On the Nature of Alicorns

by Typoglyphic

Chapter Two

Equestria had its fair share of beautiful cities. One had only to look upward to see the magnificence of Cloudsdale, with its gleaming white architecture and vibrant rainbows. No industry could be considered valuable if it didn't run through Manehattan, the economic hub of the nation. And if knowledge could be marked on a map, it would be labelled Canterlot. Anypony with scientific, artistic, or political aspirations would inevitably gravitate toward Equestria's capital.

Twilight Sparkle stepped out of the train station and breathed in the Canterlot air. It smelled of ambition, of determination, of... Well, it actually smelled like exhaust and fast food. A train station is a train station, national hub of culture or not.

She set off toward the castle. Spike scrambled out of the train after her. “Remind me again why you couldn’t just send the princess a letter?” His voice was nearly drowned by the clamour of the street. Ponies rushed past in both directions. Afternoon rush hour.

“Some things need to be done in person, Spike.” Twilight nodded politely at the castle guards as she passed the gates. “And it’s been a while since we visited. Who knows, maybe there’s been some kind of magical disaster since last time we were here.”

Spike snickered. “This isn’t Ponyville, Twilight. How many years did we live here without seeing any disasters, magic or not?”

Twilight glanced back at him, still walking. “Well, there was my magic exam…”

“Okay, but that’s just—”

“And then there was Discord…”

“That doesn’t count. Discord was everywhere.”

“And Cadance and Shining Armour’s wedding…”

“Okay, I’ll give you that, but—”

“Does Tirek count?”

“If Discord doesn’t count then why would Tirek?” Spike shook his head. “You know what? Never mind. You’re right. If we’re here, odds are that something’ll go wrong.”

The castle was surprisingly quiet given the activity on the streets outside. Guards stood at doorways, still and silent enough to be mistake for decorations, but the halls were otherwise empty. Twilight and Spike arrived at the entrance to the throne room. It was empty. There were usually dozens of ponies lined up here on a given day, waiting to present their cases to the princess. The doors to the throne room were closed.

Twilight approached a guard standing to one side of the door. “Is… is Princess Celestia not holding day court?”

The guard bowed. “The Princess has announced that the Court shall be closed today, your highness.” He spoke by rote, his expression like stone. While they were far from effective at actually guarding anything, Canterlot’s guards were famed for their discipline. “She has retired to the conservatory.”

Princess Celestia did not cancel court often, but even she took vacations occasionally. Twilight nodded to the guard, then turned and headed for the nearest staircase.

“Why don’t you meet me at the Archives, Spike. I might be a while,” she said over her shoulder.

Two floors up and on the far east side of the castle, Twilight paused in front of the open door of the conservatory. Warm sunlight spilled out into the hall. Twilight peaked her head inside.

Celestia sat by one of the conservatory’s windows, looking out. Without turning, she called out, “How are you, Twilight?”

Twilight hesitated before stepping into the room and sitting next to her. “I’m well, Princess, thank you.”

Celestia turned to look at her. “Is this a social call, or can I help you with something? You look worried.” The Princess looked serene, like always.

“Worried?” Twilight didn’t feel worried… Well, maybe now she did. “No, I’m fine. I do have something to ask you, though. I was preparing...” No, Celestia didn’t need to hear all that. “Um, how much...” She should have figured out what she was going to say on the train! “What I mean is—how does ascension work?”

Celestia smiled. “Don’t you know? You are one of the few ponies to have ascended.”

“Uh…” That was true. She had ascended. But… “I have, but I still don’t understand the magic behind it. How can a pony become so much more powerful with just a spell?”

“There is much more to being a princess that spells, as I’m sure you realize,” Celestia said. “You have come a long way these past years. Do not worry.”

Twilight felt pride swelling in her chest. She forced herself to speak evenly. “Thanks, Princess. I couldn’t have done any of it without your help.”

“Don’t undersell yourself, Twilight. You were destined to rule. I knew since you were a foal. Honestly, I always thought you looked a bit funny without wings.” Celestia winked at her.

Twilight chuckled, and the two of them turned to look out the conservatory window. A few seconds of comfortable silence passed, then Twilight blinked. Wait.

