The morning after Obtrillion’s dramatic reentrance under the guise of mortal injury, Fidora woke and began the morning routine she had missed so dearly for the last four years. Taking the uttermost care not to wake her sleeping lord, she crept out of the bed, into the adjoining bathroom, relived herself, and then bathed in the warm scented waters, making sure she’d be clean for Obtrillion in case he wanted her when he woke up.
When Twilight brought Obtrillion in yesterday, there had been a moment, just one, when she’d thought the universe had made some terrible mistake, and Obtrillion really was dying. But then he sat up, and then it was just like old times again. The thrill of a scam once again resounded through the air, bringing with it even greater ecstasies as nothing put Obtrillion in the mood more powerfully than a good artifice.
Paddling through the water, Fidora stretched each ligament and muscle in turn, doing the same with her mind as she mentally rehearsed the day ahead; reviewing every detail of the story Obtrillion had invented for his mother yesterday. (Fidora especially liked the part about Ragarrock blasting off her leg and making Obtrillion sew it back on without sedatives. It was romantic.)
Her cover story firmly in place, Fidora planned breakfast. She hadn’t gotten a chance to ask Twilight what foods she preferred in the morning, so she would have to assume her tastes were at least tolerably similar to her son’s. Obtrillion’s tastes she knew exactly. While in her father’s house, Fidora had made it a point to mental rehearsing at least once a week, every one of the 1,426 notes she’d taken on Obtrillion’s favored inclinations, which she’d divided into forty-six categories. The list took three hours and twenty-one to recite, but it had been worth it; she hadn’t forgotten a single detail. Fidora remembered how Obtrillion liked his food, she remembered how he liked his tea; she remembered how he liked his… everything.
They’d been four years apart, and been reunited for only four days. For Fidora the wait had seemed endless, ever doubting that one day Obtrillion would escape yet dreading that by the time he did, time would have changed her, either mentally or physically into something he no longer found attractive. They were together again, and Fidora hoped more than anything that things could go back to the way they were, but she knew they couldn’t.
Politically they were fugitives, on the run from Ragorrock’s forces; but that didn’t worry her. Fidora trusted Obtrillion to keep them both safe and although this changed the type of work they’d be doing, it did not stand to impede on their relationship. There was something else however that might.
Getting out of the spa, Fidora arranged her mane and dried herself, but only partially; leaving herself slightly slick and moist, (Obtrillion liked it like that). Letting tiny droplets fall freely with every step she opened the door, delighted to see Obtrillion’s eyes open, and a smile spread across his lips as she entered; “Good morning beautiful.”
Fidora felt her heart beat a bit faster as she won his approval yet again; and glided across the room to her lover and her lord, placing her front hooves on the bed she nuzzled him excitedly in the chest; “Should I cook breakfast, or shall I do something else first?”
Obtrillion stroked her cutie-mark, sending shivers down her spine, gazed at her in a way that made the world standstill, but didn’t move over to accommodate her; “Cook breakfast for my mother, then come back to bed.”
Fidora cocked an ear; disappointed, but intrigued that Obtrillion still paid Twilight the respect of a parent, “Can we trust her?”
“No.” sighed Obtrillion, “One day… I hope; but she’s been brought up to mistrust people like us, and still clings to her Equestrian conditioning.”
“Even after she knows Celestia betrayed her?”
Obtrillion looking down; “Even I can’t always tell when someone is lying. When she said Celestia had lied to her all these years, there was doubt; and when she said she didn’t remember having me, there was also doubt. I’m don’t know whether or not she was forced to give me up, because I’m not even sure if she knows herself.”
“… Is she really your mother?”
“Yes. That much I’m sure of.”
“Then you were hers to protect, and she failed to protect you; she doesn’t deserve forgiveness.”
“No.” agreed Obtrillion, “She doesn’t… but she might still have it. In either case, she’s useful.”
