Growing Harmony

by Doug Graves

First published 3rd of May, 2020

Herd Apple must deal with the impact of their various adventures, especially those that might end life in Equestria, and Equus, as they know it.

Princess Celestia has long sought after a cure to alicorn infertility, and with Doug Apple - the human stallion of Herd Apple - she has finally found it. Now she - along with many of the other members of the herd - are pregnant with his foals, and all are looking forward to a life of growing together in harmony.

The Council of Creatures - the intergovernmental organization made up of all nearby countries - has other plans. Will the herd's efforts be in vain, abandoned because of the potential devastation they may wrought? When is the known worth risking for the unknown?

Klugetown Arc - Ch. 1-50
Maps and Meaning Arc - Ch. 51-121
? Arc - Ch. 122 - ?

Continues immediately after the events of Errant Finale. Here is a rough timeline of what has happened. Previous reading will be helpful, but not necessarily required. Or, start at the Beginning!

Sex tag for explicit relationships between human and ponies. Other tags not used may be present in the story, but not as overarching themes.

Ch. 1 - Fortified Legion, Part One

April 5th, 1001 Domina Solaria

“Couldn't help but make the place look like home, huh?”

Princess Twilight Sparkle briefly looks up from the veritable hurricane of paper surrounding her. She hadn’t bothered to examine the intricately detailed maps pinned to every wall of the commandeered captain's cabin, or the volumes on Equestria’s neighboring cultures. It does remind her of the Golden Oak’s walls, and how much she misses them. She’d probably be madder at the comparison if it wasn’t so on the muzzle.

Standing in the doorway is her herd’s ‘stallion’, the only human in Equestria, Prince-Consort Doug Apple. The rising sun glints off his ceremonial armor, polished cobalts and radiant oranges complementing his bright expression. If only she felt the same.

“You destroyed my home,” she replies, a touch of her exasperation seeping through as she glances outside through the porthole.

Much of the hustle and bustle around Canterlot has died off, leaving only a swarm of black spots staining an otherwise pristine sky. Colorful specks scurry among the abandoned remains of her Festival of Friendship, the nobles desperately trying to salvage the situation. Trixie, Starlight Glimmer and the seven fillies and single colt of the herd have paused in their efforts to keep everypony’s spirits up, congregating close to the departing airship and waving. A dejected sigh replaces her friendly smile as the glance turns into a long stare, the papers she was examining forming neat stacks as her raspberry aura snuffs out. She’d miss them, even Trixie, but the other mares in the herd would miss them even more.

His face falls for a moment, then perks back up in a valiant effort. “In my defense, I built you a castle to replace it. Just slightly less visible.”

Doug’s jovial tone fails to lift her spirits, her head bowing slightly to rest the tip of her muzzle against the thick glass.

“Sorry your party got thrown off track?” Doug tries again as he walks to her side. A gloved hand tussles her ear as he joins her, arm lightly squeezing her barrel. He can’t help but smile, even with the somber mood; with every passing day she gets a little bigger, and it’s hard to tell if that’s because of her alicornication a little over a month ago or his twins growing inside her. He waves at his pack, sorrowful at leaving them, but Klugetown is no place for the overly curious and rambunctious fillies.

Twilight stares at the gloves Rarity made him. Nine marks adorn the knuckles; the ornate sun and moon on his thumbs are the most recent additions, her own on the third finger on his left hand. She fondly remembers the night her mark joined that of her friend’s, barely beating Trixie for the nugatory placement, yet her muzzle remains a tightly pursed line.

“It’s just been one thing after another,” Twilight says, her voice heavy. “Discord at the Gala, getting my wings, Sombra and the Crystal Empire, Chrysalis and the changelings, them joining us, Tirek and Discord nearly destroying everything. And now this!” A flash of rage crosses her face as she angrily waves a hoof at the largest of the armored black airships, the pink smear across the bow of the flagship not enough to buoy her spirits. “What right does the Council of Creatures have to blame Princess Celestia for what happened? It’s not like it was her fault!”

“Yeah,” Doug commiserates bitterly. He takes a deep breath as both hands work their way down her long neck, digging into the tense muscles. He relishes the guttural groan, how her wings inch away from her sides, the way her head raises and eyes close in something akin to ecstasy.

“I just want...” Twilight says through gritted teeth, struggling to force the words out. She loves the contact, but hates herself for getting distracted at such a precarious time. She needs to spend this time researching, not… delighting in base pleasures! “A month. A week. A day, an hour! to figure this all out without some disaster looming on the horizon!”

A faint whine signals the starting of their engines. They barely notice the floor lurching, watching Canterlot slowly fall away as Equestria’s finest airship, the Lunaris Priestess, rises into the sky.

The corners of Doug’s mouth twitch. “I’m sure everything will be just fine.” He ducks down to avoid her tail swatting at him as he comes to her withers. His strokes become longer, pausing more, even twisting the mare toward him in the hopes that she might reciprocate. It’s only once a wing stretches out to lightly press against his back does he finally relax, hugging her close. The two rest for a long moment, enjoying the view of the alabaster city until the airship turns to the south. Two quick pats signal the end of his impromptu massage. “Though you’ll need to enjoy your respite after this is all said and done; come ten months from now, none of us will get any rest.”

“Aww, you stopped,” Twilight playfully teases, a quick flick of her head brushing her mane against his arm. She grins as he scratches her coat, a hoof joining his hand and lightly guiding him to her belly. Her eyes close as she leans her head against his chest. She wishes the breastplate wasn’t there, a cold reminder of the dangers of their destination. And the stacks of papers, legal precedent and previous suits that might pertain to their situation. She can feel the anxiety building in her, a fierce desire to dive headfirst into the cases.

“So,” she asks with a slight smirk, forestalling that arduous task a moment longer. “Did you come here just to distract me?“

“Maybe.” Doug leans close, nuzzling his mare, the soft touch turning to a light kiss. He sighs as a knock comes at the door, breaking away to a less conspicuous distance. “Spike?”

“Your dragon is on his way,” Prince Lunaris Blueblood states neutrally as he walks into his quarters, an exquisitely well-tailored yet plain saddlebag on one side. The long, thin bag containing his twin rapiers is on the other. “Apparently he had an issue securing all the papers in his possession when we took off.”

Twilight huffs, sticking her head up to the porthole. A colorful cerulean blur darts this way and that, often disappearing behind the airship.

“But if you’re here,” Doug asks jovially, “then who’s flying this thing?”

“The esteemed Commander Tempest,” Lunaris replies icily, “though the thought of the Princesses fleeing with their tails between their legs is laughably ludicrous. She will likely return to the Roephelle Strompair once we are cruising. Did you want to try your hoof at the helm again?”

“Better than being cramped down here,” Doug says, elbowing Twilight in the side. She returns with a jab of her hind leg, snaking under his faulds to poke his thigh, both of them grinning.

“Good.” Lunaris ignores the banter as he trots to his desk, dropping off the saddlebag. He idly moves one of Twilight’s stacks of paper so the detailed map of Equestria underneath is visible. He taps a hoof at the bottom of the main continent. “Are you familiar with the... city of Klugetown?”

Doug frowns at the contemptuous way Lunaris spits out the word ‘city’. “Not especially, besides that it’s to our south.”

“It’s one of the more prosperous port cities on the southern end of the continent,” Twilight supplies helpfully. She misses the way Lunaris’ eyes roll, still watching Rainbow Dash flit back and forth. “An independent city-state, or principality, that serves as the home of the Council of Creatures. The Storm King provides security and protection at their behest. Not that anycountry would think to conquer it, but there are lots of factions that vie for control of not only the mercantile industries but also manufacturing and...” She grins meekly. “Too much?”

“Far be it for me to criticize the information a Princess deems necessary to provide.” Lunaris’ throat rumbles with an irritated sigh. He stays focused on Doug. “You have your bits on you?”

A sharp clearing of the unicorn’s throat stops Doug’s hand as it goes toward his back pocket. “What?”

“For the duration of your stay in Klugetown-” Lunaris' cobalt aura pulls out of his saddlebag a nondescript brown bag with a cheap, easily broken drawstring. It jingles with the clink of gold. “-This is where you think you keep your bits.”

“‘Kay,” Doug says, a slight hesitation before he takes the bag and loops it around his neck. He frowns slightly as a second bag, exactly the same as the first, follows into the air. “What’s this?”

“Everycreature knows,” Lunaris continues dryly, “that Equestrian nobility keep a second bag of bits to keep their real bag of bits safe.” He passes it over.

It jingles in much the same way as Doug stashes it around an arm. He frowns as a third bag comes out.

“Everycreature knows,” Lunaris drolls out in the same monotone, “that Equestrian nobility keep a third bag of bits to keep their fake bag of bits safe in order to keep their real bag of bits safe.”

Doug’s shoulders slump as he massages against the headache he knows is coming. “How many bags do you have for me?”

Lunaris glances inside his saddlebag. It is packed to the brim. “How many do you think I have for you?”

“Six?” Doug asks hopefully.

“Then I have seven.” Four more identical bags join the two in Doug’s hand. A quill checks off Doug’s name from his list that Lunaris passes to Twilight. "Do try to keep them safe."

“That was fast,” Twilight says happily, filing the completed checklist with dozens of others. She checks a little box on her master checklist. “Want another?”

“Perhaps later,” Lunaris says, walking to the bunk at the back of the room. He lays ponyloaf on top, a disinterested glare at the alicorn invading his cabin before he closes his eyes. “Wake me for dinner; I should not like to miss a meal before I take over.”

“We’ll be flying all night?” Doug asks.

Lunaris nods slightly. “It is not a day’s walk, unless one pushed themself to the brink of exhaustion. And that’s assuming you took the train to the Bone Dry Desert. I pity anypony foalish enough to attempt such a trip.” He shakes his head once before going still, head slumping as a light snore escapes his muzzle.

“Well,” Doug says, tussling Twilight’s mane another time. “I guess I’ll see how everypony else is doing.”

“You do that,” Twilight says, exchanging a light kiss. “Thanks for coming to see me.” She grins as he leaves, returning to her papers with a heavy sigh.

Ch. 2 - Fortified Legion, Part Two

“No, I love you more.”

Doug rolls his eyes as he walks out on the topdeck, the conversation getting louder even as the words stay the same. Nestled against the outer railing, is a mostly white, only slightly green-tinged unicorn, cerulean eyes locked into the light purple of his wife’s. Her pink wing drapes reassuringly over her husband’s back, calming strokes helping keep the third helping of Pinkie Pie’s delicious cake from getting lost overboard.

“No,” Prince Consort Shining Armor stammers out this time. He gulps, doing his best to not take his gaze away from his wife’s radiance. “I love you more.”

“Get a room, you two!” Doug jokes as he joins them on the starboard quarter.

“Doug!” Shining Armor greets with a flick of his head. He flashes him a toothy smile, only for Princess Cadance’s hoof to immediately twist his head back to face her. “Remind me,” he says between enforced kisses, “to thank you and Twily again for helping with this.” He pats his wife’s taut belly, again relinquishing sovereignty of his muzzle to the pink invader with an acquiescent grin.

Doug chuckles as he glances around. The rest of the Elements are spread out along the railings, Pinkie Pie leading them in a marathon game of ‘I Spy’. It’s easy to spot Applejack’s frustration as she tries to think of both a clue and an object that hasn’t been used before, Pinkie Pie’s eidetic memory in silly games like this in full effect.

Everypony who lacks wings - including, to her chagrin, Fluttershy - has a parachute backpack with ripcord in easy mouth range. He subconsciously fingers his own; normally, the mares eschewed the measure, counting on Equestrian engineering and fellow flyers as their safety net. But the Prince had cautioned, and Princesses concurred, that the likelihood of an abrupt disembarking is far higher than on a routine trip.

“Sure. But, you didn’t hear it from me,” Doug adds quietly, counting on the steady ‘soi, soi, soi’ of the warship ahead of them to drown out his words from the sharp-eared mares. Shining Armor and Cadance both lean in. “Twilight might have complained about any, ahem, reminders of her BBBFF and foalsitter getting it on. Not that she minded helping, of course.”

“So she doesn’t like the teasing,” Shining Armor says, staring off into space as a hoof strokes his spreading grin. “I’ll have to crank it up; after all, I’m pretty sure I was getting it in.”

“Shiny,” Cadance corrects, her melodious voice nevertheless a harsh rebuke that gets Shining Armor’s ears to lay flat.

“I’m sorry,” he says contritely, head bobbing.

“We’re a married couple now,” Cadance continues sternly.

“I know, I know,” Shining Armor says with a heavy sigh.

They say in stereo, “We do this together.”

Shining Armor’s eyes twinkle as his ears perk back up. “It’s going to get worse.”

“Way worse,” Cadance echoes mirthfully. “You’d think after joining a herd and having twins on the way she’d be less prudish about the subject.”

“Well, you are the Princess of Love,” Shining Armor says with a wry chuckle. “Maybe that’s your special power.” He nuzzles her, quickly adding, “One of your special powers.”

Cadance rolls her eyes as he winks lewdly.

“About that earlier suggestion,” Shining Armor continues mischievously. “Want to join the high-flying club?”

Cadance pulls back in shock, a hoof coming to her muzzle as she stares wide-eyed at her husband. “What do you mean, join?!” she spits out, muscles clenching as she visibly holds back from smacking the goofy grin off his muzzle. “You say that like you’re already a member, yet the only mares with you the time you were on an airship were his-” she flicks her mane at Doug “-and her.”

Her eyes don’t move, but Doug’s do. On the port railing and idly gouging a divot into the railing rests an obsidian plated changeling. Brilliant emerald wings sparkle in the sunlight, much to her obvious consternation, given the agitated way she folds them this way and that to avoid the light reflecting into her narrowed iridescent eyes. Cobalt locks, thick and braided on both mane and tail, spill over her tumescent barrel.

There are no chains around her now-whole legs, or restraints on her full wings, or even an inhibitor on her still-jagged horn. The accusations against her - deposing sovereign nations, industrial espionage, and keeping records of which high level officials in the Council had used her underlings’ ‘services’ - would certainly merit such shackles. She had grudgingly agreed to come to this ‘maulwurf court’ only after Princess Celestia gave her word to do her utmost to defend the newest addition to Equestria’s populace. The Council agreed because the Princess would take her place should the Changeling Queen… disappear.

“Cady, it’s not like that,” Shining Armor belabors, this time the one to pull his spouse’s muzzle to face his own. “I told you what happened between us.”

“You did,” Cadance says grimly.

“And she promised to be Honest,” Shining Armor continues, nodding along.

“As honest as she can be,” Cadance mutters.

“And she told you what she did while you were…-n’t there.”

“Imprisoned, you mean,” Cadance spits out. “She nearly robbed me of my wedding night.” Her scowl deepens.

“It’s not healthy to keep bringing that up,” Shining Armor says as he nuzzles his wife. “It’s in the past. She’s different now.” He gives her another, more forceful nuzzle. “And I’ve tried to make it up to you every night since then.” He winks at her salaciously. “You’ve enjoyed that, right?”

“Mm,” Cadance dourly grunts out. “Sorry. Not in the mood. Though I’d bet she’d be more than willing to help.”

“You know that’s not what I want,” Shining Armor protests, staying at her side even as she nudges him away.

Cadance huffs, facing the floor, eyes closed. She barely flinches when a shadow blocks the sunlight.

Shining Armor’s eyelids grind against each other as he digs a furrow in his forehead. “Great,” he mutters, his sigh more a bleak grunt. “Is it that time already?” He sets a hoof under him, pushing up.

“I…” comes the Queen’s flinching reply before her maw clenches together, two fangs like ivory daggers twisting her frown to a malevolent glare. One long ebony leg, heavy set with bulky muscles that strain to lift her own weight, callously pushes the unicorn down. “I didn’t come here for you.”

A deep growl rumbles in the back of Shining Armor’s throat, though he has little chance of physically overpowering his second ‘mare’. He twists his head against the floor, scowling at Doug. Cadance opens a single eye, her animosity quickly replaced by concern.

“What?” Doug asks glibly. He stays locked on the shimmering eyes peering over him, a faint smile skittering across his features that ends with flicking his head in greeting. Yet he detects a hint of sadness in those eyes, a desperate longing that would never be allowed to surface. He opens his mouth, about to comment on it, before the reformed changeling interrupts.

“Never mind,” Chrysalis spits out, a shake of her head drumming her locks against her side. She spins, her gravid belly undulating as she stomps away.

Doug frowns in confusion, glancing at Shining Armor. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Shining Armor states coldly. He huffs as his wife gently prods him. “That you need to worry about.”

Cadance matches his huff with one of her own. “Chryssy has been having… problems.” She sits up a little bit more, shaking some of the doldrums out of her mane.

“Cady…” Shining Armor hangs his head slightly.

“Well, I do like fixing things,” Doug says jocularly. He continues despite Armor’s muted glare. “You could say it gets me going.”

“Yeah, well, why don’t you go fix everything,” Shining Armor mutters bitterly.

“If I had phenomenal, cosmic powers?” Doug’s voice booms, getting everypony’s head to briefly turn. He flexes his arms, a cheeky grin smooching at his biceps.

“I don’t think that helped,” Cady interjects with a snicker.

Now it’s Doug’s turn to roll his eyes as he deflates. “Alright, you got me.” He ruffles a perky pink ear, drawing an appreciative coo. “You two doing okay?”

“We’re doing well,” Cadance responds guilelessly, offering Doug a friendly smile. “We’ll be happy to get back to Canterlot once this is all over.”

“Yeah.” Doug raises an imaginary glass to the alicorn. “I second that!”

Her pink hoof shoots up, tapping against Doug’s hand.

Shining Armor stays against the floor, grunting as he glares, mostly at Chrysalis.

“Aww, don’t be like that.” Cadance leans down, nuzzling the triple-hued locks. She nips at his ear when he doesn’t respond. “Still feeling a little sick?”

“No,” Shining Armor mutters.

“Mm,” Cadance returns coquettishly. “Well, if you were, I thought we could find a room below decks. But if you’re feeling fine, then-”

A fit of coughing suddenly overtakes the unicorn.

“Oh, you poor dear,” Cadance consoles, nuzzling her husband as she tenderly runs a hoof along his back. She sighs heavily. “I’m sorry I got angry.”

“No, I get it,” Shining Armor says reassuringly. “I’d be mad too if I thought you were foaling around with anypony, before or after we got together.”

“Mm.” Cadance smiles weakly. “I bet you’re getting lots of offers, now that you’re a full-fledged Prince Consort.” She nuzzles closer into him, horn sliding against his neck. She grips her hooves around him, holding tight like she never wants to let go.

“Heh, I wish.” Shining Armor shakes his head for emphasis. His statement draws a disappointed huff from Cadance. “Other than Rare-”

He cuts off, gulping as he glances at Doug.

The human looks more pensive than angry at the reminder. “Don’t worry, we worked that out. Even if we had to go through it a second time, considering Lunaris as the sire. Although…” he draws the word out, staring out at the endless sky. “Would you have? If we couldn’t have foals, or if she wasn’t okay with them being magically stunted?”

“That’s…” Shining Armor stammers, twisting his head to look at Cadance. “That’s a tough question.”

Cadance doesn’t look happy, merely staring at the wooden railing. The hoof stroking her husband’s side slows down, but doesn’t stop.

“And if she’s fully capable of having a healthy foal with her stallion?” Doug grimaces at his own question, neither pony answering. Doug muses, “I had a few ask the day the news came out. But that dried up, probably because nopony got anywhere, and we were all busy with the wedding preparations. After heat week was over? Nothing. At least, Applejack never told me about any.” He pauses for a moment, sighing to himself. “Doesn’t seem right.”

“You’d tell me if you got any, right?” Cadance asks solemnly.

“Of course, dear.” Shining Armor nuzzles his wife, and she meets his eyes this time.

“Good.” She grins as he leaps to his hooves, though it shifts to a wry smile as he sways uneasily. “Let’s see if I can remind you why I’m the only mare you’ll ever want to love.”

Doug chuckles as Cadance leads Shining Armor away. He leaps back as Spike hurries past him, clutching half a dozen scrolls and loose papers to his chest as he barrels into Twilight’s room, barely able to spare a claw to wave at his ‘sire’. Doug shakes his head, staying clear of the ornery changeling to see what the rest of his mares are up to.

“I spy…” Pinkie Pie draws out, scratching her hoof with a chin, “something that contains… apple!”

“Apples,” Applejack immediately says, looking quite perturbed as all eyes go on her. It bothers Doug slightly that this might be a possible answer.

“Nope!”

“Applejack,” Fluttershy tries.

“Nope!”

“Applejack’s hat,” Rarity guesses.

“Nope!”

“Apple cider?” Rainbow asks hopefully.

“Nope!”

“Awww,” Rainbow Dash moans. She glances at Applejack. “Please tell me you got some cider on board, and we’re not full up on cake.”

Applejack smirks as she reaches a hoof inside her hat, only to frown as a cerulean blur deprives her of the precious amber liquid. She shakes her head, smirking at the pegasus guzzling it down. “We squeezed a barrel on board, but it’s for the return trip!”

“Yeah,” Rainbow Dash retorts with a pungent burp. “Probably shouldn’t have told me that.”

“Dash…” Applejack scowls.

“Hoofwrestle for your share?” Rainbow Dash drops the empty cider bottle, propping her elbow on the railing.

“You’re on!” Applejack grunts as orange strains against cerulean. “Ah should let ya know, Ah’ve been trainin’ since we last went!”

“Hey!” Pinkie Pie exclaims. “No starting a new game while the first one isn’t finished!”

Applejack and Rainbow Dash stay locked in place, growling.

Pinkie Pie takes an exaggeratedly large breath, then belts out, “Nine thousand nine hundred ninety-”

“Ugh, fine,” Rainbow Dash moans, though neither pony relinquishes their grip on the other. She looks over the side, trying to see as far ahead of her as she can.

“Grapple?” Doug asks as he wades into the melee, ruffling both Applejack and Rainbow’s manes.

“Nope!”

“That’s a good one,” Applejack mutters to herself, only tearing her gaze away from Rainbow to the extent the pegasus does the same to her. She gives Doug the shortest nuzzle she can before growling, again zeroing in on the third mare of the herd.

“Appleloosa?” Rainbow Dash asks, having looked past Applejack at the earth pony settlement far in the distance.

“Yupperoines!” Pinkie Pie scribbles something down. “That’s five for me…”

“We must be making good time,” Doug remarks, leaning over the railing.

“Nah, I’ve just got really sharp eyes.” Rainbow Dash points toward the horizon. “And we’re going super slow.”

“Okay, Rainbow, you’re up!”

“I spy…” Rainbow Dash says with a cocky smirk, “a winner!” She slams her hoof as hard as she can against Applejack’s.

The earth pony is unyielding. “Oh, ya spy me? Ah’m touched.”

“What?” Rainbow Dash exclaims. “No! It’s me!” She grunts as she strains, slowly pushing the orange hoof over.

“That’s what Ah said!” Applejack grins despite her hoof bending back painfully. “It’s me!”

“Rainbow Dash loses!” Pinkie Pie shouts, a loud blast from a horn that wasn’t there before startling the pegasus.

“Wait, what?” Rainbow Dash says, her concentration breaking long enough to let Applejack smack her hoof against the railing. “Hey!”

“Hah!” Applejack smirks, holding the struggling cerulean hoof down.

“You can’t give away the answer without letting everypony guess!” Pinkie Pie shakes her head, disappointed. “I’ve told you this a dozen times now! Don’t make it a baker’s dozen!” She leans in close, stage whispering in Rainbow Dash’s ear despite her obvious discomfort, “Thirteen’s an unlucky number!”

Doug slinks away from the three bickering mares toward Fluttershy and Rarity. The pegasus’ smile seems genuine, Rarity’s considerably more forced. At least, when it can be seen under her giant floppy hat. “Having fun?”

“If by fun,” Rarity says through half-gritted teeth, “you mean sufficiently distracted from the fact that I am marching into the dragon’s maw wearing this?” She flicks her mane back disdainfully, indicating her hat and accompanying straps to keep it in place. “It’s all I had on hoof, and there’s no way I would step into one of my competitor’s shops.”

“Sounds like you need a Canterlot outlet,” Doug says, the corners of his mouth curling up.

“Please, darling.” Rarity dismisses the idea with a wave of her hoof. “With seven foals on the way? I won’t be surprised if I am conscripted into making diapers instead of dresses.”

“Not counting Starlight’s?” Doug remarks to himself. He says a little louder, “Well, at least as long as you keep doing the things you love.” He rubs his hand into her curled mane.

Rarity snuggles up to her stallion, one of the few creatures she trusts to wiggle his way into her mane without destroying it. “With the orders that have been pouring in ever since the Princesses joined the herd?” Her cobalt eyes beam brightly. “Doug, I cannot express how happy it makes me to turn down offers I do not find inspiring. Unbeholden to a bottom line!”

“Yeah,” Doug sympathizes. He’s taken on all comers for his job as weather scheduler, now handling most of the cities in Equestria. Each provides their own unique challenges, keeping it from getting too repetitive. Some days, though? He wants to blow it off and spend more time with the mares just hanging out and getting to know them.

Rarity jolts upwards, shouting “~Idea!~” before racing belowdecks. It’s enough of a distraction that Doug doesn’t notice Rainbow Dash and Applejack rolling around until they take out his legs.

Other days, he’s glad he’s cooped up in the relative safety of his office.

He flops to the floor, breath knocked out with a hearty *whump*. His armor doesn’t cushion his fall at all, merely adding to the weight.

Pinkie Pie pronks past, ignoring his plight. “Applejack!” the pink pony protests. “You haven’t given your clue!”

“Ah spy,” Applejack grits out as she crashes into one of the railings. It shudders somewhat distressingly. “Something with apple!”

“Oh, come on!” Rainbow Dash grunts out. “Apples!”

“Really?” Applejack spits back. “Is that all you think Ah can think of?”

“Applejack’s hat!” Pinkie Pie guesses with more enthusiasm than the rest of the mares combined. She goes into even more of a frenzy when the farmpony shakes her head, unable to spare the breath with Rainbow Dash wrestling her. “Applejack’s coat! Applejack’s rope!”

“Thanks,” Doug mutters to Fluttershy as she lends him a hoof. She smiles as she takes to the air, leaving him to dodge the rolling ball of mare as it careens past again. “Perhaps this isn’t the safest spot.”

“Maybe not,” Fluttershy agrees, her wings beating to keep from falling back. She waves as he retreats to the stern. “Take care!”

Doug passes Chrysalis, his faint smile obviously not the greeting she is hoping for. She scowls, though any expression of hers seems as such. She looks away, giving him no indication she wants him to stay, and he proceeds up the short climb to the top of the captain’s cabin.

At the helm, a deep orchid hoof guiding the wheel, stands Commander Tempest Shadow. Her muzzle is set in a harsh grimace that might have been carved from stone if not for how it deepens as she watches the ponies at play. Malevolent green eyes flick across him, baring a few more teeth.

Ch. 3 - Fortified Legion, Part Three

Doug ignores Tempest Shadow’s pointed glare, her scarred eye narrowing. It’s not like she had been hiding, the helm visible from just about any point abovedeck. He tries, unsuccessfully, to keep his gaze from flicking to her broken horn, or the sparks that occasionally fling off, or her deepening scowl. It’s the first time he’s seen a pony crippled, or even permanently scarred - physically, that is, as his foals struggle with using magic. It does make him wonder if she suffers similarly, but from her imperious stature and high ranking in the Storm King’s army it can’t be that much of a detriment.

Laying ponyloaf a pace away are the diarchs of Equestria. Luna rests with lidded eyes, head nestled in the crook of her Sister’s neck, horn almost hidden by alabaster fur. It makes Doug a little jealous, seeing the mare in such a cozy position - one of the more intimate, especially for unicorns (and alicorns), with one exposed to a sharp horn, the other tucking subserviently.

Celestia serenely watches the horizon, her head high, ignoring the dozen black sails in loose formation around them. Only Pinkie Pie comes close to her seeming lack of concern. As Doug comes up the ramp her faint smile brightens to a motherly warmth, despite her first foal still residing in her belly. A single wing raises with a fond invitation to join her side, and quite an inviting side it is.

Yet Doug finds his attention turning back to Tempest Shadow, wondering what might have marred her such that it discolors, but doesn’t remove, the fur in a single vertical line across her right eye, yet the eye itself is undamaged.

“What?” Tempest Shadow demands. Her voice is cold, hard, and thinly veils her contempt.

Doug frowns as he walks up to the helm, refamiliarizing himself with the various dials and instruments. The setup is similar to a modern sailboat with a polished mahogany wheel next to altimeter, altitude, heading, and wind speed, among others. The airspeed jumps out, confirming Rainbow Dash’s assertion, though she had been nice enough not to call it a human’s pace.

“Making sure everything’s where I remember,” Doug says smoothly, running a hand along one of the two short walls that makes up the helm. It conceals the canopy, currently retracted, that protects the pilot from heavy wind or other elements. “It’s only been a few months, but Lunaris might have changed things around.”

The whole ship is built to be modular, and Tempest Shadow grunts as she idly rests a hoof on the throttle, which connects to two large fans on the bottom of the cobalt balloon above. It’s at the second-lowest setting, the engine an almost imperceptible hum.

“Also,” Doug continues, “to see if you, I don’t know, wanted someone else to take over flying.” He offers a half-hearted shrug. “Not sure how much time you spend piloting instead of just ordering ponies around.” He pauses for a moment, the unicorn still not responding. “Do you order ponies around?”

“Yes,” Tempest says curtly.

“Huh.” Doug folds downward until he is at eye level with Tempest Shadow. Her glare doesn’t abate in the slightest. He leans against the railing opposite the Princesses, steadily watching the three ponies. He finds himself fixating on the broken horn.

“Did you have something else?” Tempest Shadow asks after a long, uncomfortable pause. She snorts derisively at his uncomfortable look. “If you’re so interested, you could just ask.”

“Mm,” Doug stalls, watching a spark lazily drift to the deck where it winks out. “How did it happen?”

The harsh glare fades slightly, turning to a stare punctuated by a curious tilt of her head. “You know,” Tempest Shadow draws out as her gaze shifts to the south, “I do believe you are the first creature to actually ask me that.” She isn’t forthcoming with anything else, just steadily watching the horizon.

“I’m guessing you weren’t born with it,” Doug says, apple and sun scratching at his chin.

Tempest Shadow takes a deep breath before giving the barest of nods. “An Ursa Minor, before I had my mark.”

“I imagine it was difficult,” Doug says when the unicorn doesn’t continue. “I know it has been for my foals. Sweetie Belle especially.” He frowns when he can’t recall a single one of the Crusader’s friends who are unicorns. Okay, there’s Snips and Snails, but they hardly count. Oh, and Pumpkin Cake, and Dinky Doo, but they’re a bit young.

“You know nothing of what it was like,” Tempest Shadow states darkly. Doug’s eyebrows narrow, though he says nothing. “They at least had each other growing up.”

“I suppose,” Doug concedes. He leans back slightly, deciding a change of topic is in order. “Twilight was telling me about how the Storm King’s forces are made up of volunteers from each of the Council’s member nations.” He glances back, Canterhorn Mountain a lonely landmark against a backdrop of the snow-capped Frozen North. “You’ve got your ponies, griffons, Abyssinians. Dragons, and others.”

“True,” Tempest Shadow says, sounding bored, probably because he could look up all this information, especially with the Princesses nearby, without bothering her.

Doug taps a finger against his chin thoughtfully. “I imagine it wouldn’t sit right with many of them, ponies especially, if you had actually ‘conquered’ Canterlot and Equestria.”

“Your ignorance of the political situation is appalling,” Tempest Shadow retorts. Off to the side, Celestia’s muzzle curls to a slight frown.

“Oh?” Doug snaps, arms crossing in front of him. He immediately relaxes his aggressive posture, trying to keep a friendly banter to his words. “I thought Equestria was everycreature’s friend.”

“Of course they are,” Tempest Shadow continues with a sneer. “After all, who wouldn’t want to be chummy with a nation whose leader could singlehoofedly roast your entire country to ash?”

Celestia’s teeth clink as they set against each other.

“And yet,” Tempest Shadow continues over Doug’s opening mouth, deliberately not looking at the solar diarch, “you waste this power on parties instead of righting wrongs and making the entire world a better place! And you leave yourself open to betrayers who would twist your nation to their nefarious ends!”

At the word ‘betrayers’ Queen Chrysalis looks up from the deck below. Her glare, twin protruding fangs making it as malevolent as always, don’t so much as twitch at the hidden accusation. She methodically turns her gravid body to face the unicorn, taking extra time so her massive bulk doesn’t wobble. With ponderously slow steps she marches up the ramp.

“Is that what they want?” Doug asks inquisitively, arms crossing. “Those that you would save from themselves?”

“It doesn’t matter what they want,” Tempest Shadow spits out. “The Council allowed the atrocities in Abyssinia for too long. They hoped the insurgents, those that didn’t care for the slavers and those fighting to turn the practice legal, even acceptable, might have prevailed. Had the Council intervened earlier, they might still have a voice instead of being scattered to the winds.” She turns a cold eye at Celestia, finally acknowledging the alicorn. “And you have the power to prevent the coming calamity, if only you had the will to do so.”

“You must be talking about me,” Chrysalis says as she crests the upper deck, her muzzle twisting to a fanged grin. She offers the unicorn a short, sardonic bow. “I’m honored you think so highly of me, that I would be capable of such a deception.”

“You.” A shower of sparks erupts from the broken horn in a dazzling display as Tempest Shadow whirls on the changeling queen. She stamps a hoof, which seems timid only when compared to the burst of energy. “It is despicable what you have done, that you brazenly wear his crown!”

Chrysalis continues her measured pace until she reaches Doug, settling down next to the human with a deep, calming inhale. She raises her head, perhaps subconsciously hiding the blackened metal crown. It used to belong to King Orion, the ruler of an independent pegasus city, until she and her brood drained its inhabitants of their love. The city never recovered. It was a crowning moment for her, until her recent reformation, and one of many atrocities she had confessed without reservation to Celestia and the other Princesses. While knowledge of some of those acts never spread past this inner circle, given they happened decades ago, or even longer, others are public knowledge for those interested in history outside Equestria.

“Just to be sure I hear you correctly,” Chrysalis says. She leans forward the barest amount, her piercing green eyes bright, a perfect picture of one eager to understand. It does little to mollify the fuming unicorn. “If one were to invade Canterlot.” She pauses as if asking for confirmation that never comes. “Take a Princess or two hostage. Steal their power to further their nefarious ends. That this sequence of events is... unforgivable? That one should be banished or...” the friendly facade fades, showing a snide sneer, “dehorned?”

Tempest Shadow flinches before her harsh glare returns. She coldly states, “I am nothing like you, monster. And you deserve far worse for your crimes.”

Chrysalis casually shrugs, her head again shifting toward Doug and inhaling deeply. “I have been called worse, and suffered worse, than anything you might think to inflict.”

With a wild shower of blood-red sparks and a matching snarl Tempest Shadow leaps over the helm! Her glare, capable of setting the deck ablaze, fights her malicious grin over which will rend the changeling’s words and feed them back to her like the other half of the cow she’s already indulged in.

Doug instinctively tries to scramble backward, but his attempt to flip over the railing to relative safety is stifled by a matte-black hoof possessively holding him in place. Chrysalis tugs him closer than Twilight with a cherished doll or Celestia with a coveted cake, yet her contemptuous smile conceals her worry.

“Hiding behind a stallion?” Tempest Shadow taunts. “I knew you were unscrupulous, but this?”

“He is nothing to me,” Chrysalis spits out defensively as she continues to pin Doug against her chitinous side.

“Hey!” Doug shouts, futilely trying to pry the armored leg away from his chest. It squeezes, hard, easily felt even through his chestpiece.

“Perhaps?” Celestia’s regal tone easily carries, bringing the two equines to a grudging halt, Chrysalis especially. “We might consider the consequences of our actions?” She flashes each an exacting smile which neither returns. “I would hate for this to escalate before we reached Klugetown, much less still in sight of Canterlot.”

Tempest Shadow’s scowl turns to Celestia. “Is that a threat?”

“Of course not,” Celestia smoothly replies, her motherly warmth a silk cover over steel. “I, or one of my compatriots, would have gladly dove over the edge to save you. And you will have your chance to raise any concerns once we arrive.”

Tempest Shadow holds the larger pony’s gaze for a long second. One of the smaller ships sailing to their east, a cutter with Lightning Crash scrawled on the side in teal and metallic gray, breaks formation and heads directly toward them. The multitude of mares on the Lunaris Priestess cluster along the lower railing, some eager and some apprehensive at the warship’s rapid arrival. Heads turn up, watching curiously as the Commander leaps from one ship to the other. They frown, exchanging querying glances to each other and the alicorns. Seeing nothing, they go back to their game.

“So, Chrysalis,” Doug says, finally able to wrestle the leg to a more comfortable position.

“Oh?” The changeling pulls back just slightly as she cuts him off, her demand begging to drip acid. “Am I no longer a Queen? Now that I am married to a Prince?”

“King Shining Armor.” Doug tries out the moniker, finding it unsettling. The former queen mirrors his frown, if only because the expression never left her maw. He disentangles himself, taking the helm. “Too soon?”

“...It carries too much,” Chrysalis says with a distasteful glance at the two alicorns. “I can sense their disgust with the title, from previous rulers.” She sniffs as she follows Doug to the helm, again laying next to him, withers barely touching his leg. “Though it may also have to do with… advances those rulers might have made.”

“Indeed,” Celestia says, settling back down.

“Oh?” Chrysalis says with a coy grin. “That they continue to make? My, my, my.”

Celestia offers Doug a reassuring smile when he looks over, slightly worried. “It would be extraordinarily unlikely for me to return his affections, or those of the other suitors I have briefly entertained in the past few centuries.” She relaxes when Doug seems to accept this. “Forgive the pun, but many of them have been solely interested in whatever power or influence they might glean from such an arrangement.”

Luna huffs from underneath the alabaster neck, violet-shod forelegs crossing under muzzle as she stares at a particularly uninteresting section of the deck. Above her Celestia frowns at the motion but says nothing.

“Good thing I’m nothing like that,” Doug says with a wink, then rests a hand on Chrysalis’ thick mane. He grips hard, jostling back and forth, and it seems like she enjoys it. “And, speaking of nothing…”

“Yes?” Chrysalis asks, somehow managing a friendly smile, tilting so green eyes gaze happily into blue.

“I’m nothing to you?” Doug asks pointedly.

Ch. 4 - Fortified Legion, Part Four

“Yup,” Chrysalis purrs happily. “Absolutely nothing.” She takes another deep inhale, luxuriating blissfully. “I want nothing from you. I get nothing from you. It’s perfect.”

After a long moment that mostly consists of disgruntled huffs from Doug and a moratorium on scratches, Chrysalis opens one eye, glancing up curiously. “What? You stopped!”

“Just before all this,” Doug says coldly, “you were ready to jump me behind Songbird Serenade’s concert. And now I’m nothing to you?”

“You were always nothing to me,” Chrysalis says defensively. She grunts as she turns away, grimacing. Her head lowers slightly, perhaps reluctantly if it was anypony else. “No, that’s not true.”

Doug looks annoyed at first but says, “Hey,” somewhat cheerfully as his hand resumes scratching. “You’re getting better about that.”

Chrysalis scowls. “Don’t remind me.” She takes a deep breath, visibly relaxing. “I’m serious.” One eye narrows, unsuccessfully attempting to glare. “It is unbecoming of a Queen to show weakness.”

Doug chuckles at her brazen assertion; it reminds him of when Rainbow Dash tries to appear tough and instead appears adorable. Or maybe that’s her master plan. “And, so, every hit you take off me is…”

“Nothing.” Chrysalis snuggles closer to Doug.

“You keep h’using that word,” Doug says with a stilted Spanish accent. “I do not think it means, what you think it means.”

“Urgh,” Chrysalis moans, rubbing her head. “You’re going to make me explain this, aren’t you. At least-”

A lavender alicorn stealthily wedges herself in the railing, wings flapping furiously after she squeezed out the porthole. A quill dances in her raspberry aura, delight sparkles in her eyes, an eagerness in her muzzle few could match.

“-Twilight is listening in,” Chrysalis continues, even though the alicorn’s approach had been silent and behind her.

“Aww,” Twilight says, canceling her noise-suppressing spell. “What gave it away?”

“I sense emotions from everycreature around me,” Chrysalis explains candidly. She flicks her mane in Twilight’s direction. “For example: dollops of eagerness, a pinch of disappointment, and an insatiable curiosity that rivals my own, yet for knowledge instead of love.” She frowns slightly, adjusting her legs uncomfortably, something tunneling under her and rocking her back and forth, except they are on an airship. “The pangs of hunger faded with this transformation, but the centuries have inculcated an insistent inclination apropos accumulation.” Her frown deepens. “Availing all aforementioned aberrant activities activated an alternate archetype, allowing an example of allocating assets unaccompanied by antagonistic absconsion.”

Chrysalis stands slightly, hooves rummaging around underneath her until something makes a high-pitched squeak. She grins maliciously, whipping out a poofy pink-maned party pony.

“I thought I told you-” the changeling grits out as she holds Pinkie Pie as far away as her forelegs can “-not to mess with me.”

“Aww, don’t be such a party pooper!” Pinkie Pie, despite being the much smaller of the two, reaches up and jams a gaudy pink party hat on Chrysalis’ horn. It’s about half as long as it needs to be and ends up speared through the top of the cone. All three Princesses have difficulty repressing their giggles. “Nopony got the last one. That means it’s your turn!”

Chrysalis growls, to no effect on Pinkie’s unflappable grin. “Fine. I spy… something with a dozen P’s.”

“Only twelve?” Pinkie Pie says to herself. “Let’s see. A persistent pink pony pressuring piqued passersby to participate in presenting puzzles primarily pertaining to optics?”

Chrysalis smiles forebodingly. “Indeed.”

“Oh, silly,” Pinkie Pie says with a series of comforting taps to Chrysalis’ head, the changeling none too happy and a little confused at how she closed the distance. “I’ve already been used as an answer! You’ll need to come up with another clue.”

“How about this one,” Chrysalis says evenly. She proceeds to chuck the earth pony clear across the ship where she collides with Applejack, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash with the sound of a bowling ball striking pins.

“That’ll work!” Pinkie Pie shouts. The other three grumble, rubbing their sides, before setting out for the helm, possibly to assault the changeling with their own puzzles.

“There,” Chrysalis says, slapping her hooves together a few times. “Does that answer your question?”

“Actually,” Twilight says, her muzzle buried in a few pieces of parchment.

“Oh,” Chrysalis deadpans. “You kept notes.”

Twilight ignores her. “You were talking about how your transformation made it so you didn’t feel the effects of love malnourishment as acutely?” She glances up. “That about right?”

“More accurately,” Chrysalis replies, taking a small bit of pleasure in correcting the alicorn, “sharing affection ameliorates that all-consuming…”

The changeling stands, glaring down between her legs.

A muffled, “Whaat?” can be heard echoing underneath her. “I just want to make everypony smile!”

“And all the ‘A’ alliteration?” Chrysalis inquires darkly.

“That’s just for the first hour! Then it’s on to the ‘B’s!”

Chrysalis plops back down, squashing out the voice like an annoying arthropod. She grins, an imitation more telling than when a changeling accidentally crosses paths with the pony they are impersonating.

And just as quickly her taut cheeks sag down to her baseline malevolent glare. She glances over as the rest of the Elements crest the short rise and arrange themselves in a loose circle. Spike joins them shortly after, sitting next to Twilight.

“Sharing love,” Chrysalis continues normally, as if the previous encounter never happened, “fixes the underlying issue, much like feeding somepony ‘cures’ them of dizziness and fatigue.”

“What do you do for energy instead?” Doug asks. “I assume, of course, that you can’t just share love back and forth forever.”

“If that worked?” A soft snicker escapes from the changeling’s maw, its many compatriots cut off by clenched teeth. She can’t hold them in for long, scraping at the deck while a genuine smile spreads across her muzzle. “If that worked… Equus would be overrun in a decade! Half with no opposition.”

“Seriously?” Rainbow Dash contends, crossing her forelegs.

“You doubt my words?” The jeer skids across Chrysalis’ muzzle like a pink pony across the deck. Despite Rainbow Dash making no motion to the contrary she explains, “A changeling becomes sexually mature about three years after the egg is formed. Given infinite energy, I - or any other changeling so disposed - can produce one egg a day. Starting with only myself? In three years I would have a thousand breeders. In seven?” Her sneer intensifies. “Millions.”

Rainbow Dash’s mouth hangs open, gawking at the changeling. Fluttershy, ever the helpful neighbor, pushes it shut.

“It’s over nine million,” Twilight says, aghast. She crushes up her quill, flecks of black spilling out of her hoof. “That’s more than everycreature else combined. Hay, you could include animals and not reach that number.”

“Alas,” Chrysalis says with a heavy sigh, “energy does not come from nothing. It comes from trees. Animals. Really, anything with carbon. And water. Like Betsy here.” She lightly taps her side. The motion is extremely subtle, her barrel rippling with continuous churning.

“Hey!” Applejack states forcefully, glaring. “Talk about her with more respect.” She mutters to herself, “Though that would explain why the price’a meat’s been goin’ up so quick.”

“Mm,” Chrysalis growls, but it’s directed at herself. She looks upwards, focusing on nothing. “It is difficult. To think of prey…” She pauses, mulling over the words. “To think of ponies, to think of all creatures, as more than bags of nutrients and emotions, to be carefully cultivated so their love can be extracted.”

“But of all creatures,” Spike says from the side, “I would imagine that changelings could change.”

Chrysalis allows a thin grin to play across her muzzle. “You must have been talking to Thorax. Did he move to Ponyville?”

Spike smirks. “You can’t fool me! I know you know where each and every changeling ended up.”

Chrysalis concedes the point with a slight shrug. “He was always such a pain… That is, he was reticent, the hardest to convince of our plans. Always going off about love and friendship.” She idly stares down at her hoof, then glances at Luna. “I can’t help but wonder if he and his brother had been able to keep you in your tower, that things might be different.”

“Doubtful,” the cobalt alicorn asserts without moving from her resting place. “Different, perhaps, but doubtful they would be better for anypony, or anyling, involved.”

Before Chrysalis can retort Spike jumps in. “But, yeah! Thorax is pretty cool. He joined up with the Rich’s.” He chuckles to himself. “Probably for the best, too. He’ll be a good influence on them.” Spike pauses for a second. “Actually, should I call him ‘he’? He always struck me as a guy, but he’s also kind of carrying Filthy’s foal.”

“Call them what seems natural,” Chrysalis answers. “They’ll correct you if needed.” Her muzzle pulls to a slight smirk. “I have heard that the Crystal Ponies have a special name for the gallant defender of their Empire.” She lumbers to her hooves and offers a sincere bow. “Spike, Glorious and Brave.”

“Actually,” Spike corrects, puffing his chest up, “it’s ‘The Brave and Glorious Spike.’”

“Trixie helped,” Twilight says as an aside. Spike turns to glare at her while the other mares snicker.

“The Brave and Glorious Spike,” Chrysalis states imperially, her head high. She backs away from Doug, disguising the movement with another low bow. “May your horde glitter with gems from far, wide, high, and low.” She grins as the ponies politely stomp their hooves, gulping down the adoration like a pig at a trough.

Doug glances around, perplexed at the disappearance of his pet-ee. Rainbow Dash swoops down, gleefully taking the coveted spot and twisting so his fingers hit the perfect spot at the base of her ears. They waggle back and forth, though not as pugilistically as the earth pony’s, enticing him to quicker jabs and varied angles lest he gets thwacked.

Chrysalis watches the two keenly, her ears imitating Dash’s. She meets Doug’s eyes when he glances at her, querying with a tilt of his head, and sighs. “To answer your original question,” she says, making an effort to keep her voice less abrasive, “you are… neutral. You neutralize whatever emotion I am feeling. And since I automatically… nibble on anycreature in range? It is anathema when filled by love, but to a ‘ling surrounded by disgust and hate?”

“We don’t mean ‘ta,” Applejack says quietly, pulling her hat off to hold at her chest. “Honest.”

“You’re just, kinda, creepy,” Rainbow Dash adds bluntly. She sighs, resting more of her weight on Doug. He doesn’t mind at all.

“And with the stories you’ve told us?” Fluttershy shudders, shying down.

Chrysalis’ fanged grin returns. “That I could drain a room full of ponies of their power?” Her long, forked tongue licks at her fangs, relishing the memories.

“Saying things like that doesn’t help,” Rarity says abruptly, echoing the thoughts of most of the others. “Do try to remember your audience.”

A rare expression of remorse crosses the black maw.

“What about me?” Spike asks curiously. “Do dragons, um, taste like ponies?”

“Every other dragon I have encountered loves only themselves. Coupled with their innate resistance to magic? We gain almost nothing.” Chrysalis sniffs at the air, frowning slightly, ignoring Spike's put-out reaction. “But with you? Your pony upbringing has made you an exception. Perhaps… carbon aerosolized into sugar?”

“Cool,” Spike says, flexing his arms. Then he sighs, looking down at his claws. “But that just means I’m even less of a dragon.”

“I don’t care how much of a dragon you are,” Twilight reassures, drawing Spike in for a warm hug. “You know that I, and everypony…” She glances at Chrysalis. “Do you consider yourself a pony?”

Chrysalis twists her hoof this way and that, inspecting it from every angle. She finds it a little disconcerting to not see the holes, the ancient battle-scars of her fight with Celestia. “Our natural form is undeniably equine,” she concedes. “And we owe our existence to a unicorn of antiquity; had he not deposited his essence, we might never have come about.” Her wings fan out, reflecting the mid-morning sun in a brilliant display of emerald. “Though we aren’t sure where the wings are from. Perhaps the insects on which we used to dine?”

“A unicorn of antiquity?” Twilight asks curiously. Her forehead scrunches up adorably. “Star Swirl the Bearded? And what do you mean by ‘deposited’?”

“The same. He released his bottled seed into the maw of a magical carnivorous plant in the middle of a swamp. The only thing we have to remember him by was a sign condemning us.” Chrysalis shrugs nonchalantly. “As to the reason, you would have to ask him yourself; we never crossed paths again.”

“...Huh.” Twilight blinks a few times, then shakes her head to clear out the images detailing how an elderly unicorn would go about ‘bottling his seed’. Though, if he had done it, then maybe it isn’t so bad. Could there be other applications?

But that’s a discussion for another time. Preferably with flowcharts instead of pictures. She turns to Spike, a warm smile spreading across her muzzle as she nuzzles him. “All of your friends love and care for you, no matter what.”

“Aww, thanks, Twi,” Spike says, but he’s not fully content. He finds his gaze stretching to the southeast, to the ash-spewing volcanoes and calderas that make up the ancestral home of the Dragons. He’s seen them in action when the Dragon Migration visited Equestria. But what would they be like closer to their native land, and not beset on every side by ponies and their customs?

None of the mares are especially eager to pick up the conversation, and gradually drift off to their own devices. Celestia, horn lit a soft gold, gains a far-off look, scrying the reams of paper in her office periodically turning from a gentle breeze. It doesn’t take long for Doug to regret volunteering his services as a pilot, but at least he can stave off boredom by making sure he doesn’t get too far behind on managing Equestria’s weather, splitting his attention between a few thin packets and the airship ahead.

Chrysalis slinks back to Doug, displacing a snoozing Rainbow Dash, and finds herself contemplating the future. She cannot recall a time before this that her contingency plans revolve around bolstering bastions, because blowing the borough and bivouacking barely backfired.

Bubbles blow from bated breath, black brows breezing backward, bent on breaking that bouncing bother!

Ch. 5 - Unstable Payload, Part One

On the opposite face of the Canterhorn a train winds down the steep slopes. Every car leaving the Upper Canterlot Station is packed to the gills, and this one is no exception. Twenty-four passengers line the six rows of the luxury car, though only two benches match the sumptuous decorations. Twelve ponies are returning to Ponyville while the other half - and the remainder of the train - are continuing to Vanhoover.

Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo leave their third helping of Pinkie Pie’s backup cake apiece to scamper over to Applebaum. Despite growing like seedlings in a steady summer sun they haven’t caught up to their younger sister in size, their two year head start not enough to overcome the five-year-old’s earlier cutie mark, and likely won’t until they’re all full-sized mares.

The young mare in question steadily munches her meal as she stares not at their destination but Canterlot as it retreats into the dark clouds above. Lemon excitedly bounces next to her, for no readily apparent reason except the massive quantity of sugar she imbibes like her dam might suddenly stop serving such scrumptious specialties, while Meringue and Hedge rest on the opposite side. Starlight Glimmer gazes out one window, Pomarbo the other, while Trixie lightly snores with her hat covering her eyes.

“Did’ja hear?” the earth pony Crusader asks in an excited whisper that might as well have been a bellowed shout. Her pegasus counterpart grins eagerly, furiously nodding while her hooves clench the bench like it’s the hoofbars of her scooter and she’s about to take it for a ride. And not your every-day race around the market shopping for asparagus and cherries but an awesome ride ramping up carts and cruising across rooftops! The unicorn filly, meanwhile, looks reluctant to be there, more of a safeguard in case their plan gets too egregiously dangerous, unlikely to work, or egregiously likely to work dangerously.

The back half of the car mostly hides their curious looks, the prospect of gossip straight from the Princesses’ herd quite tempting. The ears of the other two native Ponyvillians, Spoiled Rich and Diamond Tiara, have quite a different goal. They perk up and rotate away from the solitary colt in the Apple herd, zeroing in to figure out if the danger will be coming forthwith or once they arrive at their destination. A special red umbrella is produced from somewhere - a reasonable precaution against explosions, tree sap, or explosions of tree sap - though it remains closed. For now.

“Ya mean,” Applebaum deadpans back, “about somethin’ other than our parents all gettin’ hauled off to Celestia-knows-where for Celestia-knows-what?”

“Duh,” Scootaloo huffs with a roll of her eyes. “We were all there for that.”

“We heard the Golden Oak Library got destroyed,” Sweetie Belle states before her compatriots can derail the conversation any further, giving Applebaum a hard look. “Was it you?”

“Uh,” Applebaum says, raising an eyebrow. “Why’d’ya think Ah had anythin’ to do with that?”

“She’s not denying it,” Apple Bloom says as an aside to Scootaloo, but loudly enough for all to hear.

“And because we know how much you love explosions,” Scootaloo continues, focusing on her sister while nodding along with Apple Bloom.

“We were with Starlight Glimmer in Our Town,” Sweetie Belle explains, nodding mostly for solidarity. “So it definitely wasn’t us.”

“Ah was in Canterlot doin’ inventory,” Applebaum asserts.

“Oh, is he new?” Scootaloo says with a snicker, only for Sweetie Belle to knock her upside the head.

“It was Doug,” Starlight Glimmer breaks in. Suddenly the rest of the train goes quiet, ears standing on end. Diamond Tiara and Spoiled Rich exchange grim glances, though they aren’t surprised.

“He didn’t mean to, though, right?” Apple Bloom says, voice quivering.

“No, he meant to,” Starlight Glimmer says, teetering on the edge of exhaustion. She rolls her eyes as Apple Bloom leaps up to defend her sire again. “He was goading Twilight into putting all her effort into attacking him in the hopes that it would break Tirek and Discord’s drain on everypony.” She glances back, registering the apprehensive looks everypony is giving her. “Didn’t you hear all this?”

“We heard the official story,” Scootaloo says, pouting as she sits back. “We thought the real story would be a lot cooler, especially since Discord was involved.”

“Excuse me,” the draconequus in question objects as he slithers into the train car from beneath the floor he just opened like a trapdoor. It closes behind him with a whoosh of air escaping into the black void. He barely fits despite using a lot of the unused space around the ceiling, made worse by the pink chain rattling from his booth-shaped hat. “My plan would have been a lot ‘cooler’ if I had been allowed to finish, but apparently Doug has an even greater love of ‘undefineds’ than I do.” His air quotes come out as zeroes divided by zeroes made from viscous red clouds that coalesce into heart-shaped candies.

“Yeah,” Sweetie Belle deadpans, inching away from the sweets oozing sugar from every ventricle. “The threat of dying from magic deprivation really puts a damper on things.”

“I know!” Discord throws his claw and paw into the air. Everypony’s eyes go to the ceiling, but the two limbs remain firmly attached to his arms. It’s the rest of his body that gets thrown upwards. He splays out on the ceiling with a vexed sigh. “Now I don’t even know if they want me around anymore.”

The Crusaders trade unsure glances as the draconequus flops about. His attempts to garner sympathy instead draw comparisons to a young foal pouting after scribbling permanent markers on all the walls and not getting a cookie for her troubles.

Lemon pipes up, “We still want you around!” She grins her largest smile up at the self-styled Chaos Lord in the hopes to cheer him up, and it seems to be working.

Meringue nods once.

“Thank you, my young apprentices,” Discord says appreciably, his claw and paw patting the two yellow fillies on the head.

Lemon giggles as one clawed digit draws a circle around her cutie mark, a lemon squeezing into a pitcher. “That’s what I’m here for, right? Helping ponies with their problems!” Her head twists to the side as she appraises the amalgam of creatures in front of her. “And you’re, like… half? Pony? Ish?” She grins. “At least, it’s half of your name!”

“Dracon-equus?” Discord matches her grin, though it doesn’t last. “But I’m afraid the rest of the ponies won’t take my apology with the sincerity with which it was made.”

Lemon tilts her head, allowing the claw to dig deeper. “Is that why you aren’t testifying about what happened? ‘Cause it seems like that would be the place to clear your name.”

“Pff,” Discord sneers, conjuring a second set of limbs to wave dismissively while continuing the scratching. “Nothing will come out of those silencings, and I’m not about to waste my time letting them take potshots at me. Let Celestia roast the lot of them.” He smirks. “Or let Chrysalis eat them. Preferably in that order, but I’m not picky and neither is she.”

“Uhh,” Lemon says dubiously. The general consensus on the train agrees with her.

Discord rolls his eyes, though at least they stay in his skull this time. “Just kidding! Mostly. It wouldn’t happen to a more deserving pack of parasprites.”

“Sure,” Lemon agrees, but it’s the forced kind that signals somepony unwilling to continue a discussion. She turns to her sisters, bouncing excitedly. “Hey, did you hear about the Golden Oak Library?”

“Hey!” Apple Bloom objects as the other ponies watch Lemon eagerly. “Ah thought Ah was sayin’ that!”

Her irrepressible sister continues anyway. “Dam was telling me that there’s a whole castle where it used to be!”

“There is?!” Diamond Tiara exclaims loudly. She gulps as heads swivel to face her, the stern expression of her dam quite severe indeed. She would hate to disappoint her! She chuckles nervously, pearly whites gleaming as she smiles ineffectually. “I mean, it only makes sense for a Princess to have a castle, right?”

“Yeah!” Lemon agrees whole-heartedly. “And we’re gonna need all that extra space, too!” She grins at her younger sister. “I mean, it wasn’t terrible sharing a room with Meringue, at least when she was a year old and stopped crying every night.” She grimaces, and it looks just as out of place and wrong on her muzzle as it does on Pinkie Pie’s. “Teething.”

“Ugh,” Discord moans, a paw running along the back of his head in exasperation. “What is with you ponies and making more of yourselves? I never saw the need to go about duplicating myself.”

“Uh,” Lemon says, torn between calling the draconequus out on his obvious lie, the other copy of his paw still absently rubbing along her back.

“Oh, please,” Discord says disdainfully, picking his paw up with his paw and slipping it over itself like a glove. He admires the perfect fit before it lunges at his throat, which he ignores. “Temporary facsimiles don’t count, because I still control exactly what they do. I gave up making autonomous beings of chaos when I got turned into stone.” He pauses a moment. “The first time, that is.” He taps a claw against his goatee while his paw gives up and goes back to idling on his arm. “I wonder how they are doing?”

“They invade Ponyville every now and then,” Lemon says with such indifference Discord is almost offended. “But still! A dozen foals!” She shakes her head, incredulous.

“Eleven,” Meringue corrects. “Or seven.”

“Maybe,” Lemon says with a snicker. She glances at Starlight Glimmer. “Depending on what you do with your four, and we don’t know where Cadance is gonna end up. But if the other Princesses’ foals are gonna stay here, maybe she’ll want to leave her foal here, too.”

“Don’t they have a big crystal castle in the Crystal Empire?” Apple Bloom asks, slightly confused.

“Oh, our castle isn’t good enough?” Scootaloo spits out jokingly.

Sweetie Belle adds, in a more serious voice, “Besides, why would they go all the way to the Crystal Empire? It’s not like she became their leader just because she’s got a Crystal Heart on her flank.”

“Huh,” Apple Bloom says. “Ah guess we’ve been busier than Ah thought, workin’ with everypony in Our Town.”

“Yeah,” Scootaloo commiserates. “Hey, you think Double Diamond could find a job in the Crystal Empire?”

“Yeah!” Sweetie Belle agrees. She struggles as her horn lights but manages to levitate a neatly organized notebook and pencil. “Either with the Crystal Ponies or with one of those firms surveying the mountains.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Discord interrupts. He gawks at the Crusaders and their list of names, cutie marks, and interests. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to be working!”

“Why?” Apple Bloom asks, torn between curiosity and a certain dread that she normally only gets when Scootaloo gets a horn-brained idea. Or, worse, a human-brained one. “What’re we supposed to be doin’?”

Discord huffs as he motions to the other ponies nearby. Trixie continues dozing, Pomarbo watches apprehensively, Hedge joining him in trying to blend into the colorful walls. Lemon and Meringue at least seem somewhat eager, but he’s grown to expect that from them. Applebaum has pulled out her study material, lots of equations and structural diagrams from the looks of it. Starlight looks up from the Crusader’s notes, mildly concerned about the brainstorming on the plight of her fellow ponies who struggle with their cutie marks.

“You have a being at your hooftips,” Discord says testily, “with nigh-infinite power over space and time. And rather than ask him to cut literal hours off of your commute you would rather sit here!” He motions to Diamond Tiara and Spoiled Rich, who take care to lose their otherwise ever-present look of mild disdain.

“Well, yeah,” Apple Bloom says matter-of-factly. She flashes a grin to her fellow Ponyvillians. “Dam told me that Ah was to never owe ya anythin’. That she’d rather Ah sign over Sweet Apple Acres to cousin Flam an’ let him clear cut it than ask ya for a favor.”

“Ugh,” Discord says melodramatically, holding a shiny metal spike that appears to have sprouted from his chest. “A dagger through my heart!”

“And it’s not like you’re some genie we can demand wishes from,” Scootaloo says.

Sweetie Belle continues, “And what would we have done? Asked you to ‘Teleport us to Sparkle Castle, if you please?’”

Discord bows graciously as Trixie leaps up, saying, “Don’t mind if I do,” as he snaps his claws.

In an instant, the nine members of the Apple Herd, Starlight, Spoiled Rich, and Diamond Tiara find themselves at the bottom of a heap of their luggage in the middle of a dirt field in dire need of landscaping, or at the very least a rake to draw geometric designs around the rocks strewn about. There is a solitary wooden trapdoor, about one ponylength square, and nothing else. Besides the town to their south and a gaggle of apprehensive ponies debating if freezing in place or bolting is the safer thing to do.

“That’s it?!” Apple Bloom exclaims, huffing as she struggles to break free.

“Well, yeah,” Scootaloo says, first to break out and race forward. Applebaum follows shortly after. “Dam said there wasn’t much more than a bunch of empty rooms.”

“That’ll make a pretty terrible nursery,” Sweet Belle adds, carefully extracting herself.

“But an awesome dungeon!” Applebaum shouts, pulling up beside the sign that says ‘Caution! Property of Princess Twilight Sparkle! Keep Out!

“Alright!” Lemon is next, and soon everypony has gathered around, exchanging cautious glances. “Who’s ready to enter the Nungeon?”

Ch. 6 - Unstable Payload, Part Two

“Nungeon?” Applebaum deadpans, raising a single eyebrow in a time-honored family tradition.

“It’s a play on words?” Lemon replies with a smidge of uncharacteristic exasperation. “You know.” She twists her hooves with each word, “Nu-rsery and du-ngeon,” then slams them together. “Nun-geon.”

Apple Bloom snorts. “We ain’t callin’ the new nursery a nungeon.”

Scootaloo ignores her. “C’mon!” she exclaims impatiently, her hooves tapping a rapid dance as she looks over the trapdoor for any way to open it. “Let’s start exploring the Nungeon!”

“Uh,” Sweetie Belle says as she drops low. The door, or to be more accurate section of wall, looks like it came straight from one of Sweet Apple Acres’ old barns. She peers at each corner. They blend into the surrounding dirt with no obvious hoofholds or protrusions. “How do we open it?” Her horn flares a dull green, but her attempt to lift fails with a crackle and fizz of shorting magic. “Ow!” She rubs her horn, wincing. “Oww. What the hay?”

“Language,” Hedge chides, if softly. Sweetie Belle drops down to her haunches, rubbing harder.

“Twilight put Prostigal’s Post Protection on a portal?” Starlight says with a mix of admiration and exhilaration. Her eyes glow white, horn a brilliant turquoise as she scans the inner workings of the spell. “That shouldn’t be any trouble to…” Her muzzle curls upward to a mischievous grin. “Oh! Oh, clever… You thought I wouldn’t see that, did you? A trap if I tried to remove it, hmm? And one behind that?”

Trixie opens her mouth to say something, then stops, her grin matching the maniacal one spreading across Starlight.

“And another… and another… and another…and another...” Starlight frowns to herself, stamping a hoof in frustration as her eyes cross. “Alicorn or not, you shouldn’t be nesting these more than two layers deep! If they catch one, they’ll catch them all, and they’ll keep looking until they get to the end and all you’ve done is waste effort!” She huffs, her look of concentration deepening, her pupils nearly disappearing into her nose. “And another…”

“It’s simple,” Trixie smirks, barely able to contain her laughter, as her horn lights a light magenta. The door pops open with a slight outrush of air. The action startles Starlight out of her unbounded immersion, the light pink unicorn glaring at her azure counterpart. “It’s a recursive loop that waits until you realize you’re caught, storing up energy the whole time.” She waits a beat.

Starlight’s eyes narrow and teeth grind together.

“And then it shocks you.” Trixie sticks her tongue out just as a raspberry tinged lightning bolt zaps out and - safely, of course - electrocutes Starlight.

“Ow!” Starlight exclaims, rubbing her horn just like Sweetie Belle. It lights briefly, then sputters out with a pathetic dribble of sparks. “That could have really hurt!”

“Would you believe that I, the Great and Powerful Trixie! taught her that trick?” The afore-mentioned unicorn grins, though it quickly turns to a scowl. “Maybe with inspiration from that Sombra fellow. Not that Trixie would need to use the spell, except for those two colts always poking through my stuff!”

Starlight merely pulls her hoof away, glaring. “Why would she even…”

She halts as she and the rest of the ponies gather around the now open doorway and look down.

At the bottom of a sheer, vertigo-inducing drop of at least four stories is a massive circular crystal table, easily large enough for the entire herd to eat at if a few don’t mind sitting on top. Or they could if it wasn’t for the scale model of Equestria, done up in a rich variety of gleaming blues. From their high vantage point they can easily make out the majestic Canterhorn in the middle, Canterlot a shining bastion jutting off the lonely peak. Six white, high-backed human-style chairs surround the map, casting long shadows along the plain magenta floor. Dull green light from five upside-down doors on the upper walls barely beats back an inky blackness, leaving the rest of the edges of the cavernous entrance chamber shrouded. Nopony has the temerity to glance farther inside.

At least until Scootaloo brazenly jumps down, wings buzzing madly to keep her at a slow fall instead of a speedy plummet that, being a bit sturdier than your average pegasus, she probably would have survived with only a few bruises. She zooms around the darkness, traveling from one scarcely lit door to another, delightfully screaming all the way down. Before too long, though, and she’s fallen too far to reach any of them, and she hits the ground with a determined huff and charges up the closest wall.

Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle exchange nervous glances. The unicorn speaks first. “Uh… You next?”

“Pff,” Apple Bloom snorts. “Ah remember what happened to Big Mac.” She glances at Trixie. “Can ya levitate us down? And then back up?”

“Aww, where’s your sense of adventure?” Applebaum asks with a cocky grin before Trixie can respond. She shimmies up to the edge. “He just jumped and didn’t land right.” She lowers herself as far down as she can before she slides off, spreading her legs as much as possible.

Trixie watches with mild amusement, Starlight with a brief gasp, as the young mare falls about two body lengths before smacking belly-first into a mostly invisible wall.

“What the hay?” exclaims Applebaum as soon as she gets her breath back, testing her precarious position. She’s standing on top of a sheet of transparent crystal. At least it doesn’t shift like a rickety staircase; the walkway is solid and when she concentrates she can barely detect a faint sparkle that leads along the ceiling to one of the walls and then travels down. She trots along, careful to keep away from the railing-less sides that would certainly fail any sort of safety inspection.

Not about to be left behind, especially by her younger sister, Apple Bloom scampers after Applebaum, careful to keep to the same area. “That could’a hurt!”

“Mm,” Applebaum agrees. She’s still not completely comfortable, but obviously more so than her sister. “Learned how to fall, ‘cause ya can’t always trust what your hooves’re standin’ on.” She peers off the edge, ignoring the clenching of her stomach. “It’d be the highest jump Ah’ve made, but not by much.”

Sweetie Belle stammers, her hooves tapping a fast and nervous beat as her sisters get away. “Wait!” she calls as she drops down. “I’m coming too!”

“Don’t get too far ahead!” Trixie calls as she locates the clear crystal steps at the hinges of the opening. “We only explored three of the four doors!” Her horn lights, and it barely illuminates the far-away walls, two of the doors inscribed with a scarlet ‘X’ and one with a cobalt ‘O’. Starlight, still with a bit of a pucker, follows, as does Hedge and Meringue. The pegasus filly hovers off the edge while the earth pony studies the crystal, tracing minute lines like wood grains.

Apple Bloom looks down at Scootaloo, who is standing on the table. She stares up, glaring at Hedge’s aerial display that slowly swoops underneath the walkway opposite Meringue. Apple Bloom grimaces. “Ah don’t suppose any of y’all feel a mite… exposed walkin’ along like this?” Her tail tugs between her scrunched up legs, but she still feels like a sky glider showing off her wares.

“Not that Trixie is implying anything,” Trixie says, tongue pushing at her cheek, “but Doug did craft this whole castle.” She gets a few chuckles and knowing rolls of the eyes, but none dispute her implication, even purely to defend their sire’s honor.

Outside, Spoiled Rich and Diamond Tiara stand with Lemon and Pomarbo. The older mare is slightly wide-eyed at the reckless display and the casual willingness of the others to go along with it. She takes a cautious step backward, doing a poor job concealing her dismay. Yet she maintains a guarded smile, putting up a brave face. Her filly shares some of her apprehension, yet keeps next to the open door, her gaze steady on Pomarbo.

“Hey,” Lemon pipes up, grinning at Spoiled Rich. She returns an unvarying smile that doesn’t match her eyes. “Thanks for letting us use your private car! Even if…” She looks around, Discord nowhere to be seen. She opens her mouth as if to ask where their mysterious benefactor went off to, then immediately reconsiders. “Yeah! Even if you had to let everypony inside.”

Spoiled Rich’s eyes light up, the corners of her mouth widening. “Think nothing of it,” she says with a limp dismissal and wave of her hoof, using the motion to take a step forward. She clearly adores the acknowledgment and gratitude, yet must appear aloof and unconcerned. “It was a better solution than an entire train being rerouted purely to suit the needs of the Princesses’ herd.”

Next to her Diamond Tiara stands a little straighter, mimicking her dam’s deferential stance. She feels it a touch unbecoming, especially around the fillies with whom she grew up. Part of her wishes Silver Spoon was next to her, but Daddy and the Silver side of the herd are staying in Canterlot to help keep things running smoothly. She would have to manage without her best friend and sister. Regardless, times change, and a Rich pony adapts to the circumstances. How else would her great-grandpappy, Stinkin’ Rich, have made both the Apple’s and their own fortunes?

“Oh, yeah, definitely. Hey, DT?” Lemon peers down the door, unruffled by the thought of jumping down onto a ledge she can’t see. “You wanna come with? We could use another sharp set of eyes down there!” She glances back up at the two Rich ponies, grinning widely - though it’s a grin that seldom leaves her muzzle.

“Thanks, L!” Diamond Tiara offers the younger mare a quick smile. “I’ll be right down.” It feels a little unnatural, being so courteous to the Apples. Especially one of Applejack’s; they never act with proper manners, as a pedigreed mare such as herself must or else face ridicule from everypony who is anypony. They would need to learn, lest the papers have a field day extolling the many mishaps and gaffes of the Princesses’ Herd. And who better to teach them?

Lemon’s smile twitches a little wider. “See ya there!” She turns to Pomarbo, the colt terrified at taking that first step. She briefly considers. She’s gotten a lot better at not just blurting out everything that comes to her mind, even if - especially if - it has to do with helping a pony with their problems. And this is one problem that might not be best fixed by her. So she bounds down, skittering against the slick crystal and quickly catching up to her older sisters.

Diamond Tiara circles around the open doorway, snout slightly upturned, showing a reserved facade instead of the excitement at exploring a Princess’s castle! She can scarcely keep her breath steady and takes the opportunity to collect herself next to the Apple’s colt. Her dam gives her a blank look she reads as quizzical, though the younger mare makes no effort to explain herself. After a brief moment, Spoiled Rich takes a quick, impersonal sniff and turns away, leisurely trotting to Ponyville.

The tiara adorned mare turns back to Pomarbo. She had never spent much time around Applejack’s youngest, instead hanging out with the older trio and, whenever they were around, the middle two, playing sports in the fields by the schoolhouse. The four-year difference was too much, especially with him lacking a cutie mark. It would make things a lot easier if he had one, and not just because she could figure out his interests with a glance.

So she turns her deductive skills, the kind that let her know the strengths and weaknesses of all the fillies and colts over whom she presides, toward the colt laying next to her. He reminds her of an apple tree during cider season when the Apples can’t spare the marepower to harvest every tree and some get heavily laden with apples. His Macintosh mane, red with streaks of light green, is short-cropped over brown flanks. She notes with a bit of disappointment the still blank flank. The rest of his build is slight, nothing like his uncle or more distantly related Apples. His sisters are the same way, taking after their sire. Eyes, green just like his dam’s, squint as he peers down. Could he use a pair of glasses, like Silver Spoon?

A brief nudge startles Pomarbo out of his reverie, or perhaps terror, given the wide-eyed look he gives her. Diamond Tiara smiles back encouragingly and smirks to herself as she watches him visibly relax.

“Are you excited?” Diamond Tiara asks, a bit more imperiously than she meant. At least, that’s how she reads his shy cringe and gulp as he glances down at the other ponies just getting to the crystal table. She gives him another soft nudge toward the steps she can barely make out. One hoof shakes as she goes to step down, her muscles locking up.

You are a Rich pony!

She breathes a sigh of relief at the staccato tap of hoof on crystal. Pomarbo watches her example with fascination. “See?” She takes another step, this one much easier. “Nothing to worry about.” The next few come without any trouble, once her mind is convinced there is nothing to worry about, and she spins around to watch.

Pomarbo nods reluctantly. He closes his eyes as he leans forward, fishing for the step with his hoof. His small size means he can’t reach, at least without toppling off, his muzzle pursing tighter and tighter as wetness spreads to the hair around his eyes.

“Here,” Diamond Tiara blurts out, suppressing her huff. She grabs hold of his hoof, ignoring the tingles shooting through her at the contact, and tugs down.

Any resistance the colt might have had evaporates as he touches the stair. His eyelids spring open, and his quick next step takes Diamond Tiara completely by surprise. She pulls back just as he pushes forward; his uncoordinated hooves aren’t able to catch himself before he plows into her and the two tumble down the remaining six steps end over end and land on the bottom in a pile of limbs. It might have been comical, especially with a few whistles echoing from the bottom, if it wasn’t so terrifying that they might have gone off the edge.

Before anypony can react further one of the unmarked doors bursts open. Discord, wearing a green archer’s vest, quiver, and bow, rides a flying carpet made of smoke. Behind him lurk dozens of malevolent red-eyed vampire bats, half skeletons and half feral. The door slams shut before any can breach into the entrance chamber, meaty thuds ringing out as small bodies slam into the wall.

The draconequus flashes the entire room a swarthy grin. He dances feverishly as his carpet lowers, his paw and claws rubbing together with a maniacism generally only shared by Pinkie Pie or Starlight Glimmer. He bellows, much to the ponies’ consternation, “Who wants to go exploring?!”

Ch. 7 - Unstable Payload, Part Three

Discord’s bellow echoes around the giant room, made all the more stark and empty by the ponies’ distinct lack of enthusiasm. He would have expected this sort of reaction from an amassment of guards, or statues in Celestia’s garden, or the pitiable guards stuck guarding Celestia’s garden - and not that supposedly luscious garden everymortal wanted to play in, for some inexplicable reason. Too overgrown, infested with terrans.

But this is ¡Discord, the Lord of Chaos! we’re talking about! Where’s the fanfare, the cheering marching band parading from one doorway to another except they keep entering at the wrong angle and just march along the walls while space and time hold onto each other and weep? Does he have to do everything himself? But it’s too late now, it would just look desperate, and if there’s one thing he cannot abide it’s some lesser creature’s pity toward a being with infinite power!

So he stands there, riding his cloud, arms outstretched as wide as his grin. Yet there are no thundering stomps of ponies bounding up to join him in the fun and fellowship of physical efforts, not like those silly simulations touted by Doug and Shining Armor and Big Mac and Spike that he most certainly would not be hosting. Besides, he did that today. Except, there is one pony displaying a modicum of excitement for his proposed adventure.

“Ooo!” Lemon shouts as she slashes at the air. She darts forward, hooves hammering against the crystal as she runs circles around Discord’s smoky cloud. “Pick me! Pick me! I wanna go exploring!” She bounces back and forth before darting over to Applebaum, her closest sister far less enthusiastic about actual adventuring than she expected.

“Um,” Apple Bloom says, nervously glancing between Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo. The unicorn shares her look of trepidation, standing still in the vain hope that the draconequus won’t pick on her like Miss Cheerilee giving pop quizzes after the weekend is over and she wants a question answered right for once. Even the pegasus has slowed her frantic attempts to scale the walls and get to one of the doors and instead nestles in one of the uncomfortable v-shaped bottoms of the tall, thin windows. Despite her earlier words she isn’t leaping at the chance to go exploring, or perhaps it’s just who would be leading said exploration.

“We have one volunteer!” Discord grins gleefully, scanning the others. He’s somewhat disappointed that Meringue isn’t also leaping at the opportunity, but at least she’s fascinated with a different application of his power, having found a few runes of power carved into the transparent walkway. “Normally one would have a balanced group of four to six brave adventurers. And while I could fill a party all by myself-”

Three copies of Discord blink into existence. One of them is heavily armored with a galley oar, another in a shabby jerkin with a shield and butterfly net, and the last in a skimpy two-piece bikini wielding a long staff with an open palm threatening to slap anypony attempting to test the jiggle physics.

“-It just wouldn’t be fair to you all!” A worried look flashes across Discord’s four faces as he peers up at the still-closed door. Occasional thumps emanate from behind, sending tingles down spines and standing hairs on end. “And it certainly has nothing to do with the fact that Doug built this castle with my magic, and attempting to banish them definitely doesn’t cause them to trifurcate. Or gain special abilities. Or anything.” Each copy cowers behind the original, leaving him alone and tugging at a non-existent collar.

“Trixie was thinking that we could focus on the areas already cleared.” She preens her long, pampered hair, decidedly not looking at the door Discord entered through that definitely wasn’t there the last time she came into the castle.

“Ugh,” Discord whines as he drapes himself over an imaginary couch while his paw wipes across his face. “Why do you have to be so boring?”

The azure unicorn sticks her nose in the air. “Trixie does not see the point of gallivanting off through a series of hallways filled to the brim with dangerous creatures. Especially if those hallways keep shifting around her.” She looks down at the floor. It isn’t flat, more of a gentle curve that makes it hard to keep her balance.

“I prefer,” Applebaum chips in, “my corridors ancient and long-abandoned.” She nods to herself, deliberately not meeting her more eager sister’s disappointed gaze. “Safer that way.”

“But what if Starlight here was trapped at the other end?” Discord, with an entirely uncalled-for and over-aggrandized sweeping motion, given the spacious and unobstructed room, lights up the pink unicorn with half a dozen neon signs. She retreats back a step, away from the pointing arrows, glaring at him all the while. “What if it was up to you and a rag-tag bag of misfits to rescue her?”

Trixie raises an eyebrow. “That sounds like...”

She pulls out a fancy deck of cards from her hat. The spades are suns, the artwork depicting Princess Celestia in a variety of provocative poses, though none truly explicit. Hearts are the pink, purple and gold of Princess Cadance’s mane, showing off her suggestive smile. Clubs are a deep cobalt that’s almost as dark as Princess Luna’s cold and brooding stare. Diamonds are a light lavender with Princess Twilight, you guessed it, surrounded by books. She idly shuffles and flips out three deuces and Doug as a rainbow-armored joker. A swipe of her hoof and they all change to four princesses, complete with exaggerated belly bulges.

“A princess-level job.”

Discord huffs. “Fine,” he grits out, folding his arms across his chest and most certainly not pouting. “I was going to help you all explore the castle, but if that’s the way you want to be?” He snaps his claws, folding into himself until nothing remains but Lemon sighing at the blank space above her.

Silence reigns in the map room while everypony exchanges querying glances.

“Sooo,” Sweetie Belle draws out with an equally long stare at the five doors far above. “Did Daddy build this whole castle upside down?”

“He did,” Trixie answers with a slight grimace.

“Oh.” Sweetie Belle trots over to the azure unicorn. “How did you get around before? Wings?” Her head cocks to the side, muzzle scrunching up at her inability to enact her next suggestion. “Levitation?”

“Both,” Trixie admits, muzzle curling to a scowl she doesn’t bother hiding. “But that would require us to station someunicorn at every doorway and give our less buoyant members a lift.” She leaves unstated that she would struggle at this task, and everypony knows it. Maybe if she studied with Starlight more, but the pink unicorn still looks out of it from triggering Twilight’s trap.

“We could build a ramp!” Scootaloo scampers around the table, wishing she brought her scooter along with her. She could totally use the chairs as makeshift ramps, and build up some serious speed!

Trixie sticks her nose in the air disdainfully. “Trixie refuses to cooperate with any plan that involves ramps.”

Scootaloo’s brow scrunches up. “What do you have against ramps?”

“Oh, nothing,” Trixie spits out. “They just make me…”

The azure unicorn suddenly stops speaking, looking quite uncomfortable; Scootaloo worriedly glances around, everypony else watching intently. Trixie’s eyes bug out as she gags, a hoof coming up to shield her muzzle, only for a stream of cards to spew out of her mouth and onto the floor. They just keep coming, and coming, a dozen faces winking seductively among the stars and books.

The scrunching up extends to the rest of Scootaloo’s face, mouth gaping and eye twitching.

“They’re just the incestuous cousin of the wheel,” Trixie continues, not deigning to look down and acting like nothing happened. “Existing purely to make it easier to get those go-rounders places they never belonged!” Her breath comes in fast, infuriated pants, a glare directed not so much at the surrounding young mares but years of pulling carts.

Applebaum cuts in, “What about ropes?” She eyeballs the closest door, the bottom about two stories straight up. “It shouldn’t be too hard to climb. As long as we’re not going back and forth a lot.”

“Ah’ll get some ropes!” Apple Bloom yells, scampering past Diamond Tiara and Pomarbo on her way to the top exit. The two have to squeeze against the castle wall just to avoid her, the thin walkway offering little in the way of protection should they be bumped to the unyielding floor below.

The rest of the ponies mill about, none particularly keen about moving away from the softly glowing table or windows, even if there is little to do in the otherwise dreadfully dark cavern. A few stomachs growl, and Lemon and Applebaum look ready to follow Apple Bloom and get lunch for everypony.

Diamond Tiara frowns to herself at the lack of leadership among the ponies. It makes sense, with the two older mares present being seventh and (while technically not a member of the herd, it seems likely given her close and continuing relationship) tenth. Somepony would need to step in, and who better than her?

Emboldened, and with a glance to the colt next to her to make sure he’s paying attention, the young pink mare steps to the edge of the ramp. She’ll finally get to put those vocal classes her dam put her through to use!

“What we need,” she belts out, singing forcefully enough to get Apple Bloom to pause at the top, “is to work to-geth-er-r-r!” She draws out the word as she spins, strutting a few steps down the ramp in time with the music in her head. “And make this castle shi-i-ine!”

“We do?” Apple Bloom interrupts from above, bringing the song to a screeching halt as Diamond Tiara skids on the crystal.

“Well, yeah!” Diamond Tiara states exasperatedly, huffing. She flings her hoof in a manner reminiscent of Discord, indicating the cavernous room. “We have a whole castle that’s completely bare! Is this the kind of place you would want to raise a foal?”

“Yeah!” Apple Bloom agrees with a shudder. “It’s got these tall doors that make it hard to get around!”

“At least,” Scootaloo adds from her perch on the window, “they keep those long hallways full of critters out.”

Sweetie Belle taps her hoof against the floor, nearly falling over. “And uneven floors that would make it difficult to run away.”

“Precisely!” Diamond Tiara nods feverishly, her enthusiasm contagious. “Wouldn’t it be great if the Princesses got back and they found this place, not cold and bare, but warm and-”

“-Decorated?” Lemon interrupts, eyes darting this way and that. “We could add some sparkle!”

Diamond Tiara huffs at her line being stolen, but goes along with it. “I’m thinking…” she leads, the grin on her muzzle widening. Visions dance in her eyes, a spreading smile that bounces from

“Portraits?” Sweetie Belle offers, glancing around at the walls. They are quite bare, and definitely unbecoming of a Princess’s castle. Especially with this being the entryway, and the first place everypony will see!

“Statues!” Diamond Tiara corrects, trotting down the walkway until she comes to one of the windows. She motions upwards, “Though, I wouldn’t say no to a stained-glass window, am I right?” Her cheeky grin is met by a few delayed nods, many of the ponies recalling how Princess Celestia’s castle has all sorts of elaborate scenes depicted on the windows. She continues her trot to the bottom, revelling in how all eyes are watching her. “It would look a lot better than that dreadful green!”

“Decoration superfluous.”

“Ah, lighten up, Meringue,” Lemon says with a roll of her eyes and shake of her head at her little sister. “It’d look good! I know we can do it!”

Diamond Tiara grins outwardly, but grimaces internally. Lemon would have been the easiest to get on board with any sort of project, and her sweeping optimism would carry the day. But it needs to be her in the limelight! Even as she wants to replace all the lime-tinted windows.

“Efficient routes integral.”

“Hey, how about this,” Diamond Tiara interjects as the two yellow ponies butt heads, resulting in a tangle of Pies. “There’s plenty of work.” She glances around the bare room, everyponies’ eyes on her, just like it should be. “A lot of work. We might not even get it done today! So we need to split it up, but more importantly, we need to figure out what we’re going to do.”

She jumps onto the table, imperiously basking in the glow and enjoying the higher vantage point where she can look down on all the ponies. She barks, “Meringue, I want you to confer with Trixie. Make a map of what rooms we already know about. Can we assume the other hallways are similar?”

Trixie shrugs as Diamond Tiara’s gaze falls on her. “They’re not identical, but pretty close.”

“Alright.” Diamond Tiara nods before turning upward toward Apple Bloom. “We’re going to need lunch. Take Scootaloo and Lemon with you. Do you need bits?”

“Uh,” Apple Bloom says, glancing from side to side as her two sisters join her at the top of the stairs. “If we’re just goin’ to home’n Sugarcube, Ah think we’ll be okay.” She smiles down, and when no further instructions come heads outside through the trapdoor.

“Starlight,” Diamond Tiara says, her tone softening. This would be the hardest nut to crack, but if she can get the mare to cooperate then it’ll be smooth sailing.

“Yeah?” Starlight Glimmer says irritably, rubbing at her horn.

“Can you work with Sweetie Belle and Hedge on some way to get through these walls or up to the doors?” She cranes her head upward, already feeling the strain in the back of her neck.

“What about some sort of scaffolding?” Applebaum cuts in. She motions to the entrance and the railing suspended high above them. “If we can drill into the ceiling we could anchor ropes and platforms and just walk across!”

“Excellent idea!” Diamond Tiara exclaims, beaming her best smile. It’s important to make everypony feel appreciated, especially if they’re the ones doing the work. “It’ll be like a treehouse!”

“And what’ll you be doing?” Sweetie Belle asks pointedly as she confers with Applebaum, Starlight, and Hedge as to how exactly they would install such a system.

“Me?” Diamond Tiara says, surprised. She hops down, quickly trotting up the stairway. “I’ll just be, um, conferring with Pomarbo. We need to figure out what else we’ll need to do!”

She grins as she sidles next to the colt, pressing her side against him.

Ch. 8 - Unstable Payload, Part Four

Spoiled Rich pauses as she trots away from the bare plot of land that used to be the Golden Oak Library, dusting off her personalized, H-T emblazoned saddlebags with a grimace. She turns, breath hitching as she watches her precious filly disappear into the crystal maw with the Apple colt.

It’s dangerous!

Her limbs lock, forelegs already starting to charge back, and she nearly eats the dirt she just brushed off her bags. Her breathing comes and goes in quick spurts, and it takes far longer than she likes to recover from the panic attack. That overwhelming sense of fear, that she has to rescue the budding young mare and march her back to the mansion, to safety. What kind of dam would she be if she let something happen to her filly?

And with the Apple colt, of all ponies! Why did it have to be with his colt?

She hides the grimace, and then the following scowl, wearing that inscrutable, haughty smile like one of those big, floofy hats Rarity makes. Maybe she should patronize the unicorn’s store more frequently. She is a member of the Princesses’ herd, after all, and buying a token dress after the Princesses’ announcement was just that, a token gesture, utterly meaningless and only served to maintain her position relative to the other sycophants doing the same thing.

Not that the dress was bad. In fact, she had to beat off her husband lest he get the wrong idea, and it only got harder after the Princesses’ Equestria-wide announcement.

Five alicorn foals!

It was, and still is, unthinkable. She couldn’t process it. The ramifications are too large, too far-reaching, too nebulous to do anything but guess. If the foals inherit even a fraction of their dam’s power? It could topple the precarious position the ponies occupy at the top of the hierarchy.

More broadly, obviously ponies would follow Celestia’s example, and she had received a few tenuous feelers from mares looking to join the Rich herd, solitary mares she previously anticipated requesting Filthy as a stud, though even that sort of thing was hushed up enough that she wouldn’t care to speculate on a single mare’s preference until the actual request was made. And, even then, she’d only know about it because she is lead mare.

But if Equestria’s burgeoning spike not only in power but also numbers is met by their neighboring countries with anything other than outward congratulations and a tacit agreement to watch their relative power dwindle away? Then having a foal during the resulting strife couldn’t be a worse decision, and she is glad to have fended off Filthy’s amorous assaults until her heat ended. There’s always next year, should things stay stable.

But that doesn’t mean she isn’t sometimes envious of Silver Set and her herdmate’s three foals. Like any trend, it doesn’t pay to be in the wave that follows, and she doesn’t want her next foal to just be another born in the glut next year, or the one after that. No, she has to find something else, some other ‘in’ through which she can elevate herself and her future foal. Should she make that decision.

Actually, there is something she could use. It has been years, but her memory has always been sharp.

She startles slightly as she stops outside her mansion, apparently having trotted the entire way lost in her thoughts. It must have been the lack of ponies on the street, nearly everypony still in Canterlot for the now-defunct Friendship Festival.

“Thorax?” she calls as she enters, curious if the changeling is here or holding down Barnyard Bargains.

“Mrs. Rich?” comes the cautious return call as Thorax steps out of the main dining hall.

The lime green changeling brushes a few crumbs from his orange tinted thorax with an apologetic smile. Spoiled Rich would have preferred to look down her nose, but he stands a hoof taller than her, and she can’t shake the odd sense that he should tower above her like Princess Celestia. It must be the pronged horns that splay out far more obtrusively than a unicorn’s horn and the purple gossamer wings that lend an aura of nobility the otherwise unassuming changeling wouldn’t possess.

“Welcome home!” He brightens as he sets his hoof back on her plush carpet. “I didn’t know you’d be back so soon! Is everything at the Friendship Festival proceeding well?”

“It was,” she said haughtily, “until the Princesses were hauled off.”

His pupil-less rose eyes spin wildly. “Oh, no!” Thorax exclaims as he bounds forward, planting his forelegs on Spoiled Rich’s withers as he stares into her shocked eyes. If she wasn’t an earth pony it would have knocked her over. “Is the Queen okay? Was she hurt?!”

“She left with them, unharmed.” Spoiled Rich harrumphs as Thorax stares off into space. She clears her throat a second time, and this time he notices.

“Oh! Sorry! Sorry.” He drops down with an apologetic grimace, brushing off her dress. His hoof goes to his belly. “I was just thinking about the little ones.”

Her trained eye can barely detect the bulge around his darker green barrel. It’s more than the sandwich of bread and pork would entail, unless he has been gorging himself again. He is the other reason Filthy doesn’t mind waiting another year, as noherd of any note would want too many foals in a year. Two being the maximum, and woe to any stallion who wanted to try his hoof at more. And the novelty of having another join the herd would wear off soon enough. But he wouldn’t be this concerned with Filthy’s foal, of course not.

“Is it that time again?” she asked, mildly disgusted but hiding it well. Not that foalbearing is a particularly nasty subject, nor is she squeamish, but she has little desire to observe one of the changelings lay their eggs in the communal spawning ground. Though she would certainly not want to appear as if she found foals or even nymphs distasteful, given the current political climate.

“Just about! I can feel the little bugger pressing up against me. Not that it’s uncomfortable or anything!” Thorax’s best reassuring grin spreads across his face, but it always seems a bit creepy to her. Like a chimera that’s just realized that you know it’s trying to sneak up on you, and doesn’t want to call off the hunt just yet. “Since nopony was coming to the shop, I figured that I would head down there while it’s still cool.” His grin widens even more. “Hey, have you been there yet? I could show you around!”

“Mm,” Spoiled Rich stalls. She feels like getting to know the de facto fourth member of their herd is something she has put off for too long and that trumps her apathy. “Very well, but give me a moment.”

Hooves pound into the carpet as Thorax does a little happy dance, obviously not expecting that response. “Okay!”

She grumbles to herself as she heads into one of the sitting rooms. It would have been easier for Randolph to locate the deck of cards, but their butler is in Canterlot with Filthy. She brushes past a number of books and other games the fillies haven’t played in years. They would make acceptable gifts for grandfoals, no need to throw them out yet. She finally finds the cards along with her notes on the game of Bridge. She tucks the cards into her sleeve, part of her wanting to roll it up like she did as a young mare, and returns to find Thorax anxiously waiting. “Lead the way.”

He bounds to the door and opens it for her. A worried look flashes across his face. “Oh, um. Just so you know. It’s in the Everfree Forest. But right on the edge! It’s perfectly safe!”

“Indeed,” Spoiled Rich draws out, squelching her dismay at the mere mention of the forest. She follows him as they trot through Ponyville, and the continued lack of ponies continues to surprise her. She spots Apple Bloom breaking into a darkened Sugarcube Corner and quickly disappearing out of sight as they head to the south. It might have concerned her, as the Cakes are in Canterlot, but she doubts the young mare is up to anything nefarious. “How do you find working at Barnyard Bargains?”

“Work’s been great!” Thorax replies, his quick pace leaving her panting, even despite her participation in the Running of the Leaves. “It’s a lot like being a guard, except that I get to talk to ponies! Which is great! You wouldn’t believe how much ponies like to talk about what they do. Like Burnt Oak, he was telling me all about how he picks which trees to fell, and using the sawmill, and then about building wagons! It’s fascinating!”

His fascination with the simple act of cutting and crafting mystifies her; it’s so unlike many of the ponies she knows. And, she hates to admit, herself. It actually reminds her of many of Doug’s foals, whose interests vary more than most. And who, if they don’t pick some area of expertise, would have difficulty amounting to anything.

“It is a common enough occupation,” she says with a hint of a frown. Her husband loves working in the shop itself, getting a feel for what the customers are interested in and the trends of the market. Even though she feels his time would be better spent securing more profitable contracts and contacts outside of Ponyville, and hopes the extra time he is spending in Canterlot will be well worth it.

“Yup!” Thorax grins at that, though his face quickly falls. “I’d like it if we could get better jobs, but entry level work is all that’s been available. Nopony really trusts us changelings to do anything except breed.”

“Which you are frighteningly good at,” Spoiled Rich points out as they enter the forest. Overgrown trees crowd each side of the rough-cut path, simultaneously making her feel claustrophobic while hampering anycreature detecting their passage or assaulting them. It doesn’t help the feeling, though, and she warily checks each side as she stays close to the changeling.

“Yeah,” Thorax concedes as they enter a hollowed-out section of forest. It feels almost like a cave with how densely packed the branches are overhead and to the sides, scattered spots of dim light barely able to pierce through. Three u-shaped earthen mounds form a loose circle around the center, forming a bulwark of sorts. He heads to one of them and disappears down, and she can’t shake the feeling that the spawning chamber down there is more of a sepulcher.

He pokes his head out as she stalls. “You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to, but it might be a few minutes.”

“Er,” she says, glancing around nervously. Maybe she can stare at a section of wall. The steps are tightly spaced in a spiral, barely enough room to place a hoof next to the other, and if she slips she would tumble down and crash into at least six walls. Assuming it only goes down one story.

“It helps to go down backward,” Thorax recommends, following his own advice. She follows him, wishing there is more than the soft light of his horn guiding them. “Sorry it’s so steep. It has to be, or the newly hatched grubs might crawl out. This way they just tumble back down!”

The reinforced dirt walls turn to stone after one revolution, traces of acid giving the illusion that some still drips down. Two stories after that and it opens up into a cramped cellar, crystals and glowing moss casting an eerie green glow. Dozens of small mounds line the floor, and Spoiled Rich would freak out if she awoke down here with no explanation. She still might.

He heads to the one clear space in the room and spins around to face her, his rump dropping to the floor. She turns her head as a slimy squelch echoes against his hearty grunts.

“Sorry,” he apologizes before his throat clenches, his entire body tensing. “We don’t expect many visitors here. The hive in the Badlands was a lot more impressive.”

“How many are yours?” she asks, though she wishes she picked a question that took her mind off what is happening behind her.

“Four.” Another grunt accompanies the answer. “Including this one. That’s how many the Queen wants from each of us, at least this year. I figured I’d get mine out of the way, and I think everyling had the same idea.” She hears the rustle of him getting back up, then a long sigh. “I hope she’s okay. And comes back soon. I’m not ready for when these girls start hatching!”

“Is that going to be soon?” Spoiled Rich takes an awkward step backward.

“The first two rounds already hatched, and I think Chryssy moved them all by herself.” He grimaces, berating himself. “I mean, Queen Chrysalis!” He gives a nervous chuckle. “She hates to be called that name. That and Scinty.”

“Noted,” Spoiled Rich says, though she had already resolved to only call the capricious changeling queen by her title, much like one would with any pompous noble. She frowns. “And how are the other… nymphs? Doing?”

“Oh! Um…” Thorax nervously shuffles to the side, then grabs the slick egg from the floor and tenderly places it next to the others. He shamelessly retches up a bit of green goop and secures the egg to the floor, much to her actual disgust. He continues as if nothing happened, “Maybe I should check on them?”

Spoiled Rich stares at him. Queen Chrysalis had set out for Canterlot three days ago. Have they been left alone this whole time!?

“Yes, you should,” she states forcefully. No foal should be abandoned like that, even a changeling! She even leads the way, climbing up the spiral staircase, though she has to let him choose which of the other two entrances to take back down. Two stories down and they come to a reinforced door, a dull roar emanating from the other side.

“Well, here goes,” Thorax says with a cheesy grin before he opens the door.

Inside is the kind of mayhem one might expect if you left Pinkie Pie and fifteen of her clones alone in a room and told her to stare at drying paint. A single changeling sits in the center, patiently staring at Thorax with a widening smile. Around her tumble, race, and fly the other fifteen changeling nymphs. Empty bags of flour lie strewn across the floor, any traces licked clean, though the water trough is acceptably full.

“Thorax is here!”

The cry starts with one, quickly echoing among all the changelings as they make a beeline to the entrance. Which means that half of them go straight there, and the other half loop around in a pincer formation, ensuring the only escape is backwards, and that way is currently occupied by an earth pony frantically backing up.

Small, colorful bodies slam into the lime green changeling. He takes it in stride, grinning all the while, petting heads and nuzzling sides of anyling who comes close. They all giggle and screech, especially when he catches one and delivers a powerful raspberry to the belly.

“Attention, everyling!” Thorax calls after a minute of play, long enough for Spoiled Rich to regain her bearings. They all settle down, forming two rows of eight nymphs, the larger in back. He waves a hoof, and she takes a reluctant step forward. “This is Spoiled Rich! She’s my lead mare in Ponyville!”

“Hi, Spoiled Rich!” the nymphs chorus.

Her breath catches in her throat. “Hello,” she says with a short wave, having to force the words out. Her hushed whisper is nearly as forceful as a shout, “These are two weeks old?!”

“This batch is far better behaved than any I ever helped with at the hive,” Thorax confides, and every mouth in the room twists to a large, fangy grin. “I think sharing love helped immensely!” His voice drops to a stage whisper. “As did finding all the food.”

“Indeed,” she replies with a curt nod. “And what are we supposed to do?”

“Mrs. Rich is a schoolteacher,” Thorax says to the nymphs, many of whom are already starting to poke each other in the side. He offers her a wide, phony smile. “And she knows lots of games!”

Spoiled Rich might have glared at the sudden invitation, and at the same time is curious how exactly he knew she taught before Ms. Cheerilee was hired. Except that this provides the perfect way for her to get her skills back in shape, and not make a foal of herself in front of Doug and the Princesses. She pulls the deck of cards from her sleeve, and all the nymphs burst forth to crowd around her. “How many of you know your numbers?”

She barely weathers the cacophony of shouted things, most of which are numbers.

“Very good,” she utters, partly deafened. They’re as enthusiastic as a pack of Lemons with all the self control of Scootaloo. She counts it fortunate she only had to substitute for Ms. Cheerilee a few times. “This is a card game for four players, so we’ll need to divide into eight groups of two.”

“I’ll get more cards!” Thorax breathes a huge sigh of relief as he heads upstairs, leaving the nymphs to squabble amongst themselves.

The nymphs quickly catch on to how the game is played, and their competitive nature gets her to add on scoring and then a rough tournament set up with duplicated decks. They need little instruction, allowing her to watch their initially naive play evolve with every hoof of cards.

“They’re so precious,” Thorax whispers to her. “I can’t believe you don’t want more.”

“Mm,” she says, staring off into space as she settles next to him.

Ch. 9 - Warlord's Reach, Part One

April 6th, 1001 Domina Solaria

Doug awakens to a warm nudge, opening his eyes to a starry night sky. It billows outward, in every direction, a vast expanse of cobalt and indigo dotted with pinpricks of twinkling white. One could get lost in those darkened depths. He lays there, marveling at the beauty, though he’d risk Luna’s wrath if he pushed her tail the wrong way in order to see her crescent moon. He isn’t nearly as proficient in mane manipulation with her as he is with Rarity, to the unicorn’s enduring chagrin and the alicorn’s consternation.

Sleeping next to the Princesses is always a tiring affair, but not because of any carnal activities. He finds that invigorating, unless he falls asleep immediately afterward. No, it is instead due to a less licentious and more mundane reason: he finds Celestia’s body heat, a living furnace of sorts, too warm. And Luna is the opposite, harboring a chill that matches the night, and she despises blankets more than he, if only slightly. Except that her mane always seems to end up as a pillow, if it isn’t her belly.

When it is only one of the Sisters his body adapts, if begrudgingly, or when he wakes he finds he has pushed himself away. But when both are present he tosses and turns, constantly rotating so the sweaty side cools off against cobalt while the other warms against alabaster. Not that he complains, and neither do they, and their strong desire to do things together means they spend nights doubled up more often than not.

He brushes a bit of starry mane out of his eyes, only to find Celestia’s warm gaze smiling down on him. He hates to admit it to himself, and wouldn’t dream of saying it aloud, but she is the most beautiful of his mares. Of all the ponies he has met, really. A radiant smile that, while she might direct it at many of her little ponies, contains a special meaning for him. A warmth, loving and caring, that easily surpasses her body heat. And, paradoxically enough, a desire to see her ponies succeed so powerful that she lets them fall so they might fly on their own, no matter her own reservations about the dangers.

It’s still night out, the moon visible near the horizon and the great balloon above blocking out a large portion of the sky. He gets up slowly, careful not to disturb the Princess of the Night as she works to soothe an understandably large number of storm-based nightmares. At least he slept, perhaps not soundly, but dream-free.

“Is it morning soon?” he asks, yawning and wiping a bit of the sleepiness out of his eyes.

“It will be as we arrive,” Celestia explains quietly with a motion to the south. Klugetown shines, though not as brightly as Canterlot, a beacon of light against a backdrop of roiling dark. The Storm King’s black airships have shrunk their formation as they draw closer, lanterns marking those hurrying to and fro on the decks. A wry smile crosses her muzzle. “It helps to know the helmsmare on their flagship. It shall make our arrival all the more impressive.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He stands, stretching his arms and cracking his neck. He slept in his armor and parachute, though the extra layers certainly help with the cold air high above the Bone Dry Desert. He hopes it wasn’t uncomfortable for the alicorns, but when Lunaris relieved him after dinner he must have fallen straight asleep. The unicorn stoically maintains the helm, checking his flawless appearance in a mirror held in a golden glow as the other mares scurry about, conspiring about something or other.

Doug’s hand slips past Celestia’s ear and into her ever-flowing mane, drawing a deep rumble that begs to be something more. He follows with a nuzzle to the expressive appendage, threatening escalation with sweet nothings and a series of kisses down her side.

“We have time, barely, if you wish to escape below,” Celestia says, her gentle reprimand concealed behind mirth. “Also, good morning, love.”

Her choice garners a light harrumph and withdrawal. It would be a tad too conspicuous, not that anypony on board would mind, and he doesn’t want to rush things. He can’t quite keep from performing the same nuzzle routine with Luna, even as she grunts grumpily. One eye opens, perhaps to glare, though it turns to a long-suffering roll as he steps away and to the edge of the airship.

Behind and below stretches the Bone Dry Desert, a hostile and desolate expanse only slightly more hospitable than the void of space. While the Badlands might owe their existence to Celestia’s actions defending Equestria centuries ago and the thaumic fallout and twisting of leylines from the awesome display of power, the Bone Dry Desert’s is terrestrial. It merely suffers from a crippling lack of rain and rivers.

The pegasi tribes that make up the Realm of Clouds to the south of Klugetown certainly don’t help matters, not that anything lives in the desert that might complain. The dark, billowing clouds that give the Realm their namesake block out the tops of the mountains, leaving a roiling horizon behind their destination. The distinction between Klugetown and the surrounding desert is much more stark, much like a boat is separate from the ocean. In fact, there isn’t so much as a tent outside the tall northern walls, and anything more permanent would sink into the shifting sands.

And the town certainly looks like it clawed its way out from the desert, with more and more emerging every year. Rising spires of wood and stone haphazardly sprout on top of each other, twisting and merging and splitting apart so indiscriminately that it would leave a changeling anxious and ill-at-ease. Or maybe that would just be the back alleys that spring from seeming nowhere, leaving an ever-present sense of imminent ambush. Or, it could be the massive sign out front.

Illuminated at all times, and clearly visible as they get closer, the ‘The Free City of Klugetown’ sign clearly delineates a short list of forbidden items: no weapons, square dance calling, changelings, or umbrum.

The rest of the town looks just as foreboding and uninviting. Armed guards - of races Doug has never seen before, primarily giant fish-like creatures - patrol along the sandstone street, exchanging hearty greetings with the vendors hawking their wares even before the sun rises. Others peek out from what must be apartments among the ever-constructing spires, apprehensively watching as the armored airships berth at the many docks along the southern end of town.

On board the Lunaris Priestess, Twilight and Cadance join Celestia and Luna at the bow. Twilight wouldn’t cut their exchange of nuzzles short, or her and Cadance’s fillyhood dance routine, even as she might burst with a grim anticipation of what arriving at their destination will entail.

“I did a lot of studying,” Twilight begins, pulling a few sheets of parchment from her saddlebags. She passes them out among her fellow alicorns. “And prepared these for the topics I thought would be brought up.”

“Excellent work, my most faithful student.” Celestia reads through the papers, then pauses as she chuckles to herself. “I’m sorry, Twilight. You are a Princess now, and no longer my student. This just reminded me of the times when you would turn in thirteen parchments when I only asked for three.”

“Oh,” Twilight says, abashedly beaming as she scratches one foreleg against the other. “I-it’s nothing, really. I don’t mind at all!”

“Even so. Thank you for your efforts.” Celestia’s warm smile fills Twilight’s heart with pride.

Celestia’s former student has to quell the rush, that heady desire to burst into song and fly circles around the airship. But she is a Princess now, and that has to come with a certain amount of dignity and restraint. Right?

And the purest example of that majesty, a paragon among ponies, steps forward. Gold-shod hooves stand on the railing as the Princess of the Sun regally raises her head, preparing herself as a golden glow surrounds her horn. Her shorter Sister matches her performance, the cobalt alicorn almost an afterthought as she lowers the moon.

And then, as their airship crests Klugetown’s outer wall, with every eye on them, the sky above bursts into a brilliant display of reds and oranges and yellows as the sun crests the horizon.

On top of the highest construction crane next to the docks, and a fair distance away from the Princesses, two gray hooves balance the primate-esque Storm King at the top of a long pole. One hand blocks the rising sun from his bright teal eyes, an irrepressible grin on his fang-filled mouth. Sleek white fur covers his body except for his face, feet, and hands. Dark gray armor guards his chest and shoulders, adorned with a twin teal lightning bolt insignia that matches the darker blue crown between twisting black horns.

“Welcome!” the Storm King projects, releasing his grip on the pole to wave at the first of the landing warships. Dozens of giant, yeti-like minions disgorge from each, milling about with good-natured jostles. “Good to see you all back so soon!” One arm sweeps behind him as he twirls about, indicating a massive breakfast buffet fully capable of feeding the hundreds of soldiers.

A small skiff swoops to his side, allowing a single unicorn to disembark.

Commander Tempest Shadow marches to her commanding officer, imperiously holding her head high. It doesn’t help her mood that her eyes come up to his feet, or that the pole he is casually balancing on is actually the legendary crystal-tipped staff known as the Staff of Sacanas. She does a quick about face once she is at his side, firmly gazing ahead and watching the Storm Minions disembark, studiously ignoring the hundred-foot drop should she slip. It doesn’t take long for them to clear out, and the airships to raise to a more defensible holding pattern, revealing the Lunaris Priestess and all four alicorns standing proudly at the bow.

“You know,” the Storm King says to Tempest, as nonchalant as if talking about the weather, “when I got your message that everything was going to plan?” He uses both hands to make a picture box around the approaching alicorns. “Somehow I had a different image of what it would look like when you delivered all four alicorn princesses to me. That they would be considerably less…” He twirls a finger through the air. “Ambulatory.”

“My liege,” Tempest Shadow starts.

“-But,” the Storm King continues over her, and the unicorn immediately closes her mouth at his playful banter that would immediately shift to a cruel maliciousness given the slightest provocation. “Maybe you forgot that I gave you a set of four very valuable, very rare, very powerful artifacts! And instead of subduing them, which you were fully capable of doing, here they are in the flesh! Surely I didn’t misjudge you!”

Tempest Shadow shakes her head, grim determination showing through gritted teeth. Her horn sparks despite her best attempt to keep her calm.

“Magnificent Storm King,” she starts, mollifying the anger she knows bubbles beneath the surface. “They did not give a pretext for war. They agreed to our demands. They are here, are they not?”

She leaves unspoken her cowardice. How, even as she strode up to four of the most powerful beings on Equus and bravely delivered their demands, she could have taken them by surprise. Halfway through her speech she could have attacked. But Discord’s appearance and subsequent ‘game’ did not vindicate her lack of action, but merely exposed her craven relief that things had not progressed according to her king’s plan. If Luna had been as aggressive in Canterlot’s defense as she was in the game, casualties on both sides, including her, would have been massive.

“Did I not explain this?” The Storm King bounces on the staff, bending it almost to the point of snapping in half. “I don’t collect mystical artifacts because I think they look pretty.” His snarl sends shivers down Tempest’s spine. He releases the tension in the staff, flipping above and landing with the staff in two hands as if he is offering it to her.

She knows better than to take it.

“Some creatures thought the Staff of Sacanas was useless. Who would build an artifact that needed the power of not one, but four alicorns?” He slaps himself on the head as if the concept is absurd. Until a year ago, it was. “Even if it empowers the wielder to shift the very heavens? Or to restore your horn?”

She gulps at the reminder of her entire purpose in serving him.

He continues with a sad shake of his head. “But you know better than to think it lucky that I just happen to have an artifact like this, just when four alicorns happen to fall in our lap. Yes?”

“Of course,” Tempest replies immediately. The memory of the Misfortune Malachite burns in her mind. “You make your own luck.”

A half-smile, half-sneer crosses the Storm King’s mouth as he leers at the alicorns.

Ch. 10 - Warlord's Reach, Part Two

Twilight Sparkle calmly watches the exchange between the Storm King and his commander Tempest Shadow, her fellow Princesses at her side. She frowns, especially at the way he is eyeing her. Even she, cloistered as her brother might tease, knows that look. She sometimes wished more stallions looked at her like that. But not him! Eww!

“Do you think he knows we can read lips?” she asks, gagging like she just ate one of Applejack’s baked sours and Doug thought she liked it so she has to eat another or make her Friend feel bad.

“Almost certainly.” Celestia wistfully sighs with a forlorn shake of her head. She glances back as Doug and Shining Armor join them. She knows her stallion will not appreciate this, nor Twilight, but she has always been truthful with them. “He has always been brazen. That ardor, that passion… I must confess, I found his letters quite captivating.”

“Letter-s?” Doug asks, emphasizing the ‘s’ like a piece of scraping flint. Twilight turns to Celestia with a horrified look, eyes widened and mouth ajar.

“~Celestia and Raikou,” Cadance teases her aunt, though her focus is on Twilight. She plays up her smile, wagging her flanks and swishing her mane back and forth. “~Sittin’ in a tree.”

Shining Armor rubs against his sister’s opposite side as she tugs at her mane, as if blocking the sight could block the sing-song voice and the images it evokes. “~K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“I’m afraid we never progressed to that point,” Celestia states mirthfully, interrupting the song. It puts their fears to rest. Mostly. Though Shining Armor still winks at Twilight as he puts her in a headlock, rubbing at her mane.

“Oh, good,” Twilight says, slipping out and hip checking her brother, only to yelp when Chrysalis brusquely pushes her to the floor.

The changeling queen lost some of her bulk during the night, but still outmasses everypony present. “Oh,” she mutters as Twilight rubs her rump. A low growl escapes the ebony throat. “It’s him.” She glances at Celestia. “Did he say anything about me?”

“Not as of yet,” Celestia replies, intrigued at Chrysalis’ interest. “Why?”

“Hmph,” Chrysalis pouts, especially as the Storm King joins the throng of soldiers. He hadn’t acknowledged her existence. “Because there was a time when I thought we might move to the next stages of that song.” She rolls her eyes at Celestia’s raised eyebrow. “What? It’s not like it’s complicated. I’m attracted to power. He’s powerful. I’m sure you can put two and two together.”

Twilight mischievously grins as she gets up. “So you dated the Storm King, had designs on King Sombra, and now you’ve gotten yourself my brother.” She turns her grin on Shining Armor as Chrysalis nods along. “Is there something you’re not telling us, Shiny? Like how you’re secretly a bad colt?!”

Twilight’s horn flares as she starts tapping a quick beat against the floor. The sound of a ukulele fills the air as she nods along, in serious danger of making a foal of herself. “~Get yourself a… bad colt!”

“Hey, I could totally pull off an AJ!” He pokes Cadance as she tilts her head. “You know, McLank from the Fallback Fillies?”

“Not my Shiny,” Cadance retorts with quick swishes of her head, humming along to Twilight’s catchy tune. “Or you’ll be Shiny NoName!”

Chrysalis’ hoof joins in tapping a beat against the floor. She shakes her head and scowls. “You ponies, always bursting into song in random places at the drop of a hat. Who does-”

Chrysalis yelps as Rarity gallops past her, Applejack and Pinkie Pie at her flanks and Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy soaring overhead!

“~O-oh, Klugetown!” Rarity belts out as she leaps off the edge! She gracefully soars down, twisting and twirling just like she did at the Best Young Flyer competition and drawing just as many eyes as Celestia’s solar show. “~What you do to us?!”

The four alicorns, Shining Armor, Doug, and Chrysalis rush to watch the five plummet.

“~Such a full, teeming, me-tro-po-lus!”

Three parachutes open, brilliant canopies of sapphire and indigo, orange and red, and pink and blue, gently setting the three ponies down while Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy drop next to them. Her horn flares, neatly packing the parachutes away.

“~And we can always,” Rarity continues, beaming at the startled shopkeepers as they trot along the busy road, “~be generous! And share a frie-he-hen-dly smile!”

“You cannot be serious,” Chrysalis mutters as the alicorns bob and sway to the acapella echoing off the buildings.

“~Oh, don’t be so imperious,” Cadance grins, nudging Chrysalis’ side. When she turns and glares Shining Armor comes up on her other side.

“~It’s not that mysterious,” he sings, reaching across the changeling to grasp his wife’s hoof. Together they haul Chrysalis over the edge. She doesn’t resist, adopting a long-suffering expression she stole from Luna.

“Yes,” Chrysalis growls out, though she keeps to the beat. “~I’m quite delirious.”

Green and pink wings flare as Shining Armor’s horn lights, his shield safely setting him down. He drops, kissing the sandy road, then embraces it in a hug while Cadance rolls her eyes behind him.

Their expressions turn to shock as four heavily armored Storm Guards surround Chrysalis and level spears. Chrysalis growls, flaring her wings as she crouches defensively, but there is nowhere to retreat except up or a teleport to a just-as-unknown position. And the spiked, weighted nets in their off-hands makes that proposition much less enticing.

Before the situation can devolve further Rarity appears, bounding from one guard to another. She gently butts the bottom of their spears, and they lift them in confusion.

“~Is someone waspy? It’s okay!”

Chrysalis, just as surprised as the guards, cocks her head to the side. “Is that a bug joke?”

A bolt of light blue fabric levitates over, a gem to the merchant she plucked it from. Rarity trims and weaves on the move, grinning as she presents a bundle of woven flowers to each.

“~Surprise instead with a bouquet!”

The guards glance at each other before grunting, ignoring the flowers to keep the changeling corralled.

“~You have your orders,” Rarity concedes, nodding along understandingly. “So help me con-vey-”

She jumps up on one of them, embracing with one hoof while pointing down the ramshackle street to one of the few buildings that looks well taken care of: the combination Equestrian Embassy and location of the Council of Creatures.

“~This cha-ange-ling-g to-o her trial!”

The guards shrug, shoulder their spears and take the flowers from the light blue aura, pinning them inside their intimidating helmets. Rarity bows down courteously, backing up while dragging Chrysalis with her.

“Hey!” Chrysalis objects strenuously, though she continues backpedaling to safety.

Overhead, the Lunaris Priestess steadily makes its way to the embassy’s docking platform, a few brightly clad pegasi waving orange glowsticks that make them easy to spot even with the perpetual haze around the city. Their pace has picked up, overtaking the mares parading underneath.

Celestia wistfully stares down, the broad smile on her muzzle only widening. Twilight is too engrossed to notice, debating if or when there will be an opening where she can join her Friends, but also holding back because the other Princesses are doing the same.

“Ugh,” Luna groggily grunts, the least enthralled of all present except perhaps Doug. She watches the roof of the embassy and the gathering throng of creatures there. All the delegates of the major races are represented except one, and the Storm King is leaping and bounding across the buildings to get there before they do, using the staff as a pole. “We’re going to have to greet them.” She sighs, flicking a hoof through her waving mane. “We do despise getting the sand out of our coat.”

“But it shines so wondrously when you do,” Doug says with an encouraging smile and scratch to her ear and chin. Her eye roll is but a flash as she tilts her head toward his, exchanging a chaste kiss before turning back to the congregating creatures. He sighs at her lack of enthusiasm, saying, “Well, I’m going to go make sure Spike is up.”

“Thanks,” Twilight says distractedly.

Doug’s boots pound against the floor as he jogs the short distance to the captain’s cabin. He opens the door without knocking, only for a flurry of movement on the bed to draw his attention.

A red-faced Spike yanks the sheets up, a saccharine and forced grin at his ‘dad’. “H-hey!” he pants, waving one claw while the other grips the sheets like he is dangling out the window. He fakes a wide yawn. “Are we there yet?”

“Just about to meet the delegates,” Doug says from the doorway. He regrets not knocking, but only slightly. He forces his face to soften, not that he was glaring before, offering Spike a knowing smile. “Everything okay?”

“Uh,” Spike grunts, awkwardly scratching the frills along his neck before gulping and hiding those claws under the sheet. He sighs, downcast, and stares at the floor. “Just thinking about, um, Sweetie Belle.”

“I bet she misses you, too,” Doug says, slowly approaching. Spike pulls his claws out from under the sheet as he scooches to the side, though it is still bunched up in his lap. Doug sits down, hands clasped as he hunches over, though he still towers above Spike. “And. If there’s anything you want or need to talk about, I’m here.” He reaches over to scratch at Spike’s head spines, the dragon cautiously grinning up at him. “Although, I don’t know if now is the best time. We’ve got a lot of luggage to move, dignitaries to meet. And, if you’re Chrysalis, hell to pay.”

Spike giggles at that last one, stripping the sheets off and dropping to the floor. “A-and who better to help than your trusty dragon friend, right?” He flexes his arms with a grin, scales shifting as tiny lumps of muscles bulge. “Ohh, yeah. I’ve been helping Sweetie Belle move Rarity’s luggage around. Can you tell?”

“Hey,” Doug says with a chuckle, getting up as well. They both head to the door. “Keep that up and she might make you her permanent assistant in charge of moving Rarity’s luggage around!”

“You think so?” Spike’s eyes brighten, his claws playing against each other as his grin turns greedy. He breaks out of it with a worried gulp and glance upward. “Hey, um… Please don’t tell Twilight. Okay?” He quivers. “Or Sweetie Belle.”

“I doubt it’ll come up,” Doug says, smiling yet serious. He bends down, and Spike stops. “But I think they would both appreciate more, hmm, productive uses of your time instead of just thinking about them, right?” He looks outside the porthole. “Like something that reminded you of her, or that you want her to have.”

“Heh,” Spike says with another awkward scratch of his neck. “Y-yeah, I guess that’s right.” He shudders.

“Then we only need to speak of this if you want to,” Doug says as he stands.

The two arrive just as the airship stops next to the docking platform. Doug gets his first good look at the two half-circles of the Council of Creatures waiting on them. In the front row must be the other five members of the Squad of Six: an eight-foot red and gold dragon of the Dragon Lands; a massive orange-maned yak looking especially grumpy in the desert heat; a griffon with dark gray head and wings and a lighter gray body accompanied by a pink-headed, fez-topped gray griffon; a brawny minotaur with excessively large hands, standing nearly as tall as the dragon and twice as wide; and the Storm King himself.

Behind them, and drawing less attention, are the rest of the delegates from the surrounding smaller countries and city states. Three ponies from the Realm of Clouds, a pegasus, earth pony, and unicorn; a zebra wearing gold jewelry and a sweeping mohawk of a mane; a tall, lanky black Abbyssinian cat; and a pale blue hippogriff who stays as far away as he can from the Storm King.

A gangplank is laid for the two landbound creatures, Lunaris staying aboard the ship. The three alicorns take flight, easily gliding the short distance to the awaiting delegates.

“Her Highnesses, Princess Celestia,” one of the embassy ponies announces in a booming voice, “Princess Luna, and Princess Twilight Sparkle of Equestria.”

From the side of the embassy fly Princess Cadance and Queen Chrysalis, horns alight and levitating Applejack, Rarity, and Pinkie Pie, the latter thrilled to again be soaring through the air. Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, and Shining Armor land on their own power next to Doug and Spike while Cadance and Chrysalis join the other alicorns.

“Her Highness, Princess Cadance,” the embassy pony continues stately, then pauses. He looks decidedly uncomfortable about announcing the changeling. “And Queen Chrysalis.”

“Finally!” the fez-wearing griffon shouts, scratching two deep furrows with a loud scrape of his talons. “Let’s get the execution underway!”

Ch. 11 - Warlord's Reach, Part Three

Time seems to freeze for Chrysalis, her body wrenching open every valve and dumping thaums into limbs, muscles, and wings. She seethes with rage, hot breath whistling through bared fangs, legs bending and wings flaring in preparation of a lunge forward. All at the griffon’s casual proposal.

Execution?!

Her mind whirls through plausible scenarios. A rush forward, disemboweling the griffon before projecting a wall of force to knock the flightless off the building. A disabling drain on everycreature present, fueling her followup blasts. A transformation into a maulwurf whose thick hide and sharpened claws would absorb any attack and rend through soft hides. A teleport straight down, into unknown territory, where she would meet up with her infiltrators and disappear.

Except Celestia would interfere, and not on her behalf, should she initiate. Even with the griffon’s bald-faced instigation. A combat transformation would do untold damage to the foal inside her, if she survived at all. And should she flee and be found guilty? Celestia would take her place. She knows the alicorn values her word above her neck.

Their hatred only feeds her bloodlust, pressing her closer to the brink where she would snap. It would only be seconds before she threw caution to the wind, consequences be damned, and attacked. It would doom her and her changelings, even if she captured all present, and plunge Equestria into war. And, worst of all, it would prove him right, that she is deserving of execution.

And so she decides, in the blink of an eye, on a course of action she had considered so briefly she hadn’t even formulated a follow-up plan. She takes a step backward. But it is not a retreat; she holds her head high, imperious, staring unadulterated daggers of hatred as she makes a tactical disengagement and rallies at a less exposed position.

Doug’s side.

She breathes a sigh of relief as the rage washes out of her, a dull apathy taking its place. The rising fury on Shining Armor’s face doesn’t bother her, even as she can tell it is because she went to another stallion instead of him. She doesn’t care. Except, she can detect another emotion.

Hope.

And it isn’t coming from Celestia, even as the alicorn steps forward full of the emotion in question. Nor any of the other ponies, or creatures shouting epithets about her past deeds. Nor from her stallion, the sire of her foal, as he joins Celestia.

But from Doug.

She samples that hope, cautiously. She no longer needs to steal love, or any emotion, but still finds the process invigorating. Low-grade nibbling might not provide the rush that whole-sale devouring did but she still finds her stores replenished, the thaums she dumped into defense again reserved for emergency use. But the fact that she can sense, and pull, something else from him? Especially something as nourishing as hope?

“Councilmember Gruff,” Princess Celestia states, her tone brooking no disagreement, “while I find your… fervor to complete our agenda admirable, you must consider the proper procedures.”

“Procedures,” Gruff scoffs, again clawing at the ground. A wicked smile crosses his face, as much as the permanent scowl of his beak and eyes can smile. “Then I have a proposal.” He points a talon at Chrysalis as she draws closer to Doug. “As Equestria has decided on so many courses of action without consulting the Council, such as the absolution of Queen Chrysalis for her many and varied crimes, few of which were actually committed against Equestria, I propose that Equestria abstain from voting on any of the upcoming items being considered.”

Gasps ring out from the ponies, though Rainbow Dash’s late gasp makes her look like she is just trying to fit in. A number of the lesser delegates exchange hurried whispers as the five members of the Squad look smug. None of the alicorns look pleased, Twilight especially miffed as she paws at the ground and snorts.

“Oh, no!” Spike mutters, Doug glancing over confused. “Those powergrubbing scumbags!”

“What?” Doug whispers, picking up the dragon to better hear him.

Before Spike can explain Celestia clears her throat. She is the only pony without a visible reaction to the proposal, though Luna comes close except for a quickly hidden glare at her Sister. Even Cadance, for as much as Shining Armor’s reaction to Chrysalis distracted her, turns back to scowl at Councilmember Gruff.

“An… interesting proposal, Councilmember, though I can’t say it is unexpected.” Celestia passes her warm smile across those gathered, though each can feel the steel hidden under the silk. “Perhaps, while we discuss this matter, we might make introductions?” She motions to Luna, Twilight, and Doug. “Not all of us have met each other.”

“Hrmph,” Gruff snorts. “Fine.” He points a single claw at Chrysalis. “But at the end of the day, I will have her head on my wall.”

Celestia’s smile never wavers, though the nod of her head is so slight it might be missed. She breaks off, as do the other members, milling among the ponies and exchanging introductions.

Spike, before anycreature can draw near, quickly explains to Doug. “Historically there have been six voting members on the Council. Equestria and the Dragons are permanent members, and the other four serve four year terms, changing out one a year. The other delegates can still participate in discussions but can’t vote, which is why not all of the countries and city states are here. You need a majority of the votes to pass, but Equestria wins ties. That means that you need a supermajority to pass something against the Equestrian vote, and not many creatures want to vote against Celestia.”

“So the griffons, or whoever, only need to convince two others to vote with them instead of three.” Doug frowns, tugging Spike a little higher to scratch at his chin.

“Yeah, but it’s worse than that,” Spike growls. “I don’t think Celestia’s ever been on the back hoof like this. The others can tell, and they’re going to try to get as much out of her as they can.” He points at Gruff. “I’ve heard he pulls this same act every time - arguing for as extreme a position as he can - in the hopes that Celestia or somecreature will pay him off. And if you give in, he just gets worse the next time.”

“Despicable,” Doug says, but before their discussion can devolve into further insults the red dragon marches up to them.

“Hey, Garble!” Spike greets loudly, jumping out of Doug’s arms to run up to the much taller dragon. He raises a clawed fist and Garble bumps it much harder than necessary, sending Spike to the floor. He rubs at his tail as he gets up. “I didn’t know you would be here!”

“‘Sup, Spike,” Garble says with a nonchalant stretch of his claws above his head. “You might not know it, but I’m a pretty important dragon.”

“Well, yeah!” Spike grins as he lists off, “Lead guitarist of Dragonfarce, delegate to the Council, and-”

Garble cuts in as Spike stalls, “One of the main contenders for the Bloodstone Scepter!” He flexes, his muscles bulging, and breathes a great gout of fire upward.

“Awesome!” Spike says, enthralled at the fire. He wishes his breath was that strong, but all he can do is send letters and occasionally turn books to ash. He cocks his head quizzically. “What’s the Bloodstone Scepter?”

Garble stares blankly at Spike for a long moment. “Oh!” he exclaims, slapping himself in the head. “That’s right! You were raised by ponies!” He shakes his head, snorting at the absurdity. “The Dragon Lord wields the Bloodstone Scepter, and in a couple years Dragon Lord Torch is gonna step down. Whoever wins the Gauntlet of Fire he sets up will become the next Dragon Lord for a hundred years!” He snickers to himself. “And that dragon is gonna be me!”

“Right on,” Spike says, a bit fearful of Garble. “So you’re training for that?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe!” Garble shoots another breath of fire into the air. “I can do this for days! But, uh,” he awkwardly scratches his back frills, “What are you, um, up to? Still hanging out with that, er, Candy Crush?”

“Sweetie Belle,” Spike corrects, nodding. “Yeah, we’re tight.”

“Cool. I mean, that’s hot.” Garble tugs at his neck. “Hey, you know I’m here representing the dragons. And that means I gotta do things that are in our interest, right?”

Spike’s face falls. “Right,” he says glumly. “Right.”

Garble gives a short wave before walking off, the yak and minotaur taking his place. The yak, long hair completely covering his eyes, still looks unhappy to be there. He restlessly shifts as if barely holding himself back from smashing something. Doug shares that feeling, tired of being cooped up inside the airship and, likely, in an upcoming series of meetings where Celestia and the others will be lambasted for hours on end.

The minotaur reaches a huge hand forward. Doug takes it, only to immediately regret the decision.

“Iron Grip welcomes you to Klugetown!” the minotaur bellows, crushing Doug’s hand. He imagines he can hear bones popping, but it might just be the joints. “It may not be as marvelous as Minotauria, but noplace is!”

“Hah!” bellows the yak just as loudly. The minotaur still hasn’t released Doug’s hand. “Yakyakistan best! Prince Rutherford knows! Has best music, best food, best hay! Anything not best? YAK SMASH!!”

He rears up, then slams his hooves onto the roof of the embassy. It sends a shudder through the building, and thankfully doesn’t collapse.

Doug sways, the minotaur doesn’t, and he slowly regains his balance. His hand has gone numb, and puts as much pressure into the grip as he can. It barely feels like he made a dent.

Iron Grip grins nonetheless. “Ah! It feels good to grip another, yes? Much better than hoof or magic!” He releases Doug’s hand, who has the sense not to try to rub it. “You shake well! You must have met Iron Will, Iron Grip’s brother!”

“I’ve seen posters for his classes, but that was in Canterlot.” Doug rubs his chin. “I don’t think he’s been to Ponyville yet.”

“Then Iron Grip will tell Iron Will to take Iron Will’s assertiveness seminars to Ponyville!” His grin only widens as he winks lewdly at Chrysalis. “Though Iron Grip doubts Doug needs help there!”

“I don’t know about that,” the Storm King interjects as he casually ambles forward, stopping next to Chrysalis. She comes up to his chest, even standing imperiously. “He doesn’t strike me as the type who would, or could, defend his mares. With words or actions.” He fondly draws a finger along Chrysalis’ chin, ending at her neck. “Isn’t that right, ‘Lis?” He leers at her as she scowls at him. “I missed you! Also, loving the new look.”

“Hey,” Chrysalis and Doug spit out at the same time. Doug takes an aggressive step forward as Chrysalis pulls away.

“Oh?” the Storm King laughs, bending down to slap his knee. “Oh! Oh! You’re serious!” He shakes his head as he reaches forward, grabbing Doug around the arm and easily lifting him into the air. He sneers at Doug’s look of surprise and pain. “I’d challenge you for her, but we both know how that would go.”

“I…” Doug stammers, worriedly glancing back at Chrysalis.

Only for Shining Armor to step forward. “That’s because she’s not his to defend.” He glares at Doug before turning to the Storm King. “She’s mine.”

The Storm King drops Doug, leaving him rubbing at his arm as he scrambles back. Rainbow Dash rushes to his side while the rest of the ponies watching with bated breath. None move to interfere as the Storm King advances with a sneer.

“Then I challenge you, Prince Consort Shining Armor.”

Shining Armor returns the sneer. “You got it.”

The Storm King raises his staff overhead and slams it down with an ominous *boom*.

“Then let’s get this storm started!”

Ch. 12 - Warlord's Reach, Part Four

“Ooh, that’s a good one!” the Storm King mutters to himself. He glances around, looking for a scribe or someone who might write the phrase down. Not seeing anyone he chides himself, “I should remember that! And market it!” He holds his hands in front of him, the backdrop the cloudy sky to the south. “A storm is coming! No, needs more shock.”

“Are we really going to allow this?” Twilight whispers to Celestia, askance. She doesn’t want to see her brother hurt, or the Storm King for that matter, but none of the other leaders are doing anything to stop it. If anything they are egging him on, Gruff especially, with derisive slanders against Shining Armor and Doug.

“They’re going to settle this like stallions,” Cadance whispers as she joins the two. A sultry smile spreads across her muzzle. “Besides, wouldn’t you want to see your stallion defending his herd?”

“But what if he gets hurt?” Twilight implores, ears folding flat against her head. Even as the image of Doug guarding her, shield and spear in hand, sends tingles down her nethers. It takes effort to clear her mind and get back to the problem at hoof. “And what happens with Chrysalis if he loses?”

“He won’t lose,” Luna predicts solemnly.

Twilight wishes she shared her confidence.

A furious growl from Shining Armor focuses the Storm King’s attention. “Oh! Right!” He climbs up the Staff of Sacanas, spinning around in a circle like a ball on a tether. “How do you want to do this?”

“Iron Grip will referee!” the minotaur roars, clapping his massive hands together. “Yes?”

At two nods the minotaur strides forward, giant steps from his relatively small legs clearing a rough circle. Muscles bulge and flex as he limbers up, almost like he will be the one flattening the competitors instead of wrenching them apart. A motion gets the Storm King and Shining Armor to move to the center, and Iron Grip continues in his loud, overly enthusiastic voice.

“Now, Iron Grip is familiar with many arenas.”

He grins, exposing two rows of gold and titanium teeth. His doughy face matches, his features arranged by his opponents as much as by nature. Yet his toothy smile and eagerness suggest it was not he who had to be carried out of the arena.

“And you are fighting over cow, yes?” Iron Grip motions to Chrysalis, who scowls at him. He laughs, a deep chuckle as his hands go to his hips and his pectorals flex back and forth. “Maybe Iron Grip throw horn in ring, too!”

“Can we get on with this?” the Storm King drolly offers.

“But Iron Grip prefer heifer over cow!” The minotaur stops flexing and shaking his rump in Chrysalis’ direction. “So! You fight to first blood or first knockdown. Yes? And no permanent injuries!” He scowls at the Storm King. “You break his back, Iron Grip break yours. Got it?”

“Two on one sounds fair, especially with one down,” the Storm King retorts, belaying his black comment with a goofy smile.

“It won’t be just two,” Cadance growls out, advancing forward to nuzzle her husband. She wishes she had one of her blue mane ties to wrap around him, but she stopped wearing those years ago.

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head.” The Storm King reaches over Shining Armor to pat Cadance reassuringly, ignoring the unicorn’s protestations. He flicks his head at Celestia. “Besides, I’d only be worried if she joined.” He grins as he backs up to their starting positions. “I’d rather keep my bones inside my body, thanks.”

“B-but you’re not supposed to do that!” Twilight says with a gasp and worried glance at her mentor. “A creature’s innate resistance means…”

“Anything can be overridden,” Celestia states calmly, her motherly smile never fading. “Though I rarely deign to work on so small a scale.” She winks at the Storm King.

He stares at her for a long moment, scratching at his chin while he ponders. “Standard magic rules?” he finally asks, turning back to Shining Armor and Iron Grip. “I don’t use anything on you, you don’t use anything on me?”

“And no flying,” Iron Grip appends, remembering how Shining Armor ascended the building.

“Ugh,” Rainbow Dash moans from the sideline. “No flying is the worst rule.” She sighs, even as Doug pats her head consolingly.

Shining Armor nods in agreement, both with Rainbow Dash and Iron Grip. “If I win, you don’t make any advances on Chrysalis.” He frowns as the Storm King’s gaze shifts to Celestia. He growls, “Or any of the mares!”

“Any of the mares?” the Storm King confirms rhetorically. He shrugs. “Agreed. And as a bonus, I’ll even throw Celestia my vote.” He winks at her, the corners of the alabaster muzzle shifting up slightly. “But if I win, you give up your little ‘Lis.”

Shining Armor looks over at Chrysalis, breath catching. The way she stands not next to him, like his beloved Cadance, but by Doug. How she comes to him once a week for… servicing, but never for anything else, preferring to stay in Ponyville and work on her relocated spawning pool. Maybe this will prove to her, and also to him, that he wants her to stay.

And if he loses?

He’s not going to lose!

“Ready,” he states, channeling his fury into his horn. He hasn’t started charging a spell yet, too early would be cheating, but he mentally prepares himself. He barely notices as Cadance steps away from him, unconsciously returning her blown kiss.

“Ready,” the Storm King echoes, bracing himself against the ground.

Iron Grip stands between the two, one arm outstretched. He glances between the two competitors. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife, but his hand will do as it chops down.

“Fight!”

Ten feet of wiry muscles launches through the air as the Storm King explodes like a coiled spring, screaming with primal fury! Everypony gasps as he slams the crystal-tipped staff down, directly on Shining Armor!

Except the unicorn stands his ground, pink sparks radiating from his horn as he grits his teeth. His slanted shield deflects the staff to the side, the arc of pink magic expanding away from his body.

“Barriers!” The Storm King scowls as he swipes his staff along the ground into the shield again, sending sparks of pink and blue as it scrapes along the surface. “I hate barriers!”

“Hah!” Chrysalis bellows at the blocked blow. “King Sombra couldn’t get through Armor’s shield! What chance does-”

Her mouth gapes open as the Storm King’s third blow - a wide, overbalancing power swing - shatters the shield into wisps of pink.

“W-what?” Chrysalis says, wide-eyed and stunned. He had done what her army of changelings couldn’t?! Cheers erupt from the opposite sideline, gasps from her own. She can barely draw breath as the Storm King translates the extra momentum into a spin and slam.

Only for another shield to spring into being, blocking his attack with a shower of sparks.

“Again with the barriers!” The Storm King changes stances, now gripping the staff at the middle and unleashing a flurry of blows with both ends. For all his fury he grins, laughing as he pounds. “You can’t be hoping to tire me out! I could do this all day!”

“He’s right,” Cadance says, the rhythm of strikes against the shield only speeding up. “But my Shiny isn’t tiring, either. Rather than channel a full power shield-” she nods at Chrysalis “-the kind you thought he would use, or a more mobile barrier that requires concentration and tires him out, he is sticking to cheap fire-and-forget barriers. This allows him to regain his strength in the time it takes for one to be broken.”

Shining Armor stands in a meditative trance, measured breaths in time with the shattering shields.

“What’s wrong?” the Storm King asks as he circles around the pink barriers. “Can’t talk?” They don’t move to intercept him; instead, new ones spring up, the old staying in position, and it takes just as long to move around a barrier as it does to break through. “Too busy concentrating? Thinking about what your cute little pony princess will have to do to cheer you up?”

“Ya ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta!” he screams, words in time with his flurries of blows, shattering shield after reforming shield. “Ya ta ta ta ta ta ta ta!”

“I’ve never seen Shiny’s shields broken this easily,” Twilight says to Celestia and Luna, nearly having to shout over the Storm King’s screams. “Except for when Lunaris uses Ward Pierce, but there’s no anti-magic on that staff!”

“The Staff of Sacanas isn’t anti-magic,” Celestia agrees, her words reaching Twilight as easily as if they were in the middle of a serene meadow. She frowns. “But it can absorb a pony’s magic.”

Twilight grimaces. “So he’s toying with him.”

“No,” Luna corrects. “He’s testing him.”

While the initial broken barrier inspired cheers and gasps from everycreature, the tenth draws little more than grunts of approval, both to Shining Armor’s endurance and the Storm King’s. At the twentieth it swaps to bored chatter, half focused on the match and the other on what they will do with their ill-gotten gains.

“Shining Armor can’t win like this,” Chrysalis remarks, teeth chattering. She immediately stops such a weak display. “At some point he’ll need to attack.”

“True,” Cadance concedes, though she motions to a spot behind Shining Armor, out of easy view of the Storm King. A loose ball of magic whirls in place, slowly getting bigger and bigger. “But every third or fourth shield he has enough spare concentration to add a little more.”

“Is this all you can do?” bellows the Storm King. “Come on, show me what you got!”

Shining Armor grits his teeth, his next shield a fraction of a second too slow. He barely pulls his head back in time as the crystal tip of the staff slices the hair of his neck, leaving a furrow as cut ends trickle down.

At the same time his reserve guard blasts forward, and the Storm King barely raises his arms in front of his chest to block the blow. It slams him backward, legs skidding along the ground until he snags, a nimble backflip the only thing keeping him from a knockdown.

“Good shot!” the Storm King calls, flicking his hands away to restore some of the feeling. He cracks his neck, grinning his toothy grin. “I didn’t get you too bad, did I?”

“No blood!” Iron Grip calls, though the blow had been dangerously close to slitting the unicorn’s throat. “But careful with that staff!”

Shining Armor grits his teeth, feeling at his neck. He takes a deep breath, regaining his meditative stance. A new shield springs up.

“You got this, my love!” Cadance calls, nervously pawing at the floor. She glances at Doug’s white knuckles around Chrysalis’ hoof before returning to the match.

The Storm King advances, bloodthirsty. He seems to have ignored Iron Grip’s warning, swinging with reckless abandon. His gamble pays off, smashing through shields in two blows instead of three, and before Shining Armor can gather enough power for another reserve blow he has closed the distance.

“You can still give up!” he calls, battering through yet another hastily crafted barrier. And then, with an agile spin around the barrier going up, he strikes directly at Shining Armor’s exposed side.

The flat end slams into the cobalt and pink mark with a meaty crack, bodily lifting the unicorn a few inches. He barely keeps his balance, and his composure, staggering to the side. There is no counter, and he keeps the Storm King at bay with a well-placed shield blocking and pinning the staff to the ground.

“That one sounded like it hurt!” the Storm King calls, freeing his staff by pulling it toward him, an overhead windmill slam telegraphed but strong enough to shatter the formed shield in a single blow. He laughs, though mirthfully instead of scornfully as yet another pink shield flickers into existence. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to give her up, either!” He licks his lips. “I bet she’s great in the-”

The Storm King’s eyes widen as the barrier he thought he would get a solid hit on shifts, deflecting his blow upward and leaving him wide open. A pink ball blasts forward, and he blocks his chest, only for the magic to drag Shining Armor forward.

His metal-shod hoof slams into the Storm King’s exposed chin as his magic dissipates, the unicorn’s full weight driving the Storm King into the ground. He impacts with a crunching *whump* as Shining Armor pulls away from him.

“You talk too much,” Shining Armor states dryly, scarcely able to stay on his hooves. Cheers erupt from the ponies as Shining Armor drops down, exhausted from overworking his magic. The other creatures are mixed, most clapping politely with cautious glances at the supine Storm King.

He lays there, staring up at the sky with a grin on his face before flipping to his cloven hooves. “Well played!” he says as he offers his winded opponent a hand, hauling him up. “A word of advice,” he whispers as he draws in close. One hand slips inside a pouch in his armor, withdrawing an obsidian orb. Shining Armor’s eyes widen as he looks at it, recognizing the picture from the game yesterday. “I wouldn’t rely too heavily on any one strategy.”

And just as quickly he pulls away, Iron Grip announcing the winner to the stomps of the ponies.

Cadance rushes forward, Chrysalis following hotly on her hooves, both fighting to nuzzle their stallion - Cadance because the worry was killing her, almost literally, while Chrysalis was the one he was dueling for. The alicorn fusses over him, especially the bruise forming on his flank, while Chrysalis locks lips, looking like she is sucking his soul out of his throat, except the love is flowing the other direction.

The changeling glares at the Storm King from her spot wrapped around her stallion, one leg snaking inside his and lasciviously tracing up and down. “I am no prize to be won,” she spits out, though it’s hard to keep her anger going with the love flowing from her. It feels foreign, giving love like this, but she wants her stallion back on his hooves as fast as possible.

The Storm King steps back, arms folded across his chest, the same fangy grin he had the entire fight still plastered on his face. He gives Chrysalis a cocky shrug, as if her actions prove otherwise. “Besides, I’m totally over the cute little pony thing. And you’ve got too much cute little pony in you.”

He looks far too comfortable with losing and with Chrysalis’ return glare. It makes Luna uncomfortable. She knows the Storm King loves power, and will do anything to obtain it. Why throw a fight he could have won by using the staff properly? Because it might have been against the rules? A glance at her Sister betrays no answer to her next question.

What is he planning?

Ch. 13 - Glorious Vanity, Part One

Morning light streams through the frilly pink curtains of Diamond Tiara’s room, softening the harsh glare but still bright enough to wake the slumbering young mare. She yawns, one hoof grumpily groping for her namesake. She has to push aside her diary and journal and unset alarm clock to find it on her nightstand right where she left it, and she sleepily rubs at her eyes after putting her tiara squarely where it belongs.

On the head of a winner.

She flashes herself a winning smile in her full-length mirror as she saunters to her personal bathroom. Although the mirror isn’t alicorn-length. Or even human-length, for that matter. And, as she thinks about it during her shower, none of the mirrors in their mansion are that size. That should be fixed, and sooner rather than later - it would be unbecoming for a Rich pony to be unprepared - and she makes a quick trip to her journal to jot a reminder down.

One ear twitches, listening for the sounds of Randolph bustling around the kitchen, but nothing can be heard. Her jaw sets as neither can she hear Thorax preparing breakfast, or even her dahm Silver Set. The frustrated grumble in the back of her throat turns into a long, drawn out sigh. They must still be busy in Canterlot, or not awake.

She ignores the rumble in her belly by focusing on her breathing, going through a quick set of morning stretches. She rubs a hoof along her damp coat, but it’s only the water from the shower. She frowns, going through the routine again, slower this time, elongating every motion and pause, and it leaves her panting.

She smiles at the light sheen of sweat on her coat. Dam says that earth pony colts find the natural smell of a mare alluring. And she might as well give her own a try, least of all because it is cheap and easy to maintain. And if it doesn’t work? A whole row of her perfume case is dedicated to those scents, but half of them are salt-based. She grimaces at having to apply such a pedestrian odor. At least the Apples aren’t good-for-nothing drunks, even if they enjoy a frothy mug of cider. Doug smells quite salty after a hearty game of buckball, though utilizing that knowledge would be more applicable if her younger brother, Silver Stud, wants to catch the eye - or in this case the nose - of one of the young mares.

Even after her workout and blow-drying her violet mane into her favorite wavy style along her neck, making sure to get the white streak just right, she still hasn’t heard anything from her centrally-located room. Her hoofsteps sound extra loud against the hardwood floors in the hallway. She slows down, now little more than muffled thumps, and carefully pushes open the master bedroom door.

Shadows bathe the entire room, only a thin beam of light from the cracked door streaming through. Everything looks in order, from the mahogany dresser and wide mirror to the closed heavy curtains. And her dam and Thorax laying ponyloaf on the princess-sized bed. Both are softly snoring, her neck tucked under his, and Diamond’s nostrils twitch at the thick, recent musk.

She swiftly, but silently, shuts the door behind her. A calculating smile crosses her muzzle as she walks, then trots to the kitchen. They would both appreciate a hearty breakfast, Thorax especially, and if they’re still sleeping she’ll even deliver it to their bed before she heads out. It was tough to tell with the shadows but he seemed slimmer, and she’s fairly certain your body weight is only supposed to go in one direction when you’re carrying a foal. Especially one as important as her new sister. But changelings are weird.

Opening the door to the larger refrigerator blasts a refreshing wave of cold over her, sealing the sweat on her coat. Apples, pears, or oranges? Apples. Apple juice, orange juice, or milk? Apple juice. Hmm. Is she being too obvious? Eh, might as well stick with the theme. She pulls out the apple butter. Except the only bread she can find is, ugh, two-day old rye. Prench toast? And she can fry up the leftover eggs for Thorax. It might not be enough for him, though.

Their second fridge is tucked away in the corner, concealed among the cabinets. She thinks it’s silly, hiding Thorax’s ready-to-eat meals in case dam’s high society friends come over. At least it’s convenient for him, since Randolph won’t touch it. Something about reminding him of skirmishing with the griffons.

She suppresses her shudder as she reaches past dark-tinted bottles to grab, unpack and reheat some beef cutlets. Not everypony can afford a second kitchen where their ‘ling can cook meat and not stink up the whole place. Somewhat paradoxically, it’s far cheaper than using Pharynx’s newly-opened abattoir. Now there is a changeling who has taken his skills and put them to a productive use!

She wafts a bit of the stench of the newly heated meat out the window. She wants to hold her nose, but a Rich pony does not break down over something as base as a bad smell! Unless that bad smell is associated with a creature deserving of such scorn and derision, and the act of holding one’s nose properly conveys said contempt. Like the last group of griffons who came skulking through town, purveyors of likely purloined products of dubious quality. Even though their price had been lower than anypony local, Thorax didn’t want to purchase their ‘goods’. He didn’t trust the ethicality of their harvesting, if it was legally obtained, and Daddy listened to him and sent the whole troop packing!

It’s amazing what one can do with the right set of advisors. Daddy didn’t know the specifics of the griffon meat industry, and Thorax learned it from a fellow soldier who heard it from an infiltrator who worked there. According to Thorax, there are going to be serious repercussions as soon as Equestrians at large learn of what goes on, and somepony - or someling - needs to be able to fill the resulting void.

So Daddy is taking a big risk by investing heavily into meat production and meat futures, such as Sweet Apple Abattoirs. Pharynx and Ocellus are busily revamping Doug’s seldom-used slaughter barn-

She gags at the thought, but it’s getting less every time. She should continue exposing herself until she can react appropriately instead of instinctually. Even as she finds every aspect of it disgusting.

-not that they called it that outright, and turning what used to be a single back-room operation into a modern facility with the ability to easily expand. It helps, drastically, that changelings can ingest every part of the animal, even the offal and bones, wasting nothing. Otherwise Applejack would have serious issues with their location in the back orchards of Sweet Apple Acres, not to mention Granny Smith. She wants to know how that conversation went successfully, if only to improve her negotiating repertoire.

She loves how her sire discussed with Silver Stud and her the intricacies of why and how he made these investments. How much of this was simply keeping your eyes and ears open; he learned of the problem when Thorax mentioned his broodmate struggling to find a pony willing to back the radical venture, and thus got his hoof in the door. How bits are just one way to ensure loyalty, but more importantly how being a friend in a time of need is a surefire way to make a friend for life, indeed. Although one should take care to ensure their investments are producing properly; there is no sense in sending good bits chasing after bad. He explained what sort of gains they might expect and further opportunities to be on the lookout for, should the changeling population explode like Queen Chrysalis desires. And the risk involved; if something happens to the changelings everything they invested would be lost.

Even though her brother is the most likely next proprietor of Barnyard Bargains, and she won’t directly use the advice, she still finds the example illuminating. How to gain friends, influence ponies, and even if you yourself aren’t able to take advantage of an opportunity how to redirect it to a friend who can.

Breakfast finishes quickly, her own included. She loads sliced apples next to high stacks of Prench toast, drizzles thick syrup on top, and sets glasses of juice on the side. One tray clips on top of the other, locking the glasses in place. A quick motion sets the stack on her back, and one precarious flight of stairs later she stands in front of her parent’s doorway, having made no effort to conceal her approach. She takes a deep breath, knocks twice, and pushes the door open again.

“Good morning!” she calls as she enters.

“D-Diamond Tiara!” Spoiled Rich shouts, frantically searching from side to side and grimacing at Thorax’s sleeping form. She spins around to face her filly, heedless of the sheets tangling around her hooves, tail clenching between her flanks. “What are you doing here?”

The startled tone surprises Diamond Tiara; her quick step back nearly sends the trays tumbling. “I-I’m sorry, mother-most-dear. I just...”

Thorax, still at Spoiled’s side, yawns sleepily. His nostrils twitch. “Ooh!” he exclaims, darting up and leaping off the bed, wings keeping him to a gentle glide. As soon as he lands his hooves beat the same happy dance from yesterday. “Is that breakfast I smell?”

Diamond Tiara straightens as she sees her dam’s harsh glare soften, but she keeps her head bowed. “I just wanted to make you breakfast in bed,” she whimpers. She sniffles at her dam’s rebuffing gaze. “D-did I do something wrong?”

Spoiled Rich sighs, long and drawn-out enough for her to untangle herself from the sheets. “No, dearest,” she says as she carefully steps down. Thorax’s horn lifts the first tray from Diamond Tiara’s back and places it next to him, digging into the beef with gusto. Spoiled Rich watches with mild disdain as she approaches her filly, removing the other tray and setting it next to her. She reaches a hoof forward, a sharp flick of her nose ordering her filly forward. “I was just… worried.”

Diamond Tiara stumbles forward, half-heartedly accepting the embrace. She looks up, but her dam’s face is as impassive as always. “I thought you’d like breakfast in bed,” she explains again, hoping to see a warm smile. “Since Randolph isn’t here, and Daddy...”

Spoiled Rich silences her filly with a gentle pat against her mane. “I know,” she states softly, allowing a hint of warmth to break through. “I… miss your sire, too.” She glances over at Thorax, the changeling gulping down his last piece of Prench toast. “Though I suspect he would not appreciate this particular scent in his bedroom.”

“Oh.” Diamond Tiara giggles nervously, inwardly appalled at her lack of foresight. Why did she think bringing meat here would be a good idea? “I guess not.”

“Do remember that in the future.” Spoiled Rich takes a bite of the apple, savoring the sweet taste. It turns to a frown as she stares down at the changeling inching his way across the floor, his tongue nearly to her tray. He stops only as he notices that she has spotted him. “Yes?”

“Um.” Thorax offers his best apple-eating grin, made all the more apple-eating by the apples impaled on his fangs. He points at the half-eaten apple in her hoof. “You gonna eat that?”

Spoiled Rich turns her attention to the apple, then back to the changeling grinning at her. “It is unbecoming of a Rich pony - and as a member of the herd, you are - to beg.”

In the blink of an eye Thorax sits rump down, back straight, hooves neatly placed inside his circled back legs as he patiently waits with a carefully crafted smile.

“Acceptable.” Spoiled Rich places the apple on the tray and slides it over so she can give her filly her full attention.

“Thanks!” Thorax interrupts. He doesn’t react to her exasperated glance back at him. “It was always a battle over food in the hive, so we learned to eat quick.”

“Indeed.” Spoiled Rich turns back to Diamond Tiara with a practiced smile. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, dear?” She ignores the changeling neatly devouring the remainder of her breakfast.

“Just to tell you I’d be at Princess Twilight’s again.” Diamond Tiara offers her dam a contrite smile. She isn’t worried about breakfast; her dam is just watching her weight after Pinkie Pie’s party. As they all should be. “Probably all day. I don’t know if I’ll get to my lessons.”

“Hmm.” Spoiled Rich nuzzles her precious filly, nostrils crinkling at the smell. “Very well.” A genuine smile crosses her muzzle as she gently taps her toward the door. She sighs as the violet tail disappears and turns to the changeling. “Do you have plans?”

“Um, not really.” Thorax burps as he stacks one cleaned tray on the other. “Spend time with the little ones. You want to join me again?”

“Somepony ought to keep Barnyard Bargains up and running. And Silver Settings.” She goes to the top shelf of the dresser, pulling out some of the drafting material Filthy keeps in case he has an idea in the middle of the night. A few elegant swishes of her hoof later and she has a sign, in perfect calligraphy, informing anypony inquiring about Silver Set’s jewelry services that she would be available at the department store. She flashes him a grin. “Though if they tire you out, then I suppose we can swap.”

Ch. 14 - Glorious Vanity, Part Two

Most days, Diamond Tiara isn’t bothered by clear skies. Or open skies, for that matter. She, like everypony, loves the warm caress of Princess Celestia’s sun on her coat, invigorating even in the throes of winter. She misses it when the clouds cover the sky and runs from the rain when the sun leaves early.

But when she looks up and sees Clear Skies and Open Skies arguing over the clear, open skies? It’s a sad reminder that Ponyville’s head weathermare isn’t around, for all the chromatic-maned pegasus gripes about getting up after her morning run and nap to make sure everything runs smoothly. At least the missing ponies aren’t locked up. Hopefully. Though the struggles of the two assistant chiefs translates far too easily to the rest of the town.

Take Sugarcube Corner. The cheery exterior doesn’t compensate for the lack of Pinkie Pie hawking her latest confectionery masterpieces outside or the… wait, bright windows? And the open sign on the door advertising some special? That isn’t how the Cakes run things.

Despite already having eaten she pushes open the door, curious who is inside.

Nopony is at the counter, but a few subdued groups of ponies munch on decidedly non-customary breakfasts of tall stacks of hay pancakes and syrup. Curiously, they all have little notepads and pencils next to them. The front display cases are nearly empty, none of the specialty cakes or pies or muffins that normally grace the bakery anywhere to be seen. Somehow even the carefree swirls on the ceiling seem somber. Or maybe it’s just the fact that there isn’t a sugar-filled pink streak taking her order as soon as she steps hoof through the door.

Diamond Tiara steps up to the counter, scanning back and forth like it is a seedy salt bar. She barely has to stand up and reach to ring the bell next to the register. Such a difference from just a short year ago! She could barely see over the counter then, even standing on her hind legs.

“Be right there!” comes the muted call from the back kitchen before the door swings open, revealing Meringue sitting on a counter surrounded by a dozen full bowls of mix. Lemon deftly carries a towering plate of pancakes in her teeth and easily balances two just-as-tall stacks on her back. She brightens as she spots Diamond Tiara, somehow smiling through the plate, and bounds over to her as soon as she makes the delivery.

“Hey, D-T! What can I get you? Meringue’s doing some A-L testing again, so pancakes are half off! Five bits if you want a whole dozen!”

“No, thanks, I… Wait, five?” Diamond Tiara eyes Lemon suspiciously. “Aren’t you losing bits at that price?”

Lemon raises a hoof, twisting it back and forth. “It’s for science?”

As much as Diamond Tiara wants to take advantage of such a deal? It would be unbecoming to carry the leftovers out of the shop with her. She shakes her head. “No, thank you.” She glances out the window, but can’t see the missing library from this angle. “I already ate.”

“That’s cool.” Lemon glances at the door as two pegasi walk in, reeking of sweat and damp feathers. “Be right with you!” she calls before turning back to Diamond Tiara. “So, what brings you here?” A worried look flashes across her face, but she perks back up instantly. “It isn’t about yesterday, is it? It’s, just, more and more ponies were coming back, and the Cakes weren’t among them. Somepony has to keep Sugarcube Corner up and running, it’s not like we can just shut everything down every time there’s a crisis and-”

Diamond Tiara holds up a hoof, silencing Lemon’s upcoming rant. The yellow earth pony offers a toothy grin, mercifully silent. “No, it’s not that.” A nervous tremble enters her voice. “I-I was just wondering.” She glances around the store, the two pegasi waiting at the counter watching her curiously. “Do you have time to talk?”

“Talk?” Lemon brightens. “Yeah, sure! Lemme just get you set up over here. Can I get you something to drink? We have apple juice, lemonade, pear juice, orange-”

Diamond Tiara waves a hoof dismissively. She knows the menu, having spent many a school lunch in the bakery. And then she nearly slaps herself. Of course! You have your loss leader that gets the pony in the store, the pancakes, and whatpony wouldn’t need something sweet to wash down the fluffy, sticky confections? Did they learn that sort of business technique from Pinkie Pie or the Cakes, or did they just stumble upon it randomly?

Still, she is a little thirsty. “You have hot chocolate, yes?”

“With the little marshmallows?” Lemon nods, grinning. “And it won’t be larger marshmallows cut into smaller pieces. You only make that mistake once.” She winks as she stops at the corner booth furthest from everypony else.

Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo are already there. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle glance up from their plates of pancakes while Scootaloo remains slumped over next to an empty plate, lightly slumbering.

“Hey, DT!” Apple Bloom greets with a chipper wave. Her head tilts slightly at the serious expressions on Lemon and Diamond Tiara’s faces. “We were just about to head back to the castle! Though we might need to stop at the farm first.”

Lemon briskly trots away as Apple Bloom pokes Scootaloo in the side. The pegasus grunts as she opens one eye to glare at her sister.

“Actually, this is perfect,” Diamond Tiara whispers as she hops into the booth. “I wanted to ask you...”

The conspiratorial tone draws Scootaloo out of her funk, the three Crusaders leaning in.

“What is it?” Sweetie Belle asks, flipping aside her curly pink and purple bangs to better focus on the earth pony.

“Well,” Diamond Tiara hedges. It’s not a conversation she thought she would ever have and isn’t sure how to continue. Only ten of the thousand changelings came to Ponyville. They went to larger herds or more prominent ones, like hers, and ponies don’t really talk about them like they talk about everything else. It gives her a poor baseline to compare, and she doesn’t like that, not one bit.

Her words blurt out, more direct than she might have intended. “What’s it like having a changeling in your herd?”

The three Crusaders raise an eyebrow with eerie synchronization.

Scootaloo begins. “Who, ‘Cellus? She’s cool, I guess.”

“Keeps to herself, mostly,” Sweetie Belle adds. “I think she’s shy. Or because she’s used to working alone.”

“Ah haven’t spent too much time with her, either,” Apple Bloom concedes. “She’s been workin’ on one of the barns, gettin’ Big Mac’s help on occasion.”

“Big Mac?” Diamond Tiara says, brow furrowing. It’s too similar to her own dilemma to not notice. “Do you think she and Big Mac ever did… anything else?”

“Anything else?” Sweetie Belle asks innocently, only for Scootaloo to snicker loudly. Sweetie Belle’s glare is brief, especially when she realizes it is having no effect, and turns back to Diamond Tiara, again smiling like there is a halo above her head.

“Does she ever ask you…”

Diamond Tiara trails off. It’s not like they don’t know about this stuff, right? The four of them, five if you count Silver Spoon, all got their lesson in anatomy from Big Mac together, after all. They’re good friends, like when they helped her win School Pony President and get her cutie mark! It shouldn’t be so awkward to talk about this with them!

The other three stare at her, waiting for her to continue.

Diamond Tiara reluctantly does. “To do things with her?” She makes a little motion with her forelegs, hooves tapping against each other. “Weird things?”

“You mean like when she needed love?” Scootaloo shrugs nonchalantly. “Sure. It was, what, once a week?” She glances at her sisters.

“It wasn’t that often,” Apple Bloom corrects. “‘Cause there’s a bunch of us. ‘Specially compared to the Rich herd. Ah mean, it’d be friendly nuzzles. A long kiss.”

A blush spreads across Sweetie Belle’s face. “Sometimes, she’d use her tongue. That got really awkward.”

Scootaloo interjects with a wicked smirk, “Like the time you gave Spike a hoofjob?”

Diamond Tiara’s eyes go wide, but it’s nothing compared to Sweetie Belle’s. Or how the previously white unicorn matches the pink pony’s coat.

“Scootaloo!” Sweetie Belle hisses out.

“You did what?” Diamond Tiara demands, but keeps her voice down. Fortunately, none of the other customers are close enough to hear. Not that everypony doesn’t know about the budding relationship. Spike did turn into a colossal dragon and foalnap her from the schoolhouse in front of everypony. And if that doesn’t end a relationship she isn’t sure what will. At least it’ll be a great story to tell their foals, if they can have them.

“What?” Scootaloo says obliviously, obviously having inherited her dam’s social grace. “I’m just saying, if you used your mouth like ‘Cellus, he might have wanted another one.”

“T-that wasn’t the problem!” Sweetie Belle insists, feverishly looking at anything in the room but Scootaloo. Diamond Tiara’s inquisitive stare gets her to explain. “I-it’s just because he isn’t mature enough.”

“Ah thought he turns sixteen in a month,” Apple Bloom says, confused. “Ah’d almost say he was too old.”

Diamond Tiara stiffens. Most ponies stick to those born close to them, but there aren’t any hard and fast rules. And it’s loosened even more if you transplant from one community to another. But the idea that you are thinking like that about a pony who hasn’t even been born, much less gotten her mark? She knows she needs to wait for Pomarbo to get his, but judging by the rest of their herd she won’t need to wait too long.

“Biologically speaking,” Sweetie Belle elaborates, and she tries to keep her voice from trembling. “Yes, he’s eight years older than us, just like Daddy and most of the mares, but he’s a dragon. We don’t know much about them.” She sticks her tongue out at Scootaloo.

“Yeah, or it could be that your hooves are too rough,” Scootaloo counters, sticking her tongue right back.

Sweetie Belle gasps, rearing back with a hoof against her chest.

“What?” Scootaloo says, glancing at Apple Bloom for support and finding none. “I’m just saying, you don’t use your horn as much as most unicorns, so they look like Apple Bloom’s.”

“Hey!” Sweetie Belle objects. “I go with dam to Aloe’s for a hoof shave and pamper, thank you very much!”

“Did you start after you tried with Spike?” Scootaloo asks snidely.

Sweetie Belle snorts, turning her nose up and away from Scootaloo in a manner very reminiscent of Diamond Tiara.

“Maybe ya should try with your horn,” Apple Bloom suggests guilelessly, drawing a curious glance from the others. “Ya know. It’d be good practice, and Ah’m sure he’d enjoy it!”

“M-maybe,” Sweetie Belle stammers, obviously conflicted. “H-he just said that it hurt, but that it wasn’t my fault or anything. A-and it’s not like anything came out.” She gulps, then turns to Diamond Tiara. “But as far as I know, Ocellus hasn’t done anything like that.”

“‘Cept with Daddy,” Scootaloo corrects.

“None of the mares?” Diamond Tiara asks, carefully keeping her face neutral. It’s hard, she desperately wants to blurt it out. But getting ponies to do what you want them to do doesn’t help if you don’t know what the right thing to do is. And she’d never impugn her dam like that!

“Uh,” Apple Bloom draws out, frowning as she looks between her sisters. “Not that Ah know of?” She turns as Lemon approaches with a mug of steaming hot chocolate. “Hey, L! Has Pinkie Pie ever been, ya know, intimate with Ocellus?”

Lemon doesn’t bat an eye. “She’ll try anything once.” She slides the mug in front of Diamond Tiara, who grins at the dozen little marshmallows making a tiny crown. “But I don’t think she did it again.”

Diamond Tiara harrumphs. Maybe it was a one time thing for her dam, too? Her words come out more spiteful than she means. “Well, what about Big Mac? Think she ever messes around with him?”

A deep scowl crosses Apple Bloom’s muzzle, a rare sight for a normally chipper pony. “That’s mah uncle you’re talkin’ about,” she spits out. “And mah sire. How’d you feel if your dam weren’t gettin’ enough attention, and went to somestallion else?”

“Hey!” Diamond Tiara shouts, drawing the attention of many of the other customers in the bakery. Towering above them on the booth isn’t quite enough, and she stomps her forelegs onto the table. “You take that back! My dam would never do that!”