That hadn’t helped at all. The Princess had misunderstood her. She definitely should have prepared her questions beforehoof.

“Sorry, Princess. What I meant was—”

“You don’t need to call me princess, Twilight. We are equals now,” Celestia interrupted gently. “By addressing Luna and I with honorifics, you will make yourself seem subservient to us in the public’s eye.”

“Oops.” Celestia was right. Better to nip that particular problem in the bud. “Sorry, Prin—I mean, uh, Celestia.” It felt strange to say her name on its own like that. “I have to do so many things differently...” Buck, it sounded like she was complaining about becoming an immortal princess! “Not that I’m ungrateful, of course. I just meant that there are parts of...” Of course Celestia knew that there were undesirable consequences of being royalty! She had ruled for thousands of years. “Uh… I mean…”

Celestia didn’t react to Twilight’s meltdown. “Like stocking your library? I heard that you placed an order with HalterCollins.”

Twilight nodded and took a few deep breaths. “Yeah, unfortunately the castle’s library didn’t come with books to match.” She coughed out a half-hearted laugh. Celestia was smiling.

“I know that you don’t want to abuse your position, Twilight, but the good of your subjects comes first. Ponyville needs a functional library. The next time something like this comes up, please do not hesitate to write to me.”

“Don’t worry, C-Celestia, I won’t. That was actually one of the reasons I came to Canterlot.” What had been the other reason, again?

“Now,” Celestia continued, “let me teach you how royalty orders books.”

Twilight grinned and settled in. She had missed lessons like this.

---

Twilight left the conservatory on tingling limbs an hour later. She always felt better—more confident—after talking with Celestia, although she wished they had moved from the floor at some point. She arched her back as she walked and heard a series of cracks. She was definitely due for another spa appointment.

She found Spike chatting with a young unicorn mare in the Canterlot Archives. Apparently he’d made a friend while she’d been gone. She left him to his conversation and headed for the natural science and magic section out of habit.

Ah, she missed this library. She’d spent more time here than anywhere else back when she lived in Canterlot, both before and after becoming Celestia’s student. While streets were rerouted and buildings were renovated, this bit of Canterlot hadn’t changed a bit, and she made a point of visiting whenever she was in town.

Twilight sighed contentedly and ran her gaze over the shelves around her. A label caught her eye. Pony Magic—Pegasus. It marked a small collection of books—no more than a dozen—wedged onto the end of the Pony Magic—Unicorn section which occupied the rest of the shelf and two more rows below it.

Twilight squinted. She didn’t claim to have a perfect memory, but she was pretty sure those same twelve books had been there when she was a foal. In a stroke of curiosity, Twilight pulled a beaten red paperback from the shelf. An Overview of Weather Control. She flipped open the cover and checked the publication date. Twenty-three years ago. She put it back and checked another. Thirty years ago. Another. Aha! Last yea—oops, that was the edition. First published… nearly two hundred years ago.

It was relatively common knowledge that there wasn’t much research on pegasus magic. Unicorns were the only race that could really investigate magic, hence the rows upon rows of books on unicorns, but their ability to interact with the magic of other ponies was very limited. While earth pony magic was straightforward enough to be understood philosophically, the nature of pegasi was subtler and continued to elude even the keenest modern scholars.

Twilight knew all that, of course. Still, seeing that gulf of knowledge in physical form was disheartening. She returned the ancient book to its spot, and then noticed its neighbour. Its spine was tight and laminated in the modern style. Its title was written in a clear, neat font. Pegasus Flight in Context. The cover depicted a pegasus foal staring longingly up at the sky. She checked the copyright page. 1004 PD. This year.

She walked toward the entrance, the book floating behind. She knew what she was going to read on the train ride back to Ponyville. It was her duty as a scholar to keep up with the state of knowledge, after all. Plus, as an alicorn, magic…

Twilight paused. Oh, right. Alicorn magic. Had Celestia… huh. Celestia hadn’t answered her question. Had Twilight forgotten to ask? That wasn’t good. Friendship between fellow princesses only went so far, and Celestia was a busy mare, after all. Twilight couldn’t pester her with every inane question that crossed her mind. But even less was known about alicorn magic than pegasus. The sisters had always been secretive about their nature, always sidestepping questions about their magic.

