and was still quite healthy. The blood pooling at the floor had been fake, from a packet lodged in the pony's jaws before the round began. In fact, Marigold, the uncle, who was not actually Marigold's uncle at all, the professional fighter, and all the businessponies were also doing perfectly well. They had all been cons, it turned out, and they split Sprinkles' money up between the lot of them.

"It was almost like a theater performance, some of the things Marigold did to ponies," Celestia wrapped up. "In this case, he was a con pony playing as a con pony. The epitome of hiding in plain sight!"

Cecil was positively enraptured with this tale. His eyes were wide, eyebrows raised. "My word, Princess Celestia," he asked, "What happened next?"

"We caught him, eventually," Celestia replied. "A lot of ponies came forward in secret once Marigold was apprehended. They wanted us to have him put to death in the most gruesome of ways. No pony likes to be deceived and betrayed like that. For their benefits, I told them I'd see it done."

"Heavens," Cecil whispered.

Celestia bent low to Cecil's level. "Can you keep a secret?" she asked him.

Cecil nodded his head emphatically.

"I actually hired him on as a foreign negotiator," she mused. "Oh, he was a difficult one to keep reigns on. I never knew what he was planning, and there were one or two times he nearly slipped away from me. The trouble was that he was always thinking a step or two ahead, expecting what you expected, then using that as a smokescreen to do something else entirely."

"So what you're saying," Bucephalus grumped, "Is that our dragon diplomat is actually a diplomat just pretending to be a diplomat so he can use that as a smokescreen to conduct an entirely unforeseen kind of diplomacy?"

Celestia laughed a little at this. "I'm only saying," Celestia corrected, "That when considering manners of the state, if ever I am confronted with something that seems confusing to me, I merely assume that I have too little information. Hastur's strange behavior has piqued my interest because it was not what I expected, so before I make a decision I will be looking into things."

"I think that's rather clever of Our Lady," provided Cecil.

"Cecil, I swear to Celestia," Bucephalus said levelly, "that if you interject in this conversation one more time just to agree with Celestia, I will kick you so hard that you'll travel back in time. Dazed and confused and robbed of your memories by a concussion, you will meet your own mother and fall in love with her. Together, you will give birth to yourself, and then we will finally have a plausible explanation for what, exactly, is wrong with you!"

Cecil prepared a rebuttal and opened his mouth to deliver, but then a thought struck him. "Lady Celestia," he asked, thoughtfully. "Could Bucephalus actually do that? I only ask because in retrospect, my father does look an awful lot like me."

Celestia shrugged. She'd tried to make Bucephalus understand through reasoning. She could probably argue for hours, and in time he'd even agree with her on the surface, but he'd go on thinking his own plan was best and he'd be itching to see it through. It was a behavior that came naturally to a lot of ponies, not just Becephalus alone, and one of the major hurdles of her position was to always make her subjects think she was on their side and working for them. If she proved him wrong he would just get frustrated and resent her for it.

"Well then, General," Celestia offered, "I'd like to hear what you intend to do about things."

Bucephalus seemed to lighten up a little. Finally he was getting an invitation to do his job. "For starters, I think we need to sit down and look at our southern holdings. Obviously, we're not worried about the folks up in Stalliongrad at the moment, so we may want to reposition our military presence."

He sketched a few crosses and lines in the dirt with his hoof. "We need to look at which places have a large number of open supply lines and which don't, and we need to concentrate our defensive forces where we can most easily send provisions. We may want to consider evacuating any city on the border that can be easily cut off from fresh food and water."

Celestia frowned.

"The trouble is that ponies can be meals to roving dragons, and the cities themselves aren't assets to them as far as I know. It would be worse for us if they start using our citizens as livestock than if we just deal with the financial burden of refugees."

Celestia bit her lip. "Is there any way we wouldn't have to force our ponies out of their homes?" she asked.