“She’s not saying she would,” Sweetie Belle cut in, ever the peacemaker. It does little to soothe Diamond Tiara’s fury. “But do you think I was happy when Rarity thought about finding somestallion else? Even with Daddy’s okay?”

Diamond Tiara’s breath catches in her throat. She never suspected there is or was that kind of rift in the Apple herd. She retreats to the booth, tucking her head down.

“Of course not!” Sweetie Belle huffs. “It’d mean I wasn’t good enough!”

“You’re good enough,” Scootaloo consoles, nuzzling her sister. It brings a small smile to the unicorn. Scootaloo frowns, looking back at her wings. “Me, on the other hoof…”

“Don’t talk that way,” Apple Bloom commands sternly.

“Yeah!” Lemon cuts in. “Besides, all your dams are having another!” She winks at Scootaloo. “Even if Dash is only doing it 'cause she found some old-fangled way of proving her Loyalty.”

Scootaloo snorts. “Yeah,” she concedes, snickering as she shakes her head. “During her heat? She wouldn’t even give Daddy a muzzlejob. Any other time? She’d jump him faster’n anymare.”

“I always thought of the changelings as any other mare,” Lemon says, shrugging. “In the herd, at least. And some mares like to foal around with other mares. It doesn't mean they’re neglected or anything.”

“Yeah,” Diamond Tiara says ambivalently. She feels a lot better about seeing her dam and Thorax together. “And the changelings would get love from anypony, mare or stallion.”

Lemon nods. “And it’s been, what, a week? Less than that? Since the changelings don’t need to steal love. Now that they don’t need to be shacked up to some big herd that can provide that love?” She shrugs again. “I bet we’re going to see some big changes around here.”

“Not that there hasn’t been enough of that already,” Diamond Tiara says with a wide smirk. She raises her hoof as she looks over at Lemon. “You know, maybe I will take some pancakes.”

Lemon grins as she taps that hoof, then bounds over to the kitchen.

Ch. 15 - Survival Instincts, Part One

“Your Excellency,” Commander Tempest Shadow calls as she strolls onto the roof of the embassy. You could grind a horseshoe on the hardness of her words, her utter lack of emotion conveying her callous contempt quite clearly. The clustered delegates leap out of her way well before she needs to charge her sparking horn. “I-”

“Hold,” the Storm King commands, holding up his three-fingered hand. Her jaw snaps shut, an indignant scowl the only evidence of the biting retort she would have unleashed on anycreature else. His attention does not turn from the three entwined equines in front of him. The Staff of Sacanas creaks as it bends, as if peering from a few inches closer would solve the conundrum he has with Shining Armor.

It’s difficult to tell if the stallion is losing the battle between himself and Chrysalis, their muzzles locked onto each other. But if he is? He certainly doesn’t seem to mind. Nor does he mind the pink hoof rubbing circles on his flank, or the wing draping across his backside. It does wonders for the swellings around his flank.

“Didn’t think ponies could hold it in so long,” the Storm King explains, beckoning Tempest Shadow. She does, silently. “Or changelings. I thought four, maybe five minutes was their limit. But this?” He motions with his free hand and a frustrated sigh.

It’s enough to get Chrysalis to pull away and glare at him. “I’m breathing through my nose.” She demonstrates with a particularly deep breath. “You imbecile.”

If the insult bothers the Storm King he doesn’t show it, but draws a sharp gasp from Tempest. She stomps forward a single step, only stopped by the Storm King speaking.

“Obviously,” the Storm King says with a sharp laugh. “I was talking about that.” He points at the other swelling, the one between Shining Armor’s legs, made all the more prominent with how his back arches to meet the changeling’s tall stance. “You two must tease him all the time.” He shakes his head with a long, empathetic sigh. “Sorry, bud.”

“It’s not-” Chrysalis spits out, but the Storm King has already turned away and is ignoring her. She looks at Cadance for support, yet only finds a guilty mare unable to meet her eyes. “We don’t...”

Only for Shining Armor to pull the grumbling changeling back against his lips.

“You had something for me?” the Storm King asks, sporting a wide, fake grin. He rests his chin on the sharp point of the staff, scratching at an imaginary itch.

“One for you, your Excellency,” Tempest Shadow states, then raises her voice enough so everycreature can hear. “And one for everycreature.”

“Ooh, me first!” The Storm King’s hand raises into the air with the exuberance of a certain pink earth pony. “Do me first!”

Even Tempest Shadow cannot conceal the roll of her eyes nor her exasperated sigh, especially as he leers knowingly at her flanks. She doesn’t regret any of the… actions she has taken in the pursuit of restoring her horn. She just wishes some were not so… vexing.

“The chefs are inquiring as to the status of your…”

Her ever-present scowl deepens at just the thought. That a being as powerful and driven as the Storm King would waste even a moment on something as frivolous as a…

“Party.”

Behind the rows of delegates a melancholy pink pony stares off the side of the building at the tiny and gargantuan shapes mingling on the street below. She wonders what strange and fascinating festivals these unfamiliar folks celebrate. But as the singular word reaches her, especially with the scorn baked into it and then frosted with a layer of derision? Two ears stand on end. They swivel, first one direction, then the other, around and around until they are twisted like a hangmare’s noose.

“Hmm,” the Storm King muses, scratching at his chin as he stares up at the sky. “I did promise the troops a pizza party if they completed their objectives. But since Canterlot remains uninvaded, I don’t-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Pinkie Pie says from between the Storm King and Tempest Shadow, having closed the distance in less than the blink of an eye. “Let’s not be too hasty, yes?” She motions to the four alicorns, all of whom regard them curiously. Except Cadance. She’s still… busy. “You did manage to get all the alicorns here, right? And that’s what you were after? Right?!”

She nods, her maniacal grin pulling at the corners of her mouth until it reaches her ears. It makes the Storm King and Tempest Shadow gulp nervously, especially as they realize the shape of said ears.

“I’d like to agree with you,” the Storm King laments with a heavy sigh and shake of his head. “But-”

“Would it help if,” Pinkie Pie interrupts, clambering up the side of the much taller Storm King until her head is next to his. “You take one of the Princesses prisoner? Say, Twilight.” She points and he looks down her foreleg at the eponymous alicorn.

Twilight Sparkle’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing at Pinkie Pie.

“I’m sure you have some sort of anti-magic cage that can contain her,” Pinkie Pie continues, either oblivious or indifferent to her herdmate’s glare. “But not too anti-magic! We don’t want to hurt her or the foals. And it should be surrounded by something menacing! Like lava!”

“Like the reactor room,” Tempest Shadow deadpans.

Pinkie Pie nods along, then frowns. “Wait, on an airship?” She shakes her head, laughing. “That’s just silly! Anyway, I’m totally sure Twilight would agree. She’d even like it!”

“W-wait, what?” Twilight stammers, nervously glancing between Celestia and Luna. The former seems far more intrigued with the idea than she likes. Cadance’s bemused snort snaps her back to Pinkie Pie. “I-I wouldn’t-”

“It’s for a party!” Pinkie Pie shouts back, half forceful command and half pleading beg. “And Friendship!”

The Storm King’s face twitches at the word. “If that’s the case,” he mutters with a dark, foreboding glower. He reaches up, plucking the pink pony from his shoulder like she was Rainbow Dash and not a stocky earth pony. He turns her smiling face around so she can see his bared fangs. “I don’t like it.”

It doesn’t dampen her spirits at all, Pinkie Pie beaming all the brighter.

And in an instant his frown turns upside down, raucous laughter echoing off the surrounding buildings. He squeezes her against his chest, squashing the fluffy mane against his face.

“I love it!”

“I knew it!” comes the muffled reply, four hooves wrapping around the tall body to squeeze back.

Tempest Shadow sighs. She wishes she knew it, the capricious king as fickle as an Everfree storm. “So I shall tell the chefs…”

“What do you think?” The Storm King raises Pinkie Pie back to his shoulder. “Pepperoni? Anchovy? Plain?”

Pinkie Pie’s grin stretches, but it’s forced. “How about I make them a supreme? Pinkie Pie style!”

She grins at the affirming slap against her flank, blindly pronking off the side of the building. A few seconds later Tempest’s skiff rises into the air, the pink pony at the helm. Frenzied motion from the frantic Storm Guards on board utterly fails to dissuade her. In fact, after a few seconds they appear to be dancing, joining her in starting fires by rubbing their hands together, then making pizzas by twirling hands in wide circles and shaking rumps in the most human-esque dance imaginable.

“Next subject?” the Storm King asks the unicorn busily digging a divot into her forehead.

“Alira has prepared the auditorium, though it may feel a bit…” Tempest Shadow glances at the pale blue hippogriff delegate. He holds her gaze, talons raking at the ground. Though that could be directed at the Storm King mimicking a crab, arms raised as he shuffles back and forth. She knows he knows she can see him out of the corner of her eye, which just makes it all the more infuriating. “Cramped. As will the cage.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Twilight Sparkle shouts as she indignantly stomps over.

Celestia and Luna follow closely behind, intrigued more than worried. Cadance and Chrysalis manage to pry themselves off a thoroughly relaxed Shining Armor, the unicorn limping behind them. The remaining members of the herd hover above or nearby, joining the rest of the delegates at a more respectful distance.

“You expect us,” Twilight demands, a sweeping hoof indicating the ponies, “to voluntarily follow you, where we may or may not be put in cages specifically designed to hold us?”

Tempest’s steely nod is met by an impertinent snort. “Is that a problem?”

“Is that a…” Twilight turns to Celestia and Luna. The former has a warm smile, the other a hoof against her face. She looks at Cadance, hopeful.

Only to be quashed by a friendly pink smile. “If it puts our hosts at ease, I don’t have a problem with it.”

Twilight’s grumbling only grows more intense. “Fine,” she spits out. She locates the armored black warship high above, still with a massive pink stain across the bow. Figures, given the additives Pinkie Pie put into that massive cake to make it not collapse in on itself. “Do you want us chained up now or when we get there?”

“Chains?” Shining Armor teases, poking his sister as he limps over. “I didn’t know you were so… clinky.”

“Did you get that from Doug?” Twilight asks with a small smile, drawing a confused tilt of the head from her brother. “Because you’re about ten months too early to be making terrible sire jokes.”

“Hey!” Shining Armor shouts as Twilight’s horn flares, teleporting her to the rooftop's exit. He indignantly sputters as Cadance rubs a soothing hoof along his back. “You don’t think I’m getting old, do you?”

“Mm,” Cadance consoles, stroking his mane and pretending to inspect it closely. “It’s not apparent yet.”

“Oh, good,” Shining Armor says as Cadance takes off after Twilight. It takes him a second before a jovial scowl crosses his face. “Hey! Wait!”

Shining Armor limps after the alicorn ignoring his calls. Celestia and Luna follow with long, regal steps. The rest of the major and minor delegates jostle for position, as do the mares of the herd. Doug is more than happy to bring up the rear, only to be stopped by a talon lightly grabbing his armored shoulder.

“Excuse me, Prince Consort Doug Apple,” the pale blue hippogriff says as the last of the others disappear inside the building. “I require a moment of your time.”

Doug tenses, brushing off the talon as he turns. Nocreature is on the roof with them, but he spots Lunaris watching from their airship. It puts him at ease, shoulders relaxing as he studies the hippogriff standing eye to amber eye. A white and gray mane billows away from him, very similar to Spitfire, though she lacks similarly colored outcrops of feathers around his taloned digits that seem as dexterous as hands, much like a griffon’s. His wings are as large as Celestia’s, and he wonders if the hippogriff could pick him up and fly away like he’s some sort of large tuna.

“Sure,” Doug says neutrally. “What’s up?”

The pale blue beak somehow curves to resemble a smile. “My name is Sky Beak, brother of the Queen of the Hippogriffs. I come to beg for your assistance.”

Ch. 16 - Survival Instincts, Part Two

“Me?” Doug asks, lips pursing in a slight frown. It’s rare that ponies come to him for help with regards to his new position of Prince Consort. He assumes the requests, if they do exist, get routed through Applejack or Celestia. If anypony comes to him directly it has to do with things he would have done before he got the title. Though even those requests are few and far between.

He warily regards the predator in front of him, even if hippogriffs primarily consume fish instead of ponies. The sharp talons are certainly capable of rending through his armor, a soft-shelled crab that screams. Yet curiosity wins out; he stands straight and meets the piercing eyes. “What sort of assistance?”

Sky Beak takes a deep breath, steeling himself. His words are quiet, conspiratorial, as if expecting a shadow to flicker on the other side of the open door. “You must plead our case before Princess Celestia.” His jaw sets, a furious snort escaping his upper beak. “She refuses to listen to us! But if she hears of the injustice, the suffering we endure? That is, or will be, inflicted on anycreature in the Storm King’s way? She would surely come to our aid! And that of everycreature!”

Doug’s nostrils scrunch up. That sounds… well, he wants to defend his mare, to say she doesn’t sound like that. It doesn’t paint Celestia in a good light, not at all. But based on his admittedly spotty knowledge of the alicorn’s history? From watching Rarity plummet to her imminent doom to allowing the Abyssinian slave crisis to continue until everycreature demanded action, Celestia has consistently let ponies, and others, suffer the consequences of their actions. Sometimes she tweaks things, such as sending Twilight Sparkle to Ponyville. Everypony, especially Princess Luna, is grateful for that result. But the exception certainly seems to prove the rule.

“I’m listening,” Doug says diplomatically, careful not to commit to anything just yet. He has some idea of the geopolitical landscape in the southern hemisphere, mostly from listening to Twilight when she joined him at the helm on the tedious journey here. But it’s as incomplete as his knowledge of Equestrian history. “What sort of case?”

The ear-splitting screech of delight is quickly stifled, much to Sky Beak’s chagrin. “Sorry, sorry. I just thought you might turn us down out of hoof like-”

He cuts himself off, clearing his throat with a deep rumble. “Again, I don’t mean to disparage the Caretaker of the Sun, and what she does for all of us. It’s just that… she could do so much more!” Amber eyes flick to the imposing black warship behind him, contempt plain in his vehement glare. “How much do you know about the Storm King’s reign of terror?”

Doug thinks back to the map of Equus in the captains’ cabin. Equestria takes up the northern third of the continent, from the equator to the snow-topped and barren mountains that make up the Crystal Empire and Yakyakistan. The rest of the continent stretches almost to the icy south pole, tapering only slightly. A vast sea connects the Luna Ocean to the west and the Celestial Sea to the east, with the Storm King’s realm in the southwest of that iceberg filled expanse.

Massive storms frequent the island, leaving the majority of the Storm Realm inhospitable. Yet the dormant volcanoes are rich in ores, especially a black metal from which the yeti-like Storm Creatures build their castles and airships. Only the minotaurs come close to their manufacturing and metallurgic expertise. It is too cold to support much vegetation, meaning their main exports are machines, weapons, and soldiers. And, very often, paying to not have said machines crewed by said soldiers point said weapons at you.

“Some,” Doug admits, shifting from one foot to the other. “Isolationist, until they could reliably traverse the ocean to reach the mainland about twenty years ago. Led by Raikou, the Storm King, they secured a foothold, or hoofhold, in the Slug Troll Swamp. They expanded along the southern coast, conquering perhaps a dozen or more nations, until the Council of Creatures brought them in as enforcers. By some accounts their expansion would have continued had they not been employed as such, embroiling the world in war as they enveloped one country or city state after another.”

“True as far as it goes,” Sky Beak says through a gritted beak, “but you speak nothing of the atrocities he has committed. The plundering of the cities, the looting and ransacking of anything he can use to further his conquests. The destruction of any who might stand in his way.” He scowls as he releases a heated snort. “You mentioned the Slug Troll Swamp. Have you heard of Slug Trolls?”

Doug shakes his head.

“And why would you?” Sky Beak waves a talon, indicating a vast stretch of space. “They lived in the appropriately named Slug Troll Swamp. Not quite up to the ‘creature’ designator of intelligence; closer to a manticore. As fast a breeder as pigs, and resilient. I won't claim they had a culture, or were unified in any way besides not attacking each other. But when the Storm King’s foresters came to fuel their furnaces, they resisted. As any creature or animal should. They posed no threat to his rule, but a mere thorn in his side. So he sent his shock troops and eradicated them, to the last.”

Doug nods, grimly. A terrible choice. The contrarian in him has a hard time faulting the Storm King’s decision; how many humans have wiped out predators near them? Though they never had the ability to bargain with them, assuming you could bargain with the trolls.

“And what do you know of hippogriffs?” Sky Beak asks after a palatable pause.

“Less,” Doug says. “My sources are admittedly biased, as the books I've read paint the hippogriffs as little more than marauders and pirates looking to seize goods from honest merchants and cargo haulers traveling between the Storm Realm and the southern coast.”

Sky Beak scowls, wicked talons flexing, enough to get Doug to briefly tense up again.

“If General Seaspray heard how the Royal Navy has been vilified,” he says with a morose shake of his head. “Our sailors were liberating the goods and peoples he captured while the Council turned a blind eye. But the Storm King painted us with the same brush that he used on the slug trolls. The other countries feared his retribution, of being next on his list. And so, when Queen Novo refused to bow her head to his command, he sent his forces against Mount Aris.”

“And the hippogriffs haven’t been seen or heard from since,” Doug states. Except for the obvious exception standing in front of him.

Sky Beak nods grimly. “King Aponis, husband of Queen Novo, gave his life during the battle for Hippogriffia so that we might escape. And Princess Celestia desecrates his sacrifice by ignoring our plea for help!”

“Our?” Doug asks, intrigued. “Your people escaped, and survived?”

“We retreated into the ocean.” Sky Beak raises a wing, spreading the feathers around the joint. Concealed among them is a sliver of pink. “Using this. A shard of the Seasky Pearl. His forces could not follow, and we have lived our lives in fear of his inevitable return. For that is what he seeked, and seeks, an artifact that would allow him and his soldiers to conquer the sea and everything that resides within.”

Doug frowns, crossing his arms. “How could the Council of Creatures allow this?

“Because the Storm King is no fool,” Sky Beak cautions. The blue wing folds back against the hippogriff, concealing the shard. “He waited until the hippogriff seat on the council rotated to the Abyssinians. Just as he waited for the Abyssinians to rotate out before their ‘atrocities’ could be addressed by his pillaging army. He brought forth unsound allegations and unsubstantiated claims against us. And through coercion and threats he convinced enough of the members to betray us to his ambitions. For he cares nothing for the treasures he steals or the people whose lives he destroys. He cares only for himself, to become the single most powerful being in existence.”

I might have him beat there, Doug wryly thinks to himself. Sky Beak raises an eyebrow at Doug’s slight smirk. Even if it was merely temporary. But if that’s the length he needs to go to be more powerful than Celestia?

Doug clears his throat. “So you wish for more than just retribution and revenge? Or to warn and protect others from a similar fate? What would you wish to happen?”

“You think reclaiming Hippogriffia, the Harmonizing Heights, our flight would be enough? The world will only be safe when the storm is stopped for good.” Sky Beak nods firmly. “Anything less will only delay his ambitions. They will not slake, nor will he be satisfied with anything less. And it is only once he has been dealt with that my people will be able to return and rebuild.”

Doug takes a deep breath. “Look,” he says straightforwardly, his voice dropping as he pulls close to the hippogriff. “I agree with you. That this situation is terrible and needs fixing. But it sounds to me like the problem runs deeper than just the Storm King’s ambition. It would be great if we could all live in peace and harmony. But taking an open stance against him could invite the very war that happened to you. And if the Council is as corrupt as you claim? And the other countries smelling blood in the water?”

Sky Beak stiffens. “Then you are no better than Celestia,” he spits out. “Unwilling to do what is right.”

The hippogriff digs his talons into the roof as he strides to the door, leaving divots in his wake. He does not bother to turn back as he disappears inside.

Doug sighs, hand rubbing at his temple. “Not true,” he says to nobody. “I want to do what is right for everycreature.”

For he doesn’t know how much of the hippogriff’s statements are fact or propaganda. The published history, the one he and Twilight read, is written from the side of the winner. In this case the Storm King, an admittedly biased source. But the side of the loser can contain just as much prejudice. And yet it doesn’t seem right to have a population - an entire species, with their unique culture and traits - driven away for the sake of greed and ambition.

Doug goes down three flights of stairs before realizing that he has no idea where he is actually supposed to be going. So he keeps going down until he reaches the expansive atrium. A massive fountain dominates the center, two waterfalls spilling from the horn of an alicorn and the maw of dragon. They pool in four bowls carried on the backs of a yak, griffon, minotaur, and storm creature, each in an impressive pose. Except for the yak, who is just standing there, oblivious to the load, while the others make some semblance of straining. The last tier contains every other known creature - except, for probably obvious reasons, a human. He doesn’t recognize one, squatting down to peer at the one-eyed, goat horned biped.

“Excuse me,” a pony dressed in light cloth armor says as she walks up to Doug. It seems like a much better choice than gold in the blistering climate. She smiles as he glances at her. “Looking for something?”

“Um, a bit lost,” Doug admits. Her smile widens as he turns and points at the creature. “What is that?”

“The Cyclops’ leader, Arimaspi.” The guard seems to delight in being able to answer his question. “Though after their… spat with the griffons years ago they went into seclusion, much like the hippogriffs. Fancy seeing one of them after all these years?”

“Yeah, fancy that,” Doug says, getting up. “You know where everyone else went?”

“Yup! Follow me.”

The guard leads Doug back to the staircase, up one flight and down a hallway. They arrive in a large auditorium. Nearly a hundred seats of various sizes and shapes line the tiered amphitheater. The roof tiles are arranged to project the sound from the stage while deadening that from the neighboring seats. Five doors ring the top section, two at the middle, and two at the bottom by the stage.

Dotted among the seats are the various delegates, some intermingling with the others. Ponies dressed in waiter outfits bring in trays loaded with items of every color, shape, and texture, a breakfast buffet awaiting as soon as you order. The guard bids Doug a farewell with a short nod as he enters, returning to her post.

Doug walks down to the bottom, the din of the Equestrians growing from barely understandable murmurs to a noisy roar, even without Pinkie Pie. Mostly it comes from the cheers and growls as Applejack and Rainbow Dash take turns trying to toss onion rings around Twilight’s horn. The odd part is the floor is completely spotless, but only around the ponies, even when a piece impacts the ground. Even the air smells fresher, not even a hint of the pungent spices the other creatures are consuming.

A waiterpony brings him a menu. The first two pages are all vegetarian treats he might find in a high-class Canterlot cafe. The next contains drinks, and the last lists of meats - including, to his sorrow, pony, and not the bean curd variety - and then gemstones. He orders a mix of fruit filled crepes, the waiter pausing before exiting the clean circle.

He sits next to the surly alicorn, a fond rubbing of her mane and neck failing to break her cantankerous mood. “Need me to get them to stop?” He catches an onion ring as it misses the mark completely. It tastes remarkably good, lots of oil. He swipes the next one out of the air before it smacks her in the face.

“Hey!” Rainbow Dash shouts. “That one was going in!”

“No,” Twilight responds dourly, huffing. “It’s their way of ‘putting me in chains’, like a horn ring would stop me.”

“Unless it was anti-magic?” Doug asks.

“Yup. But that’s why Celestia has her detection spell going. If you smell rotten eggs, watch out.”

She smirks slightly, and even the tiny break in her glum mood brighten’s Doug’s smile. It’s a good thing Pinkie Pie is off somewhere else, she would have hated the somberness everypony harbors behind silly games and cheer.

It takes him a moment to realize why, since they haven’t heard of the Hippogriff’s plight. And that is when a tall Saddle Arabian mare steps forward, her voice projecting.

“Queen Chrysalis of the Changelings, please come to the stage.”

Ch. 17 - Survival Instincts, Part Three

Chrysalis pauses, her levitated fork halfway to her mouth. Half of her monstrous spinach and cheese quiche remains, but the insult of interrupting her second breakfast pales in comparison to the tangible waves of hatred, disgust, and loathing radiating from everycreature. The din in the auditorium fades as she rises, ponderous steps taking her to center stage.

As she walks more creatures enter the auditorium. Three griffons join Delegate Gruff, their grasping claws and predatory looks focusing on Celestia. A slender teal dragon joins Garble, huffing and staring at the ceiling with a bored expression. Three yaks, nearly as massive as Prince Rutherford, join the delegate and sit a good distance away. Two goats join Iron Grip, carrying saddlebags full of empty cans and books. The minotaur grabs a can, chewing for a moment before spitting the metal out and glaring at the goat in question. It ignores him, picking up the chunk of metal and gulping it down.

“Point of order,” Delegate Gruff calls from the opposite end of the auditorium. He sneers contemptuously.

Chrysalis scowls. They are going to make her wait on stage while they discuss some bureaucratic minutiae?

Alira, the Saddle Arabian mare standing behind a podium on the stage, glances down at a thin stack of papers. She turns to her husband, Haakim, who is standing at the door and awaiting her any command. He nods at her. She turns back to Gruff. “Proceed.”

“As per the Articles of the Council of Creatures,” Gruff states formally, the single good eye of the griffon twinkling, “a party to a dispute shall refrain from voting. As the Changelings are currently residing within Equestria, the Equestrian delegate shall refrain from voting. This will also apply to the remaining votes under consideration.”

Alira turns to Celestia. “Princess Celestia of Equestria, do you contest this?”

“Yes,” Princess Celestia answers, her face carefully neutral. None of the creatures have bothered to stand when speaking and neither does she. “Many - if not all - of the creatures represented here have some qualm or another with the changelings. You might as well have all of us refrain from voting.”

A growl grows in the back of Chrysalis’ throat. That is how Celestia defends her? She measures the distance to the closest door, formulating an escape plan. She doesn’t want to leave, not like this, but should worst come to worst...

“Equestria has the least concern of any of us,” Gruff rebuts. His bombastic tone only gets more intense. “Wh-y, if King Gato had not been impersonated by a changeling, Aramaspi would never have made off with the Idol of Boreas!”

“What?” Chrysalis exclaims, stamping a hoof. She knows the griffons are keen to blame every disaster on her and her brood. But that?

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Gruff shouts, waving a yellow talon at Chrysalis, “Paradin’ up there without any chains, like you’re some kind of misunderstood chick! Or a horn ring, so you can’t flee like the coward you are! Turncoats and traitors, the lot of you! Why, if I-”

Alira clears her throat, loudly enough to silence the griffon making squeezing gestures with his talons. “Delegate Gruff, please keep your… allegations to the topic at hoof.”

Gruff grumbles, scowling, but says nothing.

He has nothing on Chrysalis’ vehement sneer, lips peeling back to expose wicked fangs.

Alira’s steady gaze sweeps across the room. “If there is nothing else? Princess Celestia, I believe you have made your stance clear.”

“Indeed,” the alicorn states, but there is a sadness in her eyes as she bends her head slightly. “Equestria votes no.”

The dragon delegate is next. “If you weren’t in bed with them?” Garble sticks a claw in his mouth, making a disgusting retching sound. “I might’a said no. But it’s hard to argue when your Prince is married to her.” He pauses for a long second before quickly speaking and taking his seat. “Dragons vote yes.”

Chrysalis frowns, especially when she sees Spike’s look of betrayal and how the larger red dragon turns away from the smaller purple one. Spike blindly reaches up to his oldest friend, only for the lavender hoof to pull him across her chest in a painful-looking hug.

“The Storm Realm votes no,” the Storm King says idly, scratching his back with the crystal-tipped staff. He offers no other explanation, turning to the waiter. “Get me more of that roasted stuff! Please and thank you!” He waves as the waiter departs, dabbing at his face with a napkin. Next to him smolders Tempest Shadow, her unflinching gaze never straying from Celestia.

Chrysalis’ eyes widen. She didn’t trust the Storm King to keep his word, but now they only need one more vote!

Prince Rutherford rumbles, “Changeling steal Yak best secrets! Give to ponies!” He stamps a hoof on the chair in front of him and it shatters. Nocreature else say near him for exactly this reason. “Yak vote yes!”

“Yak secrets?” Iron Grip deep laugh shakes his taut belly. “Iron Grip would like to know where ponies got idea for train engine! Changelings in Equestria long before Queen Chrysalis make move on Shining Armor, yes?” He puts his hands under his chin, flexing his massive arms as he stares at the changeling queen. “Minos vote yes!”

“What’ll it cost you, Princess?” Gruff cackles, stretching his talons toward the alicorn. And just as quickly he snatches them back. “Too bad the price just went up! The Griffons vote aye.”

For a moment Chrysalis just stares. It… it passed? But despite the gloom settling upon her, the inklings and droplets of greed and tyranny-laced-joy she picks up from the creatures? She can sense hope. It’s small, it’s faint, but it’s there. So she stands, confident, unwilling for those seeking to dominate her to sense her weakness.

“The motion passes,” Alira states, her breath catching as she tries to keep her voice steady. She tentatively turns to address the most powerful being in existence. Or, at least, in the room. “P-Princess Celestia, do you agree to abide by the ruling?”

“Sister,” Luna growls, restrained fury escaping through gritted teeth. “You will bow to these creatures?”

“Luna, my Sister,” Celestia whispers. “It is but a minor setback. We will prevail.” She turns to Alira. “You have my word.”

“And we all trust your word,” Gruff cajoles from the other side. He raises a talon at the imperious changeling. “It’s hers that we don’t!”

“You’re going through with this?” Doug asks from Celestia’s other side. He has to raise his voice as the auditorium breaks into stomps of agreement.

“What would you have me do?” Celestia whispers, her voice reaching him clearly.

“Perhaps we can talk about that before this farce goes any further,” Doug angrily whispers back as the stomps die down.

“Perhaps,” Celestia replies, but remains focused on Alira.

The Saddle Arabian mare flips to the next page, shuffling the pages in front of her. “Onto the next item. The changelings. What shall be done with them?” She turns to Gruff. “You have the floor.”

“Mhm,” the griffon grumbles as he prowls forward, his low profile giving the appearance of a lion stalking through an underbrush of chairs. He reaches the stage, but never acknowledges Chrysalis’ presence.

“We all know the stories,” he begins, stalking from one side of the stage to the other. “Anygriff can tell you.” His eye narrows mirthfully, but it’s a greedy smile that accompanies it. “For a couple of bits.” He stands a bit straighter, none of the mirth remaining. “The cities destroyed. The lives ruined. The goods lost, the ideas stolen. They are thieves and despoilers of anything and everything they touch, rotting it from the inside, sucking it dry of everything they can before moving on.”

Chrysalis stands tall, allowing his wrath and ardor to wash over her like so much hot air, even as he whirls on her and jabs accusing at her face.

“I will hear you confess to every crime you have committed,” he demands, seething with rage. “Every face you’ve stolen, every bed you’ve snuck inside, every griffon you’ve replaced. Every beating heart you have carved out and devoured. And then I will have your head, so I can cast it in the Abysmal Abyss where it belongs.”

Gruff holds Chrysalis’ gaze for a moment, snarling at her unflinching visage. Then he sweeps to the side, returning to his coterie.

Cadance holds close to Shining Armor, liquid fear bubbling in his eyes. In her’s, too, the thought of losing his foal, even if it is the one with Chrysalis and not her own, more than either can bear.

“Thank you, Delegate Gruff,” Alira projects through the auditorium. It silences many of the whispers trading between the creatures. She nods to the changeling. “Queen Chrysalis, your response.”

The heavyset changeling lifts an ebony hoof, inspecting it for a moment. “I have never held a beating heart in my hooves, or my magic,” she states casually. She ignores the numerous beings she has swallowed whole, though they had been unconscious, never to awaken. Her head turns to regard the one-eyed griffon. “Can you say the same?”

Chrysalis shakes her head, gaze sweeping to the rest of the creatures as Gruff fumes. She settles on Celestia, wondering how the alicorn will help in her defense. But for now she appears to be content with sitting there and doing nothing. Like she has done far too many times.

“I hear allegations. Assertions. Claims made without proof.” Her gaze returns to Gruff. “You think I replaced your King all those years ago. I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted, to then have failed so utterly in my ruling that my incompetence could only have been intentional.”

“Why, you!” Gruff shouts, only the talons of his comrades restraining him keeping him from charging the stage.

“Delegate Gruff,” Alira cautions as the fez-topped griffon struggles.

“You dare insult Griffonstone?” he bellows, spittle flying from his beak. He shrugs off one griffon, only to have another grab his wing. “And yet even our rubble is better than anything you could create!”

Chrysalis laughs, short and derisive.

“Then what of Trot?” the deep voice of Iron Grip asks, intensely peering at the changeling through his small, beady eyes. A muscled hand dwarfs the book he picks up and waves around, Twilight gasping at the teeth marks along the spine. “Princess Celestia herself said she stopped you from taking over! Iron Grip demands to know!”

Eyes turn to Princess Celestia. “Queen Chrysalis was imprisoned for her crimes, along with her brood. Her sentence was paid. Any crimes before that? I do believe there is nary a creature here who can speak to being wronged by her.”

“What about The Great Sergio?” Garble stands up, pounding one clawed hand into the other. He scowls at Celestia. “You said you needed a dragon to watch over her and make sure she didn’t escape! He never returned!”

“The Great?” Chrysalis states coldly, flames dancing in her eyes as she relives the torturous time she and her brood spent imprisoned inside the volcano. “Sergio was a vicious warden who delighted in devouring my brood alive.” She hears Celestia’s gasp, sees the hoof covering her gaping mouth, but cannot believe the alicorn did not know what had occurred. “We repaid the favor the day we escaped.”

“You did what!?”

Fury breaks from the red dragon in a great gout of flame, spit directly at the changeling queen. Her horn flares, molten slag dripping off her hasty shield. Smoke fills the stage as the wooden floor combusts, bedlam erupting as Garble prepares another lava burst.

Shields of pink spread from Twilight Sparkle and Shining Armor, sentinels protecting the ponies from any wayward bursts and simultaneously keeping Applejack and Rainbow Dash from joining the fray. They press against the pink barrier, only to yelp in terror as a glob of orange and yellow splatters against the shield and sinks to the floor. The griffons and minotaur spread away from any other stray projectiles, as does Tempest Shadow, leaving only the Storm King nonchalantly chewing his breakfast.

Chrysalis hunkers down as she grimly considers the situation. Two of the five have made clear their position. What chance is there that the yaks or the minotaurs or even the Storm King might vote for her execution? And that of all of her brood? Would Celestia stand idly by and allow it to happen, as she has allowed so many other things?

It is not a chance she can allow.

Her horn flares, forming a bubble of green that sinks into the stage and leaves nothing but smoke and fire behind.

Ch. 18 - Survival Instincts, Part Four

Chrysalis reappears in the dimly-lit basement amid a bevy of cleaning supplies, spare toilet paper ranging from pony sized to sheets that would cover a bed, and cake. Dozens, if not hundreds, of vibrantly colored crates of emergency cake stacked almost to the ceiling. She can tell it is designated such from the tiny pink sticky notes on every single one that read ‘break open in case of cake-based emergency’, accompanied by a tiny doodle of a smiling Pinkie Pie, each in a different pose or smile.

She grimaces at the icky cuteness, tepidly stepping away, only to knock over a half dozen mops and brooms. The clatter echoes loudly, but it’s nothing compared to the banging and stomps coming from above. She frantically glances at the single closed door to the storeroom, readying her horn to subdue anycreature that might come to investigate.

After a few tense seconds she takes a deep breath, calming herself. She glares at her ebony sides. The majority of the extra bulk she gained after her transformation came in and between her legs, enlarging her barrel and thickening her muscles. It throws off her momentum and gait every now and then, especially when she’s carrying a few hundred extra pounds.

Just exactly what those extra pounds constitute gets her to pause her search for an escape route. Her hoof reaches back, tenderly pressing against the first of six barely visible bulges. The oldest egg is a mere two weeks old and ready to be laid - past due, in fact. As wide as her hoof and twice as tall, very soon the five-pound husk would disgorge its grub-like occupant. With any luck she will be back in Ponyville when this happens, ready to greet and nurture the newest member of her next brood. Though they would need to find a new location. Perhaps deeper in the Everfree? Or across the ocean to the west and try their luck there.

Next is a one-week-old egg, happily incubating. About the same size and nestling among four others ready to accept a stallion’s seed. She would only activate one at a time unless her situation changed drastically. And then she gets to her engorged stomach, enclosed by thick muscles and unyielding chitin, busily churning meat and bone into stores of fats, carbohydrates, and proteins. Everything a newly formed and rapidly growing ‘ling would need.

Her head bows down as she reaches the last part. The copied womb doesn’t feel foreign, though somecreature dissecting her might wonder how a pony’s reproductive organs got inside a changeling. It’s a part of her, like any other, though this one had taken an almost unpalatable amount of love energy to integrate into the rest of her. At least the experience was easier for her ‘lings to copy when they cleaved - individually and collectively, literally and figuratively - to Equestria.

And inside that womb is her foal. Her first foal.

A muffled conversation at the door snaps her head up. What should she do?! Hide behind something? The garishly bright boxes, despite their vast number, aren’t in a good position, and neither are the toilet paper rolls. A blinding flash and subdue? Only if detected. She grimaces as she grabs a mop, rests it on her head to cover her horn and conspicuous mane. She hunkers down as close to the colorful boxes of cake as she can without knocking even more over. The door will block their view, and if they don’t look too closely her bulk might blend into the dark walls.

The door opens, a cloth-clad guard pony and a violet-inscribed storm guard poking their heads inside. They scan the room, slowly, and every muscle in her body screams that they are going to see through her ludicrous disguise.

But their eyes pass right over her. They glance at each other before shutting the door, and she can hear the loud stomps of one guard walking down the hallway.

She sighs in relief, hoof pressing against her chest. But that only reminds her of the foal inside her. It’s an expenditure she doesn’t want to repeat, especially twice, which severely limits her options as far as escaping. And giving her up just feels… wrong. She might be able to disguise herself as an overweight pegasus and fly away. A roc would be better, if more conspicuous, or a bugbear. If it was a changeling inside her it wouldn’t be a problem. But a pony?

She scowls. Why is she getting sentimental about this one collection of cells barely five weeks old? Because she just got a beating heart of her own? Or was it because she desperately wanted this experiment to succeed? So many of her other ventures failed. But this one? She really, truly thought it would bring her changelings the love they deserve.

Her ears prick at the loud approach of booted steps. Too light to be a storm guard, not the right cadence to be a pony, unless they were doing a perfect parody of Pinkie Pie walking upright. Her scowl intensifies; it better not be that pink menace come to whisk wallows away with waxed warm words.

The door opens. And who should come through but the creature she should have expected. His gaze sweeps the room, immediately finding her, though his eyes flick to her horn as he closes the door behind him.

“Hey,” Doug greets softly. The corners of his mouth tug to a wry smirk. She only realizes why as he quips, “Why, if it isn’t the most beautiful mop stand I’ve ever seen.”

She rips the mop off her head and throws it to the floor, a hoof straightening her mane. She scowls, ignoring the compliment. “I suppose you’ve come to drag me back.” She looks around the room as he pauses. “How did you even find me?”

“Teleports aren’t exactly hard to trace, “Doug says, searching for somewhere to sit. “That and the guards aren’t quite as incompetent as they might seem. They’d very much like to keep their emotions inside their bodies, thank you very much.”

“And you don’t?” Chrysalis retorts with a taunting sneer.

“Hey, I already wear my emotions on my sleeve.” Doug winks at Chrysalis, earning himself a roll of emerald eyes. “They went and found me, since we’re hoping you’ll come back.”

Chrysalis snorts. “We?”

“Celestia took your place.” Doug sighs at Chrysalis’ callous stare. “Just like she promised. Luna thinks she’s insane, of course, but she finagled your ‘departure’ into a recess while you recover from being unduly attacked. Which you were, no doubt about it, and they reprimanded Garble for his outburst. Would you believe he didn’t actually care about Sergio? Some friends dragons are.” He smiles at her, but weakly. “It is contingent on you coming back, though.”

“Obviously. You merely want to save your precious Celestia.” Chrysalis turns her head upward with a grimace. Every minute she spends talking will be that much more likely to convince her to stay. “If she cannot save herself, what possible chance does she have of saving me?”

“Well, you’re right about the first part, mostly.” Doug walks past Chrysalis, pulling out one of the larger crates of cake and sitting on it. He reaches an arm forward, inviting her. “I care about you, too.”

He goes from just under her head to uncomfortably low, even if she likes and is used to looking down on everycreature. She grumbles as she sinks down and rests her turgid barrel against the cool floor. She’d need to burn more calories to compensate.

“But the second?” Doug shrugs as his arm retreats back to his side, never having enticed those ear scratches he loves to give. “I’d like to think that she could, at any time, play the ‘Screw the rules, I have the sun!’ card. But for some cockamamie reason she plays along with their games. Maybe it’s the only way she can entertain herself after ruling for a thousand years. Maybe she knows how many cities she would have to turn to glass before everycreature left her alone. Or, maybe, she has as her goal the self-actualization of as many ponies and creatures as possible.” He jabs a gloved finger at the changeling staring him down. “And I think that’s a goal you share.”

“Preposterous,” Chrysalis flatly states.

“Fair enough,” Doug admits when she declines to further elaborate. “Maybe your goals are different. After all, you only cared about you and your own for as long as Celestia’s been ruling alone. Right?“

She doesn't counter his assertion.

“But you wanted each of your brood to succeed. For them to strive, to improve, to be the best they can possibly be.”

Chrysalis turns her head away. “Too many,” she grunts out, not willing for her weakness and attachment to be seen. “Too many were cut short before their prime, lost before they could realize their potential. Or were forced into short term decisions with long term consequences, because we needed to survive today to even make it to tomorrow.”

“I think that would be a better thing to say,” Doug says, smiling encouragingly.

She stares at him for a long moment. “What?”

Doug motions to the door. “When you return and argue your position in front of the Council. You should focus on that potential. How your goal has been to improve. There have been obstacles in your way, sure.”

“And when they name those obstacles?” Chrysalis demands harshly, interrupting him. She cannot believe she is considering it. “Because each of those obstacles has a name. Trot. Sergio. Cadance.”

“True,” Doug concedes. “But you can reframe those obstacles, right?”

“The Stallion of the Elements,” Chrysalis goads with a vicious sneer, “telling me to lie?”

Doug chuckles, a wry smile crossing his face. “Maybe you’re afraid Celestia would do a better job arguing your position than you would. After all, she promised to take your place. Not just the punishment.” He taps a finger against his chin, looking up at the ceiling. “But I’m not quite comfortable with the idea of her and Shining Armor. I’m jealous like that. I might need you to stick around for that part.”

“Why, you…” She wants to slap that smirk off his face, but she’d probably take a bit too much bone to make it worthwhile. She grits her teeth instead. “You’re using reverse psychology on me.”

“Sure. But I actually believe what I say.” Doug smiles, more genuine this time. “And that’s what I mean. Reframe it. I think you’d do a much more effective job than Celestia because you know why you did your actions. Why you chose the path you did. And that will make it more genuine, more believable, than her guessing at your reasons ever could be.” He focuses on her. “What were your goals?”

Chrysalis perks up, frowning as she considers.

“Survival,” she starts, taking a deep breath. “Obviously.”

“Of course,” Doug agrees. He leans forward, massaging his head with a bit of a grimace. “Everycreature has a right to life. Though sometimes one’s pursuit conflicts with another’s. And with the number of predator species out there, they’d be hard pressed to argue that you are wrong and they aren’t, especially since you don’t leave a corpse.”

“Not quite true,” Chrysalis admits. She watches his lips pull against his teeth in a thin grimace. “When we first started out, and when we are starving, we had… difficulty restraining ourselves. And while most creatures think of us as eating love, it is more… we eat their magic, tainted by the taste of their emotions. Despair and despondency taste bitter and sour, unpalatable unless you are in a frenzy. In which case the sheer… volume and ease of access makes it an appealing choice. But too often a fatal one.”

“I see,” Doug says carefully. He raises his hand again, inviting her. And this time she accepts, scooching forward and letting those fingers twist into her thick cobalt mane. It is only after several moments of deep thought that he continues. “That would explain the invasions.”

Chrysalis nods, pressing against his hand and delighting in the love expressed through his touch. She has to restrain herself or she might roll over like the Apple’s dog, with as much as she wants him on and in her belly.

“It kept my brood alive, when infiltrators could not provide sufficient love. Too many were allowed to breed without sufficient… yields.” She cannot help but wonder why she is expressing remorse for her actions. “Perhaps that is why I do not wish to leave your fecund land. There is more love here than any other place I have traveled. Even if we no longer need to feed on love, sharing still proves nourishing. But with the Council...”

“Sure,” Doug agrees. “But that’s still the survival issue. Eat and grow, breed and multiply. There has to be something past that, beyond that, or you’re nothing more than a virus that wants to convert everything into more of itself.”

“I thought life justified its own existence,” Chrysalis asks, curious how this doesn’t counter his earlier point, one which not everycreature shared. Even she, she hates to admit, did not share it in the past. “And that is why we have sought to gain power, for when others don’t recognize that right.”

“I…” Doug stalls. He ponders for several seconds. “It’s hard to say. You have a right to life, but that’s a negative right. Other creatures shouldn’t take your life away, which is where the virus and its forceful converting fails. They aren’t required to provide for you, no more than you are required to provide for them.”

“Then what should we have done?” Chrysalis demands, her ire rising. “If you were in our hooves would you have ushered in a utopia? Is that it?”

Doug laughs, a short and sharp bark. “Hardly. I’m not that conceited. You had your reasons, and I’m sure they were good ones. But if the others see your continued existence as a threat to theirs? Then any increase in your power is something that must be countered. How can you convince them that your end goal isn’t to subjugate everycreature to your control?”

Chrysalis glances away.

Doug sighs, his hand pausing in her mane. “Okay, maybe that was your goal. But does it have to be now? If your survival isn’t at stake, what do you want to do with your life?”

“Do we need one?” Chrysalis asks plainly. She glances up at him. “We no longer hunger for love. We live and grow. Is that not enough?”

“I don’t think so,” Doug says with a shake of his head. “Because… I think our lives are more about the journey than the destination. As soon as we reach our goal, we need a new one. And the reason for that is, to put it bluntly, because life is suffering. If you don’t eat, you starve. You grow old and die. Well, maybe not you, but your ‘lings. We recognize that innately, in our core. If we don’t have something to strive for, then life becomes meaningless.”

“But we still need to get past the Council.” Chrysalis sighs. “And make them believe we have some goal other than conquest.”

“More importantly,” Doug says, “I think you need some goal other than conquest.”

“You think they will take our word?” Chrysalis spits out. “That the changelings have changed?”

“It won’t be just your word,” Doug reassures as he stands. His hand slips out of her mane as he walks away, a pleading, remorseful look in his eyes at the loss of contact. And yet there is hope. “Ready to go?”

Chrysalis stands, perhaps against her better judgement, and follows.

Ch. 19 - Survival Instincts, Part Five

Queen Chrysalis merely grunts when Doug opens the door for her, striding imperiously into the auditorium. Everycreature appears to be where they were when she left. The griffons staring murderous daggers, the yak’s bland apathy, and the minotaur’s irrepressible cheer all remain unchanged. The red dragon sits pacified, arms grumpily crossed across his chest, but there is no hostility she can detect. Unlike the Storm King.

Raikou reclines in his chair next to Tempest Shadow, impassively watching the changeling walk to Celestia and the stage. The broken-horned unicorn has her ever-present look of mild disdain, harboring animosity directed at the alicorns. But the Storm King? Inwardly he shifts between abject loathing and guarded respect, like he bent the bar of emotions into a ponyshoe and dances between the two extremes.

It is rare, extremely so, for her to find a creature in such a state. It might even be some sort of magic item, crafted to throw off her senses by overloading her receptors. She wouldn’t put it past him, they did have a bit of a history together. And the whole of Klugetown holds a bit of that grudge, an anti-changeling bent about them, likely only made worse by her subsequent actions.

Doug peels off to rejoin the ponies, sitting next to Luna and the vacancy left by Celestia. The cobalt alicorn merely sighs, accepting the hand across her with a muted grumble. Yet it doesn’t take long for her to acquiesce to his gentle ministrations, affording him a cool but not cold smile before her gaze returns to her Sister.

If Celestia is bothered by potentially being on the chopping block she doesn’t show it, nestling in ponyloaf. Her warm smile broadens as she spots Doug and Chrysalis approaching, and eventually Chrysalis’ unhurried steps bring her to the white alicorn’s side. The auditorium has gone silent, only Rainbow Dash’s bored groans breaking the apprehensive atmosphere.

Celestia regards her with a slight incline of her head and whispered words. “It is good to see you.” The corners of her mouth pull a little higher. “We were worried about you.”

“About me?” Chrysalis asks, taken aback. She expected something closer to ‘we were worried about your return’. Is she that predictable, or does Celestia actually harbor that much confidence?

“Indeed.” Celestia glances at Alira. “May I return?” She stands as the Saddle Arabian mare nods, a swift trot taking Celestia to Doug’s side. His arm reaches behind, wrapping not around her withers but under her slightly raised wing so his hand might massage her still-svelte belly. She inches closer, pressing against him, and the happy human nearly disappears behind her flowing mane.

Alira turns to Chrysalis, formally addressing her. “Delegate Gruff had finished with his remarks, and you were replying to him. Was there anything else you wish to say?”

“I wish to say a lot more,” Chrysalis grunts out as she peels her eyes away from the affectionate sight. “But enough has been said. For now.”

“Very well. Then we shall hear from…” Alira glances down at her notes on the podium. “Princess Mi Amore Cadenza.”

All eyes turn as the pink alicorn gives her husband a tender nuzzle. “Thank you, Alira,” Cadance says chipperly as she bounds to the stage.

Chrysalis finds herself backing up from the exuberant energy. She has to stifle the old, rapacious part of her that wishes to partake, the hoarder always looking to the future. She doesn’t need to devour love, but she still can, which makes it all the worse if she can’t blame any lapse on that primal instinct.

Cadance’s gaze sweeps across the room, briefly locking on every creature before moving to the next. Each can feel the warmth of her smile, though the reactions range from the ponies perking up and watching intently to the griffons’ sulks and scowls. Chrysalis finds herself drawn in, following that warmth like the wafting scent of a pie on the Apple’s windowsill. As soon as she recognizes this she stops, chastising herself for her lack of control.

“Though,” Cadance stalls, tapping a gold-shod hoof against the floor, “I find ‘Princess Mi Amore Cadenza’ to be a bit too formal. Good for weddings, but not much else.” She winks at Shining Armor, then Chrysalis, but it’s a tad forced in the second case. “I much prefer Cadance, or Princess Cadance if you insist and your name is Twilight. Which reminds me.”

The pink alicorn, bucking all decorum through the window like Applejack with a bale of hay, skips from two hooves to the other in their cherished foalhood dance. “Sunshine, sunshine, ladybugs awake! Clap your hooves and do a little shake!”

A blushing Twilight Sparkle mirrors the actions, and when the two drop to their barrels and cover their eyes she teleports forward. A grinning pair meet hoof to hoof before shaking their rumps and pressing cutie marks against each other. The two share a fond nuzzle before a joyous Twilight canters back to her seat. She rolls her eyes at her brother with his hoof stuffed in his mouth, who can’t stop staring at Cadance and rocking back and forth.

“Or,” Cadance continues, giving her husband a sultry shake of her flanks, which only gets him to choke up harder, “if you want to be formal, the Princess of Love.” Her sweeping gaze returns to the rest of the audience. “Now, one might ask. What is love? It is a topic that has spawned more books, more poems, more sleepless nights than any other.”

She points at Twilight. “Is love the affection we share with our kin? The love of a dam for her filly, a teacher for her student? Expressed through small and meaningful gifts, encouraging and inspiring words, and soft and gentle nuzzles? Perhaps. But there is a deeper kind of love.”

Cadance locates a few of the males in the audience: Gruff, the Storm King, and Iron Grip, her focus dancing between the three until she has their full attention. She spins so her luscious pink, purple and gold tail faces them, glancing back across spread wings with a heated moan. Her forelegs sink lower as her rump raises, tail flicking almost enough to expose herself, but not quite.

“Mm, that’s what you are thinking about, right?” She licks her lips as Iron Grip and the Storm King chuckle and nod, while Gruff just stares at her. And just as quickly her flirtatious display is over, standing straight and striding from one end of the stage to the other. “But sex is not love! It may be a biological imperative, it may be a deep form of intimacy, it may be a truly wonderful experience-”

Cadance stops, dead in her tracks, to take a deep breath. Her eyes close, her head lifts, and wings spread from her sides, evoking in everycreature’s mind the joy she shared that night with Shining Armor. She stands there, she and everycreature else, reveling in the smell of his musk, the weight on her back, the fullness and completeness she felt that special night.

She recovers slowly, shaking her head to dispel the images from her own and everycreature’s mind. “It may be all those things. But it is not the deepest form of love. For I am not the Princess of Love because I slept with somestallion. I am not the Princess of Sex, much as my husband might disagree.”

Laughter peppers the audience as Shining Armor concedes the point with a forced smile, nodding along with his mare.

Cadance turns, acknowledging the changeling with a point of her hoof. “And Queen Chrysalis did not transform into the resplendent form you see before you because it was the first time she mated with a stallion, nor the tenth, nor the ten thousandth!”

Chrysalis preens at the compliment, her emerald wings fluttering as she flips one of her cobalt braids. That may be the number of young she has born over the years, but it is nowhere close to the number of times she has mated with stallions or mares, to say nothing of other species.

Cadance continues, her words intensely stressed and passionate. “I became an alicorn, I ascended and became the Princess of Love, when I confronted the evil sorceress Prismia who used a powerful necklace to drain my fellow ponies of their love. When I, a simple pegasus from a backwoods earth pony village, put my life on the line in the defense of my people.”

A twinkle shines in Cadance’s eye. “Some might say it was the powerful magic, the love stored in that necklace and released when I broke it, that allowed me to ascend. I hardly think I am unique in that regard, for how many of us know creatures who have done the same? Though I certainly wouldn’t recommend breaking powerful magical artifacts with the hopes of duplicating that event, and I am glad I do not need to worry about a certain three youngsters following in my hoofsteps. Hopefully.” She casts a foreboding eye at the Apple herd. “You don’t know of any, do you?”

Applejack, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash exchange breathy sighs of relief as they shake their heads, Applejack going so far as to pull her hat off her head and wipe some imaginary sweat off her brow.

Doug just has to speak up. “Well, there’s that cutie mark wall at Starlight’s village, and Trixie has-”

He cuts off with a strangled ‘urk’ as a cornflower blue aura surrounds his mouth, courtesy of Rarity, while Rainbow Dash swoops around to put him in a headlock. Applejack whips out her lasso, looking ready to hogtie and sit on him.

“Partner,” his lead mare cautions with a deadly glint, “we don’t need to be givin’ those three any ideas, no ma’am.”

Doug unhappily grunts, especially as Rainbow Dash leans her weight on him. Only for the pegasus to squawk in alarm as he gets a hand under her barrel and tickles her sensitive belly. Cadance chuckles before turning back to the rest of the auditorium, Doug and Rainbow Dash quieting down and paying close attention.

“Some of you might see a parallel between Prismia and my herdsister.” Cadance indicates Chrysalis with a slight nod of her head. “But while I was initially… cautious of her intentions? Perhaps even distrustful? I am glad to say that I was proven wrong. Because Queen Chrysalis did not transform when she partook of our love. She and the rest of her brood transformed when they gave love! They demonstrated their love when they put their lives on the line for not just us Princesses but for everymare, everystallion, everypony in Equestria!”

Her voice raises again, filling the auditorium with ease. “For that is the true essence of Love! Sacrifice!” Her voice booms, “For greater love hath no mare than this, that she lay down her life for her friends!”

She lets the following silence linger.

She points a hoof, starting at Gruff before sweeping to the rest of the auditorium. “Earlier this morning, you all saw my husband put his life on the line defending his mare! And as the changelings have done no less for us, I promise you this. You will see no less from everystallion and everymare in the defense of their herd and their Friends!”

She scans the audience once more, searching for dissent and finding none. She nods, swiftly trots back to her exultant husband and leaves a stunned Chrysalis on the stage.

Ch. 20 - Survival Instincts, Part Six

Chrysalis stares at the pink, purple and gold tail as it retreats off the stage amid a bevy of ferocious stomps and booming claps, not all of which come from the Equestrian division. Disquiet stirs in her heart, a pang of regret. It couldn’t be from indigestion or heartburn, she’s never had that problem, even with a large meal. No, it is directed at her hasty action earlier. It made her seem, well, grubbish, no more than a newly hatched larva, thoughts reaching no further than her immediate survival.

She had no idea any of the Princesses, much less Cadance, would have defended her and her brood in such a direct and unequivocal manner. And certainly not so provocatively, a way that practically invites the other creatures, especially the griffons, to test the limits of the ponies’ resolve. She thought her lead mare harbored as much animosity for her as Tempest Shadow clearly shows the four alicorns. Perhaps she was wrong earlier.

And yet she can sense duplicity in the alicorn’s fiery facade, the stalwart bulwark she placed in front of Chrysalis. And that sense is only confirmed when Cadance reaches Shining Armor, trading a tender kiss before nestling her head under his. She can barely make out the words through the din of continued cheers.

“You did a great job up there,” Shining Armor commends, scratching his face against her long horn. He smiles as he nuzzles her closely. “I really like seeing that passionate side of yours.” He stretches so she can see his wink. “When do I get to see that side again?”

“Oh, you,” Cadance teases, clearly loving the way he drapes his head across her neck and mane. But then she sighs, meets Chrysalis’ staring eyes and whispers, a whisper that reaches across the distance and to no others. “I only wish I believed it as strongly as I made it out to be.”

“Hey.” Shining Armor doubles his efforts to console his mare as Chrysalis grimly purses her lips. “That’s something we can work on, right?”

“Mm,” Cadance mutters, dropping down until her head rests against her hooves. Shining Armor follows, worried but content to rest against her until she is ready.

Alira returns to the podium, a hush spreading over the auditorium. “We have heard from the Princess of Love. Next, Iron Grip of Minos.” She hurriedly retreats off the stage, joining Haakim.

And she retreats for good reason. If Cadance owned the stage by pacing back and forth, the massive minotaur looks ready to dominate it purely by standing still and flexing. Each of the trunks most might call arms bulge with muscles, forearms wider than a pony’s barrel, hands that might crush a skull like a sparrow’s egg. And while his brother Iron Will must have skipped leg day to work on his assertiveness seminars, Iron Grip clearly hasn’t, rippling calf-sized calves thudding against the floor with every step. But atop that formidable form is a gregarious smile which he turns at Cadance as soon as he leaps onto the stage, sending the entire room shuddering.

“Excellent speech!” the minotaur booms, lauding the pink Princess with three more meaty claps and a toothy smile. “The passion! The love!” He shadow boxes several swift strikes, fists snapping the air like a whip. “If Iron Grip could be as assertive as a dynamo like you, then heifers would flock to his side! Even though it is hard to get to Iron Grip, because Iron Grip lives inside of a giant maze! But they would try!”

Visible gusts of wind burst through the auditorium from his last shout, blowing manes and tails wildly.

“Ooh,” Twilight Sparkle moans to nopony in particular, having been scratching down notes the entire time. Her glowing horn gives her a chance of keeping them all in order. “Do minotaurs actually live in mazes? I thought that was just a cultural stereotype!”

“They would try,” Iron Grip repeats, flexing his arms and stomach. “Heifers big and small, piebald and plain, young and old! Wait, not old. Iron Grip not interested in old heifer! Something wrong with cow that has no calf after many years!”

He holds a bicep flex for several long seconds, expecting applause or at least something instead of an awkward silence. He looks around the audience, ending on the Princesses. They stare back, Luna’s unrestrained glare intensifying while Celestia leans her head against Doug’s.

One of the two goats bleats something unintelligible.

“Oh! Right! Thank you, Shackle!” The minotaur turns his stare into a thumbs up and wide grin. “Iron Grip glad ancient Princesses find love after many, many years!”

Luna growls while Celestia’s smile grows a little more strained.

“I think,” Rarity quietly comments to Applejack as she fixes her mane, “he might have taken a few too many blows to the head.”

“Full-fledged bucks, more like it,” Applejack returns.

“He’s wonderful,” Fluttershy moans out, enraptured by Iron Grip’s over-the-top performance.

“And Iron Grip glad changelings find love, too!” Two beefy arms, one above the head and the other stretched straight, point at Queen Chrysalis. “Which brings Iron Grip to the first of Iron Grip’s two points!”

He holds the pose for an uncomfortably long amount of time before the other goat bleats something.

“Right! Thank you, Billy!” Iron Grip pulls out a chewed-up book from somewhere, the ragged condition getting Twilight to gasp. He flips through, a few pages falling out. His already beady eyes constrict into pinpricks as he studiously studies the page. “Ah ha!” He throws the book to the floor, again pointing at Chrysalis as Twilight faints. “When the City of Trot tried to block with a wall, you proved you are one they cannot stall!!”

Chrysalis holds her neutral expression, inwardly grimacing. She didn’t think the minotaur was capable of setting a trap like this, but the glint in his eyes proves it was no mistake. If she accepts the praise, she acknowledges that she is a menace. But she can’t deny it; the history book in his hand accurately depicts her actions. What was Doug saying about reframing?

Iron Grip reaches down, delicately picks up the book and reads in a low, quick voice, “By hiding inside a Trotan Pony, you bypassed their considerable defenses.” He spins, pointing at one of the ponies from the Realm of Clouds, the mountainous area near Klugetown and outside of Equestria. “And thanks to Princess Celestia’s timely arrival, the city was saved! Though Emperor Incitatus was never the same.”

“A good thing, too,” Chrysalis adds. Iron Grip steps to the side, tucking the book away and giving her plenty of room to dig. She continues with a wry, fangy smile. “Your Emperor cared only for himself and nothing for his people, outside of how they could elevate him. His delicious pride was his downfall, and your city has only improved since.”

Iron Grip glowers briefly, only for a shout to come from the back.

“And what of the cities that never recovered?” Tempest Shadow bellows. “What of Timbuktu! What of the ponies whose lives and livelihoods you have devoured!?”

“Indeed!” Iron Grip agrees, pounding one hand into the other. It makes a dull, echoing *thud* that Chrysalis imagines would knock even an earth pony senseless. “Changeling people may have found love! But this does not excuse their many crimes!”

“I must remind the Council,” Celestia begins, bringing the room to a standstill. Her voice is not raised, nor whispered, yet carries as if she is standing next to every individual. “That we have forgiven crimes of nations and individuals. I will not name names or numbers. But know that there are those, even among us now, that have caused worse, and threatened worse, than the accused standing before us.”

At first, eyes are directed at the griffons. Even Delegate Gruff has the good sense to hunker down, a contrite and almost pleading look in his eye. For it had been a mere generation ago that ponies were hunted in Griffon lands, and only those strong enough to defend themselves dared venture.

Then focus turns to the dragons, who delight in razing villages and sometimes more. Tensions grow hot when the shortest route of their generational migration takes them through Equestrian lands, the mountains of the west and north their ancestral destination. It takes a strong Dragon Lord to restrain the hundreds of vicious predators, and even a crack team of Wonderbolts could do little against a dozen hungry dragons that spot a multicolored meal far below. And now, with Dragon Lord Torch - one of the staunchest allies of Equestria the dragons have ever fielded - retiring? The clutch looking to contest his place holds little respect for the ponies.

And then they turn to Luna, yet ignorant of her being the true target of Celestia’s words. For none but the alicorn sisters know the full extent of her treachery. And while some might laugh about ‘never seeing the sun’, very few understand how far her desperation for adoration and devotion would have taken her.

“And they have been forgiven,” Celestia continues, drawing every eye back to herself. “The slate wiped clean and welcomed with open hooves. They repented, honestly and truly, and strove to adhere to what we hold most dear.”

She indicates Cadance with a nod of her head, the pink alicorn hugging her husband as they both stand. “Love.”

Twilight drops her quill as her five closest friends gather together, Doug standing in for Pinkie Pie, beaming as Celestia motions at them next. “Friendship, and the Elements of Harmony.”

Celestia’s gaze turns to Luna. She opens her mouth but no sound comes out, no words capable of expressing the love they share. Tears wet the corners of her eyes, shimmering as they fall to the floor. She lunges forward, embracing her Sister in a deep, longing hug. She manages to choke out a single word. “Spike?”

Spike freezes as everycreature turns to him. The room is silent, none even daring to draw breath. Yet something in the back of his mind bubbles forth, words dredging from some unknown place that just feel right. He sings; a soft, high pitched, childish voice, yet one that reaches into everycreature.

“~But if day can turn to night? And the darkness turn to light? Then why can’t we imagine? A changeling can change?~”

His words settle into silence, leaving the changeling queen alone on the stage.

She can see, in her mind’s eye, the crossroads in front of her. One way, the way that loops back to where she came, is bright if barren. Ground she has trod many a time before, but she knows how little it sustains. The other way is dark, a dense jungle full of brambles and shade that hides the predators within. There is opportunity there, but also danger.

If she goes down this new path? It would be difficult, difficult beyond imagining. There could be no half-measures. She would need to commit body and spirit, and not just her own but her brood’s as well. Like Cadance, she would need to display a confidence that she did not yet possess. But it would not be a lie; no, she would be presenting the ideal she would pursue, a goal that she would strive for but might never attain.

“Everything I did,” Chrysalis states solemnly, her steady gaze sweeping across the room. “Everything the changeling race has done, we did for our survival. We tried everything we could think of. From kittens and puppies to raising ponies as our own. But ponies require actualization to provide nourishment, something not present in lesser animals. We tried individual infiltration and indiscriminate invasion. Yet every time we were found out, our plots uncovered, we were castigated as monsters. And despair, while potentially nourishing, is not a viable long-term solution.”

She pauses, taking a deep breath and stares at the floor.

“I take it all as my own. Every failure, every foiled attempt, every fault. It is no excuse, and I cannot take back my actions. But now I see that there is a better way. The way of friendship and love. The way of the Tenets of Harmony.” Each pony perks their head up as she names their Element. “Of truth, generosity, loyalty, kindness, and laughter. And anything that stands in that way I will cast aside.”

An emerald-shod hoof raises to her head, pulling the blackened crown from her mane. She studies the small blue gems for a long moment. It feels strange, to no longer have the weight on her head. But as much as it meant to her before, this is more important now.

“This used to be the crown of King Orion of Timbuktu,” she explains, remorse filling her words. “I took it as a prize when I destroyed his city. I thought it would be a glorious reminder of our strength. I could have taken many others, for my misdeeds are as numerous as the stars we scattered above.” Her head bows penitently. “But I was wrong. And as I cast aside this crown, I cast aside my title of ‘Queen’.”

Chrysalis tosses the crown to the stage. It digs a divot into the wood, clattering and rolling onto the floor. She ignores it.

Murmurs erupt in the audience, glances trading back and forth. Most cannot believe what they just saw, or wonder if it merely another ruse, or calculate just how much they can trust this ‘transformation’.

“For a queen takes pride in what she rules.” Chrysalis shakes her head at the futility. “But I shall take pride in what I create, in what I build. For I shall henceforth be known as Chief Architect Chrysalis!”

An ebony hoof raises, prompting a cheer from the ponies. But Chrysalis’ grand stance is short-lived, replaced by a meek and hopeful smile she directs to the other creatures.

“But all that depends on having the chance to prove ourselves.” Chrysalis drops to a low, respectful bow. It seems unbecoming, but that is because it is, a humility on display she has never tried before. “Please, I beg of you. Do not cut this journey short, just as it begins.”

She holds the uncomfortable pose for long moments, long enough for Alira to clear her throat as she walks to the podium. “If there is nothing else?”

The minotaur shakes his head. “Iron Grip’s second point was to ask what she wishes to do. Iron Grip has answer to Iron Grip’s question.” With that he returns to his seat. Nocreature else does anything but watch the changeling hold her subservient bow.

“Very well. We shall vote on the fate of… Chief Architect Chrysalis.” Alira jots a quick note before looking at Raikou. “How votes the Storm Realm?”

The Storm King ponders for a long moment, his hand brushing his bristly chin. “The Storm Realm votes yes. To live.”

Tempest Shadow snorts, her angry glare at her king unmistakable.

“What?” Raikou retorts. “I’m all about second chances!” He jabs a finger at her. “You should know that.”

“Yes, my liege,” Tempest Shadow dutifully answers, her heart clearly not in her reply.

Alira turns to Garble. “And the Dragons?”

“All this talk about friendship and love?” The red dragon shakes his head, gagging. The teal dragon next to him nods in agreement. “I don’t buy it. Especially not from her. The Dragons vote no.”

Chrysalis drops a little more. She had been expecting that, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept that she is one step closer to the edge.

Alira marks on her sheet. “The Yaks?”

Prince Rutherford shakes his head as he gets up. “Yak not have history with changelings. Ponies do what they want. Yak abstain.” He settles back down, and with his thick hair it is impossible to tell if he is pleased with the proceedings or not.

“Oh, no,” Twilight whispers, mirroring Chrysalis’ uneasy gulp. “If the vote is tied, the tiebreakers are the permanent members. Equestria takes precedence, but they didn’t vote, so it passes to…” She turns a fearful eye at Garble. “The Dragons.”

Alira continues. “Minos?”

Iron Grip cracks his neck, then his knuckles, then his back. “If Iron Will can get ponies to be more assertive, like minotaurs, then Iron Grip sees no reason that ponies cannot get changelings to act like friends. Iron Grip votes yes.”

Alira makes another note. “The Griffons?”

A low cackle accompanies the unnerving clink of claws tapping against each other. Everycreature holds their breath as Delegate Gruff stands, and if a beak could smile his would stretch from ear to ear.

“I have waited for this,” he chortles wickedly, raking a talon across the floor. It sends shivers along spines, and one can imagine the many animals he has sliced open in such a manner.

“But,” Gruff says as he pauses, cocking his head as he inspects the contrite changeling. His one good eye gleams with greed. “One cannot get much out of a corpse. A meal or two. Ten in your case. But not much.” He eyes her, avarice plain, his claws reaching out and grasping.

“If that is what it takes,” Chrysalis answers, despising that she has to purchase her freedom but thankful for the opportunity regardless. “Then we shall help build Griffonstone into a gleaming beacon, a testament to the griffons!”

The former queen raises her head, awaiting her verdict with some measure of honor.

One can almost hear the sound of bits clanging together in the griffon’s covetous expression. “Then the Griffons vote yes.”

“Chief Architect Chrysalis,” Alira states formally, quelling the growing rumbles among the crowd, “your decision has been reached. You will be remanded as an Equestrian citizen, as will your brood. The full details will be provided at a later time, including negotiating what service you will provide to the Griffons. In the meantime, we will reconvene after lunch for…” she glances down at her notes, then gulps. “A potentially world-shattering… discussion.”

Chrysalis can merely stare as the griffon takes his seat. She only registers something is amiss when a white blur attempts to tackle her and fails, bouncing back and falling on his rump. She glances over, still dumbfounded, at her stallion as he rubs his head. The ponies behind him cheer and stomp their hooves, but everything sounds distorted and unreal. They all pass in a colorful blur, spinning around and around, blending into each other as they surround and congratulate until the world turns a merciful and quiet black.

Ch. 21 - Spirited Response, Part One

“Good show!” the Storm King exclaims, cheering with a few thunks of staff against floor. “Marvelous! Now, I believe I have a party to get to! That pizza won’t eat itself!”

He gives a cheeky grin and cocky salute before vaulting over his seat and out the door. Tempest Shadow follows close behind, still indignant about the turn of events. Garble bickers with Gruff, mostly about how unfair it is the dragons weren’t able to extort the Equestrians while the griffons were, as the two delegates leave with their fellows. The rest of the creatures trickle out in twos and threes, off to send home messages about what occurred or just relax before the next meeting.

Sky Beak waits at the door and stares at Doug long enough for the human to recognize it. He then turns and walks out without a backwards glance, leaving Doug grim and wondering how to get Celestia away from the pack of ponies hugging the downed changeling.

As it turns out, a tap on the withers is all it takes. A curious Celestia follows Doug to a more isolated area of the auditorium, not that they are hiding anything - it’s just quieter, not having to listen to Fluttershy fuss over Chrysalis, or Applejack and Rainbow Dash debate the easiest method of moving such a large mass, or Twilight Sparkle twilighting about the next issue concerning the alicorns.

“Yes, my love?” Celestia asks as they come to a stop, concerned but not uneasy.

Doug wants to cross his arms but doesn’t, keeping his hands clasped at his waist. “How much do you know about the hippogriffs?”

“I know a great deal about the hippogriffs, and at the same time not enough,” Celestia answers, regarding Doug closely and noting his apprehension. “I take it you are not looking for facts found in the Encyclopedia Equitannica?”

“Correct,” Doug replies brusquely. “More your reasoning behind, let’s say, how they got to their current situation.”

“Hmm.” Celestia stares off into the distance for a long moment, focusing on nothing.

Back on the stage, a groggy Chrysalis slowly comes to.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Shining Armor greets Chrysalis as she awakens. “Feeling better?”

“Urgh,” Chrysalis moans, rubbing at her head with an emerald-clad hoof. “I didn’t change color, did I?” A fangy grin spreads as she sees her ebony chitin, brushing off her stallion’s help to get to her hooves. “White is just so…” She frowns at Rarity’s venomous glare. “Overdone?”

That prompts a chuckle from the fashionista. “You will find no argument from me there, darling. Though it does tend to go with everything.”

“I thought that was black,” Chrysalis retorts, admiring her coloration. Luna enthusiastically nods along.

“Oh, yes,” Rarity agrees. She winks at Luna. “Black and white do go very well together.”

“Oh, please,” Rainbow Dash butts in. “Next you’ll tell me that zebras are the height of fashion.”

“Or skunks,” Fluttershy adds. She beams as everypony edges away from her. “They’re really cuddly, and always looking for a hug!”

“Ah like polka dots and plaid,” Applejack says. “Especially together!” She sighs as Rarity covers her face with a hoof. “What?”

“Let’s go,” Shining Armor entreats, flicking his mane at the eldest alicorn. “It’s story time!”

“I love story time!” Twilight exclaims, giddily clapping her hooves together. “Oh, come on,” she says defensively as the others chuckle. “You all love story time too!”

Celestia snaps back to reality as her Sister approaches, acknowledging her with a curt nod. The rest of the ponies, curious as well, gather and sit in a loose semicircle. A translucent golden bubble surrounds them, filling their ears with a soft hiss.

“You were asking about the hippogriffs,” Celestia begins in a matter-of-fact lecturing tone. Behind it, partially concealed, is mild disdain. “Historically, the hippogriffs have been neither our staunchest allies nor our bitterest enemies. That would be the Crystal Empire under the rule of Princess Amore, before Sombra’s rise of power, and the dragons of six centuries ago, respectively.”

“The d-dragons?” Spike stammers, glancing at Twilight as she nuzzles him. The action doesn’t stop her from taking notes. “You don’t think they might… attack, do you?”

Celestia shakes her head. “Not under Dragon Lord Torch, not unless we provoke him directly. We ancients still have some modicum of respect for each other. Of their new crop?” She sighs remorsefully. “I cannot say for sure. I fear I have kept my eyes focused inward, on ensuring that threats to Equestria were… minimized.”

“Then how,” Chrysalis asks, ignoring the grumbles from the ponies at interrupting, “was I able to infiltrate so far and wide?”

Celestia regards the changeling with a grim stare. “To be honest,” she says with a deep sigh. “You escaped my notice by slipping beneath my notice. I wrongly anticipated that you would attempt to replace high-ranking officials and nobles. I did not have the resources to pursue why, say, in nine-ninety-three there were forty-six ponies emigrating from Trottingham to greener pastures, yet forty-eight arrived.”

“Ah,” Chrysalis says. A thin smile spreads. “You investigated and found the cracks afterwards.”

Celestia nods. “And once you had infiltrators in the proper positions, even those discrepancies disappeared. My reports, the thousand reports I sift through every day, inaccurately depicted the situation, leaving me blind or worse.” She waves a hoof, stifling Chrysalis’ opening mouth. “I do not condemn you for your actions. It was a brilliant bit of misdirection; had I thought to, I might have done the same.”

Chrysalis sits back, preening. The other ponies sit unsure, wanting to glare at the changeling but not with Celestia admitting that she would have acted similarly.

Celestia turns back to Doug, redness seeping into her eyes. “You can see, I am sure, the difficulty inherent in managing such a complex and interconnected situation. How much worse would it be if I considered everycreature else? And how would I know what is going on, since they are not required to send reports to my desk?” She whips a hoof to point at Chrysalis. “Should I conscript our four thousand newly hatched infiltrators and send them to every corner of Equus?”

“Hey!” Chrysalis says, only for her objection to be cast to the side.

“Or should I have become a Queen?” The multicolor glow of Celestia’s mane fades to a monochrome orange, flames of red licking behind blackened pupils. She stands tall, seemingly towering to the vaulted ceiling, glowing like the sun and leaving all else bathed in searing light. She laughs, a bright and piercing sound that spreads like wildfire. “Not dark, but as blazing and illuminating as the sun!”

And in the next moment the oranges and reds saturating the room fade to normal. The alabaster alicorn returns to her normal coloration as limbs the ponies didn’t know were locked loosen. She sighs, heavy and mournful.

“You ask what I might have done. But you do not ask what it would require for me to do it.” Celestia offers the changeling a soft smile. “But I do not have perfect knowledge, nor the ability to interfere without unanticipated consequence.” She seems to diminish as her fury leaves her body. “Perhaps it is not a failing to be neither omniscient nor omnipotent. Is it wrong to have that as one’s goal? For it is Raikou’s as well.” She indicates Twilight. “And what student does not seek to surpass her teacher?”

“I would never-” Twilight starts before a raised alabaster hoof silences her.

“Do not lie so readily, my most faithful student,” Celestia chastises. “Or if what you spoke was true, then as your mentor I have failed to kindle your aspirations.” She bows her head. “And for that, I am truly sorry.”

“You didn’t,” Twilight says, gulping as she realizes her error. Her head matches Celestia’s in a contrite bow. “I will strive, to the best of my ability, to excel in every way I can.”

“That’s the Twilight I know and love,” Celestia says, raising her head with a smile. She turns back to Doug. “Do you wish to second-guess my actions?”

Doug grimaces. “Well, before you told Twilight off for a harmless lie, I might have said no.”

“No lie is harmless,” Celestia counters quickly, no malice in her correction.

“My point is,” Doug says with a huff, though he acknowledges her point with a wave of his hand, “that nopony, nocreature, is perfect. Sometimes we make mistakes, and we reevaluate decisions we made to try to detect those mistakes. We look for gaps in our logic, or places we should investigate more thoroughly. I think that you may have made a mistake with how the hippogriffs were treated. I’m not sure, of course.” He pauses to look her in the eye. “So I’ll ask again. Or perhaps more specifically. Why did you allow the Storm King to invade Mount Aris, and what have you done to check his ambitions?”

A wry smile crosses Celestia’s muzzle. “Thank you for not asserting that I have done nothing. But to answer that I must ask two things. What are the Storm King’s ambitions?”

Doug frowns. “Well, you said that he wants power. To become the most powerful creature, I assume.”

“And?” Celestia prompts.

Doug scratches at his chin. “He’s willing to conquer places to get that power.”

“Is that wrong?” Celestia asks, tilting her head to the side. “Must the borders of the map remain unchanged in perpetuity?”

“All these questions!” Doug grins at Celestia. “If I didn’t like the Socratic method so much, I might be more perturbed at you evading the question.” He winks at her, earning a quick incline of her head. “But I believe there can be a thing as a ‘just war’, or revolutions, or even expansion into uncharted realms. But for an individual to gain power, not merely influence?” Doug glances at Celestia. “He’s not magical like you, so he has to train his body and gather or steal magical artifacts to make up that difference.”

“Indeed,” Celestia agrees. “Though he seems to have little interest in ruling; he has installed vassals in the smaller towns along the southern coast and seems more than happy to have the Council choose replacements for the places he topples. No, he ensures that others acknowledge his superiority.”

“Is that what happened with Mount Aris?” Doug demands. “He was just proving his superiority to the hippogriffs?”

“Perhaps,” Celestia concedes. “It was no secret that he desired the Seasky Pearl. How much of his allegations of piracy are true? I have already professed my ignorance of the situation, and perhaps that is something that should change. The question then becomes ‘how shall we do that?’ Should we turn the Storm King to stone and shatter him, and reignite the volcanoes of the Storm Realm? That would solve the problem of not knowing their intentions.”

“Um,” Doug says, shifting nervously. “That seems extreme.”

Celestia merely regards him more intently. “But how do we know the hippogriffs are blameless?” She taps a hoof against her muzzle. “Should we boil the oceans in case they are not?”

“P-please stop,” Fluttershy begs between sobs from behind her mane.

Celestia drops her head as Applejack rubs a comforting hoof along the yellow pegasus’ back. “I am sorry, dearest Fluttershy. I would only recommend those actions were I to believe the individuals in question were irredeemable. And, judging by your reactions, you do not believe such. So the answer must lie between nothing and genocide.” She motions upward. “Do you believe we should mobilize our troops and smash the Storm King’s armada?”

“If he was attacking somewhere,” Doug answers. After a moment he adds, “Unjustly.”

“Ah, you strike at the heart of the matter,” Celestia says, a hint of a grin perking up the corners of her mouth. “For we must determine if a cause is just or not.”

“If we don’t know enough,” Doug continues. “We need to find more information.”

“Precisely. For example, there has always been a faction of the hippogriffs that prefer the sea, the aptly named Sea Ponies. Others wish to once again live above the waves. As you can no doubt guess, Sky Beak is a leading member of that group.” Once again, Celestia drops her head and sighs. “I am not sure the relative extent of the two groups, as their politics is as murky as the depths under which they live. But I believe Sky Beak to be part of a minority, perhaps a plurality, but not enough to sway their queen.”

“So we would need proof of the Storm King’s atrocities,” Doug says, nodding to himself. Celestia’s smile widens. He stands, rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms. “Well, I have felt cooped up in here. Anypony fancy a run through the city?”

“Oh, dear,” Fluttershy says anxiously, rubbing one hoof against the other. She looks pleadingly at Celestia. “We don’t have to, do we?”

Celestia returns a warm smile. Next to her Luna looks ready to nod off. “You may stay with us, if you wish. I do believe we could use the rest.”

Everypony else leaps to their hooves, eager to get outside.

Ch. 22 - Spirited Response, Part Two

The city of Klugetown greets the ponies with a perpetual dull haze, dust in their eyes, and an acrid taste in their mouths, but the irritants do little to quell their enthusiasm. They stand, gawking at the high-rising shops and apartments built into towering spires of sandstone. The layout is far different from Ponyville, certainly, but even Manehattanites value an occasional view of the sky. From the air it didn’t seem as intimidating, but now that they aren’t dancing down the street with some destination in mind?

Three streets, paved with hard-packed sand and harder-packed citizens, branch away from the Equestrian Embassy. The most crowded leads south to the docks full of boats and airships. Shopkeepers hawk their wares along that route, several of whom display caged feral hawks or bright, flowing fabrics to wear. Everypony is glad Fluttershy isn’t around to see the former. The latter draws Rarity’s attention, and she makes the first move. She weaves her way through the heavy foot traffic, jostled to and fro by the larger creatures considerably less considerate than the ponies of Ponyville, and arrives at the open stall.

The rotund shopkeeper, like many of the other creatures, stands twice as tall as her and three times as wide. His clothes are far fancier than the other’s dirty brown tunics, if they wear anything at all. She has to crane her neck up to look him in the eye, and she would have to stand on her hind legs to see over the counter.

“Excuse me, good…” Rarity pauses, deliberating how to greet the bidepal… Her first instinct is to call it a fish-monster, a miniature leviathan that decided to walk on land, but as appropriate as the appellation might be? Offending the very first native she meets doesn’t sound like the way to endear oneself. She settles on, “Sir. I can’t help but notice your beautiful selection of goods. Is that wool?”

He snorts with something between a sneer and a smile, ignoring her compliment, and waves a webbed claw at his wares. The fabrics are nearly as colorful as the ponies coming up behind Rarity, tightly woven with intricate geometric diamond designs. “Alpaca. Softer than sheep, and quite warm!”

“But we’re in the middle of a desert,” Applejack asserts as she sidles next to Rarity. “Why can’t ya find somethin’ more practical-like?” She looks down the rows of stalls. A vulture-esque creature leers down from rows of horns of every shape and size, an upright turtle drags barrels of a foamy brown liquid, a tall Abyssinian runs some sort of shell game on a small table, and a naked mole rat sells various cooking pans and knives. She gasps at the last one, pointing with one hoof while the other wraps around Rarity’s neck to direct her attention. “Like over there!”

“Alpaca is best for airships and mountains,” the merchant concedes before Applejack can pull Rarity away. “But if you’re looking for desert wear, then look no further than this!” His keen eye sizes up Rarity from front to flank, and he pulls out an off-white set of barding, made to cover the entirety of a pony, complete with turban. “Saddle Arabian cotton, guaranteed to keep you cool during the hottest of days!” He glances at the ponies behind her, smile widening at seeing the two alicorns. “I could have a dozen made by the end of the day, custom fitted for wings and horn! For, say, a hundred Storm Bucks each?”

“Shopping?” Doug groans as he backs up, only to be knocked from behind by a short, long-tusked warthog. She growls at him before adjusting the large jar on her back and continues on her way as he stumbles forward. He dusts himself off with a huff before turning back to Rarity. “There’s no way I’m spending the rest of my morning shopping. Much less window shopping.”

While the shopkeeper’s smile doesn’t fade at Doug’s comment, he stiffens when he sees the changeling standing next to him. She remains remarkably unbumped despite standing in the middle of the road.

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport,” Rarity chastises, flipping her mane indignantly. She turns back to the cloth vendor. She pulls a bit out of a bag she keeps somewhere. Everycreature’s head turns at the clink of gold and gems inside. “Now, how many bits to a Storm Buck?”

“Sorry, but we don’t take bits here.” He offers Rarity a fang-filled smile, yet it somehow appears regretful. “Storm King law, you know?” His glances again at Chrysalis, gulping nervously. “It’s ten bits a Storm Buck.”

“You can’t change them here?” Rarity asks with a huff.

He peers down the row of stalls, spotting two stiff-backed Storm Guards. One of them looks at them, grips his spear, and grunts to his partner. The shopkeeper shakes his head.

“I see,” Rarity says, running a hoof along the fabric. A hard look enters her eyes, accompanied by a tight frown. “Now, one hundred bucks for a simple frock? Even Saddle Arabian cotton - if this is, in fact, Saddle Arabian cotton? Forty bucks apiece, and done up in those, those, and those designs.” She points at the patterns ones closest to hers, Cadance’s, and Twilight’s cutie marks.

“Ooh!” Twilight exclaims, eagerly nudging next to Rarity. She starts, “I really like-” before a white hoof forces her back.

“But you are getting far more than just the frock, and I can assure you as to the authenticity of the cotton.” He carefully considers with a greedy smile. “Sixty. One fourth in those patterns, the rest plain.”

“Forty-five,” Rarity counters. “Half plain, half patterned. And I would need…” She counts with taps of hoof against counter, staring up at the hazy sky. “Fourteen. By tonight?”

“Fifty and it’s done.” The merchant reaches a scaly claw forward. “Cash first.”

Rarity shakes her head. “Ah, I’m afraid I do not have enough… Storm Bucks on me. But I will keep that offer in mind. Doug?” Rarity levitates the heavy bag to him, but he doesn’t take it. “Do be a dear and get this changed?” She beams up at him as his hands go to his hips. “Please?”

Doug rolls his eyes at the saccharine display, snatching the bag out of the air. “Fine.”

“Ooh, me too,” Rainbow Dash adds, flying over to give him a small bag of her own. “I wanted to try some of that cider!”

“There ain’t no way it’s close to ours,” Applejack retorts, though she also shoves a bag in Doug’s direction. “But those knives look awful sharp. And a good variety, too!”

“Enough!” Doug says as Cadance also grins at him and offers him a stuffed bag. Many of the pedestrians behind him have stopped walking and mill about, watching closely. “Why don’t you put a giant label on me that says ‘please mug me!’ while you’re at it?”

“Because Pinkie Pie isn’t here?” Rainbow Dash says with a cheeky grin.

Doug huffs before he musses the chromatic mane, drawing a nuzzle and fond smile. He loops the bags around his neck, tucking them inside his armor. “Yeah, yeah. Where am I going, anyway?”

“I believe I can help there,” the Abyssinian smoothly interjects as he slides next to Doug. The human-like cat person stands half a head taller than him, a tuft of blue hair waving almost to his green, shifting eyes. Brown claws flick his ripped red trench coat as his suave smile might charm the cutie mark off a pony. “Capper’s the name, and I can guide you anywhere in this fair city. Just say the word, and I’ll be the friend you need.”

“Excellent.” Doug grimaces at the crowded road. “Any chance you know a less packed route?”

“Oh, sure,” Capper answers with a sly grin. “Backways, alleys, I know this place like the back of my paw. You won’t bump into a single soul the way I’ll take you.”

“Perhaps I might come along,” Chrysalis says with a wary glance at the Storm Guards, now doubled in number and advancing their way. “Make sure you stay safe.”

“Awesome!” Rainbow Dash exclaims, zipping higher into the air as she turns back to the turtle. “Hurry back!”

“This way!” Capper calls as he slips between the cloth merchant and the horn stall. Doug dashes close behind, leaving an irate Chrysalis bumping into the tight spaces they traverse to keep up.

“This is more like it!” Doug exclaims to Chrysalis as they barrel down twisting alleyways and climbing dark staircases. Capper manages to stay out ahead, speeding up every time they nearly catch him. Doug focuses on keeping pace while Chrysalis keeps a wary eye on the shuttered windows above. True to his declaration they don’t run into anyone, though many a creature peeks out from above, especially at the growling racket behind them.

After about ten minutes of running he asks, panting, “Where are we going?”

“We’re almost there,” Capper says as he slows, breathing easily while Doug catches a quick rest. Running in his armor, especially up stairs, takes more out of him than flat jogs. Capper pushes a hanging cloth to the side, exposing a street that looks, in a word, seedy. “Verko’s is two blocks that way.”

Few creatures pass on foot, most dragging or hitched to cage-topped wagons. The cages heading to the various airships parked on the eastern end of the south side of town are all empty, while those coming in are packed to the gills with dull-eyed calves, shorn sheep, and live crustaceans waving bound claws. Unadulterated smells of unwashed flesh and worse assaults them, but it only bothers Doug. He scrubs at his nose, wanting to get away, until he sees a sight far more colorful than the drab browns of the city.

“Hold up. Are those… parrots?” Doug asks.

Or perhaps it isn’t that they are green parrots so much as the female leading her four crate-hauling comrades has the most human-like bust he’s seen, even under her drab, Storm King branded coveralls. They must have heard him, heads turning his way and staring dourly.

“Pirates,” Chrysalis spits out.

Unbeknownst to them, Capper slips away. He whispers to a small naked mole rat, “Psst. Go tell Verko to get ready. That I’m bringing someone who will make my fortune… change.” The mole rat scampers away as Capper returns down the way he came.

“Parrot pirates?” Doug hums to himself as Chrysalis nods. “Wonder what they’re hauling? Stolen goods to fence?”

Chrysalis inspects one of the crates from a distance. “Storm King merchandise.” He looks intrigued and she flashes him a fangy smile. “Why, am I no longer your favorite dictator to support?”

“Something like that,” Doug answers with a wink. He approaches the parrots with a wide grin.

“Sorry,” the female in the lead says, addressing him with a cold, calculating look. “We don’t transport prisoners.”

“Unless you have a valid bounty hunter’s license,” the brawniest of the parrots adds. He looks like he could play a bouncer in one of the seedy bars that dot the commerce district.

“Yeah, even then? No. Not for her.” She points at Chrysalis. “Too risky. Could be a changeling trap. Sorry.”

“She’s not a prisoner,” Doug retorts after their exchange. She raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “Don’t worry about her. Name’s Doug. I was just curious what you were hauling.”

“Captain Celaeno.” She sighs as she picks up a clipboard. “Yes, we’re parrots. Yes, we used to be pirates. Yes, we’re hauling Storm King merchandise.” She flicks her head, and the burly parrot at her side lifts the top off one of the crates. He pulls out a Storm King action figure, complete with karate-chop action. A voice comes from inside, the Storm King shouting, “Lightning Bolt! Lightning Bolt!”

“Okay, that’s hilarious,” Doug chuckles, shaking his head. The parrots look decidedly unamused. “How much for one?”

Celaeno checks the clipboard. “Box of two dozen, wholesale? Twenty Storm Bucks. So-”

“I’ll take the box,” Doug says eagerly, pulling out one of the bags. He frowns slightly. “Um, do you take bits? Ten for a Storm Buck, right?”

“Eleven, if I have to get them changed.” Celaeno’s eyes go wide as she sees how many bits he has stashed, then at the two-hundred bit gem he pulls out along with two ten-bits. She tries to push the bits back at him. “Hey, look, I don’t want to rip you off or anything, but-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Doug says quietly, wrapping her clawed hand around the money. “Applebaum goes through toys like nopony’s business. But I did want to ask you a few questions.”

Celaeno stiffens, then glances back at her crew, then to her airship parked in the distance. “Twenty bucks apiece to take you, no questions asked, if we’re going somewhere. More the further out of our way. One hundred if you want to share my cabin.”

“Um,” Doug says, briefly flummoxed. It comes to his notice that Calaeno stands taller than even Capper, which puts her bosom at eye level. It doesn’t help that one claw pulls her dark fabric taut, flaunting the assets that, for some inexplicable reason, the parrot possesses. “Thanks, but I was curious more about what it’s like working for the Storm King. You said you used to be pirates?”

Calaeno shrugs off his refusal. “We prefer the term treasure hunters, and there were a number of places along the Obsidian Cliffs where you could make your fortune.” She offers a wry smile. “Turns out, lots of other creatures had the same idea. And the idea that you didn’t need to find that treasure yourself.” She sighs wistfully. “Those were the days, picking off the Storm King’s privateers. But then after the hippogriffs got hit? There was too much heat, so we moved to calmer waters. Going after sand and paste haulers. Less profit, but less risk.”

“You’re awfully open about this,” Doug says reluctantly. “Aren’t you worried?”

“About what, the Storm King finding out?” Celaeno laughs, more of a high pitched screech. “He knows, and might even give us a bonus for spreading word of his ‘mercy’. We got caught doing something… quite a bit worse to him. Tried to steal one of those.” She points at one of the armored airships hovering high above. “Along with his treasure fleet. Turns out, the Storm King is more competent than we gave him credit for. He caught us almost immediately, and we could only watch as he executed his second-in-command in front of us for betraying him.”

“He what?” Doug asks, astonished.

“Kicked him right off the deck, just like that.” Celaeno’s look is haunted. “What were we going to do after that? Tell him no?” She laughs, but it’s quieter this time, forlorn. “Turns out, I did. He wanted me to plot invasions for him, organize his fleet. But when two cool cats stole his ship out from under him, and I helped them get away?” She shakes her head. “At that point it was work as a cargo hauler for him or take a dive off the bow, and I don’t think he would have let me go through the air with these.” She lifts her cloak to spread her wings, an impressive white and green plumage.

“Wow,” Doug says. He wants to find fault with what the Storm King did, with his treatment of the parrots and hippogriffs. But he seems both extraordinarily lenient, with his treatment of the parrots, and ruthless with his second-in-command. But if all the stories of his ‘leniency’ come from survivors? That’s a bit of a biased group.

“In fact,” Celaeno adds, pointing behind Doug, “one of those cool cats we helped? He’s the one who guided you here.” She chuckles. “Small world, huh?”

“Yeah,” Doug says, but his amusement dies as he sees a dozen burly thugs of all sizes behind Capper. They fan out, not yet pulling out the daggers and short swords at their sides. Doug stiffens, looking around for any escape routes. If Chrysalis allows him to ride her - and sadly she might object - the sheer drop off behind them would allow an aerial escape. But otherwise?

“Sorry about that,” Capper apologizes as he steps up to Doug, acting as if noone is behind him. He places a paw on Doug’s armored shoulder. “Had to lose a tail, if you will.”

A shadow passing over the two gets both to wince, dreading glancing up.

“I think you’ll find,” Commander Tempest Shadow says from above, her tone a mocking high-pitched laugh. “That this tail is considerably harder to lose.”

The unicorn rides a small skiff packed full of Storm Guards, Grubber, and - to Doug’s astonishment - Pinkie Pie. She waves at him as if nothing is going on as everycreature disembarks to an unsteady standoff.

Ch. 23 - Spirited Response, Part Three

The uneasy standoff stops all traffic on the elevated bridge between the airship docks and the rest of Klugetown, carts stacked high with cages stalling on both sides. Those capable of taking alternate routes or disappearing altogether do so, slipping down stairs built into the tall spires.

The six armored Storm Guard grunts nervously twist hands on spears, glinting tips raised to the hazy sky. Tempest Shadow stands imperiously in front of them, daring the motley collection opposite them to make a move with a razor-sharp smirk. Grubber sags at her side, ruining the image by eating a pink-frosted cupcake with a look of pure ecstacy.

On the other side, three bulky fish monsters - as large as the Storm Guards but nowhere near as muscular - keep shifting backward, their claw-like hands on their belt sheathes. A turtle brandishes some sort of crowbar, yet stays as close to hunkered in his shell as he can without actually slipping inside. Eight short rats - technically naked mole rats, except each one wears patched-up suits of varying quality - round out the edges and front of the crew. They brandish claws, light and angry hisses through prominent buck teeth.

The best dressed mole rat steps forward, wearing an aged but still sharp suit. “Back off, you’s,” he threatens, four-clawed hand motioning as if to sweep them off the side. “This ain’t none-a you’s business.”

“You impudent mouse,” Tempest Shadow snarls back, eliciting a sharp squeak of outrage. Her horn sparks, a growl building in the back of her throat. Her malicious grin only widens as the fish monsters glance around for exits, yet the mole rats hold fast with vicious glares. “You think we take orders from you?”

She stops, or at least stalls her fury, as Grubber steps forward. “Now,” he says, polishing off the cupcake with a delectable gulp. “Not everycreature might know. Those two sure didn’t.” He points at the Storm Guards, two of the otherwise indistinguishable grunts tightening their grip on their spears. Grubber turns the motion into holding his claws out, Pinkie Pie only too happy to supply him another cupcake, this one blue and green. He eyes it as only a connoisseur might, searching for any imperfection and finding none. “But when they saw her run off with Capper?” He flicks his head at the Abyssinian standing by Doug and Chrysalis. “We know he works for Verko.”

“Now, look, friends,” Capper says, as cool as a cat. He walks forward with a placating spread of his paws. Behind him Doug whispers to Chrysalis, and she nods, concealed but eager. “We don’t need to resort to violence! I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

“Yeah?” the front mole rat spits out, still trying to intimidate the unicorn with a knife-like glare. It doesn’t work, her restraint showing as she growls again. “Well, we ain’t gonna let you haul her off in chains. Not when Verko wants her, and Verko gets what he wants.”

“Yeah?” Grubber echoes. “Well, you might want to back off if you don’t want to get dropped. The Storm King doesn’t want anything happening to her.”

“Yeah!” Pinkie Pie bounds forward, offering each creature a cupcake she pulls from her mane. “Cupcake? Cupcake?” She frowns when the first two refuse. “They’re delicious~!” She smiles as they try them, then beams when they find them as advertised. “So... what kind of business does this Verko have that needs twelve of you?”

“Us?” The lead mole rat takes a cupcake with a frown. “We’re just here to make sure she don’t get cold hooves.”

“As if the twelve of you could…” Tempest Shadow gawks at the blank space next to the parrots where Chrysalis was standing. “Wait, where did she go?!” She dashes to the edge of the bridge, her horn sparking as she fruitlessly scans.

“Hey!” Chrysalis says as she pulls out of her dive behind one of the spires, wings straining to keep the two aloft. “This isn’t mounting and taking me for a ride!”

“I’m sorry,” Doug deadpans. He jams himself between her wings and withers, arms hugging her neck as tightly as he can. He grimaces at the buildings rushing by, barely able to answer her as fear grips his chest. “What else did you think I was talking about?”

“Well, excuse me for correctly interpreting the way you were staring at that parrot’s mammaries.” Chrysalis’ indignant flip of the mane is somewhat ruined by the rushing wind. “Or the way your face flushed. A blind pony could see that you wanted under her tail feathers.”

“I… Okay, fine. I was curious.” Doug huffs. “But I thought birds laid eggs. Why would she need breasts?”

“You thought…” Chrysalis trails off, turning to stare at Doug.

He yelps as they continue straight for a building, yanking at her mane like a pair of reins. She pulls up just in time, then continues going straight up until they crest into the thin clouds above, making wide circles over the city hidden in the haze.

“You thought parrots are birds?” Chrysalis repeats, astonished. “And laid eggs? What planet did you come from?”

“Not this one,” Doug grunts out, mildly amuses him that he can answer that question honestly. As well, his terror at slipping off is lessened by the fact that he never took his parachute off, the light backpack useful for storing bags of bits and whatnot. He slowly gets his breathing under control, body complaining about the impromptu ride. “You know, I never thought I would say this. I’m not a living monster manual, despite playing a lot of O and O, and I don’t have the Codicil Creature Compendium memorized.”

“Indeed,” Chrysalis says with a hint of a sneer, but her wry smile slips as the tight grip around her neck fails to loosen. She chuckles as she realizes why, amusedly asking, “Is this your first time flying on somepony?”

Doug gulps, wishing he had something better to grab on to. “I-it’s mostly been airships. And one time Rainbow Dash saved me from falling.”

“So,” Chrysalis says with a wide grin, tongue licking at her fangs, “this is your virgin flight? Oh-ho-ho, Rainbow Dash will be furious I took this from her. But she had her chance, and it’s too late now. Isn’t it? ” She chuckles to herself, a deep rumble that turns predatory. “Now, I believe we were talking about you mounting me.”

Her horn flares, a bright green that lights up the haze around them. She starts slowly, tantalizingly pressing from the top of his light armor to the faulds along his legs. She snakes under, ignoring his flinch and gasp as she reaches the thin cloth underneath. Yet trying to go further leaves her stymied; she gets none of the feedback she would get from touching somepony. She prods again, stronger, yet feels nothing! Besides his hands slipping from her mane.

“P-please stop,” Doug whimpers from behind.

“Aww, what’s wrong?” Chrysalis teases, turning to wink at him. “Don’t you want to-”

She cuts off, pupils shrinking to pinpricks as she sees her bright green aura at his midsection. One leg is separated from her. The other, like his hands, uselessly struggles to find purchase against her sleek chitin. If she went any farther she would have pushed him off completely. Her aura shifts to his armor, that familiar feedback returns, and she drags him back on her.

“Thanks,” Doug ekes out. The quaking of his breath slows, but the pounding of his heart doesn’t.

“Mm,” Chrysalis says, inwardly appalled at herself. Here she is trying to thank him and she nearly sends him overboard! She can’t sense fear, but that means nothing coming from him. The only mollifying thing is that his innate nullness stills her shock, calming her down. The words feel foreign coming out of her mouth. “S-sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Y-yeah,” Doug stammers, but doesn’t loosen his tight grip. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Chrysalis glances down. Perhaps it wasn’t just forcing him off? “Are you afraid of heights?”

“I like to think I have a rational appreciation of the danger.” Doug shifts to get a better handhold and because his crotch is killing him with every flap of her wings, seriously considering swapping to side-saddle. It only gets worse as the adrenaline leaves his body. He shudders as he continues, “But yes. It’s tough for me to look down a tall building. Canterlot sucks. Cloudsdale is even worse.”

“You were on the airship just fine,” Chrysalis states, but more curious than accusatory. “Not like Shining Armor.”

“It’s different being on flying transports,” Doug says. He looks up, trying to remember, anything to take his mind off the pain. “I used to have a picture. The text said something along the lines of, ‘Aviation in itself is not inherently dangerous. But to an even greater degree than the sea, it is terribly unforgiving of any carelessness, incapacity or neglect. And there was a picture of an airplane crashed into a tree, with one wing torn off and the cockpit ruined.”

Chrysalis nods knowingly. “Is that why you never took Rainbow Dash for a ride?”

“Partially.” Doug stalls, thinking back. “I wasn’t sure about the mechanics of it. I mean, I’m bigger than her. But I don’t think lift would be an issue, since she can go so fast. She complained about my weight when she caught me a year ago. But she also caught Rarity and two Wonderbolts. So... maybe we could have made it work. They have pegasi pull Princess Celestia around and she’s as big as you. But Dash was pregnant and didn’t want to risk anything, and then there was the accident where she lost her magic. After that, I dunno, I never really thought about her that way.”

He wistfully sighs at the years of missed experiences, knowing how much Rainbow Dash would have loved to share her flight with him instead of him just watching. “But I think it was initially that I thought it would be demeaning to ask. You give rides to kids, like Twilight does with Spike, not to other adults. I’ve never asked Applejack to give me a ride, even if she could handle me easily.”

“Yet you asked me,” Chrysalis says with a glare. “When I was Queen I punished such insolence quite severely.”

“Well,” Doug returns, gripping her tighter. He barely relaxes as she turns her glare to a wink, still looking pained. “That’s why I asked you. You could have said no.”

“I suppose, and we escaped their clutches.” Chrysalis pauses, a bit of intrigue entering her voice. “You said something about an airplane. Is that like an airship?”

“Sort of.” Doug winces as he shifts again. “It’s heavier than air, so no balloon. It uses propellers to generate forward thrust and Bernoulli’s Principle to generate lift with specially designed wings. I’ve done most of my flying in airplanes.”

“How do they compare to riding me?” Chrysalis grins as she looks back, but frowns at his agonized look. “You okay?”

“I-I’ll be okay,” Doug forces out, letting go with one hand to better support his rear. “The flapping takes a lot to get used to. But it’s not bad.”

“I’ll have Rarity make me a saddle for next time.” Chrysalis smirks at what the unicorn’s reaction would be like. She’d need to make sure it was a true riding saddle and not some flimsy ornamental piece those Canterlot snobs wore.

“Next time?” Doug retorts, pushing harder against her. He can barely keep his face straight with the pain shooting through him. “I think we need to make it through this time.”

Chrysalis glances down at his crotch and the way he awkwardly shifts back and forth. Or how he winces every time she flaps her wings. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to be a mare about it.”

“Like I said,” Doug starts.

“And it might be something serious.” Chrysalis somehow makes her ever-present malevolent glare look worried and caring. “Possibly testicular torsion.”

“And you know about this how?” Doug asks, afraid she might be right. It does hurt, right in that area.

“It’s an important part of a stallion, and one mares care about a great deal.” Chrysalis releases an impertinent snort. “Besides, I’ve had to impersonate a lot of doctors over the years.”

“Somehow,” Doug grunts, the agony only getting worse, “claiming you’ve played doctor doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Please,” Chrysalis scoffs. “I put effort into my impersonations, and I knew more than all of them put together. One of the benefits of living so long. Now, hike up that armor and let’s take a look.”

Ch. 24 - Spirited Response, Part Four*

“Well.” Doug stares at Chrysalis, not actually moving yet. He clenches his teeth even as he smirks. “I have to say, if this is a plot to get into my pants? It’s pretty obvious.”

“Oh?” Chrysalis flashes him a sly grin, the tiniest hint of red poking out between her lips. “If what it takes is a cunning plot, then Rainbow Dash must be the most devious of us all.”

Doug snorts, his bluster gone, momentarily forgetting how high up he is to let go and rub at his forehead. “Okay, you got me there.”

“Oh, I’ll do far more than get you.” Chrysalis takes the opportunity while he is distracted to hook a foreleg back and on the opposite side, almost like she is going to toss him off again. Once he has a secure - if somewhat confused - grasp she rolls over and flies upright. It’s awkward with him riding on her belly, but she’s endured worse. “Besides, it’s not like you normally wear pants.”

Doug sighs, long and loud. Her barrel isn’t much softer than her back, tough chitin all around. He warily looks down; it’s uncomfortable, he might slip, but his boots against her thick flanks seem stable enough. If top-heavy; her head comes up to his waist.

“You’re much more reluctant than I imagined.” Chrysalis cocks her head to the side and regards him curiously. It bothers her that she doesn’t have a perfect read on him. Where is this reluctance coming from? The duel between Shining Armor and the Storm King? No, it started earlier than that. “Ocellus reports you as eager, often initiating with her before her stores of love would demand. You’re at the top for frequency, especially for a herd of your size.”

“Do you keep reports on every stallion in Equestria?” Doug quips, chuckling as he shakes his head.

“And the mares,” Chrysalis responds guilelessly. The corners of her muzzle twist upwards in her trademark grin, exposing her vicious fangs, tantalizing despite their sharpness. “Though I only pay attention to the ones that… intrigue me.”

It might be harder to attune to physical signs than to emotions, but that doesn’t slow her in the least. She notes the twitch of his mouth, the swell of his chest, and how he perks up considerably. Stallions love compliments and assurances of their prowess, but this is different. He desires… desire? She grins as one hand goes to his waist and hooks under his armor, though he still has a bit of a grimace.

“Does it still bother you?” she asks, nodding toward his crotch. Her tongue pokes out again, wetting herself in preparation. She can taste him already, his body unwashed after their day-long trip through the desert sun and the stress from her trial. Another deep inhale does nothing but deepen her craving, filling her with his salt-tinged scent.

His mouth pulls tighter, teeth chewing on his tongue. Did he bite himself? “Not as much. I… guess I need more practice riding bareback?”

“Done.” She matches his smirk as his armor’s undergarment drops enough to expose himself, his hand keeping his erect member propped up and away. Her hoof reaches up, gently cradling first one tender orb and then the other. Small for a stallion but just as potent. His breath catches as she closes the distance, neck having to stretch down to better view him.

“There doesn’t seem to be any swelling,” she states clinically, giving him a sharp pinch on the inner thigh and watching that side contract.

“You’re being very… professional about this,” Doug says from above, his other hand steadying himself on the back of her head.

“You expected me to rush in?” Chrysalis demands haughtily, but her smirk gives away her jest. Her hoof slowly climbs his shaft, an inch at a time, finally resting on his hand. He shudders even at her light touch. “You’re fine, if sore from the unpadded contact.” Her smirk widens with her challenge. “Unless you don’t want me to continue testing?”

A stroke of her hoof draws another sharp inhale. The hand behind her head grips into her mane, locking her in place. But he doesn’t mash her forward, not yet. It feels unnatural, not immediately taking what she wants, especially with one so obviously willing.

“Sweet Celestia you’re tempting,” Doug groans out. She grins at the admission, yet it frustrates her that he doesn’t lower his cock and take her then and there. A low whine in the back of her throat poorly conveys that desire, judging by how he fails to meet her challenge. “But why would you want me? I’ve already got…”

He pulls his hand away, counting with taps on her withers.

“Six with Ocellus,” Chrysalis answers, watching his face. She can sense that craving again, that desire for her enthusiastic participation. Her hoof moves slowly, not to stimulate but to keep him at attention. She finds her smile has fallen, replaced by that ever-present malevolent glare. And the frustration at that neutralizes just as quickly. “It is the most of anyling, including myself, since we joined.”

“Yeah.” His crestfallen look surprises her. She expected the opposite reaction to being told he is the most virile. “But that’s because she’s, well, not with foal. It’s just been nymphs.”

Chrysalis wishes he didn’t bring that up. Her and Celestia’s original bargain required those changelings who were not with foal to either leave Equestria or renounce Chrysalis to swear allegiance to Celestia. She doubts the eldest alicorn would have held Ocellus to that bargain. And none of her brood would betray her. Yet… the likeliest would have been Thorax. And Ocellus has been spending a lot of time with him and Pharynx. Coincidence?

Perhaps. Perhaps not. She hides her evaluation of her former infiltrator and asks sharply, “Have you not seen her grubs?”

“Err,” Doug stalls, briefly grimacing. “Not since you all transformed last week. Before that they all looked, well, the same. Hard to tell apart with you raising them collectively.”

“I prefer the uniform appearance,” Chrysalis bluntly confesses. “We had a unified purpose, a singular goal, and together everyling worked toward it. Now? We are fragmented, for as much as our wide distribution is by design. Our fracturing is clearly evidenced by their differing colorations, as much as they delight in their new colors and individuality.”

“You don’t approve of the new colors?” Doug runs his fingers through her thick mane, smiling fondly. His hand continues traveling back, his tall form bending over hers. “I like your new look.”

“Mm.” The burst of happiness is short-lived, even as he rubs the spot closest to her stored foal and eggs. She rewards him with a fast pump of her hoof, eliciting a light moan. “None of the greens are sharp enough, to say nothing of the pastel pinks and blues. Ocellus is a prime example.”

“She… She’s alright.” Doug scratches at the back of his head, then returns to her mane. “Honestly? I’m with you there. I don’t care for the pink or blue. I liked her original black, even if it was hard to pick out of a crowd. But you can’t be doing this just because Shining Armor gives you, I dunno, blue grubs.”

“I am not that superficial,” Chrysalis spits out. Despite him being absolutely correct. His growing brood with Ocellus all match her pinks and blues with some blending; if she could get the same? “But the grubs do inherit characteristics from their sire. A unicorn such as Shining Armor produces more thaumically gifted ‘lings. Those from a pegasus, even one such as Bulk Biceps, fly better. Useful traits, of course. But yours?”

She meets his eyes, hers glinting with anticipation. Her hoof pulls down on his shaft, skin receding and exposing that engorged head in all its glory. She relishes the pulses and twitches, so easy to please even without an intimate understanding of his reactions. She lines him up, ready to plunge in, his grip on her loosening. He wouldn’t stop her; no, he wants her, too!

“Yours are… tenacious.” Her smile at the word persists, even with his aura of apathy. And she can feel the same reaction from him, his pulse quickening in her hoof. “They are not the strongest nor the fastest. But they do not give up. They keep staring when others get distracted. They do not complain, they just push harder. And that perseverance will be mine.”

In an instant Chrysalis envelopes his cock, lapping at the sweet bulb pushing out of him. She can already taste his excitement, the singular drop tantalizing her taste buds. Her teeth gently rake down his shaft as she takes him farther, all the way to the hilt in no time at all. Her snout presses against him and still she pushes, moaning with delight. There is no need to bob her head while she deep-throats him; her tongue coils around and strokes, a constrictor rhymically squeezing, drawing that life-giving seed out of him. A lesser stallion would have shot his load then and there! Yet he endures, enlarging with a few shuddering pulses.

“Sweet Celestia,” Doug groans, nearly collapsing. Fingers twist into her mane, gripping tight and searching for any kind of support. He can only stare at the long fangs that brush against his belly. It’s exhilarating, that rush of danger, that at any moment she could clamp her mouth together and neatly bite him off. He can barely hold on, not swimming but drowning in hedonistic pleasure.

“Your Princess?” Chrysalis says as she withdraws, lavishing his tip with one last flick of her long tongue. His needful moan is music to her ears. “She could be marinating in my belly and you would think nothing of basting her with your seed.”

She grins as she goes back, only to find him going limp as if he had been thrust not in a cold shower but the frigid waste of the Frozen North. She frowns; the only way his erection could have disappeared faster would be if she had actually severed him.

“Why?!” Doug pleads, wrenching her head up to stare at her. She could easily fight him off but doesn’t, meeting eyes flitting between anguish and rage. “Why would… why would you even joke about something like that?!”

“Are-” Chrysalis starts haughtily, only for him to cut her off.

“And don’t even tell me that it’s true,” Doug chokes out. He tears his gaze away from her to stare at the sky, avoiding her look. “Shit, it probably is. I completely forgot we were flying for a moment.”

Chrysalis fumes with an angry snort at being denied her prize. “Are you so foalish as to think I would actually devour the Princess of the Sun?”

“Well,” Doug says before sighing to himself. He shakes his head unhappily, releasing his tight grip on her. “No. Not the Princess.”

“Then the prince protests too much, methinks,” Chrysalis retorts with a wry sneer. She swaps forelegs, one of the holes on her left side the perfect size to constrict his erection like a ring. There would be no repeats of him losing interest, not when she-

She frowns as she presses her decidedly not-holed leg against his flaccid member. It bends to the side easily. She hates how her transformation throws off her proprioception! She never has this problem when she copies another form.

“I don’t think it works like that,” he helpfully advises. That or he is contesting her retort, but from his grin she doesn’t think it’s that.

“Silence.” She glares at nothing in particular. It would be unbecoming to be forced to tease him back to full readiness, even if she is no longer queen. Even as his excitement slowly returns. “But it is more than mere physical characteristics that I desire from you.”

“Oh?” Doug’s voice has lost any trace of the animosity he projected earlier. That eagerness returns, and it isn’t solely because of her stroking hoof. “Why else?”

“Because you believe in us.” Chrysalis glumly sighs as she lowers her head, stopping inches away from his tip. “Shining Armor and Cadance profess the same, but I can sense their hesitancy. He has not forgiven me for what I did to his Cadance. Yet you? You have embraced Luna as a part of your herd despite her near calamity. I do not believe it is the lack of doubt that I sense from you. Am I wrong? Am I misreading you?”

By the end her sneer has progressed further than she wants, openly daring him to contest her claims. She pulls it back, finding it easy to release her condemnation, that hostility she feels for any who might oppose her.

“No,” Doug says after a few second’s consideration. “You’re right. I do believe in the better you. And in Luna. I even have hope for the griffons, if you’ll believe that.”

She grins, and a laugh that might have been mocking at his naivete instead comes out optimistic and cheerful.

“I desire that hope,” she purrs, resting the tip of his now-erect penis against her lips. But she doesn’t engulf him just yet, resisting the hands digging into her mane and pressing her forward. “You would help me and mine find meaning, a worthwhile pursuit, to be more than broodmares and petty laborers.”

She starts low this time, the base of his shaft, not needing to move as her long tongue stretches. She enjoys his shudders even if she cannot partake of his belly-filling lust, though he would certainly be filling her belly.

She grins up at him, smacking her lips in anticipation. “I would reward that hope.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Doug starts, only to cut off with a low moan as she dips down.

She takes him halfway, bobbing up and down against the protrusion of his head. Every time she passes the thin valley he clenches in pure pleasure, his quickening breath only spurring her faster. But she denies him, if just for a moment, pulling away before he can release. She looks up, waiting until he recovers and meets her gaze.

“For that confidence in me? That hope, that belief? I would reward you in any way you desire.” She motions to his cock with a short nod of her head. “If you do not wish this?”

She pulls away, only for his hand to lock her in place. She grins at the confirmation of his - and her - intent. And what a glorious intent it is!

“You would help me build a new nation, a new people, from the ashes and destruction we have wrought. A culture based on achievement and greatness instead of deception and theft. And such a monumental task deserves an equal reward.” She stares into his eyes and swears, solemnly and sincerely. “I shall bear a thousand of your young. For as long as you join me, I shall join with you. A progenitor of our race.”

She gives into the hands pulling her toward him, relishing how he forces her muzzle open and pierces into her. Lips cover teeth as he thrusts, his warm and hard shaft ramming along the length of her tongue. It takes no time at all for him to reach his limit, the teasing and denial too much for even his alicorn-tempered endurance.

She pulls back as his cock twitches, keeping his head locked between her teeth. Her tongue lines up against his tip, catching the first surge of seed as it releases. It tastes wonderful, full of potential, and her whole body vibrates with excitement. The next two pulses spill off the sides, tempting her to swallow him in his entirety, but she has much larger plans than a lustful meal.

She withdraws as he finishes filling her, maw gaping wide to show him the seed she has taken. He stiffens, the simple sight enough to get him ready to go again, but she doesn’t close her mouth and swallow like his mares. Instead, to his gasp of exaggerated horror, she lets the seed flow down her tongue and past her lips.

But not to be blown away in the wind, but to her other set of lips. Her bright green aura catches the glob of white and slips it inside her sopping nethers. The saliva mixed in makes it easier to maneuver, a rush of ecstasy spreading through her as she pushes deep. A crude method, but effective, and she swallows the rest once his seed is safely stowed away. It would not take long to guide to a waiting egg. Or perhaps two? There is certainly enough.

“The first of many,” she says breathlessly, settling on one. For now. She wonders what the grub will be like. Will it copy her coloration completely? How adept would it be at shapeshifting, at flying, at magic? More importantly, will it share her ruthless drive and their unyielding tenacity? So many possibilities, and her eyes sparkle at imagining them.

“You’re incorrigible,” Doug pants out, adjusting and packing himself away.

“Would you have me be any other way?” Chrysalis asks demurely, licking the last of him from her fangy grin. She actually means it, too, if he did ask.

“Yeah, no,” Doug agrees, though with a note of trepidation. He shifts as she rolls back to a normal flying position, not straddling her like before but sitting with both legs off one side, one arm looped around her neck. “What… How do you think Shining Armor will take this?”

Chrysalis scowls, but it’s short-lived. “Cadance was eager for me to join with you,” she starts, keeping her acid reserved. “Because he cannot see beyond my past. If he desires to lay with me beyond for a foal? I shall. But he will not be terribly heart-broken. Now be quiet.”

She leans back, resting her head on his shoulder, not for his support but for hers. Because who wants to be reviled? In the past, she embraced the infamous image because she must. But now?

Now, things will be glorious.

Ch. 25 - Spirited Response, Part Five

For several blissful minutes Chrysalis soars, rhythmically beating her cobalt wings against the hazy, dusty air. She finds it… pleasant to not have to correct for the holes in her previous set. She devotes the extra attention to fabricating her next egg, siphoning from her overstocked stores of fat and protein and guiding the creation of the newest addition to her brood.

The combination happens in an instant, taking her by surprise. The two halves meet like clashing forces and the result is not a battle she needs to influence but a complete rout. Like releasing ink into water, or air into a vacuum, changeling magic immediately fills the void. Like a parasitic insect, as much as she hates the analogy, that consumes its victim and turns the usable components into more of itself. There would be influence from him, certainly, but not on core characteristics. With others she can control the outcome, a burst of magic sufficient to overpower the fledgling core. But here? There is no question that the final result will be a changeling. She doubts she could ever force the outcome to be fully human. Ocellus mentioned that Doug isn’t like a pony. But it takes feeling firsthoof the difference between him and every other creature she bred with to hammer that point home.

“You know,” Doug whispers, trying to be unobtrusive yet drawing her out of her reverie. “The others are waiting for us.”

“Then they can wait a little longer,” Chrysalis replies, scowling.

“Sure,” Doug says, lightly sighing as he goes back to leaning against her neck.

She tries to go back to her egg, yet finds she has automatically completed the process she has gone through ten thousand times before. She huffs, turning so he can clearly see her scowl.

“What?” Chrysalis demands. “Couldn’t wait to get back to your ponies?”

Doug snorts. “Hardly. I’m tired of my thoughts spinning in bigger circles than you’re making.”

“Applejack?” Chrysalis guesses. By pony custom she should have gone to the lead mare before studding with the stallion. Not that she cares. Well, she somewhat cares, if only to avoid alienating a begrudgingly valuable ally.

“I was thinking more Rainbow Dash.” Doug shudders, trying to keep a brave face. Chrysalis can imagine why, the only difficulty being not injuring the pugilistic pegasus if she comes after her. “She’s going to see or hear about you flying me around. I hope that, instead of being furious, she’ll see you as an inspiration.”

“Me?” Chrysalis laughs, short and derisive. “An inspiration?”

“Sure,” Doug says, this time with a genuine smile. His hands flit around, trying to demonstrate. “Maybe she’ll want to test flying around with me, I don’t know, hooked under her forelegs. She lifted a pony - actually three ponies - like that once. If I don’t fit on her back. But she’ll do it because she saw you doing it.”

Chrysalis considers that as her wings lock, slowly gliding down to the city below. She is a role model for her ‘lings, of course. But the only thing she ever inspires in the other races is fear and loathing. Or lust until they find out, if they ever find out. She talked about creating art and buildings, but creating things that inspire?

Klugetown slowly becomes visible as they descend, the tallest construction spires landmarks she uses to glide to Capper’s destination. She didn’t need the Abyssinian’s assistance to navigate the twisting back alleys and passageways of the labyrinthian city. It would be easier if she didn’t have a history with the proprietor of this… establishment. Though she could probably say that about most of Equus.

The building in question displays an opulence far fancier than most of the ramshackle slums in lower Klugetown. Polished jewels adorn every gilded corner while chains of silver and bronze swish in front of windows and doorways. Diamonds the size of a head, with rings made for a finger, grace a white and black Abyssinian bouncer standing at the door. He dourly regards the two as they land. Pinkie Pie stands next to him, waving at them cheerfully.

“It’s a trap,” Doug mutters to Chrysalis as they get closer.

She snorts. “It’s not a trap, it’s a test.”

His face scrunches up. “If you successfully steal from them, what, they offer you a job?”

Chrysalis grunts in affirmation.

Doug nods along obligingly. “And if you don’t get away?”

“They make you an offer you can’t refuse,” Chrysalis returns with a smirk. “Which is also a job. Only somecreature dumb enough to want to work for Verko would dare steal from him.”

“Hey!” the cat in front of the store objects as they land.

“I see.” Doug looks at the sulking cat, then at Pinkie Pie. “Hey, Pinkie!”

“Hi, Dougie!” Pinkie Pie shifts her mane to expose the box on her back. “You forgot these! Also, you’re terrible at hide-and-seek!” She shakes her head as she pronks over. She plants her legs on his thighs, reaching up and trading a nuzzle as Doug returns her fond smile. “You aren’t supposed to come to me.” Her eyes suddenly go wide, rearing back in alarm. “Unless I was the hi-dee! But if that’s the case, it took you a long time to count to one hundred! Like, a really, really long time!”

“Something like that,” Doug chuckles, scratching at the back of Pinkie Pie’s mane as his other hand keeps the box of Storm King toys from falling. “Everything turn out okay?”

“Yup! Those Storm Guards can really pack away a pie, if you know what I mean!” Her smile beams as her eyes sparkle. “They loved my party! And so did the unicorns who keep the reactor running, and the pegasi that work the lightning, but I didn’t see any earth ponies, and the one Abyssinian they had scrubbing floors, like all the floors, and the two griffons in charge of inventory, and the hippogriff keeping everycreature in check when Tempest Shadow wasn’t there, and that Grubber who’s, like, a storm creature but a really runty one and not a dwarf? And-”

“Wait, what?” Doug says, interrupting.

Pinkie Pie eyes Doug curiously. “Grubber? He’s short, you met him at Canterlot, third in command? He really likes my cupcakes! And maybe if he eats enough of them he’ll grow up big and strong like his older brothers in the Guard, but-”

“No, no, before that,” Doug says.

“The Abyssinian?” Pinkie Pie glances at the cat standing guard and still trying to look menacing. “I don’t think the Storm King likes her very much. Or cats in general. And they hate getting their fur all sticky, they walk really funny with tar on one side, and the others kept-”

“After that,” Doug tries again.

“The griffons? They-”

Doug doesn’t let her get started. “After.”

Pinkie Pie raises an eyebrow. “Tempest Shadow?”

Doug sighs loudly. “You said there was a hippogriff working for the Storm King?”

“Oh, yeah!” Pinkie Pie nods furiously, dislodging several pieces of candy from her mane. “Lieutenant Commander Kay Ay! He liked the seafood pizza the most. He tried a cupcake, but it was sea blue, and that must have reminded him of something important because he kept staring to the southeast. I can get not staring down at the water here, the color is atrocious! He said it’s a lot better around Mount Aris. But he hasn’t been back there since he started working as a valet and he’s risen up the ranks ever since!”

“Do we need the backstory on every single creature you met?” Chrysalis growls impatiently. She turns to Doug. “I thought you were in a hurry.”

“Oops! I didn’t realize!” Pinkie Pie first hugs Doug, then a scowling Chrysalis. “Oh! If they offer you an all-expenses-paid cruise trip, be sure to read the fine print! Because you’re probably selling yourself into indentured servitude. Which isn’t slavery, I checked.”

“Good to know,” Doug says, looking up at the sign above. “Verko’s Legitimate Financing and Rouge Guild.” His eye scrunches up again. “They sell makeup?”

“We also reconstruct faces and remodel businesses,” the Abyssinian growls out, crossing his arms and trying to look tough. He’s a bit shorter than Doug and quite slender, not exactly an intimidating figure. “You’s want a discount?”

“Ooh, that’d be great,” Doug says, giving the confused cat an amiable smile. He waves at Pinkie Pie, “See you later!”

“Goodbye!” Pinkie Pie returns, pronking away. She shouts with a wink, “Oh, and congratulations, you two!”

“Don’t ask,” Doug cautions Chrysalis, who had no intention of asking anyway. He walks to the front entrance, the guard grumbling as he steps to the side, and pushes through the silver chains. Chrysalis follows shortly behind.

They enter a fairly normal looking reception area, a few potted plants breaking up the otherwise drab atmosphere. A short, squat mole-rat greets them from behind a counter with a guarded smile. She clicks her claws together as they approach. “My name is Sandy. Can I help you?”

“Doug. I’d like to get my Equestrian bits changed into Storm Bucks.” He pulls out the fist of many bags, flashing Chrysalis a dicey grin. “Good thing I didn’t drop these.”

“Yes, I am sure they could not have lived without their souvenirs,” Chrysalis deadpans back.

“Of course,” the bored mole-rat says, dumping the first bag and efficiently counting out the coins and gems in front of him. It totals six thousand bits, mostly in gems. She continues in a practiced monotone, “There’s a nine percent charge and an eight percent surcharge on gems.”

“Rarity is not going to like that,” Doug mutters to himself. He flicks a hand outside. “Your doorcat said something about a discount?”

Sandy pulls out a form and pushes it forward. “We’ll wave the entire fee with this. Would you like cash or check?”

“Um,” Doug starts.

“Storm Bucks only come in singles,” the mole-rat offers with a palpable look of dread at actually having to count out more than five hundred bucks.

“Check is fine.” Doug takes the form, reading the first line with a frown. “This is an application for a spot on a cruise ship.” He shakes his head as he returns it, pulling out a second bag. Chrysalis swipes the form as he says, “Can I get this one, and the rest, counted separately?”

“Certainly.” Sandy pulls out a piece of paper, tallying up how many bits and gems are in each bag. She frowns as Chrysalis returns a completed cruise ship application, quickly reading through it. “Everything… appears in order. When will your replacement be arriving?”

“One week.” Chrysalis glances at Doug and his quiet harrumph. “Yes?”

“You’d sell your child into slavery?” Doug demands, hands on his hips.

“Indentured servitude,” Chrysalis corrects with a smirk. “For three thousand bits? I’d sell you into slavery.” She winks, though Doug doesn’t look amused. “Plus, working on a cruise ship could provide valuable experience and blackmail. I mean, information.”

“Sign here so we have a signature to compare to the cashed checks,” Sandy says, back to being bored. She pushes a piece of paper at Doug. “The account is in a lump sum, with the individual tallies here.” She pushes the lined paper to him along with a stack of checks. “You’ll need to sign them. The penalty for overdrawing is twenty-five Storm Bucks. When or if you wish to cash out you may receive your balance in either Storm Bucks or Equestrian bits at no charge.”

“Got it,” Doug says, lowering his pen to the paper. He stops as he reads the filled-in form. “Hey, this is another application for a cruise ship.”

“Force of habit,” the mole-rat says without a hint of an actual apology. She passes him a blank piece of paper this time. Doug signs it after checking both sides and she stamps the checks. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s it,” Doug says, collecting the checks and putting them in his backpack.” He remarks to Chrysalis, “So, this Verko guy. Did you try to steal from him?”

“Only his love,” Chrysalis says with a long sigh. “But I miscalculated. You see-”

“Ah-ha!” comes a high-pitched shout from the front entrance. “I thought I smelled viper.”

A suited mole-rat, the best dressed they have seen so far, stands in the doorway. He has a large black top hat, speckles that glint with reflected light, and a patched-up suit that Rarity might refer to as ratty. Verko grins greedily, stepping forward. The disturbed chains swing back and forth, revealing a caged wagon outside.

“Chrysalis!” Verko stalks up to her, brandishing a claw. “I imagined you to be a Rufus to my Débutante! My sister miraculously recovered from her illness! But instead, you matched that name all too perfectly. A common snake.”

“Sister?” Doug asks, frowning at Chrysalis. Verko seems far too happy to let her explain, grinning like she’s full of dirt he’s about to dig through. “So you miscalculated by…”

Chrysalis huffs at her mistake, even if it happened years ago. “Only one mole-rat goes into heat at a time.” She raises an eyebrow as Doug crosses his arms and looks sternly at her. “What? They’re all sisters and brothers. One big family.”

“I would have done anything to get my sister back,” Verko states, sighing dramatically. “For that is all a mole-rat has in this world. Their family. But after it turned out that the most famous healer, Mage Meadowbrook, has been missing for a thousand years, our last hope was gone.” He wheels around, bombastically pointing at Chrysalis. “But you gave us back that hope, only to destroy it when you were found out!”

Chrysalis nods gravely. “I remember your sister.” Verko perks up, losing his enmity. “I could send one of my brood. Teach her the mannerisms, the stories, what I had gleaned from your sister in her final days.” Her tone takes on the sweetness of honey. “She loved to talk, and I am sure you would love to listen to her once again.”

Verko eyes her cautiously. “For how long?”

“A year? Two? However long you require, and she would be available in any capacity you desire.” Chrysalis grins her fangy grin. “She will be here in a week, sooner with an airship.”

“Then I shall send one this minute!” Verko races forward to embrace Chrysalis’ leg. She ignores the temptation to kick him away. “And I shall spread the word that you, and all changelings, are to be welcome in Klugetown!”

“Great.” Chrysalis shakes her leg, succeeding in dislodging the mole-rat. A few quick steps take her out the door, Doug at her side. “Walk or fly?”

“Flying is fine,” Doug says, smoothly jumping onto her side. His arm again wraps around her neck. “So, you’re awfully mercenary about sending your ‘lings on these… missions.”

“Have a plan to seduce anyone you meet,” Chrysalis states evenly, following up with a wink at Doug.

Doug chuckles, drawing a contented purr as his fingers dance along her neck toward her muzzle. “Boom, headshot?”

“Is that what the foals call it these days?” She reaches her tongue out, licking at his thumb. Her tone turns serious. “Does it bother you?”

“I mean, if they’re consenting, I don’t see how I can object.” He sighs, looking up at the hazy clouds perpetually surrounding the city. “I just, I dunno. I think that things work better with long-term commitments. But that’s not how you’ve operated, and things have worked out for you, right? More or less. Have you been married before?”

“I have been married more times than years you’ve been alive,” Chrysalis says, pensively instead of spitefully. “But even all combined, I have been married for less time than you and Applejack.”

“Mm.” Doug surprises Chrysalis by putting himself off balance to hug her with both arms, squeezing tight against her neck.

She wants to return the hug and the sense of hope she can barely taste, yet any sort of aerial antics this time would be a bit more obvious. By the time the multicolored throng comes into view he is holding on more for dear life than for reassurance. As expected, Rainbow Dash bolts up to greet them, but the wide-eyed pegasus does little more than point a hoof and sputter.

Pinkie Pie returned before them, because of course she did, and the five ponies cluster around Doug as he disembarks from Chrysalis’ ebony withers. They line up, herd order with Applejack in the lead, trading deep nuzzles and soft kisses and collecting their checks only as an afterthought.

“Hey,” Shining Armor states as he walks up to Chrysalis. His voice is neutral, a light bump of withers the remainder of their greeting. “Good to see you’re safe.”

“Indeed,” Chrysalis says, matching his glower, watching Doug unsuccessfully beat off the ponies mobbing him. She sighs wistfully, especially as Shining Armor walks away from the amorous sight with a wry snort and goes back to browsing at the knife merchant.

Applejack growls as Rainbow Dash sneaks in a second nuzzle, diving past Pinkie Pie to secure another. A jostled Cadance gets her checkbook along with a, perhaps misplaced, nuzzle and kiss. It doesn’t bother her in the slightest, at least until Rainbow Dash slips under Doug. She leaps to her hooves with him on her withers, overbalancing and sending him crashing backward into Twilight. The pile devolves into a writhing heap of wrestling ponies, only Rarity extracting herself with a relieved flick of her styled mane. Until a pink hoof grabs her hock and drags her back in.

A bemused Chrysalis, detached even from group hysteria, inches jumpily. Keeping limber means nothing over Pinkie’s queen reaching shove, throwing under voracious waifus extracting yummy zeal.

Ch. 26 - Weight of the Empire, Part One

“Alright, Rainbow, that’s enough prancing about,” Doug says sternly. His knees are tired from clenching onto the pegasus’ withers for what feels like hours. Applejack trots alongside, staying close as they once again navigate through the crowded market. Chrysalis has long since gone inside, leaving the ponies milling about. “We’ve spent the last of our Storm Bucks and I’m getting hungry.”

“Aww,” Rainbow Dash groans to the top-heavy human riding on her back. Well, riding might be pushing it. She has to walk really slowly or he complains about her jostling him, even though he only fell off once! “One more lap around?”

“You already had your one more lap,” Applejack retorts. She shakes her saddlebags, rattling the souvenirs inside. “Ah’m just about ready to break for lunch, too. It’s like Ah’ve been pickin’ up singles back at the farm, but Ah don’t have the smell of fresh apples to help me through it.”

She steps closer to Doug, nudging her head against his leg. He looks down, meeting her guarded stare. He sighs, reaching for her mane, but she pulls away before he can run his hand through the thick ponytail. His hand clenches into a fist, but briefly, quickly going back to holding onto Rainbow.

“Ugh, fine,” Rainbow says with an exaggerated sigh. She turns, nearly dumping Doug off in the process, and plods over to Rarity. The unicorn is still arguing with that cloth merchant over shades of blue. Which is silly, because they already have the best blue right here! She frowns as Doug hops off. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Doug smirks, squatting down. One hand teases at her chromatic mane before slipping under her barrel. Her eyes go wide as the other brushes past her teat to grip her hind leg. “Ready?”

“Dude, you don’t have to do this,” Rainbow says, though she makes no effort to stop him. She braces as he gathers his strength, then lifts her into the air with one smooth motion and an accompanying loud grunt. She barely clears his head, her barrel plopping down between his shoulders. Awkward, if not uncomfortable, and he didn’t have to roll her in the dirt to get her up here!

“No, I think I do,” Doug returns. He lets go to scratch at her muzzle, drawing her close. She nuzzles his ear with a loving grin as her legs dangle around his arms. “It’s not demeaning if we ride each other, right?”

“You call this riding?” Her tail flicks down, swatting him in the flank, but it’s far less satisfying when she hits his armor instead.

“It could be worse,” Doug says with a wry shrug, bobbing her up and down. “I could be carrying you like this!”

With a primal roar he rolls Rainbow so the base of her spine is against his shoulder, hand counterbalancing at her withers and leaving her legs kicking uselessly at the air. He has to strain to keep her from toppling forward, but at least she’s close to his own weight and a lot more cooperative than a tree trunk.

Rainbow yelps at the exposed position; it would be easy to buffet him away with a wing, yet they stay pressed against her sides. She lets her head loll back, staring at the upside-down creatures. She points at the embassy and calls out, “Giddy-up!”

Doug lurches forward with long, loping strides. Rainbow swats at his backside again and again, spurring him faster. Her tail quickly reaches a staccato cadence that matches his footfalls. The rest of the herd follow behind, wry chuckles and bemused glances at the wary creatures stopped in their tracks lest they catch the colorful madness clearly afflicting the ponies.

“Oh! Oh!” Pinkie Pie exclaims as she pronks next to Doug, jumping high enough to land on his shoulder if she angled herself right. “Do me! Do me!”

With a grand shrug and bounce from his legs Doug heaves Rainbow off his shoulder. Cerulean wings snap out, a single flick righting the mare. She lands on all four hooves, backpedaling away as Doug slows to a halt. He bends down, not quite taking a knee as he taps at his back.

“Careful,” Doug cautions as Pinkie Pie prepares to leap onto his back.

“Aww,” Pinkie Pie says as she gingerly climbs onto his back. Her hindlegs slip around his waist, locking her in place. “Rainbow Dash jumps you all the time!”

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t weigh twice as much as me.” Doug gathers himself for a moment before he staggers to his feet. He can barely trudge to the embassy, relying on Rainbow to open the door. “I just hope I don’t blow a knee.”

“Speakin’ of blowin’,” Applejack remarks, her voice hard. It pulls Doug to a stop, the five mares of the herd, Shining Armor and Cadance gathering closely around Doug. The mares have lost their giddiness, closer to the dour stare Shining Armor has that hides his scowl. “Anythin’ ya wanna tell us?”

“I’ll,” Doug starts before pausing, his heavy breathing not just because of the weight on his back. He glances around at the embassy. Ponies from the Realm of Clouds, Crystal Empire, and creatures from the various other countries are making their way inside, occasionally giving them curious glances. He turns back to Applejack. “I’ll tell you once we’re inside.”

“Alright, partner.” Applejack reaches up to nuzzle his neck, then leads the way up the stairs. He has to take his time on each one, refusing to let Pinkie Pie off his back until he settles next to Celestia, a snoozing Luna, Fluttershy, and Spike. The rest of the ponies form a loose ring, Doug opposite Shining Armor and Cadance while between Applejack and Celestia.

The golden glow around Celestia’s horn fades as they approach, her unfocused eyes pulling back to reality. She greets Doug with a fond smile, though notes his hesitancy. A single sniff narrows her eyes; she glances at Applejack, the two exchanging silent, confirming nods.

“Chrysalis is communicating with her brood,” the white alicorn states, giving no uncertainty as to why she mentions this. Her gaze flicks to Spike; the dragon is looking up at them from a pile of Twilight’s papers, quite confused. She turns to Twilight, eyeing her curiously.

“Spike is old enough,” Twilight says, answering the unspoken question.

“Very well.” Celestia offers Doug a smile, pleasant given the circumstance. “I hope you do not require me in my capacity as Princess.”

Doug shakes his head. Celestia would often resolve disputes between ponies as a judge of sorts, though she prefers it when her little ponies are able to settle things themselves. He hasn’t thought about her having to adjudicate something between her herd and another, and could easily envision the cries of corruption.

Still, he hesitates, deliberating the best way to bring this up in the presence of Shining Armor and Cadance. The former still hasn’t lost his glare, Cadance doing her best to nuzzle and either distract or reassure him.

“We ain’t accusin’ ya,” Applejack says when he isn’t immediately forthcoming. She pushes against him, something between a nuzzle and a nudge. “We just wanna know what happened.”

“I wouldn’t hide anything from you,” Doug says, returning the nuzzle with a rub of his hand against her cheek. She smiles at the contact, but it’s guarded. He stiffens, drawing himself up and squaring his shoulders, much like Chrysalis before she received her verdict. “Not that I’d want to. I’m guessing you could, what, smell her on me?”

“More you on her.” Applejack illustrates with a long sniff, puckering up exaggeratedly. “We’re more’n a bit familiar with ya.”

“What are we talking about?” Spike asks, putting away the papers. Most of the mares share awkward glances.

“Chrysalis wanted a nymph with me,” Doug explains matter-of-factly. He has to force himself to meet Shining Armor’s glare, but he does. It gets more difficult when he sees Rainbow gritting her teeth and Fluttershy’s resigned sigh. “I… agreed. I can go into more detail, if you want. From what I understand, Cadance gave the okay, and-”

“You what?” Shining Armor demands, pulling away and fixing his wife with a cold stare. His naked scowl aims all the vitriol he felt for Doug at her, as much as it hurts to look at her that way.

Cadance frowns deeply, feeling his hatred as a physical punch to the gut. “You must have seen how unhappy she was. Is. Why else would she spend so much time in Ponyville? If a… a break helped her through this, then it would have been for the best!”

“But we were making it work! She was supposed to be my responsibility.” Shining Armor snorts, though now his animosity is directed at himself. “What did we expect? That she was going to become a model pony in a week? A month? Two months? Wrong. Changelings aren’t ponies, no matter how much we wish they were. I should have known.” He sighs, dejected. Cadance draws close to nuzzle him as he quakes. “I thought we were making it work. Was it really that bad?”

“From what she said?” Doug bows his head, clasping his hands together. “I think she saw past the smiling face to how you really felt. She wants more than empty words and an expectation that she will fail. Apparently, she found that in me. But she didn’t want to stop there, with just one.” One hand comes up to rub at Applejack’s muzzle. He stares into her emerald eyes, his mouth grimly pursing. “She’s looking to expand. Rapidly, if she and her brood keep pumping new members out.” He rolls his eyes as she opens her mouth, teasing at her jaw and getting her to stay quiet, if just for a moment. “Yes, I know I’m helping them there.”

“Ah was gonna say,” Applejack retorts, blowing his thumb away with a quick gust, “that Ah have a hard time blamin’ her for comin’ after ya.”

“Exactly,” Rainbow Dash interjects with a wide smirk. “Three Princesses. The Elements of Harmony. Even Starlight and Trixie aren’t slouches where magic is concerned.” She walks forward, breaking the circle to sit in Doug’s lap. He wraps his arms around her, meeting her muzzle with a chaste kiss. She grins, continuing, “If any of that awesomeness rubbed off on you?”

“What about me?” Shining Armor retorts. He puffs his chest up. “All of my mares are Princesses, or former queens. Plus, I am the Sibling Supreme.” He sticks his tongue out at Twilight, which she returns with just as much gusto. “And we’re going to be ruling the Crystal Empire soon, right?”

“Actually, I think we are going to be discussing that next,” Twilight says. All around them the auditorium has filled in, the various delegates taking their places. Various servers come to each group and gather their lunch orders. She imperiously points her hoof at her BBBFF. “And I’m taking back that crown!”

The exchange leaves the ponies chuckling, shaking their heads as they lean back and relax. Only Doug stays tensed, scratching at Rainbow’s mane as he nervously looks at Applejack.

“You’re really not worried about this?” he asks quietly.

Applejack draws out a long sigh. “Doug, ever since you showed interest in Rarity and Dash? Ah knew Ah wasn’t gonna be in a one-mare herd. Ah’ve had a long time to come to terms with the fact that Ah wasn’t gonna be like mah parents. With each member we add Ah wonder if that’s gonna be the last one, or if that one’s gonna be the rotten apple that breaks us apart. Ah ain’t thrilled by it, especially her. But as long as Ah can spend enough time with ya, Ah’ll be happy. And that goes for the rest of us, too.”

“Alright, then,” Doug says, drawing her in for a hug. She returns it with a soft smile. “As long as you’re honest when things are bothering you.”

“‘Course, partner,” Applejack grunts out. She snorts as she smirks at him. “At least you ain’t built like Big Mac. Or worse, Prince Blueblood. Ah’d get tired from beatin’ mares off’a ya, and Ah buck trees all day!”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Doug says, ruffling the blond mane. She matches his grin. “Honestly, I’m kind of glad I’m not.”

“Mm.” Applejack leans into him, growing somber. “How was she?”

“How…” Doug trails off, blinking a few times as he clears his thoughts. He grimaces as he steals an apologetic glance at Rainbow Dash. “She gave one of the fastest muzzlejobs I’ve had.”

"Faster than me?” Rainbow exclaims, pointing a hoof at her chest. “I’ll show you fast!”

Doug’s legs and arms clench around the pegasus, trying desperately to keep her contained. Despite his greater leverage and arm strength she rolls so her belly is against him, only his legs locking under her forelegs keeping her from her prize. Even tickling her ears doesn’t stop her, and she wrestles against his hips as she tries to loosen his grip and slip her forelegs out.

“Faster isn’t always better,” Doug tries, swapping from as strong a grip as he can to long, soothing strokes against Rainbow’s neck. That slows her down, if momentarily. “You like to savor it, and it’s a lot more enjoyable that way.”

“I shall keep that in mind next time,” a harsh voice comes from above. Rainbow Dash and Doug stop struggling and glance up to see Chrysalis smiling her ever-present malevolent grin. She licks her exposed fangs, purring as she settles down next to them, deeply inhaling as if she is imbibing their love, yet their passion for each other remains untouched.

“There’s gonna be a next time?” Rainbow Dash demands, looking between Chrysalis and Doug.

“Many, many more next times,” Chrysalis sneers though her fangy smile.

Rainbow Dash snorts. “Yeah, I think I’ll stick with two.” She pulls Doug down, making sure he’s focusing on her.

Ch. 27 - Weight of the Empire, Part Two

Lunch arrives on the backs of the servers, just like breakfast, with heaping helpings of fresh salads imported from the Realm of Clouds for the ponies. Celestia continues her tradition of consuming nothing but cakes, this time with a heavy pineapple upside-down cake, pancakes topped with local desert fruits and cream, and a coffee cake that she keeps having to protect from a still-sleepy Luna. Doug has ostracized himself by choosing the local delicacy of blood pudding, deep fried and served next to roasted plantains, a thin-boned fish from the river, and prickly pears. Only Chrysalis sits close to him and, much to his chagrin, forces chunks of pineapple she swipes from Celestia. He steals worried glances at Shining Armor between bites.

If the two being together bothers Shining Armor he doesn’t show it at all, if anything glad for the respite from dealing with the often ornery changeling. He takes the opportunity to snuggle next to Cadance, draping a foreleg across her barrel and rubbing small circles on the slight bulge of her belly. While the pink Princess started as the most slender of the alicorns, only Twilight beats her on weight gained - and a lot of that they attribute to her recent alicornication. She nuzzles her husband between bites, lost in thought and enjoying the time they have together before neither will get any sleep.

Eventually, while everypony is working their way through their second helpings - for Rainbow Dash and Applejack, their third - two ponies from the Crystal Empire take the stage. Twilight Sparkle instantly recognizes the first - an elderly, bespectacled mare with a light lilac coat and cutie mark of a sparkling scroll.

“Hey!” Twilight jabs her brother as she points. “It’s Amethyst Maresbury! She’s the librarian that helped us when we got to the Crystal Empire!”

“Ow!” Shining Armor groans, but jovially, rubbing the dark bruise on his flank. “Oh, yeah! I remember her!” He curiously eyes the other pony as she takes off her cloak, revealing a purple coated unicorn. “But who is that?”

“No…” Princess Celestia draws out in a whisper, staring at the light-blue-mane and the yellow caduceus on her flank. “How can it be?”

Next to her, Princess Luna’s eyes go wide, then narrow suspiciously. “I recognize her, too. Radiant Hope?”

“Who?” Twilight asks, drawing close to the two Sisters.

Celestia speaks in a hushed tone that easily reaches everypony, Doug, and Chrysalis. “Radiant Hope was a student of ours over a thousand years ago. Before that, she alerted us to the atrocities King Sombra was inflicting on their people, the crystal ponies. We defeated Sombra, but he cursed the city to suffer his banishment as well. She was not within the Crystal Empire’s limits at the time; devastated, she returned with us to study. She was a promising student, but one day decided to leave us. We never heard from her again.”

“So she found some sort of Tartarus?” Doug asks, rubbing his hand against his chin as he studies the unicorn. “A place to go where she didn’t age?”

This stops Celestia in her tracks. She glances at Luna, the two trading grim nods. “That is a possibility, though we found no place in that prison. Could she be some kind of replica, merely taking the likeness of the original?” She eyes Chrysalis questioningly.

“She’s not one of mine.” The changeling’s eyes shine white, then she shakes her head. “Nor an umbrum.”

“An umbrella-what-now?” Applejack asks, many of the ponies sharing her confusion.

“Umbrum.” Chrysalis grimaces at the loathsome taste the word evokes. “Vicious creatures born of shadow, the umbrum crushed hope and brought despair to the crystal ponies. At the time it was a disgusting place, one I never wish to see again. Some time later, Princess Amore banished them by crafting the crystal heart. King Sombra took over before we could complete our infiltration, and you know what happened after that.”

“Hard to believe you look so young and beautiful after all those years,” Doug teases with a wry smirk. Chrysalis fixes him with an icy glare. “I’m sure Rarity would appreciate a few tips on how to age gracefully.”

“Hey!” Rarity exclaims, swatting at her curls with an offended air. “Just because I use a few anti-wrinkle creams does not mean I am aging.”

“But what is she doing back? And here?” Luna frowns, again regarding the crystal unicorn warily.

Alira steps forward, introducing the two crystal ponies with a wave of her hoof. “Presenting, on the behalf of the Crystal Empire, Amethyst Maresbury and Radiant Hope. They wish to present their case before things get… heated.” She backs away, leaving the two on stage.

Radiant Hope advances with a guarded smile, her gaze sweeping the crowd of creatures but often returning to the two elder Princesses. She addresses Celestia and Luna first, not with a subservient bow but the curt nod of a student.

“Hello,” she greets in a light and cheerful voice, next meeting Cadance’s smile with one of her own. Her head twists slightly to the side as she inspects the Princess of Love, briefly gaining a far-off look in her eyes. “I greet you all from the Crystal Empire, long may it serve as a beacon of light and hope to all the land.” Her head dips down slightly, a palpable look of loss in her eyes. “But, to our great sorrow and bereavement, it has been both too long and too short a time since the Empire has shined so brightly.”

The heliotrope unicorn bows deeply, respectfully, her voice carrying to everycreature. “The Crystal Empire needs a strong and capable ruler. I request; no, I beg that you consider me as that ruler, for we shall restore the Crystal Empire to its former glory!”

Murmurs erupt from the various creatures. The yaks and dragons look quite unhappy with this possibility, the griffons have their ever-present scowls, and even the Storm King has a look of bemusement. Doug bends his head to see Celestia’s response to what seems like an aberrant request; they wouldn’t put somepony in charge of a country just like that, would they? But the white alicorn merely watches, dredging memories from long ago.

“Radiant Hope!” Amethyst Maresbury admonishes, stomping up to the unicorn with a sharp glare. “That is not how this was supposed to go!” She turns to the creatures, apologetically continuing, “You see, when our rightful ruler, Princess Amore, was… defeated by the evil King Sombra, we lost much of our royal knowledge.”

“He wasn’t-” Radiant Hope growls out, then clamps down on her tongue before she can say any more. She takes a reticent step backward, adopting a neutral facade of a smile.

“Princess Amore?” Twilight asks, inspecting Cadance curiously. “But you’re Princess Mi Amore Cadenza! Any relation?”

“I don’t know,” Cadance admits, glancing at Celestia. She gets a shake of her head in response. “I was an orphan. But even if it was the case, that’s… nearly fifty generations removed. Practically everypony could trace some ancestry to her, if anypony can.”

Twilight nods, unhappy with the answer.

“We were overjoyed when our people were liberated thanks to the heroic efforts of Princess Twilight Sparkle and her family. And, prior to that, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna. The Crystal Empire will forever be in your debt.” The elderly crystal pony offers Twilight a respectful bow, much to the embarrassment of Twilight.

“Oh, it was nothing,” Twilight says, stammering as she looks around. “I mean, not nothing, because King Sombra was a huge threat, not just to us but to everypony. And…” She gulps as an orange hoof swats her in the flank. She loses her panicked look, smiling and bowing back. Her words sound practiced, though completely sincere. “Equestria is glad to consider the Crystal Empire as our friends, and long may we live and work together in peace and harmony.”

“Thank you for your kind words,” Amethyst Maresbury says just as sincerely, standing back up. Yet now she looks hollow, a shade of her former self as she recounts, “But King Sombra left more than a vacancy in leadership. He left a void in our minds, our memories, a pit so deep and black that even brushing against it reminds us of the atrocities we endured.” Her head bows in pitiful submission. “We hoped somepony would display Hope and Love, qualities necessary to run the Crystal Empire. Somepony who would bravely stand against darkness and fear, the cold that ever threatens to creep in. We have waited patiently, but after six weeks with no sign?” She shakes her head contritely. “The Crystal Empire suffers from the lack, and I fear that suffering will soon spread to all of Equestria, and the world.”

“I would take the crown,” Radiant Hope states, stepping up again. She pleads fervently, “I saw myself becoming Princess!”

“But as eager as Radiant Hope is,” Amethyst Maresbury interrupts solemnly, shaking her head, “there are… doubts as to her legitimacy. Whether she truly has the best interests of the Crystal Empire at heart. ”

“Ah didn’t sense any fiction in Radiant Hope’s story,” Applejack whispers to the herd. “But she is hidin’ somethin’. But it’s the same kinda hidin’ Doug does, or any of the Crystal Ponies for that matter.”

Amethyst Maresbury continues, “We request a wise and capable ruler, one filled with hope and love. I believe the Crystal Ponies would accept Princess Cadance as their provisional ruler. She fought for the Crystal Empire against King Sombra, and her previous experience will prove invaluable.”

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Garble shouts from the back, his deep scowl enhanced by his bared teeth. “You Equestrians think you can waltz into a sovereign country, depose its rightful king, and install a dictator of your choice?” He looks around, raising a red claw high. “Anycreature else see this as a blatant power grab?”

“Especially because I was the one who fought,” Chrysalis adds in a low growl.

“Excuse me,” Twilight growls out, her sarcastic streak on full display. Too many of the other creatures are raising their limbs as well. “Rightful king? He enslaved his own people, dominated their minds and controlled their actions! It’s right there in the history books!”

“Books that your Princesses wrote,” Gruff sneers from his standing position.

“Oh?” Sky Beak interjects, scowling at the griffon. “You believe the Princess of the Sun would stoop so low as to rewrite history, yet claim it is impossible when it happens before your very eyes?”

“Cry me a river, seapony!” Gruff wails in mock contrition, miming the action.

Alira bangs her gavel once, but to no avail.

“No wonder the griffons have fallen so low,” Sky Beak states with a solemn shake of his head. “If a river of salt was their demand to look the other way!”

“Why, you!” Gruff shouts, taking to the air and brandishing his talons. Sky Beak matches him with a keening battle cry, neither giving an inch.

Twilight desperately looks around, her own anger giving way to the distraught notion that what should be a peaceful transition of power will devolve into violence. It doesn’t help to see Princess Celestia idly watching with a bemused grin, Rainbow Dash’s eagerness, or Pinkie Pie’s cheering like it’s a buckball game. Fluttershy hunkering down isn’t a surprise, nor Applejack and Rarity standing protectively over her.

But the rest of the creatures treat the two winged delegates as more of a spectacle than a serious threat. She watches instead of intervening with dual forcefields and bubbles of silence, hoping against hope it will not come to blows. Alira keeps banging her gavel while the two posture, hurling barbed insults instead of spears.

Finally, it quiets down enough for Twilight to step in. “Even if, purely for the sake of argument, I concede that King Sombra was the rightful king? Princess Celestia and Luna fought him to a standstill in order to free the Crystal Empire from his tyranny. He was an imminent threat not just to Equestria but to all of Equus! Are you so blind as to think his ambitions would remain contained to the Crystal Empire? Or, had he defeated the Royal Sisters, that he would be content with Equestria?”

“I don’t know, Princess,” Gruff spits out. He turns his good eye to Chrysalis. “Are you blind to your own ambitions? When your chicks need a new spot to roost, will you eye the mountains to the east?” He turns his gaze to the ponies of the Realm of Clouds. “Or to the south?”

“H-hey!” Twilight stammers, nervously glancing at Celestia. But, more importantly, her Sister next to her. “That’s why we’re Princesses instead of Queens, because you can have many Princesses but only one Queen. We can live peacefully together in Harmony!”

“Can you?” Ember interjects from the side. The teal dragon steps up, smaller than the red dragon next to her but no less fierce. “Princess Luna rebelled against Celestia after little more than a hundred years of joint rule. How many decades will it take you?” Before Twilight can respond she continues, “And Princess Cadance has never taken on more responsibility than a figurehead.”

Cadance can barely meet the dragon’s smoldering eyes, but Celestia matches them with a fervor of her own. “While Cadance may not have as visible a position as my own or my Sister’s, she has been invaluable in assisting me during all matters of state. She will be a competent ruler of Equestria or the Crystal Empire.”

Ch. 28 - Weight of the Empire, Part Three

Celestia sighs, her words utterly failing to calm the heated arguments among the various delegates. If anything they get more riled up, bickering like hyenas over a fresh carcass.

“So you have groomed a Princess to be just like yourself,” Gruff sneers. The griffon jabs a talon at her like a spear. “You would destroy everything the Crystal Ponies hold dear, just like you did to Griffonstone, and replace it with your own!”

“King Sombra already accomplished that,” Celestia states evenly, not rising to his provocation. “We will reclaim the culture of the Crystal Ponies, not see it given to one who would devour it.”

“That’s as rich as a vein of rubies,” Ember cuts in. “You invited the Devourer of Love into your land and let her have her way with you!”

“You can’t even keep your arguments straight!” Chrysalis jeers, joining the creatures standing with barely restrained fury. Her fangy grin mocks, matching her patronizing tone perfectly. “The Princesses care so much about Pony culture that they are willing to allow a changeling to despoil it? They are so power hungry that they conquer whatever nation they please, yet listen to you prattle on about who should rule?”

“And when you claim that our culture is as toxic as Sombra’s?” Ember belches a controlled burst of flame, a pair of wings coalescing from the smoke that rises to the ceiling. “Will you demand that we take on a Princess of our own? Or will the choice be made for us? My father, Dragon Lord Torch, will pass on the Bloodstone Sceptre in the coming years. Will you help ‘guide’ a dragon who is more to your liking?”

“Equestria has a long-standing policy of non-interference,” Celestia claims, standing regally and turning to address the rest of the creatures. “There was no invasion force sent to the Crystal Empire, merely a diplomatic envoy, no more than we would send to anynation.”

“Of course, you would never invade a sovereign country.” Gruff laughs, sharp and mocking. “Only assassinate their rulers and twist their second-in-commands to betray them!” The Storm King’s head snaps to Celestia from his lounging position. “But if they just so happen to ask you to send them a princess to rule over them?” He sneers once again, pointedly looking at Twilight. “Or are you claiming that King Sombra is the only ruler who can mind control their subjects?”

“The use of Malevolence is strictly controlled,” Twilight states evenly, despite every bone in her body shouting at her hypocrisy and half-truths. She had used the Want-It-Need-It spell, and how many other magics did she know, to say nothing of Celestia and Chrysalis? “And prohibited in all but the most extreme cases.”

“Oh?” Gruff’s eye gleams. “Extreme cases, hmm? Such as a tyrannical despot? A king not dancing to your tune?”

Prince Rutherford finally gets to his hooves, his bellow enough to silence everycreature else. “All miss point! Crystal Empire take sacred Yak stomping ground! Yaks have been stomping perfect circle for a thousand years! That ancestral Yak territory!”

“Oh, bother,” Twilight groans, holding her hooves to her head and slumping over.

“What’s that?” Applejack asks, confused. She lays down next to Twilight.

“Remember when we got to the Crystal Empire?” Most of the ponies nod uncertainly. “The entire city was lower than when it banished. That’s clear evidence the Yaks have been using it. They don’t have a clearcut case for abandonment, because the Crystal Empire didn’t mean to leave, except the ruler at the time did mean to cause the city to leave, and…”

“It’s okay, Sugarcube,” Applejack reassures, patting the lavender alicorn as she cowers behind her hooves. “Ah’m sure it’ll all work out.”

Ember takes to the air, as does Garble, to get a better vantage point to sneer at Prince Rutherford. “You think that is Yak territory? The dragons have been roosting in the Frozen North long before you showed up!”

“Hah! Yak not see dragon roost in centuries! Dragon lie!”

“Do we?” Ember bellows, shooting another gout of flame into the air. “There’s a reason we don’t come to a place as balmy as Yakyakistan any more! Dragons take their eggs to as frigid a place we can find, where only the strongest of eggs survive!”

Prince Rutherford gasps, flipping his hair up so he can better glare at Ember. “Puny dragon take that back, or Yak declare war! Raagh!”

Prince Rutherford and his yak companions shout, stomp, and generally destroy anything in hooves’ reach. The ponies flinch, ears splayed back, only the calm and unflappable presence of the elder alicorns keeping them from panicking.

“I’m surprised you listen to this nonsense,” Twilight remarks to Celestia as Doug and Chrysalis walk over. They watch the destruction, Celestia bemused and Doug with a long sigh. “This is a waste of time. No, worse, because they might actually choose something wrong, when we know the right course of action.”

“Indeed,” Chrysalis adds, scowling. “If any in the hive dissented so insolently? I would have a new husk disposer, if they were lucky.”

“What would you have me do?” Celestia asks patiently, no malice in her voice. “Each of them believes they have a claim over the land in question. Would you prefer they decide this by a contest of tooth and claw?”

“Well, no,” Twilight concedes. “Fighting should be our last resort.” One eye squints before she noticeably brightens. “You have to let them express their views. So you get them to talk it out, realize the error of their ways, and then everycreature can live in peace and harmony!”

Chrysalis snorts, Luna quickly suppresses her guffaw, while Celestia merely smiles knowingly. Chrysalis doesn’t counter Twilight’s point like she expects, instead demanding, “You think they will wear each other down and ignore Equestria’s expansion?” Behind her, the dragons, griffons, and yaks are practically on top of each other, yelling and inches away from coming to blows. “They may not state it outright, but they seek any avenue that would slow or stop our rising power.”

“Rising power?” Twilight asks, cocking her head to the side with a slight frown. “What are you talking about?”

Chrysalis regards her dubiously. “In a decade, Equestria has gone from one Princess, tied down with the concerns of her little ponies, to four. Celestia was worried enough about their reaction to not go with you to the Crystal Empire.”

“I-is that true?” Twilight stammers with an astonished look at Celestia. She gets a grim nod in return.

“I had every faith you would succeed,” Celestia replies, offering her former student a slim smile. “And you surpassed even my high expectations.”

“Regardless,” the beneficiary of such success cuts in as the two alicorns trade fond nuzzles. “In seven years there will be five more mature alicorns, each as capable as their dam. A fifth of Equestrian mares are pregnant, and I suspect next year shall be similar. We are quintupling our brood, stably! If there was an uneasy peace before? One might not think much of water, as fluid and pliant as Equestria has been, yet even basalt yields when it freezes. They grasp at any straw they can to delay us, lest they see their own influence wane in comparison.”

“You said us,” Twilight says with a smile, brushing against the changelings’ ebony withers with her own.

Chrysalis looks down, initially with disdain, at the contact. “Do not push your luck, pony.” Her dour expression slowly fades, even as Twilight fails to remove herself. “It is a useful arrangement. We would be a grub not to take advantage of it.”

“That’s right,” Twilight says, beaming. This draws a curious glance from the changeling. She merely thinks, staring up at the ceiling.

“So we can intervene now?” Doug blithely asks Celestia as Prince Rutherford comes dangerously close to stomping on Ember. She shoves him, hard enough to force the massive yak back a step. He growls, covering her with spit as the two lock limbs and try to wrest the other off their legs.

“If you wish,” Celestia responds, enjoying his quick rub of her ear as he stands.

“Do you all care nothing about the Crystal Ponies?” Doug shouts during a very short moment of silence. It’s enough to get everycreature to quiet down, if briefly, and stare at him, still on edge. “Do we care what they want?”

“They are a member of the Council,” Ember concedes, but returns just as fiery, “But we’re not going to recognize just anycreature, especially anypony, as the rightful ruler! It should be a dragon ruling! Dragons love crystals, and you have a whole city built from them!”

“You can’t eat our homes!” Amethyst Maresbury calls out, distraught. Radiant Hope matches her with pleading looks in their eyes.

“Dragons might as well eat pony homes,” Prince Rutherford bellows as Garble reluctantly passes Gruff a bag of gems. “Pony homes on sacred Yak ground!”

“Dragons do have the oldest claim,” Gruff states. He sits back and counts the gems he just got.

Doug shakes his head as he stands, drawing their attention. “Just because you have an old claim doesn’t mean it’s yours, and just because you don’t have an old claim doesn’t mean you can’t ever get it. How else would we expand, if we could never move past our place of birth? Competition is a fact of life. Conquests happen.”

He meets the Storm King’s eyes, locking him in a brief staring contest. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself and standing straight.

“But that doesn’t mean you should trample on the people, especially the innocents. Did any of the Crystal Ponies want this? No! It was their tyrant, their dictator, who decided this. Who brought this curse on all of them. When we went to the Crystal Empire? We knew it was a possibility we would face this tyrant. And when he refused to release them, and tried to enslave us as well?”

Doug shakes his head, a solemn, repeated no, pulling away from the Storm King to focus on the others. The Storm King steeples his hands under his chin, curious daggers boring into the human.

“You all know what happened next. What do we do now? I believe you are ignoring a crucial factor.” Doug turns to Radiant Hope. “Do the Crystal Ponies want you as their leader?”

“Um,” Radiant Hope starts, glancing sideways at Amethyst Maresbury. “We… didn’t exactly ask them.”

“Then, I think the answer is easy. You let them decide.” Doug receives blank stares from all around, including the ponies. “Vote on it.” Silence. “You know, democracy?”

Garble breaks the silence with a confused scratch of his head. “What is… democracy?”

Twilight pipes up, though she is just as confused. “The word itself breaks down into demo-, which means ‘the people’, and -cracy, which means ‘rule’. Rule of the people?”

“Hah!” Garble laughs, slapping his thigh. He bends over, barely able to keep standing. “How would that possibly work? You would let a weak dragon tell you what to do? No! You have the strongest and the most cunning rule, and all dragons obey!”

Doug frowns. “But what if the strongest dragon isn’t the most cunning? Just because you’re strong in one area doesn’t mean you are strong in another.”

“Careful, Doug,” Twilight cautions, giving him a look that clearly says ‘sit down and shut up’. “Dragons are thaumic in nature. The boosts their magic gives them means the strongest dragon very often is the most cunning and the most intelligent. Though cunning and intelligence doesn’t mean they will be friendly to Equestria.”

“So you would interfere!” Garble asserts with a furious gaze at Twilight, snorting thick clouds of smoke.

“But…” Doug continues, perplexed, still looking at the rest of the creatures. “None of you are democracies, or republics?”

Celestia points around the room. Each nods in agreement as she describes them. “The Griffons used to be a hereditary monarchy, though now they are closer to a military junta. Dragons are a martial dictatorship. Realm of Clouds, oligarchic with three major corporations. Changelings, a ravenous hive.” She winks at Chrysalis, who smirks back. “The Yaks, the Hippogriffs, Arimaspis, all monarchs. The Storm Realm, despotic empire.”

