• Published 13th Apr 2012
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The Stranger and Her Friend - TheUrbanMoose



Before she was the Princess of the Sun, she was merely a stranger.

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XVIII: La Vie en Cyan

Cotton was very clever.

Her mind worked extraordinarily quickly, reflecting a level of intelligence few suspected of the little mare. As if it were a hobby or a pastime, she liked to think, and she liked to think deeply, about all kinds of things. The sciences, the arts, philosophy and life itself – all were equally likely, and, Cotton knew, ponies found to be equally surprising. Not many knew she had relatively advanced hand-and-hoofmade machines in her workshop; not many knew of her impressive book collection, in a world where books were luxury; not many knew she was prone to deep thought at all, especially considering the happy-go-lucky impression the mare undoubtedly gave.

But she did have machines, she did have books, and she lived life, didn’t she? And so, she thought about it all.

Even when Cotton was a filly, simply “thinking” had been a favorite activity of hers. What friendship she had at that young age was fleeting and shallow. She discovered very early that ponies did not take kindly to differences, at least not at first – her spiraling horn and whirlwind magic made sure that not only was she different, but that she was the most different amongst the foals her age. Relative isolation made it so that for the first eight years of her life, her only real friends were imaginary, and her only true hobbies were baking treats with her parents and, of course, thinking.

She remembered those times, and it was a state of being she would never wish upon herself, nor anypony else. Being friendless was a terrible thing, one of the most awful fates she could think of. Ponies were, without a doubt, social creatures. They were meant to be together. Without any friends, she had regressed into herself, and the keen mind that both she and her parents took so much pride in became a dangerous place. It became an echo chamber. Thoughts and feelings bounced and reverberated off of the walls of her skull, crashing in upon themselves and reinforcing one another. Coming from the singular perspective of one intelligent little filly, sometimes interesting connections were made.

Sometimes, however, the churning sea of thoughts produced opinions and leaps in logic that she knew were less than healthy. Some of them, she had brought up with her parents. Most of them, however, she left unvoiced, for they were dark thoughts indeed.

That had all changed. Her mother had supported her, and her father had guided her. She learned a valuable lesson, the simple principles of optimism and laughter, and she had applied it in the most spectacular way. She earned her cutie mark, discovered her special talent, and, most importantly, made every single friend that it was possible to make.

With a spirit and a perspective that few fillies her age had, Cotton was made into a new mare. She loved her friends and family all the more for it, because she knew what it was like to go without. And she still thoroughly enjoyed the simple act of sitting and thinking, which she was certain was not in itself bad, because with fresh perspective, the darkness had regressed.

However, Cotton had not forgotten what it was like. She remembered all too well the thoughts that could take root in one’s loneliness, and she vowed she would never be lonely again. She surrounded herself with friends, and because everypony was her friend, she was never truly alone, just so long as somepony, anypony was nearby. She was apprehensive at first about living outside the walls, but she was beloved by all Canterlot, and received many visitors. When she was not visiting, she was working, assured of her place amongst ponies.

And so, most of the time, Cotton was simply too busy to think. When she did think, she could not sit idly to ponder. She had things to do, ponies to see and share laughter with. Her musing carried on for hours, days, even weeks at a time, all because her company would not allow her to be inactive, and she could only ponder in what brief downtime she allowed. It was a fate she had happily brought upon herself.

All these things, and more, she remembered while lying on a hospital bed, in the pitch blackness of night, completely and utterly alone.

Lucky Break had long since left, the busy Commander preparing for his battalion’s inevitable departure. Apple Crumble had stayed a bit longer, but only because he needed to, since he was technically still recovering from his injuries. Celestia herself had stayed with her for hours, and they enjoyed their mutual rapport, busying themselves with games, conversation, and wild stories. Cotton beamed when she saw other ponies approach Celestia and compliment her, like how heroic she had been, or how grateful they were. There had been one stallion, an orange pegasus from the Maiden’s Battalion, no less, who had said he thought she was pretty. At that, Cotton had giggled, and Celestia had gracefully blushed while speaking a swift thank you.

And yet, when the night had fallen and it was time, even Celestia had to go. She was still required to train, and the Battalion was more eager than ever to make her battle-worthy. Lucky himself had come to fetch her. Before they left, she saw both of their faces; one was happy to have been there, and the other was mostly impassive, but underneath the surface, Cotton noticed worry. Worry for her.

She assured them, with a smile on her face, that she would be fine. They believed her, because she believed herself. Of course she would be fine! She always was, because she had more than one friend to keep her comfort.

Except now, in the dead of night, all her friends were sleeping, something that she simply could not seem to do. She was left alone with her thoughts.

She felt the sea begin to churn.

Of course, whenever this used to happen, she would get up from her own bed, and make the journey to Coffee’s house. In the middle of the night, she would knock on his door, eyes wide as a kitten’s, and he would inevitably let her in. He was usually awake anyways, working on some project or another. Because of her startlingly active mind, Cotton had an odd form of insomnia, and she found the sound of tinkering metal to be distracting and, for some reason, oddly soothing. Near the end, she had visited so often that Coffee had seen fit to take the time to build a second, Cotton-sized bed.

Cotton had actually been on her way to Coffee’s house on the night that she had met Celestia. She would have helped regardless of who it was, but something about Celestia interested her. Maybe she’s like I was, she had thought. Maybe she needs a friend.

She turned around, took her in, and lo and behold, Celestia was like her. Or, at least, a younger version of her: a lonely, out-of-place mare who felt horrible about her own appearance and abilities. Somepony who had no friends.

Well, Cotton had fixed that right up, yes siree. She had set Celestia on the right track, and now, every pony in Canterlot absolutely loved her. And what joy Cotton had felt to see it! Even the littlest bit of empathy was enough to remember and feel the bliss of gaining friends where there had been none. And Cotton was not lacking in empathy.