Bucephalus weighed the idea in the air. "Maybe, mistress," he said. "I don't know anything about the enemy army, and I'm just assuming that they're better suited for war than we are. Before we make any drastic measures we're going to need to send some scouts over the border to see what they can find out. Among other things, we need to find where both Nodens and Nyarlathotep are even stationing their troops."

"Ah, so then," Celestia said, jabbing Bucephalus in the side, "We can both agree that we need a lot more information before we start doing anything drastic!"

Bucephalus shuffled away from her prodding. "Reconnaissance in battle and reconnaissance in politics are not the same thing," Bucephalus replied, stubbornly. "They don't have equivalent value where I'm concerned."

"Where do you see the difference?" she demanded.

"For one, you're sending a foreign diplomat on a pointless drinking binge when we really should be finding out who our friends are and what they have to offer us," Bucephalus complained. "You're trying to figure out who he is and what he wants. All my position is concerned about is what he intends to offer us and how we can use that."

"I've heard this more than enough times before," Celestia said, rolling her eyes. "You're almost quoting the legendary tactician Sol Bin. 'Sometimes an effective general must ignore the leadership's instructions,' he used to say. If I can't justify the politics at home and rectify our actions abroad to the ponies, then everything will start to fall apart. You'll be left in the cold by your own country when they turn on us, Bucephalus."

The war charger's eyes narrowed. "We're ruined two ways, then," he said. "The first is that we wait for disaster to hit and we'll be taken flat footed. We may see an important city raised to the ground and eaten, and that will motivate the ponies to fight properly. The other is that we mobilize and protect ourselves before we're drowned in conflict, and we make the ponies angry. One way or the other, our problem is that Equestria's ponies have been enjoying a wide breadth of peace and prosperity in their time, and it's led to a lot of complacency and entitlement."

Celestia shook her head. "That's quite an interesting sentiment from a horse with such a well-to-do family background," she remarked. "You know, when your father was my general, he was a great deal more subtle."

She placed a hoof on her chest and lowered her dulcet voice as well as she could to match the father's. "A society that makes a fetish of weapons and warfare is one doomed to handle combat incorrectly. A weapon is just a tool and so is a breastplate, and a carpenter does not fall in love with his hammer."

"My father was a drunk," Bucephalus sneered.

Celestia smiled sympathetically. "Only after he got married," Celestia confided, "but I hope you know he was a good father. I still remember how things were when you were just a little foal!"

"Oh for heaven's sake!" Bucephalus cried, throwing his head back in disgust.

"Your head was enormous!" Celestia teased.

"I can see that we are done discussing official business," Bucephalus conceded.

He bowed, then tried to leave, but Celestia pulled along beside him and cut him off. She looked him in the eyes and plead with her own. "Bucephalus," she said, "I've seen a lot of little foals grow up into adults in my time. All my little ponies are like my children to me, you included."

Bucephalus said nothing. He merely stared back into her with all the sternness his personality demanded. To Celestia it was like trying to pluck the heart strings of a disobedient teenager.

"I want you to prepare scouting teams at our border," Celestia said. "Send pegassi into dragon territory and do your best to find out the most preferential move if worse comes to worst. Once you have your information and I have mine, we'll talk about this again."

The stallion agreed, bowed a second time, then left Celestia's gardens. Alone, excluding the company of Cecil, who had been gazing intently into the pond since Bucephalus' threat and who was beyond lost in his own little world, Celestia couldn't help but feel she had handled the situation inexpertly. She always found herself at impasses with generals when Equestria found occasion to defend itself from foreign invasions. It came from the mutual interest in protecting the lives of the ponies and the division of interests in how to achieve that goal. War was deleterious to culture, finances, and national happiness, but all the same it was sometimes frustratingly necessary if one wanted to have a chance at those things at all.