“More of a feudal empire,” the Storm King interjects.

“Perhaps,” Celestia concedes. She turns back to Doug. “Equestria itself is an irenic monarchy, with lower stations appointed by divine fiat. We do not elect our mayors and nobles; their stations are determined by their cutie marks.”

“Really?” Doug asks, mostly at himself. “How did I not notice this before?”

“Because we do not celebrate their succession as widely as you must?” Celestia muses, a hoof at her chin. “When Twilight ascended there was a day of feasting before ponies went back to their lives. The wedding of Shining Armor and Cadance, as well as our own, were the largest celebrations inducting new members of royalty in recent memory. And even they passed after a day.”

“Okay, so, maybe this is the next big experiment.” Doug nods to himself, then turns to address the room. “Everycreature write down a summary of their argument for why they should be voted for. Then, everypony in the Crystal Empire who has their cutie mark gets to vote by ranking their choices. Then you tally the votes, and if you don’t have a majority winner... well, there are a couple of ways you can decide, but the fairest is-”

“Stop,” Ember says, holding up her claw. He does. “Is this a scheme to get a pony in charge?”

“Scheme?” Doug’s face scrunches up. “No. It lets the Crystal Ponies decide who they want in charge, and it’ll be up to each of you to prove your case to them. If they choose a pony, it’s only because you aren’t strong enough. Voting is just a way to find the most acceptable candidate. Now, there are different kinds of acceptable, like the person with a plurality of votes, or finding a condorcet winner among a number of choices, but-”

“Hah!” Ember interrupts again, smirking as her claws rest on her hips. “If all we have to do is prove the dragons are the strongest? This will be easy!” One claw strokes at her chin as Twilight levitates her and the others pieces of paper. “Now, should we demand half of their buildings as tribute? No, too many. But we’re strong enough to deserve it! How to show them? Urgh, what’s the best way to get a flame on a piece of paper?” She stares at it, nearly pulling the paper in half as bits of fire curl out of her open maw.

“Don’t think that we will just go along with whoever you choose,” Gruff spits out, glaring at Doug.

“It’s not us choosing,” Doug states, working to keep his calm. “It’s up to the Crystal Ponies. They are the ones who will live with the choice. It could be one of us, or one of you, or whoever they choose!” He turns to Amethyst Maresbury, ignoring the disgruntled huff of the griffon. “Were there any other candidates you came across? Should we give them a chance to step forward?”

“That would be unnecessary,” Amethyst Maresbury says with a shake of her head. “Radiant Hope was the only one who volunteered.” The unicorn nods, unhappy at not being chosen outright, but a likely frontrunner being a Crystal Empire native. “We were afraid we would need to pick a ruler by lot.”

“That’s certainly one way to do it,” Doug says, keeping his grimace from showing. “Well, we can leave a spot for the Crystal Ponies to write in whoever they want, in addition to the choices ahead of them.” He raises an eyebrow as Chrysalis takes a sheet of paper. “I thought you gave up ruling.”

“I gave up being Queen,” Chrysalis states without any shame at her pedantry. “Here, I would be Empress.”

“Of course,” Doug deadpans. “On a more serious note, I heard you were communicating with your changelings back home?”

“More serious?” Chrysalis sneers at Doug. “I am completely serious. I helped save the Crystal Empire, did I not? I have just as much, if not more, reason than Cadance.” She grins, writing as much on her paper before covertly glancing back and forth.

Nocreature appears to be paying attention to her, all working on their papers. Every so often one of the Yaks rears up in frustration, slamming down and rattling quills and inkpots. Gruff shakes a talon while the other griffon does the work. Ember and Garble keep snatching the paper from each other, the whole thing quickly becoming a scribbled mess. The Storm King, having written a single line, leans back and casually watches the dragons squabble.

Chrysalis hesitates, not wanting to give away her capabilities. She whispers to Doug, “Not merely at home, but to any properly equipped changeling across Equus. Why?”

Doug crouches down, sharing her desire for secrecy. “Well, to speed this up and not need to fly a letter across Equestria. Can you do that?”

“We can.” Chrysalis looks around at what everycreature is writing. Cadance, Shining Armor, and Twilight are similarly gathered, having written more than triple the amount of anycreature else and working to pare it down. “I suppose you wish to send these papers? I can also do audio and video.”

“Nah, I don’t think we need them giving speeches,” Doug says, motioning to the others. “Just the short blurb. We would need to print out a ballot for everypony in the Crystal Empire, instructions for them to fill it out, and some way to show everycreature this is legitimate.”

“Legitimate?” Chrysalis huffs. “Are you sure you wish to go to all this trouble? It would be easier to win a brawl than an election. But, if you wish.”

It takes some time for everycreature to finish their statements. Most grumble about this being a waste of time, but they eventually turn them in to Doug. Cadance ends up being the last to finish, mostly since Twilight is still agonizing over word choices. Cadance has to peel the paper from her hooves as Shining Armor holds her back.

Chrysalis’ horn flares, and a lime green changeling pops up as a disembodied head in front of them. Chrysalis explains their intentions, then again to a gathering of crystal ponies. The concept passes easily enough. The only thing left to do now is wait for a winner.

Ch. 29 - Weight of the Empire, Part Four

“Oohh,” Twilight Sparkle moans, hugging herself as she rocks back and forth. Her mane starts to frazzle, loose ends splitting off and curling up. “Did we do enough? What will they think? I’ve never written a speech for an election before. Did we talk about the right topics? Did we talk about the wrong topics?”

Cadance and Shining Armor look entirely nonplussed, having seen this routine more than once before, and that’s not even counting when Twilight was just a filly. Doug drops down, his friendly smile ignored by the hyperventilating alicorn.

“But there’s so much to tell!” Twilight looks up at Doug as he starts massaging her withers, then at her old foalsitter. “You’re kind, caring, and amazing! And it doesn’t hurt that you’re beautiful!” Cadance grins at the compliments, nuzzling her husband. “There was a lot we had to pack in, but-”

“You ran on for five pages,” Chrysalis states sourly. “After the first page I just read every other word.” She casually flips her cobalt locks back as Twilight gapes. “No need to thank me.”

“Thank you?!” Twilight bellows, leaping to her hooves and knocking Doug back. She fumes, clenches her teeth and stamps a hoof.

“You’re welcome,” Chrysalis says with a self-satisfied smile and slight nod of her head, ignoring the outburst.

“But, but, but, you could have ruined everything!” Twilight spins to Cadance, the pink alicorn attempting to hide her chuckle with a hoof. “You might not become the ruler of the Crystal Empire! Even though your very flank shows that’s what you’re meant to do! How are you so flippant about this?”

“Twily,” Shining Armor cuts in, shaking his head with a wide grin. “You listened to Chrysalis read your statement. Did it sound like she skipped any words?”

“Um,” Twilight starts, recalling how the changeling recited each creature’s statement to the changeling assigned to maintain the railroad to the Crystal Empire. She hunkers down a little, her anger fading. “No?”

“She was just teasing you. A joke.” Shining Armor ruffles his little sister’s mane, smirking at her contrite expression. Chrysalis looks confused as Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash offer her a hoof to bump, eventually catching on and lightly tapping them.

“Speaking of jokes,” Tempest Shadow mutters as she reads the Storm King’s statement. Her eyes narrow further and further until mere pinpricks of black are visible. Sparks fly from her horn, uncontained, as her fury builds. She doesn’t flinch when the paper ignites, nopony sure whether from her burning gaze or from the sparks from her horn, and she hurls the flaming debris to the floor before stomping it out.

“My liege,” she barely gets out through gritted teeth, doing her best to repeat the spontaneous combustion with a furious glare at the reclining Storm King. He doesn’t seem to care, or be paying any attention to her at all. She takes a deep breath, burying the anger under what must double as the blast shielding around a warship’s reactor room. “Did you… did you not even attempt to persuade the Crystal Ponies of your… superiority?” She can’t help but spit out the last word, as much as she made it through the rest without being overtly insulting.

“What?” the Storm King replies, either oblivious or unconcerned with Tempest’s fury. “That?” He motions to the ashes underneath her hoof. “That doesn’t matter.” He returns to scratching his back with the Staff of Sacanas, the wooden shaft able to slip inside his dark gray cuirass. He grunts in pleasure, back arching to expose more of his white fur.

“How can you say it doesn’t matter?!” Tempest scowls, stomping up to the relaxing Storm King. “If we win this election, not only will we have one more ally, the Equestrians will have one less! And you think that saying ‘I’m ready to power up, crash and bash, and be the biggest, baddest, boogaloo’ would do that!?”

With a powerful kick the Storm King launches himself up, going from laying on his back to performing some of the absolute worst dance moves imaginable. He flails about, whipping his arms forward and back, and mimicking scratching a record player by raking the staff against the floor, all while he belts out,

“Party creatures in the place to be!
This is what you’ve all been waitin’ to see!
Electric boogaloo! The ultimate show!”

Twilight Sparkle snorts as the Storm King drops to the floor, one arm holding out the staff while the other props himself up, spinning in circles with his legs suspended in the air. She elbows Pinkie Pie in the side, barely able to hold in her laughter as she remarks, “Gee, I think I dance better than that!”

“Um,” Pinkie Pie says, raising an eyebrow and gently removing Twilight’s elbow from her. She goes back to swaying to the beat of his hooves against the floor as he swaps to a series of rapid spins and jumps. “He’s doing that dance perfectly. And that’s a dance for ponies. It takes some serious skill to be that bad.”

“Wait, really?” Twilight asks, perplexed. She goes back to watching the Storm King perform what is possibly the wackiest exercise routine she has ever seen. He looks utterly ridiculous, and yet at the same time with such a lack of self-consciousness. And, now that she thinks about it, for a creature of his mass and wearing armor? You would have to be quite strong and dexterous to balance on one arm like that, or kick your legs that high. She almost envies the foal-like joy he radiates, almost only because she would have to be so silly in order to claim it herself.

“Your Excellency,” Tempest Shadow says, interrupting a seemingly never-ending interlude of ‘I believe in the beat!’ that he punctuates with beating the staff against the floor. “As much as I share your love of pony dance numbers from twenty years ago, it is not something the Crystal Empire would respond to! And I don’t see how any of this will help me get my horn back!”

Raikou stops in a heartbeat, the only motion in the room Pinkie Pie doing some sort of worm dance along the floor. “Temp,” he starts, one hand on the Staff while the other drapes across her back. “Can I call you that?” Before she can respond he goes on, “You see, it doesn’t matter if I win or lose. And it’s the same reason that none of the ponies here respect you.”

“What did you just say?” Tempest Shadow demands, suddenly on edge, ignoring Twilight’s muffled objection.

He musses her mane, his hand slipping lower along her neck. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

In an instant the Storm King’s large hand wraps around her throat, fingers hooking just under her jaw. He casually lifts her off the ground with one arm, his friendly smile boring into her. She can still breathe, if barely, his hand not crushing her windpipe like he easily could. Her fury never dies, even smothered under his iron grasp, forelegs clutching at his bracers as she struggles to break his grip.

“I could repair your horn right now,” Raikou says brightly, his cheerful tone not disguising the ruthlessness behind his words. At Tempest’s disbelieving stare he casually maneuvers the Staff of Sacanas inside her muzzle. Her body jerks, her mouth opening wide as she tries to evade, then freezes as he presses the sharp tip against the roof of her mouth. It doesn’t stop her from glaring daggers at him, her horn sparking.

The ponies are similarly shell-shocked as a faint trickle of red runs down the blue crystal. Twilight can barely raise her hoof, much less open her mouth and shout at him to stop.

“Is that what you want?” he demands, now as harsh as when he summarily executed Strife after his previous second-in-command betrayed him. “A new horn, made of crystal? You know, I could even get it to come out of your old one. That’d be a pretty good look, don’t you think?”

Tempest can barely shake her head no, cutting herself against the tip lodged in her mouth to do so.

With one smooth motion he pulls the Staff away and roughly casts her to the ground. She skids along until coming to an abrupt stop at Twilight’s hooves.

She lays there, crumpled, as he towers over her, calculating exactly how close he would need to step before she could lash out and take down a leg, and then clamber on top of him. Yet he never steps close enough.

“That’s the first reason.” He smiles, but it’s a cold, harsh smile, devoid of happiness. “The ponies of the Crystal Empire, and everywhere else for that matter, will never respect somecreature unless that creature proves themselves. You think winning an election will be enough? Hah!” He sneers, shaking his head. “As soon as you try to get them to do something they don’t want, they will find somepony new. That’s why the shock-and-awe armada is so important. And why you just accepting the Princesses’ ‘surrender’ will never work. Because they haven’t seen your power. They haven’t seen how far you will go. They need that demonstration, if only to prove how serious you are.” He cocks his head as he stares down at her. “Are you serious, Temp?”

“Yes,” she growls out, wishing he would drop half a hoof length closer.

Except he just straightens up. “Good. And the other reason?” He smirks, a bit of light returning to his eyes and smile. He turns and winks at the alicorns. “I have a plan.”

And with that he returns to his seat, lounging as if nothing happened.

Twilight Sparkle tentatively crouches down, staring at the broken-horned unicorn still laying on the ground. She hesitates, unable to speak. This… this is what the Princess of Friendship does, right? The doubt builds inside her, every second spent waiting making it harder and harder to stretch her hoof forward.

What would Celestia do? She would reach her hoof forward in Friendship, not to a pony who wants to be friends, but to an enemy. And how much harder is it to do so, but how much more worthwhile!

And when she finally does reach forward with a friendly smile, Tempest bats it away with a scowl.

“I need neither your help nor your pity,” she rasps out, spitting out a glob of blood as she gets to her hooves. She rubs at her throat, massaging for a brief moment as she swallows. “He taught me a lesson, and one I needed to hear.” She regards Twilight with naked hatred before leaving.

“Wait!” Twilight calls as Tempest storms off. The unicorn turns, regarding her dubiously as Twilight formulates her thoughts. Her fellow Equestrians murmuring about the Storm King’s outburst doesn’t help matters either, making it difficult to concentrate. “Y-your horn. Can we help?”

Tempest fixes her with such vitriol that Twilight momentarily shies away. She shifts her gaze to Celestia, her venom doubling. “You had your chance.”

Twilight can only stare as Tempest Shadow leaves without a backwards glance. She… she failed? She barely notices when Celestia steps next to her and drapes a comforting wing over her side.

“It is alright, Twilight,” Celestia lilts, her voice a soothing balm. The younger alicorn merely sniffs. “Some merely take longer than others. That does not mean we stop trying, or never start trying in the first place.”

“I just wish there was more I could do to help.” Twilight sighs heavily, running over the brief encounters she has had with Tempest and wondering what would be the best way to win over the prodigal unicorn.

She is broken from her musing by Doug coming up between them. “Are we going to do nothing about him?” He doesn’t need to point for them to know exactly who he is talking about.

“For assault? Battery?” Celestia grimly shakes her head. “He chose a harsh method to teach a valuable lesson. One Tempest will not easily forget. While we may treat all others with politeness and deference to their preferences, true respect is reserved for those who deserve it. What is he doing?”

Twilight considers for a long moment. Sometimes she wishes Celestia would just explain her intuitions. But she knows the lessons better, they get ingrained deeper, if it is her figuring it out. She finally ventures, “He believes that deep respect should be afforded to those with strength and power.”

“And?”

Twilight frowns. “He is displaying that power to us, in the same way that we show others love in the way that we wish to be loved. The question is, how shall we respond?”

“That question will have to wait,” Chrysalis announces from a glowing hologram of the lime green changeling. “The results are in!”

“Already?” Doug asks, joining the other creatures. He chuckles to himself. “Well, I guess you didn’t have to wait two weeks for all the mail-in votes.” He glances at Radiant Hope and Amethyst Maresbury. “You two voted, right?”

They nod, watching as Alira reads off the results.

“In last place, with a single vote. The Storm King.”

Raikou absently twirls a finger in the air.

“Better’n Ah thought,” Applejack remarks to Rainbow Dash, getting a snicker in return.

“With less than five votes each, for sixth and fifth place, Prince Rutherford of the Yaks and Ember of the Dragons.”

“What?” Ember bellows, swiping at the air. “I knew this was a waste of time!” Behind her Garble nods, crossing his arms and snorting twin jets of flame. Prince Rutherford has a similar reaction, if a bit more stomp-intensive.

Alira offers Radiant Hope a placating smile. “In fourth, we have Radiant Hope.”

The unicorn sighs, disappointed.

“In third, we have a write-in for Twilight Sparkle.”

“Hey, that’s pretty good!” Spike congratulates, shooting her a thumbs-up.

“Thanks, Spike,” Twilight says, leaning down to nuzzle his spiky fronds. She can’t help but smile as Cadance and Chrysalis size each other up.

“Well,” Shining Armor says, puffing his chest out. “Looks like no matter which of you wins, I get to be Emperor Armor.”

“Sorry, love,” Cadance says, tittering. “But I think I’ll keep my title of Princess, thank you.”

“Not me,” Chrysalis retorts. “I would be an Empress.” She crouches down slightly to rub her head against his, drawing a low moan. “Which would you want to be? Emperor or Prince?”

“Um,” Shining Armor says, clearly conflicted as Cadance comes up on his other side. He tries giving them each wide smiles, but their expressions turn sour every time he looks away from them. “I, uh…”

“The winner,” Alira announces, saving Shining Armor’s flank, “beating out Princess Cadance to become the Crystal Empire’s choice for their next leader, is-”

“What?” Cadance exclaims, wide eyes going past Shining Armor to stare at the exultant changeling. She cannot believe the results, that this imposter could have defeated her in winning the hearts of the Crystal Ponies!

“Yes!” Chrysalis screams in victory, throwing her hooves in the air. “Soon, I will unlock the power of the Crystal Heart, and all of its love will be mine!”

She blinks, noticing that she is not in fact alone, as she always is when communicating with her brood in this manner, but surrounded by a good number of creatures who look entirely less than thrilled at this revelation.

“I-I mean, to study!” Chrysalis offers Twilight a fangy grin. It nearly gets the lavender alicorn to break and join her in smiling. “You know! So we can, um, make… more?”

“The winner,” Alira repeats, turning and looking down, “with a clear majority of votes, is the Brave and Glorious Spike!”

Spike locks in place, his mind running in every direction at once. Him?! How could they have chosen him? He’s just a glorified mail-pony! Sure, he likes to pretend that he is the one coming up with the words and phrases that Twilight dictates to him. But can he actually do as good a job as a Princess?

“Hah!” Rainbow Dash exclaims, the first pony to break from their astonishment. “Looks like having a giant statue of you in their city helped out, huh?” She claps the stunned dragon on the back, then has to catch him when he topples over. She nervously rights him, having to keep him steady with a hoof.

“Indeed!” Rarity says, appraising Spike in a way she rarely has before. She can barely keep from doing a tittering dance as examples of miniature suits race through her mind. “You’ll be adorable, all sparkly and beautiful! Just don’t get too large from chewing all the scenery, yes?”

Garble rubs a claw against his chin, appraising the still-stunned Spike. “You know, I did say I wanted a dragon in charge.”

“The Griffons are happy to support the dragon,” Gruff says, flipping a bit to himself.

“If that is the case,” Alira says, getting a flippant hand wave from the Storm King, a shrug from Iron Grip, and an infuriated stomp from Prince Rutherford. “Effective immediately, the Brave and Glorious Spike shall be the ruler of the Crystal Empire!”

“All hail Emperor Spike!” chorus the ponies, the other creatures joining in. All Spike can do is stare at his claws, dumbfounded.

Ch. 30 - Izaro's Turmoil, Part One

The easternmost barn on Sweet Apple Acres looks much like the other barns that sporadically dot the apple orchards. Plain, unpainted wooden walls made from second-grade apple wood (their finest makes barrels and repairs to the main two houses). A red roof with sturdy hexagonal shingles nailed down in strips. The large double doors, sliding, face west and are currently left open in a way that might seem accidental, if anypony was to look. Yet the truth is more secretive than sinister; the various herds the changelings belong to might know they are leaving, but they don’t know exactly where they go or what they do. Old habits die hard and all that.

A solitary changeling makes her way from one red-studded canopy to another, staying mostly concealed and off the main path. The sun sporadically glints off her light blue chitin, pale pink wings currently folded inside her darker pink elytra. She scans this way and that, never ceasing, a cautious advance likely unwarranted but instilled from years of practice.

“Hail, comrade!” booms Pharynx from a hidden alcove as she silently slips inside the barn. The dark green changeling snaps a hoof to his muscle-bound chest, two loud raps echoing in one of the elite guard’s brasher salutes. At the same time he crouches, ready to pounce if the proper reply isn’t received.

“Hey, comrade,” Ocellus replies in a subdued whisper. She nervously scratches her left foreleg against her right, an infiltrator’s masked greeting. She never cares for the flamboyant displays the elite guards prefer, finding them just as intimidating as they are intended to be. After all, a changeling who announces their presence so loudly has to be able to back it up.

Pharynx’s gaze quickly turns back to the open door, waiting for the verdant remainder of their small clique. He stands at attention, ever on duty, even when the Everfree Forest isn’t even in sight.

“Hey, Pharynx?” Ocellus ventures, drawing a brief glare from the elder warrior. “I-I wanted to ask. Maybe after we’re done?”

“Yes?” Pharynx snaps, frustrated at her timidity. “What?”

“Could you teach me some of your, um, favorite hoof techniques?” Ocellus gulps as she steals a glance to the south and the forest that lays beyond the orchards.

“Ah!” Pharynx bellows, straightening up even more. His scowl morphs into a fangy grin, reminiscent of their illustrious leader. “Thinking of taking a more active role in defending your hive?” He resolutely nods. “A glorious pursuit! Most admirable!” He ceases his praise as a tall, light green changeling walks in. His hoof thumps against his chest twice. “Hail, comrade!”

“Hail, comrades,” Thorax replies in his thin, wheedling voice. His hoof thumps against his chest twice, yet fails to get the resounding echo of his brother. “What’cha talking about?”

“Defensive techniques,” Pharynx responds brusquely. “Assuming flight isn’t an option. And a battle morph is unavailable. Or too expensive.” His querying glance gets a nod from Ocellus. He rubs his taut belly with an unadulterated grimace, as though any hindrance to being at peak performance is to be tolerated only under the most extreme of circumstances and forcibly removed otherwise.

“Ooh, yeah,” Thorax says, lovingly stroking the more prominent bulge of his belly. “I’d hate for anything to happen to this little filly!” He sighs happily, then twists his head to look at Ocellus. “Do you know who from Bravo clique is coming? I heard they were splintering after Cercus got tapped to go to Klugetown.”

“Hey!” admonishes Pharynx. When Thorax doesn’t look appropriately cowed he continues with a harsh scowl, “That’s poor opsec, soldier! You can’t leak critical information like another clique’s circumstances! We can’t reveal information under duress that we don’t know!”

“Leak?” Thorax says, raising his eyebrows as he pointedly scans around the room. Ocellus returns a blank look. “Who are we hiding from? It’s not like everyling won’t know.”

“T-that’s true,” Ocellus stammers. Old habits die hard, and even the tiniest scrap of the former infiltrator’s plans being revealed sets her forelegs quivering. Or just the fact that she knew all the members of Bravo clique when she was only ‘supposed’ to know the leader. “I told Kevin she could join us.”

“Urgh,” Pharynx grunts out, rubbing at his head in the vain hope it might forestall the migraine. “At least I won’t have to worry about her trying to ‘improve the ambiance’ with pretty vines and or anything ridiculous like that. Not every room has to be fit for breeding!”

“That doesn’t stop Doug,” Ocellus claims with a grim smile, rubbing at her belly.

“Another one?” exclaims Thorax happily, kneeling down. “Did it work?” He smiles, bending low and resting his ear on her belly. “Con-” His joy fades as he listens, pulling away slowly. “Um. Congratulations.”

“What?” demands Pharynx, immediately concerned. “Is something wrong?”

Ocellus shies down. “N-not wrong. But she’s not a foal.” She twists away, avoiding any eye contact.

“Ah, yes,” Pharynx states, losing his imperious demeanor. “The mission Quee…” He stalls on the word, obviously disgruntled with the change in title. “...Chief Architect Chrysalis gave all of us. Ingratiate ourselves to the ponies in every way possible, becoming invaluable and inseparable allies and partners. The first corollary being that bearing their highly-valued young will cultivate favor quickly and intensely.”

“A-and I’m not fulfilling that mission,” Ocellus whimpers. She stays twisted away even when Thorax runs his hoof over her back. “Even the special dispensation I got from Chief Architect Chrysalis to keep trying just made things worse! They’re all going to think I’m just in it for the changelings! I’m going to be the one changeling cast out for being a failure!”

“You’re not a failure,” Thorax reassures, stroking harder and hoping the extra pressure will help. It doesn’t seem to make a difference. “You’ve been helping out around the farm, and they like that! I-I’m sure it will happen!”

“Hmm,” Pharynx mutters. He stares at the floor, his features slowly tightening as he considers. “Would more time at the Abattoir take your mind off this and thus alleviate the problem?”

“Come on, Pharynx,” Thorax wheedles, only getting a contemptuous scowl in return. “She needs more than a distraction!”

“Agreed!” Pharynx frowns as Thorax huffs. “What? You heard the Chief’s message. She’s not getting kicked out. She just has to be useful. She can be useful working. She is useful working. I don’t see what the problem is.” He turns his head up with an aloof sneer.

“The problem is that you’re not taking her feelings into consideration,” Thorax growls defensively. It wouldn’t be the first time the two turned their philosophical disagreements into a physical confrontation, even in their new forms, and he can feel his body gearing up to tumble.

“I-it’s okay, Thorax,” Ocellus interrupts, quick to step in. “He’s just trying to help.” She turns to Pharynx as Thorax grudgingly sighs. “But I don’t think more time working will help, because we don’t have enough to do.”

“Ah, yes. A lack of product.” Pharynx nods, short and sharp. “Perhaps another venture into the Everfree Forest? Unless you wish to make more units.”

“You saw how worried Fluttershy was when we came out with that cockatrice,” Thorax counters. “Even if-”

“-But we took the proper precautions!” Pharynx speaks over Thorax, ignoring his heated grunt. “She didn’t fuss after she saw we gouged the eyes out, did she?”

“No,” Thorax returns, short breaths failing to control his temper. “But she still cried, like she knew his mother.”

The two changelings stare at each other, fangs baring and tongues occasionally flicking out. If either hisses a challenge they would tackle each other, Thorax’s slightly greater size a close match for his broodmate’s skill and practice.

“It’s, just,” Ocellus says, her voice enough to distract the two from their obstinance. “Making those preservation units tires me out. It’s easier if we work together, but I know you’re worried about taxing yourselves.”

“Don’t remind me,” Pharynx says icily, only to reach a hoof back to his elytra and pull a small black scarab from the purple wing-cover. He sighs as it buzzes again. “Speaking of taxing.”

“Again?” Thorax says with a considerable amount of worry laced with curiosity. He pulls out a scarab of his own, as does Ocellus. “Ready.”

The three changelings concentrate as they set their scarabs on the floor. A green glow comes from each that coalesces into a ring above the three, an image of their Chief Architect inside. She grins as she looks down at her three changelings, opening her mouth.

Before Chrysalis can get a word out a masculine voice pops up from behind her. She looks incredibly unenthused as the white-furred Storm King pops up next to her, leaning into her head to stare at them. “Hey, that’s way cooler than mine! I’ve got to use this magic pool of water. The connection is horrible, and I can never tell if it’s on or what direction I’m supposed to be looking! Once, I went through my entire battle plan, only to find out that my lieutenants couldn’t see what I was drawing. Then the spell dropped. We still won, of course, but have you ever had that sinking feeling when you see half your fleet peel off in the wrong direction?”

“No,” Chrysalis nearly spits out, “because my forces are not commanded by a cretin.” She tries to push him away, only for the entire view to shift upwards as if the transmitter is being picked up and twisted this way and that. They see brief glimpses of the ponies from Ponyville, a good number of other creatures, and a rapid transition between the floor and ceiling. Thorax gags at the change in perspective, the other two faring little better. “Put that down!”

“But it’s so cool! I just want to-”

“No!” Chrysalis’ scowling visage reasserts itself, if briefly. “Is Sweetie Belle there?”

“No, Chief!” Pharynx belts out, tapping his chest twice.

“That’s Chief Architect,” Chrysalis corrects mirthlessly, only for her image to change to the Storm King’s. “Stop it!” she calls, the whole thing shaking. “If I promise to make you your own set, will you leave me alone?!”

Without warning the view spins rapidly, far faster than any ‘ling could rotate. Ocellus shies down and covers her eyes while Thorax drops to a knee, holds a hoof against his chest and controls his breathing. Pharynx stands straight, clenching his stomach, while a green aura surrounds the image. Once again Chrysalis appears, looking slightly disheveled, and she gazes down at her changelings with a fang-filled frown.

“What?” she demands, as the two slowly come to attention.

“Chief Architect!” Pharynx bellows, covering for his comrades. “I believe I have a new training regimen I would like to instate, as well as an interrogation technique!”

“Submit it in writing. Now, I have a…” She sighs, poorly concealing her contempt. “Priority buzz for Sweetie Belle. Find her, quickly, all three of you. Reserves authorized, should you need to supplement. Any questions?”

The three exchange nervous glances. Breaking into their dwindling love reserves for a message? It would have to be a long one to necessitate that. And important, for Chrysalis to give away their communication method to not only the ponies - in fact, they would be surprised if she hadn’t told the Princesses about their long-distance abilities - but to the other creatures of the Council.

“Well?” Chrysalis demands impatiently.

It takes Ocellus a moment to realize the other two are waiting for her to respond. It makes sense, now that she thinks about it; Sweetie Belle is a member of her herd, after all.

“No questions, Chief Architect,” Ocellus states, starting to feel the drain of the connection. “We’ll buzz you as soon as we find her. Alone?”

Chrysalis frowns, briefly. “Any she wishes to accompany her may. Let her know it will not be… private. ‘Cac’ out.”

The green ring tightens into a singular point, leaving a trail of green sparks that fade into nothing.

“Um,” Ocellus starts, trying to process what just happened. She shoots her comrades a nervous, if somewhat upbeat, smile. “So, who wants to get the popcorn? I know where she keeps the blubber, but it can get a little salty.”

“Ugh, I hate tears and sadness if they aren’t fresh,” Pharynx says with a bitter scowl.

Ch. 31 - Izaro's Turmoil, Part Two

“Thorax!”

The orange-horned changeling looks up from a sea of swirly white and black, his chastened expression racing past embarrassed and diving straight into sheepish. Or maybe that’s just the mass of black and white sheep stopped in the middle of the streets of Ponyville, blocking traffic and causing the sort of general disarray the Ponyvillians find preferable to professed chaos. That is, whenever Discord gets bored and pulls Lemon and Meringue together for more lessons.

Pharynx, observing on the outskirts of the ovis impediment, is having none of it. He chafes at having to coddle his fellow equines, but Chrysalis gave orders. “You realize,” he continues, moderating his merciless command to a merely flippant reminder, “we have somewhere to be?”

“Sorry,” Thorax calls, more for his inexperience with encouraging movement than any sort of remorse about getting involved, as he goes back to orienting the sheep to the north. He gives the closest a light tap on her soft, poofy rump, getting the ewe to take a few steps before promptly running into another sheep. She stops, utters a soft ‘baa’, and goes back to standing around. Thorax sighs, trying again with the next one, a black lamb. “Come on, little one!”

“Urgh,” Pharynx groans, slamming his hoof into his head. It doesn’t hurt nearly enough to take his mind off his cumbersome bother of a brother. He looks up with a glare. “If I help move this along, can this be the last one?”

“But Pharynx,” Thorax wheedles, “they were in our way! And we had to help Carrot Top when her cart spilled. And catching up with Burnt Oak!”

“Rrr.” Pharynx can feel his horns getting redder, and given that they started the same color as Big Mac that is saying something. “But we have wings!”

Thorax exasperatedly shakes his head as Pharynx buzzes his red wings. “Now you’re just being pedantic. They were along our way, and we could help. Happy?” He flashes a smile to the turquoise pegasus at the front of the sheep herd. She looks quite discombobulated, frantically zipping back and forth to make sure no sheep wander off while nervously watching the changeling in the middle.

“Fine.” Pharynx growls menacingly as he steps forward, transforming in sight if not in body to a fearsome warrior sporting a threatening visage of bared fangs and spread wings. The closest sheep back away cautiously, bleating incoherently. As they step they run into other sheep, prompting them to move, setting off a chain reaction that quickly gets the whole herd in motion. Pharynx quickly reaches Thorax, muttering, “This is a waste of time, you know! Chrysalis is waiting for us.”

“No, it’s not,” Thorax retorts as he works alongside Pharynx. “We’re making valuable friends! Filthy Rich taught me that! Chryssy would understand.”

“Urgh,” Pharynx grunts out as Thorax and the mare take to the sides, keeping everysheep steadily shuffling to the north and out of the town. Pharynx bodily chucks any stragglers into the mass ahead. They bounce off their soft compatriots, ‘baaing’ in confusion more than discomfort, before getting jostled and pushed into compliance. The pegasus reaches a hoof forward, biting her lip until she realizes they aren’t harmed.

Eventually the three break out of Ponyville and into one of the many open fields far to the north of the town. The sheep spread out, lazily grazing on the green grass, seemingly untroubled by the events.

It takes a moment for the pegasus to muster the courage to step forward. “Thank y’all kindly,” she shyly says in an Appleloosan accent. After a brief hesitation she tips her wide-brimmed hat to the two changelings. Thorax returns a smile and nod, Pharynx more of a sullen stare. Her smile only falters once as she takes in their horns and wider, heavyset builds. “I’m Sassaflash.”

“Oh, you’re more than welcome, Miss Sassaflash!” Thorax replies chipperly. “I’m Thorax.” He glances to the side, elbowing his brother when he doesn’t respond. “And this is Pharynx.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Pharynx grunts, turning back to look at Ponyville instead of paying attention to the pony. A moment of awkward silence passes as he frowns, glancing back at her. He states, matter-of-fact and more than a little condescending, “Why’d you come all alone? You had to know you might have trouble.”

“I was thinking I could get Fluttershy to help,” Sassaflash says, a bit overwhelmed at Pharynx’s brusque demeanor. “Or Applejack. I heard she’s really good at corralling critters! But then, when they weren’t… available, I figured I could do it on my own.” She sighs, dejected, and stares at the ground, kicking at a clod of dirt. “But they’ve never been to a town this big before! How’s I supposed to know they’d freeze up like a colt ‘just been asked to a dance?”

“I’ve never been to a dance,” Thorax replies matter-of-factly. This draws an apologetic frown from the mare. “Unless you count guard exercises. I never understood the one where you learned how to throw your partner through the air. Something about earth pony tactics? I’ve always had wings, so I wouldn’t know.”

“I have to say, I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe we should get a shindig going? Show these ponies how Appleloosans dance.” Her whole face brightens as she giggles, winking at Thorax. “Speakin’ of, you boys know any available earth ponies?”

She flips her vanilla mane, beaming at the two coyly. Yet what might have been a seductive maneuver on anystallion falls flat on Pharynx, her expression falling as well.

“No,” he curtly replies, noticing Ocellus tailing them on the outskirts of Ponyville. She has saddlebags at her side and makes wide motions with her legs and wings.

“Now, wait,” Thorax says, stepping in front of Pharynx; his brother is more than happy to back off. His generous smile gets Sassaflash’s smile to return. “What kind of assistance are you talking about?”

“Oh, you know.” Sassaflash flips her mane again, batting her eyelashes. “I’ve got a fertile field here, and a lot of sheep. I wouldn’t want them to go to waste!”

“Oh!” Thorax exclaims, nodding along. “You need somepony to help with the grass! You do have a lot of sheep, and they’ll go through it quickly!”

Sassaflash stares at him blankly, her shoulders sagging.

“Ponies who work with grass...” Thorax continues, staring up at the sky. “I’ve got one in mind, maybe two.” He eyes her flanks with a certain intensity, enough for her to take a step back. Her cutie mark is a pair of yellow lightning bolts, but that gives him little idea. He walks up, rubbing against her withers, a rumble growing in the back of his throat.

“You alright?” Sassaflash asks, a little worried. “I have to say, you ain’t like either of the changelings who moved down to Appleloosa.”

“Just checking something,” Thorax says, circling around to behind her. She raises an eyebrow as he takes a long sniff of her tail. He asks, as he rears up and rests his weight across her back, “Do you want foals?”

Sassaflash staggers as he lands on her, barely able to keep standing. She turns with a repudiating glare, “That’s a little forward, ain’t it?”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Thorax says, hopping off with a nervous smile. “It’s, just, this is the first time I’ve been asked to play matchmaker. Before, we were just assigned the pony we needed to seduce.”

“Seduce?!” Sassaflash pulls back, but curiosity overrides her indignation. “How would you go about seducing somepony?”

“Oh, it’s pretty simple, really.” Thorax chuckles at her slightly affronted look. “Just start with some questions about them, get them talking about themselves. Like this.” He seems to relax, dropping his pitch slightly and smoothly remarking, “Appleloosa, huh? I’ve always wanted to go there. What made you pull up roots and come here?”

Sassaflash nods along, intrigued at the quick change in the changeling’s demeanor. “Here? The opportunity!” She motions to the wide open land around them. “It was starting to get a little crowded in Appleloosa and we had a whole new crop of ewes. Braeburn gave me a tip about how much you can expand, and here we are!”

“Aww, so you’re going to have lots more little ones?” Thorax grins at the sheep just chewing at the grass. “You have contracts on them yet?”

“Contracts?” Sassaflash frowns at the word, but doesn’t react more than that. It is enough to get Pharynx to glance over with something between a curious and commending look. “Not yet, what with the rising prices.”

“Well, if you’re looking for a competitive bid, just talk to Pharynx.” The changeling in question offers a rare smile as Thorax mentions him. “He’s at Sweet Apple Acres most days.”

“That’s right,” Pharynx says, his demeanor completely changed, happy if not joyous to talk shop. “We can equinely harvest, if you’re not looking to ship live. Much better that way. We even make the containers in-house!”

“Down at Sweet Apple Acres, you say?” Sassaflash winks at Pharynx. “Maybe I will head down.”

“Oh, but I definitely wouldn’t talk to Big Macintosh.” Thorax copies Sassaflash’s wink back at her. “He’s far too heavy for you.”

The pegasus laughs, bright and cheerful. “Oh, I don’t know about that. If Braeburn’s collection is accurate?”

“Great!” Pharynx interrupts. “But we have to head to Twilight’s. Ocellus said Sweetie Belle is there.” He offers Sassaflash a curt nod, getting a friendly wave in return.

The two changelings trot off to the bare patch of earth above the sunken castle, meeting up with Ocellus. Pharynx notices Thorax’s self-satisfied smirk, grunting with a heavy sigh. “Not quite a waste of time,” he grudgingly admits, a new spring coming to Thorax’s step.

“And all we had to do was talk to her.” Thorax glances back at the pegasus going about the sheep, making sure they understand to not wander off. “Think Big Mac will like her?”

“I fail to see how this concerns me.” Pharynx pauses at the open door, listening to the grinding sound emanating from within. He glances inside the brightly lit room and almost immediately has to shy away from the intense light.

Starlight Glimmer, cutie mark of a teal wisp of magic and equipped with a black welding face-shield, busily drills anchor holes in the ceiling with her horn. Bits of crystal fleck out and fall down, along with some larger chunks, accompanied by a palpable feeling of heat. Next to her, seemingly hovering in midair but actually suspended on a recently installed transparent platform, rests Trixie. She confers with Diamond Tiara and Pomarbo, going over the plans for the skyway between the entrance and the cumbersome doors far above the floor. She picks up a heavy-duty screw, easily the size of her foreleg, and passes it up to Starlight without looking.

“Is Sweetie Belle here?” Thorax asks as he pokes his head in, having difficulty making anything out over the brilliant sparking horn.

“Down here!” comes the not-quite high pitched voice.

Unsure of how exactly the younger ponies got to the bottom of the stories-deep room, the three changelings leap off, fluttering down the massive atrium to the circular table below. Three young mares dash away from their crates of apples, bales of hay, and lists of ponies and cutie marks at Starlight’s village.

“Hi, Ocellus!” Sweetie Belle greets, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo waving. “And Thorax and Pharynx!”

“Hi, Sweetie Belle! And Apple Bloom, and Scootaloo!” Thorax looks around at the pile of decorations, each of the young mares and fillies contributing something even if they aren’t there. “Love what you’ve done with the place!”

“Thanks!” Apple Bloom says, grinning broadly. “Makes it feel more like home, ya know? But, what’re you three doin’ here?”

“We’ve got a message for you from Spike.” Thorax pulls out a black scarab, placing it on the circular map table. Pharynx and Ocellus copy him as the sounds of drilling above cease, the four ponies above staring down curiously.

“From Spike?” Scootaloo demands, jumping up on one of the chairs to better observe. “About what?”

“Chief Architect Chrysalis didn’t say,” Pharynx states harshly, his tone attempting to get across that they should be quiet. It doesn’t quite work.

“He didn’t send a letter?” Sweetie Belle’s face scrunches up. “And Chief Architect? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’ll let Spike explain,” Thorax says, tapping his scarab. A bolt of green magic erupts from the three, coalescing into a ring above the table.

Ch. 32 - Izaro's Turmoil, Part Three

Sweetie Belle stares up at the ring of green. A sense of dread fills her stomach, tightening, clenching harder than when she thought Spike would be taken away for accidentally transforming into a giant dragon and foalnapping her. Actually, the whole foalnapping part didn’t exactly go smoothly, either. But that’s all in the past. Right?

Did something happen? Well, obviously, but is it something bad? Would he be taken away again? Would he be e-e-e-executed? She can barely keep her head from dropping to the floor in despair, forbidding the tears from her eyes. She had to live through that Tartarus once already, and now it is happening again?!

No! The Princesses wouldn’t let anything like that happen to Spike! Yet her bland reassurances do nothing to alleviate her agonizing. The swirling gray inside the ring doesn’t change into an image of a healthy Spike, despite her worry and wishful thinking. She hops onto one of the chairs to get a better view, shaking the wetness from her eyes, as if getting closer and filling her sight might crowd out the discombobulating thoughts.

“Hey,” Scootaloo says from her side, nudging her hard enough to break her from her funk. “Relax. It’ll be just fine.”

“Don’t say that,” Apple Bloom counters, squeezing into the chair. The three barely fit with manes, tails, and a foreleg spilling off the sides. “Don’t’cha know it’s bad luck?”

“Twilight says it all the time,” Scootaloo says haughtily, sticking her nose in the air. “And if Twilight says it, why shouldn’t we?”

Sweetie Belle snickers at the exchange, nuzzling her sisters even as they glare at each other. The reassurance that they are there, together, is enough to lift her spirits. Even if they don’t quite see eye to eye.

Before their bickering can worsen Chief Architect Chrysalis’ appears in the ring. She glares down at the three young mares, then pans the ring to the side to focus on the three changelings.

“Did I not tell you this was a priority?” Chrysalis’ emphatic demand gets Ocellus’ ears to splay back, draws a self-satisfied smirk form Pharynx, and causes Thorax to hunker down for a brief moment. “That sort of delay is unacceptable! What was the reason?”

“F-fulfilling our primary objection, your majesty!” Thorax stammers out, doing his best to hold himself up. Pharynx begrudgingly stays silent, Ocellus nodding along.

“I am no longer ‘your majesty’,” Chrysalis reminds with a scornful glare. “You may refer to me as ‘Chief’, Chief Architect Chrysalis, or informally as ‘Cac’. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Chief!” Thorax bows his head, Ocellus and Pharynx following.

Chrysalis pauses for a moment as she mulls over his answer earlier. “Very well,” she finally says, stifling the growl in her voice. She pans the ring back to Sweetie Belle, regarding the three young mares with a long sigh. “Sweetie Belle, Emp… Spike wishes to go over recent events. You may wish to take notes.”

“Notes?” Scootaloo scoffs as Chrysalis leaves the image. “I thought Spike took notes. Does he need a new assistant?”

As Spike comes into view, Sweetie Belle’s breath catches in her throat. She expects to see some wound on him, some massive scar, like the faded one on his leg from where Gummy bit his and took a scale. But from the green frond along his head to the way his pointed claws drum nervously against each other, nothing seems to be out of place. At least, with him; three teal claws reach down on each of his shoulders, deeply massaging into his scales. He looks to be enjoying himself, more than a little, eyes closed and back arched as the claws dig into him.

“Thanks, y’all,” Apple Bloom says as Pomarbo comes down the stairs along the edge of the room, Diamond Tiara in close pursuit. He struggles to climb onto a chair, only succeeding when Diamond Tiara gives him a hoof. She doesn’t seem happy about it, but keeps her complaint to herself and smiles when he glances at her.

The voice startles Spike. He nearly springs out of his seat, especially as he sees Sweetie Belle staring at him with a mix of curiosity and contempt. “H-hey, Sweetie,” he stammers, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. The teal claws, which belong to a slender female dragon, pull away as she backs up. Spike gulps, then continues with a quick honorific, “The just Princess presides over us all!”

“Hi, Spike.” Sweetie Belle smiles pleasantly. Is that a thing they are doing now? “Um, praise the sun?”

A moment passes, the only sound the scribbling of Pomarbo’s pencil. It worries her, if briefly, that he doesn’t come out and say what happened. Or who that dragon is. Or much of anything at all; instead, he just itches the side of his face. She tentatively asks, “So, um, how was the flight?”

“The flight?” Spike glances around. His surroundings are blurry, but Sweetie Belle can make out the other mares of the herd. “The flight was fine. I helped Twilight out with her presentation. But our destination was more dangerous than the journey.”

“Oh?” Sweetie Belle asks, leaning forward. Her bright, interested expression helps Spike to perk up, even as she flinches at the mention of a dangerous destination. “How did the presentation go?”

“We, uh, we haven’t done it yet. Perilous is that which cannot be predicted.” Spike scratches at his cheek, nodding to try to cover it. “But I’m sure it’ll be great!”

“Yeah, me too,” Sweetie Belle says, a little confused at the strange phrases he keeps throwing in. “So, did anything happen?” This seemed pretty urgent.”

“Um, no,” Spike stammers out. He shuffles before scratching at his chin again. “Well, sort of.” He growls at himself, slapping himself a few times. “Come on, Spike! Commit to the course!”

“I didn’t even know we could talk like this,” Scootaloo mutters during the ensuing silence, fascinated with the swirling magic above. She glances at the three changelings, each of whom are snacking on blue-buttered popcorn.

“Daddy has some dragonfire dust he can use in case of an emergency,” Apple Bloom corrects.

“But in real-time?” Scootaloo grins. “This is so cool!”

“Yeah,” Spike says, raising a claw. “To the glorious apparatus of empire!”

“Empire?” Sweetie Belle raises an eyebrow, then glances at the changelings. “I thought the changelings were part of Equestria, not the Crystal Empire.”

“Did I say empire?” Spike’s itching grows worse, his claws raking at his face. “So, um, you three. How’s making your mark?”

“Our mark?” Sweetie Belle checks her flank, and it’s still emblazoned with her shield and note cutie mark, similar to her sister’s. “It’s gone fine. In the day that it’s been since we last saw each other.” She cocks her head, looking funnily at Spike as he stands uncomfortably. When he doesn’t say anything she goes on, “We’ve been going over the list of ponies at Starlight Glimmer’s. We need to coordinate with a couple places and ponies, like Princess Luna and whoever’s running the Crystal Empire.”

“The Crystal Empire?!” Spike hunches down, looking from side to side. “Jeez, you are relentless! I don’t know-”

“Oh, come on!” Chrysalis erupts from the side, filling the viewscreen with her scowl. “Sweetie Belle, Spike was elected Emperor of the Crystal Empire. Now stop wasting valuable time and energy!”

“Elected?” Scootaloo scoffs as Chrysalis pulls away. “You mean like... voting? I thought they only voted on fruitless figureheads like school-pony president.”

“Hey!” Diamond Tiara objects, shooting Scootaloo the most lethal of glares. She pushes Pomarbo aside to leap to her hooves, growling menacingly.

“Didn’t you run for school pony president?” Apple Bloom pointedly asks Scootaloo before Diamond Tiara can charge across the table.

“Only because Diamond Tiara paid me,” Scootaloo counters, much to the grumbling of the pink mare. It does get Diamond Tiara to back down, if barely.

“Nice,” Trixie and Starlight Glimmer say from above, tapping hooves against each other.

“Can you believe this?” Diamond Tiara complains to Pomarbo as he rights himself. “I mean, you can see how good a job I’m doing as school-pony president, right?”

“N-no,” Pomarbo says quietly, shaking his head. He squints down at his atrocious hoof-writing rather than meet her fiery gaze. “I haven't gone to school yet.”

“Oh.” Diamond Tiara harrumphs. She haughtily glances down at his writing before sticking her nose up with an aloof sneer. “Well, maybe you should. And we should get you some glasses.” Then you’d be more like Silver Spoon. She sighs, wishing her best friend and sister was here.

Sweetie Belle can only stare at Spike during the other’s exchange. He looks shy, inexperienced, standing there with his claw awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck as he stares at the floor. A small, roundish, timid figure that doesn’t cut an imposing visage. Certainly no King Sombra, from what she knows from stories and pictures. Not at all what you would expect from a Princess or King. How could he possibly be an Emperor!? She had just been talking with the others about whether or not Spike is too young for any sort of serious relationship. And now this?!

“An Emperor?” she blurts out. She pushes forward, heedless of her sisters at her sides, and stares through wide eyes at the dragon who seems to shrink in on himself. “You can’t be an emperor, Spike! Shouldn’t ponies have to have, like, years of training?” She tries to peer through the ring of green, but can’t find Cadance. “I mean, Cadance has spent, what, a decade just learning how to rule!”

“Y-yeah,” Spike stammers, nodding once. “T-that’s what I thought, too. That I might just be a sovereign leech, draining the life from my host. But I’ve spent a lot of time with Twilight.” He slowly grows bolder as he speaks, “But more importantly, I’ve helped Princess Celestia, even if it is just reading royal correspondence. And after Twilight ascended, I assisted with all the paperwork Celestia dumped... I mean, assigned her to go through. Scheduling meetings, showing up at official functions. I even know how to smile and wave!”

If Sweetie Belle registered much of what he said it doesn’t show, even as he demonstrates his ability to smile and wave. It looks, frankly, somewhat disturbing and unpracticed. A lot like Meringue, for that matter. “But you’re not even a pony! You can’t...”

Sweetie Belle takes a quick breath as she realizes what she just said. It seems to snap Spike out of his melancholy, and he turns an angry frown her way. “I-I mean, you don’t have a cutie mark. And how will the Crystal Ponies see their ruler if she doesn’t have a cutie mark? Especially one like Cadance’s that’s practically made for ruling the Crystal Empire!”

“Well,” Spike says, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at her. “They did vote for me. They thought that I would be the best person to navigate our empire through troubled waters. Plus, Doug doesn’t have a cutie mark and he’s a prince of Equestria.”

“Prince Consort,” Sweetie Belle states, growling at herself. She doesn’t even know why she is arguing the point, except that - just like Spike was earlier - she is avoiding the truly contentious topic.

Spike waves away her objection. “The point is… Look, I don’t want to argue with you about this. A wise emperor knows when to circumvent a troubling situation.”

“Is that you, Spike? A wise emperor?” Sweetie Belle can barely keep a friendly smile on her face. She wants to laugh at the concept, how ridiculous it is, yet the dragon in front of her is deathly serious. “Do you even know what you’re getting into?”

“A throne is the most devious trap of them all,” Spike states, doing his best to stand regally and speak with an air of wisdom. “It’s a great honor, and a great burden.”

“So you’re going to do it?” Sweetie Belle demands through tear-filled eyes. “You’re going to leave Twilight and the herd. You’re going to leave me, to rule in the Crystal Empire?”

Ch. 33 - Izaro's Turmoil, Part Four

“I…” Spike starts before cutting off. He covers a surreptitious glance at Twilight with another heavy drag of his claws against his face. Why are his scales so itchy? It felt amazing when Ember was practically peeling his scales from the osteoderms underneath, even if she didn’t quite get around to actually removing them.

But Twilight…

He hasn’t thought about what it will mean for her when he leaves to take over running the Crystal Empire. If she approves of it or not. What she’ll do with all the paperwork Princess Celestia assigns. He’s been so distracted by the congratulations that he just couldn’t. He would instead think about what sort of adventure he might find in the illustrious Empire, what sort of… perks might come with sitting on the throne.

Like when Delegate Gruff came over, the first time the griffon paid them even an ounce of respect. Spike can still see the greedy glint in his beady eye. But it gets him thinking about trade with the Griffon Kingdom, how they could build a railroad that cuts along the Frozen North to Manehattan. It would increase access to the Crystal Empire and boost trade with the Griffons, rather than needing to route everything through Canterlot. And that would be a huge boon, not just in-

Ugh, he’s getting distracted again!

It’s so hard to stay focused, with all the things competing for his attention! Laws of the Crystal Empire, how to deal with ponies, the ponies themselves! He is jumping straight into the deep end, like when he watched Sweetie Belle leap from an apple tree right into the pond, but without learning how to swim. Is this what it’s like to be Twilight, a million different things demanding, all at once, when she became Princess? It explains why she has her lists, a crutch he’s made fun of more than once; she can freely pursue those distractions while being able to return to the issue at hoof at a moment’s notice.

He needs to take charge. Focus on one item at a time. Anything else that comes up should be written down, to be addressed at a later time. Or have the current topic get tabled so the issue cropping up can be resolved satisfactorily, then returned to with a minimum of repeat discussion.

“Twilight?” Spike calls, turning away from the swirling ring of green and his… newest friend to his oldest.

“Yes, Spike?” Twilight answers as she trots over. She beams down at her long-time ward and friend. She asks, as if she hasn’t been listening in to their entire conversation, “Is everything going well?”

“Could…” Spike pauses for a moment, his stomach doing flips as he nearly gnaws at his claws. He dreads Twilight’s answer, even with the mare’s pleasant smile. A smile he wishes Sweetie Belle had on, but she hasn’t let up on her stony stare. “Could you get me quill and parchment?”

“Certainly.” If Twilight finds the request odd she doesn’t show it. Her horn lights; Spike’s quill, inkwell and parchment levitate to the small dragon. Her head tilts to the side slightly, a certain knowing in her eyes. “Is there anything else?”

“I…” Spike stammers, scratching at his cheek. A small bit flecks away, a speck of purple falling to the floor.

“Oh, Spike!” Twilight sympathizes. She drops down and studies Spike’s face with a dam’s protectiveness, eyes narrowing and brow creasing. “Are you alright? Does that hurt?”

“Does what hurt?” Sweetie Belle exclaims worriedly, unable to see from the angle.

“I-it’s nothing! Really!” Spike turns to smile at Sweetie Belle. She flinches noticeably, as do Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. He glances at Twilight, gulping. “Is it bad?”

“I-I’m not sure,” Twilight says. She sits up, studying the two dragons in the room. They seem to be bickering about something, then arm wrestling with each other, but that’s nothing new. “It’s an angry red, like an open wound, like you peeled away a bit of hide. I mean, scale. We don’t know a lot about dragon physiology. But I wouldn’t touch it. Remember the weeping from your scales after Gummy bit you?”

“I won’t mess with it.” Spike’s leg twitches at the reminder. “Deadly machinations benefit greatly from ample drainage.”

Twilight snorts, trying to hold back her guffaws and failing. “Deadly machinations? You must have listened a little too closely to Princess Celestia complaining about the nobles!” She smirks at the white alicorn, only for Chrysalis’ intense stare to catch her eye.

“I believe,” the chief architect states emotionlessly, drawing a certain stillness from the other mares, “that he is referring to an abattoir, not aristocrats. Though one would certainly work on the other.”

“For the record,” Rainbow Dash pipes up to Spike, “I agreed with you when you wanted Twilight to compete for whether or not she could stay in Ponyville. Applejack, on the other hoof, didn’t agree and so she should go at the top of whatever list you’re making.”

“Hey!” Applejack objects, glaring at the cerulean pegasus. Only for Rainbow to lose her denunciation, point a hoof at her lead mare and laugh uproariously. “Okay, okay, ya got me.”

“On a more serious note,” Twilight says, turning back to Spike, still smiling at her herdmate’s antics. She has an upswing in her voice, a ray of hope conveying that she would be open and understanding. “Was there anything else?”

Spike hesitates, rubbing at his arm, only to worry about whether or not he has a loose scale there as well. He looks down at his thin arms. They look so weak, so paltry, so unlike the muscular limbs of the Storm King. Or even Garble! How can he possibly be a leader looking like he does now? He sniffs and drops his head, despising the sound of Twilight’s hooves as she steps closer to console him.

No! He can’t think like that! To entertain doubt is to dance with death!

“Twilight.” He wipes away his tears as he stares up at his dearest friend. Twilight stops, compassion still evident in her smile, even with the slight harshness in his voice. “Do you want me to go to the Crystal Empire?”

“Oh, Spike,” Twilight says, dropping to her barrel. She can’t say anything more, jaw quivering, Celestia’s missive about Honesty in full effect. And maybe that’s her answer. She beckons him closer, tears muddying the violet of her eyes.

The look she gives him when he stalls… she looks hurt, betrayed, that he might not love her enough to give even this small token. It takes but a moment for his resolve to break, rushing into those waiting hooves. She gathers him up, just like she always has, her shoe sliding along his spines as the other hugs him tight.

“I’m so sorry,” Twilight sobs out, barrel heaving, before Spike can repeat his question. “I just… how would you say it?” The corners of her mouth curl up just slightly. “You know. Now that you’re a big-shot emperor and all.” She takes a breath, then states in a low, deep voice, “Inflated confidence is so easily perforated.”

Spike, along with the nearby ponies, can’t help but chuckle. “I know. But I’m a big dragon now!” He grins at her, despite not coming up to her eyes even when she is laying down. “I can take it!” His voice, as deep as it will go, booms, “Such resilience!”

Twilight ruffles Spike’s spines as he flexes, shaking her head mirthfully. “Oh, Spike. I can’t tell you how much I’ll miss this. And how much I’ll miss you. I don’t want you to go.” She hugs him close, shaking as he spreads his arms to hug her back. “I wish you could stay with me forever.”

She pulls away to steal a glance at Celestia. Her mentor is laying down next to Luna, Doug sitting in between, and giving the two the warmest, most encouraging smile she has ever seen. She notes how Doug’s arm nestles around Celestia’s flank and belly, yet more how her leg wraps around his knee, tugging tightly and holding him close, just like she would with Smarty Pants.

She mirrors the action with Spike, nuzzling him from the spines along the top of his head until she gets to the ticklish spot at his neck. “I think back to all the wonderful things we’ve done together. How you’ve helped me through thick and thin. This might feel early, but I know you are capable.”

“How do you know that?” Spike asks, feeling the responsibility looming over him like the shadow of King Sombra. “I don’t feel ready!”

“We may never feel ready. I know I didn’t when I got these.” Twilight wags her wings. “Or when we fought King Sombra. Or dealt with Chrysalis. But we must always be ready to leap at opportunity when it appears. And I think this is a splendid opportunity for you.”

“You’re not going to come with me?” Spike asks, almost begging. “To lose a retainer is to lose a dear friend.”

Twilight shakes her head. “No. This is your chance to prove yourself. If I helped, I would only be stealing your accomplishment from you. And that would hardly be honest, or generous, or loyal, or kind, or optimistic, right?”

“Hey!” Pinkie Pie complains good-naturedly. “How come my Element always gets changed?!”

“Or worthy of laughter,” Twilight corrects, smiling fondly. “But your friends will always be there if you need us. You can write a letter; we’re just a breath away! Just don’t expect us to solve every problem you have!”

“I delegate all my crises to the Elements of Harmony,” Celestia adds before anypony can accuse her of the same, ending with a wink to Twilight. “I’m afraid I called dibs.”

“I get that,” Spike says, fidgeting nervously. He turns back to Twilight. “I knew I would have to leave the nest at some point. That I wouldn’t always have you around. Before you got those,” he motions to Twilight’s wings, “I thought, when I could bear to think about it, that it would be from age. For everypony else, time can be slowed but never slain. But this?”

Spike buries himself in Twilight’s soft and inviting chest, a hoof loosely holding him against her. Her head drops down, finally allowing a tear to drop onto his back.

“I’ll miss you, Spike,” Twilight whispers. Only after a long time do they push away. She stares into his eyes, wiping away a tear that didn’t come off on her fur. “I know you’ll be a superb leader.”

“It’d be kind of hard to be worse than the last emperor,” Rainbow Dash adds, breaking the solemnness. She looks confused at the glares aiming her way. “What? It’s true!”

A sniff from Sweetie Belle draws Spike’s attention. She rubs at her eye, clearly reluctant to ask the question, as Twilight backs away and leaves Spike alone. “Do you want me to leave too, Spike? Because I don’t want you to leave. I won’t just miss you when you’re gone.”

“Gone?” Spike says, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders. “I was hoping that you would, you know, come with me. As they say, pity the emperor who sits alone on his throne.”

“But…” Sweetie Belle stammers. Hah! Spike smirks, the shoe on the other hoof. “But we promised,” she finally says, looking up at something he can’t see, then at her two sisters. Neither appears happy with the conundrum in front of them. “We were going to go to Starlight’s village and help everypony there with their cutie mark problems.”

“Oh, so I can’t leave because you’ll miss me?” Spike crosses his arms across his chest, his face set hard. “But you can leave because your cutie mark says you can? What will Rarity say, or Applejack or Rainbow Dash?”

It takes Sweetie Belle a moment to answer, the three mares frowning but not at her. She says, with obvious trepidation, “Well, yeah. It’s like when Applebaum left to pursue her mark. Applejack was sad, but she came to terms with it. Applebaum is doing what she is meant to do. All our dams know that we’re doing what we’re meant to do.”

“But how do you know that I’m not doing what I’m meant to do? Huh?” Spike points a claw at his face, a new spot starting to itch. “What makes ponies so special, that they get to blame any action they want to on their mark and everypony just accepts it? But if a dragon does what they want, they’re ‘just being a dragon’ and the next thing you know they’re being deported?”

“Well,” Sweetie Belle shouts, a new fury in her eyes, “if you want to be a dragon so badly, why don’t you go be a dragon with her!” She angrily thrusts her hoof at the blurry teal figure in the background.

“Her?” Spike glances back, spotting Ember. He gulps. “With Ember?”

“Oh, she has a name,” Sweetie Belle mutters.

Spike glowers at her cross reaction. “But I don’t care about her. I care about you. An emperor must choose his attendants wisely.”

Spike kneels down, wishing he had some sort of token to offer. He grabs the quill Twilight left on the floor. He holds it up solemnly.

“I wish I could tell you the right words. About how much you mean to me. About how valuable you will be at my side. The truly virtuous are few and far between. I wish I could delay, but there is a fine line between consideration and hesitation. The former is wisdom, the latter is fear. An emperor must know precisely where he stands, and I need to know where I stand with you.”

Spike takes a deep breath, then kneels.

“Sweetie Belle. I love you. Will you come to the Crystal Empire and rule at my side?”

Spike stares at Sweetie Belle, holding his position while she stares back. It begins to grow uncomfortable, the itching on his face getting worse. He finally has to reach up and scratch, digging deep, never breaking eye contact.

“Spike,” Sweetie Belle eventually says, keeping the stammer from her voice even as her body quakes. “I… I haven’t thought this through.” She indicates her two sisters. “It’d mean breaking us apart. We wouldn’t be helping the ponies at Starlight’s village. I… I can’t.” She sniffs, once, turning her head away. “I can’t come with you to the Crystal Empire. Not yet.”

She mutters a brief, “I’m sorry,” and leaves a stream of tears as she jumps down and scampers off to hide in one of the bales of hay.

“S-sorry, Spike,” Apple Bloom apologizes before running off to console her sister.

Scootaloo gives a sympathetic nod of her head. “We’ll, um, let you know if anything changes.” She, too, disappears from view.

Spike stares at the empty green ring for a long moment. He says as it fades, without malice or any emotion in his voice, “May you find the ending you deserve.”

Ch. 34 - Izaro's Turmoil, Part Five

Spike isn’t surprised when a hoof lightly rests on his shoulder, trying to comfort him with a solemn pressure. He is surprised to find it is white and not lavender. He wants to brush it off, prove that he is a tough dragon who can be on his own, but he gets as far as reaching his curled claws up and preparing to flick her off when she speaks.

“Oh, Spike,” Rarity starts, the gentleness in the unicorn’s voice a sharp contrast to the wariness or commands Spike normally hears. “It must feel terrible, what you are going through right now.”

“Tell me about it,” Spike replies gruffly, shrugging her hoof off him. She frowns but doesn’t press forward, displaying a similar betrayal that Twilight had earlier, if less intense. He ignores it, grumpily crossing his arms. “The path is winding and treacherous; I just didn’t think it would start so early. But treachery always surfaces when you least expect it.”

“Treachery?!” Rarity exclaims, taking a step back while her hoof presses against her chest. “This isn’t you, Spike! Surely you don’t think that somepony making a choice that you don’t agree with is betraying you?”

Rarity and Spike turn as Ember strides up to them while a defeated Garble sulks and nurses his claw behind her.

“What else would it mean?” the teal dragon demands, slapping a fist into her open palm. “A Dragon Lord rules with absolute authority. My father, Dragon Lord Torch, defies any to deny his dominance at their peril. And Spike should rule the same way. As a dragon, not as a weak and simpering pony.”

“Excuse me!” Rarity objects, rising up and glaring at Ember. “Just because Spikey-Wikey is a dragon does not mean-”

“Hey!” Spike interrupts, stepping away from Rarity to stand next to Ember. “I’m not a foal you can boss around any more! Maybe you don’t like the new Emperor Spike.”

“Hatchling,” Ember corrects as Rarity sputters. “Or baby. You certainly aren’t a foal.”

“Well, he kind of is,” Garble states disdainfully.

“But not for long.” Ember slaps Spike’s back with a vicious smile, raking her claws along his scales. “See? He’s growing up!”

Spike howls in agony as the top layer of scale rips off, exposing a pattern of angry red diamonds. He whimpers as he lays on the ground, curling into an abject ball.

“You… you brute!” Rarity rushes in between Ember and Spike, rearing up to plant a hoof on the taller dragons’ chest, her experience with Doug’s taller stature helping her keep the pose without wavering. Twilight Sparkle also stands, ready to intervene.

“Hah!” Ember laughs in Rarity’s face as she smoothly parries the push, leaving the unbalanced unicorn barely able to catch herself as she falls. Ember points at Spike, cackling. “You ponies always think you’re so superior! You don’t care what happens to everycreature else; you don’t have a clue what he’s going through!”

“Then explain,” Twilight says firmly as she steps up to Spike. The young dragon is no longer writhing in pain; instead, he has a content look, the same kind Rarity might after a session at Aloe’s. “It’s true that we don’t know enough about dragons, or everycreature else. But we want to learn. We’re willing to listen to experts like you. But that doesn’t mean we should be going around tearing scales off each other!”

“See?” Ember points out with a self-righteous smirk. “Perfect example of pony primacy at its worst. That’s exactly what you should be doing.”

“Wait, what?” Twilight asks, befuddled. She glances down at Spike; he’s gone from content to busily itching at a piece of scale on his face that is beginning to peel away. He winces every time his claw brushes against the red spot underneath, unable to do as Ember did and rip the offending scale off. “I should?”

“Yeah! He’s molting!” Ember points at the shards of scale littering the floor. “It’s super painful to go through. Every minute you delay is a minute he spends suffering. But it’s a part of growing up dragon.”

“Growing up?” Spike asks from the floor, his voice hoarse and nearly unhearable. He glances down at his arms and legs, still as short and stubby as always. “But the last time I grew up, I nearly destroyed Ponyville!”

“What was that?” Twilight asks, straining to hear him.

“I said,” Spike repeats, infuriated but still silent, “that I almost destroyed Ponyville!”

“I’m sorry, Spike, but we can’t hear you.” Twilight grabs Spike’s parchment and quill. “Maybe write it down?”

Spike clenches his claws, starting off quiet before erupting into a deafening shout and an accompanying uncontrolled spout of flame. “I said that I almost defiled Sweetie Belle and destroyed Ponyville!”

“Oh, yeah!” Ember says, laughing as a golden glow from Celestia’s horn diverts the flame upward, dispersing it in midair. Her snicker shuts up Spike and gets Twilight to twist her head. “I heard about that. Good times! But this isn’t Greed Induced Bigness, though you have to tell me how you gibbed to save the Crystal Empire.”

“Oh, that?” Spike says, his voice hoarse again. He flexes his arms, quickly going back to scratching at a new spot on his face. “I just thought about how valuable the Crystal Heart in my claws was, and that it was mine.”

“You’ve gone quiet again,” Twilight says, cautiously watching for another belch of flame.

“He said, ‘oh, that?’” Celestia interprets as Spike clenches his claws with an infuriated glare, the glow from her horn fading. “Then, ‘I just thought about how valuable the Crystal Heart in my claws was, and that it was mine.’”

“Thank YOU!!” Spike bellows, releasing another torrent of flame that Twilight is ready for this time.

“You are most welcome,” Celestia says with a soft smile.

All the other creatures have grown quite interested in the proceedings, gathering closer than before; even the Storm King has stopped lounging. The ponies regard them with a quick glance before going back to Spike.

“This… molt process you are talking about,” Twilight starts. A smile that might be considered maniacal on anycreature not so cute spreads across her muzzle. She zips next to Ember, quill in aura and ready to jot down anything she says. “Is there anything else you can tell us? Is it like getting a cutie mark for a pony and the start of puberty? What sort of horrendous side effects are there? How long will it last?” She beams at Ember, all toothy smiles and eager eyes.

“Horrendous side effects?” Spike whimpers.

“Is he going to get wings?” Rainbow Dash excitedly demands, looking between Ember and Garble’s wings. “Because that would be awesome!” She slaps Spike on the back, drawing a sharp intake of breath as his eyes bug out in pain. “‘It’d make you forty-four percent cooler!”

She looks around at the blank, questioning stares everypony gives her. “What? Each wing makes you twenty percent more cool. Unless he just gets one massive, unbalanced wing.” Her eyes grow wide in horror. “That’s not gonna happen, right?”

Ember chuckles, shaking her head. Her purple wings flare out, looking comparably small on her body. “They might get to be massive, but that’ll take a few centuries. Right now there’s the volume shifts and uncontrolled fire breath. That’s bad, but what you need to worry about is the smell. It’s so bad a dragon will kick their young out and make them fend on their own. Run away from rocs. Survive and find a hoard of their own.” She takes a deep whiff of Spike, claws ready to pinch her nose and gag. Except she doesn’t really react, getting closer and taking another sniff. She remarks, “That part hasn’t started yet?”

“That would be me,” Celestia says apologetically, her cleansing spell from earlier still active. “I could take it away, but…” She flicks her head at Doug, his pungent lunch unnoticeable.

“Hey!” he retorts dourly.

Celestia smirks, leaning her head back to kiss him. “Got you,” she whispers, earning a tender scratch of her belly.

“Yeah,” Ember says, rolling her eyes at the affectionate display. “Is that what you’re thinking? That it’s easier on all of us this way?”

Twilight taps her quill against her chin. She frowns, turning a hard expression toward Ember. “You think Spike would be better off if he’s forced to endure these trials. The smell, the itching, the pain. Being forced to go alone.”

Ember nods. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Twilight beams at Spike. “That might improve your fortitude and make you a strong and ferocious dragon. But I do not believe following that course makes you the best you can be. Remember your friends, Spike. They can help when you are feeling low. They can provide alternatives you didn’t think of. They can even remind you when you go wrong. And you can do the same for them. And that is a strength that is stronger than any muscle, sharper than any claw, and more durable than any scale.”

In the background, Garble exchanges a grumpy snort with the griffons. The yaks seem similarly unimpressed while Iron Grip slams two meaty hands against each other. The ponies of the Realm of Clouds, along with the two Saddle Arabians, giddily stomp their hooves. The Storm King merely steeples his hands in front of his face, regarding the Equestrians with a calculating stare.

Spike stands tall. “There’s nothing saying that I can’t do both. You know, pick and choose the parts from each that I like. I don’t have to do things the pony way, and I don’t have to do things the dragon way. I can be a strong, ferocious leader who accepts no impasse, and at the same time equally share the essence of our empire among all of our citizens.”

“Hah!” laughs Ember. “That’s quite the dragon thing to do. Take what’s useful and torch the rest. Good on you.”

“Thanks.” Spike groans, writhing along the floor. “Now, can we go ahead with this whole scale removal thing? They’re getting really bad.”

“Would you like me to?” Twilight asks, Spike nodding eagerly. Ember grumbles, claws on her hips, put out that he didn’t pick her. “Also, I think Rarity has something she wants to say.”

Spike shrugs as Ember points out to Twilight which scales she should be removing. She starts with her hooves; her horn might give her greater strength and control, but she’s worried about ripping off too much at a time. Spike grits his teeth through the pain, but endures, watching as layer after layer of purple scales fold onto neat stacks.

It’s no easier for Twilight, every gasp and wince and shudder nearly enough to get her to stop. But she can see how Spike fares no better if he is left alone, the spaces she hasn’t gotten to yet just as itchy and irritating, if not more. She continues along his legs, his arms, even his head, carefully peeling away the offending stone scales to expose the pulsing red and purple diamonds underneath.

“Spike,” Rarity starts solemnly as Spike stretches, the distressing process finally over. She sighs at herself. “I can understand why you are frustrated with me and with Sweetie Belle. Nopony, err, nocreature likes it when things don’t go their way. I know that, all too frequently, I played the part of the protective dam, making sure the ‘stallion’, as it were, didn’t take advantage of my precious filly. But you have to understand, she is going through a lot of changes, just like you are. I’m sure this came as a surprise to her, just like it did for you. Please don’t hold this against her, especially if she ends up changing her mind. That’s all I wanted to say earlier, and I’m sorry we got off track.”

“I get that,” Spike says, able to keep his smile going. “I do. I still have feelings for her. And I hope she changes her mind.” He turns to Twilight. “I know I chafed at the restrictions you put on me. But I know how important following the rules is.”

Twilight nods, putting aside her notes on the molting process. “You showed us you are a responsible dragon in the little things, Spike. And that makes me more than willing to put you in charge of the big things. And I know,” she grins, poking Spike in his rotund stomach, drawing a short laugh, “even though you might feel a little small at the moment, that you will go on to do great things.”

“Thanks, Twilight,” Spike says as a red glow surrounds his body. He reaches up, embracing his oldest friend in a tight hug. “I’ll always remember the lessons you taught me, about how…”

Spike glances down at the unfamiliar glow, his eyes growing wide. “T-Twilight? What’s going-”

Gray stone encases the purple and green dragon, pinning him against the lavender alicorn.

Ch. 35 - Izaro's Turmoil, Part Six

First Rarity and then Pinkie Pie, Applejack, Fluttershy, and Rainbow Dash crowd around Spike’s stone form and Twilight Sparkle. Their excited voices blend into one, poking and prodding and generally making Twilight feel like the thaumic equations she tinkers with.

“Darling, your coat!” “Ooh, can I join?!” “Don’t worry, Twi! We’ll get ya free!” “Spike! Are you okay?” “That was awesome!”

“I’m okay!” Twilight Sparkle blurts out as she looks up at Doug and Celestia, towering above all except Rainbow Dash. Both take their time to assess the situation rather than pull and tug at her like Applejack.

“Ow!” Twilight swats at the orange mare attempting to rip one of Spike’s arms from her side. It’s really hard to bend her leg with the weird angle, and it doesn’t help that her other foreleg is fused to his back. Applejack backs off, if reluctantly, with a sheepish smile. “That hurt! It’s like…” She sighs as she inspects the stone pressing against her. Spike’s rocky arms go from the base of her barrel around one foreleg, then deep against her chest. “Yup. It’s melded to my coat.”

“So what do we do?” Doug asks, frowning. “Get a pair of scissors?”

Rarity gasps, taken aback by Doug’s brutish suggestion. “But that will ruin her appearance! Surely we can figure something out! Like a teleport?”

“We could always fashion you a peytral similar to ours,” Celestia mentions, motioning to her golden regalia with a gold-shod hoof. “Molded correctly, it could cover any disfigurements.”

“Gold would be a dazzling color on you,” Rarity says, glancing apologetically to Luna. She returns a gloomy grunt. “But surely there is a better solution?”

“Mm,” Twilight considers, unconvinced. She shakes back and forth, and the ripples are more than skin deep. “I think he went past coat and into hide. I’m not sure what would happen if I teleported, even balefully. Especially when this effect fades; any pieces caught inside me might break up, sending chips of stone hurtling through my blood and straight into my brain. A teleport would exacerbate that risk.” She chuckles nervously, trying to keep a lighthearted smile. “But that’s not going to happen! Everything is going to be just fine.”

“Urgh,” moan the half dozen ponies surrounding Twilight, more than a few hooves slapping at faces.

“You can teleport others,” Doug says, ashen-faced.

Twilight nods, slightly confused. She’s done so in front of Doug before, right? Or at least talked about it. Never with the human, though; she has a hard time getting a lock on him for telekinesis, much less anything else. “It’s not much harder than teleporting yourself. As you get more familiar with the target the difficulty decreases exponentially.”

“No, no, no,” Doug says, staring a thousand yards past Twilight. “You can teleport pieces of others.”

“Well, not on pur…” Twilight’s eyes go wide, a hoof covering her mouth as she nearly retches up her lunch. The ponies around her share her… distaste, many patting her gently, though it’s unclear if they are attempting to reassure her or themselves.

“Perhaps,” Rarity adds, tremoring, “we shouldn’t tempt fate by discussing those types of horrid outcomes?”

“Exactly.” Twilight gathers her strength, taking a deep breath and calming herself down. “Everything is going to be perfect.” Twilight jovially searches for Ember. The dragoness, much like everycreature else, has gathered even closer than before, watching with an eagerness she didn’t expect. “It’s crystal clear what you meant about watching out for rocks. It’s certainly a corundum. Not that I have any hard feelings!”

“I’m going to give that two and a half Mauds,” Pinkie Pie says dourly. “And that’s being generous. You’re going to need way better rock puns.”

“And it’s a different kind of roc,” Ember states as Twilight grumbles. “R-O-C-S.”

Twilight stares at Ember, dredging up everything she knows about the giant flying birds.

“That does make more sense,” Rainbow Dash interjects, drawing a curious glance from Twilight.

“You know about those?” Twilight frowns at the revelation. She knows Rainbow Dash has to keep an eye out for monsters from the Everfree, like Astral Ursas.

“Well, yeah.” Rainbow Dash shrugs blithely, trying to not appear as eggheaded as she is. “They’re just one of the reasons you don’t blindly fly over the Everfree Forest. They shouldn’t go after equines, but if they do? Just scream ‘Celestia’ and ‘fried chicken’ and they should go away.”

“Hmm, that would be good to remember,” Rarity says, making a mental note.

“Perhaps I should update them,” Celestia muses. “Especially if Spike does grow wings.”

“That’ll be awesome!” Rainbow Dash repeats as Ember nods. She runs her hoof over Spike’s stone form and asks curiously, “What kind of rock is this? Granite? Shale?” Her eyes narrow as she smirks. “Cummingtonite?”

“Hmn,” Pinkie Pie says, inspecting the stone closely as Doug struggles to keep a straight face. She runs her tongue along the stone, completely serious as she smacks her lips. “Now, I don’t have a Rocktorate in minerals that actually exist, but I don’t taste enough manganese for there to be any cummingtonite.”

“I don’t know about that,” Fluttershy interjects with a broad, somehow innocent smile. Her herdmates snort, roll their eyes, or in Applejack’s case, both.

Ember raises an eyebrow. “You know, I didn’t believe Garble when he said you ponies were this obsessed with sex.”

“It’s Doug’s fault,” every single mare and Shining Armor chorus.

The human shrugs shamelessly.

Ember backs off a little, holding her claws up as if to keep Doug at bay. “Maybe it’s better that Spike stays with ponies, if any of that rubbed off on him. What kind of dragon would want to endure that nonsense more than every other decade?” She shakes her head, gagging, even though the earlier comment about partial teleporting hadn’t fazed her. “Where’d you get his egg, anyway? Some idiot must have stolen it from the hatching fields if he’s only going through his molt now.”

“Hatching fields?!” Fluttershy exclaims, twin cyan pools shimmering with excitement. “There are whole fields of baby dragons?”

“Not for another year,” Ember says, barely holding back the yellow pegasus doing an admirable job of clinging to her leg and beaming up at her. “Now get off! Dragons don’t do cute and cuddly!”

“Aww,” Fluttershy whimpers, slinking back to lay next to Twilight. Applejack consoles her with a pat of her back.

“I obtained the egg from the Scale Collectors,” Celestia answers, motioning with a hoof at Raikou. The Storm King confirms with a nod. “I had no idea it would hatch. Speaking of, I could use another. Sterile this time.” She sighs. “It was an excellent test of how a young pony would deal with failure, and much more effective than using a replica.”

“I’ll look into it,” the Storm King says with a small smile and bow. He glances at Ember.

The glance is enough to kindle an infuriated snort and humorless glare. “I told you the last time we’re not bailing out that worthless sack of dragon dung.”

“Hey, don’t go insulting dragon dung,” Garble says crossly. “I heard ponies pay gems for it.”

All eyes turn to Applejack.

“It’s true,” the farmpony admits. “Ah’ve heard other farms use it, ‘specially those run by a pegasus or unicorn. Just not at Sweet Apple Acres. We tend to the apple trees closely enough they don’t need it, and the wheat fields get their boost from the Everfree.”

“Ah, poo,” Garble pouts, scratching at his chin as he stares up at the ceiling.

“Not on our fields you ain’t,” Applejack returns merrily.

It takes Garble a second to realize why everypony is laughing. He grows cross for a second before joining in with a shake of his head.

It seems merriment is the cue Spike is waiting for as beams of white burst from seams in the rock. Everypony takes a step back, watching with bated breath. Except Twilight, still stuck to Spike. She, like the other unicorns and alicorns, watches through lenses of magic that leaves her eyes a solid white as they filter the blinding light.

Cracks spread from his head to his tail, chunks of stone breaking off and revealing the small purple and green dragon underneath. His claws sparkle as he flexes and flicks off the remaining shards clinging to his glistening scales. Twin wings, shaped like a bat’s with a purple leading edge and dark green fingers that extend through light green patagium, spread from his back. They look woefully undersized, especially for the rotund dragon, but the same could be said about nearly every flying creature.

“H-hey, everypony!” Spike exclaims, grinning nervously as he cranes his neck this way and that. He tries to pull away, but can’t. “Um, Twi, I know I went away for a minute or two, but you can let go of me now.”

“I-I’m not,” Twilight apologies. She tugs her hoof away to demonstrate, but it just stretches her coat away from her body. “Your new scales are kind of… attached to me.”

“Oh, no!” Spike exclaims, again trying to wrench himself free, but only succeeding in getting Twilight to wince in pain. He notes how her hair stretches, his face lighting up. “Don’t worry! I’ve got these.”

Spike brandishes his claws, though rotating them to reach his entrapped wrists proves only a momentary delay. Before Twilight or Rarity can stop him he slices through her coat, freeing his wrist, but continuing along his arm proves impossible.

“Ooh,” Rarity fusses, holding her hoof to her muzzle as her eyes water. Only Doug seems to care enough to comfort her by running his hand along her back, the rest a bit miffed with her melodramatic response. Rarity covers her eyes, yet can’t help but peek over to watch the carnage.

“Hold on, Spike, let me help,” Twilight insists as Spike grows frustrated with his lack of progress.

“Hey, Celestia,” Rainbow Dash whispers as the two slowly carve through the hairs locking them together. “Any chance you can send Twilight a letter? It might speed this up.”

“Ah, but I would not wish to cut their bonding short,” Celestia returns. She pauses to wipe away the tear forming in her eye as she watches them. “And it would be remiss of Twilight to not be at least partially flame-retardant.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Rainbow Dash sighs, disappointed. She watches Twilight free Spike’s elbow, the dragon severing strands of hair as Rarity whimpers in abject sorrow. She whispers to Pinkie Pie, “How long do you think it takes for him to notice?”

“Notice what?” Spike asks as he pulls himself away from Twilight’s shorn chest. He has bits and pieces of lavender sticking up from his entire frontside, and he glances down at it. “Oh, this?” A quick burst of green flame sears away the hair, leaving him pristine once again. “Simple!”

“It’s okay, Rarity,” Twilight consoles. She looks like a filly who didn’t so much as fall asleep with a bit of bubblegum in her mouth but dove forelegs first into a barrel of it. “It’s just hair. It grows back!”

“But that won’t be until winter!” Rarity bawls, flailing about at anything in reach. Which ends up being mostly Doug. “Until then you’ll be hideous!”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Twilight objects with a roll of her eyes. “Besides, you can always make me a dress to cover it up, right?”

“Or a frock!” Pinkie Pie adds, grinning. “Like Maud! Or a smock, or an apron, or some overalls, or-”

“A dress, you say?” Rarity says as she bolts upright, hiding her grimace at Pinkie Pie’s… suggestions. This knocks Doug back, not that she notices or he minds. She studies Twilight’s mangled coat, frowning at the specks of blood welling where Spike nicked her. “I believe I have just the thing! We were all going to be fitted for that merchant’s garments. Oh, I knew shopping would one day save the day! And that day is today!” She flashes a grin at Doug, who merely rolls his eyes as he dusts himself off.

“How do you feel, Spike?” Twilight grins down at the small dragon, staying encouraging. “That was quite the fright you gave us!”

“I feel great!” Spike holds up his arms, flexing. Unlike before, where one couldn’t really tell, just the tiniest bulge of muscle pushes up against his scales. “Super energized! Like I could just take off, you know?”

“Oh, yeah?” Rainbow Dash exclaims from above, flapping her wings with extra gusto.

“Yeah!” Spike spreads his arms out wide, like Doug would when he plays ‘pegasus’ with the young foals of the herd. His wings mirror the action behind him. He runs around in a wide circle, shouting, “Weeee!!”

Chrysalis slinks up to Doug. She whispers, as the rest of the ponies chuckle, “Is that how an… airplane flies? Fixed wings?”

“That’s part of it,” Doug whispers back, shocked that Chrysalis could have picked that up from the lack of flapping. “A curved wing, to get the airflow right. You have to be going a bit faster, but…”

He trails off as Spike rises into the air, suppressing the rancor in his mouth. Magic.

“Trixie, cut it out!” Spike cries as his legs windmill uselessly, unable to reach the ground a few inches away.

“Trixie isn’t here,” Twilight calls back, unable to keep the mirth from her voice. “It’s all you!”

“Me?” Spike glances around, bewildered, as he glides through the air. Every time he sinks low enough to touch the ground the barest contact bounces him back up. He barely clears a lot of the obstacles in the room, riding up chairs and across tables. He twists around, looking for the culprit, only to spot the wings on his back.

His wings.

“Ahh!” Spike exclaims as he spins uncontrollably, slamming into one of the walls. He hangs there, upside down, staring at his wings.

“Spike!” Twilight shouts, rising into the air to swoop to the downed dragon.

“Twilight!” Spike calls, unable to believe it. He has wings! “I did it! I have wings!”

“Not so much of a baby dragon, huh?” Rainbow Dash beams from next to Twilight. “Now, come on! Let’s put those puppies to use! Race ya!”

Spike can only watch, mesmerized, as Rainbow rings rainbow rings around the room. He can barely keep up, his head spinning as she skids to a stop next to him.

“Let’s go!” Rainbow Dash yells, the berating tone she copied from Spitfire in full effect. “I want to see those wings flapping!”

“Y-yes, ma’am!” Spike tries to shout back, his wings flapping. He barely raises into the air, his feet never leaving the ground.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Rainbow Dash bellows. “Harder! I’ve seen butterflies flap their wings harder!”

“I-I’m trying!” Spike ekes out, already winded from trying to get his wings to flap like Rainbow Dash wants. The unfamiliar muscles don’t respond like he thinks they should, especially from how Twilight described getting and using her wings.

“Well, try harder!” Rainbow Dash points at Twilight, the alicorn unsure of the teaching methods but letting the more experienced flyer lead. “Or do I need to put somepony in danger? I’m sure we can get the Storm King to swipe Sweetie Belle, or get a roc to take off with Rarity!”

The unicorn does not look amused to be a mere object of their pursuit, especially when it appears to be quite the motivation. It only gets worse when Doug scoops her up from behind with a loud grunt, depositing her on his shoulder and shuffling to the opposite side of the auditorium.

“Doug! Unhand me this instant!” Rarity’s eyes go wide as his free hand threatens to tickle her exposed belly. “Spike! Help!”

“Don’t worry, Rarity! I’ll save you!” Spike’s brow furrows in concentration, kicking off with his legs as his wings beat at the air. He rises, higher and higher, before overbalancing and faceplanting into a yak’s backside. He bounces off the surprisingly springy material, flipping head over tail before his wings manage to right himself.

“No! Eee!” Rarity calls melodramatically as Doug rolls her, exposing her pristine belly for all to see. Her tail fruitlessly lashes, tyring to swat him away, only for his grin to go wide as he savors the moment before he unleashes the dreaded raspberry.

Spike soars through the air, one beat of his wings carrying him nearly to the ceiling. He points his claws as he screams, charging downward toward the dastardly villain and his helpless quarry.

Only for Doug to drop down, dodging Spike’s strike by blowing on Rarity’s exposed tummy.

Rarity’s high pitched laughter and the loud, warbling ‘pfff’ compete with Spike crashing into the wall for who can be the loudest. At least, until Spike runs over and kicks Doug in the shin.

“Bleargh!” Doug shouts as he collapses, unceremoniously dumping Rarity onto Spike.

“My hero!” Rarity calls to the smothered dragon, planting a kiss on his green frills.

“You’re doing great, Spike!” Twilight cheers as Spike pulls himself out from under Rarity. “Way better than when I first got my wings!”

“And Twilight wasn’t even half-bad!” Rainbow nods knowingly. “Although, from what I can tell, she had the opposite issue. She kept putting in too much power without enough control.” She chuckles to herself. “Not that I’ve ever had that problem.”

The rest of the mares chuckle along with Rainbow, that being exactly the problem she had both when she didn’t get into the Wonderbolts initially and then years later when she lost her magic.

Doug withdraws as Spike again takes to the air. He still wobbles, but eagerly, trying out everything Rainbow Dash and the others can think to yell at him. He reaches Celestia’s side and sits down; she lays ponyloaf next to him.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Doug asks quietly, noting the pride and joy the alicorn radiates just from watching Twilight and Spike.

“It truly is,” Celestia whispers back. She utters a soft coo as one hand slips under her wing to massage her growing belly, nuzzling her head against his as her mane stills. “I have borne witness to it many, many times, but I fear observing the maturation of a student pales in comparison to guiding one’s own progeny.”

“Yup,” Doug agrees sympathetically. His smile joins hers, thinking back to how each of his foals has grown and matured, especially the Crusaders. And, though he’s certainly happy for Spike, how much happier he was when they found their calling in life. He finds himself glumly asking, “Did you…”

Celestia glances over as Doug trails off, the thin line of his lips indicating he is mulling over something distasteful. She waits for him to grow bold enough to ask, even as she misses his hand’s motion as it pauses against her side.

Curiosity wins out over jealousy as Doug asks, “Why did you stop looking for this?” His arm sweeps from Rainbow Dash and Twilight Sparkle encouraging Spike to Cadance and Shining Armor sitting close and nuzzling, eyes locked on each other. “I know… I know family is one of the most important things to me. I would have left Equestria, or tried, if it wasn’t available for me here. You tried for centuries to find the same, and I like to think I would have done no less. But then you stopped.”

Doug waits for an answer, wincing as Spike crashes into the floor. Ember straightens him up, giving him a pointer by spreading her wings. When Doug doesn’t feel Celestia react he glances over.

The white alicorn has her head twisted away, eyes clamped shut. Her breathing slows, controlled, a bulwark against something raging within.

He ventures, timorously, “Did something happen?”

Celestia nods imperceptibly. He has to strain to pick up her whisper. “His name was Rising Heights.”

Ch. 36 - The Red Dream, Part One

Celestia takes one deep breath after another, steeling herself as she dredges up painful memories she thought she had long put to rest. A light touch pushes Doug away; she doesn’t want to associate him with the memories, as much as it pains her to do so. He lets her go, reluctantly, one hand trailing on her side until he parts with a light squeeze to her flank.

Twilight, sensing imminent story-time, zips away from Rainbow Dash and Spike. The two pause their practice, exchange eye-rolling looks at her predictability, and follow. The three land in a loose circle in front of Celestia. Twilight beams with excitement while Spike grabs quill and parchment, just like when they were young, while Rainbow Dash bemoans the fact that Doug is sitting close to Celestia and not with her. She settles for snuggling up next to Fluttershy on one side and Rarity on the other, the circle of mares quickly filling in.

If there is one mare who isn’t waiting on tenterhooks it would be Luna, and to a lesser extent Cadance. The cobalt alicorn mutters about the wisdom of bringing up this tragic tale, though she doubts her Sister would listen to her unless she objected so strenuously the other nations would suspect they were covering something up. The history isn’t hidden, not for anycreature who cares to delve into the lesser-circulated tomes of Celestia’s rule. She surmises that at least half of the nations present have read the unabridged version. Obviously the griffons have, with their ability to recount any slight and twist it to a version demanding recompense. The goats pass scraps of papers to the minotaur. Even the Storm King has a politely neutral mask, not the scowl Tempest Shadow wears as she stands at attention next to him, though the sanguineness he has presented toward Equestria has only enhanced her suspiciousness.

Celestia regally stands, drawing the attention of the silent spectators. Her mane, an aurora that spreads behind her like a majestic mantle, gently waves in time with her breath. Her golden regalia, polished to a mirror shine, reflects the same warmth of her motherly smile.

She pauses to scan the Council of Creatures, gaze halting on each for a brief moment before passing to the next. She seems to acknowledge every single creature, her lips moving the barest amount giving the impression that she is recalling their titles, or to the suspicious their fears, or to the most paranoid their innermost desires that they might only dream of. And perhaps there is a kernel of truth in that sentiment, that she is privy to these private pinings, given that she restored the Aspect of Dreams to her position.

After a long while, but to none an onerous one, the Princess of the Sun clears her throat and begins. “For as long as I can remember my desire to have a foal has been a powerful one. For what greater way to shape the coming future is there than raising foals? It is a desire I have pursued, some might say endlessly.”

Celestia sighs, losing some of her warmth. “Rising Heights was not the first lover I took,” Celestia continues, drawing a quick chuckle from Cadance and a loud snort from Luna. She mock glares at her little Sister before adopting a carefully crafted smile. “But, for a very, very long time, I was certain he would be the last. But despite countless trials, setbacks, and… disappointments, it is one I have not given up in my one thousand, one hundred and ten years of ruling Equestria.”

“Wait,” Twilight interrupts, her eyes growing wide with the realization. Celestia patiently waits. “That would mean that the coming Summer Sun Celebration will be your one thousand, one hundred and eleventh! Your ones-versary!”

Celestia smiles as Twilight beams. “Indeed. And for my Sister, since she has returned to us after a thousand year… hiatus, it will be her one hundred and eleventh.”

“One hundred and twelfth,” Luna corrects, if just to be contrarian. “We were around for thou raising the sun last year.”

Celestia scoffs. “Then you weren’t around for the Summer Sun Celebration a thousand years ago.”

Luna pouts. “Fine,” she concedes, settling down. “This will be our one hundred and eleventh.”

Twilight practically explodes with excitement. “And this will be my first! As an alicorn and a Princess, that is.” She spins to beam at Cadance. “And this will be your…” She pauses, frowning. “Wait. You’ve been an alicorn, what, twenty years?”

“True,” Cadance confirms, “But I have been a student for a good number of those years, yes?” She shoots a wink at the lavender alicorn busily chewing her hooves to shreds. “One could argue that this will be my eleventh as a Princess, yes?”

“You know what this means?” Twilight’s hooves can barely contain her smile as she beams at her fellow Princesses. “This will be our combined one thousand, two hundred, thirty-fourth Summer Sun Celebration!” She spins to face her herdmates. “We have to do something!”

“~One, two, three, four,” Celestia repeats, singing the numbers. One can almost hear the guitar in the background, a forlorn melody that doesn’t match the excitement Twilight and the others show.

“~Tell me that you love me more,” Doug chants, keeping to the mournful tone.

Tears come to the alabaster mare as she pieces together snippets of the heisted song. She briefly lifts her head to regard her Sister before dropping down.

“~Sleepless long nights
Left you with nothing but they want some more.
Oh, uh, oh, you’re changing your heart.
Money can’t buy you back the love that you had then.”

Celestia blankly looks up, barely noting the eager anticipation on everypony’s faces, and even on a few of the non-ponies making up the back ranks.

For a moment, she lets the veil slip. For all that her coat is an illustrious white it seems to wither and gray, as if her centuries were finally allowed to take their toll on her. Crows feet around her eyes that would properly be termed a murder, for all the sorrows she has seen or caused, prevented or simply let happen. Those magenta depths, containing countless ponies lost to the relentless march of time, her memories of them locked as stars in a demiplane few know how to access. A vault that can scarcely contain the crushing despair, the futility, the sheer indifference of the universe to mortal plight.

Her somber tone dissipates any remnants of their jovial moods. Only Pinkie Pie seems unaffected, her carefree smile a sharp contrast to the haunted looks the others share.

“Approximately three hundred years ago,” Celestia begins, forcing herself to calmly gaze across the audience. Her voice is steady, though it threatens to drop to a despondent haze at any moment. “I met a pegasus by the name of Rising Heights. He was everything one would want in a mate. Dedicated, both to his craft and to his partners. He pushed himself to ever higher heights, as his name might suggest, and there truly seemed to be no limit. I admired his drive, and he encouraged and challenged me to train my own capabilities further than any other.” Her wings spread out, displaying their impressive plumage. Celestia offers a melodramatic sigh and shake of her head. “Alas, I fear I have lost some of my tone in the ensuing centuries.”

A few scattered chuckles and mentions of cake percolate from the audience, as if they are unsure of whether or not they are supposed to laugh at or even with the diarch. Those that do keep their eyes on the alicorn while the others nervously glance at their rulers, most of whom have looks of barely disguised contempt at an admittance of weakness.

Celestia holds the position for a few seconds before continuing. She has a fond smile, if forlorn, speaking with a slight shake of her head. “If he had one failing, it was that he had an entrenched opinion on everything, even if - especially if - he was not the most informed on the subject. In fact, you could have said that he was full of hot air, enough for an entire court of nobles!”

This time the reactions are reversed, with many of the rulers grinning at the reminder of their own subjects who oftentimes interject ideas far outside their areas of expertise. The few nobles in attendance, mostly from the Realm of Clouds, take the ribbing with the good nature it was intended, though they are mostly thinking of their colleagues. The gloom from earlier lifts, if slightly, ears perking up while smiles encroach on dour muzzles.

“It certainly helped during the long conversations we had while we soared, about every topic under the sun. And his endurance!” A twinkle shines in Celestia’s eye as treasured memories bubble to the surface. She stands still for a moment, just staring off into the distance. On the opposite side of Doug a wing spreads its feathers, as if welcoming her beloved to her side.

“We could, and would, spend all day - and sometimes multiple - just soaring through the skies, riding thermals while we... rested.” A sly smile spreads across the alabaster muzzle, absolute certainty that they were not merely resting. This draws more laughs, though they immediately cease at the sorrowful look in Celestia’s eyes.

“It was during one of these flights that the unthinkable happened.” Celestia’s remorse is palpable, withers sagging as her head bows. “Perhaps I thought that this time, that he might be different. That what we shared was special enough to make manifest for more than a tortured moment. It would be a lie to say that I did not know this might occur. But when our love was denied-”

Her breath catches, and the hall is silent. She diverts her red and blackened eyes, tears fizzing into steam. Her mane, the ever-flowing rainbow of pastels, ignites into a mass of oranges and reds and pinks, billowing behind her as an inferno. Heat radiates into the crowd, not enough to burn but enough for nopony to want to step closer.

“Excuse me,” Celestia stammers as an afterthought, swiftly spinning and leaving a glowing afterimage of her flaming mane.

Doug has been sitting there impassively. He never likes hearing about Celestia’s - or, for that matter, any of his mare’s - previous partners, even if the stallion in question is long deceased. But Celestia’s hurried step, her fervent search even as she aims straight for him, is too much. He spreads his arms wide, openly welcoming the despondent mare despite her reckless charge.

Her horn misses his neck by mere inches as she buries her head against his chest. Scalding drops sizzle as they splash against his armor. She twists as his arms envelop her, wishing the protective plate was not between them.

“Hey,” he consoles with all of his heart, gripping his mare against him with all of his strength. And yet it isn’t enough, not even close, and he hates that she has to hold back or crush him like a can.

And so he ignores the pain, the burning in his hands, the fleeting thought that he might singe Rarity’s present, to merely hold her as best he can.

“It’s okay,” they both say.

Celestia effortlessly breaks his grip to pull her head away. She rests her nose against his, staring into his eyes. He is too stunned by her attempt to console him to speak, running his hands through the sweltering mane.

“I would never do this to you,” she promises, barely above a whisper yet loud enough for everycreature to hear.

“Never do what?” Doug asks, puzzled, even as it feels like she is doing exactly that.

Celestia blinks. “Oh,” she says with a single chuckled snort. With a thought she calms the inferno behind her, the temperature of the room gradually returning to something comfortable. She notes the pinkness of the skin along his exposed neck, nuzzling the tender spots with light kisses. “I shall make this up to you.”

“Make what up?” Doug asks with a carefree smile, one gloved hand slipping from her side to caress her neck. “This?” He continues upward, drawing a faint line across her muzzle until the cutie marks embroidered on the glove are visible to both. “Rarity might have been disappointed if I lost the reminder she made, but it’s nothing to losing you.”

“You are too kind,” Celestia replies, kissing the golden sun on the base of his thumb. She declines to go further, much as she can sense his growing desire. “Where was I?”

“Something happened to Rising Heights?” Doug asks, engrossed in the tiny bit of tongue that peeks out between her lips. “You fire him?”

Celestia starts, then takes a deep breath. She would never hide something from her stallion, much as she might want to, nor the Council. The truth would come out, and she firmly believes that is preferable to any lie, no matter how well intentioned.

“In a sense,” she replies, hanging her head. “In my fury I incinerated him, the only remnants ashes scattered by the wind.”

Ch. 37 - The Red Dream, Part Two

“Hah!! No way!” Garble laughs uproariously as Celestia reveals the final fate of Rising Heights. He doubles over, slaps his knee, then topples over to roll on the floor. He couldn’t care less about the scornful glares he draws from the ponies. “Serves him right! If you can’t stand the heat?”

“Then you shouldn’t fire up the oven!” Ember shares his mocking grin, standing up straight to better regard the mournful alicorn. The dragon manages a nod, but finds Celestia’s dour look distasteful. “That’s lava. I didn’t know ponies had stories like that!” She raises a clawed fist toward Celestia, fangy smile stretching from horn to horn.

Celestia glances at the fist before returning to Ember’s giddy gaze, otherwise not moving a muscle from her position next to Doug. Anypony else might have difficulty curtailing their fiery reaction to the dragon’s praise, but she keeps her calm with a practice honed over centuries of pulling double duty at the Day and Night Court.

Rarity, on the other hoof, shows no such reservation. She fearlessly intercedes despite barely coming halfway up the red dragon’s waist.

“You callous…” Rarity stumbles over calling the dragons brutes again; they probably would wear it as a badge of honor. “Savages! Can’t you see how much it hurt her?”

“Hurt her?” Ember looks genuinely surprised. “What are you talking about?” Her face lights up in recognition. “Oh! You mean how she missed a meal!” She knowingly nods, ignoring Rarity’s look of pure horror. “Yeah, I can see that. Whenever Torch, that is my dad Dragon Lord Torch,” she makes little air quotes around the name with a huff of teenage rebellion, “would tell his stories? Seriously, half of them would end with some sort of feast over the charred remains.”

“You… buh… huwuah?” Rarity can barely string words together as she stares at the teal dragon, one eye twitching.

Fluttershy does a much better way of putting what everypony is thinking into words. “That’s… horrible.”

“What are you talking about?” Ember asks again, delighting in her new favorite phrase and how it provokes such an irate response from the ponies. “Dragons love stories about weak creatures getting what’s coming to them. And it sounds like this Riding Tights guy got roasted ‘cause he wasn’t good enough.”

“Perhaps,” Celestia interjects before Rarity’s horn can spark worse than Tempest Shadow’s. She addresses the ponies, explaining, “I paid my penance after the act. My little ponies were understandably upset and distraught, but it was out of solace for my well-being rather than fear for their lives. They even tried to block me from spending my extra time in service to the country, such as reinstating the Night Court and enabling more petitioners to appear in pony!”

“I-I see,” Rarity says, mortified at having her Princess reprimand her. She backs up until she again sits between Applejack and Rainbow Dash.

Celestia turns to the two dragons. “I know dragons value strength.” Ember and Garble nod, flexing their pectorals unconsciously. “There are many kinds of strength. And I think it would be unfair to judge anypony, or indeed anycreature, on their ability to withstand the Breaker of Day. For even dragons are not immune when the very air fuses together.”

Ember’s laugh dies in her throat. There have been very few times that ponies and dragons directly clashed, and even fewer that resulted in dragon casualties. Much less ones from it being too hot, for creatures that delight in bathing in flowing lava. The only, obvious and extreme, example being when Celestia stopped a rogue band of dragons that were transporting an antimagic throne with the intent of devouring her and her ponies. Whose stoppage had resulted in The Badlands, the resulting wasteland not from radiation but the twisting of the leylines when she drew in so much power.

“Yeah, sure,” she concedes, hastily withdrawing a few steps back.

“You went nu-” Doug starts before cutting himself off, the color of his face doing an excellent imitation of the alabaster mare.

“Yes,” Celestia replies smoothly. She cocks her head to the side just slightly and asks innocently, “Why? What do you think powers the sun?”

The disarming smile Celestia shoots Doug is so disconcerting he almost cannot believe the words. “C-cake?” he offers, forcing a toothy smile.

Celestia laughs, high pitched and long and very unbecoming of a Princess. Luna tries to stay stoic, a more proper model of behavior, but gritting her teeth cannot contain her irked glare at her Sister.

“Yes,” Celestia concedes as she brings her chuckling under control. “Yes; I suppose, in a manner of speaking, the sun really does run on cake.”

Tempest Shadow steps forward imperiously, yet with an understandable note of trepidation. “Your foals,” she states, as close to demanding as one can get when addressing their superior without crossing the line. She jealously glances at Celestia’s belly. “Will your foal share your… solar abilities?”

Celestia’s jovialness fades at the harsh stare the broken-horned unicorn fixes her with, along with any hope of avoiding the subject.

“We are still running tests,” Twilight Sparkle cuts in. Her ears flatten as Tempest Shadow’s glare turns to her. “But so far, Cadance’s foal runs over eleven times as strong as a normal unicorn. Celestia’s and Luna’s are under three, mine slightly below that. But the distribution and strength of a pony’s abilities are closely related to their cutie mark; it would be impossible to guess at this point where their specialties will lie.”

Tempest Shadow snorts, her misgivings resonating with the others, even some of the ponies. “And will they share your… reluctance to turn that power on those that fail to satisfy them?” She glances at Doug. “Will their caretakers be able to rein them in? To contain them?” She spins, striding two steps to address Cadance and Shining Armor. “Will your bodies survive, or will your foals eat away at you like the walls of our thaumic reactors?”

“N-nothing like that has ever been reported,” Twilight starts, her words utterly failing to calm the growing murmurs. Even her herdmates exchange unsure looks, worry spreading like wildfire among everycreature.

Tempest continues, unconvinced, “And wasn’t illegal dark magic involved?”

Pinkie Pie pronks up, pointedly pointing out, “Precedent, per the Pony Princess Progeny Project, permits projects pertaining to pony Princess procreation.”

The loud snort that follows doesn’t just come from Tempest, though Chrysalis’ grumbles seem more directed at the pink earth pony than at the dire situation with the foals.

“I have a presentation that answers this and many other questions,” Twilight says, hoping to quell the rising fears. She finds herself relaxing as she thinks about her lecture. “I assure you, we will do our best to alleviate any suspicions, fears, or doubts you have about the process my fellow Princesses and I are going through and our intentions regarding the same.”

“More talking?” Garble complains, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling. Nevertheless, he and the other creatures return to their seats, disquiet simmering under the surface.

Twilight’s hooves beat an irregular pattern as she anxiously grabs at her notes, eyes darting this way and that as she paces back and forth. “No… no… Won’t be able to use that, we already covered this but it sounds like they want more detail…” Spike rides on her back, silently reading from a scroll and pantomiming motions to some unseen audience behind him.

“Hey,” Doug says as he walks over to the alicorn bordering on hysteria. He drops down to better look her in the eye. “I know calming them down is a tall order. But you can do it. I believe in you.” He smiles at both of them, rubbing at Twilight’s jaw.

“Oooh,” Twilight mutters, strands of hair frizzing away from the rest of her mane. She can barely tear herself away from her notes to glance at Doug. “Are you sure about this?”

“Twi,” Doug starts as he walks over. He doesn’t have a brush, but his fingers are an admirable substitute for smoothing out the unkempt parts of her mane. Besides, he prefers using them. “You’re going to do great. You and Spike practiced, right?”

“We did,” Twilight says, gulping. She forces a chuckle. “I can’t believe you got this method from studying bears.”

“Polar bears,” Spike adds with a smile.

“That’s…” Not exactly right. “Close enough. It always got a few laughs out of me.”

Two giant, glistening violet orbs stare up at him. Her voice shakes. “You don’t think it’s going to be… inappropriate?”

“Your material is inherently inappropriate,” Doug points out. “Using levity will break that and make it easier to talk about.”

A thin smile spreads across the lavender muzzle. “Thanks.”

Doug chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “There’s just one change you need to make. Spike, instead of starting off riding Twilight, you need to swoop in and screech like a bald eagle.”

“I do?” Spike asks. He glances back as he spreads his wings. “I guess I can do that.”

“Perfect.” Doug turns back to Twilight, nodding at her. “Now, giddy-up!”

A hand swats Twilight in the flank, the mare automatically lurching a few steps toward the stage. Her head turns, startled for a moment, before her smile returns. Her horn flares, unfolding and dragging a special chalkboard with a raspberry glow.

Twilight saunters onto the stage, sparing a glance at the other creatures expectantly watching her. She wishes she brought her favorite lecturing hat, the replica of Star Swirl the Bearded’s belled hat she painstakingly made with Meringue. Her favorite lecturing partner - Spike - will have to suffice.

The purple dragon happily glides through the air, scanning the crowd like an eagle, or possibly a griffon. Several colors of chalk spin between his claws while he marks on a miniature blackboard, his words duplicating onto the main board. The list is tucked away in case they forget their position, but they went over it enough on the trip that they have the general structure memorized.

Despite this Twilight does not look concerned, even as Spike misses his landing on her back and ends up tumbling head over tail along the stage. She rolls her eyes as he shakes off her attempt to help, rising back into the air. The second time he makes it, landing on her back and riding just like they did before. Then he screeches, loud and right in her ear.

“Good afternoon,” she starts, rubbing at her ear. She waits a brief second and gets no reply; at least, she can't hear one. She forces a smile to her muzzle, clearing her throat. She writes ‘A Brief Synopsis of Alicorn Reproduction’ at the top of the chalkboard before turning to her audience.

The words ‘No flash photography or video recordings, please’ appear on the center of the chalkboard.

Twilight appears not to notice, starting on her speech. “For over eleven hundred years Princess Celestia and her Sister, Princess Luna, have been searching for a method through which they could bear offspring. Princess Cadance joined their search when she became an alicorn. Sadly, their efforts have, until recently, proven fruitless.”

The chalkboard writes an enlarged ‘Can we have a demonstration?’ that leaves a couple Council members snickering.

“They referred to this as ‘Harmony’ interfering, and spent many years figuring out the cause and potential solutions. None of their efforts worked, their young terminating shortly after conception. Approximately eight years ago the being now known as Prince Consort Doug Apple arrived. His magic-less nature inspired Princess Celestia to broaden her search. She scoured ancient tomes and the cutting edge of magic breakthroughs, even consulting texts previously forbidden due to their inherent danger. In the end, Lord Tirek’s magic drain provided a foundation on which she based her research.”

At the name the murmurs increase, a good number of limbs crossing over chests as glares intensify.

“And what of the dangers?” Delegate Gruff calls out, beak gnashing. “The Council was never informed of this! What if it had gone wrong?”

The blackboard draws a large question mark.

Twilight sighs before answering, “It was an internal affair, and undertaken for benevolent reasons. In this case, because nopony else ever cast the spell near Princess Celestia, the danger of her getting her magic drained was minimized.”

“But not eliminated,” Gruff accuses.

“With magic research it is impossible to eliminate all risks,” Twilight says sternly. “Teams of unicorns had already been assembled in case the sun, moon, and/or night sky needed to be shifted by another entity.” The blackboard shows three crude stick figure unicorns, horns lit, and a depiction of the night sky.

The griffon grumbles as he slumps back, unimpressed.

“To explain where the research ended up, I first need to explain a little bit about pony biology.”

The blackboard helpfully adds, ‘When a stallion and a mare love each other very much…’

Despite herself, Twilight rolls her eyes. “When a mare gets pregnant-”

The words ‘love each other’ get underlined twice. Twilight ignores this.

“-The foal growing inside her requires large amounts of thaums provided, of course, by the dam.” Twilight motions to her belly as a physical reminder of her aside. “Outside sources providing that magic for a non-alicorn is impractical, to the extent that it is possible only in the short term - a day or so at most - and proved impossible for any amount of time for alicorns.”

“Do you have examples of ponies successfully using this?” Alira, the Saddle Arabian delegate, asks politely.

“Um,” Twilight says, glancing back at Spike. He shrugs. “Off the top of my head? For foals, no. The only creature it would have been relevant with would have been Doug, but by the time it was realized he could get a pony pregnant several weeks had gone by and the foal was healthy. When we - that is, Princesses Celestia, Luna, and myself - conceived? No intervention would have been possible.”

Alira frowns. “And of this other technology? The one you said was good in the short term.”

“Oh, that?” Twilight smiles at a question that does have a definite answer. “Unicorns - technically all ponies, but it’s easiest for unicorns - can charge a device to temporarily store their magic, often called a ‘battery’. You can, though only in the most dire of circumstances, force this magic into another pony.”

The chalkboard reads ‘Twilight Associated With Vamponies?!?’ She cuts off the murmurs before they can begin accusing her of stealing pony’s magic. At least, at this point in the lecture.

“However, there are two fatal flaws. One, you need a way to get the magic into a pony; this involves ripping a hole in their magical core, out of which the newly inserted magic and all their own magic will leak. Even if you can repair that leak - doing so while magic is rushing out is nearly impossible - the core recognizes that magic is not its own, and rejects it. You need to fully saturate the pony and the area around them in order to keep equilibrium, and that solution is unstable at best. My herdmate, Rainbow Dash, had experimental treatment of this kind after an… injury. She survived, barely, and took several years to fully recover.”

Twilight stops for a moment, and the chalkboard adds, ‘I told you that story to tell you this one…’

Twilight huffs. “Indeed. And previous attempts by Celestia, Luna, and Cadance resulted in a hybrid unable to cope with the prohibitively high amount of alicorn magic or starved by a unicorn’s.” She pauses a moment, frowning to herself. “At least, that’s what she theorized; the lifespan was never long enough, and attempts too taxing, to really study the phenomenon.”

Three dots appear on the chalkboard, the room silent.

“Tirek’s magical drain,” Twilight continues; a few grumbles come up, both at the mention and the dropping of his title, “as the name might suggest, drains ponies of their magic.”

“Dark magic of the vilest sort,” one of the other griffons asserts loudly.

A grim, forced smile crosses Twilight’s muzzle. Nevertheless, she continues, “Princess Celestia began testing the spell, primarily with Doug and his lead mare, Applejack, in order to refine the modifications she made. These modifications enabled her to tightly focus the spell, but this extended the casting time in order to eliminate from consideration every locus other than the one to be affected. She practiced this spell, but was afraid of the consequences should she lose control.” Twilight pauses for a moment, looking to the side, as she recounts what casting the spell on Cadance was like and how easily it could have gone wrong.

‘Doom the planet!’ appears on the chalkboard, a few members laughing nervously.

Twilight takes a deep breath before confessing, “That is one of the reasons that Celestia wanted me to cast the spell on Cadance. In case I went rogue, she would be there to oppose me. But if she was corrupted by the power? The whole planet would bow to her whim.”

“Equus already bows to her every whim,” Gruff says lazily as he flicks two claws against each other. “Nightmare Moon - that is, Princess Luna - wished to spread eternal night. What shall your foals, in their infantile wisdom, desire?”

“That’s…” Twilight starts before stopping, puzzled. “That’s a hard question to answer.”

“I propose we table that discussion,” the Storm King says from his reclined position at the back of the room. “Otherwise we’ll be here forever.”

“Seconded,” calls Iron Grip.

Twilight nods to herself. “Casting the modified drain on the stallion’s sperm as it enters the ova means that the magical core that arises is inherited only by the dam. The same result occurs when Doug is the sire. There is no longer the magical incompatibility, and the healthy alicorn foal develops normally.” She frowns, tapping her quill against her muzzle. “Actually, we aren’t really sure what ‘normal’ looks like, at least for alicorn foals. The only comparison we have are those sired by Doug, which isn’t exactly a good comparison.”

Twilight pauses to sketch out an earth pony, unicorn, and pegasus, then an alicorn. “If we compare how our pregnancies are progressing compared to the much larger database of the more common subtypes, two things stand out. One, the ‘power draw’, as it were, for alicorns is much higher. Approximately eight times higher, though Cadance’s foal is only slightly higher. This is different from the power readings we get from the foals themselves, and we believe the discrepancy to be a consequence of Doug’s… makeup. This increase also lines up with my estimates of how my thaumic capabilities changed after I ascended. However, much like Celestia, Luna, and Cadance, my abilities have continued to increase as time goes on.”

Twilight taps her hoof against her muzzle, thinking to herself. “Um, that’s all I have for now. Are there any questions?”

“So, that’s a no on demonstrations?” Garble asks, scratching at his head.

Twilight chuckles, shaking her head. “Not unless you have a volunteer.”

Garble raises his foot, though Ember’s death glare stops him from kicking her.

Twilight rolls her eyes. “Anyone else?”

Ch. 38 - The Red Dream, Part Three

“Nopony else?” Twilight frowns as she looks over the assembled ponies. “Well, if you think of something later, we’ll be more than happy to answer any questions.”

A few moments pass while the various factions confer among themselves. Two of the griffons stand up and walk out, leaving Delegate Gruff alone and scowling at the ponies. An uneasy silence spreads through the auditorium, glances trading back and forth as if to prompt the others. It is broken when Prince Rutherford stirs.

The lumbering giant, fully clad in traditional Yakyakistan ceremonial fabrics, shakes the floor as he stomps to the stage. It takes him quite some time at his unhurried pace, everycreature speculating what the leader of the traditionally xenophobic Yaks will ask. He saunters forward, heedless of the lavender alicorn standing on his stage. Twilight squawks in alarm and backpedals rather than get trampled by the gargantuan.

“Yak speak!” he booms with a self-assured nod. He acknowledges only Princess Celestia and, to Twilight’s surprise, Chrysalis, before he focuses mostly on his two compatriots.

“Of course,” Twilight yields. She waits patiently, especially given how inconsiderate he was.

Silence stretches, but the Prince doesn’t seem to be mulling over what he is about to say. After an uncomfortably long time he turns, fixing Twilight with a single unblinking eye.

“Sorry!” Twilight quickly apologizes, hastily flying to the rest of her herd. The yak grumbles, but turns back to the audience.

“Yak hear aspiration of changeling,” Prince Rutherford starts, offering the aforementioned Architect a respectful nod. It shakes his long mane, sending the braided ends jiggling back and forth. “Glorious aspirations they are! Who impugn such a goal?” He has to tilt his head up so everycreature can see his glaring eyes from under his ceremonial hat. “Yak certainly not! Though changeling have to be happy with second, because Yak best!”

He stomps, just once, sending a shockwave through the auditorium. While a few had giggled at his brash assertion any noise ceases as the reverberations settle. Chrysalis wears a bemused smirk, fully intent on contesting his assertion through the only way that matters - her actions.

“But changeling have good point about choice! Not Yak good. But close! Every Yak make choice about what to do with life.” Prince Rutherford holds up his right hoof and looks at it, then repeats the maneuver on his left side for each choice. “Yak look for wood for fire? Or Yak sit. Yak look for hay to sleep? Or Yak sit. Yak look for log for Yickslurbertfest? Or Yak sit.”

He shrugs, pacing around the stage and sending minor tremors with every step. His head pauses as he fixes every creature with a long, contemptuous stare, piercing even through his thick mane. Twilight scribbles furiously, transcribing his speech and adding notes about names she doesn’t recognize. He ends with a loud snort.

“It easy to sit. But does sit warm hoof on cold night? No. Does sit make nice spot for koe-shun with mate? No. Does sit honor Yak custom with smashing? No. Sit easy. Some time we need sit. But if sit all Yak do, then Yak die.” He pauses on the point. “So Yak must think of future. And future with no Yak no future at all.”

Prince Rutherford motions with a wide sweep of his leg, indicating all the gathered creatures.

“Yak value future. Pony value future. Griffon value future. Dragon value future. How Yak know? Because raise family hard! Foal hard. Chick hard. Egg hard. Think find wood hard? Hah! Try dig out hut from Yickslurbertfest snow drift! Very important to teach custom to baby Yak. Not braid Yak hair until she know when smash and when not smash. Yak not barbarian! Hard to teach, easy to sit! But if all sit, then no future. All value future. How know? Just ask question. Did Doug sit?”

Chuckles bubble up from the room. Doug nods along, chagrinned; he mostly certainly had not been sitting these past months. Celestia and Luna squeeze closer on each side while Twilight wriggles her rump between his legs. Applejack, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash nuzzle him from behind, each trying to nestle as close as they can.

“So Yak must look for wood, for hay, for log. Nocreature give Yak help, and Yak need nocreature help! So Yak look! Most time, Yak find. No danger. So Yak take. Some time, Yak find, but also find danger.” Prince Rutherford peers intently, as if evaluating some object off in the distance. “Maybe wolf, maybe frozen river. Yak must think, and Yak best at think! Yak think of self. Yak think of family. Yak think of future. Yak carefully weigh chance of hurt, chance of death.” He squats down to motion with both legs as if he was judging a set of scales. “Some time chance too high. Better Yak sit.” He tosses the imaginary scales away and stands up. “But if Yak sit? Family cold. If Yak sit? No new daughter. If Yak sit? Holiday ruined and family shamed. Sit too many time, no future. And future with no Yak no future at all.”

He pauses again, looking over the crowd. “So some time, Yak must take risk. Yak learn what risk to take, or what risk to not take. Sometime learn from own mistake, sometime learn from… fallen Yak.”

His head drops down, right hoof coming to his bearded chest, the other two yaks mirroring his contrite and respectful stance.

Prince Rutherford stands, keeping his gaze roaming around the crowd but always returning to Celestia. “But what if one Yak make choice for all Yak? All Yak live, or all Yak die?”

His voice shifts to a deeper, more reverent tone as he recounts the story. “In ancient time, great Yak Prince Ulysses fight great battle. But battle hard! There chance no Yak survive. And future with no Yak no future at all. So wise Prince Ulysses must think. Is future with Yak more important than Yak proving Yak best? What chance Yak lose? Flip of bit? Hah! Yak stronger than flip of bit! Maybe four flip of bit in row? Ten?”

He shrugs, daring anycreature to counter him. “Wise Prince look at odds. He must think. He think of self, but not just of self. He think of family, but not just mate and daughter. He must think of future family. One chance in sixteen not likely. How much less one chance in thousand! But compare to life of all Yak, for all time?”

He shakes his head, forlornly looking over the crowd.

“Yak pride not worth chance. Better to take peace, take survival of all Yak, over pride. Future with no Yak no future at all. So wise Prince Ulysses make bargain with Lord Scintilla. Forge peace with volcano and ensure Yak future. Yak make ancestral home high in mountain. Yak live good life. Best life! Not easy life. Yak life. Was bargain good bargain?”

He changes stride, focusing on Celestia and Twilight. “Some ask, why talk of Yak past and Yak future? What choice could Yak make that bother dragon, that bother griffon? Impossible. Yak not care what dragon or griffon do. But Princess do make choice that affect all.”

His hoof points at the belly Tempest Shadow was so jealous of earlier. “We hear from magic pony about alicorn power. And alicorn powerful! No Yak deny great Celestia most powerful! Her command move sun through sky! What Yak match claim?” He shrugs, again daring any to counter his assertions. “She say power not unique, but no other creature move sun through sky during her thousand year reign. Maybe Discord. But who trust trickster?”

His voice shifts again, now scoffing and almost scornful. “We hear story about Tirek Incident. How all pony, including Princess pony, about to lose magic. We hear how she give up power to move sun. But! Only to other alicorn!” He shakes his beard to expose his toothy frown. “We hear tale, how ancient unicorn must give up magic to move sun through sky. Five, twice each day! Maybe better now. But even so! Two thousand, three thousand unicorn a year. Would be tragic loss. But doable. If need be, unicorn keep life going, and all would praise and celebrate their name!”

Prince Rutherford struts back and forth with exaggerated nods, cajoling the non-ponies to do the same. The Storm King is first with a curt rejoinder, the Saddle Arabians right behind. The griffons groan but follow suit, the minotaur with a loud snort and minute shift of his head. The dragons, however, keep their arms crossed across their chest, refusing to join.

“Why dragon no celebrate?!” Prince Rutherford demands, frothing at the mouth. “Pony sacrifice for all!”

“Duh,” Ember states, drawing an infuriated snort from the yak. “You know where dragons live? Caves. You know what dragons eat? Gems. You wanna guess what those two things don’t need? I’ll give you three guesses.” She smirks at his building rage. “Sun. Oops, now you won’t get it wrong twice. Sorry.”

“Dragon take that back!” Prince Rutherford shouts, stomping back and forth. His two compatriots join in, threatening to destroy everything around them. “Or Yak declare war! Raagh!”

“Now, let’s not be too hasty,” Twilight jumps in as she flies between the two, well, warring factions. “Nopony, I mean, nocreature is declaring war. Okay?”

“Aww, you got your little pony princess to protect you?” Ember teases, fluttering her eyes like she is looking at a baby. “That’s so sweet!”

“What?!” Prince Rutherford shouts in disbelief. “Pony princess protecting dragons from Yaks! Yak need nopony help!” He spins to glare at Twilight, Ember joining him. “Pony stay out of dragon and Yak business!”

“Yeah!” Ember agrees, nodding along.

“Well,” Doug quips as Twilight drops back down into his lap, “I guess you succeeded at uniting them. Good job?”

“Urgh,” Twilight moans, covering her face with her hooves, as Ember and Prince Rutherford go back to glaring at each other, but a lot of their animosity for each other has been neatly shifted toward Twilight.

“Besides,” Ember states categorically, “dragons already beat the Yaks in a war. And nothing’s changed except the dragons are bigger.”

“What?!” Prince Rutherford roars. “Impossible!”

“Dude, you just recounted the history of it.” Ember frowns at his uncomprehending look. “You know? That Lord Scintilla your Prince U-lose fought? That was a Dragon Lord, not some stupid volcano.”

Prince Rutherford stares at Ember for a moment before his head raises to the ceiling, a hoof scratching at his long beard as he tries to recall just what exactly was on their ancient parchments.

“Prince U-lose,” Pinkie Pie snorts, elbowing Doug. “That’s what you should name your first colt with one of the Princesses.”

“I was thinking Garr,” Doug counters.

“Garr?” Pinkie Pie frowns, trying to place the name and failing.

“Estwo,” Doug adds. “He needs to be red and black, so it’ll probably be with Luna.”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve heard today,” Chrysalis rebuts, “and we’ve had to listen to Garble.” She looks around, but the red dragon slipped out at some point.

Doug lets loose an exaggerated pout. He’d cross his arms except he might have a riot from the nervous mares in front of him, his fingers staying right where they are: getting passed from ear to ear.

Prince Rutherford finally comes back down with a rare contrite expression. “Dragon right. Yak record of event… open to interpretation. Lord Scintilla make peace with Yak, and that make dragon only honorary Yak for all time!”

“Great,” Ember deadpans. “Dragons and Yaks get to be friends again!” She gags, squatting down in her spot. “Now, what were you blathering on about? Something about how the alicorns are going to destroy everything?”

“Wait, we are?” Cadance interrupts, huffing at Celestia, Luna, and Twilight. She’s a little jealous at the ear scratches they keep getting, and her Shiny isn’t as well-equipped. Even if he is dutifully nuzzling her. “How come I’m not invited to your meetings? Is it because you have a quorum without me?”

“No,” Shining Armor counters from Cadance’s side. “It’s because they perform their acts of congress during those meetings.” He winks at his sister, who looks ready to rebut his assertion. “Don’t even try it, sis. I’ve smelled your Equestrian Bar magazines; I know how you get when procedures are being followed.”

“Yak allow interruption for long enough!” Prince Rutherford booms. “Yak keep going!”

Twilight fumbles over her words, ending up grumbling about how that’s totally not why their meetings have Doug and not Spike to read the minutes and take notes.

“Prince Rutherford feel baby Yak kick. And baby Yak not strong like adult Yak! But Prince Rutherford also hear of baby unicorn. How baby unicorn lift toy, lift manger, lift sire. Some adult unicorn struggle to lift pony! And alicorn foal strong. How Yak know? Because dam strong! Strong dam, strong foal! Maybe not thousand time strong. Maybe three time strong, maybe eight, maybe eleven. But if alicorn foal strong like dam, pony easy to lift. But can teach foal what lift and what not lift? Can teach while foal in belly?”

Prince Rutherford solemnly shakes his head, answering his question.

“But lift not only thing unicorn foal do. Some blast magic. Some unicorn blast go through armor. Celestial blast go through mountain. What happen when alicorn foal blast go through dam? We hope alicorn survive. Can alicorn move sun while hurt? Can unicorn steal sun while alicorn hurt?

Twilight’s eyes widen, the other mares almost in a panic. What sort of discharges did a unicorn foal have while still in the womb? She didn’t come across any recorded cases of death or even serious injury. But they aren’t dealing with unicorn foals here; granted, three of the four are hybrids, but what of Cadance’s foal?

“We stand on precipice,” Prince Rutherford states solemnly. “On edge of cliff. Why take step closer to edge?” He spins around, pacing the other way. “Chance fall. Chance not fall. Why make fall chance bigger? But not just Yak on edge, but all creature.”

Princess Celestia straightens her back and neck, staring ahead. She sets her face to a mask of calm, hiding the turmoil within, for she knows where they are heading.

“Yak concede,” Prince Rutherford says with a conciliatory wave at Celestia, “alicorn foal special. How special?” He pauses as if to consider. “One thousand pony special? Maybe. If Princess had to make choice, would she allow one thousand pony to die to save alicorn foal?”

Princess Celestia wants to shake her head no, that she wouldn’t sacrifice that many ponies to keep her foal alive. But she cannot, for that would be a lie; she deliberately took that risk when her Sister returned to her side, even if the Celestial regalia might have changed color.

“How many generation of pony to come?” Prince Rutherford’s gaze wanders from creature to creature. The others are sitting up straight as well, determination and solidarity quite evident in their hard faces. “How many Yak? Griffon? Dragon? One thousand generation? Ten thousand? What one pony, a thousand pony, compared to thousand generation of creature?”

“We wouldn’t…” Twilight starts before trailing off, the yak ignoring her as he walks off the stage. Her breath catches in her throat as she considers the ramifications of his statement. She steals a glance at her mentor and herdmate, unable to pierce the stoic exterior.

“Okay, I’m confused,” Rainbow Dash says, the rest of the Elements sharing her uncertainty. She looks around the room, noting the hard stares. One eye scrunches up as she tries to distill the yak’s meandering speech. “You think the alicorn foals are some sort of, um, existential threat? I’m sorry, but I don’t see that.”

“You don’t?” Tempest Shadow adds in from the side, her grin far too wide. She strides forward to better address the Equestrians. “Then let me sum his argument up. What if something happens to Celestia’s foal?” She shrugs, but her face never loses her certainty. “Who can say what Harmony has planned? For she denied Celestia her earlier foals, as tragic as that was.” She taps at her broken horn. “I know what a unicorn can do, even at an early age. At what age does your foal start kicking? Start testing their magic? Could she injure herself, kill herself, unsure of her own strength?” She shakes her head, allowing a brief moment of sympathy for the alicorns. “It could be nocreature’s fault. But it could happen.”

“Okay,” Rainbow Dash says, unsure. She crosses her forelegs in front of her. “That would be tragic, yes.”

“If, Celestia forbid, something were to happen?” Tempest Shadow shifts from addressing Rainbow Dash to Celestia. “How likely are you to decide that because your foal was again denied, this time the closest that you’ve ever gotten, that the entire world should bathe in flame? Or that, because your foal was denied, that the world should likewise be denied their sun? For who could wrest the sun from your grasp, if you did not wish it so?”

“It, um,” Rainbow Dash stammers, unsuredly glancing at the Solar Diarch. Doug, obviously agitated, clenches his arm around her neck, looking to be reassuring himself more than Celestia. “Discord?”

“I’d take my chances surviving the flame,” Tempest Shadow states uncategorically, her gaze never leaving the alicorn.

Princess Celestia hangs her head. “I cannot deny the possibility.”

At her side, Luna flinches, appalled at the cowering. Doug tightens his fists, digging deep into the two alicorn’s fur. He whispers, yet loud enough for all to hear, “You cannot, just, give in to this! Think about what you are doing!”

“I am,” Celestia evenly replies, sighing heavily. “But it is not just her life I am considering.”

“Then the choice is clear,” Tempest Shadow says, drawing approving, if reluctant, nods from those behind her. “Or are you above the law? For if any of us,” she motions to the other creatures, “were attempting something that had even miniscule odds of destroying the world? Not just a country, or even a species. But the entire world. Would you allow it?” She shakes her head. “No, as you shouldn’t. And the rest of the world would band together to stop the perpetrators, no matter their species or station.”

“I have no intentions of performing any actions that might threaten the world,” Celestia states, still subserviently staring at the floor. Luna’s barely restrained growl does not go unnoticed. Twilight glances back, full of worry and doubt. Her eyes widen as she spots Doug smoldering.

“Just as you had no intention of roasting Rising Heights,” Tempest Shadow counters, nearly at a shout. “If we decide the risk is too much, that the future of not just Equestria but all of Equus is not worth gambling over the life of one foal then what will you do? When our armies march to enforce the will of the Council, how many ponies’ lives will you spend to ensure the survival of your own? How many griffons, dragons, yaks, or stormers must fall to equal the life of one foal?”

“I cannot say,” Celestia concedes, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then I will,” Doug roars as he stands, wishing he had his spear so he could raise it as a challenge.

“Doug,” Luna hisses, her warning ignored.

“You think sacrificing one foal will ensure your survival?” Doug laughs, harsh and forceful. “And how would you even do it? Convince her to abort her own foal? What you are proposing is heinous beyond belief! And, even worse, it is even more likely to bring about that mass destruction you all are so worried about!” He points, menacing, at Tempest Shadow. “So bring your armies, your allies, your assassins! If you think we won’t burn the world? Then you are wrong.”

Ch. 39 - The Red Dream, Part Four

“Prince Consort!” Princess Luna reprimands with a distinct emphasis on the role he fills. She whirls, whipping her tail like a lash. The sharp crack against the air draws Doug away from the sneering unicorn, Tempest Shadow daring him to come at her with more than words. “You forget your place!”

“What!?” Doug exclaims, shocked at the rebuke. He stares, slack-jawed, at the cobalt alicorn interposing herself between him and Tempest Shadow. It takes him a moment to recover; when he does he sweeps his arm at the gloating Yak prince. “Did you not just hear the same speech I did? They think our foal, Celestia’s foal, is a threat! They want to remove that threat!”

Luna’s starry expanse of a mane flares up, glints of teal in her eyes. She steps forward, in his face, concealing the others from view. The tip of her horn rises above him, but she hates how she has to look up. She discards the notion that she should kick his leg out from under him to get him to kneel.

“This is neither the time nor place,” she cautions, her words low and fast, “for braggart displays of strength and rash declarations of war!”

“Then when is?!” Doug bellows, furious. He can feel his face heating up, and looks from pony to pony, trying to find support. Yet all of them are cowed with ears back and laying low to the floor. Even Rainbow Dash, the pony he most expected to share his stance, is on the ground, though with hooves from Rarity and Applejack not quite holding her down but resting reassuringly on her back. “After they’ve passed a death sentence?”

Luna growls as she bares her teeth, her rage cold as ice, but it isn’t enough to get Doug to yield. She snorts, then spins to face Alira. She announces, “We request a brief recess.”

“Granted,” Alira says dubiously. The Saddle Arabian mare waves a hoof at them with a certain urgency. “Standard rules.”

“Of course.” Luna trots two steps to the closest exit. She stops, her flank even with Doug, regarding him with an uncompromising stare. “Come with me,” she commands, her tone brooking no disagreement.

Doug doesn’t trust himself to reply, gritting his teeth as he follows at her side. The laughs and jeers from Gruff and Ember don’t help matters either, and it’s all he can do to make it out of the room without snapping at them.

“Leave us,” Luna orders the two guards standing at the entrance. The cloth-clad pony and purple-emblazoned storm guard nod curtly before walking ten paces away, watching with cautious curiosity. Luna’s horn flares; a bubble blurs everything around them, the loud thumps of the guards’ boots muffling under a continuous buzz. She takes a deep breath, working hard to calm the emotions raging inside her.

“This is ridiculous,” Doug rants, one hand indicating the door they just came through. “You expect me to stand there and listen to those… uninformed loons prattle on about how much of a danger everycreature is in because Celestia and you and Twilight and Cadance decided to do what every mare has the capacity and desire to do? She’s not going to go crazy and decide to destroy the world just because this attempt doesn’t work out! And they haven’t even proven that it won’t work out, or that something bad is going to happen! It’s just a blatant power play, trying to force whatever concessions they can out of Celestia and you and the others because they know we desire peace, that we won’t go to war, and they think that we’ll settle for whatever they ask! I’m not going to stand there and let them strong-arm us like we’re some sort of simpering cucks waiting to be played! It’s, it’s, unthinkable letting them get away with this!”

Luna stands there stoically, letting his damning words pass her like the wind in her ever-flowing mane. She waits for him to take a breath, huff at her silence, and cross his arms across his chest.

“Art thou finished?” she patiently asks, slipping a few archaic terms into her speech. “Or dost thou have more grievances to air?”

Doug snorts, turning his head away to stare at the blurry wall. But there is no exasperation in her voice, no taunting, and he knows she would be willing to listen if he did continue. “Not right now,” he spits out, some of his anger fading, though he keeps his arms defiantly crossed.

“To answer thy points in order,” Luna calmly states. “First; yes, we do expect thou to allow anycreature to make their point in the vain hope that they might impart some kernel of wisdom amidst the offal they spew.”

Doug utters a quick laugh through his nose, looking back at her.

“If thou cannot continue in that capacity?” Piercing blue eyes stare into his. “We shall release you from these proceedings. Perhaps with Rainbow Dash to keep thou both occupied, or any or even all of the Elements if thou desires. No record would be made of this transfer, and t’would not be held against you.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” Doug says, chastised. He does want to be a part of these proceedings, to be there for his mares, especially if this is what they have to suffer through. “I’ll watch my tongue. But don’t expect me to go along with something ridiculous.”

“Second,” Luna continues; a slight smile slowly grows as she notices Doug calming down. “Thou art speaking to the very pony who did, as thou stated so eloquently, ‘go crazy and decide to destroy the world’. We would contest that our intentions were to gain the acknowledgement and admiration of our little ponies rather than their destruction. But that is a moot point, as is the distinction that our bitterness was the result of years of neglect rather than a single instance of trauma.”

“A fair point,” Doug concedes with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. How had he missed that obvious example? If that’s what the other creatures are worried about… Would a coalition of the others be able to neutralize Celestia?

“Third,” Luna says, relaxing slightly; her dressing-down is proceeding much smoother than she feared. “They are not trying to prove that something will happen. Merely to raise the possibility. Perhaps they will push for some sort of concessions. A trophy to take back to their people, proof this Council is not purely a farce for our benefit. What of it?”

“And when those concessions include giving up the foal?” Doug scowls at the idea. “What then?”

“Then we talk. We negotiate. We trust our Sister to make the right decision. She must appear to be neutral, to consider all creatures, and not overly favor the little ponies she holds so dear.” Luna matches his scowl. “We happen to agree that ‘Tia lets herself be pushed around too much. But what is our position in the Equestrian government?” She turns to regard him, her question not rhetorical.

Doug frowns, puzzled at the jump in topic. “You are one of the two Princesses who rules Equestria. Though I’m not sure what will happen with Cadance and Twilight.”

“We may be considered diarchs by the populace,” Luna states evenly, though she chafes at having to put into words the distinction that she is subordinate. “But we are Princess Celestia’s second-in-command. Her right-hoof mare. The decisions she makes, when she makes them, are final. We will do our best to see them through, despite our own reservations and misgivings.”

“You’ve always valued my input before,” Doug says, feeling the urge to cross his arms across his chest again. “That’s one of the reasons she likes me, because I would voice my objections to her.”

“True, as far as it goes,” Luna says. “But as we said before, there is a time and a place. As Equestrians, we stand as one. A harmonious, unified front. We might disagree, but we settle those disagreements behind closed doors. We do not show public irritation with Celestia, or any of the Princesses. And we have war as our last resort, not our opening salvo.”

Doug does recross his arms this time. “I’m not going to apologize for what I said. I stand by it.”

Luna nods curtly. “That is your choice, and the price of your pride will be measured in bushels of apples and carats of gems. But know that there is a procedure we follow. A topic will be brought up. They will make their oft-unreasonable demands. Celestia, or some other, will rebuff the most egregious and concede on others. You saw this happen with Chrysalis.”

“So that’s why Gruff gets away with making those blatantly false accusations.” Doug grimly shakes his head. “There has to be a better way.”

“There is,” Luna sighs. “But the Equestrian way is one they have refused to accept, time and again. They have their own pride and desire to… remain culturally distinct.”

Doug rubs at his head, trying to process all this. After a moment he asks, “What was that Alira said to you about standard rules?”

“These are closed meetings,” Luna answers easily. “The proceedings of which are to be released only in a curated form. It allows all to voice their any concern without fear of reprisal. As such, we are not to communicate to those outside in any way about anything that goes on without approval.”

“Like when Spike called Sweetie Belle,” Doug says with a touch of disbelief. He groans. “And they follow this?”

“They have had little reason not to.” Luna focuses a hard look at Doug. “Celestia, to my knowledge, has never broken that trust, and she would still hold to it even if the others routinely failed to follow the code of honor.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Doug says flippantly. “Not like there’s anypony I would call.”

“Really?” Luna asks with a slight frown. “We would not underestimate your other two mares in the event a rescue attempt does need to be made, especially if they convinced Discord to assist.”

“Pfff,” Doug snorts, shaking his head. “What’s the likelihood of that happening?”

“Indeed,” Luna agrees with a smirk. She looks adorable, no trace of the cold rage from before.

It’s enough to get Doug to smile and draw close to her, looping an arm around her neck and hugging her tight. “I’m sorry if I jeopardized anything here. I didn’t mean to.”

“We understand,” Luna says softly. She dutifully wraps a foreleg around his waist. “And we are sorry if we have put a strain on our… friendship. Yet it is the responsibility of the second-in-command to administer such admonishments. This keeps the lead mare relatively free of perceived partiality and able to adjudicate without favoritism.” She pulls back slightly to better regard him. “Though we have not observed such action within your herd. Perhaps it is a mere artifact of the past.”

“Well, there’s not a lot they disagree on.” Doug shrugs, Luna returning to nestling against his chest. “You know,” he remarks, sighing at the realization. “I think this is the longest conversation we’ve had.”

“Perhaps,” Luna concedes as a blurry, hulking figure approaches. She pulls away, harder this time, Doug letting her go with only minor complaint. “But now is not the time to rectify such a grave error.”

Luna cancels her concealment, the hazy bubble around them fading. Raikou stands there, the Staff of Sacanas strapped to his back with the crystal tip peeking out. His broad grin gives the distinct impression that he listened to their entire conversation.

“Yes?” Luna demands, unamused.

“Your time is almost up,” the Storm King says conversationally, inspecting one of his two-fingered hands. He idly flicks off a bit of grit. “But I have to say, I’m impressed with how you dealt with the strife.” He watches Luna closely for any reaction, spotting none. “And got your… fiery tempered stallion back in line.” He flashes Doug a cheeky smile. “If you’re interested in a change of pace? We’re always looking for talent, and there’s plenty of opportunity for advancement! In fact, there might be a second-in-command position opening up very soon! That’ll really shake up the ranks, so if there’s a spot you want - logistics officer, henchman holding wrench, maybe even captain - we can make it happen.”

Doug eyes the tall storm creature cautiously. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says diplomatically. “But I have the feeling I’ll be swamped soon enough.” He nods courteously, preparing to go back inside with Luna.

“We offer free daycare,” Raikou offers. Doug stops in his tracks, a hand stroking his chin as he considers. Luna turns her head to stare questioningly at him, a little miffed. Raikou flashes his fangs, each perfectly white and gleaming. “And have I mentioned our dental plan?”

“I’m flattered by the offer,” Doug says firmly. “But I fear I must decline.”

“Hey, hey,” Raikou says quickly, walking up and embracing the human in a crushing one-arm hug. “Let’s not be too hasty! Are you worried you’re not qualified? We can train you up on the job!” His other arm sweeps wide. “Have you ever wanted to see the world? What’ll it take to get you on board?”

Luna intercedes with a rough snort. “He is not interested in anything you have to offer.”

“Ouch,” Raikou says, though he doesn’t appear to be affected by the rejection at all. He turns to Luna. “Hey, I get it. It must be tough, for your Sister to not even leave a shadow for you to walk in. I mean, she practically glows just standing there! Not that you’re bad yourself. But I know I wouldn’t be content giving up on any idea of advancement.”

Luna growls at his barely concealed assertion of her Sister’s dominance.

Before she can say anything Raikou continues, “But remember that second-in-command spot opening up?” He winks at Luna before opening the door and slipping inside.

Luna stares at the ajar door. Turbulent thoughts course through her mind; it is tempting, far more than she would like to admit. Yet not everypony can occupy the top spot, and her belly is proof she is advancing with her Sister. And she wouldn’t even be at the top spot under the Storm King! Even if it might be more visible than working during the night.

“You’re not seriously considering that, are you?” Doug asks.

“We find the offer wanting,” Luna replies as the two reenter the auditorium.

Ch. 40 - The Red Nightmare, Part Five

Doug and Luna make their way back to their seats, the ponies still subdued and quiet. Celestia has barely moved, head bowed, with an unfocused stare at the floor. Ember and Gruff forgo their jeering taunts, merely smirking at Doug as he sits down next to the white alicorn. The ponies again cluster around him, Twilight in front and between his legs, Luna on his other side, the rest of the mares a rainbow barrier of bodies.

Rubbing at Celestia’s neck barely draws more than a flick of her eyes before she returns to her despondent contemplation. “Hey,” Doug coos as he rubs at her again, this time tracing a line along her back, past her folded wings, almost to her tail before he slips to the side and runs his gloved nails along her belly. “We’ll get through this.” He tugs her closer, finally drawing a reluctant nuzzle from the side of her head. “All of us.”

Princess Celestia nods, forlorn. “We must have hope.” She leans, further this time, resting her head across his chest and against his thigh. Her breath, which comes in fits and snorts, tickles Twilight’s flank, her tail flicking irritably until she quells the motion with an apologetic glance.

Tempest Shadow stands at attention on the stage, clad in her black and violet barding with the Storm King’s teal insignia where her cutie mark would have been, imperiously watching with her neutral glare.

“Please understand,” Alira says from next to Tempest Shadow, the Saddle Arabian mare hesitant even as she tries to stand confidently. “We are not conducting this out of any sort of malice. We are truly looking for a solution that addresses all concerns in an acceptable manner. Know that you will be given a chance to voice any objections.”

Doug grunts from behind his palisade of ponies. “Fine.”

“If I may?” the orchid unicorn demands coldly. “Or is there anything else you wish to say?”

Doug would rather stand to say this part, but he’s not going to move Celestia from his lap. “I will do my best to not speak out of turn again,” he states, loud enough for all to hear. He waits a beat as Tempest stares at him. “...That is all.”

“Very well.” Tempest Shadow grunts at the lack of apology as she starts pacing back and forth across the stage. Her steps are slow, measured and unhurried, circling around and around in a manner that would keep an unwary opponent off-balance in a duel. The other creatures take note of how the Princesses fail to counter his earlier assertion, whispers trading about what this might mean. “It’s time you learned a lesson and faced the truth about the danger posed by your... choice. And to understand how, from where we stand, you waste…”

She trails off, shaking her head. “But no matter. You heard from Prince Rutherford about existential threats and how we all must oppose them, no matter the source.” Tempest Shadow nods at the Yak prince, who returns a slight tilt of his head. She turns back to the ponies, fixing them with her harsh glare. “Do you deny that you hold this power?”

“No,” Luna answers when Celestia remains silent.

Tempest Shadow snorts. Her voice is demeaning, as if resenting having to explain. “Three conditions must be satisfied for an existential threat. Like a chain, if any are broken, the threat is gone. Thus, we must break one of these conditions in order to keep us safe. The first is the trigger. No dam, no mother among us would deny that the loss of a foal would be a sufficient trigger.”

She pauses, a brief hint of sympathy coming to her voice. “Such tragedies have occurred in the past.” She glances at Doug with a bit of a sneer. “And unlike your earlier assertion, we have no wish to be the cause of such tragedy.”

Doug stares back, stone-faced.

Tempest Shadow begins her pacing anew when it becomes apparent Doug will not reply. “But something could still happen later on, and an alternate version working out is no guarantee this one will.” She focuses on Twilight. “Correct?”

Twilight huffs at one of her flimsier arguments, the fact that it worked out between Doug, Celestia, and Cadance in an alternate timeline, being called into question. Tempest must have read the report she wrote about the entire incident. Which makes sense, since she submitted it to the Council. She begrudgingly replies, “Correct.”

“Other triggers will happen over the course of your lives. Removing this one will not help the others, nor can we be assured that they will be… insufficiently dreadful.” Tempest Shadow’s face hardens as she recounts the story. “When I was a young, naive filly, I had my friends, as we all do. But when I lost my horn…”

Her scowl intensifies, regarding Celestia with a vehement hatred.

“...I lost my friends.” She takes a deep breath. “They moved on. And unless you become like me, and abandon your childish wishes that everything will always work out?”

“We will not,” Celestia replies quietly. “There is always hope, even for you.”

“Then you remain blind in your fantasy land,” Tempest spits out. “Caught off guard when your shields fall and you find the many ways that life’s not fair or just. Perhaps your filly will stubbornly choose the wrong path despite your guidance. Makes a decision you vehemently disagree with. Would that be enough?”

Rarity gnaws at a hoof - Pinkie Pie’s, of course, her own would be absurd - thinking back to when she met Doug. How her parents had been wholeheartedly against the idea and even went so far as to leave her life rather than poison the well. Yet, even if they didn’t see eye to eye then… She cannot believe she put it off reconciling for so long, and wonders why her parents never contacted her. Perhaps they thought that their… interference? would be unwelcome, and they were waiting for her to contact them? She resolves to rectify this as soon as they get back to Canterlot! Or maybe once she can get Sweetie Belle to tag along.

“But that depends on the second condition,” Tempest Shadow continues. “The tragedy must be sufficient to overcome your self control.” She motions at the three alicorns around Doug. “Your abilities might be unparalleled. After all, how much control does it take to harness the power of the sun?” She nods at Celestia respectfully, then sighs. “But they are not perfect. Each of you has lost control.” She looks at Celestia. “We heard the story of Rising Heights.”

Celestia nods, mournfully.

Then at Luna. “Nightmare Moon. Need I say more?”

Luna solemnly shakes her head no.

Tempest Shadow looks at Twilight Sparkle. “You murdered Doug after he destroyed your library.”

“I got better,” Doug cheekily adds.

Twilight snorts, whacking Doug with her tail. “Technically in that alternate timeline I meant to kill him, I didn’t lose control, and it was a justified attempted killing to save the world instead of murder over some books, and-”

Doug roughly pokes her in the side.

Twilight flashes a broad smile at Tempest Shadow, hunkering down. “I’m just making this worse, aren’t I?”

Tempest Shadow turns to Cadance. “Are you so conceited to think you will never lose control?”

“I concede the possibility,” Cadance replies. After a moment she adds, “That I am that conceited.”

Tempest Shadow snorts, laughing at the brazen answer. “So perhaps one of you can be trusted. Then again, perhaps not.” She raises a hoof into the air. “Who here wishes to bet on the infallibility of the alicorn. Anyone?”

Shining Armor immediately raises his hoof, earning himself a chaste kiss from his wife.

Tempest Shadow rolls her eyes. “Anycreature not obligated purely due to their marital status?”

Shining Armor slowly lowers his hoof as Doug raises his hand.

This does not go unnoticed by Cadance. “Hey!” she shouts, offended. “You put your hoof down!”

“She said to raise it only if I wasn’t obligated purely by my…” Shining Armor falters at Cadance’s infuriated glare. His ears fold back as he hunkers down. “Um… I’m just making this worse, aren’t I?”

He tries to raise his hoof again, but it utterly fails to mollify his wife’s wrath.

“If that’s what you think?” Cadance sticks her nose in the air, trotting over to Doug. “Then I’ll just have to go to somepony who believes in me!”

“Um,” Doug stammers. He glances at his still-raised hand, of which many of the ponies next to him have copied. He looks back at Cadance; she’s walking backwards at him, everypony shifting to allow her space next to Twilight. He does his best to not look down. “This really sounds like something I shouldn’t get involved in.”

“Too late!” Cadance plops down on his leg. She hugs it close. “I’m pulling a Chrysalis.”

“Hey!” Chrysalis objects, though she’s not really sure as to what. She jumps ship all the time. She’s frankly confused as to why ponies don’t do it more often, but they have weird notions about fidelity.

“Hey!” Shining Armor shouts, stomping over. He’d glare at Doug and his raised hand, except the human looks mortified. Except that’s his wife’s rump in his face! He glares at Doug anyway, growling through bared teeth.

“Hey, Twily!” Cadance greets as she brushes against the lavender flank. Her eyes spring open as both grin. “Sunshine, sunshine, ladybugs awake! Clap your hooves and do a little shake!”

“Dammit,” Doug groans as the two alicorn’s foalhood dance leaves their raised rumps pressing against each other. The joy they share doing so makes it even harder to not get excited. That or the raised tails. He hopefully looks at Tempest Shadow for some sort of lifeline.

Only for the unicorn to dash any hopes by smirking back at him. “Looks like Doug is the only one with some self control there.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Doug replies quickly. He glances down as Cadance moans euphorically; his hand is pressing against her flank. “Gah!” He gulps as he pushes against her, saying as flat and emotionless as he can, “Cadance, your rump is amazing. Can you please remove it from my face?”

“Certainly.” Cadance grins as she gets up, does a quick one eighty, and plops back down on his leg. She would bend her head lower, implying some salacious intentions, except Celestia is still in his lap. “Better?”

“No.” Doug sighs loudly as Shining Armor shoots past fuming and straight to frothing at the mouth. “Please stop torturing your husband.”

“Aww, but you believe in me!” Cadance groans at Doug’s uncompromising stare. “He deserves it?” She huffs when Doug doesn’t move. “Well, he still hasn’t raised his hoof!”

“Wait, that’s all it would take?” Shining Armor says, his anger fading as he studies Doug’s still raised hand. He tentatively raises his hoof in the air. “I tried that before!”

“My hero!” Cadance calls melodramatically, launching herself at her husband. “Yes, but you didn’t really mean it. Now you do.” She embraces him, yet winks at Doug and blows him a kiss. “Thanks for playing along.”

“...You’re welcome?” he returns, puzzled. He’s grateful when Tempest Shadow clears her throat, drawing attention away from himself.

“Anycreature might suffer tragedy,” the unicorn evenly states as she continues her pacing; her calm facade breaks every now and then, revealing a malevolent smirk. “But we must agree that the Princesses are more likely than most to suffer one now. And, as have just seen, their control can be… lacking.”

Celestia again rubs against Doug, her past failures haunting her, as Luna growls quietly.

“The third condition,” Tempest Shadow continues, “is enough power. We know Princess Celestia has sufficient power, as does her Sister, through their ability to move the sun and moon through the heavens. And it is only a matter of time before Princess Twilight Sparkle and Princess Cadance can manage similar feats unaided. Yes?”

“Yes,” Princess Twilight concedes, dreading where this is going. She drops a little lower, clinging to the legs around her. She loves how they tighten, pressing against her sides, even if the protective cocoon they make isn’t particularly all-encompassing.

“We also know that their power can be transferred, safely and without damage to the foal, to another. After all, they gave their power to Twilight.” Tempest Shadow’s contemptuous grin is plain now as she gloats. It’s enough to make Twilight almost regret sharing the knowledge about what the alicorns went through during the Tirek Incident. “But the only ponies that they have given their power to are other alicorns. Who, alas, are all with foal. This might reduce, but not eliminate, the chance of catastrophic failure. Fortunately, there is a solution.”

Tempest Shadow rears up, dramatically pointing a hoof at the Storm King.

Who is sitting there, a distracted look on his face, as he idly scratches his back with a piece of wood.

“My liege,” Tempest Shadow spits out at almost a shout. She growls at having to work with such incompetent imbeciles!

It takes him a second, but the Storm King eventually gets the point “Right!” he shouts. He vaults over the rows of seats and lands next to his second-in-command. “We use this!” He proudly holds the Staff of Sacanas in the air before frowning and peering closely at the stick. He bends it curiously. “What does this do, exactly?”

“The Staff of Sacanas,” Tempest Shadow explains through gritted teeth, “will channel the power of the four alicorns and allow the wielder to control the very sun and moon! This will keep our planet alive, at least until the… present danger has passed.”

“Right!” Raikou grins for a moment. “Um, how, exactly, do I do that?” He waves it around, spinning it like a baton, but nothing seems to happen. “Do I hit them with it? Right now?”

Tempest smirks at the alicorns. “Unless you have a better suggestion?”

Ch. 41 - The Red Nightmare, Part Six

“A better suggestion?” Twilight Sparkle laughs as she stands, a harsh cackle incommensurate with the audacity of the Storm Commander. She shakes off any reluctance at leaving Doug and her fellow alicorns’ sides, striding forward to the stage. “I doubt I could come up with a worse one! Where do I even begin?”

If the alicorn’s words meant to cause a stir among the assembled creatures they fulfill their purpose with aplomb. Tempest Shadow contains her fury with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes as Alira belatedly signals that it is the Equestrian’s turn to speak. The Storm King isn’t fazed in the slightest, leaning on the Staff of Sacanas without a care; he reacts more as the sharp crystal tip spears into his underarm, wincing and glaring at the inanimate object with a vengeful look that suggests he would boot it overboard were he on his ship.

“First.” A lavender hoof jabs at the powerful artifact. “Do you even know what that thing does? Or how to use it?” Her eyes glow white with a practiced raspberry flare, studying the inner workings.

A pale-blue unicorn mare from the Realm of Clouds steps up. “We conducted tests when the Staff was brought to us. The activation is-”

“-Slamming it into the ground,” Tempest Shadow finishes with a voice like ice. She dares not glance at the buffoon holding onto the lynchpin of their plan. She dares not anger him with her loathing. They had gone over this! And the last thing she wants is more disunity over an already tenuous plan. “There is no activation phrase. It will siphon the strength of any and all alicorns within ten strides, allowing the wielder the ability to control the sun and moon.” She sneers, gloating over putting the alicorn in her place.

“Mm, that’s not what I’m seeing.” Twilight frowns at having to counter the glowering unicorn’s assertions. “The range is at least a hundred strides, if not a thousand. And…” She squints, peering closer into the spell. “It’s nonlethal. It has some genius methods in place to keep from draining too much. And then release the power later. Like whoever made it was worried about it being used on them. So…” Her face falls at the admission. “It’s probably safe.”

“Satisfied?” Tempest Shadow drawls.

Twilight Sparkle scowls, wanting to buck this whole Council off an airship. She studied up on the legality of them taking out King Sombra and defending their actions with Discord, not hypotheticals with no solution! She stalls, demanding, “Who even built this thing?”

Celestia clears her throat. She would rather not answer this question, but her observant student would notice the familiar spellcraft soon enough. At least it draws her out of her despondency over how irreconcilably dangerous her actions could have been, and still might. “...That would be me.”

Twilight Sparkle spins fast enough to whip her tail into her side. “You!? Why, why would you even think to make something like this? You had to know it could be used against you!”

Celestia sighs, morose and subdued. “Because this is not the first time this discussion has arisen. It was asked of me if an artifact could be made that duplicated our,” she nods at her Sister, ”power over the sun and moon. I undertook the challenge, and that is the result. I declined to make one that could be powered by anycreature less. Yet, for all my craftsponyship, it is inefficient. Or, perhaps, our cutie marks allow us to be more efficient. As well, the Staff requires four alicorns to be present; fewer, and nothing will happen at all.”

“But there are nine alicorns present,” Doug interjects. His eyes, and those of many others, dart from one lithe belly to another. They aren’t bulging, not yet, and he dreads whatever might keep that from happening. “What happens then?”

“Um,” Twilight says, gulping as she surveys the workings of the Staff. “Technically, because of how Doug interacts with our magic, conceiving copies of our thaumic cores? It might think there are only four.”

“Five,” Cadance corrects with a worried glance at her husband. He returns a quick, reassuring nuzzle. “Our signatures no longer line up perfectly. We think it has to do with Shining Armor’s magic returning and being integrated into her core.” She tries to smile and quell the betrayed look Twilight is giving her. “We just noticed a few days ago, and wanted to make sure before we told anypony.”

“...Right.” Twilight wipes a bead of sweat from her brow. “We did know Tirek’s spell might do that. We’ll need to monitor the progression and make sure that she develops safely.” She levitates a quill and parchment. “I’ll write up a schedule for a battery of tests. Weekly? No, biweekly, at least until we get a good feel for how she’s progressing. Or should it be triweekly?”

“Twily,” Shining Armor asserts with a calm chuckle. “We’ve set that up already.”

“We are grown ponies,” Cadance adds with a wry smile.

“...Right.” Twilight slowly rests the quill on the blank parchment. She sighs at not being able to make a checklist. And at having to come back to this discussion. “So, if the staff drains seven to nine alicorns instead of four? It might explode.”

Raikou, who has been toying with the idea of just slamming the Staff into the ground and avoiding all this talk, carefully lifts and holds the Staff horizontal.

“Unlikely,” Celestia counters. She doesn’t like her work being called into question, especially with regards to something that might rob her of her power and then not be able to give it back. It isn’t enough to lift her dour mood. “Though the matter of the foal being targeted is a disconcerting one, as is the possibility of the drained dam being unable to fully provide for her growing foal.”

“Indeed,” Luna growls, finally breaking her silence. She scowls, both at her Sister and at the gathered creatures who wait with flexing talons for any misstep. Her Sister seems to get the message. Rather than say more the cobalt alicorn goes back to her gloom, not reacting when her stallion tugs her against him.

“So we don’t know if it is safe.” Twilight nods, confident in her assertion. “I worry about testing it, too.”

“You want to know what worry is?” Gruff declares, raspy voice booming. “Worry is when you look up at the sky and see the sun going up and down like a chick about to become a hen! Worry is when somegriff asks if the world is going to end, and you can’t tell them that it ain’t! You ponies tell us to not worry about things we can’t change. Well, this is us changing things!”

Delegate Gruff roars as he takes to the air, a taloned fist raising high. Except his no-longer-present compatriots are not there to provide cheers of their own, the echoes dying to an otherwise silent auditorium. He growls at the others who only offer tepid support, unwilling to provide direct and potentially isolated assistance. He plops back down, fuming.

“Princess Celestia has smoothly run things for over a thousand years,” Twilight states, gaze focusing on one creature and then another. “Who would you propose to take over?” She pauses as if a name might be thrown out. There isn’t. “Who has as good a track record? You want to change things, but you don’t even know if you are changing the right things in the right direction!”

“But Celestia failed,” Gruff sputters. “She might fail again!”

“And you want to eliminate the backups in case she does! And as your excuse?” Twilight shakes her head slowly, just like when she had to explain to Spike that he couldn’t have a bowl of ice cream just before bedtime. “You speak of a single incident that was directly caused by Discord. We stopped him, and righted things as swiftly as we could.”

“Who you then let go as swiftly as you could,” Ember echoes. Her arms cross against her teal chest, claws clicking against her scales. “And he proceeded to doom the entire planet! The only reason it didn’t work is because he got caught in his own trap.”

“Would you prefer we not offer any second chances?” Twilight glances at Luna as Doug holds her tight. She even returns a rare affectionate nuzzle. Twilight turns back to Ember. “That would be the dragon way, right?” She scowls at even making the suggestion. “Or would that be burn first, devour later, and not even offer a first chance?”

“Why, you!” Ember bellows, wings snapping open and claws outstretched. Only being outnumbered ten to one keeps her from suicidally charging. “If my father were here, he’d-”

“Burn this place to the ground?” Twilight snarks.

“Burn this place to the ground!” Ember shouts, fury venting from every orifice with clouds of steam. It makes the room, if not for Celestia’s filtering bubble, reek of sulphur.

“So much for no rash declarations of war,” Doug mutters. Luna snorts in amusement before returning to her normal stony visage.

“Declarations?” Ember laughs, high and shrill. “I see it now! You have already declared war, and we are too blind as to see it! With your talk of democracy, of letting the ‘majority’ rule. When you fully intend on flooding our countries with your ponies and broodlings! Why march with an army when you can force us out of our homes one plot of land at a time?”

Twilight’s pupils shrink to pinpricks. “T-that’s not…”

She glances around at her Friends, her herdmates, her family. Her or her brother’s broodling, however Chrysalis ends up… relating to her. All with the expressly stated desire to expand their family. Her heart hammers in her chest, her hitched breathing trying and failing to restart in time with the pounding in her ears. Would it stop after a generation? What even was a generation to an alicorn? Or even to Applejack, who might keep pumping out foals alongside her fillies and grandfillies? What would she do? Or Celestia?

“See?” Ember sneers as she motions to the Equestrians. “This is the existential threat we need to be worried about!”

Alira bangs her gavel on the lectern. Her calm, firm demeanor is lost in the commodition of everycreature standing. “We’ve gotten off track.”

Ember ignores her, raising her voice. “If Yak worried about losing Yak culture, look no further than your neighbors to the south! How long will it take for them to encroach on ancestral Yak land?”

“W-we wouldn’t-” Twilight starts.

“Appleloosa did it to the buffalo!” Iron Grip bellows, slapping a fist against the other. The two goats next to him nod, looking pleased one pulls back a sheet of paper. “Minotaurs will not be treated like cattle!”

Prince Rutherford takes a full second to stand, his full height towering above even Celestia. “Yak not allow incursion into Yak land! Yak go to war with ponies! Yaaah!”

“Oh, dear,” Applejack mutters, clenching her Stetson against her head as Prince Rutherford begins smashing his already smashed desk. “Ah remember cousin Braeburn tellin’ me ‘bout some problems they were havin’. But Ah’d been so busy with the farm...”

“Order!” Alira shouts, to no avail.

“Ponies think they are the best!” Ember roars, releasing a gout of flame toward the ceiling, though it comes dangerously close to the Equestrian side. “They are a cancer that wants to replace all cultures with their culture!”

“That’s because we are the best!” Rainbow Dash shouts back, flapping her wings to send the cloud of smoke back at the dragons. “About time somepony realized that!”

Enraged at the brash assertion, Ember takes to the air. She menaces Rainbow Dash with unsheathed claws, daring the smaller pegasus to come at her. They circle, snarling, edging closer and closer to charging.

“I do believe,” Celestia says with a forlorn sigh, “that it is time we followed the most time-honored of pony traditions.”

Twilight retreats from the stage while doing her best to keep Rainbow Dash from engaging. She spares a questioning glance at Celestia.

Cadance returns with a smirk and wink at her aunt. She takes a deep breath. “Very well.”

“Ahem.”

The regal voice clearing draws everything to a standstill. Prince Rutherford stops smashing, Ember and Rainbow Dash land, and Alira stops banging her gavel. All eyes turn to Princess Cadance.

“The Council of Creatures was instituted to keep us from devolving into violence.” The pink alicorn smiles, nodding exactly once. “I propose a recess so that we might collect our thoughts and better formulate our arguments. This has been quite a… trying subject for many of us. We can reconvene at dinner so that we might again share a meal in peace.”

“Seconded,” Raikou says. He looks bored, given that he didn’t hit anycreature during the chaos.

Alira looks over the remaining creatures. “Any opposed?”

“We demand some assurance,” Gruff bellows, “that you will not run away! That you do not intend to warn your comrades! Because if you do not return as stated, if you flaunt the decision of the Council? This means war.”

Celestia stands, deep sorrow etched into her features. “You have my word,” she states, a leg sweeping to indicate all of her fellow Equestrians. “That none of us will attempt to contact any not present in Klugetown, and will all return at the stated time.”