Celestia was leaving soon, though. Leaving, and not coming back for a long time, if ever. She had seen friends go to war and never return; it was like losing a piece of herself. Losing Celestia, somepony with whom she identified so much, and who was an absolutely excellent friend besides, would hurt bitterly.

She knew it as fact, because at this moment, that particular pain was beginning to creep in.

The churning sea grew more restless. Every time she blinked, time seemed to move a little faster, or even skip altogether.

With practiced motions, she got out of bed, stumbling as her left foreleg hit the floor.

Coffee knew what it was like. Cotton had made friends with literally everypony in Canterlot, and if she was not friends with a pony, then she would quickly become one. However, she would be lying if she said that she had considered Coffee to be just another friend, just an interesting challenge to be overcome in the friend-making process. She had tried so hard for so long to be his friend, because in the end, it would be worth it. Because he had known what it was like. The loneliness, the rejection, the feeling of being an outcast; he had known it all. She had been able to empathize with him, and he with her, but it had been more than that.

After all that pain, she had wanted to know he could still laugh. Seeing someone who had been so sad turn around to become so happy still was, for Cotton, the greatest experience in the world.

Cotton’s triumph with Celestia had not been entirely unpracticed – she had done the exact same thing years ago with the once reclusive hieyuman Joseph Baker, now affectionately known by Canterlot as “Coffee”.

**********

She blinked, and found herself alone at his home.

Cotton knocked on the door, knowing it was pointless. After a moment of silence, she pushed it open, and walked inside. It was pitch black. She charged her horn, and sent a magelight to the ceiling, where it hovered in place, spinning in a tight circle. By the white, circling light, she saw that nopony had entered since she had last left. Everything was in its proper spot; that is to say, everything was strewn about the floor in messy piles, bits and bobs of metal gadgetry lying everywhere in a state of organized chaos.

She started forward, careful not to tread on any of it, and made her way towards one of the back rooms. There was no door – she had not needed or wanted one. She stood in the entrance and looked in. It was little more than a closet, holding only a comfortable bed and a small chest. It was perfect.

Cotton made her way in, and sat down upon the bed. The pillows and blankets were still folded neatly. She pulled the covers over herself, careful not to disturb them any more than she had to. Eventually, she rested her head on a pillow, pulled the blanket over her face, and was still.

It was too silent.

Her best friend Celestia was leaving soon. And her best friend Joseph… Joseph had already left.

Cotton raised her head.

“Coffee?” she called. The noise echoed through the small house, and yet, at the same time, seemed to be muffled the moment it left her mouth.

Of course, there was no response.

“Coffee…?” she called, a little quieter.

Of course, there was again no response. No clinking of metal, no banging of the hammer, no forge-fire whooshing from the basement, no curses uttered in a foreign tongue, no sudden explosions to rock her to sleep. Nothing. It was completely and utterly silent, and she was completely and utterly alone.

Her eyes were still open, though there was nothing to see. Cotton put her head back down. That had been silly of her. She snuggled deeper into her covers, curled tightly into a ball, and remained horribly awake.

For the first time in many years, Cotton wept.

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone in the guest bedroom. It was morning.

Not much had changed. The house was still quiet, and she was still under the blankets, scrunched tightly into herself. There were not any windows in her little closet of a room, but morning light still filtered in through the windows towards the front of the house. It was visible to her, but only just so. Cotton had buried herself quite deeply under every blanket around. Her head was underneath a pillow.

Slowly, she raised her head, nudging the pillow away and letting some of the looser blankets slide off her form. Her normally bouncy pink-and-purple mane seemed less curly and full than usual. A few hairs stuck out here and there.

She looked around. At least now it felt normal. Cotton was an early riser, and whenever she spent the night at Coffee’s home, she would awaken while he was still fast asleep. He would be snoring loudly in his bed, or even slouched over on his workbench downstairs, some metal part still clutched in one hand and an empty mug near the other. She would get out of bed, close the door to his room or workshop, and begin making breakfast. Oh, and coffee. She never forgot about that.

Cotton tiredly wiped at her eyes. On her cheeks, she felt patches of stiff fur, salty stains from last night’s tears. Embarrassed, she quickly rubbed them away.

Eventually, Cotton slid away from her bed, and turned back to make it, as was routine. Her left arm, she realized, was as stiff as a board. She did her best not to use it, but walked with a pronounced limp and gingerly held it up whenever she rested upon all fours.

She rifled with the blankets and sheets. Underneath the pillow where her head had been, there were splotches darker than the rest, a small mural of water stains. She tried to rub them away, too, scrubbing at the fabric with the fur on her forearm. They did not come clean. Eventually, she settled for hiding it with the pillow, and finished making the bed.

As was routine, she proceeded down the hall away from her room. On her way, she reached for Coffee’s bedroom door, closing it but not daring to look at the terrible emptiness inside.

She entered the kitchen, which was connected to dining area, which was connected to a tiny living room, all of which doubled as a secondary workshop. Everything was just as they had left it, save for the hookshot chain, which somepony had detached from the wooden sign across the street and thrown back in through his window. The spearhead and chain lay in a heap on the floor. She stepped over it, and made her way to the kitchen counter.

Most of the counter was situated well above her to accommodate for Coffee’s natural height, but there was a section of it that had been custom built to be smaller, just for her. Likewise, the lower parts of the pantry cabinet, situated right beside it, held only food that was in a pony’s diet; other food, hieyuman food, was kept up higher, out of her reach. Surprisingly, their diet overlapped in many areas, but there were some things Cotton just did not understand. Like, now that she thought about it, coffee itself.