“That’s why you changed our story,” gleaned Fidora, “The more she believes you’ve suffered, the more she’s going to feel that she owes you, and try to find ways of paying you back.”
Obtrillion kissed her on the left cheek, “One out of three.”
“She’ll be more likely to excuse anything you do that fits her preconceived notions of ‘evil’ as results of a tortured childhood rather than an actual failing on your part.” Obtrillion kissed her on the right cheek and Fidora closed her eyes, “The worse she believes your life has been, the more she's going to reject her previous family for consigning you to it.” Obtrillion kissed her on the lips, and Fidora reciprocated, eagerly hoping that he might change his mind, but the way he parted told her his decision was final, meaning she needed further instruction, “Are there new lies you want me to plant?”
“You will do no such thing.” Commanded Obtrillion firmly, “I am the only one allowed to lie to my mother; just be careful in the truths you do say.”
Fidora grinned broadly, bowing and trotting towards the kitchen, “Have you ever known me to speak otherwise?”
………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Twilight lay in a guestroom; wondering if she should get out of bed, unsure if she had gotten any sleep, and certain that nothing would ever be the same for her again. She thought she might have fallen asleep once, because she remembered waking up, thinking she’d had the most incredible dream, but then remembered; it was real. Twenty years ago she had fallen in love, gotten married, had a son and then had it all torn away from her by her family so they could force her to save Equestria.
She hadn’t realized until the moment that she saw Obtrillion’s face; how badly she’d always wanted children, but even as she found him a wall built itself between them. How could they be together now? After everything she had let him suffer alone, after how bad she had failed him, how could she ever expect him to accept her as a mother?
Twilight thought about her childhood and how her parents were almost never there; how she and Shining Armor would pester their parents, hoping desperately for just a few hours of their attention, and were almost always disappointed. Celestia was the first true mother figure she had in her life; and when in Celestia’s care, Twilight had promised herself that when she had kids she would be a real mother to them, like Celestia had been to her. Those childhood resolutions now seemed distant, Celestia had betrayed her, used her, lied to her, and because of that, she hadn't been a distant mother to her only child, she hadn’t been there period.
Obtrillion had grown up without any sort of love or guidance, and as a result he was confused; he was a con-artist, a killer and a slave owner - but that was only because those were the only things he had been given the chance to be. Twilight wished she could have been there to teach him better, but by now she wasn’t sure that she had the right to teach him at all; to show him that there was a better way, a way where ponies were equal, the way Celestia had taught her, a way that now seemed a shiny cesspool of hypocrisy… one that she couldn’t go back to. Twilight had killed Mute Wind; technically to help a prisoner of the crown escape. By Equestrian law… she was now a murderer.
There was a gentle rapping at the door and Twilight bolted out of bed; throwing the door wide, dreading and longing that it might be Obtrillion; hoping to talk with him forever, and not knowing a single word she would say. Instead she was... pleasantly relived to see Fidora, bowing low, balancing a tray with several bowls on her back, “I made breakfast.”
Twilight let Fidora in, and levitated the tray to her bedside table, barely glancing at what smelled like wondrous array of dishes. Fidora looked at her for a moment and then turned to leave, but Twilight put out her hoof, “Please stay.” Twilight sat down on the bed and indicated the space beside her, to which Fidora complied.
Twilight tried desperately to put the myriad of thoughts running through her head into words but nothing came; and so Fidora broke the silence. “I’d like to apologies for the way I acted earlier… and not just because Obtrillion told me to. I know how some slaves can be treated, especially those of impoverished families, but that doesn’t mean that every slave is abused.
I love Obtrillion. He loves me. In all my years with him; Obtrillion has never beaten me, never denied me food or water, never rented me out to other stallions; I'm happier with him than I ever was at my father's house.”
“Doing those things to you should have never been his right to begin with.”
