Moon Dancer put away all of her anonymous messages and waited. Looking back over them again did little to enlighten her; she’d already memorized each one and could recite them by heart. By now, she supposed it was habit. The rolled-up scrolls contained some very interesting information—some intriguing, some shocking, and all appalling—that required a lot of research and fact-checking. She never did learn whom they were from. She remembered a mail pony coming to deliver a letter over a year ago, and it was the first step in her crusade against Starlight Glimmer’s madness. She remembered getting a new anonymous tip every few days by the same delivery method, each one arriving almost promptly at the exact same time, just before sunset. She remembered painstakingly researching every detail of these anonymous tips, traveling much of Equestria to do it, and not finding much to confirm them—but enough. She also remembered writing a note back and asking the mail pony to deliver it to the sender the second, third and fourth times the messages showed up. But the mailpony never did find out who this sender was or where they really lived.
It was almost as if this pony was a ghost.
The messages had stopped weeks ago, but after all this time, Moon Dancer knew the messages were trustworthy. A few trips to the village she had run—the village where she’d stolen so many ponies’ lives—could confirm that. And a trip to the Canterlot library archives would prove that a missing time travel spell, one considered dangerous by Starswirl himself, was indeed missing. She’d compiled the notes and constructed a decent profile of Starlight, which would soon lead up to her message to the princess. All she needed from there was proof, and memories of other ponies weren’t strong enough.
Then Ponyville Town Hall came tumbling down, and Moon Dancer had all the evidence she needed.
Heaving a deep sigh, she glanced at a picture on her desk and smiled slightly. She saw herself, years ago, when she was happier and had fewer cares in life, if any, surrounded by the ponies she loved most in this world.
Lyra looked happy and chatty, as usual. Minuette licked cupcake frosting off her nose. Twinkleshine was eating like a pig, as she usually did; her mouth was a mess. Lemon Hearts seemed to find humor in the mess she was making. She found humor in almost everything.
Moon Dancer herself aimed a disappointed stare through her taped-up spectacles at Twilight. Then without wings (or consideration, it seemed), she looked as she normally looked in those days—uninterested in everything around her except the book she dangled six inches in front of her with her magic.
“Things were so much simpler back then,” Moon Dancer muttered aimlessly, resting her chin on her desk and folding her forelimbs in front of her. “You were so much simpler back then. You couldn’t even say you had any friends. Now it’s like you want the whole world to be your friend.” She reached out and pulled the picture toward her, getting a closer look at the frustrated look in Twilight’s eyes.
“Why couldn’t you just find a happy medium?” she asked the picture, half-hoping it would answer her the way Twilight would in real life. “You’re too smart for this. You were always too smart for blind trust. Why couldn’t . . . you could’ve . . . .” She sighed roughly and picked up the picture in her magic, laying it on the desk face-down. “Where the heck is that mail-pony?!”
Knock-knock-knock. “Miss Dancer? Package for you!”
As if on cue, there is was. Moon Dancer got up from her desk and made to answer the door. That’ll be my copy of the new act, she thought before she reached the door. Time to see if the system finally works.
“Princess Celestia has been ruler for thousands of years, Dash. Whereas you wouldn’t even look that good in that time, much less keep things in line the whole time.”
“Yeah, and she’s made mistakes before! I mean, it was her dumb idea to reform Discord! How reformed was he when he baked us all into a pie and served us to that whack-job Tirek?!”
“She’s still the authority in Equestria, newbie. You and I both know you’ve always had a problem with authority—”
“That’s not even the point, Captain! She’s already after Starlight, and Town Hall was an accident! How long before the rest of us are in chains being marched to the dungeons!”
The conference hall at WonderBolts Headquarters was filled with the silent complaints and groans of the WonderBolts themselves. What had started as a gathering initiated by Spitfire to discuss R.A.R.A. had quickly become a shouting match between her and Rainbow Dash, and had not changed in the last forty-five minutes.
“There are twelve officials on this panel!” Spitfire argued. “Twelve, Rainbow Dash! You think you know better than all of them?!”
“”My friends and I always know better! We’ve saved Equestria, like, a dozen times! You said so yourself!”