She peeked inside the cabinet. Sure enough, it was well stocked. Looking up, she saw the things Coffee either did not think she would enjoy, or the things he wanted for himself. A bag of cotton candy sat on the very highest shelf; she had gifted them to him constantly, but also had a tendency to eat them herself. Next to that sat a burlap sack of what she presumed was coffee grounds. She stared warily at it. Her horn began to glow, and the sack came gently spiraling to the ground.

She had made breakfast and coffee many times before, but never partook of the latter. “It’s an acquired taste,” he had told her, after she had took a small sip and nearly spit it back out. “Though, I think you eat way too many sweets to like it.” Cotton had heartily agreed, and never drank much of it again.

Maybe now she would have changed her mind?

Breakfast was quick, both the preparation and the consumption. The coffee, however, took time. She did not mind. It was simply routine, after all.

Eventually, there sat a brown mug of Coffee’s favorite drink in front of her. She just stared at it for a long time. Behind the twists of steam, she could see her own reflection in the tranquil surface of the earthy brown liquid.

Something looked wrong. She looked wrong.

“I should really go,” she said aloud.

She rose from her seat, cleaned up her breakfast, dumped out the coffee, and started for the door, still hobbling with her bad leg.

Suddenly, she stopped, and turned around, heading towards the back of the house. She descended down the stairs at the back, and looked through the doorway. It was his workshop. His real home. It was quite spacious, much larger than the actual first floor where he lived. Down here, there were still metal contraptions and pieces nearly everywhere, but it seemed much cleaner, as if this place’s organization was far more important, and his living quarters were merely a repository for leftover scraps that he did not want to dispose of. There was still one of the castle’s cannons sitting in the center of the floor, surrounded by nuts, bolts, screws, and their appropriate tools. Not far off, there sat a neat pile of glass spheres, about the size of three hooves in diameter. The inside of each could be seen swirling with darkish blue energy. Magical compression, Cotton recognized.

She gave the scene one last look. It was Coffee’s legacy, a project that was ever advancing. Unfinished gadgetry lie on tables throughout the room, devices that, in all likelihood, never would be finished.

A thought occurred to her. She was one of the only ponies who could feasibly fix that cannon in the center of the room. Possibly the only pony. Some ponies knew how to maintain them, but nopony really understood them. Not like she did, anyways.

All because Coffee was gone.

Cotton backed away, and closed the workshop door.

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone at the cathedral.

It was breathtakingly enormous, just as it always had been. The immaculate white marble floors were in excellent condition, the intricately carved stone walls were as magnificent as always, and the fine oaken pews were filled to the maximum with guests and mourners.

She supposed she was not alone, not really. Amongst the thousands of ponies, many of them dressed in sorrowful black cloaks, Cotton sat on the very front row. To her left was Celestia, and to her right, Clover the Clever. She sat idly, waiting for the procession to begin. Without any distraction, she began to think.

A week before, when she had returned from Coffee’s home and hobbled back into the hospital, the doctors, and Celestia, had given her quite the scolding. Of course, they could take no real action against her, but she apologized anyways, explaining that she simply “had some things to take care of.” To give her apology power, she included an extra big smile and a large bag of cotton candy, enough for all the patients on her floor. That had earned her forgiveness easily enough.

She made sure it did not happen again, falling into that trap of deep thought. It had been easy enough, at first. She was, after all, surrounded by friends. Celestia even came to visit her every day after her training, still sweaty and tired, telling her stories of exploits in Lucky’s courtyard, and in Clover’s tower. One recurring theme was Celestia’s new friends; her eyes lit up when she spoke of her new battalion comrades, how they all completely accepted her, and were even impressed by her. Cotton really, really appreciated that.

But now, in the cathedral, where all was quiet, and everypony wore a mask of dark sobriety…

A voice spoke. The low dryness of it was instantly recognizable. Cotton looked up, and saw Father Bright at the head of the chapel, speaking from behind a dark marble pulpit.

“Sons, daughters… children of our gods. Following the grim events of the week past, we welcome those who have come to pay homage to three of our most trusted comrades, and our dearest friends. Arrowsong, Swift Cloud, and Joseph ‘Coffee’ Baker.”

Cotton felt Celestia pat her on the back, followed by a quick, comforting rub. She looked over and gave an appreciative smile.

The moment her hoof fell from her, though, she returned to herself. Father Bright continued speaking, and she resumed thinking.

Her gaze wandered to the three caskets at the front of the cathedral. One of them was larger than the rest. It was only fitting; in that casket lay her hopes, her ideals, a large portion of her efforts, and perhaps her dearest friend. In that casket lay the last of the combined knowledge of a once glorious empire. In that casket lay a piece of herself. So naturally it was big, with so many things to carry. And soon enough, they were going to put it in the ground.

Though she was barely conscious at the time, she had heard the story. In fact, she was hearing it again right now, as Father Bright recounted the deeds of heroism possessed of these three brave souls. Coffee had given his life for hers. Like some sort of sick bargain, Discord had demanded a choice be made between them, and what had Coffee done? He had chosen her. Joseph Baker, the engineer of Hieyuma and patron saint of invention, had deemed her life to be of greater worth than his own.

A dark thought struck her. Had he been wrong?

“Cotton.”

Celestia’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She was nudging her in the side, and motioning with her head towards the pulpit.

It was a moment before Cotton comprehended what Celestia meant. She had been asked to speak on Coffee’s behalf. The other speakers for the two deceased Royal Guards had already gone, and now, it was her turn. Time had escaped her grasp; she had not even realized.

“Oh.” She jumped off her seat, and trotted towards the front of the chapel, still limping on her foreleg. Reaching the pulpit, she turned around and looked into the crowd. More than five thousand ponies stared at her, waiting for her to speak.

Cotton gave an inspiring, utterly optimistic, sometimes even humorous speech about the accomplishments Joseph had made in life, the good things he had done, the friends he had made. She told the story of how he had become known as “Coffee”, an occurrence in which she played no small role. She spoke about her own relationship with him, how they had been the best of friends. She could see the crowd thinking it: Cotton was friends with everypony. Of course she would speak for Coffee, he was too reclusive for anypony else.