“But he does. I was won to him a rightless slave in a gambling bet, one of the lowest possible ways to be given to a stallion and one of the most often abused, just one step above spoils of war. Despite this, he treats me like an honored wife - not because he has to, but because he loves me.
At the height of his power, Obtrillion had hundreds of slaves, including scores of attractive young mares, many of whom were more beautiful than myself. He could have had his way with any of them, and if they hadn’t been enough for him, he could have gone to the markets and had his pick from hundreds more; despite this, he only ever chose me."
“Just because it’s not as bad as it could be, doesn’t make it OK for one pony to own another like property. Slavery is wrong.”
“Why?”
“People should be allowed to choose their own destinies.”
Fidora smiled, “One of the most important things Obtrillion had taught me is how often our perceptions of good or bad are merely determined by descriptions. If I said that Obtrillion was bossy and judgmental, and had ruled his house through bribery and blackmail; you’d think that I was condemning him. If I said that he spoke with authority, cared greatly about justice, and had maintained his house through rewarding diligence and punishing misconduct; you’d see me as praising him. In reality, both descriptions have exactly the same meanings. Tell me; if unpaid, forced labor is evil, and Equestrian law is good; what’s community service?”
“That’s different, that only applies if somepony has committed a crime.”
“Do you think that anyone can just grab any stranger off the street and make them a slave? Slavery here only happens in very specific situations, usually as punishment for a crime.”
“Then why not have it regulated by the government to ensure fair treatment of the slaves?”
Fidora snorted in derision; “Things are never most efficient when controlled by a government, if the foreponies have no stake in the profits what motive do they have to make sure things are done right? Besides, nine times out of ten the offence of the perpetrator was not against the government but against an individual.
Suppose a colt gets drunk, vandalizes someone else’s property, and can’t afford to compensate them for damages. By our law the drunk would have to work for the ponies whose property they destroyed for a set time until the debt was paid. Now let’s suppose the person whose property was damaged, doesn’t feel safe sharing a house with a colt who’s prone to drunken violence; so they sell his service to someone else who can control them. The buyer gets the service they require, the seller gets compensation for their lost property, the offender serves the consequence of their actions and for a while doesn’t have a discretionary income, forcing him to detox from alcohol. Justice.”
“What about children who get sold by their parents and haven’t done anything wrong?”
“What child does not obey their own parents? Their status does not change; they merely change guardians.”
“What if the child never sees their parents again?”
“Maybe they’re better off that way.”
“What?”
“Let’s say a stallion becomes an alcoholic; when he runs out of money, he may sell his children to feed his addiction.”
“That’s horrible!”
“Is it? It means the children are removed from his influence, before they learn his bad habits. What’s more, they are now part of a family that does know how to manage money, proven by the fact that they were wealthy enough to purchase them to begin with. We don’t need bloated government organizations that lumber around, looking for children being raised by abusive, alcoholic parents to take them and put them in foster care; here it happens automatically, without a hint of bureaucracy. We don’t have generation after generation of alcoholic deadbeats; a stallion that turns alcoholic will lose his children before they learn his ways.”
“What about families that are just poor?”
“If a stallion is poor, it’s probably because he doesn’t know how to do his job well, or he is lazy, or he doesn’t know how to manage money. In any case, he won’t be able to teach his children how to be successful. Foals learn by observation, if the family they’re in can’t teach them how to build wealth; what’s wrong if they get sold to a family that will?
If a stallion wants to sell one of his children, it either means he can’t afford them, or he doesn’t love them; in either case, they shouldn’t be there. If someone wants to buy a foal you know at least two things about them; they know how to build wealth through long term investments, and they perceive the child being sold as more valuable than the child’s family or any other of the hundreds of prospective buyers.”
“…Is that really how it works out?”