Fleetfoot rolled her eyes where she sat. “Actually, I thaid tho,” she muttered angrily, only enough for Soarin to hear.
“Look, you and your friends are the last line of defense. But the WonderBolts are always the first to answer the call to action. You ought to know that by now.”
“And how did that work out when Spike handed your plots to you all that time ago?!” Dash yelled, now shaking with the effort to stay in control. “Or did he hit you so hard, you forgot?!”
“You are out of line!” Spitfire snapped back. “As Equestria’s fighting force, we have a duty to support this act! You’d better get yours together, Crash, or you’ll be in even deeper—”
“STOP CALLING ME THAT!!”
Dash had screamed it before she’d even realized what she’d said. Soarin turned to gape at her. Surprise held her forehooves up to her mouth, and even Misty Fly’s eyes widened.
Spitfire, however, shook off the initial shock the fastest. Her eyes narrowed and her voice became low and ominous. “So that’s what this is about? Going against the good of Equestria just because you still can’t shake off a name—”
“Captain, that’s not it, I swear, it just slipped out—”
“I won’t be interrupted, newbie!” Spitfire snapped, cutting Dash off. “You know, you trying to lose that name has gotten you in enough trouble in the past. But using that as an excuse to rebel against your team, your commanding officer, and all of Equestria? Absolutely unacceptable.”
“Captain, this isn’t about a name!” Dash argued. “This is wrong! We’re making a mistake by signing this thing! I can’t support something that takes away ponies’ freedom!”
“Stand down, Crash! We’re all signing this! It’s our duty as WonderBolts—”
“It’s our duty to do the right thing!” Dash yelled over her. “And this isn’t the right thing! And it never will be!”
Spitfire’s narrow-eyed look remained, and Rainbow Dash simply stared daggers right back. No sound permeated the air, save for a quick, nervous tapping from Soarin’s hoof.
“I think another two weeks’ probation will change your tune, rookie,” Spitfire spoke low. “Insubordination won’t be tolerated on my watch.”
“What?! Are you kidding me?! That’s a bunch of—”
“No discussions! Now, unless you want to make it two months, I suggest you watch your tone for a while.”
“Captain, don’t you think that’s a little harsh?” Soarin spoke up, the first word spoken by someone other than the two arguing mares. Every WonderBolt in the room looked toward him as if he, too, had just lashed out at his commanding officer. “I mean, Rainbow Dash has a point. It’s a little ridiculous to think regulating these ponies like they’re on parole will help anything. It’ll just make them think they’ll always be bad, instead of encouraging them to be good.”
Spitfire looked at Soarin with the same narrowed eyes, adding a raised eyebrow. Dash looked at Soarin with a combination of reverence and caution, and waited silently for an answer, as though her very breaths would be too loud for her to hear anything.
“We handle the world as it is,” Spitfire replied, “not as we want to be. We’re soldiers, not idealists, Clipper. We don’t make the rules, we follow them.”
Soarin sighed. “Maybe the rules ought to be changed.”
“They are being changed,” Spitfire bit back. “It doesn’t mean we question them. It means we follow them.”
“Even if they’re wrong.”
Dash had said it so low, Misty Fly and Surprise barely heard it on the other end of the table. Spitfire, however, rounded on her.
“One more snappy word, Crash, and you’ll be on probation so long, you’ll forget you were ever a WonderBolt.”
Dash simply glared at her. Slowly, her own features contorted with rage.
“Punishing somepony just for speaking up . . . for questioning the rules even if they’re not right . . . I’m surprised I ever wanted to be one . . . .”
The next two words from her mouth were words even Rainbow Dash herself didn’t expect would ever be said:
“I quit.”
Spitfire’s narrowed eyes finally widened. Fleetfoot gasped, and Soarin said, “Dash, no!”
“I’ll send my stuff to your office,” Dash growled at Spitfire. “I hope it’s worth it to you.” She then turned and stomped toward the door.
“Worth it?!” Spitfire yelled after her. “You spent your whole life training for this, and you’re just gonna throw it away now? Is that worth it?!”