Well, they only had it half right.

Cotton continued regardless, and though her features were animated and her speech was enlivening, she could hardly hear her own voice.

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone at the Canterlot cemetery.

It was the one inside the city, the only one within the walls, set on a high, distant plateau. Unlike the graveyard outside the walls, this one peeked through a small gap in the mountains, like a miniature valley, so that both the sunrise and the sunset could be seen. Right now, the sun hung low on the western horizon. Wind whispered through the trees and shrubs, and the sound of ponies' hooves could be heard shuffling through the grass. Even with the considerable gathering, it really was a peaceful place. Its distance from the city proper lent to its tranquility, and the elevation lent to its spectacular view of the plains below the mountain.

Borne up the steep trail by three teams of strong stallions, three decorated coffins lay before them on the grass. Three graves had been dug, and three headstones carved. They all fit the setting very nicely, matching the rows of headstones behind them, but at the same time, carrying their own personality. After all, within the city walls, where the space was quite limited, only truly distinguished heroes were buried.

The large casket threw off the neatly organized rows, but they had made it work. One row behind the casket, and six feet deeper, lay buried the Maiden of Canterlot. On the headstone was a small arrangement of sunflowers. They had already been there when the procession arrived.

Cotton wondered how Lucky felt, and even considered asking him. Had he felt all these things? Did he get all these thoughts about…

She stopped herself, surprised at what she was thinking. Giving up?

No.

No!

What kind of pony would she have been, to “give up” after her life had been saved, and at so terrible a cost? She repeated the question to herself, had Coffee been wrong about the value of her life?

Maybe. After all, what was one silly little confectioner compared to Equestria’s greatest inventor? Not much, was the truthful answer.

But she was still alive. She was alive, and she could change things, she could grow. Maybe she could even invent weapons. Was she worth it? Maybe not, but if that was the case, then she would make herself worth it. She would become something Coffee would have been proud of.

Father Bright spoke some final words, and ordered the caskets to be lowered into their graves. Once they were in, each pony threw a hoof-ful of dirt into the hole, taking one last look and offering their last goodbyes. Cotton garnered some strange looks as she stepped forward the sad smile gone from her face, replaced by newfound determination.

She would be worth it.

“I promise.”

She threw her hoof-ful in, and moved on.

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone in her workshop.

Machines roared boisterously around her. Stoves were burning, pots were boiling, and in the center of it all, her cotton candy device hummed loudly, aided of course by the whirlwind of motion and heat that she fed into it via her own magic. After a minute had gone by, she retrieved a nearby stick, and dipped it into the bowl, slowly stirring it around.

Another half minute went by, and she pulled it back out. Wrapped around the top was a picture perfect wad of blue cotton candy. After examining it, and taking a small chunk out to taste test, Cotton nodded her approval. She set it on a tray on a nearby table, covering it, along with a dozen others, under a thin protective sheet. Walking back to the machine, she poured another batch of sugar inside the circular disc, and began the process all over again.

The work was the same as always, and she truly did love it. She could honestly say that there was no job in the world she would rather have. Making candy, selling candy, and then seeing ponies enjoy that candy was a joy unlike any other.

Yet, the work was just that: the same. Nothing had changed, and why would it have? She was not inspired to do anything noteworthy, and her routine remained as constant as it had ever been, save for her evening visits to watch Celestia train. Her promise to Coffee had not even inspired any new bursts of creative thought for recipes; she already had coffee-flavored cotton candy, even though nopony had much liked it but him.

Was this truly it, then? Was this the worth of her life? Was this her legacy? Making candy? It was certainly not a lowly profession, but neither was it heroic…

She withdrew another stick of cotton candy and tasted it. Delicious, as always.

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone in the market square.

It was evening. The sun had begun to descend in the sky, though the day still held a few more hours of light. Ponies thronged all around her, moving in every direction, but there was always a particular draw towards her stand. Stallions, mares, and foals alike waited in line to be served. Every day, from the time she opened her stand, to the time she ran out of stock and closed it, ponies were always waiting. Sometimes the line consisted of only a few, and sometimes it stretched all the way across the square, but there was indeed always a line.

Most of them came for the cotton candy. It was, after all, what she was known for. Ms. Cake the kind confectioner, creator, connoisseur, and caterer of cotton candy. It was even imprinted on her flank, a fluffy pink cone of her namesake.

So, of course that was her worth. Of course that was her legacy. Candy was her special talent.

She sighed. At least she was good at it.

“Somethin’ gotcha down, little miss?”

Cotton looked up. When she saw who it was, she beamed. “Crumble!”

Sure enough, Apple Crumble stood at the front of the line, lightly smiling back down at her. “’Ello, Cotton.”

“It’s nice to see you!” Cotton greeted, reaching over the counter and shaking his hoof. “How have you been? Is training over already?”

“Nah, jus’ takin’ a small break is all.” He deployed his right wing, scratching at it with his hoof, partially displaying it to her. “Took a righ’ hard blow to the wing, I did. Can’t really fly, so my capabilities are a bit… limited at the moment.”

The bandages were gone, but his wing was still worn and rustled.

“Oh no, Crumble!” Cotton leaned forward to get a closer look. “Will it recover? Will you be okay?”

He looked surprised. “I, uh… yeah, don’ worry ‘bout it. It’ll get better!” He guffawed, amused at her concern. “S’not like it got cut off, ‘er anythin’. I’ll be fine!”

Cotton leaned back over the counter, and smiled. “Good,” she said, nodding.

He withdrew his wing. “Yeh silly filly. I could’a been a lot worse off, too…”

He trailed off. The corners of Cotton’s lips had lowered just slightly, and her smiling eyes seemed to fade just a bit.