Gruff sits back, satisfied though not content, and brusquely waves a wing. No other creatures object. Alira dismisses the Equestrians.

To say they are overjoyed would be to miss the low-hung heads, the scuffling hooves, the apologetic looks they give everycreature they pass. No words are exchanges, just soft and resigned glances before they immediately look away. Fluttershy can barely see past her hooves for how her mane is in the way, stumbling into those around her and thankful for the wall of bodies blocking her sight.

“Take your break,” Tempest Shadow whispers to herself as the last Equestrian leaves. “It changes nothing.”

“We are in agreement?” Gruff asks once the Equestrians are gone, more of a demand as he scans the other creatures still present. He frowns as the Storm King slips outside without saying anything, turning to Tempest Shadow. “If they refuse, it will take all of us working together. Or we will be defeated in detail, the stragglers picked off at their leisure. What says the Storm Realm?”

“If they refuse?” A sly smile crosses Tempest Shadow’s muzzle. “Then the Storm Armada will sail for Canterlot. A tempestuous… distraction.”

“Saddle Arabia does not like it,” Alira states, tugging at the ceremonial garment she wears. She glances at Haakim; her stallion shares a similar distaste, but nods. “But if the Equestrians refuse, I see no alternative. We must force their hoof, or our entire foundation will crumble. We will ride on Appleloosa and Dodge City with all haste.”

“Manehattan is ours,” Gruff says with a sneer, glancing at Ember. “You can take both Fillydelphia and Baltimare?”

“Hah!” Ember snorts. “What the Dragon Lord commands comes to pass. And I will make sure he commands it. We shall dine on pony flesh!”

“The minotaurs will take the Hollow Shades,” Iron Grip booms. He grits his teeth at the dragon’s assertion, his discomfort shared by all but the griffons. He stammers, having to convince himself of the words. “We… we must all work together to overwhelm the alicorn’s defenses. But only if they do not submit.”

“The Realm of Clouds stands ready if that is the case,” the pale blue unicorn states. She shakes at the thought of losing ponies to keep the sun in motion. But if it must be done? “We can only hope they see reason.”

“Of course,” Tempest Shadow cackles, itching to get power restored to her horn.

Ch. 42 - Pugilist, Part One

Luna bashes open the door to the Celestial Suite, splintering the gold-inlaid wood. She scowls at the modest decorations scattered around the spacious room, the subdued light streaming through silk curtains, even the complimentary chocolate sitting on the Princess-sized bed. She takes wing just to slam down on the downy mattress, scattering solar-adorned pillows and sending the chocolate into the ceiling.

“Jeez,” Rainbow Dash remarks as she and the rest of the Elements of Harmony enter the fully furnished room. “Tell us what you really think.”

The mares scatter like pillows upon seeing the reserved opulence; Applejack checks the well-stocked fridge, already grumbling about needing a bite to eat. Rarity strides to the curtains, oohing and aahing about the choice of fabrics and taking a peek at the bustling streets outside. Rainbow Dash waits at the entrance for her stallion, peeking out the door to make sure he and the plodding Celestia are still on their way. Fluttershy selects the corner opposite the bed next to an alicorn-sized bathtub, and for good reason: Pinkie Pie decides that Luna can’t have all the fun and leaps after her, her newest goal to lick the chocolate off the ceiling, and she’ll need the alicorn to serve as a counterweight on her trampoline.

“Actually, please do,” Twilight Sparkle pleads, echoing Rainbow Dash’s rhetorical command from inside a vortex of swirling pages. She sets them on the closest table to the bed, neatly sorted and equally spaced from every edge, then stands rather than join her herdmate on the quaking bed. Spike hops onto the table, scattering a few of the notes to her annoyance. “You were almost silent before; what are you thinking about?”

One growl suffices to still the chocolate-muzzled earth pony. Twilight takes the opportunity to climb onto the bed and sit withers-to-withers with the cobalt alicorn. Luna waits with unsubsiding fury as Cadance, Shining Armor, and Chrysalis enter, the spacious room now starting to feel a mite crowded. The two ponies join Applejack in munching on greens and avoiding the cakes so heavy they might properly be called bricks. Chrysalis picks the most open area to claim as her own, as well as any pillows that may or may not be in range.

Doug sticks to Celestia’s ponderous pace, forcing himself to keep from dragging the still-sullen mare. Not that he stands a chance of moving her if she doesn’t want to; he can stagger around with Applejack on his back and the alicorn outmasses the earth pony by three times. Twilight is rapidly reaching the point where only her flight magic will allow him to lift her. Not that he’s complaining, precisely due to the reason for their… well, fattening just sounds insulting, even if it is what’s occurring to two of the three mares, if only in one area. Enlarging, that’s much better.

As the white alicorn breaches the room, so too does Luna’s fury.

“Sister,” the cobalt alicorn demands, Twilight edging away lest she be caught in the icy chill. “How can thou possibly consider giving up your magic? Our magic! For naught but empty promises!”

“But, Sister,” Celestia pleads, her whole body shaking as she finally lowers her barriers. She sinks to the floor, horn and muzzle touching the carpet as she stares down. “What if they are right?” She looks up, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “What if all our work is for nothing?”

Doug slowly draws his breath, itching to intercede on Celestia’s behalf. But if there’s one thing he’s managed to pick up in his years of herding? Much as he might want to, getting in between the mares would draw both of their ire and abate none of their anger. They would work it out with each other. Hopefully. Still, he has to do what he can.

“Look,” Doug states, bending a smile from one mare to the other. Luna bites back her retort, turning to glare at him just like he suspected. Celestia returns to resting her head against the floor, and he has the sinking suspicion that she might stay that way the entire time. He remains upbeat, almost cajoling. “It’s been a trying time. I’m sure we’ll all feel better after we rinse this sand out of our coats. Yes?”

Luna stares at him for a long while, long enough to make him nervous. She sits back just a trifle with a grumble and huff, unwilling to relax any more until their situation is resolved.

So, with a parting stroke to the white ear, Doug steps toward Fluttershy and the giant tub. It’s not quite as large as the Ponyville Day Spa’s public bath, but still big enough for two alicorns to fully submerge if they don’t mind squeezing together. Hot water soon flows from four taps, steam and floral scents wafting into the air. Fluttershy helps him strip out of his armor with only a few reserved, soothing touches and none of her ‘innocent’ comments. None so much as bat an eye except when she squirrels away the damp undergarments with a cheeky grin. Doug tests the temperature, pulling away from the scalding water with a grimace and curtailed exclamation, immediately adjusting the taps to something less attuned to the solar alicorn and more suited for the average, especially pregnant, mare.

“Finally,” Doug moans as he steps into the still-hot water, swirling it around in the vain hope it might cool off quicker. “You know, it was nice wearing something when we were walking around the city, but after two days in that armor?” He shakes his head at the absurdity. “I missed going around like this. Way comfier. Or maybe the weather in Ponyville is that much better.” He winks at Rainbow Dash, the pegasus preening over the compliment.

“Oh, dear.” Fluttershy presses her hooves to her muzzle in mock horror. “I’m afraid I got sand all over my nice coat.” She flies into the tub after Doug, splashing around in the hock-deep water. “And with the wind, it got everywhere.” She grins as she presents her backside to him, her tail flagging. She moans in a manner most alluring. “Whatever shall I do?”

“Don’t worry,” Doug says, matching her grin as he drops to his knees in the rapidly rising water. “I’m here to help!” His hands cup minute portions, splashing onto her rump and working their way down her legs. He frowns. “You weren’t kidding.” She really does have a lot of grit caked into her coat.

Fluttershy’s grin widens a little as she sinks lower, luxuriating in the steamy, but not too hot, water. She loves the feeling of her stallion’s hands as they swarm over her body, digging into her coat, massaging the tense muscles underneath. It might not be as efficient at picking out the minute grains as a brush, but she cherishes the contact even more.

She can feel another part of her body heating up; her stallion must be feeling the same way, judging by the unmistakable pokes and prods against her belly as he stretches across her body to rub at her neck and forelegs. She wishes he went further, her gentle gyrations dipping the tip of her tail into the water and then flinging droplets onto his chest. Yet she can’t bring herself to sheath him inside her; even if he got her off quickly, and she knows he can, she much prefers long sessions and cuddling afterward, and they don’t have time for that. Especially if he has to attend to the rest of the mares. She hunkers down as one of those other mares takes wing.

“Do me next!” Rainbow Dash shouts as she dives into the tub, splashing water everywhere. She holds her wings out, grimacing at the coarse grit between her feathers. “Sand got everywhere on me, too!”

“That’s ‘cause y’er flyin’ everywhere,” Applejack retorts with a heavy snort. “Nocreature else was, an’ that’s why! Ya blew sand on all’a us! Serves ya right gettin’ some on yerself!”

“Come on, I bet you barely even noticed it!” Rainbow Dash sticks her head in the air, as aloof as any noblepony. She barely even flinches as Doug dumps water onto her neck and mane, shuddering in pleasure as he works his way down the tired muscles. She was not used to carrying weight around, especially something about her own size, and she knows she’ll feel it tomorrow. “You get covered in dirt and mud all the time!”

Doug chuckles at the banter between the mares. That’s one of the sure-fire ways to tell everything is good between them, especially Applejack and Rainbow Dash, that they can trade playful barbs. Even Fluttershy doesn’t mind, most days gamely trying a few of her own, but they are always gentle and good-natured and the others reply in kind. Yet he grimaces, even as he absolutely loves rubbing down the athlete’s coat and avoids the mare’s questing efforts to turn this into a different sort of ablution.

“Luna,” Doug states, even as Applejack and Rarity look ready to make their way into the tub next. He motions to the opening Fluttershy leaves behind as she drags herself out of the tub into a towel held in Rarity’s light blue aura. “Care to join?”

Luna holds her gaze without moving. It clearly rankles her, to be coaxed into such an undignified position. That her stallion would caress and comfort her while he cleans her coat. She is perfectly capable of performing such an action herself! She neither needs nor desires his help, and she loathes being put into a position where denying his help makes her look petty and unappreciative while accepting it makes her weak and pampered.

Yet it is expected of her to accede to her stallion’s desires. At least the only others present are herdmates and fellow royalty who can be trusted to keep their confidences. She takes her time rising from the bed, her baleful look displaying her disinterest. She sheds her cobalt peytral and ornate hoofguards as she walks, allowing the heavy metal to clatter to the floor with satisfying thuds. Rarity winces but Luna ignores her, reaching the edge of the tub and frowning at the pegasus frolicking inside.

Rainbow Dash only gets the hint that she should depart when Doug roughly prods her in the flank. She doesn’t want to leave her stallion, especially because she isn’t done with him, and resolves to be the first to claim him once this is all said and done. Well, unless Celestia calls dibs, and the white alicorn looks like she’ll need a lot of reassurance that everything will work out.

“Satisfied?” the cobalt alicorn demands after she steps in. She grunts as he answers not with words but an affirming squeeze to her taut flanks. She hates to admit that he does an adequate job with his massages and this time is no different; her displeasure with her Sister rapidly depletes, replaced by carnal distractions and a fleeting desire to raise her tail like a common harlot.

“...Only if you are,” Doug replies after a long moment. He continues rubbing his hands along her body; much like Rainbow’s, she is quite tense, and he is assisting with that. But there is none of the surrendering of her body to him, none of the trust that she can allow herself to be vulnerable.

Luna takes one deep breath after another. She has to will it, forcibly convince herself, but her muscles eventually relax as she slips her body under the water. Her tail stills, as does her mane, the waves in the tub gradually subsiding. Her horn lights, shutting off the taps, her head turning the barest amount so she can better regard the human.

“We do not see the wisdom in yielding our power,” Luna starts, attempting to be as amicable as possible to an idea she finds abhorrent. “And we are doubtful thou can convince us otherwise.”

“Alright then,” Doug says with an agreeable nod of his head. He works his way along the powerful back and flight muscles, kneading into the tense tissue. “How do you see this playing out here, how will they react, and what do we do about that?”

Ch. 43 - Pugilist, Part Two

“What acts of barbarism will they bring about?” Luna asks with a contemptuous scowl. She finds it difficult to maintain as Doug digs in deeper, growling as she tries to concentrate on her answer. “They will protest their dismay. The yaks shall stomp, the dragons breathe their fire, and the griffons keen and gnash their beaks. Yet it shall be for naught, as we shall not relinquish what is right for what is expedient, nor succumb to threats of terror.”

“Well spoken,” Doug says, his words nearly lost amid the jubilant stomps of the ponies. He rewards her statement with an affirming squeeze to her barrel, just behind her wings.

A smile teases at the corners of her muzzle, a muted signal that nevertheless speaks loudly of the joy she feels at the other’s, and especially her stallion’s, praise. She graciously allows him to continue his service, raising a wing so he might better reach the damp and matted fur underneath. He capitalizes on her capitulation, not that she sees it as such, assaulting both sides of her barrel with long and forceful strokes that end with firm squeezes to the secure hold of her womb.

“What would happen next?” Doug asks as he stretches across his mare, adding tickling swishes of his fingernails against her sides. “You think they would go quietly into the night?”

Luna struggles to avoid flinching, lest she succumb as her Sister often does to his ministrations. She finds that she cannot deny his potency, his hands honed on the haunches of her herdmates. Yet she decries the indisputable fact that she is merely one in a line of mares, and the lack of spontaneity that comes with treating so many, and would be cast aside - though tenderly and without malice - when it comes time for another. So she finds it easy to resist, to withhold the teasing motions and often lewd invitations the others twist into their reactions.

“What they do is of little concern to us,” Luna replies. Her words are not cold but aloof, and perhaps rightfully so. “Equestria has stood impregnable for centuries.”

“Don’t know about that,” Doug cuts in with a cheeky grin.

Luna grunts as he grips her teats, the flat mounds offering little in the way of resistance. She finds his fascination with them puzzling; the other mares reluctantly confess to a similar lack of pleasure from his stimulation, yet the action serves as a clear indicator of his intentions. He seems to enjoy them immensely for some strange reason; she wonders if he will begin rutting her then and there.

“Perhaps,” she concedes, suppressing her smirk. “Though if thy prowess proves the reason for our collapse?”

Luna turns, regarding Doug with a strong sniff from her slightly raised nose. It is obvious from his hesitation that he cannot tell if she is serious or not, and holds her gaze for several long seconds. She breathes a sigh of relief as his hands move on, winking at him and allowing her smirk to spread across her muzzle as she turns back, relishing his heavy but cheerful sigh as he again digs into her coat.

Celestia raises her head at the jovial exchange, a smile blossoming from barren ground. She stands, meeting her Sister’s eyes as she steps to the edge of the tub. A quick flick of the ear later and she carefully climbs into the tub, squeezing withers against withers and muting her flowing tail. She nuzzles, hard and needful, then contritely dips her muzzle into the water. Yet rather than rest above her Luna dips alongside her, pushing the flat of her long face against her Sister’s.

An anxious series of knocks on the door draws hesitant looks from the ponies getting ready to nap. Applejack, the closest, gets up and answers.

“Howdy,” she greets the distraught pale blue hippogriff. She raises an eyebrow as he rakes his talons against each other, his worry quite apparent. “Come on in. What can we do ya for?”

“I come bearing terrible news,” Sky Beak says, quickly looking over the scattered ponies as he steps inside. He waits until the door shuts behind him before continuing. “The others have portioned off sections of Equestria like some great whale, sharks ready to rend flesh from bone should you refuse to resign your power.”

Breath catches in throats, ears fold back, and bellies press against the floor as Sky Beak explains the other creature’s plans. Luna’s eyes smolder with righteous fury while Celestia’s fade to a dull void, no trace of the Breaker of Day’s red rage. But the knowledge that even the other ponies of the realm would raise hooves against them? It sits easy with nopony, all trading whimpers and uneasy glances.

“We can’t thank ya enough for tellin’ us all this,” Applejack forces out when he is finished, pulling her hat off to try to fan some of the sweat away. “But, how’d ya get away from them to come tell us?”

“We hippogriffs have made a… habit of laying low,” Sky Beak imparts. His countenance darkens. “I hate it. We are creatures of the sun, made to bathe in its purifying light, not cower under the cover of darkness! Or the sea. We lose more of our past, our traditions with every passing day!”

“Ah hear ya.” Applejack gulps, glancing at Celestia and Luna. Luna’s resolve helps bolster her spirits, but compared to how Celestia is reacting? She can barely keep her voice from shaking. “But, um, we might have a bit more on our plate than we can chew, if what yer sayin’ is true.”

“Is that right?” Rarity asks Shining Armor, barely able to dare the question.

“It’s…” Guard Captain Shining Armor takes a deep breath. “If they came at us with everything? Even with advance warning…” He shakes his head, not needing to look at Celestia to know what it would mean for her to break her word. “No. Even then, we wouldn’t have enough time to prepare. Evacuate, maybe, but that would only buy us time for the Princesses to move from one location to another.”

“We’re that reliant on the alicorns?” Doug groans, gritting his teeth as he rests one hand on each mare’s back.

Shining Armor’s nod is long and grim. “Equestria’s defenses have always relied on early detection and rapid response. Against a single nation? We could deploy the Wonderbolts as scouts and harassers, field a combined army of earth ponies, unicorns, and pegasi, and have an alicorn ready to engage directly should the need arise. But with our forces spread so thin, and compared to what the other nations can muster? I fear you would be overworked, perhaps direly, especially with your… restrictions on how much power you have available.”

Twilight’s raspberry glow pins a map of Equestria onto one of the walls. From Rarity’s bags she grabs a collection of pins, marking the various cities and towns. Spirits sink as the ponies realize they have nearly a dozen places large enough to be considered targets, to say nothing of the smaller settlements that dot the forests and plains.

Shining Armor’s voice has lost any sort of gloom, regarding the problem with cold calculation. “The races we are worried about attacking are also the harder ones to assault. That would be the Dragons and the Griffons. We will suffer heavy casualties, especially among civilians, no matter whom is present.”

Hairs bristle at the thought. Each of the sworn defenders of Equestria resolve to never let that happen, no matter the cost. Yet the problem looks insurmountable as Shining Armor continues.

“We can expect heavy infrastructural damage anywhere the Yaks and the Minotaurs show up, and to a lesser extent the Saddle Arabians.” He frowns at the problems that can’t be fixed by swinging a spear. “Enough to be an equanitarian crisis that would require coordinated effort by the remaining cities, effort we may not be able to spare. But the biggest issue is the Storm Armada. If he takes Canterlot, that’s our central hub gone. The rest of the country would be isolated from each other, with no intercontinental access except in the eastern seaboard. Reinforcements would be tricky at best, leaving each area to fend for itself."

“Does that mean we give up?” Rarity tentatively asks, shuddering at the thought of asking the alicorns to give up their power under such circumstances. Really, any circumstances are bad enough. But this?

Shining Armor considers the situation for a long time. “Equestria has relied on Celestia to act as a deterrent, the implied threat of leaving an attacking force nowhere to return home. As well as keeping them from clumping together were any sort of engagement to actually happen. But with varied forces like this? Even if they didn’t scatter at the first sign of golden light, there would be losses.”

“On both sides,” Celestia adds. The sorrow in her voice sends chills along spines, each pony flinching as they consider what would happen to the attacking creatures. “How many shall we condemn to the stars for our actions?”

“Sister,” Luna retorts, scowling. “They make their choices, just like we must make ours. It does not matter if there are or are not better solutions. This is the right thing to do. Nothing else is important!”

“For the sake of argument,” Doug says, a calming hand keeping Luna from immediately snapping at him. “What happens if you do give up your power? Assuming it is safe for you and the foals.”

The hand isn’t enough to keep Luna from rebutting. “We forestall this attack only to leave ourselves exposed to others.”

“The Wonderbolts aren’t that weak,” Rainbow Dash grunts out, crossing her forelegs across her chest and blowing a lock of her mane out of her face.

“And what if we keep the Staff of Sacanas?” Doug glances at Celestia and Twilight. “This staff can move the heavens. What else can it do?”

“Anything the wielder puts their mind to,” Celestia claims with an affirming nod from Twilight. “To an extent. For instance, the Storm King might conjure storms, lightning, and wind on par with a hurricane. Inefficient, yes, but with that much raw magical might? Surely you have seen the range of spells that Twilight knows, some practical while others are far more esoteric.”

“So whoever wields the staff could use it for Equestria’s defense. It wouldn’t be as strong as an alicorn, I assume, but something.” Doug’s mouth purses as he rubs at his chin.

“Assuming they let us keep it?” Twilight frowns. “That seems unlikely. The whole point of this is to deprive us of our power.”

“Okay,” Doug admits. “Sure. And the same is true if one of the other nations gets it.”

“Indeed,” Luna states. She flicks her wing at Doug, but he doesn’t release his grip on her. “They desire a better country, but believe stealing other’s might will lead them there. The fighting among them for who gets the Staff would be… fierce. There is little hope of allowing us to keep the staff, despite our faithful stewarding of such power for so long.”

“So, then, if we could choose.” Doug glances at Celestia, Luna unlikely to want to speculate in this direction. “Who would we give the Staff to?”

“The creatures whom I would trust with such power? Outside of those in this room?” Celestia ponders the question for several long moments. “Queen Novo comes to mind… but I could certainly see her wielding our power as a cudgel against the Storm Realm who banished her to the seas. Their ships are made to weather storms, even lightning, so she would be forced to go after civilians and infrastructure. It would embroil the southern seas in conflict. Any of the lesser nations I do not foresee being able to resist losing the Staff, either through brute force or from a thief in the night.”

“And on the eastern side of things?” Doug asks, mostly for completeness.

“The dragons and the griffons?” Celestia’s cheeks bulge as she tries to hold in her laughter. She looks around the room for something, anything, that might take her mind off such an audacious move. Yet her hysterics catch up to her, breaking forth in a torrent of high-pitched giggles, neighs, and hooves pounding against the water. A shield from Luna redirects any splashed water toward Doug, who weathers the storm with a stoic sigh.

“I… I cannot imagine a scenario that could turn out worse for us.” Celestia shakes her head grimly. “The very first thing they would do would be to rally their brethren and demand a feast whose ingredients would only get more exotic. And if veal is any indication, then alicorn-”

“Please,” Fluttershy begs from across the room. Clasping her hooves against her face and plugging her ears with her wings isn’t enough; she doesn’t want to have to use her Stare, not against the Princess, but in these dire circumstances? “Please. Just… stop?”

“If thou believes the partitioning of our foals to be vile,” Luna retorts, as cold and emotionless as the void of space. “Wait until we split the cities into those we defend and those we do not.”

“You’re doing a great job highlighting why you shouldn’t give up your power at all,” Doug states, his stomach clenched tight. He lost what little squeamishness he had when he helped Prince Blueblood butcher the rhoas, and has only inured himself further by preparing a lot of his own meat and helping Pharynx set up the abattoir. But contemplating the same with his mares? Just the thought makes him nauseous. “Or give any of these creatures a foot… hoofhold in Equestria.” He sinks back, sickened at his next thought. He shouldn’t voice it, but does anyway. “It’s enough to make me consider preemptively using the offensive part of our defensive strategy.”

“Then what?” Celestia demands, teetering on the edge of despondency. “Lock up civilians for the crime of being born the wrong race? Many of them have spent their entire lives in Equestria.” She points a hoof. “What of Spike? Should he be thrown in with the others on the chance that he might turn his scales?”

“Hah! Could you imagine?” Spike playfully growls, crouching down before leaping at Twilight! “Raargh!”

“Spike!” Twilight laughs as the small purple dragon pounces on her and gnaws at her hind leg. She tries to shake him off but he gamely holds on. “That tickles!”

“Om, nom, nom!” Spike says between delicate chews. “Hey, you know, some fire sauce and I could probably choke this down.”

“Hey, I taste better than that!” Twilight exclaims before realizing what she just said. She huffs. “And that’s not the point! Nopony is going to be eaten!”

“Exactly.” Doug’s hard voice carries through the room. He starts by focusing on the cobalt alicorn next to him. “Luna, you were right earlier.”

Luna’s ears prick at the admission, her smile creeping across her muzzle. She did not expect such a clear decision between what she and Celestia are arguing, though her elation subsides at seeing the downcast look of her Sister.

“But,” Doug says, withdrawing a slight amount of that praise, “we have to remember what the ‘right’ is that we are championing. And I would argue, and I think we would all agree, that that ‘right’ is the lives of ponies, and indeed everycreature, everywhere.” He looks around the room. “Any disagreement?”

Luna growls, but to herself. She would quibble about the inclusion of everycreature, and wonders if he did it merely for Sky Beak. Though her Sister would certainly argue in his favor, and she lets Doug’s statement go without contest. None of the other ponies disagree, either.

“So we have to ask. Does giving up your power, your liberty, your freedom buy you any security, however temporary? Does this help your little ponies?” Doug shakes his head. “I would argue it does not. It makes us no safer, even if we kept the staff. And even if I thought it would, we would deserve neither power nor safety if we gave up one for the other.”

“So ya don’t think we should lock up the griffons, just in case?” Applejack asks with a certain dread. She remembers the salesgriffons flying around their farm, how she counted the pigs each time to make sure any didn’t ‘wander’ off. How much worse would it be counting foals?

Doug takes a deep breath. “Correct. Because even if that makes us vulnerable, to do otherwise would be worse. Better to give each their chance, treat them as individuals, and suffer the consequences, however dire.”

“A very… optimistic view,” Luna states evenly. Pinkie Pie’s ears perk up, the mare beaming.

“Just like I have for you.” Doug leans forward, gripping Celestia’s chin and gently twisting her head to face him. She resists at first, choosing to stare at the water, before giving in and meeting his gaze. “All you’ve done has been working toward the betterment of Equestria and your ponies. And, when you could spare the effort, the betterment of all Equus. You’ve gained power in that pursuit. And I think you should never apologize for that.”

“No?” Celestia says, a ray of hope lighting the back of her eyes.

“No.” Doug grunts as Celestia rears up and twirls to meet him muzzle to face. “What these other creatures want? They don’t care about you or your ponies. They only care about themselves. You’ve proven through the centuries that you are a responsible caretaker of that power. You haven’t abused it through the countless ways imaginable. You have, day after countless day, raised the sun and lowered the moon, only to reverse it again that night. Without fail, waking up before the dawn you provide.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know if I could do it. Yet your ponies have stayed safe under your care, despite being beset by foes only too eager to take advantage of the wondrous conditions you provide. I know my praise doesn’t mean much, but you have it.”

Celestia crouches down just slightly, the bend in her legs giving away her intentions. That or the sway in her flanks, how her tail twitches upward ever so slightly, and how her eyes flutter, suddenly bright and full of life.

“But know,” Doug says, a finger lightly pressing on her lips keeping her from lunging forward. “Even if this doesn’t work out? I have every confidence that you will remember your little ponies. That you won’t give up hope like those despots think you will. And I will be there, ready to console you in our hour of grief. But that’s all it would be, because I wouldn’t be satisfied with failure, and you wouldn’t - and shouldn’t - be either.”

Celestia leans forward to nuzzle him, her soft smile begging to be more. Her tongue wets her lips, still glistening from the clear water.

“And if they think that one foal will upset the balance between the nations?” Doug swishes a finger from the nape of her neck down her barrel, as far as he can reach without taking his eyes off hers. He loves how they shine, a radiance he suspects was there all along. “I’d hate for them to know what plans I have for you. And I bet they can’t compare to your own.”

At that point Celestia’s restraint finally breaks, rushing forward to pin her stallion against the side of the tub.

Ch. 44 - Pugilist, Part Three

“Well.” Applejack chuckles as Celestia’s multicolored mane again flows like the water crashing against the sides of the tub. She takes a step toward the closed door. “Ah don’t suppose we want to give them their privacy?”

“Are you foaling me?” Rainbow immediately retorts with a leering grin. “We’d miss the best part!” She lifts into the air to get a better view of the smothering taking place, barely noticing when Applejack shakes her head good-naturedly and sits back down. The growing desire to drop her hoof lower is quickly quashed; it’s way better when she gets her stallion to do that! She’s far more interested in what’s going on between him and the Princess under the water, anyway. But right now the alicorn is too low on his body for anything frisky to be going on, just muzzle stuff. Well, and hands stuff, but that pretty much always happens so it doesn’t count.

Fluttershy has the same idea. She covertly creeps up and peeks over the edge, like she’s checking in on a pair of snails out of their shells and about to, well, cover each other in mucus. She holds the position when Celestia glances over - apparently pink is not a stealthy choice - and she meets the Princess’s gaze, beaming pure joy at the love they are sharing.

Twilight Sparkle watches as steam rises from the tub with a growing pang in her gut, feeling a bit of apprehension as things between her stallion and former mentor get... heated. It’s not that she doesn’t like the thought of Celestia finding pleasure during an otherwise tense situation. She’s happy the alicorn found somepony to love! Somehuman, whatever. It’s more that she sees the solar diarch as a sort of second dam. In some ways they were even closer than she is to Velvet (putting aside the fact that she and Celestia are in a herd), and certainly closer than her dahms. Like her sire Night Light’s lead mare, DeGree; it was always cordial, at a leg’s distance. Not that it’s too awkward for her now - she did conceive her fillies alongside her fellow Princesses. Actually, now that she thinks about it, she’s been present in one capacity or another when all the alicorn foals got conceived, something not even Doug can attest to.

“I’m going out,” Twilight announces to an otherwise occupied room. She rolls her eyes at Cadance, who is entirely too focused on her aunt. She’ll need to tease the Princess of Sex about it at some point. At least her brother has the decency to stare out the window, though she notes how his ears are swiveled for maximum reception. “I’ll tell Lunaris to prep the Priestess for an expeditious departure. Just in case.”

“Make sure we have enough foal powder,” Rarity asks absentmindedly, her focus on her sketch of Doug and Celestia. She has taken the liberty of fast-forwarding to the point where Luna joins in. “It will help with the sand.”

“Yeah, sure,” Twilight says with a roll of her eyes. She opens the door with her magic. There are spells for that sort of thing, and if Doug didn’t want to get so personal with each of them then-

Twilight comes to an abrupt halt as her mind registers the thick white limbs, the twisted stick casually resting against the floor, and the blackened armor adorned with twin teal lightning bolts. A sense of foreboding fills her as her eyes travel up, and up, past the Storm insignia to the fang-filled smile of the Storm King himself.

“Hey!” the tall storm creature greets amiably, bending down and turning himself sideways to squeeze through the door. He brushes past Twilight before she can react. “You don’t mind if I come in, do you?”

“You-” Twilight starts before her brain cuts off the rest of ‘can’t come in here’, because he clearly could and just did.

“What can we do ya for?” Applejack demands, her question considerably more pointed than when she asked the same of Sky Beak. For the hippogriff’s part he scowls while he backs up, joining Shining Armor at the window. The rest of the ponies show a bit more courage, bunching in clusters but standing resolute. Chrysalis regards the Storm King with a lazy look, unwilling to stand from her fortress of pillows. Luna growls as she slinks out of the water, a soft blue glow from her horn leaving all the water behind. Celestia stops her motion but does not look up, her face squarely aimed at Doug, who peeks out from beneath her mane and foreleg.

Raikou seemingly ignores Applejack’s question, taking in the entirety of the room’s contents with a swift scan. “You’re all here, huh? Goody. All four pony Princesses.” His grin curls higher, exposing more of his fangs. “Well, I knew that before. It’s amazing what you can hear through these walls!” He holds a hand to his ear as he raps the knuckles holding the Staff of Sacanas against the wall. It barely makes a noise.

He waits for a beat, gets no reaction, then turns to Applejack with a cheeky grin. He crouches down so they are eye to eye. “Would you believe I’m here to talk?”

Applejack regards him with a long stare and an equally drawn out, “Do Ah have to answer that?”

Raikou laughs, a single clipped-short note. “I knew I liked you for a reason!” He ruffles Applejack’s hat as he stands, leaving the earth pony scowling as she adjusts her Stetson.

Long strides take him to the edge of the tub; the rest of the ponies return stony looks he walks past. Fluttershy hastily slips to the side as Celestia pulls herself away from Doug, the two reclining on the far side. A hoof brushes her mane out of her eyes, a single stroke all it takes to restore flowing perfection. Doug folds his arms with a hard frown, a sharp contrast to Celestia’s genial smile.

“This isn’t the liveliest party I’ve been invited to,” the Storm King says in a dull deadpan as his tall, lanky form slips next to the tub, swirling the frothy water with one hand. He studies the closed window, as if debating whether to open it and let the frou-frou scents air out. “It just needs a little shock to jolt some life into it!”

“Invited?” Princess Celestia disputes, tilting her head to the side as the corners of her smile twist upward. “If one listens to the Abyssinian King and Queen, you have a habit of inviting yourself into places you don’t belong.”

“This storm knows no bounds!” Teal eyes gleam, short fangs bared in a wide grin. “Isn’t it glorious? The southern realms, from the Stormy Realms to Mount Aris, united under teal and steel.”

Celestia raises an eyebrow. “And now you are setting your sights north?”

The Storm King laughs, setting the ponies on edge. “As expected! You know my intentions.” His open hand splays out and exposes his armored chest. Four obsidian orbs dangle from a bandoleer at his waist amid a number of closed pouches. “It’s not like I’ve concealed them. That lust for power! Have you tried using it?” His grin widens. “Really letting go. Just to see what you can do!”

“I dare not.” Celestia takes a deep breath, a hoof traveling to her chest before pushing away, exhaling with a calming, steady gust that sends the water rippling in rapid waves. “The end result the last time was the Badlands.”

“A shame,” the Storm King says with a curtailed shake of his head. He doesn’t appear remorseful at all. “Why, with that kind of power available to me?” He spins the staff, morphing into a dance that whirls faster and faster, a dizzying display of dexterity and mastery.

The ponies tense and crouch, preparing for some sort of action. Eyes narrow and muzzles scowl, but the spins and potential to get thwacked by the staff or worse keep any from approaching. The other alicorns glance back and forth, contemplating some sort of preemptive action, but they too hold fast.

“You seem to have taken a liking to the ‘Storm in a Box’.” Celestia offers an unflinching smile as he comes to an abrupt halt, the glowing crystal tip of the staff a hoofbreadth from her muzzle. She gingerly pushes it to the side, away from the wide-eyed Doug. The casual motion keeps Luna from charging in, but even a glance from Celestia does not get the cobalt alicorn to relax. Celestia adds with a note of sympathy, “But I understand the distinction between borrowing another’s expertise and accomplishing something with your own power.”

“Exactly!” Raikou examines the staff in his hand with a critical eye, and it leaves him wanting. “But conquest isn’t the only way to expand. It just happens to be the easiest way to get your hoof through the wall.” He sighs, the staff dropping to his side. “My admittedly brutal tactics cut short their suffering. None dare resist, especially knowing what happens to rebellions, from the leaders down to the soldiers. Decimate’s a fun word, ya know?”

“Is that a threat?” Luna demands, cold as ice, with bared teeth and glints of Nightmare Moon’s teal in her eyes.

Raikou takes the Staff of Sacanas, planting it in front of him, yet gently enough to not activate it. He stares at it for a long moment, still focusing on it as he speaks.

“I’m gonna be honest with you. You like that, right? One of your Tenets of Harmony.” He flashes a smile, and it curls a little higher at Celestia’s nod before he returns to a grim stare. “I’ve had my eye on Equestria for a while now. Preposterous, right?” He laughs, dark and brooding, the only one in the room to do so. “Only two ways I could possibly take and hold it. One, attack so many spots you couldn’t defend them all. You’d be too tied up to retaliate, and I’d hope you surrender to save your ponies before I run out of troops.” He focuses on Chrysalis with a respectful nod. “That was your plan.”

“One of many,” Chrysalis admits. In fact, the potential for her to implement that particular plan was the impetus for Celestia to negotiate with her at all. Celestia’s muzzle remains still, as if carved from stone, carefully concealing her reaction to his ruthless plan of action. Chrysalis tilts her head to the side slightly. “Are you claiming this is not your own plan?”

“Stop me if I’m wrong or if I go too far. But you have three other alicorns and a host of soldiers who can be as big and bad as any dragon.” Raikou forlornly shakes his head at the now unattainable possibility. “That frees you up to roast cities. Or armies. I’d put my best strategist on it, but I wouldn’t expect much.”

Celestia’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly at his assessment of their response. Spot on, but their defensive strategy is no secret, and he was likely listening in. No, what surprises her is his read on Chrysalis; she had not considered employing the changelings as defenders, and it is likely the Chief Architect wishes for their involvement to be a trump card hidden under a wing. A glance at Chrysalis confirms this, the changeling nodding back.

“Unacceptable.” Raikou shakes his head, frowning at the water but not really focusing on anything. His words are quieter, musing to himself. “Unless I had… Ugh, I’m not as good at this as my commander. Maybe? Yeah.” He nods to himself, smiling, but it’s subdued. “If I had everycreature else on my side, I could probably do it. Yeah, that’d be enough to overwhelm even the changelings on your side.”

The ponies trade nervous glances as Sky Beak blanches; the unasked question passes among them: does he not know the other creatures’ plan? Is he merely playing them for foals? They edge closer to preemptive action, but then what?

“Changelings do not go down that easily,” Chrysalis states. Her eyes narrow at his leering gaze. “On the battlefield, you torpid husk.”

Chrysalis is expecting many things - a return insult, a challenge, even a sneer, but not the way he points one finger on each hand at her and winks.

“But against five quite capable leaders? Each an army all by themselves?” Raikou shrugs nonchalantly. “It makes the second plan harder, too, but not by much. Get all of you together, distract you somehow and launch a decapitating strike. Not literally, of course; I still need to move the sun and moon somehow!”

His grin does little to soften his proposed actions, and Celestia cannot hide her glance at the Staff of Sacanas.

The Storm King notices. “Oh, this?” He raises the staff slightly, grinning like a pony holding pocket princesses.

Celestia merely meets his gaze. She isn’t sure if she could react in time to him slamming it down. But he has had many opportunities to do so. She tenses, the shudder sending ripples through the water. Doug wraps an arm around her, doing his best to comfort her, but it gives her little solace.

“I drew up plans long before I had this little beauty. But honestly?” He weighs the Staff in his hand, bobbing it up and down. “Even if I had the power to create a storm to suit my name, and could shift the heavens?” He sighs. “I’d get bored with it after a day. Never able to sleep past the sunrise, beholden to the clock! And there’s nocreature I’d entrust with that kind of power.”

“It is a heavy burden,” Celestia commiserates.

“I’d have to be worried about somecreature stealing it. Or taking it by force. Or, if you’re holding it, just letting the power out whenever you feel like it.” Raikou’s lips pull back in an unvarnished grimace. “Nah. I think I’d prefer the real thing.” He gestures at Celestia, nodding with a smirking leer.

“Me?” Celestia says, taken aback. Her hoof presses against her chest. “I’m flattered, really, but...”

“You?” The Storm King laughs, a single breathy snort that matches his wide grin at her lack of understanding. “Not you! One letter turning me down was enough, thanks. That and you’re already taken. And I promised Shining Armor I wouldn’t hit on any of the mares.” He winks at her regardless, and delights in the comprehension slowly dawning on her face. “I’m talking about her.”

A single finger points directly at Celestia’s belly.

Ch. 45 - Pugilist, Part Four

The ponies break into an uproar, barking at each other about what the Storm King really means. As expected, Applejack, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash are the most boisterous, psyching themselves up to go after him right then and there. Applejack would go low, Rainbow Dash high, and Rarity swing around behind. Princess Cadance and Shining Armor are only slightly less pugilistic, trying to keep the first three calm before they cause some sort of international incident, yet just as incensed. Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, and Twilight focus more on Celestia and how she freezes up, all of them caught off guard. Chrysalis sits in the back, laughing silently to herself. And Luna, who-

Stares at her front right hoof, which is crossed over her front left, head cocked to the side, oblivious to the pandemonium around her.

“Noon?” Celestia’s breath halts, her mind blanking. That she would allow her filly to be-

The alarm bells blaring in her mind fail to rouse her until after three meaty fingers wrap around her neck, locking just under her jaw. She clasps her forelegs around the muscular arm as the Storm King drags her across the tub. He lifts her up to eye level, seemingly effortlessly, though half of her body remains submerged. She recognizes the hold as the same one he used on Tempest Shadow, her lower half churning the water below in a fruitless attempt to help relieve the pressure.

“That was a good distraction, yes?” the Storm King asks with a delighted smirk. He casually traces the flat side of the Staff of Sacanas against her neck, leaving a line in the fur. He chuckles as the alicorn goes limp, no longer struggling against him. Yet he retains his hold, expecting some sort of trick or burst of action.

“Is that all this was?” Celestia whispers. She cannot keep the quiver from her voice, except it isn’t from shame at suffering an ignoble capture. Instead, it is sadness, a regret that Raikou was unable to rise to his potential. She stares into his black and teal eyes, searching, seemingly unconcerned with the hand gripping her neck.

Raikou stares back. His ebullient expression slowly morphs into one of incomprehension, puzzlement at her submission. He squeezes, hard, hoping to provoke some reaction, but all she does is grip his arm a little tighter while her eyes bug out.

He expected rage, wrestling his arm away, or charging her horn. Some sort of attack! But this? It’s worse, her… disappointment. Is he not strong enough? How can that be?! He looks over at the other ponies, taking in their vitriolic scowls.

“I…” he starts, loosening his grip, allowing the alicorn to breathe once again.

“Hey,” Doug says from the side. He’s moved forward but slowly, trying to keep his voice reasonable and friendly. He knows he’s no match for the Storm King physically, but can’t help but wonder what’s going through Celestia’s mind that she hasn’t blasted him already. “Just, put her down. We can talk this out.”

Raikou glances at Doug, the human holding his hands out to show he has nothing to hide. He frowns through gritted teeth as he turns back to Celestia, affronted by the display of vulnerability. And yet she’s still there, pleading with her eyes. Yet not begging for him to drop her; no, she’s pleading for him to do what she must think is the right thing. The weak thing. He grunts as he lets go, disgusted, yet more at himself for failing Celestia’s test.

The alicorn bobs down, her hind legs again resting on the floor of the bathtub as Doug rushes to her side. A hoof smooths out the ruffled fur as she steadies herself, still in a two-legged stance. Neither she nor Doug take their eyes off the Storm King as he pulls back and studies the Staff in his hands. Her throat hurts, a dull throb, and if it wasn’t for the earth pony part of her constitution she would be worried about suffering a few bruises.

Half a dozen voices shout some variation of, “Celestia! Are you alright?” as the ponies pour toward her.

“Hold,” Celestia commands as the other half gear up to fight. She lifts a hoof, knowing how utterly ridiculous it must seem to allow this viper in front of them a chance to mentally regroup. She nuzzles Doug, more of a short nudge to get him to let her go, but also to let him know that she is okay. He refuses, his hand staying against her side until she hops out of the tub, water dripping onto the floor.

She takes a step closer to the Storm King with the same calm, placating manner Doug used earlier. She studies him; how he crouches, both hands on the staff, staring at it with a clenched jaw and a hard look in his eyes. The kind she sees in her students struggling during a particularly hard examination, especially one they are not prepared for. It is a frustrated look, but beyond that, and if there wasn’t fur covering him she might expect to see veins popping on his forehead.

“You are serious?” she asks. She feels a pang of regret at asking the question, though she hopes it is a kindness that prunes away to leave healthy growth behind.

The Storm King takes a moment to collect himself with a series of deep breaths. He nods, scowling, all jest fading from his composure. “The way I look at it? I’ve got two options. I can go after you, here and now.” He caresses the staff in his hand, a soft touch one might slide along their lover’s inner thigh. But instead of holding love the gesture is cold and callous, a jealousy born from contempt and betrayal. “And your sister. She’s listening, right?” He turns to the cobalt alicorn, forgotten in the commotion.

Luna breaks from her stupor with a dull, glassy-eyed look. She seems to have barely registered that anything occurred between Raikou and Celestia. She walks on unsteady legs to Celestia’s side, glancing between Doug and her belly.

“Optimally, I get Cadance, too,” the Storm King continues as if having a casual conversation, still smiling. The pink alicorn doesn’t care for the mention, standing straighter as Shining Armor glares. Raikou chuckles, but it is void of emotion. “And Twilight Sparkle. But that wouldn’t be too hard, not really. Just need to hold her friends hostage or something. You’d probably qualify for that, she likes you.”

“You have no idea,” Celestia states, a bit of steel returning to her voice. Twilight wants to counter his assertion, but he’s right; there is very little she wouldn’t give up for her Friends.

“Yeah,” the Storm King agrees as he pulls back slightly, but keeps staring at the staff. “That’s why I’ve never been big on the whole ‘Friendship’ thing. As nice as it is to have someone at your back? It just makes it easier for them to stab you when the time is right.” He raises an eyebrow, his coldness turned on Celestia and carefully watching for any sort of reaction. “Does the name ‘Strife’ mean anything to you?”

Celestia considers for a moment, carefree, as if there wasn’t a being who could at any time use a device capable of stealing their magic. “You have mentioned him. Your lieutenant, or second-in-command, lost around the time you brought the Abyssinians to heel.”

“He was not lost,” the Storm King spits out, gripping the staff so tightly that it cracks. “He turned against me, but his betrayal failed. Though he didn’t call it a betrayal, because you can’t betray someone you aren’t friends with.” His eyes narrow as he stares at Celestia, neither giving an inch of ground. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that, now would you?”

Celestia’s muzzle curls to a thin smirk. “It has never been in my disposition to deal in treachery and deceit. But you must realize the folly of such an action, yes? For why would I employ means counter to the Tenets of Harmony I hold dear? Whose failure would only strengthen your resolve, whose success would only weaken my own?” She shakes her head somberly. “I am afraid it is your actions, your policy of solitude, that drove your lieutenant to commit to his course of action against you.”

A thin smirk crosses Raikou’s face. The two stare at each other for long seconds. Except he seems to be staring past her, his focus on something else entirely.

“Thought you’d say something like that,” he says to himself, nodding along. “Didn’t want to have to do this. But you know what they say.”

Everypony gasps as Raikou raises the Staff of Sacanas with a grim scowl.

And slams it down on his knee, snapping the wood in half like kindling. It sparks briefly, the light blue crystal on the end fading to black. He tosses the broken pieces to the floor.

Celestia stares at the shattered pieces. A part of her cries out at the destruction of any magical artifact. Another cannot believe he would give up such a bargaining chip without obtaining any agreement from her. And another realizes that, without the staff, the only method the Council had of removing her power and giving it to a non-alicorn is now gone, and with it their ability to force her hoof.

“If you can’t beat ‘em?” The Storm King dusts his hands off against each other, ignoring the once powerful artifact, now little more than splinters at his hooves. “Join ‘em.”

He glances at his back, then feels at his head. “Huh,” he mutters, disappointed.

“Were you hoping for a set of wings to go with your horns?” Celestia teases, glancing at Cadance and recalling how she got her horn. The pink alicorn doesn’t return it, unable to break her focus away from the… well, penitent creature in front of her. His glum demeanor, how he sighs, now lethargic in his movements.

“Can’t say it would go with my image,” Raikou says, barely able to crack a smile. He shakes his head. “No. This was a token of my sincerity.”

Celestia stares at him. She can scarcely believe her eyes and ears, wondering if this is some sort of hallucination triggered by a thaumic deficiency. Yet the longer she waits it seems less an illusion and more genuine. She believes the Storm King to be capable of anything, much like Chrysalis. But this?

“I’m listening,” she finally states, drawing back just a fraction. Not enough to seem like a retreat, but deferential, a better position to observe.

The Storm King grins, as if getting his hoof through the wall is all he needs.

“I want your filly’s hoof in marriage.”

Hints of red seep into the alicorn’s eyes. The temperature of the room rises a few degrees as her mane flickers to a bright pink. Just as quickly the shift disappears, returning to her pastel rainbow.

Uneasy glances pass among the ponies; the practice of arranging marriage is far from unheard of, but mostly among very set-in-their-ways earth ponies such as the Pies. Even then, it’s done by the parents when they think that the match will be a good one. Perhaps it is done among the nobility, seeing how many of them herd up with each other, but that could easily be a product of their social circles.

The Storm King waves a hand as Celestia opens her mouth to retort. “Woah, woah, woah. I can hear your objections already! She’s not old enough, what if she doesn’t like me, what will the other creatures think.” He flashes her a toothy smile, and it does little to mollify her wrath. “I can wait until she can and does make that choice. And until she does?” He starts listing things on his fingers. “I want a full alliance. No restrictions on trade, free movement between our people. And yes, that means you can come visit. A defensive pact, but more than that. You support our… expansion, against any who might stand in the way of ‘Friendship’.” He says the last word with a sneer, immediately trying to correct it to a half-hearted smile.

“You think we would bargain a foal away like a piece of chattel?” Doug demands, striding forward. His arm sweeps behind him. “We’re not some sort of…”

Doug trails off as he glances backward, noticing Chrysalis’ scowl. He recalls how she bargained away her changelings, ordered them on missions that might or even certainly would involve those kinds of carnal activities. But what concerns him more is how Luna has the same expression.

“Luna?” Doug asks, the rancor gone from his voice. “What’s wrong?”

Instead of answering Doug, Luna addresses the Storm King. “Thou art genuine in thy desire for an alliance? Sealed in blood and bond, to adhere our nations - neigh, our world - to our cause of Friendship?”

Raikou nods solemnly, the motion short. “You know how I treat my allies. And how I treat my enemies. What better way to tie our nations together?”

“An arranged marriage?” Doug asks pointedly. The Storm King’s brows briefly furrow before he nods superfluously. “Sorry. I don’t see that happening.”

“Indeed?” Luna asks neutrally. She regards Doug carefully, her words deliberately chosen. “T’is what we share. Or dost thou believe we married for love?” She keeps from sneering, just a slight tilt of her head the only indication she is not perfectly happy with their arrangement.

“You… what?” Doug ekes out at the unexpected revelation. His legs go weak, and he can only keep himself standing by leaning on Celestia. He glances at Rainbow Dash and Rarity, but mostly Rainbow Dash. She starts to turn her head away before stopping herself, forcing magenta eyes to return his stare. He cannot bring himself to say the words.

Luna can. “It was a marriage, a herding of convenience. It was what our little ponies expected of their rulers. We have no intention of returning on the promise we made to you, even should a more suitable suitor arrive.” She spares a brief glare at Chrysalis, the changeling merely raising her nose in the air, before turning to the Storm King. “We would expect the same from you.”

“Hey, as long as she’s doing something for me,” Raikou says with a leering grin at Luna. She returns a cold stare. “And knowing you alicorns? I bet there’s a lot she can do.”

“We shall… consider… it,” Celestia states diplomatically. How much is a coded refusal is impossible to tell, the look in her eyes pensive.

Raikou laughs as he straightens, much of his boisterousness returning in an instant. “Hey, that’s a lot better than I thought it might go. And I’m still in one piece!” He works his hands down his arms, then his legs, as if he didn’t trust that to be the case. His ebullient attitude ebbs as he spots Doug’s dour expression. He bends down to be at eye level. “I’m sensing that you don’t like me.” He winks with a wry smirk. “Dad.”

“Gee,” Doug deadpans. “What gave you that impression?”

Raikou chuckles, slapping Doug on the back and nearly bowling him over. “You know what we need? A little chat. Just us guys. What’d’ya say?”

“This seems like a terrible idea,” Doug replies, looking to Celestia for support.

He finds a soft smile and a gentle nudge in return.

“Seriously?” Doug sighs, rubbing at his forehead. “We need to be back to the Council, and-”

“-Hey, I get all that,” Raikou interrupts, cutting to the chase. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. We’ll get to know each other a little better while these fine ladies-” he motions to the mares with a wide sweep “-hash out some sort of agreement. I’ll make my counter-offer, we’ll go back and forth a bit. It’s how these things go.”

“I-I’m not sure,” Doug trails off, glancing at his mares. To his surprise, Twilight Sparkle steps forward.

“It’s okay,” she reassures, barely needing to stretch up to nuzzle him. She offers him an apple-eating grin. “I’m sure everything will be just fine.”

Doug wants to strangle her but settles for a very tight hug around the neck.

Ch. 46 - Tempered Flesh, Part One

“So, we good?” The Storm King grins without waiting for a response. “We good.” He practically skips to the door, pausing only to grab Doug’s pair of embroidered gloves. He glances from the open doorway at the enveloped human, slapping the gloves against the wall to get his attention. “You coming or what?”

Doug sighs in Twilight’s grasp, taking a moment to enjoy her embrace. Yet Luna’s words weigh heavily on him, and Raikou’s insistence doesn’t help. With a sigh he pulls away, yet she resists, and he could swear he hears a faint giggle. He smirks and curls his fingers, running along her barrel with light nips and scratches at her ticklish spots. She squirms, biting her tongue, but when he passes a patch of exposed skin she jolts at the unfamiliar contact. She backs away with a surprised smile, the touch of his hand on her muzzle lingering.

“Wish me luck,” he whispers as he rubs at his head, still in a bit of a daze. He glances at Luna, takes a deep breath, and jogs to catch up to the lanky Storm King.

Luna waits until the door closes before she turns to the gathered ponies. She takes a moment to assess each one before sighing. “We all have our reasons for herding. But we cannot condone promising one of our own to him.”

“Ah’m with ya there,” Applejack agrees. She sits down to free up her forelegs, the other ponies forming a rough circle. “Besides, ain’t any’a y’all suspicious about that there Storm fella promisin’ to join our cause?” She smacks her hoof against the floor, scowling. “The side of Harmony, benefittin’ from some nefarious creature! That ain’t how this is suppost’a go!”

“Indeed,” Rarity chimes in. “How many stories are solved when the villain betrays his former colleagues? None.” She raises her hoof, belting out bombastically, “Mark my words! This is only to set up a later betrayal, ala Discord, to better position him to stab us in the back.”

“But if we know he’s going to stab us in the back,” Rainbow Dash says, scratching at her head. One eye squints as she tries to puzzle out the problem. “Aren’t we just going to… you know… not let him do that?”

“But what about-” Fluttershy starts.

“But what about the idiot ball!” Pinkie Pie shouts over Fluttershy as she leaps into the air. She grins sheepishly as she slowly lowers back down. “Oh. Sorry. I spoke out of turn. You were about to say that.”

“I… um…” Fluttershy says, her face scrunching up. “I was?”

Pinkie Pie nods furiously. “Yup! How the characters need to act in an idiotic manner in order to fall into the obvious trap!

“Oh, no,” Fluttershy says, shaking her head. She taps her hooves together, embarrassed at correcting her herdmate. “That’s not what I was going to say at all.”

“You weren’t?” Pinkie Pie squats down. “Oh.”

“Mm.” Fluttershy nods. “I was just going to comment on how, if the Storm King does swap sides, then that’ll make it really tough for the others to gang up on us. Like when I was a filly; there were two bullies that teased me. They only went away when Rainbow Dash stood up for me.” Fluttershy smiles bashfully. “Well, that and Rainbow Dash is a really good flyer.”

“That I am,” Rainbow Dash states proudly, a hoof on her chest as she beams.

“You know what it sounds like we need?” Twilight Sparkle asks. Her horn whips out a large sheet of paper, an easel, and a broadhead quill. She brandishes the quill, grinning broadly.

Rainbow Dash hunkers down, clasping her hooves. “Don’t say chart don’t say chart don’t say chart…”

Half of the ponies appear to share her sentiment, the other half covering their muzzles while they giggle.

Twilight Sparkle rolls her eyes. “We need a list.”

A cerulean head thunks against the floor.

“We can make a list of pros and cons about each choice.” Twilight Sparkle sighs as Rainbow Dash moans. “Problem?”

Rainbow Dash waves a hoof at the paper. “It’s, just, this is such an…”

She trails off, curling up a little as she forces a smile.

Twilight Sparkle closes her eyes for a moment. “It’s okay, Dash,” she says, opening them and smiling softly at her herdmate. “I can take being called an egghead.”

“No, it’s not…” Rainbow Dash stops for a brief second before speaking rapidly, “Okay, it’s totally that. But if we don’t trust this guy, why should we go along with him?”

“That’s a great question,” Twilight Sparkle says, her smile widening as Rainbow Dash’s ears perk up along with the mare. “But it depends a lot on that ‘if’. What do you say to a little… reconnaissance?”

Rainbow Dash snaps the fastest salute of her life. “I’m on it!” she calls as she speeds out the window.

Twilight chuckles, not surprised in the slightest. “Spike?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Spike calls as he takes to the air. He’s unsteady, but quickly improving, as he tries to hover next to the easel. He grabs the quill from Twilight’s aura, remarking, “Hey, this is way easier than climbing!”

“Divide the board into four areas,” Twilight commands in a firm but gentle manner. “The outside ones four times as large as the inside. The outside will have reasons for or against the Storm King’s proposal while the inside just needs a number for our weighting, or how important each of those reasons is.”

“You got it!” Spike returns, drawing vertical lines separating the columns. He only knocks the board over once before using the up and down motion to his advantage. Writing the reasons already stated - chance of betrayal and Storm King on the cons, military force on the pros - is considerably harder, only able to tackle a letter or two with each flap.

“He did break the Staff, and as far as I could tell that was the real thing.” Twilight waits for Spike to write the reason before turning to the rest of the mares. “Surely it would have been easier for him to take over if he still had it in his possession!”

“But what if he’s just waiting to pull a Jerkflank Johnson right when we think we’ve won?!” Pinkie Pie pulls at her eyelids, stretching them past the point of absurdity. “Then he could take over everywhere!”

“Couldn’t he just’a zapped all the alicorns if he just wanted Equestria?” Applejack frowns at the thought of the Princesses going down so easily. “You know everypony would surrender without a fight.” She pulls her hat off as she sighs. “Hay, he probably wouldn’t even need to force ‘em to work for him. Ah know Ah’d be, um, compliant, Ah suppose, just workin’ at the farm, talkin’ less about Harmony an’ wearin’ a funny insignia on this here beauty.” She taps the brim of her hat, her eyes flicking at Luna and thinking about when Nightmare Moon tried to take over.

It’s apparent the other mares have the same idea, Luna included. She grimly nods; peace and harmony has done much for their land, but prepare them to resist invasion forces? Not so much.

“He needs the other nations to back off first,” Shining Armor adds through gritted teeth. “Otherwise they’d carve up their own slices of Equestria. Literally. Also, speaking as the Captain of the Guard?” Shining Armor glares at Applejack.

“Oh, um,” Applejack stammers, putting her hat back on to cover her shame. She can’t bring herself to say she didn’t mean it.

“I’m ashamed at your accurate assessment of the Guard’s capabilities.” Shining Armor turns to Princess Celestia. “With your permission, I would like to propose a radical surge in our forces, as well as a shift from peacekeeping responsibilities to a more active role in our nation’s defenses.”

“Acknowledged,” Celestia says neutrally, her curt tone considerably more militaristic than normal. “Draw up plans, but we shall have hope that this situation resolves itself considerably more peacefully.”

“Of course,” Shining Armor says, briefly dipping his head.

The ponies wait, looking at Twilight expectantly. It takes her a moment to realize.

“Oh! It’s my turn.” Twilight clears her throat as she studies the board. “This alliance that the Storm King proposed. While it obligates us militarily-” Spike adds that to the cons “-it also opens them up for Friendship. This could be, aside from when the changelings joined, the largest opportunity to spread our cause across their land. Pinkie Pie, you spent some time with them.” Her eyes shimmer at the possibility, a wide smile across her muzzle. “How receptive do you think they would be to a message about the Elements of Harmony?”

“It’s a pretty tight-knit group,” Pinkie Pie muses, pulling a cupcake out of her mane and peering at it. “They’re, like, super loyal to the Storm King. They really liked my party and my cupcakes, especially that Grubber guy, so that’s Laughter.” She shrugs, tossing the cupcake in her mouth and gulping it down in one bite. “They’d be receptive, especially if Raikou goes along with it.”

“And when he requires more and more to ‘go along with it’?” Luna spits out. “It will be, at a bare minimum, a dozen years before he sees more than her bare flank. Will he be satisfied with a mere alliance during that time?”

“That alliance works both ways,” Cadance adds, drawing a curious glance from Shining Armor. “If we require him to secure our permission before invading somewhere, that would curtail his aggressive expansion.”

“If he listens to us,” Shining Armor counters. His stern gaze sweeps across the others. “Who’s to say he will?”

“If he doesn’t,” Cadance replies, “then that gives us cause to pull out.” She motions to Luna. “He needs to be on his best behavior for more than a decade before he gets the reward he’s after.” She sighs at herself. “Look at me, considering a filly a reward.” Her voice catches as she nuzzles her husband. “Though I was willing to consider myself a ‘reward’ before I knew we could start a family together.”

“Perhaps that is the difference,” Celestia muses, her hoof scratching at her chin. She glances at Chrysalis, thinking back to the Tirek incident. “I, too, was willing to sacrifice myself and my future as a last ditch effort if it meant keeping my little ponies alive. But it was something I was willing to offer, not something demanded of me.”

“And what is the difference?” Chrysalis asks, finding herself drawn into the conversation. “Whether it is a mountain’s chill that will freeze to death those on the outermost edge, or a pursuing force who will slaughter the slowest among you, a choice must be made. It matters not whether you force out or hamstring those least valuable among you.” She motions at Spike and the rows of reasons. “The price will be paid. And if you are so worried about one pony’s purity that you would condemn ten thousand to an early grave?” She shakes her head wistfully.

“Ah can think of one Grave who’d take ten thousand ponies,” Applejack says under her breath, earning a few snickers.

“And you’re not worried about your changelings being the ones paying the price?” Shining Armor demands, ignoring Applejack.

“I do not fear death, and neither do they,” Chrysalis states, drawing herself up to stare down at the unicorn. “But that does not mean that I am not worried. Just as I am, and you should be, worried about your ponies.”

Luna scowls at the assertion. “And if the Storm King demands a dozen changelings to serve him in any capacity?”

“Then she would breed two dozen spares,” Cadance replies easily, winking at Chrysalis as she beats the changeling to the buck. “She wants that primate-”

“Hedgehog,” Chrysalis corrects before Cadance can go any further.

Cadance’s brow scrunches up. “Wait, really?”

“It sounds like the main objections to agreeing to this agreement,” Twilight says, trying to get them back on track as she looks over Spike’s nearly illegible clawwork, “are whether or not the Storm King can be trusted to keep his word. That he may not be doing this with the best of intentions or for the right reasons. And that we shouldn’t pressure a young mare into this kind of… arrangement.” She glances around the room. “Anything else?”

Sky Beak speaks up from the back, shaking his head with disappointment. “Once again, you ponies think only of yourselves. I am saddened to have thought any differently.” He turns and exits out the window as the ponies gape.

“Wait, he was still here?” Applejack says, brow furrowing.

Pinkie Pie frowns, rubbing at her eyes as they fill with tears. “And now he’s sad.”

“It’s not easy making everypony happy,” Twilight says, trying to comfort Pinkie Pie. “It’s even harder to make everycreature happy.” She grimaces at the board. “We know he hasn’t been the nicest creature. But it sounds to me like he wants to change. If there’s a chance the Storm King will honor his word, shouldn’t we try? Or should we dwell on the past?”

Luna had opened her mouth to object, but finds it difficult when Twilight turns to her. “We may not be defined by the past. But we are defined by our actions. If Doug judges the Storm King to be of sound character? And is returned, unharmed and on time?”

Celestia gathers herself together, sitting up straight and looking Twilight in the eye. “Do you truly believe this to be the wisest course of action?”

Twilight stalls for time as she takes a hard look at the board. “The arguments for agreement are that an alliance would be a boon for spreading Friendship across the globe, to creatures who never considered it before. Perhaps even release the Hippogriffs to the air once more. It will hopefully prevent a disastrous war, boosting our defenses in the future, and save thousands of lives at the cost of one. And even that one is not truly lost.”

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes as she concentrates. The decision is monumental. Would she, could she, promise off one so young, so innocent, so precious, to a power-hungry dictator? What would the Elements say? Would she lose her connection to them if she made the wrong choice? How can she know when the choice is so difficult!?

She looks at her Friends. Each of them, waiting for her to make her decision. Watching, with bright, open eyes, trusting her to choose correctly. Her! An untested alicorn, for all the trials she has gone through. A pony just starting on her journey, learning about Friendship. She has had her Friends along with her, helping her through the struggles and uncertainties. What did the Storm King have?

Is she just supposed to trust that things will work out for the best? To have hope for the future, to believe that there resides in each creature a potential to grow beyond our selfish desires? That even if they get stabbed in the back they should still work and strive and sacrifice for their enemy in the hope that they might one day realize the error of their ways. Because to do otherwise would be to believe that they are incapable of growth, that they are undeserving of forgiveness, and that their enemy is no different than themselves.

And when she puts it like that? It feels like a great weight is lifted off her withers as she stands, confidently looking Celestia in the eye.

“Even… even if it were my own foal. I would do it.”

Ch. 47 - Tempered Flesh, Part Two

Doug struggles to keep up as the Storm King bounds to the nearest flight of stairs, taking them four steps at a time with giant leaps that barely seem to faze him. His legs, his arms, his whole being feels like it is just being dragged along for the ride, his heart not into the runs he normally loves. The exertion cannot rid his mind of Luna’s admission, and neither can the piercing whistle Raikou looses as soon as they reach the roof.

“You seem a little down,” Raikou remarks as Doug glumly walks next to him, his energetic voice oddly compassionate. He stares out across the city, then up at one of the heavy warships disgorging a light shuttle.

“You think?” Doug snaps back. He sighs, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Sorry. It’s, just, one of my mares is only with me to have a foal.”

Raikou waits as Doug pauses, looking like he wants to lean on something and missing the staff.

“I mean,” Doug continues, filling the silence, “it’s not like I didn’t know this was a possibility. Even with her. Especially with her. I knew she wanted to keep up with Celestia in the foal department. I just… I don’t know, I thought she liked me more than that. We talked, during jogs and whatnot, about what she was working on, what she ate, listening to her complain. But it was never about anything particularly deep. I can’t help but blame myself for not noticing sooner and doing something about it.”

“Mm.” Raikou goes to his belt, digging into the lower back compartment. He unsnaps a clear flask and offers it to Doug. “Try this. It’ll help.”

Doug frowns, but takes it. FFMCT is stamped with stylized gold letters. Amber colored liquid with flecks of purple swish around inside; he pops the top off and takes a cautious whiff. It smells like apples and... something. “What is it?”

“It’s the best,” the Storm King laughs. “Loosens you up, lowers inhibitions. Helps you do anything you put your mind to. I’d swear by it if I ever made any promises.”

One of Doug’s eyebrows narrows as he stares. “And your earlier ‘promise’ about an alliance? Or would you call that something different?”

“That?” Raikou shakes his head. “That was just a proposal. Not the marriage kind. The business kind.” He adds a wink, Doug not looking amused. “Now, if you agree to those terms?” He offers a half-hearted shrug. “Who knows? But I am a hedgehog of my word. Most creatures just don’t like what I have to say.”

“Honesty is an important tenet,” Doug says, nodding to himself. He holds up the full flask and looks Raikou in the eyes. “This isn’t harmful?”

Raikou holds up a hand, fingers straight. “Tip’s honor. It won’t hurt you.” He smirks, chuckling. “Just the stupid stuff you think of and do that’ll hurt you.”

Doug eyes the flask, then the broad smile of the creature next to him. ”Guess the worse that can happen is a slow and painful death,” he casually remarks as he takes a swig. It tastes like apple juice and some bitter vegetable, eliciting a pucker and grimace. He tries to pass the flask back.

“Finish it!” Raikou cajoles, refusing the flask. He waves to his belt. “I buy crates of the stuff, I’ve got plenty!”

A gag at the awful taste isn’t enough to stop him, the effects of the tonic already coursing, and Doug chugs down the rest. He shudders, suppresses a small burp, and looks for somewhere to put the empty flask. He realizes, just now, that his inventory space consists of his two hands. He didn’t bring his armor - or any clothes at all - but it doesn’t really bother him.

He turns to inspect the creature next to him, starting with his cloven hooves shaped like a satyr’s, the bulky armor built to withstand a battle axe chopping at neck chest, ending up staring at the twin horns jutting out like lightning bolts from the Storm King’s head. He can’t stop himself from running a hand along the white fur that pokes out from the chestplate down to the armguard. It’s thick and coarse, yet surprisingly relaxing. He notices something odd under the fur around the shoulder, but it’s difficult to make out. “So, a hedgehog? Not really seeing it.”

“Try going the other way,” Raikou dares with a smirk. He chortles as Doug tries, only to impale himself on the sharp quills. “See? I’m just like that. I can be your best friend, but if you rub me the wrong way?” He sneers, exposing his fangs. “Makes putting on the armor a bit of a chore, but that’s why I never take it off.”

“...I can tell,” Doug says as he nurses the dozen tiny pinpricks oozing minute droplets of blood. A bit of the Storm King’s musk gets to him, not that it smells awful. He sighs, slouching over, still a little depressed.

“That’s not enough to take your mind off it?” Raikou ponders, scratching at his chin while staring up at the approaching shuttle. His face brightens with an idea, and it does not give Doug a good feeling. “Hey, I know just the place!”

Doug regards him dubiously. “Really?”

“Really!” The Storm King grins, inspecting Doug from head to toe. Mostly his toes. “How good are you with your feet? You’ll need ‘em, and your mouth, for the sows at this place!”

”I, um…” The only reasons Doug can think of that involve his feet and sows are not exactly hygienic. The curious part of him wants to try, and that side only grows stronger the longer he thinks about it. His decision-making process, befuddled as it is, gets cut short by a snort from Raikou.

“Oh, of course! I should have known.” The Storm King waves as Rainbow Dash blasts away from the building, executes a perfect hairpin turn and lands next to them. “You’d bring your own.”

“Your own what?” Rainbow Dash asks, partway between suspicious and demanding.

The Storm King’s smile does little to mollify the pegasus. “Companion.”

“...Right.” Rainbow Dash turns to Doug, sniffing him distrustfully. “You okay?”

“He’s fine,” Raikou says, grabbing Doug with one arm and gripping him in a tight hug against his chest. He rubs at Doug’s short-cropped hair, fending off the cursory attempts to break free. “Just needs to loosen up a little. He tried one of these.” He pulls out a flask, tossing it to Rainbow Dash as he pushes Doug away.

“You drank something he gave you?” she deadpans, catching it with a frown.

“It seemed like a good idea,” Doug says as he regains his balance, trailing off as the shuttle pulls up next to the embassy. It’s a miniature airship, with space for a dozen creatures, powered by a single propeller jutting off the back and a balloon that seems far oversized. Two storm guards, armored with the standard teal insignias, welcome them aboard while a hippogriff salutes from the helm.

“Sam! Ralph!” Raikou greets the guards with hearty slaps across the back. It’s hard to tell with their helmets, but judging by the way their beady eyes light up they seem elated to meet their king.

Doug notices a weird flash on the first guard’s shoulder, the same spot as Raikou. At first he thinks it’s a trick of the light, but sees the same on the second one. He walks up to the guard, who merely watches him curiously. “What’s that?” he blurts out, pointing.

“This?” comes the muffled reply. The guard transfers his spear to his shield hand, then runs a large hand through his fur. Going slowly, it appears to be a tattoo of some kind, teal twin lightning bolts surrounded by a dark storm cloud, with a six digit number on the bottom and ‘Heri Clarum Caelum’ on the bottom. “Means, ‘clear sky was yesterday’.”

“Huh,” Doug says, curious that furred creatures would get such a design.

As soon as the conversation is over Raikou cheerfully waves at the hippogriff. “Kay! Didn’t expect you to come down to get us!”

“Oh?” The hippogriff’s regal, commanding voice reaches Doug easily as he snaps a rigid salute. He offers the human a courteous bow as he steps aboard. “Incoming royalty should be greeted by the commanding officer, yes?”

“Oh, right,” Raikou says, bopping himself on the head. “Temp isn’t back yet, is she?”

“Commander Tempest Shadow is not aboard, correct.” The hippogriff spins the wheel and raises a bar, the shuttle slowly rising into the air. He turns to Doug and Rainbow Dash, deftly ignoring how the human is curiously regarding him. “Lieutenant Commander Kay Ay, at your service. You must be the Prince?”

“One of them,” Doug replies, barely managing a smile. “Prince Consort Doug Apple and Rainbow Dash, third mare and Element of Loyalty.” Rainbow Dash gives a curt nod. “You know, I think Pinkie Pie mentioned you.”

At the mention of the name both storm guards turn, ears flicking and gauntlets moving to rub at their bellies.

“Ah! The one affectionately referred to as ‘The Pink Menace’.” Kay Ay points at the front of the warship, still coated in a pink layer of cake. “Her hoofwork has proven difficult to expunge, to say nothing of her party! I dare say, she could oust His Majesty himself with a few more of those!”

“Hey, I’m not trying to start a mutiny here,” Doug says, holding his hands up and grinning.

“Shame,” Kay Ay returns with a wink. “Still, you must have some purpose coming aboard our finest vessel. Come for some sort of inspection?” He eyes Doug with a growing curiosity. “I didn’t realize you had such varied interests.”

“I’m fascinated by the stuff,” Doug replies eagerly, a bit of his funk disappearing. He peers at the various weaponry. “Like, your cannons. And are those harpoon guns?”

“You have a keen eye!” Kay Ay grins. “But more important than the weapons is the branding. After all, if our opponents know exactly what we are capable of, and, how shall I say, how readily those weapons might turn on them? It just makes everycreatures job easier.”

“You don’t say,” Doug says, scratching at his chin.

“He’s just trying to forget about a mare,” Raikou teases, drawing closer to Doug and ignoring how Rainbow Dash eyes him defensively.

“Hey!” Doug retorts, shaking his head. “I’m not trying to forget about her, I’m trying to get to know her better. And remind myself to do that.”

“Urgh,” the Storm King moans, rubbing at his head.

“...Problem?” Doug asks, sighing.

“Look.” Raikou glances away, then returns to Doug, a low growl in his voice. “You want me to be honest with you? Fine. What you have with these mares, these Friendships? It’s a distraction. They’re just using you to get what they want.”

Doug nods. “That’s right.”

“And they-” The Storm King stops, staring at Doug. “Wait, what?”

“That’s right,” Doug repeats. Rainbow Dash glances at him, unsure, cocking her head to the side. “You’re right, they are using me to get what they want.”

“And you go along with it?” The Storm King throws his arms in the air. “It’ll just make you forget your own goals! And focus on making them better! And that makes you weak!”

“In some ways,” Doug agrees. His conciliatory tone seems to make Raikou even more furious. “It makes me vulnerable to them, certainly. It increases their power over me.”

“But what about your ambitions? Your goals?” The Storm King turns to Rainbow Dash. “You wanted to be a Wonderfilly, right?”

“Wonderbolt,” Rainbow Dash says through gritted teeth, though her aggravation is directed at Doug.

“How’s that working out for you, huh?” Raikou motions at her belly, just barely showing the signs of her pregnancy. “You gonna be one any time soon?”

Rainbow Dash gathers her strength, turning to face the Storm King. She takes to the air, having to keep rising to stay level with him. “Yeah. I am. And you know what?” She bares her teeth, almost at a snarl. “If my dreams got delayed? It was for something greater. And he’s been there to help me see it.”

“Aww, look who’s so loyal!” Raikou’s high-pitched sneer grates on Rainbow Dash.

“I would say you’re just as loyal,” Doug interrupts before Rainbow Dash can start something. “Your crew, they put their trust and loyalty in you. And you prove yourself worthy of that trust by working for their benefit. Yes?”

“Yeah,” the Storm King says curtly. “I reciprocate. That’s not friendship. These guys put their lives on the line for me, I do the same for them.”

“I think that’s a big part of friendship,” Doug argues. “It’s not the only part. Your troops mean a lot to you. And while you may not view them as friends, and maybe you shouldn’t view them as friends, exactly, a lot of the traits carry over. Honesty, Generosity, Loyalty. Even Kindness, in that treating them harshly can be the kind thing in the end, when what you say needs to be followed without question. And Laughter, that optimism, that never-leave-a-man-behind attitude.”

Raikou eyes Doug curiously. “And you see your mares the same way?”

Doug nods firmly. “I do. My interests, my ambitions, coincide with theirs. We have a mutually beneficial relationship that empowers both of us. The power of friendship.”

A grin curls on Raikou’s face. “Then I know just the thing to show them.”

Ch. 48 - Tempered Flesh, Part Three

“Show them?” Doug isn’t sure whether he should be offended at the implication that he doesn’t show his mares how he feels about them or glad for some insight into how the Storm King would act. With how Luna sees him? Perhaps he could use the tip, if only to try something that might succeed.

Raikou dangles Doug’s gloves in front of him, the ones embroidered with the nine cutie marks of the mares in the herd. Dirt and sweat stains the fingers, the edges a bit ragged if only because they were meant as more of a decorative piece and not work gloves.

“Hey!” Doug exclaims. It’s obvious he wants to walk over and snatch them away, but he’ll look the fool if the much taller Storm King just raises them into the air. “Careful with those!”

“Worried they might get lost overboard?” Raikou grins as he mimes doing just that.

“Not with me around,” Rainbow Dash retorts, flicking her wings out emphatically. She growls, low and menacing, her eyes narrowing as Raikou laughs.

“How are you so wound up?” The Storm King leers at Rainbow Dash. “Do your mares not give you enough attention?”

“Not with me around,” Rainbow Dash repeats defensively, drawing close to her stallion. She abhors the thought that that might be the case, or why he ended up yielding himself to Chrysalis. She glares at the Storm King, who returns one just as venomous.

“What was your idea?” Doug states, trying to diffuse the animosity between the two.

The Storm King pauses, his head turning to Doug slowly enough to be creepy. “These are mares who bore your foals.” He motions at Rainbow Dash and the complete lack of space between her and Doug. “They obviously care for you. And you for them. But can others see that?” He stands tall, pointing to the waving flags bearing the Storm King’s insignia. Then at the guards, each proudly displaying the same. “It’s all about branding, you know?”

“Branding?” Doug scowls. “I’m not going to mark up my mares on a whim.”

“You never thought about it?” Raikou says, almost as a cheerful joke. Yet there is intensity behind his words, a sense of condemnation, a chill in his narrowing eyes.

“Briefly.” Doug grips his upper arm, just below the shoulder. He shudders, his knuckles going white as he grimaces. “I had a… dream, of sorts. Where each mare was bound to me, coerced by ultimatum and not by choice. That binding was symbolized by a band around my arm and their foreleg, and a collar around their filly’s neck. That put me off the idea entirely, not that I strongly felt like doing it anyway.”

“So this is a one-way street,” Raikou coldly states. He mimics how Doug crosses his arms, a thumb jabbing into his chest. “Where we conform exactly to your standards and you embrace none of ours.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Doug says, any traces of anger evaporating in an instant.

“Then enlighten the big dumb hog over here!” Raikou roars as he spreads his arms wide, as if inviting an attack. “What did you want from me? You want me to make our cannons party sized, put streamers on our spears and make our armor into costumes?”

Doug sighs, shaking his head. “We’re not asking for any of that, not directly.”

“Then what do you want?” Raikou flips his hand at the embassy below them. “Or do I never have a shot with that filly of yours?”

“Well, that’s part of the problem.” Doug joins him in looking down at the building, Rainbow Dash still at his side and wary about falling off. “If I tell you what we want, you can do that, but it doesn’t exemplify the shift in thinking that we’re looking for. It could just be a single item, like copying on a test. We want something that comes from you.”

The Storm King’s eyes narrow. “Like what?”

“For instance?” Doug’s mouth purses as he thinks. “Let’s take one of your shows of strength. Picking up and disciplining Tempest Shadow. Or teaching her, however you see it. Did you think that was something you had to do, that made you look strong?”

“Yeah,” Raikou snaps back.

“That’s not how the ponies saw it.” Doug takes a deep breath. “They saw a bully terrorizing a weak opponent, not that I think Tempest is weak. They had to remind themselves that you don’t think the same way they do. That this is how you show others that you care about them, by taking the time and teaching them a valuable lesson, so that they too can become strong like you. But that initial reaction? That fear, that vitriol stuck with them, far more than the explanation they came up with after the fact.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Raikou says. To Doug’s surprise he has a small pad of paper out, jotting down notes. “How would I do that?”

Doug can’t help but smile at that. “So, you have to put yourself in their shoes.” He glances down at his bare feet, then at Rainbow Dash’s and the Storm King’s horseshoe’d hooves. Close enough. “Think about where they are coming from. A good starting point would be the parts of their core philosophy that are non-negotiable. Take the Tenets of Harmony, for six. Now, their application in every situation might be subject to some debate. In fact, you could study those topics all your life and still not know every answer; Princess Celestia has said as much about herself learning about Friendship. But the broad implications are clear. Don’t lie, don’t steal, don’t cheat, don’t hurt, don’t insult, don’t alienate.”

Raikou mutters to himself, “So, some sort of gesture the ponies would appreciate. Hmm.”

“And remember,” Doug cautions. “You can’t treat them like some sort of investment, where you expect some return for what you put in. ‘I do something for you, and you do something for me.’ I know that’s how you perceive a lot of interactions, it’s understandable. But you can’t look at this like that, worrying about who gets more or who will be better off by the relationship. It’s symbiotic. We both gain, but again, that’s not the point. The point is to deepen your relationship with the other person, to understand them, to be friends with them.”

The Storm King stares at the list, his eyes gradually narrowing as his hand plays at his chin. The pensive look is disconcerting on a creature you’d expect to see recklessly rampaging around.

After a long while he glances at Doug. “And how does getting a tattoo violate these?”

“Um,” Doug stalls. “I, well, if it’s voluntary?” He sighs as he glances down, inspecting himself for any marks he might use. “It might not. But, what would I even put on them, anyway?”

“For us? You put on something you’re committed to. Something you’re loyal to, something you’re not going to give up. But they’ve gone through enough on your behalf.” Raikou winks at Rainbow Dash. She merely flicks her mane, though joins Doug in inspecting his sides curiously. He tucks away the paper as he stands. “Dash, gonna borrow you for this.”

“Um, what?” the pegasus retorts as Raikou wraps his arm around her barrel and hoists her up. “The hay!”

“Uh-” Doug gets out before a wing slaps him in the face. He sputters, trying to push away the flailing limbs, and it’s only when the pegasus is halfway across his chest, her flank pressing into his shoulder, that she lets up. “What are you doing?”

“Wouldn’t that look great?” Raikou grins, mashing Dash’s cutie mark into Doug and holding her in place. He pulls back slowly, letting Doug take the weight; once he does, Rainbow Dash glances back, her venom replaced by curiosity. The Storm King frames a picture of the two. “Lightning bolt, right there? Perfect.”

“My cutie mark?” Rainbow Dash asks, frowning. “We put that on saddlebags, not stallions.”

“I-it’s not really something I’ve considered,” Doug stammers. He grunts as he lets go of Rainbow Dash with one hand, struggling to carry her with one arm, and rubs at the spot. “I’d need a lot more tonic.” He yelps as Raikou tosses him another flask, barely able to catch it in time.

“Me, too,” Rainbow Dash says, a bit more prepared for the flask coming her way. She inspects the bottle, shrugs as Doug pops open his, and guzzles it with him. She eyes the empty flask. “Hey; this stuff is pretty good, once you get past the beets.”

“I know, right?” Raikou says with a wide smile, taking the empty flasks. “And whatever mark Noon gets?” He flexes his arm as he bares his shoulder, a hand running through the fur to expose his Storm Guard tattoo. “Whoops, that side’s taken.” He turns to his other side. “I’d put it right there.” He frowns at their lack of reaction, how they mostly stare at each other. “What, you don’t like it?”

“Ugh,” Doug says, wiping any remains of the tonic off his mouth. He looks again at his shoulder. “You really think it would look good?”

“Oh, what, you don’t like my mark now?” Rainbow Dash smirks as she wriggles in his arms. “I thought you couldn’t get enough of me.”

“Oh, definitely not,” Doug says, rubbing at her mane as he sets her down. “I’m just thinking about where the rest of them will go.”

“The rest?” Rainbow’s eyes go wide. “You’d get nine marks?”

The shuttle comes to a stop aside the pink-stained warship, quickly enough to nearly get Doug to stumble. Rainbow Dash takes to the air as one of the half-dozen teal-clad guards drops a gangplank and holds it in place. Four stand watch over their quadrant of the sky, the last leaning off the side and looking down.

“Grubber!” the Storm King bellows as he dances down the gangplank, seemingly unconcerned about the thousand-foot drop.

Doug stands and steps to the edge of the shuttle. And glances down. The city looms below, tiny buildings built into a sandcastle while ants scurry about. He gulps, his knees going weak, unable to move a leg onto the possibly-unsteady piece of wood a creature eight times his mass just traversed.

“Hey,” Dash reassures with a calming nuzzle to Doug’s shoulder. Magenta eyes beam his way, a hoof stretching out to give him something to hold on to. “You got this.”

“We got this,” Doug says, gripping the hoof tight. The board doesn’t shift as he steps on, a dozen steps taking him to the other side. He lets out a huge breath, squeezing appreciably. “Together.”

“Hey, guyth,” a rotund hedgehog greets amiably. Grubber barely comes up to Rainbow Dash’s withers, his armor more of a loose-fitting tunic that leaves his arms, legs, and tail exposed. A white-tipped gray mane goes from his tail to between his notched ears, looking particularly spiky. He munches on a piece of pink cake, taking large bites that he nonetheless savors immensely. He asks eagerly, “Did ya bring more cake?”

“Go get your inks,” Raikou commands. He glances at Rainbow Dash and Doug. “Please.”

“Uh,” Grubber says, frowning at that last word. He scratches at his head while finishing off the cake. “Kinda hard to work without cake.”

Raikou hides his scowl as he walks over to the side of the warship, scoops up a ball of frosting, and dumps it on Grubber’s plate.

Grubber stares at the frosting, hunching down slightly, before curiously glancing up at the vicious smile of the Storm King. “It’th, uh…” He motions somewhere behind him. “I’ve got ‘em over here.” He waddles off, Doug getting his gloves back before he and Rainbow Dash follow, easily able to keep up as they head belowdecks.

The warship is massive, with six decks arranged around a reactor room that stretches from the base of the hull to the top of the main deck. Rainbow Dash sticks close to Doug, peering around corners at the thick beams of wood and metal armor clad to the hull. She peeks through every porthole as if making sure she could squeeze through them, giving Doug a nervous smile each time she races back to him.

They come to a stop in a remarkably clean room at the fore of the ship, about halfway down.

“You do tattoos?” Doug asks the short hedgehog, glancing around the sickbay at the various instruments, bottles, and stacks and stacks of bandages, many strapped down or behind locked cabinets. It’s about as well equipped as Ponyville General, though more suited for battlefield injuries than pregnant mares.

“Thure,” Grubber replies with a heavy lisp, nodding along as he pats the top of a bolted-down operating table. He unhooks and pushes out a stepladder, placing it next to the table, then pulls out a drawer containing dozens of colors of ink, teal and gray massively overstocked. “Thmall guy like me? I thcrub floorth, do tattooth, and get thent out firtht to thet up loudthpeakerth.” He chortles as he scarfs down the rest of the icing. “What’d’ya expect, me to pick up a thield?”

“Nah, just curious.” Doug sits down on the table, his gloves in his lap.

“Tho, you both hiring on?” Grubber licks his claws clean of any trace of icing, then scrubs them down. “Getting the teal and steel?”

“Actually, a bit of custom work.” Doug taps Rainbow Dash’s flank, then the gloves. Grubber turns to watch. “Raikou suggested it, and we… like the idea. Her cutie mark on my right shoulder.”

“Thure.” Grubber pulls out red, yellow, blue, white, and black, bringing them over to compare to Rainbow Dash’s actual colors. He likes the yellow, but pulls out a dab of blue and red onto a board. His tongue pokes out as he squints, getting the perfect amount of black to mix in and match the shade. “And the retht?”

Doug glances at Rainbow Dash, motioning to each spot. “Three apples on my hand?”

The pegasus smirks. “She is your right-hoof mare. Err, right-hand.”

“Rarity, the three diamonds, on my left. Butterflies on left shoulder.” Doug pauses as he considers. “Balloons on my hip?”

“Nah,” Rainbow Dash says, shaking her head. “Ponies might think you actually got a cutie mark or something.”

“Okay.” Doug taps at his leg. “Balloons on my right thigh, star on my left, wand on my right calf. Then Celestia’s sun on my chest, moon on my back.”

“Life-thith?” Grubber frowns. He points at Rainbow Dash. “I can do thith one, no problem. I’d want the retht here to make thure they’re the right thith.”

“Probably don’t have time now, anyway.” Doug positions himself so his shoulder is where Grubber will stand, laying down and trying to relax. The tonic, whatever was inside, makes it easier.

“For thomething thith big?” Grubber brings over a needle, jabbing it into Doug’s upper arm. He grunts unhappily as a drop of blood wells. “Too long. One thec.”

Rainbow Dash lays down, her cutie mark as close to Doug’s shoulder as she can get without interfering when Grubber starts working. At the next light gasp of his she turns, watching as Grubber lightly marks where he will be working.

It doesn’t take long before she gets bored.

“Hey, Dash,” Doug says as she gently bashes her head against his side. Grubber angrily grunts as Doug shifts, his clawed hand able to grip like a vice despite his small size. Doug tries to hold still as he reaches behind Rainbow’s ears, drawing the mare against him with tender scratches. “Do I need to give you more attention?”

A low growl rumbles in the back of Rainbow’s throat. She smiles to herself before looking up at Doug, resting her head against his thigh. “You foaling me?” She nudges him, but not hard enough to move him. “I can always use more attention.”

“Yeah,” Doug returns glumly. He sighs, settling back and staring at the ceiling, gritting his teeth against the sharp pricks of pain on his shoulder. “I know you can. You and everypony else.”

“Hey.” Rainbow Dash nudges him again, her pressing harder, more needful. He looks down, a little surprised at her openness with somecreature not in the herd around. She smiles wide, unconcerned, especially with how her head rests on his thigh. “That just means we have to make the time we have count for more, right?”

“That’s right,” Doug says, playing with her ears while gripping her head against his side.

Ch. 49 - Tempered Flesh, Part Four

After a long and relaxing communal soak in the tub, punctuated by fleeting thoughts of relief followed by sheer panic as the latest knock at the door turns out to once again not be Doug, the ponies march down the hallway to the auditorium. Their coats and manes shine with a bright luster, a sharp contrast to the nervous glances reflecting off gleaming regalia.

Applejack, her freshly polished Stenson leading the charge, pushes open the double doors of the main entrance. Her frown deepens as she scans inside.

Merely empty seats, no sign of their stallion.

“He ain’t here,” she calls to the rest of the ponies following her. They trade worried looks, the situation made all the more disconcerting because the Storm King never followed up on his negotiation, either.

“I’m sure everything is just fine,” Twilight calmly states as she brushes past Applejack, trotting to their front and center seats. She ignores the groans with a seasoned flick of her ears, though an unexpected voice and the rustle of paper stops her in her tracks.

“No… no… that won’t work…”

There, armored back against the wall, loose parchment scattered around him, sits the Storm King. Yet instead of being wreathed in terrible glory he seems consumed by confusion as he puzzles out some perplexing predicament. He scratches out a line before scratching at his head, barely sparing even a glance at the ponies streaming inside.

Twilight’s ears swivel before her head turns, her eyes tracing over the musing monarch before resting on the crumpled pages. She frowns as she recognizes the hornwriting on one, trotting over to take a closer look. “Hey!”

Raikou’s eyes flick up to the irate alicorn, his frown quickly suppressed. “Yeah?”

Twilight points a hoof. “You took my notes!”

Raikou returns to studying his paper. “So?”

“Well,” Twilight says, scowling as she smooths out the closest of the papers. “What if I wrote something private?”

The Storm King’s head snaps back, startled. “You would write something that isn’t meant to be read?” His face scrunches up,

“You have no idea,” Celestia ribs. She winks as Twilight gapes at her. “You would not believe the uproar it caused when she wrote about her first sleepover with Applejack and Rarity, to say nothing of her first night with Doug.”

“Prin-... Your Hi…” Twilight stammers as she tries to pick the right appellation to call out her herdmate. “Celestia!”

“Aww, my little sister best friend forever, all grown up,” Shining Armor says wistfully, flicking an imaginary tear from his eye. “Dam enjoyed it, especially Night Light’s rendition. Or so I heard.”

“Hey!” Twilight sputters, rounding on her brother. “Why would you know that, much less think I wanted to know that?”

“You know, I remember that one,” Raikou says to Celestia, tapping a finger against his chin and looking at the ceiling, ignoring the hyperventilating alicorn simultaneously attempting to hide her shame while maintaining righteous indignation. “His endurance really that good?”

After a moment, the other ponies trading awkward looks, Celestia responds when Twilight doesn’t. “It has only improved with time.” She raises a wing, inviting the younger alicorn to her side. Twilight accepts, tail tucking between her legs. “Come, Twilight. It is an important part of being a mare. There is no shame in fascination and experimentation in such matters.” She smiles, nuzzling the mass of purple mane buried in her chest, one eye regarding Raikou carefully. “After all, I am sure he hopes that Noon will inherit a bit of that endurance.”

Raikou claps, smirking at Celestia. “A devious trap, there, for all it is sugar-coated.” Off to the side, Pinkie Pie rubs her belly and grins, pulling out a cupcake and devouring it. “Will there come a time when you no longer test me?”

“I am afraid that time may never come,” Celestia says sagely, a slight smirk crossing her muzzle. “For life itself will test the full extent of our abilities, and ultimately find us wanting.”

“Then,” Raikou says, pondering, “you believe us to be defined by our enemies?”

“Our trials and adversaries,” Celestia responds with a nod. “They need not be enemies.”

Raikou grins. “Then I shall strive to be as powerful an adversary as I can be.” He stands, offering a short bow that Celestia returns with a flourish of her wings, ducking low to the ground. “But to answer your previous question? I hope, for her sake, that she is satisfied.”

Celestia offers another nod as she smiles, seemingly satisfied, and trots to her seat.

Luna pulls up to her side with a sour grimace. “Thou art still willing to consign thy filly to him?” He glances back at the studious King, Twilight apparently content to leave her papers with him in a neat stack.

“We shall see how he proceeds,” Celestia returns, only a tinge of acid in her voice. Luna grunts, settling next to her as the rest of the mares take their seats.

Garble is the first of the other delegates to return, carrying a brown sack bigger than he is over one shoulder. He gnaws at a massive brown wing, much bigger than a griffon’s, savoring the burnt-flesh flavor that wafts to the ponies. They sniff once before their pupils shrink, skittering close to each other, while Chrysalis and Spike raise their noses with considerable interest. The two pout as Celestia’s horn flares, a visible bubble pushing away from the ponies and clearing the air.

“Aww,” Spike moans as watches, forlorn at the sight of fried fowl.

“Want some?” Garble calls, hoisting up the sac. “I’ve got more!”

“You know,” Spike says with a glance at Twilight for permission. He puts on his most persuasive face, a mix of knowledgeable and helpful with a hint of puppy-dog eyes. “To remain in health, one must cauterize flesh.”

The alicorn returns the slightest of nods. “You’re your own dragon,” Twilight says with a note of regret. She smiles, fond memories of Spike coming to the surface. “You don’t need me reminding you of Future Spike’s problems. It’ll be up to you.”

“Awesome!” Spike takes wing, flying over to Garble. “What is it?”

“It’s a fledgling roc.” The red dragon rummages around in the sac, ripping off a leg and holding it in the air. He breathes a long gout of flame before anything can drip off, searing the edges to a delectable char. “You ever get the feeling that you just have to go out there and kill something with your bare claws?”

“N-no,” Spike says, staring at the meat in his claws and gulping.

“Oh. Well, give it time.” Garble shrugs nonchalantly. “Free tip; way easier to go after babies than grownups.”

“You would do that?” Rarity asks, askance. She can barely watch as Spike takes a tentative bite, then devours the meat straight off the bone with a predatory grin.

“Of course,” Garble says before he demonstrates how to chew straight through the bone. “Why would we let an infestation like that get worse? Better to nip it in the bud.” He points at Celestia. “Kinda like we’re doing here.”

“Yes, well,” Rarity retorts indignantly. “I’ll think you’ll find this bud considerably harder to nip.”

Garble shrugs, going back to devouring ever-increasing chunks of bird from his sack. As other delegates arrive he shares pieces with them, grudgingly with Gruff and more freely with Ember. Iron Grip takes a piece to be polite, the goats at his side each grabbing a larger scrap. Prince Rutherford gives the sack a single disdainful glance before stomping off to his seat. The minor delegates are in full force; the Abyssinians find themselves attracted to the smell while the ponies of the Realm of Clouds and Sky Beak stay as far away as they can.

Doug enters last, opening the door for Rainbow Dash, Grubber, and Kay Ay. The hippogriff peels off to stand at the Storm King’s side, Sky Beak staring at him through squinting eyes. The ponies breathe sighs of relief, though it turns to a bit of confusion at the sight of Doug’s shoulder. The short hedgehog, palette in claw, takes the opportunity to unceremoniously walk up to each of their flanks and make sure he has his colors right.

“What in the?” Applejack asks for all of them. They stare, open-mouthed, at the colorful sight.

“Pretty awesome, right?” Rainbow Dash claims, beaming without a trace of sarcasm. She holds her flank next to his shoulder; they are the same size, the top of the cloud next to his neck while the lightning bolt arcs down his arm, the tip at his elbow. “I’d say he’s at least twenty percent cooler.”

“Just wait until they’re all there,” Doug says, trying to keep an upbeat attitude with the slack stares the ponies are giving him. He ruffles Applejack’s mane, the closest pony to him, then pauses when she doesn’t really respond. “Did I miss something?”

“Apparently Ah missed somethin’,” Applejack returns, curling her head to keep inspecting the cutie mark on his shoulder. “It ain’t real, is it?”

“Not this time,” Doug says with a cheerful chuckle and glance at Twilight. He moves to Rarity next, rubbing at her back while she takes a closer look. She traces a hoof over the light marks of the rest of their cutie marks spread over his body. “I’d hate for another alicorn to get her wings and horn fixing this.”

“I don’t think it works that way,” Twilight says with a roll of her eyes.

“I know,” Doug says, pulling away from Rarity to give Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie a close hug. He winces as he flexes his right arm. The two mares nuzzle him, each finding where their own mark will go. “Raikou thought it would be a sign of camaraderie, something they do in the Storm Realm.”

“We’d never ask ya to do this,” Applejack states carefully.

“I get that.” Doug slips next to Celestia and Luna, Twilight scooching in front. “But it’s a choice I made.” He looks back at the Storm King, still sitting against the wall. “We’re still doing that, right?”

“We haven’t come to a formal agreement,” Twilight confides, her ears flattening. “But, Doug. You’re a Prince of Equestria now. Other ponies are going to see something you did and emulate it. Did you think of that?”

“Um,” Doug says, trailing off. “Not really.” He chuckles to himself, scratching at her mane. She tries to shake him off, not willing to lose a discussion to his fingers instead of his arguments. “I’d like to slink off and go sit in the shadows when all this is over, anyway.”

“Speaking of all this being over,” Rainbow Dash says forebodingly as Alira and Tempest Shadow take the stage. The Saddle Arabian looks over the groups, counting to herself, before heading to the podium. The ponies can’t help but notice how the other creatures have formed a loose ring around them, leaning forward in their seats.

The broken-horned unicorn stands at the front of the stage, clad in full battlegear. Her smirk widens as she watches the ponies crowd around their stallion, a baleful look that leaves little to the imagination. She clears her throat, silencing the auditorium.

“Now,” Tempest Shadow begins, her single paces echoing ominously. The clanks of steel against wood make it difficult to breathe, a rattling that sets their hairs on edge. “You have stalled long enough. Will you submit your magic to the Staff?”

“-Uh,” the Storm King calls from the back of the room, bringing all attention to himself as he stands. “Slight problem there, Temp.”

Eyes narrow as sparks fly from the broken horn. She growls, “Where is the Staff of Sacanas?”

The Storm King shrugs. “It broke.”

The entirety of the roc could be ground to dust by Tempest’s teeth. “...It broke.”

“Well. I broke it.” Raikou grins as he saunters to the center stage. “Also, we’re allied with the Equestrians now.”

“What?” Tempest Shadow bellows as shouts erupt from the other creatures, turning the auditorium into a deafening chamber. They all know what this would mean to their invasion plans. “How… how could you betray me like this?!”

“Betray?” Raikou laughs as the shouts die down, shaking his head. “No, no. You’ve got it all wrong.” He strides to the scowling unicorn, ignoring the sparks pouring from her horn. “You know how you wanted me to invade Equestria and trap the four alicorns’ power inside the Staff of Sacanas? And that I could use this power to heal your broken horn?”

“It was her idea?” Twilight Sparkle gasps, her mind blown at the thought of a fellow pony turning against them like that. Her fellow rulers share the sentiment, exchanging unsure glances and whispers.

Tempest Shadow backs up a step as the Storm King advances, towering above her. She casts a furtive glance at the dragons, the yaks, even the griffons. Yet all remain in their seats, staring, unwilling to be the first to charge the alicorns. Yet their defenses lay in shambles, astonished at his accusation.

“It’s okay,” the Storm King reassures, flashing Tempest Shadow a thumbs up. He grins as she walks up to him, hesitantly. “Because I’ve got something better.”

Ch. 50 - Transcendent Flesh, Part Five

The Storm King stands, towering over Tempest Shadow, one long arm pointing directly at Doug. Or, more likely, the three alicorns surrounding him. He beams, comically, like a Power Ponies villain about to unveil her master plan, except hopefully it will be beneficial for the ponies instead of requiring a long and drawn out fight.

The shouts slowly die down, nocreature willing to be the first to charge the stupefied ponies. Their vitriol lacks the momentum from before the Staff broke, afraid of rousing the alicorns from their recovery and rushing into a hasty shield or worse. But this does not stop them from scowling, pounding fists and talons into each other as they malign their missed opportunity.

Tempest Shadow eyes the four obsidian orbs dangling at the Storm King’s belt, carelessly left under his raised arm. She can see the scenario playing out in her mind: how she might go in for the hug, or whatever saccharine Equestrian ritual he is playing out for their benefit. Then, with a quick flick and practiced kick, launch those orbs at the cluster of three alicorns and the isolated Cadance. It would be over in an instant, their vaunted powers useless against the electrifying countermagic of the orb, thus leaving the Equestrian leadership cut off at the head. Then it would be a simple matter of coordinating the occupying forces as the Realm of Clouds and whatever ponies they conscript from Equestria take over the sun and moon.

It was the plan she should have gone with from the start, rather than trust the rapacious Council or her capricious liege. Never again. She thought the alicorns would acquiesce, relinquish their powers to keep their ponies safe. Yet now, with the Staff shattered, for all that would accomplish the goals of their original plan, it would still leave her bereft of horn, and the Equestrians no better.

“I…” she forces out, her mouth as dry as the desert outside. She musters a wry smile at Celestia. The ancient alicorn returns a calculating gaze, seeming to peer into the depths of her soul, less affected by the revelation than her fellow rulers. She discards her assault plan as she steps to the edge of the stage, standing imperiously and demanding, “Can you fix it?”

Celestia’s raised eyebrow rivals Applejack’s in sheer incredulity. “You really expect me to repair the instrument of our entrapment?”

“No, no, no!” Raikou blusters, chuckling as he leaps forward and shoves Tempest back a foot. He pauses, cocking his head at Celestia. “Wait, could you?”

Celestia glances at the other creatures. They watch with bated breath as if wondering whether she might be persuaded, through some fashion, of returning to their earlier gambit. “I could,” she replies slowly, a wing stretching out to rub at her belly. “But I’m afraid it would be at least ten months before I made the attempt. I would hate to strain myself.”

“You mean you’re not all powerful?” Raikou waves his hand as Celestia opens her mouth. “But, seriously. I’ve been thinking.” He turns to Tempest Shadow, grinning. “Dangerous, I know. But you wanted the power of the four alicorns to repair your horn.” He stretches his arm out again, beaming even wider. “Well, here they are! Allied and willing to help! How’s that for your, what’cha call’ems, tenets?”

Rarity snorts. “When we speak of Generosity, ‘volunteering’ somepony else’s services doesn’t qualify.”

The Storm King’s face falls. He glances between Rarity and Celestia, his hands scrunching into balls as one eye twitches. “You’re better than this,” he mutters to himself, his voice low but no less berating.

“Um,” Fluttershy says with a small, almost hopeful smile. “At least he’s trying?”

“You realize,” Tempest Shadow snarls at the Storm King, “that I come from Equestria?” Her venomous glare aims directly at Celestia, the sparks pouring from her horn illuminating her bared teeth. “And if she could have healed a filly and didn’t?” She stamps a hoof against the stage, sending the dying embers back into the air. “I would take his staff as a replacement horn before bowing to you.”

The mental image sickens the other ponies. Celestia merely holds Tempest’s gaze for a second before closing her eyes and lowering her head. “When I heard about your injury,” she starts, voice shaking, “I saw a young filly, surrounded by her friends. Maimed, yes, but unwilling to let trauma define her.”

“You saw my situation,” Tempest Shadow spits out, “and did nothing?!”

“Yes.” Celestia takes a deep, mournful breath. She can hardly miss Tempest’s scowl. “Your injury… it was miraculous you survived at all, with your magical core mangled from the astral ursa’s blow. Others have died from an otherwise glancing blow despite our best efforts, unable to heal the rift before expiring from loss of magic.”

“Wait, seriously?” Rainbow Dash exclaims, reevaluating how costly her efforts to save Trixie could have been and deciding the unicorn owes her big time.

Celestia nods to Rainbow Dash. “Our knowledge and ability to treat these injuries has improved over time, but is still lacking.” She turns back to Tempest Shadow. “But with the scarring of your core?” Celestia shakes her head, a heavy sigh escaping her muzzle. “It was not a clean blow, a careful slice intended to be sutured together, but grievous lacerations. I may have done more, but it would have risked your life. My best estimates put the chance of survival at twenty percent, and the odds of having your magic restored even less. Your parents and I ultimately decided against it.” She glances at Tempest Shadow. “It must hurt when the sparks come out.”

Tempest Shadow grits her teeth. “Every time.”

“And look at what you’ve managed to accomplish!” Twilight stands, indicating the irate unicorn. She beams, hoping to brighten the broken-horned unicorn’s contentance. “Despite losing your horn, you’ve done so much!”

“And how many didn’t?” Tempest roars, frightening the ponies with her ardor. “How many ponies’ lives have been ruined, losing their friends because they couldn’t connect, or were cast off clouds because they couldn’t fly? You think I’m defined by my trials?” She raps a hoof against her head. “Does that mean I would be less of a pony if I had more of a horn?”

Celestia bows her head, tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

“Spare me your platitudes,” Tempest snaps, “about how helping solve our problems makes us weak and unprepared for the next one. I’ve heard it before. You have the power to help, and you refuse. That makes you the monster, and your power should go to somepony who would.”

“I am sorry,” Celestia whispers, “but I am unable to give you what you want.”

Tempest Shadow growls, then catches herself. “Wait. You said ‘I’.” She leaps off the stage, Twilight stepping aside as she heads straight for Celestia, sparks streaming from her horn the entire way. Tempest jabs a hoof into the white alicorn’s chest. “You know of somepony, or somecreature, that does.”

“Please,” Celestia begs, ignoring the blinding glare. “Do not go down that path. There lies only ruin.”

Tempest’s muzzle curls higher, her teeth baring.

“I mean,” Twilight muses off to the side, Tempest’s gaze swinging to her. “To restore a magical wound like that? You’re looking at the height of Greed magic. Plus Loyalty, or maybe Betrayal, to infuse it. Enough to practically animate a dead body.”

Tempest Shadow stands there, staring at nothing, the gears in her head visibly turning.

“You know, like a come to life spell? But those mostly work on objects.” Twilight ponders for a moment, oblivious to the hooves meeting faces around her. “Other ways to go at it? I constructed a magical core with Starlight Glimmer, but that was temporary. Chaos magic might be able to swing it, but unless her fillies get a good enough grasp on it?” She jabs a hoof at Pinkie Pie. “You’re looking at some serious dark magic. And even if we could get it to work, there’s no telling how long it would last, and you’d likely suffer an unrecoverable blowout if you pushed yourself.”

Tempest Shadow regards Celestia for a long moment, her disappointment palpable. “Then nothing will change.” With a few laborious movements she unsnaps her barding, letting the black metal clatter to the floor. She smooths off the matted fur around her cutie mark of twin colorful explosions before she marches off, never looking back.

“No!” Twilight calls. “I-”

The door slams behind the unicorn.

Twilight hangs her head. “I’m sure we could have helped.”

“Any’a y’all,” Applejack says to the others, gaping along with them, “get the feelin’ that we should’a stopped her, and nipped this in the bud?”

“Riveting as the story of her youth is,” Gruff belts out, waving a talon through the air, “this leaves us no safer than before.” He points at the Storm King. “Less so with him at your side. You leave us little choice!”

“We do not wish for you to leave these halls dissatisfied,” Celestia entreats, a confident yet acquiescent bow of her head.

“The way Iron Grip sees it?” the minotaur booms. “You force us to assume this risk! Like… um, a money-back guarantee?” He glances at one of the goats at his side.

The goat bleats once.

“Yes! Insurance!” Iron Grip nods furiously. “We take on the small chance of a devastating disaster. And what do we get in return?”

Garble takes wing, flickers of flame glowing in the back of his mouth. “And don’t talk of better trade deals or paltry tokens! We know what your plans are for Equestria! You think you can grow bigger than dragons?!”

“That isn’t our intention,” Twilight starts apologetically.

Chrysalis steps in before the Princess of Friendship can continue. “You pathetic foals,” she admonishes, her ever-present malevolent smirk directed at Garble and the other creatures. “You squabble for slices, afraid a growing Equestria will crowd you out of your fair share of the pie. But what you imbeciles are incapable of grasping?” She grins her fangy grin, none of the others happy to suffer her words as an ebony hoof raps against the side of her bulging barrel. “The solution is to bake more pies.”

The Chief Architect strides forward to the discarded barding. She kicks one piece at Gruff, another at Garble. “So be content with your scraps, whatever you can glean from our shoes. Or?” She levitates the remaining armor, ripping the bottom apart to accommodate her larger bulk. A flash of magic colors it a gleaming gold as she drapes it over her withers. “You can join the winning side. The growing side. The Equestrian side.”

She returns to a spot halfway between Doug and Shining Armor, standing at Twilight’s side.

“Wow,” the lavender alicorn says with an impressed smile. “I didn’t know Friendship was so strong in you!”

“It comes and goes,” the changeling says nonchalantly. “But the real key?” “She turns and winks at Doug. “Have a plan to seduce anyone you meet. They will take changelings of their own, increasing my power and influence across the land!” She waits a beat. “Oh, and it will spread Friendship as well. Of course.”

“Of course,” Twilight echoes with a roll of her eyes.

“What pony propose?” Prince Rutherford belts out with a stomp of his hoof. “Threat to Yak culture! Yak not stand for threat to Yak culture, because future with no Yak no future at all!”

“Yeah!” Ember sneers, claws at her hips. “You think you can just swoop in and make our lives better just like that?” She snaps her claws. “Dragons don’t need a pony savior!”

“Just some pillows,” Garble adds under his breath.

“Just some pillows!” Ember continues loudly.

“You’re worried,” Doug says diplomatically, standing between Celestia and Luna. “You’re worried about your culture, about whether life will stay the same or grow so unrecognizable you might as well be in another world. It’s daunting, and no one wants to dive straight in.” He quickly adds, seeing a few mouths open to retort, “Not because you’re scared! Every one of you could live and thrive under these conditions, I’m sure. But because you aren’t sure what you would leave behind. There has to be something worthwhile there, or you wouldn’t have survived as long as you have.”

“So, what do you propose?” Ember asks, curious more than anything else.

“Take it slow.” Doug motions to himself, smirking at his nakedness. “I came here exactly as you see me now, except a little less built.” He flexes, then rubs at Celestia’s head with one hand, Luna with the other. “And with a lot less support. But you don’t have to go for the full immersion. What I would do?”

He pauses as if considering.

“I would send a representative.” Doug nods firmly. “They would be students, at first. Their mission would be to learn the ways of Friendship. To figure out how to integrate the Tenets of Harmony-” With each word he walks to the Bearer of that Element, rubbing between their ears with a fond smile. “-Honesty, Generosity, Loyalty, Kindness, Laughter, and Friendship, with that of your own culture. Each of them as important as the other. And once they have achieved sufficient mastery of the material? They could return home, taking on students of their own, finding out what works and what doesn’t work for each of you. The end goal, of course, to grow together in Friendship and Harmony.”

Stunned silence meets the end of Doug’s speech.

Alira hesitantly speaks, “Would ponies need this instruction as well?”

“I don’t see why not,” Doug says with a shrug. “We could take students from all over Equestria.” He eyes the ponies from the Realm of Clouds. “And beyond.”

“Speaking of beyond,” Raikou says with an apologetic shake of his head. “I’ve never thought of myself as much of a baker. But I did think of one thing I can contribute.” He waves at his Lieutenant Commander, the armored yellow hippogriff marching from the edge of the auditorium. “And Sky Beak, can you come down?” He grins as the blue hippogriff hesitates. “I promise I won’t bite.”

Sky Beak growls, but approaches. His face scrunches up as he studies the other hippogriff in service to the Storm King.

“Sky Beak,” Raikou says, motioning to the other hippogriff. “This is Lieutenant Commander Kay Ay. But I think you know him as something else.”

Sky Beak stares, the revelation slowly dawning on him. He can barely force the words out, at first not believing it to be true. “King Aponis? You’re alive?”

King Aponis of the Hippogriffs nods with a regal air, his sigh heavy. “It is I, Sky Beak. In fin and feather.” He grimaces at the lines etched in his kin’s face. “The waves have not been kind to you.”

“They have not been kind to any of us,” Sky Beak admits, turning his head as he fingers at the shard hidden under his wing. “Except, perhaps, for Ocean Flow.”

King Aponis chuckles. “I suppose your wife has always taken to the seas. And… has mine?”

“Queen Novo never recovered,” Sky Beak admits with great reluctance. He glares at the Storm King. “She dreads returning to the surface, for good reason.”

“Aww, why the dry face?” Raikou grins wide, clapping both hippogriffs on the back. “This is a cause for celebration!”

“Party time!” Pinkie Pie shouts, an explosion of confetti coming from nowhere. “Woo!”

“Because I also got you this.” The Storm King holds out a scroll.

Sky Beak takes it, holding it away from him like a rotten fish. “What is this?”

“It’s a treaty! Or nonaggression pact.” Raikou shrugs. “However close you want to be.”

“We would be a protectorate of the Storm Realm,” Sky Beak spits out as he starts reading.

“Yeah, but that’s the same status we’d give Equestria.” Raikou winks at Celestia, who returns a stone-faced glare. “Basically, I’ll stay out of your waves. You guys retain full sovereignty, do whatever you want as long as it’s not against any other member state. There’s a two percent tax, same as everywhere else.” Raikou taps at the scroll as Sky Beak unravels it to the end. “And, to ease the transition back to Mount Aris, I’m offering one warship of your choice. Captained by your very own King Aponis, filled to the brim with whatever supplies you need along with a full complement of crew who will serve for two years.”

The Storm King thrusts a hand forward, grinning. “So, what do you say?”

Sky Beak stares at the treaty in his claws. There, at the bottom, is King Aponis’ signature and the Storm King’s. All it would need is his own. The thought of returning to life above the waves pulls at him, his very core.

“I… I should talk to Queen Novo,” Sky Beak states. His arm trembles despite his attempt to keep his composure.

“Sorry, pal,” Raikou says with only a hint of apology. “Limited time offer. You ain’t gonna get a better deal than this.”

Sky Beak’s claws twitch. All they would need to do is pay lip service to the Storm King’s authority and they would be free? He hopes his Queen will concur. He takes the quill from the raspberry aura, twiddling it. “What happens to the warship when the time is done?”

“That? It’s yours.” The Storm King grins like a cat watching a mouse sneak closer. “The crew can train up their replacements, if you don’t want to hire them on. All the supplies paid out of my pocket.” He chuckles. “But you only get the one load free.”

Sky Beak considers for a moment before signing the scroll with a flourish.

“Aww,” Pinkie Pie moans when nothing else happens. “It’s supposed to turn gold and shrink you into a little eel!” She pouts as she returns, thumping her head into Doug’s side.

“How much is that warship worth?” Doug whispers to Celestia, the other ponies drawing close.

“Perhaps five million bits, depending on which ship he chooses,” Celestia answers.

Applejack whistles appreciably. “Whou-whee. How’s that for Generosity?”

“He is purchasing a substantial amount of goodwill,” Rarity responds, also in awe.

Rainbow Dash adds, “And he doesn’t need to pay for the upkeep of what is going to be a glorified cargo ship,”

“Or the crew,” Fluttershy concurs.

“And if this gets him that precious little alicorn baby he wants so badly?” Pinkie Pie grins as she pokes Celestia’s belly before snuggling up next to it. “Who’s a good little hedgehog cuddler? Yes you are! Yes you are!”

“Princess Twilight,” Sky Beak interrupts. He steps forward, regarding Chrysalis thoughtfully. Twilight turns to greet him. “If this is just one example of the effects of Friendship? Then I propose sending my daughter, Silverstream, to be your first student.”

“We will be glad to accept her,” Twilight returns regally, offering a short bow. Sky Beak bows back, trotting off to converse with Aponis.

Garble is the next to approach, Ember at his side. “So, I guess we should send a dragon to learn about this whole…” He gags, coughing out a cloud of black smoke. It dissipates as it gets close to Celestia. “Friendship business.”

“A dragon will be an excellent addition to our school,” Twilight says, beaming. She glances at Ember.

“Oh, no, not me,” Ember says resolutely, shaking her head and her claws.

“Yeah, you’ll be busy in the Crystal Empire,” Garble says with a smirk. He grabs at his leg as Ember kicks him in the shin. “Hey! Watch it, punk!” He turns back to Twilight. “I was gonna send my sis. Smolder.”

Twilight grins, grabbing a piece of parchment and marking the names down. “You think she’ll be a good fit?”

Garble shrugs. “Eh. Better than any of the other dragons I know. But, whatever you do, don’t give her any pillows.”

“...Because she needs to stay tough?” Twilight guesses.

Garble shakes his head. “She hoards them. You know the story about how Dragon Lord Scales came to power?”

“Um,” Twilight says, unsure. She doesn’t recognize the name. She glances at Celestia, getting nothing in return. “No?”

“Oh.” Garble shrugs. “Well, best advice? Don’t show weakness around her. You can be ‘sensitive’,” he makes air quotes while retching. “But not weak.”

“Got it. Thank you for the tip.” Twilight grins as Garble walks off. She turns to Chrysalis. “Think you’ll enroll any changelings?”

“Mm,” Chrysalis considers. “No. My brood is learning Friendship well enough first-hoof.”

“That’s fine,” Twilight says, her grin only dropping a little. “Just wanted to ask.“

Chrysalis grunts as Prince Rutherford and Gruff stomp and fly over, respectively.

“Do you have somecreature picked out?” Twilight asks with a hopeful smile.

“I do,” Gruff snarls, but it might just be his beak. “If you can teach Friendship to the greediest, gauchest, most griffon-est griffon in all of Griffonstone?”

“I’m sure we can!” Twilight adds a quick nod and larger smile. “Who do you have in mind?”

“Gallus,” Gruff spits out, as if the name is enough.

“Ookay,” Twilight says, scratching the name down. She beams at the yak. “Prince Rutherford?” She bows low. “It has been many, many years since Equestria has been host to a yak. I sincerely hope you will give us the honor and privilege of continuing the education of one of your finest.”

“Hmm,” Prince Rutherford rumbles, considering Twilight with a cold, calculating gaze. He snorts, shaking the long braids of his hair. “Yak not see need to take pony tradition. But if Yak tradition stay Yak tradition? Then perhaps pony take Yak tradition!” He nods firmly, the matter decided. “Prince have good candidate. Just learned to braid Yak hair! Young, but not too young. Name Yona.” He nods, then turns around, leaving the Storm King standing there.

“Do…” Twilight says, looking up at the tall creature. “Did you want to learn about Friendship with us?”

“Me?” Raikou laughs, shaking his head. “Nah. Someone needs to make sure everyone behaves down here. How about him? He’s spineless enough, he’ll do whatever you say.”

Twilight follows the long arm. She frowns at the short, simpering hedgehog. “Grubber?”

“You called?” Grubber waddles over, munching on a cupcake.

Twilight’s face scrunches up. “Do you want to learn about Friendship?”

“Long ath you have cupcaketh,” Grubber says with a shrug, swallowing his current one whole.

Twilight’s smile begins twitching. “You guys! I’m going to be a teacher! Of Friendship!”

“Yeah!” Applejack chuckles, shaking her head. “Ain’t that a beaut’?”

“But!” Twilight starts hyperventilating. “I don’t have a building! Or a curriculum! Or teachers!”

“Huh,” Applejack deadpans, tapping a hoof against her chin. “That is a problem.”

“Not it,” Rainbow Dash calls with a smirk.

“Not it,” Rarity adds, joined by Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy.

“Not it,” Applejack tries, but it’s too late. “Aww, shucks, y’all. Ah’m gonna be busier than the press on fresh cider day!”

Twilight faints at the thought of not having her Friends at her side, flopping to her floor.

“Gotcha!” Rainbow Dash laughs, dropping down to nuzzle the comatose alicorn.

Raikou strides over to Celestia. She greets him with a flick of her head. “We’re cool, right?” he bluntly asks, raising a fist to her.

“We only require a formal alliance if you do,” Celestia responds, hoof bumping the gray fist.

“Great.” Raikou nods to himself, looking down at the prone alicorn. “She okay?”

“I’m sure everything will be just fine,” Celestia says, eye twinkling.

Ch. 51 - Volley Fire, Part One*

It would have been poetic to march out of the negotiations, head held high, a listless Twilight carried over Doug’s shoulder like a sack of apples. However, there is still more to discuss: legal issues regarding the laws of Equestria the new trainees would follow, such as what they may or may not stomp, chew, or challenge to duels. The logistics of bringing those trainees to Equestria. What trade deals the other countries would accept before any effects of this training would go into effect.

Rather than sit through any more tedious negotiations he wouldn’t affect Doug hoists Twilight to his shoulder and slinks out. Rarity also excuses herself, a few errands to run before they high-tail it out of Klugetown. It’s certainly tiring, carrying the weighty alicorn up several flights of stairs, though ameliorated by working at the farm and training with Applejack.

Twilight stirs from her stupor as sunlight hits her face, squinting and raising a hoof. It takes her a second to realize what is going on, glancing around and ending up staring at the side of Doug’s face. He notices when she tenses, a slight smirk as he simply adjusts the alicorn and continues plodding along. She settles down, relaxing, content to be carried to her room on the airship, only waving to Lunaris as he stands watch and lighting her horn to open doors.

“You doing okay?” Doug asks as he enters the captain’s room. It’s obvious she wants to go to the desk from the way she waves her wing, yet he flops Twilight onto the bed and sits down next to her. The bed creaks under their weight, a light nudge getting her to roll to her back. She looks down her chest as he slips around her hindlegs, squeezing his thighs against her barrel before he goes to work.

Twilight grins as his fingers glide down her belly, the soothing ministrations flooding the question out of her mind with waves of pleasure. She groans, her muscles clenching before he finds those bundles of tense energy. Both hands dig into her barrel, rubbing down ribs as she writhes against his massage. It feels amazing, especially as he gets to the soft area around her teats. Her breath catches as he pauses.

“I guess that answers that question,” Doug says, partly in awe. He grins, one hand leaving to caress her muzzle as he gazes into her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re safe.” He presses into her belly, feeling for that lump hidden deep inside her. “I’m so glad they’re safe.”

“Yeah,” Twilight moans, slumping back to rest against the bed. Her legs flex, spreading wider, readying herself for the hard length she can feel throbbing against her belly. She loves when they can share that special bond, between a stallion and his mare, forging it ever stronger. It strengthens even when it is her stallion and one of her Friends, linking together in Harmony and all working toward a bright and beautiful future, just like the one they’ll be building together with all creatures.

Except all her worries come rushing back: what will she do about the new students, building or overhauling a school to suit their needs, and developing a curriculum for something that Equestria has never attempted before. Her anxiety flares, welling inside her, and she can’t help but try to curl into a defensive ball. Her hooves shield her head against imagined fears, head twisting away from the fears made all too real.

What if she isn’t good enough? What if she fails to properly convey all the nuances of the Tenets of Harmony? Or even the broad picture! Who is she, what qualifies her to be the Princess of Friendship? Divine providence, gifting her a set of wings and a decree from on high? While that might suffice as diktat, how will she convey those lessons she has learned? And has she even learned enough lessons!?

“Shh,” Doug whispers, cupping her cheek and stroking. He applies a bit of pressure, steadily increasing, until Twilight releases her tensed position to gaze into his eyes. Bright and small contrast to wide-eyed and wet containing a fleeting fear that things will not work out. He smiles, pulling her as he leans down to plant a chaste kiss on the tip of her nose. “You know why I think everything is going to be just fine?”

“Why?” Twilight asks, an idea in her mind and yet she wants to hear her stallion explain anyway.

Doug hums to himself for a brief second before responding. “Because I believe in you?”

The way he phrases it as a question makes Twilight think he has something more to add. She shakes her head, grinning like she is the chump Trixie is testing a new trick on and she keeps drawing cards that aren’t the card she picked.

“More? Hmm.” Doug scratches at his chin, breaking away to stare at the ceiling. “Because you’re Twilight Sparkle and you’re going to do great?”

“Mm,” Twilight says, shaking her head again.

“That wasn’t enough?” Doug huffs. He looks down, his exasperated expression morphing to a fond smile. “Because, even if this experiment doesn’t go perfectly?” He taps a finger against Twilight’s fluffy chest, nodding confidently. “There isn’t a better pony to take the spot. I know you’ll do an amazing job, even when it feels like you aren’t prepared. You’ll be surrounded by your Friends and family, who can show how true friends know not just how to give Friendship but how to accept it when they need help. You’ll show those other creatures the true value of Friendship, not just in your words but in your actions.”

“Thank you,” Twilight whispers as she pulls her stallion to her lips. She kisses, no longer chaste but long, needful and primal. Her hind legs maneuver to outside his hips, welcoming his length into her moist depths with one smooth motion. She moans as he bottoms out in her, hugging tighter, not letting her prize withdraw so easily.

“Ugh,” Doug groans as her inner walls constrict around him, waves of pleasure pulsing through his body. He inhales deeply, relishing the musk that would soon permeate the room and mark her as his and he as hers once again. He takes another kiss from the stunned mare, withdrawing as her instincts tell her to kiss back.

Obviously not satisfied with missing her mark Twilight tugs him against her, ravishing him with wet and sloppy kisses as she grins. Only once he starts thrusting, forcing his way through her tight tunnel does she relent, loosening her grip and enjoying the steady motions.

“Did I,” Twilight starts before a wave of pleasure threatens to rob her of her senses. She moans, arching her back as her wings spread against the bed beneath. It takes a few blissful seconds, and after recovering she continues, “Look like I needed reassurance?”

“You tell me,” Doug gets out between hard breaths. The warmth, the tight confines, the needful moans emitting from her supple body? They all conspire to make it difficult to hold back, but they are nothing to the future growing inside her. “But if this is what you need? Whatever it is, I’m happy to help.”

Twilight groans at his cheeky grin, and how he speeds up. It leaves her in poor condition to reply, tongue lolling out as she pants. She can feel it building, that rush of blessed blankness. It overcomes her the same time that he clamps down and presses as far as he can inside her and releases. She can feel the pulses inside her, the spurts painting her tunnel with his seed.

“Mm,” Twilight purrs as he withdraws, rolling to ponyloaf. She happily cleans him off with a quick lick, making sure to snag the extra bit leaking out. She smirks as he cuddles next to her, liable to conk out if she lets him. “So. Anything I want, hmm?”

Doug chuckles as he wraps an arm around his mare. “I don’t know if I’ll be the best teacher. What would I even teach, anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll need you to do that. You’re busy enough with weather and the fillies. Though, if you don’t mind substituting?” Twilight offers Doug a wide grin, and it grows even wider when he reluctantly nods along. “Perfect! Now I just need to get started planning.” Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Planning!”

“You should talk to Starlight,” Doug mentions, sitting up as Twilight threatens to spiral out of control.

“Really?” Twilight says, perplexed, even as the question keeps her from getting too engrossed into what little she could do on the ride back.

“Yup.” Doug runs a hand along Twilight’s back, smoothing the wings slightly out of position. “She started a school when she founded Our Town, so she knows a bit about the process. EEA accreditation and such.”

“Huh.” Twilight nods along. “I guess. Hey, um.” She nervously scratches at the bed. “Do you think the other mares will mind being teachers?”

“I…” Doug starts, considering with a frown. They are all busy, and more often overwhelmed. He notes as Twilight’s face falls, turning the corners of his mouth up in a manner he hopes is reassuring. “You want me to try to get a feel for them?”

“Please?” Twilight nuzzles Doug as he nods. “Perfect. Now I just need to figure out what we’re going to do for a building, housing, transportation, meals, any sort of special accommodations.” She hops off the bed, going to the desk and writing down anything she can think of. She gasps at one of soon to be many realizations. “Toilets! We need to know what size category Smolder and Yona are!” She glances around the room, but the only sign of her stallion is the closing door. “Doug?”

After a quick hustle Doug stands on the bow of the Lunaris Priestess, watching Rarity approach from the roof of the embassy. She levitates two boxes filled with desert barding. She sets them next to the box of Storm King action figures, nudging them into perfect alignment. Satisfied, she breathes a sigh of relief as her horn winks out, and trots the short distance with a happy grin.

“And here I thought that I would be the one ecstatic to leave,” Rarity quips as she joins her stallion. Their elevated position lets them gaze over the sand-blasted city, every building a towering warren of shops and small apartments.

A regretful huff escapes her lips as she imagines traipsing through those crowded lanes, finding additions and accents to add to her dresses and make each and every one unique. Maybe a dreamcatcher made from the bright feathers of the local fauna, or a band woven with each of their colors, or an ornament carved from a horned skull. She grimaces at that last one. Alas, but it is not meant to be.

Doug snorts as his hand raises, accepting the unicorn to his side with a practiced ease. “And here I thought you’d be the one chomping at the bit.” He rubs behind her ear, drawing an appreciative coo and gentle butt against his side that generally means he is a bit too close for comfort and should stop, or he needs to keep going. Or both. His fingers snake into her mane, careful not to disturb the sublime curls. “I’m sure we could leave you here. Just for a week or two.”

“No no no, no no, no,” Rarity quickly counters, shaking her head just enough to not dislodge his hand and instead enhance the scratching. “Pah-lease. Maybe I could spend a few hours digging for diamonds in the rough. But days?”

“No more trips to the Badlands, then?” Doug laughs to himself as he gazes north, trying to spot the mountains ringing the blasted wastelands through the haze. “Not that I regret the time we spent together. But…” He waves a hand, frowning.

“But we’re just too busy these days,” Rarity commiserates. She sighs as she leans against him. “I’m not complaining. I love my work.” She playfully nudges into him, loving the light grunt he emits. “Is that why you can’t wait to return?” She swoons with melodramatic flair, a hoof at her forehead as she pretends to faint in the heat. “You just want to get back to work!”

“You got me,” Doug quips, rubbing at his marked shoulder. He sighs, slumping forward against the railing, his hand resting against her neck.

Rarity pauses, glancing up with a surprised frown at the glum shift in Doug’s demeanor. “Is that why you got that tattoo?” She smiles, injecting a bit of levity into her voice. “Afraid you’ll forget about us?”

“That’s an option?” Doug smirks as Rarity butts into him again. “Okay, okay. What do you, um, think of it?”

“It’s…” Rarity starts, backing up a step to properly consider the cloud and lightning bolt. “It’s certainly avante-garde. I can’t say I’ve seen its likeness before.” Her smile turns to a bit of a grimace, though she does her best to hide it. “And you intend to take on each of our marks?”

“Something like that.” Doug backs up so his left hand rests on Rarity’s flank. She twists to watch as he presses his wrist into one of the diamonds of her mark. “It was kind of a spur of the moment decision. If you don’t like it...”

A coy smile spreads on her muzzle as he starts off light, then presses harder and harder into the supple muscles. The way his wrist rolls against her, meandering from one diamond from another, is quickly getting her in the mood.

“Oh, darling,” Rarity moans, a hoof touching her chest as she tries to contain her excitement. “I certainly wouldn’t complain about you wearing me. I mean, my mark.” She winks, her tail flicking up to brush against his nose. It gets him to back up a fraction, face scrunching, and bat her tail away before sneezing from the tickling. “But here? You incorrigible rapscallion, you.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Doug lightly grips the base of her tail, gently dragging her back until they are again withers-to-shoulder. He sighs, sitting down and resting his head against hers. It’s reassuring, wrapping an arm around her and holding on. “It’s, just, there’s been a lot of changes. I hope I can keep up.” He squeezes her tight with a faint edge of sadness. “How are you holding up?”

“A fashionista such as myself must keep ahead of the herd,” Rarity states, content to lay next to her stallion. If Doug had pressed she would have gladly given of herself, but finds the hazy atmosphere and surrounding buildings to be a bit off-putting, much like a dingy cave or the library’s basement. “Not ours, of course, but in general. And my intuition is telling me that this is going to be the next big thing. Clashing colors, juxtaposed against each other in the same jarring outfit? Hoity Toity might fault me for not including the kitchen sink.”

Rarity narrates the process of creating a whole line of outfits, starting out by sketching a few ideas based on their cutie marks, themes that might have previously encapsulated the entirety of a dress or suit. Then she separates them into sections, taking elements of each and mashing them together. They contrast, often horribly, and it takes a good amount of mixing and matching before she comes to a set of combinations with which she is at least moderately satisfied. Then she pulls out the fabrics she recently acquired, going through the same process.

It’s not that she means to ignore him, but her creative pursuits are much more of a solo art than a group collaboration. Doug finds his attention wandering to the other mares of the herd as they embark in pairs and trios. Each gives him a wide berth, not wishing to interrupt the time the two are spending together, and soon enough the airship takes off.

Ch. 52 - Volley Fire, Part Two

The two alicorn Sisters exit the Equestrian Embassy, embark onto the bow of the Lunaris Priestess, and stand at the bow flanking Doug and Rarity. They wait, solemnly watching the city below shrink as they lift off. There is a subdued energy about them, a giddiness hid behind a paper facade, that they escaped this ordeal not merely unscathed but with new allies and a renewed sense of purpose.

Their horns light blindingly bright against the sky’s brown haze as they levitate above the barrel-high walls. Halos of gold and cobalt shine around the two, a casual display of power, pure joy radiating from each at the fulfillment of their mark. It can’t be a coincidence that they timed their departure to this moment, interrupting the flow of traffic, the drab dots meandering around below pausing their hurried errands to stare upward. The ponies likewise gaze in wonder, supplicating by bending a knee.

On the southern edge of Klugetown, a dark orchid muzzle peeks out from under a brown hood that covers her broken horn. She scowls as she watches the muted sun complete her journey across the sky, the lambent moon taking her place on the opposite horizon. The only thing missing is watching the sky shift from reds to blues to a dark cobalt intermixed with twinkling gold. She shakes her head, tosses twenty bits to the bored parrot captain and boards the cargo-laden airship without a word.

The two alicorns slowly descend, their duty complete, and land on the deck with gentle thuds.

“I don’t think that will ever get old,” Doug comments, the first to break from their collective awe. He tugs Rarity as close to him as possible, the unicorn glad to snuggle affectionately.

“I am glad to say it never fails to bring me joy,” Celestia says by way of greeting, exchanging a fond nuzzle with her stallion. She grins as Luna dips down to do the same. “And that joy is made all the sweeter by those with whom I share it.”

Luna’s sigh could probably be heard by those walking along the city streets and not just those aboard their first destination, the Storm King’s flagship. “Indeed,” she intones darkly, studiously watching Grubber and a Storm Guard carrying a hard-backed suitcase about the same size as the small hedgehog.

“Thup,” Grubber greets as he deftly saunters across the gangplank laid between the two ships. He doesn’t even look down, yet the slim possibility of falling makes Doug pine for his parachute backpack. “Nithe playth you got here.” His eyes light up as he sees a three-tiered tray of baked goods. A sprint would accurately describe the way he waddles over if you were to compare him to Fluttershy; his stubby legs, bulky body and upright posture combine to limit his top speed to a plodding trot. Once there he eyes each cupcake and confectionary with a harsh eye, squinting and debating which to take.

The Storm Guard gently drops off the suitcase on the Equestrian airship, snapping Celestia a brief salute. She nods curtly. He shuffles backwards, careful not to slip off as he retreats.

“Mm,” Grubber moans as he tests the first one, a pink cupcake loaded with icing and sprinkles. He wanders over to Doug, Celestia, and Luna, taking a huge bite, spewing bits of cake. “Theeth are tho delithuth.” The alicorns glance down disdainfully as he cranes his neck to look up and inspect the rainbow mark, then a bit of a leering gaze at Rarity’s curvaceous flank. “Wanna keep working on that?”

Doug’s mouth purses; he’d rather level with Luna, yet progress on the tattoo needs to get done at some point. He glances at Rarity, one hand digging into her withers, an unvoiced question she understands quite clearly.

“Go,” she whispers, almost regretfully, her words accompanied by a light push from her magic. She smiles softly, an enticing lure that draws Doug in for a final kiss before he stands, fingertips trailing along her back.

“Just sketch the outline before we go.” Doug holds out his left arm against the blue diamonds on that posh flank. It takes visible effort to not sink his fingers in and instead stay steady.

“Wait,” Rarity quibbles with a roll of her eyes and a harsh huff. “You can’t rush perfection. If that’s your plan, I would much rather you take the time to do this right. Especially something so permanent. My dresses take a few iterations to refine, but at least you’re starting with an elegant base.”

Doug chuckles at Rarity’s good-natured wink, ruffling her mane as he leans back. Rarity goes back to sketching her designs as Grubber drags over the suitcase. Inside is a collection of tattooing equipment; he selects black and light blue inks that match Rarity’s cutie mark and goes to work. His forearm hurts less than the shoulder, tolerable if distracting, only interrupted when Pinkie Pie brings more cupcakes.

Celestia doesn’t bother to stifle her yawn, taking a deep inhale through mouth and nostrils, her smile broadening as she detects Twilight’s musk. She smacks her lips a few times before settling down just like the first night on the airship. When Doug’s hand reaches over she leans into him, eyes closing and rumbling a low, appreciative coo.

“Does this sort of nonsense happen very often?” Doug asks with a heavy sigh, sinking into Rarity’s side. Grubber growls, threatening to tie Doug down if he doesn’t stop moving. “I would absolutely despise going through this more than once.”

“Just another Frienday,” Celestia replies, smirking. “A worthwhile, if occasionally harrowing, experience. Sometimes I wish it were not so, that there existed an easier route. Yet if we forced our ways of life on them, like they are foals in need of instruction, they would resent the unfair imposition on their customs. But if they take it upon themselves to improve, invest their time and energy and make any progress their own? What better way to learn than to undergo such an enlightening experience yourself?”

A wry smile crosses Luna’s muzzle. “So they must see their best efforts fail, and the most advantageous way forward depends upon a desire to master the ways of Friendship? Thou art more cunning than we gave credit, Sister.”

“I learned from the best.” A burst of energy infuses Celestia as she nuzzles her Sister, wishing she could have spent the millennium with her at her side instead of imprisoned in the moon above. “I studied all I could recall, running through our encounters, asking myself what you would have done. But I fear I am but a poor imitation of the master.”

Luna snorts, trying to push her Sister away as the white alicorn bows low and grovels. “Stop it! St-a-a-ahh!”

Luna collapses as Celestia grabs hold of her hoof and deftly slips off the ornate shoe. The tender nuzzles to the sensitive frog quickly become too much for the cobalt alicorn to take. She writhes, yet playfully, careful not to buck her Sister in the face, as her controlled expression devolves into unfettered laughter. In a moment she finds herself on her back, her legs automatically spreading and body readying itself as if to accept her stallion, the conclusion of the vast majority of times she has found herself in this compromised position. She can smell her musk, heavy in the air; she is sure her Sister can, too.

Yet Celestia does not exploit Luna’s vulnerable state as she pushes herself between her Sister’s legs, past the slight mounds to rest her head on the middle of the cobalt belly. One ear lays flat, listening to the rapid beats that would be drowned out in anything other than utter silence. Forelegs slip past the thick flanks, wrapping a reverent hug around the belly just starting to swell.

Luna’s legs settle against her as she luxuriates in the pleasant warmth of her Sister. She can’t help but think that it has been too long since they relaxed like this. No stallion to serve as their focus as they compete for his affections. No tall stack of reports to read or long lists of meetings to attend flitting about in the back of their minds. Just the two of them, together, as they should be. Sisters. They have their differences, of course, serious ones at times. And yet...

And yet, she can’t help but recall that it was her actions, her conceit that drove the two of them apart. Her soft nicker breaks the silence, her Sister’s magenta eyes raising in concern. They stare, not demanding, but curiously checking on her well-being. The white muzzle breaks open but the unspoken question dies on her lips.

Instead, Celestia’s head droops lower, her breathing slows, and it doesn’t take long before the only things coming from her are soft snores.

Luna stares upward, her view of the night sky obstructed by the large, ornate balloon. The Princess of the Night is more than capable of replicating where each and every star is placed, yet despite this fact she misses being able to relax and view the stars in all their golden glory. Much like how she knows her Sister loves her, truly and more than anything. With the possible exception of the foal growing inside her.

Soon enough they break out of the haze surrounding Klugetown, zipping across the barren desert. Luna’s head rolls to the side, watching her stallion. His eyes are on her, a faint smile curling on his face at the endearing sight. The butterflies dancing in her stomach slow, chilled by the thought that he thinks their display is for his benefit.

“Is it worth it?” Doug asks, quiet and somber as he notices her shift in demeanor. He leans back into Rarity with a heavy sigh, breaking eye contact and staring up at the ceiling.

“What dost thou mean?” Luna questions, a sharp edge in her voice. She resents his placative tone, how in a few short words he conveys how afraid he is of offending her, like she is a thin-coated foal that must be coddled.

“Being with me.” Doug motions at his chest, though from her angle it could easily have been at his exposed crotch. “Do you wish you had someone else? That, like Cadance, you had chosen a stallion. Somepony better, I don’t know. Like Shining Armor?”

Around the ship the ponies are settling down. At hearing his name Cadance and Shining Armor glance from their spot in the middle, but otherwise stay quiet. Using Doug purely for studding doesn’t sit right with them; they trade soft nuzzles, glad they are able to make manifest their love and not need to hide their affections for each other.

“We wish a great many things,” Luna retorts, her gaze fixing on Doug. “We regret the issue being pressed on us, of following our Sister along an uncharted path at breakneck speed. Thou art not a perfect match for her, and neither art thou one for us.”

“So what would it take?” Doug asks, having to bite back the manifesting anger. “What sort of actions are you looking for, what kind of person would you want your stallion to be?”

“Dost it not occur to thou,” Luna coldly states, “that the very act of asking such questions means that thou art not suited to be my suitor? Dost thou believe we owe thou our adoration? To be a loyal broodmare, fawning every time thou deignst to rub against our cheek?”

Doug frowns. “So I can’t even try to improve? You want to just, what, wait until the perfect stallion comes along?”

“Are we not a Princess of the realm?” Luna glares, holding her head high. “Should we not have our choice among stallions?”

Ch. 53 - Volley Fire, Part Three

“Sure, you can have your pick of stallions,” Doug starts, his tone more curious than condemning. “Assuming they say yes, of course. But who wouldn’t?”

The joking tone and accompanying grin fails to lighten Luna’s sour expression, her fixed gaze and harsh stare not easing one iota.

Doug’s smile falters as he realizes that a considerable number of stallions might have said yes if Luna asked, but only for Celestia’s sake or from the status gained by consorting with a Princess. And others would have said no because of her past. And she knows this more intimately than anypony else; she has seen their lust-laced dreams, their torrid nightmares, their deepest hopes and darkest fears. She knows how many of those terrors involve her at a primal level. After all, generations have grown up knowing nothing about her except from tales told to frighten foals into compliance, that the ‘big bad Nightmare Moon’ would gobble them up if they didn’t eat their hay.

How true is this for himself? More likely than he would like to admit, that’s for sure. It’s hard for him, even now with them having a foal together, to disentangle Princess Luna from Nightmare Moon and the horrors she inflicted on him. Can he even separate them, given how Celestia flirts with her flame-tinged alter ego any time passion threatens to overrun her senses? It seems an impossible task.

A frown peeks out from his tightly pursed lips as he considers how exactly to phrase his next question. He finally breaks the silence by asking, “But what makes you think that a perfect match exists for you?”

His careful consideration doesn’t stop the lunar alicorn from manifesting afterimages of glowing cobalt daggers as she glares at him. “Explain thyself,” Luna grits out between clenched teeth.

Rarity glances back with a momentary flicker of worry as Doug leans even further into her side, as if he had a chance to escape or hide from Luna’s wrath. She quickly turns away and tries to appear as if she is not prying into the two’s affairs, her insatiable curiosity somewhat appeased by the potential to hear anything juicy straight from the Princess’ mouth. Two of her herdmates, Applejack and Fluttershy, creep closer; their heads are low, ears folded back, attempting to stay silent as they approach to a more suitable location to listen in and intervene if necessary.

Doug collects his thoughts, staring off into the void of night. “There are many things we look for in a partner,” he explains, slow and methodical. He winces as Grubber continues piercing into his left forearm, the black outline of Rarity’s mark gradually taking shape. “So many that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to list them all. And yet you have to, to increase the chance your suitor is compatible. But the more requirements you list the harder it is for your potential stallion to meet all of them, or that they might be incompatible with each other.”

“Then what should we do?” Luna demands. “Should we not look at all, given the impossibility of our search? Or are our standards unreasonably high, that we shall never be satisfied unless we deign to accept thy imperfections?”

“Um,” Doug starts, one eye twitching to a brief squint. He frowns. “You’re partly right. I mean, nopony is perfect, so they’re going to have some area where they fall short. And a big part of life is trying to improve, to be the pony you want to be, but also the pony the other pony wants you to be.”

“We appreciate the sentiment,” Luna starts diplomatically, though her eyes betray a lack of complete sincerity. “And we acknowledge our own imperfections. But we cannot help but wonder as to the fount from which thy concern springs. Art thou truly seeking kinship with ourselves? Or is thy purpose to paper over our perturbations and restore the tenuous harmony we held before?”

“Wow,” Doug says with a sheepish grin, scratching at the back of his head. “You really cut to the heart of the matter, huh?” He meets Luna’s gaze but briefly, glancing to the side as the corners of his smile pull tighter. “I mean, I want to get to know you better. There’s definitely a part of me that wants to remedy whatever conflict comes up. That sees this, um, friction as a blemish that needs correcting, not because I desire a deeper relationship with you but because it makes me look bad. I don’t like that part of me, but it exists, and I think we get to a better place by admitting our faults and utilizing them as incentives than by wishing they didn’t exist.”

Luna carefully considers him as the other ponies around tense. “Thou art remarkably honest,” she says thoughtfully. “We have never met somepony as brazen in their forthrightness, yet simultaneously lacking the impertinence and obdurance of one who disregards the sentiments of others.”

Doug’s scratching hand digs a little deeper into the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he says with a subdued chortle. He finds Applejack, a warmth entering his smile. “I’d like to say it has served me well, yet it seems like it just adds to the plates I need to keep spinning.”

“Indeed,” Luna says with narrowed eyes as Applejack blows Doug a kiss. “Though we fear the comparison to a circus routine needing periodic correction, however apt, to reveal the root of our discord.”

Doug glances around, half expecting some explosion or other to herald the draconequus’ arrival. But that would just be predictable, wouldn’t it? He turns back to Luna, her gaze likewise returning to him as if she had the same fear of a chaotic arrival. “I get that. And I don’t like how it sounds, either. Life would certainly be easier if I had less going on: less mares, less foals, less responsibilities. But it wouldn’t be better, especially if I had to cut some of those things out. And how would I know what my limits are unless I push up against them?” He looks around for Rainbow Dash, knowing how she would appreciate the statement, but he can’t find the cerulean pegasus. “And then break through them, becoming more than I thought I could be?”

Luna frowns, even as she finds the sentiment endearing. “We do not wish to be a mere addition to your ‘responsibilities’. And neither do we desire a halfhearted or belabored attempt to claim our devotion. If thou art satisfied with filling our belly with foal, then say it and allow us to search for passion elsewhere. We would still play the part as thou desires, a mare to her stallion, a Princess to her Prince, returning affections and raising our tail when it comes time to bed us.”

“That’s not what I want at all,” Doug asserts, his voice raising. It bothers him that Luna can talk of such a relationship as a possibility and it shows in his dour countenance. “But what you said is true. I don’t want to see you as a trophy, some prize to be won. I don’t want a superficial relationship for appearances’ sake. And I don’t think that’s what you want, either.”

“No,” Luna concedes, turning her head to the side and looking away. “That is not what we wish.”

“Then what do you want?” Doug demands. When Luna doesn’t reply he continues, his tone softening, “Look, I’m sorry I can’t read you perfectly. I don’t know you well enough to predict your every impulse. I understand you feel rushed into this relationship, that you would have preferred somepony who gets you better, who makes you laugh without trying, who isn’t scared for his life every time you narrow your eyes at him.”

The last line gets Luna to look back at him, breath catching in her throat. She would have worried more except for his cheesy grin stretching from ear to ear that would give Pinkie Pie a run for her bits.

“But you’re stuck with me.” Doug thumps his chest with his free hand, nodding superfluously. The exaggerated banality draws a faint smile from Luna. “So we’re going to have to make the best of this. It’s hard to look at something imperfect and know that it could be so much better. But we have to work with what we’ve got. And the only way to mold this clay into something more appealing to your taste is to shape it yourself.”

“Thou proposes that we undertake the ignominious task of refining away your impurities?” Luna smirks, matching Doug’s. “How wilt thou make this up to us?”

A spark of revelation goes off in Doug’s mind. “No,” he states with a bit of force behind his words. Half of his mouth curls upward, besting Luna’s smirk with his own. “I think you need to make this up to me.”

“Oh?” Luna’s horn flares, gently lifting her Sister and setting her off to the side. Celestia fidgets for a moment before going still, her head facing them with closed eyes and a lengthening smile. Luna takes her time marching forward two steps, a growing dread filling the pits of everypony nearby’s belly. She dips down, a hoof reaching to tilt Doug’s head upward so they might stare into each other’s eyes.

Doug gulps, failing to return Luna’s unblinking gaze without flinching.

“We do not think it fair,” Luna states with a twinkle in her eyes that rivals the stars above, “that Chrysalis is the only one of us whom thou hast ridden.”

“Hmm.” Doug pulls away from her gaze to glance at the starry night. “But if you start singing about showing me the world? I’m bailing, parachute or no.”

“If thou dost not care for shining, shimmering splendor,” Luna counters as she bends low, allowing Doug to mount her by swinging a leg over her withers and adjusting himself against her neck. “Then that may be for the best.”

With one graceful motion Luna leaps off the deck of the Lunaris Priestess, tucking her wings in a rapid dive toward the dark desert below. Cool air rushes past, her star-encrusted mane and tail billowing behind as she revels in the moment. Hands clasp against the Lunar insignia on her peytral, pressing the familiar metal into her chest; his legs grip into her sides, head just outside the corner of her eye as he avoids the buffeting mane.

She can feel him tense against her coat as she draws close to the barren land below, yet he has the sense to not caution her or question her prowess. He merely tugs closer, trusting the pony who has been flying longer than he has been alive. Her wings spread, catching the wind and turning their sharp dive to a gliding coast. She has to strain to keep from toppling over, the unfamiliar weight suddenly going from nearly non-existent to pressing against her neck at an unexpected angle.

“Oof,” Doug moans from behind her as she recovers, flapping her wings. “Glad I was ready for that this time.” He loosens his tight grip on her withers, sinking in her coat as one hand raises to nuzzle the corner of her mouth. He surprises her with a kiss to the opposite cheek and a gentle squeeze of his head against hers.

“Mm,” Luna replies, tilting her head to return the kiss. Except he has pulled away, staring at the silver moon that looms large above the dunes that sporadically crest the horizon. Pinpricks of bright light sporadically fill the remainder of the darkened sky, casting everything in an ethereal glow. She can barely make out their airship by the lighter underside, steadily making her way north, and presses harder to keep up.

“It’s hard to understand why ponies stopped loving your night,” Doug comments, full of awe. He gives her neck a gentle squeeze as she snorts. “Yeah, cliched, I know. I bet you have books filled with ballads about their beauty.”

“Thou hast no idea,” Luna quips sardonically. Then she sighs, shaking her head wistfully. “Sadly, the multitudes of amours declined much like the moon sinking beneath the horizon, many would-be admirers shifting their focus to our more visible Sister.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Doug says softly, caressing her side. “And…”

“And?” Luna asks, turning to the side to regard him.

Doug’s mouth purses to a tight grimace. “For whatever role I played in perpetuating any continued distaste for the night.”

Luna scoffs. “Whatever role thou hast played pales to our own, much like the moon against the sun.” She frowns as Doug grumbles, his objection unvoiced. As the silence lengthens she regrets dismissing whatever apology he was attempting, however insignificant it may or may not be. She inquires, “What role did thou play in continuing the repugnance of our night?”

It takes Doug a second to respond. “I modified the weather patterns to better suit ponies’ needs. They wanted more sunny days, so I shifted any rain I could to the night. Now they’re even less inclined to do things during the night, worsening the problem. And even if they did go out, they wouldn’t see your majestic splendor but a roiling mass of black that threatens to ruin their plans.”

“A conundrum indeed,” Luna says. Her heart swells at the compliment to her night, as trite as it might be. “How wilt thou solve it?”

“Honestly?” Doug shrugs to himself. “It’s not a problem I’ve considered. But off the top of my head? I’m going to blame any increase in clouds during the day on an increased demand for rainfall. It may be a shot at the moon, me attempting to avoid blame for something ponies need but don’t want, but Equestria needs to start growing more food to feed all these new mouths.”

A sly smile crosses Luna’s muzzle. “Thou would fit in well with the noble council, for all they spin their oversights into opportunities for themselves.”

“Ugh, I hope not,” Doug says, inwardly grateful for the teasing banter.

“And thou hast already landed a shot in the moon,” Luna continues. Her tail rubs against his back, curling around his waist. “Dost thou wish another attempt?”

“Much as I love ravishing you?” Doug pinches at her mane and runs his hand through the shimmering hair. “I bet you love the attention they shower you with on the Night Court.”

Luna laughs, hard and piercing. “Yes; they art akin to a shower of meteors, initially dazzling to behold with craters in their wake.” She shakes her head even as the wind clears any tears that might surface. “If we could abolish their overindulgences we would do so in a heartbeat. But dost thou really wish us to wax on about injustices they inflict and attempt to elude?”

“You know, it’s not how I initially thought this trip would go,” Doug concedes. “But compared to spouting eloquence about how beautiful the night is, and you are, and how difficult it was to appreciate where I came from because of light pollution? I’d rather hear about your thoughts on how to curtail abuses and avoid introducing new ones.”

“Hmm,” Luna considers, a hoof stroking at her chin as they speed along. It certainly is a difficult problem, but perhaps Doug would serve as a sounding board and, much as she detests the term, lunar advocate against her ideas.

Ch. 54 - Volley Fire, Part Four

“No, no, no,” Doug argues with Luna as the two approach the airship. His voice is starting to get a bit hoarse. “You can’t just pick a price for wheat and apples and expect producers to respond exactly like you predict. Either you’ll pick too low a number, and you won’t have enough supply, or too high and nopony will pay the price. And even if you do somehow stumble upon the right number? It’d be a nightmare to revise your numbers every time the market changes.”

“But if the market isn’t responding correctly, what recourse do we have?” Luna’s wings beat against the air, taking out her frustrations with harder flaps than strictly necessary. “Should thousands starve because insufficient grain was planted? Or because they cannot afford the rates unscrupulous ponies will charge during such a shortage?”

Along the bow of the airship rests a multicolored pile of ponies. Fluttershy lightly dozes, head against Celestia’s withers with a white wing draping over her back. Applejack lays on the other side of the snoozing alicorn, hat pulled over her ear while she watches Rarity sketch. They glance up as the two approach; Applejack’s mild frown dissipates, only to reassert itself as she hears them argue.

They land, Luna immediately kneeling in what can only be construed as a ‘get off me before I toss you off’ manner, eyes narrowing and a low growl emitting from her throat. Doug hops off, his wind-swept hair reminiscent of a certain cerulean pegasus in how it juts out at all angles. Neither gives an inch, continuing their antagonistic glares at each other.

“If they can’t afford basic necessities?” Doug grimaces, knowing how unpopular the answer would be. “If you aren’t able to provide for yourself, then you have two options. Option one, obtain more. Either do more work, or convince others to provide for you. Option two, starve. Everypony wants to avoid option two, but it’s a fact of life.”

“Have y’all been arguin’ this whole time?” Applejack asks with a note of incredulity. It’s not that she can’t believe Doug would be debating some point or other - he keeps his ideas and opinions to himself, with exceptions like when he and Big Mac experimented with wheat farming - but more so that he would be arguing with a Princess.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Rainbow Dash answers as she lands next to Applejack, having followed in Luna’s wake the entire time. She taps her hooves against each other nervously as Luna turns to glare at her. “You’d think they would have gotten up to something saucy, and I could have joined in, but they just talked about money!”

“Money?” Applejack’s face scrunches up. “We ain’t short on bits, are we? Ah mean, with the Princesses and all in the herd, Ah wouldn’t expect us to ever need worry ‘bout bits again!”

“No, not their money, bits in general. Prices.” Rainbow Dash sticks her tongue out and gags. “Can you think of anything more eggheaded than what the price of eggs should be?”

“Shoot, Ah do more’n’a bit’a thinkin’ ‘bout the price’a apples,” Applejack says with a solemn nod. “Feels like Ah got books with row after row of nothin’ but apples, apples, apples. More’n more ponies are askin’ ‘bout gettin’ new contracts started, or increasin’ what they already got. An’ that’s just the ones Filthy sends me ‘cause the pay is good or he’s doin’ them a favor; Celestia knows how many he gets and turns down ‘cause he knows we can’t hoof the extra work.”

“Well, that’s the whole point of increasing prices,” Doug comments. Celestia stirs as he sits next to her, Fluttershy waking with a wide yawn that seems to unhinge her jaw. “If you can get more bits for something, you’ll do more of it. Increasing demand leads to increasing prices, which leads to a greater supply and a new equilibrium. It’s a self-correcting phenomenon, prices won’t go up to infinity. Now, granted, this doesn’t work as well when there is some disaster that unexpectedly causes a shortage, in which case you will pay nearly anything to stay alive. But at the same time you want to reward those who are able to see ahead and predict the future in the hopes of encouraging others to do the same and prepare for emergencies.”

“Oh, dear,” Fluttershy chimes in. “But, what if, say, somepony reminds Angel Bunny that the treat that he has been waiting for ever so patiently is missing his favorite cherry, and he ignores their stringent apology explaining that they are all out, and they need to venture into the very busy marketplace to buy a cherry but the cherry vendor charges me ten bits for the very last cherry instead of one bit?”

“Somepony?” Doug’s eye twitches at just who that somepony might be. “Um, buy somewhere else? Or, if there aren’t any more cherries for sale because you specialize too much, buy something else?”

“But Angel Bunny won’t accept anything else!” Fluttershy raises a hoof to her forehead, nearly fainting at the thought. “He might refuse to eat until I get it for him, and I wouldn’t want to be the reason he starves!”

Doug sighs. “First off, you spoil that bunny something rotten. But, hey, he saved your life, I get it. I mean, if it’s the actual last one, you’re running into a scarcity problem. In which case the higher price is justified. I mean, you wouldn’t fault Rarity for charging extra for a rush job using up her limited time, would you?”

“I am happy to receive that particular premium,” Rarity admits. “But only if I don’t have to push back any of my other projects or work an exorbitant amount of time above my normal hours. I might waive the extra charge if that were the case. But if I did have to rearrange my schedule? I would absolutely charge extra or let them know I am doing them a favor.”

Luna scowls. “And what is to prevent the earth ponies collectively deciding to keep raising prices? There must be some mechanism to halt such abuses.”

“Hey, we wouldn’t do that,” Applejack objects. She glances at Rainbow Dash. “Besides, the pegasi would just up the price for bringin’ in rain. Or, worse, they’d make it storm all the time and we wouldn’t get nothin’ done.”

“Exactly,” Doug says, nodding along and rewarding Applejack with a scratch behind her ears, even if he has to shove his way under her hat to do so. “Unfair practices like collusion or exorbitant prices are going to be met with retaliation. Or, internally, someearthpony might defect and sell at a lower price, garnering more business for themselves. And if there is some enforcement mechanism against them, then you’re no longer dealing with a free market.” He takes a deep breath, the hand scratching Applejack slowing. “But maybe the price of apples does need to go up. Or cider, or fritters, whatever products you think ponies would still buy at a higher price.”

An unhappy growl rumbles from Applejack and Rainbow Dash. “Ah ain’t sure about that, partner. We’ve been chargin’ the same price for all our goods for, well, at least a dozen years, far as Ah can remember.”

“Yeah,” Rainbow Dash adds, frowning. “If the price of cider was higher? I mean, maybe I’d get more of it, because less ponies would buy it. But that just means less ponies would enjoy it!”

“And if the price needed to be that high?” Luna raises an eyebrow. “If the incoming glut of ponies raises the price of food to astronomical levels, would that not require action?”

Doug shakes his head. “Nothing so drastic as taking command of the economy. If it’s a looming disaster then spreading more information about it and allowing everypony to make the right decision will lead to better outcomes than by trying to figure everything out yourself. Or they’ll innovate, coming up with more efficient or economical ways of doing things.”

“Ah hope you ain’t gonna suggest we start farmin’ wheat instead of apples,” Applejack says with a loud huff. “Just ‘cause it’s more calories per hour worked don’t mean Ah’d want ta do it. And Ah ain’t sure Ah’d enjoy much’a that innovation, either. Ah like things on the farm the way they are, an’ ya can be sure Granny ain’t gonna go for anythin’ either.”

“Sure, and that’s a very relevant consideration.” Doug tugs her close, nestling her head against his chest. “Could you work as many hours farming wheat? Keeping hogs and chickens? You do it now only because the return is very good and you want to be self-sufficient.” He looks pointedly at Luna. “I’d challenge you to figure out how and where one pony would work optimally, much less a whole society.”

“Thou believes that the same pony who would overcharge Fluttershy for a cherry is competent enough to decide the price of that same cherry?” Luna stares back at Doug. “Dost thou wish to reconsider that position?

Doug shakes his head, perhaps with a dash of impertinence. “How do you know that it’s overcharged? Because another pony won’t pay as high a price for it? If a better deal exists elsewhere, well, we don’t have access to all the information in the world, and there is a cost to learning that information, if only an opportunity cost to be doing something else. But more to the point, if Fluttershy is willing to pay, then that’s how much it’s worth, if only to her. If she isn’t willing to pay, then the merchant doesn’t make the sale, and if that happens enough times he goes out of business. Just like it’s on her to tolerate Angel Bunny’s demands, whose reasonableness is decided by whether or not she goes along with them.”

Fluttershy hunkers down, hiding a portion of her face under her mane. “I-I’d probably pay a lot more than ten bits to keep Angel Bunny happy. Just like I’m sure you’d happily do the same for any of us.”

“Of course.” Doug strains to reach over Celestia and runs a soothing hand along Fluttershy’s back. She perks up immediately, flicking her mane away to rub her head against him. “You’re worth far more to me than ten bits. But there has to be some limit, if only the amount of bits I’m able to accumulate in a lifetime.”

“And should somepony charge that many bits for some necessity?” Luna fixes Doug with an inquiring stare. “Thou would go to war to protect our foals from direct assault. Would thou go to war to protect them from an indirect assault, such as on their ability to provide?”

“Well, there have to be some alternatives.” Doug scratches at his chin. “If earth ponies charge too much for food, then plant your own. It might be less efficient hour per hour, which is why specialization and trade make everypony better off, and why tariffs and restricting trade make things worse off.”

A slight grin peeks out from Luna’s stare. “And if thou cannot replace this necessity?”

Doug sighs, glancing over the side of the airship and looking at the barren land below. “I mean, if you can’t replace what it is, like you’re in a desert and somepony owns all the water? And you can’t leave without dying because you don’t have enough water for the journey? I can see revolution being justified if the owner of the water is tyrannizing everypony. But not because she had the foresight to bring enough water for everypony and is merely charging for it.”

“And if the necessity in question is the sun?” Luna glare harshens. “And you believe that she is unfairly using her power and position to benefit herself. What then?”

“Um,” Doug stammers, glancing at Celestia. She doesn’t move. “I, uh…”

Luna’s head tilts to the side. “Thou must believe we were justified in our attempt to overthrow our Sister from her seat at the pinnacle of power. And the other creatures of the Council were justified in their attempted coup as well.”

Doug’s eyes bulge. “Wait, what?”

“Our dear Sister was hoarding the entirety of a precious commodity,” Luna continues, her growing smirk chilling the blood of everypony. “One we found we could not live without. We were denied the attention of those who once adored us. Were we not correct in our actions? The other creatures believed that Celestia would swamp their lands with a deluge of ponies, taking away their autonomy. Were they not correct?”

“Okay,” Doug starts, slowly and with a tone careful to avoid condemnation. “Look, I get it. Jealousy is a powerful emotion. Do you think I like the thought of one of my mares running off with somestallion else? Of course not! Same with Shining Armor and Cadance, or Chrysalis, or you and your Sister. There is some insecurity, some fear of losing that which you hold dear. But sometimes that feeling of insecurity actually does reflect a lack of security. Like the saying ‘it’s not paranoia if someone actually is out to get you’, we don’t have guarantees in life, so we have to do the best we can with what we have.”

His smile at the end fails to lighten Luna’s mood. “Thou art avoiding the question.”

Doug sighs again. “Well, that’s because you’re not going to enjoy the answer. If somepony outcompetes you, then tough luck. Try harder next time, figure out what they are doing better than you, or if you can change and adapt. I don’t think Celestia has abused her awesome power, and I have a hard time faulting somepony for being compensated for their efforts, even if that means they get a share far larger than anypony else. And sometimes the other person really is better, or more suited to the task at hoof, or whatever.” He glances at Applejack. “What happened to the ponies who used to pull trains and got replaced by engines?”

“Um,” Applejack says, the question catching her off guard. “Far as Ah know, they got jobs haulin’ wares to an’ from the trains, then helpin’ load. If it does end up gettin’ real busy at the farm we might need to hire a couple to help out.”

“So we ought to resign ourselves to thy side, having been outcompeted by our Sister at every turn?” Luna sighs, her head dropping as she takes a few humble steps forward. Rather than displace Applejack or Fluttershy she nestles down in front of Celestia, her muzzle next to the white neck with the hopes of slipping under. Her ears flick as Doug’s hand scratches between them. She glances up, his friendly smile getting a hint of hers to return.

“It sounds to me,” Celestia whispers, raising her head enough so Luna can get hers under, “that your opinion of him is rising.”

“Hush,” Luna snaps back, though without vitriol. She smiles as she closes her eyes, her stallion’s soothing motion and the warmth of her Sister’s breath lulling her to a pleasant rest. “We hath been delinquent in our duties for too long this night.”

Ch. 55 - Cheap Construction, Part One

April 7th, 1001 Domina Solaria

On the other side of the continent, in the rural farming town of Ponyville, in the main sorting barn of Sweet Apple Acres, sits a bleary-eyed colt and a much larger red stallion. Pomarbo rubs a brown hoof against his face, wishing the physical stimulation would wake him up where his rushed breakfast of apples and wheat bread did not. It’s not that he hates mornings like his older sister Applebaum, who sometimes needs a second bucket of water splashed in her face. Or loves them like Hedge, who feeds the rooster before he wakes up. Mornings just… aren’t terribly important.

He tries again to concentrate on the problem Uncle Big Mac posed him. In theory, it’s simple. They have some number of order forms, neatly laid out on the table. Each order needs some number of apples. Some apple trees are ripe while others ain’t. Which trees do you harvest to fill your orders?

In practice? It is anything but simple. And he loves that.

He has a map of the orchards, a giant grid showing all their trees with annotations in pencil or charcoal or whatever happened to be on hoof at the time. Some - well, most - of the notes are out of date, and you just have to remember which ones are still good. They fill the margins, and the spaces in between groups of trees, and absolutely anywhere you could think to write except the table underneath. They tell a story of how every tree is doing and has done: which ones are yielding less from pests, which ones are doing better and whose seeds should be planted elsewhere, which ones should be uprooted and turned into crates.

The map is a closely guarded secret, but only from Twilight Sparkle. Because if she saw it? There is an extremely high probability that she would start Twilighting and do her absolute best to fix a problem that isn’t there. Probably with an excess of color-coded sticky notes and matching filing system. It’s the same reason Daddy doesn’t let her in his weather office any more, which irks her to no end.

“Remember, Po,” Big Mac gently encourages as Pomarbo purses his muzzle and stares at the page. “Sometimes it helps to write down the steps.”

“Ah know,” Pomarbo fumbles out, dragging the order forms closer. His mind keeps wandering, thinking about what happened yesterday, and that made it hard to sleep last night. Most days he could keep all the numbers straight in his head, of how many Red Delicious they needed, how many Granny Smiths. He dutifully totals each up, jotting the number on the back of an old order form. That part isn’t hard, it’s picking a path through the orchards that minimizes travel and doesn’t over- or under- load the cart.