There was nothing to be done now. Twilight trotted out into the archive’s lobby. Spike was still talking with the same mare.

“Spike,” Twilight whispered as she drew near, “time to go.”

Spike shrugged at the other mare. “I’ll see you around, Pepper.” He hopped off his chair and followed Twilight out of the room.

They were halfway across the archive’s entrance when a familiar door caught her attention. The Star Swirl the Bearded wing. The iron cell door was locked, but she was a princess now. She flagged a guard over—thankfully not the same stallion who’d spotted her when she’d last ‘visited’ the archives. He unlocked the door, bowed, and marched off.

The Star Swirl Wing was as impressive as ever. Piles of ancient scrolls and worn tomes loomed up around her. Right. She had meant to sort this place at some point. Apparently the Canterlot librarians of old had wanted to respect Star Swirl’s typical organizational standards. Namely, none at all.

Twilight walked past the time spells and, strangely enough, biology treatises. Star Swirl was mostly remembered for his magic, but he had dipped his hoof into most of the arts and sciences toward the end of his life.

“Twilight? What are we doing here, exactly?” Spike asked as he hurried to match her pace. “I thought we were going back to Ponyville.”

“I just want to find Star Swirl’s spell book. You know, his masterpiece.”

Spike blinked. “You mean the alicorn one, right?”

“Yes, Spike,” Twilight nodded. “We all agreed that it would be safer here. But I need it for some research. Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

The piles of knowledge only became taller and denser the further into the room she went, and the sorting became even more random. There were shelves filled with books stacked upon scrolls rolled around maps written in languages that had been dead for centuries. Twilight couldn’t help but feel that the archives were sucking her in.

Rounding a particularly tall pile of loose paper, she found her prize. An ornate door, much like the one that had protected the elements of harmony years ago, was built into a smooth, bare wall. Twilight placed the tip of her horn into the slot in its centre, and a moment later the door slid upward to reveal a single plain-looking lectern, and a flimsy, star covered tome resting upon it. Right where she’d left it.

Lifting the book with her magic, Twilight turned back toward the entrance, the door sliding shut behind her. If any knowledge of alicorn magic existed in writing, it was probably in this room. Unfortunately, her chances of actually finding such writing were slim at best, and the next train to Ponyville was leaving in mere minutes.

Spike was laying on his front, reading a book, when she returned. “Find it?” he asked as he idly flipped a page.

“Yup. Got it right here.” Twilight trotted closer. “What do you have there, Spike?”

“Meh,” Spike closed the book and dropped it onto a nearby pile. “Something about ‘hereditary traits’ and ‘predisposition’. I think I managed to find the least interesting book here, somehow.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “Come on. Let’s get home.”

---

The evening train to Ponyville rumbled along its tracks, silhouetted in warm orange by the setting sun. Twilight sat in one of the rear compartments—technically reserved for royalty, though most of the train’s compartments were empty by this time anyway. Spike was sitting beside her, his head propped against the corner of the seat and the wall. He was sure to be fast asleep by the time they got to Ponyville, if he wasn’t already.

Twilight looked down at the book propped open on the table before her. As tempted as she was to investigate Star Swirl’s spell book first, she recognized that this probably wasn’t the best place to probe ancient, unpredictable spell forms. Pegasus Flight in Context, however, made for perfect light reading. Very light reading.

Pegasus magic shares a vast number of consistencies with established magical science, Twilight read silently. While it is not as accessible as unicorn magic, nor as intuitive as earth pony magic, pegasus magic appears to be as grounded in science as either one.

Twilight groaned under her breath. Did a pony have to be born with the ability to speak without saying anything of value, or could it be taught? Either way, whoever had written this book had clearly been an expert. She began to close the book, then reconsidered. They were still another hour from Ponyville, and a useless book was better than no book. She flipped forward a few chapters.

Pegasus developmental disorders are observed to have myriad causes.

Twilight perked up. This might actually be helpful.