“How ‘bout you, Cotton?” Crumble asked, trying to keep his tone conversational. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Huh? Me?” Cotton asked, surprised. “Oh, I’m… good!” She looked as though she were about to laugh, though they both knew she was far from it.

“Are yeh sure?” Crumble pursued. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, and his voice lowered to a murmur. “I know ‘is passing has been hard on you. I know what it’s like, too.”

Cotton’s smile faded, and she bit her lower lip. “Well…” She looked down at her counter, idly sifting through the grainy patterns of wood with her eyes. Eventually, she slowly bobbed her head. “…I’m okay.”

“Hmmm.” Crumble put a hoof to his beard, stroking it and regarding Cotton closely. “Well, alrigh’. But Cotton, if yeh need somepony to talk to, I’m ‘ere.”

Cotton’s smile returned to her face, though it was smaller, and seemed somehow more genuine than before. “Thanks, Crumble.” She paused for a moment to collect herself. “So, what’ll it be?”

Crumble beamed beneath his bushy blonde beard. “Jus’ a tart, if yeh have it.”

“Right away!” Cotton ducked beneath the counter. “What flavor?”

“Well, I’m rather fond o’…”

“Apple?” Cotton said, producing a small pastry before he could finish.

“Hah! Yeah, that’s the one.” He gratefully accepted the treat, and immediately took a bite into it. Crumbs from the pastry clung to his beard. Cotton giggled.

“So,” Crumble said, finishing his first bite, “what do I owe yeh?”

“Hmm.” Cotton considered it for a moment. “Why don’t you just have this one? It’s on the house, mister stickybeard.”

He put a hoof to his chin, and brushed out most of the crumbs.

“Are yeh sure?”

Cotton nodded.

“Well, if you insist…” Crumble said somewhat hesitantly, before taking a not-so-hesitant bite from the pastry. “Gotta hand it to yeh, lass, yeh really know how to make a pony smile.”

“Thanks! I mean, I did make some extra anyways, and…”

She stopped.

“…I know how to make a pony smile?” she asked.

Crumble, about to walk away, paused. “Well, yeah, sure.” He cast her a curious glance. “Heh, yeh sound surprised! That’s like, what yer known for, lass!” He looked back at the line of ponies behind him, which by now, was growing impatient.

“’Cept fer yer customers, if yeh keep ‘em waitin’ like this,” he said jokingly.

Cotton did not hear him. “I know how to make ponies smile…” she repeated, muttering to herself.

Crumble looked around. “Er, yeah. Anyways, it was nice seein’ yeh, Cotton. I’ve gotta get goin’ back to the barracks courtyard-”

“Wait!” Cotton suddenly exclaimed. “Can I come with?” She did not wait for permission, hopping away from her stand and to his side.

“You… what?” He scratched his head. “Don’t yeh have a business to run? Candy left to sell?”

Cotton tilted her head. “Hm? Oh yeah!”

She raced back to her counter, and began digging underneath it. A moment later, she came back up to the top with an armful of treats, sweets, and of course, more cotton candy than a single pony would know what to do with. She set them all on the counter in an enormous heap, following up with many more armfuls, presumably until her entire stock sat on the top of her counter. It was several times taller than her. How she managed to fit that much candy underneath her counter, Crumble had no idea.

She trotted towards Crumble, and without warning, jumped up onto his back, standing on it as a makeshift stage. He gave a surprised, protesting grunt.

“Hey everypony!” she shouted across the market, pointing her still recovering arm towards her stand. “Free candy!”

A moment later, she lost her balance, and collapsed onto Crumble’s back, though she did not fall off. Forelegs dangling off one side, and hind legs dangling off the other, she dusted her hooves together.

“There, that takes care of that.”

Crumble craned his head back to look at her. “What do yeh think yer doin’, lass?!” he yelled, more frantic and confused than angry.

“Uh-oh. Um… we should probably…” Cotton pointed ahead of him.

He looked forward, and sure enough, nearly the entire market square seemed to be charging in their direction.

He yelped, and galloped in the opposite direction to avoid being trampled, but to no avail. Ponies were coming in from all sides, eager to get at the enormous pile of sweets. He picked out the widest opening he could find, and plowed through it. Still bouncing around on his back, Cotton cheered with excitement.

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone on the outskirts of the barracks courtyard.

Ponies of every race engaged in all types of training. Flight, agility, strength, endurance, aim, magical prowess; if an attribute could be used upon the battlefield, it was almost certainly being honed in the courtyard. The ponies trotting around the quarter-mile track greeted her as they passed, tiredly calling out her name and happily waving. She greeted them in response, watching them smile as she successfully remembered each and every one of their names in return.

That was, after all, her special talent!

She could not believe that she had forgotten. It was something Coffee had told her, following the incident that had ultimately led to their friendship. “I don’t think your special talent is making candy,” he had said. “I think your special talent is making people smile. Maybe candy is sometimes just the best way of doing that.”

She had already half known it, but coming from her new best friend, it seemed like simple, loving flattery. Maybe it was, but he had been right. There was something else he had said, too… something she had liked. What was it again?

She remembered. “Most see people as they appear to be. Some see people as they are. You-” Cotton touched and wrinkled her nose. She remembered Coffee poking her in the nose when he said that. “You, and a few exceptional others… you see people as what they can become. Thank you for having such an extraordinary gift.”

She smiled tranquilly. That was her special talent. That was her gift.

