What Really Matters?
Cooke watched the scenery slide past from his seat. It was such a nice day outside, it almost felt like the world was mocking him.
Don't think that way. You're not the center of the universe; everyone else should have a good day, even if you aren't.
Cooke glanced down to the papers in his lap. The train ride was smooth enough, but he didn't feel like grading his students' essays right now.
Pull an all-nighter, then. Being late on assignments isn't acceptable.
Cooke sighed, packing the papers into his portfolio and setting it aside. He slowly scooped up the letter beside him, and began to read it over for what must have been the tenth time during the ride.
~~~
My dear friend Cooke,
This missive troubles me to write. I've spent a great deal of time considering how I might go about it delicately, but there is no escaping what must be said. I know that you feel, as I do, that trust is the seed of all strong bonds. In that case, honesty is the water that nurtures that seed, and so I must be honest with you.
First, I wish to say that I have honestly enjoyed working alongside you these past few years. Canterlot University was the first place that felt like a true home to me, and it is not out of any desire of my own that I have taken a leave of absence. What I said to you about having to take care of family matters was only a half-truth, and for that I apologize.
The fact of the matter is that I had to depart Canterlot University while negotiations were ongoing regarding my potential citizenship. I am not a native citizen of Equestria at all, and I did not grow up in Manehattan as I claimed, though I did live there before coming to Canterlot. The truth of the matter is | /m ~~/\
My apologies. Th e The truth is that I am a changeling.
I realize what a
I understand that this is unpleasant news. Given your recent activity, this is highly inconvenient for you. To say the least. I am sorry to have put you in this position. It is my honest hope that we can continue to be friends. If not, I understand. I just want to ensure that you understand how that nothing I said, with this obvious exception, was a falsehood. I have always respected you, Cooke. That's the truth.
—Piro-Krittith, AKA Sharpquill.
~~~
As he stared at the letter, turning its contents over in his mind once more, Cooke almost didn't notice the train stopping. The call went out to disembark in Ponyville.
Should have sent a reply. There's nothing else to it; you should have said something.
Disembarking went smoothly, and Cooke was soon on his way, navigating the unfamiliar town with nothing at his side but his longcoat, hat, and portfolio. The rain had been significant in Canterlot, but he felt terribly overdressed for the sunny weather in Ponyville. After a short period of running about, asking for directions, he finally found his destination; a tall, three-story building on the outskirts of the town. He forced himself to walk inside, though some part of him wanted to hold back.
This might be the most impressive building in Ponyville... how ironic.
One quick chat with the receptionist had him headed towards the appropriate room. He stood in front of the door for a full minute, contemplating what he might see, before he finally knocked.
"Come in...?"
Get in there. Don't be a coward.
Cooke clinched his teeth, and pushed the door open. Inside, he saw a changeling, lying on the singular bed in the room, with a large cast around its midriff. Its crimson eyes were mostly lidded, and it stared at him in dull non-comprehension for a few seconds as he entered the room. Its eyes widened slightly as he removed his hat, setting it on a nearby chair, and sat down close to the changeling.
"Cooke...?"
Cooke nodded slowly, unsure of how well the changeling could see him. Its voice was faint, and wavering. "It's me. I came as soon as I heard."
The changeling's eyes closed, but its horn lit up. It groaned as it tried to sit up, only to wince and fall back to the bed. Green flames danced around it, and its visage flickered briefly as the image of Sharpquill, the face Cooke recognized, before the illusion faded and the light on its horn died.
The changeling chuckled faintly, shaking its head, eyes still closed. "That's pathetic... I can't even manage a disguise."
Cooke winced. "I guess that's a serious loss, for an infiltrator."
The changeling's eyes fluttered open, and it tilted its head back over to Cooke. "That doesn't really matter to me, now. I simply wished to be able... to hold one of our debates again."
Cooke sighed, glancing away. "They've told you how bad it is?"
"They didn't have to. I have medical training. Too bad I don't have any... construction training, huh?"
The changeling chuckled weakly, while Cooke just shook his head. "That's not funny, Sharp."
The changeling stared at Cooke for a few seconds, and then smiled gently. "You still recognize me as him...?"
"The only pon—person I know who could crack jokes on his..."
"His deathbed."
Cooke nodded uncomfortably, looking back at his friend. "You shouldn't have even been here. Building your own house... you should have stayed in Canterlot."
The changeling stared at Cooke for a few moments, and then frowned. "Cooke, this is not your fault."
"How is this not my fault?! You left Canterlot because of me!"
"That's... you are roughly correct, I suppose. That doesn't make you culpable for a construction accident, though, and you know it."
Cooke folded his head into his hooves. "I just kept assuming I'd have more time... that I could work out what to do, what to say to you. I wanted to wait until after the hearing with Celestia..."
"Sensible. Being seen with me could have undercut public confidence in your sincerity."
"How can you sit there and tell me that it was sensible when it did this to you?!"
The changeling gently reached a hoof out to Cooke's, brushing against one of his forelegs. "Cooke... it brings joy to me, just knowing that you intended to continue our friendship. I've always known you were a pony of principles; you have to do what you think is right."
Cooke clasped the changeling's hoof between his forelegs. "That means I also have to admit when I was wrong."
The changeling frowned, and shook its head. "You can't change your political stance just due to a personal tragedy, Cooke... both of us hate that..."
"What's good for society has to start with what's good for individuals. This... initiative of mine, in Canterlot, has already torn friendships apart. I never intended that... I had no idea there were already changelings among us."
The two stared at each other in silence, for a time. The changeling finally scoffed, which quickly turned into a genuine smile, as it looked away. "I'm glad we had a chance to debate after all."
Cooke stayed by the changeling's side, even after it fell asleep. Doctors and nurses came in and out, checking its status, but they said there was little they could do; changeling anatomy was too foreign to them. There he stayed, through the night, and when morning came, he awoke to realize his friend was no longer breathing.
Cooke numbly made his way back to the train station, that morning. He barely noticed the changeling queen and Princess Twilight rushing off of the platform as he boarded. It just didn't seem that important, anymore.
As he rode back to Canterlot, he dully thought that it was raining again.