To Her Royal Highness, Princess Celestia, Sol Invictus and Sun-Bearer,

I have received your request, and herein shall endeavor to offer what assistance I may. It is, of course, expected that you should turn to your former ambassador to the Griffic lands for counsel regarding the nature and disposition of the new Empress, but I am afraid there is precious little insight I can offer in this matter. As you may recall, the Empress—then Archduchess, and eldest daughter of the Emperor—was little in the public eye during my time in the Griffic capital of Aigléon, as the former Emperor, Achille de l'Arène, had not then begun grooming her for the succession.

And yet, there is one experience I can share which may shed some light upon her personnage. I shall tell it as best I am able, and if it is sufficiently opaque that its interpretation has eluded me these years, then perhaps you may nevertheless find it offers some guidance into what sort of a leader she shall be. For what I now put to paper is, I believe, known only to myself and the Empress among all those alive today: that she once was tested in the Arena.

Among the griffons, there is a saying which perhaps you have heard: “de l'Arène, vérité.” To put it in Equish words: “from the Arena, truth.” I have seen the truth of the Arena many times, and I am certain there is truth contained in what I here record to the best of my abilities.

I must, perforce, preface this with an accounting of the Arena and its purpose. I do not doubt that you are well familiar with both the structure and its function, but I fear that many ponies, and perhaps even your Highness, fail to truly understand it. Too often, I have heard other ambassadors and serviceponies speak of its barbarism and cruelty, and dismiss it as a relic of a society which lacks our culture and civility. I do not say these accusations are false, but neither do I think them wholly fair and accurate, and so I must begin with the Arena itself.

It is the nature of society to produce law, and it is the nature of law to require enforcement; this both ponies and griffons know and accept. It is further the nature of enforcement that, on those occasions where a case must be prosecuted, some doubt is always present. Sometimes it is unknown whether the accused has truly committed the crime. On other occasions the fact of guilt is known, but other doubts remain to cloud judgement. Perhaps there is a question of intent, or an uncertain element of redress. In Equestria, it is the practice of judges to examine these uncertainties, to determine to the best of their abilities what is most likely to be true, and to rule accordingly. This system is so familiar to ponies that its logic is hardly questioned.

Among the griffons, a very different perspective is held. They, too, recognize that uncertainty is at the heart of cases of law. But they do not accept that a third party may presume sit in judgement of competing or uncertain claims. Hence, the Arena.

It is the duty of a Griffic magistrate not to adjudicate truth, but to find what uncertainty lies at the heart of each case brought before him. He then determines two judgements: one for each possible answer to that uncertainty. These judgements are then given form, and the accused is brought to the Arena.

In the Arena, the accused’s wings are bound and claws hobbled with ceremonial gloves, and he is brought to the center of that massive stadium, the seats invariably filled with onlookers, for the Arena is open and free to the public, and many flock to the spectacle. Before him are two doors, behind each of which lies one of the magistrate's judgements. The accused must open one of these doors, unknowing of which judgement lies on the other side, and so determine his fate.

This system was devised many years ago by the first Emperess, who took the surname de l'Arène from her signature achievement. For here, she had devised a perfectly fair system of justice. None in attendance, not even the magistrate presiding over the case, would know which of the two doors held which judgement, and those portals were ensorcelled such that no sound or hint of their contents could be discerned from the other side. And so, the uncertainty was resolved without any hint of unfairness. How could the system be unfair, if the subject was free to chose either door, with no compulsion to favor one over the other? Thus was judgement rendered, and blind justice administered.

It has been said by many ponies that this is barbaric and cruel, to condemn an accused griffon in the name of simple chance. I put these very words to one magistrate early in my service at Aigléon, in fact, and he was quick to retort: is it not equally unfair to condemn an accused pony based on the whims of judge? Is it not more unfair, even? A judge may be corrupted, may be prejudiced, may be blinded by his own preconceptions. But in the Arena, the accused holds his fate in his claws, and this is something that the justice of Equestria, for all its much-touted mercy and compassion, cannot claim.

I do not say that the griffons are right in their thinking, but neither do I say they are wrong, and I believe that ponies should not be so quick to revile their practices. More than that, I have sat in the Arena many times, perhaps more than any other pony, and I can attest to the power it holds over the psyche. I am ashamed of this, as well I should be. For I reveled in what I saw, yet was nauseated by my own fascination. The door opens, and justice is delivered at once. And it is satisfying. It is raw gratification of a thinking creature’s need for closure, for determination. In the Arena, that determination is instant and absolute, and there can be nothing more horrifying and fulfilling. And the matter of which judgement shall be rendered is left solely in the claws of the accused; of the single creature who knows beyond all doubt which result is just, and can fairly reveal it. I came to understand those words, “de l'Arène, vérité.” The determination is made, and there can be no questioning the impartiality of that determination. Truth, reduced to its simplest form.