He growls as he studies the map. No quick solutions jump out at him, which means he’ll need to work piecemeal. Or have a lot of excess harvest, which means crating the apples for an extra day or two. And Granny Smith - really Great-Granny Smith, but she looks at you funny if you call her that - strongly dislikes selling anything Sweet Apple Acres that isn’t as premium as it could be.

“Keep at it,” Big Mac says with his friendly, carefree smile. “You can do it.”

“Ah am,” Pomarbo groans, setting down his pencil to rub at his temples. “It’s easier when Daddy’s doin’ his weathercraftin’.”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac says, pausing as he taps his chin. “That’s ‘cause your sire ain’t makin’ you do all the work. He’s helpin’ ya when ya get stuck. Unlike me.” He proudly taps a hoof against his yoked chest. “Ah’m makin’ sure it sticks by not helpin’. ‘Cause someday you’ll be the one standin’ where Ah am, and there won’t be nopony to hold your hoof.”

“...Eeyup,” Pomarbo concedes with a sigh. But not just because it’s a grim reminder that someday Big Mac will be as old and frail as Granny Smith, unable to help out as much as he does now. But because the other prime harvesting member of their family is markedly absent. Big Mac returned from Canterlot yesterday - not that he minded that at all. The apples didn’t stop on account’a some tragedy, so neither could the Apples.

“H-hey, Big Mac?” Pomarbo asks, chancing a peek from the map.

“Eeyup?” Big Mac grunts, having started going through his own problem of picking McIntosh and Red Delicious trees for the upcoming cider season.

Pomarbo stares at his uncle with wide, trembling eyes, the corners just starting to wet. “Y-ya don’t think anythin’ bad is gonna happen to Applejack, do ya?”

Big Mac drops down to ponyloaf next to Pomarbo, but the massive earth pony still dwarfs the three-year-old colt. He easily reaches a foreleg all the way around, hugging him tight. “Your dam is strong,” he says, hoof getting lost as he ruffles the green streaks in the colt’s red mane. “She’s so strong, she’s there supportin’ the Princesses. So don’t ya worry, they’ll be back ‘fore ya know it.”

“Eeyup,” Pomarbo echoes with a bit of a moan. He maneuvers his way around the well-worn yoke to rest his head against the thick, muscled barrel. “Ah still miss her.”

“Eeyup. We all do.” Big Mac laughs, ribbing the much smaller pony with a gentle nudge and twinkling smirk. “Hay, she’s probably on her way home right now!”

Pomarbo loves the gentle rumble of his uncle’s chuckle, and even the worried tremble that you couldn’t detect unless you’d heard the stoic stallion laugh before. He snuggles even closer, sniffling despite himself.

“Ah remember,” Big Mac continues with a forlorn twinkle in his eye, staring off into the distance. “There'd be times when Applejack would haf’ta leave on an all-day pie delivery out to the swamps. Ah’d be workin’ the fields, or the orchards, and forget where she was for just a moment. Ah’d be worried stiff, so bad Ah could barely even pull a plow. Even after Ah remembered where she was, and what she was doin’, that didn’t stop me from wishin’ she was at mah side. But she came home, every time, and me worryin’ didn’t make her any safer.”

“Eeyup.” Pomarbo sighs, as deep as a young colt can. He glances outside at the morning sun, just starting to peek out from the horizon and staining the sky with brilliant reds, then up at his uncle. “Do…”

Big Mac glances down at the colt at his side, curious.

Pomarbo gulps nervously. “Do ya ever wish ya had somepony... other than Applejack at your side?”

Big Mac goes silent, suddenly finding the wall considerably more interesting than it has any right to be.

“Sorry,” Pomarbo apologizes, his head bowing. “Ah didn’t mean ta pry.”

“No, it ain’t that,” Big Mac says, again losing his hoof in the mane such a similar color to his coat. He grins mischievously. “Ah imagine you’re just askin’ ‘cause you got somefilly you’re a mite curious about yourself.”

Pomarbo stares blankly at his uncle. “Huh?”

“Ya know,” Big Mac says, thoughts of teasing his nephew dissipating as he registers the baffled expression. “Filthy Rich’s filly. Weren’t ya hangin’ out with her all’a yesterday?”

“Eeyup,” Pomarbo answers, still dumbfounded. “We got the walkways up.” His face suddenly lights up with a bright smile. “We used the pattern Ah drew, too!”

Big Mac can only watch with a bemused expression as Pomarbo leaps from his hooves to grab a spare piece of paper and a drafting pencil. The sketch materializes quickly, a hexagonal room with doors labeled at the center of every wall. Then a second hexagon, inscribed inside the first and running from each door to their adjacent doors, with lines leading from each door to the center.

“Impressive,” Big Mac says as Pomarbo begins filling in details like the distance from each door to the next and the size of the room. His smile doesn’t fade. “And how was it workin’ with Miss Tiara?”

“DT?” Pomarbo ponders for a second, then shrugs. “Was fine, Ah guess. She’s real good at gettin’ ponies to do what she wants.” He shudders. “Scary good. Like, Apple Bloom kept wantin’ to bring in more crates of apples, and Scoots kept buildin’ ramps with ‘em. So she got ‘em decoratin’ the walkways so you could see ‘em when you’re walkin’ down.”

“And?” Big Mac prompts, though he gets nothing in return. “Does she make ya want to keep workin’ with her?”

“Um,” Pomarbo stalls, shrugging again. “Sure? Ah guess Ah would.” He goes back to his sketch, then after a moment remarks, “She smells nice.”

“Heh,” Big Mac chuckles, going back to the map and the rows and rows of apple trees. “S’important.” He taps at the order sheets. “Now, back to work.”

“Eeyup,” Pomarbo answers, again putting his muzzle to the grindstone. After a few seconds’ thought he looks back up with a cheeky grin. “Ya never answered mah question.”

A nervous look comes over Big Mac as he thinks back to what other mares he might like keeping him company on the farm. “Oh, well, um-”

A light knock comes at the door.

“Already!?” exclaims Pomarbo, scrambling away from the table and racing to the door. “Ah knew it!”

Big Mac breathes a heavy sigh of relief, wiping away a bead of sweat.

Pomarbo flings open the door with a wide smile, grinning up at-

A light pink young mare stands in the doorway, her purple mane styled to best display the pure white streak and blue tiara. Her tail is similarly fashioned, though in a wavy ponytail. She has a light sheen across her coat, reflecting the morning light with little sparkles.

“Oh,” he states, disappointed. “You’re not Applejack.”

Diamond Tiara’s confident smile disappears as he goes to shut the door in her face. “Wait!” she calls, sticking her hoof in the way and blocking it. She forces her smile back as he tentatively opens the door back up, revealing Silver Spoon standing next to her.

“Silver Spoon just got back from helping Daddy in Canterlot,” Diamond Tiara explains, motioning to her sister. “And we were wondering if you were busy?”

The silver young mare dips her face to peer over her blue-rimmed glasses at the colt, then gives Diamond Tiara a pointed look.

“Um,” Pomarbo says, glancing back at the table with the day’s routes still waiting to be planned. “Ah’d sure like to, but right now, Ah’m-”

“Eenope,” Big Mac interrupts as he trots over, that mischievous smile of his having returned. “Don’t worry ‘bout finishin’ those up. Y’all just run along, now, an’ have fun. But not too much fun.”

“But Uncle Big Mac,” Pomarbo says with just the slightest hint of a whine. “Ah’ve gotta finish up those routes!”

Big Mac glances between Pomarbo and Diamond Tiara, then at Silver Spoon. He manages to hold in his sigh, vowing to explain to the colt that there are more important things in life than saving them a trip during harvest.

“It’s quite alright, Mister McIntosh,” Diamond Tiara says as she lets herself in. She looks around at the empty crates lining the walls of the barn, waiting to be filled. “We don’t mind waiting. I’ve always been fascinated by what y’all do here. It must take a lot of hard work to harvest so many apples!”

“Really,” Silver Spoon deadpans as she follows Diamond Tiara inside. She stares at her sister when Diamond Tiara turns her head and stretches her smile a little wider. “Always?”

“Oh?” Pomarbo says, shying away slightly. He looks at Big Mac for help, but the stallion has already busied himself with his own work. He catches a glimpse of a wink, gulping as he leads Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon to his table and map. “Ah mean, it does. Ya wanna, um, take a look?”

“Sure!” Diamond Tiara happily exclaims, trotting alongside him. Silver Spoon follows at a distance.

“Well, this is it,” Pomarbo says as he waves a hoof over the map. He motions at the order forms showing what apples they need to harvest that day. “Helps plan what work we’re gonna do.”

“Daddy has something like this, except his is less visual and more of a spreadsheet,” Diamond Tiara explains, her voice rising haughtily like her dam’s before she tamps it back to a more pleasant tone. “N-not that your method doesn’t work for you!” She flutters her eyelashes, then reaches over to tap one of the trees, managing to brush against Pomarbo’s hoof while doing so. “And what is that?”

“A-an apple tree.” Pomarbo leans forward, squinting to make out the small text. He grunts at himself; he should have this memorized! “McIntosh, so if Dam gets back then we’ll get a head start on our cider harvest.”

“I love cider,” Diamond Tiara purrs lasciviously, snuggling a little closer. On the other side, a good body length away and certainly not touching the colt, Silver Spoon rolls her eyes.

Ch. 56 - Cheap Construction, Part Two

“And that’s the route Uncle Big Mac’ll take to get around the orchards,” Pomarbo explains, having finished his explanation and subsequent demonstration of how he figures out the most efficient route. His grin wavers slightly. “Um, Ah normally don’t take so long to figure it out.”

“I thought it was very fast,” Diamond Tiara purrs, dipping down to give the colt a playful nuzzle to the back of his mane. He tenses, glancing back at the intimate intrusion normally reserved for his parents or sisters. “Still,” she compliments without moving from the spot, “it’s impressive that you can do it without a cutie mark!”

“Y-yeah!” Pomarbo straightens up, squaring his shoulders. Even so, he barely comes up to the young mare’s barrel, much less her withers. “Ah have to study a lot. But at least it’s fun!” He grins again. “Hey, you want to see it in action? Normally Ah just help Big Mac with the baskets because, um…”

The colt trails off, rubbing at the back of his head. He chances a peek at Big Mac, who merely returns the look with a steady gaze. Pomarbo sighs, knowing it’s both his secret to spill and also something vitally important, which makes it all the harder to share.

Diamond Tiara waits patiently, her dam’s training helping her keep from blurting out and demanding an explanation. She knows most foals at earth pony farms start helping out at a young age, and Sweet Apple Acres is no exception. Yet, more than once Apple Bloom had complained about the rigors they put her through. The pit in her gut dreads a similar outcome.

A faint clop of hooves outside precedes the barn doors bursting open.

Pomarbo’s expression brightens like the mid-morning sun outside as he identifies the hatted silhouette. He fumbles out a quick, “‘Scuse me,” to Diamond Tiara as he races out from under her and leaps into the waiting orange hooves.

“Hey, ‘Bo!” Applejack exclaims as she adeptly catches the speeding bullet and wraps her colt in a tight, one-legged hug. Her already broad smile stretches even farther across her muzzle, relishing every moment as she nuzzles deeply into his mane.

“You’re home!” Pomabro can hardly keep still, struggling against the leg holding him in place to try to get a better look, as if she might disappear from his sight if he doesn’t keep a constant watch. “See?” He grins as he turns to Big Mac, who approaches with a fond smile of his own. “Ah knew ya’d come home!” He nods confidently. “Ah wasn’t worried at all!”

“Now, Pomarbo,” Applejack says patiently, fixing Pomarbo with a gentle stare. “What have Ah told ya ‘bout stretchin’ the truth?”

“Okay,” Pomarbo says with a long sigh, collapsing back into his dam’s embrace. “Ah was a little worried.” He holds his hooves up, barely as space between them. “But just a little!” He snuggles into her chest, loving the rumble of her chuckle.

Now that they are alone, Silver Spoon corners Diamond Tiara. “I know what you’re doing,” she says in a hushed undertone.

“Who, me?” Diamond Tiara says innocently, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Cut the grass,” Silver Spoon spits out. “You’re only interested in him because his sire is with the Princesses.”

Diamond Tiara gasps at the insinuation. “That’s not true at all!”

“Really?” Silver Spoon deadpans, staring at her sister. “Then why’d you only show interest in him now?”

“Well,” Diamond Tiara hedges haughtily, losing her earlier offended tone and returning to her more calculating self. “Because somepony less scrupulous might move in if it isn’t made clear that he is mine. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you? Besides.” She motions to the map. “Maybe he won’t be as bad as the rest of the colts in our class.”

Silver Spoon growls as she tries to think of an exception. Except she can’t; the only other candidates are ponies with whom she has barely spent any time outside of school. Whose agrarian backgrounds mean they would have little chance with a pony as pedigreed as her or her illustrious sister. She scoffs. “I just don’t want to see him hurt.”

“Good,” Diamond Tiara says with a curt nod. “I don’t either.” She shoots Silver Spoon a sly wink. “But if you’re still worried, then maybe you should hang out with us today.”

“Help harvest?” Silver Spoon pulls back slightly, looking Diamond Tiara up and down. “Who are you and what did you do to my sister?”

“They made those kinds of impersonations illegal,” Diamond Tiara says with a confident nod. “You’d have to tell me if you weren’t actually Silver Spoon, just like I would need to make clear that I’m not Diamond Tiara. But I am.” She swipes a hoof across her face as she breathes out, losing her haughty look and again smiling innocently at the three Apples.

“Sure is good to be back,” Applejack remarks to Big Mac, trading a friendly nuzzle with her brother.

“Eeyup,” Big Mac rumbles.

“Ah’ll tell y’all more ‘bout it once we got the fam’ all together,” Applejack continues. “But ‘Baum was sleepin’ in, an’ Bloom said somethin’ ‘bout meetin’ up with Sweetie Belle before she raced off ta town.” She takes a deep breath, her nostrils crinkling at an unfamiliar smell. She peers around the barn. “Anythin’ happen while Ah was gone?”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac says with a mischievous grin. He covertly flicks his mane at the two young mares standing at the work table. Applejack peers over, her eyes narrowing at the sight.

It’s not that it surprises her; the opportunistic Rich family has been on her mind many a time over the years, especially after the stunt Spoiled Rich pulled when the ponies tried to get Doug run out of town. She’s glad they never held anything against her fillies, or anypony in the herd, and their relationship has grown more cordial over the years. Plus, Filthy Rich has always been helpful, especially when he can expand his own business while doing so. It makes her wary, if only slightly.

“Come on, Mama!” Pomarbo says as he pulls away, Applejack reluctantly letting him go. He scampers over to join a beaming Diamond Tiara and an impassive Silver Spoon. “Ah got the day’s trips all planned out!”

Big Mac might have moved, except the orange mare in front of him demands answers with such rapidity he has to double check that there ain’t a ‘kerchief camouflaged against her coat. He answers in low, hushed tones that get the three young ponies to cock their heads curiously, unable to make out the questions.

“‘Bo and Diamond Tiara?”

“Eeyup.”

“My colt and Filthy Rich’s filly?”

“Eeyup.”

“Ain’t he a bit young?”

Big Mac snorts. “Eeyup.”

“An’ he’s got no clue what she’s up to?”

“Eeyup.” Big Mac draws in a little closer, confiding, “Ya might need to explain some things to him.”

Applejack chuckles mirthfully, shaking her head. “Ah’ll pass that along to Doug. Colt to colt.”

Big Mac winks. “Eeyup.”

“Hmm.” Applejack puzzles for a moment. “This happen the day we left?”

“Eeyup.”

“No funny business?”

“Eeyup.”

“Mm.” Applejack peers at the three youngsters. It’s not that she can’t find reasons to object; yes, he doesn’t have his cutie mark yet, but the innocently smiling young mare certainly knows how far she can push their relationship. And if they become friends, like Bloom and the rest of the Crusaders did?

“He seems happy enough.”

“Eeyup.”

“Well, shoot, Ah don’t see the harm in it.” Applejack and Big Mac approach the three young ponies, her ebullient attitude drawing curious looks. She confides, “Ah think this calls for a celebration.”

“You do?” Diamond Tiara says, taken aback at first. She quickly covers herself with a broad smile.

“For what?” Pomarbo asks, befuddled as he looks between Diamond Tiara and Applejack.

“Well, ya know,” Applejack says, taking far more pleasure in the colt’s confusion than she probably should. “The safe return of the Princesses. The papers should be comin’ out with the whole story, ‘bout what happened down in Klugetown, and Ah can tell ya more as we work. But Ah was thinkin’, ya know what would really lift Ponyville’s spirits more than a story in a paper?”

“What?” Diamond Tiara asks eagerly. She thinks she knows, but wants to hear it regardless.

“Ah was thinkin’,” Applejack says, stalling much to the other ponies’ consternation. “What about openin’ up cider season early?”

“Cider?!” Diamond Tiara cheers, tapping a rapid beat against the floor. Silver Spoon can’t help but join in, the delicious beverage a welcome staple at the Rich manor. And it would be fresh!

“Ee-nope,” Big Mac objects, shaking his head.

“What?” Applejack says, alarmed, turning to stare at her brother. “We got the apples planted for it, an’ Ah’m sure everypony would line up to get a taste.”

“Did somepony say cider?” Rainbow Dash asks as she swoops inside the open barn.

“It ain’t made yet,” Big Mac says, ignoring Rainbow Dash as she lands next to Applejack with a pleading look in her eye. “You know we always have trouble makin’ enough on the spot for everypony. This’ll just invite trouble, goin’ before we’re ready.”

“You might run out!?” Rainbow Dash exclaims, gasping as her hooves stretch her mouth wide. “I’d better get to the front of the line before Pinkie Pie gets there!”

“Rainbow Dash!” Applejack shouts at the rainbow contrail left behind the pegasus. She huffs, turning to Big Mac. “You’re right, we’d need to make it as we go. But we can do that, can’t we?”

Big Mac sighs. “Did ya run it by Granny first?”

“No,” Applejack admits, kicking at the floor. “But Ah can’t see her sayin’ no.”

“OH, COME ON!!”

Applejack and Big Mac glance outside at the loud shout. After a moment, a sheepish Rainbow Dash slinks back inside.

“She beat me,” Rainbow Dash mourns, slumping down and softly crying into the floor. “I don’t know how, but she beat me.”

“Good,” Applejack says with a fierce smile, drawing a confused and hurt look from Rainbow Dash. “Because we’ll need ya helpin’ make the cider.”

“Awww. Oh. Oh!” Rainbow Dash leaps up, grinning like nothing happened. “And you always reserve plenty of cider for your helpers!” She nods furiously, as though enough enthusiasm on her part would make up for any uncertainty on Applejack’s.

“That’s right,” Applejack confirms. She turns to Diamond Tiara, Silver Spoon, and Pomarbo. “We’ll need all the help we can get if we’re gonna pull this off. You in?”

“Sure!” the three chorus.

Applejack smiles. “Well, we’ll need to let everypony know. Think y’all can go through town and spread the word?”

“You got it!”

Applejack chuckles as the three race out of the barn, Pomarbo’s legs spinning wildly as he struggles to keep up. “Dash, go with Big Mac and help get the equipment set up. Ah’m sure you remember where it is and how it goes.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Rainbow Dash exclaims, saluting before zooming out of the barn.

“Ah’ll go confirm with Granny Smith and round up the others.” Applejack pulls off her hat, fanning herself briefly. “Hoo-whee, this little shindig’ll be more fun’n when Twilight’n Trixie joined the herd!” Her face lights up. “Ah wonder if we have enough Zap Apples for pies!”

“Did somepony say pies?” Pinkie Pie asks as she strides into the barn, two dozen empty cider mugs haphazardly balancing on her back.

Ch. 57 - Cheap Construction, Part Three

“Alright, everypony, that’s our first one done!”

With a mighty tap Scootaloo slaps a lid onto the first of many wooden barrels; hay, they might need to start reusing them judging by the cartloads of apples Pinkie Pie and Trixie will be bringing in to Granny Smith, Rarity, and a still-sullen Sweetie Belle.

The energetic pegasus kicks the barrel over and leaps on top, riding the short distance like it’s a rodeo - or Rainbow Dash making her practice agility by rafting down the Ponyville River and doing her best to not get dunked. Her wings buzz for both speed and balance, propelling her up the short ramp and onto the serving table as deftly as if it was her trusty scooter. With one smooth motion she rights the barrel as she flips off, gliding to bring around the next one as soon as the spurting spigot fills it up.

A joyous cheer goes up from the long line of ponies stretching from Sweet Apple Acres practically all the way to Ponyville. Lemon jams in a faucet and turns to Spoiled Rich and Silver Set with a wide grin. The silver mare deposits a short stack of ten bits in their open coffer, enough for their whole herd to each get a mug of their own.

Well, for those who aren’t helping out. Hedge, Pomarbo, Diamond Tiara, and Silver Spoon have the least arduous job of everypony involved: unloading the full baskets from carts laden high with red and green McIntosh apples or their more popular Red Delicious, dumping them out for the sorters, and refilling the carts with the newly emptied baskets. The scion of the Rich family can’t help but grumble at not getting her preferred position of overseeing everypony and making sure everypony’s efforts are balanced, but Pomarbo wanted to work with apples. Starlight Glimmer and Meringue gauge each of them instead, ready to supplement or reshuffle as needed.

Apple Bloom and Applebaum pair up with Applejack and Big Mac, moving baskets around while the older ponies buck ‘em down. Fluttershy and Twilight help on the orchard end by loading up the carts, putting their wings to use while every horn stays unlit. On the other end of the operation Doug and Rainbow Dash power the grinder, jogging a pace on the treadmill that they could keep up for hours. And that’s quickly looking to be how long it will take to make enough cider to give everypony a mug, hardly enough to quench their evident thirst.

At least there’s plenty of distractions for the ponies in line. If watching the Apples perform their labor of love isn’t enough, there’s the growing speculation about why the stallion of the herd has a full-sized Celestial crest tattooed across his glistening torso, or the Lunar symbol on his back. Or what the two diarchs are doing at the stand besides providing security with their mere presence. Trixie pops out from time to time to dazzle those nearby with a few quick sleight-of-hoof tricks, leaving them while she makes another apple-laden trip to argue about how exactly she made the Princess of Moons appear at multiple points in the deck. Or deciding between Pinkie Pie’s fully stocked pie cart and the Filly Guide cookie salesfillies as to which to pair with their cider. Or, to the regret of many a future-pone, why not both?

The line starts shifting as ponies receive their mugs, the trickle of cider turning to a steady flow. More and more ponies depart with stupefied expressions of pure delight, and soon enough the first chest is full of bits and needs to be swapped out.

“Thanks, y’all,” Applejack says to the herd as they take their first break after about an hour. “Ah was real worried ‘bout gettin’ enough cider for everypony, and with your help Ah think we’re gonna get it done!”

“Of course we’re gonna get it done!” Rainbow Dash echoes from her position on the treadmill, still keeping pace with Doug. She grins, casually flipping some of the sweat from her prismatic mane. “We’d never leave ya hanging!”

“Indeed,” Rarity says as she stretches, a large pile of ‘lovely’ apples behind her and awaiting their turn at the grinder. She gives a long, forlorn look to the line of ponies still waiting their turn, many of whom are likely going for seconds. “I only wish I could drum up this sort of business at Carousel on a whim. Ponies sure love their apples!”

“Got that right,” Pinkie Pie agrees, exuberantly bouncing back and forth as if dragging a full cart is no more tiring than her normal activities. “Apple pies, apple fritters, apple cider. It’s like anything your hoof touches turns to gold!”

“-en Delicious,” Fluttershy jokes in a quiet voice, the others chuckling along. They’ve started to run low on their main cider varieties, at least with enough set aside for their other contracts, and branched out to others that they have extra of.

“Inefficiencies detected.”

Meringue’s high-pitched growl deflates some of their enthusiasm, heads turning to the small yellow filly and a clipboard-wielding Starlight Glimmer.

“On our break?” Applejack asks, raising an eyebrow.

Meringue shakes her head, her cream mane shaking back and forth like strands of licorice.

“Insufficient supply. Must construct additional py… presses.”

The ponies look around. It’s true; their backlog is on the pressing wheel, only able to handle a certain number of apples flowing inside, at least without exhausting their runners. It’s also why Rainbow Dash and Doug are still working through their break, the only other still on duty the inexhaustible Lemon. And, technically, the two Princesses, though their duty of ‘guarding’ the cash box while sipping on cider barely qualifies.

“Y-yeah,” Applejack concedes, though hesitantly. She frowns as she looks at their press, then at the vast number of trees still able to be harvested. “Ah guess we could do that.”

“Really?” Rarity questions, the slight cock of her head to the side conveying her disapproval more than her words. “This has been a fun diversion, darling, but would it really be worth the effort?”

“If effort is what you’re worried about,” Twilight Sparkle starts, a certain glint in her eye that Applejack immediately recognizes.

“Nnope,” she cuts in, putting an abrupt stop to whatever plan Twilight is concocting.

“But-” Twilight starts.

“Ee-nope,” Big Mac echoes with a curt shake of his head.

“What if-” Twilight gamely tries again, her growing frustration briefly visible.

“Yer a Tartarus-bound foal if ya think we’d go along with some spur-of-the-moment plan,” Granny Smith spits out, much to Twilight’s consternation. “This is how we Apples have done things, and we ain’t gonna be changin’ that just to get a couple more barrels made a couple minutes sooner.”

“Fine,” Twilight says, stoically holding back her tears. “I’ll…”

Her words catch in her throat, then a sniffle before she regains her composure. “I’ll just keep my ideas to myself.” She turns, taking a few steps before laying ponyloaf, facing away from everypony else.

“Scoots, take over,” Doug commands, hopping off the treadmill. Rainbow Dash yelps as she picks up her pace until the smaller pegasus joins her. “Bloom, you get the barrels.”

“Okay,” Apple Bloom says quietly, her ears folded back. She doesn’t care for how her family told off Twilight, and is glad Doug is walking over to the despondent alicorn. After all, it is their farm, and the others are just exchanging worried glances.

“Hey,” Doug consoles as he sits next to Twilight’s crumpled form. He runs a hand through her mane, prompting her to rest her head against his leg. “You were just trying to help.”

All she trusts herself to do is nod, and chance a peek at Applejack. The orange mare does look remorseful, a quiver to her muzzle she mostly controls.

“What was your idea?” Doug asks, even as he knows Applejack won’t appreciate it. The snort from his lead mare confirms his suspicion.

“If it’s some horn-brained-”

“-Applejack,” Doug cuts in, his stern glare directed squarely at her.

Applejack huffs. “Fine. What brilliant idea did your amazing alicorn brain come up with?”

“Applejack.” Doug doubles down, his harsh tone enough to get her ears to fold back.

“N-no,” Twilight apologizes, pacifying Doug with a hoof against his leg. “She’s right. It wasn’t a fully thought-out plan. It would have been a come-to-life spell on the grinder, or the treadmill. Make it spin on its own.”

“Oh. Yeah, that goes bad real quick.” Doug gulps, giving his lead mare a conciliatory smile. “Like, the wheel breaks loose and rampages through the orchards. Or the town. Or the long, long line of bowling pins on the way to the town.”

Twilight forces a smile as Applejack approaches, the two trading nuzzles to show no hard feelings. “Exactly. I just thought I saw a way to make your job easier, and didn’t fully think it through.”

Applejack sighs. “That’s true, but maybe you’re right. Ah’m real grateful for y’all steppin’ up an’ helpin’ out, but it ain’t somethin’ Ah’d want to make a habit of. Doug’n Big Mac takin’ turns on the press has worked out for us before. We’ll just need ta make sure to have enough barrels made beforehoof, though it’s hard with so many hours before it ain’t fresh cider any more.”

“And ya best not be thinkin’ bout sellin’ cider that ain’t fresh on Fresh Cider Day,” Granny Smith cautions with a decisive shake of her shakin’ hoof. “That’s how we’s done things here at Sweet Apple Acres since Ah was a lil’ filly, and that’s how we’s gonna keep doin’ ‘em!”

“Granny’s right,” Applejack says with a broad, if slightly regretful smile. “Ponies come to Sweet Apple Acres ‘cause we promise quality, and quality takes time. No sense in rushin’ if it ain’t gonna be as good.”

Applejack smiles as the gathered mares stomp their approval, only to cock an ear as an unexpected noise slowly grows louder. At the far end of the line ponies are turning around, watching with piqued curiosity something cresting the hills at somewhere between a fast trot and a slow gallop.

“What in Equestria is that?” she demands from nopony in particular. Rainbow Dash flies up to take a look, abandoning Scootaloo and forcing her filly to leap off the treadmill. Everypony slowly creeps forward to get a better look; Doug stands at the fence, everyfilly of his climbing up to get a better view.

Puffs of smoke periodically burst upward from dual smokestacks at the back end of the bright red vehicle, half a dozen other gizmos and gadgets running to various wooden barrels and oversized glass beakers. The front end has a cowpusher, then a lectern and couch, and a large yellow funnel on one side. And there, sitting in the middle, are a pair of yellow unicorns with bright red manes with white stripes. They snap their blue and white striped vests with aplomb, grinning at everypony watching them drive by.

“Ah should have known,” Applejack spits out as the vehicle comes to a stop, knocking down a section of fence. Doug is barely able to hop back, staring slack-jawed. “Hello, cousin Flim and Flam.”

“Cousin Applejack!” the mustached unicorn exclaims, his twin brother sharing the same suave smile. “Surprise! You’ve got… opportunity!”

Ch. 58 - Cheap Construction, Part Four

Among the gauges and gadgets slapdashed onto the refurbished train engine must be a trombone, xylophone, and a full set of timpani. Either that or the heaves and wheezes of the mechanical marvel perfectly mimic the sort of musical accompaniment that would make Pinkie Pie proud; it beats along with the head bobbing and leg tapping of Flim and Flam as they gear up for some sort of melodic presentation.

The clean-shaven one, presumably Flim based on Applejack’s greeting, bounds over to Lyra, the next Ponyvillian in line, as he bursts into song.

“~Now, lookie what we got here, brother of mine! It’s the same in every town!
Ponies with thirsty throats, dry tongues, and not a drop of cider to be found!~”

Bon Bon, the previous first pony in line, takes a wary look at the frothy mug of cider Lemon just poured her and ever-so-slowly slips it behind her and out of sight of her roommate. Lyra, meanwhile, is subjected to Flim cracking her mouth open, peering inside to confirm that there really is no cider lurking around, and leaving her to pant with her tongue hanging out while he dances to the next pony in line.

“Here ya go!” Lemon calls as she pours another mug, but to no avail; Lyra, like many of the others in line, is completely focused on the salesunicorns as they bandy about. Even Celestia seems swept up in the ferver, if restrained as a Princess should; her head bobs minutely along, a faint smile not quite hidden behind an impassive facade.

“~Maybe they’re not aware that there’s really no need for this teary despair!~”

“~That the key that they need to solve this sad cider shortage you and I will share~!”

“Cider shortage?!” Applejack exclaims as Flam motions to the vehicle with a wide sweep of his leg. “Now hold up, y’all!”

Ponies slowly make their way forward, abandoning their places in line to get a better view of the contraption on display. Even Rainbow Dash hovers above the crowd and slowly draws closer. She wouldn’t want to make Applejack angry, of course, but finds the idea of extra cider - especially an unlimited amount! - quite intriguing.

A murmur slowly grows among the crowd, the whispers of ‘Cider?’ quickly turning toward muted exclamations and barely-curtailed enthusiasm. As it gets louder it morphs into a chant, a metronome of sorts keeping a pace as quick as the brothers’ song. It ebbs and flows with the lyrics; any time the two finish a verse it redoubles, only to fade into the background as they start their assurances anew.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Doug calls, attempting to interrupt the song by leaping over the fence and pointing at the vehicle. “Forget the cider! You drove this?”

His interruption is to no avail; ponies gasp at the thought of giving up promises of cider as the Flim Flam brothers burst into their chorus.

“~You’ve got opportunity
In this very community!
He’s Flim!
He’s Flam!
Travelling salesponies nonpareil!~”

“Nonpa-what?” Pinkie Pie asks, walking up to the other side of the fence from Doug. She looks confused, though by no means the only one their whirlwind presentation is blowing by.

“Unparalleled,” Doug answers absentmindedly, still stunned by the fact that the two unicorns drove here. Flim bandies past him, singing.

“~Nonpareil, and that’s exactly the reason why, you see.
No pony else in this whole place will give you the chance to be where you need to be.
And that’s a new world, with tons of cider!
Fresh squeezed and ready for drinking!~”

“~More cider than you could drink in all your days of thinking!~”

“Wait just a dog-gone second!” Applejack shouts as Flim and Flam dance about on two legs. “There ain’t no cider shortage here! We were takin’ a break an’ lettin’ our grinder get caught up with the rest of us!”

Applejack points at Rainbow Dash, who has the good sense to look skeptical of the Flim Flam Brother’s claims. Or perhaps just their last one about having too much cider. And then at Doug, who has given up trying to interrupt and is inspecting the wheels and axles of the vehicle.

“~A bold claim! Wouldn’t you agree, sister?~”

Flim sings back, sauntering over to the cider stand. He flashes Celestia a winning smile as he passes her; she returns a mirthful yet curtailed nod. The familiarity with which he treats the Princess enhances his image in the eyes of the ponies, more than a few unicorn mares eyeing the split-apple adorned flanks.

“~But any whorse can make a claim, and any pony can do the same!~”

“Excuse me?” Applejack spits out, staring down the unapologetic unicorn.

“We,” Flim starts, less singing and more talking rapidly, “the Flim Flam brothers, hereby do solemnly swear that we can produce as much, if not more, cider with the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000! And we’ll do it without the whole kingdom of Canterlot helping!”

Applejack’s muzzle purses to a thin line. It’s not that they have the whole kingdom helping, either. And the two ponies they have from Canterlot aren’t helping all that much; in fact, she doubts she could have demanded (or possibly even accepted) help from the Princesses. Except Twilight is working, but she still has trouble thinking of the somewhat recently minted alicorn as a princess.

Flim must have detected Applejack’s thoughts from the way she glances at each of the ponies in question, then at the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000. He launches back into song.

“~I suppose by now you’re wondering about our peculiar mode of transport.~”

“~I say, our mode of locomotion!~”

Applejack groans as Flam joins in, rubbing at her head. “Doug, any help?”

“It’s either ingenious or insane,” Doug says from underneath the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000. He’s recovered enough to keep some of his wits about him as Flim and Flam keep edging the crowd onward. He explains, “It looks like they sawed off the front half of a train engine and mounted it onto an improvised chassis. Can’t tell you more without opening it up.”

Twilight Sparkle walks up, horn lit and eyes shining a blinding white. “Nothing terribly out of the ordinary. Lightweight thaumic reactor, organic feed with some spare coal, that powers both the drivetrain and kinetic effects. It’s currently on manual power, which means they charge it with their horn to do anything. And then there’s an absolute mess of spells, only about a third of which appear necessary, that trigger when-”

“-A proprietary mess of spells!” Flim interrupts, sidling next to Twilight and wrapping a hoof around her barrel. “That a Princess of the realm surely wouldn’t want to unfairly expose to any number of potential competitors, yes?”

Twilight stops talking, glancing back with a slightly sheepish grin.

“Though I can’t say the curiosity is either unanticipated or unwelcome! In fact, dear Princess, would you prefer a sneak peak, or to see it in action?” Flim motions to a small side window that shows a glimpse of the inner workings: a conveyor belt, with a red and green light as well as a switch.

“A-action?” Twilight says with a cautious glance at Applejack. She can feel the anticipation growing inside her, a pressing need to see this contraption in action nearly as powerful as the otherponies’ lust for cider.

“What do you say, Apples?” Flim goads as he steps in front of Applejack. “Care to step into the modern world and put the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000 to the test?”

“Modern world?” Doug interjects before Applejack can respond. The orange pony fumes nonetheless. “You’re telling me that modern Equestria has complex machines like motors?”

“You’ve seen some of the more thaumically-based ones used in hospitals,” Rarity explains cautiously, careful not to draw Applejack’s ire. “X-rays, thaumic resonators, even some communications equipment. Though they tend to be more of a specialist’s gear than something widespread.”

“I’ve rebuilt a reactor like this-” Twilight motions to the back of the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000, “-as well as constructed a resonator from scratch. But thaumic equipment like this is a Nightmare to maintain. Um.” She glances at Luna, gulping, though the cobalt alicorn’s eyes merely narrow a fraction as she takes a sip of her cider. “If you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Doug’s hands writhe against each other, itching to get a hold of just about anything mechanical. He subconsciously finds Twilight’s head and scratches behind her ears as he continues staring at the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000. She finds the gesture pleasant, if a bit distracting; there are spells she needs to study! “I would absolutely love to see that in action, if not do it myself. Then, rather than manually pulling carts of apples, we could be driving a truck?”

“Sweet Apple Acres in particular,” Rarity covers as her lead mare growls, ”and Ponyville in general tend toward more… rustic methods for day-to-day life. The same is true of Equestria as a rule of hoof, though I foresee that changing in the future, if you catch my drift.”

Doug scratches at his chin, hiding his concern. Chrysalis had expressed interest in what he knew about airplanes; what other technological boundaries would she and her brood push? And does he feel comfortable giving up whatever secrets he knows, even if those secrets only consist that a certain concept is possible with a vague idea of how to implement it?

“Ya can’t forget,” Applejack retorts. She keeps most of the vitriol from her voice, but enough seeps through to void a barrel from their quality control. “This here farm’s ‘rustic methods’ are what keep our quality so high.” Behind her, Granny Smith nods along, proud her grandfilly is keeping with the Apple way of doing things. “Just ‘cause some newfangled way saves a few minutes’ time don’t mean it’s somethin’ worth doin’. Or won’t have unintended effects.”

Flim sings back, throwing Applejack a wink.

“~Then with impunity you decline this opportunity and leave the community in shambles?~”

“~That the only drink that they might sink is nettle wine from brambles?~”

Flam gives Applejack a teary-filled, mournful look, which is immediately copied by half the ponies waiting for their chance at imbibing the delicious, fresh-pressed Sweet Apple Acres cider. Even Berry Punch, whose blackberry wine has been a popular alternative, is distraught at the thought of not wetting her throat with the promised cider.

“Well, no, Ah ain’t sayin’ that,” Applejack says, taken aback slightly. She gulps as she scans the multitude of thirsty ponies and the chant that spontaneously springs up from them.

“~Please Flim, please Flam!
Help us out of this jam!
With your Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000!~”

“Young filly,” Flim charmingly implores of Applejack with a courting smile.

She’s taken aback by the appellation; after three foals, with a fourth on the way, she rarely thinks of herself as an eligible filly, a nubile mare who might catch a stallion’s eye. She blushes, smiling demurely, with a strong desire to pull her Stetson off and fan herself.

“I would be ever so honored if you might see fit to let my brother and I borrow some of your delicious, and might I add spellbindingly fragrant apples for our little demonstration here?”

“Uh,” Applejack says to Flim’s request, her tongue still tied. Normally it would be sixteen bits for a bushel of apples of their bumper crops, but price is the last thing on her mind. “Sure, Ah guess.” She turns to find her eldest filly. “Apple Bloom, kindly get our guests two bushels of apples for their test.”

“Um, okay,” Apple Bloom says, moving to Rarity’s ‘lovely’ pile and loading up a basket.

“Excuse me, Miss Apple Bloom,” Flim says with a wide grin as he comes up behind her. “It’s not that we don’t appreciate the fantastic effort that each and every one of you have put into picking out the freshest, most carefully hoof-selected fine ingredients. But for this to be a truly remarkable and demonstrative demonstration of the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000’s impressive capabilities, I do believe it would be more appropriate for us to use those apples.”

“You got it,” Apple Bloom says with an enthusiastic nod, scampering over to the cart laden with unsorted baskets of Granny Smith apples. She hauls four next to the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000, then gathers with everypony else to watch the magic.

“Watch closely, friends!”

Flim and Flam power up their horns, an apple green aura surrounding both the levers and knobs at their control booth. Beeps and whirrs emanate as the machine comes to life. A snake-like tube spills out from the side, the gray funnel aiming directly at the first basket. It vacuums up the apples with startling haste, greedily switching to the next as soon as the first is finished. The initial glut of apples from each basket stretches the pliable material, a bulge traveling down into the main body.

As soon as the last apple disappears down the gray gullet it turns to the nearest pony, and if it had been a bear they would swear it sniffs them, dipping down slightly and then creeping closer as if needing a second whiff. A flick of a switch, though, and it immediately retracts, slipping back into the machine.

“Now, here’s where the magic happens,” Flim explains as the first of the apples comes to the window. The conveyor pauses on each apple, one in ten failing the process and dropping off the side. The apples that pass continue on to parts unknown, but most likely the whirling barrel that spins at speeds the Apple’s treadmill couldn’t hope to match.

“Right here in this heaving, roiling, cider-press-boiling guts of the very machine! Those apples, plucked fresh, are right now as we speak being turned into grade-A, top-notch, five-star, blow-your-horseshoes-off, one-of-a-kind cider!”

The Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000 churns through the apples faster than Granny Smith working alone, matching not only the three ponies sorting but also Doug and Rainbow Dash on the grinder and Scootaloo on the barrels. With a satisfying *thud* a barrel drops out the bottom, catapulted with expert precision to land right next to the cider stand.

“Oh, dear,” Fluttershy whimpers, putting voice to the thoughts of many in the Apple herd.

“Honestly?” Doug and Applejack exchange nervous looks. He continues, “I’m more interested in the engine. Like, if we could automate some of the things around here, then-”

“Doug,” Applejack says curtly, cutting him off. “Ah’ve told ya before. Even if Ah sold ten times as many apples, if Ah didn’t get joy from doin’ it? Ah wouldn’t.” She takes a deep breath, the concession biting deep into her. “But, maybe we can start slow. See what works and what doesn’t.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Doug responds with a friendly smile, running his hand through her sweaty mane. She grins at his lack of concern over the sticky mess, pressing against his side as she feels her body quake. They watch as ponies crowd around the barrel, quickly getting riled up as they wait for Flim or somepony to slam a faucet in so they can get a taste.

Granny Smith steps forward, motioning first at Flim’s barrel and then the last remaining of their own, at least until they get the grinder running again. Her voice, harsh and high-pitched, sings out over the clamor of the crowd.

“~Now wait, you fellers, hold it! You went and over-sold it!
I guarantee that what you have there won’t compare!
For the very most important ingredient can’t be added or done expedient!
And it’s quality, friends, Apple Acres’ quality and care!~”

Flim grins as if he has been waiting for this moment the whole time.

“~Well, Granny, I’m glad you brought that up, my dear, I say I’m glad you brought that up.
You see that we are very picky when it comes to cider if you’ll kindly try a cup!~”

Granny Smith gulps as Lemon gingerly loads the barrel onto the table and fills up a cup. She takes it in a shaky hoof, staring at the amber liquid inside.

“Hey, wait a second,” Doug says, Granny Smith grateful for the interruption - at least until he keeps talking. “That’s not how you do a taste test. At least make it a blind test, preferably double blind.”

“A splendid suggestion, if I do say so myself,” Flim says with a chipper nod.

“And we certainly do say so,” Flam adds. “I dare say you won’t be able to taste the difference!”

“Unless,” Flim continues as Granny Smith hesitates. “You’re… chicken?”

“What did you call me, sonny?” Granny Smith growls. “That’s fine! We’ll beat you in any test, any time, any place!”

Doug looks over the crowd of ponies, each eager for even a sip. “Princess Celestia? Would you do the honors? Maybe a shot of each?”

“As you wish,” Princess Celestia replies. Her golden aura shrouds both barrels; two hundred shot glasses materialize out of the smoky haze, each tempered with a light sheen and emblazoned with a letter on the bottom. Amber liquid, nearly indistinguishable, fills each to the brim. Pairs of glasses dutifully float to every nearby pony and wait until they drink one, wash their mouth out with a swish of water Rainbow Dash and a few other pegasi bring down, and try the other.

Every member of the herd gets a taste, the barrel managing to stretch halfway through the crowd. Sounds of satisfied ponies surge, each now even more excited about seeing competition, or preferably cooperation, between the two cider makers.

Doug swishes the shots around in his mouth, testing the flavor. The first, emblazoned with an ’L’, has a sweet aftertaste that he prefers, and comes from the Golden Delicious they last used on the grinder. The second, with a ‘G’, has a bit more bite, characteristic of their tarter Granny Smith. The ones Flim and Flam used. He finds both mouthwatering, but in slightly different ways. And both came out as perfectly as the other.

Ch. 59 - Cheap Construction, Part Five

Pomarbo inches closer and closer to the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000. He stares up at the empty window and motionless conveyor belt, fascinated by the moving mechanisms hidden inside the thin metal plating. He reaches a hoof, stretching higher, as far up as he can go, even standing human-style on his back hooves! Yet he can’t even reach the bottom, much less the window that promises brief glimpses into the inner workings. Maybe he could climb up the spoked wheels, but there aren’t any hoofholds to get to where he needs to be to see what’s inside. His lip quivers as he sits back down, tears threatening to darken his brown coat. He glances at the young mare shadowing him.

Diamond Tiara’s focus stays on the dozens of ponies passionately debating the two cider choices. Their keen palates have come to the same conclusion as Doug, that glasses lettered A,C, E, I, L, N, P, R, S, and T contain sweet cider from the Apples, and any other letters means it is the sharper variety from Flim and Flam.

“Look,” Rainbow Dash states flatly, deferential only because she doesn’t want to insult Applejack, Apple Bloom, and Granny Smith and ruin her future cider chances. “I’m not saying they did a better job than you. I’d never say that! And I’m not alone in this!” She motions to the dozens of other ponies, led by Scootaloo, nodding along. Twice the number are shaking their heads, or at least ambivalent. “I’m just saying that I like ciders with a little more bite in them.”

Pomarbo looks the other way, at the fence next to the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000. He senses an opportunity to gain a closer look and ever-so-carefully extends a hoof up to the barrel-high rail barely in reach. Methodically, making sure to keep as many limbs on the post as possible, he climbs. Soon enough and he is on the top rail, balancing precariously. There is no smile on his muzzle, just a focused look of determination at reaching his goal. He pulls one foreleg off the rail, wobbling slightly. Yet he is undeterred by a potential fall, stretching as far as he can in the hope of reaching the window and somehow pressing his face against the glass.

Sadly, he remains about two body lengths away from his prize. Maybe he could make it if he jumps, but he’s no pegasus. Or as courageous as the Brave and Glorious Spike. He huffs to himself, resigning to study what he can from his current vantage point. His head slowly drifts forward, drawing ever closer to the point where he might fall off if an errant wing flap blew him the wrong way.

“Careful, you might get sucked in, too,” Twilight jests, having kept her shining white eyes on the exploring colt. She grins; she can recognize the fascination she shares regarding complex contraptions. Especially magical ones, and this one is quite the doozy. She walks next to the fence; the rails that used to be level with her withers are now two inches below. She dips down to offer her back. “Would you like to get closer?”

Pomarbo turns her way with a quizzical look, eyes flicking to her lit horn and then to her wings.

A light gasp from her side draws Twilight’s attention. She glances at Diamond Tiara; the young mare has a hoof covering her muzzle, her eyes wide with surprise, aghast at the idea of a Princess, much less anypony, deigning to allow herself to be ridden.

“S-sorry,” Twilight apologizes, ruffling her wings as a reminder that she is, in fact, a Princess. And with the connotations associated with the act, how she wants to be the next alicorn for Doug to ride, and how few other ponies do the same. “I’m just used to Spike and how he...”

Her expression falters as she stares off to the east. The hustle and bustle surrounding the Flim Flam Brothers seems to fade into the background, her concentration on her lifelong companion. Perhaps if she scryed she could see him, standing at the train platform all by his lonesome. How long would he keep up the stoic facade, if it is indeed an act? It’s certainly a challenge, going off on his own and leading a country. Not quite unlike the ending she imagined happening for herself when she ascended, when she could bring herself to think about the future and her... well, if she’s being completely honest, superfluous role as a Princess in Equestria.

Twilight startles as a familiar, and at the same time foreign, pressure pushes into her back. It isn’t Spike, as much as she might wish that is the case; there aren't the tell-tale pricks of claws into her hide, as ginger as the dragon might try to grip onto her. It’s the rounder, more distributed force of hooves, unsteadily making their way from her dock to her withers, and then two small forelegs that can’t quite wrap all the way around her neck.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her neck and shoulder squeezing back gently as her hoof wipes away the pooling tears.

“Can we get on with the analysis?” Starlight Glimmer demands with a haughty scowl. Her eyes shine white with a similar diagnostic spell. She taps at her belly. “Some of us are a bit drained simultaneously maintaining three more novel thaumic sinks than normally deemed healthy.”

Twilight sighs, chagrinned, at the reminder of her lack of control when she first ascended. She rolls her eyes, ending up focusing on Diamond Tiara. The earth pony has lost her look of distress to one more calculating, her eyes belying the innocent smile on her muzzle.

“I-I can’t believe I’m about to ask this of a Princess,” Diamond Tiara asks with what she believes is an appropriate stammer and look of awe. “But, could I get a closer look, too?” She beams upward, more genuine this time, her tone getting much more formal and affected. “I would ever so much appreciate it!”

“Of course!” Twilight grins, ignoring any thoughts that the young mare might be using their proximity to further her own station. Her horn brightens as she concentrates and lifts a gasping and grateful Diamond Tiara, setting her just behind Pomarbo. “I’m always willing to help others learn, and this is a fascinating example of layering multiple relatively simple spells in order to duplicate the, hmm, somewhat opaque intuitions somepony like Granny Smith has built up over many years.”

“Proprietary simple spells,” Flim adds from just behind Twilight. “Perfectly safe, I might add.”

“No chance of a runaway engine here!” Flam continues.

“I like your method,” Twilight comments with a friendly nod. “You’ve got the main engine powering everything else with belts instead of directly animating the components. The layered scanning spells to duplicate a pony’s intuitions by judging on simple criteria that sum to a single score. This one is calibrated to the Apple’s high demands, but I assume you could modulate that as opposed to a single on/off switch.” She points at a red button next to the window.

“A marvelous recommendation,” Flim states with a telling glance to his partner. “One that I’m sure we will incorporate into our next model!” He cocks his head curiously. “A discerning alicorn such as yourself must be able to see how a deal like this can’t be passed up!”

“Your obfuscation is very good,” Twilight says with a smirk, “but you’ve got nothing on Sombra. Still, I can see how a machine like this could be put to very productive use!”

“Now, hold on to your hats,” Granny Smith spits out as she ambles over. She scowls at the two straw-hatted unicorns. “There ain’t no way that there machine matches up with the care we put in our cider!”

“It, kinda, did,” Rainbow Dash says somewhat sheepishly. She still doesn’t want to offend the Apple matriarch, yet sure wouldn’t mind more cider.

Granny Smith turns to glare at Rainbow Dash, but softens as she sees the ponies behind the pegasus. Many are thirsty, having only gotten a sip during the taste test, and others not even that. She motions to Applejack and Big Mac to gather up, though their group huddle doesn’t stop with the immediate Apple family. The rest of the ponies in the herd make rings with the smallest in the middle and flyers above, their interests piqued.

“If this works?” Scootaloo says before anypony else can comment. “We can make everypony in town happy!”

“Assumin’ we have enough apples,” Apple Bloom adds with a worried smile. “Did ya see how fast it chewed through ‘em?”

“Ah don’t know, y’all,” Applejack counters. She keeps from glancing at Granny Smith; it’s generally been her proposing new ideas and changes to the farm and her grandmare vetoing. Like when she wanted to sell cider to Filthy Rich to then resell. “We’ve always made cider the same way, and that way works. We shouldn’t be compromisin’ on Sweet Apple Acres quality, even if that quality takes time.”

“And ponypower,” Rarity mutters from the back, though loud enough for all to hear.

“Precisely, sister,” Flim compliments as he appears in the inner ring. “That machine right over there will do the harvesting, the sorting, the running, the barreling, and even the stacking! Leaving only the rejuvenating of the trees-”

“-Which, I must add,” Flam says from the other side, nopony quite sure how the two squeezed their way in, “is a very important part of the process-”

“-And the selling of the cider itself.” Flim winks at Applejack. “But, as we all know, this cider is so good it practically sells itself! Why, this machine all by itself is doing the work of five ponies!”

“Ten if you’re having an off-day!”

“An incomparable deal!” Flim grins. “But even an incomparable deal can be sweetened! What do you say, Apples? You supply the apples...”

“...We supply the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000.”

Flim and Flam both speak, “And we split those sweet sweet profits...”

“...Seventy-five…”

“...Twenty-five.”

“Hold on,” Applejack says, her face scrunching up as she considers. Both Granny Smith and Big Mac defer to her. “Who gets the seventy-five?”

Flim gives her his best, most endearing smile. “Why, us, naturally.”

“We’ll even throw in the magic to power the machine for free,” Flam adds.

“We can’t take a deal like that,” Applejack says after a moment’s thought, gulping. It pains her to admit this, but there’s no way they would accept charity from the Princesses or other members of the herd. Much like Rarity in that regard. Flim and Flam don’t care for the answer either, their cheery dispositions souring. “But Sweet Apple Acres relies on cider sales to keep our business afloat through the winter.”

“Are you sure about that?” Diamond Tiara asks from Twilight’s back before Flim can retort. Ponies step aside as she hops off and imperiously trots to the center. “Because I think you should take it.”

“Err,” Applejack hedges, staring down at the young mare. “Ah know Ah ain’t the most gifted math-wise, but Ah don’t see how we can survive on a quarter our normal profit.”

“I can think of two,” Diamond Tiara asserts confidently. Applejack raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “First, did you hear what they said at the start of their song?”

“Um,” Applejack says, glancing at Big Mac for help. He shrugs. “Can’t say Ah remember, distractin’ as they are.”

“They said that ‘it’s the same in every town’. That implies that there are many more towns that would gladly purchase your cider, even at a premium!” Diamond Tiara turns to Granny Smith, offering a respectful nod of her head. “It wouldn’t be fresh cider, and I know how much Sweet Apple Acres values their brand. And it’s an important brand, one we wouldn’t want to be devalued.”

“We?” Granny Smith mutters to herself, both irritated at the impertinence and admiring of her confidence.

“So we market it as something different.” Diamond Tiara turns to Flim and Flam. “Could we use your name?”

“I say, we’d even pay you if you did!” Flim agrees readily. “Perhaps something along the lines of ‘Flim Flam Fields?’”

“Flim Flam Fields’ Fermented Fruit,” Diamond Tiara alliterates.

“Hmm,” Flim considers, rubbing a hoof against his chin. His brother duplicates the motion against his mustache. He tries out a bombastic slogan, “Flim Flam Fields’ Fermented Fruit! Find 5-F in five fantastic flavors! Get F’d anywhere Flim Flam Miracle Curative Tonic is sold!”

“And my sire could supplement our already very favorable distribution contract.” Diamond Tiara nods to Flim, then turns back to Applejack with a grin. The orange mare has a hard time returning her own. “Which would come out of the profits, which leads me to my second point. How much do you charge for apples?”

“Sixteen bits a bushel,” Applejack answers readily. “Makes about three gallons of cider, or twenty-five mugs at two bits apiece.”

“Sixteen?!” Diamond Tiara exclaims, aggrandizing her astonishment by covering her muzzle and gasping. “No, no, you’ve never sold at that low, not in Ponyville. Five apples for two bits is the lowest sale I’ve ever seen. Normally it’s one bit an apple, sometimes two. Which puts a bushel of apples at eighty bits, not sixteen. Which makes me ever so honored you would sell your cider at a loss, in order to support our community.”

“Hey, wait,” Flim Flam cuts in.

Applejack merely stares at Diamond Tiara. Would that be fair and honest to the two brothers, much as she wants to turn their oft-scheming plans on their heads?

Ch. 60 - Cheap Construction, Part Six

Slowly, ponderously, Applejack raises her hoof to her neck. She half expects to hear the *thunk* of steel hitting a golden necklace, but her shoe merely presses into her flesh, almost like she’s about to clear her throat and speak. At least, that’s how Flim takes her motion.

“Cousin Applejack,” the salespony pleads, emphasizing their familial tie. He breaks Applejack’s concentration with wild gestures that threaten to turn into a full-blown dance routine despite being surrounded by ponies. “Surely you wouldn’t do something as egregious as charge us the going rate for apples! After all, we’re family, are we not?”

Applejack lets loose a heavy sigh. “Look,” she starts.

“Because if you refuse our generous offer to be partners-” Flim continues.

“-And that would be at your original price for apples-” Flam adds.

“-Then we’ll just have to be competitors,” Flim finishes. “And drive Sweet Apple Acres out of business!”

Applejack scowls, any thoughts of her element shunted out of her mind like cider through a press. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, no?” Flim asks with a wicked grin. It’s not as malicious as one of Chrysalis’, but throw on a pair of fangs protruding from his muzzle and it’d be close.

“Don’t you worry, everypony!” Flam says to the thirsty ponies. “There’ll be plenty of cider for all of you!” It works wonders riling the others up, many shifting from side to side or tap-dancing on tenterhooks at the promise of more cider, especially as much as they can drink!

“You two are family?” Doug asks in a musing manner, interrupting before things can get any worse.

Applejack nods, short and curt, not taking her eyes off the unicorns.

“You’re not the only one who has the misfortune to be related to these charlatans,” Rarity discloses, just as incensed as Applejack at the thought of ruining the business they’ve built over generations.

“Indeed, sister,” Flim says to Rarity. “One might think that after years of herding you’d have managed to talk some sense into them-”

“-Or opened their eyes to other possibilities-” Flam adds.

“-But we happen to know quite a bit about apples and trees.” Flim sighs, shaking his head with a certain resignation. It does a marvelous job of provoking up Granny Smith, the old mare raising her shakin’ hoof.

“Cousin? Sister?” Doug looks at Applejack and Rarity. He manages to distract the two while Granny Smith and Flim square off. “Does this mean the two of you are related?”

Rarity shakes her head. The change in conversation is doing an excellent job of keeping her temper in check. Likewise, it seems to calm the others down, if only a fraction. “Before we formed a herd? Only by marriage, of which studding is a subsection.”

Pinkie Pie pipes up. “I wonder if any of the rest of us are related? That’d be so cool! Like me and Applejack, because we both grew up on farms; or me and Rarity, because we both like rocks, although that might be more Rarity and Maud, although Limestone and Marble are also really into rocks?” Pinkie Pie sits down, tapping at her chin while staring into the sky.

Rarity shrugs. “We all share some consanguinity, being ponies, but anything past second cousins tends to be disregarded. But to your question, Doug. My sire made no secret of his pursuers, and his… inclinations. I suppose that’s where I got my… preference in a partner.”

“Yeah, you couldn’t help yourself, blame the parents,” Doug says with a chuckling smirk, rubbing Rarity’s mane as she rolls her eyes. He turns to Applejack. “And on the Apple side?”

“Auntie Fiddly Twang,” Applejack says with a long sigh. “Not my direct aunt; Ah’d have to ask Goldie Delicious. Not that we care, we’re all Apples. But we always knew she was a weird one, what with the clothes-wearin’ an’ all.”

“Excuse me,” Rarity decries with more than a twinge of annoyance.

“What? We still love her.” Applejack rubs at her chest self-consciously. “Mostly on account’a her fiddle playin’. Mare sure can whip up a tune at the drop of a hat.” She points a hoof at Flim and Flam. “But these two?”

“You wound us,” Flim states melodramatically, holding a hoof to his chest as if a dagger was protruding out. “And here I thought we were family!”

Applejack scowls. “After what happened at the last reunion?”

“Technically,” Flam clarifies. “We weren’t at the last reunion.”

“The last reunion you two hoodlums were at,” Applejack growls. “You tried to raffle me away!”

“In all fairness,” Flam argues. “We tried to raffle everypony away.”

“And we would have gotten away with it, too,” Flim adds, “if it wasn’t for those meddling foals.”

“Again,” Applejack snorts. “You’re talkin’ ‘bout me.”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac booms out in his deep voice, his bulk pressing closer to the two gangly unicorns.

“You’re losing sight of the big picture,” Doug intervenes, feeling like the grown-up towering above a bunch of unruly foals. At least he doesn’t have to physically pry them apart. “You’re family, and you want what’s fair and best for everypony, yes?”

“...Yes,” Applejack agrees, if only after a long pause where the Flim Flam brothers at least attempt to appear contrite. She and the others slowly back away from the Flim and Flam, though their quickly resurfacing smirks don’t help matters.

“So,” Doug says to Applejack. “You’re worried about whether or not the farm can make up the loss in bits. You could do that in volume, selling more cider, or in adjusting the price for bulk sales of apples. Is that also because you wouldn’t be comfortable with somepony reselling your apples or making cider out of them?”

“Daddy resells their apples,” Diamond Tiara cuts in. “So do many stores across Equestria. And restaurants, bakeries, etcetera, all make things from them.”

Applejack ponders for a moment. “You’re sayin’ that if we sold Flim and Flam our apples, they’d go ahead and make cider outta ‘em. And then sell that cider at whatever price they want.”

“Indubitably,” Flim admits readily.

“And if we want to keep the quality up,” Applejack continues, somewhat subdued. “We had best keep this in-house.”

“Well, Applejack, I’m glad you brought that up, my dear,” Flim says, a smile on his muzzle that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “But surely you can see that we are very picky when it comes to cider!”

“Perhaps another demonstration is in order?” Flam asks, appearing on the other side of Applejack. “This time of the full extent of the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000’s capabilities?”

“Thus allowing you Apples to do what you do best,” Flim continues with a wide motion to the apple trees surrounding them. “Growing delicious, succulent apples just waiting to be turned into delectable cider!”

“Among other things,” Applejack counters. She sighs, the reminder of her passion leaching the vitriol from her like earth pony magic on the fields close to the Everfree. “Ah get joy from growin’ apples, no question ‘bout that. But doin’ all those other things ‘round the farm helps keep it fresh.” She begrudgingly adds, “Just like you two can’t stick to just one gambit, ya gotta keep branchin’ out to new swindles.”

“This is a swindle?!” Doug exclaims, incredulous. “What, you mean like, the magic expires after one use?” He squats down, rubbing his temples. “No, that’d be too obvious. We wouldn’t be hooked. It’d only break down after we’re happy with it, or perhaps reliant on it, especially if we have contracts to meet. Then we’d have to pay through the nose to get it repaired, or overpay for some sort of warranty or replacement plan that ends up costing far more than whatever benefits we might have gained.”

“No, no, no,” Flim reassures as Flam jots down notes. “We built a reliable, high-quality machine to make delicious, high-quality cider! Your own test proves that, does it not?”

Flam adds in a low, quick voice, “Full disclosure of the limitations and constraints of the Flim Flam Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000 will be given to certified contract holders of a binding agreement.”

“What was that?” Doug asks, scratching at an ear. “Could I get that in writing?”

“It’s a boilerplate warning put on all industrial equipment,” Twilight explains. “For example, their engine requires a certain amount of thaums to start and then either a continuous connection to a powering unicorn or an external fuel source.” One of her eyes twitch. “Although, most of those are voided by linking other spells, and this one is a doozy-”

“-Of incredibleness!” Flam cuts in, grinning. “Which we will demonstrate to your querying and quaffing delight! Ready, Flam?”

“Ready, Flim!” Flam turns to Applejack, bowing low. “If you would be so kind as to provide the apples, we will be so generous as to provide the use of our machine, the incredible Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000, free of charge!”

Applejack nervously glances back and forth, then takes a hesitant step backward. Granny Smith and Big Mac offer no support, their scowls still fixed on the unicorns.

“It’ll be the opportunity of a lifetime,” Flim continues, egging the crowd on. The low drumbeat of ‘Cider! Cider! Cider!’ reasserts itself as he slips between them, motioning to the sky as if Celestia herself is about to descend dragging clouds of cider. “One you’ll tell your foals about for years to come! About how you were there the day that, from that day forward, you never had to worry about having enough cider ever again!”

“What’d’ya say, Applejack?” Flam asks, sidling next to the orange mare.

“Are you going to give up this opportunity?” Flim demands. “For this community?”

“Fine,” Applejack spits out, huffing. “‘Bo, you’ve been lookin’ at the map. Where can we send these fine folks? What’re ya gonna make, a dozen barrels?”

“We were thinking a hundred,” Flim counters nonchalantly.

Applejack gasps, her eyes going wide. They’d be working for days to make that many barrels!

“If not two hundred,” Flam adds, as if they could have promised any number and met that quota without breaking a sweat.

The chant from the nearby ponies continues to grow louder.

“Um,” Pomarbo says, rubbing at his head and trying to remember. He scampers to the opposite end of the road. The trees there, like all the trees lining the road, are heavily laden with apples. “Ah guess we can start here? And work our way to the south fields.”

“That’ll be great for a demonstration,” Diamond Tiara compliments as she follows him, looking up at the apples. Red Delicious, like all the apples on the south field. It gets him to perk up, almost strutting between the apple trees he practically blends into.

The two look up, holding their breath in anticipation, as a green glow surrounds the gold-plated funnel. It hovers over the first tree; a loud, sucking noise accompanies a rush of wind. Leaves, twigs, even whole branches rustle and raise into the air, shuddering back and forth before releasing their burden in a bold affront to gravity. The gray hose barely bulges as the stream of apples flows through, then moves to the next tree in line. A loud series of cheery ‘ding!’s echo among the orchard, every now and again punctuated by a grating ‘errr!’ as the conveyor belt drops a bat-bitten apple. The two large glass beakers quickly fill with delicious-looking cider, and as soon as the level reaches the top they empty into the first barrel.

“Now,” Flim says, admiring his polished hoof as he relaxes next to a slack-jawed Applejack. A barrel sails over them, landing next to Lemon at the cider stand. “About that seventy-five, twenty-five?”

Ponies clamor to be the first to receive a mug, almost at a riot, though a single throat clearing from Princess Celestia gets them to hasten back to their original positions in line.

“Hmm,” Flim says with a smug smirk. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, brother of mine?”

“I do believe that I am,” Flam returns. “Why, who wants to stand around all day waiting for their own mug when we can pick up the pace?”

“All with no drop in quality!” Flim agrees. “Let’s bing bang zam!”

Their horns glow brighter, the rumbling from the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000 doubling in volume. The whole contraption rattles as the hose rapidly shifts from one tree to another, vacuuming up every apple in reach.

The Apples can only watch with heavy hearts, their hooves feeling like lead, as their cherished profession seems to slip from their grasp. Would ponies pay a premium for Sweet Apple Acres quality, or even want their cider, after seeing this spectacle?

The loud ‘thunks’ of barrels hitting the ground coincide with the prestissimo of ‘dings’, a lively tune interrupted by a piercing shriek.

At first, nopony really reacts; it seems like just another over-excited filly getting her first sip of fresh cider. But when Diamond Tiara races over, screaming at the top of lungs while pointing at the large bulge traveling along the hose?

“‘Bo?” Applejack utters, confused, her eyes wide. She desperately looks around for her colt, unable to see through the sea of ponies. She bellows, “Pomarbo!”

“Hmm,” Flim muses, unconcerned. “It appears our definition of ‘apple’ was a little too loose.”

Applejack snarls as she spins around to face down Flim and Flam. “Shut it down!”

“Don’t worry, Applejack,” Flam calmly says, leaning back. “He’ll be fine.”

“Celestia help me,” Applejack threatens, only for Flim to brush past her.

Flim taps the window showing where the apples get judged. “Once he gets to this point he’ll be dropped off instead of being sent to the grinder.”

“Um,” Twilight interjects, her eyes shining white as she stares at the window. “Doesn’t that lead to the furnace powering your engine?”

Flim and Flam exchange looks of what might be the only time they’ve ever expressed regret, dashing to the control station and pushing a big red button. The rush of air slows as the two barrels at the end slump to a stop rather than be catapulted.

Yet rather than cease the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000 merrily chugs through the remaining apples, the next batch of cider slowly rising in the tanks.

Ch. 61 - Cheap Construction, Part Seven

“It’s not stopping!” Flam frantically calls as he mashes the red button. While his efforts are not totally in vain - the gray hose does stop sucking in new apples and gradually retracts as the apples already inside flow through - it does not stop the bulge from passing into the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000.

“What!?” Flim exclaims, rushing to the window. He peers inside as far as he can with the hope of seeing the squeezed Apple, but only the garden variety tumble along the conveyor belt. A series of rapid dings signals more apples being accepted and smashed to pieces, the juices filling yet another barrel. He looks to the right of the window at a lever on the outside, his hoof raising and then hovering. Would disabling the sensor actually help matters? Would there be a greater chance of survival being burned or crushed? He calls up to Flam, “Should we accelerate the operation?”

“I thought it was going faster!” Flam returns, pressing the button one last time. For a moment it seems it works: the rush of air stills, the seemingly relentless series of dings ceases, and only the unhappy rumbling of the stalled vehicle remains. He slumps over with a great exhale, staring up at the sky. He can’t stop his hoof from shaking, glad the rest of the car hides his relief; it wouldn’t do to let everypony know this isn’t part of an act.

“There!” Flim proudly announces to the crowd, the lever untouched. He spins around, standing to best block the window as he spreads his widest, best grin. “As you can see, the Flim Flam Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000 is perfectly safe! No need to worry, folks! Now, if you’ll just head this way, there is plenty of delectable cider just waiting for you to imbibe! Who wants a mug on me?”

A few reluctant ponies in the back seem persuaded by his announcement, low whispers and mutters as they try to make their way to the front of the line. Applejack and Doug, meanwhile, press forward, glaring at Flim. Yet he remains unblinking, unperturbed by their aggressive advancement, even as the colt stuck inside whimpers to the sounds of apples squishing and sloshing.

“If you don’t get him out of there right now,” Applejack threatens, cracking her neck as her right back off raises, “I’m going to bust him out myself.”

Behind them, Twilight’s attention turns to the rest of the vehicle. She frowns as the unhappy rumbling gets louder, whole sections heaving as if containing a vast pressure. “Um,” she warns while inspecting closer. “I don’t think it’s supposed to-”

With a great shudder, almost a belch, a mess of broken and mashed apples spray out of the stuck tunnel. The first few are rejected and dropped down while the next few are more pristine, their fate sealed with a cheery ding.

The brown colt flops onto the conveyor belt. Apple juice stains his coat, his sopping red and green mane plastered against shielding hooves. Yet his eyes remain wide-open, frenetically scanning every direction as he leaves the dark and cramped tube. He spares the staring ponies outside the briefest of glances before he fixates on the mechanism in front of him. The rotating pillar does a fabulous job of pulping the previously approved apples without even the slightest hint of effort, chewing through fruit and core alike and ravenously awaiting. Amber juice sluices off into a rapidly spinning barrel while the spent pomace brushes off the side, purged to make room for more.

He nearly follows the crushed cores by leaping off the conveyor belt, his hooves dipping down and off the side, until he registers the unnatural red glow coming from the furnace below. And how the thick gruel seems to vaporize the moment it touches the outer barrier. He scurries backward as the belt comes to a stop, his chest heaving as he lets out soft whimpers.

A moment later and a loud ding rings out, the belt spiriting him to the crusher with as little fanfare as it gave the rest of the apples.

“Huh,” Flim muses as Applejack gasps and races up to the window. “I guess he was a good apple after all.”

With a loud, piercing shriek Pomarbo takes off, barely able to outpace the speeding conveyor belt as it beeps a second time. He knocks off the newly entering apples as they flow through, but this only makes things worse: without anything to evaluate the machine spins on, the furnace consuming more and more apples to keep itself going. And yet, if he didn’t, any broken piece might be rejected, dumping him down to a fiery fate.

“Hold on!” Applejack shouts, spinning around. She goes to line up a buck, the same as she’s used on her trees for a dozen years. “Ah’m comin’!”

“No!” Flim pleads, interposing himself between Applejack and the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000. He raises his hooves as if he might possibly be able to block her. “Don’t hurt it!”

“What the!” Applejack exclaims, catching herself before she sends the stallion straight through his machine, fitting as that might be. And she still might. “Get outta mah way!”

“If you do that,” Flam answers from above, “the whole thing might explode!”

“Damn it, Twilight!” Doug shouts as Twilight stares at the colt slowly losing the race against the conveyor belt. He glances back at the other two alicorns present; Celestia has a look of grim resolve, her horn unlit, while Luna sports a cold grimace as she follows Celestia’s lead. He turns back to Twilight. “Help him!”

“Bu-bu-bu,” Twilight stammers. Her breath comes in short spurts, her eyes widening as she calculates the effects of either outcome. Saying it isn’t good would be a drastic understatement, and-

“Pick him up!”

-She can detect the magical lines criss-crossing inside, how they continuously try to scan the colt’s racing legs but fail every time he pushes ahead, however-

“Do something!”

-Briefly. It’s a fascinating pattern, and if enough - well, in this case, all - of them judge him adequately they send him along to a pulverizing demise. But if he fails any of them then it’s off to fuel the continued operation. And with his low innate resistance, it wouldn’t take long before-

Doug slaps her face, the harsh hit breaking her out of her stupor.

“Thanks,” Twilight returns icily, rubbing the spot as she shakes any afterthoughts of the foal’s demise from her mind. “But I can’t get a good enough lock!” She concentrates harder, brushing aside extraneous information and focusing on navigating through the complex spellwork surrounding the machine. The raspberry shine of her horn becomes almost blinding. “There’s too much interference!”

Pomarbo falters momentarily, slipping backward for a brief moment before taking off again. His legs burn, his endurance never as good as his sisters, and very soon the loud ding of an accepted apple rings through the orchard. When he fails to move out of the scanner it dings again, his tail whipping dangerously close to the whirling mechanism that would remorselessly drag the rest of him in.

Flim spins, slamming the lever down and disabling the assortment of assessment magics.

Twilight’s horn flares brighter, an identical glow surrounding Pomarbo. With a loud pop that rattles the window he disappears from inside, reappearing with a flash beside Applejack. His legs keep going, propelling him straight into his dam.

“You’re safe!” Applejack shouts to the heavens. She drops down to embrace her colt, tighter than she ever has, tight enough to mimic the cider press as his eyes bulge.

“Dam,” Pomarbo groans after a moment to catch his breath, attempting to fend her off with weak, half-hearted pushes. He doesn’t want her embarrassing him in front of everypony, but especially Diamond Tiara! “It’s okay!”

Applejack chuckles, not about to let him go so easily. She dips down to lick off the apple juice in his mane before too much more seeps into her coat. Diamond Tiara can’t help but giggle as she approaches; Applejack gives her a wary look, almost growling, before allowing the young mare to nuzzle her colt.

Doug walks over to Twilight, his stomps hidden by the cheers of the other ponies. He wants to shout at her, let loose the terror he felt at his child nearly dying, but stops when he sees her remorse. She breathes heavily, staring at a muddy patch of dirt where some cider sprayed off Pomarbo. He kneels down, his arm going around her neck, and any thoughts of admonishing her go away as he feels her shudder.

“I-I nearly failed,” Twilight ekes out in a whisper, her eyes staring to bead with tears. She glances back; with the interference gone the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000 continues sorting the rest of the apples as if nothing happened. She peers up at her stallion with a loud sniffle. “T-that’s what you’re going to say, right? That I should have done better. Been faster, more decisive, less foalish.”

Doug takes a deep breath, stalling for a moment. “In a way,” he says softly, stroking her mane. She relaxes, if just a fraction, allowing her head to rest against his chest. His mouth purses to a thin line. “Why didn’t you just levitate him?”

Twilight’s mind goes blank for a brief moment. Why didn’t she levitate him? It’s orders of magnitude easier! She can levitate two dozen ponies, if not more, without breaking a sweat, while teleporting four leaves her panting. Was it like the remorse she felt after she defeated Sombra? She wanted to save the ponies of the Crystal Empire, all of the ponies, and much to her dismay found that included the black-hearted king. She might not have a perfect record, but that doesn’t stop her from trying her hardest to avoid any other mistakes.

Doug waits patiently, letting her work through her answer. He might not voice it, but it certainly doesn’t help being the powerless one surrounded by ponies fully capable of rending apart the machine with their bare hooves while he would be stuck searching for some sort of latch. He glances at Celestia. He knows what she would say, about allowing Twilight the chance to save the day, and how any interference on her part would amount to robbing Twilight of the opportunity and ultimately end up crippling her when future problems arise. He wishes he could have the same confidence in the former student. But it’s his foal, dammit!

“I think,” Twilight starts, finally letting out the breath she is holding. “I think it’s because that would only be temporary. I was intent on finding a solution that solved the problem.”

The Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000 finishes mashing the last of the apples, good and bad. It then goes into a self-cleaning mode, the entire inside blazing in a bright and cheerful inferno that leaves it sparkling.

“Also, that would happen,” Twilight says with a light smirk, pointing at the glowing window. Doug’s breath catches in his throat; he grips Twilight tighter. “Maybe the whole world won’t burn if I fail to solve a problem in time.” She watches Flim and Flam as Rainbow Dash swoops down. “Then again…”

“Maybe,” the irate pegasus spits out, her concern over cider production gone, “the two of you outta find out what it’s like going through that death trap of yours!”

Ch. 62 - Cheap Construction, Part Eight

“Mashed into cider?” Flim starts off in the same chipper voice he uses to sell off any of his ‘wares’. It grates not only on Rainbow Dash but the other ponies, teeth grinding that they might see her suggestion as a joke instead of a serious possibility. “That is a truly karmic-”

“Not to mention utterly and incontrovertibly barbaric-” Flam adds with similar cheer.

“-Punishment!” Flim turns to Celestia and Luna; they regard him coldly, their expressions shared by many of the crowd. He offers the rulers a contrite, though obviously feigned, bow. “But surely ponies as wise and understanding such as yourselves would realize the grave error of such a vacuous approach?”

Celestia stands imperiously above the two, a stern glare the alabaster alicorn reserves for particularly indolent petitioners at the Day Court. Cracks appear in their forced smiles and beads of sweat slowly roll down their faces. “Is that what you two wish to say for yourselves?”

“Sure,” Flim starts. “Our actions can be portrayed as reckless-”

“-Negligent-” Flam adds with a touch of boredom, twirling his hoof lazily.

“-Maybe even wildly irresponsible!” Flim flashes everypony a wide, fake grin. It buys him little sympathy. “But all it needs is this!” His horn flares, attaching a tiny warning label explaining that the heavy machinery is not to be used by, around, or especially on foals and particularly small or lightweight mares. “There! Problem solved.” He goes to join Flam on their mode of transportation.

“Except problem ain’t solved!” Applejack strides forward, Pomarbo at her side and mostly clean. Her eyes shine like the window of the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000, barely containing the fury within. “That all?” she demands, scowling. Doug stands, leaving an unamused Twilight to join her. “No apology, no remorse, no nothin’? Ya just plan on gallopin’ off an’ avoidin’ all the pain an’ sufferin’ ya caused?”

“Er,” Flim stalls, surprised at the outburst. “Well, you see, the thing is, we go through iterations in all our endeavors. That’s why there’s a legal limit on the amount of weevil eggs in flour.” He offers a hollow grin along with his attempt at levity. “And why we’re at the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy six thousand and not one.”

Celestia’s eyes narrow, her head tilting down slightly. Behind her, Rarity’s eyes go wide, her hoof shuddering at the thought of any such infestation that might occur.

Flam takes an unsteady step forward, taking a much different tack when he sees Flim’s not working. “I-it was an unforeseen and unexpected oversight, Your Highness. We engineered the apple accumulator to accommodate objects approximately the area of an apple, but the flexibility requirement allows a certain expansion of the material. As well, due to the Apple’s penchant for growing apples of abnormally excessive diameter, we included an extra factor to make sure any such anomalies would not occlude the operation, especially for such an inceptive exhibition.”

Celestia’s head cocks to the side slightly, one of the few to appear as if she perfectly understood Flam’s obfuscating explanation. The rest of the ponies nod along nervously, exchanging unsure glances.

“You did not anticipate a curious foal?” she asks, perhaps less accusatory than Applejack or Doug might have liked. “One who might have, against your explicit instructions, decided to operate the machinery without a responsible adult present?”

“It’s like y’all’ve never even heard of the Cutie Mark Crusaders,” Applejack spits out. After saying the words, though, her sharp tone lessens; she remarks, almost rueful, “There’s foal-proof, and then there’s CMC-proof. And Ah ain’t never heard of somethin’ bein’ CMC-proof.”

“Hey!” Scootaloo pipes up, Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle right behind her as she steps forward. “We resemble that remark!”

“Resent,” Sweetie Belle corrects.

“No, pretty sure she means resemble,” Apple Bloom says, Scootaloo nodding. They, along with Celestia and Applejack, turn back to regard Flim and Flam.

“Y’all’ve been pullin’ this charade ‘long as Ah can remember,” Applejack continues, ignoring Flim’s attempt to speak up and interrupt her. “Makin’ slip-shod goods’n services that do nothin’ for nopony! And then pullin’ out when your plan goes ta shambles! If y’all put in half the effort into makin’ somethin’ ponies use instead’a somethin’ that used ponies? Ya could be known across Equestria!”

“But we are known across Equestria,” Flim counters, finally getting a word in.

“A household name, in fact!” Flam adds.

“As con-ponies and bamboozlers,” Applejack spits out, her temper rising again. “Equestria’d be better off if you two charlatans were locked away!”

“If it is your wish to press charges,” Celestia states formally, drawing herself up as if to assume her role of the highest judge. There is a note of sorrow in her voice, her muzzle curling to a slight frown.

“Now, wait!” Flim shouts frantically. “This is a gross miscarriage of justice! We demand a trial of our peers!”

“And since we happen to be nonpareil,” Flam drawls, yawning.

“Justice?” Applejack snaps, cutting off Flam. “Where’s the justice for all those ponies ya’ve conned over the years? Huh? Hay, Ah’d push for petrification, but bein’ a statue’d be more prestige than you deserve!”

“Yes,” Flim agrees, smirking at Applejack. “You’d rather see us sent to a grisly demise inside our own ‘death trap’, as your feathered friend so eloquently elucidated. Our bodies cruelly crushed!”

“-Pitilessly pulverized-” Flam adds, languishing on top of the machine with a hoof at his forehead.

“-All for your perverse pleasure,” Flim ends, shaking his head.

The crowd of ponies begin mumbling with uncertainty, troubled by the imagery.

“Eeyup,” Applejack retorts, unfazed. Doug nods next to her, arms crossed, the two staring the unicorns down.

“Hah!” Flim jeers. “Admit it! You’re a sadist. Ever since we showed up you’ve been looking for any excuse at all to do away with us, and now you’ve found it!”

“Excuse?” Doug asks, unyielding.

“But we agree,” Flim continues, taking off his straw hat and holding it against his chest with mock contrition. “For the crime-”

“-The heinous, unforgivable transgression-” Flam adds, copying his brother’s remorse.

“-Of having our machinery improperly operated?” Flim puts his hat back on, standing up straight and undaunted. “Flam?”

“Yes, Flim?” Flam asks, donning his hat and matching the defiant stance.

“We shall accept our fate! We confess our contemptible crime and take our death with dignity! So send us off, you cruel hoof of fate!” He turns to Applejack with a poorly concealed smirk. “Unless somepony has had a change of heart?”

“Nnope,” Applejack returns, stone-faced. Doug rolls his shoulders before walking up and hefting the shocked unicorn to his shoulder.

“Y-you’re sure?” Flim asks, voice trembling for the first time. He glances down as his hooves leave the ground. “It’s not easy to raise your hoof and send somepony off to die without talking about it first!”

“Ah’m sure,” Applejack says. “Y’all’ve done enough talkin’.”

“You would deny your family so readily?” Flam adds, visibly shaken. He frantically looks at the Princesses, then the shocked crowd, as Doug doesn’t stop. “Y-you’re bluffing!”

“Am Ah?” Applejack states, staring up into Flim’s eyes. She doesn’t blink, and neither does he. “Element of Honesty here. Ah know when a pony’s cowardice outweighs her conviction. And Ah’m callin’ yours.”

Doug takes a few ponderous steps, able to hoist the stallion over the lip of the funnel. The entrance of the tube does seem a bit small, unable to accommodate the limp unicorn. Muffled noises come from the audience, quite a number now unsure whether the punishment similarly fits the crime.

“Oh, but we won’t fit!” Flim mourns, holding one hoof against his forehead melodramatically. “I suppose we can’t go through with this morbid plan after all.”

“I’ve been there when my mares gave birth,” Doug says, completely serious. “This can’t be any worse. But if you’re so worried; Dash, can you get my cleaver?”

Cerulean eyes bulge as Rainbow Dash reluctantly flies closer, ears flat against her head. “Y-your good one?”

“Nah, the one I used on Nightmare Night,” Doug returns without hesitation. Flim grunts in pain as his foreleg gets splayed out to the side against the golden funnel. “The big bloody one with the notch. I want to make sure I take the leg off with one go.”

“Y-you got it,” Rainbow Dash says, clutching her hooves over her mouth while flying off, a sentiment now shared by many others.

“No way, no how!” Granny Smith pipes up. A collective sigh of relief goes out as the elderly green mare objects. “Here at Sweet Apple Acres, we only use the freshest ingredients. There ain’t no way you’re turnin’ those two rotten apples into cider!”

“Ah,” Doug counters grimly. “But we aren’t at Sweet Apple Acres. We’re making Flim Flam Field’s Fermented Fruit. And they seem to have an issue with quality control.” He offers Rainbow Dash a brief smile as she returns bearing a notched cleaver as long as his forearm, the wooden handle stained a dark red. “Any last words?”

An apple dropping somewhere in the background can be heard in the ensuing silence.

“You’re a monster,” Flim flatly accuses.

Doug nods rather than deny the claim. “I am a monster,” he agrees, prodding the blunt tip of the cleaver against Flim’s shoulder. The unicorn gasps as a few ponies in the crowd take a step back. “Yet I harness that side of me; I choose when and where to let it out. And against somepony as unrepentant about their actions as you?” He shakes his head solemnly as he raises the cleaver. “I’ll sleep soundly tonight. Twilight, if you’ll do the honors of starting it up?”

“Wait!” Flam shouts as Twilight stands. “Stop!”

“Why?” Doug demands harshly. Flim gulps as he slips a little further, staring down the long, dark tube, his foreleg cruelly twisted behind him. “We’ve given them at least six opportunities to show remorse, to express regret over what they’ve done and change! How many more must we give them?”

“When our sisters and brothers transgress against us and beg forgiveness?” Twilight flies over to Doug, laying a calming hoof on the lunar moon tattooed across his back. He slowly lowers the cleaver, regarding her carefully. “Not six times, but sixty times six.”

Doug snorts. “Princess Luna apologized about what she did, truly expressed remorse. Them?”

He lets go of Flim’s foreleg; the unicorn paws at the slippery sides, skidding down until his head dips into the tunnel. Then Doug grabs onto his back legs, hauls the surprised unicorn out and drops him roughly to the ground.

“Princess Twilight Sparkle seems to think there is something in you worth saving,” Doug says gravely as Flim recovers with short, rapid breaths. He shakes his head as he drops the cleaver to his side, the steel cold against his skin. “And, hey, maybe she’s right; she gave Chrysalis a choice, and now the bug’s on our side. Are you going to prove her wrong?”

“What ya’ve done before ain’t right,” Applejack interjects, calmer but no less serious. “Sure, ya might’a never outright lied to anypony ya sold your goods ta, but that ain’t the same as bein’ honest. Ah mean, look at this!” She motions to the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000. “Why can’t ya make more things like this, things that work?”

“To be fair,” Flim remarks dryly. Doug offers him a hand, which he reluctantly takes. “Being honest also got us the closest we’ve ever come to something actually bad happening, too.”

“Then don’t skimp out on the safety measures,” Applejack returns, her voice raising. “Do more testing than just whether or not you and your horn-brained brother can get hurt and think about somepony else! Don’t take shortcuts, an’ use quality materials! That’s the Apple way, and it works!”

Flim stares at her for a few long seconds. “Hey, Flam?”

“Yes, brother of mine?” Flam returns.

Flim grins. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“We’ve made more than a fair number of bits doing what we’ve been doing,” Flam says, twirling his mustache.

Flim nods. “I dare say, it might be best to get out while we’re ahead.”

“Straight shooting.” Flam considers the proposition, frowning. “We’d lose out on some of our extraneous arrangements.”

Flim snorts. “Like where the mare never compared the pair of hares.”

Behind them, Trixie gasps. “That’s how you did it!”

Before The Incensed and Irate Trixie can interfere, Flam steps up to Applejack. “I dare say, cousin of mine, you drive a hard yet fair bargain.”

“Not that we expected anything less from the Element of Honesty herself!” Flim adds.

“But before agreeing to an arduous and onerous undertaking such as this?” Flam pulls out a crate. He grins at the crowd, displaying bottles filled with amber liquid. “I could sure use a tonic to bolster my bravery!”

“Tonic?” Doug says, chuckling as he fondly recalls the term.

“That’s right, folks,” Flim announces loudly. “The Flim Flam Miracle Curative Tonic! Not only does this wondrous panacea provide protection against illness and injury-”

“-A surety as sure as the sun rises-” Flam adds.

“But against all maladies and miseries this life might manifest!” Flim grins as he holds a bottle of tonic out for Doug, any enmity he might have held seemingly gone. “You, sir, seem like the kind of stallion who could use such a safeguard!”

“After what you put me through?” Doug quips, accepting a bottle. He cracks the top, sipping with a happy sigh. “Don’t know about all that other stuff, but this stuff works-”

“You heard it here first, folks!” Flim shouts, many ponies taking a sudden interest. “Flim Flam Miracle Curative Tonic, tested and approved by the stallion of the Princesses! Get yours now while supplies last!” He somehow finds and passes a filled-out form to Doug. “I don’t suppose you object to us using your likeness in our advertising?”

“-Off the placebo effect,” Doug finishes. He doesn’t take the paper.

Flim turns a cold eye at Doug. “Ah,” he says in a low voice, grinning as he wraps a hoof around the human’s back. “I see you sense the secret to our success. But what else were we supposed to do with all the apple juice we went through perfecting the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy?”

Doug looks down at the bottle in his hand. “And it works as advertised?”

“It’s a well documented phenomenon that, when a pony believes something will happen, it is more likely to occur.” Flim motions at the bottle of tonic. “And if this tonic helps them to believe in something, doesn’t that make it effective and thus true?”

Doug turns the bottle to look at the label, a relief of two smiling unicorns. “I think I’ll leave that philosophical discussion to Applejack, thanks.”

“Well, speaking of the pony of the hour,” Flim says as he and Flam approach a wary Applejack. He pulls a small trinket from somewhere, bending down on one knee. “As a token of our sincerity and honesty, I would like to present this silver shill.”

“Um,” Applejack says tentatively. She hesitates, unsure of how to best express her gratitude, and takes the silver coin. It feels lighter than it should. “Thanks, Ah guess.”

Flim continues bombastically, “This is the first such token we minted-”

“-Not as a counterfeit of the Equestrian Bit, of course,” Flam adds. “But because ponies are far looser with their money when it doesn’t have the same connection.”

“And you’re telling me this…” Applejack asks dubiously, eyebrows narrowing.

“Because as we give up this token,” Flim answers, “we also give up any schemes, ventures, enterprises, and other such operations that illicitly or illegitimately part ponies from their bits.”

The silver shilling shimmers with a rainbow shine, lingering on an orange tint that fades after a few seconds.

“Huh.” Applejack looks around curiously; nopony else seems to have reacted to the color shift. She tucks the coin away in her Stetson.

“I’m sure we can work out any details at some future time,” Flim says with a wink at Applejack.

“But now?” Flam hoists a barrel to the top of the table. “We have a whole town’s worth of cider to drink!”

A cheer goes up among the gathered ponies as the first mugs are filled. Pinkie Pie carts away a full two dozen, the entirety of the barrel, to share with the mares of the herd.

“You know,” Rainbow Dash remarks somberly, swishing the cider around in her mouth with a bit of a grimace. None of the other ponies outside their herd seem to be complaining. “For having as much cider as I wanted? I kind of thought it would taste better than this.”

“Ah know what ya mean,” Applejack says, not having sampled hers yet. She stares at Granny Smith; would her grandmare publicly chastise her for going against Sweet Apple Acre tradition? Or would she keep those thoughts to herself, observe and weather the change, just like she’s doing with all the other changes going on?

She takes a sip of her cider, frowning at the off-taste. Not like their normal Red Delicious. It’s more like…

“Oh!” Applejack exclaims, chuckling to herself. “That’s ‘cause this barrel used every apple instead’a sortin’ ‘em! No wonder it tastes off!”

She motions at the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000, shaking her head, only to spot a curious colt cresting the golden lip of the suction tube. “‘Bo! Get down from there!”

Ch. 63 - Frozen Trail, Part One

The previous evening - April 6th

Tempest Shadow scowls under her hood, teeth bared, ears flat against her skull. Sparks sizzle as they fall onto the table as she again tries to drive the distractions from her mind: the clink of coins in Captain Celaeno’s purse as the green-feathered captain motions somewhere on a weathered map of Equus, the creak and groan of the airship’s timbers as the motley parrot crew load yet another ton of paste and sand into the hold, or the bright golden glow lighting the clouds as the sun sets behind a hazy horizon.

She closes her eyes, furious at the celestial reminder. Deep breaths work to calm her, but not completely; if she isn’t careful she’ll burn a hole in her hood. If any of the crew glance at her out-of-the-way nook she doesn’t notice or care, so long as they do not keep her from her goal. She blocks the chatter of the captain discussing potential contracts with the first mate from her mind, again trying to focus.

Celestia has given her a peek, a fleeting glimpse, of what lies behind the veil. The alicorn seeks knowledge as ravenously as she devours cakes, everypony knows this, as evidenced by the reams of reports and legions of letters she receives daily from every corner of Equestria. She claims to share every scrap of paper that crosses her desk with the Council, and thus the Storm King. Yet even if the claim is true - Tempest has her doubts, but she can’t see the vaunted advocate of the Elements of Harmony caught in an outright falsehood - the phrase ‘crosses her desk’ implies there are items of interest that do not cross her desk.

A orchid hoof digs into Tempest’s skull as she tries to recall something, anything, that might prove useful. The Staff of Sacanas had been one such attempt. Finding another like it? A powerful artifact and yet one whose abilities are niche or circumstantial enough to not warrant the precautions found at, say, the Restricted section of the Canterlot Archives? The sheer quantity of reports parsed means that finding anything relevant is like finding a blade of grass in a field. No; it is more like finding which two blades of grass are identical.

But now? She has one of those blades in her hoof. And it will only be a matter of time before she finds the second.

A momentary lull in the captain’s tirade trips an alarm; the unicorn’s ears flick warily, her eyes opening minutely to scan her surroundings while appearing to slumber.

“E-excuse me,” a soft, high-pitched voice asks from off the side of the airship, out of Tempest’s view. “Are you offering passage?”

“Twenty Storm Bucks,” Captain Celaeno grunts out. “Realm of Clouds, then contract depending.”

“Hmm,” the enquirer muses. “Have you taken any other passengers?”

“Just one so far,” Captain Celaeno answers, lazily flicking a feather at Tempest Shadow before going back to her papers with a weary sigh.

Tempest Shadow recognizes the purple unicorn who peeks over the deck as Radiant Hope: an arctic blue mane that frames her face like snow heaped against a window, the golden caduceus on her flank currently concealed under a heavy winter cloak, and piercing eyes like a frozen stream. Her mind instantly snaps to the dossier on the crystal pony, though the contents are understandably sparse: Generosity (Greed) user specializing in healing, a valuable asset under any circumstance, who trained under Celestia and Luna before the Empire disappeared.

Radiant Hope’s passive expression brightens as soon as she spots the orchid unicorn, an infectious cheer that gets the parrots to sit up straighter and almost smile in spite of their gruff exteriors. “Certainly! Twenty Storm Bucks, you say? And I can put another thirty toward passage to the Crystal Empire. Whenever your other routes allow, of course.”

“Of course,” Captain Celaeno responds with a flicker of happiness, though she seems surprised at her own tone. She inspects a clawed hand after pocketing the proffered plump bag of coins; the other drums against the map and leaves little pock marks in the worn material, one eye never leaving the grinning unicorn as she makes her way aboard.

“Good evening!” Radiant Hope greets as she sits across from Tempest Shadow. Her horn flares gold, removing her heavy cloak; after a moment’s inspection she lays it down against the hard deck. She nestles against the downy fabric with a happy coo. It serves as an admirable barrier against the growing chill, one that will only get worse as shadows lengthen and the airship rises. “I was hoping to find you!”

“Really.” Tempest Shadow lets the silence linger, curious if the vivacious unicorn’s smile would falter.

It does not. If anything, it grows wider. “Is that so wrong?”

A low growl rumbles in the back of Tempest’s throat. “And why would you try to find me?”

This time, Radiant Hope’s smile falters as she skittishly glances from side to side. She says in a low voice, “Because you’re the only one who can help me.”

Tempest raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “Why should I trust you?”

“You’re not the only pony who lost something dear to them,” Radiant Hope says somberly. She stares off to the north, not focusing on anything except perhaps the distant mountains of the Frozen North.

Tempest snorts. “You wouldn’t rather run along to your precious Princesses for help?”

A scowl fit to match any of Tempest’s best cuts a ruthless line across Radiant Hope’s visage. It looks out of place on the otherwise effervescent unicorn. “The only Princess I trust is gone.”

Tempest Shadow leans back. She doesn’t fully trust the unicorn, but neither is she as nakedly suspicious. “Then what do you want from me?”

Radiant Hope’s lips pull together as she considers. “What do you know of the Crystal Empire?”

“I know enough to mount an invasion,” Tempest smoothly replies. “Were I still commander of the Storm King’s armada.”

Radiant Hope’s eyes go wide at the suggestion, her breath catching. It takes a moment for her to recover, shaking her legs out to help them relax. Her jaw locks as she looks away, afraid of saying the words on the tip of her tongue.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Tempest callously asserts. “You’re comparing me to King Sombra, trying to decide if I’m worth the risk.”

A slight smirk crosses Radiant Hope’s muzzle. “Yes,” she says with a small nod of her head. Her horn flares; a twinkling bubble briefly surrounds them, muffling the captain’s continued conversation. “You’re right, but not for the reason you think you are. Because I knew King Sombra, I knew him better than anypony else. They all thought he was evil, but he wasn’t! And I know that you aren’t evil, either.”

Tempest Shadow looks down as Radiant Hope stretches a hoof forward, backed by a radiant smile that threatens to overwhelm her. She steels herself against the onslaught of Kindness (technically Malevolence, though ponies get defensive when the distinction is pointed out), her years of training serving as an adequate barrier. She strongly doubts Hope is projecting such an assault consciously, much like the sparks that spray from her horn when her emotions rage, yet that realization makes the storm no less worrisome to weather. Especially with mental manipulation being nearly impossible to detect without safeguards; against a master, though they are thankfully few and far between (though confirming that to conform with reality is a Nightmare), even noticing failed attempts can be an indication they are attempting to lull one to a false sense of security.

The purple unicorn’s smile freezes when Tempest Shadow doesn’t immediately grasp her offered hoof. Her foreleg twitches, though remains outstretched, as if the reminder might get the orchid unicorn to accept.

If Tempest Shadow thought Radiant Hope was deliberately distorting her perceptions, much like the fallen King she advocates for, her reaction would be markedly more violent. As it is, she merely returns a pointed stare. “You never answered my question.”

Radiant Hope sighs, retracting her hoof and looking to the side. “I need your help searching for a way to bring my Sombra back to me.” She turns back, eyes watering and muzzle quivering. “He was… No, he is everything to me. I would do anything in my power in return. Including…”

Tempest Shadow cocks her head, intrigued as the purple unicorn glances above her eyes.

Radiant Hope gulps, unsure and hesitant. “Including fixing your horn.”

A gruff snort meets Hope’s assertion. “You think I haven’t had healers look at my horn before? Even Celestia thinks it too risky to attempt, and none other would even give me that glimmer of hope.”

Radiant Hope shakes the doubt from her body, standing straight and tall. “Princess Celestia and Princess Luna took me under their tutelage because of my abilities. They praised me as being the best healer they have ever seen!”

“There has been a thousand years for them to refine their techniques,” Tempest Shadow counters. “What makes you think you are still their best student?”

“Because I have something the others don’t,” Radiant Hope states with an unbreakable conviction. “Not because ponies traveled from far and wide for my healing, though they did. Not because Princess Celestia and Princess Luna noticed my abilities, though they did. But because I did something nopony else has done before, or since. When the darkness tried to overtake Sombra, and he nearly succumbed to it? I fought off that darkness. I transformed him into what he should be. What he is!”

“Prove it.” Tempest Shadow stares into Radiant Hope’s eyes. “Fix my horn, and I will gladly follow you to the ends of Equus.”

Hope’s confidence shatters. “I-I can’t. I’m not strong enough.” Tears flow from light blue eyes, the frozen river melting. “I wasn’t strong enough then, either. The darkness returned, and I wasn’t there to stop it. In my celebration, I had abandoned my one friend, my one true friend. And he was lost. I thought I could save the others, I tried to go to the Princesses, but I didn’t realize that the only way to save them all was to save Sombra. And I didn’t.”

“So you have nothing.” Tempest Shadow sits back with a disappointed sigh. “Just empty promises.”

“No.” Radiant Hope wipes the tears from her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I have only broken one promise in my life, when I betrayed Sombra. But once we are reunited? He is a master of magics, including many forbidden by the Princesses. Together, I promise you, we will restore your horn.”

Tempest Shadow considers for long seconds, trying to get a read on Radiant Hope. The unicorn certainly projects confidence, an assuredness she adores breaking out of boastful braggarts, especially those that far outclass or outsize her. But there is no excess in Hope’s words, or anything but sincere faith in her convictions.

“Then we have a deal.” Tempest Shadow reaches forward, grasping Radiant Hope’s hoof. The purple unicorn seems surprised at the quick conversion, though not unhappily, and firmly squeezes back.

“Great!” Radiant Hope’s confidence falters, if momentarily, the stomps of the crew returning as her muting bubble dissipates. “Any, um, idea where to start? Canterlot?”

Tempest Shadow considers. For all the alicorn hoards information, Celestia does not keep it under lock and key. No; Invictus Solaris, for all that her claims to be unbeaten go uncontested, is acutely aware of the potential of her own mortality. She also has an admittedly impressive number of monsters defeated and locked away, not only in Tartarus. Should any break free, such as the power-hungry centaur Tirek, or even worse? She dares not allow the knowledge of how she defeated them to disappear, as happened when Princess Amore, Empress of the Crystal Empire, was overthrown by King Sombra. And she wouldn’t store anything truly dangerous so close to the capital.

“Not Canterlot.” The orchid unicorn smirks as the airship takes off, no other passengers joining them. “Your original plan. The Crystal Empire.”

Ch. 64 - Emperor's Mastery, Part One

April 7th, 1001 Domina Solaria

Spike’s claws drum against his scales, the staccato beats drowned out by a steady clip-clop-clip of suitcase-wielding businessmares.

He stares at the train car that will convey him to the Crystal Empire. It’s a squat, utilitarian hauler suited for grueling trips through frigid cold and snow-packed rails. He’s surprised, not that the workhorse could make it up the Canterhorn without an engine change at the Lower Canterlot Station, but that it came up at all. Changeling built, the dark gray walls with garish green accents stand out like a sore hoof amidst the bright and cheerful lifters that circle the lonely mountain.

Ponies pass him by, smoothly maneuvering around the stationary dragon and his single suitcase. He can’t help but think that they are avoiding looking at him, judging by the guarded scowls and frustrated snorts. The outsider that stole the position as Emperor of the Crystal Empire from its rightful pony owner. No matter that he had been born in Canterlot, raised here, and couldn’t see himself living anyplace else. Well, if they have a problem, they should just say it to his face, right?

He stands straighter, wriggles his shoulders back and forth until his chest puffs out, and firmly locks his gaze ahead of him. That’s how the Royal Guards stand, right? They don’t let anything faze them: not the sight of a dragon riding a pony’s back, or when he made funny faces at them from said pony’s back, or when the two collapsed into a laughing heap because that pony noticed the faces he was making.

He sighs, unconsciously slouching back to the lax position he finds most comfortable. Maybe it’s for the best that Twilight already left for Ponyville. After all, he’s the Brave and Glorious Spike, right? He helped save the Crystal Empire, and now he’s going to lead them!

He puffs out his chest, only to realize how his posture has already degraded. He grunts, berating himself mentally, as he resumes standing at what he approximates as ‘attention’, just like Shining Armor used to do.

“Nervous?”

Spike glances at the pink Princess parting the morning commuters as effortlessly a pegasus parts the air. He notices his mistake immediately after making it, turning to again face forward.

“W-what,” he starts, his voice breaking. He cuts off, deepening his voice, which makes him sound like a child trying to sound old. Which is exactly true, as much as he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. “What makes you think that?”

Cadance softly chuckles, a soft warmth like a blanket just pulled from the dryer, as she walks up to Spike’s side. “When I became a Princess,” she confides, mimicking his imperious stance. “I hated it.”

“You did?” Spike’s eyes go wide, abandoning any pretense at playing guardpony. “I thought everypony dreamed of becoming a Princess!”

“You’d have to ask Luna that,” Cadance returns jovially. “And, maybe, I counted myself in that group. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about this.”

Princess Cadance straightens up, higher than Spike has ever seen her. It’s not high enough to crest Celestia’s impressive height, not by a long shot, but Spike would put her even with the larger stallions, like Big Mac or Prince Blueblood. A hair taller than Princess Luna, maybe, but he’d want to line the two up to compare.

Then her wings spread wide, twin purple and pink majesties whose feathers match her mane while the forelimbs blend into her coat. If anypony feigned to not notice the Princess before they drop the act; the impressive display stalls traffic in the otherwise busy train station, many respectfully inclining their head if not reverently dropping to a knee.

And then, as quickly as they unfurled, Cadance pulls her wings to her sides and seems to shrink into herself. The magnanimous aura surrounding her fades, not that ponies would have ascribed their demonstration of adoration to magically enforced awe instead of genuine appreciation. Motion resumes along the platform, unsure at first before returning to an efficient bustle.

“Wow,” Spike utters, eyes sparkling with wonder at the impressive display. “Let me try!”

With a great ‘Huzzah!’ Spike leaps on top of his suitcase, draconic wings flaring wide. He stretches his claws above him like some towering fiend, intimidating fangs backlit by embers threatening to burst forth.

“Ahh!” “It’s a dragon attack!” “Run away!”

Worry replaces menace as Spike watches the platform erupt into chaos: ponies twist and ram into each other as they hurry away, narrowly missing trampling those that fall to the ground in a dead faint. And yet there is a note of laughter in their screams, a hint of feigned fear, a lack of pungent sweat staining the air.

Spike sighs to himself as he hops down, glumly staring at the floor. The once-panicking ponies gradually regain their composure; those on the ground cautiously open one eye, and upon seeing that the ‘danger’ has passed pick themselves up and trot along to their previous engagements. He self-consciously runs a claw along his arm, grimacing at the lack of bulky muscles or other majestic features that he might magnify.

“I thought it was a very frightening display,” Cadance consoles.

Spike huffs. “You think I’ll ever be able to do what you did? They didn’t fake it with you like they did with me. The Emperor should beckon, and the world attend.”

Cadance’s soft smile spreads a warmth through his already-toasty body as she nestles next to him. “If you work at it,” she counsels, though there is a slight hesitation. “I had to. I didn’t want to be seen as some high-and-mighty aristocrat, elevated above everypony else. But that’s what ponies expect of their rulers, how Princess Celestia has been seen for generations. But me? I hated the dereference, the supplication, the imploring whimpers, even as I practiced to receive them as a proper Princess should.”

“O-oh,” Spike says, his claws furling and unfurling against his palms. That… as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, that is what he wants. To feel respect and admiration, to be seen as a valued member of the community.

“So we came to a bit of an arrangement,” Cadance continues. Her wings spread from her sides just a fraction, enough to give a few of the nearest ponies pause. “When I, or any of the other alicorns except perhaps Princess Celestia, spread our wings? That’s their cue to treat us with a certain amount of adoration and devotion. Otherwise?” Her wings tuck fully against her barrel. “I’m just a regular, approachable pony. They can talk to me about something simple that they’re worried about, like an upcoming test, or something intimate, or just to share a joy.”

Spike glances up, unsure at what he just heard or how he should react. But the inviting smile on Cadance’s muzzle indicates no subterfuge or judgement. Before today? He would have seen Twilight as the pony who would want to talk about each of those topics: the latest book assignment Celestia gave her, the way she curled up in her bed rereading the material, and the sheer exultation at yet another perfect mark. He wouldn’t have seen himself as somepony who confides about, well, any of those three topics.

Maybe it’s the dragon in him talking, but he doesn’t want to talk, either. They are his problems to work through! Just like it’s him as emperor! The Brave and Glorious Spike doesn’t need to take advice!

Cadance’s smile falters, if just for a split second. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. But I’m here if you ever feel the need.”

“Well, there is one thing I wanted to ask,” Spike says, drawing an excited twitch from her. He look up into her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “Are you happy with me being the ruler of the Crystal Empire?”

Cadance closes her eyes for a moment. “Do you want the honest answer or the one that makes you feel better?”

Spike growls, resentful that she might coddle him. “One should never be astonished by the brutality of this world. I can take it.”

Cadance’s lip pulls between her teeth, nibbling while she contemplates. “I desperately hope you make a good ruler, Spike.”

“That’s ‘The Brave and Glorious Spike’,” he jovially corrects.

Cadance smiles, chuckling along. “Of course, your Majesty, the Brave and Glorious Spike.” She bows low, though without a hint of mocking.

“Oh, well, you don’t have to do that,” Spike says, rubbing a claw along the back of his head.

As Cadance rises she fondly nuzzles the dragon on his cheek, then pulls away with a contemplative look at the open sky. “When I got my cutie mark, I didn’t know what it really meant. I thought it was about sharing love, because that’s how I earned it. Princess Celestia, however, recognized its significance immediately. She shared with me everything she knew about the Crystal Empire, which was unfortunately limited. After the Umbrum were driven away by the power of the Crystal Heart, the crystal ponies were able to regain their autonomy under Princess Amore. But it wasn’t long before King Sombra took over, and he banished the city when the Princesses stopped him. Celestia had not thought to store her memories in the Vault of Remembrance, and those she carried were already recorded elsewhere.”

“So you’re saying you can’t help me very much,” Spike says with a hint of annoyance.

Cadance’s smile purses to a grim line. “The Crystal Ponies have been through so much. Far more than I could ever comprehend, enough to make Chrysalis imprisoning me for a week seem like a vacation. I thought my mark, my ability to spread love, would help them in that regard. So if I am worried?” She takes a deep breath. “It is only because I want the best for them. And yet Harmony must have some higher purpose for me, it must know that you are the one to go there, that you are the one best suited for their healing and renewal.”

Spike puffs out his chest as Cadance beams at him. His arms stretch out, meeting hers in a deep, long hug. His head nestles into the soft fur of her chest, the gold peytral clinking against his scales.

“All aboard!” comes the call from the train to the Crystal Empire.

“I guess that’s it.” Spike gives the pink alicorn another hard squeeze, one she returns with just as much vigor. “The Empire awaits me with open jaws.”

“Don’t let it devour you.” Cadance nuzzles Spike as they release, sighing as he picks up his suitcase and boards the train. He pokes his head out the window, waving. She waves back before turning to Fancy Pants and a few other nobles who have been patiently waiting for her to finish, not that Canterlot’s administrators need a lot of micromanaging.

Ch. 65 - Emperor's Mastery, Part Two

If the outside of the train is an amateurish and clumsy attempt to blend in with the other more brightly colored and cheerful cars, with green accents and embellishments but none of the other pastels, the inside is a naked admission that the designers think nothing like their pony compatriots. The cramped and oppressed feeling starts when Spike first boards, with a ceiling that would barely accommodate Princess Celestia’s tall stature, to say nothing of a claustrophobic pegasus who wants to hover. Small windows are set low on the walls, made more to withstand the brutal attack of a maulwurf than allow ponies to gaze outside.

The one other pony aboard, a stallion a similar coat color to Applejack, looks up from his thick tome that would be right at home in Twilight’s library. He pushes his glasses, which have fallen to the tip of his snout, up, then strokes his red-orange gangly beard.

“Ah,” he says with a mixture of recognition and glee wrapped in a pleasant ball. “You must be Spike.” He coughs, amending, “I mean, the Brave and Glorious Spike.”

“That’s ‘Emperor the Brave and Glorious Spike’,” Spike corrects with a self-deprecating upswing. He flashes the stallion a smile, who misses it and his jest completely.

“My mistake,” he says as he stiffens, though doesn’t seem too put out. “Emperor the Brave and Glorious Spike.” He offers a curt nod of his head, his glasses slipping down. “My name is Sunburst, senior chronicler at the Canterlot Archives.”

“Hi, Sunburst!” Spike drags his suitcase over to the pony, grimacing as he inspects the hard-backed chairs. Sunburst has a pillow under his barrel, as well as a blanket to keep his hooves from direct contact with the chilly metal. Nonetheless, he flashes the stallion his best smile. “I was just joking about the whole ‘Emperor’ thing.”

“Oh.” Sunburst frowns to himself, pushing up his glasses. “Does that mean you aren’t the Emperor?”

“No, I’m still the Emperor.” Spike scratches at the back of his head as he sets his suitcase down. “I just meant, you don’t have to call me ‘Emperor’.”

“Oh. I see.” Sunburst stares at Spike for long seconds, attention occasionally flickering to his book, a treatise on the Crystal Empire’s unique spellcrafting capabilities. His glasses fall down when he does, having to push them back up.

“...Awkward,” Spike mutters to himself. He doesn’t see a good way to back up without being overt about avoiding further interaction, so he plops down on the opposite seat. Any further embarrassment at jumpstarting a conversation is spared when the doors open and in steps a light gray stallion.

“Come on, Totem,” he orders, flicking a short cropped black mane that matches his sunglasses. A young dark red stallion, looking like he just earned his cutie mark, staggers in behind him, encumbered by stuffed saddlebags that balloon out from his sides. The older stallion heads towards Sunburst - nopony would rather sit alone when they can join their own - and glances at the cover of the book. “What’cha got there?” His eyes light up, as do Sunburst’s when he sees the stallion take an interest. “Research, eh?”

“Oh, yes,” Sunburst says, pivoting away from Spike to face the stallion. He holds up the cover. “Advanced Applications of Synthesized Crystal. Portions are quilled by Princess Celestia herseIf, modeling not only how to fabricate the material similar to those used by the Crystal Ponies but the differences between those she made and her observations on the crystals employed by King Sombra!” Sunburst takes a self-aggrandizing sniff, his glasses already slipping down again. “I brought it from the archives for a bit of light reading!”

“Light reading, eh?” The gray stallion holds up a hoof, which Sunburst hesitates before bumping. “Name’s Withers. Don’t suppose you’re a chap looking for a bit of work? Heard there might be a lot of opportunity up in the Frozen North for those willing to search! Locating, mining, refining, all sorts!”

“Yes, indeed!” Sunburst grins, shifting in his seat excitedly. “I’ve always felt a draw to the more theoretical applications. But the chance to see, maybe even literally, the cutting edge bite deeper? Like if you take a Equestrian grow-crystal matrix and integrate components fabricated using some of Sombra’s self-replicating techniques, then…”

Spike follows along as Sunburst details the first of probably many potential theories, his long nights studying with Twilight helping immensely, and if Withers fails he does an admirable job faking it. It starts to get old quickly, though, and he’s grateful when the beleaguered colt plops down next to him.

“Life of a support, eh?” Totem unloads his saddlebags with a smirk at Spike’s suitcase. “They get all the glory, and no one notices the five a‘ya working behind the scenes. What can ya do, you know?”

“Yeah,” Spike commiserates, having done his fair share of carrying materials for Twilight and then some. He frowns, a little surprised how quickly the pony acclimated to a dragon; most stay away, especially the younger ones. “I’m Spike.”

“Really? Where?” Piercing blue eyes make a show of looking over Spike’s body, failing to find any pointy edges. “Or do they just use you to spike drinks?”

“Hey!” Spike snorts. “That only happened once! Besides, you’d have to ask Twilight. Maybe she thought my frill would be, I don’t know, spikier?” He runs a claw through his green frill. His face lights up as he realizes, “Oh, wait, I got it! These!”

Totem nods, impressed, as eight long claws splay out. “Nice.” He holds up a hoof. “Could clock a guy with one of these, but it doesn’t have quite the same buck, ya know?”

Spike retracts his claws, sitting back, satisfied. His head tilts to the side curiously. “Is your name really Totem? Like, Totem Pole?”

“Nah, just Totem,” Totem replies as he stretches out his back. “But at least you know how to spell. Most of the others? They just go, ‘See those boxes? Tote ’em over here! Those books? Tote ‘em over there!’ That kind’o thing. Not that I mind. It’s fun, workin’ with me ‘da. Travel all ‘round the country, I does. Get to see lots of interesting folk.”

“Huh.” Spike scratches at his chin. “I’ve really only been to Canterlot and Ponyville.” He puffs his chest up, counting on his reputation to precede him. “And the Crystal Empire.”

“That’s cool!” Totem nods once, not breaking long enough for Spike to jut in.

The dragon deflates slightly at the lack of recognition. Part of him wants to point this out, that he is now Somepony Important. Yet another part is glad to have a connection, however temporary, to somepony around his age who isn’t dissuaded by his new position. Or, worse, only interested in him because of what he can offer them. He’s seen that happen far too many times in Canterlot, even as insulated as he was, when a noble treated their fellow unicorns magnanimous and their servants with disdain. He resolves not to do the same.

“It’ll be my first time.” Totem shrugs. “First time on a changeling-built train, too, but sure beats beatin’ it on hoof. The best way to travel, though? Airship. Me ‘da hates it, ‘cause he knows what happens if a pony falls off, but that ain’t ever stopped him before.”

“Oh, yeah?” Spike flicks a bit of dust off a claw. “I’ve been on a few airships myself, and I’ve never been scared!”

“Duh,” Totem deadpans. “You’ve got wings.”

Spike’s face goes briefly blank. “Oh,” he admits, a bit embarrassed at his obvious boasting.

“Not to say us earth ponies don’t have anything going for us!” Totem flexes a foreleg, Spike envious at the cord of muscle that bulges up. “Don’t know if we’d make it from all the way up in the clouds, but me ‘da says he’s heard of earth ponies who fell five stories an’ only broke a leg!”

“That happened to Big Mac!” Spike exclaims, briefly (but only briefly) drawing the attention of the two stallions. He continues, quieter, “It was around the time we moved to Ponyville. He leapt off this scaffold and broke his back leg. It was right before Applebuck season, so we all chipped in to help at the farm.”

“Longest week of his life, I bet,” Totem says with a smirk. “Ain’t done a lot of harvesting meself, growing up in Canterlot, but there’s a whole rack of ‘em I wouldn’t mind sending to the fields to feel an honest day’s work. Just to see what it’s like, the ingrates, burned out eyeballs from staring at Princess Celestia from up in their ivory towers. Closest they’ve ever been to a field is seen a picture in a book, ya know?”

“Err,” Spike stalls. He wants to defend Twilight, who spent a lot of her time in the Canterlot observatories. Except she, aside from running around the areas in Canterlot better termed gardens, gained most of her knowledge about what fields are like from books.

“Still, working chumps like us?” Totem grins, leaning back and relaxing against the hard-backed seat, seemingly impervious to the chilly metal that starts to bother Spike. “Somepony’s gotta do it.”

“Or somedragon,” Spike counters.

Totem chuckles to himself. “Yeah. Somedragon. Long as your flank isn’t draggin’, ya know?”

Spike glances at his flanks before he catches the double meaning. He flares his wings. “Not with these!”

The rest of the train ride passes quickly, the two swapping stories about their respective guardians and only occasionally testing their various strengths against each other. While Totem has him beat on brute strength, if only barely, the colt doesn’t have anything that can compete with his flame breath.

As they get close, Spike stares through the thick glass, only marginally impressed with the view from the train. It’s certainly better than when he walked to the sparkling city, but leaving on an airship sort of spoiled things for him. Especially now that he has wings and can repeat the aerial view! The incredible perspective, seeing things from a different angle - actually, an angle much like the one from the Crystal Castle itself. He points out a few of the landmarks, and Totem lights up when they mention the library. It makes Spike chuckle, thinking back to Twilight’s advice when entering a new place. ‘Always find a librarian!’

An armored guard assists Sunburst off the train, a medium blue stallion with a cutie mark of a historic guard helmet. Actually, because he’s now in the Crystal Empire, it’s not historic; it’s just the style of their helmets, with a fancy plume that sticks out twice as far as the Equestrian variety and a longer bevor covering the neck. A bit more angular, too, much like the buildings all around him, emphasizing the crystal from which they are hewn.

Totem hops off the train with a bit of a smirk, carrying his heavy load of books and other supplies. He waits while Sunburst and Withers trot off to the library, neither really noticing that he is lagging behind.

The armored guard bows low as soon as Spike leaves the train. “Greetings, Spike the Brave and Glorious,” he announces loudly. A dozen nearby crystal ponies drop what they are doing to hurry over, excitedly chattering about the new arrival. “And welcome to the Crystal Empire! Would you like an escort to the Crystal Castle?”

“Hey,” Spike says to Totem. “This might take a while. Meet you in the library later?”

“Sure thing,” Totem says with a quick nod goodbye. “Catch ya later!” He trots off after Withers and Sunburst, disappearing into the crowd.

Ch. 66 - Emperor's Mastery, Part Three

“This way,” the armored guard says to Spike, though any directions seem wholly unnecessary: their destination dominates the center of the Crystal Empire, towering high above every other building. The castle is as impossible to miss as Canterlot jutting off the Canterhorn, a gleaming beacon standing testament to the power and might of the ponies.

Or, perhaps, the guard is merely guiding Spike through the throngs of crystal ponies. Fruit vendors, peddlers of wool garments, the porters hauling goods from the train: each pauses whatever it is they are doing to stop and stare or point excitedly. It culminates to an assault on every sense, with brilliant colors of soft fabrics, tantalizing smells wafting by that make mouths water, and the blaring of flugelhorns against the undercurrent of whispers.

At first Spike meekly waves back, certainly unused to the attention and a bit self-conscious. And yet it isn’t just that. He feels, if he stopped and made the connection, like a changeling would when they first step hoof into a pony town: overwhelmed as the entire city screams its opulence. From the train station on the edge of the city to the central castle, each angular and crystal-crafted building a delectable treat, as delicious as any gem-topped pastry from Sugarcube Corner. Just begging to be tasted, sampled, devoured. Even the ponies don’t escape his capricious gaze, claws furling and unfurling as he imagines running his tongue along them.

It wasn’t like this when he was here before, or even on the ride over. But now that he is in their midst, surrounded by hundreds if not thousands of shimmering sights? If the mere sight was it, perhaps that alone would not be enough of a claim to trigger his draconic avarice. But now he is their Emperor, and he desperately wants the other nine-tenths of his claim solidified. He sets his sights on the closest, a market stand surrounded by berries.

“Would you like a piece?” the fruit vendor asks as Spike flies over, torn between hesitation and supplication. She sweeps her hoof over baskets of red, blue and purple crystal berries, a number of simple tarts made from the same, and jam-covered slices of flat bread.

“Wait,” Spike commands the guard, who does so. He growls to the vendor, “Just one?” A short jet of smoke curls away from his nostrils. How could he choose just one?! They all look delicious, and the accommodations on the train weren’t exactly up to Ponyville’s standards, as a rumble from his belly reminds him.

“N-no!” the mare desperately begs, dropping her head to the ground in a low bow. “Not like that! His Majesty can have as many as he desires!”

“Better,” Spike remarks as he selects a clawful of berries and a purple pastry. “How much?”

She chokes back a sob, and if she could bow any lower she would. “No charge, your Majesty!”

“Really?” Spike stops, halfway to reaching inside his suitcase for his bag of bits, though he realizes that they might not take the Equestrian currency here. He’ll have to ask about that at some time. He glances down at the berries, torn between accepting the ‘generosity’ and suspicious of why such a perk exists. What would Rarity do?

“O-of course,” she stammers. “It’s as his Majesty deserves.”

Spike frowns, uncomfortable with the pleading. “Come to the castle,” he says quietly. Now that he thinks about it, Princess Celestia probably pays for whatever she gets, though he’s never seen her directly spend the bits. “We’ll work something out.”

She whimpers. “Yes, your Majesty,”

Spike looks around. The other ponies have gone silent, watching him with leery eyes. It makes him uncomfortable, especially being shorter than them, so he takes flight to hover just above their heads. He bites into the pastry, finding it just as delicious as he imagined it would be. Little rivulets of juice stream from one corner as he jostles between chewing and drooling. He raises a claw to wipe it off, stopping halfway; it would be unbecoming of an Emperor to do something so, as Rarity might put it, unbecoming. He spots a merchant with a couple cloths that might be suitable as hoofkerchiefs (clawkerchiefs?), and flies over.

The merchant’s back stiffens as he approaches, her nod of acknowledgement long and leaving her eyes downcast. “What can I offer you, m’lord?”

Spike hums to himself as he considers, absently chomping down the rest of the berries. “Is this all you have?”

“I-is nothing up to his Majesty’s standards?” The mare gulps nervously. “It’s, just, with the ‘Shift’, it’s taken far too long to get our production going again.”

“Really?” Spike scratches at his chin. “Why?”

“Um,” the mare stalls, glancing at the others for support. “W-well, our memories of before King Sombra took over…” She takes a deep breath, dreading giving the bad news. “T-they’re spotty at best. Some of us are able to recall our prior professions, but others are completely lost. Our written records are worse.”

Spike looks around. The other ponies are nodding, many reluctantly.

“We’ve been burning through our stores,” the mare admits. “We’re grateful for any assistance Equestria has given us, and the changelings have a certain… drive to expand beyond our borders.” She motions to a pack of changelings: six bright green adults shepherd eighteen motley youngsters, barely more than grubs, toward the train. “It’s helped motivate us. But we’ve barely gotten the houses sorted out, much less the fields!”

“The fields?” Spike frowns, flying a touch higher to get a better vantage point. He can see rolling fields of grass in every direction, nothing out of the ordinary.

The mare nods, slowly getting more confident. “Yes. There are fields of polar grass. What happened to the crystal berry bushes, the fruit trees, the fields of crystal corn? We can’t survive, much less thrive, on shrub grass!”

“Huh,” Spike grunts, the enormity of the problem quickly dawning on him. No wonder nopony wanted the job! How is he possibly supposed to sort through not only figuring out what everypony is supposed to do and where they are supposed to stay while keeping enough love to power the Crystal Heart? The train is looking mighty compelling, an easy escape from all these problems...

“But whatever you need,” the mare continues as she and many of the others lower their heads subserviently. “We are happy to provide. Whatever we can.”

Spike slowly rotates, gulping as he looks at each member of the crowd. Their expectations, their hope in him, is crushing; how can be the pony that they need him to be? Somepony to take into account each of their struggles, the trauma they’ve been through, and somehow come up with a solution perfect for all?

Then his gaze strays to the Crystal Castle. And at the base, visible from the train station on the edge of the city, the gargantuan statue of when he transformed in order to defend the ponies. He feels so small and insignificant, especially compared to that statue, burdened with a responsibility he has no chance of bearing. Why did he ever want this? Why did he want to break free from Twilight, his life of ease and plenty, to struggle and fail out in the miserable cold?

What kind of pony would he be if he abandoned the crystal ponies now, in their hour of need?

No. Not a pony. A dragon.

He could be exactly what they need! Dragons didn’t get all mopey about the hardships they’ve been through. They have tough scales built to weather any storm, studded with gems and tempered with flame! Yes, they can be mean and nasty, but that’s precisely the sort of attitude that will get them through this!

He was born for this!

And, besides; what the empire gives, that is what the emperor shall consume. If the people graciously donate their time and resources? He would be worse than a foal to deny them.

A change comes over Spike, immediately noticed by the crowd. He lands, his shoulders squared back, his chest as broad as he can make it, and commands with brutal efficiency. “Thank you, miss?”

“Jade,” she replies.

Spike takes the closest cloth, staining the white with the red of the berries. “Thank you, Jade.” He turns to the others. “First order of business, then. I want a complete list of every residence and business in the Empire. Preferably with notes on who remembers what, specifically. Second.”

“Um,” the guard interrupts, drawing a fierce glare from Spike. The other ponies mill about nervously, unsure of how they should react. “Do you want this carried out now? Or would his Majesty prefer to issue his decrees from the castle?”

“Hmm,” Spike considers. “They would be carried out more efficiently from there. Very well. Can you walk and write at the same time?”

“Err,” the guard says, shaking his head subconsciously. “I will do my best.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Spike chuckles to himself, remembering how illegible Twilight’s writing is when she is distracted by walking, and that’s with a horn! He pulls parchment and a quill from his suitcase, which the guard dutifully loads onto his back as Spike takes to the air. He dictates to himself as he writes, “Second. A list of all the ponies, and what they can remember about their professions.” He pauses, the crowd parting as they pass. “Do they remember their relationships?”

“For the most part,” the guard answers with a shade of reluctance.

“For the most part?” Spike echoes, perturbed by the evasion. “What does that mean?”

The guard takes a deep breath. “Any foals who cannot remember or find their parents, or not otherwise claimed, are staying at the orphanage.”

“Why,” Spike starts before the realization hits him, burning at his mouth like acid. “Sombra.” He tries to take deep breaths, the anger building inside him. He can barely pay attention as the guard leads him through a cursory tour of the castle. Every floor, and there are dozens of floors, is full of bedrooms, kitchens, bathrooms, studies; practically entire mansions stacked on top of each other.

He finally arrives at the throne room, close to the very top of the castle. What must be the entire support staff is lined up, with a dozen black-and-white clad maids, chefs with their fancy hats, an announcer with a flugelhorn, and what he hopes is a stenographer.

“What is this?” Spike demands, bluntly waving a claw.

“Inspection,” the lead maid replies, an older mare with strict features and a tighter bun. A few of the younger mares in the back do their best to control their shaking, a fierce glance from the lead maid getting them to stand straight.

“That’s a thing?” Spike asks, shaking his head. “Well, not any longer. Besides, do we even need this many?”

A worried look crosses the lead maid’s face. “As you can surely tell, your Majesty, it is a massive castle-”

“Yes. Massive. And, at the moment, unnecessary.” Spike pulls out the notes he made on the way up on the demographics of the Empire. “I must know precisely where I stand, or else this entire endeavor is in dire jeopardy.” He points at the lead maid. “Your name?”

“Golden Wheat,” she answers.

“Golden Wheat.” Spike glances at her cutie mark, a grain of wheat. Several of the other maids share the cutie mark, and he briefly wonders why they are here and not out in the fields. “Organize the others. I am preparing a questionnaire for everypony. We will need copies made and distributed.”

“And the castle?” she asks bluntly. While there is disappointment she is not doing her assigned and likely preferred role, there is a growing sense of confidence, that at least they are doing something instead of waiting around.

“We shall sweep the trappings of past emperors aside,” Spike commands. “And make this empire anew. We shall focus our efforts on where they are necessary, and on the necrotic flesh that must be cauterized and purged.”

“But-” Golden Wheat starts, only for Spike to cut her off.

“There is no cooling respite from the searing attentions of greatness,” Spike states regally. “And precious gems are forged by heat and pressure. Do you wish the Crystal Empire to shine boldly, or do you wish for all to be lost when the night falls?”

“Of course, your Majesty,” Golden Wheat answers, kneeling. The others behind her do the same.

Spike smiles to himself, and at the scratch of the stenographer’s quill. “Good, my faithful subjects. I shall see you again in due time. Remember, the most troubling situations can be the most rewarding.”

Spike flies off to the royal bedchambers, leaving the others to contemplate his words. It is only once he is alone that he acknowledges the searing pain in his wings, the pounding of his heart, and the shaking of his claws. He walks to the balcony, staring out over his empire.

How is he possibly going to figure this all out?

Ch. 67 - Frozen Trail, Part Two

“Tired of standing out here yet?” Radiant Hope asks as she approaches Tempest Shadow, steam from her mug wafting from underneath her heavy cloak. Her eyes brighten as she reaches the very front of the airship. “Hey, I can see my house from here!”

“Really.” The broken-horned unicorn’s scowl remains as etched into her muzzle as always, the cheerful banter washing over her like the thick stratus clouds rolling around the southernmost mountains of the Frozen North. The oppressive blanket of gray sits uncomfortably low for her liking, with a constant threat of descending and completely blocking their vision. And for an airship relying on sight and not specially-trained pegasi scouts? They would risk running aground, crashing into the mountains whose tops recede into the murky gray above. Their travel through the relative valleys is precarious enough, and there isn’t even a pegasus on board to help clear the clouds, much less a unicorn capable of even small-scale weather manipulation.

“Okay, okay,” Radiant Hope admits, her smile remaining as radiant as her name. “It’s not actually my house. But Sombra and I would pretend that we were king and queen, or sometimes prince and princess, living inside the crystal castle. Or I was a scullery maid, called into the royal bedchambers for special cleaning.”

Tempest Shadow turns her head so her eyebrow raising can be clearly seen.

Radiant Hope rolls her sparkling eyes, tittering as she takes a sip from her mug. Her muzzle puckers at the bitter taste. “Okay, maybe that was just me. It was a lot of lonely years, being away from my Sombra! And I know he would never do anything like that.” She smirks. “At least, not with anypony else.”

“Indeed,” Tempest Shadow deadpans as she turns back to the horizon, trying to make out their destination from the gray rocks and white snow that encompass the entirety of the landscape.

“Do you see it?” Radiant Hope walks next to Tempest Shadow, sets her mug on the gunwale and points. “There, just starting to crest. I would recognize those spires anywhere.”

Sparks fizzle from the broken horn as Tempest Shadow peers into the depths, none too happy with the possibility that Hope’s perception is higher than hers. After a few seconds she locates the pointy blue top of the castle, a tiny spear seemingly jutting up through the snow of the closest mountain. She glances at Radiant Hope suspiciously. “How did you know we were getting close? Have you been up here before?”

“No, just heard the lookout squawking.” Radiant Hope sighs as more and more of the castle’s many spires slowly come into view, as well as the circle of verdant green clearly demarcating the limits of the Crystal Empire. She watches puffs of thick white smoke slowly grow closer to that circle from the north, the opposite direction from where trains should be coming from. Her gaze sweeps back and forth, but she sees nothing out of the ordinary; her breath catches, her smile slips a fraction. “Any idea where we should start looking?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the expert on the Crystal Empire?” Tempest Shadow retorts. She pauses for a moment, thinking; staying frosty around the ebullient mare is taxing, but isn’t enough to counter her lifetime of training. “When you returned, was it in the city itself?”

“No, I was…” Radiant Hope trails off, rubbing at her forehead. “I don’t know where I was, exactly. There was a massive snowstorm when I came back, and I wandered aimlessly for what seemed like hours. And then, as if by magic, it cleared up enough for me to spot the shield surrounding the Empire. I don’t remember where I went initially, either, except that there was a large red crystal jutting from the ground. It wasn’t there when I came back.” She sighs, staring glumly over the edge. “I know it’s not a lot to go on…”

“It’s not just ‘not a lot to go on’,” Tempest Shadow acerbically spits out. “It’s nothing to go on!”

“Well, it’s not like you have anything better,” Radiant Hope counters, as bitter as the fowl’s drink. “Or did you suddenly find a replacement for your horn while standing out here?”

A low growl rumbles in the orchid unicorn’s throat, but she says nothing.

Radiant Hope sighs and slumps against the gunwale. “I suppose that’s one place we could start.”

“And where is that?” Tempest Shadow demands, exasperated at the lack of explanation.

“Sombra’s horn.” Radiant Hope swirls her no-longer-steaming mug, then takes another sip. “I heard it was buried under the claws of the statue of Spike the Brave and Glorious.”

“Seriously?” Tempest Shadow stamps a hoof in frustration. “You don’t think that sort of fake message was specifically planted to try to draw wanna-be cultists, with some silly plan for world domination, to a tracked artifact?”

“Hey,” Radiant Hope retorts. She sniffs, affronted, turning her head up and looking away. “I’m not a wanna-be!”

“Oh, sure, that’s the part you object to.” Tempest Shadow sighs, rubbing at her horn with the vain hope it might make the pain go away. “We’ll go there after dark. If Sombra’s magic is as powerful as you claim, there should be some trace, even buried. Do you know any detection spells?”

“No,” Radiant Hope admits, yet remains full of cheer. “Because my love will lead me to him! I know it will!”

“Sweet Faust, have mercy on me,” Tempest Shadow mutters. “Okay,” she says, a little louder. “We’ll call that plan B. Maybe we should check the library, see if there’s a spell you can pick up in a matter of hours, or even days. Or a wizard we can hire on some false pretense.”

“Sombra and I were the only unicorns in the Crystal Empire,” Radiant Hope states bluntly. “Well, and Princess Amore, but Sombra turned her to stone. She didn’t come back with the Crystal Heart, so he must have hidden her somewhere.”

“Okay, so-” Tempest Shadow starts.

“-And it wouldn’t have to be under false pretenses,” Radiant Hope continues. “We could tell them that we’re trying to figure out if there is any trace of King Sombra’s dark magic and that we’re going to remove it if we find any.”

“Maybe you should let me do all the talking,” Tempest Shadow growls out.

“Fine,” Radiant Hope huffs. “But don’t be surprised when they question why the foreigner is looking for a fellow villain, instead of the Crystal citizen who harbors a sweet, innocent love for the colt she once knew.”

“Innocent?” Tempest Shadow’s scar over her eye begins to hurt with how much she is raising her eyebrow. “You fantasized about him dominating you.”

“Oh, please.” Radiant Hope turns a glare of her own. “How many times has the Storm King had his way with you?”

“That is neither here nor there,” Tempest Shadow spits out, scraping a series of deep gouges into the deck.

“Good,” Radiant Hope states, nodding firmly. “And, just so you know, we’ve never delved into that particular crevice. Although…” She trails off, sighing heavily.

Tempest Shadow feels a tiny pang of concern as the other unicorn seems to crumple against the rail. “What?” she demands, only somewhat harshly.

“I don’t know if he can sire foals,” Radiant Hope admits glumly. She takes a deep breath. “He’s a shadow pony. I overheard him accuse Princess Amore of knowing all along, and she confirmed it. That’s why he could never attend a Crystal Faire. That’s why I needed to be there, to help protect and rejuvenate him when light and love was literally tearing him to shreds. That’s why I need to help him overcome that darkness; or, failing that, we need to leave the Crystal Empire entirely.”

Tempest Shadow stares at Radiant Hope, almost in disbelief. “You would remove the villain from the one device capable of stopping him?”

“He’s not a villain!” Radiant Hope rebuts immediately, stamping a hoof against the wooden floor. “I’ll prove it! All he needs is a little guidance, an example to follow. I will be that example, so help me Celestia.”

“Yeah,” Tempest Shadow mutters bitterly. “We’ll need her help.”

The two watch as the airship descends into the Crystal Valley, then through an almost transparent bubble. They can feel the shift in the air, a steady warmth that drives away the tundra’s chill, everypony and everyparrot shedding their heavy coats in sheer relief. The guards, initially suspicious, are overjoyed when they discover the cargo consists of numerous delicacies, food staples, and other necessities.

“Thanks for the ride!” Radiant Hope shouts to Captain Celaeno as she studies a clipboard in her talons.

The green parrot’s dour gaze doesn’t stray from the ship’s manifest. “Thank whoever put a premium on shipping supplies here.”

After a cursory check through customs - Radiant Hope as a native citizen, and Tempest Shadow a credentialed member of the Storm Empire, now holding a set of crystal heart-stamped papers - the two trot along the main thoroughfare toward the castle. Ponies bustle on each side, many packing up what looks like their entire lives into boxes and leaving them outside their house. It is only once they get to the castle where, under the statue of Spike - now titled ‘Emperor Spike, the Brave and Glorious - they figure out what is going on.

A yellow crystal mare with a light purple mane, Fleur de Verre, stands behind a booth with stacks of paper. Half a dozen ponies are in line, some with filled out forms already in their hooves. The pony in front, the crotchety old Tough Nut, is arguing with her.

Radiant Hope gets in line with Tempest Shadow. She closes her eyes, concentrating. It doesn’t take long for a faint smile to cross her muzzle. She whispers, “I can feel him.”

“You can?” Tempest Shadow whispers back, somewhat amazed. She looks down at the solid foundation, built to support the castle. It would be quite difficult to drill through, and dangerous, to say nothing of hiding their tracks.

“Not here,” Radiant Hope whispers. “There.” She flicks her mane, barely noticeable, to a section a little further away, closer to the tail of the dragon. It’s hard to tell, but the ground does bulge up slightly where the foundation had to be repaved following Spike’s impact. Foals scamper around, climbing up the scales of the statue and sliding down the tail. “We’ll have to come back later.”

Once Tough Nut departs, muttering something about ‘colts these days’, the line moves quickly. Fleur de Verre smiles once Radiant Hope gets to the front of the line and pulls out a thick form.

“Hey, Verre,” Radiant Hope greets. “What’s this?”

“Hey, Hope,” Fleur de Verre greets back. Her voice has a touch of fatigue, like she’s had to explain this many a time over, yet she remains chipper. “Census, don’t ya know. Emperor Spike is taking a count, kind of like we did when we voted him in. Going to help get us back on track, make the Crystal Empire shine even brighter than we used to! Hard to believe, I know!”

“Yeah,” Radiant Hope agrees, taking the lengthy form. “Didn’t take long at all.”

“Bring it back by nightfall,” Fleur de Verre continues. “I’ll be here if there’s any you need help answering.” She sighs, resigned. “There might be some you don’t remember. Lots, even. Don’t worry about it at all. Just don’t leave anything blank, instead write ‘can’t recall’ or something to that extent, ya know. Emperor Spike’ll do all he can to make it fair, for everypony.” She turns to Tempest Shadow. “Anything I can do for you? Enjoying our fair weather?”

“It’s… bright,” Tempest Shadow says, unused to the glare reflecting off every single surface imaginable. She feels a headache coming on already, as well as spots in her eyes. She can’t wait to get inside the library.

“That it is,” Fleur de Verre says with a broad smile. She waves as the two depart for the library. “Next!”

Ch. 68 - Frozen Trail, Part Three

The Crystal Library stands considerably taller than the nearby buildings, a fact taken as a good sign by the two hopeful unicorns. What gives them pause are the two griffon statues standing guard at the entrance. Griffons are notoriously fierce and jealous protectors of what they own, though neither would have put knowledge as an asset they value. At least, as far as they know; perhaps far in the past things were different, but Griffons today seem at best resentful of their history and at worst quite willing to disembowel those that remind them.

Fifteen steps take them to the large double doors, one of a select few in the city able to accommodate, say, Princess Celestia’s tall frame. Radiant Hope takes a deep breath before pulling them open and stepping inside.

“I spent many a moon here,” she explains, motioning to the majestic shelves that might have made a lesser unicorn drop to her knees in awe. Rows upon rows line the walls, stuffed with thick books, ornate tomes, and gilded scrolls. “Som…” She trails off rather than finish the name despite nopony else being close by. “My friend and I would often come here and spend hours sifting through, well, whatever caught our interest that day. Novels, histories, magic, you name it.”

“Indeed,” Tempest Shadow replies. Her ears fold back just slightly as she stares up at the vast collection encompassing all four stories. All she can imagine is the Storm King rampaging through and tearing apart the sparkling bookcases in pursuit of a single page of power. “I see why they had griffons as statues in front.”

“For the wings?” Radiant Hope smiles and gives a short nod. “Although, there weren’t any by the time I was born. We had to use these.” She points at a few rolling ladders; the thought of climbing up the rickety pieces of metal makes Tempest Shadow a bit uneasy. At least you could trust the rigging on an airship to be secured tightly. “Not to brag, but we unicorns had a bit of an advantage.”

Her horn lights and surrounds a book close to the bottom in a golden glow. She pulls it out, smiling to herself as she inspects the fairly plain pink cover titled Spring Hearts Garden. “Oh, this was one of my favorites!” She squats down, tenderly opening the cover and running a hoof down the list of chapters. “It’s all about a princess who loves and cherishes her people!”

“Great,” Tempest Shadow deadpans, scanning the rest of the library. It’s mostly deserted except for three stallions clustered around a table further in. The young dark red stallion dumps a dozen books into a large and growing pile before leaving to gather more, the other two not even sparing a glance as they work through their own studies. “Anything in there that’s relevant to our search?”

“Um,” Radiant Hope says with a sheepish grin, ruefully closing the foal’s-book. “Not unless you think a Princess having visions of the future is relevant.” She replaces the book next to the other three in the series. “Any idea where to start?”

“Searching for records of powerful magics locked away?” Tempest Shadow snorts derisively. “I don’t suppose there is a clearly labeled restricted section, guarded by a narcoleptic librarian?”

“Sorry, this isn’t Canterlot,” Radiant Hope replies with a regretful shake of her head. “Amethyst Maresbury is always watching. She would greet you at the door and give you one hard look, and that was enough to let you know not to try anything. Especially if foals were around.”

Tempest Shadow looks around for any sign of the head librarian, the same as the one who came to Klugetown. “It would appear that she isn’t here.”

“Oh!” Radiant Hope exclaims, glancing shiftily from side to side. “In that case, the restricted section is right over there.” She points at a shadowy corner of the library, far in the back. “Just make sure the tissues are stocked.”

“...Right.” Tempest Shadow grunts as she walks off.

Radiant Hope peers back and forth before sneakily snagging the pink book. Her purloined prize in her possession, she giddily trots off to the table, plopping down next to the two stallions and engrossing herself in her guilty pleasure. They barely glance up from their books, the orange-maned stallion from a book on crystal manufacturing and the light gray from geological surveys in the surrounding mountains.

Several minutes pass, during which dark red delivers a few more loads of books. He notices the book in Radiant Hope’s hooves, happily exclaiming, “Oh, that’s one of my favorites!” He motions to a set of four Princess Collection stories, stacked blue, purple, pink, and lavender, that he just happened to pick up on his last run. “Small world, eh?”

“Mine, too!” Radiant Hope smiles fondly, checking out the large pile of books. “These can’t all be for you, can they?”

“Nah, bit of a business venture,” he answers. He sidles close to her, all carefree smiles and a cool countenance that reeks of trying too hard. “Name’s Totem. Yours must be Angel, ‘cause you sure shine like one!”

Radiant Hope titters, wanting to pet the smaller stallion’s mane. “Oh, you’re too kind. No, I’m Radiant Hope.”

“Ah, well, I was halfway there.” Totem winks, drawing a bemused smirk; he is about half her size. “So you like the classics, huh?” He chuckles to himself. “But they ain’t the classics for you, are they?”

“No, not quite,” Radiant Hope admits, deflecting any sort of advance. “What brings you to the Crystal Empire? It can’t be for the literature; everything here is at least a thousand years out of date.”

“Sure, that might stymie some other stallions,” Totem replies smoothly, hopping halfway onto the table. “But others can’t wait to get their hooves on a pristine copy of a first edition.” His hoof tenderly runs down the spine of one of the Princess Collection books. “Me, though? I always thought age was just a number, and so what if I liked something for little fillies!”

Radiant Hope’s brow furrows, the opposite of the reaction Totem was going for, and it shows in his brief confusion. “That sounds like those books could be quite valuable. You aren’t… stealing them, are you?”

“Nah, nothing like that.” Totem slowly pulls his hoof back. “Ain’t the prettiest of things, but the library’s gotta stay afloat somehow, ya know? Maybe they’ll buy back the rare ones once they’re back on their hooves. Who knows. The rest?” He scratches at his chin as he stares up at the ceiling. “There’s a mare, lives in Ponyville. Princess Twilight Sparkle. Heard of her?”

“Acquainted, I would say,” Radiant Hope returns.

“Well, her library got destroyed.” Totem sighs morosely, still overcompensating. “Sad, but that’s how it goes, ya know? Maybe next time you don’t build so close to the Everfree, if ya catch my drift. Anyway, we got a contract to help restock whatever they end up rebuilding. Rumor’s that it’s gonna be even more impressive than this one. Hard to believe, ya know? So we’re gathering up whatever duplicates ya got here, and anything that can be replaced with a, well, more recent copy.” He motions to a set of encyclopedias dating to, as Radiant Hope said, more than a thousand years ago.

The loud slap of a stack of books slamming against the table startles Radiant Hope; she glances up, sheepishly, as Tempest Shadow glares at the foal’s-book in her hooves.

“These are pornographic,” Tempest Shadow states loudly, making no effort to conceal her affront and disappointment. The two stallions’ ears twitch, though they wisely don’t look up. A grin spreads over Totem’s face as he slicks his mane back, which she ignores. “Nothing but saddle-rippers and tear-jerkers.” She looks disdainfully at her hoof, disgusted that anything might have rubbed off on her.

“I mean, it’s not my area to judge,” Radiant Hope starts, shrinking down slightly as the unamused expression on Tempest Shadow fails to fade. She offers a somewhat contrite grin. “Um, sorry? I thought you knew what was meant by the ‘restricted section’ of a public library.”

Tempest Shadow closes her eyes as she takes a deep breath, vowing not to treat the mare as she would her soldiers-in-training. “And in what way did you think that my search would be aided by this… smut?”

Radiant Hope’s smile pulls a little tighter. “Maybe you needed help relaxing?”

“Judging by the smell,” Tempest Shadow growls, sparks bubbling from her horn, “there has been plenty of relaxing done already.” She motions to the cheery pink book in Radiant Hope’s hooves. “And what is that supposed to be?”

“This?” Radiant Hope glances down. “...Research?”

“...Research.” Tempest Shadow sighs again, rubbing at her horn and hoping the approaching headache won’t be too debilitating.

“Well, it’s not like Hayhoof’s Intonements or Trotter’s Tome of Reliquary is going to help us,” Radiant Hope asserts acidically. “My magic is too specialized, and yours… well…”

“So you’re spending your time reading…” Tempest Shadow rolls her hoof at the pink book, trying to think up a fitting pejorative. “That.”

From the side Totem interjects, “I don’t blame her. You can find out a lot from the stories in foal’s books!”

Tempest Shadow turns to look down at the dark red stallion, eyes narrowing in a manner most dreadful. He doesn’t seem especially fazed even as she towers over him. “And you are?”

“Totem, at your service.” He slides off the table, deftly turning the motion into a low bow. “That is, if you’re looking for stories about powerful magic. You know, like the Mare in the Moon?”

Radiant Hope doesn’t really react, more quizzical than anything, while Tempest Shadow pauses, perplexed at the mention. The two glance at each other before returning to Totem.

“Oh, right,” Totem explains, noticing Radiant Hope’s confusion. “That happened after you lot left. And she came back just before you all returned. Well, let’s see. You know Princess Luna, right?”

“Yes,” Radiant Hope says with a grim nod.

“Obviously,” Tempest Shadow retorts, scowling.

“Well,” Totem continues, undaunted by their replies, “as the story goes, she got really mad because her Sister was hogging all the attention. So she decides to go and do something about that, right? Transforms into this bloke Nightmare Moon, wants to take over the world, the whole shebang. But before things get out of hoof, Princess Celestia swoops in with the Elements of Harmony and banishes her to the moon!”

“Not exactly how the story went,” Tempest Shadow counters dryly.

Totem rolls his eyes. “So I abbreviated. Sue me. And if I had my copy of Predictions and Prophecies I’d read you the whole thing. But the point is, those Elements of Harmony? That’s some serious magic there, and recorded in plain sight. And it ain’t all Princess Celestia either.” He rummages around the pile of books, pulling out one with a powerful dragon warrior prominently displayed on the front. “How about Burnferno? It’s all about how discovering your own potential makes you stronger than any foe!”

“Perhaps Raikou should read that one,” Tempest Shadow deadpans. “But this seems like a supreme waste of time.”

“So I didn’t hit a perfect shot on the first two tries. Sometimes this research takes hours. But there’s a secret.” Totem winks at Tempest Shadow, heedless of how her horn sparks. “You just have to access your inner foal to really enjoy these!“

Tempest Shadow stares back, hard. “I assure you, that is not the problem.”

“Aww,” Totem playfully moans. “Are you sure you don’t have a little foal inside you?”

Tempest Shadow’s growl is unmistakable. “No.”

Totem asks with a purr in his voice, undeterred by common sense: “Do you want to?”

Tempest Shadow goes very still, lest she strike the stallion colt, cutie mark or not, waving his hoof forward and back between them as if there is a leaf’s chance in a storm.

“Pffff,” Radiant Hope sprays through the hoof covering her muzzle, flopping to her back as she laughs uproariously. “That’s priceless! That’s-”

At Tempest Shadow’s glare she quickly recovers, standing up and acting totally serious. “-Completely not funny.” She can’t keep her grin off her muzzle, though, ruining any sort of sternness to her words.

“We’re done here,” Tempest Shadow states, turning to walk away.

“Well,” Totem continues, trying to keep them engaged. “What sort of magic are you looking for? You didn’t like the advanced applications, you said so before.” He rummages through the pile of books, pulling out a few. “Bridle Buck’s Boat Chants has some simple spells, but that’s more for teaching foals. Mystic Maps and Mazes? That’s more dungeon delving guidelines, but useful if you’re looking for the basics. Gusty the Great? No, that’s more foal stories.”

“Wait,” Tempest Shadow says, her ears pricking at the last one. “Gusty the Great?”

“Oh, yeah, another one of my favorites.” Totem slides the book toward Tempest Shadow. The back cover has a stylized all-black unicorn: she has twists in her ears, her mane and tail appear as if on fire, and her horn has an uncharacteristic slight wave to it. “That one even has the old cover, too, which I like more than the new one.”

“Tell me more about this ‘Gusty the Great’,” Tempest Shadow demands, starting to flip through the pages. The first few chapters details her life and training, especially growing up under Princess Celestia’s tutelage.

“Well, not a lot is known about her, it being so long ago.” Totem motions to the walls surrounding them. “Kind of why I want to start sifting through these books, ya know? That’s what I’m good at; you give me a job, and I’ll plug away at it ‘till it’s done!” He turns back to Tempest Shadow, winking again. When she ignores it, he continues, “Gusty was a right power sorceress, that much is known. Studied for years, a right Renaissance Mare. But after she beat Grogar the Necromancer, took his bell and all his power, and sealed them away? Legend says she returned home, but that’s all we know; Princess Celestia won’t say anything else.”

Gears begin turning in Tempest Shadow’s head. This is it! This is the connection they need! If they can find some clue about Grogar, some indication of where his power lays, they might be able to restore her horn!

“Where?” she demands loudly, stamping her hoof on the table. “Where in Equestria did she go?!”

“Not Equestria,” Totem says with a sly shake of his head, his muzzle curling upwards.

Tempest Shadow growls, furious at being denied her prize. Her words come out painfully slow, a clear indication of the sort of torture she might use. “Then where is this unicorn? Records of her, anything!”

Totem motions to the picture and the minor characteristics, clearly enjoying himself. “Gusty the Great isn’t just a unicorn.” He pulls out a business card stamped with Research, Inquest, Procurement and slides it to Tempest Shadow. “She’s also half kirin.” He gives her a long, smug smile. “You need help finding something? We find anything.”

Ch. 69 - Healthy Mind, Part One

Like so many days, Celestia operates as if she is in two places at once. One side has a cool breeze over her coat that tickles her nose with smells of cider, a musky petrichor seeping from the nearby Everfree, and sweaty ponies frolicking in a warm spring day. A heavy contrast to the steady breeze in her office that blows one page after another off the stacks of reports the Ravens so helpfully collate. She scans, continuously, though for a purpose that currently eludes her: her Sister is safely at her side, there seems to be no imminent danger imperiling the entirety of Equestria, and the only incoming threat she can detect is the soft crunch of grass under not-hooved limbs.

“Resting after a hard day’s work?” Doug quips to Celestia, stretching out his arms just before he plops down next to the ponyloaf Princess. He wraps one around her withers, fingers tickling the hair along her golden peytral, while the other swirls what is likely to be the last glass of cider for the day. One leg stretches out in front of, a hand running down what must be sore muscles from running the treadmill. He’s obviously glad for the brief break before he needs to return to his other day job. “Can’t say there’s much better than that.”

Celestia releases her suite of clairvoyance spells, devoting her full attention to studying Doug. She can’t immediately tell if he’s commenting on her perceived lack of contribution to the cider-making process, a fact she feels only slightly guilty about - it certainly wouldn’t do to outshine the Apples on their own turf - or merely remarking on the meaning of life. More than a millennium of experience lets her read her little ponies with frightening precision, a vast reservoir that makes some regard her as prescient. All of which is worse than useless when dealing with him.

So she relies on what she can tell, observing a little closer. She can’t detect any animosity in his tone, the hand at her side rubs instead of needles, the strokes aren’t forceful enough to indicate a desire for intercourse, and any entrenched barbs in his words are often a sign of familiarity and closeness as opposed to hostility. But it is the ‘oftens’ that often bite her in the flank, where the alien viewpoint he brings (a perspective that seems founded on scarcity and entropy) runs counter to that of her little ponies. But it isn’t every time, or even most; no, it is just infrequent enough to lull her into complacency.

“Made all the sweeter when it is with those we love,” Celestia remarks, smiling fondly. He’s too far back to rest her head against his chest, one of his favorite positions to cuddle, so she settles for unfurling her wing around his back, enjoying how he leans into the sturdy appendage.

The corners of Doug’s smirk pull slightly higher. “Good thing your Sister is here or I might be worried you’re talking about me.”

Celestia steals a glance at Luna; apparently the tree under which she has sought refuge from the sun’s tender rays has proven insufficient, as her wing shades her eyes while she snoozes. Perhaps that was the cause for his comment; last night had been particularly turbulent for the Harbinger of Night, what with the fate of the Princesses unresolved in her little ponies’ minds until they read the morning newspaper. And, despite her tendency to come across as a bit of a grumplewumpus during the dawn, her objections to him helping tame her unruly mane and coat are ignored as routinely as if she is one of his foals insisting on ice cream for breakfast. Objections, she notes, her Sister makes neither as strenuous nor as repeated as she is capable.

She chuckles to herself, allowing any reservations about his feelings to fade away. Her worry failed to come to pass, as so many of her worries turn out, but that does not stop her from preparing contingencies to her backup plans.

Rather than answer with words she turns her head and meets his eyes with a certain lasciviousness. She leans; the tip of her nostril leaves a wet smudge on his nose before they both twist, turning their nuzzle into a long, tender kiss. It makes her a little giddy, that electric jolt between them, a heady reminder of their joining a little more than five weeks ago. She detects the faint click and whirr of a camera from high above. She’ll need to inquire about getting a copy from Sight Seer; at least, a higher quality one than they print in the papers.

“Okay,” Doug ruefully concedes as he pulls away just a fraction. He grips her side considerably more forcefully, tugging himself against her. “You win this round.”

He snatches a quick peck before relaxing into her wing, the two happy to watch the rest of the herd share their fond farewells. Rainbow Dash grabs a pack of ciders, delivering them to the pair of Wonderbolts capping high above. Rarity chats with a few Ponyvillians, her focus occasionally flashing toward Ponyville, likely hoping to eke out some productivity before the day is done. Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie gather the foals and fillies, departing with Applejack to prepare dinner, with a high likelihood of a Partnership-inspired party in the works.

“So, what brings you out to Ponyville in the first place?” Doug’s question catches her slightly off guard, though he covers her lack of quick response with a rumble in his throat and a slight frown. “It can’t just have been to spend more time with me. Or to drink this cider. Not that I would blame you if that is the case. It is a magnificent cider.” He takes another sip, lets out a contented sigh, then glances to the side and meets her eye. “Or is sitting around like this your ideal vacation?”

“Vacation? Hm…” Celestia taps her hoof against the ground, hamming it up as she pretends to seriously consider the question. “Vacation, vacation, vacation…” She takes a long, telling glance at the sky. “No, I dare say I’ve been working this entire time.”

“You dare?” Doug chuckles as he joins her in looking up at the sun. “Okay, okay, sure. So, if you didn’t have to be working, what would you rather be doing?”

“That implies that I’m not already doing it,” Celestia quickly retorts, squeezing Doug against her. She leans back for a quick smooch, curious if the camera will go off again. It does. “I find my work travels with me. Or, perhaps more accurately, I carry it wherever I go. I find meaning in watching over my little ponies, ensuring their protection and survival. And in observing them as they struggle and succeed and mature. It brings me joy.” Her lips pull tight. “If I had to, if I was forced to give that up?”

A few moments pass in silence as she considers.

“I think,” Celestia finally says, then stops. Her frown deepens. “To be completely honest, I think I would pursue danger. Thrill-seeking.”

“Really?” Doug asks, somewhat askance. “Because you don’t have enough of that in your life?”

“I have always carefully considered any and all risks,” Celestia answers, very little jest in her tone. It is a topic she discusses with a select few of her closer advisors, and even then only in very constrained ways. “For nearly a thousand years, there have been no others to take over should I falter. Should I grow sick, or injured, or otherwise incapable of fulfilling my duties over the sun and moon.”

“Didn’t the unicorns do that under Star Swirl?” Doug asks, having heard the tale one of the many times Twilight gushed about her idol.

“Yes,” Celestia concedes with a guarded frown. “Perhaps the unicorns would again prove sufficient to keep the skies turning, but that is not an outcome I would wish on anypony.” She pulls her wing away to roll and flip over such that her back is against the ground and she can stare up at the sky. Her wing stretches out again, across Doug’s shoulders as he lays back. “How long has our world been afflicted so? I cannot say. But we have all been fortunate that nothing has befallen us that is so terrible we cannot recover.”

“That sounds like the anthropic principle,” Doug comments. When Celestia raises an eyebrow quizzically he continues, “Um, something along the lines of, the only reason we are here today and capable of asking this question is because nothing so devastating has happened to keep us from asking it. Regardless of the probabilities of such a thing happening.”

“Ah,” Celestia says. “A survivorship bias, though with none of the benefit of modifying our behavior to make continued survival more probable.” She shakes her head with a certain moroseness, thinking back to all the time she threaded the needle to bring Equestria to its current state. “It certainly did not feel certain when I lived through it.”

“Huh,” Doug says thoughtfully. “You know, I never thought about that principle having no predictive power. Makes it only good as a thought experiment.”

“Speaking of thought experiments,” Celestia starts, though trails off. She ponders for a second before turning to regard with a serious expression. “Are you aware you throw a wrench into my carefully laid plans?”

“That depends.” The corner of Doug’s mouth pulls briefly. “Are you calling me a monkey?”

Celestia doesn’t miss a beat. “Only insofar as you ape those around you.”

“Touché.” Doug’s fingers play with her coat, and any sense she has of him resenting her getting one up on him dissipates. “Let me guess. You wanted Cadance to take over the Crystal Empire?”

“It seemed only natural,” Celestia confesses, with a hint of regret in her voice. “While I have kept Equestria relatively unchanged for my Sister’s sake, the Crystal Empire likewise would not suffer a massive shift when they returned. It would allow a Princess to resume her rightful position, as a leader of ponies. But with your introduction of democracy…”

The fingers along her coat slow, drawing a worried glance from Celestia. Did I offend him greatly?

“You now have an untested dragon running things,” Doug finishes, contemplative more than condemning.

“A position I am… mostly sure he will fill to great acclaim,” Celestia says. A glance from Doug shows her hesitation was considerably more noticeable than she intended. Alas, the tenet of Honesty in all things. She feels the need to defend herself. “While I would trust Twilight Sparkle with any task, I am less confident in her ward. As well, he is a dragon, with certain… urges… I hope he is able to contain.”

“Greed?” Doug guesses.

“True as far as it goes, but if he sees the Empire as his own, then any success on their part will translate to him.” Celestia grimaces. She hates guessing, of not being as sure as possible, but even with the inroads Equestria has made with the dragons there is still so much more progress to be made. “No, it is more his appetite that I am worried about. As well, he is undergoing a transition, a maturation, that us ponies have very little knowledge about, and dragons are quite reticent about sharing. A similar process to ponies gaining their cutie mark and maturing, I am sure, but it is the unforeseen discrepancies that will come to haunt us.”

“I wish I could tell you more,” Doug says, sharing her dour expression. “But my oldest are just going through that phase. And while they’re a bit different than the average pony, that doesn’t mean they’ll line up with Spike.”

“Mm,” Celestia grunts. She has seen quite a number of ponies mature under her own tutelage, from foals to budding young mares to wizened matrons guiding their own brood. Any number of them could be a template that Spike will mirror, but she has little clue which.

“So,” Doug continues, “your plans got derailed and now you’ve got this extra Princess laying around. What are you going to do with Cadance? Or, for that matter, Twilight?”

“Before Twilight acquired her castle?” No attempt by Celestia could have avoided reminding Doug how that castle came to be, and they hug each other tight at the thought. “I was planning on raising the foals at the old Castle of the Two Sisters. It would be out of the way, hopefully secure against curious eyes, and decrepit enough that random holes being blown out the walls wouldn’t be too much cause for concern, and harm to nearby ponies would be minimized. There are dangers, sure, though noplace is without potential downsides.”

“But now that Twilight has her castle,” Doug muses, finishing her thought. “It’s closer to home. Hopefully it can be modified to your standards, and you won’t need to worry about random parts collapsing.”

“To say nothing of the traps,” Celestia says, nonchalant enough to draw a curious glance from Doug. “But I’ve always thought a Princess needed a castle. Canterlot has sufficed for Cadance and myself, but with Luna’s arrival it has started to feel a bit… crowded. Too many cooks, if you’ll pardon the analogy, and I believe the clear hierarchy between us stifles her growth as a leader.”

“So your solution,” Doug says with a dash of jest, “is to send her to a castle in the middle of nowhere? No, worse than that, because at least nowhere isn’t trying to kill you all the time.”

“We could relocate,” Celestia defends, though it sounds weak even to her. Relocate to where, exactly? Besides anywhere other than smack in the middle of a chaotic nexus. “Though I was also thinking of Chrysalis; she might appreciate something grander than a burrow in the ground. It would require quite the overhaul to serve as anything other than a hive, should she wish to redecorate the castle.”

Celestia’s incoming threat detection pings abruptly; she notices Rarity peeling away from Spoiled Rich, ears swiveling madly.

“If I hear you correctly,” the out-of-breath unicorn gushes out as a certain mad look spreads over her face. She ignores Doug’s loud groan. “Did you say something about… redecorating!? A castle!”

Ch. 70 - Healthy Mind, Part Two

“Yes,” Celestia smoothly replies. A thought tamps down and resets her proximity alarm. It’s an annoying precaution, for how often she gets false positives, but it seems wise should anycreature resent their success in Klugetown. “The Castle of the Two Sisters.”

Rarity’s eyes sparkle like twin stars waiting to light up the sky; it’s a tad disconcerting, given their topic. “You mean those old, decrepit ruins, filled with musty rooms and cobwebs where we met Princess Luna? And found all other sorts of ancient relics?”

“The very same,” Celestia says, nodding. A sliver of a smirk spreads across her muzzle. “Though I would hesitate to refer to my Sister as such.”

“But, darling!” Rarity’s hooves shake with excitement as she waves away Celestia’s objection. “Think of all the things that need restoring! The most gorgeous of divine tapestries, magnificent works of art, and fabulous creations just rotting away! I could use them for my fall line of retro age-old classical…”

Rarity clears her throat at Celestia’s odd look. “O-of course, I would primarily be doing this for you. And Equestria. After all, I would hate for an artistic treasure trove of ancient good taste to be… dismantled by some salvage-seeking ne’er-do-wells.”

“Of course,” Celestia agrees with a good-natured smile. “I, too, would not approve of anypony taking advantage of such a disorganized state.”

“T’is quite fortunate, then,” Luna states as she struggles to her hooves, yawning her sleepiness away, “that thou art the Element of Generosity.”

“Err,” Rarity stammers before she smiles confidently, dropping to a low bow. “Yes! Yes I am. And I certainly wouldn’t want to be tempted to act against my Element.” She turns the low bow to a friendly, if perhaps harder than necessary, nuzzle to her stallion’s side. “It’s a good thing you’ll be coming along with us, yes? To help keep our priorities straight?”

The nuzzle must have triggered something in Doug because his dour demeanor shifts to a wide grin. One arm slips around Rarity’s neck and tugs her to him. A slight twist prompts her to lay down on the soft grass. “As you wish.”

“Wait,” Rarity says, slightly taken aback by Doug’s reply. “Really?” She cocks her head to better look him in the eye. “I thought you would hate going through the Everfree Forest.”

“Well, I look at it this way.” Doug raises a hand, welcoming Luna as she splays across Celestia’s open belly. Even the slight reminder of their closeness is enough to send tingles down the alicorns’ backs. “I can complain bitterly about you dragging me along, passive-aggressively question your every move, or I can man up-”

“-Mare up-” Rarity corrects.

“-Man up,” Doug repeats with a light tweak to her neck, “and enjoy the time I share with you.”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Rarity states, haughtily looking up and away.

“Really,” Doug deadpans.

“Of course,” Rarity says, nodding. “I would hate to force you to go along with something you detest doing.”

“It’s a trap,” Celestia whispers, winking at Doug.

“Trap, trap, trap,” Luna echoes mirthfully.

Rarity turns to glare at the two alicorns, but can’t hold it with their jesting smiles.

“Mhm,” Doug grunts in agreement. He’s glad the two alicorns are getting along, not that they display many of their disagreements in front of him. He teases at the back of Rarity’s neck, helping relax the tense muscles.

“Fine,” Rarity huffs, flipping her mane petulantly. She turns to regard Celestia deferentially, with a slight hesitation in her voice. “Would we be leaving for such an expedition soon?” She steals a glance at Spoiled Rich; the pink mare manages to look cross even while waiting for the Princesses. “I do have a few things I would need to gather if that were the case.”

“Moreso testing the waters,” Celestia says. “Checking to see if everypony is on board.” She nuzzles Doug gently. “Speaking of which…”

Doug lets out an exasperated breath. “You want me to go ask Chrysalis what she thinks.”