Time was descending into the small hours of the day, and Celestia proceeded to carry out the remainder of her various duties as sun goddess. Among other things, she collected the small black book that had been delivered by Hastur. During dinner, which she ate alone this evening, she studied, discovering the tome to be full of mysterious rituals and spells. Many of them seemed archaic, and some were downright barbaric. They often involved drawing strange symbols or praying to otherworldly spirits with difficult names. Some required blood to be performed correctly, but the poetry outlined that a death was not strictly necessary, though a user may find the spells most easy to cast with the "aid" of an enemy.

From what Celestia could tell, nothing in the book seemed particularly useful in comparison to the magic her own ponies could perform. In fact, more often than not these spells would be slower to cast and had significantly more restrictions. Of course, she'd never seen a dragon actually using magic before in quite the same way as would a pony, so she found herself, once again, quite unsure what to think, other than that this was probably just a token offering.

If anything was for certain, however, it was that the gift, especially coming at this time, was going to need to be reciprocated. If she accepted the book without sending something back in thanks, she would be indebting herself, however modestly, to Nyarlathotep. If she attempted to return the book, she would be tacitly refusing the lizard's request to help him in his war. The fact that Nyarlathotep himself had written the prose made the matter no easier.

She continued reading until late, picking at her meal of imported fruits and vegetables, until a scroll burst out of the air in a tongue of green flame and fell into Celestia's wine. Frowning, Celestia levitated the letter out of her drink and shook alcohol off the end of it. She set it aside, then, remembering she wanted to get this done before going to bed, flew a pen and parchment to her table and wrote:

Lord Nyarlathotep,

I find my court has been greeted by a somewhat offensive new guest. He reports himself as the Viscount Hastur Carcosa, and is a diminutive yellow dragon with crocodile head.

Celestia paused at the choice "diminutive". Hastur was roughly the same size as she was, which by pony standards would be considered large. However, she had met Nyarlathotep and recalled his impressive stature, and decided that she was probably diminutive as well by his perspective.

He delivered a book of poetry to me, written by you it would seem, and for your gift I must offer my thanks. He also brings news of war to our borders, and we are currently taking your requests with the utmost seriousness that they deserve. However, Hastur seems unfamiliar with etiquette and has thus far caused quite a stir, and I thought I might inquire as to why you chose to send Lord Hastur to our doorstep if he is not well versed in Equestria's customs.

Sincerely,

Sun Goddess Princess Celestia of Equestria

She reviewed her letter to ensure it was satisfactory, then sealed it. Through force of her will, the letter vanished in a puff of purple glitter that scattered into the air and gently cascaded onto Celestia's dinner plate. A servant fetched the dishware from beneath her to have it cleaned, and Celestia unfurled the first scroll, still soggy from its damp landing. It was from Twilight Sparkle, sending another report on friendship. Celestia read to herself.

Dear Celestia,

Today I learned that sometimes friendship can be complicated when we find we have strong emotions for one another. Just because you feel a certain way about someone does not mean they do or will feel the same way back, but that doesn't make them any less valuable of a friend. We should be willing to accept our friends' feelings, no matter what they may be, and make the best out of any situation.

Sincerely,

Twilight Sparkle

Today's letter seemed mundane, Celestia reflected. She was sure she had already received letters like this before, but then there were only so many general things that could be said about an average person's social life, and sometimes Twilight phoned her letters in as if she were writing an essay. Celestia found herself feeling a little disappointed. She had hoped that, after such a long day and after so much fuss, she might see a few hints about Twilight's latest escapades and live through them vicariously.

Celestia stared glumly at the message for a while, then pulled another scroll to her dining table. She'd been forming an idea ever since Bucephalus told her she ought to be looking for Equestria's friends, though she'd like to think she would have thought of this anyway. She wrote:

To my most brilliant and wonderful student, Twlilight Sparkle,

Some time ago you complained that your dragon, Spike, had a strange habit of being attracted to your classmates. I understand you have come to accept his peculiar behavior, but that he is still doing this with your friends in Ponyville. I was wondering, do you think you could explain the exact cause and nature of his attraction? Ask him if you must; this is rather important.

Sincerely,

Sun Goddess Princess Celestia of Equestria