Just before reaching the door, Dash stopped, and there was another heavy pause. She turned her head slightly back, but was otherwise still as stone.
“My friends are worth more to me than your stupid club. Have fun being obedient slaves.”
And Rainbow Dash bashed the door open and raced out.
“Look, I’m not saying I don’t trust Twilight. I love her like she was my own sister. But I am saying we should consider the risks.”
“Cadance, honey, Twilight protects us from those risks. We sign this thing, we make it so she can’t do that.”
“It’s not as though they’d be putting her in jail, Shiny. They’d just be making sure she doesn’t make any more mistakes.”
“But you just said you trusted her. Why would you think that way if you did?”
“Shiny, Twilight may be a Princess, but even she makes mistakes.”
“By that logic, Celestia makes mistakes, too. You don’t think she is right now?”
“Maybe, maybe not . . . I’m just trying to think about what’s best for our daughter.”
Princess Cadance cantered slowly to the crib in the corner of the room, a little pink bundle of feathers and fur lie snoozing inside, her ear occasionally twitching. Cadance lowered her head into the crib and gave Flurry Heart a gentle kiss on her forehead, right beside her horn. Her discussion with Shining Armor had been carried out all over the palace, and had not stopped even as Flurry Heart was being laid down to sleep. The fact that neither of them spoke loudly or angrily enough to wake her may have been an indication that continuing the talk in her room was a good idea for the two of them.
After Cadance tucked in her daughter, she tiptoed back to the door, closed it behind her gently, and released a sigh.
“Honey, we’re what’s best for her,” Shining Armor said, caressing his wife’s face with a hoof as they walked down the hall together. “And so are Twilight and her friends. They helped us with Flurry Heart when we didn’t know what else to do for her. Even Starlight was helpful to us.”
“But Starlight isn’t always helpful, honey,” Cadance replied, her face hardening. “Remember when Twilight told us about when she hypnotized Applejack and the others just to look like a better student? Twilight trusts Starlight, so to trust one is to trust the other. Is that the kind of judgment you would trust with your daughter’s life?”
Shining Armor stopped and heaved a long sigh, taking a long time to answer. Cadance had stopped walking a bit afterwards, and the two faced each other a short length away in the hall. Armor brushed his hoof over his forehead and looked his wife deeply in her eyes. Words very nearly failed him.
“Starlight’s still learning, though,” he finally said. “She’s scared and doesn’t know what to do, so she’s bound to make mistakes. She’s still struggling to understand friendship—”
“How can it be that much of a struggle, Shining Armor?” Cadance retorted, her tone rising slightly. “Friendship isn’t like love, it’s not that complicated.”
“Come on, Cadance, you know friendship and love have a lot in common—”
“Oh, so now you’re gonna start telling me about the concept I earned my cutie mark for?”
“Of course not, Cadance! I’m saying that you’re being a bit unreasonable!”
“As unreasonable as it is to trust a villain who never kicked the brainwashing habit?!”
“Cadance, honestly, Twilight knows what she’s doing!”
“Obviously not, or else none of this would be happening!!”
“So, you want them to throw my sister in a dungeon because of Starlight’s mistakes?!”
“No, Shiny, I want them to make Twilight see reason!”
“So you think she’s gone crazy?!”
“NO!! I’M WORRIED ABOUT HER!!”
Neither had realized that their voices had slowly been increasing in volume, to the point where they both breathed immense sighs of relief when they knew they were far enough away from Flurry Heart’s door. The bellowing had rattled the palace walls.
Sighing again, Cadance cantered towards her husband and placed a loving hoof against his cheek. Her stare matched his from earlier.
“Shiny . . . babe . . . I want to resolve all of this. I really do. I want all sides to win. But we’re taking too much of a risk here as it is. I want what’s best for our Flurry.”
“Flurry doesn’t even have anything to do with this, Cadance.”
“I want what’s best for Twilight, as well,” Cadance responded quietly.
“Then why don’t you support her?” Shining Armor’s words were etched with regret.
“Because I have to support whatever protects her.”
“From Starlight?” Armor asked. His brow furrowed and his mouth was twisted in a pained grimace.