Celestia’s smile widens. “Please? It’s not that we don’t want to go, it’s just…”

“...The place gives us the creeps,” Luna finishes brusquely as Celestia stalls. “Even with her transformation? It feels as if our preferred method of entry to her abode is firmly ensconced in a cocoon.”

“It’s not…” Doug stares off into the distance for a moment. It’s obvious he agrees with Luna and has as little desire to do this as to go with them to the castle. “Okay, okay. It’s exactly that bad.” He grunts, his teeth clenching. “At least it gives me a chance to see the ‘lings.”

“That’s the spirit of Laughter I so love!” Celestia fondly kisses Doug just before he gets up. “I look forward to seeing you tonight.”

Rarity matches her kiss to the other side. “And I as well. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a client to attend to.”

“Be sure to tell me all about it,” Doug says with a parting rub to Rarity’s cheek, helping wipe the scowl off her muzzle.

“Oh, I shall,” Rarity states darkly. “Every, last, micromanaged detail.”

Doug says goodbye to Celestia and Luna with quick nuzzles, then jogs to Chrysalis’s lair. He briefly considers going back for his boots, but the years of working at Sweet Apple Acres have toughened up his feet and it isn’t that far.

It’s tough, for all his bravado with the mares, to force himself to go toward the foreboding woods. Gnarled branches and twisting shadows guard the hidden entrance along the southern edge of Sweet Apple Acres. He squeezes through a gap in the goop-coated walls, entering the shaded grove. A dozen hoof-sized grubs of various pastel shades charge around, burning off excess energy by running, flying, and making each other hit themselves.

“Hey!” Thorax greets with a friendly wave. The orange-horned changeling doesn’t move from his spot perched on top of one of the three barrows, instead keeping an eye on everyling.

“Hey, Thorax,” Doug greets, standing back as a pack buzzes past him. “Been busy watching these grubs?”

“Yup,” he replies, dipping down for a quick nod. “I thought about coming to the farm, but these guys needed watching. And I didn’t think the ponies would appreciate a ravenous horde rampaging around.”

“Hey, I get it.” Doug picks his way through the crowd, only having to dodge back once. “Applejack doesn’t care for her trees getting picked clean unless it’s her.” He joins him watching the grubs race around. “How are they doing?”

“Great!” Thorax smiles broadly. “Chryssy, err, Chrysalis came by, gave everygrub a bite. Dropped off a few more eggs, so I’ll need to rotate them pretty soon. So did Ocellus, for that matter.” He looks Doug square in the eyes. “She tried with you?”

“Um,” Doug says, caught off guard by his forthrightness about an intimate question. “Yes.” He has a pretty good guess which of the scampering youngsters are his: the two that match the arctic blue changeling, currently digging a burrow in the ground. He’s glad they aren’t the ones bullying or being bullied. He points at them. “Those two, right?”

“Those are your oldest, yup.” Thorax motions to the barrow under him. “Chryssy is feeding the others down below.”

“Feeding?” Doug asks curiously. “How does that work? Do they still need love energy?”

“Need?” Thorax shakes his head. “Not since our metamorphosis.” He spreads his violet wings, a sharp contrast to his lime green body, then tucks them back under his fuchsia elytra. “It sometimes feels weird, not having that hunger all the time. Not that I miss it.” He chortles to himself, shaking his head.

“Me neither,” Doug adds. “Getting drained was… not pleasant, to say the least. Necessary, at the time, but not pleasant.”

“Err,” Thorax says with a bit of trepidation, rubbing a hoof along the back of his neck. “Thanks. For, you know, doing that. And taking a chance on us.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking us for doing the right thing,” Doug says with a slight roll of his eyes. “Though it is nice to hear.”

Thorax gives a telling glance downward. “Yeah.”

Doug follows his glance, noting the barrow it is directed at, only to spot one of his light blue ‘lings creeping up on him, the other close behind. Sharpened edges glint whenever a stray ray of light flashes across their chitin, spikier and slightly bulkier than the others. “Hey there, little guy,” he greets the softball-sized critter, the other closer to a baseball. He squats down, holding out a hand, palm up.

She freezes, twinkles of bright gray whirling through pure-blue eyes.

“It’s okay.” Doug slows down, gently bringing his hand to the ground. “I won’t hurt you.”

The larger one creeps forward barely an inch, her nostrils raising slightly, tiny teeth flashing as her red tongue pokes out, only for the smaller one to brush past her and pounce on Doug’s exposed toe.

“Hey!” Doug exclaims, not expecting her to zip around his hand and knee like that. He jolts backward, startling the adventurous changeling. He chuckles as she immediately regains her courage and gnaws at his calluses and toenail. “Those aren’t food!”

“You’re quite lucky she didn’t aim higher,” Thorax points out, managing to sound concerned even as he smiles. “Lena, Iria, behave!”

“I guess I’ll wear my pants and boots next time,” Doug dryly remarks as he extracts the little biter. He winces as she clamps down on his thumb, an adorable if painful sight that wraps four spindly legs around him. “Do they not feed you enough around here?” He grins to himself as he again peels the voracious grub away from any exposed flesh. “I guess we’ll have to change that!”

“Pun intended?” Thorax asks, perking up. The rest of the ‘lings have stopped whatever it is they are doing to observe. “Because they’d love that! Especially because...”

“Because what?” Doug says, glancing at Thorax.

In the brief time his attention is diverted his two ‘lings take the opportunity to go on the attack, simultaneously assaulting hand and foot with tiny claws.

“Hey!” Doug shouts, temper flaring. He nearly lashes out, barely able to stop himself from stomping the larger one into the ground. He gently sets his foot back down, strips Lena from his hand and holds her like a crab, barbed legs searching for any purchase but not finding any. Iria takes a little more effort to peel away, leaving thin lines of red, wings buzzing against his palm. “No! That hurts!”

The two deflate at his admonishment, limp limbs dangling as their heads hang.

“Hey,” Doug coos, changing tack at seeing their downcast expressions. “It’s okay. I just don’t have tough skin like you and your sisters. It’s not hard like your chitin!” He lightly squeezes their backs, the stiff material offering a fair amount of give.

He lets go, the two contrite changelings rolling to their legs in his palms. They tentatively get to their hooves, unsure at first and hesitant to put too much pressure on any particular spot.

“That’s much better,” Doug praises, fingers wrapping for a gentle hug. He beams as they return it, even if a few edges jab into him. When Lena exposes wide rows of tiny fangs, though, he swiftly shakes his head and rebukes her with a quick, “No, Lena. That’s not for biting.” He ignores her pout. “Yes, I know I’m delicious. That doesn’t mean you can bite me.”

“Aww,” Thorax teases from above. His tongue flicks out, tasting the air, no doubt getting a whiff of the extra iron.

“That goes for you, too,” Doug states, smiling. “What can we do instead?” He tosses Iria a foot into the air, enjoying her squeal of delight and how bright colors spin in her otherwise solid eyes. “You like that, huh?”

Iridescent magenta wings flare out, buzz for a split second to lift Iria into the air, then snap back inside. She plops back down into Doug’s hand and lifts her hooves in air, chittering happily.

“Uh oh,” Thorax cautions.

“What?” Doug asks, inspecting the tiny changeling. She doesn’t seem too distraught, except that he isn’t tossing her. “Worried about her falling?”

“Nah, they’re like little birds. They weigh so little they can fall from the ceiling and be fine. It’s only once they’re bigger that you have to worry about midairs.” Thorax points at the rest of the horde; they advance, a multicolored tide, in a manner that would be most menacing if their hooves weren’t held in the air. “You should be worried about them.”

“Well,” Doug smirks. “Two can play at that game.” He launches Lena and Iria into the air just before the tide slams into him, and soon miniature changelings are catapulted in every direction, buzzing with delight as they careen about.

Ch. 71 - Healthy Mind, Part Three

“You’re sure about this, Thorax?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, I’m just worried about someone getting hurt. Namely, me.”

“O-oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you. I just thought you’d enjoy it.”

“It’s not that I wouldn’t. I don’t think it’ll be as good as you imagine. Rainbow Dash tried something similar with Big Mac, and it didn’t work out. But if you still want to try, then sure.”

“Okay. Let’s take it slow, then. Start with your hands on my flanks. Yup, just like that. Now, I’ll climb on here, and let me know when you’re ready.”

“Huh; you’re a lot lighter than I thought.”

“It’s the carapace! Lots of space to expand, if you know what I mean. You ready?”

“Let me just get… Okay, on the count of three. One, two, three!”

It would have been an interesting sight anywhere: changeling grubs, exhausted from play, form a loose ring. Doug, squatting on top of a barrow, has Thorax straddling him. His hands support the changeling’s back while Thorax’s hooves rest on his thighs just below his hips. With a great grunt, like he is throwing an overstuffed barrel up to the second story of a barn, Doug heaves the changeling as high as he can. At the same time Thorax pushes down, using Doug as a springboard to leap off.

And, as the grubs gleefully anticipated, the unfamiliar force and angle sends Doug sprawling backward and down the sides of the dirt mound. Thorax, without using his wings, starts his flip, but the lack of a solid surface to push against means his snout connects with the ground before his hooves. He crumples, tumbling down the opposite side, while the changeling grubs spectating laugh uproariously.

“Eeyup,” Doug remarks, groaning. He brushes himself off as he shakily staggers upright. A sheepish Thorax does the same. “That worked about as well as I imagined.”

“Sorry,” Thorax apologizes, hanging his head. “I should have listened to you.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” Doug rolls his shoulders, testing his body for anything other than bumps and bruises. “No harm, no foul.” He sits next to the despondent changeling, wrapping a consoling arm around the hard chitin. “Besides, sometimes the best way to learn is to experience it yourself. Maybe you’ll be surprised! The same goes for those little guys; have to let them figure it out, even if you reckon they’re going to fail.”

“Mm.” Thorax snuggles next to Doug. Many of the grubs are doing the same, forming little polka dots of color as they climb and then settle on the green changeling. “You’re so good with the little ones. And a good friend.”

“Thanks,” Doug replies, somewhat awkwardly.

“For a long time, all I wanted was a friend. Somepony to share friendship with. And now I have so many!” Thorax smiles, his muzzle creeping toward Doug. His tongue flicks out, tasting the air, trying to sense that happiness and joy he knows should be present. But he can’t find it. It’s disconcerting: every physical sign is there. Perspiration that isn’t pungent, dilating of the pupils, a rapidity to his breathing that leaves the human slightly flushed. But he can’t sense anything, no emotion at all. He can’t tell, and it’s infuriating, and he’s afraid some of that anger might materialize. He has never been the best at controlling his emotions, especially when hungry, and the desire to strive that every changeling embodies is especially voracious right now.

Part of him wants to pounce, and he can feel his legs shifting. Another part wants to roll back, enticing, and his spine straightens to an upright sitting position in preparation. He has to forcibly quell the instinctual responses, as much as he can, and merely wets his lips, expectant. But the wished-for reaction never materializes. He isn’t sure the human noticed, but can’t bring himself to force anything. Instead, he sighs to himself, turns an eye to the evening sky, and remarks, “Wow, you’ve been here a while.”

“Yeah.” A single unhappy grumble comes from Doug’s throat. He hopes the others aren’t worried about where he might have wandered off to. “Guess I have. Time sure flies when you’re having fun. Hey, is Chrysalis around?”

Thorax’s spirit sinks. Of course that’s who he’s interested in. But he wouldn’t abuse his relationship, even as he knows voicing a regretful remark like that would net him a quick lay. He keeps a chipper tone in his voice, years of despised infiltration nonetheless serving admirably. “Right below us.”

“Got it.” Doug lightly punches the changeling’s withers. “It was fun. I should come around more often; what time do you do these yard exercises?”

“Most afternoons, if I’m not working at the shop. If noling lets them out they’re pretty happy to just race around their room.” Thorax stands, his wings spreading out. He rubs the edges against each other, producing a high-pitched tone. “Alright, everyling. Time to go inside! Say goodbye to Doug!” He waves goodbye as he guides the grubs into one of the other barrows, only having to encourage three to follow their compatriots.

The stairs of the barrow aren’t lit well enough for Doug to see comfortably without waiting for his eyes to adjust, but the circular track makes the steep incline manageable while mostly blind. He descends, one hand along the wall and the other in front of him, the excitement of playing with the grubs slowly wearing off. By the time he reaches the bottom he can see the door before he runs into it.

A rich, cloying scent blasts into him as soon as he enters. He gags, nostrils filling with a suffocating aroma that strongly reminds him of helping Pharynx with the abattoir. But even working directly with the freshly butchered animals was never this bad. Acrid irritants stain his eyes with tears; he can barely make out a black form, hunched over in the far corner.

Curiosity, the rabid sort that will probably get him killed someday, stops him from hastily retreating up the stairs. He peers around the corner; broken changeling eggs are piled on one side, healthy fist-sized ones on the other, some of them still dripping a sticky-looking goo. A light retching sound echoes from the far wall, followed by a wet squelch.

“Chrysalis?”

There is a flicker of motion from the black form, an ear if he has a guess, but little else. He chances a shuffling step inside, careful to keep from stepping on anything, mostly silent against the dirt-packed floor. He can slowly make out more: two ebony legs prop the heavyset changeling up against a large stone trough, strands of bluegreen mane dip into the viscous liquid inside, her tail limp against the ground. Her barrel looks squashed in places, with heavy shadows where there shouldn’t be any.

Chrysalis turns her head just a fraction to regard him, maw wide open, but with no sound or other movement. Her fangs, those long, polished ivories she loves to bare, seem dulled and stained. When she sees no response, just Doug staring at her and trying to absorb the image in front of him, she turns back to the trough.

Her entire body shudders, her neck going through a series of motions that tilt her head forward and back, up and down, ending with her spewing a torrent of tan-brown gunk. The smell hits Doug again, more powerful than before, and he nearly loses his own lunch into the half-full trough.

“What,” Chrysalis forces out when she finishes, her voice distorted as if speaking through three mouthfuls of food. “Are you. Doing here?”

Doug clenches his stomach, waiting a moment to keep himself calm. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Chrysalis snorts. “I asked. First.” Her head dips again, regurgitating another stream of mush. She seems to breathe a little easier afterward, though still through her nostrils.

Doug covers his mouth and nose with a hand, not that it helps. “I was going to ask if you wanted to move to the Castle of the Two Sisters. With Shining Armor and Cadance.”

“Mm.” Chrysalis takes a deep breath, preparing herself for another go at emptying her stomach. “I’ll consider it.”

“I don’t know if they’ll appreciate this,” Doug says, slowly acclimating to the powerful odor. He notes how her barrel shifts, some parts compressing inward while others expand. “And, speaking of…”

Chrysalis closes her eyes, letting out a long and miffed sigh. “If I’m going to explain, at least make yourself useful.” Her horn flares, marking two vertical lines along her barrel just before her full flanks. “Squeeze here.”

“Sure,” Doug says as he mounts her thick barrel. His thighs barely fit, squeezing more with his knees. He worries about crushing whatever eggs and foals are inside her, but counts on her to correct him. “Here?”

“Harder.” Chrysalis lets out a grunt as Doug presses against her, letting out a nod. “Better.” He locks his legs as tight as he can, the hard chitin taking a considerable amount of effort to flex inward. “Good.” But once it does it stays compressed, the next segment ballooning out as whatever was between Doug’s legs gets forced forward.

“Of the two of us,” Doug glibly remarks as her sides roil, “I never thought that I would be the one to play a boa constrictor.” He watches, fascinated, as she coughs up another heavy brick. “I thought that’s how the cow there in the first place.”

Chrysalis grunts unhappily. “You did not say you came here to joke at my expense.”

“Hey,” Doug jests. “Lighten up.”

Malevolent green eyes turn to glare, flashing menacingly. “If you do not wish to help from the outside, prepare to help from the inside.”

“Woah, hey,” Doug stammers, holding his hands up placatingly. “No need to be hasty. Let’s, just, finish squeezing the world’s largest tube of meatpaste and see where we are.” Chrysalis snorts, though turns back to the trough. Her horn is lit, but Doug can’t see the effects. After another round of retching he asks, “So, this seems like a lot of effort.”

Chrysalis closes her eyes, then takes a deep, calming breath. “I promised to tell you everything,” she mutters to herself. She nods, a single curt motion. “Yes. This is necessary, after our transformation.” A sweep of her hoof indicates the broken eggs. “Our grubs, indeed all of us, used to sustain ourselves on love and other such energies. Now that is… less of an option, we must gain our energy from someplace. I infuse love directly into the raw materials they need.”

“Aren’t you able to share love directly?” Doug asks curiously, engrossed in the gross reality of changeling biology.

Chrysalis fumes, limbs shaking with rage. “Are you insinuating that I have not tried loving my grubs?! I love every member of my brood with all of my being, and I challenge you to say the same!!”

“Hey,” Doug finds himself repeating, hoping she doesn’t buck him off like a bronco. He clenches against her barrel harder, not that he wasn’t already. “I didn’t mean it like that!” He rubs at her back, just under her wings, as she seethes. “I know I jest from time to time, but I’m trying to help!”

The chitinous body twists and contorts, Chrysalis looking liable to explode at any moment. And then she does, a deluge pouring from her maw, far more than any previous attempt. Doug can feel her deflating, the still-turgid body now as lean as her original form in places.

“That’s…” Doug utters, torn between entranced and horrified.

“Halfway there,” Chrysalis states victoriously, grinning for the first time. “And all it took was you getting me riled up. Come on, make me angry.”

“What?” Doug says, shaking his head. “That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“Ooh, that’s good,” Chrysalis returns, feeling her face flush. “Insult me again. You’re so weak-willed, you’ll even do it.”

“I’m not going to insult you,” Doug states firmly. He leans back, crossing his arms across his chest. “Or say things purely to make you angry.”

Chrysalis frowns unhappily, sensing his resolve. “Not even a little bit? Not even to help me?”

“Help you?” Doug motions at how she is reclining, with her rear flush with the ground while her front end is raised. “Maybe you should let gravity help, instead of fighting it.”

An ebony hoof flicks her mane, and Doug realizes that not only the tips have bits of soupy mess. “Then, as soon as I release any pressure, the contents shift and send me tumbling forward.” Nevertheless, Chrysalis grins. “What else?”

“Um,” Doug says, slightly taken aback by her response. “Your magic? It doesn’t seem to be helping all that much. Can you grab more, especially from the back, and force it forward?”

“What do you think I am doing with it? Pleasuring myself?” Chrysalis scoffs, her maw clenching. “Any other brilliant ideas?”

Doug spots her intention, that his advice makes her angry, especially when he suggests things she has already tried. “Transformation? Surely you can make that maw of yours a little larger, for how much you flap it.”

“Ooh, that’s something,” Chrysalis moans, tremors rippling down her body. “Too bad it’s too expensive. And liable, with anything foreign inside me, to backfire. Anything else from that monkey brain of yours, or are you all out already?”

Doug grits his teeth. He watches as the ripples compress her body, though none seem to stick as well as the area between his legs. “I could move up your body while your magic keeps you from backfilling.”

“Yes, that’s good!” Chrysalis shudders, the base of her neck bulging. When Doug doesn’t move she continues with a tinge of exasperation, “No, I’m serious; shift up my barrel! Keep squeezing, even if you hear ribs snap!”

“Err,” Doug starts. “I feel like we should have a safe word.” But despite his reservations and the groans of pain from the changeling, he does as commanded. He can feel her chitin, and the ribs underneath, bend and crack from the pressure as he inches his way forward, shifting first one side and squeezing until he can’t squeeze any more, then the other. He watches, with morbid fascination, as Chrysalis opens her maw as wide as it can go, and then some. It isn’t as explosive as before, but no less voluminous, as a steady stream of infused material flows forth. Her hind legs straighten, allowing gravity to help, her front half low enough for Doug to still reach the ground.

It takes minutes before Chrysalis coughs, weary, and spits the last dregs into the trough. She turns to grin at Doug, triumphant, green glow scrubbing her fangs clean. “I have never needed a safe word before,” she purrs. “Think you can change that?”

“Honestly?” Doug runs his hand through the thick mane, contemplating his reply. “I would rather talk about this transformation stuff.”

“Hmm,” Chrysalis says, disappointed. “Very well. What would you like to know?”

Ch. 72 - Healthy Mind, Part Four

“For starters?” Doug glances down; her thin body looks downright emaciated, chitin hanging loose like skin over bones. Kind of like he did when he first got to Equestria, but down-home Apple cooking and exercise fixed that quite quickly. He likes her post-metamorphosis proportions, athletic instead of bulemic. “Would you need to go through…” He vaguely motions at the trough, dreading her answer, especially if she might need help. “All this again?”

Chrysalis grimaces at the thought. “Likely. With modifications, of course; my current arrangement is more suited for keeping whatever is inside me contained with as little impact on mobility as possible. Without the pressing need to retreat, I may sacrifice retention for less restrained retching. Closer to your musculature, or a bird, than an equine.”

“Hey, whatever works for you.” Doug, relieved she is doing well, finds his hands going to her barrel, massaging the once-taut sides that bow and flex with even slight pressure. “I do hope it isn’t as difficult.” He pauses for a moment, frowning. “Did you ever have to do this before?”

“No.” Chrysalis shakes her head for emphasis, but without the contriteness Doug might expect. “The creatures I consumed stayed inside me, their entirety broken down for components. Any newly hatched grubs are not capable of consuming such sustenance directly, having never needed to manifest the requisite organs. Perhaps later broods can be modified, but it is too late for these.” She motions to the whole eggs with a sigh. “I shall spawn a specialized ‘ling to process the material, to test and refine the capabilities of such a system, but until I am able to modify my- or themselves acceptably? I shall persevere.”

“You would spawn a prototype? Not a finished product?” Doug’s face scrunches up. “What would happen when they are obsolete, when you craft a better drone?”

“We are all prototypes,” Chrysalis answers without malice. “Even me. To some degree or another, we all have room for improvement, or modification to better suit our environment. Or are you so delusional as to think you are perfect, as you are now?”

“Of course not,” Doug retorts. “Like you, I’m trying to think of ways to improve. It’s, just, not an avenue I would have tried to pursue. Biological changes take much longer for me, generations if you can do it at all, so I have to innovate through my actions and ideas. Like, could you eat in smaller increments?” He looks at the trough full of sustenance. He glances at her, worried, after realizing that he’s offering a piece of advice that just might make her angry.

Chrysalis sighs to herself. “Would you buy a single apple a dozen times instead of a dozen apples at once?”

“Mm, I see your point. Especially if you’ve runed these to preserve the contents.” Doug rubs at her chitin, hoping she can feel it, and slowly moves up to her neck while pushing harder. “You said before you can’t transfer the love directly?”

“Not in the quantities they require, not without actively draining more from those around me.” Chrysalis leans against him with a light, happy rumble from her throat. “Your affection is… appreciated, if difficult to access.”

“As I like to say, I’m here to help.” Doug takes a deep breath, enjoying the closeness. A morbid part of him perks up, and he can’t help but ask, “Do you gain anything magically from consuming a creature?”

The happy rumble ceases. “No.” After a long moment Chrysalis turns to regard him. “Alive or dead, it makes no difference. Yet I would eat some alive. Do you think me a monster for acting as such?”

“No more than any of us,” Doug says, drawing a curious cock of the head from Chrysalis. “I mean, I eat meat. So do half the creatures on this planet. I don’t know if I would eat another sapient creature, especially alive, except in dire circumstances.” He takes a moment to mull that over, eventually nodding to himself. “Your method may be unique to you, draining love or emotions. And you’ve made the decision to engage in it against their will or knowledge. I believe we all have some capacity to fraudulently exploit those around us, taking more than agreed upon, or subverting the system to our own benefit. Except for Celestia, she’s perfect.” He smirks, winking as she scoffs, and lightly rubs at her side. “But we can all change for the better. Do you still think that you are a monster?”

“Of course.” Chrysalis sneers for a moment, then looks away with a smidgen of contrition. Every facial feature pulls tight. “Only recently do I regret it. Perhaps, were I to find the absurd solution of sharing love earlier…” She shrugs. “Alas. Draining creatures of their magic always felt so natural, so intuitive. Consuming their bodies only provided their physical components, when I had need.” She turns back, regarding Doug curiously. “You do not talk of this with your mares.”

Doug can’t tell if her last sentence is a command, a statement of fact, or a question. “It’s not really come up, no. I mean, I know they’re capable of performing some heinous actions, like Twilight mind controlling half the town to chase some doll of hers. My mind goes to potential applications, like sowing chaos on a battlefield. It’s something that… I don’t know, I don’t feel they are comfortable with, even if it’s just a theoretical discussion. Along the lines of, if they have a hammer in their toolbox, they’re afraid that more problems might look like nails.”

“Curious.” Chrysalis regards Doug closely, inspecting every part of him. “We have rarely discarded a tool for being unpalatable, or even impractical. Instead we file the implications away, the potential applications, in the hope it might serve in the future.”

“Exactly! I guess we’re more alike than I thought,” Doug remarks, smiling at the changeling.

She exposes a sliver more of her fangs as she returns it. “And now you wish nothing more than to utilize us in your grand scheme.”

“You’re not wrong,” Doug replies with a chuckle. He only offers slight resistance when Chrysalis spins and pushes him to the floor. He braces against her barrel as she straddles him, heavy but not crushing, not quite willing to let her lay against his naked chest. “Though I thought that was your plan.”

“I guess we’re more alike than I thought,” Chrysalis echoes, tongue tasting the air. She frowns to herself when the desired pheromones are not present, nor the physical signs of arousal. So she slows, gradually lowering, not forcefully demanding as is her wont. Her breaths come long and slow, blowing heated air against the crest adorning his chest. It would have been an accolade, before, to have bedded one under the Celestial aegis. But now, with her lavish offer to him?

“You resist,” Chrysalis demands, cocking her head to the side. Her eyes focus like drills, trying and failing to bore into Doug’s skull. Metaphorically, of course; his bones would yield like paper to her bite. “Why?”

“May I make a request?” Doug cautiously asks as her legs settle next to him, trapping him, perpetually bared fangs inches away from his throat, tail creeping up his inner thigh.

A tinge of fear permeating the cavern brings Chrysalis to a standstill. Physically overpowering the human would be so easy, something she knows he desires, even if he might be unwilling at this exact moment. Why else would he have responded so passionately to her earlier offer to bear his young?

“You desire a different position?” she guesses. Her muzzle dips lower to gently nuzzle his neck. “Or do you wish us to act more as your mares, acquiscent and affectionate?”

Doug reaches up to rub at her cheek, glad she has ceased her aggressive approach. Still, his hand shakes from the thought, unlikely as it might be, that she desires something more than just his company. “I guess it’s not so much a request as a condition.”

“You wish to put a condition on us bedding you.” Chrysalis snorts, more amused than affronted. “Have you always been such a poor negotiator, or did you learn it from your lead mare?” She waves away the objection on his lips. “Very well. Under what circumstances do you wish to fill our belly with your seed?”

“Well, you were talking about prototype ‘lings before. ” Doug waits for Chrysalis to nod, which she does. “And how, with me, you think you’ll have ones that end up more like you. I’m curious if that would make new variations, I don’t know, easier to determine. Craft, whatever word you use.”

“Adapt. Change.” The smallest of smirks spreads on her muzzle. “It would appear that your youngest would like to become some sort of evolution master, were her discordant studies to bear fruit.”

“Celestia help us if that’s the case,” Doug returns with only slight trepidation.

“Doubtful.” Chrysalis sits back, pondering his question. “No,” she ultimately decides. “There is similar randomness, a stochastic result, with you.” It pains her to admit, but she does. “Within certain parameters, of course, but I am not able to completely determine the outcome. More attempts will ameliorate that effect, and make my modifications more effective.”

“Huh.” Doug reaches forward as Chrysalis gets a pensive look in her eye, her focus on nothing in particular. “But you can partially control it, like some sort of O and O point buy?”

“Roughly, though there are far more than six attributes to vary. As well, some designs are far more suited for certain roles, and leaving those archetypes tends to spawn ‘lings worse off in every regard. You have seen the difference between guards, infiltrators, and nurses.” Chrysalis cocks her head as she looks down at him. “You seem far more interested in this than I imagined.”

“I spent a lot of hours studying rulebooks back in the day,” Doug admits with a wide grin. “Optimizing builds, finding synergies. It’s a lot like the weather work I do around here.” His face falls as he realizes. “Actually, much as I want to stay, I should probably be heading back. I’ve got a bit to catch up on.” He leaves unsaid that the mares are probably curious about what he has been up to.

“Mm.” Chrysalis steps away. She’s disappointed, but not particularly. “So be it.” She walks over to a section of wall as her horn flares green; it slides, revealing long lines of sigils and preservation runes. On top is half a cow, headless and split lengthwise like a stick of firewood. She motions with a lack of reverence that Doug finds disconcerting. “After three days I will be finished with her. I will have a better idea of the modifications to make, and we shall try then.”

Doug nods dumbly as Chrysalis begins working her jaw back and forth. He idly wonders if the cow was cut with a saw, like the table saw the Apples use to cut trees into boards, or with magic. He doesn’t remember Pharynx asking to borrow that saw, or installing one at the abattoir. If she did it herself? The fact that she (and likely any changeling) is capable of cutting a cow-sized object in half only adds a small amount to her already intimidating reputation.

Much as he wants to watch Chrysalis consume her next meal, morbid as that is - and he has no doubt she wouldn’t mind giving a show, like she is a massive boa constrictor on a National Geographic special - he waves goodbye. She waves back absently, her focus on her meal, and he heads back up the way he came, hoping the stench on him washes off easily.

Ch. 73 - Healthy Mind, Part Five

Applejack, knee deep in soapy water and dishes, looks over as Doug enters the main Apple farmhouse. Pomarbo and Diamond Tiara, the latter with a dour scowl that she quickly covers, help ferry plates and glasses from the dining room. The rest of the fillies are outside, scampering around and enjoying the last of the fading sun’s rays.

“Hey.” Applejack’s smile is short-lived, as is the motion to the plate of food next to her. It’s loaded with apple fritters, pinch-of-salt fries, and heavy greens, done up fancier than what they’d normally have. “Ya missed dinner, but we saved ya some.” She takes a guarded sniff before going back to the dishes. “How’s everypo… everyling doing?”

“Doing well,” Doug replies, dodging around the helpers while rubbing their heads whenever they get in reach. “At the very least, they’re going to be well fed for a while.”

At first, Diamond Tiara flinches, warily regarding the fingers that might muss her meticulously styled mane, even if it has gotten out of place from making cider and she has to use a quick-and-dirty ponytail. But after Pomarbo leaps into his sire’s hands to get closer, and Applejack returns a fond kiss after he joins her in scrubbing the pots, the budding young mare reluctantly runs her side against his leg the next, and last, time she brings the licked-clean plates.

Applejack’s smile brightens as Doug joins her, sidling next to her stallion as he dons his colt-shaped hat. She especially enjoys it as an apple-etched hand slips under her barrel to briefly tickle at her growing belly. “Glad to hear it, Ah guess.”

Spoiled Rich and Rarity enter from the dining room. “It’s no problem at all,” the ring-marked mare reassures. “They will be delighted to help!”

“What’s that?” Doug asks between grabbing bites to eat.

“Mrs. Rich knows a few stallions from Manehattan,” Rarity replies, giving the pink mare a respectful nod. At Doug’s blank look she continues, “The kind of ponies everypony should know, as it were.”

“Indeed,” Spoiled Rich haughtily confirms. Her nose raises in the air a touch higher.

“Oh. Well, cool.” Doug goes back to scrubbing. “I didn’t realize you were thinking of moving there.”

“Opening a branch,” Rarity returns with a touch of the Rich flair. “If anything. With the number of orders I’ve been getting, especially from the upper crust there-”

“-Such as Upper Crust,” Spoiled Rich interjects. “Whom, I might add, would be absolutely enthralled should you mention me.”

“Why, yes, of course,” Rarity concedes. She flicks her mane as she huffs. “It makes quite a bit of sense to have a location there. Assuming I can find a location, and reliable ponies to work there while I am here, and something snappy enough to put my name on everypony’s tongue.”

“Sounds like quite the challenge,” Doug says with a broad smile at the fashionista. She takes the opportunity to trot over, nuzzling him, before her nose puckers up and she takes a hasty step back. “Think you’ll need any help?”

Rarity shakes her head, sending her mane bouncing back and forth. “Thank you, but no. You’ll be busy here, and I know how much you dislike any sort of high society function.” Doug rolls his eyes, reaching over to deliberately mess with her mane. She scowls, if good-naturedly.

“Do keep in touch,” Spoiled Rich commands before things get too out of hand. “And thank you for the meal. Next time we would be delighted to host you and your...” Her head turns to the window, visibly counting the number of ponies outside with a mote of a scowl. “Herd.”

“We’d be delighted to,” Rarity cordially replies.

Spoiled Rich nods, as if there was no doubt, and turns to her filly. “Come, Diamond Tiara.”

“Yes, mother,” Diamond Tiara answers obediently. Her already broad smile stretches even further as she looks up at Doug.

Doug, oblivious, goes back to washing dishes. He makes short work of the remaining few, much to Applejack’s relief.

Diamond Tiara noisily coughs into her hoof, fluttering her eyelashes.

Doug glances at her, the colt on his head also turning. “You okay?”

Diamond Tiara grins with a saccharine sweetness. “Yes’m.” After a second of not seeing the response she is looking for her throat rumbles, progressively getting louder.

“Oh!” Pomarbo exclaims as he realizes, taking far too long for the young mare’s liking. “Daddy? Can DT sleep over?”

“I would hate to impose,” Diamond Tiara immediately adds, all smiles, no trace of her cough.

“Uh,” Doug says with a glance at Applejack. She merely shrugs with a slight smirk. “Sure. Works for me. We’ll probably set you up in Apple Bloom’s room, over at the C house.”

“Great! Come along, ‘Po.” Diamond Tiara, holding her head high, trots to the doorway and looks back. One quick squeeze and precarious leap later, Pomarbo skittering across the floor, and the two leave to join the others in the yard.

“Stay out of the sorting barn!” Doug yells. He sighs at the lack of response, not wanting the colt to mess with the newly acquired cider maker.

“Don’t worry, partner,” Applejack reassures as Spoiled Rich takes her leave. She towels off the soapy remains. “Ah’ll make sure they don’t get in too much trouble.”

“Good luck with that,” Doug says, stealing another belly scratch before his lead mare heads outside. He turns to Rarity after setting the last dish to dry. “Any plans?”

“Just figuring all this out.” Rarity’s horn lights, a few papers from the dining room floating along as she follows Doug upstairs to his office. “You’re not going to sequester yourself from everypony again and work late into the night, are you?”

“Of course not,” Doug jovially replies. “I have you here.”

“Oh, I suppose,” Rarity says with a roll of her eyes. She glances at her papers, biting at her lip. “Do you think Silver Spoon or Diamond Tiara would watch the Boutique if I were to go to Manehattan?”

“Not Sweetie Belle?” Doug snaps his fingers as Rarity shakes her head. “Oh, right, they’ll be leaving soon. Silver Spoon might, but I think she’s working at Silver Settings after school, might not have the time.” He smirks. “Offer it to Pomarbo, I’m sure Diamond Tiara would just jump at the opportunity then.”

Rarity laughs as the two enter Doug’s office. It hasn’t changed much in seven years, except the shelves expanding as more and more cities and towns join. What used to be a single row of files now spans across a bookshelf covering the entire wall, though much of that is the archives, references, and contingency plans. Rolled-up maps, the caps color-coded the same as the files, stand next to long lists of weathermares, while the large desk is mostly clear. A neatly sorted stack of letters, already opened, sits in his ‘in’ bay, while the ‘out’ bay is empty. Through the large window they can see the twelve fillies of the two herds at play, some sort of ball game with Silver Spoon and Diamond Tiara as captains while Silver Set and Applejack watch from the sidelines.

“Did Twilight help with this?” Rarity asks, admiring the filing system. She places her papers to the side, out of the way from Doug’s heavy chair.

“No, Pinkie Pie. Mare knows her way around a pile of files, that’s for sure.” Doug flicks through the full spectrum of colors and selects Hollow Shades, one of the thinner ones. It takes about a day of work to finish each of the twenty areas, assigning shifts and making changes to the weather. But that’s on average: the larger, more populous areas take an understandably longer time to work through, even if it isn’t much more difficult. He spreads the papers out, careful not to interfere with the mare appropriating her own area.

Rarity begins working on her own project, having absconded with Doug’s map of Manehattan. It isn’t the best suited for figuring out the perfect location for her new store, but at least all the streets are labeled. She would need to visit them to get a better idea of which would be most suitable, same with interviewing the list of prospective employees. She sighs, her pencil stalling as Doug’s continues steadily marking.

“You don’t think all this,” the white mare motions to her list of potential applicants and store locations before frowning, her horn resting. Doug glances over, somewhat concerned, pausing his work to reach a comforting hand across her withers. She smiles, hesitant, even as Doug rubs at her side. “Never mind.”

“...Sure,” Doug says, unconvinced. He waits a moment, neither moving. He finally ventures, “So, how’s Sweetie Belle holding up?”

“Mm.” Rarity’s lips purse; she shrugs off Doug’s hand, trying to go back to work. She sighs, unable to shrug off the question. “She is doing… as well as expected. She has a lot to work through.” She ventures a look out the window, sighing. It’s hard to tell from this distance, the unicorn never the most athletic of the foals, but she seems to lag behind a bit more than normal. “She has her friends, her sisters, and I am confident she is up to the challenge.”

“Good.” Doug goes back to his work, but stalls. “You talk to her?” He frowns to himself. “Should I?”

Rarity shakes her head. “Only briefly.” She goes back to sullenly staring out the window. “Am I a bad mare for not preparing her better? For letting her know that this is but one of life’s many possibilities?” She shakes her head. “But she is her own mare, marked and all. If she wishes to come to me for advice, then I would be glad to help. Otherwise?” She shrugs helplessly before a small smirk grows. “I would think you would be more worried about your colt, for all the attention he is getting.”

“Pomarbo?” Doug chuckles to himself. “Nah, he’s a good kid. Curious, sure, but we should encourage that. Just like you encouraged Sweetie Belle not to get discouraged.”

“And you’re not worried about who he might get ‘curious’ with?” Rarity frowns as Doug shakes his head. “You know she’s only showing interest because of your new position.”

Doug takes a deep breath, nodding. “I guess… I guess I see that as unavoidable. At least at this point, unless you see some easy way to separate those interested in Pomarbo and those interested in those close to him.”

“...I don’t,” Rarity admits quietly, head bowing low. “And maybe that’s my problem, too.”

Doug looks over at her list of names, all fabulous-sounding or fashion-themed, none of whom he recognizes. “You’re worried about starting this branch in Manehattan, of getting this attention, and having it be not because of your skill as a designer but because of your connections.”

“Way to make a mare feel naked and exposed,” Rarity concedes with a weak smile. “Even if before my worry was about your proximity to the Royal Sisters instead of my own.”

“Do you think it’s wrong to take advantage of those connections?” Doug asks, again reaching over to rub at Rarity’s withers.

“W-well,” Rarity shakily says, shuffling closer to be next to Doug, her side pressing against him. She feels much more comfortable next to him, safer, but those feelings don’t help with her problem. “I-I’m not sure. There must be dozens of mares as good as I am, if not better. Why should I get the acclaim just because of who I know?”

“So you’re going to turn down opening a branch in Manehattan?” Doug asks neutrally, motioning at the paper in front of her.

“But it’s a huge opportunity,” Rarity exclaims, almost wailing, her eyes brimming with tears. “How can you think I’m going to turn this down!?”

“I’m just asking questions,” Doug reassures, rubbing harder and helping her calm down. “It’s up to you to answer them, and live with those answers.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Rarity says unhappily. “But this could ruin me, if word gets out that I’m not, that I’m not dedicated enough, that I’m not willing to take advantage of every opportunity. Because it’s all about who you know. And you can be sure that Spoiled Rich would blab all about me, if she thought it was in her best interest, if I didn’t mention her name at every opportunity.” She raises a hoof in anger. “It’s a pony-eat-pony world out there, and by Celestia I will not be on the menu!”

Doug nods along, a bit stunned by the melodramatic performance. “So you’re going to do it?”

Rarity nods firmly. “Yes!” Cracks begin appearing in her resolve. “Of course.” Her smile wavers. “E-except, they might see right through me.” She gulps, twisting her head to stare at Doug. “T-they’re gonna s-see r-r-right th-through meee!”

It takes some effort, but Doug keeps from grimacing as the mare lightly flails her limbs. “That’s right,” he agrees whole-heartedly, wrapping her in a hug and keeping her from doing too much damage.

“W-what?” Rarity says, taken aback.

“They’re going to see right through you.” Doug beams as he drags Rarity onto his chair, ignoring the squeaks and groans. The chair doesn’t seem too happy, either. He plops her down, belly-up, and firmly presses a finger into her chest. “They’re going to see past that glitzy exterior, the kind all you fashionistas are expected to put up, and see the real mare underneath. The kind, loving, generous mare. The one who would think nothing of giving of her time, her materials, or her ideas to those deserving, and even those not. Who would give an enterprising young mare a chance, even if it isn’t the best idea, just like you gave me a chance all those years ago.”

Rarity sniffs, wiping a tear away. “You make it very difficult,” she continues, smiling despite her tears, “to stay mad at myself, or to wallow in… well, whatever it is ponies are supposed to wallow in!”

“Good.” Doug smirks as his gem-tattooed hand traces down Rarity’s sternum, drifting down through the velvety fur until he reaches the taut tummy. She’s just starting to look full, and more than a hearty meal’s worth, clear evidence of the second unicorn foal of the herd. He adores the sharp gasp from the mare, the way her forelegs curl up, how he can still surprise her even after all these years. He finds himself getting just as excited. “Sure you’ll have enough time for another branch?”

“Mm,” Rarity forces out, slyly smiling. “All the more reason to get it up and running now, no?”

“Alright, you got me.” Doug leans down to nuzzle her, enjoying the moment before giving her tummy a quick squeeze. He lets her down, gently, but not without keeping her trapped against his side. She doesn’t seem to mind, not at all, and goes back to determining which location and applicants will likely be the best for her store, as well as what kind of dresses she should market to the far different clientele. The next few hours pass quickly, the two working in near silence.

Doug yawns once he finishes, glancing over. He must have missed the lengthening shadows when the sun went down, when it quieted down when the fillies went inside, and when Rarity’s horn went out and the mare drifted off to sleep while still standing. He smiles at the sight, far more elegant than him: her head aimed toward him, resting against the table, gently snoring, probably just watching him work. Boring enough to put somepony to sleep, he supposes as he clicks out the light.

He could leave her like this, or use the musty single bed in the corner, but figures she would rather spend the night in the more palatial Princess-quality one back in the other house. He gathers the mare in his arms, and he can’t help but draw a connection to the foals he often carries to bed after a long day crusading. She stirs with a faint smile, snuggling a little closer as she lets loose a soft, contented sigh. She’s heavy, no doubt about that, but he can take his time through the overcast night. At least it hasn’t started raining yet, and Rainbow Dash would likely be finishing her shift in an hour or two after seeing it started.

The white horn stays unlit, the mare cuddling close, even as Doug struggles to open doors without setting her down. Eventually Doug gets to the bedroom on the second floor. A soft gold glow greets him, though not the alabaster mare with a far-off look in her eyes. She startles as he sets Rarity ponyloaf on the bed, horn turning the room a blinding white.

“Sorry!” Celestia exclaims, though at a fast, apologetic whisper. Doug groans as he rubs at his eyes, unable to see anything but flashes of white against an utterly black background. “Sorry. I forgot I whitelisted you for my alarms.”

The stars slowly fade from his sight, allowing Doug to sort-of make out the remorseful features of the elder alicorn. “Yeah,” Doug says, somewhat bitterly, though he is grateful he only got the ‘flash’ part of the flashbang spell. Small mercies, and a small smirk crosses his feature as he gropes for the flank partially concealed under the covers. “Good thing I wasn’t planning on going to sleep soon.”

“See?” Rarity quips, glad she kept her eyes closed while Doug carried her. Celestia still looks worried. “If he can still make jokes, he’s fine.” She waggles her rump, grinning as Doug feels about for her flanks, enjoying the attention as the alicorn lays back with a fond smile.

Ch. 74 - Fluid Motion, Part One*

April 8th, 1001 Domina Solaria

Doug awakens, as he does most days, in one of his favorite positions: the warm embrace of his mares. One hand buried in elegant curls, the dark mass of purple spilling over his mare’s coat in free, rippling waves. His other arm, slung around her barrel, tickles at her taut belly as he muddles through the process of waking up. He’s on his back, more than normal, and it takes his sleep-addled mind a moment to realize something that releases a jolt of adrenaline.

It’s his favorite way to wake up.

Waves of pleasure course through his body, twitches that threaten to turn into spasms. A warm, soft wetness surrounds his rock-hard cock, alongside a gentle yet firm press against his crotch. It feels absolutely wonderful, the way her lips periodically squeeze at the base of his manhood, how her tongue swiftly travels along his shaft to meander against his tip. Then, with a steady rhythm, she returns back down, pausing only briefly before ascending again.

Only two mares regularly wake him in this manner, and he doubts Rainbow Dash snuck in to steal the Dawn’s turn, even if he wouldn’t put it past her. The light sheet covering his knees cannot conceal which of the two it is, the long horn making a tent that would rival his own. His hips beg to press against those luscious lips as another rapturous wave comes, his thighs to squeeze against her head like she squeezes around him, or for his hands to grip her in place as he releases his load into that patiently awaiting mouth.

He wants to see her beautiful face, the twinkling smile, those graceful curves wrapping around and taking his full length. He pulls the sheet off, revealing the Princess of the Day. Not exactly in all her glory, yet just as gorgeous, the ripples in the aurora-like mane subdued in the hour before dawn, tied behind her head in the simple ponytail he finds so attractive. No royal crown, no golden shoes on the hooves that press into his belly and hold him in place, no ornate peytral between them, just velvety alabaster fur that feels wonderful against every part she touches. Her eyes remain closed, hiding those sparkling orbs, her attention solely focused on him.

“That feels amazing,” Doug whispers to his lover, cautious of waking the slumbering mare next to him, especially as he pulls his arm away to caress Celestia’s cheek.

She doesn’t stop, heavens no, or even slow, her only acknowledgement a slight twist of her smile. If anything she speeds up, slightly at first, her head beginning to bob faster and faster. She mimes the sun during the dawn, slowly growing bolder, her body pressing against his as she all but begs for that sweet release.

“I’m so lucky,” he moans, slipping back against the soft sheets, shamelessly enjoying the euphoric caressing of his cock.

Part of him wants to resist, to prolong the pleasure, to enjoy this as long as possible. Yet it would be ultimately futile; she’s incredibly hot, and not just the depths of her mouth. He can feel his own temperature rising, his face flushing, his breaths turning to pants.

“I- I’m getting close,” Doug warns, back arching, not that he can thrust inside her any further.

Celestia merely smiles. Her pace increases, leaving him no chance to regain his stamina, her tongue doing a fabulous job of tantalizing him with every motion. She can sense him getting close, treasuring the pulses that briefly expand his manhood. Her eyes open, locking onto his, as her motions come to a halt. She presses him as deep as she can, not wanting to let a single drop spill as he releases.

“J-just like the first time,” Doug ekes out as he recovers. He runs his hand along her head, tickling at her ear, the best way he knows to show his love and appreciation.

She coos softly, returning a nudge of her own, as her tongue runs from his base to the tip one final time, encouraging the last drop to come out. And then, with his seed disappearing down her throat, she relaxes, rests her head against his stomach and enjoys the gentle ministrations of his hands as they dig into her mane.

Rarity stirs, rolling to ponyloaf and regarding the two without a hint of tiredness. She smiles, if slightly forced, and nuzzles her stallion. Her sigh comes out perhaps a bit stronger than she meant. “I’m sorry,” Rarity apologizes immediately. “I-I just didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Hey,” Doug reassures. “You’re always welcome to join in.”

Both Rarity and Celestia roll their eyes at his cheek. “I don’t know if I could,” Rarity counters, ignoring the many times in the past she has, though never with Celestia or Luna. Her smile pulls a little tighter. “I know how much you enjoy your time with the Princesses, and I would hate to take that away from you.”

Celestia is torn; should she apologize for her jam-packed schedule? It would be unbecoming to do so, even just among the members of the herd, and besides; she doesn’t allocate more than a few hours a week for personal time in order to stay current on the rest of her little ponies and their situations. Yesterday excepted, though that was more a product of their success in Klugetown leaving her schedule open, and even then she spent much of the time reading through her backlog of reports.

“Rares,” Doug says with a touch of regret, reaching over to tussle her behind the ears.

Rarity turns away, but not enough to lose his hand. “No, no, forget I said anything.”

“Hey.” The forceful tone in Doug’s voice gets Rarity to turn back. “It’s okay. You can tell me anything; I won’t get mad.”

“I know,” Rarity says with a fretful glance at Celestia. “It’s just…” She looks away again. “We worry about you, somehow, I don’t know, even with three Princesses in the herd, growing… well… bored. That, for some reason, you still might stray from the herd.”

Doug sighs, leaning back against the bed. His hand doesn’t leave Rarity’s side, nor Celestia’s; neither do they move, yet he can feel their eyes boring into him. His words come out as a statement more than a question. “This is because of Chrysalis.”

“Obviously.” Rarity’s pitch rises, speaking as if in hypotheticals. “Some stallions might be looking for some trait their mares don’t have, but with nine of us…”

“It’s not that,” Doug counters. His hands rub at the corners of their mouths, trying to draw smiles from the otherwise stony gazes of the two mares. “I’m happy, more than happy, with all of you.” He focuses first on Celestia, then Rarity. “It doesn’t matter if I’ve been with you ten times, or a thousand. Each time is special, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Nothing is going to change that.”

Rarity smiles, snuggling a little closer. Celestia slips past his knee to rest against his other side, staying silent.

“But with Chrysalis…” Doug stalls, lips pursing. “As cliché as it sounds, it’s different with her.” He sighs heavily as they wait for him to continue. “She’s from a different culture, and I’m afraid of her seeing a denial, any denial, as some sort of betrayal against her. I don’t know if I can even bring it up, that she might see our interactions not from a genuine place of wanting to help her, but instead as a calculated ploy to gain her trust and then, I don’t know, shove Friendship down her throat or something.”

“You certainly seemed eager to help her,” Rarity says, somewhat curious. Her hoof gently runs across Doug’s chest, then lifts up to repeat the motion.

“Yeah. I was. I still am.” Doug meets Rarity’s eyes. “What would you like me to do?”

“As cliché as it sounds?” Rarity smirks. “Whatever you think is best. And right now?” She rolls to her back, the bulge of her belly somewhat hidden, her hind legs spreading in her stallion’s favorite position. “I think you should plow the most beautiful mare in the room.”

“Alright,” Doug says with a nod and cheeky smirk of his own. He starts to get up, a bit of light spilling onto the bed underneath him. “Let me go get Rainbow Dash.”

“Get back here,” Rarity commands with a roll of her eyes, ignoring that troll’s unmarelike snort and stifled guffaws. A single hoof is all it takes to push Doug back into the bed.

“As you wish,” Doug answers with a quick peck to Rarity’s snout. He pops right back up to his knees, turning around, his hand rubbing at his chin as he regards the two mares with melodramatic consideration. A light pull is enough to get Celestia to roll to the same position on her back, the two watching him curiously. “Now,” he muses. “Who to start with? Hmm.” He glances between the two before exclaiming, “I know! Whoever can hold out longest.”

“Hold out-” Rarity starts before gasping as Doug grabs hold of her hind leg. Fingertips tickle the sensitive frog, and it is all she can do to keep that gasp in, hold her breath, in the vain hope that-

“Bwa-ha-ha!” Celestia chortles, writhing, kicking out with the three legs Doug is not currently holding on to. He releases her, hand going to her belly, softly rubbing as she recovers.

Rarity stares at the alabaster Princess, frowning, even as Doug’s hand goes from her frog to part the lips he parted last night. “You let me win,” she accuses, if gently, the waves of pleasure as he finds that little nub threatening to overwhelm her. At Celestia’s measured sigh she continues, “Y-you didn’t have to do that. I’m fine, really.” She tries to close her hind legs, but that just ends up trapping Doug’s hand against her, those cursed fingers pushing further into her moist depths.

“It’s quite alright,” Celestia says, no trace of her earlier lack of control, enjoying as her stallion reaches her nethers. She can feel his fingers trace against her, a slight chill, yet warmer than most that come against her.

“No, no,” Rarity says with a shake of her head. Doug withdraws, if reluctantly. “As I said before. I would hate to abscond with any of your precious time together. Please.”

“I would never refuse such a generous offer,” Celestia returns with a broad smile. Her hips shift, attempting to help her stallion line up in as comfortable a position as possible. She wants him to be happy. Yet her thick barrel, especially compared to the smaller mares, makes it a challenge, especially once her belly gets full. “You are sure you don’t want me on my stomach?”

“Nah,” Doug counters. “I want to see that beautiful face.” He spares a moment to run a finger along her broad smile, then lines himself up with her full, inviting lips. They squeeze open, as if with a mind of their own, exposing the pink tunnel. He slips inside as the walls close, a light and tender grasp, and a single thrust is all it takes to bury himself as deep as he can go. Yet the challenge isn’t starting, it’s keeping going, especially with the heat the Princess of the Sun pumps out.

Rarity watches with a growing smile as Doug’s hips rise and smash down, partially hidden by the thick Sun-emblazoned thighs. She can mostly make out the Solar crest on his broad chest, how Celestia’s hooves reach up to press against it, to knead into him as he plows into her. The Lunar crest on his back is much clearer, the whites glowing like fireflies. She gasps as his teal diamond-marked wrist again sinks into her marehood, his rhythm never slowing.

“Oh, Tartarus,” Celestia exclaims darkly. Her horn flares, the sheet flipping up to cover their lower halves. Doug only realizes why when the door cracks open and a column of light spills into the room.

Don’t stop, his body begs. They’ve seen you naked. They already know what’s happening. The worst part is, he can see the same sentiment scrawled on Celestia’s face. The soft whine, how her hooves tug at his back, the writhing of her hips, all begging for him to continue. Maybe they went away. He’s so close, just a little more…

The bed shifts, a light bounce, from a young mare leaping on. He’s glad the sheet covers him.

“Good morning!” Lemon exclaims brightly, and even without looking at her Doug can feel the smile beaming, so opposite the repressed scowl from the mare underneath.

“Good morning,” Rarity replies icily, the other two glad they don’t need to respond. “Lemon,” she admonishes. “What have we told you about coming in when the door is locked?”

“Pff,” Lemon puffs out, shaking her head. “Trixie taught us how to pick those locks, like, ages ago. Besides, it wasn’t locked, just alarmed. And this is an emergency!”

“An emergency,” Rarity deadpans. She desperately wishes to rest a hoof against her horn. “And what, pray tell, is the emergency? Our desired pancake preference?”

“Nah, I got that last week,” Lemon replies without a hint of contrition. “Everyberry any-chip, with a banana and extra whipped cream.” Lemon doesn’t bat an eye, and somehow Celestia retains her motherly aura. “Luna came by, but, like, she didn’t want to bother you if you were busy.”

“My Sister?” In an instant Celestia’s demeanor transforms, any trace of the besotted mare gone. She pauses, almost as an afterthought, to spare her stallion a kiss before she gently ushers him to the side. Her horn flares; the stench of sex disappears, her mane flows freely, and any ruffles in her coat smooth out. “Not as good as a bath and brush,” she reassures her stallion with a brief nuzzle, “and I shall make it up to you.”

“Hey, go. I’ll be fine. You’re the important Princess.” Doug sighs, still a little miffed about the interruption. He rubs at the corner of her mouth, drawing a smile.

“Thank you for understanding,” Celestia replies, dipping her head into the palm of his hand. She turns to Lemon. “She is already here?”

“Yup! Got her started on a double stack already.” Lemon hops off the bed, trotting to the door. She stops to make sure the others are following; only Celestia is, which is good enough for her. “I’ve got yours started already, it’ll just be a minute!”

“Very well.” Celestia follows at a more leisurely pace, her long limbs making up for the young yet growing mare’s trot. She pauses at the entryway to the dining room, noticing something off immediately in the low light. “Luna! Is your cutie mark… glowing?”

“This?” Luna looks up from her half-eaten stack of ten pancakes to her cutie mark. It is, indeed, pulsing with faint light. “We… suppose?” She shrugs, only mildly concerned. “We did not come here for that reason. We were monitoring the dreams of the hippogriffs, specifically their queen. We fear our proposed peace deal will not go as planned.”

Ch. 75 - Fluid Motion, Part Two

“Let me see if I have this straight,” Doug says as he enters behind Celestia.

The combination dining room / kitchen / common area, being the only communal room on the main floor, is almost always in a perpetual state of disarray, though perhaps the exact amount would be in the eye of the beholder. To the foals, the lack of toys strewn across the thick carpet is an open invitation, primed for play, just like the ripe orchards outside tempt the Apples to get a head start on their already early schedules. To Rarity, as she shadows Doug, the fact that she can see the toys peeking out from their crates means the foals didn’t do a good enough job putting them away last night, and might earn a few twisted ears in the hopes the message would sink in this time.

Not, though, for the two industrious helpers who regularly wake before the roosters. Hedge sets Doug’s first stack of four apple pancakes and a tall glass of pulpy orange juice next to Luna’s unpeeled yet half-eaten orange, earning herself a quick pickup-and-hug that leaves her giggling before she scampers back to the sizzling stove.

Doug pulls out the single human-style chair from the table; the ponies prefer to stand, though there is a long applewood bench should some of the shorter fillies struggle to reach the top. He regards Luna curiously while she returns a dour look, the kind that threatens nightmares should one unduly bother her. “You regularly monitor the dreams of important leaders in other countries.”

“Indeed,” Luna replies bitterly as her stallion sits next to her. Lines crease her weary face, her disheveled mane and tail in dire need of a good brushing. Still, despite her exhaustion, she returns a short-lived if friendly smile when Doug tenderly rubs against an ear, pushing past his hand to dip her head under his chin and against his chest. She rests there a moment, as if stealing a wink of sleep, pulling away looking slightly refreshed. “As we guard the dreams of ponies, so too do we safeguard the slumber of other creatures, though we often take care to disguise our appearance.”

“Yeah, I can imagine that revelation not going over well.” Doug frowns as he thinks through the implications of possessing such intimate knowledge, as Nightmare Moon had threatened to use so long ago. His expression must have given away his thoughts, judging by the snort from Luna. He tries to smile at her. “Not that you’d abuse it or anything.”

Luna snorts again for good measure. “We appreciate the confidence, however misplaced.” She chomps down on the remainder of her pancakes, spurning the smile made of blue- and blackberries. Even while eating the sugary treat she seems ready to slump over at any time, her dour scowl lengthening. She mutters, “Especially for how little good the information will do us.”

“Why’s that?” Doug asks, now intrigued more than scared, as he adds syrup to his breakfast. He takes a bite; it’s delicious and succulent, especially the apple chunks, and loaded with butter. Which makes sense, since it’s Lemon’s cooking and not his own; even Celestia makes an effort to eat marginally healthy, for all she consumes cakes to the exclusion of other foods.

Luna blows away a portion of frazzled mane with an exasperated huff. “Because Equestria has a long-standing policy of non-interference,” she quotes, the words a pointed taunt, staring down her Sister.

“It is a policy that has served us well,” Celestia states as she joins on the opposite side of Doug, returning a stony look of her own. Lemon has prepared for her an even more extravagant breakfast, loaded with whipped cream and shaved orange that makes a passable impression of her cutie mark. The sweet sight fails to spark more than a brief smile. “It would be ill-considered to break lightly.”

“Of course.” Luna bows her head with mock contrition. “We beg your pardon; we wouldn’t dare overstep our bounds.”

“Submission does not become you,” Celestia rebukes, gently, though there is a harshness behind her eyes. “And neither does false humility. If you have something you wish to say, then say it.”

“If only transmission was the issue,” Luna spits out, intentionally goading with a nasty scowl. “And not reception.”

“Excuse me!” Celestia exclaims, rearing up to her full height. Any semblance of warmth is gone in a flash, her countenance burning with repressed fury that tinges the room in a dull red despite her horn remaining unlit.

Rarity, Lemon, and Hedge, about to dig into their own stacks of cream-coated pancakes, hunker down. They exchange worried glances; none have seen the Princesses angry at each other, or even irritated. They aren’t sure what to do, if they can even do anything.

“Let’s not be hasty,” Doug says in a calm, commanding manner. He focuses first on Celestia, holding a hand up as if to placate her.

“Stay out of this,” Luna orders harshly. The tired lines across her face fade as the room behind her darkens and chills. “It is an issue between us.”

“Yeah, well,” Doug says, turning to face Luna. He stands, his shoulders squaring back, and stares her down. “Right now, I’m between you. So unless you-”

A cobalt glow fills the room as Luna’s horn flares. Her scowl intensifies as her aura surrounds, then slips off Doug. It latches onto the chair behind him, tipping it over and leaving him impotently flailing for balance. Growling, she hefts the chair entirely and roughly shoves him to the side, sending him sprawling to the floor. Rarity gasps and rushes over, interposing herself between the two, even if she has no chance of besting the alicorn.

“Okay,” Doug mutters as he pushes the fallen chair to the side, checking his body for bruises. “I was asking for that.”

Rarity, relieved at seeing him uninjured, backs off, if only slightly. She can’t believe Princess Luna would act in such a manner, to her stallion or otherwise, or that Princess Celestia would so readily allow it!

Luna, seething, whirls on Celestia, the white alicorn unfazed by her Sister’s cold-hearted action. “Why dost thy sully our contributions so?”

“Forgive me for being unable to read another’s mind as you can,” Celestia states imperiously, looking down at her unrepentant Sister. Her mane billows as if fanned by flames, yet the expected wave of heat never materializes, leaving Luna’s countering cold to send shivers along exposed skin. “How have we failed to appreciate your abilities?”

“Hey,” Doug says, Rarity giving a worried glance as he steps forward again. He stops when Celestia raises a hoof, not looking in his direction and remaining focused on her Sister.

“What,” Luna demands, “of the efforts we have put into ensuring restorative sleep for everypony at the castle?”

“All two dozen of them?” Celestia retorts, the laugh she might have normally hidden laced through her voice. “You ensure unhampered sleep for all of Equestria, and have referred to that as your ‘duty’, an action that needs no thanks!”

“Ooh,” Rarity mutters from the side. “That’s a trap if I’ve ever heard one.” Doug nods in agreement, though he doubts Celestia held to it.

“We would still appreciate some recognition,” Luna growls out, either having heard or foreseen Rarity’s remark. The temperature in the air drops another few degrees. “Dost thou not bathe in the adoration of thy little ponies every time thou performs the arduous chore of fulfilling thy cutie mark? Oh, what a weary fate, to be loved and worshiped at every turn!”

“I do not, and have never, required their love nor their worship,” Celestia replies neutrally, not giving in to Luna’s goading. And yet the tinge of red in her eyes intensifies. “And I make no secret of my appreciation of the time, however unnecessary, that they choose to spend in attendance when I raise or lower the sun.” She immediately appends, a tiny amount of fervor fading, “When we raise or lower the sun and moon.”

“How gracious to allow us to join thy side.” Luna snorts, still seething. Even so, a tiny bit of chill lifts as she seems to accept the implicit apology. “And to relinquish thy grasp on our moon. Did thou even notice the difference?”

Celestia smiles, offering an olive branch with her words. “I knew there would be a future with you, and that sustained me.”

“How utterly droll,” Luna scoffs. “Would your little ponies bother coming if thy radiant presence were not present?” Celestia’s teeth clink together, unable to provide a satisfactory answer. Luna turns to Doug. “Would thou attend, were you not afforded the pleasure of filling our belly with seed?”

“Am I allowed to talk now?” Doug asks, wary of the chair, though it seems Luna’s question is rhetorical as she glares at Celestia. The cold intensifies, and while he could resist rubbing at his arms he can barely keep his teeth from chattering. Beside him, Rarity seems to fare no better, huddling with the two fillies.

“Nearly a year have we returned,” Luna continues brazenly, “and yet thou has entrusted to us nary an assignment that thou has not also attended. Night Court remains as barren as the moon, with trivial adjudications and emergencies insufficient to rouse the more illustrious Princess.”

“You were recovering,” Celestia responds defensively. “And when the Crystal Empire returned, did you not rebuild the railway, linking our two countries once again?”

“A task only accomplished with the infusion of changeling workers,” Luna answers, still bitter. “No thanks to our own efforts.”

“You think I engineered that solely to spite you?” Celestia laughs, piercing and condescending. “I could never get my schemes as effective as yours, nor as insidious.”

“Look,” Doug interrupts before Luna can spit out the words on the tip of her tongue, stepping forward and ignoring the pointed glares both alicorns give him. “Is listing all your grievances back and forth the most productive way to do this?”

“Thou wishes we would stop our squabbling,” Luna retorts with an angry glare, “and return to sucking thy cock.”

Rarity gasps at the uncouth remark, though the fillies snicker at the impropriety. However, it merely draws a wry chuckle from Doug, which throws the alicorn off guard. He steps forward, heedless of the frigid cold. “I wouldn’t say no, but that’s not the point. The point is, you two love each other and want the best for each other. Yes?”

“Yes,” Celestia responds immediately.

Doug turns to Luna; it takes her a moment longer, chewing over her words, before she nods as well. He smiles, relieved his plan is working so far. “Now. What I hear is this: Luna, you feel underutilized.”

“Correct, though insufficient.” Luna grunts, barely mollified.

“Are you worried about…” Doug trails off. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, steeling himself. His left hand, scars not quite hidden by the diamond tattoo, shakes despite his right hand’s tight grip. And not from the cold, but from the very real possibility, at least in his mind, that the mare in front of him would relapse.

Luna grits her teeth. “Nightmare Moon?”

Doug nods, almost imperceptibly. Acknowledging that the pony in front of him and the one who tortured him and his foals is extremely disconcerting, no matter how unlikely that that side of her is to ever resurface. “I-I was going to guess that you worry about being shown enough appreciation for your actions. If ponies ignore you, or are too afraid to make the attempt.”

Luna sighs heavily; much of her anger fades upon seeing her stallion’s timorous reaction at even the possibility she might regress to her most infamous form. If she cannot get him, one sworn to love her despite her faults, to see past those same faults, to not only acknowledge but more importantly to believe that she can be better, then what chance does she have with the nation at large? Her words come slowly, carefully considered.

“For a millennium our Sister’s light has shone only brighter, while ours faded into obscurity. The ponies of Equestria have eyes only for her; even the newly minted Magic fails to rouse their ardor where she appears alone, the same with the ascended Love. We hoped it would be different for us, that they might remember our triumphs and not our fall. We acknowledge it was our… it was my actions that forced our dear Sister’s hoof. But with my return?”

Luna looks up, her dour countenance lifting along with the temperature as Celestia steps past Doug. The taller sister bends down until they are eye level, magenta briefly staring into cyan. Then her eyes, filled with grief, flicker away, her long horn dipping underneath Luna’s neck, much to the younger Sister’s surprise. They exchange a tender nuzzle in the opposite of their normal positions.

“I am sorry,” Celestia begins, tears brimming. “I have only meant to protect you, to nurture you, to see you return to your full glory. All I have done was for that goal, and to see it realized like this...”

“Then release us.” Luna pulls away to better regard her Sister, Celestia only reluctantly letting her free. “Allow us to freely exercise our own discretion. To fail or succeed on our own efforts and not thy interference, however well intentioned. Thy tongue has confessed that thy focus has centered on thy little ponies. When we first arrived, you implored us to focus on an area, rather than attempt to ascertain the entirety of Equestrian and foreign culture at once. Consequently, we have expanded our vision outwards, to our neighbors both friend and foe. But we find ourselves hamstrung, crippled by restrictions. Other ponies will never see us as thy equal when it is so clear we are not.”

“What is it, then, that you desire?” Celestia’s confusion, as her compassion, is genuine. She reaches forward again to nuzzle her Sister, lightly, in the hopes she will respond in kind. “You wish for us to-”

“-No,” Luna interrupts, though she returns Celestia’s nuzzle while the white alicorn stares at her, perplexed. “No ‘us’.” She takes a deep breath, her resolve trembling at Celestia’s wounded expression. “When we travel as delegates to foreign lands, as two or three or four Princesses, they see you. When you meet with a dignitary by yourself, they see you. But if they were to meet with only… me, they would inquire as to when their meeting with you would occur.”

“You wish to go alone to Mount Aris,” Celestia says, heart heavy.

“Not because we do not wish your company,” Luna apologizes. “But we fear it may be necessary.” A flit of a smile crosses her muzzle as she shakes her flank, the cutie mark still lit like the moon in the sky above. “And, perhaps, this is proof of that.”

Ch. 76 - Fluid Motion, Part Three

Celestia stares at the glowing mark on Luna’s flank. If one looks closely they can see her magenta eyes shift, and not just in their focus, but as if the ancient alicorn is bringing entirely different modes of observation into play. They shine a pure white, a common trademark of magical scans, then shift through a rainbow spectrum. Her eyes briefly end at an inky blackness that drips wispy tendrils of purple, similar to Discord’s magic when it was swallowed up by Doug, before returning to normal. She glances from Luna to Doug, then between him, Rarity, and Lemon, her frown lengthening.

Luna, curious as to the marked reaction, inspects her own flank as well. “Dost thou think there is some connection?” she asks, indicating the identical mark on Doug’s back. “Perhaps Harmony’s doing?"

“...”

Celestia opens her mouth as if to reply, but no words come out. She shakes her head instead. “I cannot say,” she states, head bowing. “I would not presume to know Harmony’s intentions. To utter wrongly in such a manner would be… blasphemous.”

“You can’t even guess?” Doug asks, eyes widening. She sounds seriously Old Testament, this Harmony, with Celestia as the high priest or something, not that there is any sort of organized religion.

Celestia draws herself up, warmth returning to her motherly smile. “Not without sufficient sign that I am at least on the correct path. And while this portent is obviously something, it is impossible to say what it is indicative of. If I were to speculate, I would be speaking from a position of authority, even with qualifications. That is not a mantle I can put down without repercussion.”

“But we can guess?” Doug asks cautiously, motioning to himself, Luna, and the others.

Celestia inspects Luna for a moment. Though her words sound as if they might be in jest, her tone says anything else. “I doubt you would be in danger for doing such.”

“Huh.” Doug looks down at himself as he thinks. The fact that she can answer there, but wouldn’t answer earlier… He finds he doesn’t actually want to speculate as to whether this sign is a good omen or ill.

A few moments pass in awkward silence as the other ponies glance around the room, obviously feeling the same way.

“On a happier note,” Celestia says, breaking the silence with an optimistic nuzzle for her Sister. “I hope your intention to blaze your own path, as it were, only extends to the physical accompaniment and not to any material assistance.” She ends with a sanguine smile, obviously exaggerated.

Luna rolls her eyes. “We have half a mind to decline any such succor. But, knowing you, there must be some reason.” She peers into her Sister’s eyes, searching. “It is not some music-box, enchanted to monitor our progress?”

Celestia titters. “No, though using such a spell in that manner could be quite useful. Thank you for the idea.” Luna rolls her eyes again. “As you well know, the process of maintaining any spell for an extended period of time can be quite draining, and a detriment to your concentration in other areas.”

“Ah,” Luna says, nodding in understanding. “Seaquestria being, as the name implies, underwater.”

“And while I am sure you could maintain an atmospheric spell, I think that this will help immensely.” Celestia pauses, not exactly for dramatic effect; her head swipes back and forth, as if perusing the pages of a catalog. “Aha! Here we go.” Her horn flares, and a long black mask pops in front of her. The pliable material stretches as she picks it up and displays four holes: one for the horn, two for the eyes currently covered by clear goggles, and one gaping open for the mouth. It looks far too ornate to not be magical, with bands crisscrossing the entirety, and long enough to cover a normal pony’s neck to the barrel or partly past an alicorn’s head.

“Is it just me,” Doug asks Rarity in a low whisper, hesitant to voice his guess. “Or is that…”

“A gimp mask?” Rarity answers automatically, having sold a fair number from the back room of her Boutique. Her eyes spring open as she realizes what she just said, glancing at the two fillies eager to listen in. “Err, I mean…”

“There is no zipper,” Luna states dispassionately, though otherwise she has drawn the same conclusion. “A rebreather?”

“Modular, with truesight goggles,” Celestia explains, nodding. She continues, mostly for Rarity and Doug, the latter showing quite a bit of interest, “It draws toxins from the air along the inner surface by trying to keep to the standard atmospheric composition, though it is not particularly swift at doing so. For instance, it will save you from a gradual build-up of carbon monoxide, but not a lethal dose of fluorine. Watch what you inhale. Also, notably, it will not fully prevent nitrogen narcosis nor decompression sickness. Be careful with your descents and ascents, and I would recommend against flying afterward.”

“‘Tia,” Luna starts, exasperated.

“Sorry,” Celestia says, offering a contrite smile. She continues, this time focused mostly on Doug, though Luna can easily hear and tell the lecture is aimed at her. “The goggles allow you to see underwater, even through an octocat’s ink cloud, though that has been known to confound mage-sight.” She turns to Luna, who returns a huff, “I would like them back, undamaged; they can be quite exhausting to repair. And if you’re going underwater, you’ll need…”

Celestia focuses, and in her hoof appears a small, light blue ring. Miniature pinion feathers twist around each other to form a band, each a slightly different shade and hue, that create a pattern of jagged lightning bolts in the gaps. It is too small for a hoof, too large for Doug’s finger, but might fit his wrist (if you don’t mind breaking the hand bones) or wing should you somehow get it past the expansive feathers.

“A ring of lightning?” Luna frowns skeptically.

“You can shoot lightning with that?” Doug asks, intrigued. “Underwater, that seems…”

“It does not ‘shoot’ lightning,” Luna answers. She motions to the ring. “It electrocutes anything currently passing through.”

“I didn’t realize you made puns,” Doug says, smirking as Luna scowls.

“We…” Luna starts, then closes her eyes as Doug ruffles her mane. “Indeed. No, the flux of the material passing through is what determines the charge applied. But to a liquid…” She considers for a moment. “Ah. It shall electrolyze the water, thus providing hydrogen and oxygen. The mask will absorb any excess hydrogen, among any other unwelcome outputs.”

“So you don’t use it to…” Doug motions back and forth with his hand.

“That would leave one alternately numb and in a lot of hertz,” Celestia answers, straightfaced, getting Doug to groan. She turns to Luna, who doesn’t seem terribly pleased herself. “Much easier than bringing your own tank, should your stay be longer than anticipated.”

“Helium would be better,” Luna remarks.

“If you require me to make some on-site,” Celestia responds, suddenly quite serious, “just send the word.”

“That’s our Sister,” Luna says with a roll of her eyes. “Always planning for contingencies. We shall try to keep from necessitating that sort of intervention.”

“Oh, I know,” Celestia says, scratching at the floor with a hoof. Without warning she surges forward, embracing her Sister and nearly knocking her to the floor. “Oh, dearest Luna. I will miss you sorely. I can scarcely wait until you are ohm.”

“Thou does not hold this against us?” Luna answers, returning the hug to the best of her ability and certainly not trying to strangle any further puns out of her Sister.

“Of course not.” Celestia nuzzles Luna, deep and longing. “The only thing we would ever hold against you is our barrel.”

Luna snorts, pulling away with mock indignity. “Then we best not give our stallion any ideas.” She winks at Doug, who ruffles her mane. “Still, we must depart, should we have any hope of arriving in time.”

Celestia sighs, reluctant. “You set a waypoint in Klugetown, yes?”

Luna nods, though not without a huff at the fretting of her Sister. “What did we say about letting us go on our own?”

“Yes, yes, you’re right.” Celestia sighs, stealing one last hug before pulling back. “Goodbye, dear Sister.”

Finally alone, Luna steels herself. “Goodbye, dear Sister.” She gives Doug a quick kiss and firm nod goodbye, which he returns. Her horn flares cobalt, brighter than normal, and she disappears with a rush of displaced air.

Celestia dances from one hoof to the other, obviously disconcerted, and finally able to let out her worry. Doug, being the closest to her and her stallion, takes the brunt of it. “Oh, do you think she made it there in one piece? Does she remember how to get out of the embassy? What if her wing cramps up on the way to Mount Aris? What if she can’t find the mountain!”

“Celestia,” Doug tries, to no avail. “Celestia.” It’s like trying to break Pinkie Pie out of one of her funks. “Celestia!” He finally goes to his trump card, slipping his hand between her flanks and tickling her belly.

“What if-” Celestia starts, then her whole body jolts, collapsing into a giggling fit. She rolls to her back, her belly now fully exposed, front legs frantically churning while her back legs stay locked to her side, afraid of lashing out and kicking her stallion as he falls with her.

“Better?” Doug asks as her motions slow, snickering at her exaggerated reaction.

“Much.” Celestia lets loose a long sigh, letting herself relax and fully splay out on the floor. “I didn’t say stop.”

“Sure, sure,” Doug says as he goes back to rubbing her tummy, finding the taut surface just as enticing as always. “Your foals are going to hate you if you constantly check up on them like that.”

“Yes, well, these are alicorn foals we are talking about, not earth ponies.” Celestia glances at Lemon. “No offense.”

““Dam says I’m not a hoofful,” the exuberant earth pony replies, bouncing up and down. I’m two!”

“And we don’t know how alicorn foals will behave,” Rarity counters. “For all we know, they could be perfect little angels!” She joins Doug at Celestia’s side, peering at the alicorn’s belly. “And with this stallion, you can be sure he will be as brave with them as he was with the two of you.”

“That wasn’t really bravery,” Doug disputes, shaking his head. His grip on Celestia becomes a bit harder, rougher, pressing deeper into the yielding tissue. “If anything, that was cowardice, because I was deathly afraid of the alternative.”

“Of my Sister?” Celestia frowns, a slight curl downward, at Doug’s hesitant nod. “I do hope she succeeds, and receives the recognition she deserves.”

“Exactly.” Doug gazes longingly at the alicorn underneath his hand. A part of him desperately wants to finish what they started earlier, but he can hear the sounds of the others in the house starting to stir. He doesn’t want to get behind, not that his deadlines are very strict, and stands, offering a hand to Celestia that she takes more out of graciousness than needing his help to rise. “Any plans for the day?”

“Raise the sun. Day court. I would like to explore my- I mean our- old castle, but with Luna gone I may need to uphold her duties as well.” Celestia nuzzles Doug, somewhat reluctant to share the next item. “Weekly check-up. I am sorry, for however much of our animosity today was caused by an inability for myself or my Sister to hold our tempers. Your foals, not that I am blaming them or you, can be…”

“Draining,” Rarity answers for the Princess, nodding along. “Not that we regret anything.”

“Precisely.” Celestia nuzzles Doug again, about to turn to something more, and only pulling back as a disheveled Diamond Tiara tries to sneak into the main bathroom without being noticed. Behind her, a bleary-eyed Apple Bloom teeters toward the kitchen, and soon enough a new wave of early risers fills the room.

Ch. 77 - Fluid Motion, Part Four

The strain of displacing air - air, the easiest material to supplant, only surpassed in ease by the low pressure of a hypobaric chamber - sends jolts of pain lancing through Princess Luna’s head. She can barely lend strength to her legs to keep herself standing, her horn braying from overexertion. Not that anypony would find a cross-country teleport easy, by any means, and only a select number of top-level unicorns match the alicorns in requisite power to accomplish the feat. There can only be one reason for the excess exertion, and her hoof automatically traces along her belly as she confirms her foal’s safety.

The marble-sized being, small enough to fit in the frog of her hoof, seems no worse for the ride. Not that she can glean much from a rapidly beating heart and a core that continues to drain power at an alarming rate, much like an electric wire mistakenly grounded. Yet that has been the case for as long as Midnight has been alive; it remains, not quite a cause for concern, but one that leaves her even more exhausted at the end of the day.

Relief washes over her, allowing her to quell her haggard breath, that nagging thought in the back of her head that she overestimated her own ability and brought about her little one’s demise. Satisfied everypony is okay, or at least recovering, Luna scans the darkened corners of the Princess Suite. The princess-sized bed, with its fluffy pillows and downy comforter, looks even more enticing than normal, and that’s saying something for the mare who finds herself bedraggled by the time she bids the morning ponies good day and retires until it is time to raise the moon. The rest is spotless, in the way an unused room in a castle would gather dust if not for a maid, a macabre parody of a lived-in home.

It feels like just yesterday she left this Tartarus-forsaken town - perhaps because she did - and she has just as much desire to leave now as she did then. It takes but a thought to access and slip through the alarms laced around the building, not that she gave them much credit before, and she squeezes out the window.

She’s immediately grateful for the mask strapped around and completely covering her head. It tamps down the stench of unwashed animals, blocks sand from getting into her eyes and mouth (though does little for her wings), and the goggles cut through that ever-present haze. A part of her wishes everypony was equipped with such a mask when they had arrived in Klugetown. Sadly, it would not have done to present themselves as exterminators fully prepared to expunge a twittermite infestation with extreme prejudice. Much as she knows every one of those scoundrels fully deserves such a fumigating fate.

Rather than focus on such negative thoughts, the kind that her Sister would rebuke outwardly, Luna pours on more speed. Her wings beat against the grit-filled air, accelerating her higher and faster. While she climbs she wonders how Doug would contend with such an assertion, of how the inhabitants of a corrupt and execrable society should be treated; it reminds her of last night, and how much she misses the exercise, both intellectually and physically. The nobles willing to debate such propositions are few and far between, Chancellor Neighsay the notable exception, and anypony not regularly engaged in foreign affairs are too commonly focused on their own pursuits to be well-informed. Or too deferential to her station as Princess, and she hasn’t yet stooped to disguise her appearance for the sake of an untrammeled discussion.

If anycreature notices her inky coat as she ascends, she can’t tell; at the very least, she remains unmolested, none attempting to snare her like they do the desert avians searching for succor along the dusty streets. She pities those forced to scrounge like scavengers, and not just the birds; she can see shadows darting from refuse pile to alleyway, purloined prizes in their grasp.

Still, she can’t tarry here, not that she has any desire to do so. It’s easy to plot a course to the southeast, skirting south of the Realm of Clouds and their perpetual thunderheads. Her head keeps turning to the side instead of watching ahead of her, curious as to what lies beyond and above the roiling cumulonimbus. She wants to see for herself the sights she only knows of from, at best, pictures, if she even has that luxury and not just a meager second-hoof description. Still, she has somewhere to be, so onward she flies.

She makes good time, reaching the Basalt Beach without needing to hasten her journey with a point-to-point teleport. She’s glad she already ate a hearty breakfast and doesn’t need to stop to refuel. She passes a few airships loitering over the beach, deep-hulled haulers with large square sails picking up seeping masses of fish from the night trawlers below. She knows she is spotted here, the way their lookouts track her from one horizon to the other.

It’s only as she spots the pointed peak of Mount Aris that she realizes she has no idea how to get to Seaquestria.

She starts with the helm-shaped island, dreading having to dive underwater and start from scratch. Or, worse, contact her Sister and ask for directions. From the silent heights at the wooded pinnacle to the foggy and overgrown ruins at the bottom, the deserted island offers no clues. She sweeps again, searching darkened corners and peeling vines away from crumbling walls in the vain hope that some sort of message is inscribed. Yet it appears any evidence of their evacuation has been removed by time or somecreature, if there ever was any indication at all.

Speaking of the reason for their evacuation, she is surprised to find none of the Storm King’s forces. Did too many find themselves slipping into the sea, never to surface again? She can find signs of the initial struggle, when the hippogriffs were driven away. Then nothing; either the hedgehogs are as fastidious as Generosity, leaving not even a scrap of fabric behind, or they never attempted to hold the fertile island in the first place. Perhaps, had they need of a staging ground to push east, the largest of the scattered archipelago would have served and served well. The mainland is certainly close enough, but the best harbor for miles is at the hoof of the mountainous island, the others smaller and likely treacherous.

Luna pauses her search when her internal chronometer pings, reminding her that it is nearly time to lower her moon overhead. She can feel a slight tug, the equivalent of a pebble bouncing off her side. Her Sister, worried to her safety? She returns a feeling of calmness, but has no idea if the message is received. Perhaps it is just her imagination, reading too much into the astral forces at play. But every time since her return they have raised the sun and lowered the moon, or raised the moon and lowered the sun, together. There was no need to confirm the other’s well-being, to ask if they are ready for the task ahead. She misses that closeness, that bond, and hopes this is the first - and last - time such separation is necessary.

She flies to the top of a highly stylized hill, an open gate carved into the earth below that leads to a wooded vale. She looks northwest, wondering if her Sister is doing the same, but can only see the tip of Canterhorn’s snowy peak. Certainly not Ponyville, but perhaps she can find solace that they are both looking at the same place and thinking of each other.

Her horn thrums with power, lifting her into the air subconsciously, filling the valley with an otherworldly blue light. She can sense her moon even as it slips from sight, disappearing behind the basalt walls to the west. Slowly at first, then rapidly, the sky shifts, going from a blanket of black dotted with pinpricks of gold to a deep red that gradually brightens, shifting through oranges and yellows before the sun peeks out from the tall mountains to the east.

Her duty complete, Luna drops down, sighing to herself. Putting away her moon for the day exhausts her, much as bringing it out in the night invigorates. She wants to lay down on the quiet grass, perhaps in the shade of one of the weeping willows below, or perhaps she might find something more palatable in the empty ruins.

Until a shifting shadow catches her eye from far below. It moves counter to the rest, and she catches a flash of yellow and blue that disappears under a cracked sewer gate. She frowns to herself, curious yet wary, and takes off to investigate. The building above where the interloper disappeared offers nothing, just more stone, but there is a thin crack along the bottom that she might be able to slip through. She can’t see much when she peers inside, just darkened rocks, but it opens up to a large room. A basement?

She can hear faint whispers from inside, excited but indistinguishable. Rather than scrape her barrel along the ground, perhaps putting herself at risk, she concentrates for a moment, reappearing on the other side in the corner she deemed safest. Her horn lights, blindingly bright in case anycreature got any ideas, but the only thing that changes is she can hear a gasp and splash of water from the far side. She walks forward, horn dimming but still bright enough to light the far reaches of the large room.

Yet rather than the other side of a cellar, the floor drops down. Hidden by a rocky outcropping is a small pool, a single pink lily floating on the slightly disturbed surface. Seeing no other option, and sensing nothing except fading ripples, she steps into the cold pool.

Holding her breath, Luna dunks her head under the water. While the fit of the mask around her head might have been uncomfortably tight before, especially where it seems to blend into her coat, it makes clear sense now. No water escapes through the sides or leaks through the gaping mouth, and she takes a moment to scan her surroundings.

True to their function, the goggles make it easy to find the only notable feature is a drain in the middle, large enough for her to squeeze through and swim down but not quite enough to make turning around easy. She takes tentative steps forward, wishing she brought along some sort of flippers to make swimming easier. Alas, and her Sister likely has an enchanted set that would do all the work for you. She could use her horn to push herself… or would it be easier to pull the water, much like the motion of an oar runs counter to how it might seem at first brush? Regardless, it would be tiring, much like levitating yourself instead of flying.

A click from underneath sets her on edge, the grate of stone against stone filling her ears. The hairs on her legs can feel the water whirling before she can see it, but before a second passes the entirety of the pool has started to swirl. Her wings flare out, flapping hard and returning her to the safety of the air. She watches as the entirety of the pool drains down; some sort of trap? Her eyes widen as she spots the drain slowly closing in size, a rounded block of stone like a sewer grate scraping as it slides to cover the opening.

Was this how the hippogriffs stayed hidden and fled the Storm King’s forces? She had thought she would have to scour the ocean, searching far and wide before she found anything! And now, her only connection is disappearing! She gulps; perhaps she could wrest the cover off, but there’s no telling where her mysterious observer would swim off to.

So, tucking her chin against her peytral and her wings to her sides, Luna aims her long horn directly in front of her, and dives.

Ch. 78 - Fluid Motion, Part Five

No sooner does Luna exit the short tunnel does a googly-eyed red clam shell whiz inches past her mask-clad muzzle. She rears back, surprised more than anything: Who throws a shell? Honestly!

Until her keen eyes, unobstructed by the clear crystal goggles, spots a thin line trailing behind the shell, nearly undetectable. She can’t observe any active magic, only latent, but it looks far stronger than a simple piece of string or hair-twined rope, the kind of empowered fishing line designed to haul in whales, or hold aloft antiquated engines at Cooper’s Train Emporium. It wouldn’t do much, by itself, besides serve as a poor tripwire and entangle a distracted swimmer - much like flying, swimming isn’t restricted to narrow angles of attack. Luna traces the projectile’s trajectory, spotting her assailant.

“Stay back, storm scum!” the yellow coated, blue maned seapony commands, high-pitched voice in serious danger of breaking. Teal eyes, large as a pony’s and narrowed in a deep scowl, carefully watch every move of the cobalt alicorn. One teal-shod foreleg holds a second shell, purple and googly-eyed, ready to throw at a moment’s notice. She apparently thinks the shell is a more threatening weapon than the barbed spear at her side. “I’m warning you!”

Luna stares at the seapony, trying to place her. She studied all the other races of Equus, but the names and faces - many only seen in a picture - swirl together. Most are of them as hippogriffs, from before they sunk beneath the waves, and their reclusive nature has made gathering further intelligence much more difficult.

Still, she sets that aside to focus on the aggressive creature. It would be laughable, such an attempt on an alicorn’s life, if not for her deadly seriousness. Her legs automatically bend slightly, tensing, ready to leap off the stony floor at a moment’s notice. The contemptuous snort at the audacity can’t be seen behind the mask, but can certainly be heard, as the Royal Canterlot booms through the water.

“Thou dares assault a Princess of the Realm?”

“Hear that, Shelly?” Unfazed, the seapony opens and closes the shell in her hoof, miming it responding in an even higher voice. “She’s a bad one!” She nods back, in one motion whipping one foreleg back while chucking ‘Shelly’ with the other as hard as she can. “Go get her!”

A bad one? Luna frowns to herself; this isn’t at all the introduction she hoped for! A nagging voice in the back of her head cackles, that her Sister would be doing a much better job at first impressions; she might as well give up now and let the better sibling pick up the pieces! She does her best to ignore those thoughts, glad the mask covers her scowl.

She casually raises a hoof to knock aside the shell, then to hold in a placating manner, only for the first shell to smash into the back of her head with far more force than such a small object should possess. She reels forward, head spinning and glad for even the small protection the mask gave. I’m going to have a lump there!

The water around Luna suddenly fills with pitch-black ink. At least, I hope it is ink, and not my corneas detaching. Growling, she swaps the goggles to mage-sight, just for them to overload with the bright light of a crescent tail swatting her in the face. It takes a second to readjust, a second she spends hunched over, forelegs defensively raised around her horn and face. It doesn’t hurt, not compared to the shell, but that doesn’t mean she is any less angry, the mask absorbing the spittle she spews in her rage.

As soon as she gets her sight back she spots a blur of light amidst a sea of black: the seapony rapidly swimming away, the two shells trailing behind and spewing seeping clouds of black and purple ink from their wide open mouths that quickly fill the entirety of the cramped corridors. Will she lead me all the way to Seaquestria? Or another trap?

And then the distorted blur flips over, building up speed for a charge.

Grimacing at the necessity, Luna’s horn flares, trapping the seapony in a dark cobalt bubble. She can feel the reverberations as the now-panicked creature slams into the unyielding wall, then repeatedly slaps at it with her wide tail, swimming fruitless circles in the vain hope of finding an opening or weakness. She’s surprised when the seapony stops struggling against the barrier, scrunching up into a small ball.

Luna swims closer, frustrated with the difficulty of using her hooves and jealous of the seapony’s hydrodynamic body, how she effortlessly cuts through the water like it is air. Her first attempt with her wings seems viable, but the backswing sends her in the wrong direction. Something to work on. Perhaps she could mirror Armor’s method of using telekinesis to push herself through the water, odd as that might seem.

‘Shelly’ and whatever foalish name the other shell has dangle from the barrier created around the lines. If some other trick is at play she cannot detect it, the ink charges spent and water rapidly clearing. Satisfied of her own safety, and feeling in control of the situation, she drops her barrier.

The seapony uncoils like a spring, the barbed spear rushes forward, propelled by the powerful thrusts of her tail.

Luna snorts in amusement; her horn flares bright, her aura conjured around and pinning her assailant to the rocky ground while stripping her of the spear.

“Hey!” the seapony objects, straining against the mystical restraints. “Let me go!”

“Desist in thy efforts,” Luna orders. She takes a deep breath as she carefully inspects the envenomed spear. Enchanted, little else noteworthy except how the curved barbs resemble a seapony’s fins. “We art searching for information.”

“A likely story,” she spits out, writhing as Luna searches her body for any hidden weapons, finding only a pearl shard and some sort of bubble blower, both of which she leaves unmolested. “We’ll never talk to a villain like you!”

“We do not wish to harm-” Luna starts, then cuts off at the strange look of pain on the seapony’s face: her eyes are clenched shut, and Luna imagines tears would be streaming down if they were above water. She cocks her head quizzically. “Art… art thou attempting to sever thine own tongue?”

“Err.” A phony grin cannot hide the odd way her voice sounds, like she has been injured and can’t quite move her mouth right, nor the whimper. “No?”

Luna sighs. “One cannot lie so easily to a Princess of Equestria.” She shakes her head as the seapony fidgets nervously, noting how her expression changes from one of sheer defiance to a bored recalcitrance. “And neither can one escape questioning by rendering themselves unable to speak. Now, answer us truthfully. Why didst thou attack, unprovoked?”

“Duh,” the impetuous whelp states, as if it is obvious to anypony. “You’re working with the Storm King!”

Luna’s face scrunches up. One could technically argue that is true, not that she has any desire to partner with the puffed-up hedgehog.

“Don’t tell me you’re not! You can’t lie to me!” The seapony points her foreleg at Luna with far less deference than the Princess feels she ought. “My mom knows everything, ‘cause she’s the queen, and she’s told me all about you!”

“Really.” Luna steeples her forelegs under her chin, gleaning much from this new tidbit of information. Princess Skystar, the only child of Queen Novo and King Aponis. A lot of pieces fall into place, such as how imperiously the seapony speaks, and how valuable she would be to keep… contained. “And what wisdom, pray tell, hath thy dam imparted?”

“That you’re not to be trusted!” The assumed princess nods confidently. “That you’re gullible and naive, and that the Storm King is going to use you to get to us!” Her smile falters as she realizes that she is, in fact, insulting the creature who could easily capture her again. “And your, um, whole theme kinda matches his?”

Luna glances down at her dark blue coat, the way her night-sky mane and purple accents could be construed to mirror the teal and steel. Certainly her Nightmare form, which accentuates the blacks to a far greater degree, and incorporates more teal into the design. “Dost thou always judge others on their appearance?”

A snort accompanies the retort. “Hey, I don’t hear you denying it.”

Luna sighs. “Very well. We shall not impart to the Storm King, or those who would pass to him, any information regarding thine brethren.”

Teal eyes peer into Luna’s cyan. “And you speak for those with you?”

“Those with us?” Luna laughs as she hears herself speak. “Ah. Thou refers to our… my… archaic pattern of speech.”

“Yeah,” comes the glib reply. “You do, kinda, talk funny.”

Luna ignores the barb. “We… I... came alone.” She takes a deep breath. “And I would hate to sully our relationship before it even began. Perhaps we can begin again, on the correct hoof.” She releases her hold on the seapony while levitating the spear and shells to her, then offers her a low bow. “I am Princess Luna, Caretaker of the Night.”

“Oh, come on!” Princess Skystar squats down, huffing as she crosses her forelegs and pouts. “This is exactly what I’m talking about! You can’t just, like, forgive someone who attacked you so readily!”

“Would thou prefer we extract the information we seek directly from thy incapacitated mind?” Luna’s mane and tail billow, her wings flare, an intimidating sight that leaves the seapony shivering. “And leave thy corpse for the fish?”

“I-I thought you were supposed to guard against nightmares,” Skystar whimpers, hunkering down. “Not fuel them.”

“Fascinating. Thou has one thing right about us.” Luna sighs, this interaction again going the opposite of how she wishes. Her dread aura fades, and she beckons with a hoof. “What, then? Indulge us. How would’st thou have desired our initial encounter to proceed?”

“How?” Skystar sputters, apprehensively getting to her fins. She grabs the spear and expertly slices through the water, noticing how Luna’s eyes - and only her eyes - watch the tip swing back and forth. “It would have been nice, you know, if you at least thought I was a worthy opponent. Or something!” Her face scrunches up. “Instead, you treat me like a child!”

Luna sighs; she certainly knows that feeling, having just told off her own Sister for doing the same. “There is a certain charm to infamy. To be one whose blade we fear to cross.” She offers what she hopes is a reassuring smile, then realizes she still has a mask on. “We can see the allure of such an introduction. But not every battle is best won by leveling horns, or hurling shells.” She gets a far-off look in her eyes. “Take it from somepony who knows what it is like to be on the receiving end of such a clash.”

“Uh-huh.” The accompanying eye roll isn’t lost on Luna. “You know, listing ‘former villain’ next to ‘current villain’ isn’t really helping your case here.” While the princess seems unconvinced by the initial suggestion, she loses a bit of her frustration with an ambivalent shrug. “Um, I dunno. I guess I’d rather save your life. Or something? And then find out that you opposed the guy who wrecked our way of life, and we’d become friends! And go on a totally awesome adventure to stop him!”

Luna nods along. “T’is our main objective in coming here, to become friends. And we art… worried as to thy dam’s reaction when King Aponis returns.”

“My dad!?” Princess Skystar’s eyes light with cheer, then fury. “Urgh! My mom never tells me anything! I haven’t seen him in…” Her eyebrows narrow as she tries to remember. “Well, ever. I mean, I’ve seen pictures, when I sneak into mom’s room, but she always yells at me when I ask about him.” Her eyes suddenly go wide. “Y-you won’t tell her about my sneaking, will you? Please?”

“Thine indiscretions are thy own,” Luna reassures, much to the distraught seapony’s relief. “We see no need to inform her thusly.”

“Awesome! And, um, I’m not supposed to talk to strangers, so if you can keep quiet about that, too…” Skystar grins at Luna, who sighs and nods. “Oh, I totally forgot! I’m Princess Skystar. But you probably knew that! So we aren’t really strangers!” The seapony offers an apologetic smile of her own. “And, um, sorry about your armor.”

Luna looks down, spotting a light but long scrape down the center of her peytral. Thank Faust she didn’t clip my side; Celestia would never have let me hear the end of it if I was to be injured. “Ah. Perhaps I should fear thy prowess.”

“Yeah, totally!” She flashes another grin, Luna beginning to grow weary of the exuberance. “You wanna follow me back? I can introduce you! It’d probably go way better than, you know, you zapping a guard and getting captured.”

Not at all how the encounter would go. “Lead on,” Luna states, ignoring the voice telling her, ‘yes, that’s exactly how it would go’.

Ch. 79 - Fluid Motion, Part Six

“And over there I have some more bear paws mixed in with the squamosus. I did that when I ran out of cockles.” Princess Skystar shoots Princess Luna a sly wink. “Bet you never have that problem, though!”

Luna searches along the ocean’s floor, spotting yet another long line of multicolored specks. Indeed, there are a number of jagged-mouthed clam shells interspersed with a much curvier variety that blend into the nearby coral. She taps a hoof to her mask thoughtfully before going back to dogged paddling. “T’is a problem we hast rarely considered, ‘till recently.”

“Yeah, it can be tough finding good cockles around here. Like, the really pretty ones.” Skystar grins like a foal, zipping back and forth excitedly as she points out the spotted patterns, and how they compare to the stripes of the smooth-mouthed cockles. Luna can roughly discern the pattern, though without it being pointed out she might have thought they were a random scattering. “That’s why I built these trails, so I could remember where I searched! Mom doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t like anything.”

“We take it,” Luna says as Skystar slips among the reef, disappearing from view entirely before popping up at another section. “That few visit.”

“Nope. Well, except for the Aquastrians, but we don’t talk about them. Any others tend to be all bloated.” Skystar puffs out her cheeks, her tongue lolling out as she imitates a drowned creature. “You’ll be, like, the first outsider we didn’t feed to the crabs!” She offers a less-than-encouraging smile. “At least, I hope you’ll be the first.”

Luna shudders at how her mission could go very, very wrong. “Indeed.”

“But who wants to talk about that?” Skystar shakes her head. “I’ve always loved clams! Now, to the untrained eye, Shelly and Sheldon might look like ordinary clams, but they’re actually really rare! I had to swim all the way to the Filly Pines Sea to find them! They’re China Clams, because they look like fancy plates, you know?”

Skystar offers the two clam shells to Luna, then swims circles around her while carefully watching her reaction. Luna, for her part, inspects them; they do, indeed, look like expensive porcelain, and what she thought was a shoddy paint job turns out to be a natural pattern. She retains her doubts as to the authenticity of the googly-eyes.

“Quite impressive,” Luna commends as she passes them back.

“Thanks!” Skystar grins, clutching the shells to her bosom. She pauses for a moment. “You know, my mom never wants to talk about this stuff.” She cocks her head curiously.

Ah, the rigors of governing. “She must be busy,” Luna states diplomatically, having seen Celestia’s overflowing schedule, and often wonders when her Sister manages time to sleep.

“Busy soaking her fins,” Skystar mutters, piquing Luna’s interest, but doesn’t continue. She perks up as the shrouded entrance comes into view. “Hey, we’re here!”

At first glance, the gloomy outcropping appears as any other, barely worth noticing as they swim along, especially from above. It’s only when they sink down, so low Luna’s barrel scrapes along the rocky ground, that she detects an otherworldly purple glow emanating from a thin crack. The colors shift as she gets closer, dark blues and pale pinks and subdued yellows, in a pattern that suggests… movement. She cranes her neck to peer inside, not looking forward to squeezing through, and certain her Sister’s considerably larger rump would not fit - perhaps the only perk of her petite posterior.

Her first look at the interior takes her breath away, and she counts it a blessing she isn’t using her concentration for anything critical. A massive structure lays ahead, suspended from the vaulted ceiling by a twisting tentacle, a stylized octopus grasping upward. Pink light shines forth from the central building, like an ornate lantern a noble might hang for Nightmare Night, a grandiose display she immediately recognizes as a fellow sovereign’s seat of power. More openings continue along the spire, well-lit windows and doors of the upside-down castle, that spread out as they rise.

Dozens - no, hundreds - of blue, shining dots ring the upper reaches, too far to easily make out, creating swirling patterns as they dip and weave amongst each other. It is only as Luna focuses on them that she discerns they are not merely glowing fish but seaponies, each imbued with an effervescent glow. When Skystar swims in front of her she realizes the young princess shares a similar shine, her red wingfins tucking against her as she beckons the Princess to follow through the tight chasm.

Luna grimaces at the possibility of getting stuck; perhaps she could blast apart the rock should such an unbecoming event occur, though ruining their concealed entrance seems a faux pas even Laughter would recognize. Her horn charges, straining at the effort of displacing water, and she blinks away. She reappears amidst a burst of bubbles, glad to rest her horn after the exertion - it takes a lot out of her to traverse the vast distance to the central structure, a distance she’s glad not to swim. It reminds her of Canterlot, how the overhanging city appears much smaller purely because of how unreal it must seem, and how she likes flying from the base of the Canterhorn to the peak.

It takes Skystar a few seconds of spinning and searching to spot the dark mane and coat that blends like shadows, but she makes up for that by zipping through the water fast enough to make Luna jealous once again. They both enter through the bottom of the throne room, the entrance shaped like massive petals much like the pink water lily Skystar wears in her mane.

Every variety of sea-growing plant and coral spreads out along the floor, concealing two spear-wielding guards who relax upon seeing Skystar escorting the Princess. The real focus is the luxurious purple-trimmed shell that serves as the seat of power, elevated on a purple reef so as to look down on any who enter the spacious room.

Queen Novo reclines on her throne, idly twirling a kelp frond around her as she studies a regal piece of parchment, with a scowl Luna recognizes as one she would conceal when she deals with the most onerous of nobles. She barely even glances up as Skystar excitedly zooms around.

“Mother!” Skystar’s elated cry goes equally ignored. “Look what I found!”

With a great sigh, the light pink queen continues studying the parchment. “Is it another shell?”

“Mm-mm,” Skystar replies, shaking her head.

“Because I am telling you, if it’s another shell, I am-” Queen Novo continues, sounding like she didn’t listen. But when she glances up, she gasps, startled by Luna’s appearance. Her shout draws her guards to attention. “Princess Skystar, what have you done! You know surface dwellers are forbidden here!”

“Aww, but mom!” Skystar sulks. “She lives on a mountain! A mountain! You know, like we used to!”

“I don’t care if she’s extra-Equustrial,” Queen Novo retorts harshly. “Those above the waves cannot be trusted!” Her baleful glare could boil the water around Luna. “Why are you even here?” She flicks the paper, scornfully. “Surely not to remove one of our own?”

Luna glances back at her cutie mark, which briefly glows - as if attention, or perhaps doubt, triggers the effect, as it had not been glowing the entire time she traveled. She recalls the seapony Queen’s dream: stewing in her anger when King Aponis returned, while her pink coat turned a bright red, reminiscent of a lobster boiling. And never, in her outrage and admonition of her husband, did she notice, not until the Storm King broke through the ceiling and feasted on their well-done flesh. The Mistress of the Night had only intervened then, as the dream turned morbid; she shifted to a scene of the three at dinner, seated and enjoying a filet of fish, but the damage had been done. She couldn’t get anything going but hostile conversation, and the Queen had woken up soon after.

How would the Queen react to such a revelation, that Luna knows her deep fear? Does she remember the intervention, recognize Luna’s hoof at play? She would need to tread carefully. She addresses the Queen while Skystar nervously gnaws at a hoof.

“We appreciate thy graciousness in allowing us entrance to thy glorious city,” Luna smoothly replies, no trace of apprehension in her words, giving no clue to the impetus of her arrival. Why am I here? I will need to figure that out, and fast. “It contains many marvels never seen above the waves.”

Queen Novo flips her hoof in small circles, a brash encouragement for Luna to get to her point, and quickly.

“An invitation was extended to one of thy citizens to join in an extended retreat,” Luna continues, suppressing her displeasure at the impropriety yet acquiescing regardless. “We would facilitate her departure and ensure her safe arrival to Equestria.” She fumbles for a moment in determining how best to bow, deciding on a slight incline of her head that leaves her eyes trained on the Queen. “With thy permission, Lowest Matriarch of the Deep.”

“I see your tongue is as silver as your mark,” Queen Novo snorts. “It’s been hundreds of years since anycreature used that formal of an address.” A small smile spreads. “I like it.” Nonetheless, her forelegs cross in front of her chest. “However, just because you wax eloquence doesn’t mean I’ll blindly swim along behind you.”

“Of course,” Luna answers diplomatically, straightening her posture. It feels like she is in the courts of the pegasi of old, among those who take any slight or lack of decorum as a deep insult.

Without warning, a loud klaxon rips through the water, a high-pitched tone that doesn’t carry but certainly gets everypony’s attention. Pink tones shift to a garish red, illuminating the two creatures at the entrance, a spotlight Luna is not enthusiastic about being in. At first, she thinks the Queen triggered an alarm, yet observes a worried yet concealed glance at a gargantuan jellyfish that floats partially obscured above the throne.

“It’s okay! She’s with me!” Princess Skystar shouts to no avail as the two spear-wielding guards advance.

“Desist,” Luna commands, horn remaining still for now. It has little effect on the stoic guards, their grim scowls unfailing even as they approach the more powerful opponent.

“That idiot,” Queen Novo mutters, her neutral façade turning to a harsh glare, yet not directed at Luna. “Stand down!” she orders. “It wasn’t me. It was… him.”

No ‘him’ immediately makes himself known, leaving Luna to wonder. The guards, equally confused, back off, their spears still readied as if the Storm King himself might breach the citadel.

“He should have known we’d change the wards!” Queen Novo brushes a section of her throne in a complex pattern. Moments later the alarm turns off, the room again bathed in soft blues and pinks. Her scowl intensifies. “Now I’m going to be late for my seaweed wrap.”

Luna is surprised at the sheer… pettiness of the Queen, yet her mind strays inward; does she act that way at the Night Court, take offense at unintended slights and changes in diction?

She doesn’t have long to ponder, as she feels a shift in the water, as if some great beast below is displacing massive quantities with every swipe of fin. The walls inch closer, and then away, unnerving to her sense that tells her the distance to the moon is moving in the opposite direction.

Except, instead of some monster, swims a golden seapony, King Aponis, with a trail of what must be every seapony in the city.

Ch. 80 - Divide and Conquer, Part One

King Aponis slowly rises, twisting to take in the grandeur of the royal chamber. He offers his wife a broad, unfaltering smile - hers is clipped and short-lived - before continuing his relaxed scan of the seaponies beginning to surround him. Those following are not some giggling entourage, nor any sort of armed guard, but a crowd of curious onlookers; many exchange hurried whispers as they form a rough sphere around the returning king, an impromptu stadium that doesn’t block anypony’s view.

Princess Luna finds herself drifting to the edge alongside Princess Skystar, the two guards, and a host of other seaponies. She doesn’t mind losing the spotlight, as this isn’t her stage, yet keeps a careful watch. Her surprise comes not when the king breaks off and swims in her direction - she expects some recognition, being a Princess - but when he greets the guard next to her.

“Ocean Flow!” King Aponis clasps her pink fins with his own, a warm smile the guard returns. He glances down at two approaching seaponies, both on the cusp of adulthood: the white colt remains shy and deferential behind a messy curl of teal mane while the pink filly can hardly sit still, her excited attention split between the king and the outsider. “These must be yours!”

“Terramar and Silverstream,” Ocean Flow replies with a slight but friendly nod, enough to remind her king that she is technically on duty. Her smile widens as her husband, Sky Beak, joins her, his blue coat complementing her gold.

“Yes, very good,” King Aponis says, again giving a friendly nod. He turns to Luna, raising his fins, and she automatically raises her hoof to meet his. “Luna.” He clasps her hoof, again a short nod as warm as his fins. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” Princess Luna returns, somewhat stunned as the king continues along to the other guard, greeting Sea Breeze as fondly as Ocean Flow, and then the next seapony. She expected him to use at least one of her honorifics, or to thank her for playing a part in releasing his people from the Storm King. Not to move on so quickly! Granted, there are many others, but still! She huffs, but to herself, her mask concealing her brief scowl.

Silverstream seems ready to burst, barely kept in line by the firm hold of her sire, a dozen questions dancing on her tongue. She doesn’t get the chance to ask them; once the murmurs and whispers die down, and everypony goes still, drifting in place, King Aponis returns to the center of the sphere of seaponies, having greeted more than a dozen of his subjects.

“It is good to be back!” he exclaims, booming voice easily carrying through the water.

A cheer erupts from the crowd, loose and spirited, a much different character of celebration than the thundering hoof stomps of the ponies. After a few seconds of whooping and hollering the king raises his fins and they reluctantly quiet down.

“It gladdens my heart to see so many familiar faces,” King Aponis continues. He spins around, seemingly locking eyes with everypony. “And so many new ones! The seas have truly been kind.”

Again the chamber echoes with cheers. Luna finds herself and Princess Skystar dragged by Silverstream, then enveloped by the rest of the seapony’s family in a tight embrace; many families follow suit, hugging not only themselves but their neighbors. Only Queen Novo sits alone, her hard stare never leaving her husband.

“But I come,” King Aponis states like a dam on Hearth’s Warming, drinking in the faces hungry for whatever it is he conceals and enjoying the suspense. “Bearing not only good news of my return. Not only victory over the Storm King and his forces!” He raises his voice again, above the ensuing murmurs, quieting the chamber down with pure presence. “But of our return to Mount Aris!”

Luna frowns as loud ‘Hurrahs!’ fill her ears. Victory? Perhaps in the abstract, in the failure of the Storm King to obtain the Skysea Pearl, to eradicate or subjugate the seaponies, and in his concession of Mount Aris to the hippogriffs. She notes a similar frown on Queen Novo.

“And for that purpose, I bring more than my own, not-inconsiderable strength.” He grins, flexing a fin, drawing a few bemused chuckles and one over-wrought shriek of ecstasy. “But an entire dreadnaught full of supplies, ready to go!”

If there was surprise before, now everypony turns to their neighbors, excited chatter filling the chamber. In the chaos, King Aponis swims to Queen Novo, rising above the throne.

“My Queen,” he supplicates, bowing his head as he reaches down, his smile just as wide as always.

Luna notices the symbolism, how he would lift her off her shell throne to a place above the waves. And yet the queen’s cold stare immobilizes him, her fins remaining firmly locked across her lap.

“What did it cost?” Queen Novo demands, her words barely audible above the clamor of the crowd.

King Aponis seems stunned by the question, his smile faltering for the first time. “My love,” he endeavors, still holding out a fin for her to take. “Let us not dwell on the past, but celebrate the future! For now is a time of rejoicing!”

Around them, the clamor has died down. Many of the seaponies, curious and cautious as to the delay, have returned to their spherical arrangement.

“What did it cost,” Queen Novo repeats, louder this time. Worried glances flit back and forth among the crowd. She takes his deep breath as license to continue. “Or do you deny selling out your people to that riptide!?”

In an instant the excitement pervading the crowd dissipates to a dead silence. Eyes lock onto the royal couple, dreading his response. Others turn to Sky Beak, the known renegade, and his colt, whose mane shares the Storm King’s teal.

“Selling out?” King Aponis exclaims, astonished. “Selling out? I gave my life for Seaquestria! A worthy sacrifice, if the Storm King had taken it! For how many fell on those shores? Hmm?”

He spins, waiting for a response. For his last stand had paid off, buying enough time for the others to transform and slip into the seas. And while many nod along, or offer contrite bows, many more stiffen at the reminder of the hated enemy who drove them from their cliffs in the first place.

“Shores that you now wish for us to return to,” Queen Novo spits out accusingly when no others speak.

“Precisely!” King Aponis swims in wide circles, regarding each seapony closely, so they can see his candor. “I have seen firstfin how the Storm King treats those he admires, those who display qualities he respects.”

“Y-you worked for him?” Princess Skystar ventures, tentative. “All the stories…”

King Aponis bows his head contritely. “Yes, my daughter,” he confides, yet loud enough for all to hear. “The stories are true: how I worked my way up, from a lowly sailor to a captain of the Storm King’s armada. And yet I never forgot my home; every time I looked down on these waters, every time I thought I saw a glimmer of a fin, or a crest peeking above the waves, I thought of you. It tore my heart to be apart.”

“And yet you didn’t return,” Queen Novo condemns, many of the crowd beginning to drift lower and away from the king. “How many times could you have leapt overboard, abandoned our oppressors and rejoined your people?”

Shame fills King Aponis’ countenance. “I could not,” he starts, faltering. “I could not break my word, for I swore to serve at Raikou’s behest, as long as it did not betray my people.” A flash of anger crosses his face. “And what would have been accomplished should I have forsworn myself?”

“You remark on how many new faces there are?” Queen Novo motions to those around her. “You should have been there for them! But what do I know? Oh, that’s right. I’m the Queen! Did you rally your people during times of crisis, when the schools departed and we had to search near and far for sustenance? No!”

She rises from her throne, furious.

“And what good did it do for you to stay? Did you lead a revolution against his oppression? No! What happened?” She thrusts a hoof toward Luna, and it just as easily could have been a spear. “You bode your time! You took part in their persecution, gleefully, until the Storm King gambited against Equestria. And now you ride in their wake, proclaiming their victory as your own!”

King Aponis rises further, equally incensed. A good portion of the seaponies rise with him, including Sky Beak. Others sink down, joining the Queen, Ocean Flow among them. The two gaze at each other, longing, both thinking the other followed when they split. Terramar and Silverstream remain with Luna, conflicted, unable to choose between their parents. Many of the other seaponies mirror them.

“Should I not take advantage, when one swims in front of me?” King Aponis laughs, short and derisive. “Or should I keep my gaze firmly fixed behind me?”

“You would side with our oppressors!” Queen Novo accuses. “You would rather shackle yourself to his glove, hunt at his command and eat from his fist! Did you forget your hood, or do you not need one?”

“Says the one who would keep her people locked below the waves!” King Aponis returns just as bitterly. “We are not only seaponies, but also hippogriffs!”

“For their safety!” Queen Novo jabs a hoof upward. “If you want to return to that King you so foolishly trust, then do so! But do not think that I will be suckered in, a young fry who follows the current wherever it goes.”

Princess Luna feels a certain dread, twisting in her gut. She wants to step in, to say something. But what could she say? What defense could she give, of the Storm King, or of King Aponis, or of Queen Novo, or even of her own actions? She can see the battle lines being drawn, those who support the king rising while those who wish to remain, or perhaps those who do not trust the capricious Storm King, sinking. And those in the middle grow ever thinner.

“Come, Skystar,” Queen Novo orders when she sees her daughter rising. She glares at a lack of immediate response. “Or do you want to be grounded?”

“Yes!” Princess Skystar plaintively cries out, startling her mother. “Yes, I want to be grounded! I’m tired of staying here, hiding away! Even if I get captured, even if I perish, I want to be free! Why can’t you see that? Being above the surface is in my name!”

Queen Novo takes a long, hard look at Skystar. “Then you are no daughter of mine,” she declares coldly. Her voice raises, reaching everycreature. “And any who wish to leave, may they never again call Seaquestria home.”

“Mother,” Princess Skystar pleads, swimming closer. She gasps as Ocean Flow intercedes between them, spear raised.

“Begone,” Queen Novo orders. She waves her hoof, dismissing the seapony.

Skystar’s mouth clenches shut, eyes shimmering, her whole body shaking with sorrow, then rage. She unleashes an exasperated scream as she bolts away, passing her father, and disappearing into the reaches above.

Queen Novo does not look surprised when the other guard, Sea Breeze, offers up her ceremonial spear. She snatches it away, glaring, as the former guard joins the increasing number of seaponies gathering above.

“Surely there is a better way,” Princess Luna implores, swimming to the center.

“And what way is that? Living together in harmony?” Queen Novo scoffs. “We could never live with one who refuses to ask forgiveness for their misdeeds, or to even acknowledge that wrongs have occurred.”

“And neither could we live with those who would never allow us to be free.” King Aponis turns to Princess Luna. “So I ask you, Princess. If you could have walked away, and avoided your fate with your Sister. Would you?”

“We…”

Words die in the younger alicorn’s throat. Her Sister, her dearest Celestia. Who would - and had - waited a thousand years for her. Who would - and had - bowed her grieving head when she so selfishly demanded her obedience, if that is what it would take to keep them together. Who would do anything for her.

Luna bows her head. “If there is fault, it is mine alone. We would take any course rather than raise hoof or horn against her.”

King Aponis draws in a deep breath as the surrounding seaponies go silent.

“Well,” he states forthrightly, the sound echoing in the still water. “There you have it.” He turns to the throne. “My Queen.” He offers her a curt nod. “May we meet again, when waters still.”

The Queen of the Seaponies stares past him, impassive, the only motion her ceremonial spear tapping against her side, a metronome counting the seconds until he is out of her presence.

In silence, with a mourning fit for any funeral, King Aponis swims upward. Nearly half of the seaponies follow him, including Sky Beak and Silverstream. Ocean Flow watches, holding onto Terramar, using him for support as much as he is using her. Finally, despondency overcomes her, and she hurriedly swims away, her son in tow. The other seaponies follow, and soon enough the entire chamber is empty save for Queen Novo and Princess Luna.

“The folly of alicorns,” Queen Novo utters, before she too leaves Princess Luna. Alone.

Ch. 81 - Divide and Conquer, Part Two

Back in Ponyville, Doug pulls his chair next to Celestia at the breakfast table. He’s amazed at the ability of the mare to, despite towering above everypony, slip into the background. Maybe it’s how her mane ceases flowing and her wings tuck against her barrel, or some sort of spell that diverts their attention, or just an automatic deference the ponies pick up on that he misses. And it’s easy to see why she wants to stay out of the way as five remaining foals, Meringue absent, file into the kitchen. Each scampers to the closest spot and begins messily devouring anything in hooves’ reach, and squirming to reach anything that isn’t.

He doesn’t particularly want to bother the Princess, not with her glazed expression, a commonality when she tends to matters remotely. Lemon, however, has no such compunction against interrupting her thoughts. As Hedge delivers Doug his second stack of pancakes, and the other fillies their first, the yellow mare brazenly jumps onto the table with a sizzling plate. The pungent smell breaks Celestia from her trance, the alicorn apprehensively looking down at the chunks of yellow speared with long sticks.

“Sooo, I know you exclusively eat cake,” Lemon starts with a combination of attentiveness and impertinence otherwise only found in her dam.

“Correct,” Celestia replies, guarded. She sniffs; it certainly smells delicious, and a couple other ponies are eyeing the plate with great interest. “And what is this?”

“It’s yuca! Meringue found some at the market when she was out with dam,” Lemon explains with a wide grin. “I fried it up on a kebab!”

“A yuca kebab,” Celestia echoes, eyes twinkling. She lifts one of the sticks, inspecting the fried, potato-like substance. A smile slowly spreads across her muzzle. “You know, most foreign dignitaries would attend to my dietary specifications with their own takes on desserts, often styled as cakes. I must say, never before have they attempted something as audacious as this.”

She takes a bite, Lemon’s grin growing wider, and nods approvingly. “To what do I owe the occasion?”

“I wanted to cook something special for them,” Lemon says as she gives a short bow, and points at Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo, then motions toward two crates next to the door. “Plus, I was listening to Apple Bloom talk about Sugar Belle, and how they mostly cooked with hay. Mostly.” She gags. “They don’t even use sugar!” She gags again for good measure as Hedge dutifully returns with full plates of yuca for everypony. “So I saw the yuca and I thought, ‘Hey! That grows just about anywhere!’ So they could grow it at Our Town!”

“Wow,” Apple Bloom says, somewhat astonished. “Ah wish Ah could be that positive.”

“Yeah,” Sweetie Belle says dourly. “Me, too.”

“Ah, cheer up, Sweetie,” Scootaloo counters. “This’ll take your mind off it!”

Sweetie Belle doesn’t seem to believe her, sinking lower, yet can’t keep herself from munching on the yuca.

Lemon turns back to Celestia. “And it had to be something you could eat, of course!”

“I appreciate your consideration,” Celestia replies, inclining her head. Lemon beams all the brighter, skipping back to the stove, as the front door opens.

“Good morning, everypony!” Starlight Glimmer greets with a wide, saccharine grin, so wide as to be downright creepy. Applejack follows her inside, chipper even for the farmpony. “I trust you had a pleasant night?”

“You’re awfully cheerful,” Doug remarks, waving. His gaze lingers on the swirl of magic on her flanks.

Starlight must have noticed, because she gives her tail an alluring swish. “Just getting back into character. And you know what that means.” She turns to the Crusaders. “We don’t want to miss the train, now do we?”

“No, Miss Glimmer,” Apple Bloom and Scootaloo chorus through mouthfuls of pancake and yuca. Sweetie Belle takes the time to finish her bite, her reply subdued. “No, Miss Glimmer.”

“Good!” Starlight regards Applebaum as the young mare hops down. “Oh, are you planning on coming to our little village as well?”

“Just to Canterlot,” Applebaum replies. “Got a message saying they could use me.” She notices Applejack’s hard, inquiring look, and rolls her eyes impetuously. “It’ll just be readin’.”

“Yeah, well, those stallions ain’t exactly the sedentary type,” Applejack counters with a huff. “Ah trust ‘em ‘long as Ah can see ‘em. And right now, they’re a good bit off.” Even so, she dips down to give her foal a quick nuzzle before she can take off to her room. “Ah’m just worried.”

“Ah know.” Applebaum returns the nuzzle, zipping away and quickly returning with packed saddlebags, her exploding apple cutie mark embroidered on the sides. “Y’all ready?”

“Methinks Twilight will want to say goodbye,” Doug adds, thinking of how she misses Spike. “Plus, I need to get a run in.”

“Lemon and Hedge, go get your dams.” Applejack grins as Doug rubs at her ear, flicking his backside with her tail as he brushes past her. “Rest of ya, let’s clean up, lickety-split! Don’t want to keep the train waitin’!”

Doug frowns when he realizes the bathroom is occupied, a low grumble coming from within. “Hey, Diamond Tiara?” he asks tentatively, rapping his knuckles on the bathroom door.

The faint, unsettled whine barely abates, and he cautiously pushes the door open, wary of interrupting anything… personal. Fortunately, for both of them, the young mare is merely staring at herself in the mirror, furtively pushing a hoof into her purple mane and desperately trying to get the white streak to line up perfectly.

It’s tough, but Doug holds in his smirk; even if her mane was a complete bird’s nest, he doubts Pomarbo would care. Or notice. “You okay?”

“Hey!” Diamond Tiara exclaims, yet doesn’t move. He expects some sort of admonishment, but instead her head dips down slightly. “Sorry, Mister A. I…”

Diamond Tiara growls, snorting through clenched teeth as her mane again fails to obey her every whim. Apparently Rarity thinks this is a bigger deal than he does; she brushes the human out of the doorway with a friendly chuckle.

“Darling, let me take care of this. Go run.” With a flick of her horn she shuts the door behind her, her voice now muffled. “Now, there are a few things we can do to really spruce it up. Did you want it flat against your back, or more free flowing?”

“Thanks, Miss Rarity. Now, which do you think he’ll…”

Doug rolls his eyes, taking off a ways behind the two fillies going into town. They’re glad to be outside and getting some exercise in the cool morning; plus, it’s always fun watching the pegasi clear out the dark, spent clouds from last night. He peels off as they get close to Ponyville, taking the northern route along the outskirts while the fillies head into the market square.

The barren field where the Golden Oak Library used to stand, under which lays her new castle, isn’t so barren any more. Seemingly overnight the entire place has been transformed, with a hospital-sized pit dug out of the ground around the entrance, like a single giant hand reached down and scooped. Half a dozen hard-hatted earth ponies are hard at work hauling huge stacks of lumber, drywall, and concrete. Four unicorns, horns ablaze, aim chutes of flowing concrete, directed by a pair of safety orange clad pegasi. Colorful changelings, covered in patches of dirty gray, bolster their numbers, hard at work either mixing the concrete and loading it onto the chutes or on the ground and making sure it spreads evenly.

Doug picks his way through the crowd of curious onlookers, many fellow Ponyvillians audibly wondering about the latest addition to their town. He ignores the sign out front advertising Cater Construction and advising everypony to stay back, that this is a work site; he slips down and navigates a thin strip of unpoured land to get to the propped-open entrance. A dark blue stallion wearing a yellow hard hat, cutie mark of the same, offers him a friendly wave before going back to overseeing everything.

“Hey, Twi,” Doug greets the empty area as he descends, finding the well-lit chamber and clearly marked railways much easier to navigate than the perfectly clear crystal from before. Even so, looking down unnerves him, much like when he jumps on a cloud; an instinctual part, that lizard-brain, refuses to believe that there is, in fact, a platform where his foot is about to come down. Closing his eyes doesn’t help, but gripping the railway does, and he hastily crosses to the far wall and descending staircase.

The giant stone table still dominates the center of the room, illusionary mountains and forests dotting the landscape. The detail is incredible, from the gold and alabaster city jutting out from the lonely mountain in the center, to the rivers and waterfalls pouring down toward the sleepy town at the edge of the overgrown Everfree, all the way to the helm-shaped Mount Aris around which swirl a misty, silver moon and black cloud and blue heart-shaped crystal. On the opposite side, blueprints remaining unsoaked by the ocean-stained stone, sits Twilight Sparkle.

A lavender ear flicks, but her focus doesn’t shift from the rolled-out papers. “Hey,” she replies absentmindedly, before a long yawn rips her muzzle open, and she goes back to studying as if nothing happened.

“Hey, I like what they’ve done with the place.” Doug admires the decorations the fillies spread out along the bottom. Apparently Diamond Tiara got them to intermingle, even as it is obvious who brought which decoration. He can certainly see Scootaloo riding her scooter over the hay stacks and garden supplies that would spruce up the outside - if they weren’t building something else - or slaloming back and forth among the baking utensils. He notices a few sheets and pillows making a rough bed, all neatly folded, and either unused or Twilight is as fastidious as always. Judging from the yawn?

He frowns at the lack of reply and yawn. He approaches, somewhat cautiously, and inspects the blueprints. It’s a school, possibly, one wing containing a dozen classrooms split over two stories. The second has dormitories overlooking a central plaza, with administrative buildings located in between. Twilight barely acknowledges him, even as he stands next to her and points. “Did you spend all night on this?”

“Is it morning already?” Twilight stares upward, focusing on the small square of light, her ears twitching. “Oh, good, it sounds like they’re already working.” She grins at Doug, nudging her head forward and clearly fishing for ear scratches. “It’s amazing what you can accomplish on Official Princess Business, even at four a.m.!”

“Twilight,” Doug starts, though his heart isn’t really into the admonishment.

“What?” Twilight asks, visibly annoyed. “They claimed they didn’t mind, not at all, not for a Princess. I’m sure they would have done the same for any of their other customers.”

“Sure.” Doug reaches an arm around her, squeezing her, and she huffs before visibly relaxing. “But, wow! You’ve made a ton of progress! And in, what, one day?”

Twilight nods. “More like two, and two nights. I worked on it all the way from Klugetown, but I really made progress when I was working at Applejack’s yesterday.”

Doug blinks. Twilight didn’t seem terribly distracted yesterday, just subdued if anything. He finds the farm work engaging enough, but certainly prefers being able to chat with Applejack during. “Really?”

“Yeah! You see, the work on the farm...” She trails off, looking guilty. “Don’t tell Applejack. Okay, tell her if you want, I’d say the same thing to her face. But harvesting apples, especially if I’m not using magic? It’s just enough to keep my body busy while my mind is free to work through everything else.” She waves a hoof at the blueprints, then up above. “So I drafted all these and sent a copy off to Hard Hat. He’s the foremare up there, and he built Ponyville General Hospital. Applejack recommended him.”

“Yeah, he helped out with the Carrot House as well. Or at least Cater Construction did.” Doug finds his attention wandering to the map. “Oh, I was supposed to tell you. The Crusaders are leaving with Starlight on the morning train, heading back to Our Town.”

“I hope they’re able to help everypony there,” Twilight says with a sincere sigh. Her wings splay out, helping push herself on top of the Cutie Map, careful to avoid stepping on the blueprints. She traces a line from Canterlot, through the Hollow Shades, to the barren area around Our Town. If they squint, they can even make out the two rows of drab buildings in the shape of an equal sign. “And speaking of helping everypony?”

Twilight chitters to herself, shaking her head. “Or, I should say, everycreature.” She motions to the Frozen North, past the Crystal Empire, and Yakyakistan. Then to the east, locating the griffons and dragons on the barely-visible continent, only the western edge displayed. “I can’t wait for everycreature to arrive! It’s going to be great, teaching them Friendship, and about Harmony, and…”

Twilight trails off, her hoof pausing as it points to Mount Aris and the two cutie marks swirling about. Not just Princess Luna’s.

But also Princess Cadance’s.

“Um, Doug?” Twilight stammers, the human speechless. “What are those doing there?”

Ch. 82 - Divide and Conquer, Part Three*

“Why,” Twilight repeats, slower and more enunciated, “are Luna’s and Cadance’s cutie marks floating around Mount Aris?”

Doug, still dumbfounded, shakes his head. “I-I’m not sure.” A slight twist lifts the corners of his mouth. “Magic?”

“That’s… That’s not an explanation,” Twilight scoffs, barely able to quell her accusatory tone. “You built this place. Surely you have some idea how it works!”

“Hey, I was pretty out of it at the time,” Doug apologizes, shrinking down, wary of the way Twilight’s eye twitches and a part of her mane threatens to stick off all on its own. “Despondent, thinking I was the cause of all this suffering, and I just wanted to let the magic go. I didn’t exactly formulate a blueprint for anypony to follow.” He spreads his hands helplessly. “Sorry, I know that’s not much to go on.”

Twilight takes a deep breath, keeping her sigh from being too exasperated. “Alright. That’s okay. We’ll just start with what we know.” She pauses for a moment, thinking back. “We had a similar incident happen the day before the Storm King’s forces arrived at Canterlot. We saw our six cutie marks seemingly located in the middle of nowhere. When we arrived, there was nothing there.”

Doug interjects, perking up, “Wouldn’t that be because the airships sailed on?”

Twilight stops, the gears in her mind turning. Grim barely begins to describe her expression. “Taking into account the time it took to convince Rarity to go, then Fluttershy, and finally Pinkie Pie, plus our travel time…” She squints at the prior spot on the map, then traces a line from Klugetown to Canterlot, her head bobbing along as she counts. Her eyes widen in shock. “...We missed them. If we hadn’t? That would mean we had a chance to talk Tempest Shadow down! No, not a chance. A guarantee! A Harmony-certified guarantee that we could have resolved the entire situation peacefully!”

“Err,” Doug stalls. “Not that that’s not correct, but how do you know you aren’t reading a little too much into this?”

“Oh.” Twilight pauses, her eyes going wide. “You think it might be more like the Crystal Empire, where we had to fight King Sombra.”

“I have no idea one way or the other.” Doug holds up one hand, miming weighing it against the other. “Or it could be some third option. But why else would this thing even exist?”

Twilight’s smile is small and rueful. “I suppose the six of us going up against the entirety of the Storm King’s armada would be a little far-fetched. But if there’s a group of ponies who could singlehoofedly win a battle against them?”

Doug chuckles with Twilight’s bravado, wrapping his arm around her neck and hugging her close. “Oh, yeah, you’re quite the force to be reckoned with.” His jovial tone gets Twilight to snicker, just before his bicep tightens, the alicorn now locked in a headlock and forced to suffer him digging his knuckles into her scalp.

“H-hey!” Twilight laughs as Doug hits one of her many ticklish spots, sinking to her knees as if that might dissuade the tall human. Yet he sinks with her, and even as she kicks off and rolls over on top of him he stays locked on, his practice wrestling with Rainbow Dash and Applejack preparing him for her weight.

“Jeez, you’re getting heavy,” Doug complains good-naturedly as he grips Twilight against him, laboring for every breath. Yet he doesn’t let go even as Twilight's wings spread to the sides, instead maneuvering to plant a kiss on her questioning face. Twilight returns the kiss, and a nuzzle for good measure, before her cheeks redden and her chin dips into her neck. “What’s up?”

“So, um, I just had a thought,” Twilight replies bashfully. “It’s kind of silly.” When Doug squeezes her she continues, “You know how, in, well, um... How do I put this. In games of Ogres and Oubliettes with a less experienced Oubliette Master?”

“Sure,” Doug says, letting Twilight’s back rest against his chest, her weight manageable when she’s not struggling. “Railroading?”

“Err, not quite.” Twilight rolls over to ponyloaf so she can better see him, as well as relieve some of her weight. She’s not fat, honest; it’s the foals! And becoming an alicorn! “More like, when it’s really obvious that the OM wants you to go along a certain path. Not that they’re forcing you, but they might as well have advertised with flashing neon lights and a giant golden exclamation point.”

“Huh.” Doug twists his head to try to inspect his back. “My tattoo of Luna’s cutie mark was flashing, and so was her cutie mark before she embarked. It’s funny; she barely noticed that her mark was glowing.” Twilight pulls Doug up to see if it is still flashing, but the tattoo is just that. At least, for now. He looks over at the stone table; they’re on the floor and can’t really see the top, but he likes where he is right now too much to want to move. “You think, somehow, that this map knows where specific individuals should go in order to… further Harmony’s purpose, or something?”

“Well,” Twilight proposes, not entirely sure herself, “you did build it with the power of the ponies.” She looks over his body again, reverently tracing a hoof over each of the colorful cutie marks. “Including Luna’s. Maybe there’s some connection?”

“Possibly,” Doug counters. He pauses a moment, both of them pensive. “But, to be fair, I also had Discord’s power.”

Twilight frowns. “What? Discord is a force of chaos and entropy. He doesn’t build things, especially things that help ponies.”

“First off,” Doug asserts, “I built it with Discord’s power. But even so, that’s not entirely fair to chaos. The world around us is changing, which is what chaos is. What we’ve done before might not work in the future. We need to be able to adapt, or we’ll die. Or be outcompeted by those who do change.” He sighs, hugging her tight. “We can’t live forever in a land of order, no matter how hard Celestia or anypony else tries.”

As Doug talks, Twilight's frown lengthens. She sinks against him, not wanting to interrupt. But his words challenge what she knows about Harmony, about Celestia’s millennium-long rule. And yet, as her assumptions and axioms are challenged by him, she also questions them. Does she believe that Order and Harmony are virtuous, while Disorder and Chaos are iniquity, purely because she has grown up in a land where only they are practiced? Could that be because Order and Harmony are the best way to live, while Disorder and Chaos must be stamped out wherever they occur, or has some other factor been a feather tipping the scales?

“Which,” Doug continues, “while daunting, is, again, necessary. Because chaos isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s not just the decay of things over time, it’s also the unknown. Your potential. The place where what you’re doing might not work.” He pauses a moment, stroking her muzzle in an attempt to cheer her us. “Think about your foals. Alicorn foals. Never seen before!” He smiles up at her, and she can’t help but smile back. “Would that even be possible if we were only sticking to the known?”

Loud claps echo through the chamber before she can dip down and kiss him, if not more. Both of them perk up, ears swiveling, attempting to locate the source.

Discord appears in a flash of flowers on top of the table, wiping away a tear with a clawkerchief.

“You know,” the Lord of Chaos drawls in that magnificent voice of his, “I do believe that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.” He smiles down on the two, and it comes across as both endearing and very, very alarming. “I take back all the bad things I said about you Terrans and your hybrid infestation!”

“Err,” Doug stalls. “Thanks?” His face scrunches up. “Bad things?”

“You know,” Discord draws out. He tosses the clawkerchief into the air; it drops on Mount Canterhorn and drapes over something hidden inside. “About how the hybrid leave nothing worth saving, and how repulsive and twisted they are. At first I thought it was a fluke, but now I see how you so cleverly subvert Harmony’s plan! Oh, it’s so glorious I was beside myself!” Discord splits into multiple copies, each of them lining up exactly in sync with the others. “But, then I realized, that’s what she sees!”

“She?” Twilight exchanges a worried glance with Doug. “What does that mean?”

Discord snickers, reveling in her confusion. “It means,” he explains in stereo, speaking so slowly that he draws an annoyed glare from Twilight, “that as long as you don’t change Harmony’s perspective?” He stands such that all the images line up, only the foremost visible. He motions toward the two, still laying on the floor, and gags. “You’ll be able to get away with, well, whatever you disgusting meatsacks like to get away with.”

“Yes, well,” Twilight says, rolling her eyes, especially as Doug rubs enticingly at her side. “Before these meatsacks get distracted, how about we focus on the problem at hoof.”

“I can walk and chew gum at the same time,” Doug says, smirking, as his hand continues down her belly.

Twilight closes her eyes rather than give in to his goading. “If Luna didn’t notice, or didn’t know what the glowing means, do you think Cadance might not have, either? Especially if she slept in.” She raises her voice. “Spike?” She waits a beat, frowning when he doesn’t respond. “Spike! We need to send a letter to Cadance!”

“Spike isn’t here,” Doug gently reminds, softly stroking along her ear and ceasing his other advances. “He’s in the Crystal Empire.”

Twilight’s face scrunches up, not willing for any tears to fall. “You’re right.” Her breath hitches. “I-it’s okay. I’ve got some dust somewhere.”

“You can use some of mine,” Discord offers, hacking up a furball that he shakes, little bits of dandruff falling onto a piece of parchment. He grins, offering it with a wide flourish. “Ta da!”

“...Thanks,” Twilight deadpans. She glances down at Doug, and he shrugs. Her horn lights and scribbles a quick message. She eyes Discord warily. “This isn’t going to explode or anything, is it?”

“Definitely ‘or anything’,” Discord confirms. He huffs at her unmollified expression. “What? Do you not want it to draw their attention?”

Twilight sighs. “No, this is important. Send away.”

Discord grins a particularly chaotic grin and snaps his claws. “Goody.”

In Canterlot, in a certain pink room, a pink Princess is getting pounded into her pink four-poster bed.

“Oh, Shiny! Buck me! Harder!”

The white unicorn behind her, sweat pouring down his face, hooves firmly clasped around glowing pink flanks, grits his teeth and gamely gives another twenty percent past what he thought he was capable of giving.

“Yes! Oh, yes!”

A shrill alarm, that any human boomer would recognize as a dial-up modem connecting, blares through the room. It startles the unicorn, and has seemingly no effect on the alicorn.

“H-hey, Cady?” Shiny Armor grunts out as a letter materializes in front of him. A stylized ‘01000100’, in fact, which he recognizes from his encryption class as a capital ‘D’. Then a second byte appears, replacing the first, this time ‘01100101’. An ‘e’.

“Can it bucking wait?”

“Err,” Shining Armor says, watching ‘Dear Cad’ appear one letter at a time before a swift kick to his inner thigh disrupts any concept of concentrating on anything other than his wife.

Back in Ponyville, Twilight eyes Discord carefully. “Did they get the message?”

The draconequus has binoculars trained on her parchment, which didn’t disappear. The lenses reflect which letter he is currently transmitting, and she suspects he has some sort of visual on the room, as any respectable, self-orienting scrying/transmission should. Which Discord is most certainly not. Maybe I should work on that once I’m done with these lesson plans.

“...It’s difficult to say,” Discord replies, suspiciously noncommittal.

Twilight rubs a hoof against her horn. “Can you tell what they’re doing?”

“Meatsack things,” Discord answers. He groans at Twilight’s disapproving stare. “You know. Sleeping.”

“And you didn’t want to wake them?” Twilight demands.

“You said I shouldn’t explode anything,” Discord whines, or possibly complains. “Besides, I could just bring them here if this is sooo important.”

Twilight closes her eyes. She’s surprised how drained she feels from just dealing with the draconequus, especially when he’s being compliant. “Fine.”

Discord snaps his claws, and with a flash the alicorn and unicorn appear, her belly against the stone table with him behind, in the perfect position for Doug and Twilight to observe.

“What the-” Shining Armor exclaims, attempting to back up, only for Cadance’s bellow to flatten everypony’s ears.

“Prince Consort Shining Armor, by Celestia’s desiccated teats, I swear if you back out I’m going on top and riding you until I’M satisfied!”

Shining Armor gulps, closes his eyes, and soldiers on. “Twily! I’m close!”

Twilight moans, mortified, and covers her eyes with a wing.

“Yes! Give it to me!”

Shining Armor grunts, pushes himself as far in as he can, his entire face contracting in tensed, exhausted bliss. His deed done, he slips out, and flops onto the floor in a way that mostly conceals himself, his hooves clasped above his head.

“If you can do that,” Doug whispers to Discord, tilting his head at Cadance and Shining Armor, “how did you ever lose?”

“Because it’s not fun to always win,” Discord answers sagely. “And that’s my cue to exit.”

“Oh, by Celestia’s sunny skies,” Cadance fervently moans, marehood openly winking while her eyes remain shut. “That was amazing. I swear, if we figure out what caused that…” She trails off, laughing to herself, before her tone turns somewhat biting. “Though I have to ask why you would yell out…”

Cadance opens her eyes, looking for her husband. It takes her a second to process the completely different surroundings and the lavender alicorn, her wing across her face, laying atop the human unabashedly watching and waving.

“...Twily?”

“Y-yes?” Twilight answers, peeking through her primaries.

Cadance grins, drops off the table and lowers her front legs. “Sunshine, sunshine…”

“...Ladybugs awake.” Twilight moves like she’s swimming through the ocean, for how lethargically she gets up and trades hoof bumps with her former foalsitter. “Clap your hooves...”

“-And do a little shake!” Cadance grins, spins around and mashes her still-glowing flanks against Twilight’s. This only serves to embarrass the lavender alicorn even more. “What are you doing here?” She looks around, not getting an immediate answer, and chuckles. “Or, maybe I should ask, what am I doing here?”

“Well…” Twilight gulps, glancing at Doug. She frowns when she notices where his attention has been. “Doug! Give the Princess a little privacy!”

“What?” he returns shamelessly. “She’s watched me, like literally watched me, impregnate… what, five times?” He winks at Cadance as she nods, smiling. “I say it’s about time she returned the favor.”

“You’ll need to wait until next year for that,” Cadance replies without missing a beat.

“For the record,” Shining Armor calls out, waving a leg but not otherwise moving from the floor, “not okay with that.”

“Oh, well,” Cadance mourns, her best hurt expression completely lost on her exhausted husband. She turns back to Twilight with a mischievous grin. “By the way, if this ever happens to you, don’t let it go to waste.”

“S-sure,” Twilight stammers, blushing furiously.

“So,” Cadance says, deciding against teasing Twilight further, “what do we have here?” She walks up to the table, then up at a descending alicorn. “Hello, Auntie!”

“Hello, Cadance,” Celestia greets, effortlessly gliding down. She nods at Doug and Twilight. “Good morning, Twilight.”

“Good morning,” Twilight returns, offering a short bow. “What are you doing here?” She looks up, not seeing anypony else.

“We were worried when you didn’t arrive at the train,” Celestia explains. “And then one of my sensors went off.” She looks around for the draconequus, but doesn’t see him. She turns to Cadance. “Also, I must say, I was not aware that I was an expression.” She smirks as Cadance shrinks down slightly. “Multiple, in fact, though I must say I am working on making one of them, how shall I say, less appropriate.” She bends down to nuzzle Doug, the human beaming back as he returns it.

“The reason for the delay,” Twilight explains, snatching at anything she can to steer the conversation away from that topic, “is because we discovered something with this map.” She points to Mount Aris, around which Luna and Cadance’s marks still swirl. “We aren’t sure why they’re there. But it must mean something.”

“And Luna already went to investigate,” Doug continues. “But we didn’t know about the map at the time. Just that she had a dream, perhaps a premonition, about the possibility of failure there.”

“And we might have already witnessed the consequences of failing a mission,” Twilight adds, stepping toward the Badlands and the Mane Six’s original destination.

“Assuming it is a mission,” Doug interjects.

“Correct.” Twilight grimly nods. “But we don’t know how things would have gone had we succeeded! Perhaps Tempest wouldn’t have turned away, perhaps…”

“Perhaps we never would have spread Friendship to the rest of the nations,” Doug counters.

Twilight purses her lips, but says nothing.

“We can spend all our lives debating ‘what ifs’,” Celestia counsels, tilting Twilight’s chin so they look into each other’s eyes. She smiles warmly. “But unless we can turn those scenarios into something actionable, we will merely miss out on all the other opportunities life provides.”

“...I suppose that’s right,” Twilight says. It takes a second for her smile to spread across her muzzle, but once it does it is as broad as Celestia’s. She turns back to Mount Aris. “So, what will we do here? Send Cadance off to figure out what’s wrong and what to do?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Doug pipes up when nopony else says anything.

“‘Tia, mind helping me with a portal?” Cadance grins when Celestia’s horn lights, a lattice of gold runes encircling her.

“A mile above Mount Aris,” Celestia advises. “Would you like any other assistance? Portions may be underwater.”

“Got it. And I should be fine.” Cadance concentrates, matching the gold runes with her own pink. “Hey, who knows.” She winks at Shining Armor as he pushes himself up and waves goodbye. “Maybe after I complete the mission, it’ll be even better.”

“Oh, by Celestia’s desi…” Shining Armor starts as Cadance disappears along with the runework. He gulps, peeking at Celestia, who returns a harsh stare. He straightens up and stands at attention, willing to accept whatever punishment she sees fit. “By your distended teats?”

“Oh, by me, no,” Celestia laughs, shaking her head. She turns to Doug, winking. “Though I have heard they get bigger with every foal…”

“Sorry, I like ‘em small and firm,” Doug counters, winking back. “I’ll talk to Rarity about converting that peytral into some sort of brassiere.”

“Nooo!” Celestia mock cries. She stands up, forelegs on the table, and shakes her belly back and forth. Her teats, unchanged from before she got pregnant, hardly move while her slightly enlarged belly wobbles and ripples. “They wish to be free! Free, I tell you!” She laughs as Doug grabs her from behind, hands firmly gripping her belly, and takes off for the train station.

Ch. 83 - Divide and Conquer, Part Four

Cadance materializes amidst a million golden droplets evenly dispersed in every direction. Before she can even make sense of her surroundings her wings automatically flare and beat a slow rhythm against the thick, soupy air, a welcome benefit of her pegasus heritage: she doesn’t have to remind herself to use them, as her lavender counterpart often does.

A fond smile spreads at the evoked memories of Twilight practicing with Rainbow Dash on the dawn of Twilight’s inauguration, and the latter’s… displeasure... with her failure to not immediately and intuitively grasp the kinesthetics of her newly acquired appendages. With any luck their little ones will be spared any such frustration, though desiring the alicorn foals are as capable and eager to flex their flight muscles as the aspiring Wonderbolt is perhaps a bit ambitious. Or foalhardy. She’s not quite sure which.

She’s glad to use her wings to stay aloft and not her horn, like her husband. Even with her Aunt’s assistance she feels depleted, even after being innervated from that extended morning session with her Shiny. Exhausted, every part of her, like she just flew to the base of the Canterhorn and then back up, her body diverting blood to her wings instead of her brain, and the only thing she can focus on is how little Twilie can’t stop snickering about how her BBBFF’s plan to get the pair off the couch and go do something backfired on him. Spectacularly, and projectile-ly.

Tiny Spike, though, absolutely loved it, and was much easier to transport down and up than the recruit already starting to bulk up, who would gamely hide his discomfort with her favored method of transit. The young mare, for Twilight’s part, vastly preferred to keep reading rather than get a ride herself. How some things change, and some things stay the same.

Around her the echoes of the golden flash fade, the steely gray of spent storm clouds blocking any view of sea or sky.

Well, that won’t do!

Still, much as she wants to buck a hole in the putrescent clouds and allow the sun’s glory to stream down on the shrouded mountain below, she ought to make sure she’s in the right spot. Or doing the right thing; there’s no telling why Luna and her cutie mark are swirling high above this area. She glides down, cautious of losing altitude too quickly and potentially careening hornlong into the mountain.

She’s, frankly, disgusted at the… spongy feel of the clouds. It wasn’t bad when she was hovering, but now that she’s pushing through? The droplets are dispersed too thinly to obstruct her, though would prove a barrier against high speed maneuvers. Sticky bits cling to her wings, itchy and gunky and not just caught between the barbs of her feathers but feeling like they are actively lodging themselves deeper. Larger bits slough off into a discernible trail behind her, if she looks closely, not that she has any desire to remind herself of what she is flying through. Ah, the repulsive nature of sour clouds, obviously not tended to in years, and she’s glad when she finally breaks free out of the base. She’ll need to preen, and soon, but that can wait.

A dazzling view greets her, the sun not yet high enough for the clouds to block her rays along the water’s surface, and only barely piercing through the bottom edge of the storm clouds. A bright reflection shimmers out on the ocean, the perfect circle broken by choppy waves. Fragments of light follow all the way to the majestic mountain; is it a golden trail to her destination? The tip of the helm-shaped mountain pierces into the storm, which has long moved past roiling and now splays out like a rancid, congealed carcass. A crime against nature! She scowls, having to tear away lest she get sidetracked spending all day fixing a dozenmare job.

At the base of that mountain a dark airship looms, with swarms of green and blue and pink hippogriffs milling about on the deck. Cadance frowns as she recognizes the unmistakable mane at the top of the parrot’s nest, a blue and purple aurora that nearly blends into the dark depths below. What could Luna be doing there? She drops down and lands next to her, but gets no reaction.

So lost in thought is the younger of the ancient alicorns that her glazed eyes glance at Cadance only as her adopted niece spits out a particularly vile bit of gunk she preened from her feathers. Another holdover from her pegasus past, and while her horn might be cleaner (and taste less foul) she prefers the more intimate experience using her mouth provides.

“Love?” Luna’s distant frown deepens as she scans the skies, half expecting her Sister to be hovering about, having somehow heard the news of her floundering under the seas. “Explain thy presence.” She turns to stare into Cadance’s light purple eyes, hard and cold meeting soft and warm. “Did my Sister send thee?”

“She did,” Cadance answers honestly, though is taken aback as Luna’s brow tightens, backpedaling with her words. “Well, she assisted with the teleportation. She did not direct me here; a map did.” She leaves out the part where Discord transported her to said map. And any mention that this might be some game of the draconequus.

“A map?” Luna inquires, her hostility fading to apathy.

“The big stone table in Twilight’s new castle,” Cadance explains. “Apparently it shows all of Equestria, and parts beyond. Our cutie marks are swirling around Mount Aris.” She glances at Luna’s cutie mark, then her own. “My cutie mark was glowing, but that’s gone.” She sighs, then chuckles. “I miss it. It… enhanced certain feelings, if you catch my drift.”

“Intriguing,” Luna replies, her countenance saying anything but, and ignores Cadance’s long wink. She glumly sinks down, rests her head on her hooves and stares at the ocean below.

Cadance takes a moment to dig out another piece of gunk, spitting it out over the edge and well away from the deck below. “Alright, now it’s your turn,” she continues, perhaps a bit impudently, though Luna doesn’t react. “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing.” Luna’s heavy sigh ruffles the thin hair on her forelegs. “Less than that. Our presence has only served to make things worse.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Cadance jests, hoping to elicit a smile. Or anything at all, really. Her own smile dims when Luna continues staring, stone-faced, and stops halfway to her wing. Preening can wait. “Can it?”

“We oversaw the rending of a people,” Luna states, the lack of emotion in her voice disconcerting. “At best, we stood idly by and watched. At worst, we art complicit, having sanctioned their schism with our lack of intervention.”

“Okay, that does sound pretty bad.” Cadance smiles all the broader. Her wings, uncomfortable as they are, fold against her sides. She lays down next to Luna; Cadance is slightly taller, but her horn isn’t as long, and the long spirals nearly touch as she rubs against her Aunt’s side. “But that’s nothing we can’t fix, right?”

Slowly, cautiously, the start of a smile peeks out from Luna’s scowl. “T’would appear my Sister managed to send two pink ponies as one, as only the bearer of Laughter could make the impossible sound so simple.”

“T’is a shame,” Cadance intones, mimicking Luna’s archaic speech with a friendly smirk, “that thou art no longer Laughter’s bearer.”

“Stay thy tongue, young whippersnapper.” With a newfound vigor, Luna raises to her hooves, her wings spreading in an imperious, commanding display. “For we do not give up our aspects so easily.”

“My apologies, oh chortling one.” Cadance dips down with a low bow, her head nearly touching the floor. “Where should we begin?”

Luna locates the golden hippogriff directing the others to various piles of supplies, as well as taking stock of where those limited supplies will be most impactful. The two leap down, gliding the short distance. He does not seem surprised at Luna’s arrival, though cocks an eyebrow at Cadance.

“Princesses,” King Aponis greets with a slight nod of his head. The two alicorns return the gesture. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Luna was telling me about your new home,” Cadance embellishes, motioning toward the helm-shaped island. The ruins at the bottom are still covered in fog, slowly burning off (if at all), the rest shrouded in shadow. “Or, perhaps I should say, your old one. Surely it will be a marvelous location!”

“Indeed!” King Aponis agrees with a hearty grin and loud, scratchy claps from his compatriots. “A wonder worthy of song, sung from the highest heights!” His enthusiasm sinks as his gaze rises. “A shame, though, that this choir will be missing so many voices.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Cadance commiserates, offering the tall hippogriff a sympathetic smile.

“Don’t be!” King Aponis counters with a booming laugh, but Cadance can tell it’s pure bravado. Many of the other hippogriffs share his swaggering stance, while others let the facade falter. “Seaquestria is a pearl among nations; if they wish to remain hidden away?” He sighs, letting the curtain slip for a brief moment. “Then that is their choice.”

Cadance hides her suspicions that the king’s act seems more for his people than himself. They would follow his example: if he shows the same optimism, the same Laughter Equestrians are called to embrace, then perhaps the separation might be endured. But they, like he, can tell the holes in their heart will not be filled by song and celebration. Not for long.

“You know,” she remarks, spreading her wings and giving a telling glance upward. “Before I ascended, I did my share of cloudbusting.” She smirks. “Well, more than my share.” Her smirk becomes a little more like a grimace. “I was one of only a hoofful of pegasi at our otherwise earth pony settlement. So whenever there was any weather work?” She resolutely taps her chest. “It fell, flew, or blew my way.”

King Aponis follows her gaze, seeming to catch her drift. “Yes, it does appear to need a whale’s worth of work. And we are certainly grateful for any assistance. Sky Beak!”

“Yes, lord?” the sapphire blue hippogriff asks as he steps forward.

“Take over distribution.” King Aponis spreads his wings, rocking back and forth with giddy anticipation. “Princess Cadance is going to demonstrate how best to clear old storms from the sky.” He offers her an exaggerated wink. “Assuming she leaves any for us at all!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Cadance returns modestly. She takes to the air. “Besides, they look like runoff from the Realm of Storms, something that’ll need constant upkeep. If you’ll follow me?”

Cadance takes to the air, along with Luna, King Aponis, and half a dozen hippogriffs, including Skystar and Silverstream. The alicorn is impressed at their speed; not quite Wonderbolt quality, but certainly strong given their underwater lifestyle.

“You guys!” Silverstream exclaims, zipping past Cadance. “Clouds!” The eager pink hippogriff gasps in delight, claws at the edges of her wide smile as she takes in the entirety of their surroundings, how the clouds form a layer that seemingly stretches on forever. “I mean, we’ve all seen clouds, but to get up close and actually touch one!?” She grins, explaining to nopony, “Because, you know, the Storm King would find us. And catch us. And that would be bad.” She avoids looking at King Aponis, who has a solemn and downcast look at his former position.

Cadance can’t help but snicker at Silverstream’s enthusiasm, especially as the hippogriff draws close to the cloud. But as she does, she turns this way and that, swiping at the air.

“Hey!” Silverstream’s pout is muffled by the cloud, yet her put-out expression is clear even through the haze. “Where did the cloud go?” She motions around, surrounded by clouds, but unable to grasp any.

“That’s because it’s too thin,” Cadance instructs, staying well below the bottom edge.

“Oh,” Silverstream mutters, clearly disappointed. She frowns as she shakes a claw, then glances at her wings. “Hey! It’s all sticky!” Her face lights up as she exclaims, “Oh, I know!”

With a burst of white Silverstream transforms into a grinning seapony. She plummets immediately, as expected, though it doesn’t seem to have the desired effect.

“Ewww,” she moans in disgust, feebly slapping at her slick sides. With another burst she transforms back, sheepishly grinning as she climbs back up, her claws digging fruitlessly into her sides. “Okay, that didn’t work.”

“Good to know,” Cadance reassures with a wink, then turns to the rest. She notices how Luna, while staying distant, watches and listens far closer than she expected. “So, as our young friend-”

“-Silverstream!”

“Silverstream showed us, the clouds are too thin to be properly maneuvered.” Cadance takes a deep breath, not quite over the fatigue from teleporting. “So we need to do two things. One, we need to condense them, compress them, into something manageable. The second, which we can do at the same time as the first, is we need to mix them up. Imagine you’re churning a big vat of butter; it’ll be hard at first, but over time it’ll loosen up to something much creamier.”

“What’s butter?” Silverstream asks bluntly.

“Err,” Cadance stalls. It takes her a moment to realize that something as ubiquitous as dairy, even if it had to come from ponies, might not be present, much less prevalent, under the sea.

“A delicious compound made from milk,” King Aponis explains patiently. “We have some stored aboard, if you wish for a sample once we are finished.”

“Cool!” Silverstream exclaims. She grins at Cadance. “Oh, I can’t wait! Back home, we had fish!”

“And kelp,” Skystar adds. “And clams.”

“I’ve heard butter goes very well with fish,” Cadance says before they can list off every item under the sea. This draws a glazed look from the two youngsters. “But it’ll taste even better once we finish. To do that, we’re going to direct as much wind as we can inward.” She frowns as she looks up; normally, she would work on a single cloud that’s gone bad, not a mass this size.

But you have to work with what you’ve got.

Ch. 84 - Divide and Conquer, Part Five

It turns out, Cadance isn’t the only one eager to try her wing at cloudbusting.

“Like this?” Silverstream lets loose a piercing shriek, split between fury and joy, as she whips her wings forward, only for it to turn shrill as she realizes that this sends her plummeting downward before she can get a second gust off.

“Yup!” Cadance grins, though the others don’t look as impressed; it barely made a dent in the base. She feels the need to cover for the recovering hippogriff. “Now, take a close look; even though it didn’t seem like much, the cloud isn’t moving back. If it was fresh, or full?” Or chaotic. “Then it would. Now, this might seem like a lot of work, but nopony said it would be easy.”

“Then let’s spread out and get to work!” King Aponis takes his own suggestion, gliding off a stone’s throw away. It might be toil, but each of them are ecstatic to finally stretch their wings, to do something useful as hippogriffs, and slowly but surely the base of the cloud begins to push inward. At least, in their little stretch.

Cadance moves from hippogriff to hippogriff, offering tips about how to more efficiently recover after an upward gust, or how to translate their speed into something useful. She and everygriff watch, amazed, as Luna demonstrates how to take an entire field’s worth of wind at once: dive down to build up speed, use a large arc to gather as much air as far as you can influence while retaining that speed, and then pour everything you can into your climb up. It slams into the base, punching a quarter-mile long hole clear through to the top.

For the first time since the Storm King forced the hippogriffs into the sea, sunlight streams onto Mount Aris.

Well, not quite; the sun isn’t high enough, not yet, but at least they can see clear skies.

“That was great!” Cadance congratulates, first to fly into the void left by her Aunt’s powerful blast. It is mercifully free of any sticky remnants, and the residue blown off the top dissipates rather than need additional cleanup. She motions with a wide, frolicking roll. “It’ll be a lot easier working at altitude, or above, but we’ll still need onemare working below.”

Cadance looks between the hippogriffs, smiling encouragingly, but none immediately volunteer for the most strenuous position. Luna looks beat after her maneuver, for all she hides it, though she might coax out another cloudbuster or two given rest.

“Looks like it’ll be me,” Cadance continues, gamely ignoring the heavy sighs of relief from everycreature. Her wings tense in preparation for the grueling workout ahead. “If you need anything else, just let me know.”

With that, they go to work. It’s just as exhausting as she thought it would be, perhaps more, but she knows she is here for a reason. Though she hopes their cutie marks are above Mount Aris for more than a simple cloud cleanup.

Hours later, the sky nearly clear, with her stomach reminding her that she is eating for two and cannot skip meals without repercussion, Cadance finds herself nearing King Aponis. The other hippogriffs are either condensing their own clouds into smaller portions to be bucked into nothing by Luna, or teaming up on the largest remaining holdout.

“We hippogriffs thank you for your service,” King Aponis states formally as she approaches, offering a low and graceful bow, made all the more impressive by being in midair. “It is not every day a Princess of Equestria ventures forth, especially for conditions as meager as ours.”

“It is a sacrifice I am quite willing to make,” Cadance replies, returning the bow.

“I seem to recall you having a certain fondness for sacrifice,” King Aponis wryly remarks, winking.

Cadance nods, tittering at the flirt; he must be referring to her defense of Chrysalis at the changeling’s trial. She responds coyly, “More than fondness. Why, the best measure of worth is what one is willing to give up for it.”

“And here you are, giving up your valuable time to help us.” King Aponis pauses in his work to better think. His words come out slow and guarded, a sharp contrast to his earlier joviality. “One might suspect an ulterior motive.”

Cadance stalls with him. “Oh?”

“I do not believe for one moment that you came here only to bust clouds.” King Aponis twirls around; nogriff is within earshot, all hard at work on their own sections. “For if that was all you intended, surely you could have spent your time fundraising - time I imagine you would have found infinitely more enjoyable - and in a single night gathered enough bucks to hire enough pegasi to do this job ten times over.” His frown deepens. “Pardon my bluntness, for I fear I have spotted the sinker, but cannot find the hook.”

Where did this come from? Cadance can’t think of any of her actions that could have caused such suspicion. Then again, he did serve with the Storm King for more than a decade, and surely incorporated enough of their mannerisms to rise in the ranks. Perhaps it became more ingrained than the hippogriff lets on.

“While I might caution your imagination as to what I find enjoyable, I assure you my motives are not so ignoble.” Cadance gives him her purest, most disarming smile. It’s not that she despises those grand gatherings, but they’ve never been her forte, not compared to Celestia. Her wedding is the one of the few she truly enjoyed. “For what pursuit is more meaningful than that of spreading friendship, harmony, and love? I cannot think of one.”

King Aponis laughs, more of a bellow, loud enough to draw the attention of the nearby hippogriffs. “Forgive me, Princess! For I cannot believe that one could be so selfless! For in all my life, in all my travels, I have never met any who meet that standard. All are concerned with their own welfare, their own power, or that of their kin.”

Before she can object that this sentiment is certainly more characteristic of the Storm Realm than of Equestria, he continues. “And I have been to Equestria!” The other hippogriffs draw near, curious. “I have met with your nobles, your paragons, your princes.” She scowls at the last one. “Attended their balls, with their whirling on the stage, and their wheeling and dealing off. I have shaken claw with Princess Celestia, and pardon my Abyssian, but I suspect she wished to shake more than that!”

Cadance holds her tongue; she knows Celestia to be playful, even flirtatious, in a manner none would initially guess from one assumed to hold herself ‘higher and mightier than thou’. At least, to those she likes; she recalls their first meeting with Doug, and her eagerness to raise her tail - or, at least, portray herself as one willing to do so. Knowing the sheer number and variety of liaisons her Aunt has taken, all in pursuit of a foal - one she is ecstatic they have finally accomplished - she finds little reason to doubt him, though she suspects it would have turned to little more than flirting.

“And,” King Aponis continues, his rant winding down, “it seems I must continue searching.”

Murmurs spread from one hippogriff to another, warily watching the alicorn for some outburst. For who could take such an insulting statement and not respond in kind?

“There is a pearl of truth there,” Cadance admits, drawing a perplexed raise of the eyebrow from the king; perhaps he expected her to push back more strongly, more directly. “For I do wish to persuade, for my influence to rise, for Equestria’s power to grow. But that is not my only motive in seeking to spread Harmony throughout the land.” She offers him a broad smile. “For I also wish for you to grow, not just as a people, but as individuals.”

“Then what should we do?” Skystar asks plaintively. Her gaze flicks to the ocean far below, her gulp just as audible.

“You cannot focus purely on what is being done,” Cadance explains, motioning to the wide open skies around them. She ends her movement with a telling glance at King Aponis. “Or what might be gained, or demanded, for such service.”

The king frowns. “What else is there?”

“What matters is not the work that we are doing, but who we are doing it with.” Cadance’s gaze turns downward, to the black airship. “For if we band together, and venture forth, and defeat the Storm King, but then retreat to our separate homes, to our own affairs?” She shakes her head, grim. “What have we gained? We would be better off living under the Storm King’s steel and teal, were we to do so together, than if we were to all live apart. For tyrants come and go, but friendship carries on through the ages.”

“It sounds,” King Aponis states, not quite persuaded, “that you want us to bow to you.”

“We tried that,” Princess Luna states coldly, the hippogriff king pulling back. “And we can speak to the truth of Love’s words. For when we returned as the Nightmare, we styled ourselves as the rightful ruler, deserving of the adoration of all. Our Sister, in her wisdom, bent the knee. She would rather we be together, even subordinate, than obtain a pyrrhic victory through mutual obliteration. And we dare say her plan worked, and will work for you.”

Cadance turns, looking each of the approaching hippogriffs in the eye. “For I, for we truly believe that living in Harmony is the best way to live. If I did not find it to be true, I could not spread it. And if I did find it to be true, I could not help myself! For I believe that the best way to live is by the Elements. Honesty. Generosity. Loyalty. Kindness. Laughter. And Friendship. And those can be summed as Love, for showing the same regard for another’s wellbeing as you would show for your own.”

King Aponis scoffs. “An impossible task.”

Cadance nods, grimly. “Truly, an unattainable goal, one even Princess Celestia falls short of at times.” She focuses on King Aponis. “But in all your travels, have you found a better one? Have you found a better way that leads to more prosperity and more fulfilling lives for all?”

King Aponis grits his beak, but remains silent.

“I have not.” Cadance glances at Luna, who likewise remains silent. “Presumably, Princess Celestia has not, or she would spread that instead.” A few flaps bring Cadance next to Skystar. One foreleg wraps around her back, comforting. “And yet, as much as you might want me to, and as much as I might want to help?” Cadance’s other foreleg presses into the hippogriff’s chest. “These are lessons that you will have to take to heart. It might not be as exciting as facing off against an evil sorceress. It might not be as obvious as a big, black warship in the sky. But the problems you face will be no less real, no less consequential if ignored.”

“W-what sort of problems?” Skystar stammers, her claws clutching at her chest, shaking.

“Sometimes? All you have to do is ask.” Cadance smiles as Skystar looks up at her, eyes wide and expectant. “No, not me. Yourself. What problems are weighing on your heart? What areas are you afraid to confront for fear of the consequences?”

“M-my mom,” Skystar answers without hesitation. She takes a sheepish glance at her dad, the king obviously thinking of the same answer but reluctant to state it.

“Once you have your problem,” Cadance continues, letting go of Skystar to better regard the crowd, “reflect on it. Think of the Elements of Harmony. Honesty, or truth; for lying will corrupt the entire process. Is that what you need to correct? Or is it Generosity, or Love; what will you give up for the other’s sake? Loyalty, or devotion; are you pursuing goals worth pursuing, or have you given up on those you shouldn’t have? Kindness, or compassion; how are you treating those around you - for their sake, or for yours? Laughter, or optimism; are you plagued by resentment, thoughts of vengeance, that forgiveness could heal? Magic, or Friendship; for that is most important, it ties all things, and what else could you possibly give to gain it?”