In the center of the courtyard, Cotton watched as Celestia trained, getting her first ever experience with the pegasi standard weapon, the switchblade. The switchblade had been an device of Coffee’s own invention, she remarked. It was a hoof-mounted, gauntlet type accessory, which, at first glance, appeared to be nothing more than a slightly bulging piece of foreleg armor. However, when the user activated it with a subtle motion of the hoof, a blade either flipped forward and locked into place or, in some of the newer models, would slide out from the inner workings of the device. The blade itself was relatively large and surprisingly thick, about one third of the size of a normal pony’s standard issue longsword. It had been made exclusively for pegasi, allowing them to simply dive into their target rather than attempt a slash, but many other soldiers kept them for backup as well. If needed, it made for an excellent stealth weapon. Coffee had said he got the idea from one of his old friends, a man named… Eagle? She could not remember.

The switchblade, along with countless other devices, many of which could be found on these very training grounds, were inventions of Coffee. They were his legacy, and they made for an impressive legacy indeed.

So, compared to all this, what was her legacy? He had thanked her for having “an extraordinary gift”, something that, in the end, he chose to give his life for. Cotton knew exactly what it was, and why it was important.

She had brought a sad hieyuman out of his depression, and he ended up making tools that had saved thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands by now! Much later, she had cheered up another poor outcast, who had ended up earning the respect of the entire city. Between those two incidents, she knew she had done so much more for so many more.

Cotton’s talents did not end at making candy. Quite the opposite: that is simply where it all began.

And right now, she knew where her talents were needed the most. Perhaps it was selfish excuse to stay with somepony who… understood… but Celestia’s happiness was nascent, and therefore fragile. If safeguarding the optimism of what she understood to be Equestria’s best hope was not important, what was?

Cotton nodded to herself. It was decided then. She saw Apple Crumble, making a lap around the track, and stood up as he passed her, trotting towards him with a pronounced limp on her bad leg.

“Hey! Crumble! Hey, slow down!”

He did, but only a little. “Cotton?” Crumble briefly looked back, before turning his head forward again. “Yeh know the rules Cotton…” He paused, taking a moment to breathe. “No civilians in the courtyard…”

“Wow, you’re fast!” Cotton said, finally catching up to him. Even though he was only moving at a mild trot, she had difficulty keeping up. Her body dipped dramatically every time she stepped on her left foreleg.

“C’mon, miss…” Crumble panted. Sweat formed all over his coat, and made some of his blonde mane stick to his brow. He turned his head, and spat on the grass to his side. “If yer not a part of the battalion… Yeh can’t-”

“I’m joining the Maiden’s Battalion!”

Crumble’s mouth closed, and he did not answer. Gradually, his trot slowed, until he eventually came to a complete stop. He held his head down, panting in exhaustion. Behind him, Cotton was doing the same.

“Whew, that was tiring!” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow. “What’s next, Crumble? Strength training? Bucking practice? Oooo, we should do that. I’m don’t think my arm is fully healed, yet.”

She rolled her left arm in its joint, testing its flexibility and massaging the area where the scar had been left. It was still large and ugly, a furless line that had yet to be reclaimed by her natural cyan. She knew it probably never would be. She set her hoof down.

“Oh look, the bucking dummies are open!” Cotton said, eagerly pointing across the field at a line of straw targets. She started towards it by herself. “Let’s go!”

Crumble raised his head, still breathing heavily. “Wha- No, Cotton!” he called. She stopped mid-trot, and turned back towards him.

“What?” she asked innocently.

“Yeh can’t…” He took another deep breath. “Yeh can’t just… no, yeh can’t do that!”

Cotton frowned. “Do what? Use the training dummies? I know I look strong, Apple,” she said, almost condescendingly, “but don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. I promise, most of them will still be standing when I’m done.”

Crumble gave her an incredulous look.

She crossed her heart with a hoof. “Promise.”

Crumble quickly shook his head. “No no no, missy, yeh don’t understand. These grounds are for battalion members only.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I’m joining!” She happily beamed at him.

He scowled. “Er, no.”

“What?” Cotton cried, genuinely distressed. “Why not?”

Crumble sighed. “I don’t have time fer yer games, Cotton.”

“It’s not a game!” she protested, stomping a hoof on the ground.

He rolled his eyes, and turned back towards the track. “Go home, little filly.” He took off, resuming his exercise.

Cotton let out a puff of air, and trotted after him. “Hey! Hey, don’t you run away from me!” He ignored her. She had to move at a full gallop in order to catch up to his trot, stumbling the whole way and nearly tripping twice.

“Crumble!” she exclaimed as she finally caught up to him. “Crumble, I am joining!”

He looked straight ahead, keeping to his rhythmic breathing.

“C’mon, you’re always saying how Equestria needs more recruits!”

Crumble quickened his pace a little, but Cotton was not deterred.

“Don’t think I don’t know my history, Crumble! The 21st started out as nothing but a bunch of rookie patriots who wanted to do what was right! Like me!” She waited for a reaction in vain. “So why can’t I?”

He slowed to a stop, quicker than the last time. She had not been expecting it, and stumbled past him a small ways.

“Why not?” he muttered to himself. Cotton walked back to him, and looked at him hopefully. “Tell yeh what, my little pony. I’ll give yeh one chance. If yeh can stay in this courtyard fer the next sixty seconds, I’ll let yeh join. Otherwise, yeh have to stop buggin’ me.”

Cotton’s eyes lit up. “R-really? Okay, sure! Starting when?”

“Now.”

In an instant, he closed the small distance between them, and swiped a hoof towards her. She did not even have time to flinch. In the next instant, Cotton was swept off the ground and securely restrained by Crumble, who held her at his shoulder with a single, muscular arm. Casually, he stepped off the track and walked across the grassy field, towards the low wooden fence at the edge.

“Hey! You let me go, you big-!” She pushed against him, but to no avail. “Crumble! Put me down! Crumb-uuuull!”

She flailed her hooves in his grasp, beating on his chest and making herself difficult to carry, but he barely seemed to feel it. The size difference between them was dramatic – one of his arms was about the same height as her entire body, making her feel like a foal in his grasp. She suspected that when she hit him, she was hurting herself more. Still, that did not stop her.