“I can tell you from experience that it does. Some of my best memories from living in Obtrillion’s house, besides Obtrillion himself, include time spent with two young fillies I owned. They came from a double family living on the edge of Obtrillion’s territory; their fathers made some bad choices in their carpentry enterprise and the family fell into debt. Now they could have sat back and watched themselves, their wives, elderly father and nine children become homeless, but instead they each took one of their daughters, eight year old Gimrit and seven year old Tato, and sold them to Obtrillion who gifted them to me for our first anniversary.
Their family got the money they needed to restore their business back to profitability and I raised those girls like they were my nieces. They had better food then they’d had at home; with proper beds, and education for their first time in their lives, they made friends with the other slave fillies, and when I took them to visit their family a year later, they were in better health than any of their siblings. Are you telling me you believe that what Obtrillion and I did was wrong?”
“Couldn’t Obtrillion have just given their family what they needed without demanding anything in return?”
Fidora snorted; “What would that have accomplished? Gimrit and Tato would have only learned that you don’t have to work hard, or live the consequences of their actions because Obtrillion would always bail them out if they made a mistake; and it wouldn't have been long before every beggar in the city pounding at his door until he was broke and the poor had forgotten how to take care of themselves.”
“OK, so maybe these girls had a better childhood with you then their parents; their fate would have been the same. As soon as they’d hit adolescence you would have sold them off to the highest bidding stallion to do whatever he wanted with them.”
“No.” said Fidora flatly, “When they were ready, I would have chosen colts from Obtrillion’s household who I knew would treat them well and who Gimrit and Tato wanted to marry.”
“Well maybe you would be willing to forgo their bride prices; but do you really expect me to believe that many other slave owners would?”
“Yes.”
“…Why?”
Fidora sighed with a sweet yet heavy smile, “You really don’t understand anything about life here do you? If I had a slave-filly who was ready to marry, I could sell her for maybe a hundred thousand rupees, twice that if she was a virgin, but then that would be it. If I gave her to a colt in Obtrillion’s household, there would be no instant reward, but all of their children would be born belonging to Obtrillion and their children would have served mine.”
“There’s still a lot of slaves that get abused; you said so yourself, and there’s no way you can deny that many of them are abused.”
“Why would someone beat a slave without good reason? Of course examples must be made for disobedience or laziness, but a slave is valuable. If you spend hundreds of thousands of rupees to buy a slave and beat them savagely they will be of little use to you, and you will fall into poverty. Slave owners wish to protect their investments and know that a slave whose basic needs are well met, and know they will be rewarded for good work, will achieve far better work then a sick, exhausted slave who has nothing to live for.
When selling a slave, the current owner chooses who to sell to, and often won’t sell to someone with a reputation for being cruel, especially if the seller is the foal’s own family. There are many potential buyers for slaves and so if a wealthy lord treats his slaves badly, then whenever he required new slaves, (which will be often if his slaves are too weak to work), he will have to offer a higher price and if he only gets three or four years out of them before they die or run away, he won’t get back what he invested in them. The lords of all the great houses know that their treatments of slaves will affect the prices they can get new ones for, and so even if they care nothing for the comfort of their slaves, most will treat them at least tolerably.
A cruel master needs to expend resources guarding his slaves and looking for ones that run away whereas a kind master doesn't. A kind master’s slaves will fight to protect him, whereas a cruel master’s slaves might turn him over to his enemies, and so if a house develops a reputation for abusing slaves, the other houses will know that it’s vulnerable for take-over.
House’s whose abuse of slaves is rampart, fall quickly and then can’t abuse their slaves anymore, while houses that care for their slaves last from generation to generation; and everyone knows this.”
Twilight stopped, pondering, and this time Fidora waited for her to break the peace; “I… guess… it could work, so long as the slave owners weren’t corrupt.”
Fidora snorted, “No system of government is ever going to work if the people in charge are corrupt; not a monarchy, not a democracy, not a republic. The best thing you can hope for is for a system that provides financial incentive to do the right thing, and where it's easy to oust a tyrant if one ever arises.”
Twilight wasn’t convinced; but she didn’t have an answer.