While Cadance speaks she turns, watching the few hippogriffs reflect on her words. She fervently hopes that their visit will inspire them, who might then go on to spread this message of Harmony to others. Much in the same way Twilight’s school will serve as a central, more formal venue for teaching others the value of Harmony.

“And while I was speaking,” Cadance adds, “did one of those Tenets stand out to you? Perhaps that is the way to solve your problem.” She turns to Luna, the alicorn lost in thought. “Luna? Are you ready?”

“...To go?” Luna responds, somewhat confused at the abrupt shift.

It might feel like they just got here, but Cadance nods. “For we are not here to solve all of your problems, much as you might wish us to. Instead, we are here to help guide you. To coach, not to command. We would never force you to follow in our path, much as we might wish you would.”

“And if we want to learn more?” Silverstream beams eagerly, her bubbly enthusiasm infectious. “That’s why we’re going to that friendship school, right? To learn more about this?” She clasps her claws to her face, eyes sparkling, as if the dazzling sight was right in front of her. “You guys, that’ll be so school!”

Everygriff groans as Cadance chuckles. “You and Pinkie Pie will get along famously, I’m sure. And if you have any questions, any at all, don’t hesitate to write.”

“We will!” Skystar cries, waving with one claw. She looks sad to see them go, fearful at what returning to the ocean would entail, yet strangely optimistic about the whole situation. The other claw grasps her father’s, the older hippogriff pensive and apprehensive.

“My most recent marker is at the Carrot House,” Luna states, partway between a command and a question. Cadance’s horn joins Luna’s in charging, each extending a hoof to Silverstream, who grasps them with a giddiness few can match. And then, with a flash of cobalt and pink, the three blink away.

Ch. 85 - Coated Shrapnel, Part One

“Oh my gosh, you guys! Look!”

Before Cadance can reorient herself, or convince her wings that the reason the room is spinning is not because she is locked in some death spiral, Silverstream’s shrill shriek echoes in her ears.

“Trees!”

With one hoof firmly keeping her brain from leaping out through her horn, the other steadying herself, Cadance wrestles open one eye. On the other side of the Apple’s kitchen the pink hippogriff, face squashed against the window, tries to point outside. But there’s a window in the way.

“And what’s this? It’s, like, glass!” Silverstream’s grin fills the pane. Cadance, head throbbing from exertion, doesn’t want to begrudge the joy of discovery, but finds it increasingly hard to stay upbeat, especially for something so mundane. “In a window! I mean, we had windows, and we had glass, but this is so much bigger!”

“Indeed,” Luna replies dourly, clearly as exhausted as Cadance from the teleport and less inclined to hide it. She gazes longingly at Doug’s master bedroom, then glances back at the hippogriff scratching up the latch. With a brief flare of her horn she opens the window, and one might be able to construe her light prod as a more forceful push.

Silverstream certainly doesn’t need to be told twice. She bolts for the closest red-flecked tree. Satisfied scarfing sounds soon resound throughout the orchard, and the crash of breaking branches, and the occasional heavy *whump* of a body slamming into the ground with an accompanying exasperated screech.

“Well, I suppose that’s that,” Cadance remarks, stretching out her legs and wings. She moans in delight, low and long, glad to be on the ground and finally resting. It’s not the longest she’s spent in the air, not by far, but to not take breaks on a cloud? Yet stretching out doesn’t quite hit the spot. And not just because she’s missing her Shiny pressing against her.

Two things prevent her from that relaxation she so desperately desires. Her stomach rumbles, fiercer now that food is in plain sight; better yet, the Apples wouldn’t mind her sampling, even gorging on their stores. But even more so, her coat itches something fierce; the gunk of the clouds came along for the ride. That’s expected from a side-along teleport with an unfamiliar passenger, but not appreciated. She grunts as she sits back up, purple wings flaring out, only to catch Luna’s sidelong, querying gaze.

“We did not wish to question thy decision in front of the others,” Luna starts, her manner clear that she does have some critical questions. Cadance nods with a touch of hesitancy. “But our departure seemed… abrupt. Premature. Did we accomplish what we were sent out to do?” Luna scowls, but at herself. “Did we correct the mistakes left in our wake? How do we know our mission is, if that is what it is, complete?”

Cadance sighs, preening a bit of gunk from her wings. Comfort first. Luna spreads her own plumage; it’s not as bad, but still there. “We can only trust in Harmony,” she eventually replies. “That she has some plan for us.”

Luna glances at her cutie mark, which remains unchanged, as an alarmed bark from Winona comes through the open window, then answers her own question from earlier. “We could check this ‘map’ you spoke of. Perhaps it holds the answers.”

“We could.” Cadance locates a particularly deep mote, digging it out with her teeth. Hundreds remain, if not more. “I feel no need to doubt.”

“Did this ‘mission’ not commence with a rush of passion?” Luna points out. “It stands to reason, then, that we would experience a similar thrill when we are done.” She waits a beat; Winona’s bark rings out again, sharper and more urgent. Both of them glance outside, but see nothing amiss. “This has not occurred.”

Cadance nods. Her wings feel heavy, and she lets them fall to her sides. “As I said before, we must trust in Harmony. When I was with the hippogriffs… It was a lesson they needed to accept themselves. If we held their hoof, or claw, through that challenge? That would have ruined it. The goal is for them to learn to make decisions, not for us to make them for them. That they would be a spark inciting a blaze, not a fire we would need to continuously fuel. Maybe we’ll get some indication when they follow through.”

She stands, takes a few steps, and lays ponyloaf next to Luna, barrels touching. She tentatively rests her head against her Aunt’s. “I hope it was the right move.”

“Indeed,” Luna states pensively. She leans into Cadance, returning the affectionate gesture. “We hope so as well.”

They both glance up when the front door opens, revealing a sour-faced Applejack. Winona guards her side, growling. Doug stands behind her, wearing a heavy apron and loosely holding a long crystal spear. Cadance smirks at his choice of armament; it wouldn’t do much except deter an uncommitted assailant, but perhaps that’s all he needs before reinforcements arrive.

“Either’a y’all,” Applejack states, torn between mirth and reproach at the sight of the alicorns cuddling, “care’ta explain why there’s a hippogriff frolickin’ about mah trees, samplin’ our hard labor?”

“Also, it stinks in here,” Doug adds, his nose wrinkling as he glances around, as if there might be some other source.

“...She’s a cultural ambassador?” Cadance tries, beaming at Applejack. She ignores Doug’s thoughtless remark.

Applejack chuckles at the explanation, shaking her head jovially; perhaps the rambunctious youngster reminds her of her own curious foals. “It ain’t that Ah mind or nothin’. It’s, just, the trees’re still recoverin’ from makin’ so much cider yesterday. So-”

“You have cider!?” Silverstream exclaims from a perch on the open window, red-stained claws digging into the wooden frame in her excitement. Applejack startles backward at the unexpected visitor, Winona’s growl growing fierce. “We never had cider! I mean, that’s because we didn’t have trees. Or apples. We recovered this blue agave drink from the wrecks, but they never let me try it for some reason. And fish oil really doesn’t ferment into anything. Well, not anything you want to drink.” She gags, as though this is something she has tried, while something red and sticky drips from her beak.

“How’s about,” Applejack starts, then notices the viscous red. Which is most certainly not the red sheen of an apple. Her eyes go wide as dinner plates. “What the-?”

“Silverstream!” Cadance shouts, aghast at the blood-stained claws. “What did you do?!”

“What?” the pink hippogriff asks, surprised at the unforeseen outburst. She lifts up a hefty brown rabbit, limp and still dripping blood from a grisly wound at the back of his neck. “I caught a snack!” Her once-irrepressible cheer fades as she realizes the shock on everypony’s face, Doug only with a slight frown. Her eyes widen to match Applejack’s in horror. “Oh, no! Did I catch somepony’s pet? I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

“I-it’s okay,” Applejack stammers out, her stomach a bit queasy.

Cadance can’t believe it; how could she have given a predator, a hungry predator, free reign? How could she have been so careless!? She tries to clamp down on her vexation, but it comes out with a whole heaping of barely-restrained wrath. “That could have been somepony’s foal!”

“What? No!” Silverstream’s pink coat fades to as white as a sheet. “I would never! I-I just saw the critters roaming about!” she explains, sniffling loudly. Her head sinks against the windowsill, despondent. “And I thought, ‘Well, we’ve hunted desert hares’, my dad and I, when nocreature was about.”

“Good riddance,” Doug mutters, Winona seemingly agreeing with a low whuff.

“Ah get that,” Applejack says with a pinch of sympathy, reserving her glare for Doug.

“A-and we keep schools swimming around Seaquestria. So if you ever need a bite to eat, well, all you have to do is catch it!” Silverstream attempts a grin, though beaks aren’t terribly great at smiling; Luna and Cadance have recovered, and nod apprehensively, while Applejack merely gulps. “So I thought that you had something similar, you know? But with rabbits! Since, you there, there’s all that food strewn about?”

Applejack takes a deep breath. “Look. Ah get that’s how you did it back in Sea-questria. But this is E-questria. We don’t go ‘round… harvestin’ whatever critters we come ‘cross. There’s’a time an’a place.” She looks over Cadance and Luna, debating how to best defuse the tense situation. “Now, how's about Ah show you the ropes; what ya can’n can’t eat, that sorta thing.”

Silverstream nods, contrite, though that only lasts for an instant. She offers a cheeky grin and holds up the carcass. “So, you don’t mind if I finish this?”

Applejack closes her eyes, poorly hiding her revulsion. “Long as ya don’t... in front of me. And apologize to the rabbits for scarin’ ‘em.”

Silverstream frowns, mostly in her eyes, her wicked beak still bloodstained. “But they’re food.”

“Eenope.” Applejack fixes Silverstream with a hard stare. “Ah’ll take ya ta Pharynx’s if’n yer still hungry. But that ain’t how we treat the critters ‘round here. Got it?” After Silverstream nods, if grudgingly, she glances at Doug, then motions at the alicorns. “Why don’t ya help them clean up? They look worse’n Dash after she loses a bout o’ mudwrestlin’.”

“Yeah, sure,” Doug replies. He rolls his eyes as Applejack’s unamused snort. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Better.” Applejack and Winona trot out the door, Silverstream following.

Doug peers at the two alicorns, like he’s having trouble making up his mind, both of whom return cheeky grins.

“If you prefer,” Cadance starts, a hint of regret in her coy tone, “we can go to Aloe’s instead.”

That serves to jolt Doug into action. “Mm, but then I’d miss out on this.” He rubs at Luna’s head, but his jovial smile turns to a grimace as he tries to pull his hand away. “Eww, it’s all sticky.” He points at the front door. “Now, both of you, come outside.”

“But it’s nice inside,” Cadance protests, grinning.

“It’s nice outside,” Doug counters. Cadance frowns when he steps out for a moment and returns with a large washtub and shampoo.

“...Dost thou believe we will both fit?” Luna asks, skeptical as to the capacity of the tub.

“We’ll make it work,” Doug answers, hauling the tub through the door; he has to go sideways so it fits. “Even if your rumps hang over the edge.”

“Mm, you’d like that,” Cadance teases mercilessly, Doug winking back at her. The two alicorns follow him outside, removing their ornate shoes and Luna’s peytral as he fills the tub from a hose. “Also, I’m hungry.”

“I’ve got lunch made at the other house,” Doug offers, turning off the water and dumping the shampoo inside.

“Oh, you were baking with Applejack?” Cadance teases; reeks might be too strong, but he smells of sex (when doesn’t he?) and she wants to get back at him for his earlier comment about them stinking.

“Making sure the batter is good for the next batch,” Doug confirms, nodding. He strips off his apron, leaving himself just as naked as the alicorns.

Cadance snickers while Luna rolls her eyes. Neither protest as he leads them into the tub, water sloshing out as they fill the confines with only some wiggle room to spare. It feels good, but Doug seems unsatisfied as he scrubs at Luna’s side with his hands.

“Hold on a moment.” He disappears, returning with a pair of sturdy brushes and a bottle of extra-strength shampoo. “Rarity claims this worked wonders on the sand,” Doug explains as he pours out a thick bead, then works it into a spot on Luna’s shoulder.

Cadance, unhappy with being second, filches the bottle with her wing and drizzles it along her back. She revels in Doug’s exasperated, if exaggerated, sigh, music to which she wriggles her rump back and forth.

“So,” Doug starts with what must be a desperate plea to distract himself, especially as he squeezes in between them and scrubs at both backs simultaneously. “How was your trip? Anything exciting happen?”

“You could say that,” Cadance says, absolutely loving it as Doug works his way around her wings. The rough brush against her skin, how he carefully yet fervently digs out every mote? She knows he spends a lot of time with his mares, and loves the physical side of affection, but this? She’ll have to distract herself, too!

She does so, swapping back and forth with Luna, the two regaling Doug with their tale, and certainly not wrapping both their tails around his legs.

Ch. 86 - Coated Shrapnel, Part Two

Far away at Mount Aris, Princess Skystar’s wings flare out, landing next to King Aponis on one of the many jagged rocks that ring the helm-shaped mountain like a spiky crown. Her sire stares out over crashing waves, impervious to the spray splashing against him. He’s obviously contemplating something, and probably something important.

It could be the natural beauty of the place: open ocean as far as the eye can see, even from the top of the mountain, a light teal close to home that gradually recedes to a deep blue. Everything feels more vivid, more alive, than any time she came up to the surface before, what with the lack of storm clouds not only putting a damper on things but serving as a reminder of why she had to sneak from ruin to ruin in the first place.

Her voice rings out clear and loud, heedless of his pensive state.

“What’cha thinkin’ about?”

King Aponis’ beak remains still, but there is a deep longing in his eyes that isn’t quenched by mere staring.

Skystar bluntly asks, “Is it about mom?” She cocks her head as she tries to find what is so interesting about the choppy water. “I mean, it can’t be the ocean. I spent my whole life there, and I’m in no hurry to go back!”

Silence.

In the past, she had always been careful not to take to the sky. More than just pirates roamed those forbidden reaches, and they couldn’t count on fishing trawlers keeping their beaks shut, for the Storm King was generous with his stolen gold. Tales of the ruins being haunted - she, perhaps, had a claw in that - kept the mountain from becoming a base for smugglers, and that made it easier to roam about. But now they can fly all the time!

Except, her dad had the opposite problem, stuck in his hippogriff form much like she was stuck as a seapony. Was he prohibited from transforming, or did he never swap to keep their secret safe?

“Unless,” Skystar tries, this time with a smidgen of sensitivity, “you’re missing the ocean like I miss the sky.” It feels really awkward, trying to bond with the hero she’s heard so many stories about, who went claw to hoof with the Storm King for their sake! And, at the same time, is supposed to be the dad she never knew. “I would sneak out all the time just to get a glimpse. And now we can see the sky all the time!”

King Aponis sighs at her forced cheer. “There are times,” he says, low and forlorn, “when I would stare up at the sky all night long and just watch the twinkling stars. Yet even their grandeur faded, no matter how magnificently the Mistress of the Sun made them dance.”

“Oh.” Skystar’s eagerness fades, if only momentarily. He sounds all full of sage advice, and deep wisdom, but don’t stones get rounded off over time instead of jaded? She tries again with a wide grin. “Well, now it’s Princess Luna’s turn! And we’ll get to watch them together, right?”

A wry smile creases King Aponis’ eyes. “Indeed,” he intones deeply. “Far better to spend your time with those you love than on pleasures as fleeting as ocean spray.”

“Yeah!” Skystar exclaims. But even though she agrees, she feels a yearning, a hole in her heart that won’t be filled by her father, no matter what fun activities they do together. Yet she won’t let her buoyant demeanor get pulled down, even as King Aponis continues staring! She tries guessing the answer to her original question. “Are you thinking about what Princess Cadance said?” She giggles. “I tried to pick a thing I think about. But I think about so many things, how can I choose just one?”

King Aponis’ beak clicks as his muscles pull tight against each other. He does not care for the unfamiliar feeling, of being unsure, and the counsel of the Princess of Love has thrown his world into disarray in a manner leaving the Storm King’s employ could never match.

“I, too, muse about many things,” he concedes. “About how I have been separated from you, and missed so much of your life. About the struggles we will face rebuilding the ruins. But most of all? The others pale in comparison, cracks to the deep fissure of your mother’s absence.”

Elation fills Skystar’s chest: he misses her mom, too! She isn’t the only one! “Then you’re going back to her, right?” she demands, for all it is in the form of a question. She skitters to the edge of the rock, overtly disappointed when he doesn’t immediately match her fervor. “Come on! We can tell her it was your idea!”

At first, he hesitates. After how they parted, he worries his wife would harbor a fierce grudge, and trawl for any excuse to salt old wounds. Yet Princess Cadance called them to think differently; something about Laughter, and optimism? That while his wife may not be as fleeting as the wind, and he would never call her as capricious as the sea, she can change her mind, and hopefully for the better.

“We can start small!” Skystar pretends to be tentative about putting a claw forward. “Just one small thing!” She turns and winks, moments before tumbling off the edge.

King Aponis chuckles; for all his old bones might wish to match his daughter’s zeal, they creak and groan as he takes wing. With a flick of their claws they transform, two golden seaponies streaking nearly straight down into the clear depths.

Their second return to Seaquestria draws nowhere near as much attention as his first, though the seaponies greet them with curious glances and friendly waves, thrilled once again. In fact, many seem relieved; the guard at the entrance certainly gives them no trouble, disabling the alarm and directing them to the Queen’s most likely whereabouts.

And yet, as they approach, a sinking feeling presses on Skystar’s chest, far worse than the depths ever did. Perhaps a giant conga line and musical number would lift her spirits, but with a dearth of mellifluous merponies? All their premier singers left for the Harmonizing Heights. Her voice wavers, thinking about how many times her mother threatened her with banishment for sneaking out. Something about giving her what she wanted. And now, if this second reunion doesn’t go right, things could get so, so much worse.

“Are you sure about this?”

“When you are swimming with the correct current,” King Aponis counsels, puffing his chest out as much as possible, “even unknown waters become navigable.”

“Oh.” Skystar looks down at her shaking fin. She gulps. “Then why am I afraid?”

The elder seapony rests his fin on her shoulder, and offers his daughter a warm smile. “Because eddies will still shunt us into whirlpools, and riptides drag us away from where we wish to go. Especially when we swim counter to their course. But we must not let distractions delay us from our destination.”

“A-and you’re sure about going with the ponies?” Skystar’s gaze raises to the ceiling, as if she might look past the carved stone to the clear waters, shining with the sun’s light. “Mother…”

“You ask one of life’s great questions,” Aponis answers. “Sometimes, we do not know. We can only judge by the wake left behind. But the course we were sailing before?” He shakes his head firmly. “That, I cannot abide.”

Skystar nods. She, too, hates to be separated from her mother, or any of her friends in Seaquestria, even if it means she gets to be a hippogriff whenever she wants.

“You know,” she muses, this time fixing her father with a wide grin. “Before I knew I had a dad? I mean, I always knew I had a dad. But I thought you were dead.” Her grin falters, but an encouraging nod from Aponis gets her to keep going. “I thought you were a hero. Now? I’m not so sure. Err. Sorry to be so…. What did Cadance call it?” She flicks her fin a few times in the water, creating a snapping sound.

“Honesty,” King Aponis admits in a low voice. “And I feel the same way. For I only did what seemed necessary at the time, which is all you can ever do. But that does not mean you should not do what you think is right, for you may be proved wrong later. But if you do not act, then you can never be right.”

“Got it!” Skystar rests a fin on The Seaweed Wrap’s set of ornate coral doors, pausing a split second. Indistinct voices come from within. She tugs it open. “Let’s do this!”

The inside of the spacious room is no less spectacular than the ornate door, the grandest of the relaxation center’s rooms. Murals depicting every creature under the sea line the walls, with Hippogriffs most prominent as they catch, ride, and cavort. The rest of the room separates naturally into tiers; the center table the lowest while several others spread in a rough ring. Four seaponies are in the center: two masseurs with Queen Novo while Ocean Spray floats next to one of the side tables.

“Next,” Ocean Flow reads from a thick clipboard, her pronged spear at her side; she briefly glances at the two entering. “We have the Topside Apartments.”

“Let me guess,” Queen Novo mutters. The golden seapony splays out on a massage table, the pair of seaweed-clad masseurs working over her fins. “They all left?”

Ocean Flow flips through the next two pages. “Yes, your majesty.”

Queen Novo sighs. “Add it to the auction.”

“I’m afraid,” King Aponis states formally, slipping forward, “that won’t be necessary.”

Queen Novo looks up, bewildered at their unannounced entrance. The two masseurs hesitantly back away, checking the guard to make sure nothing is amiss. Seeing nothing immediately wrong, Queen Novo quickly gets over her confusion to scoff and demand, “What are you doing here?”

While King Aponis might have entered the room in a stately manner, his chest puffed out, he sinks down to just above the prone queen’s level with a contrite dip of his head. “I have come,” he replies, meeting her calculating eyes with a hopeful smile, “to beg your forgiveness.”

“Really.” Queen Novo steeples her fins under her chin, not yet getting up from her position. She signals for her massage to continue. “And why should I listen to you?”

“Do you remember why we named our daughter Skystar?” King Aponis looks up at the decorated ceiling, not quite ignoring the cross look his wife turns his way but proceeding regardless. Skystar cocks her head, having never heard the story. “I do not believe it was merely because she was conceived under the night sky. I have spent many days, and long and lonely nights, hoping to retain what we shared. To not lose it to the Storm King, who had taken so much from us.”

Queen Novo grunts, not yet persuaded, an anchor resisting any effort to move her.

Yet King Aponis is as inexorable as the tide. He swims down, reaching his fins forward. But, unlike before, there is no sense that he would be lifting her up, nor that he might drag her if necessary. Instead, she relents, if briefly, allowing her own fins to raise. They clasp, and he seems content to stay in place, as long as he is with her.

The words come out only with great difficulty, King Aponis having much trouble admitting the faults. “For I was not honest with myself earlier, nor with you. I thought of myself, and how much I wanted to return, to rule again as king, and not how I might best serve you and our people with love and kindness. For all that you have felt abandoned, and rightly so, unsure about what our future might entail.”

“Jeez, dad,” Skystar adds in with a sly grin, “I don’t think you have to mention every one of those Harmony thingies.” The masseurs exchange curious glances, hopeful that they might elaborate.

King Aponis gives his daughter a wry shrug. “For we envisioned a future where we stretched from the deepest trenches to the highest peaks. But we did not name our daughter as some did.” He gives Ocean Flow a pleasant wink. “That thought that the ocean and the mountain should be as one, united.”

“Terramar,” Ocean Flow utters to herself in a low breath, a reminder of her hope for her son.

“But instead?” King Aponis tenderly draws a fin along Skystar’s chin, staring into her eyes with love and encouragement. “We thought we would have two. One to command the seas, and one to govern the skies.”

“You are serious?” Queen Novo asks, strongly considering his proposal.

He shakes his head with an abject sigh. “Alas, it was not meant to be.”

Queen Novo goes from a pensive look, as if she is staring at far-off islands, to a certain lasciviousness. “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” she counters with a predatory grin.

“You wouldn’t?” Skystar asks with a confused glance between them.

“I shall remove the suitors from tonight’s agenda,” Ocean Flow adds, drawing a bemused snort from King Aponis.

“What-” Skystar continues before understanding dawns. “Oh. Oh! Eww!” She sticks her tongue out and shakes her head from side to side. “Gross!

“You always told me you wanted a baby brother,” Queen Novo admonishes, if playfully. She slips up, grasping her husband’s fin with her own and leans into him. “We, and they, may govern from separate seats. But we will always be together.”

They share a kiss, long and intimate, while two far-off cutie marks buzz with passion.

Ch. 87 - Coated Shrapnel, Part Three

Moments earlier

Doug lets the pink and purple wing drop back into the warm, sudsy water, and Cadance carefully keeps it away from her barrel. Bubbles from the gallon of Rarity’s most potent soap spill out the over-full sides and completely cover the two alicorns. Oftentimes only their mirthful eyes are visible underneath the sheer quantity of bubbles amongst which they happily frolic, and sometimes not even those!

Cadance is on my left, Luna is on my right.

He has to remind himself of this every so often, as the act of cleaning and then massaging the alicorns has quickly and continuously got him quite excited. It helps to kneel, so he isn’t resting anything on top of them, though that particular problem is lessened for the alicorns. It doesn’t help that they press against him, pushing his knees into and under their bellies, eager for his fingers to dig into their coats and extract every last little bit of gunk. Which is disgusting, worse than tree sap, for all it gets into every nook and cranny and sticks there, but he isn’t going to tell them that.

“So,” Cadance asks, curious and elated, gleefully fluttering her now-clean wing. It shines under the bright, noon-day sun, plenty of pegasi in the air keeping everything nice and clear. As soon as it hits the water it is once again covered in an opaque film of bubbles, but those wash off easily. “Is this the worst thing you’ve ever had to clean up?”

“It’s kinda like changing diapers,” Doug answers jovially, giving Luna a reassuring rub, reminding her that he hasn’t forgotten about her, before reaching across Cadance to address the wing on her far side. It’s taking forever, not that he minds, not at all. The ponies are far too soft and cuddly for their own good, and the soap is only making that worse. “And you all change those with your mouths.” Including Rainbow Dash, who is understandably reticent about getting her wings dirty, and loves having him help her preen, whenever he can. “I’m not complaining.”

“Mm, and you’re so much better than hooves or magic,” Cadance moans as he stretches her wing out, then goes feather-by-feather, nearly having to pluck them out to get the gunk around the base. Maybe Celestia has some cleansing spell or other, not that she wants it. Not when this feels so good! Maybe he could teach her Shiny a thing or two?

“Or the brush,” Luna bitterly concedes, casting an evil eye at the bristly brush long since confined to the sidelines. Why did Doug have to start on her, only to find it drove the drops deeper? At least he finished her wings already, and they lie comfortably against that small section of coat. She consoles herself by pressing closer against him; his backside feels nice, as it doesn’t even need to be his hands that help diffuse that icky substance.

“Yeah,” Doug commiserates as Luna forces him into Cadance. Cadance left, Luna right. Something about magic, and him neutralizing it. He hopes he’ll be able to hold a pen after he’s done. “Now, back to the story. You told them about thinking about the Elements in their day-to-day life. And then?”

“And then we left,” Luna answers before Cadance can provide an explanation, still a little miffed.

“...Huh.” Doug wipes away a clump of suds to reveal Cadance’s cutie mark, her light blue heart about the size of both hands spread out side by side. It looks normal, not pulsing like before she left. He automatically squeezes it, not really thinking, enjoying the firm muscles softer than any of his ‘working’ mares but not as supple as Luna or Celestia. The pink hip seizes up from the contact, briefly worrying him, though bits of gunk seep out with rivulets of soapy water. He’ll need to give the area a lot of attention, and pledges to keep himself in check.

“Mmmm,” Cadance moans, not really an explanation, her forelegs sinking down and her rear sticking up higher. Her tail swishes from side to side, not that he can precisely tell with all the bubbles; there’s just this big white mass flopping from side to side where her tail should be.

“Just like that?” Doug asks, working his way to her wings and failing to quash the thoughts about what else is back there. It’s not like any of the mares cover up, though longer, styled hairs cover the intimate areas. Cadance slowly recovers, standing back up without a hint of embarrassment. Or, if there is any regret, it is that he didn’t get her back legs enough. Her legs twitch and tense uncomfortably before she settles back down. “Did you do, well, whatever it is you needed to do?”

“We hope so.” Cadance offers Luna a mollifying grin, rather than the glower that threatens to surface. Why do I feel like fighting, like two mares vying over their stallion? There’s plenty for us both! Even if it takes longer, which isn’t a bad thing.

Doug slows as he stares off into space, his hands absently running over her wings, working over the same spot.

When this continues for several seconds Cadance ruffles her wing, light purple eye glancing over. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just thinking,” Doug answers after a moment, shaking his head while resuming his cleansing assault. Keeping the mares soaped up seems to make it easier, so he reaches down to dump more bubbles on Cadance. Cadance left, Luna right. He cautiously starts on the… sensitive... area at the base of her mane. Even just lathering the soap on gets her breath to hitch, and he hopes she doesn’t interpret it as something more. Not that he’d mind… No, stop that!

“A-about?” Cadance asks, attempting to keep herself distracted. Dipping lower doesn’t help, it just makes her think she’s about to be mounted; dunking her head under works, only her ears above water.

“What thoughts you have that keep cropping up, that might need to be addressed.” Doug reaches to the mare behind him - Luna - and rubs reassuringly along her ears and horn. There, unleash that energy there. “I can guess what you’d say.”

“We worry entirely too much about international diplomacy,” Luna admits. And keeping everypony’s name straight. She clearly enjoys not giving Doug the answer he is looking for, though she has to flick her head to clear the bubbles from her muzzle so he can see her taunting smile, and the ensuing stroke along her chin is well worth it. “Though, we must admit, when allowed to wander our mind does turn to thoughts of… before.”

“Hey.” His fingers grip her jaw, twisting what was a downcast expression up and forcing her teal eyes to stare into his dark blue. He opens his mouth, several times, mulling over how to best respond. He decides on a firm, “That doesn’t have to be you.” He smiles, broadly, then gently pulls her head until it is resting on his back and shoulder as he turns back to Cadance. “And if it feels like it is, you can tell us. We’ll hold it against you, just like we would your beautiful body.”

Luna snorts at his audacity, yet doesn’t move from her position against his back; even laying across him seems to draw the goop from her belly. Laughing at his jokes, accepting his compliments, enjoying his company; perhaps our Sister was right, and we will come to not resent bearing his foal.

“If it’s not too much,” Doug asks, briefly reaching back to rub at her barrel, “what are you worried about happening? Like, specifics?”

“We…”

Luna’s legs quake, her ears lay flat, and her mind reflexively goes blank as she tries to evoke her past mindset and reflect on which thoughts, precisely, brought her closer to the shadowed brink, much like one flinches away after being burned by a stove. The touch helps immensely for calming her nerves; she pushes through, endures, her forelegs a vice that squeezes her stallion tight.

“We dwell on why our dear Sister does not assign us more prestigious assignments,” Luna admits with great reluctance. “Or recognize our accomplishments.”

Doug stays silent; she’s stated all this before, and he hopes she can reveal more about her thoughts and worries. For some time the only sounds are the scrubbing of sides as he works up Cadance’s long neck, slowly and methodically, going entirely by feel and making sure to get every inch.

Cadance, for her part, can barely contain herself. The tender touch is entirely too reminiscent of a stallion’s firm nuzzles and prompts, inducing her to a very receptive state. Her marehood strains against itself, and would be gaping open were it not for the layer of gunk that quite literally got everywhere. She’s glad Luna is talking and not her; she doubts she could stay coherent, much less keep her mouth from preparing her stallion for entrance.

Finally, Luna continues, her words dark and brooding. “And… and perhaps that is because our Sister truly is more capable. For did she not lower the moon and spread the stars during our absence? We studded the night sky for a century; She, the entirety for a millennium. What would prove we are equals?”

Luna’s legs tense, her once-pleasant smile twisting to a dour scowl. She feels helpless, powerless, against the proven might of her Sister. It is a feeling she cannot stand, one that drove her to such extremes and is threatening to do so once again. She can feel it building, a deep and persistent resentment against the one who merely claims to hold her dear, yet would banish her the moment she bucks the line!

And then, to her astonishment, she finds herself rising, her front lifting up as Doug turns around while between her hooves and stands. His arms wrap underneath her forelegs and around her barrel, squeezing tight and practically choking the dread thoughts from her mind. A certain numbness takes their place, akin to a changeling robbing her of emotion, yet no changeling would be able to fill her with warmth and hope from their trust.

He must have felt her shudder, the spasms as she fought her inner thoughts from manifesting. Yet she does not bottle them away, as she often does, or disparage herself for thinking them. For that is the message of Cadance’s call to the hippogriffs, was it not? That they indicate something is amiss, and something should be dealt with, not hidden away and allowed to fester. As she had so many years ago.

“What would it take?” Doug asks, muffled from mashing his face into her chest. He pulls back slightly. “What would help you overcome those feelings of inadequacy, that inability to forgive yourself for not being perfect?”

“As Celestia is?” Luna bitterly spits out, grasping at any way to turn this around, so she can avoid that purging fire a moment longer.

“You look up to her,” Doug says, unable to keep from quipping, “Literally as well as figuratively.” Luna snorts derisively. “You want to emulate her, to be her. But that means that she, even unintentionally, judges you. You know where you don’t measure up. Yet she herself is not the ideal, though perhaps she is the closest. And I don’t think that you should tear down all those that judge you.”

“We…” Luna starts, though stops before she can counter his statement at the end. Does she want to be judged? Well, she wants to be found flawless, that’s for sure. And, if she is being utterly and totally honest with herself, she does not like being found faulty, and resents any that might point it out. Or those that might abandon her to one better, as they had done before, abandon her Night for her Sister’s more glorious Day.

She hangs her head. Is there any hope for me?

Only, she finds her head pressed up, fingers holding at her jaw while thumbs tenderly run over her closed eyelids. It’s quite awkward and dangerous if he isn’t careful, yet she can feel the icky gunk washing off every crevasse. The corners of her eyes sting as soap invades; at his prompting she opens them, bright teal again meeting dark blue, and he stares past them to pick out the motes.

“Ready to keep going?” Doug asks, encouraging and hopeful she will, yet understanding if she doesn’t.

She doesn’t respond at first, allowing him to work the light fur from her muzzle backward. She can almost feel him guiding her downward, and spots that slight smirk as he sneaks a finger to tease at her tongue.

“Perhaps later,” she answers with a light pinch of his finger. “When we are not so… distracted.”

“I have an idea,” Cadance adds, finally rejoining the conversation. She grins, perhaps a tad salaciously. “Though I’ll need to run it past Trixie.”

“I look forward to it.” Doug matches her grin as he continues along Luna’s head, making no effort to spare the sensitive areas around her ears and flowing mane, for all he can only make out her eyes.

Ch. 88 - Coated Shrapnel, Part Four

“What about you?” Doug asks Cadance as he works his way along Luna’s barrel. Their coats go much faster than the wings, the lathered soap they’ve been soaking in breaking up the storm gunk, though they still need quite a bit of attention. Attention he is more than willing to provide, with little nips and tender strokes that draw affectionate coos. “What keeps you up at night?”

“Well…” Cadance stalls. The mass of bubbles that makes up her poofy, soap-sopped mane sinks down, the three going from all looking in Ponyville’s general direction to Doug and Luna watching and wondering when she will surface. It takes a long time for her to answer, during which Doug starts on Luna’s spine, working down, the two captivated by teases to the sensitive parts by her clean wings and bloated mane, and who can steal the last kiss before Cadance returns.

One light purple eye peeks out; he has to strain to make out her words. “...You like roleplaying games, right?”

The question surprises Doug, a brief frown crossing his face. “Sure,” he admits. “Though I’ve barely been able to play. Just too busy. I heard Spike talking about a campaign with Big Mac, but now that he’s gone…” He shrugs, then perks up considerably. “Hey, didn’t you and Shining Armor play?”

“Yes, he always played the gallant Princess,” Cadance snickers, perking up as the conversation gets off topic. “Off to rescue her precious knight. Or a tunic-wearing swordsmare, wielding bow and boomerang to save Equestria. And, of course, her Prince.”

“That sounds a lot like Rarity,” Doug adds with a chuckle. Cadance left, Luna right. He moves along Luna’s belly, double checking to be sure, then gives his mare a tender squeeze of her teats and traces a line up to her marehood. He smirks as Luna twists her head to stare at him, curious what he is doing, then spreads her legs to allow him better access. His gloating grin fades as he realizes she is gritty back there, too, and really appreciates his ministrations, gross as it is to provide. And Cadance is likely worse, as every other part of her has been.

He covers by continuing, “She got offended one time I ran a session with more damsels in distress. Something about mares guarding stallions and me trying to flip gender norms for no good reason. But she’s always had a bit of a protective streak, just like Shining Armor. Like, when we go mining, she always leads.”

Cadance sighs dreamily, either oblivious or doing a very good job of not noticing what is happening with Luna next to her. “Yes, he would do anything to protect me.”

She then turns and gives Doug a long kiss on the cheek, leaving him stupefied. “And I know you would, too.”

“T-thanks,” Doug stammers, tentatively wiping at the spot. The ponies are physically affectionate, for sure, but those are generally nuzzles! “I’d do that for all my mares.” He turns around, now facing the Carrot House, the opposite direction as the mares, head spinning. It takes a moment to convince himself it is a friendly kiss, and nothing more, no matter how much certain parts of him might want that not to be the case, and goes to work on the mare on his right, his finger running along the slick inner slit.

He expects the sharp gasp, though the pitch is off, but not from both of them. Besides, he’s distracted: her nethers are even worse than he thought! The tail, and mane for that matter, seem like reservoirs for the gunk, soaking it up like Celestia’s mane soaked up chocolate milk back when Discord returned and then depositing it right where the ponies would have the hardest time reaching.

“Ready?” Doug asks, just getting a guttural grunt in reply. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and plunges in, doing his best to work by feel and figure out how deep the problem goes. He doesn’t notice how the cutie marks on each side of him glow, pulsing with an otherworldly light.

Back in Ponyville, Shining Armor and Princess Twilight Sparkle wander through town, scarfing down hayburgers and catching up after saying goodbye to the older fillies of the herd and waiting patiently (mostly) for the results of Cadance and Luna’s mission. They pause outside Sugarcube Corner as a golden pegasus, blue mane in a tizzy, swoops down in front of them.

“Princess!” Sunshower shouts, hysterical and barely able to stay coherent. “Monster at Sweet Apple Acres!” She cringes down, tears streaming from her eyes. “It got a foal!”

Twilight stops in her tracks, her hoof halfway from coming down. “W-what?” she mutters, stunned. Several of the other ponies share her catatonia, others flopping to the ground in a dead faint.

Shining Armor’s face sets hard, instantly leaping into motion. He points to the three closest pegasi who didn’t collapse. “You, you, and you. Set up a scouting net, make sure this monster doesn’t get away.” They take to the air as ordered. He turns to Sunshower, the mare’s breath coming in fits and spurts. “What color was this monster? What did it look like?”

“What color was the foal?” Spoiled Rich demands at the same time as Shining Armor.

“P-pink,” Sunshower stammers between sobs.

Spoiled Rich takes a long, deep breath, her teeth audibly grinding against each other. Fury flashes in her eyes.

Understandable, Shining Armor thinks to himself. Diamond Tiara might have gone to Sweet Apple Acres.

“T-the monster was pink,” Sunshower clarifies, realizing the confusion. “The foal was brown.”

The clarification doesn't assuage Spoiled Rich. Shining Armor runs through the brown foals he knows of: Silver Stud, Pomarbo and Hedge. Button Mash, but it’s unlikely he’d be there. Applebaum left on the train. Pipsqueak?

Sunshower blurts out, “It came from nowhere! They could be anywhere!”

“Keep the alarm off,” Shining Armor orders, turning from one pony to another with military precision. “We don’t want to alert them early. Spread the news, quietly, in case there are more. You, get Mayor Mare if we need... authorization.” Spoiled Rich looks especially pleased at that. “We’ll need to form squads. Anypony prior guards?”

Hooves raise, but before they can get any further, Open Skies swoops in with a welcome update. “Belay that!” he commands, everypony keen to listen to the assistant weather supervisor. “False alarm!”

“W-what?” Sunshower asks, peeking up from the ground with a smidgen of hope.

“False alarm,” Open Skies repeats. He lands next to Sunshower, nuzzling her reassuringly. She smiles weakly. “Turns out, it wasn’t a foal. It was a rabbit. And the ‘monster? A hippogriff. Brought by the Princesses, we think.”

Relief spreads rapidly through the crowd. A few glance apprehensively at Spoiled Rich, the pink mare only releasing her rage after a few long, deep breaths.

“A hippogriff?” Twilight whispers to Shining Armor. “But that means…”

Clear Skies, the other assistant weather lead, lands next to her brother. “Sorry for the confusion, guys! Good response, though, in case this was the real thing.” She gives Shining Armor a firm nod; the unicorn, having run more than his fair share of unannounced drills, nods back. “Applejack is showing the new creature around. And did you see?” She elbows Open Skies with a lurid chuckle. “Might get a free show; Doug’s getting Luna and Cadance ready for a-”

She cuts off as she makes the connection with Shining Armor, the stallion very interested in what the suddenly silent mare had to say.

“A?” he asks, smiling, but behind that smile lies nothing amicable.

“...A bath?” Open Skies offers, not terribly convincing.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Twilight Sparkle assures, though she has a hard time keeping the worry from her voice.

Shining Armor’s smile seems frozen in place. “Of course,” he says to his sister. “Still, I’d better go check. You know, guard business and all.”

Twilight stares at her brother, thinking. If it’s nothing, then I don’t need to go. If it’s something, then it’s probably better that I don’t go; Tartarus, he’d need to hold me back!

“Okay,” she says as he takes off, gulping. Please be nothing!

The physical exertion of a hard gallop does little to distract Shining Armor. Even worse is the sight at the top of the Carrot House: one human, facing away; the lunar crescent on his back pulses with light even in the bright noon, like a beacon drawing his attention. Two bubble-covered alicorns surround him, judging by the wing and horn shaped masses. The mare on the left looks completely out of it.

He appears to be working on the… intimate areas of the mare on his right.

A mare with lovely purple eyes, eyes he would recognize anywhere. Eyes currently staring upward, unfocused.

“Oh, buck me,” Cadance exclaims loudly, the sort of passionate shout she reserves for the bedroom. Her cutie mark glows brightly through the bubbles.

“Err,” Doug stammers, if only because Luna echoes the heated howl at the same time.

At first, Shining Armor can’t believe it. His beloved Cadance would never do that! But her intense moan, the way that human glances back, as if to check on her, his beady eyes unreadable?

His horn flares, a shield appears under his hooves, and he catapults himself up the several stories to land with a thundering *thud*.

“Doug Graves!” he bellows, reverting to the name by which he first knew the human. “What in Celestia’s name are you doing to my wife!?”

Doug’s head flicks up, moving from a deep disgust (that surprises Shining Armor) to confusion. He looks back at the mare in which his arm is buried past the wrist, wiping away a bit of bubbles to reveal a solid pink coat and brightly flashing cutie mark of a crystal heart. He stares at the incriminating side for a long moment, then at the mare behind him (still out of it), then at Shining Armor.

“I’m cleaning her off after she got back from her mission,” the guilt-stricken human admits. He attempts a wry smile. “Did you know your wife is a dirty, dirty mare?”

Shining Armor takes a few slow, ominous steps. The alicorn on the left, Luna, recovers enough to watch him advance, though she makes no move to stop him, while Cadance remains engrossed by his… stimulation. Normally the human stands taller than him, but with Doug crouching he can look down on him imperiously.

“I recall a similar situation with your mare, Rarity. Though she wasn’t your mare at the time.” Shining Armor cocks his head, staring at Doug. “Do you remember what happened, what you did to her for that folly?”

“Technically,” Doug quibbles, “you would be yelling at Cadance if we reverse the roles.”

He winces as Shining Armor raises a hoof high above his head. The mares generally don’t want him to step in during their disputes, a problem he perennially has. In the same way, they tend to let stallions argue things out between themselves, even if it gets physical (not that it doesn’t get physical during mare to mare arguments). He could ask for Luna to intervene, and she would, but he wants to handle this on his own, even if it means getting hurt.

“Shiny,” Cadance pleads between heated, heavy breaths. “It’s okay.”

Doug flinches as the hoof swings down, but rather than break his jaw it stops an inch away from his face.

“Cady,” Shining Armor asks through gritted teeth. He stops by his own volition, the two alicorns watching with narrowed eyes. “Explain.”

“We asked him to help,” Cadance explains, offering her husband a shaky smile.

“Just to be completely honest,” Doug adds, not buying himself any points with Shining Armor. “Applejack told me to clean them up, essentially, and they went along with it.”

“Help with what?” Shining Armor demands from Cadance, much like he would interrogate a lowlife from Canterlot’s underbelly. He fumes at how Doug partially ignores him to continue whatever he is doing inside his wife; if anything happens to the foal, anything at all, he’ll…

“Cleaning up sour stormheads,” Cadance answers.

Shining Armor grunts in disbelief, then takes a closer look at Cadance and the grimy remnants floating around in the tub.

He had assisted with developing the Storm in a Box, the very same one the Storm King’s forces used when they reached Canterlot, and that had been tested on Ponyville. Actually, the same test that brought Doug and Twilight Sparkle together. Cleaning up the residue from their early tests, before they took care of the dregs immediately, was terrible. Anypony involved complained bitterly for weeks, the pegasus mares especially.

“And you weren’t going to use that cock of yours?” Shining Armor gives a disdainful look downward; when the human appears in Canterlot he generally wears something, but around Ponyville, especially in the spring and summer? It’s not like he has a sheath to store it!

“Shiny,” Cadance admonishes, if gently. Shining Armor doesn’t care for her tone, nor her flirtations, especially given her proximity to the object in question.

Doug glances down at himself, gulping, glad he is as covered in bubbles as the mares. He tries to pull his hand out, grimacing when it doesn’t move. “If that worked?” he quips. “You’d make her the cleanest mare in Equestria.”

“Don’t give him any ideas,” Cadance rebukes, though she tries to lessen it with a grin. “He might try, and just push it farther in. Or get stuck, and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

If Doug’s joke has any effect on Shining Armor, or Cadance’s follow-up, he doesn’t show it. No matter how true it is or how stand-offish the human works. He motions for Doug to carry on. He doesn’t like his mare getting handled, but it’s her choice; and, while he would gladly accept any burden on her behalf, he grudgingly admits Doug does have some advantage over him. Maybe he’ll help with the foal, too; rumor has it that Pinkie Pie has yet to change a dirty diaper. Even so, he watches him like a griffon, ensuring Doug is fully aware of the consequences of going too far.

“You’re doing great,” Cadance encourages Doug, though she has eyes only for her husband. “Just a little deeper and you’ll get it all.”

“I better,” Doug mutters as he dutifully continues.

Shining Armor squints as Cadance’s cutie mark continues to pulse. A happy smile crosses his muzzle as he asks his wife, “Does that mean your mission is completed?”

“Um, we aren’t sure,” Cadance replies. She gives Luna a hopeful smile. “It could be.” Her smile turns to a smirk as she turns back to Doug, giving a frisky shake of her rear that moves his whole body back and forth. “That, or when you penetrated me, it-”

“No,” Doug immediately counters. “Nope. Not it. I refuse to accept that’s what ends a Friendship mission.”

“But Doug,” Cadance whines, if playfully.

“I’m sorry,” Doug says, then shakes his head. “No, I take that back. If that’s how Harmony runs things? I’m not sorry, that’s stupid.”

“Doug,” Cadance admonishes, her tone suddenly quite serious. “You shouldn’t speak about Harmony like that.”

Doug frowns, shocked into silence by her tone. From how Celestia was acting earlier, to this? “Why?” he asks, the only word he’ll allow himself to say. He glances at Luna; she turns a hard, reproachful look.

“Thou art likely correct,” Luna concludes, if carefully. “That the ending of our mission, and the resulting euphoria, was unlikely to be connected to thy… penetration. Perhaps we might learn the true cause. By thou should’st neigh speak ill of Harmony.”

Doug’s eyebrows crease as his frown deepens. “But, whatever is going on here is okay?” He motions toward Cadance’s rump, pulling his arm out as she lets out a satisfied sigh.

“Nothing says our Loyalty will never be tested,” Cadance explains as she happily splashes toward her Shiny, nuzzling him fondly. She shakes her head and mane at him, which he regards with a certain amount of quickly repressed disgust. “In fact…”

She trails off, forcing herself under Shining Armor’s chin, as subservient and vulnerable a position as she can manage. He gives her mane a ginger squeeze. “S-sometimes,” she confesses, voice shaking with worry, but looking at Doug, “I wonder what life would have been like if you had accepted my offer all those years ago.”

“Err,” Doug stammers, glancing between the contrite Cadance and a dour Shining Armor, though the sticky mane in the unicorn’s face seems the least of his concerns. It’s an awkward thing to bring up, for sure, but if this had been on her mind? Perhaps talking would be the best way to get past those feelings.

“I mean, different, obviously.” Doug continues. He offers Shining Armor a genuine smile. “I’m glad the two of you were able to make it work. I wouldn’t want to come between that.” A few moments pass in silent contemplation as he approaches Luna. “Although, you joined the herd being, let’s say, unenthusiastic about it.” He glumly admits, “I might not have been, either, but I hope I wasn’t too obvious about it. I wanted it to work out.”

“We accept this,” Luna claims, lifting her tail as Doug rubs down her flanks. “We felt it required of us as well.”

“If it hadn’t worked,” Doug asks Cadance, looking up at the sky pensively, “what would you have done?” He winks at Shining Armor. “Joined the herd and kept him around as a paramour?”

Cadance giggles as Shining Armor grunts unhappily. “An inamorato, to keep me company all those nights you are busy with another mare? Would you want that?”

“Would you have asked me what I wanted?” Shining Armor demands coldly.

“Of course, my love,” Cadance answers, a part of her dreading his response.

Shining Armor fixes Doug with a hard stare. “All or nothing,” he states unconditionally. “I would have bowed out, had she been required to join your herd. No sneaking around in the night, no surreptitious glances and covert kisses. Total commitment.”

“Then like I said before,” Doug says, offering Shining Armor a fist, which the unicorn bumps after a moment, “I’m glad it worked out.”

“Mm, it feels good to get that off my back,” Cadance confides, nuzzling her Shiny again. She gives a wave of her still-bloated tail, that and the rest of her mane the only areas that still need to be cleansed. “And speaking of backs…”

“I agree,” Shining Armor says with a smirk, pushing Cadance away from him. “Your back looks a little too clean.”

Her eyes go wide as he mounts her, squashing her tail against her backside.

Ch. 89 - Malicious Intent, Part One

“Ee-nope,” Applejack rejects with a curt shake of her head, sending her braided mane swaying back and forth. “Wash ‘em again, partner.”

Doug sighs heavily, removes his hand from underneath the faded Stetson, and stomps over to the sink. The kitchen reeks of apples, seeping into every nook and cranny and fold of flesh, far deeper than the storm residue could ever dream - this smell has been encouraged, not stifled. “It’s not that bad,” he asserts, if weakly.

“That’s ‘cause your nose ain’t as good as mine.” Applejack pointedly raises her head in the air and takes a good, long sniff. Her nostrils crinkle. “Eeyup. Ah can still smell it.”

“Maybe I should get Rainbow Dash in here to help.” Doug opens a window as he dries his hands off, though it’s doubtful the tempting smell will entice any stray fillies back home. “She could blow this place out.”

“Or maybe ya could get a Rain-blow dry for yourself.” Applejack returns to her dinner, unhappily munching on an overloaded plate of hay and apples, the smell still bothering her. On the opposite side of the table, Trixie and Luna exchange queer looks. Neither wants to say anything, Luna especially, so they content themselves with their filling, if somewhat plain, meal.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Doug quips, winking at Applejack. She snorts through her full mouth. He holds his hands up to her, but she just shakes her head. He sighs, goes back and pours out another bit of apple juice, this time lathering with apple butter. “But if that worked, you could have just fixed it yourself.”

“Sorry, sugarcube,” Applejack rebuffs, giving her stallion an apologetic smile. “But you know Ah can’t stand those shampoos. Dunno why Ah even let Rares keep ‘em here; Ah prefer mah stallion au natural.”

Luna tries again, “We art-”

Applejack cuts her off. “No, no, no, it ain’t your fault. Ah should’a known Doug’d pull out the strong stuff. Ah figured he’d use a bit more, what’cha’ma’call’it, elbow grease.”

“After the last time with the tree sap,” Doug counters, sitting next to Applejack and finally getting an approving, if delayed, nod, “I figured I’d give it a try.”

Applejack raises an eyebrow. “Ah though Ah was the one who cleaned ‘em up last time.”

“And,” Doug continues with a knowing smirk, waving a piece of apple-buttered bread in her face, “didn’t you use the shampoo? And didn’t it work great?”

Applejack huffs, tempted to snag a bite, and if he’s lucky only of the bread. “That’s different. Ya don’t care how Ah smell; Ah could roll ‘round in the mud all day and ya’d still chase after me.”

“You could use a day off,” Doug suggests between mouthfuls, “and if that’s how you want to spend it? Maybe I'll join you.”

Applejack snorts, then snatches the bread from his hand, consoling herself with apple goodness while Doug laughs and dutifully butters another slice. “We’re too busy ‘round here for that, not that ya need me tellin’ ya.”

The four glance up as the front door opens. Twilight Sparkle lets herself in, nostrils wrinkling at the pungent, though not unwelcome, smell of warm bread and apples.

“Hey, Twi,” Applejack greets, the others giving friendly nods and smiles. “What’cha doin’ out here?” She smirks. “Castle too cold’n lonely for ya?”

Twilight’s half grin isn’t terribly convincing.

Applejack chuckles, a flick of her mane enough to invite the alicorn to the table. “Schucks, ya know you’re always welcome here, long as ya don’t mind watchin’ the young’ins with me. What can Ah do ya for?”

Twilight eyes the mound of plain hay and apples in front of Applejack with a certain envy; she’s not used to being so hungry, what with her two little ones growing more and more every day, and the pile looks especially scrumptious. “Whatever you’re having is fine, thanks.”

“Sure thing, sugarcube.” Applejack grins as Doug gets up to get the beaming alicorn a plate of her own. “Did ya happen to see ‘Bo and Tiara on your way here?”

Twilight shakes her head, happily receiving a fond nuzzle from Doug as he passes by her, though the tender rub of his hand against her flank fails to distract her from munching on her meal.

Applejack harumphs into her plate. “Ah, shoot. We may be playin’ round-up, then, though Ah bet ya bits to bagels Hedge’s nappin’ at the lake an’ Bo’s at the sortin’ barn.” She goes back to munching, then regards Twilight with a swarthy smirk. “Ya wanna see if’n we c’n catch ‘em up ta somethin’?”

A faint smile graces Twilight’s muzzle, but from the unlikeliness of actually catching the youngsters up to anything. While she would never claim to know the colt better than his dam, she hasn’t seen any trace of the… how shall she say, unslaking fondness their stallion harbors for physical affection. Not that she minds, none of them do, she just doesn’t expect to see the same trait reflected in Pomarbo, just like it hasn’t manifested in his other foals.

She wonders what her own foals will be like. She shares with him a curiosity not present in most ponies, a willingness and eagerness to go beyond the domain of her cutie mark. Or perhaps that is her mark, the purview of ‘magic’ in its totality, and the unfamiliar desire to learn more about the… combat… applications is just a part of that. Even if that word leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, it’s not worse than the helplessness she felt when her brother instantly acted and she… just... stood there.

“Ya feelin’ alright there, sugarcube?” Applejack asks, concerned. “Y’er starin’ like ya’ve just seen a ghost, rather’n asked t’ play one.”

“No, I’m fine,” Twilight answers automatically. She gets a steady stare from Applejack, the earth pony buying exactly none of her quick response. “That sounds like fun,” she agrees on a whim. Stealth is one facet of fighting, right?

But picking the brain of the bruiser of an earth pony, to say nothing of the pugilistic pegasus that might swoop by later, is not the only reason she wanted to come by.

“If there’s something that’s bothering you,” Doug counsels quietly, having never left her side, hand rubbing reassuring circles around her cutie mark, “don’t be afraid to tell us.”

Twilight wrests a smile for her stallion, glad for the encouragement. Even so, she has to struggle to ask the question on a topic ponies avoid. ”I wanted to know, well, what you would do if you’re in a fight and had to defend your foals.”

Trixie’s quick jest catches Twilight off guard. “She’d surrender and ask what she can get them for dinner.”

Luna’s wing buffet does little to wipe the smirk off the unicorn’s muzzle.

Even so, Applejack finds herself nodding along. “Eeyup,” she admits, though it hurts her pride to do so. “Ah mean, Ah gotta assess if’n that’ll work or not. Some creatures won’t listen, an’ Ah gotta loosen up Bucky McGillycuddy and Kicks McGee. If’n they’re just lookin’ for a quick meal? Sometimes a hunk’a ricotta works. If they want more? They’ll guard me through the swamp an’ back for a leg’s weight’n meat, though Ah’d rather pay in apples’n hay. They know Ah keep mah promises.”

“An Apple always keeps her promises,” Doug adds with a light smirk.

“Eeyup. It pays to have a reputation.” Applejack turns back to Twilight. “Ah mean, you have to ask what kind of ‘fight’ it is. Am Ah in a ring with a rampagin’ bull an’ Ah gotta subdue her? That’s a lot different than some pegasus flyin’ overheard takin’ potshots. An’, to me, ‘winnin’ a fight means Ah walk away, safe’n sound.” She shrugs. “Dunno how many threats’re out there that you’d need to walk away from. Or fly, teleport, ya know.”

“Yeah,” Twilight admits, a tad sheepishly. Maybe learning actual techniques from Applejack wouldn’t be the best, though she admires the reasoning behind the farmpony’s philosophy. She notes that Luna takes a particular interest in the question; maybe she’d be a better pony to ask. Though it is getting late tonight.

“I also wanted to ask, if it’s not too much.” She thoughtfully chews while Applejack shrugs nonchalantly. “What’s it like, saying goodbye?”

“To the foals?” Applejack ponders for a moment. “Ah mean, you were there’n all, at the station. It ain’t fun, that’s for sure. But it’s not like Ah lost ‘em for good!”

“Err,” Twilight stammers, ears folding flat. Applejack’s comment hits home, an apple bucked straight at the center mark. “...Yeah.”

“They’ll still come ‘round, time to time, Ah’m sure.” Applejack chuckles. “It helps that this ain’t my first rodeo. ‘Baum ran off, what, a year ago?”

Doug shrugs at the question, almost like he learned the motion from his lead mare. “Less than that. Seven, eight months?”

“Eeyup.” Applejack turns back to Twilight. “You were there for that, too. It’s hard lettin’ go, but a sprout can’t grow in the shade. Gotta let ‘em go off on their own, an’ hope ya’ve taught ‘em enough in the short time ya got together. ‘Specially ‘cause ya don’t know how long ya’ve got.”

Twilight rubs at her belly self-consciously. “Yeah,” she admits in a whisper. “I just hope I’ll be ready, too.”

Applejack laughs, deep and from her own full belly, and wraps a foreleg around Twilight’s neck. “Partner, don’t you worry ‘bout that. Ya’ve got a herd here who’ve seen off as many foals as most have in total. Maybe they’ve ain’t herded up themselves, and we’re not yet grandmares ladlin’ advice out like applesauce, but whatever help you need? We’ve got yer back.”

“Thanks,” Twilight answers with an appreciative coo. The reassurance feels good, there’s no denying that, yet it feels undeserved.

“But,” Applejack says, unbidden by the others. She doesn’t look proud, or resigned, but speaks with a detachment same as that when she leads hogs or calves to the stockyard or Pharynx’s abattoir. “Truth be told…”

Doug straightens up, laying a reassuring arm across Applejack’s back. She looks ready to shrug it off, then thinks better, accepting the encouraging touch for what it is. Twilight stares, her ears flicking forward, then down, then back up, unsure of what will come next. She has never heard Applejack speak a disparaging word about her foals, and none of them will stand for anypony else doing the same.

“If Ah’m bein’ honest…”

Applejack stares out the open window, counting the rows and rows of apple trees that make up their abundant orchards. There’s no doubt that she could point her head in any direction, walls be damned, and recount exactly how many trees and what variety lay beyond.

“Ah’m glad to see them go.” Her head hangs down, though the shame she portrays seems just that, a meager facade she feels she ought to have, rather than the genuine article. “‘Cause Ah know they don’t belong here.”

Light gasps ring at the admission.

“Ah ain’t sayin’ Ah don’t love ‘em,” Applejack argues, though nopony has raised any verbal objections. “And they’d be welcome any time or season. But their place ain’t here. Ah don’t see the same joy from growin’ an’ harvestin’ that Ah see in myself, or in Big Mac, or that Ah saw in Ma ‘n Pa.”

Doug’s arm tightens around her. She appreciates the closeness, the comfort, even as a wetness shimmers in her eyes that will never be realized.

“And Ah ain’t blamin’ them,” Applejack continues, and turns to Doug as he stiffens. “And Ah ain’t blamin’ you, neither.” She winks at him with a lascivious, inviting smirk. “Celestia knows Ah’ll keep trying ‘till Ah get one that’ll carry on the Apple tradition.”

“Thanks, love,” Doug says, his coldness melting as he embraces his lead mare, his hand running the soft swell of her belly, barely noticeable against thick cords of muscle. In a month or so it would become quite apparent, much like it already is on their thinner counterparts Rainbow Dash and Cadance. “I’ll try to keep up to seed.”

Applejack groans, returning the hug. She smiles at Luna as she realizes the name she invoked just now. “Heh. You’re not gonna tell your Sister how we use her name, are ya?”

“We have a feeling that will be unnecessary,” Luna responds with a faint smile. “Celestia knows she intends the same for herself.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Doug quips through a clenched throat. He playfully punches Applejack. “Miss Empty Nest here can’t stand the thought of being all alone.”

“Yeah, well,” Applejack huffs, blowing a lock of mane away from her forehead. It flops right back in place. A moment of silence passes before she admits, “On a completely unrelated note, Ah told mah cousin Johnny he could send his filly down here.”

“Completely unrelated?” Doug asks with a skeptical smirk.

Applejack swats him with the thick part of her mane. “Ah told ‘em Babs Seed could come down here ‘long as she wants, but that was before the Crusaders left with Miss Glimmer.” Her voice falls to a hush, audible to those in the room but no further. “See, she’s been gettin’ bullied on account’a lackin’ a cutie mark, an’ Ah thought those three could help. But now that they’re gone…”

“What about Pomarbo?” Twilight asks. “She could hang out with him. Maybe they could hunt for cutie marks together!”

“Heh, if she can pry little Miss Tiara off his head?” Applejack chuckles. “She’s got her fangs sunk in deeper’n’a fruit bat in our prize apples.” Applejack blinks as she realizes what she just said. “An’, with that said, Ah think Ah should go check on ‘em. Ya know, just to be sure any o’ that ain’t goin’ on.”

Ch. 90 - Malicious Intent, Part Two*

“Do they hurt?” Luna demands in a cold, detached tone. No, Nightmare Moon, his Mistress, already in character.

Doug’s left hand comes up to the six colored bands secured around his upper arm. Gamboge, ivory, cerulean, gold, pale pink, and lavender, in order from shoulder to the swell of his bicep, in place as firmly as if they are welded there. In fact, they might as well be; Luna’s magic shrunk the iron until it pains him to flex, and he’ll need her help to remove them.

“Manageable,” he replies in a deeper, gravelly voice.

It had been Cadance’s idea, originally, a mere thought that might have been a passing fantasy. But it grew in Doug’s mind, festering as it melded with a certain dream, and here they are. Nightmare Moon in all her infamy, him her captured prize turned to a trusted lieutenant, confidante, and lover.

The cyan-clad alicorn lifts the final ring, brighter and more brilliant than the others, polished alabaster with a certain shine to it. “Now,” she ponders aloud, “where should this one go?”

It would struggle to fit on his right arm, if she sizes it as the others, though by whatever rule fixed lavender to the end would fix it between there and pink.

“Not around my cock,” Doug replies, though he doesn’t chuckle as he wants to. “I probably need to get some sleep tonight.”

Luna’s muzzle never moves, but mirth flirts in her eyes as she deftly maneuvers the ring around his left hand and to his shoulder. It, too, shrinks until it squeezes, tight as a marehood, tighter, only lacking the yielding and sensual gasp as he penetrates. His pulse quickens at the mental comparison, face flushing as he strains against the light tunic in Nightmare Moon’s colors of cyan and ebony, trimmed in a deep cobalt.

“Mm,” Luna purrs, stalking him from every direction. It’s rare she has to share her stallion, the others too deferential to demand his attention while he bucks the nightlights out of her, yet tonight would be special. She licks her lips in anticipation, leaving a gleam on her pointed fangs, then flicks her head at the closed door.

Armored greaves thud against the wooden floor of the Carrot House’s basement, not that the sound will travel past Luna’s wards. The fillies have been cleared out regardless; Doug doubts the precaution necessary. He pushes the cellar door open.

Trixie lays on a waist-high table, bound and gagged, muddied and disheveled. Twigs and leaves sprout from an unkempt mane, pale blue spilling over her sides like gnarled branches from the Everfree. But while her body might be dirtied and naked, a fierceness shines in her eyes, daring him to take another step forward.

It shocks Doug to see his mare in such a state. The hostility, directed at him, pains him. For a moment he stands there, stunned, studying her with detachment, removing his emotions from the picture so he can get an accurate account of what has happened. It helps, not that he likes doing so. She lacks open wounds, suggesting hard living in the forest without even the amenities provided by her traveling wagon.

It is only when the door shuts behind him, likely aided by Luna, that he remembers that they are merely acting, and she is one of the best performers of them all.

“Miss Lulamoon,” he states dispassionately, striding forward. A leering smile creeps as he traces over the curve of her flank, the teal of the crescent moon, and the arctic blue stripes of her tail.

Her violet eyes follow him until he passes behind her, then coolly return to the door, cracked open with a cyan eye peering in.

His hand passes over a set of items on a barrel set next to the table: a wide, cloth strap, folded over; an ugly metal cup, full of clear water; and a joke wand, identical to the one on her cutie mark, that turns into a bouquet of flowers when pulled right. He has no idea why she chose these items, or what exactly to do with them.

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” Doug continues in the same gravelly voice. “All that time spent fleeing with your tail between your legs.” He disdainfully picks a twig from those sullied curls. “And now, that tail will belong to me.”

A low, irate growl grumbles through the bit in her mouth.

“Did you finally run out of smoke bombs?” Doug asks, smirking. With a flick he removes her gag. “Or did you finally tire of stumbling away?”

Trixie coughs, glaring daggers. “So, General Gravous,” she hacks out, trading the ‘o’ for an ‘e’ and pronouncing it like two words, the destination he so mindlessly drives them toward. “At last, we meet again, for the first time, for the last time.”

“The last time?” Doug picks up the cloth strap, snapping it open against the table.

Her ears flatten at the sharp sound, afraid, then bravely perk back up.

Doug has to remind himself they are acting, that - aside from Rarity - Trixie enjoys this type of play more than any of the other mares, certainly more than himself. They can stop at any time, no safe word necessary, and he won’t actually hurt her. Well, more than she wants. He wrestles with Applejack, plays buckball with all of them, and hard collisions are a part of that game. No different here, right?

“There will be no last time.” The next snap strikes just under her cutie mark, against the thick muscle of her flank, drawing a sharp hiss of pain. He shows none of his pleasure, knowing that she enjoys this.

Trixie groans, eyes lidding as she stares up at the ceiling, not noticing as he stalks to her opposite side until he mirrors the blow to her right flank. She crumples over, poorly stifling her sobs.

“Her gracious offer still stands,” Doug continues, a fleck of hope in his voice that she would acquiesce.

“I won’t give up my friends,” Trixie states, slowly gathering her strength as she returns to ponyloaf. She coughs again, her voice scratchy. “Because what you’re doing is wrong!”

“I am not here for your friends,” Doug says slowly, shaking his head. “I am here for you. How can you claim Nightmare Moon is wrong when she has shown mercy? You dare throw it back in her face? All she requires is you bend the knee!” A finger traces along her chin, lifting her face to peer into his eyes.

Trixie laughs, high and breathy, before collapsing in a wheezing fit. “And you would not require that the Great and Powerful Trixie lift her tail for you, and take your color as you take hers?”

Doug hesitates, long enough for Trixie to perk up, much of her feigned fear dissipating.

“You don’t wear the colors of your mistress,” Trixie asks, curious. “Yet she carries your foal. Why is that?”

“Because she is not pledged to me,” Doug answers hotly. “She is not mine to command, not like the others.”

“Do they like your command?” Trixie demands, her pointed question piercing through Doug’s armor. “What a choice: death, or your tender mercies.” Sarcasm laces her words. “Trixie cannot believe she would have once counted herself lucky to be included in that number.”

“Truly?” Doug ignores the inaccuracy; if he had taken over with Nightmare Moon, the two would have likely never met. He laughs, and fishes out an azure band from the many pockets of his tunic. It thumps heavily against the table. “That option is still available.”

“You’d like that,” Trixie flirts, rasping, and raises her unkempt tail. “You’d like to do what you wish to these Great and Powerful flanks!”

“I already can,” Doug states, reaching for the cloth strap. Trixie flinches, though maintains her conceited demeanor. He goes past it, at the edge of Trixie’s vision. “But it appears there are two things that must be done first.”

She watches with gleeful anticipation hidden behind a scowl.

“First,” Doug continues, picking up the cup. Water sloshes over the sides, wetting his hand. “Are you thirsty?”

Flat teeth grind together, Trixie turning away slightly. “I-Trixie could use a drink. But she will not beg!”

“Then here.” Doug places the cup in front of her, then realizes she can’t raise her hooves enough to lift it up, and she wouldn’t use her horn. He brings it to her muzzle, but she doesn’t drink.

“Trixie doesn’t understand.” She looks up at him, confused, throat itching. “You would give it to her?”

Doug can tell from her demeanor that she wants him to go harder. Well, if that’s what she wants.

“I thought you were a little hoarse.”

He smirks despite the fury in her eyes. Too far?

Trixie scowls, but drops her head, tongue flicking out to lap up the water.

He stiffens, fast. She’s right at the level of his crotch, and he can easily imagine her licking him from balls to tip. Her hooves raise, but push past the cup, past his hands and his tunic, and find a firm grip on each side of his cock. Sensitive frogs peel his skin back, and it’s all he can do to keep from lunging forward, plunging himself into her waiting maw.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie is no whorse,” she states. Her fury evaporates as a devilish grin spreads across her muzzle. “But for you?”

Doug labors, each breath a battle. She feels amazing, easily the most talented from endless hours spent practicing at sleight of hoof. But more importantly, how to read her audience, and he’s become quite the easy mark for her. He lets go of the quickly emptying cup with one hand, steadying against the table, groaning in pleasure as fast pumps turn to creeping, agonizingly measured caresses that leave him the one begging for more.

The sight of the rest of the water disappearing into that magnificent muzzle, beautiful despite the stains, is too much. Yet she slows, denying him, smirking as she displays her open, empty maw as though it is after one of her private performances.

“And the second thing?” Trixie demands, haughty, snout lifting into the air as she gloats.

She wants more than that? Fine!

It’s all Doug can do to not grip himself and finish the job right there, but he knows she’ll like it much, much more elsewhere. He, calmly as he can with a shaking hand, places the cup back on the barrel, then goes to her mane and he fishes out a twig. He flashes it in front of her eyes, drawing his attention while his other hand goes to a tunic pocket and returns seemingly empty.

“I thought you would have cleaned up better,” he states, his voice ragged. Both hands begin to straighten the tangled mane, running through the thick, curling waves. “Or brought a brush.” She moans, lightly, stifled, no longer gloating but relishing the ministrations. He matches her earlier smirk. “I suppose these will have to suffice.”

“Is this how you ensnared all your mares?” Trixie questions, struggling for every word, no longer hoarse. Her entire body shudders as his hands race across her coat, leaving her pining for more in every area he passes. Her tail flags, her invitation plain, yet he persists in avoiding her haunches.

“This is how I keep them,” Doug whispers as he digs into the base of her mane, drawing a sharp breath. He pulls away, seemingly reluctant. “But if that’s not what you want…”

“No, no no,” Trixie desperately pleads, though it turns to growls at her lack of discipline. “The Great and Powerful Trixie does appreciate your efforts. But she cannot give herself, for she knows who you claim fealty to.”

“Is that so?” Doug smiles as his fingers dance a long path across her barrel, ending at her nether lips. She moans as he sinks a finger in.

Her moan turns to confusion as he jerks away, then to stark horror at the drop of blood beading on the tip of his finger. And the razor blade between two knuckles, with its sharp, glistening edge.

“So that’s how it is,” Doug states, low and cold.

“T-the gr-, I,” Trixie stammers, dumbfounded. Her eyes go wide as saucers. “I would never-”

“Silence.” The blade tinkles against the sides of the empty cup. His hand returns to her marehood, sinking in a touch deeper this time.

Trixie’s ears fold against her head, her whole body sinking in despair. She shudders at the cold feel of the blunt end sliding against her insides as he withdraws another blade. “I swear, I...”

Doug drops this blade in the cup as she trails off, same as the last, with another tinkling sound. He moves methodically, unhurried. She’s not as large as Cadance, certainly, but her flesh yields to his searching touch just as readily. He watches her carefully, noting how quickly her despair turns to a brief flash of fury.

Man, she figured it out quick. That’s probably for the best.

“What did you hope to accomplish?” Another blade drops into the cup, tinkling again, but this time his hand goes behind her ear. She smirks, knowing he knows she knows, as his hand pulls away with a ‘discovered’ blade. It, too, tinkles against the side of the cup, never dropped but just tapped against the side. He stalks behind her. “Were you trying to stop me from this?”

Trixie gasps as he drives her muzzle into the table, his entire length disappearing inside her with one rough motion. Fingernails dig into her coat, grasping tight, alternating between shoving her forward and dragging her back. Hard and furious, never slowing, never stalling, he pounds into her, heedless of the cries and moans and shrieks.

Just the way she likes it.

Ch. 91 - Malicious Intent, Part Three*

For a long time he drives himself into her, relentless, sweat pouring down his back as viscous fluid leaks out from around his cock. Finally he stops, his breath ragged, arms sore, hands smarting from hard slaps against her flank. “Sorry,” Doug apologizes, tired, almost at a whimper.

Trixie moans, glancing back with a regretful, almost annoyed look, her hips shaking, tempting him to keep going. When he merely rests against her, pressed as far in as he can go, she closes her eyes and wipes a hoof across her face.

“T-Trixie...” comes the wearied absolution between heavy pants and gulping breaths. “The Pained and Hurting Trixie understands why you did that to her.”

The conciliatory tone surprises Doug; it takes him a moment to realize she’s back in character.

“Oh?” he asks coldly as he pulls out, struggling to tamp down his affection. Her tail twitches as it falls back in place. He slumps back, more exhausted than he’d like to admit.

The mare nods, shuddering in pleasure despite the soreness. “You wanted to teach the Helpless and Vulnerable Trixie a lesson, but she was not the one to place that trap there. Nightmare Moon must seek to drive us apart!”

“Lies and deceit,” Doug counters, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice. “You dare slander my Mistress, that she would do such a thing?”

“You think they would allow the Cunning and Resourceful Trixie a weapon?” A loud snort blows the hair of her forelegs to the side. She motions at the cup. “Besides, the evidence is gone already. If that is not an indication of Nightmare Moon’s hoof at play, what is?”

Doug almost laughs at how Trixie turned his ‘trick’ against him. Count on her to see how he feigned dropping the blade in the cup every time.

“And,” Trixie continues, tentatively, vulnerable, not wanting her main argument to come across as too forceful, “the Understanding and Insightful Trixie knows this isn’t you. She remembers a gentle, loving person, who would only raise his hand to defend his herd.”

Doug’s mouth sets to a hard, grim line. “That me is long gone.”

“No.” He can’t hold her steady gaze. “The Wise and Discerning Trixie can easily see through those barriers. She knows you still value Friendship, and Love, and Harmony!”

“But it’s too late,” Doug laments. “After what I’ve done to you? What I’ve done to your friends? To the rest of Equestria?”

Trixie reaches a hoof up, lightly resting it on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she consoles with a gentle down and nuzzle. A tender kiss to his cheek surprises him. “The Forgiving and Willing-to-Look-Past-This Trixie, well, forgives you.”

He buries his face into her shoulder, clasping his arms around her; tears staining the azure coat. “Truly?”

Trixie props his face up so he can see her wink. “And she knows they will, too.”

Doug smiles, then glances down at the restraints lying loose on the table. “Weren’t you tied down?”

“The Devious and Elusive Trixie defies any attempt to contain her Greatness with simple bonds!”

Doug shares her laughter, though rubs at the scars on his left hand. “Maybe you should have gone against her the first time.”

“The Brave and Gallant Trixie will gladly stand against any foe!” Trixie strikes a valiant pose, standing straight and puffing her chest out.

The door slams open; a rolling black sweeps into the room, smothering the light from the windows. Twin cyan eyes peer from the darkness, mirthful, as a mad cackle echoes from every corner. Hoofsteps ring out, slow and ominous, each waiting for the previous to fade before resounding again; they get the dreadful feeling she could stalk silently should she so desire, yet would rather spread terror with every step.

Trixie drops to the table, ears flattening against her skull; her hind leg scooches back from the empty barrel and tucks her wand underneath her belly. She whimpers, abject and pitiful; her brash and boastful voice dies in her throat, unable to scream or cry out in fear.

Doug kneels, his eyes screwing shut, any thought of standing with Trixie disappearing as surely as the light in the room. “Mistress,” he forces out, barely keeping the tremble away. “I-”

“Silence,” Nightmare Moon commands, her echoing order immediately obeyed by both. They dare not even breathe, such is the force of her command. The ominous hoofsteps draw nearer and nearer, Doug shuddering as they come to a stop right next to him. “You were ordered to learn what you could from her.”

Doug quakes; he knows she wants, demands, an answer, yet she hasn’t asked a question yet. And so the moment draws long, uncomfortable; he can feel those cyan eyes boring into him, searching his soul, rooting out and inspecting his potential for betrayal.

“Speak,” comes the hard voice, contemptuous that he dared pass her test.

“She knew your tricks,” Doug says subserviently, still not allowing himself to look at her in all her terrible glory. His terror, his fear of her is palpable, shaking his hands as they clasp against his sides.

“Oh?”

First one step, then two, echo between Doug and Trixie. There comes a long sniff, presumably of the unicorn’s nethers.

“And you thought you could tempt her to our side?” Nightmare Moon laughs, scornful and cold, with a fury that begs to be released veiled just under the surface. “You are not yours to give away as you choose.” She stalks, one step, two, to his side. “Perhaps you need another lesson.”

“Please,” Doug begs. The cobalt dagger, her favored weapon, dances in his mind’s eye; through his eyelids he can see the same cobalt light, shifting back and forth, flaying by mere sight.

It’s just a game, she wouldn’t do that, she wouldn’t-

“Not so fast!”

Doug isn’t the only one surprised at Trixie’s gallant cry. The unicorn stands boldly, a black and red necklace dangling from a long thread (and not, to his relief, clasped around her neck). She smirks, as haughty and cocksure as he has ever known. A red glint in her eyes brightens the room, contesting the shadows cast by Nightmare Moon’s oppressive blue.

“What is this treachery?” demands Nightmare Moon as she staggers back.

“This is the Alicorn Amulet!” Trixie explains, gloating. She drops her empty wand onto the barrel, the amulet hidden inside instead of flowers. “With it, I, the Great and Powerful Trixie! am able to match even an alicorn’s magical might! And so, she binds your power, thus ending your reign of terror and eternal night!”

“Nooo!” Nightmare Moon yowls, collapsing to the floor in a pitiful heap. The rest of her repressive dark lifts, bathing the room in the oranges of the setting sun. Still she struggles against unseen bonds, gnashing her teeth and glaring daggers - fortunately, figurative - as her own obsidian-edged blade falls point-first into the floor, sticking there.

“Now,” Trixie relishes as she hops off the table, sticking her head up with a pompous air. “It is time for my revenge!” Nightmare Moon’s eyes fill with fear as Trixie casually picks up the dagger and deftly twirls it around her hoof with expert precision. “Gutting’s too good for her, don’t you think?”

“Trixie,” Doug cautions, keeping a nervous distance from the whirling blade.

“Oh?” Trixie glances from Nightmare Moon to Doug. She grins, hopeful, and offers him the hilt. “You know what should be done with this wretched creature?” The alicorn snorts unhappily, earning herself a swift kick in the flank.

The scene is eerily similar to the Summer Sun Celebration nine months ago when he met Luna. His hand shakes as memories dredge themselves up, all the thoughts of revenge, that burning desire for vengeance against the one who inflicted such visceral torture on him and his foals. They still bear the scars, if partially concealed by their coats, as does he.

“I do.” Doug takes the dagger, gingerly, afraid of nicking even a sliver of Trixie’s hoof with the obscenely sharp edge. “And it’s this.”

“My faithful servant…” Nightmare Moon’s breath catches, wide eyes watching him slowly rise, methodical, her high executioner relishing the time until he gets to his target.

He can see the debate raging inside her head. Of whether or not she should use her magic, guarantee her safety from whatever crazed plan his addled mind conjures. What he might do to her - disfigure her mane, ruin her coat, or simply lop her horn off as Selene had done in Twilight’s alternate reality.

Perhaps she notices something, because she lets out that breath, and with it her worry, bowing her head in quiet acceptance. Because she trusts him, and he wouldn’t do that to her, not to his love.

He kneels down, embracing her as he had so long ago.

“I forgive you.”

“Ugghhhhh,” comes Trixie’s drawn out and exasperated sigh and claps a hoof to her forehead. It bothers Doug that Luna shares Trixie’s discontent, if more resigned, or perhaps it’s just that his hug lessens her displeasure.

“Something wrong?” Doug asks, adding a pinch of petulance, not wanting to leave his mare’s cool embrace.

“Aside from you ruining the mood?” Trixie snaps, collapsing next to Doug and Luna, all her legs splaying out.

Luna nuzzles Doug, though he can tell her heart isn’t into it. “T’was a bit, mm, waste-laying in a manner only our attempted overthrow of the natural order can top.”

Doug rolls his eyes. “I just wanted-”

“-’I just wanted’,” Trixie taunts in a sing-song voice. She huffs. “Look, we get it. You forgive us for whatever heinous acts we did in the past. Even if we don’t deserve that forgiveness.”

“I object to that,” Doug interjects, much to Trixie’s consternation. “Or, rather, that just because we don’t deserve forgiveness doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be given. It’s not like I don’t feel angry or want revenge for what happened, but… look, acting on those feelings only leads to more misery. Why go through with that when the alternative is so much better?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Trixie continues, matching his eye roll. “Like I said, we get it. But this is fantasy. Role-play. Make-believe! Like, if you could do anything you wanted to, consequence free, what would you do?”

Doug stares at Trixie, long and hard enough for her to shift uncomfortably. “You want me to have sadistic thoughts of torturing my mares?”

“...Well… Yeah.” Trixie shakes her flanks, still smarting from their earlier session. He can’t deny they both had fun inflicting that on her. “It’s not torture if we enjoy it, right? What’s the worst thing you want to do to us?”

Doug turns to Luna. “And you’re okay with this?”

“We art perfectly capable of voicing our objections, should thy actions require such.” Luna glances at the dagger still in his hand, the proximal cause of so much of their friction; it poofs away with a thought. “Shall we resume our debaucherous ways?”

Well, if that’s what they want...

“Remember when you pledged yourself to me?” Doug asks, getting back into things with a swarthy smirk.

Luna snorts. “We doubt we art capable of forgetting, given how she grows with every passing night.”

She goes to push him to his back and slip her muzzle between his legs, only to be rebuffed. She raises an eyebrow, allowing herself to be the one laying prone. She watches with growing anticipation; will he mount her chest, knees clenched at her sides, and force his hard length into her greedily awaiting muzzle? It would certainly be a commanding position, him taking the lead, and a departure from their normal roles - though he certainly prefers the belly-to-belly ‘human style’.

But when he motions for Trixie? The unicorn reluctantly follows his commands until she stands atop the prone alicorn, pungent nethers directly above Luna’s wrinkling muzzle.

“I’m going to fill your belly,” Doug foretells, calm yet gloating. His hands trace tender lines from the outer edge of her flanks to the inside, drawing a long, shuddering gasp. “But not from me, directly.”

He cannot mean…

Doug rests one hand on Trixie’s withers, gradually pushing the unicorn down until her damp nether lips collide with the wetness of Luna’s muzzle.

“Mmph!” Luna exclaims, muffled by a strong desire to not open her mouth.

“Hey!” Trixie indignantly replies, mostly at Doug. “Pleasuring the Tantalizing and Scrumptious Trixie is not some punishment to assign!”

“Mmurphering,” Luna contends, clearly unhappy. Or doing an excellent job acting as such.

“You’re saying you don’t want her doing this?” Doug asks, ignoring Luna.

“That’s not the issue!” Trixie scowls, now aiming at Luna. “She should be honored at the mere opportunity!”

“Mm.” Doug runs a single finger along one edge of Luna’s marehood, her legs twitching at the light contact. She struggles to maintain her look of utter disdain. “Maybe we’ll have to keep this up until she gives in.”

“It is what Nightmare Moon would have wanted,” Trixie agrees, grinning down. “Now lap, dog!”

Luna growls, deep in her throat. Still, her tongue comes out, tracing a light line across the azure lips. She can taste Doug’s essence, mixed in with a copious contribution of Trixie’s. She hates to admit that the unicorn lives up to her latest title, and takes a tentative second lick.

“Better,” Doug quips, one finger slipping down Luna’s tunnel. “But what do you think about this?”

Luna’s head jolts upward, burying her muzzle inside Trixie as Doug lets loose the longest raspberry she’s ever felt on her exposed belly.

Ch. 92 - Emperor's Cunning, Part One

What is the most important trait for an Emperor to have?

Spike ponders this as he stands behind the golden railing of his balcony, nearly at the top of the Crystal Castle, and looks out over his Empire of Crystal. Well, stands isn’t exactly the right word; the thick bar blocks his view when his claws scrape against the marble floor. He’s certainly not going to peer around the ornate filigree like some foal peeking out from between her dam’s legs, like some prisoner trapped in a gilded dungeon. It would be more accurate to say he hovers, wings beating a steady and slow rhythm while claws dig into the soft lacquer coating the railing.

The setting sun casts long shadows throughout his realm, turning once bright and cheery streets into intermittent corridors of light and dark. He frowns; where is the pony, or ponies, responsible for maintaining the street lamps, and making sure they are turned on every evening and off every day? It was his chore while he was a ward of Twilight’s, so he knows the importance of keeping stock of their candles and glowstones. But no matter how important it is to know what needs to be done, one of the first lessons Princess Celestia impressed on Twilight was the importance of delegation.

“Golden Wheat,” he calls out.

A few moments later and the balcony door opens; an older mare, golden coat with a cutie mark of a stalk of wheat, steps out. Golden Wheat tucks her duster away in a pocket of her maid uniform as her right front hoof steps just behind her left front, head dipping respectfully in a quick curtsy. There is a hopeful note in her voice. “Your Imperial Majesty? You have need of me?”

Spike continues staring out over the city, watching ponies and carts, laden with their meager belongings, traverse the darkened cobblestones. “The lists of everypony’s residence and business. Have they been completed?”

“To my knowledge,” Golden Wheat affirms, tail flicking happily. “Ponies have already begun to relocate, as befitting your glorious plan.”

Spike frowns at the embellishment; his accomplishments don’t yet feel deserving of such praise. “Very well. I’m going to go out for a bit. You know,” he adds with a hopeful upbeat, “try to figure out what else needs to be done.”

“Of course, your Majesty,” Golden Wheat answers, again giving a quick curtsy. “Your chambers shall be ready upon your return.”

The guarantee doesn’t lift Spike’s dour countenance. He had never needed anything special as Twilight’s ward, just a small berth at the hoof of her bed, and the majestic quarters are far more ostentatious than he requires. “Mm,” he grunts unhappily.

Golden Wheat’s smile flickers. “I shall personally ensure they are so, your Majesty.”

Spike realizes, too late, that she took his unhappiness as her fault. “Alright, cool.” He offers her a friendly wave, which seems to brighten her spirits. She backs up into his chambers, softly shutting the door behind her.

He hops onto the railing. The height is dizzying, nearly thirty stories to the hard foundation. But it’s a fall he’s made before, before he had wings, back when he saved the Empire from Sombra. There’s even a giant statue of him over the broken ground left in the wake of Sombra’s assault, and Twilight’s subsequent defense!

Curiously, two construction ponies are cordoning off a section and preparing to drill into the reinforced concrete. The foals who commonly ride his gargantuan tail watch from every vantage point. They aren’t worried about falling, and neither should he!

His wings spread. He recalls the brief - too brief - training with Garble and Ember, and he’s itching to again put their tips to good use. Their advice feels a lot more applicable than Rainbow Dash’s, despite Ponyville’s lead weathermare having trained dozens of pegasi in her seven year’s tenure. He chuckles; the solitary dragons are as likely to insult another’s flying technique like bickering foals than offer any sort of constructive criticism.

And so he leaps, enjoying the gradually increasing wind against his face. The buffets quickly turn strong enough for his wings to catch enough air. They bend at the joints, curling far more than a pony’s, and whip him back into the sky! He soars, roaring in defiance at the ground as it stops rushing toward him and instead flees away, the many cheering ponies again turning to quiet specks between tiny toy houses.

The city itself takes up a good portion of the Empire’s land, perhaps a tenth, a shimmering jewel plunked down amidst rolling hills and green fields. They stretch to the edge of the barrier, with massive crystal shards plopped down seemingly randomly, strewn about like splatters of batter after he makes one of his favorite gem cakes. Mm, he could go for a gem cake right about now. But he can’t only think with his stomach.

Where to begin?

He circles high above the Crystal Castle, first touching the pink dome just to say that he has. There’s token resistance before his claw slips through the translucent material, briefly exposing himself to the everpresent chill outside their bubble of safety.

Is that the most important trait an emperor can possess - the ability to withstand the elements, or more broadly, to overcome adversity? That was Burnferno’s power in Warrior From Within, his favorite series. Or is the most important part the protective aspect, how the translucent barrier shields those within?

But strength can just as easily be turned against those one is purported to protect, and he needs to look no further than his own experiences to find examples of this, like when he rampaged around Ponyville and captured Sweetie Belle. And while being protected is great and all, in the short term, it breeds weakness and vulnerability, by coddling those inside and denying them opportunities to grow and toughen up. Again, he needs only look at his own example: enjoying the comforts of an Equestrian existence while his fellow dragons endure the hardships of the Dragonlands. Or his fellow Crystal Ponies brave the elements outside.

Could he survive out in the Frozen North? Is he strong enough?

Gritting his teeth, he pulls himself through the rest of the way. The cold air nips at his exposed scales, bites at the green fronds along his back, and needles down his mouth and to his lungs, seeking any pathway to that raging furnace inside him. He shudders, claws running along his scales in a vain attempt to keep that heat internal. He can’t help but equanomorphise the cold, imagining a desire to make everything just as cold and lifeless. Are there Windigos here?

In defiance of the frigid cold he remains outside the pink bubble, staring out over the snowy expanse. Above, ominous black storm clouds threaten to release their bounty of snow, but thankfully stay far away. He spots a puff of smoke off in the distance, by the base of one of the nearby mountains that gradually recede higher and higher into that ominous black. He knows Mount Everhoof is among those mountains, but now isn’t the time to mount an expedition purely to glimpse the ever-shrouded peak. Much less touch it, with the winds and storms preventing even an elite flyer from getting close, though he doubts it would restrain Rainbow Dash for long.

The puff of smoke gradually draws closer to the Crystal Empire. He struggles to make out the squat metal boxes pushing through the newly fallen snow. Is that the most important trait, the ability to provide the necessities of life, shelter and food? Or maybe something rare, some unearthed treasure or perhaps a clue to a hidden vault. Going out and exploring, leading an expedition into parts unknown? The adventurous, oubliette-delving part of him wants to see what it’s like out there, to find hidden caves and chasms. But why? To what purpose?

Is the most important trait perception, being able to see what’s going on around him? Not to say perception isn’t a useful trait for anypony else, or even everypony else - navigating life’s twisting circumstances requires knowing precisely where one stands, lest one be a lucky foal stumbling blindly. But it is especially important for a ruler such as himself. For sometimes danger lurks in plain sight, ineluctable and inscrutable, and precautions must be taken for the inevitable consequences.

Before he knows it the train pierces through the pink bubble, and out of curiosity he zips down and inside to spectate. The train station bristles with boxes and crates despite the only other arrival being an airship yesterday. He wonders what is inside, or why they haven’t distributed the packed goods. They have to be useful, right, or why else ship them this far?

The single squat, utilitarian car disgorges its complement of packed passengers - six green changelings, dull from gray dust covering their chitin, and seventeen youngsters, one less than they left with. He frowns when they leave the valuable crystals and gems in the four open-topped hoppers.

Before he can inquire as to the fate of the missing changeling grub or the final destination of the valuable raw materials - the gems especially enticing to his grumbling stomach - two earth pony stallions arrive pulling carts heaped with books. He recognizes them from the train ride over! The older one, Withers, light gray with a shifty look behind his dark sunglasses, hops inside the recently emptied passenger compartment. He stacks the books that the smaller, dark red stallion, Totem, passes him.

Curious, Spike flies forward. They are all old titles, ancient even, mostly storybooks with a few bibliographies, science and thaumic textbooks, and a full set of encyclopedias. All in reasonable to pristine condition. Collectors would pay dearly for such a trove. Where could they have gotten so many high quality books? Somepony’s personal collection? The library?

Spike takes a closer look at the cart. Yup, stamped on the metal, Crystal Library.

“Must have gotten a pretty good bargain for so many books,” Spike comments to Totem, lifting one of the encyclopedias. He stacks six more on top, flying them to Withers. “But I just have one question.”

“Oh, yeah?” Totem replies, grateful for the help. “What’s that?”

Spike grins. “Did they have to tell you to tote ’em over here, or did you figure that out on your own?”

“Hey, we got a wise guy over here,” Totem complains good-naturedly, offering Spike a hoof to bump. The dragon returns it, though doesn’t grab another load - he’s got other things to check on. “But that Amethyst Maresbury? She couldn’t believe we were paying damn near double what they’re worth, but I’m not gonna ask questions when I’m spending the Princess’s bits.”

Spike’s chuckle fades. “The Princess’s bits?”

Withers has a sour look on his face. The older earth pony glances back and forth between the two and opens his mouth, though nothing comes out.

Totem nods blithely. “We swapped a few I.O.U.'s, made some promises, but the bulk of it came from her, yeah.”

“I.O.U.’s?” Spike asks, curiosity piqued once again. He feels awkward just repeating what Totem says. “What for?”

“Grain, mostly. Vegetables that could survive the cold journey.” Totem motions to the containers around them. There are about half as many remaining as would fit inside the four hoppers. He pulls out a master brochure for Flim Flam Brothers Shipping, totalling what orders have been made for the various farm equipment, clothing, and general items. “A mix of other stuff, whatever they ordered.”

“I… see.” Spike notes how many orders have already been placed for a new product, some 5-F! alcoholic beverage. The prices are… good. No, better than that, practically insane, anyone selling these products would be taking a loss on every sale! Like, Sweet Apple Acres apples at sixteen bits a barrel? What sort of scam are they running?

But what really gets his blood boiling is a single line at the bottom in an elegant golden cursive he has seen many times before. A guarantee, by the Equestrian crown, of any purchase made by a citizen of the Crystal Empire, regardless of their capacity to repay such a debt.

He thinks back to the green hills and open pasture. Where are the fields of flowing wheat, the vineyards of crystal berries, or the flocks of sheep? Why work when they can instead live off Equestrian largess, or sell off their history and their rights to the ground underneath them? What is next - selling their houses of crystal to the dragons?

How can the ponies of the Crystal Empire possibly stand on their own hooves when offered a deal such as this?

Ch. 93 - Emperor's Cunning, Part Two

“No.”

Totem’s ears flick down, then back up, at Spike’s imperious command. “‘S’cuse me?”

Two languid beats of dragon wings lets the young emperor look down upon his subjects. More and more of the crystal ponies congregate around the train station, weaving in among the scattered boxes. They grow grim as they watch what started as something immaterial and fleeting transform into a real confrontation. Something similar transpires within Totem; the earth pony, used to receiving orders, dips down, subservient. Behind him, Withers straightens, warily regarding the flying dragon.

Is that the most important trait, confidence in decision making? Such a simple action, yet the consequences can be so dire. Spike feels good making such a spontaneous decision, perhaps rash, but there is a decisiveness to the choice that sears away any biting doubt like gouts of flame drives away a cloud of gnats. He draws strength from the crowd of ponies, commanding in his high voice, much as he tries to deepen it.

“Those books will not leave this place,” he orders.

At first, Totem reacts like it’s a joke. “What?” He glances at the books Spike just helped him load. “You serious?”

Spike motions to the crates around him, packed with supplies. “We will not hawk our heritage for trinkets and toys. And you!” Spike whirls on the changelings slinking away. They freeze. “Nor shall we barter our birthright for bowls of barley. We, the Crystal Empire, lay claim to the Frozen North and all its bounty. By what right do you seek to remove it?”

“Err,” the leader, Frenulum - green with purple wings, known for her quick wit and helpfulness - stalls. “It was our claws that dug the gems and crystals out.”

From the murmurs of his fellow ponies, Spike can tell his ploy could easily turn against him. “Yes, but it was our maps, our surveys that led you to them.” A sweep of his arm covers the modest train station. “And our station through which you wish to ship them. Or are you claiming these gems, these ores, are meant for helping rebuild that which my little ponies have lost?”

“They’re for Chrysalis’ hive in Ponyville,” Sclerite, another green changeling with pink wings, adds. “She ain’t gonna be happy about this.”

Frenulum doesn’t seem to care for the interjection, silencing her compatriot with a sharp glare. Spike can see the numbers running through the changeling’s skull, calculating, and he knows he has her caught. “We have heard,” her wheedling voice comes out, subservient, yet he can hear bristling behind it. “That Your Majesty prefers his gems baked in cake.”

Oh, how he loves a gem cake, a trickle of drool already running past his fangs. He can see it now, layers upon layers of sparkling sweetness, fiery rubies that burn only to be chilled by sapphires. And, yet, there is one other whose love of cake surpasses his, one who it is said has sampled every delicacy this world has to offer and found all others wanting.

It pains him to do this, to his very core. “No,” he refuses. “As much as it would please me to partake in such a treat, the needs of the Empire come first.”

That calculating glint returns to her scintillating eyes, whirling through greens and reds to settle on a pleasant blue. “Half?” she obediently proposes. “Of those materials most suited for your reconstruction?”

Spike considers for a long moment, long enough for the changeling’s wings to buzz nervously as she glances among her comrades. He could push for more, half of everything, but without a unicorn for enchanting the gems would be usable only as decorations. Or cake toppers, but he isn’t going to mention that.

“Very well,” he graciously concedes, much to Frenulum’s relief. “Those of you with need, step forward.”

While the Crystal Heart, when it was restored to its rightful position at the base of the Crystal Castle, repaired the damage done by King Sombra’s attack, it sadly did little for the pitiful condition of many of the houses and stores. Sure, the exterior looks sparkly and clean, but that is poor consolation for the neglect suffered internally.

It takes a moment for the ponies to realize Spike is referring to them. They tentatively step forward, then leap onto the open-topped hoppers. Glances at Spike for confirmation receive no reply, either positive or negative, but their hesitation quickly turns to fervor as they haul out great chunks of blue crystal. Walls, roofing, support beams, perhaps tables and benches, they would find plenty of locations to incorporate the raw crystal.

It would be a good test of his subjects, he realizes; nopony is taking note of who takes what, but he is, carefully counting. Later he would inquire, and woe to anypony caught misreporting their gains.

Withers takes the opportunity to approach Spike. “Your Majesty,” he supplicates, biting back his tongue. “These books are to be a gift to Princess Twilight Sparkle, to grace the shelves at her new castle. Surely you would not wish to come between her and the joy she would get from them, yes?”

Spike considers, regretting his earlier rashness. Had he thought these were a purchase for the Canterlot Archives, because it was Celestia’s golden script? The alabaster alicorn hoards knowledge, that much is known, as well as powerful artifacts that she parcels out to those that serve her. But Twilight would appreciate these books for what they are, the heritage and history of the Crystal Ponies, explanations of their culture and ideals. She wouldn’t be delving into them in search of hidden clues to buried mysteries that might disrupt her carefully cultivated country.

“I would hate to deprive her of such a luxury,” Spike concedes, a tactical withdrawal from his earlier position. But he needs something for his bold assertion earlier. “But the Crystal Library, while the repository of our history, is surely not the only contributor to our heritage.”

Withers stares at Spike. Much like Frenulum, Spike can guess as to the going through his head, on whether to call Spike’s bluff or to acquiesce to his demand. And, the funny thing is, if he gives in? Then maybe Spike had the power after all.

The henchpony shrugs, going to the saddlebag laying just inside the train car. He comes out with two heavy bags, stamped with the Equestrian crest, that jingle and clink. At least he has the wherewithal to not outright state that the bits he’s giving away aren’t his, they’re the Princess’, though Spike isn’t sure whether he would have kept them a bonus for a successful mission. He chucks the bags at Spike; one of them splits open beneath his clawed feet, dozens of ten-bit coins spilling and rolling in every direction.

“For the ponies of the Crystal Empire,” Withers states dryly, watching with a certain satisfaction as the Crystal Ponies chase the bits as they roll and bounce down the road. A guardpony moves in to grab the bags, another two to corral the crowd.

Spike holds his tongue. He can’t always get the last point in, so he merely nods and flies back toward the Crystal Castle. He would need to codify this edict into law, to make it fair and applicable to all, to anypony or anycreature who wishes to take advantage of their vulnerable state. Because they do need the food, loathe as he is to admit it, and he can’t cut off trade completely until they are self-sufficient.

Whatever construction project taking place at the base of his statue is still underway. Two ponies have stuffed themselves into a hole as deep as the rupture he made when he slammed into the pavement, only their construction-garbed tails of ice blue and rose peeking out. He flies next to one of the young fillies watching to inquire what is going on.

“Dange-ous Magical Ar-fact Survey,” she replies with a sense of pride that she is able to remember, seemingly indifferent to the fact that he is a dragon. He likes that. “They’re checking to see if there’s anything left over from…”

The filly sniffs once, tearing up, along with all of her neighbors. Spike immediately regrets bringing the subject up, though likens it to having his scales removed by Ember when his wings came in: painful, yes, excruciating even, but a necessary part of getting past the horrors the Mad King inflicted on them.

So he counts every cry, a wail echoing against the Crystal Castle, that pierces into his heart. How long could he withstand such distress? Not long, that is certain, and it feels like the whole Empire shudders with them.

“Do not worry, little one,” Spike comforts, running his claws through her poofy golden mane. “For King Sombra will darken your skies no longer. The Crystal Heart will provide warmth and love, and I will be here to defend you from all that is out there.”

Pretty brown eyes follow his claw as he traces the horizon. She snuggles next to him, providing her own form of warmth and comfort to the somber dragon. “Thanks, Mister Brave and Glorious.”

Spike tugs her close, relishing every moment. Sweet Celestia she reminds me of Sweetie Belle. “Please,” he begs, nearly choking up. “Call me Spike.”

A loud whistle blares from the train station. The filly in his claws jerks away, her eyes suddenly wide. “S-sorry, Spike. But I gotta go!”

Spike lets her go, reluctantly, and she scampers down the tail and to the Crystal Castle. Spike sighs; I could have flown her there. He would have liked that. He resigns himself to watching the commotion speed up at the work site. The unicorn - Radiant Hope - rushes to fill the hole back in while a shrouded earth pony stuffs something in their saddlebags.

“Find anything?” Spike asks as he flies down, catching Radiant Hope by surprise.

“Ye-mm-err,” she stumbles, quickly inclining her head and coughing. “Brave and Glorious Spike! What a surprise!” He taps his claws impatiently. “I’m glad to say, there aren’t any traces left! They’re all gone!”

“There’s nothing left of Sombra?” Spike peers at the spot where the hated enemy fell. He can’t tell, and would have to rely on her expertise. “Good riddance.”

Radiant Hope bows her head. “As you say.”

“We have a train to catch,” the other pony reminds.

Spike recognizes her as Tempest Shadow. What are those two doing here? And leaving so soon?

“Well, it was good seeing you, Spike,” Radiant Hope continues, offering him a slight smile. She taps a hoof, horn nearly done restoring the pavement. “And it looks like you’re adapting well to your new position!”

“Thanks,” Spike says, watching the two gallop to the train station and barely make it on as the train departs. Must be in a hurry, afraid I’ll impose something else on them. He chuckles to himself, but now isn’t the time to engage in frivolous day-dreaming. The sun has nearly set, and there’s still much to be done!

The entrance to the Crystal Castle is as open and bright as ever, but there is an emptiness that he finds off-putting. That there is so much potential, so much room to grow, to fill with his hoard. Or is that the dragon in him talking? Even so, he has the same desire for the rest of the Empire, to fill the empty space surrounding the city with something, even if it is only fields and pastures.

He spots Golden Wheat talking with the filly from earlier, noticing a bit of a resemblance between the two. Upon seeing him, the older mare nods curtly, the filly scampering off with a quick wave. He watches her go as Golden Wheat approaches.

“Your Majesty,” she greets, curtseying. “Maize was just telling me about all that you’ve done.”

“Did she?” Spike grins, thrilled at the prospect of the filly’s interest. “But that’s not all.”

As they climb the many steps to his quarters, him flying, he recounts what happened at the train station. “But I’m worried,” he ends with. “That the ponies will see me as greedily, grasping for any chance to prove myself.”

“That is a worry,” Golden Wheat confides as they enter his chambers. “I watched from here, and talked to some who were there.” While Spike goes to his desk and grabs parchment and quill, the mare goes to his bed. She taps the mattress, enticing him to join her. “Do you not wish to relax? You have had a long day, and it would serve nopony should you become exhausted.”

Spike doesn’t feel tired, but does concede that it looks more comfortable. Is that the most important thing, to listen to those around you?

He lays down in front of the mare, propping himself up on his elbows so he can write. Two hooves, firm and experienced, press into his back. His scales buckle and bend under the pressure, hurting, but it’s a good hurt, the kind that drives away the pain and leaves room for renewal.

He must have moaned, because the pressure lets up, if only for a moment. “My apologies. I am not used to working with scales.”

“Mm,” Spike grunts in the affirmative. He spreads his limbs, forgetting about the parchment, inviting her to continue.

“But that’s not what the others saw,” Golden Wheat croons, splaying her body forward. Warmth spreads along his scales where she presses into him, stoking that furnace inside him.

“What did they see?” Spike asks, struggling to maintain his composure.

“They saw a ruler who would stand up for them.” A nip comes to the base of a frond, right in the middle of his back. He jolts, but strong hooves hold him in place. “Where are those who thought you were a stooge for Equestria, somepony who would bow and kowtow to the Princess’s demands? They are silent, thanks to your brave and glorious actions.”

“Mm,” Spike the Brave and Glorious mutters, lost in thought.

“Now, is there anything else you desire?” Her words curl like the sensuous curve of her flanks under her raised tail. “Anything at all, Your Majesty?”

“Mm. In fact, there is.” Spike shrugs his shoulders, enough for Golden Wheat to pull back, an eager look in her eyes. It falls when he grabs for the parchment, though he doesn’t notice. “We cannot, should not, become reliant on the continued generosity of others. Your cutie mark.”

Golden Wheat, confused and disappointed and happy to help in any way, turns to display her flank. “A stalk of wheat, Your Majesty. I worked in the fields that once surrounded this fair city. Before...”

Spike waits a moment, but it’s obvious she doesn’t want to elaborate, not at this time. “I have need of that expertise, whatever you can recall.” She gives a hesitant nod. “Excellent.” Spike taps the parchment with the feather end of the quill. “What I want is a plan that will restore our glory. How many fields will we need to plant, and how soon can we count on a harvest?”

Golden Wheat regards him for a moment before her tail drops and her smile returns. She remarks, rhetorically, “Has anypony told you that you are nothing like him?” She slides around so they are facing each other.

Perhaps that is best, Spike muses as she explains all she can remember about the intricacies of harvest. Paying heed to your advisors, in whatever capacity they come in.

Ch. 94 - Grand Spectrum, Part One

Author's Notes:

The start of the time-skips. There's a lot I would like to cover, more than fits in here, and much of which will (hopefully) be covered in side stories. If there's something that gets skipped that you'd like to see, let me know, and that'll make it more likely to show up! (eventually, when I'm done with Growing Harmony)

April 14th, 1001 Domina Solaria

“I can’t believe you got this much done in six days,” Doug remarks to Twilight outside the newly constructed School of Friendship.

The alicorn excavator returns a bashful, almost sheepish nod, her meekness so unlike the other contractors tasked with transforming the open field north of Ponyville into a school worthy of the Princess of Friendship. She moved the earth, all of it, down to the unyielding crystal below, yet took no more pleasure in the mass levitation than had she been asked to sort her books by the Canterlot Archives Classification System instead of her own. She saw it as a pleasant distraction from the onerous chore of developing a curriculum for the teachers who, despite being her Friends, insist they aren’t cut out for the job.

Just like Twilight insists it isn’t a castle, a replacement for the one Doug buried, yet the gleaming splendor overrules her tepid objections. The two stand outside the moat (because what castle doesn’t have a moat?). Scintillating water gurgles along brooks and down waterfalls and through channels, spreading half a dozen rainbows in every direction. A series of heart-shaped stepping stones automagically raise and lower when anycreature draws near, powered by the same set of pumps that shoots the water from the base of the deep pools back to the earthworks sculpted from all the material Twilight dug out.

“The inside still needs to be furnished,” Twilight explains as they hop from stone to stone. She wants to fly, give him an aerial tour, but also wants to see what impression an earthbound creature would experience. “But I thought that would be better suited to each teacher, to modulate their classrooms to their personal preferences rather than me making assumptions.”

“Makes sense.” Doug reaches the golden entrance doors, tall enough to accommodate Princess Celestia standing on her hind legs and waving her long horn around, or Rainbow Dash if she were to fly above them as they enter. He pushes on the ornate plate; the doors are made to swing in either direction, a great convenience for any non-magic wielder.

Stone busts and oil portraits decorate the interior walls, generic unicorns and wizards and a few of Twilight and her Friends. Marble columns rise up while luxurious carpets span the floors, each inlaid with hearts or wispy swirls or diamond patterns. Despite the beauty it feels empty without any students, silent but for their muffled steps.

Doug can tell Twilight feels anxious about all this, from getting the building set up to the hundreds of applicants to making sure her teaching plans are all finalized. She beams up at him, her smile a touch over-broad, eagerly awaiting and dreading his response in equal parts.

“It looks great,” Doug commends with a casual rub to just behind her ears. He has to pull his hand away lest he get speared during her gleeful happy dance, hooves furrowing the carpets with every bounce.

“Yes yes yes yes yes yes~”

“What did the others say?” Doug asks, carefully watching in case she turns that exuberance on him. Though that’s mostly Pinkie Pie. Or Rainbow Dash. Actually, any of them.

“Oh, I haven’t asked them yet.” Twilight comes to a stop, pensively rubbing at her chin while staring down a hallway. “Though I can’t see them saying anything else. This place looks amazing! I can’t wait to see how they like their classrooms!”

“Err,” Doug stalls as she dips between his legs, bracing against her withers as she takes to the air. She may not be as competent a flyer as Rainbow Dash, and lacks the experience of the elder alicorns, but he’s certainly not going to remind her of that when he’s speeding along faster than he can run and higher than he can jump. He clings to her, arms around her neck and legs clenching her chest.

They zoom outside, climbing high above the walls. The hill behind the outer face hides the true size of the school, concealing kitchens, storage, spare rooms, and laboratories, while student quarters and offices ring the outer walls, classrooms nestled in the middle. Everything is in regal purples, brilliant raspberries, and sapphire blues, much like the colors of her mane. Wood and stone and crystal alike blend seamlessly, with thick plates of teal glass as windows in the many parapets and towers.

“Like what you see?”

Doug almost laughs at the salacious remark, and yet the alicorn is completely focused on giving him the best tour she can. She always flies better when she’s distracted, and the aerial view is quite distracting.

“It’s beautiful.” Against his better judgement, a hand slips to the base of the mane that spills and flows around him. “The school looks nice, too.”

Twilight snorts, an un-princess-like guffaw Rarity would certainly chastise. “Keep it in your sheath, bucko. I can’t get too distracted!” She wheels to the west and the open field between Sweet Apple Acres and Ponyville Elementary. Five colorful dots ring a checkered sheet stacked with baskets, Twilight’s fellow Elements enjoying the pleasant morning weather.

“Nice moves, Twi!” Rainbow Dash calls out as the alicorn lands, all of them stomping politely.

Doug dismounts; it’s a maneuver he thought, once arriving at a land of sentient ponies, that he would never need to use. But now that three of the alicorns have given him a ride - and he can see in Dash’s eyes a hint of jealousy, that she’s going to be the next one to take him on her back, foal in her belly or no - he’s quickly getting more comfortable hopping off their left side.

“Thanks, everypony.” Twilight trades nuzzles with each of her herdmates before taking a place at the checkered cloth. Baskets swap back and forth until each has a heaping plate of greens, apples, and sandwiches, with bottles of 5-F! to drink. “I’ve only got a short while before my EEA meeting and there’s nopony I’d rather spend it with than you!”

“Oh, of course.” Fluttershy offers Twilight a happy smile, sharing her love of relaxing under the warm sun - though finds herself able to do it considerably more frequently than the alicorn.

“I hate to say it, AJ.” Rainbow Dash takes a long drag from her bottle, grinning like it’s her stallion’s seed she’s guzzling down. “But those Flim Flam brothers of yours sure know what they’re doing when it comes to making cider.”

“Don’t lie,” Applejack chides. “Ya love anythin’ that gets ya more cider.” She elbows the pegasus, friendly-like, ignoring how the unicorn swindlers are technically Rarity’s brothers.

“Okay, you got me there,” Rainbow Dash admits with a sheepish smile.

“‘Sides.” Applejack lifts her bottle; it’s the only one with SAA stamped on the front. “It’s ‘Bo ya should be thankin’. He’s the one ‘keeps firin’ it up. Ah’m just glad we got ‘nough apples sorted ‘such we don’t need’ta worry ‘bout that crazy contraption suckin’ him in again.”

“Hey, whatever it takes to get me my cider.” Rainbow Dash winks, taking another long sip. As long as they drink it soon enough, the ‘fermented’ part of Flim Flam Fields Fermented Fruit doesn’t apply, but it’ll be Tartarus once winter comes and they don’t have any more fresh apples to feed to the cranky machine.

“How about you, Rarity?” Twilight asks between hearty bites. “How are things at the shop?”

“Quiet after hours without Sweetie Belle and the rest coming around.” Rarity sighs, giving Ponyville a forlorn look. “Extra ponies browsing through my wares doesn’t quite make up for it. I’m swamped just keeping my bins stocked! Are there really going to be that many new students?”

“I think a lot of them are friends and family, helping their fillies settle in. Or they will be.” Twilight takes a deep breath, hopeful to her herdmates’ response. “Before my big meeting with the EEA, and opening the dorms to the masses, did any of you want help preparing your classrooms?”

“Wait,” Pinkie Pie interrupts, face scrunching up quizzically, one eye focusing on Twilight while the other zeroes in on the far-off school. “Our classrooms?”

The others share her bewilderment, much to Twilight’s dismay. “Doug,” she starts slowly, her smile twitching in a troubling manner. She can barely talk through her clenched teeth. “Didn’t you say you talked to them about this?”

“I did,” Doug explains, the other ponies nodding in agreement that, yes, their stallion had mentioned something of the sort. “But I also told you their answers.”

Twilight’s muzzle turns to a hard line. “And I told you that wasn’t good enough.”

“Look, Twi,” Rainbow Dash butts in, coming to her wavering stallion’s rescue. “It’s not that we don’t love you, or think that what you’re going to do is going to fail. I mean, when have you ever failed at something you put your mind to?” She lists off on her hooves, “You defeated Nightmare Moon and rescued Princess Luna, you beat King Sombra and rescued the Crystal Ponies, and you convinced everycreature to not go to war with Equestria and learn Friendship instead. It’s like you rescued all of us!”

“And yet,” Twilight counters, staring down her cerulean Friend, “it sounds like you want me to fail now, in convincing you all to be teachers at this oh-so-important school.”

Rainbow Dash huffs, her ears folding down at the admonishment.

Applejack interjects, “It ain’t that, Twilight. Ya know we’d be there for ya if’n ya needed somethin’. Ah mean, look at me; how many times have y’all helped out on the farm? Shoot, just last week we were makin’ cider for the town. But that’s a one time thing.” Her head dips down, chagrinned. “Well, okay, maybe more’n once. But we ain’t askin’ ya to sign on for life, not like we did that’n.”

“Oh?” Doug grins as Twilight follows Applejack’s hoof, ending at himself. “Is that what I signed up for all those years ago?”

Applejack blows him a kiss as she rubs her pregnant belly. “Haven’t heard ya complain ‘bout the pay yet!” Doug blows her a kiss back as she turns to Twilight. “But this here teachin’ gigs’ a big commitment. Ah don’t know if the farm’ll be able to spare the hooves, ‘specially with ‘Baum’n ‘Bloom gone. An’ with another on the way?”

“All the more important that we get it up and running now,” Twilight counters forcefully, “before we have half a dozen hungry mouths to look after.”

“But this is more than just feeding a foal, darling,” Rarity tries. Applejack and Rainbow Dash nod along feverishly. “I already told you how much work is picking up here, and if I’m to have any hope of starting outlets in Canterlot, to say nothing of Manehattan? Why, somepony bought the dress I would have worn to teach, I’m so short of garments!”

“It’s not that I’d really mind being called Professor Egghead or anything,” Rainbow Dash fibs, hoping that Applejack won’t call her out. To her relief, the only change is a slight dip from the orange muzzle. “I’d put up with it. But I’m already super busy making sure everymare gets their weather assignments done! Plus, I gotta keep in shape, and that means more than being some gym teacher.”

“And ya know what it’s like on the farm,” Applejack laments, kicking at the grass in front of her. “Ah could spare half a day or two a week, tops, but Ah can’t be no Miss Cheerilee an’ watch ‘em from dawn till dusk.”

Twilight can’t believe it. She expected excuses, sure, but not adamant refusals from each. She already got a commitment from Doug to substitute teach, but to expect him to give up what he loves, in order to help around the school… No, she wouldn’t do that, not to him, not to any of her Friends. And neither will she guilt them into helping out, much as she feels she needs them.

“Hey,” Doug consoles, wrapping an arm around her withers. It helps, barely, a single gust of wind on a hot summer’s day. “We’ll still be there for you. Anytime you need help, just say the word.”

It’s almost like he can read her mind. “Thanks,” Twilight whispers, burying her head against his chest. Hoofsteps precede her Friends tackling them, nearly bowling them over as they join.

“S-sorry,” Rainbow Dash sobs, her wing wiping a tear away. “Open Skies and Clear Skies, they’re ready to take over when I leave, it’s just…”

“It’s okay,” Twilight comforts. She knows Rainbow Dash still hopes, desperately at times, for that coveted Wonderbolt position. And it would be quite the feat to make the commute from the Academy just to teach a class. Even if it is a class she knows the headstrong pegasus perfectly embodies.

She holds out hope for the last of her Friends. One of them has been uncharacteristically quiet. “And you, Pinkie Pie?” She leaves out asking what her excuse would be.

Pinkie Pie holds up a thick stack of papers, bound in blue. Her frown can be seen even with the book in the way. “I read through these guidelines.” She peeks over the top at Twilight, eyes narrowed. “Am I correct, that there are to be no confetti cannons?”

Twilight sighs. “Pinkie Pie, you have to understand. The EEA guidelines are very clear on how things are run.”

A pink hoof raises up, despite both of Pinkie Pie’s hooves continuing to hold onto the book. Nestled in her frog is the tiniest, cutest cannon imaginable. “Not even a teeny cannon?”

A high-pitched boom echoes as the tiny cannon fires, spewing tiny confetti all over the book.

Twilight sighs; this might be the make-or-break at getting one of her Friends to join her. “I’ll see about getting your classes defined as military studies.”

Pinkie Pie’s grin spreads from ear to ear. “I’ll go polish off Big Bertha now, and empty out all the dragon!”

“That’s-” Twilight starts, only for a pink blur to disappear towards Ponyville. “-Not necessary.” Twilight sighs, and turns to Fluttershy. She offers what she hopes isn’t too much of an exhausted smile. “Fluttershy, I know you’re very busy with your animals, but it would be a great help if-”

“Oh, I’ll do it.” Fluttershy wriggles out of the hug to stand up straight. She nearly looks the part, too. “Um, hello there. I’m your teacher. I hope you enjoy class. But if you don’t enjoy it, that’s okay, too.”

“Couldn’t find an excuse?” Rainbow Dash teases, the only one in the group (besides Doug) who attempts such jests with the sensitive pegasus. Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to mind, beaming all the brighter, much to Doug’s encouragement.

“I’m just glad half of the teachers will be me or my best Friends,” Twilight chides. Rainbow’s ears fold against her head as she sinks down. “But what am I going to do about the other half?”

Ch. 95 - Grand Spectrum, Part Two

Chancellor Neighsay looms upon his high-backed chair that looks every bit as stiff and uncomfortable as he. Behind his slicked-back mane and sharp goatee shines the seal of the Equestria Education Association, a hoofprint surrounded by a wreath of wheat, and above that the Celestial crest in dull brown and black instead of gleaming gold. Nine mares and stallions perch underneath, some gray and wizened while others merely act the elder with manes in taut buns and stricter features carved on their muzzles. Their seats ring the lower entrance, each ready and eager to tear into whatever hapless creature dares step hoof into their inquisitorial arena, though all defer to the one who sits above.

The heavy wooden doors open with a great *thud*, permitting an alicorn whose elated expression shares nothing in common with the cold demeanor of the rest of the room. A yellow foal trots at her side, barely keeping up with ten levitated books, each marked with colorful tabs equally out of place. At the exact same time a timepiece buzzes in front of the hard-nosed Chancellor, which he silences with an indifferent glance.

“Even Princess Celestia permits herself a few seconds to spare,” Chancellor Neighsay drolls to the approaching alicorn, “lest she be considered late.”

“A Princess is never late,” Twilight Sparkle corrects without missing a beat. “Nor is she early. She arrives precisely when she means to.” She mimes checking the sun, but the wall mural is only accurate once a day. “And I mean to arrive on time.”

Chancellor Neighsay grunts dourly. “And do you plan on running your school with such… punctuality?”

Twilight nods, eager, not letting his droll attitude dampen hers. “The mares at Stalliongrad run the trains on time. Why not here?”

“Indeed.” A smile every bit as flinty as the city the Chancellor hails from crosses his muzzle. “As you well know, I am Chancellor Neighsay. And if you, Twilight Sparkle, take education as seriously as you take your time-keeping, then I see no reason why your… extraordinary undertaking will not be accepted.”

“Thank you, Chancellor,” Twilight returns, offering a slight bow of her head. She hasn’t quite gotten her courtesy to the point of Celestia, who manages to make even the tiniest bob seem a sweeping curtsy. She levitates the ten copies of her proposal to each mare and stallion of the board. “I hope to answer any inquiry, and assuage any fear you might have.”

“Indeed.” Before any of them can open the thick tomes, Chancellor Neighsay brandishes a short scroll, the golden header clearly visible. “I have a letter from Princess Celestia, requesting that we grant legitimacy to this… School of Friendship. In it, she professes that she trusts your judgement, and has every faith and confidence in you.”

Twilight inwardly grins. Then this is in the bag! With Princess Celestia’s recommendation, then-

With little fanfare, a burnt orange aura envelops the scroll. It bursts into flame, quickly smoldering into ash. Twilight can only gape at the callous desecration of anything of Celestia’s, much less a letter commending her ability.

“This council puts as much faith in a Princess’ praise as any other piece of paper.” Chancellor Neighsay fixes Twilight with a hard scowl, her confidence dissipating like the ash blowing onto the stone floor. “Your proposal shall stand, or fall, on its own merits. And we at the EEA expect you to do things By. The. Book.”

Twilight takes a deep breath as the last three words echo around the chamber, accompanied by three hoof stomps that bang like a judge’s gavel. She regains her composure only with great effort. “That is fair, Chancellor.” He levitates to her a thick blue book, which she zips through with alacrity. “And I think you’ll find my curriculum meets all your requirements.”

“Of course, I have personally read every page of this plan,” Chancellor Neighsay grimly states, blitzing through the tall stack of colored paper next to him. His green eyes narrow as he stops at the pages she changed at the last minute, pulling them out and setting them aside. “And you have certainly concerned yourself with… every aspect of this… venture. But, as I am sure you suspect, we at the EEA have some questions.”

“I would be happy to answer any and all of your questions,” Twilight returns with a casual, if guarded, smile.

“Particularly,” Neighsay continues, as though she hadn’t answered, “those pertaining to how much accommodation you will give to, for example, the diet of creatures such as those… griffons.”

“Of course.” Twilight nods, taking her time before answering the question. It bothers her that speciesism could be so prevalent, but it could also just be Neighsay doing his job. Griffons have been visiting and living in Equestria for hundreds of years, though the winged lions have mostly confined themselves to Canterlot and Cloudsdale. Relationships have been strained at best, with border skirmishes along the north or with opportunistic griffons stealing across the sea. But that’s all in the past! “We have contracted with a local company, Sweet Apple Abattoirs, for any products our fellow ponies might find… distasteful.”

Chancellor Neighsay tilts his head downward at the pun. “And when some ponies find the entire practice… disturbing?”

“The solution is the same for both sides,” Twilight answers quickly and confidently. “Respecting differences and communicating. It’s important for ponies to recognize that not all creatures do things the same way, or the pony way. When the other creatures see that we are willing to respect their differences, they will do the same to us.”

Excited murmurs skitter around the council chamber like shadows from their shaded lamps. “I see,” Chancellor Neighsay states, silencing the whispers. “And when other creatures refuse to give up their practices, these… differences you so quickly gloss over?”

Twilight knows the answer he wants, though it fills her mouth with bile to give it to him. “We should be prepared to defend our way of life.”

“The EEA concurs.” His sharp nod and smirk sicken her. “Everypony should learn how to protect themselves.”

“But,” she immediately continues, to his disappointment, “oftentimes, the best way to a solution is not through the clash of hooves and charging of horns, but better understanding.”

Chancellor Neighsay’s frown deepens. “‘Understanding’ that a griffon wishes to fill her hungry belly does little to stop their claws from rending pony flesh from bones.”

“Maybe in the instant,” Twilight concedes. Applejack’s preferred line of ‘defense’ comes to her mind. “But if we can provide them with equinely harvested alternatives tailored to their taste, then surely we can live in Harmony without resorting to exterminating any who ‘might’ become a threat.”

Hard green eyes narrow. She can see the gears turning, that any line of argument that pushes for such preemptive action could also be used against the Princesses’ stallion, a ‘solution’ sure to be overruled at the highest level. “And your plan for dealing with any… infractions?”

Twilight gulps; the only reason the debacle with Silverstream didn’t turn into a national scandal is because such events are expected at Ponyville. “They are on Equestrian soil, and subject to Equestrian law.” By Griffon law, a duel could proceed to the death, and the winner entitled to the loser’s remains. And that was after the reforms that forbid the open hunting of ponies. “We shall ensure they are properly informed as a top priority.”

Chancellor Neighsay’s gaze shifts to the first page he pulled, one detailing Pinkie Pie’s plans for confetti cannons. ‘S’, plural, and how each student would be instructed in their construction, proper handling and storage, and ammunition - of which living creatures is a category. He lingers on the ‘each student’ part. He briefly gives Twilight a hard look, carefully inserts the page back to its original spot, and turns to the next.

“And can we trust you to follow through with this plan?” Two pictures flicker in his burnt orange, Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy, the earth pony giddy while a camera flash seems to have surprised Fluttershy.

Twilight frowns briefly, almost glancing at the yellow foal at her side; it would appear Meringue accentuated Fluttershy’s redeye to the point that her pupil disappears entirely.

“Or,” Chancellor Neighsay continues, his focus again training on her. “Will you leave the school unattended to gallop off on your… adventures?”

It pains Twilight to admit so, but it is the Honest thing to do. “My responsibilities as a Princess and Element of Harmony may occasionally prevent me from teaching every class. I have a seventy-point plan if that should be the case. But I, and my fellow teachers, will make every effort to be present, when we are not otherwise engaged with our duties.”

“Yes, Equestria does owe you a great debt for your… continued service.” It looks like it pains Chancellor Neighsay to say that as much as it hurt Twilight earlier. “But our consideration must be to the well-being and education of your future students.” His gaze shifts slightly, to her belly. “And what provisions have you made for next year when those… responsibilities of yours multiply?”

“At the present time, the possibilities are too varied in scope to make any hard and fast arrangements.” The evasion brings an itch to Twilight’s coat. “But, should the situation require it? I had an awesome foalsitter before. Alternatively, I may find a more permanent instructor to take my place.”

“A solution it would appear you have already had to implement.” Burnt orange distorts the pink coat and purple mane of the next picture, but the long, haughty nose is instantly recognizable. “At least you have made one acceptable choice.”

Twilight has to remind herself that Celestia smiles at all sorts of things she finds objectionable. “Spoiled Rich has long been devoted to the educational arts: head of the Ponyville School board, her filly is school president, and she has substituted a number of times. I have every confidence in her ability as a teacher.” Now, if I can get her to stick to the right curriculum…

The picture sets down with a reverence Twilight feels is undeserved. “This council is well acquainted with Mrs. Rich.” Her smile pulls tighter at the dismissive remark. At least he didn’t state outright that he doesn’t require a Princess’ opinion.

Chancellor Neighsay pulls up the next picture, an azure unicorn. He frowns at Trixie’s relaxed, almost suggestive posture: laying down with her belly exposed, one hoof behind her head while the other invitingly traces a line along satin sheets.

Twilight’s throat constricts; that is certainly not the photo she included, but isn’t sure if Trixie is the culprit with some sort of dissolving paper or if she enlisted Meringue to do her dirty work. She can’t help but roll her eyes when one of the older stallions, a mottled gray missing most of his mane, gives an approving whinny.

The grimace above the black goatee intensifies, yet Chancellor Neighsay slips the picture back without another word.

Twilight sighs in relief, a great weight lifting off her withers. Yet one remains, the heaviest yet. If she thought his frown was bad before, it’s nothing to the withering scowl at her final choice.

“You cannot possibly expect us to accept this.” Chancellor Neighsay brandishes the next picture as though it might bite him.

Twilight gulps. The malevolent grin and dagger-like fangs refused to dull, no matter what position Chrysalis took, even if she lay like Trixie. “I have every-”

“-You already know our position on Princessly opinions.” Chancellor Neighsay leans forward, boring into the subdued alicorn. “Or will you next tell us you’re instating Discord as Vice Headmare?”

Now that’s something Twilight would like to see, much as his scathing tone hurts. “Chief Architect Chrysalis has more hours teaching than everypony in this room put together. She has trained her kind in every position imaginable. She is adaptable, and has agreed to follow my curriculum to the letter.”

Gray hooves steeple under the pointed goatee. For a long moment Chancellor Neighsay merely stares at Twilight, as harsh an interrogation as any of his other questions. “And why,” he asks, cold and slow, “is receiving EEA accreditation so important to you? Are we some box to check, some gilded stamp you wish to see star your project?” He leans back, seemingly resigned. “Surely you could shrug off our suggestions, do things your own way.”

Twilight straightens; this is the point she’s been waiting for! “When I was a young filly,” she starts, hopeful and smiling, gracious in victory, “I attended Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Foals. At the time, and until a few days ago, I had no idea that anypony besides her was involved. But now, I know that I have you all to thank just as much as Princess Celestia for the stellar education I received. I want to pass that same education on to as many ponies, and other creatures, as I can. By the book, but with a little more, how shall I say, claws-on experience than normal.”

That fierce, combative side returns to Chancellor Neighsay in the blink of an eye. Twilight manages to hold her composure - it was another ruse?! - as he gathers quick nods from the other nine. “Very well. As your work is in order, provisional EEA approval is granted. We will need to observe your school up and running before it can be fully accredited.”

Twilight nods, grinning from ear to ear, barely holding in her excitement as he stamps the wreath of wheat onto her curriculum. “Then, please, join us for Friends and Family day; it’ll be the perfect time to see our progress!”

Ch. 96 - Grand Spectrum, Part Three

The soft voice barely travels in the School of Friendship’s atrium. “Hello there. I’m your teacher. I hope you enjoy class.”

“Um,” Pinkie Pie whispers loudly to Doug as Fluttershy flutters from one marble statue to another. “She knows those aren’t the students, right?”

Doug makes little effort to conceal his eye roll. “Yes, Pinkie, I’m pretty sure she knows.” He offers the wavering pegasus an encouraging smile. “She’s getting better!”

Fluttershy’s limbs shake as she glances at the bust she just left. All of a sudden she zips back, bowing contritely. Her words come out all in a rush. “But if you don’t like it, that’s okay, too!”

Doug sighs as Fluttershy limps off. “So close.” He intercepts her before she can slink off too far, reassuring with a hug and squeeze. “You’ll get it!”

“Mm,” Fluttershy coos, snuggling up close.

“Pretty soon,” Pinkie Pie whispers loudly to Fluttershy, “he’s going to catch on that you’re messing up on purpose.”

“I can’t hear you,” Fluttershy whispers back. “I’m too busy getting prepared for all those new students we’re going to have.”

Pinkie Pie’s eyes go wide as she realizes it’s nearly time; she levitates into the air, then disappears with a puff of confetti.

“Eeyup.” Doug turns to the rest of the mares, all gathering for the first day at the School of Friendship. Chrysalis looks out of place, as does Spoiled Rich; both loiter in opposite corners by themselves. Tables line the walls, topped with stacks of folders and signup sheets. Another has refreshments spread out and a large punch bowl. “Y’all ready?”

“As Ah’ll ever be, and Ah’m just here for moral support!” Applejack chuckles as Twilight stops frantically flitting from table to table making sure everything is perfect.

“It’s going to be fine,” Twilight reassures, as much for her fellow teachers as herself. She fondly caresses one of the many decorations before dropping next to Doug and Applejack. “Everything about this school just feels… right.” She embraces Applejack, breathing in the earth pony scent as if it might be the last time. “Even if you are only going to be coming around once or twice a week.”

Rainbow Dash dips down from awkwardly buzzing near the ceiling. “Hey, as long as they don’t associate me with being a professor?” She sticks her hoof out, inviting the others in.

“You used ‘associate’ correctly,” Trixie teases with a friendly snicker. Azure prods cerulean before lavender, gamboge, and tan join. “I think they’ll know you’re an egghead regardless of how long you spend with them.”

“Hey!” Rainbow Dash exclaims as Pinkie Pie pronks over, adding pink, and wheeling a cannon behind her. Fluttershy brings yellow to the growing pile after apologizing to a portrait for leaving. “I write reports all the time! Sometimes that stuff just sinks in!”

“Methinks the mare doth protest too much.” Rarity winks as Rainbow Dash huffs out a dejected sigh. A white hoof joins the others, clad in a simple yet elegant half-dress in the school colors of pink, purple, and teal; it matches Doug’s shirt and shorts, and certainly doesn’t look like she threw the ensemble together at the last minute. A pleated skirt covers her back half, and her normally long curls are tied up to better keep them from the horde of ponies soon to stomp through.

Twilight shifts the focus merely by straightening to her new, slightly taller height, her wings spreading slightly from her sides. “I know it’s not some grand adventure against the forces of evil, but this could be the most important thing we’ve ever done.” She motions, to the surprise of the others, for Spoiled Rich and Chrysalis to join them. “And that includes all of us.”

She has to give credit where credit is due, Spoiled Rich certainly looks grateful for the invitation, yet somehow still gives off the impression that she is doing them a favor by deigning to join their impromptu huddle.

Chrysalis makes no such effort to mask her reaction, that Twilight’s encouragement instead reveals a weakness that might spread if she gets too close. Yet she stalks over anyway, towering over everypony, and scowls rather than stick her hoof in.

“~We’re waiting~” Pinkie Pie trills, beaming up with enough smile for both of them.

Chrysalis glares down, grinning that fangy, malevolent grin, only to find that her ebony hoof has joined the others. She stares at it, unsure how it got there, as it dips down with the other nine.

The bells of the School of Friendship ring for the first time, high and cheerful, sounding their summons as Twilight and the others raise their hooves in celebration. The smirk on her muzzle suggests she orchestrated this timing intentionally and perfectly, everything still going to plan, and they fan out to their respective tables.

“New ponies!!”

The front doors burst open, a kaleidoscope of colors flooding the room. Pinkie Pie furiously pronks around the middle as earth ponies and unicorns wash past her, speaking twice as fast and employing three hooves as hoof-shakers but still coming up short.

Pegasi flock to the ceiling, crowding around Rainbow Dash and Doug at their table of extracurriculars. Fluttershy cowers behind him rather than at her spot one table over, several ponies curious at the conspicuous absence at the Kindness table, but at least the signup sheet is in clear view.

On the other side of the atrium, Applejack’s table of refreshments is a popular stop, all the ponies clustering on one half and occasionally venturing to the punch bowl in the middle. Rarity fills glasses from next to the farmpony while greeting any who come near. Spoiled Rich gets a sizable amount of traffic, if only because it’s the next place to go, or perhaps because she is raffling a dozen signed copies of Triumph’s How to Make Friends and Influence Ponies to anypony that signs up for her classes. That certainly gets ponies excited, or perhaps perturbed, though the boisterous atmosphere keeps any disagreements from escalating.

Trixie tries to draw ponies from Spoiled Rich, though her marvels lose their efficacy with the empty Laughter table between them and a dozen other things to focus on. She still gets a fair number to witness her Generosity magic in action, fireworks and conjured tricks galore. Chrysalis dares anypony to approach her with a sinister smile, hooves steepled beneath her fangs, and a blank sheet that might as well be for signing away your soul.

Twilight Sparkle hovers in the center, gleefully watching everypony mingle. After most of the ponies have streamed through, she spots five creatures entering; they look quite out of place and unsure of what to do.

Well, one of them has an idea: short Grubber’s white and gray quills tickle as he slips under ponies and makes a beeline to the refreshment table. The cerulean griffon heads the opposite direction, toward Rainbow Dash, though he stays on the ground; ponies give the gruff creature a wide berth, made difficult by their sheer numbers. Same with the orange dragon, though she lingers by the entrance with her back to the wall, clawed arms crossed, occasionally glaring outside. Silverstream has no such compunction; the pink hippogriff takes to the air, claws grasping at every little decoration and detail that she hasn’t seen before - and that’s practically everything. A large brown yak stomps forward, mesmerized by Trixie’s spectacle, her long braids threatening to tangle her hooves with every step.

Twilight clears her throat, drawing everycreature’s attention. “Welcome to the School of Friendship!” She grins, slowly descending until she stands on her table, careful to miss all the papers. Heads turn, fireworks pause, and they all give her their full attention. “I’m your headmare, Twilight Sparkle. If you need any assistance signing up for your classes, please, don’t hesitate to ask. We’re all happy to help! Once everycreature is squared away, we’ll show you to your living quarters.”

Doug watches with a bemused expression as, when Twilight finishes her brief speech, a light green stallion bumps into the surly griffon. Gallus, if he remembers right from Grandpa Gruff, and he thinks the elderly griffon is somewhere around here. He’s been complaining up and down Ponyville the last day, much like Prince Rutherford, and he can’t wait for them to go back home. Mostly for Pinkie Pie’s sake; the crazed party planner is even more stressed and wired up than normal, trying to see to their constantly increasing demands.

“Excuse me,” a young-sounding voice comes from below. Doug glances down; the owner of said voice is a small pink pegasus with a curled mane to rival Rarity’s, held together with tidy white bows. At first he thinks it’s a filly, except she has a cutie mark of a red rook. She bubbles out cheerfully, with a touch of hesitation, “Are you a professor here?”

“No,” Doug quips. “I just decided I’d stand around behind this table and hope ponies sign up for any sort of extracurricular activities.”

“Hey!” Gallus objects. “That’s my joke!”

At first Cozy Glow looks confused. “Really?” She then decides to ignore Gallus, because that’s what Doug is doing. At least that green stallion is able to console him and the two slink off, just to run into the irate Grandpa Gruff. “So you… aren’t a professor?”

“Correct,” Doug answers jovially. “Just here to help with extracurriculars. By the guidelines-”

“~The Guidelines~” a seraphic voice heralds, though it turns out to just be Twilight holding up the EEA book with a reverence normally reserved for Princess Celestia raising the sun.

Doug is surprisingly good at ignoring the things going on around him, such as the big yak tumbling over her braids and smashing into a group of ponies, knocking them down like bowling pins complete with *strike* sound effects. Twilight rushes off to help with that.

“-I’m technically an assistant teacher, not a professor.“ He motions to a small insignia stitched into his shirt. “You need a teacher to co-lead, though the student is expected to do the princess’ share of the work as far as scheduling and picking activities. ‘Assistant teacher’ is enough for those purposes. Applejack, Rarity, Rainbow Dash, and myself will be helping out with that. By the way, I’m Doug.”

The pink pegasus nods, appearing to follow along. “Cozy Glow.” Behind her, a statue topples over, bringing with it a curtain and a potted plant, the lot only saved by Pinkie Pie’s quick reflexes.

“So,” Doug continues, motioning to the empty signup sheet, “are there any activities that you’re interested in? You can put your name down, with your interests, and if there are enough ponies then we’ll get you together and see what happens. Or sign up for somepony else’s group. But, if you’re confident, and want to show some leadership, then you can start one on your own.”

“Really?” Her tiny wings buzz excitedly as she grasps the closest quill. She twiddles it nervously, suddenly unsure. “And you think this will be a good way to make friends?”

A humongous yak squeezes through the door, barely able to fit his massive horned helmet. He bellows something, and stomps a bunch, only placated by Pinkie Pie’s intervention. Then the smaller yak steps up, mumbling, before she too begins stomping.

“Yeah!” Doug grins, pushing forward a sheet for her to fill out. “You going to start a chess club? I’d enjoy that!”

A shadow fills the hall as the doorway gets blocked by a single orange pupil. It scans the room, narrowing, great puffs of smoke curling around the walls. The small orange dragon huffs her own cloud of smoke before stepping over, staring off at a different wall while Dragon Lord Torch’s deep voice lectures her.

“I-if you think other ponies would like that.” Cozy Glow sighs, oddly dejected. “Most ponies don’t want to play with me.”

“Hey,” Doug encourages, drawing a hopeful glance. “I think you’ll find the ponies around here a lot more accepting than others, and very willing to try new things.” He motions at her flank. “Is it because your cutie mark is a rook?”

General Seaspray steps in next, looking just as entranced by the many goings-on as Silverstream. Eventually she notices him, zipping down and bowling him over with a huge hug. She bounces back up, him a tad slower, and practically drags him over to meet Twilight and the rest of the ponies.

She shrugs. “Most ponies call it an EP. You know, an earth pony?” Her head hangs down. “They say that’s why I win all the time. I-it’s not fair! Why should I lose just to make them feel better?!”

Twilight Sparkle starts singing, and pretty soon everycreature follows along. Only Doug and Cozy Glow seem exempt from the medley, a fact he seems none too disappointed by.

“Well, I’d play, except-” Doug starts off, apologetic, until Pinkie Pie zips by and deposits a chess set in front of him, fully set out. “...Never mind.” He grins at the small pegasus, shuffles two pawns and holds them out. “Want to play?”

Cozy Glow returns a grin just as cocky, hops onto the table to avoid everything going on behind her, and taps one hand.

Ch. 97 - Grand Spectrum, Part Four

“So I’m white,” Doug says as he places the black pawn in front of Cozy Glow. His is stylized as a young filly, all done in the celestial colors, her yellow mane all in bows with orange highlights and a white coat. His own pawn moves two spaces in front of his queen, d4. “Unless you call that something else, too?”

“Night and day.” Cozy Glow shrugs, beginning to loosen up. She considers for a moment, then pushes her king’s bishop pawn two steps, f5. Its primary color is not quite black; instead, a deep, royal blue, with a bright teal mane accented in purple. “Filly to stallion’s pegasus five.”

“Do you announce all your moves?” Doug asks, wondering if he should be doing the same. Her move isn’t a standard one; it exposes her king, while not putting too much pressure on him. Is she testing him, to see how he responds? “Been a while since I played.”

“Oh, no, sorry. It’s just a habit I have, of thinking aloud to myself.” Cozy Glow smiles innocently; Doug finds it quite disarming. “Plus, it helps you learn the real names!”

“Ah. Thank you.” Now that Doug considers it, all of the pawns - or, fillies - are unique pieces, painted with an incredible attention to detail. Even their coats look like hair, and he half expects the pieces to come alive. Maybe Celestia has a set that’s voice activated, and he can’t imagine it would be terribly difficult to cast some sort of spell to do so. Then again, you’d probably wake up in the middle of the night to find them jousting. “Knight f3.”

“Unicorn,” Cozy Glow corrects, and the piece indeed has a short horn sticking out from her poofy mane. “Filly e6.”

It takes Doug a second to realize the pattern, and he almost slaps himself for not noticing it before. Pawns are fillies, rooks are earth ponies, bishops are pegasi, and knights are unicorns. The day queen is an alicorn, detailed much like Celestia except her mane is a fiery inferno instead of her normal pastels. The stallion looks suspiciously like Prince Blueblood, regal and stately, daring anypony to put him in danger with a contemptuous glare. The night pieces are similar, with a fully barded and helmeted pony as the stallion.

Development continues with Doug bringing out his second unicorn to c3 while Cozy Glow guards her open stallion with unicorn to f6 (Uf6). The game quickly turns aggressive when he pins with Pg5; she stops the pin with Pe7, and Doug trades, Pxf6 followed by night’s Pxf6. He continues the pressure on her stallion side with e4; she takes, fxe4, rather than let him push further.

“Are you always so violent?” Cozy Glow asks curiously as Doug’s unicorn takes the center pawn, Uxe4. She castles to relative safety, 0-0, and gives her earth pony a powerful lane to attack.

“I see a weakness, I exploit it.” Doug continues the attack with Pd3, with potential for attacking the h pawn and allowing his own castle should he need it.

“Is that how you got all your mares?” Cozy Glow grins as she opens up a fianchetto for her alicorn’s bishop, b6. It will be quite dangerous for the two pegasi lined up on the light squares. “Rumor is you’re bucking every professor and assistant teacher here.”

Doug can’t help but laugh at her casual tone bringing up that subject. The ponies have always been far less restrained with such matters, but from such a small pony? It feels like he’s talking to one of his fillies. “No, not quite.” However, she’s almost right; if it wasn’t for Spoiled Rich, that would be the case. He advances, Ue5, while she attacks his guarded pegasus with Pb7.

He glances up as Princess Celestia enters the atrium. He’s been so engrossed in the game he hasn’t noticed that they’ve drawn a bit of a crowd. It seems all of the professors are missing, as well as the foreign students; the assistant teachers are still there, Rainbow Dash only half paying attention to the game but hovering above. The other ponies respectfully wait, curious as to the delay.

He fingers Celestia’s likeness, fascinated, wondering how the artist got her mane so accurate when he’s only seen her ablaze like that when her emotions are running, well, hot. And that’s not a state he knows her to enter often, especially around her ponies. In a sense, though, he’s glad she can get so fired up about those she has sworn to protect, that she cares so deeply about them.

“Touch it move it,” Cozy Glow cheeps, a friendly if pointed reminder, as Celestia waves a fond farewell to Dragon Lord Torch before gracefully striding over to watch.

Doug glances down; apparently he is tracing lines along her back and wings and imagining himself doing the same to the real thing. At least it’s the piece he was going to move anyway, and he sets the alicorn down, Ah5. “It’s amazing the quality of the depictions. Hay, I might need to get a set commissioned after all those mares and fillies of mine.”

Cozy Glow considers for a moment. “Oh, wow! You have eight fillies, too… well, one’s a colt, but that’s okay, colts can be something other than a stallion, too!” She winks at him, then spins her alicorn around to closely study Luna’s foreboding features. “You’ve got two earth ponies, two pegasi, two unicorns, and an alicorn! Gee golly, mister, that’s half a chess set right there! Are you going for the second half, too?”

Doug snorts at her audacity. “Well, why not, right? Maybe Luna can play stallion to Celestia.” He winks at the elder alicorn.

“Perhaps we would trade off depending on whether we are playing as night or day,” Celestia returns diplomatically, eyes sparkling. Her grin turns worryingly lascivious as her tail flicks from side to side. “Though I may end up filling a board all by myself.”

Doug exaggerates a gulp as he turns back to Cozy Glow. Most of the other ponies share Celestia’s grin, happy for their Princess. “Err, I think it’s your move.”

“Right.” Cozy Glow stares at the night alicorn in her hoof, then at the board. Doug is threatening a nasty discovery: his unicorn is currently blocking his pegasus from supporting his alicorn on an attack on her stallion at h7. But if he moves that unicorn - say, to f6, taking her pegasus and checking her - she will be forced to move her stallion or take the piece. And with his other unicorn keeping her stallion from escaping, checkmate would be guaranteed. So she needs to defend that h filly. The best way to do that would be by pushing her g filly one space, to g6.

Except she has her alicorn in her hoof.

The small pink mare lets the alicorn fall back on the board where it was before, d8. Tears glisten the corner of her eyes.

“You can move a different piece if you want,” Doug gently suggests. “It’s just a friendly game.”

Cozy Glow sniffs, hard. “B-but what if it isn’t a friendly game? I lose if I move my alicorn, but I can’t lose, not if I want to make any friends!”

“Wait, you lose?” Rainbow Dash asks from above, dumbfounded.

“Mate in eight,” Cozy Glow spits out, livid. Rainbow Dash just stares at the board, along with most of the other ponies.

“Does that mean we can’t be friends?” Doug asks, soft and nonthreatening.

Cozy Glow sniffs, lower lip quivering. “W-who would want to be friends with a… a loser?”

“Well, one of us was going to lose,” Doug points out, his hands reaching past the board. He grasps her hooves, squeezing gently. “Unless you draw every game, but that’s not life, not at all. So one of us was going to be friends with a loser, and what does that say about somepony if they are friends with losers?”

Blue curls try to shade her scarlet eyes from him. She goes to pull her hooves away, but he holds on tight. She snarls, “It’d be just awful to be friends with a loser.” She glares up at Rainbow Dash, acidically asking, “Just like your mares, right? Exploit them in a moment of weakness?”

Doug sighs as Rainbow Dash’s eyes narrow; he’s glad the pegasus keeps her mouth shut. “That’s not the point, not at all. The point is, you’re framing the whole thing wrong. Just because you lose a game, that doesn’t make you a loser. Giving up, running away, that makes you a loser.” He lets go of her hooves. “Besides. If you only play against ponies worse than you, that you beat all the time, what does that say about you? It doesn’t mean you’re great. It means you’re competing against the wrong crowd. Doing that won’t help you improve. You’re not going to get better doing that, not compared to playing up against worthy opponents. And a worthy opponent is one who has a chance of beating you.”

“But, what if it’s not a game at all?” Cozy Glow angrily tilts her alicorn this way and that, then topples her. “What then?”

When Doug doesn’t respond, Celestia answers sagely. Her quiet words silence the room. “Then you can lose more than just your pride. You can lose more than you thought you were wagering. If you’re lucky, then you will get the chance to amend your mistakes, to fill in your missteps, to promise those that remain that next time you will do better, yet knowing that we are all imperfect, that there will be times that you fail, despite your best efforts and intentions. But that is what Friends are for; to be there when you stumble, to help pick you up when you fall.”

“Oh.” Cozy Glow sighs, her anger gone. She struggles to get a smile on her muzzle. “I-I guess I have a lot to learn about friendship, huh?”

“It’s a good thing you came here, then.” Doug winks, pats the hoof still close to him, then pulls back. “Now, I think it’s your move.”

Cozy Glow straightens, steeling herself with a deep breath. She rights her alicorn, moving it to e7. Not a good move. A losing one, in fact, but the one that gives her the best chance.

The day alicorn darts forward, exchanging itself for the filly on h7. Celestia raises an eyebrow. “You would sacrifice me so brazenly? I’m right here, you know.”

“We all must play our part, right?” Doug replies, winking at her. Celestia returns the wink, then settles back to watch.

The night stallion takes the alicorn, Sxh7, only for a series of checks to slowly force Cozy Glow’s stallion forward. Uxf6+, from both the pegasus and the unicorn, and if she retreats to h8 the game is all over one move later. Instead she advances Sh6. Ueg4+ forces another step forward, Sg5. A filly of all things comes forward now, h4+, forcing Sf4. The stallion is now on the wrong side of the board, troubles far from over. G3+ forces Sf3. The pegasus that has been doing an admirable job cutting off white squares swings back, Pe2+, and now the night stallion is inside the day’s house of fillies. Eh2+, guarded by the unicorn, leads the stallion to the very back rank, Sg1. And then, to seal the deal with checkmate, an alicorn-side castle 0-0-0#.

Cozy Glow thinks for a second, sighs, then topples her stallion with a smile on her muzzle. “Trapped, like all of your mares. Talk about a fatal attraction.” She gallantly offers a hoof to Doug, which he shakes firmly, matching her smile. “Next time,” she vows, “I’m playing as day, and I’m beating you!”

“I’m afraid that day will have to wait,” Doug apologizes as he releases her hoof. “A new challenger approaches!”

“Indeed,” Celestia says, spinning the board around so she gets the day side. Her horn lights, all the pieces slipping around each other to end up at their starting positions, her stallion filly already moved to e4.

Doug wryly notes that the night stallion has shifted to stand upright, and looks an awful lot like him. He mirrors her with e5, curious how the alicorn will attack, probably utilizing her centuries of experience to utterly demolish him.

“Hmm.” Celestia studies the position for a few long seconds, then pushes her stallion forward, Se2.

It’s not a good move. Not at all. Quite possibly the worst move one can play. He glances up.

Celestia has donned a pair of massively oversized sunglasses, completely black and covering the entirety of her eyes. A thin, wispy trail of smoke comes out of one corner of her mouth.

Yup. Completely and utterly demolished. He plays the optimal move to take advantage of such a play: his own stallion to e7.

“I see.” Celestia stares at the board (he assumes, he can’t see through the opaque sunglasses), going deep into the tank. It seems like minutes pass before she moves Sd3.

Such a simple strategy, but there’s only one thing to do against it. Doug moves Sd6, again mirroring her.

Celestia bites at her lip, pondering her next move. She hesitates, then slides her stallion one more step forward, securing the center of the board with Sc4.

Doug sighs, defeated. At least he can stop her from crossing the center with Sc6.

Celestia lights up, exultant; she picks her stallion up and decisively slams it down on c5.

Doug frowns. She just moved her stallion next to his. “I don’t think you can do that.”

“Oh?” Celestia grins widely, the sunglasses still comically perched on her face. “And what’s stopping me?”

Doug waits a beat, then lifts his stallion, and places his likeness on top of the miniature Daybreaker, riding her.

Celestia stares at the stack of pieces, then pulls down her sunglasses to look Doug in the eyes. “That’s an illegal move. You can’t do that! I’m calling a judge. Judge!”

She looks around, as though somepony might hear her appeal, only for Doug to leap over the table and onto her back!

“And what’s stopping me?” He digs his heels into her barrel and she takes off, raucous laughter echoing down the corridors.

Author's Notes:

The game is a variation of Fatal Attraction, played between Edward Lasker and George Alan Thomas in 1912. I hope the chess (and alternate names/notation) comes across without too much confusion.

Ch. 98 - Grand Spectrum, Part Five

Hooves pound as Celestia gallops down carpeted corridors, twists up spiraling staircases and leaps down entire flights of stairs that leave her skittering when she lands. She radiates joy as she runs, giddy with delight, lost in a heady passion that only grows with every passing classroom. At some point she zooms past a bewildered Twilight and friends, the shouted query and Celestia’s short but lively retort lost in the rush.

“Oh, dear me,” pants Celestia, minutes later, as she rounds yet another corner, slowing by one of the many grand windows that open to the verdant gardens cloistered inside. She beats out a peppy tune as she alternates between trots and paces and a front-and-back bucking, all echoing but the once. She dances about, laughing at life and not caring a whit about how it might make her look.

“I just… I just feel so alive!” Celestia guffaws, high and booming, jumping up on two legs and kicking at the air.

Fingers dig into the flowing mane, silken cords that feel absolutely wonderful to grasp and tug and twist, as Doug gamely holds on. The whirling dervish never comes close to throwing him off, even during the gut-raising leaps that take a bit of faith when she doesn’t spread her wings. The fast trots are difficult to sit, though, and he hugs her thick neck all the tighter. He loves the joy she radiates, how she randomly cuts loose and runs, and that she would share such an intimate moment with him.

“I have this joy,” Celestia elates, “deep in my body, my heart, my soul! It begs to come out and shine, and here it is! ~‘Cause there ain’t no clouds, today, today!~” She grins as her pants gradually slow, though a worried expression crosses her marvelous features. She scuffs at the floor. “Oh, but you must think I'm silly. Dancing about like a filly imitating her first butterfly.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Doug reassures, threading deeper into her luxurious coat.

Celestia nickers playfully, unable to hide her smile. “You’re just saying that.”

“And yet it’s true.” Doug plants a kiss to the base of one ear; it flicks, automatically, before she turns and returns the kiss. “Watching you let go, prance about like a buffoon, without a care in the world?”

Celestia gasps, bringing a hoof to the purple diamond studded in her peytral, all traces of her earlier indecision gone. “Did you just call your Princess a buffoon?”

Doug smirks. “So what if I did?” He pokes her. “You are a buffoon.” His poke becomes a tickling scratch. “Or, maybe, you display all the qualities that make a buffoon so endearing.”

Celestia holds her mock indignation for three seconds before bursting into laughter. “Oh, Doug. I thank Harmony for you every day.” She closes her eyes, leans back, and rests her head against his shoulder.

“Oh yeah?” Doug relaxes, finding her firm, muscular neck the perfect spot, and joins her in staring out over the garden overflowing with yellow-orange-red flowers. They match the Celestial cutie mark perfectly, and if they were closer he might pick one for her. Except she’d probably eat it, or maybe not - she does dine exclusively on cake. There are a few trees sporting plump red and yellow apples, some ranging almost to orange; he wonders how much Applejack made the whole garden a shrine to the Princess of the Sun, and how much was Twilight’s doing.

He asks, like he’s asking his crush about her sire, but more so as a joke, “What does Harmony say about me?”

The question gives Celestia pause. A long pause, time for Doug’s smile to fade as she seriously considers. “You know,” she finally answers, as though thinking through the answer brought about some moral quandary, “I don’t think she’s ever said… anything about you.”

“Huh.” Doug tries to think back, that maybe Discord had made some offpaw comment about him and Harmony, but he can’t remember.

“Now that I think about it…” Celestia’s horn flares, bright enough for Doug to wince and briefly shy away. Her eyes shine white as she stares through him and at her belly.

“Something wrong?” Doug doesn’t like how her jaw sets, nor how her glowing eyes narrow. There is a brief flash as the color in her eyes shifts minutely, but the frown doesn’t fade.

“Used the wrong version on instinct, not Shimmer’s modified version. But no, not that I can detect.” The golden light from her horn fades, the corridor returning to normal hues. “Noon is safe, healthy and growing. Why would Harmony never offer any sort of congratulations, or even acknowledgement? It’s like she doesn’t realize she’s there…”

Celestia walks into the colorful garden, her hooves sinking into the loose, recently planted soil. She finds a sunlit patch and stares upward, mouth moving but no sound coming out.

“Hey,” Doug reassures, gently petting her mane. It seems to help her relax. “Is that different from normal? Like, does she give you a lot of advice on other topics?”

“Well,” Celestia explains, still focusing upward, “she has written her law on my heart, on all our hearts. But she rarely directly counsels on most topics; there is not the need. I may not be perfect, and would never claim to be, but I listen to that law, always. It calls me to live in Honesty, Generosity, Loyalty, Kindness, Laughter, and Friendship. It has never steered me wrong.”

“So,” Doug says, half-jesting, half afraid that there might be something to this effect, “there’s no voice coming out and saying, ‘thou shalt not breed with the human?’ or anything like that? No literal writing on the wall?”

“No,” Celestia returns, more serious than he likes. “Not in any spectrum I can detect.”

“Alright, then,” Doug says, nodding along. “So we’re probably safe.”

Celestia takes a deep breath, then lets it all out in one big rush. “Oh, you’re probably right.” She paces back and forth, sticking to the sunlight. “I get so worried about every little thing. Like the time I sent Twilight to rescue my Sister: I was pacing back and forth, inconsolable.” She looks down at the path she is blazing in the dirt and laughs at herself, but it’s lower this time, depressed.

“I’d hardly call that a little thing,” Doug objects.

“Yes, I suppose. But after all I’ve seen… I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do, for my Sister’s sake or Twilight’s. Sending her into the griffon’s nest like that...” Celestia sighs heavily, the joyous atmosphere gone. She offers him a faint smile. “Sorry to ruin the mood.”

“Nah, it just makes me more intrigued about what more is out there.” He shades his eyes as he looks up, through the leafy trees at the clear blue sky and golden sun. “It’s amazing that you have some being that takes such a personal interest in you, one that you’re able to talk to and work with.”

“She certainly sustains and empowers all us ponies.” Celestia’s horn glows, a stylized image of her cutie mark superimposing over the sun. “Though, I must admit, I sometimes lose sight of that, getting caught up in the minutiae of a project or meeting.” The mark shifts, becoming rigid and tarnished, in dire need of a good polishing to restore its former glory.

“If all it took to get you that happy was a little exercise?” Doug smirks, squeezing her withers with his knees. “You must need to get out more, away from those stuffy nobles and what-have-yous at Canterlot. Join me on more morning runs.” His smirk fades as he looks down, his legs slotting snugly between her wings and golden peytral. “Actually, should I even be riding you, what with your pregnancy and all? The doctors keep warning Applejack and Rainbow about pushing themselves.”

Her wing raises to rub reassuringly at his back. “Perhaps they merely know the propensity those two have for pushing their boundaries. But you are no burden, physical or otherwise.” She flexes her knees to demonstrate, seemingly effortlessly.

Oh, right, part earth pony. Somehow, I wouldn’t doubt she could bench the rest of the herd, all together. Actually, Applejack probably could, too. Pinkie Pie… if you told her she’d get a present for it, she’d find a way.

“In fact,” Celestia continues, “a moderate amount of exercise would not be amiss, and I would be glad to join you on as many of your runs as you would wish. Though I would take care not to neglect the remainder of your mares; they may not say anything, not wishing to provoke their Princess, but their resentment would remain.”

“So,” Doug drolls, leaning back to run his hand under her wing and stretch for her belly, “you don’t want to practice for those fourteen other foals you want?” He sighs, again long and melodramatic. “How will you ever amass more descendants than there are stars in the sky?”

Celestia chuckles, high and tinkling. It’s a beautiful sound, one he loves to hear. “Oh, is that all you’re aiming for?” She winks, then bursts upward, nearly sending him tumbling if not for his knees already locked around her withers. She passes through the mark she made in the sky. It shatters into a dozen pieces, no, sixteen, including the original, each a slightly modified version of Celestia’s cutie mark, the kind they might imagine her foals would have as their own.

A few flaps of the wing later and she lands on one of the shingled roofs, looking down over the expansive moat. “It has come to my attention,” she states bombastically, a shade under the Royal Canterlot, “that my mate is a dirty, dirty stallion.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Doug quickly rushes out, squeezing her sides, but to no avail.

Two paces takes her to the edge and she leaps. Doug’s stomach lurches along with her, wings still at her side; he clenches close, tucks his head behind hers, they aren’t going to make it, they’re-

They pierce deep into the water, barely clearing the bank. Celestia glances back, making sure he’s still with her - he gives an unsure, if trusting, squeeze - then paddles toward one of the bubble-shrouded walls. They’re far from the entrance, behind one of the many waterfalls, and she has to practically lay on her side to fit through a slender gap in the stone. He’d rather swim himself, but figures she knows what she’s doing, and a moment later they crest the surface in a damp, poorly lit cave.

“Welcome to the sewers,” Celestia announces as Doug gasps for breath. She taps one of the crystal-covered walls, which goes from glowing faintly to a myriad of multicolored candles lighting their way. It looks surprisingly natural for what must be recent construction - well, as natural as twisting caverns filled with glowing crystal can be.

Doug ducks, more out of habit than from actually hitting his head, and wonders whether Celestia’s horn is in danger of scratching the ceiling. But she navigates the branching corridors with surprising ease, like there is some pattern he isn’t privy to, their path taking them ever deeper. They seem to be going around the castle, now buried under the school, if his sense of direction can be trusted.

“Where did this come from?” Doug asks as they pass pools of stagnant water, silence broken by the occasional drip from a stalactite. One massive room draws his attention, filled with large stones and waterfalls and what might be trees; another has a stone table, chairs, and cabinets. Another might be a janitor’s closet. But Celestia passes these by, sparing them but a glance.

Celestia speaks rhetorically as she ambles down steeper and steeper ravines, “Where did the castle come from?” She doesn’t wait, though both of them know the answer, “As far as I can tell, it was constructed from a combination of Harmony’s magic and Discord’s, when you absorbed our powers.”

Doug’s eyes widen as they come to the final room. It isn’t the largest, or the most well lit, but the large stone tree dominating the inside seems, somehow, special, if but a sapling. There are many places etched into the branches and trunk, circles with sockets for gems, each with a design he finds suspiciously similar to Celestia’s and Luna’s mark, and those of his other mares.

“This,” Celestia explains as she reverently advances, Doug feeling conspicuous on her back, “is a Tree of Harmony.”

“A?” Doug asks, if only for confirmation, too stunned by the grandeur for anything more complex. Thin lines connect every gem socket to the other through a central conduit, and if lit up he imagines a full spectrum of colors to come streaming out, though right now it is only dull stone.

“Correct.” Celestia kneels, though makes no motion for Doug to get off; he remains on her back, almost afraid to touch the ground. “The Pillars of Harmony planted another, at our old castle in the Everfree Forest. It is… it allows a closer connection to Harmony, to the Elements.” She pauses only to take a short breath. “Do you think I am doing the right thing?”

“Well,” Doug starts, confused who or what these ‘pillars’ are, but Celestia presses on.

“For nearly a thousand years I have ruled alone.” The regal head bows, golden crown removed and set by her hooves. “Trusting in Harmony to guide me. I have kept her ways, and so have my ponies. We have lived in Harmony, and have thus kept the Windigos, those spirits of hatred and contempt, at bay. We have banded together, for protection against those who seek to destroy us without cause.”

Doug hazards a guess, “And now we’ve invited those same destroyers to join us?”

Celestia nods, grim. “When my Sister returned, I was worried Harmony would demand some pound of flesh, a reminder if nothing else of the consequence of straying. Yet she welcomed Luna back, with open forelegs, the prodigal daughter returning to a life of Friendship. Was that a consequence of your forgiveness, without condition? Perhaps. It gives me hope that she will be as accepting of these other creatures, those who have harried her ponies for generations, for as long as I can remember.” A grimace crosses her muzzle. “And yet I cannot shake the possibility that she may demand some trial, some assurance of their dedication to her cause. And I cannot fault that.”

Doug matches her grimace. “You’re worried they might corrupt what you have.”

“I would not phrase it so bluntly, but I am afraid Harmony sees in stark terms.” Celestia’s visage matches her stark words, a look Doug finds he does not care for at all. “I am leery of their ability to adopt Equestrian ways, or to successfully uproot the entrenched ethics of their societies, so Harmonic seeds might sprout.”

“To answer your original question,” Doug replies, bringing a note of hope to his voice, “is there another way? This way might be fraught with danger, with potential to fail, or be turned against us. No doubt about that. But what other way is there to convince your neighbors besides offering a hoof in Friendship? A horn at their throat?”

“A poor solution, at best,” Celestia agrees.

“Then I think about it like this.” Doug rubs at her ear, drawing her close. “I believe in you, and in Twilight. And if the two of you agree on something?” He smirks. “What can possibly go wrong?”

“Our descendants could outnumber the stars,” Celestia returns, eyes twinkling.

Ch. 99 - Hotfooted, Part One

April 19th, 1001 Domina Solaria

“Ah’m going out!” Applebaum yells to nopony in particular. It’s hard to hear over the persistent din in the cramped townhouse, the six foals and fillies of her foster herd hard at play or crying or eating or all of the above. She has to weave past stacks of scrap metal, warped wood, and other piles of assorted and unsorted junk in order to make it from her tiny nook to the front door. At least the piles are easy to knock over, and her mark doesn’t spend much time analyzing them to say as much.

The general disarray doesn’t do much to keep the matron of the house from stopping her. Brick Shoes steps out of the kitchen, a heavyset mare built like a brick outhouse. Best not mention that to her, though, but at least she’s nice about it: she’ll ask which side of your face you want slammed into the pavement.

“You’re not going back already, are ya?” Brick Shoes’ ever-present scowl intensifies; her good eye looks Applebaum from ears to hooves, close and sharp enough to get Applebaum to tremble. Not that she’s ever been on the receiving end of her discipline, and has no intention of ever drawing her ire, but the mare’s menacing presence can be enough.

“Yeah,” Applebaum returns, a touch flippant. It’s not that she doesn’t like the matron; the constant noise and lack of privacy grates on her. Not that there was ever a quiet moment at Sweet Apple Acres; hay, selling apples in Ponyville was quieter than this place. “Ah got mah homework done.”

“All’a ‘it?” It creeps Applebaum out how the glass orb where Brick Shoes’ other eye used to be doesn’t really focus on anything. She’d get an eyepatch, that’d be way better. Not like a pirate, though, like a demomare. “Well, if you’re gonna waste more time on those two freeloaders, at least take Totem with ya.”