Eventually, they reached the edge of the field, with Cotton kicking and shouting the whole way.

“You big meanie! I should have a chance! Just give me a chance! Let me- Oof!”

Cotton tumbled backwards as Crumble dumped her on the opposite side of the fence. Sitting up from her back and shaking her head, she looked at Crumble, who stood there watching her. His face was somewhat stern, but Cotton could see some apology as well, like a father who did not like having to punish his child.

“Crumble…” she murmured woefully. She paused for a moment. “How many seconds was that?”

“Twenty-six.”

Cotton’s heart sank. She let her gaze drop, and she gave a disappointed whimper.

Seeing her lip tremble, and her eyes grow wide, Crumble’s expression softened. “Cotton…” He sighed. “Listen, I know how yeh feel. I do. I been in the army long enough to know what the death of a loved one is like.” He paused, contemplating something. “I… know yer upset with Joseph’s death, and that’s okay. Gods know he didn’t deserve it. But goin’ out there ‘cause yeh want… because yeh wanna avenge him, er somethin’… that ain’t gonna do nothin’ for ‘im. There’s plenty o’ ponies willin’ to do that for yeh, ponies who are more experienced, more capable. If yeh really want to honor his life, stay here, where yer talents are the most useful.”

“No, you don’t understand…” Cotton replied in a tiny, trembling voice. “Celestia…”

“Celestia? Is that what this is about?” Crumble leaned in a little more, setting one hoof on the fence. “Yeh did that mare a great service, Cotton, nopony doubts that one bit. But she’s fine now. I doubt yeh can do much more than yeh already have.”

“But-”

“An’ look, Cotton. Yer an adorable little thing, but yeh jus’ don’t belong with the 21st, er any army, fer that matter. I mean, yeh can’t even keep up with me on the track, much less overpower me in battle. How do yeh suppose you’ll contribute?”

“I could…” Cotton looked around, as if the answer were somewhere nearby. “I’m a good baker! I can cook!”

“We already have chefs, little miss, ponies that can keep up with our marching pace, and that can live the army lifestyle. It ain’t pretty, and it certainly ain’t fun. You would regret it the moment yeh set hoof outside the city, I guarantee yeh. I know you an’ Celestia are the best o’ friends, but we can’t take yeh, just ‘cause yeh feel like comin’ along.”

“But… but I…”

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone at Coffee’s home.

Cotton did not know why she kept coming back here. Perhaps part of the reason for this particular visit was the state of her wooden candy stand in the market square; that is to say, it was completely destroyed, smashed into bits. Her stock of candy was gone as well. Remnants of treats of all sorts were scattered about the ground. She was not angry about it, or even remorseful. She had willingly given it all away, and truth be told, it was not the first time she had done so. Still, couldn’t they have been a bit more gentle?

In any case, she had no desire to pick up the pieces of her stand. Vowing to come back to it tomorrow, she had wandered through the streets, empty-hooved, lost in her own thoughts. Her legs had simply carried her to Coffee’s house, regardless of her own volition.

And so, there she stood in the entryway, once again surrounded by metal trinkets and old mementos, and not really knowing what to do. It was late evening, but she did not feel like sleeping. Returning to her own home would have felt like admitting defeat. Even staying here made her feel directionless. She merely stood there, almost too tired to think about the big things, allowing fleeting, trivial thoughts to come and go through her mind.

She idly wondered if a cup of coffee might be any good right now.

Finally moving, but still lacking any true purpose, Cotton made her way over to the pantry, and acquired a sack of coffee grounds. Automatically, almost unthinkingly, she began the ritualistic process of making coffee. Even with her body in motion, her mind wandered.

Crumble was right. There was no way she could ever join the armed forces, much less the Maiden’s Battalion. What could she possibly contribute? Maybe the 21st Division had once been a group of ragtag patriots, but those days were long passed. Now, though they still retained that same pride, and many of those who had been there at its original formation were still serving, their image was entirely different. The battalion was an elite fighting force, considered by some to be the greatest in all of Equestria. Forged in the crucible of intense training, and refined in the fires of battle, these were ponies whose skill was great, whose bravery was unmatched, and whose bonds were unbreakable. Tying them all together was a cunning mare whose leadership ability had been legendary. Though she was gone, her stories long outlived her, and even if Lucky Break turned out to be the worst Commander in history, something she highly doubted, those ponies of the 21st would still be skilled and experienced beyond compare.

And who was she, but little Cotton Cake? She had a talent, sure, and a great one at that, but even she knew it was of no use on the battlefield. In this, none of her friends, not even those in high places, would argue her case. She still desperately wanted to go, and her reason remained unchanged: Celestia needed somepony to keep a smile on her face! But she just could not visualize convincing anypony of that.

What she needed was an excuse, a real skill that she could justify using in the battalion’s company. Nothing came to mind.

The coffee was done. She retrieved a small mug, and poured herself a glass. Wisps of steam rose from the small pool. She put her nose up to the liquid, and gave it a tentative sniff. It still did not smell good to her.

She sighed. “Oh, maybe I should just give-”

A knock at the door cut her off.

Cotton did a double take. That was strange… who could possibly be coming here, and what could they possibly want? Maybe it was a mistake. Sure, she was here, but she knew that was strange, too. She decided to wait a moment in silence.

Sure enough, there was another knock at the door. It was not impatient, or heavy, or out of the ordinary in any way. Just a normal, casual series of hoofbeats. Cautiously, she made her way over to the door.

“Hello…?” she said, slowly pulling it open and peeking around the edge. In front of the door was a grey-coated, blonde-maned pegasus, wearing a city guard’s uniform and carrying saddlebags on either side. Cotton vaguely recognized him as Chain Mail, one of the palace’s couriers. He saw her eye peeking around the corner and waved.