Cadance’s words seemed to resonate with finality:
“From herself.”
The royal couple stared at each other for a good few seconds, neither side speaking, until a faint noise could be heard from down the hall. Both sighed again and tilted their heads down, and both walked silently down the hall back to Flurry Heart’s room, where the whining was getting louder. Evidently, they weren’t far enough away from her room after all.
“Wha— . . . what did you just say?”
Applejack, Apple Bloom, Granny Smith, and a visiting Pinkie Pie all stood in the living room of the Apple household, staring slack-jawed at Big McIntosh. Big Mac glanced from one mare to the next, feeling his normally sturdy legs wobble slightly beneath him. His red face only grew redder.
“Huh?” Pinkie suddenly chirped, looking at Applejack as if she’d asked what color the sky was. “Whaddaya mean ‘what did he just say?’ ‘Cause I heard him clear as day! Remember, Applejack? I bounced up to your door to ask you if you wanted to bake some apple pies, and you opened the door and asked me to come back later, ‘cause you and Granny Smith and Apple Bloom were having an argument over the whole R.A.R.A. thing! And I laughed, ‘cause it’s so fun to say! ‘R.A.R.A.’! ‘R.A.R.A.’! ‘R.A.R.A.’! Hee-hee! Well, anyway, you were all like ‘Well, shoot-fahre, Granny, I know we oughta start makin’ sure ponies answer for their crahmes, but ain’t that a mite harsh?’ And Granny Smith was like ‘Ahh thank that thar Starlaht girl woundta turnt out s’bad if’n she’d just bin givin a good wallopin’ when she de-served it!’ And Apple Bloom sat down really, really fast! And AJ, you were like, ‘I ain’t sayin’ we should be vaholent ‘r nothin’, but we oughta least try’n cooperate fer the sakes’f our friends!’ and Apple Bloom was all like, ‘Maybe it is for the best?’. And Big Mac said . . . .”
Pinkie stopped mid-sentence to turn and stare expectantly back at Bic McIntosh, as if waiting for him to finish for her. Applejack’s eyes were cold, yet still soft, and Granny Smith’s eyes narrowed. Apple Bloom simply stayed where she sat, biting her lip and glancing from one adult to another, as if waiting for one of them to spontaneously combust.
Taking a deep breath and releasing a long and morose sigh, Big Mac kept his head down and muttered it, so low, it was a wonder anypony heard it:
“Maybe Twilight’s right.”
The silence afterwards was almost as deafening as the first, before Applejack had broken it.
“B-Big Mac . . .” Applejack broke the silence again, “you . . . you don’t mean what I think you . . . I mean, we all agreed . . . it just makes sense to not let things go this way, but . . . you’re sayin’ that . . . you think—”
“Why, that’s just ridiculous!” Granny Smith stepped in, walking up to her grandson with the same narrowed eyes. “You’d say you’d choose a li’l ol’ hooligan like Starlight Glimmer over family?! Just what in tarnation’s goin’ on in that head o’ yer’s, boy?!”
Big Mac visibly cringed at the tongue-lashing he received from his grandmother, sighed again, and looked back at her with a hurt expression.
“It ain’t about choosin’, Granny. This . . . well, it ain’t right.”
“You dern tootin’, it ain’t!” Granny snapped. “Puttin’ the needs of a troublemaker over yer own kin! Of all the silly . . . I ain’t never seen . . . well, I don’t wanna hear no more talk like this until yer ready to talk with yer head on straight! Applejack, try talkin’ some sense inta your foolhardy brother!”
Applejack stepped up to Big Mac, her soft, snow-like gaze piercing him. “Is that what you really think, Big Mac?” she asked, her own voice just as low as Mac’s. “Do you really think Twilight needs support?”
“Eeyup,” Mac replied morosely.
“Ya really think Starlight shouldn’t answer for what she’s done?”
At this, Mac hesitated, “. . . Nope, but . . . .”
“You think she deserves another chance?”
“. . . Eeyup.”
“’Cause she wants to be a hero, right? Same as you?”