Historically, however, only a few have ever been recognized. Ancient pegasi would declare late flyers ‘weaklings’, assuming that their disability was caused by a general frailty of body. These weaklings rarely survived into adulthood for various reasons, and understanding of pegasus flight impairment has been delayed greatly as a result.

That was interesting. Perhaps she had misjudged this author. She checked the spine. Sky Chaser, Ph.D.. A unicorn, if she remembered correctly. She had written a thesis paper in response to his book on pegasus social politics while she’d been in school. Even she had found that particular assignment a bit dry. She read on.

As tribalism disappeared in the mid-classical era, society began to treat the disadvantaged much more kindly. Though classical medicine was still somewhat primitive, several significant developments were made regarding pegasus disability in general, the foremost being a comprehensive understanding of the anatomy of the pegasus wing. This resulted in recognition of wing-localized muscle weakness and tissue damage as causes of flight impairment. Most grounded pegasi suffer from these physical aberrations of the wing’s natural structure.

Twilight glanced at her own wing, shifting her primaries self-consciously. She made a note to study up on wing anatomy, now that she had a pair of her own.

The book continued on through over two hundred years worth of pegasus history, covering details such as pegasus hearts and lungs, the density of their bones, and the evolution of their spines. Twilight thought of Scootaloo. None of that was likely to apply to her. She seemed quite healthy, aside from her flying problems.

Pegasus magic has only been formerly acknowledged by general science recently.

This sounded more helpful. Scootaloo’s inability to stand on clouds made Twilight think that she might have a magic problem.

The discovery that pegasi use their own form of magic soothed tensions between unicorns and pegasi immensely, and lies at the root of several major discoveries. In 870 AE, Cloudsaleian doctor Ostler Aviary found that a small number of grounded pegasi—much less than one percent—also experienced difficulty with weather manipulation, leading him to conclude that pegasus flight is dependent upon their innate magic—an obvious conclusion in light of modern aeronautics, but a ground-breaking discovery in its time. Deficits in pegasus magic appear to manifest in a similar way to deficiencies in other races’ magic.

She leaned back in her seat, letting her eyes drift up to the roof of the coach. So her suspicions were right. Probably. Scootaloo had a magical condition; one that was rare enough that a general doctor might not recognize it.

Twilight winced. What to do now? She had a feeling Scootaloo’s parents wouldn’t appreciate an unsolicited medical diagnosis, even if it was coming from a princess. She glanced back at the book, then flipped forward a few pages. Maybe Sky Chaser mentioned the cure. That could make all the difference.

Ah. Twilight smiled. Known Treatments. She looked down to the Modern subheading, then skimmed over several paragraphs which covered physical abnormalities before a small footnote at the bottom of the page drew her attention.

Just as in unicorns, there is no known treatment or cure for significant afflictions of a patient’s innate magic that affect flight.

She sighed, then closed the book and slipped it back into her bag. Maybe she’d read through it more thoroughly later. She glanced over at Spike, then out the window.

Twilight spent the last half-hour of the trip in silent contemplation, alternating between staring at the two volumes in her saddlebag and out the window. She had a lot to chew on. And she hadn’t even started going through Star Swirl’s spell book. She suspected that it would hold even fewer answers about alicorns than Sky Chaser’s book had about pegasi.

A chime rang out, and the train began to slow. She nudged Spike awake, then lifted him onto her back as she heard the hiss of the train’s doors opening.

---

Ponyville was sleeping. Twilight returned to the castle and put Spike to bed, then went up to her study.

Unlike the laboratory, this room came fully furnished when the castle grew, and those furnishings were, naturally, crystal. Papers and books were stacked several feet high to either side of the desk, and there was a clear space large enough for a single pony to work in the middle. Twilight dropped her saddlebags off her back and levitated the thicker of the two books into the air. She slid onto the chair and set the book down in front of her.

Star Swirl’s spell book. She was very familiar with the last page, but most of the rest of the volume was a mystery. She flipped to the back and reread Star Swirl’s formerly incomplete masterpiece.

From one to another, another to one. A mark of one's destiny singled out alone, fulfilled.