I watched an accused thief open a door to find a key to his bindings; he unlocked his claws and wings, and then flew from the arena without prejudice. I watched another open a door to find a soldier armed with an axe and chopping block, and I watched as that soldier lifted the thief’s severed right claw above his head while the crowd’s cheers drowned out shrieks of pain. I watched a griffon who had sold state secrets open a door, and find a dagger within. I could not fathom the purpose of this judgement, until a Griffic aide explained the case more thoroughly to me: the accused had confessed to the deed, and his treason was not in question. What remained unknown was whether he had done so, as he claimed, in order to spare his deeply-indebted son from destitution, or if he had done so for more selfish reasons. At stake was not his guilt or innocence, but his honor. Only then did I understand the relief on the accused’s face as he took the dagger, carefully set it against the arena wall, and hurled his breast upon it. The truth of his claim had been shown, and he was given the chance to face his sentence honorably.

I watched many cases, and in each, the resolution was swift and decisive. Indeed, I found the Arena sickeningly compelling, and while most ponies who find themselves in Aigléon shudder at the very thought of the place, I found myself drawn back again and again. My regular attendance was noticed by Emperor Achille—as the only pony to come, day after day, I could hardly be missed—and took to inviting me to attend the Arena with him on those days when he made an appearance, placing me at his side in the Imperial Box. I believe to found me an amusing novelty, and would often ask me what a pony would think of one “sentence” or another. I indulged the Emperor, of course, and I believe that our time together in the Arena served your Highness’s diplomatic interests admirably, for I found many opportunities thereupon to speak with the Emperor, and to press him on various Equestrian interests. However, I found attending the Arena with him a distinctly unpleasant experience; the way he looked at me, it was clear that he viewed me as the punchline to some joke made at the expense of equinity as a whole, and the plain delight he took in the most vicious judgements of the Arena only made my shame at sharing those feelings more acute.

I hope you will forgive me my lengthy preamble, but I feel that this background is necessary in order to properly place the event I now intend to relate, and which I hope will prove of some value to you in your evaluation of the Empress. For whatever my misgivings about Griffic justice, and they are many, I have come to fervently believe that de l'Arène, vérité. This is my account of the truth that I found there, such as it was.

It was nearly a year after I had come to my post, and some months after Emperor Achille had begun inviting me into his box, that a young Griffon, one of the Imperial Household Guard, was found in the bedchambers of the then-Archduchess. Here in Equestria, such a thing would merely be scandalous, but to the Griffons, it was criminal; bloodlines are jealously guarded and carefully tended in the Griffic Empire, and such commingling between royal and baseborn was both morally and legally proscribed.

I was unfortunate enough to be in his Majesty’s presence when he received this news, and he flew at once into a terrible rage. I am not ashamed to say I fled to a corner of the room and cowered, for his wrath was a fearful thing, and I feared for my safety. But he spent himself quickly upon the room’s furnishings, and his mood became more subdued, if no less fell. Then, he announced that he would exercise his privilege as Emperor to act as Majestrate Suprême in this case, and excused himself. Finding myself left alone, I hurried away from the palace, and to the embassy home where I was staying.

The next day, two griffon guards arrived at the house and informed me that I was to accompany them to the Arena at once, to observe the day’s proceedings with his Majesty. Although I had been asked to attend with him many times by then, this was the first that I had been ordered. And while I might, legally, have refused, I dared not.

When I arrived, I found the Emperor already seated, the Archduchess at his right. He seemed positively jovial, and introduced his daughter before instructing me to take my usual seat to his left. She did not once turn her attention to me, staring down at the sandy floor of the Arena beneath us, still empty as the day’s throngs gathered.

I remember well the words of the Emperor on that day, for my every nerve was heightened to an unbearable degree. Despite his seeming pleasantness, I had learned something of his moods by this time, and knew him to be of a dangerous fancy even as I sat beside him. And I do not deny that his impassive daughter, sitting upon his other side, unnerved me almost as much as he. I remember the events of the Arena that day as though I were but a few hours removed from them, and not seven years.

“Ah, my pony friend,” purred the Emperor, for thus he always addressed me. “Are you not excited for the day’s events?” He chuckled, and though the sound would have been pleasant in any other throat, in his I knew it bubbled with threats of violence. “Ah, but I should say, the day’s event, for there is but one who will face the Arena today. I am glad you have come, for I am most eager to see what you make of this.”

Below us, horns sounded. In the stands, griffons scurried and flapped to their seats; the sound meant that the proceedings were about to begin.