“Hello!”

“Hi.” Cotton opened the door wider and properly faced him. “Can I help you?” she asked, keeping a friendly, albeit surprised tone of voice.

“Yyyy-yes!” he said, emphatically nodding. “You’ve got mail!” He pulled one of his saddlebags open with his wing, retrieved a letter from inside, and offered it to her. Tentatively, she took it from him, and brought it to eye level to read.

“The city guard sent me to check on the progress of the cannon that was shipped here a while ago,” he said, without waiting for her to finish.

Cotton squinted at the last few lines of the letter. It was another moment before she lowered it, and addressed him. “They want it... ‘serviced and fully functional’ by this Wednesday?”

Chain Mail causally nodded. “Mm hmm. So how’s that coming along?”

Cotton just stared at him for a moment, before responding. “I’m afraid that cannon won’t ever be fixed.”

His head tilted, and he gave her a blank expression. “It won’t?”

Cotton frowned. Now she remembered – Chain Mail could be a bit absentminded at times. “Do you know whose house this is?”

“Uhhh…” he looked left and right, examining the small stone cottage. “Yours?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “It’s Coffee’s! And he’s… he’s…”

The courier took a timid step back. “Well why are you in there, then?”

“I’m not…! I’m here because…!” Cotton stuttered, struggling to find an explanation to a question even she did not know the answer to. Eventually she sighed. “Just… that cannon is broken, now. For good.”

“Well, the letter says to come to this address,” the pegasus protested. “Can’t you fix it?”

“No, that’s not my job! What makes you think that…” She paused for a moment, nearly trailing off. Her speech dramatically slowed. “…I can do it.”

Cotton’s eyes drifted away, staring off into the space past his shoulder. He shifted uncomfortably. The two of them stood in relative silence. It was a few seconds before he spoke up, simultaneously spreading his wings and beginning to walk away.

“Well, I guess I’ll go tell them that-”

“Wait!” Cotton cried, extending a hoof towards him. She withdrew it, and looked away, biting her lip. Chain Mail stood there uncertainly, while she seemed to decide something for herself. “Umm… tomorrow! Tell them to send somepony to pick it up tomorrow.”

He looked back, surprised. “Oh, uh, okay. Will it be fixed?”

She seemed to contemplate the question, before looking up at him, a determined fire burning in her eyes.

“Absolutely!”

The pegasus shrugged. “Okay,” he said complacently. “Oh, wait, but tomorrow’s Tuesday-”

Cotton shut the door. She knew what she had to do.

Except, oops! That had been terribly rude of her. She galloped to the kitchen pantry, and galloped back to the door, swinging it open.

“I’m sorry for being rude, mister Mail!” she quickly said. “Here, have something for your troubles!” She tossed him a cone of cotton candy. He put his hooves up to catch it, fumbled with it midair, and let it drop to the ground. Regardless, he picked it up, and smiled.

“Gee, thanks-!”

Cotton shut the door. Now she knew what she had to do.

It was not her routine, but she knew every last detail by heart. Frantically, she ran around the room, shutting all the windows, and closing the blinds, shrouding the house in relative darkness. Next, she ran into Coffee’s old bedroom, and found one very specific piece of clothing, a solid green, short-billed army hat. She briefly regarded it. His thinking cap, he had called it. After a moment, she shoved it on her head. It was much too big for her, and did not fit her correctly besides, but she wore it with pride anyways.

Cotton exited the bedroom, and started off towards the workshop. Descending the stairs, it was not until she reached the basement door that she realized something was wrong. She was missing something. It only took a moment before she knew what it was.

Trotting back upstairs, she saw it on the kitchen table, still hot and steaming, still waiting for her. She picked up the mug of coffee and took a huge drink. It left a small brown moustache above her lips, which she quickly licked away.

It was not her routine, but she knew every last detail. It was not her job, but it could become hers. Maybe ponies did not think she was capable of doing it, but she was.

She walked back down to the workshop door, coffee mug in hoof, and pushed it open.

Gadgets of all kinds lay everywhere. More than just parts, there were other machines, unfinished designs, unrealized blueprints. In the center of it all was the cannon.

She took another sip, and stepped through the door.

**********

She blinked again, and found herself alone inside the Canterlot barracks.

More specifically, it was in Lucky Break’s private quarters. After having asked a couple silly questions like “Who let her in here?” and “What the hell?”, Lucky sat behind a desk, regarding her a bit more professionally. She could not fathom why he had spoken like that. Possibly because it was three in the morning? Some stallions were just grumpy after waking up from a nap, she supposed.

“Okay, Cotton,” he said, rubbing at his eyes, and tousling his already disheveled orange mane. “You have my attention. What do you want?”

“Oh, I don’t want anything,” Cotton happily announced. “I have a gift for you!”

Lucky cringed at the loudness of her voice. “Okay,” he muttered crossly. “Let’s get this over with.”

Cotton dipped into her saddlebags, and presented him with her ‘gift’. His eyes became a little wider, and he sat up with renewed interest.

“How does it work?” he asked, almost suspiciously.

She showed him.

Cotton could tell he was impressed. The way he handled it carefully, examined it from every angle, fit it around his hoof and used it multiple times on his own; she knew he was thinking of its applications in battle.

Eventually, he set it down on his desk, nodding, showing on his face the barest hint of approval. That hint was all Cotton needed to know everything was going to be okay. Or rather, more than okay. Everything would be wonderful.

The bitter pain in her heart was suppressed. The churning sea in her mind was put to rest. Time itself seemed to have settled, and it no longer skipped when she was not paying attention. Suddenly, she did not feel so inexplicably alone.

“You made this?” Lucky asked, trying not to let the admiration in his face show.

“Sort of. I only finished it.”

“What is it called?”

Cotton could not help but let a huge smile onto her face. “I call it the ‘hookshot’.”