Twilight smiled. “From all of us together, together we're friends. With the marks of our destinies made one, there is magic without end,” she recited to herself, careful to keep her voice down. She took a moment to relish the swell of memory and pride those words evoked. Then she paused, squinted, frowned, and scanned over Star Swirl’s spell again.

From one to another, another to one. That made sense in the context of cutie marks, but what did that have to do with ascension? One race to another? Spells with vocal components were usually extremely exact, and Star Swirl’s were legendary for their complexity. Something so pithy seemed… out of place.

Destiny… fulfilled. Not only had her friends been completely unfulfilled when their cutie marks were switched, but this version of the spell hadn’t affected her at all, while her version… magic without end.

Twilight stared at the words before her, trying to force them to make sense through sheer willpower. It was apparent after a few seconds that it wasn’t working. She idly flipped back a page and read the first line.

Blue is the mother. The father is red. Those in yellow mark nature’s cruel stead.

It seemed like a fairly simple spell, though Twilight had no idea what it might do. She glanced around until her eyes landed on a plain, round paperweight on top of one of the piles that surrounded her. She floated it into the air, then recited the spell.

The stone was obscured by a sudden flash. Twilight blinked away the after image. The rock looked like it was covered in yellow paint. She prodded it with a hoof. It still felt like stone. The yellow began to fade to its natural dull grey as she watched. She dropped it back onto the pile of papers.

So Star Swirl created a spell to do… what? Dye random objects? That seemed a bit mundane for him. Why the ‘mother and father’ bit? Did the spell also work on ponies? She felt the urge to check, but fought it down. Her friends had made it very clear that they did not like being the subjects of her experiments.

She skimmed through the rest of the page. Each spell was only a sentence or two long, and they all rhymed, though the scheme seemed random for the most part. She was about to close the book when the last paragraph on the page caught her eye.

Tear the web and save the thread. Sort the strands, blue, yellow, red. Gather them until together re-spun. Stand alone, another to one.

Another to one. She flipped forward and stared at Star Swirl’s unfinished masterpiece. One to another, another to one. Huh. And there was the reference to colours again. She turned the page back, and another spell, midway down the page, jumped out at her.

Stow the spool, the material redundant. Kindle the fuel, its power abundant. Mind the channel, on pain of death. Guard the mind, for deep are its depths.

More allusions to… sewing? Again, that was a weirdly mundane thing to create such intricate spell forms for. As she scanned over the page again, she began to notice more connections. Spells would begin with the last few words of the spell above it. Themes emerged—sewing, colours, madness, and death, mainly. She started moving through the book, looking out for repeated words and common expressions.

She leaned back, her eyes fixed to the wall, staring at nothing. Star Swirl’s entire spell book was self-referential.

She moved toward the middle of the book and tested a few spells. They all produced simple, immediate effects. One created a faint, floating arrow in the air that always pointed north no matter how she turned it. Another seemed to suck all the light out of the room, leaving her in near perfect darkness. Yet no matter their effects, their structure was the same. Vague, lyrical, and related to other spells in the book. She noticed that the further toward the front of the book she read, the longer the gaps were between connected spells. She tried to follow those connections, but she soon found herself hopelessly lost. It didn’t help that most of that those connections were sometimes distinguished from another by only a word or two’s difference.

Twilight recalled the note that had been attached to the book when it had been sent to her. Star Swirl’s unfinished masterpiece. That last spell was hardly a masterpiece. How could a few words strung together possible be considered a masterpiece for someone of Star Swirl’s intelligence? No. The entire book was the masterpiece. The last spell was the just the unfinished part.

The words started to blur before her eyes, and she squinted out the window. The sun was starting to rise, and she needed to catch as much sleep as she could before morning. She closed the book and began to set it to the side, then reconsidered.

She walked over to one wall of the study which was dominated by dozens of crystal cabinets and drawers, some transparent, some opaque. She pulled open a large drawer and dropped the book inside. Satisfied, she slid the drawer closed, cast a quick warding spell, then trotted out into the hallway, careful not to make too much noise.

As she made her way to her room, the words of Star Swirl’s spells swirled around in her head, forming and breaking connections with each other constantly. Some ponies had considered Star Swirl insane. Twilight was starting to understand why. She carefully closed the door to her room, and stumbled over to the bed.