“You see,” the Emperor continued, his face uncomfortably close to mine as he spoke, his sharp beak painfully near to my muzzle, “I have made my ruling as Majestrate Suprême on that unfortunate case which you may have overheard discussed yesterday.” I nodded respectfully; the Emperor was at all times given to understatement. “There is no question of what happened, of course, nor is there any question of the impropriety of it all.” He shook his head. “A shameful thing, truly.”

The horns sounded again, and a hush fell over the Arena.

“The question, then, is not what happened,” he murmured, finally turning his head, “but what to do about it.”

A speaker flapped to the floor of the Arena, scroll in claw, and began to read the case to the enraptured audience. There as here, the citizenry love drama among their leaders, and the griffons in attendance hung on every word.

I was not listening to him, however, for the Emperor had returned his full attention to me, and I dared not look away from him. “The matter here is one of responsibility, and my two judgements reflect that. Behind one door is the most vicious timber wolf my bestiary possesses, and should the guard be at fault for this regrettable dalliance, then he shall open that door and be devoured.

“If, on the other claw, he and my daughter truly love one another, then he can hardly be held to have done any wrong. Their deeds may be abhorrent, but I am compassionate as both a father and a ruler. Behind the other door, there waits a minister, who shall marry him to my daughter on the spot.” He smiled at me, and though his face was genial, in his eyes danced a spark which set all my hairs on edge. “I would, of course, be forced to disown a daughter who married so far beneath her station, but you ponies are fond of saying that love will win out, are you not?”

I nodded; I could hardly do otherwise.

He sighed. “Ah, well. If they love one another… well, I have other heirs.”

Below us, the accused was led to the center of the stadium, and set to stand before the two great doors. As the soldiers who had escorted him flapped away, leaving him standing alone in his hobbles and bindings, the Emperor let out another chuckle, but this one was dangerously close to a hiss. “Our errant guard is here, it seems. Now, would you like to know a secret, my pony friend?”

Again, all I could do was nod. He leaned in so close that his beak brushed my ear, and my heart paused when he spoke.

“I know which door holds which judgement,” he whispered, “and so does my daughter.” He pulled back then, far enough for me to see his face. “And the guard knows that she knows, you see? The crowds think it is this guard who is being judged in the Arena, but you and I, we know the truth, yes? De l'Arène, vérité.” I gaped mutely, and he turned his attention at last, looking down at the guard. “Let us discover the truth.”

I looked down at the guard, even as he lifted his head to the Imperial Box above him. In his eyes, I saw the mute plea, which door? I looked over, past the Emperor, to the Archduchess, who had not once moved since I arrived.

Did she flick her eyes to the left, to the right? Did she twitch her tail, or lift a shoulder? Whatever sign she may have made, it was more subtle than I could discern. Yet she must have given some signal, for the guard nodded up at us, then turned to face the doors. He walked forward a step, then paused, turned to us again, and bowed to the Archduchess. He then strode on hobbled talons to the right door, and flung it open without hesitation.

The timber wolf took him by the neck as it lunged forward, and the crowd roared.

I quickly averted my eyes, for even my months of attendance had not hardened me to the Arena’s harshest judgements. The Emperor smiled down at the carnage, while the Archduchess sat immobile, her eyes still fixed on the scene playing out before her. Seeing that no attention was being paid to me, I quietly left the Box, and the Arena.

It was that night that I resigned my post, and returned to Equestria. I do not to this day know if it was an act of courage or cowardice; I know only that I could not have borne to sit in the Emperor’s presence another moment, not for any threat or reward.

And so, when you ask me about the nature and disposition of the new Empress, I answer with a riddle: what happened on that day in the Arena? What truth was there displayed?

When I fled the Arena, I was certain that she had sent the guard to his doom, and I still believe in my heart that this is the most likely answer. If this be so, then I tell you that she is the most ruthless creature I have ever laid eyes upon, and I am thankful I never before or since had cause to encounter her. If this be so, then she murdered her lover as calmly as I might pull a weed from my garden.

And yet… and yet, as I turned the events of that day over in my head thereafter, my mind returned again and again to the way the guard paused, turned, bowed. Did she, in fact, signal to the minister’s door? Could she have been prepared to sacrifice all she had known for him, to spare his life? Could he have loved her so much that he would give his own life rather than see her cast from her lofty position, and brought low by his side? Could she have been willing to throw away all that she had, for the life and love of a single, prospectless commoner?

I cannot answer this question, and so, I cannot tell you what sort of creature the new Empress is. And yet, I hope that this letter shall still provide your Highness with some insight. If, on a day, you should meet with the Empress, ask yourself this:

Is the griffon I see before me one who, in the ultimate extremity, would point to the right?

Or to the left?

Your faithful servant in all things,
—Quick Silver,
——Ambassador-Emeritus to the Griffic Empire