Mac’s eyes widened at this suggestion. He thought back to his heart-to-heart with Apple Bloom over the fiasco that was the Sisterhooves Social, and figured it was only logical for Apple Bloom to confide all this in Applejack. Heaving another deep sigh, Big Mac didn’t even speak. He slowly nodded.
“Hmph!” Granny Smith said, pointed eyes locked on Big Mac. “Well, yer both doin’ a bang-up job o’ that!” And she shuffled off to the stairs, grumbling under her breath. Apple Bloom got up and ran after her, trying to get her to come back. After both of their hoofsteps faded, Big Mac sat down, head drooped and eyes closed, as though he’d heard clearly what had not been spoken—that his own grandmother might as well have disowned him.
“Don’t be upset, Big Mac,” Applejack spoke up, putting a hoof on his shoulder. “Granny may be mad now, but things’ll clear up later. They have to. We’ve been through prickly times before and we’ve always come out all right.”
Mac turned toward her sister and eyed her through woeful eyes. “Eeyup . . .” he croaked.
“And listen, I may not agree with ya,” Applejack continued, “but you believe what you want. Doesn’t make ya any less of an Apple. I respect your opinion.” She brought a hoof to his face and turned his gaze back up to meet hers when he had turned away again. “’Cause you’re my brother.”
Mac smiled weakly. “An’ you’re my sister.”
That seemed to be the final word on the matter, as far as the two of them were concerned. Applejack embraced her brother and Big Mac slowly returned it, and the two sat there on the floor of the living room as if R.A.R.A. had never come along to splinter their familial bond.
Both Apples felt a pair of extra hooves squeezing them, and they glanced toward Pinkie Pie, who had joined in unbidden.
“Group hug!” she trilled. Applejack and Big Mac could only chuckle awkwardly.
It was lucky she knew that Silencing Spell. She was doing enough thrashing and gasping to alert the entire ward.
Star Song jerked and spasmed in her hospital bed while the violet Unicorn sapped her of the memory she needed. Forceful memory recording was always difficult, so extra effort was required to keep the subject detained, hence the thrashing. She’d remembered to hold back a bit this time though, unlike with Sugar Belle. Star Song was still been injured, so it made things easier, but there was also a chance to worsen her condition. But at least with Star Song, there was a chance she’d be conscious again. She doubted Sugar Belle was awake even now.
Unfortunately, holding back meant taking a long time with the memory spell, and Star Song seemed quite resistant to mind manipulation in spite of her condition. But with the curtain drawn around her bed and the spell in place to silence the noise, all there was to do was wait. The nurses wouldn’t be along to check on her for at least an hour—plenty of time to get what she needed.
Held aloft in a soft, greenish-blue glow was a gemstone, into which flooded every second of Star Song’s memories of the night of her attack in Canterlot. One other item floated in the magical mist—the picture. The picture that had been her only piece of property for years. The picture she’d kept with her since foalhood. The picture that proved they ever existed.
In it, a violet-coated filly looked happily up at a strong, handsome blue-coated stallion and a beautiful, gentle-looking pink mare. All three Unicorns looked contented, ecstatic even, as though there wasn’t a monster lurking around in Equestria waiting to break their bonds forever.
She stared at the picture as if it were an engaging and immersive movie at the theater, completely ignoring the thrashing mare in the bed as if she were a sheet on top of it. She’d stared at it so many times, often for hours in one sitting, that she could picture it flawlessly in her head. Every tiny little detail, from the small grape juice stain on her child self’s face to the two-inch crease in the upper-left corner. Had this not been the most important object she’d ever own, she’d never need it again.
It has to be done, she told herself, still keeping her eyes away from Star Song. A little pain for the innocent now won’t mean anything once it’s all done.
The gemstone flashed after about twenty minutes, and the Unicorn ceased the spells around the hospital bed, waiting an extra few seconds for Star Song to stop jerking around before withdrawing the Silence Spell. She pocketed the gem and the picture, pulled up her surgical mask, and slipped out from behind the curtains and out of the room just before a nurse came bustling in, aiming for a different patient in the room.
She was now aiming for a different pony, too.