She passed out the second her head hit the pillow.

---

Twilight crashed through the under-brush of a dark, sinister forest, the fronds whipping her legs and belly as she raced to keep up with the flickering orange shape ahead. She had to get to her before… Twilight slammed head-first into a tree. She sprawled onto her back, the blurry, shifting trees becoming somehow even less distinct.

She groaned, then rolled to her feet and turned to face a towering dragon. It roared, and the void around her reverberated in time with its thundering words. Twilight stumbled backward, trying to focus her spinning vision. The dragon opened its jaws and let loose a blinding gout of searing fire. Twilight slammed her eyes closed and tried to shrink in on herself. She burned.

It could have been worse, though. She stared at the charred remains of the library—her home. So many memories, gone up in flames. She looked down, at Spike, at Owlowicious. They were fine. She was fine. They could move on. The burning seemed to dwindle and cool, until everything went dark.

Twilight looked around. At least, she thought she did. She was standing—floating?—in a featureless void. The air was cool, like fresh night air.

“Twilight Sparkle!”

Twilight turned to see a transparent blue alicorn walking toward her.

“Luna?”

Luna nodded her head as she stopped in front of Twilight. “I apologize for invading your dreams so, but my sister has been distracted of late, and I had no other means of contacting you.”

Twilight blinked. “Wait, this is a dre-”

“Do not think of it, or you shall awaken. I do not wish to subtract from your sleeping hours.”

Great. Now Twilight had to focus on not thinking. “What can I do for you, Luna?” She tried to sound enthused.

“Am I correct in believing that you visited the Star Swirl wing of the Canterlot Archives yesterday?”

Twilight nodded. Where was this conversation going? Had she done something wrong? Stone walls rose up, and tables and chairs grew all around, turning the featureless void into what appeared to be one of the classrooms at Celestia’s school.

Luna turned her head and took in their new environment. “Fear not, Twilight. It is well within your rights to visit the archives. We… meaning I, personally, am merely curious about your endeavours. Are you experimenting with temporal magic again? I have heard of your history in this regard.”

“Hehe...” Twilight ducked her head. “No, no more time magic.” She pawed at the darkness beneath her, then looked up at Luna with renewed interest. “Actually, you might be able to help.” Luna raised an eyebrow.

“I went to Canterlot because I wanted to ask Princess Celestia some question. I guess I… I guess I never got around to it. But you probably know the answers!” Twilight stepped closer.

“What kind of answers were you seeking?”

“Answers about alicorns. How does ascension work? What happens to our natural magic?” Twilight’s voice raised in pitch and volume as she continued. “Can anyone become an alicorn? What are the prerequisites? How did you two ascend? Am I immortal? If not, then what’s the difference between you and me?” She leaned forward, her nose inches from Luna’s. This was the perfect opportunity! If only all her dreams were this productive.

Luna retreated a couple steps. “We...” She blinked a few times. “We do not know the answers to many of your questions, Twilight. The nature of ascension is as great a mystery to us as it is to you.”

Twilight’s spirits fell, and she rocked back on her hooves. Then she realized how close she’d gotten and sheepishly moved away to give Luna some space.

“I will do what I can to help you, regardless, but bear in mind that I have been absent for many years. You are likely better versed in the academic than I, presently. I will also inquire with Celestia.” She smiled. “Fear not, for I shall not forget.”

Well, that was better than nothing. “Thanks, Luna.”

“Nay, thank you. I have struggled to find ways to occupy my scant spare time, and your research seems an interesting project. I shall—“ Luna glanced around. “… ehm, perhaps I shall contact you by letter. Dreams are an unstable medium, I find.”

Dream? Oh, right. As the thought crossed her mind the uniform blackness they stood in started to warp and shift around her.

Twilight stomach lurched. Don’t think about the dream don’t think about the dream don’t—

And then everything faded away.

Comments

[Majorshane]

“Why don’t you meet my at the Archives, Spike. I might be a while,” she said over her shoulder.

“Why don’t you meet me at the Archives, Spike. I might be a while,” she said over her shoulder.