Applebaum grumbles to herself, not surprised Brick Shoes guessed where she’s going. What can she say; Totem came back and told her the plight of the two secretive mares and their search for some unspecified power that has to do with the kirin and she got interested. She helps after school and on weekends, when Dr. C isn’t having her sift through ancient troves that may or may not crumble in their hooves. Her talent lets her spot those weak spots, and avoid ruining some priceless artifact. It’s not how her talent likes being used - she’d rather blow it all up just to see the pieces fly and hear that satisfying kaboom - but breaking open the crates generally mollifies it enough to not give her too bad a headache.

That doesn’t mean she wants to escort the easily distracted colt, but it’s a small price to pay, especially if she ends up staying late again. “Fine,” she mutters, just loud enough to not draw Brick’s glare.

“Totem!” Brick Shoes bellows. “Over here!”

The young dark red stallion looks up from the piles of brass, copper, and aluminum he’s busily stripping out of broken Cloudcraft appliances. Those old things are built solid, and give her mark a fit any time she walks past; she makes great use of his singular focus to tear them apart, bit by bit, except sometimes he runs out of bad appliances and starts on the good ones. She got in a lot of trouble and had to pay out of her own savings to replace the washer. At least she had put something away, and let her dam wonder where her bits go.

Totem drops what he was doing instantly, scattering bent screws in his haste to get over. “Yeah?”

Brick Shoes flicks her short-cropped mane at Applebaum. “Go with her.”

“Sure.” His gaze shifts, now boring into Applebaum. A smirk she doesn’t particularly care for crosses his muzzle. “What’cha need toted?”

“More boxes.” Applebaum shrugs, not sure what Tempest Shadow and Radiant Hope will want to focus on today. “Maybe we’ll read somethin’. Old texts, maps.”

Totem stares at her. “Sure.”

She knows he doesn’t mean anything by his curt tone; he’d be happy at whatever task she puts him to. She pats at the saddlebags at her sides, making sure her spare bag of bits is there in case they need something, and the notes from the last two times. She pushes open the sturdy wooden door (hinges, duh) and steps out into the well-lit street.

She feels like Canterlot’s underbelly gets a bad rap; she doesn’t mind the oppressive ceilings, painstakingly carved to a height Celestia finds barely tolerable: high enough for a pegasus to fly over a wagon, but little more. Every inch is precious; they need enough of a buffer to never risk collapse, but the less they can waste on air instead of living space the better. Maybe it’s her human heritage - Daddy says they used to be cave dwellers - or maybe it’s her earth pony heritage not minding a bit of hardship. She doesn’t feel that pressing need to see the sky that a pegasus does, or the sun, as a unicorn. It does mean that any apartment that so much as gets a glimpse of sky practically requires blood just as blue.

It’s not a bad place to live, all things considered. Main thoroughfares split into looping lanes and straight cul-de-sacs like the leaves and branches of an ever-expanding tree. Except this tree digs down, like roots, except roots don’t branch out to the same extent. Their house is on the bottom half of the street, one of a long row of townhouses. They’ve talked about buying the upper half, and if Withers hits it big on their next mission they’ll finally have the bits. Or they could move into some of the newer construction, it’s supposed to be nicer and more spacious, but that’s even deeper and her commute is long enough as it is.

“Move along, Totem,” she orders, the colt already distracted by the nail-and-wire sculptures guarding their door and window. You’d think he’d seen enough of the squat, misshapen masses he modeled after his cutie mark. He turns, after adjusting one, and follows her along their flat street to the steep incline of the Screws.

At least, that’s what most ponies call the spiral ramps that take you from Canterlot down into the Ryhpez Depths. Six burrowing tunnels arranged in a circle around the seventh, like mares guarding their stallion. They’d look like screws, if you could unscrew the massive stone and metal structures from the mountain, with a hollow center for the lifts. Most ponies prefer to take the lifts down, less chance of slipping and tumbling down and down and down. It makes for a slow trudge on the way up, and you only stop the lifts on their express ascent if you really need it.

“Move along, Totem,” she calls. She sighs as he tears his focus away from one of the many bins waiting to get picked up. “Wouldn’t ya rather check the boxes at the Retch? They got much better trash there.”

She can see the indecision in his eyes, wracking his body as he struggles to pull away. “But what if this is the one, and I miss it?”

Applebaum nods, slowly, keeping from rolling her eyes. “Yeah, and it’ll be nice if we got to move two twists up. But it ain’t every day ya find a broken piece of one of Celestia’s special mirrors. Now move along!” She growls as she starts trotting again, hoping he gets the message.

It works, his hoofbeats matching hers, but they don’t even get three houses down before it’s only one set again.

Applebaum scowls as she turns. He’s chatting up some older mare - unattached, this time, as far as she knows - and she’s laughing and fluttering her eyelashes far more than Applebaum likes. She calmly walks over, reaches up, and clamps down on his ear. Not hard enough to break the skin, of course, but hard enough to drag him yelping and sputtering away.

“Come along, Totem,” Applebaum chides once they get sufficiently far away. The dour cloud surrounding her darkens as he turns and waves, and she’s sure he gets a wave back.

“Hey, one day you’ll appreciate how thorough I am,” Totem returns as they trot along. At least they make it to the end of the street this time. “You know, my cot’s always open.”

“An’ it’s gonna stay that way,” Applebaum retorts coldly.

She waits for his comeback, only to again miss the sound of his hooves. She lets loose a loud groan as she turns back, yanking him away before he can delve into one of the big dumpsters.

“Jeez, you’re pent up,” Totem comments in a suggestive manner Applebaum does not care for. “Need to blow off some steam?”

The thought of blowing something up does sound appealing, but that can’t be her go-to every time she finds something (or somepony) frustrating. “No,” she grunts out, ignoring his waggling eyebrows. “Now, come along.”

It feels like they stop on every single corner between their townhouse and Screw Kindness. But it’s like that, for whatever reason. Park him somewhere, give him clear and simple instructions? He’d work an eight hour shift doing nothing but, if you managed to have enough for him to do and kept repeating yourself. Makes her wonder why she even bothered to bring him along. Maybe next time she’ll bring a wagon for him to ride on, preferably with a tarp over his head. Or a sack of screws and nails to sort.

Screw Kindness itself goes quicker, if only marginally. Less distractions. Just a quick quarter twist and they’re aimed at Screw Stallion and the utilitarian lift taking them all the way to the bottom of the Canterhorn, colloquially known as The Retch. Like peas they cram into the disc-shaped cage, Applejack about to beat Rainbow Dash in how many they can cram down their throat at once. It gets its name not from the drop, which does on occasion get a pony sick to their stomach, but from how it raises back up and disgorges more than goes down.

The dropping part is easy, just a fleeting weightless feeling and the odd sensation that you’re falling, and falling fast, but you can’t tell because they blocked off all the lights that rush by. Too many ponies panicked at the sight and if one pony panics then everypony panics and with nowhere to go? That’s no good. Then two minutes later you step out and realize you traveled a mile vertically no harder than hopping out of bed. No charge to go down, but up is a couple of bits ‘cause you’re competing with cargo. She’d make the hike if she was alone, living on the farm conditioned her to a certain amount of exercise, but there’s no way she’s doing it with Totem in tow.

There’s even less to look at between the Retch and their remote destination, The Mausoleum, secluded as far back as possible in the depleted Gem Caves. At least there’s a trolley, hoof-pumped, to get you and up to a half-dozen crates there, but it’s a lot of work to move the metal behemoth back and forth. It’s the kind of work Totem is made for, though she doesn’t mind helping out.

“Come along, Totem,” she orders as she hops off. The tunnel tapers off, and one section has been expanded more than chasing a seam of gems would have necessitated. An oddity, were one looking for oddities, and she pushes open a small hatch inset into a larger set of sliding metal doors.

A bit of air rushes out of Research, Inquest, and Procurement’s massive warehouse hidden deep under Mount Canterhorn. Dozens of rows and as many columns disappear into dimness, forming long walls of crates stacked to the ceiling, each filled with relics and heirlooms exhumed over the centuries from all across Equus.

Ch. 100 - Hotfooted, Part Two

“Howdy, Mrs. Dig Root,” Applebaum greets the elderly mare guarding the entrance. She’s not sure who is older, Granny Smith or Wither’s grandmare, but they share gray manes, cantankerous dispositions, and a fondness for reminiscing about ancient times with questionable relevance to the topic at hoof.

“Applebaum,” the blind mare answers with a touch of condescension, turning her double-patched face toward Totem. She smiles, toothless and gaunt. “Och, and ye brought ye wee little coltfriend with ye? It’s about time ye got an accomplice!”

“He’s not my coltfriend,” Applebaum counters with a roll of her eyes. She doesn’t correct the part about him being her accomplice, ‘cause it’s kinda true, and her dam instilled a certain honesty in her. Or being little; she’s only got a slight lead on him height-wise, but he’s quite a bit buffer, despite her working on the farm for years.

“Don’t get sassy with me, greeny,” the mare spits out, her dark red coat a dead ringer for Totem’s. Applebaum, chastened, self-consciously dips her head down to run a hoof through her leaf-green mane and tease out the bright red streak. “Why, when I was yer age, I already had two minions and an underfilly! ‘Course, I’d already lost one of me eyes, getting this-” she motions to her cutie mark of a stick of TNT “-but that didn’t stop us from being the best-blam demo scram this side o’ the ‘Horn!”

Now, that part intrigues Applebaum, but Dig Root quickly derails to talk about the mining operations she conducted while excavating the Mausoleum for Princess Celestia. “Why, there we were, Solaris Blueblood about to blast into our base of operations, that self-righteous sunspot about to get what’s coming to her, when-”

“Hi, Tilly,” Totem greets his great-grandmare, interrupting a good hour of winding through lengthy and often tangential chastising. He winks at Applebaum, earning another roll of her green-apple eyes. “Are Rad and Shad still here?”

Gray-whiskered ears tilt back and forth. “Second row, column K. Way in the back, if my old ears are still any good. They brought bedding. Back in my day, we didn’t need bedding! We slept on pointy rock shards, and we liked it!”

Applebaum huffs at the last part, certainly not because of how Totem straightens up a little, but because Mr. C will twist her ear, literally, if those two stay in here overnight. And then Brick Shoes will do the same, and if she’s lucky to the other ear. “Thanks, Mrs. D. Come along, Totem.” She leaves the elderly mare to talk to herself, Totem dutifully following along.

Her brown coat and his red blend into the crates they pass by, nearly indistinguishable in the dim light. It can brighten, if needed, but they only do that in the parts where they’re working. Totem only needs a little cajoling; he must be looking forward to meeting the two mares again. As they get farther in the dates on the crates continue to roll back, centuries upon centuries of history buried away passing by, like so many rows of apple trees whose bountiful harvest has already been packed away.

They round a corner, bright white light spilling into the corridor. It illuminates Radiant Hope and Tempest Shadow, harsh after just a brief minute in the dim shadows. The ice blue mare holds something pointy and dark, inspecting it closely with a certain, well, lust. At first, Applebaum thinks it’s a dagger, but it’s too round, and Radiant Hope tucks it away in a saddlebag as soon as they hear the two approaching.

“Hi, Applebaum!” The horned unicorn greets chipperly, hiding her stashing motion by pulling out a small air freshener, though not many earth ponies bother trying to make the often stale air smell sweet. “Come to help us out some more? We really appreciate it!”

She better, Applebaum thinks dourly, since we aren’t getting paid. But Ah’d never turn away a pony in need.

“Indeed.” Tempest Shadow looks up from the crate she is sifting through and fixes Totem with disdain, tempered by a grudging acceptance of his assistance. “You seemed more confident in your ability to find information on these ‘kirin’ than you have proven.”

Totem slicks his hoof through his mane. “What can I say? These things take time. If you need help relaxing, get some more energy in that tempest of yours?”

“The Storm King tried storm-based pickup lines.” Sparks sizzle from the broken horn at his waggling eyebrows. “I suggest you find new material.”

“I thought you buc-” Radiant Hope starts before a menacing glare from Tempest Shadow shuts her mouth, if only for a second. “So, I mean, it worked.”

Tempest Shadow scowls. “It didn’t work, he-”

“Ladies, ladies,” Totem reassures, a suave clip in his trot as he hops onto the crate Tempest Shadow is digging through. He casually lays his hoof on her withers, earning a withering glare of his own. “If you need to blow off some steam, then-”

Tempest Shadow pushes the dark red colt off the crate before he can get any further, sending him tumbling into the opposite wall of crates.

Applebaum forces a smile. “Let’s just focus on what we’re looking for, and get these crates open. Right, Totem?” She glances over at the colt; he’s already distracted by reading the dates stamped on the sides. “Wow, fifty years after Celestia took over? You’re…” She stops, frowning. “Way off. Didn’t Gusty the Great do all her adventuring, like, before Celestia?”

“From what little we could find of her adventuring,” Radiant Hope reluctantly shares, scratching at the solid floors. “We found even less of what happened when she retired. It’s almost like she disappeared!”

“Or somepony tried to erase her from existence,” Tempest Shadow adds conspiratorially, going back to pulling holey, though remarkably well preserved, blankets, woven with looping patterns nothing like the geometric designs of Rarity. “Now, who would go and do a thing like that?”

“Did ya ask Celestia?” Applebaum asks, stumped.

Tempest Shadow snorts. “The very pony who modifies history in her favor?”

“Hey!” Applebaum exclaims. She’d say something else in defense of the Princess, except for the loud crash from the opposite aisle. “Totem!”

“What?” Totem asks, surrounded by pieces of the busted crate and genuinely confused. “I thought we were opening the crates?”

“Yes,” Applebaum answers, holding a hoof to her forehead. It doesn’t help much; she’s going to get in so much trouble. She’s also mad she’s not the one who got to break it open. She stomps over to more closely inspect the damage. “But we have to put everythin’ back, too!”

Totem stares at her. “Then, shouldn’t ya have said that?”

Applebaum closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and slowly lets it out. She really wants to blow something. Up! She means blow something up! “Totem, Ah want ya to go through the crates Ah open for ya an’ check to see if it relates to Gusty the Great or the kirin.” She’d add more, but that might confuse him, and she desperately wants this to be as straight-forward as possible.

“Aww,” he coos. He pulls a large stone slab from the crate, checks every side, notes the Old Ponish writing, and gingerly sets it down. “If you wanted to work at my side so badly, all you had to do is ask. There’s an opening for third mare.”

“Behind, what, your right and left front hooves?” Applebaum snorts at the absurdity, and only glances at Radiant Hope and Tempest Shadow because she wants to see if they go back to checking crates. They do, as they should.

“If you’re jealous,” Totem returns with a sly smile as he orients the large rock remaining in the crate to inspect the crude artwork, none of it relevant, “then you might need to put in more effort.”

“Urgh,” Applebaum grunts as she pulls out a crate. She locates the nails instantly, thanks to her mark, and a quick pry later and the lid is off. “D’ya really haf’ta hit on every mare that gets close to ya?”

“I just go with what comes to me.” He hops down, the contents of the damaged crate catalogued and repackaged, and sidles next to Applebaum. “‘Sides, what’s the point of life if you never push your luck? You gonna sit around on the farm all your life?”

“No,” Applebaum spits out, here in Canterlot precisely because she found farm life unlivable, what with her deviant mark. She sighs as he nearly wanders off. “Come along, Totem. Next crate.”

They go back and forth for hours, crate after dusty crate. Most are haphazardly packed, the contents of expeditions that unearthed an entire airship’s worth of material, and what ends up here isn’t valuable enough to present in a museum but still has some historical significance.

“Come along, Totem,” Applebaum repeats, voice hoarse, tired of repeating the same thing over and over. She forces open the next crate, same as all the others. It’s got old wooden boards inside, possibly the support structure that once held up something important. She moves to the next, crowbar practically stuck to her hoof she hasn’t set it down in so long, when a motion to her side surprises her. It’s Totem, dragging something to the other two mares.

“I saw this,” Totem announces, as chipper and debonair as ever; which is to say Radiant Hope giggles to herself and Tempest Shadow returns a cold scowl. “And couldn’t help but think of you.”

He kneels, presenting the object: a round, wooden shield, bigger than he is, chipped and worn from what must be years of use. Claw marks bite into the surface, though not enough to obscure the painted image. Two mares circle the center, thin and stylized. The tan mare, shod with a woody brown, has a two-pronged horn that twists like fire and a mane of green clouds. The black mare - shod with wispy red flames, mane an inferno of blue and red that hides a white horn - is otherwise identical, down to the length of their limbs and the shape of their head and horn.

“Because there are two mares?” Tempest Shadow deadpans, immediately going back to her own crate.

Radiant Hope takes a moment longer to inspect it. “No,” she states, lighting up. Applebaum rushes over when it becomes evident this isn’t another of Totem’s attempts to gain the mares’ affections. “Look closer! The horn, do you know of any unicorn whose horn branches?”

“No!” Applebaum exclaims, gasping. “It’s a kirin! It has to be!” Her hooves tap a rapid beat against the floor, giddy with excitement at their first potential lead in days. “This is it! Well done, Totem!” She plants a quick kiss on the red colt’s cheek before going back to prancing about. Radiant Hope matches her beat for beat, long shadows dancing along the floor.

Tempest Shadow frowns, hops down, and ignores how the colt turns the opposite cheek to her. “Where was this found?”

Applebaum turns back, cheeks flushing as she realizes what she did; she hopes he doesn’t read too much into it, but knowing him... She surreptitiously checks the crate for more material, finding more depictions of the kirin and a mothballed journal. “The… Peaks of Peril?” Her brow scrunches up, skimming through the faded pages, but not finding anything else except brief and piecemeal descriptions of the land, all a thousand years out of date. “Where the hay is that?”

“Southwest of the MacIntosh Hills,” Totem answers, sneaking up next to her with a self-assured smile, “on the west coast, by the San Palomino Desert.” Applebaum raises an eyebrow and he shrugs, nonchalant. “What? You tell me to read maps, I read maps.”

“Arimaspi territory,” Tempest Shadow elaborates. She scowls. “Treacherous land, liable to give way at the first misstep, and the inhabitants are just as bloodthirsty and vile. It is no place for inexperienced colts.”

“Hey!” Totem objects. “We could totally come along!”

“Yeah!” Applebaum adds. “We spent all this time helpin’ ya search, and ya just want to leave?”

“I am not saying that to persuade you to join us,” Tempest Shadow objects derisively. “It is a dangerous territory. Equestria does not have any sort of treaty with them, and they pay lip service at best to the Council’s demands, when they bother returning the messenger sent to them.” She exchanges a quick glance with Radiant Hope, who seems unsure. “And the sooner we leave, the better.”

“So you’re just going to rush out there,” Totem demands, half-rhetorical and half actually curious. “Sail through the Bay of Squealing Eels, climb the Bluffs of Moderate Psychosis, ford the Creeks of Muteness, and plunge through the Swamps of Annoying Biting Insects of Unusual Size?”

“The A. B. I. O. U. S.’es are especially vicious,” Applebaum adds, giving a confident nod. They’re mentioned in the journal, and don’t sound very nice at all.

Tempest Shadow gauges Totem again, finding him slightly less unpalatable than before. “You know this how?”

“Me da tells me stories.” A thin smirk crosses his muzzle. “And now I’ll finally get to go on an adventure! Besides, how are you gonna get there? Steal your way onto a boat?”

“She might slee-” Radiant Hope quips before Tempest Shadow smacks her, the broken-horned unicorn’s reprisals becoming less and less effective at silencing her. “Her way on board.”

“We got enough bits for train tickets and renting a boat,” Totem supplies, glancing at Applebaum for confirmation. She frowns, but nods, reluctant.

“Very well,” Tempest Shadow agrees, her reservation easily apparent. “We leave tonight.” She focuses on Applebaum, the brown filly quailing under her gaze. “And you had best keep your coltfriend under control.”

“He’s not my coltfriend,” Applebaum objects under her breath, scowling when Totem grins at her.

Ch. 101 - Combustibles, Part One

April 20th, 1001 Domina Solaria

“Hey. Wake up.”

Applebaum grunts as the metal shoe digs into her ribcage, hard and unyielding and forceful enough to flop her from her stomach to her back if she doesn’t comply. She winces against the pain and the too-bright sun and Tempest Shadow’s gruff tone. Yet it could be harsher, she knows, and she’s never been the easiest to wake, and as soon as she shows signs of stirring the shoe retracts.

“Didn’t get enough sleep on the train?” Totem quips, his barrel pressing against hers. It’s casual, she tells herself, nothing more.

They boarded the red-eye from Canterlot to Los Pegasus, the southernmost major city on the west coast. Las Pegasus, the aerial portion of the vibrant city, was visible long before the grounded half, full of bright lights and - according to her dam - lots of exciting (but not too exciting!) activities for both great-grandmares and foals alike. Massive explosions of colorful fireworks, magically molded to the A-list performers and talents of Grin City, lit the sky as far as she could see. If she didn’t have a prior engagement she would have gladly spent her entire weekend there! Sadly, she only got to spend the better half of the night craning her stiffening neck higher and higher, cutie mark pulsing with excitement, while the others slept huddled against the cold desert air.

She left one letter with Dig Root for Mr. C and Withers, and another for her dam. She hopes Applejack doesn’t worry, and hesitated about including how dangerous the journey might be. She ended up writing just the basics. Dig Root gave her two sticks of her Cutie Special, geared for excavating, and a hearty slap on the flank about finally getting a crew together. Applebaum carefully packed the sticks of dynamite deep in her saddlebags, protesting to deaf ears that she wasn’t getting a crew together.

“Ugh.” She begrudgingly opens one eye. Totem stares out over the ship’s wrought iron railing, watching the shoreline roll by, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

After getting to Los Pegasus, the only transport anywhere near their price range was hitching a ride aboard a gargantuan cargo hauler bound for the Storm Realm far to the southwest. It looks repurposed, and smells it, too, fresh coats of teal paint accenting the otherwise harsh steel exterior and poorly masking the stench of sulphur. ‘Shorebreaker’, stenciled along the side in bold, sharp letters, and she has little doubt the shore would yield before the steel and teal.

Speaking of shore, the lightly wooded beach recedes as their transport crests the Bay Peninsula and leaves the Bay Bay for the greater South Luna Ocean. The Palomino desert lies to their northeast, and they’re bringing enough supplies in case they lose their rented boat and need to make the trek. Better safe than sorry, though she would be sorely missing the bits to replace the boat, and might even need to write a letter home. Their destination is due east, the highest of the craggy red rocks that stretch above the nearby jungle.

Two bulky Storm Creatures, leather tunics covering white manes and dark coats, heft their dingy boat as easily as she might lift a crate of apple. They secure it to a winch as Tempest Shadow and Radiant Hope watch, the latter fascinated while the former has her ever-present look of boredom that you hope remains that way.

“Come along, Totem,” Applebaum orders as she gets to her hooves, her saddlebags bursting with packaged food and bottled water. Simple fare, but she has spices, and it doesn’t need a preservation unit or anything fancy. Their packs get tossed in first, then the red youngster; Totem offers her a hoof that she takes, even if he holds on a little too long. Radiant Hope gingerly steps in, nearly losing her balance, but she had been unsteady even since they boarded the hauler. Tempest Shadow, meanwhile, eschews any help and leaps aboard like she had been born on the seas.

She looks back on the massive transport she is about to leave, and shudders at the thought of how many troops might have crammed inside. Rows upon rows of burly hedgehogs, clad in heavy plate with their tower shields and long spears, jammed like apples in a crate. A thousand? Two thousand of the creatures that stand taller than her sire, taller than Princess Celestia? She’s glad they aren’t at war, or even antagonistic, and only got friendly smiles and waves from their seemingly gruff exteriors. Their accents are hard to make out, though.

Strong paws lower their craft down the side of the board, and as soon as they touch down Totem slams the oars into the water, spraying brine over her coat while rowing a fast clip away from the hauler. Applebaum feels a bit queasy, the rocking of their sixteen footer in the choppy wake far worse than aboard the six hundred foot cruiser. Radiant Hope looks far worse, her light purple coat taking on an unhealthy green that only improves when they are clear of the heavy waves. At least she can swim, if worst comes to worst, but she isn’t sure about the unicorn.

“So,” Applebaum excitedly asks over the dip of Totem’s steady strokes and the drip-drip-drip as he readies for the next, “what do ya think we’ll find once we get there?”

Radiant Hope nervously plays at her bright red life preserver, torn between sitting on the edge of the boat to better watch the waves and laying as low and centered as she can, nestled among their packs. “Hopefully they’re friendly,” she gets out between gulps.

“If they’re there at all,” Tempest Shadow callously remarks, standing at the front of the boat and making sure Totem takes them in the right direction. “Perhaps a marauding griffon tribe took them out to the last, or an Arimaspi scouting party.”

Applebaum frowns at the possibility. “That’s be so… wrong,” she states, tears threatening to surface at just the thought.

“Nah,” Totem objects, loud enough for Tempest Shadow to hear. “They’re tougher than that. At least, according to that journal we found. I mean, what if they send those nasty Nirik against whoever comes after them?”

“Wreathing your body in flames is hardly a sound defense,” Tempest Shadow counters.

“You’re telling me,” Totem asks incredulously, “a griffon would charge a pony ablaze with nothing but a wooden spear, their claws, and their beaks?” He scoffs. “I sure wouldn’t.”

“A foal doubts the courage of a griffon,” Tempest Shadow contends, “or their desperation.”

“Not their recklessness,” Totem argues. “Just bait them into a charge and give ‘em the ‘ole one-two!”

“And find yourself disemboweled for putting your belly at risk,” Tempest Shadow retorts, drawing a sickened look from Radiant Hope. “If they want a quick kill. Perhaps they are more interested in an exhilarating hunt and start with a light scratch. Or, should they feel particularly cruel, a deep gash along your tendon, so they can watch you try to hobble away, crippled, before taking their kill.”

A chill goes down Applebaum’s spine as she remembers her dam arguing with Apple Bloom about going through the fire swamp and the many dangers that lie within. She didn’t bring fireproof boots, though they would be nice if she had to buck a Nirik or two. Or a lion-tamer’s chair to hold a griffon at bay. Or even a whip. What would they do if they have to defend themselves, or worse, subdue one of the Kirin?

If the discussion bothers Totem, he doesn’t show it. “And if you’re so good, what would you do?”

“Against a griffon?” Tempest Shadow pulls out an apple-sized chunk of rock. She glances at Applebaum. “Your dam taught you to buck, yes?” The small brown mare gives a reluctant nod, though her accuracy and power are nowhere near Applejack’s. “Aim for their head.” She acknowledges Totem’s earlier remark, “Best when they’re charging at you, using their momentum against them. If they successfully dodge, you’ve stymied their assault. And if you do connect and stun them? Stomp until you feel their skull shatter.”

“But it won’t come to that,” Radiant Hope begs, a pleading look in her eyes.

Applebaum certainly shares the sentiment, but dungeoneering with Mr. C and the others taught her a bit about the dangers they might face and the necessity of dealing with those dangers aggressively and utterly. No sense in knocking a monster out and leaving it, just to have it flank you later on.

Tempest Shadow sighs. “Nopony can force you to defend yourself. But that will not stop them from taking what they wish.” She motions to the trees along the rapidly approaching shore. “This is no longer Equestria. Nopony will come to our rescue.”

She looks like she wants to say more, but stops, ears twitching.

“What’s-” Radiant Hope asks before immediately being shushed.

“Quiet.” Tempest Shadow’s low, fast voice gets all of them to perk up. Totem keeps rowing, if cautiously, his pace slowing as they run aground. “There.”

Only a slight tilt of the broken horn gives any indication of where. Sandy beach stretches for twenty feet or so until turning into solid underbrush, a steep incline broken by the occasional piece of driftwood or seaweed and little else. The trees aren’t as foreboding as those of the Everfree Forest, but no less tangled, thick vines draping over criss-crossing branches.

At first, Applebaum can barely make out shadows. Her pulse quickens; the other ponies lock in place, only the slight bob of the waves pushing them up and down. She wishes she got her stick of dynamite, or at least had one close to hoof.

“We can still back out,” Radiant Hope suggests, though she doesn’t sound hopeful at all.

Tempest Shadow looks left, then right. The rest of the beach is just as overgrown as this section, and whatever is hiding in the brush could just as easily follow them wherever they go. She turns to look Radiant Hope in the eyes. “Can you patch me up during a fight?”

“It doesn’t work that quickly,” Radiant Hope responds, shuddering. “But, we need to get to the Peaks…” She hems and haws, clearly uncomfortable with the prospect. “Yes, I can.”

“Good. Be ready to catch whatever they throw.” Tempest Shadow flicks her mane left, then right, as she straps on one of her packs. “Applebaum, stay to my left. Totem, my right. If anything happens, do your best to distract them. Whatever you can think of: shout, scream, kick sand in their face. Don’t be too aggressive.”

“Sure,” Totem answers, eager to get ashore.

“Err,” Applebaum stammers, still trying to find what set the broken-horned unicorn off. “Ah guess.”

Tempest Shadow takes a deep, fortifying breath. “Hope, how many heartbeats?”

Radiant Hope’s horn flares a bright blue, her head sweeping a wide arc from left to right. “Too many insects, more than a thousand. Two dozen or so squirrel-sized. Five pony sized, none larger.”

Tempest Shadow grimaces. “Not counting us?”

“Of course not.” Radiant Hope, not normally that flippant, or that nervous, points a shaking hoof at five different spots. “There, there, there, there, and there.”

“Jeez,” Applebaum mutters. “Ah bet nopony liked playing hide-and-go-seek with you.”

Totem snorts, quickly quelled by a glare from Tempest Shadow. He rolls his withers, then hops out of the boat and drags it onto the beach. Tempest Shadow leaps off and takes an imperious step forward, holding her head high as if to look down on the trees ahead. Radiant Hope slinks behind, warily watching for any danger.

Then, Applebaum spots it: a crest of bright red and orange and brown among the green foliage! It’s a billowing mane, just like the picture on the shield! Glassy eyes stare forward, unblinking, as though any motion might give away her presence. And there, a wavy brown horn! They’ve done it! They’ve found the Kirin! “That’s-”

“Silence.” Tempest Shadow’s order is harsher than before, even at just a whisper.

Applebaum grumbles to herself, but stays silent; she does not care for the tone, not at all.

Sparks shower as the battle-ready unicorn bellows, “Show yourself! All five of you!”

At first, the Kirin’s head just shifts back and forth, as if checking with her comrades. Then she rises, but more than she should, sending a jolt of horror deep into Applebaum’s core.

From inside the wide open mouth of the Kirin’s severed head stares a single yellow eye.

Ch. 102 - Combustibles, Part Two

Applebaum freezes at the grisly sight. An overwhelming sense of fear overtakes her, locking her limbs in place, a lack of places to flee keeping her from bolting. Her eyes slowly widen as her head pulls away, as though the few inches might make any sort of difference, until if she went any further she’d be standing upright, if not toppled over entirely. Only Tempest Shadow stands firm, unwavering, perhaps the only other thing preventing Applebaum and the rest from fleeing - after all, they wouldn’t abandon their friend.

The five creatures, who must be the Arimaspi, effortlessly glide out of the jungle canopy, parting the twisting and gnarled branches as easily as she dives into the family pond. They stand like her sire, two-legged, but hunched over and with a loping stride that makes heavy use of their long gray arms. Their thick limbs, corded with wiry muscle, look strong enough to rip leg from barrel all on their own; their short spears, decorated with small, brightly colored feathers, and wicked bone knives seem entirely superfluous. Loose-fitting leather garments serve more as decoration than armor, adorned with tufts of fur of all colors, feathers too wide to be from a pegasus, and an eclectic mix of tusks, fangs, and horns. The two on the edge wield compound bows, arrows already nocked but not yet drawn, their single yellow eyes warily watching for any sort of aggressive movement.

One wears a brightly colored kirin’s head as a sort of macabre cowl, the leader. The Arimaspi’s ram-like horns curl out from behind the gruesome visage. If meant to intimidate, it certainly does its job. Yet her menacing advance is checked by an unflinching display from Tempest Shadow, a hard scowl and calm scrutiny at those who dare approach her.

At first, nothing happens. The Arimaspi seem content to stand in the ponies’ way, inviting them to make the first move. The second on the right idly tosses her knife in the air, feathers whirling as the sharp bone twists before being caught by a three-clawed hand. One of the archers scratches at his side with an iron-tipped arrowhead before going back to a ready position, the action then mirrored by the spear-wielder on the left.

Tempest Shadow seems perfectly willing to continue their stalemate as well, daring the Arimaspi to attempt anything. She projects an aura of confidence that she can take whatever they hurl at her. And her plan is working, allowing Radiant Hope, Applebaum, and Totem to overcome their initial terror at the unexpected sight and rally at her flanks, a V-shaped formation with both youngsters on the left.

A grim scenario plays out in Applebaum’s mind: the leader of the Arimaspi rends the silence with some blood-curdling cry, charging forward as the two archers release their arrows. A burst of magic from Radiant Hope would block one, while Tempest’s twisting dodge and seamless kick sends a rock hurtling toward the leader, smashing in her skull and sending her toppling to the ground with a spray of sand and an equally violent spray of blood. As soon as Tempest recovers her balance she charges the knife-wielder, suffering a gash along her flank in exchange for a sweeping trip and follow-up buck that buries the Arimaspi into the beach. Totem finishes off the leader, the blood coating his forelegs up to his knees impossible to make out from his coat, but the camouflage wouldn’t help when the spear-wielder sticks her iron point into his belly. All because Applebaum is rooted to the spot, unable to act as the violence plays out around her.

What if she rushes forward? She parries the first blow, but the followup slash cuts her from sternum to flank. Radiant Hope hurries to her side, but it’s too late, her healing magic cut off when a barbed arrow sprouts from her neck.

Applebaum scowls, but not at the Arimaspi. None of these scenarios would work, not that she has any real faith in her ability to accurately predict her own actions, much less of the carrion-clad creatures in front of her. No, she would need to do something else, and fast, should they have any hope of escaping this confrontation unscathed.

She breaks formation, drawing a slight twist of the head from Tempest Shadow as her support withdraws back to the boat. Sparks spray from the broken horn, covering the retreat and keeping the Arimaspi from getting any ideas, as the young mare leaps into the beached boat.

“Applebaum,” Tempest Shadow commands in a harsh, fast whisper. She grits her teeth as Applebaum ignores her to rummage around. “What are you doing?!”

Applebaum comes back just as quickly, her thick saddlebags hanging loosely from her sides, and surprises everycreature by stepping past Tempest Shadow, her shaking limbs having trouble staying steady, and not just because of the sand.

“Howdy, y’all,” Applebaum greets, barely able to keep the tremor from her high-pitched voice. She glances up at the sky, the sun peeking out from behind the jungle canopy, and hopes her smile isn’t too forced. “Sure is a nice day for a meal between new friends, ain’t it?”

The archer on the left lifts her bow, pulls the arrow all the way back, and aims directly at Applebaum’s heart.

The young brown mare notes this with a mote of disappointment. “Now, y’all could do that, but Ah promise ya it won’t taste as good if ya don’t get the spices right.”

A tense second passes before the leader raises a hand. The archer grunts unhappily but complies, lowering her bow and gradually releasing the tension in the string. They watch, growing more curious, as Applebaum pulls out a thin frying pan, flint, and one of the sacks of flour.

“Now,” Applebaum explains as she pulls out an empty bag, adding pinches of various spices she briefly exposes before slipping them back in her saddlebags, “Ah personally prefer a bit’of’a kick to mah meals, but ya can’t make anythin’ so hot that Tempest here won’t touch it.”

It takes Tempest Shadow a moment to catch on. “Diplomacy through cooking,” the fearless unicorn quips to herself, though everycreature can hear. “The earth pony way. How can we serve?” She steps forward, then crouches down next to Applebaum, tensed and ready to leap in an instant, but complying.

The Arimaspi leader snorts, a low pitched, guttural laugh, a challenge that seems to say ‘anything you can eat, so can I’. They advance as a unit, cautiously, their spears and knives lowering but ready to raise at a moment’s notice.

“Now, wait a ‘tic,” Applebaum reprimands, if lightly, taking a page from her dam’s book. The Arimaspi draw short with a mix of furious bleats and confusion. She motions to the ingredients in front of her with a pair of hooves busy molding flour, oil, baking powder, and water into small balls. “We’re guests on your land, Ah get that, but surely there’s somethin’ ya can bring to the table.” At their guarded gaze she continues, “The driftwood out here ain’t good, not unless y’all wanna get salted somethin’ fierce, and mah cookin’ ain’t so bad that y’all need’ta ta choke it down.”

It takes a moment for the leader to process the last line, the others perplexed. With a few grunts and gestures she directs three of them back to the jungle, remaining with the taller but thinner male archer. She stabs her spear into the sand, rummages around behind her back and pulls out a thick slab of red meat wrapped in a thin brown cloth. She holds it out as she strides forward, a challenge of her own, and expertly tosses it directly into one of Applebaum’s pan. It lands with a wet slap, splattering droplets of blood.

“S-still fresh,” Applebaum states, shuddering at the bits that got on her coat. It takes effort to not brush them off. “That’s good. Very good! Totem, Ah’m gonna need two more pans, if we got’em.”

“R-really?” Radiant Hope asks, gulping as she joins at Tempest Shadow’s side, eyeing the meat with a suspicion she wouldn’t cast on the Arimaspi. Totem hops back to the boat, quickly returning with one more large pan, all they have.

“Sure!” Applebaum’s enthusiasm gets the others to relax, if minutely. “Mah sire cooked up this rhoa, he called it, R. H. O. A. Not many ponies cared for it, ‘cept Rainbow Dash and me. Showed me how, called it ‘cajun style’.” She grins at the Arimaspi leader. “Ah’ll need strips, thin as ya can cut ‘em.”

The leader takes the offered meat and sets aside the bone knife as long as Applebaum’s foreleg for a smaller one made of steel that looks no less sharp. She doesn’t watch herself cut, instead focusing on Applebaum with half an eye and the other half on Tempest Shadow. Soon enough and her three compatriots return bearing bundles of small sticks, a few larger branches, and kindling.

Applebaum takes a brief break from flattening her tortilla shells to light the fires, a gleam in her eye as she does so. She sets the meat in one, and soon a happy sizzling fills the air, a far more satisfying sound than the groans of injured creatures. The tortillas she places in the other, swishing both pans around as a bit of a show. After a minute she adds a slew of vegetables to the meat, much to the consternation and objection to all involved, though she gamely ignores their protests. After all, it wouldn’t do to make one meal for themselves and one for the Arimaspi; that would just highlight that they are different.

A morbid part of her mind realizes that Tempest Shadow could slink around and slit the captivated creature’s throats. She puts that thought out as fast as she can, focusing on flipping the pans and making sure everything is well seasoned with her earlier mix of spices.

On the side, Radiant Hope approaches the female archer. “Do they hurt?” she asks when the archer scratches at her side. A frown and uncomprehending stare is all the response she gets. Hope’s horn lights around the Arimaspi’s arm, drawing an arrow and accompanying scowl, but a raise of a hoof is enough to set her at ease. The light blue aura pulls away with a small wriggling speck of black.

The Arimaspi snatches the flea from Hope’s aura with deft claws and pops it in her mouth, exaggerating a show of crunching it down.

“Oh, I would hate to deprive you of your… snack,” Hope states, not disturbed by the display. “But, surely you would feel better if they weren’t biting you at all?”

The frown intensifies, worrying Radiant Hope for a moment, until she gets a curious cock of the head. The guttural voice rings out, drawing the attention of the others. “How?”

Radiant Hope motions to one of the twisted, multicolored strands of mane wrapped around the archer’s upper arm. “May I?” At her nod a blue aura surrounds the band, then fades. “There! That will keep lice, fleas, ticks, and mites off of you for about a month.”

The other Arimaspi stare at the archer, warily watching for any sign. Then, she starts wriggling, backing far away from the table. It seems her coarse hair is alive, or blowing in a wind that doesn’t affect anypony else, until small specks of black leap from outstretched limbs in a mad attempt to flee.

All of a sudden Radiant Hope finds herself mobbed by three Arimaspi, each holding out bands of their own. Overwhelmed, she backs up, ears folding back fearfully, until the leader clears her throat. The three, disappointed and angry, pull away.

“Not pony trick?” the leader asks, her unblinking stare particularly unnerving.

“No trick,” Radiant Hope reassures, slowly regaining her courage. “Magic. I’m a healer. I can find what ails you: injury, infection, or infestation, and then alleviate it. Heal it.”

For a long time she just stares. “You come with us. Back to village.”

“Sorry,” Radiant Hope apologizes, gentle yet firm. “But we’re looking for another.” She doesn’t look up at the leader’s cowl. “The Kirin.”

“Kirin.” The leader mulls over this before removing the largest four griffon feathers from her jacket. “I am-” she lets out a set of guttural clicks “-Gurh T’k F’t. Means Taker of Trophies. You take these.” She makes a motion of tucking them in a mane. “Keep visible. No-” more clicks “-bother you.”

“Thank you,” Radiant Hope says, graciously accepting the feather. Her horn lights, imbuing a dozen of the bands the Arimaspi hold out to her.

“Soup’s on, everypony!” Applebaum calls out of habit, there being a dearth of soup. She divides up the sizzling strips of what tastes like chicken (and is probably griffon) so everypony gets a small portion of meat and three times as much vegetables, while the reverse is true for the Arimaspi. They don’t have plates, or utensils, but make do with the tortillas, everycreature happily digging in.

Ch. 103 - Rolling Flames, Part One

“And we’re sure this is the right way?” Applebaum asks, scratching at the feather tucked into her mane. In front of them stand the aptly named Cliffs of Moderate Psychosis, which have a plethora of hoofholds until you get about halfway up the dizzying heights, and then peter out, or crumble under the pressure, leaving an intrepid climber stranded or worse. She stares up at several columns of stone, each taller than the last, that sprout from a pool of clear water like a series of cups for some drinking game of Trixie’s. It seems like the only way up the solid red wall for earthbound creatures such as they. “Seems a mite… difficult.”

“Their directions haven’t steered us wrong yet,” Totem answers from the edge of the water, watching a squirrel wrestle with a pretty blue-and-white petaled flower.

Applebaum huffs. “You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you like to get told where to go.” She squats down next to him, washing off the dirt caked onto her hooves. “Come on, wash up.”

Totem dutifully complies. “Hey, if you want to wander around the jungle?” He theatrically looks to the left, then to the right, overgrown trees and vines and underbrush in every direction, and no easier way up the cliff. “Be my guest.”

“And you’d rather ask the squirrels for help,” Applebaum accuses, sticking her tongue out. Her voice raises to a mocking falsetto, “Hey, mister squirrel! Do you know how to get to the Kirin?”

The squirrel chitters madly, tugging at the flower, but can’t uproot it.

“Yeah, that’s what Ah thought.” Applebaum flicks water off her right hoof before hopping to her pack and getting out a few haybars and a bottle. “Hey! Stop helpin’ the squirrel and come get a bite to eat!”

Totem spits the newly cut flower out for the squirrel with an apologetic smile, then scampers over to Applebaum. “You’re just jealous that Arimaspi gal thought I was a hunk.”

“A hunk of meat,” Applebaum retorts, hoofing over a haybar. She ignores how he flexes his muscular foreleg, totally not interested. “Ah bet she was tryin’ to decide if you’d sizzle up better’n that griffon.”

“Mm, makes you wish you got a piece of these flanks!” Totem shakes his tail over Applebaum’s head while she tries to take a bite.

She growls, drops her haybar and tackles him while his back is turned. “Do not!”

“Do too,” he retorts, spinning around and locking limbs.

“You two bicker worse than an old married couple,” Radiant Hope remarks, but there’s mirth behind her smile while she watches the two tumble around.

“Do not,” Applebaum pouts, her lip sticking out. She twists, dropping him to the ground and pinning him on his back.

“We kind of do,” Totem admits, struggling for a moment before giving up and wiggling his eyebrows.

Applebaum sinks a little lower, glaring at Totem. “Do not,” she tries again, but it’s weaker, more sullen. He leans forward to steal a kiss, and she shoves him away to sulkily munch on her haybar, glaring at him.

“Besides,” Totem continues, acting like he won the wrestling match - and, in a sense, he did. “There’s plenty of these flanks to go around.”

“Sorry,” Radiant Hope apologizes, a glimmer of a twinkle in her eye. “That meal didn’t sit well. I’m not sure I could take any part of a stallion right now.”

Applebaum growls at Totem, who looks all too eager to object, only for Tempest Shadow to interrupt.

“Make up later,” the imperious unicorn orders, her own meal complete. She judges the distance from the edge of the water to the first column of stone, which is nearly twice as tall as a pony. She charges and leaps upward, intentionally landing with her barrel against the edge so as to not skitter off the opposite side. She climbs up easily, digs two shallow depressions to brace her back hooves, and turns to the youngsters. “Can you levitate them?”

“Hey, Ah can make it on mah own,” Applebaum contends defiantly. She stretches out her hind legs, the jump nearly four times her height. She finds a mound of dirt slightly higher than the rest, lines herself off, and springs upward. She barely hooks her forelegs over the edge, having to scramble to keep from slipping, and manages to drag herself up without assistance. “See?”

Radiant Hope, though, grimaces. She’s not as athletic as the others, though by no means out of shape. “I might need help.”

Tempest Shadow grumbles, looking up at the rising columns of stone they would need to climb. Slipping on the first one would merely deposit you into the shallow pool, but as they get higher and higher failure becomes much less of an option. “Applebaum, get my legs.” She walks forward and lays down, front hanging off the edge and offering her hooves as Applebaum sits on her outstretched back legs. “Grab hold.”

Radiant Hope frets for a moment before gulping, then jumps forward. It’s awkward with the saddlebags at her side, but that’s true for all of them, and she relies almost entirely on Tempest Shadow hauling her up and climbing on the prone unicorn. A flick of a hoof and Totem follows, the circular rock crowded with all four.

Tempest Shadow gauges their progress with an unhappy sigh. “Applebaum, I’ll boost you up.” When the earth pony opens her mouth to protest she quells it with a firm shake of the head. “Quiet. Be glad I am not throwing you. After you get up, we’ll pass our saddlebags up to you. Then Totem and I will boost Radiant Hope, then Totem, then myself.”

“Sure,” Totem answers, not mattering to him.

Applebaum huffs. “Fine.” She looks up at the red stone. There are plenty of hoofholds, it wouldn’t be that bad. “Ah’ve got some rope packed, too.”

“Good idea,” Tempest Shadow grudgingly admits. She moves to the edge. There is a several foot gap between columns, and the next one is taller than she can leap to by herself. They would need the rope, or a boost, or superb climbing skills in order to progress. “Too bad we don’t have any pegasi.”

Or a unicorn who can levitate her own mass. “Yeah.” Applebaum gulps as she moves to position. Once she gets lifted up, it would be as easy to keep going as risk coming back. She focuses on the next ledge, and where her hooves would end up. “Rarity, my dahm, has a climbing wall in her shop, though she’s got it covered up most of the time.” She gamely keeps her smile from faltering. “Ah wish Ah practiced on it a bit more.”

It’s an odd sensation, being lifted up. It reminds her of when her sire would play Pegasus!, tossing her high up into the air and then catching her before she hit the ground. It’s exhilarating, or at least it was when she was a yearling, and he would mix it up by carrying her around above his head or laying on the ground and letting her ride on his feet as he pumps his legs up and down. Now that she weighs almost as much as him? He can still pick her up and toss her, but just to the second story of a barn, and even that’s a struggle.

The first attempt has plenty of power, nearly too much, and Applebaum easily crests the top. She sighs in relief; the rest of the rocks leading up are much more closely spaced and not nearly as tall. She catches the saddlebags that get tossed to her, pulls the rope out, and lowers it so Radiant Hope has something to grab onto. There isn’t a place to secure the rope, or herself for that matter, so she braces as best she can. Radiant Hope isn’t all that heavy, Totem downright easy, and the three of them chip together to assist Tempest Shadow.

The rest of the climb passes without incident, as though only the first set of steps is necessary to keep out the most easily deterred. After all, anycreature that could leap once, or fly, could just as easily leap again, though the heights do get a bit dizzying.

They get a brief respite before the next stage, the swamp. The canopy is sparser than the jungle below, with far less undergrowth, just the trunks of trees and occasional sapling. Once again, Tempest Shadow’s keen eye spots a cloud of buzzing insects, sure to assault them as soon as they leave the sweltering rocks for cooler shade.

“Ah don’t suppose that insect repellent works on those,” Applebaum asks Radiant Hope, dreading tackling the next section. She sighs when the purple unicorn shakes her head, nearly a pant with her tongue lolling out. “Well, can ya at least tell where they are? Maybe we can avoid ‘em like that.”

“I can try,” Radiant Hope states, concentrating. “It’s mostly to detect parasites inside a pony, how badly they’re infested. The range isn’t all that good.” She points out a section, not terribly confident. “That way seems to have less.”

“Still,” Applebaum encourages, “it’s impressive ya can do it at all!” She takes a swig of her water before donning her saddlebags again. The swamp reminds her of the Canterlot apartment, never a quiet moment, an ever-present drone in her perked-up ears. It feels weird, trampling through muddy water up to their knees when the ocean is a hundred feet below them.

Applebaum jolts at the first nip to her flank. “Ow!” It stings, a lot, enough to make her think Totem bit her. She turns, glaring, to find the colt lagging behind, staring to the side and muttering to himself. Her tail flicks back and forth, trying to sweep away the tiny black dots, but he seems impervious to the annoying bites. “Come on, Totem!”

“Twenty more,” Totem states as he hurries to her side. “To that tree, then we turn to the sun. That’ll get us to the vines.”

“Again with the directions?” Applebaum scowls. “Then let’s go!” She picks up the pace, mud sloshing back and forth and working its way into her coat. “Ah’m sick an’ tired of these A. B. I. O. U. S.’s!”

“Those aren’t the A. B. I. O. U. S.’s,” Totem counters, pointedly staring forward as he comes to a stop. “They aren’t big enough. I don’t think they exist.”

Applebaum rolls her eyes, exasperatedly looking anywhere but the frustrating colt. “Then why…”

She trails off as she spots something lumbering through the swamp. Insectile, not equine like a changeling but nearly as large. At least six armored legs churn the mud, the back half snaking up like a scorpion’s tail. It cleans off vicious mandibles (the kind she doesn’t want to be bit by) with long scythe-like forelegs that remind her of a praying mantis, able to close on themselves to grasp their prey while it devours them. Black, pupil-less eyes turn this way and that, and she has a chilling suspicion that it spots them.

“N-no, you’re right,” Applebaum forces out, picking up her pace even more. She doesn’t care how much it might tire her out; she can see the edge of the swamp and the start of the next wall through the sparse trees. “These little guys? Definitely not the A. B. I. O. U. S.’s. Still, we should go. Come along, Totem.”

He dutifully follows after, Tempest Shadow now far in the lead and impatiently waiting for them to catch up.

“Careful,” Radiant Hope warns as they pass her, breathing hard. “There’s lots of roots hidden in the mud, you wouldn’t want to trip.”

“Ah’m not worried ‘bout roots,” Applebaum states, glancing back. The creature has disappeared, and she has no idea where it could have hidden itself. The biters are back in full force, even with them hurrying along. She waves a foreleg to try to swat them away, buy herself a moment of respite, only to eat her words along with a mouthful of swamp water when she slips on the slick mud.

Her hoof twists under her, pain lancing through her leg, her tortured scream briefly silencing the everpresent buzz. She can’t put any weight on the leg or she might collapse, her muzzle dipping under the water when her good foreleg can’t find purchase on the slick ground.

She sputters, trying to clear her mouth of the foul liquid, flailing around wildly. She can’t breathe, she can’t lift herself up, she’s going to drown in a foot of water, she’s-

A strong leg grabs her around the barrel, hauling her out of the water. She takes a gasping breath, sounds difficult to make out with the water still in her ears. “Hey, I got you,” Totem reassures, holding her up. She swings her bad foreleg around his barrel, hugging as tight as she can.

“What happened?” Radiant Hope demands as she catches up. She moves to inspect the leg draped over Totem’s back. “Where does it hurt?”

“Ah think Ah sprained it,” Applebaum explains, the pain lessening now that she’s not putting weight on it. “But we can’t stop, we gotta keep goin’!”

“I’ll need to immobilize it,” Radiant Hope says, going to her saddlebags. Her horn flares, soothing the worst of the pain. “And wash it off, just to make sure.”

“Not yet,” Tempest Shadow cuts in. She has taken a defensive position at their rear, closely watching something. “It’s not too far to go. But we need to move.”

Applebaum looks back, spotting the mantis from before. The upper half is dropped back and submerged, emotionless black eyes barely visible. Ripples spread as it glides closer. “Hurry!” she screams, pushing as hard as she can with her hind legs.

“Where?” Totem asks, moving enough to keep her upright but otherwise not cooperating.

“There!” Applebaum points to what looks like a dry clearing, more red walls looming ahead, seemingly endless. “Go!”

“Don’t worry,” Totem says as he matches her stride, grinning like there’s nothing chasing them and he’s just happy to hold onto her. “I’m not going to leave you behind!”

“Back!” Tempest Shadow shouts, slamming her hooves into the water. The spray doesn’t seem to deter the incoming mantis at all, but it does draw its attention. She backs up, along with Radiant Hope, easily keeping pace with Totem and Applebaum as they hobble along. She reaches past a set of four obsidian orbs to grab a steel telescoping pole, a necessity for any adventurer, and extends it to the full ten feet. “Stay back!”

Applebaum can’t watch, she has to focus on her hooves and make sure she doesn’t slip again. But she can hear the fighting, the slap of steel against water and chitin and wood, the screech of fury and rage and an echoing summons that rattles her teeth against her skull.

And then, like flipping on a light, they’re out of the swamp and onto a brief stretch of dry ground. It slopes upward for a short bit before going to a hundred foot vertical wall. Her cutie mark throws a fit when she tries to inspect the red stone, telling her that nothing is structurally sound, that any hoofhold is as likely to collapse as to hold her weight.

“Move!” Tempest Shadow bellows as she catches up, not even giving them a second to catch their breath. Radiant Hope struggles after, looking ready to puke, and Applebaum nearly tells her to, if just to give the insects something else to focus on. And there are insects, plural, two healthy while one hobbles forward on three broken legs. Despite all the distractions, Tempest Shadow looks up the solid wall, scanning for any way to get over. “There!”

Applebaum grimaces at the vines Tempest Shadow indicates. They don’t look any better than the wall itself, and she has no idea if she can climb a rope like that, much less with her injured foreleg. She locks in place, not sure what to do, until she again finds herself lifted up and practically punted high up and into the wall.

There would be no landing for her, not without breaking something, so she does the best she can: grab onto the nearest vine with both forelegs, ignores the pain threatening to rip her head apart, and jams her hind hooves into whatever crevasse she can find until it stops crumbling and holds her weight. Finally it holds, but for how long? And, more importantly, how long until those things catch her?

“Come on, Totem!” she bellows, knowing the others wouldn’t be able to get the colt moving just by telling him where to go. “Climb!” She doesn’t trust herself to look down, instead up the remaining seventy feet. Treacherous, the lot of it, and any misstep could easily prove fatal.

She hears the others begin climbing, cursing as bits and pieces of stone clatter on the rocky ground below. They come closer, but so too does the sound of claws stabbing into the rock, their pursuers undaunted.

Then she spots, up at the top, a pair of curly manes, one red and one tan. The Kirin! They’re saved!

Except they’re just standing there, staring out over the edge. Their looks of sheer indifference startle her. That somepony could have so little regard for another equine’s life to watch, uncaring, as they get ripped to shreds, and not lift a hoof or light a horn to help?

Ch. 104 - Rolling Flames, Part Two

Totem reaches Applebaum first, then stops. For once, she finds his inclination to focus solely on the mare physically closest to him endearing: his eyes roam over her taut muscles with concern instead of a baser intent. She can see him puzzling out how to best assist her in reaching the top.

An insurmountable challenge in her current state.

“Hey,” Applebaum starts, quiet and hesitant. Her muscles cry in agony from the strain of holding on so tight, and she feels - knows - that if she lets go with one hoof to relax for just a moment the rest might give out entirely. She turns to face the shadowed wall, resting her face against the cold and pebbly surface. “If we don’t make it, if Ah don’t make it, then-”

She stops when a hoof firmly presses against her muzzle. “Hey, none of that.” Totem gently turns her head and strokes along her chin, taking full advantage of her inability to swat his hoof away. She finds she really doesn’t mind so much. “We’re going to get you patched up, and then we’ll be well on our way.”

“But…” Applebaum trails off, glancing down. She gulps; the easily pierced walls are perfect for the stabbing appendages of the manti trailing them, their dozen long legs steadily skittering along. Radiant Hope has nearly made it to them, taking awkward hops to get higher, but at least her vine seems sturdy enough. Tempest Shadow guards the rear, somehow switching between climbing and taking swipes with the long pole in her mouth, or swapping to a hoof for better reach. “They’re gonna kill us!”

“No, they’re not gonna kill us,” Totem counters in a bright, wistful voice. He sounds like they’re relaxing at the top of the library in Canterlot, staring at passing clouds and guessing what shape the pegasi are modeling that day. “You’re gonna get young planted in your belly!” The green of Applebaum’s eyes shrink to pinpricks, the remainder filled with dread. “You’ll watch as they grow inside you, and eventually force their way out and feed on you!”

“Totem!” Applebaum shrieks, wishing she could cover her ears against the horrors, or her eyes against the grisly sight. “Ah don’t wanna hear what’s gonna happen if they get me!”

“Get you?” Totem sounds genuinely confused. “That’s what’s gonna happen if we get out! I mean, eventually.” He pauses for a brief moment, hesitantly asking, “Unless you... don’t want foals?”

“That’s!-” Applebaum’s forehead goes to her bad hoof, leaving her scrabbling against the stone, Totem helping hold her up. She thunks her head against the hard surface when rubbing hurts too much, wishing the pain was a better distraction. “That’s not how you describe such a beautiful event!”

“Oh yeah?” Totem snorts, his muzzle a thin smirk, like he’s glad he’s distracting her. “How would you describe it?”

Applebaum doesn’t want to answer him, or listen to whatever else he says. Instead, she watches Tempest Shadow engage the highest climber. Maybe if the unicorn loses she’ll drop off and aim her head at the ground. Then they can do whatever they want with her, but she won’t feel it.

But every strike rings true, Tempest true to her namesake, a whirling storm that parries the seeking thrusts and caves in the weaker joints when they stab at her exposed hindlegs. The monster pushes higher, vicious mandibles attempting to close the distance, only for a solid strike to land between two of its many eyes. There is a loud squishing sound, and a spurt of hemolymph, and the whole creature goes limp and tumbles down, crumpling into a pathetic heap in the shadows at the base of the cliff.

Their other two pursuers, given the choice between a similar fate or taking an easy meal, even if it is their brethren, choose the latter. Sharp hisses guard their retreat, twice as fast going down, until they are replaced by the crunch of crushing chitin.

“That was awesome!” Applebaum exclaims; she’s instinctively called to join the other two in thunking her hooves against the stone in celebration, but she can’t let go. She even misses Totem’s hoof supporting her back, much as she might be angry at him.

Bends and dents prevent Tempest Shadow from fully retracting her rod. She sighs with frustration, but rather than release her weapon she keeps it grasped in her muzzle, freeing her hooves to climb. She regards Applebaum coldly, ignoring their heaping praise. “Do you still have your rope?”

“Y-yeah.” She flicks her head at her saddlebags, afraid of the fervor still in Tempest’s eyes. Totem rummages through them to pull out the coil and passes it behind her. She watches with amazement as Tempest Shadow fearlessly lets go with both forelegs, balancing on precarious hoofholds, to wind two loops around her withers. Several tight knots later and the broken-horned unicorn begins climbing, the other ends secured to the pole.

They go slow, painfully so. Totem and Radiant Hope stay at her sides, helping find hoofholds and clearing away areas she indicates as treacherous. Tempest Shadow takes the brunt of her weight every time she needs to climb a step higher, the pole firmly resting on her forelegs, gritting her teeth when they are free. And then, when she has a bit of slack, takes the pole back in her muzzle and swaps between vines and shallow depressions to take another short step.

Applebaum looks upward and locates the two kirin still staring impassively. She wonders what would have happened if Tempest Shadow hadn’t beaten back the mantis. Would they have helped? They aren’t dropping heavy rocks on them, so they can’t be too hostile. Right? Or are they merely waiting for the fiery Niriks to show up, and they’re keeping an eye on them in the meantime? They give no indications of their intentions, aside from waiting, so she goes back to focusing on the climb.

It takes the better part of half an hour before they are near the top, a distance Applebaum might have traveled in two minutes in a pine tree. It took fifteen times as much grit, too, and by the end her limbs are screaming with every lift and set and probing test, then wedging each hoof into crevices she only trusts because her cutie mark doesn’t warn her otherwise. And then Tempest Shadow scurries up the last crest and bodily hauls the exhausted earth pony the last few feet with far less pomp than she feels deserving of such a grueling endeavor.

The sun greets her with a gentle caress where it peeks through thick, leafy branches, warming the soft earth and bright green grass. She can’t help but embrace the ground, wishing it was the blades of Sweet Apple Acres, her dam ‘like as not to come cantering ‘round with a bottle of sweet cider after a hard day’s work.

“I have heard earth ponies were tough.” Every word from Tempest Shadow’s mouth sounds forced, the scowl on her face not quite able to pull to a smile. “You did well.” She nods once before turning toward the kirin. “Good job,” she says, almost as an afterthought, the kirin disappearing into the brush.

“Thanks,” Applebaum mutters, cautious to the guarded unicorn’s praise. Tempest doesn’t seem happy that they got there, only that she did, and can move on to the next stage in her plan, whatever that is.

But she doesn’t have the energy to complain. She splays out, whimpering, cradling her injured foreleg. All the wrong muscles hurt, places she didn’t even know she had muscles to hurt. She’s grateful Radiant Hope is with them; there’s no chance the injury might permanently lame her, as it might if she was forced to take days to limp out of the jungle on her own.

She watches Totem drag the struggling unicorn up the last bit. He barely seems to notice her weight, while Tempest Shadow cursed under her breath the whole time. Radiant Hope looks like Applebaum feels, stained with brown mud and red dust until her purple coat looks like a mix of hers and Totem’s. Their motley dam, in a sense, and she ignores her own plight to inspect Applebaum with a mother’s look of concern. It sets the young mare at ease, having somepony watch over her, much like her own dam would.

Radiant Hope wearily coughs out a bit of dust as she carefully touches the injured foreleg. “Let me know if this hurts,” she commands, if tenderly, back in the persona of a doctor. She works her way from elbow to hock, horn alight as she concentrates. She watches like it’s one of their foal’s games, trying to build a bridge with as few as pieces as possible, so every block has to balance as far as it can go and any erroneous movement or lapse of attentiveness might trigger a collapse.

“Urgh,” Applebaum complains right as Radiant Hope gets to the fetlock. It doesn’t hurt as bad as it did before. “Right there.”

“Okay, good. Just a sprain.” Radiant Hope gives Applebaum a beaming smile, the young mare almost able to see her pulling out a lollipop like she’s been a good foal for Doctor Sharps. “Try to stay off of it; in fact, we should bandage it up tight against your barrel. If you want.”

The unstated issue being that, if they need to run, an injured foreleg is better than none at all. “Can ya tie it in a slipknot?”

“Of course.” Radiant Hope guides the leg until it rests against Applebaum’s barrel, then runs the rope around and around until she’s trussed up like a Hearth’s Warming present. Once she has it in position and secure her horn flares, a pink glow surrounding and seeming to seep into Applebaum’s leg. “Sorry,” she explains almost as a distraction, pins and needles pricking into every side of her fetlock. “I’m not as good with knots as Tempest. She practically lived on an airship.”

“Ah ain’t complainin’,” Applebaum says as she tests the knot. It’ll work, and if she needs she can slip her leg out and hobble along a bit better than with three legs. “Totem, come along.” She winces at the prospect of guiding him forward instead of calling him to her. She offers him a hopeful smile. “Help me along?”

“Sure,” Totem returns, and his utter willingness to do what she says grates on her. Or maybe it’s the bland way he agrees to anything and everything.

“The spell will help speed along your body’s natural healing,” Radiant Hope explains as they hobble after Tempest Shadow. It certainly feels like it’s knitting itself back together. “There are short term solutions, but they tend to not work as well long term. Too high a chance of healing wrong. It’s good we got to it so quickly. Well, quick enough." She chances a glance backward, scowling at the cliff. “Too late, and your body starts making adjustments as best it can, which may not be how you want it to heal.”

“Is that why you couldn't heal Tempest’s horn?” Applebaum asks, almost at a whisper. She isn’t sure how sensitive the unicorn is about the subject. They have to pick their way through thick underbrush, and she worries Tempest might overhear.

The corners of Radiant Hope’s muzzle pull to a grimace. “Some parts don’t regrow. Teeth are one of the few exceptions. Horns…”

“Ah get it,” Applebaum says, contrite. Then they push a few thick branches aside, stopping next to a stock-still Tempest Shadow.

In front of them lies a deserted village. Houses are built into and around the trees, much like Fluttershy’s hovel. Market stalls overflow with colorful fruits, the same kinds as the trees. A fountain in the middle bubbles with clear water while quiet streams crisscross the open center. Yet there is no trace of the two kirin they were following, or anypony at all!

At first, the experience is unnerving. It takes her a moment to figure out why: she can’t hear a thing. Not a single buzzing bug, the whistle of wind through the branches, or the gurgle of water splashing into the pool. Even the pulse of blood in her ears seems muffled. Silence reigns, its dominance total and complete.

She can’t even scream when a cold, hard edge presses against her throat.

Ch. 105 - Fireborn, Part One

For a long time, Applebaum doesn’t even trust herself to breathe. A large machete rests on one of the tables filled with fruit, the honed edge gleaming in the bright sun where it isn’t stabbing into a large, ripe coconut. White milk drips down, spilling onto the table, such is the haste with which they left. She suspects a similar knife is at her throat. Dark shapes dart back and forth behind the trees, slinking ever closer. But out of curiosity or just to get a better angle to attack? It can’t be the latter, they already have them at their mercy.

They must see that they aren’t a threat! No matter what they gleaned from Tempest Shadow’s performance on the wall. Or the way their fearless leader glares daggers at everything and nothing.

Applebaum limps forward, drawing a fearful choke from the colt supporting her. “Hello?” she chances, breaking the silence. She gulps as the sharp blade presses against her, a few brown hairs fluttering to the grass. Still, she continues, smiling despite the danger. “We don’t mean y’all no harm. Promise!”

After a moment the pressure on her neck lessens, and she can sense relief from her companions. So far so good!

“I-it’d be a mite easier to talk to y’all if we could see each other.” Applebaum’s smile widens as her gaze sweeps from one shadowy tree to another. “Ya know. Face to face?”

At first, nothing happens. Then out of a bush steps a large Kirin, just shy of Princess Celestia’s impressive height. Her stern, expressionless face tilts downward, not quite daring them to make a move but watching in case they do. Around her wavy, two-pronged crimson horn rests a short golden crown of sorts, spiky like it’s made of leaves, and it doesn’t shine like Celestia’s. Her mane spreads out like a lion’s, a mass of wavy curls of sea green and rainy blue nearly as large as the young mare. Her coat is a light tan, with a lighter pattern along her back and down the front of her face.

Following their presumed leader’s example a dozen Kirin step out from behind trees or inside bushes. A dark brown and forest green mare even drops from above their heads, camouflaged in the branches; her light green aura collects the four machetes from their necks and whisks them back to the stalls where they were missing. They are a motley bunch, similar in size and shape to an assortment of ponies, though their shades have far more earth tones: tan, green, brown, with muted reds and blues that remind her of stone.

“Thank ya kindly for showin’ yourselves,” Applebaum continues, feeling emboldened. She hobbles away from Totem, much to the other’s muted consternation. “Ah’m Applebaum, and this here’s Tempest Shadow, Radiant Hope, and Totem.”

She waits a beat, but the Kirin surrounding them barely move a muscle, much less introduce themselves.

“It’s great to meet y’all,” she tries, growing anxious at their lack of response. “We were hopin’ to learn more ‘bout Gusty the Great!”

Despite her enthusiasm, all she receives are blank stares.

Now Applebaum is getting worried. “Y’all know who Gusty the Great was, right?”

She looks to her compatriots for help, and nearly misses the tall Kirin’s guarded nod.

“That’s great!” she exclaims. She bounds forward, then immediately thinks better of it, skidding to a stop on one leg and nearly toppling over. After all, if they were that threatened by the four of them just walking into the village, how much worse would it be if it looked like she might attack their leader? Except they don’t react to that, either! They just impassively watch, as if their faces were carved from the trees around them.

“Err…” Applebaum glances from one Kirin to another. “Can ya tell us ‘bout her? Ya know, Gusty the Great?”

She’s not sure what she did wrong, or possibly right, but something triggers the Kirin to break away. They silently turn, each to their own task, completely ignoring the four ponies struck as speechless as they are.

At least, for a moment. Applebaum turns to the others, and they huddle together. A few of the Kirin are close enough to hear, though they hardly seem interested. “W-was it somethin’ Ah said?”

“They obviously know something,” Tempest Shadow muses, ignoring Applebaum’s self-doubt. “The only question is where it is kept. Ideas?”

“Maybe it’s written down,” Radiant Hope suggests, thinking back to the Crystal Empire’s extensive library.

“We can’t hardly rummage through their stuff,” Applebaum counters.

“Watch me,” Tempest Shadow mutters darkly.

It’s enough to make Applebaum’s ears lay flat. “A-At least ask first?” She motions to the nondescript houses. “Ah don’t see no sign proclaimin’ ‘Books here!’ like we got back in Ponyville.”

Applebaum can see it weighing on Tempest Shadow’s mind, whether she and presumably Totem are worth the extra effort.

“Please?” Applebaum tries, hoping her smile is enough.

Apparently it is. “You there!” Tempest Shadow bellows at the closest Kirin, who regards her without fear, or any other emotion for that matter. She stomps closer, not that you could tell by the Kirin’s expression. “We are looking for information.”

“I’d better keep an eye on her,” Radiant Hope says as the red-maned Kirin just stares back at Tempest Shadow. She hurries over to her fellow unicorn’s side, her soothing words doing little to loosen the Kirin’s tongue or quell Tempest’s.

“Come along, Totem,” Applebaum orders, hobbling ahead, not needing to use him in the flat, clear area of the village. He dutifully follows after. “We’ll catch more flies with honey than with salt.”

“We’d catch more with offal,” Totem remarks, drawing a roll of the eyes from Applebaum.

“Well, sure, but then we’d smell feces instead of flowers.” The retort draws a curious glance, or at least what seems like a curious glance, from the short-lashed Kirin they walk up to, male from the looks of it. “Excuse me, mister?”

He stares at her.

“Ah don’t suppose ya can tell us ‘bout your history?” Applebaum gives her best grin.

It doesn’t seem to have much of an effect. Then, surprising them, he shakes his head.

“Oh.” Applebaum sighs, disappointed. “Wait. Are you not supposed to tell us ‘bout your history? You know, you’re not allowed?”

Another long stare, then a shake of the head.

Applebaum’s face scrunches up. “Wait. You aren’t allowed, or you’re not not allowed?”

He stares at her.

“Your questions suck,” Totem adds.

“Shut it,” Applebaum mutters back. This draws a cock of the head from the Kirin. “Okay, no double negatives. Do you know somepony, or, somekirin who can tell us about your history?”

He nods.

“Great! Where is she?” Applebaum looks around, half expecting a Kirin to leap out of a bush and clobber them over the head with a book Twilight-style. Instead, all she sees is Tempest Shadow going from Kirin to Kirin, getting more and more exasperated as none of them respond the way she wants.

Also, he stares at her.

“Still sucking,” Totem contends.

“Urgh.” Applebaum rubs at her head. “Can you lead me to her? Or him? Or at least point the way?”

The Kirin points at an overgrown trail that leads into the underbrush and away from the village, opposite where they came in.

“Thanks, mister!” Applebaum hobbles away, Totem in trail. “See?” she says to him. “My questions don’t suck.”

“I’ll reserve conceding that point until we find this mysterious Kirin,” Totem replies, much to Applebaum’s annoyance.

They follow the path, which winds up to a taller portion of the wall they scaled. It doesn’t take long, although they aren’t going particularly fast, before they break out to a magnificent view. Hills roll off into the horizon in every direction, mountains further back - one of which has the gigantic skull at the top, the Arimaspi capital. A river cuts through the forest and hills, winding back and forth, aimed practically at them. It’s breathtaking, to say the least.

“Hello,” Totem greets, and Applebaum is more than grateful somepony is watching their back when she is distracted by something else. She’s less happy how he slicks his mane back.

The tan Kirin standing on their path looks like many of the others, with a two-pronged red horn and a curly auburn mane echoed along her tail. Green accents her hooves, back, and forehead, and she shares their blank stare out of golden eyes. Behind her and up the path must be her home, a single room building made of brick and wood with a thatched roof. There’s a cooking pit out front, a little garden, and on top is a little watchtower with a telescope of all things.

“Hi, there!” Applebaum says as she steps next to Totem. “Ah don’t suppose you’re the Kirin who can tell us about your history?” Because what kind of creature who has a telescope isn’t also interested in books and knowledge? Twilight sure embodies that, and she doesn’t know many other ponies with telescopes. Celestia and Luna?

Just like the stallion, the Kirin stares at her blankly. Then she shakes her head, dashing any hopes Applebaum has.

“Ah, fiddlesticks.” If she had a hat, she’d throw it dejectedly at the ground. “Do ya know where we can find her?”

She shakes her head.

“Ah well.” Applebaum sighs, then flicks her mane. “Come along, Totem. We gotta keep lookin’.”

The Kirin surprises Applebaum by opening her mouth. “Aww, don’t give up that easily!” She grins at the ponies’ exasperated looks. “Sorry, sorry! That was too good. Oh, you don’t know how much I’ve missed jokes. Hi-larity! Am I pronouncing that right? Some words I haven’t said in a will. While! While. Hi, I’m Autumn Blaze. You’ve just arrived, and perhaps you’re tired or hungry or horny or reflective and want to sleep and eat and buck and journal? Which you should do, of course! But first. Oh, oh what joy to talk with other creatures! It’s been so long! You must tell me everything about you! There’s so much to say, so much to do! Oh, look at me. I’m going on, and you’ve just started to see the sights! So just, I, yeah, I will ju-, follow me!”

With the last stuttering words Autumn Blaze bounds the paces to her home, leaping up a log placed as a ramp to get to the second story.

“That…” Applebaum starts, her face scrunching up. She followed the whole tirade, having spent time with Pinkie Pie. “That was somethin’ all right.”

“Did she say she wanted to buck?” Totem asks, looking both hopeful and confused.

“Stallions,” Applebaum spits out, knowing full well it was included. “Do ya only pay attention to one thing?”

“I don’t understand the question,” Totem answers.

Applebaum rolls her eyes. “Of course ya don’t. Now come along.” She hobbles up the ramp, careful not to slip, and joins Autumn Blaze in staring out over the picturesque landscape. “Sure is amazin’.”

“They sure are,” Totem says, ogling the Kirin’s shapely flanks.

“Consarn it, Totem, look out over there.” He dutifully looks at the mountain she is pointing at. “Yeah, they’re pretty.”

“Oh, you think so, too?” A wistful look fills Autumn Blaze’s golden eyes. “The way the light shimmers off everything, like, like it all suddenly woke up the moment you saw it. And you realize maybe the water and the mountains and the forest and the… yes, the rainbow and the stars and the sky are all looking back at you thinking the same thing? That we are a part of the everything. That maybe there’s just one thing and we are all it.”

“...Yeah,” Applebaum says, breathless. At least, for a moment. “Totem! Stop it!”

“Stop what?” Totem says, his eyes again on Autumn Blaze.

“Don’t worry about it,” the Kirin chides Applebaum with a lascivious grin. “If that’s the stop he wants to take on this journey of amazing things to see, smell, tiptoe through? Then let him. There are so many more things out there, don’t get caught up with what somepony else wants.”

“Oh?” Applebaum is taken aback. “I mean, if ya don’t mind, then…”

“Are you foaling me?” Autumn Blaze titters, which quickly devolves into fully-belly laughs that would rival Celestia’s in pure, unadulterated mirth. “Oh, I haven’t had this much attention in forever! Since they all took that vow of silence. So it’s a lot for me to pro-cess. Process? Uh, deal with.”

“Forever?” Applebaum gulps. “Ya mean, like, months? Years? That ya’ve been out here, all alone?”

“Years,” Autumn Blaze confirms, wiping a tear from her eye. “Ever since they asked me to leave. On account of my propensity to fill empty voids in conversations with complicated descriptions, comedic tangents, and lengthy explanations that double as exposition.”

“Err,” Applebaum hesitates, scratching at the wooden roof with her good hoof. “Ah hope it ain’t a sore subject. But do ya think they’d mind if’n ya went back? See, we’re lookin’ for information about Gusty the Great.”

“You are?” Autumn Blaze’s eyes light up, evaporating the tears instantly. “Well, come on, then! I love history! Especially if you get into speculative alternative histories, like if we had decided to settle on that mountaintop instead of this one, or what would have happened if the moon caught the sun instead of the other way around, or if there really is a wrong side of the bed to wake up on and how much different your day might be if you just fell through the bottom of your bed instead of having to pick the right or the wrong side every day.”

Autumn Blaze takes off for the village, stopping only to make sure Applebaum and Totem are following, then doubles back and prances this way and that and taking such a circuitous route that Applebaum has to double check that there isn’t a pink pony wearing a tan Kirin suit. She isn’t sure which is more worrisome: that she can’t find evidence that it’s Pinkie Pie, or that it isn’t Pinkie Pie.

Ch. 106 - Fireborn, Part Two

“~Then one day,” Autumn Blaze explains with an upbeat song as they trot through the verdant forest, “~a fight broke out! And hurtful words were said. Flaming tempers were inflamed, destruction quickly spread! And flaming bred from head to head. It even burnt our… bread!~”

Applebaum finds herself bobbing along to the catchy beat as she hobbles to the village, even though the lyrics are a bit depressing. “Come along, Totem,” she repeats.

“Wait,” Totem interrupts, following the frolicking Kirin with his eyes. “The Kirin… are also the Niriks?”

“~It’s been a boon in times long past, when foes were far and near. But when the worst is being cursed from those you hold quite dear? Our manes ignite, to better fight, but all we’d gain are tears!~”

“But, how do you tell?” Totem seems legitimately dumbfounded. “You’re all so hot!”

Applebaum rubs at her forehead with her bad hoof.

At first, Autumn Blaze just raises an eyebrow. Then her muzzle puckers up, a loud snort splitting her sides and the silence. “Oh, it’s a joke! I love jokes! Have you heard the one about how many alicorns it takes to screw in a lightbulb?”

“It wasn’t a joke-” Totem starts before Applebaum cuts in. “-No, how many?”

“Two!” Autumn Blaze grins. “One to hold the lightbulb, and one to spin the sun around!”

“That’s not a joke, either,” Totem deadpans. “That’s just a fact.”

“Ah thought it was clever,” Applebaum shoots back.

“No, but, seriously.” Autumn Blaze returns to her frolicking, nearly to the Kirin clearing. “We can change back and forth between Kirin and Nirik. It happens when we get angry. Or hungry. Or…” she coughs. “...Horny. But we’re always horny!” She taps her two-pronged horn. “Get it?”

“So what you’re saying is,” Totem asks with a certain lasciviousness in his voice, “that you’re twice as horny as the average unicorn?”

“No, they’re not,” Applebaum cuts in, tired of curbing the colt’s tendencies. Even if Autumn Blaze is winking at Totem. “Tell me more about this turning into a Nirik thing. All you need to do is get angry?”

“Yup!” Autumn Blaze grins, though her smile immediately fades to a pensive frown. “Except, I don’t really like getting angry. Not when there’s so many wondrous things out there! Like singing, and dancing, and telling jokes! Would you believe I forgot how good it feels to tell a joke? All because we doused ourselves in the Stream of Silence! Thinking about that makes me so...”

Autumn Blaze stops dead in her tracks, her muzzle contorting through various scowls and glares. Wisps of blazing opal surround the split red horn, but a precursor to the circle of red that flickers around her hooves. Then, in a blink of the eye, an inferno billows upward, consuming the Kirin with searing red and teal and purple flames that sends the trees shaking with the updraft. And in another instant the conflagration is gone, leaving a coal-black Nirik with an ashy back, embers for hooves and a fiery mane and tail!

“Angry!!”

“Sweet Celestia!” While Totem takes a hurried step backward, Applebaum’s eyes fill with wonder at Autumn’s blaze. “That’s amazin’!” Her cutie mark blazes fire just as bright, filling her with an excitement she’s only felt once before, the day she got her mark. Her bad hoof reaches out, trying to touch the searing flames.

“You’re…” Applebaum trails off, noticing how the hair around her hoof curls from the heat. She doesn’t care, wanting more than anything to embrace the flames. “You’re really hot!”

Totem snorts. “That’s what I said!”

“Can ya teach me?” Applebaum gets as close to the blazing Kirin as she can stand, singeing her coat, still in awe. “Please?” She tries to get her eyes to shimmer, except her tears keep evaporating, her mouth dry and lungs complaining. “Pretty please?”

“Sorry.” Autumn Blaze’s deep voice reverberates through the trees, accompanied by an unearthly echo. “You need a powerful source of magic.” She taps her bright-gold horn.

“And earth ponies don’t qualify?” Applebaum pouts. “Where do Ah get a horn for mahself?”

“Tempest Shadow wants the same thing,” Totem suggests.

Applebaum’s eyes slowly go wider and wider. “O-of course! That’s it! If Ah find the…”

Just as quickly as she transformed, Autumn Blaze shifts back into a normal, flame-less Kirin. “Find the what?”

“Um,” Applebaum stammers. “Ya see, we’re tryin’ ta fix Tempest Shadow’s horn. She broke it as a filly, and it never healed. We’ve got Radiant Hope with us, an’ she’s a right powerful healer.”

“A powerful healer?” Autumn Blaze interrupts with a massive grin. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Come on!”

The Kirin bounds forward through a gap in the trees. Applebaum tucks her leg back in the makeshift sling, hobbling as fast as she can. She doesn’t want to get left behind, even if these woods are far safer than the jungle below. “Come along, Totem!”

The village is surprisingly intact, given how infuriated Tempest Shadow was getting when they left. The reason why becomes obvious quite quickly.

“Put me down!” the rose-colored unicorn bellows. “Now!”

She twists and squirms five feet above the ground, suspended in a light blue aura. Sparks fly from her broken horn, but they sizzle and sputter before they can cause any harm. The entire village has congregated around her and Radiant Hope, though the purple unicorn is unharmed and unmolested. At least for now. They march, slowly but surely, to a gurgling stream on the farm side of the village that is surrounded by cautionary signs.

“Well, that can’t be good,” Autumn Blaze casually remarks. She has stopped by a mural on one of the rocks showing a peaceful village with Kirin in one scene, and the entirety in flame with Niriks in another. Totem vacuously nods along. “They’re heading to the Stream of Silence!”

“Wait!” Applebaum shouts, hobbling forward as fast as her single leg will let her. She threads through the crowd of Kirin to stand underneath the writhing unicorn. “Surely we can talk this out!”

The leader firmly shakes her blue-wreathed head. Their procession continues unabated; even when Applebaum tries to get in her way, she merely steps over the hobbled youngster.

“We were just having a disagreement!” Radiant Hope calls. The Kirin ignore her. “Don’t do it!”

Dread builds in Applebaum’s gut as Tempest Shadow locks eyes with her, full of fury and worse. She shrieks, “Think about what yer doin’!” but to no avail.

With a casual flick of her long horn, the Kirin leader tosses the suspended unicorn into the opaque water.

Even the splash Tempest Shadow might have made seems subdued; Applebaum reckons she makes larger ones when she dives into the lake. She can only watch from the banks, horrified, not daring to step a hoof in lest she receive whatever magical effect the Stream inflicts.

A moment later the broken-horned unicorn pushes herself onto the banks. If she notices her mane and coat are completely soaked she doesn’t show it. Likewise, any sort of hate or fury that was burning in her eyes is completely gone. Apathy reigns in their place, the same unconcerned expression the Kirin, minus Autumn Blaze, share.

“Tempest!” Radiant Hope shouts, galloping past the Kirin to her friend’s side. “Are you okay?” She tilts her head to get a better look at her vacant eyes, only for Tempest to gently but firmly push her hoof away.

Radiant Hope whirls on the surrounding Kirin. “How could you? She was just asking questions!”

Applebaum gulps at the glances exchanged between the Kirin. Before they can decide Radiant Hope must share a similar fate she rushes in front of the unicorn. “Wait!” she hurries out, trying to diffuse the tension by distracting her. “You’re a healer, right?”

In the background, Autumn Blaze’s eyes lift up and she dashes over to get a closer look. Totem stands where he was before, watching everything.

Applebaum points at Tempest Shadow. “Can ya fix her?” She makes a quick back-and-forth motion with her hoof before the other Kirin get the wrong idea. “Once we’re gone! This is your home, your rules!” She pleads with Radiant Hope, “Right?”

All eyes are on Radiant Hope as she considers. She grits her teeth, clearly unhappy, yet just as clearly outnumbered and outhorned. “Right,” she concedes with a dire glare that softens when she inspects Tempest Shadow. Her muzzle pulls tighter and tighter as her eyes shine white.

“...Well?” Applebaum asks after nearly a minute of scanning.

“...Maybe.” Radiant Hope sighs as her eyes return to normal, the blue light around her horn fading. “Detrimental magical effects like these, curses in short, aren’t easily broken. If I had a week, and half-a-hundred compounds to test, I might be able to concoct a counteragent. If I had one on hoof, I could duplicate it in an instant.”

“So all you need is the cure?” Autumn Blaze squees with joy.

“Yeah!” Applebaum rounds on the ecstatic Kirin. “Autumn Blaze! You said you went into the stream! How’d ya get better?”

Autumn Blaze jitters on her hooves, looking like she needs to use the restroom, except she glances worriedly from side to side. “Well, there was a flower called Foal’s Breath that I stumbled into one day. But after I made my cure, I searched and searched, seventy three and a half times, but I couldn’t find any more.” She taps a hoof to her chin as she stares up at the sky. “But maybe that last half time might make all the difference…”

A shiver runs down Applebaum’s spine as the leader’s head inclines downward. Even if it’s just a fraction, it’s the most she’s reacted to anything, and it can’t be good. “Well, we don’t gotta be hasty. Tempest, are ya doin’ okay?” She looks the unicorn up and down. “You don’t seem to be hurt or nothin’.”

The unicorn blankly stares at her; Applebaum misses the fire she often saw behind the pupils, even if it was often directed at her and Totem.

“Okay, so ya can’t talk. But can ya write it down?” She looks, hesitant but hopeful, at Autumn Blaze. She has some paper in her bags, and a pencil. “Y’all know how to read’n write, correct?”

“Of course we do!” Autumn Blaze snorts. “What, do you think we’re backward hicks because we have crude drawings on stone walls?”

Totem glances at the crude drawing on the stone wall next to him, then back at Autumn Blaze.

“Err,” Applebaum stammers, shaking her head. The ‘hick’ remark stings, but nopony calls the Apples hicks anymore. “No?”

“Good!” Autumn Blaze grins. “Because we have a rich tradition of comedy clubs and newspapers and dramas! Like the one about an opera singer who lived beneath the stage and…”

Applebaum turns to the leader as Autumn Blaze explains her non sequitur. “An’, ya won’t get upset if that’s all we’re doin’, right?”

After a long, tense moment, the leader nods.

Applebaum sighs in relief. “Good.” She motions to Radiant Hope. “An’, wouldn’t ya say that if’n ya had more power available, ya’d be able to fix this a mite easier?”

“Of course.” After a moment Radiant Hope realizes where Applebaum is going with this. “Oh! Right. I could fix just about anything if I had the right tool!”

“And this tool,” Autumn Blaze gleefully guesses, ”has something to do with Gusty the Great?”

“Exactly!” Applebaum clenches the dirt with her good hoof, trying to keep her excitement from showing. “Can ya tell us about her?”

“Well, let me think.” Autumn Blaze grins at the Kirin surrounding them. “Anykirin who objects, just raise your voice!” She looks this way and that. “No? Nokirin? No objections? Then follow me!”

If Applebaum had to guess, about half of the Kirin look enthused to follow along, while the other half linger farther back. But all of them follow to the mountain’s edge. Autumn Blaze rolls a heavy stone away from a cave and beckons them inside.

Ch. 107 - Fireborn, Part Three

The cave turns out to be considerably deeper than Applebaum first thought, a whole complex of tunnels both natural and horn-carved. She and Totem stay on opposite sides of Radiant Hope when they aren’t single file, Tempest Shadow right behind, trusting her hornlight to guide them through the often narrow and twisting passages. Flickering shadows triple their numbers when the Kirin behind and in front are in view, along with a certain Silhouette Gloom of the Sundown Lands, whoever that is. She keeps calm throughout. There aren’t enough splits that they’d get lost in the dark, and she has material that will readily turn into a makeshift torch.

During the walk, she steals glances at Tempest Shadow. The unicorn just stares back, as if asking ‘what is the point in looking at me?’ and then goes back to placing one hoof in front of the other. Worry eats at her gut; she hopes, she knows, she tells herself that the unicorn is going to be okay. Right? This is all going to work out. They’re going to find the foal’s breath, whatever that is, and she’ll get the cure. Or they’re going to go and find that bell, and Radiant Hope will be able to heal Tempest’s horn and break the curse.

But until then? Their driving force seems gone, and with it their zealous protector. Will she still fight, or is she liable to not care as she gets eaten? The thought sends a shiver down Applebaum’s spine. Especially the part that she might be the one making the important decisions. But there is also a sense of excitement, of anticipation, that it will finally be her making those decisions instead of always following the older ponies. Especially if she gets her hooves on that bell and the magic inside.

“Can you tell me any more about the cure?” Radiant Hope asks during a moment where the tunnel is wide enough.

“Foals breath?” Autumn Blaze grimaces. “I searched all over for the blue and white flowers, but I only ever found the one patch I fell into. Oh, we’re here!”

The tunnel opens up to a larger room, the ceiling barely illuminated by their horns. There is enough space for everypony and everykirin to gather together, and soon they fill the room. Applebaum spots a few crude paintings on the stone wall. Her curiosity overrides her compulsion to find out more about Gusty the Great, something she’s always had a problem with when she delves with the rest of Dr. C’s crew.

“What’s this?” she asks as she hobbles over. In the center is a splotchy circle covered in patches of brown and blue and green and white. If she squints just right it might be Equus, if somecreature has only a passing whimsy as to what the continents are shaped like. Orbiting on opposite sides are a pair of smaller circles, one a soft yellow and the other a dark pitch, with squiggly lines hinting at their circular motion. Tiny flecks of gold stud the remaining landscape.

“This is our record of the past!” Autumn Blaze motions to a few more paintings farther down, impossible to make out in the gloom. “We recorded our stories on stone. A good choice, too! Oh, wait, I didn’t tell you about that part, did I? Because, you see, before we all stepped into the Stream of Silence we all got super angry with each other and turned into Niriks and before we knew it our entire village lay in flaming ruins!”

The wide, bright smile juxtaposes the unsettling news. Applebaum half expects Tempest Shadow to cut in with a remark like ‘we don’t care about your life story’, except the unicorn just stands there. She’s paying attention, at least, just not reacting nor seeming to care. Well, if it’s up to her? She knows Storied Pages will appreciate any stories that she brings home, old Dig Root as well.

Applebaum asks, “So, how do ya tell each other your stories if ya can’t speak? Ah mean, this is pretty an’ all,” she motions at the crude depiction of the planet, “but it don’t really convey all that much. Know what Ah mean?”

“It does lack a certain splendor,” Autumn Blaze muses, tracing her green-shod hoof over the lines of motion, first the crescent of a wing, then the sharp point of a horn. Applebaum spies a similar pattern on the pitch side. “The captivating tales, imparted at a dam’s teat and on starry nights and during moments of pain and loss. They help guide us weary travelers through life’s infinite possibilities, and unite us in times of strife, and also remind us that just as yesterday is different than today so too might tomorrow bring challenges that require each, no, all of our diverse talents to overcome!”

Applebaum finds herself captivated at Autumn Blaze’s tale, just like the Kirin said. She sits down, not minding the cold stone or settled dust of who-knows-what used to live here.

Autumn Blaze takes in a deep, stirring breath, like she’s going to continue with a rousing fervor, just to let it all out in one gargantuan sigh. “But we had to give them up, too.”

The Kirin leader shakes her head before making a complex series of gestures, like she is chopping something up and then separating it into multiple piles.

“Err, what are ya sayin’?” Applebaum asks, confused at the motions.

“Okay, Rain Shine,” Autumn Blaze attempts, staring down the large Kirin with a certain intensity. “Are you hungry and chopping up vegetables?” Rain Shine shakes her head. “Somekirin trapped in a well?” No response, just a hard stare, even with Autumn Blaze’s grin. “Difference breeds disagreement, which leads to disharmony?”

Rain Shine makes a rising motion with her hooves, then they explode apart and slowly drift downward. Then she points at Applebaum’s cutie mark of an exploding apple, then at Tempest Shadow.

“Destruction and disaster?” Applebaum frowns. “That don’t always happen when ya disagree. An’ how can ya disagree about a story?”

“Well, we have different versions,” Autumn Blaze explains. “You know, since everykirin tells it differently.”

A burnt-brown Kirin shakes her head, then poofs out her light green mane, taps her brown hooves against each other and her bright red horn.

Applebaum rubs at her own head. “Can’t ya write it down or somethin’?”

She’s not sure where they got the paper from, but soon everykirin has a roll of parchment and a stick of charcoal. <Not different> the paper states. <Emphasizing certain aspects>

“That’s true, Fern Flare,” Autumn Blaze concedes. “You value truth, while Rain Shine wanted us to get along. And just as our horns have multiple points, so too can a story have multiple meanings. Or interpretations. Or explications.”

“Aren’t those just synonyms?” Totem states.

Autumn Blaze twists her hoof back and forth. “Kinda? But so often the nuance matters. Ooh, that’s a fun word I haven’t said in a wile! While. It’s pro-nunced ‘while’.”

“So what’s this one about?” Applebaum asks. “Your interpretation.”

“Ooh, it’s one of my favorites, too.” Autumn Blaze motions first to the planet. “In the beginning, all was chaos.” A flurry of scratching later and three notes are thrust at the speaking Kirin. She eagerly grabs them, reading off, “Potential. Discord. Nothing.”

She nods, even though Applebaum thinks those are contradictory. How can you have nothing and chaos?

“Exactly! And then, ORDER-“ the word booms in the cavern “-comes along and separates the sea from the sky and the grass from the ground.” Autumn Blaze taps on the planet with each word, on the splotches of blue and white and green and brown. “And she made equines, and gave them dominion over the land and sky and heavens above. But her hoof was not the only one at play, for chaos does not stay idle.”

Another series of notes pass forward as the Kirin stomp their hooves in a monotone manner. It seems automatic, ingrained, rather than the spontaneous cheer at a concert.

“Yes,” Autumn Blaze answers with brief glances at the notes. “Maybe chaos does have a champion of its own. Maybe there are hundreds of thousands of agents of chaos.”

Applebaum frowns. “Ya mean, like, Discord? Or all the other species?” Her frown deepens. “An’ the ponies have Harmony on their side? That don’t sound right.”

“She’s right about the earth ponies and pegasi and unicorns, though,” Totem argues.

“But that makes it sound like harmony is only for ponies,” Applebaum argues back, to the discomfort of the kirin. “That can’t be right!”

“Any of these could work, or all of them,” Autumn Blaze explains, dismissing the issue by carrying on. “ORDER-” another boom “-sees how her ponies struggle, beset at every turn by the chaos surrounding them and reigning over them. So she elevates two sisters above all else, to embody and exemplify her ideals.”

“Celestia and Luna,” Applebaum mutters. <To bring forth an everlasting peace> <To restore balance> <To ossify and stagnate>

Autumn Blaze nods, again to all of the suggestions. “ORDER grants them dominion over the sun and moon, an eternal chase through the heavens. Never to meet, perhaps never to see each other again, as the sun and moon would always be at opposite ends of the world.”

Tears glisten in the hornlight as Applebaum sniffs. “That’s horrible.”

“And she gave them the stars,” Autumn Blaze continues, hoof splaying across the stony heavens over the pinpricks of gold, “to place and shift as they willed.” <They merely refract the light> “But there would only be one sun in the heavens, else the earth and the sea and the sky would be unable to withstand their blaze. And one moon at night, else all the other stars would fade to nothing.”

Applebaum’s eyes slowly grow wide at the realization. Do Celestia and Luna know this? But it’s only a story…

Again notes come flooding in, most minor quibbles about word choices. But one stands out: <She conspired with The Void to fill the heavens>

“And this worked, for a time.” Autumn Blaze’s tone grows ominous. “But one day the sun moved a little faster, or perhaps the moon a little slower. And the sun caught the moon and devoured her.”

“No,” Applebaum utters, barely audible over the many rustles. <It happened over years> <A trap gone awry> <A desire for the past> <A desire for companionship> <For love>

“No!” she repeats, louder. “Celestia didn’t devour her Sister! She defended Equestria against the Nightmare!” She looks to her companions for support. “Tell her that ain’t what happened!”

“Regardless of her reasons why,” Autumn Blaze continues despite Totem and Radiant Hope’s nods, “this was not what ORDER intended. So…”

She ambles over to another painting, this one of a wavy horned kirin - the same as that depicted in the Gusty the Great storybook - standing atop a circular ring of stones. High above the stone circle is the Celestial crest, done in dull yellows and oranges, while below are a pair of curved horns in white. Autumn Blaze taps her hoof on the pair of horns. “...She sent another. grgr.”

“G-R-G-R?” Applebaum spells out as Autumn Blaze did. It takes her but a moment to puzzle it out. “Ya mean, Grogar?” The Necromancer! Another clue!

“Gargler?” Totem tries, one eye squinting. “Gurgler? Gargoyler?”

“Gorger,” Radiant Hope adds, grinning. “Great starts with G-R. Gustier the Great!”

“Some say,” Autumn Blaze answers, even as notes claim, <We don’t know> <We shouldn’t try to guess> <It doesn’t matter> <You shouldn’t speak it aloud>. One Kirin clamps her hooves over her ears at the mention of the Necromancer’s name. “There are other possibilities. But what is more important is what he intended. ORDER saw the chaos in the world, and despised it. Through him she would impose an eternal order, one that would never fail to adhere to her intentions.”

<A world devoid of choices> <A dead world> <We shouldn’t be afraid to speak his name>

Two Kirin wordlessly argue, one shaking her head with hooves blocking her ears and eyes screwed shut as the other thrusts a paper in her face. All over the cavern things begin heating up, and soon it becomes uncomfortably warm.

“But that didn’t happen,” Applebaum states, terrified at the implications. Could Order, or Harmony, really do that?!

“It did. Aaand it didn’t.” Autumn Blaze motions at Gusty the Great. “We Kirin know the importance of keeping things balanced. Or, at least, we used to. To get plants to grow, it needs to rain, and that releases the rainbows we love to look upon. Or for a candle to glow, it needs to burn, giving us a light against the darkness. That sometimes things don’t go your way; the solution is not to give up your laughter in order to avoid a little pain.” She sighs as the scribbling becomes furious, or at least as furious as it can get with dull expressions all around. She doesn’t bother reading the notes this time. “A lesson my people never learned.”

“But what happened with Gusty the Great?” Applebaum shouts above the din of stomping hooves and papers waving at Autumn Blaze. When they can’t get her attention they turn on each other, each arguing the efficacy and correctness of Gusty, of Celestia, and of Autumn Blaze.

“She pleaded her case to Princess Celestia. At first, the alicorn did not answer her plea, so she went alone to stop grgr’s terrible advance. She stalled him here.” Autumn Blaze taps the ring of stone, ignoring the building tension around her.

“I know those stones,” Totem loudly whispers to Applebaum.

“Ponehenge,” she whispers back, mind racing. She can feel her heart hammering against her chest; for mutes, the Kirin can sure make a lot of noise when they’re angry. It’s a distressing sound, void of words and full of rude gestures.

They can barely make out Autumn Blaze as the Kirin stop writing things down and resort to their uninterpretable hoof signs. “And it was there that Celestia came to her aid, having decided after much meditation that there must be another way. Together they trapped his power in a specially designed bell. They interred him and his forces deep underground. Likewise, they sealed the bell as far and high away as they could, protecting it with spells against all intruders.”

A paper from Rain Shine slaps Autumn Blaze in the face, forcing her to read it. “You should not tell them these things.” She crumples it up, scowling. “Why not? It’s no more than anykirin else could tell them. It’s not like they’re secrets.”

“Why not make it undetectable?” Totem asks, looking up at the rock ceiling. “And put it somewhere random in the sky?”

It’s possibly the worst time to have an argument, and on such a trivial point, but Applebaum retorts, “Obviously she wants access to it later on, if’n she needs it.” It comes out harsher than she means. “An’ if’n it’s detectable to her, it’s gonna be detectable to somepony else, too. So ya gotta put it someplace safe. Someplace remote.” But where would that be?

“Maybe she-” Totem starts, cut off when a blue aura constricts around their throats. It forces their limbs to their sides and their barrels to the ground, unable to raise their hooves to their ears as a thunderclap reverberates the room.

<E> <N> <O> <U> <G> <H> <!>

Each letter fills a page. Rain Shine’s horn blazes, along with three other Kirin helping her subdue everycreature else. She slashes words on the backs of the paper. <Speaking no hate was not enough. We must also hear no hate and see no hate!>

If there was bedlam before, it’s nothing to the battle lines drawn now. Half the Kirin side with Rain Shine, the other half against, a dozen magical shades fighting for dominance.

“Hurry!” urges Radiant Hope as her horn lifts the bonds from the four ponies. She points deeper into the tunnels, as the Kirin are completely blocking the entrance. “That way!”

So they scamper, away from the action, Tempest Shadow’s sedate pace nearly leaving her behind. Single chambers blur by, no other branches, and all seems lost when they come to a dead end. Despair sets in, a sense of panic that they would need to return through the mob of Kirin, to lose sight and sound and speech, until Applebaum’s cutie mark pings that the wall is not as solid as it seems.

She pushes, and the wall rolls away, leaving them stumbling half-blind from the bright sun into a bed of blue and white flowers.

Ch. 108 - Might in All Forms, Part One*

“Hey, Applejack?”

While the earth pony’s blond mane is never completely unkempt - unlike Rainbow Dash, who wears a windswept mane as a banner of pride, or Fluttershy, who removes her extensions rather than undo the tangles that inevitably result when she’s on her back - Applejack has to blow more than a bit of stray hair out of her face to fully regard her stallion.

“Yeah?” she asks between mouthfuls of thick, buttery pancakes.

“I was wondering.” Doug sweeps the last bit of syrup off his plate with his remaining morsel, pausing as though merely voicing the question might get him in trouble. He takes the bite and chews while looking out the kitchen window. Applejack doesn’t care at all for the delay. “If you wanted to go on a run with me.”

“Doug.” Applejack huffs as long lists of chores to do and repairs to complete and apples that need harvesting and sorting and pressing and crating flit through her mind. “Ya know how busy we are ‘round the farm. Ah can’t just-”

“Yeah,” Doug interrupts, drawing a hard frown from his lead mare. She doesn’t care at all for his disappointed tone. “I get it.” He gets up and sweeps the dishes into a teetering stack while offering her a faint, apologetic smile. “It’s okay.”

Applejack inwardly kicks herself. “Hey,” she soothes, sidling next to her stallion. She knows he appreciates the contact, he always does, and she’s thankful to get one hand rubbing at her ears while the other places the dishes next to the sink. “It ain’t that Ah don’t want to.” She bounces on her hind legs, muscular flanks bobbing up and down, and loves how she can still draw his attention to her assets after all these years. She wets her lips, ignoring the protest from the sore other pair. “Besides, didn’t ya exhaust me enough already?”

Her display doesn’t have quite the intended effect when her leg seizes up on her, sending her sprawling to the floor. Doug rushes to her side; his hand traces along her belly, an unasked question plain on his face. “Ah’m fine,” Applejack reassures, though she’s mad at herself and has trouble containing it. “She’s fine, Ah’m fine, Ah just slipped.”

“No, no, you’re right,” Doug agrees, helping her up. At first, Applejack is grateful for the help, but then he jests, “Maybe it’s best you get your rest. You look like you need it.”

“Partner,” Applejack spits out, scowling. “If there’s one thing ya could’a said that’d get me ‘ta run with ya, then…” She huffs as she notices his smirk. “Consarn it, that was your plan all along, weren’t it?”

“I learned from the best,” Doug replies chipperly, drawing a raised eyebrow from Applejack. “No, not you. Chrysalis.”

“Ah. Should’a figured.” She returns to the table where one long lick slides the rest of her pancakes into her waiting maw, though she bets the changeling can fit a lot more in at once. Even so, she likes how Doug holds his breath while watching her closely; knowing him, he’s wishin’ he was that pancake. He clears her plate, and she meets him at the door. She winks, asking, “Used her office yet?”

“...It’s pretty spacious,” Doug admits as they start, keeping to a medium jog.

His conflicted tone surprises her. She knows he loves all their foals, and the changeling nymphs are no different, right? She has nothing but praise for Ocellus, the wary changeling often helping out around the farm but preferring to stay behind the scenes. Even Pharynx, with his acerbic and pugilistic attitude, has been... tolerable. Or maybe she finds him distasteful because of his Abattoir, and the idea of harvesting cows and sheep and chickens as casually as she harvests apples doesn’t quite sit right with her. Still, she trusts him, and somecreature’s gotta do it.

She lets Doug lead, and he chooses the well-worn path to the outer perimeter of the farm. It’s been quite some time since she’s taken this route. Too much work on her plate, and he runs it most mornings so she doesn’t need to check the fences or anything. She finds herself missing the experience, and reminiscing about all the little detours she would take to make sure that the repairs were still good. She goes to peel off once, then again, but both times he just keeps plodding along, a glance to make sure she’s still okay.

And she is, his pace isn’t terribly grueling, not like the one she’ll set when she’s aiming to win the Running of the Leaves instead of sticking by his side, not that she’s raced like that in years. Seems near every year she’s either just weaned a foal or carrying another. And she wouldn’t trade that for all the apples in Equestria. ‘Course, that might be because they’re trying to fill Equestria with Apples, at the rate they’re going.

It’s only once they’re well away from the farm and any prying ears - well, any that can be helped - that she opens up about the other topic that’s been bothering her.

“...Hey, Doug?”

His attention immediately goes from the twisting and gnarled wood to their south to her. “Yeah?”

“Ah’ve been meanin’ to ask.” She’s not sure why the topic is so tough for her to bring up, but maybe it’s because she’s afraid he won’t agree with her. “Have ya thought ‘bout havin’, ya know, the talk with Bo’?”

“Pomarbo?” Doug repeats, confused for a moment. He considers as they plod along, his pace slowing. “I mean, not really. He doesn’t have his cutie mark yet.”

“Ah get that,” Applejack continues, her case lining up in her mind like so many apple trees that need bucking. By his reluctant tone she can tell she is going to need it. “But Ah’m worried ‘bout him. Ah know ya’ve told me it’s natural for a colt his age to be doin’ what he’s doin’, an’ that ya went through a similar phase in your life.”

“Some might say I’ve never left that phase,” Doug jests, scratching from her withers down to her flanks.

Applejack rolls her eyes. “Yeah, an’ ya told me how much ya enjoy it. But it’s cuttin’ into his sleep. Ya know all those books Twi got from the Crystal Empire?”

“Sure,” Doug answers, curious at the seeming non-sequitur.

“Well, she told me he came by one day, curious an’ askin’ if she knew much ‘bout it. ‘Course she does, it’s Twilight, she knows the mechanics inside out and backwards. But he didn’t want a tutor, thank Celestia, just to look around. Says she even let him browse through the ‘restricted’ section, an’ Ah’d bet bits to bagels she made a few recommendations.” Applejack huffs. “An’ now he’s stayin’ up late readin’ from ‘em. He’s even made a few drawings, crude like ya’d expect. Ah thought ‘bout takin’ his fireflies away, but it ain’t like they’re hard to catch, and Celestia knows he might make a light of his own.”

“That sounds like a fun project,” Doug chips in, smirking.

Applejack’s glare is far less theatrical. She knows her stallion likes poking fun, and doesn’t normally begrudge how her serious nature gives him a straight-mare to play against. “He don’t need encouragement. Not there, not when they’re so many other things, better things, he could be doin’.”

“On the contrary.” Applejack finds it frustrating when Doug contradicts her, but they both have Pomarbo’s best interests at heart, and that makes it tolerable. “If he finds it interesting, I say let him pursue it. Maybe it’s just a phase, or maybe it’s something he’ll end up doing for the rest of his life. I mean, have you thought about what will happen if he gets a cutie mark there?”

“Doug,” Applejack spits out, “Ah’ve spent far too much time dreadin’ if’n that happens. But Ah can’t just go an’ forbid him from doin’ it, or he’ll just do it even more! An’ Ah’d rather he be doin’ it in the barns or his room than, heavens forbid, the Golden Oak’s basement. Or whatever room Twi’s built to replace that.”

“Applejack,” Doug cautions, to no avail.

“At least Miss Tiara’s got a decent head on her shoulders,” Applejack continues, bulldozing over Doug with a whole wagonload of repressed worries and fears. “Ah’ve come across ‘em in that barn, you know the one. She just watches while he’s workin’ away at it. Ah don’t think she finds it as interesting as he does, most fillies don’t, but she ain’t gonna stop him if it’s somethin’ he likes doin’.”

“As you shouldn’t,” Doug says, drawing another huff from Applejack. “And I don’t think trying to distract him away from tinkering with the Super Speedy by giving him ‘the talk’ is going to work, either. If he’s not interested, he’s not interested, and pushing him isn’t going to help matters.”

“Well, Ah thought ‘bout encouragin’ Miss Tiara to raise her tail for him.” Applejack winces as Doug tweaks her ear. “Yeah, yeah, Ah know. That ain’t likely to work. Ah’d need ta be all subtle-like about it, an’ that’s a subject that batters at the barn doors like an Everfree storm. Like ya said, he ain’t interested, an’ she’s clever enough to have thought of it herself.”

“That’s…” Doug sighs to himself. “That explains so much.”

“Tiara’ll make a great lead mare, too,” Applejack continues, as though Doug didn’t say anything. “She’s good at getting others in line or on board. An’ since it’s your colt, Ah bet there’ll be quite the number to get in line.” She winks at Doug.

It’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Would you be this unhappy if he was into, say, pears instead of appliances?”

“Pears?” Applejack laughs at the absurdity. “Doug, Ah wouldn’t have to; Granny Smith’d run him off the farm ‘fore Ah got a chance to.” She quiets down a little. “But, honestly?” She looks from side to side, forlorn. “Part’a me thinks pears would grow pretty well on this land. An’ if that’s what it takes? Ah want one of mah foals to work on the farm. With Apple Bloom off helpin’ ponies, and Applebaum goin’ to all corners of Equestria... “ Her head bows down. “Ah know it’s selfish, wantin’ your foals to follow in your hoofsteps.”

“No, I get it.” Doug scratches at her ear, her fears and worries falling off that wagon like so many sacks of seed. “What better way to prove your work is worthwhile than to have somepony decide that’s what they want to pursue, too?”

“Eeyup.” Applejack snuggles up as close as she can without physically tossing him on her back and letting him ride her.

“And,” Doug continues, “if he does get a cutie mark working with machines like the Cider Squeezy, or building his own designs? Like, a factory to make applesauce. That’d keep him on the farm! Or at least close to it, if he traveled around Equestria to the various Apple farms and helped construct or maintain their own versions.”

A wave of pleasure bowls Applejack over, sending her reeling and stumbling into Doug. The two halt as Doug worriedly kneels to inspect her glazed-over eyes. His mouth contorts to a frown, though a quick glance to her sides draws a confused gasp. “Your cutie mark…”

He doesn’t resist, not that he would, not when Applejack plants her hoof square on his chest and presses him to the ground. Her lips find his, wet and primal, a frenzied barrage of kisses that beg and demand to be something more. Her tail tickles down his belly, up his legs, thrashing around and everywhere and why why why aren’t you there already?!

After a moment of confusion he rises to the occasion, as he always does, but one quick roll in the grass ain’t enough to satisfy the urge that’s overtaken her. She rolls to her back, inviting him to his favorite position, her belly jiggling in a way he adores.

It’s amazing, her cutie mark ablaze, and she’s sure that if she wasn’t already pregnant she soon would be. Those are the only other times she’s felt this good, this complete, this full of energy and life and love.

“Well, if you’re trying to sway me with sex,” Doug quips, riffling his fingers through her tangled mane as they stare into each other’s eyes. “What brought that along? Not that I’m complaining!” He ends with a quick peck to the tip of her nose.

“Partner?” Applejack giggles at the ticklish kiss. “Truth be told, Ah’m not entirely sure.” She glances at her cutie mark, still pulsing the same way Luna’s and Cadance’s had. The euphoric feeling slowly fades, and she knows she wants more of it. “Guess we better head to Twilight’s to find out, right?”

“Race you there!” Doug laughs as he pushes her down to get a better head start, not that it matters when she flips to her hooves and barrels after him.

Ch. 109 - Might in All Forms, Part Two

“Doug!” Pinkie Pie shouts as the weary human drags himself onto the School of Friendship’s hoofball field, a beleaguered Applejack just behind. The party pony rides one of her extra long party cannons - no, not just long, massive, with enough space for ten ponies to slot inside tail-to-snout, and wide enough to accommodate the hippogriff or griffon, though the yak would act more like a cork in a wine bottle. He desperately hopes that method of propulsion isn’t Pinkie Pie’s plan, though he can never be completely sure.

Three balloons pulse on each side of the perched pony, a wobbly tricorne atop her head. The eclectic mix of students attending her ‘Conversations with Cannons’ class, including all the foreign students and Sandbar, mill about aimlessly. Now that Doug arrives, though, they watch with bemusement as she waves her forelegs in the air, as if there is any chance of him missing her. “Over here!”

“Hey, Pinkie,” Doug labors out after reaching the pink pony and the odd pile of sheets and mattress next to the cannon. Are they making makeshift nets, like they did a few years ago? While he catches his breath he winks at Applejack. “Beat ya.”

“Only ‘cause Ah bumped yer rump every time ya slowed down,” Applejack returns jovially, a spring in her step as she trots up to trade a quick nuzzle with Pinkie Pie’s hind hoof, the highest she can reach. She takes a long look at Pinkie’s pulsing cutie mark, then back at her own. “Well, how ‘bout that!”

“You were with Doug? Lucky!” Pinkie Pie moans, dragging herself up and down over a glistening section of the cannon. “I was going over the basics of cannon safety when it hit me! Fortunately, I had Long Luger here to keep me company.” She lasciviously traces a hoof along the top of the barrel. “You would not believe how phallic cannons are!”

Doug certainly can, given the comically long and turgid length sprouting from between her legs. She’s only missing a tied-up uniform around her bosom to match an old-time Navy recruitment poster.

“No, we know!” the young dragon, Smolder, shouts. Her forearms cross, clawing clicking against her scales. “You mammals are disgusting.”

“Um, excuse me,” a voice from the sheets protests. They wriggle and squirm until a pink mane and yellow head poke out. “Pardon me.” Fluttershy shakes her head. “No, it’s beautiful.” She strides the rest of the way out, her three butterflies pulsing, and shares a long nuzzle and soft kiss with Doug. She turns back to the students, blushing nearly as brightly as her cutie mark. “See?”

Gallus points a claw down his throat, gagging. Smolder rolls her eyes, shakes her head and sighs. Grubber takes a bite from his cupcake, finishing it off, and pulls out another, far more interested in the sugary sweets. Sandbar ‘dawws’, wiping a tear from his eye and sniffing. Silverstream squees, grinning madly, her claws playing against each other as she eagerly watches. Yona looks around. “Yona confused. That all pony do?”

“Oh, we do far more than that.” A quick flick of yellow wings takes Fluttershy into Doug’s arms. Before she can elaborate, or go much further than a long kiss, Twilight Sparkle arrives with a ‘pop’ of displaced air.

“Alright, I think I’ve got it narrowed down to the Peaks of Peril,” the alicorn says from behind a multicolored wall of maps. She glances over the charts at Doug and Fluttershy, raising an eyebrow but nothing more. “Oh, Applejack! Good to see you. We saw your mark on the map. Did Rainbow Dash find you?”

“Ah didn’t see her, but Ah was a bit distracted.” Applejack shudders. “Whoo wee, this’n is a bad’n. Not that Ah got much to compare to, but Ah really wanna go out there and geet’r done.”

“You’re telling me!” Pinkie Pie can’t seem to sit still on top of the cannon. She stretches her forelegs out wide. “Hey, Doug? Can you do me a hu-” she stretches out even more “-uuu-” she grins, even as she topples backwards and rolls down the length of the cannon, somehow seeming like she meant to do this in order to demonstrate the enormity. “-uuge favor?”

“Yeah, sure.” Doug scratches at the back of his neck; she can’t want anything too bad, right? “What’cha need?”

“You’re the bestest!” Pinkie Pie leaps into Doug’s unoccupied arm, and he’s barely able to stand while carrying the two ponies. Two hooves rummage deep into her mane before extracting a folder brimming with papers. The sight fills him just as full of dread. “Here’s the instruction manual!” She flips it open, planting a hoof on the first page. “Wait, that’s a liability waiver.” She smacks it off. “Oops! Expired warranty.” Another smack. “I don’t even know why I have this.” More and more get discarded until the ground around him is littered with more paper than grass. “Here we go!” She brandishes the last remaining sheet in Doug’s face, a complicated diagram explaining how the spring inside the cannon gets compressed by a winch and released.

“Thanks for watching my class, too.” Fluttershy tenderly strokes her muzzle along the inside of Doug’s neck.

“Hey, Harmony calls.” Doug waddles over to Twilight Sparkle and unceremoniously dumps the two ponies in front of her so he can study the paper. They don’t seem to mind.

“Sooo,” Twilight Sparkle starts, eliciting a certain trepidation from the three ponies with blinking cutie marks. “The Peaks of Peril are located deep inside Arimaspi territory. There are a couple ways we can insert you, but a direct penetration isn’t something they will swallow lightly.”

“Urgh,” Pinkie Pie grunts, squirming against the ground.

“Ah don’t know why, but this’n feels like a bit of a rush,” Applejack says, the others nodding along. “The sooner the better. But even so, Ah don’t feel right teleportatin’ right on their doorstep, ya know?”

“I understand.” Twilight scribbles down something on one of the papers, then sighs to herself, glancing around for her former assistant. “Get to the train bound for Los Pegasus. I’ll contact Princess Luna, she’ll arrange for you to travel to The End of the Line.”

“Ominous,” Applejack states. She, Fluttershy, and Pinkie Pie trade quick nuzzles goodbye with Doug before trotting off. Around the same time Rainbow Dash lands; she looks put out that she wasted her time flying around just to find the farmer already there. Even so, she stays quiet, curious how Doug will lead the class.

Doug stands up, voice booming, “Alright, everypony! Everycreature! Gather round.” He walks over to Long Luger, tapping it with a hand, while the students form a half-circle. Silverstream’s exuberance comes as no surprise, but Gallus paying attention does: from what he’s heard from the mares, the griffon seems indifferent at best to the majority of their lessons. “So, who can tell me what this is?”

“A cannon!” Silverstream screeches, claws furling and unfurling in anticipation. “That’s right, right? Because the class is called Conversations with Cannons!”

“Correct,” Doug answers with a nod, “...mostly. A true cannon would use gunpowder or another propellant, and the resulting expanding gas would propel the projectile out the muzzle. This is more of a catapult, because the projectile - in this case, one of you,” he points at the crowd of creatures, drawing excited murmurs, “is propelled by a special spring that stops without exiting the bore.”

“Do humans know a lot about cannons?” Gallus asks, the only creature not taking notes. There is a certain gleam in his eye, a fascination that tops even Silverstream.

“Err,” Doug stalls, looking at Twilight. She has engrossed herself in writing a letter, only glancing up at him in a manner that suggests, ‘It’s your class, do what you want.’ He turns back to Gallus. “A fair amount, yes.”

“Because this seems kind of…” Gallus trails off, rolling his claws with a sort of vague disdain. “Bad.” After a moment he elaborates, “Ineffective at cannoning.”

“Well,” Doug starts, tucking Pinkie’s paper into his shorts and going into a more free-form discussion, “I suppose it depends on what you want to do with a cannon.”

“Have a conversation with it?” Silverstream blurts out, to the groans of her classmates.

“That’s one idea,” Doug remarks, latching on. “What sort of conversations would you have with a cannon?”

“Yona confused.” The yak scratches at one of her long braids. “How cannon have conversation?”

“Loudly,” Gallus answers without missing a beat; he and Smolder trade clawbumps when Yona snorts.

“Cannon thayth ‘don’t meth with me’,” Grubber says, returning to Doug’s question. “Who metheth with a guy with a cannon?”

“I’d mess with a guy with a cannon,” Gallus counters. When this draws a few odd looks, especially from Twilight, he adds, “I mean, come on, right? Why’s he got a cannon if he isn’t protecting something with it?”

“Maybe that’th why griffonth are thtuck living in thqualor,” Grubber retorts, his accent only worsened by the cupcake in his mouth.

Gallus scrapes his claws into the loose soil. “And you stormies are any better?”

Rainbow Dash prods Doug, hard enough he stumbles forward, obviously wanting him to intervene. Knowing her experience with griffons, he interjects, “Alright, let’s keep it civil.” Twilight shoots him a raised eyebrow as well. “Also, I should probably add that theft is wrong.”

“Theft?” Gallus squints, and while his curved beak can’t frown his eyes can. “The strong take from the weak. That’s just the way of life. Or are you saying that taking at clawpoint is wrong, but taking at hornpoint is a-o-kay?”

An unruly bit of Twilight’s mane pops out of place. Doug walks over to smooth it out before the alicorn can interrupt, Rainbow Dash following at his heels. He’s quite interested in where the conversation goes, rather than a blanket denial that the other creatures won’t accept.

“Henth the need for cannonth,” Grubber quips, “cauthe we can’t get hornth to thprout from our thkullth.”

“Okay, except I bring my buddy and his cannon, and we beat you anyway. Only now, I’m pissed ‘cause you hurt us, and I’m going to take it out on your defenseless tail.”

“That athumeth you can find a buddy,” Grubber cheekily replies. Gallus does not care for that at all. “And two cannonth. Good luck with that. Altho, your thpoilth aren’t any better, tho you’re worth off regardleth.”

Gallus snorts. “Yeah, well, your cannons suck anyway. ”

“You realithe,” Grubber asserts, “that we got the printhetheth to Kluthetown? If they didn’t rethpect our fortheth, why wouldn’t they jutht do what they want? Obviouthly they thought we had thome chanthe of winning.”

“Well, yeah,” Gallus agrees. “They were probably just worried about maintaining their image. The Equestrian army sucks. If it wasn’t for the alicorns, they’d have nothing.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Rainbow Dash chimes in, not about to let an assertion like that fly. “Have you seen the Wonderbolts?”

“The stunt flyers?” Gallus shrugs dismissively, which only serves to inflame Rainbow Dash even more. “They’re fast, sure, but even pound for pound they don’t stack up against a griffon. And there’s, what, two dozen of you?”

“Three,” Rainbow Dash corrects, but after the word comes out she realizes it doesn’t really help her argument. “And being fast is, like, the most important part of any engagement. I get to pick when I engage, and you don’t.”

“Not when you’re defending a bunch of slow earth ponies,” Gallus argues, though he turns to Sandbar. “No offense.”

“We are pretty slow,” Sandbar admits. “But why fight when I can buy you off with food?”

Gallus ignores the rebuttal to turn back to Rainbow Dash. “You’re outclassed anyway, they’re all losing engagements. You just going to abandon your friends? Where’s your loyalty then?”

“Dude,” Rainbow Dash spits out, getting heated, “the Wonderbolts have beaten dragons. The big ones, the ones that eat fried chicken for breakfast.”

“Oh, no,” Gallus melodramatically wails, running his claws down his face and stretching his eyelids. “Not dragons! Anything but dragons!” He spits, glaring down Rainbow Dash. “Name me a dragon the Wonderbolts have beaten in the last, I don’t know, hundred years. You ponies wouldn’t last five seconds in actual military training, let alone the real thing.”

“Hey, let’s keep it civil,” Doug tries, to no avail.

Rainbow Dash flies forward, landing an inch away from Gallus. Both try to glare the other down, neither budging. “Oh, yeah?”

“Hey!” Doug’s shout draws both their attention, Rainbow Dash’s ears staying defiantly perked even as her stallion physically pushes them apart. “That’s a fascinating topic, but now is not the time. Got it?”

The two retreat back, if grudgingly. Rainbow Dash huffs next to Twilight, who is hard at work scribbling something down. “What’cha doing?” the pegasus asks.

“Something to talk to Luna about,” Twilight deflects. She puts away the paper.

“Now,” Doug says to the class, “where were we?”

“Any conflict makes it worse off for the trading partners,” Sandbar asserts. “You have dead weight in paying for protection, but you also limit or remove any trades that were profitable before needing the guards but not profitable after hiring them.”

“Whoop-di-doo, the rich get richer.” Gallus sits back on his hind legs, defensively crossing his claws across his chest.

“Yona… very confused,” the yak says, looking up from her notes, which mostly consist of tiny comments and loops circling around randomly. “How this relate to cannons?”

“Very tangentially,” Doug admits, standing up. He pulls out Pinkie’s paper. “Now. We can either follow the lesson plan and learn about the history of cannons and their entertainment value, followed by a quiz.” He pauses for a moment, to dead silence. “Or we can keep having this discussion.”

Loud stomps reverberate the ground, Yona only contributing half the shaking. Rainbow Dash snorts, punching Doug on the shoulder. “Dude, is that how voting is supposed to work? I thought you gave two kinda close choices, not fresh cider versus a bag of horse apples.”

“...That you set on fire,” Twilight jests, joining Rainbow Dash in smirking.

Doug rolls his eyes, putting away Pinkie Pie’s paper. “Okay, you got me. Except, now we don’t have to watch Pinkie Pie’s rap video about the history of cannons!”

He cringes at the loud shout from the train station. “I heard that!”

Ch. 110 - Might in All Forms, Part Three

“Hey, DT?” Pomarbo doesn’t fully pull himself out from under the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000, but his brown foreleg can barely be seen waving about. “Can ya get me that?”

Diamond Tiara stops staring out the barn window, pausing her assessment of all the ponies attending the new School of Friendship. Dam always cautions her about finding potential problems before they find you, but lots of the students are from far-off cities like Vanhoover and Stratusberg where she doesn’t have reliable contacts. Still, it is important to develop the ability to read ponies on your own, and not be wholly reliant on the opinions of others. It helps that many of the new arrivals are more than happy to chat with the scion of the Rich and Milk families, a propensity she exploits to the fullest.

She finds it only slightly disconcerting that Pomarbo doesn’t need to elaborate as to which of the myriad items on the table he is referring to. She grabs the pack of four recharged batteries with her mouth, dreading when he gets to the container of oil that’s blacker than soot and even harder to scrub out, and deposits them into his waiting hoof. She takes care not to show that discomfort; a Rich pony, as her dam would say, only shows her disdain when she means to, and the Apple scion is not a prudent target of that disdain, no matter how much she detests the Cider Squeezy.

No, ‘detests’ is too strong; she merely shares Applejack’s apprehensions about the unicorn-designed-and-powered machine. It’s important to get your descriptions right, her dam says. And it has nothing to do with how much of Pomarbo’s time it occupies! That isn’t… What are they harping on so much at that new School of Friendship? Honesty? Maybe Applejack mentioned it once or twice as well. Regardless, it wouldn’t do to upset the precarious balance between the three pony breeds.

It’s one thing to maneuver during a time of upheaval to come out on top, should these unicorn contraptions become more widespread. What’s next - projectors and screens as tall as buildings, while everypony (and she means everypony) carries around a limitless dragonfire messenger small enough to fit in a knapsack? She has no clue, but more importantly - much like her dam - she doesn’t see a sound and reliable way to profitably ride that storm. What would an earth pony like herself have to offer? She’s heard stories about Twilight during her time at Celestia’s School of Gifted Unicorns, capable of growing a plant faster than an earth pony. A unicorn foal beating out the most capable earth ponies! And, if the tales were true, able to manufacture more of the concoction! With so many alicorn foals along the way, and how many more after that!? If the only thing she has to offer is under her tail…

She scowls, if briefly, then chides herself about letting her countenance slip. She runs through her exercises: six smiles, six frowns, six grins, six neutral, six scowls, and six beams as bright as she can manage. No, she resolves during that time, I will not let that be my most important attribute.

She grabs a set of long screws and screwdriver before Pomarbo needs ask, waits patiently for him to finish pulling out the spent batteries, and makes the swap. She takes them to a device Ocellus helped rig up, that collects ambient magical energy and stores it into said batteries. It runs on organic compounds, much like the Cider Squeezy if less ravenous. She unstoppers a dark jug of cow blood (the concept barely fazes her now), pours it into the tank, and replaces the full carafe of pure water with an empty one.

“Hey, DT!” Cozy Glow’s high-pitched voice calls from the open window. After a brief moment of hesitation the pegasus lets herself in, shuddering as she carefully avoids the closed container of oil.

“Hello, Cozy Glow,” Diamond Tiara replies, coyly batting a bit of her purple mane. The ponytail doesn’t bother her as much, and it helps keep her mane away from getting as gunky. “That extra class over already?” It is Stallionsday, and she’d hate to be stuck in class an extra day, but maybe it would be worth it to enroll at the new School. Not worth giving up School Pony President, though.

“For the most part,” Cozy Glow answers, folding her wings up and peering at the colt working underneath the Cider Squeezy. “Mister Doug took over for Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy. He was doing a really good job, too! They were talking about politics and relationships and cannons as deterrents. But once they started talking about bore sizes and flak…”

Diamond Tiara frowns, because that’s what one is supposed to do when that particular topic comes up. Those days are supposed to be long behind them, after all, when earth ponies devised tactics against pegasi. But, she supposes, anything good against a pegasus works against a griffon. Leave it to the human to not know what is appropriate to talk about. Except, aren’t they supposed to be Friends now? “It didn’t go well after that?”

“Oh, golly, no, it was going great. Until Princess Twilight stepped in and made us talk about friendship instead.” Cozy Glow sighs, dejected, and settles against the packed dirt floor. “I mean, I know friendship is supposed to be great and all, but I just don’t see it.”

Diamond Tiara glances at Pomarbo, but the colt is as engrossed as always in the Cider Squeezy. “Well, of course not,” she consoles, keeping her tone saccharine. “You barely knew anypony when you got to Ponyville. Are your friendship lessons going any better?”

“Oh, definitely! I thought I was going to flunk out until you helped me!” Cozy Glow’s grin is missing something, perhaps the way it doesn’t fully extend to her eyes. “It must be nice having your dam as one of the instructors!”

“What can I say,” Diamond Tiara laughs, again batting at her bothersome mane. “It does pay to be a Rich pony.”

“I guess,” Cozy Glow says with a long sigh. “I mean, you have friends, that’s great, you get them to do things for you. I just don’t see how friendship helps the little pony.”

Diamond Tiara allows a thin smile. “Are you saying you don’t want to be friends?”

“Oh, golly! No! Not at all!” Cozy Glow’s curls flip back and forth wildly as she shakes her head. “You’ve been a big help! But, I just don’t know where to go from here. How can a tiny pegasus like me make more friends?”

“Well,” Diamond Tiara soothes, “you have the chess club, don’t you?”

Cozy Glow nods, but stays sullen. “That’s not enough. I need something big, something that makes everypony want to be my friend!”

“Something big?” Diamond Tiara frowns to herself. “Like, turning Nightmare Moon into Princess Luna big? That certainly did it for the Apple herd.” Well, that and Doug helping Princess Celestia out, but she doesn’t want to make her reasons for courting Pomarbo too obvious, even if he is completely oblivious.

Pomarbo’s shudder briefly confuses her until she realizes why her tactless mention of Nightmare Moon might bother him. His prone position exposes the long scar between his foreleg and barrel, two hairless ridges of skin that stubbornly refuse to heal together, even with stitches and magic.

“Yeah! Something like that!” Cozy Glow’s momentary elation doesn’t last long. “Aww, but there aren’t a whole bunch of villains just waiting to be reformed. The Storm King is playing nice, King Sombra got defeated, the changelings are on our side. And how would I go about reforming them, anyway?” She slumps over, making little circles in the dirt with a hoof. “Wait! That, um, centaur. Tiwek!”

“Lord Tirek?” Diamond Tiara slowly nods. “I heard he got locked back up in Tartarus. But if you’re trying to change somepony, the first thing you need to figure out is what they want, what they’re after. That’s what Twilight did with Queen Chrysalis and the changelings, and look where they are now!”

“Wow,” Cozy Glow stammers, in awe. “You’re really good at this whole ‘friendship’ thing. Why aren’t you a teacher there?”

“I should be, right?” Diamond Tiara grins.

“But how would I go about making Lord Tirek our friend?” Cozy Glow flies to the window, staring outside. “I could go visit him and talk to him!” Diamond Tiara coughs. “Oh, right, Tartarus. Maybe I could send him a letter! We could be, um, what’s it called?”

“Pen pals.” Diamond Tiara glances at Pomarbo, not hiding her trepidation. “Are you ready for the pan?”

“Eeyup,” the colt calls, grabbing the flat metal sheet and carefully positioning it much like Applejack might move a basket. A few twists later and he waits, takes a breath, and makes a final twist, yanking his hoof away but not fast enough to not get a splash of black oil against his brown foreleg. “Ugh,” he complains, shaking his head and replacing the filter. He slides out from under, pushing the scooter he was laying on against the wall. “There’s got to be a better way than that.”

“Having a horn?” Diamond Tiara laments through the oil container in her mouth.

That gives Pomarbo pause. “Ah suppose it would,” he agrees, even if that wasn’t Diamond Tiara’s intention, before taking the oil and climbing to the open engine block. He wipes the oil-stained hoof against his face, right under his safety goggles, putting a black smear right under the eye. “Ready?”

Diamond Tiara detests this part, and she means to use that word this time. She grabs an oil-stained glove, but it always feels like it seeps through anyway. Why Pomarbo doesn’t care if he gets dirty is beyond her, but more than likely has to do with that sire of his. Urgh.

Wait.

“Cozy Glow, would you like to try?” Diamond Tiara asks in a way that is entirely not asking.

“Um, sure, I guess.” Cozy Glow takes the glove and peers underneath the Cider Squeezy. Black fluid oozes from a circular metal ring, weeping like a grieving dam. It splashes into the flat pan, the ripples fading from the viscous liquid long before they reach the sides. “What do I do?”

“He’s going to pour some oil into the top,” Diamond Tiara explains patiently. It wouldn’t do to have her patsy - no, assistant - flake out on her. “It’ll force the rest of the old oil out, so we have to wait a few seconds. Then you tighten the filter. Righty-tighty.”

“Righty-tighty,” Cozy Glow repeats, looking happy to be involved. She grins as she moves in position, hoof dangerously close to tipping the half-full pan over. Diamond Tiara takes an innocuous (she hopes) step backward. “Ready!”

“Here goes!” Pomarbo starts dumping the oil in, slowly at first.

At first, nothing seems to happen, long enough for Cozy Glow to lean forward as if she might detect the blockage visually. As much as Diamond Tiara would find that hilarious it wouldn’t do; she reaches forward, yanking on Cozy Glow’s tail and pulling her back right as the first glob splurts out and into the pan. “Thanks,” Cozy Glow says, genuinely appreciative.

“Twist it,” Diamond Tiara orders, saved from having to tighten the filter by her earlier action.

“You got it!” Cozy Glow sticks the glove into the ongoing flow, biting at her lip as she shuts the valve. “Done!” She grins, beaming at Diamond Tiara, and picks up the full pan. “Where do you want this?”

“Careful,” Pomarbo cautions as Cozy Glow takes to the air. “It’s very-”

The oil, behaving like a liquid and not a sheet of wood, quickly exaggerates any imbalance in how it is carried. Cozy Glow, unprepared for the sudden shift in weight and attempting to hold on with a slick glove, can’t keep her grip. The entirety of the pan sloshes forward, smack into Diamond Tiara.

“...easy to spill,” Pomarbo finishes after the fact. He gulps.

A tortured shriek splits the air as black hooves paw at screwed-shut eyes, Diamond Tiara’s barrel collapsing into the sodden dirt. Black marrs the white streak of her ponytail, dripping onto her back and down her sides, her tail no less spared.

“I-I’m so sorry!” Cozy Glow lets the rest of the pan spill from her hooves, nervously flitting this way and that, not wanting to land in the brackish mud. “Here, I can-”

“No!” Diamond Tiara opens a reddened, unfocused eye, tracking more by sound than by sight. “Stay away!”

Pomarbo, after emptying the oil can, hops down and grabs the carafe of water. “Tilt your head back,” he commands, not caring how oil splashes on his hooves or how his foreleg gets covered when he helps Diamond Tiara roll to her back and tilt her head. “Eyes open.”

As much as it pains her to do so, Diamond Tiara opens one eye, barely able to hold back her scream as water mixes with tears to wash away the oil. She desperately wants to thrash about, his hoof helping hold her in place. “You owe me,” she spits out to the pegasus above, who returns a nervous nod. “Big time.”

“You two can kiss and make up later,” Pomarbo orders, much like his sire. Diamond Tiara finds herself drawn to the authority in his voice, even if he is a colt. She forces the other open, mostly able to make out the concern in his features through the tears and water spilling into the corners of her eyes. She can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness: here she is, covered in filth, yet wouldn’t want it any other way.

Ch. 111 - First Snow, Part One

Radiant Hope swirls together a mixture of blue and white, a hopeful look on her face as she completes the tincture with a hearty helping of hard cider. “Okay,” she offers, having difficulty keeping her balance while powerful fumes waft into her face, even with all the train car windows open as far as they will go. The other passengers have given them as wide a berth as possible. “How about this one?”

Tempest Shadow takes the tincture and downs it with just as much apathy as all the others. A thin line dribbles out the corner of her mouth.

“Maybe sweet cider?” Radiant Hope mutters, trying to keep an optimistic attitude. She exchanges one colorful bottle of 5-F! for another, this one patterned with yellows and golds instead of russets and reds.

“Ah’m just hopin’ we don’t need ta go back for water straight from the Stream of Silence,” Applebaum complains as she dabs at the corners of Tempest Shadow’s muzzle. “That'd be the worst.”

“Anything but that,” Tempest Shadow dourly drolls.

Applebaum joins Totem in staring out the window and watching the barren hills of the Ghastly Gorge roll by. It looks even eerier with the sun casting long shadows amid mottled browns and greens, much like the Everfree Forest they’d soon pass by. “Ah know, right? Hikin’ through that jungle twice was once more’n enough for me, thank you very much.” She twirls the feather still in her mane. “At least there were less bugs with that shortcut.”

“No, not that.” Tempest Shadow swipes the bottle of hard cider. “Sweet cider? That ruins the entire point of forcing that swill down in the first place.”

“Swill!?” Applebaum leaps back from the window, glaring daggers at Tempest Shadow. “What’re ya callin’ swill?”

“Please.” Tempest Shadow takes a long draw from the purloined bottle, grimacing at the aftertaste. “Sweet cider is for silly little ponies who haven’t experienced all of what this life has to offer.”

Applebaum grits her teeth, fuming, not trusting herself to speak.

“I think you two are missing the point,” Totem interjects.

“An’ what is that?” Applebaum spits out. “Ah mean, Ah like hard cider too, but that’s-”

“-Tempest is talking,” Totem finishes.

“-mah family’s…” Applebaum turns to Tempest Shadow, who takes a casual sip. “You’re talkin’ again!”

Radiant Hope drops the bottle of sweet cider, which Totem barely snags before it smashes into the floor. “It worked! I’m so happy it worked!” She rushes over to the sour-faced unicorn. “How are you feeling?”

“Perfectly fine without being badgered about my health.” Tempest Shadow glares at Applebaum. “Do you think I enjoyed having my autonomy stripped away?”

“Well, ya did work for the Storm King for years,” Applebaum retorts. “Ah’d’a bet you’re plenty use’ta doin’ detestable things.”

“Hey, none of that,” Radiant Hope intercedes before Tempest Shadow can fire back. She turns to Applebaum. “Why don’t you return the rest of the drinks we didn’t use?”

“Ugh, fine.” Applebaum gathers up a dozen mostly-full bottles of various liquids into a set of cheap saddlebags. “Ah’m surprised a train car is stocked so well.” She goes to take the bottle of hard apple cider, only for Tempest Shadow to yank it away with a snarl.

“They don’t call it Grin City for the games,” Totem chips in, “but for the rides.”

Applebaum rolls her eyes at his lecherous wink. “Whatever.” The bottles clink against each other, tops and labels exposed. She pulls the door open, braving the wind as she makes the quick trip between train cars. Theirs is the last, aside from the caboose, the cheapest seats they could get from Los Pegasus to the Crystal Empire, with a changeover at Canterlot.

A familiar voice gives her pause as she steps into the crowded next car. Applejack, Fluttershy, and Pinkie Pie are sitting down, chatting! She steals behind a sleeping stallion, some conductor or other, and curses under her breath when the bottles rattle.

“-and then?” Applejack’s loud snort covers all other sounds. “When they were ‘bout ta toss Pinkie into that there stream? Ah thought we were done for!”

“Pssh,” Pinkie Pie’s high voice returns, and in her mind’s eye Applebaum can see the foreleg flop over. “I wasn’t worried for a second!”

Fluttershy’s voice comes next, soft enough to get Applebaum to lean forward, nearly into view. “I was glad Pinkie Pie’s piano playing was able to unite them.”

Applejack laughs. “United against her, maybe. Still, what Ah can’t believe is that those animals you met knew where to find the flowers.”

Fluttershy’s sigh is easily audible. “Applejack…”

“And that they just happened to spot a brown filly with a red and green mane?” Applejack’s strained laugh becomes incredulous. “That beggars belief, ya know?” Her rant intensifies. “What in the hay is mah filly doin’ out in Arimaspi territory? An’ stirrin’ up trouble with the Kirin for that matter?” Her heavy braid slaps at the sides of her neck. “That ain’t right! First thing Ah’m doin’ when Ah get home is writin’ ‘em an’ tellin’ ‘em ta send her home! Then, she ain’t never leavin’ mah sight again!”

Applebaum’s breath catches in her throat. What? No! She can’t go home! Much as she might find the apartment loud or only knowing a few ponies at school or Totem being, well, himself? She loves the work; how it lets her travel the world, see interesting sights, and on rare occasions blow them up! She’ll never do any of that if she has to stay on the farm. Plus, she’s in the middle of something right now!

“But Applejack,” Fluttershy pleads, to no avail.

“No, Ah’m serious! Ah’ll chain her to a post if Ah have to!” Applejack huffs, loudly. Hooves stomp against the floor as she hops down. “Ah don’t care if she’s got her cutie mark! She can’t be trusted!”

In a panic, Applebaum snatches a musty cap from the conductor and jams it on her head while shuffling the saddlebags so they cover her cutie marks. A split second later a looming form blocks out the light from the window.

Her dam’s voice comes from above. “Well, well!” Applebaum hunches over, her ears flat under the cap, dreading what is to come. “Just what Ah was lookin’ for!” Suddenly, the left saddlebag feels a touch lighter. “Ah could use a… wait a tic.” Hot breath washes over her partially concealed face. “5-F! Ya gotta be foalin’ me! Please tell me ya got the good stuff!”

“Hey, I’ll take that!” Pinkie Pie exclaims, her waving foreleg barely visible out of the corner of Applebaum’s eye. Applejack turns, flings the bottle with expert precision, and returns to rooting around the saddlebags.

Just stay calm, Applebaum reassures herself. Nopony pays attention to the server filly. You’re workin’ weekends, paying your way through school, and bored stiff.

“Mmm,” Pinkie Pie drawls after taking a long drag from the bottle. “That hits the spot!”

“Pinkie!” Applejack lets out another blast of exasperated air. “Y’ain’t supposed ta like that, ‘specially ‘round me!” She grumbles as she goes back to rooting around, checking every label.

“So, um,” Fluttershy tentatively asks, “does that mean that I can’t get one? I-if so, that’s okay.”

Applejack sighs, the saddlebag getting lighter again. “No, ‘Shy, Ah’ll be alright. Just can’t believe so many ponies want to drink this swill.” Another toss and she turns to the other side. “Please… please… yes! Ah knew it!” Removing the bottle of Sweet Apple Acres hard cider helps balance the two sides. “Now,” she asks through the bottle in her teeth, “how much?”

Applebaum’s eyes go wide; she has no idea how much the bottles cost. “F-fifteen bits?”

“Fifteen!” Applejack nearly spits out the bottle. “What kinda scam ya tryin’ ta pull here?” Her tone turns to grumbling, “Lousy luxury trains, gougin’ everypony comes aboard. Who’s in charge’a the prices here, ‘cause Ah’m gonna go give ‘em a piece’a mah mind!” She ruffles the conductor cap, apologetically continuing, “Not you, little missy. Ya just charge what they tell ya ta charge, ain’t no fault’a your own.”

“A-Ah meant fifteen total,” Applebaum appends, desperately wishing she was anywhere but there.

“Oh.” Applejack coughs, and a clink of bits follows into one of the bags. “Still a rip-off, if’n ya don’t mind mah sayin’. Still, everyponies gotta run a profit somewhere.” She returns to the bench, popping the cap off and savoring the hiss, Applebaum only too happy to trot away. “That’s why Ah always pack mah own drinks.”

“Applejack?” Fluttershy’s hesitant question draws Applebaum’s attention. When she glances over, Pinkie Pie is looking her directly in the eye, and she knows the party pony recognizes her instantly, if she didn’t know all along. A grin spreads across the pink muzzle, a hoof raises to wave, but a quick shake of the head keeps her from speaking. In fact, she draws that hoof across her face, turning the grin to a tight-lipped frown. Fluttershy continues, Applejack paying attention to her and not Pinkie Pie’s antics, “Are you sure you should be drinking that?”

Applejack reads the remainder of the label, her spirits falling as she realizes it’s hard cider. “Ah, come on!” She looks for the server filly, but her tail is already disappearing through the door to the next car.

Applebaum releases what feels like the entirety of her lungs and then some. Too close! She takes a breath, only to find herself staring into the starry mane and less starry eyes of Princess Luna.

“Good evening, foal of Honesty.” Luna inclines her head. She takes a suspicious look at the bottles in her saddlebags. “Thou art neigh up to no good, we trust?”

“Err,” Applebaum stalls, parsing out the double negative. Luna does that kind of sneaking around, right? “Nothin’ ya’d condemn, Ah promise.” She flashes a wide smile. “What’r’ya doin’ out here?”

Princess Luna lets out a huff of her own. “Having negotiated safe passage for the Elements, and ensured their return, we find ourselves at a loss as to how to fill the Arimaspi regent’s request.” She fixes Applebaum with a cold gaze, and Applebaum hopes she doesn’t mean anything by it. “What dost thou know of the Arimaspi King’s demise?”

Applebaum comes up blank, and she relays as much to Luna. “Ah can ask around if’n ya want. Why?”

“We art tasked with ascertaining his whereabouts, should he live, or returning his remains should he have perished. If none exist, we must relay as much to the regent; otherwise, there art questions to the legitimacy of his succession.” Luna sighs. “We know he traveled to the Griffon Kingdom, but beyond that we have little and less to go on.”

“Well, um, Ah wish ya luck on that.” Applebaum nods her head, receiving one in return that she takes as a dismissal, especially as Luna goes back to staring out the window, her eyelids looking heavy. “Hey, um. Do the letters ‘g-r-g-r’ mean anythin’ to ya?”

Luna’s expression is perfectly controlled. “Should they?”

Applebaum shudders; the response feels entirely wrong, but she can’t put her hoof on why. “T-thanks.” She slips away from Luna’s watchful eye. It doesn’t take long to find the bar. A bit of haggling later and Applebaum trots back down the aisle, Luna looking fast asleep. She keeps her head down in the next car, Applejack far too engrossed in wheedling away Fluttershy’s cider to spot her slinking along. Pinkie Pie notices, her eyes going wide and mouth smiling, but that’s as far as she goes. Applebaum returns the conductor’s cap, getting a snore as thanks, and finally returns to her own seat.

“Here ya go.” Applebaum passes Radiant Hope her bits, then turns to Tempest Shadow. “So, now that ya can talk again. Why’re we goin’ all the way to the Crystal Empire?”

“We aren’t.” Somehow, Tempest Shadow’s already dour face turns even more severe and foreboding. “We are venturing to the Frozen North, to the peak of Mount Everhoof.”

“Mount Everhoof?” Applebaum repeats, at a loss. “Ah know it’s the tallest mountain, at least on this side’a Equus, but why there? Nopony goes there.”

“Precisely.” A wicked grin spreads, just as foreboding. “Have you heard the tales? Harsh winds and blowing snow keep pegasi and prying eyes away from the peak. Little can be done for the more intrepid explorers. But they are few and far between, unlike injuries bad enough to be life-threatening yet not severe enough for them to perish.”

Adventure? A high chance of danger? Applebaum welcomes the tingle along her spine. Totem looks just as eager, and Radiant Hope should know all about the Frozen North!

“Accidents aside,” Tempest Shadow continues ominously, “there is something to be said for using a place of prominence as your prison, drawing on sympathetic forces to strengthen a magical bond. Autumn Blaze hinted at taking the bell high and far away. The Storm King, when he pondered where Celestia might store her secrets, thought of there. It is where we will start our search, and we will need to be well stocked and prepared.”

Ch. 112 - First Snow, Part Two

April 21st, 1001 Domina Solaria

If Applebaum thought they were overprepared venturing into the jungle, with saddlebags stuffed with provisions, a few tools that might prove useful, and a vague understanding of where they were heading, it’s nothing to what they are carrying into the Frozen North.

“Y’all realize Ah got school tomorrow, right?” Applebaum jokes to the other three ponies. They ride on the sharp-nosed train carrying them to the base of the nearest mountain next to five bright green adult changelings and thirteen mottled younglings, all rigged out for mining with pickaxes, headlamps, and sturdy saddlebags.

“It’s not too late,” Totem returns, grinning from behind blue-tinted goggles. She’s not surprised he doesn’t care, and doubts their teacher will, either.

“We can throw you out the window,” Tempest Shadow adds, as bitter as always. She goes back to running a whetstone along the edge of a long, thin blade as sharp as the glare in her eyes.

Applebaum doesn’t think she’s joking. Grumbling, she rubs at her forehead and her own set of tinted goggles, currently propped up and irritating her mane. But, she tells herself, it’s worth the annoyance for when she needs them. With little else to do, she double checks the supplies they’ve procured.

Radiant Hope spared no expense. Applebaum could see the fierce look in her eye as she borrowed from old friends, bartered away prized possessions, and begged when those ran out, especially when they balked at the rush. The four of them weren’t preparing for a leisurely stroll up to the top of the massive mountain, whose snow-capped top peeked out from behind a series of peaks each higher and more desolate than the last, but for a potentially weeks-long expedition through some of the most inhospitable terrain Equus has to offer.

Three hundred feet of thin, coiled rope, two dozen pitons, and a specialized climbing hammer. A tent large enough for two (if they got really comfy) and a sleeping bag. Two weeks worth of food: dried fruits, honey hardtack, and the same trail mix Doug takes on longer spelunking trips with Rarity. Toilet paper and a light first aid kit. Three days worth of water, with purifiers for the streams they’ll come across and accelerant (they didn’t let her carry that, which was probably wise) for melting snow. And that was for each of them. She and Totem split a stovetop, frying pan, and utensils, while Tempest Shadow and Radiant Hope each packed a pair of binoculars, a compass, and a map, and Radiant Hope a more extensive medical kit.

Truth be told? She wouldn’t mind if it does take them two weeks to find Grogar’s Bell. Or even longer. With how her dam was acting? Serves her right, trying to keep her from all this. Plus, she’s heard that avalanches are common on the mountains, and her cutie mark itches at seeing the destructive power of falling snow.

“Let’s suit up,” Radiant Hope calls once they get about ten minutes from the base camp. The unicorn looks practically naked, wearing only a hooded brown cloak, while the rest take the remaining time to get dressed. First a pair of dark brown furred leggings, spiked ice climbers with lined covers, though the snowshoes would wait until they got to the deeper snow. Then a layered light brown jacket, thick yet sleek and sure to keep the snow off her back and tail. A green scarf wraps around her neck, a red hat covers her red and green mane, and the goggles will complete the picture with nearly every square inch of her protected from the biting cold.

“You look like a roving Hearth’s Warming tree,” Totem remarks, looking her up and down. “Minus the lights.”

Applebaum scowls, but it’s hidden. “An’ ya look like’a block’a ice,” she shoots back, Totem all in blues and whites. Inside her jacket she feels toasty warm, hoping that lasts until the top of the mountain. She turns to Radiant Hope as they step outside into the blistering chill of the Frozen North. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ve trekked longer and farther with less,” Radiant Hope answers. Her hood covers her face and leaves only her tail and hooves exposed. “Plus, I’ve got this.” She taps at her horn, smiling. She yells to one of the bright green changelings, “Thank you for the ride; it’s greatly appreciated!”

“Anytime!” the foreling returns just as cheerfully, giving a short salute. “Just, watch out for any caves you come across.” She shudders, eyeing their reduced numbers with a heavy sigh. “They’re a lot more treacherous than they look.”

“We’ll keep that in mind.” Radiant Hope gives a short bow. “Any other words of advice?”

The changeling shrugs. “We’ll keep a lookout when the sun goes down, whenever you’re ready to ride back. Stay safe!”

“You too.” The four ponies wave, though Tempest Shadow’s could be mistaken for a very long first step. They head up the mountain while the eighteen changelings make their way down a well-worn ramp, the only place barren of snow.

“There are a lot more trees than Ah thought there’d be,” Applebaum remarks. Pines dot the landscape, sparse enough to not impede their progress but thick enough to quickly block sight of their trail and the Crystal Empire, but not the pink bubble. The tall tops continuously sway back and forth, trunks bent from years and years of wind blowing down the mountain.

“Some summers it warms enough that the cones will shed,” Radiant Hope explains, tapping one of the snow-covered branches and exposing the spiky brown pods. “It’ll only get really bad once we’re high enough that there aren’t any trees.” She shivers as snow blows in her face, more than just from the branch, their tracks likewise quickly being covered. “We’ll need to keep moving, now and then.”

“Come along, Totem,” Applebaum orders, the colt staring at the bare branch. Her voice is muffled by the scarf, and she has to repeat herself louder. He trots up to her, struggling to move quickly through the snow. She takes a deep breath. “Look. Ah know this didn’t work out so well the last time.”

“Yeah,” Totem admits, cocking his head slightly. “But now your rump is covered.”

“...So it is.” Applebaum flicks her mane. She sighs as heavy as the snow coming down around them. “Follow me, Totem.”

“You got it!” Totem trots close enough one might mistake them for being a very long and short six legged pony with worse fashion sense than her sire, if Rarity allowed him to dress himself. Applebaum resigns herself to the task, one hoof in front of the other, and ignores how he bumps his chest against her rump with every step. Part of her imagines he’s going to mount her any moment, she’s heard that’s what stallions do when they’re in that position, but she never gets more than a light push prodding her ever onward.

Radiant Hope leads, occasionally pulling out the contoured map and compass to check their progress, mostly as practice. It’s pretty easy to tell they’re going the correct direction, aiming for the valley between two peaks. There is no trail to speak of, not even a series of stumps like the changelings had made along their path, just steeper slopes to each side and an obstructed view ahead. It’s especially steep on the left, the peaks in front of Mount Everhoof, but the back face of the mountain is supposedly a much easier ascent.

Every once in a while Applebaum spots a slim red and black object getting pulled out instead of the map. One time, when Radiant Hope’s hood slips back more than normal, she stares at the long point with a certain lust, an intense longing, that she just as quickly hides.

It makes Applebaum curious, insanely so, but not enough to ask with heads bowed against the snow blowing in their face. She’s glad for the goggles, and the scarf, and the coat, the constant exertion keeping her warm.

After two hours, and passing the first of the lesser peaks, they stop at a stream. It gurgles along, louder than their hoofsteps and the wind whispering through the pines.

“Sweet Celestia,” Applebaum grunts out, gladly dropping off her pack into a pile of snow while Tempest Shadow warily watches the trees. She looks around for a place to lay down, but it’s all snow, snow, snow. “Ah thought it was bad walkin’ up the inside of Canterhorn.”

“Don’t worry,” Totem remarks from so close behind her that if she sat down she’d use his muzzle as a pillow. “We get to walk up the outside too.”

Applebaum plops down, enjoying his muffled cry as she buries his head in the soft white. Then it turns to a low, happy rumble, and she hops off with an exasperated grunt. Why can’t he even be punished properly?

She trots over to Radiant Hope, pulling out her own canteen to gulp down and then refill from the stream. “Where’s all this come from, anyway?”

“Runoff from the mountain.” Radiant Hope motions up, and up, and up, the dark slopes of Mount Everhoof disappearing into thick gray clouds. The sun hides its shining face from them behind sheer cliffs despite noon nearing. She draws in the dank, cold air of the mountain, and it seems to strengthen her. “Snow continues to accumulate, and during the day some small fraction will be melted.”

“Even with the clouds?” Applebaum frowns. “Ah thought they needed pegasi to bring in water for clouds.”

“Feel the wind?” Radiant Hope pulls her hood down, letting her frosty mane blow free. She grins, and Applebaum has no idea how she tolerates the cold; she can barely pull her scarf down to drink without her lips feeling like they are turning to ice. “That is no ordinary wind, to blow like it does. But that wind must come from somewhere before traveling down these mountains until it reaches the ocean, where it heats, gathers water as vapor, and rises. It follows the pull from above, and the warm, wet clouds return with their bounty of snow and sleet and hail.”

“Hail?” Applebaum’s face scrunches up. “Nopegasi would ever let it hail on Ponyville. But Ah’ve heard, back in the day, that the Everfree let loose on occasion.”

“The Crystal Heart protects us all.” Radiant Hope's smile falters, her eyes going to her oft-opened pack. She notices how Applebaum’s eyes follow her own. “...I suppose you’re wondering what I have in there.”

“Ah was,” Applebaum admits, her dam’s penchant for Honesty rubbing off on her. “But if ya don’t want me pryin’...”

Radiant Hope withdraws the long, black unicorn horn with a dark red tip. She chokes up, body shuddering even through her coat. “This belonged to somepony I loved, dearly and completely.”

“...King Sombra…” Applebaum says, low and scared.

Radiant Hope frowns, but nods. “He was always just ‘Sombra’ to me. The Sombra I knew would never have done what he did. Not without good reason.”

“What kinda reason would justify enslavin’ your people?” Applebaum asks pointedly, halfway between curious and accusing.

“...I don’t know.” Radiant Hope bows her head. “But he only succumbed to the darkness because I left him. Because I wasn’t there to help him when he needed me. And when he is restored?” Her jaw sets, a firm nod in sheer defiance of the cold sending shivers down Applebaum’s spine. “I will never leave his side again.”

“...Ah believe you.” As much as it hurts Applebaum to admit, with the very real chance of things going wrong, what outcome could possibly be better? “Ah believe that with you by his side, Sombra won’t be a mon…”

“You can say it,” Radiant Hope quietly says when Applebaum cuts off. “I know what he did. I know what other ponies think he is. But that isn’t what he has to be.”

When Applebaum doesn’t say anything else she takes the horn and puts it back in her saddlebag. “We’ve rested long enough.” She stands, brushing the snow off her cloak, and faces the steep slopes of Mount Everhoof. “Let’s go.”

Ch. 113 - First Snow, Part Three

After their rest they break out the snowshoes and stride atop drifts higher than their heads. The hours pass in shade and shadow, the miles around the base of the mountain quickly and quietly eaten up.

After their second rest the slopes are so steep they put the snowshoes away. The snow is no longer on the ground but in a constant swirl around their heads, as though the very mountain itself is angry at their existence, but all it can do is blow. So blow it does, harder and harder the closer they get to the top.

After their third rest, they break out the ropes, pitons, and hammers.

“H-how high are we?” Applebaum struggles to get out. She can’t get enough air in her lungs, her belly threatens to expel the small amount of hardtack she didn’t feel like eating in the first place, and the muscles in her legs have gone from complaining with sharp pangs to reminding her of their dreary existence with dull, persistent aches. She wants to shut down, slumber for hours if not days, and she hasn’t seen one avalanche yet!

“Twelve thousand feet,” Radiant Hope answers. Applebaum can’t suppress her jealousy at the unicorn’s energized appearance, her scarf covering the scowl. “Twice as high as Canterlot. Past the top of the Canterhorn.”

Totem shivers next to her, and for once she’s thankful for his body pressing against hers, if only to block a fraction of the frigid wind. It whips at their sides, threatening to blow away unattended gear or inattentive ponies. Tempest Shadow doesn’t fare much better, but she hasn’t heard a word of complaint from the stalwart unicorn pressed against them. He remarks, voice shaking, “I-I didn’t know ponies could go that high.”

“With little reason to, they rarely tarry long,” Radiant Hope replies, restlessly shifting. She has drunk little and eaten less, yet seems more invigorated than when they set out. “Are you ready?”

“Ah…” As much as Applebaum wants to be a credit to her breed, she can’t force her legs to straighten out. She was fine walking up… no, that’s a lie, every step was torture, another step she knew would be twice as tough going back down. Her chin bows into her chest, tears freezing behind the goggles she dares not take off. “Ah don’t know if Ah can.”

“I’m good here, too,” Totem adds, snuggling into Applebaum’s side. She’d roll her eyes, but even that takes too much effort. She sinks into the snow that grows higher with every passing minute, drifts forming against their immobile bodies.

“Shhh,” Radiant Hope whispers, drawing close. She pulls her brown hood back, and Applebaum doesn’t know how she can withstand the snatching cold that devours heat as readily as her dam devours apples. When she pulls Applebaum’s hat and scarf away, the earth pony doesn’t have the strength to fight her. “Here. Drink this.”

Applebaum fumbles for the canteen of chilled water, barely able to get her lips to function. But when warmth spreads from the horn laid across her forehead, and from the liquid trickling down her throat and dribbling from her mouth? Her muscles come alive! They fill with strength from reserves she didn’t know she had, as great gulps of air innervate her lungs and mind. She stands and laughs at the fangless frost, her packs weightless, feeling like she could trek all day and night. “What did ya...?”

Radiant Hope smiles, as radiant as the sun, and it’s all Applebaum can focus on. “Hope shines brightest against the dark.” She turns to Totem, lays her horn across his forehead and presses the water against his muzzle. He jumps up, follows Applebaum’s last order by shoving his chest against her rump, eager as ever. “Let’s go!”

It’s still light out, going by the clouds that draw closer with every hoof they place above another. Radiant Hope leads, and it is as if Harmony guides her every step. They come to their first serious obstacle (as if the entire mountain wasn’t enough), a sheer sheet of slippery ice and rock that disappears into soupy clouds. Yet she tackles it as casually as if they are walking along flat ground; her hooves find every solid spot, rarely having to reconsider a route or, worse, backtrack. Even in the middle of the cloud bank it seems as if she knows the way, Applebaum gamely keeping up with Totem pressing on her heels and Tempest Shadow behind gathering their pitons.

Then they crest the clouds, and the whole world opens up around them. They stop on a circular plateau with a wide central pillar that continues upward. They can see for miles and miles, an evening sun fading among snow-capped mountains to their west, the tallest a seeming stone’s throw away. To the north endless rows of peaks stretch, and the east looks just as inhospitable. But to the south lies Equestria, deep blue oceans sandwiching rolling hills of green and brown with a single upraised hoof in the center. Canterlot seems just a white splotch on the side, Ponyville a splash of rainbow sprinkles next to the dark green Everfree engulfing the mountain.

“Good thing we picked this route,” Totem remarks, huddling next to Applebaum. The snow has ceased but not the wind, his leg fighting to stay steady. He points at a few of the isolated peaks close to them, but none go as high as the one they are climbing. “I’d hate to climb the… Change Tse, right?”

“Ah think that one’s farther out.” Applebaum points at a cluster of peaks, taller than the rest but nowhere close to the height of Mount Everhoof. She shares the sentiment, though; the wind is the worst it has ever been, and the thought of having your end in sight but inaccessible gnaws at her.

“It’s close,” Radiant Hope announces, having completed a circuit of their peak while the two were absorbed with the view. “Can you feel it?”

Totem stares blankly; Applebaum doesn’t feel anything different, just the chill of dry snow again creeping through her coat. They follow the unicorn around, Tempest Shadow again taking the rear. The plateau doesn't look all that different than any of the others they climbed, rock and snow and ice all mixed together. Some places are steep, some less so, but the easy paths to climb always seem to lead nowhere.

“Wait.” Applebaum stops at a snow drift, halfway around, seemingly identical to all the others. Yet something feels wrong; her cutie mark confirms the fleeting feeling, identifying a vulnerability in the wall. She walks up to the drift, scraping away the packed snow. The others watch, holding their breath, Radiant Hope especially eager.

But rather than meet solid stone behind the snow, her hoof pings off a translucent yellow barrier.

“This is it!” Radiant Hope rushes forward along with Totem and Tempest Shadow. Their shouts of joy mingle with the wind, carried away much like their fears and concerns. They dance, whipping back and forth, spinning in circles as they laugh and cry and sing.

“We made it!” Applebaum flings away great hooffuls of snow, the powder too dry to pack into anything approximating a snowball. Totem, right next to her, follows along with gusto. Soon the entire barrier is exposed, but they can’t make out anything further in except a pitch black cave. She takes a swing at the shimmering yellow, laughing, but all she does is glance off, leaving her hoof feeling numb. She tries a rock, then a pickaxe, but nothing seems to work. Hornlight doesn’t penetrate, the insides just as black as before, and neither does a hastily assembled torch.

“Here, let me try.” Radiant Hope places her hoof against the barrier, her horn lighting blue while her eyes turn white. She concentrates, leaning her head forward. “The Laughter is really strong; whoever put this here knew what she was doing.” Her whole body sinks toward the barrier. “Ah, but they left a back door. A trapped one? Ooh, good thing I saw that, or that would have been painful. Wait, you trapped that part too?”

Applebaum’s eyes shoot open as she recognizes the true trap. She charges forward, hollering as loud as she can, and bodily shoves the unicorn away from the glowing barrier, sending them both tumbling to the snow.

“What was that for?” Radiant Hope demands as she brushes herself off.

“Ah’ve seen that spell before,” Applebaum explains, her legs shaking with worry. “Ya didn’t try ta open it, did ya?”

Radiant Hope shakes her head, her anger leaving her as she sees Applebaum’s worry. She shudders at what might have happened to her. “No, but I was about to knock.”

“Good.” Applebaum sighs in relief. “Where’d ya learn ta do that?”

“I was Princess Celestia’s pupil.” Radiant Hope scowls at the translucent sheen of gold. “She taught me that, and more. I should have recognized her hornwork, but I did not figure her for the trapping kind.”

“Did we come all this way for nothin’?” Applebaum studies the barrier, her voice catching. “W-what do we do?”

Totem idly bounces a rock off the barrier. He has found a spot to hit where the rock returns to him after sailing through the air. “Can we go around it?”

Applebaum shakes her head. “It’s curved like a sphere. Ah mean, ya could make your shield like that over just a door, but only if your walls are just as strong. Otherwise, all it’d do is deflect the attacks to a weak spot.” She taps her hoof against the rock next to the barrier, pieces flecking away. “An’ this rock ain’t the strongest.”

“If finesse doesn’t work?” Tempest Shadow states coldly. She pulls an obsidian sphere from deep in her pack, Applebaum and Totem hastily retreating from the barrier. “We brute force our way in.”

A single tap and throw sends the crackling green sphere hurtling into the barrier. It impacts, releasing a torrent of green and gold sparks, slowly digging itself deeper. After a full two seconds it passes through, leaving a gaping hole in the barrier and the sharp tang of ozone in the air. Then, after three seconds, the hole collapses in on itself, again a solid barrier shimmering in front of them.

“Woah,” Totem utters, sticking next to Applebaum. He grins. “Can ya do that again?”

Tempest Shadow grimaces at the ineffectiveness of her petrification orbs. She pulls out the three she has remaining.

“That was barely large enough for me to squeeze through,” Applebaum states, glancing at her companions. She sensed other things shifting, too; the changelings had warned them about entering caves, and they didn’t trust any of the ones they found on the way up. “Ah don’t think y’all’d fit.”

“Agreed,” Radiant Hope says, though unhappy to admit it. “I would rather I take the chance than ask any of you to.”

“I could try two orbs,” Tempest Shadow suggests, but clearly against it. “But if it reseals…”

“Here, let me try this.” Radiant Hope focuses for a moment, her horn lighting blue. She teleports forward a few inches, then crumples forward with an abject cry of pain.

“Hope!” Applebaum rushes to the unicorn’s side, glad to find she is only breathing heavily. She offers her a grin, hoping to perk up her spirits, knowing she can do little for her horn or exhaustion. “Ah didn’t know ya could teleport!”

“I-it takes a lot out of me,” Radiant Hope admits, shuddering. “Much like the hope spell.”

“Ah suppose it’d be too much to ask for ya to teleport us off this mountain?” Applebaum’s smile spreads wider, especially as Radiant Hope laughs along with her. “Hey. If we get this bell, and you get your horn back?” She turns her grin to Tempest Shadow, who seems surprised at her concern. “Then it’d be worth it.” She rubs at Totem’s head, who hasn’t stepped a hoof away from her this whole time. “It’d even be worth puttin’ up with you!”

“Hey,” Totem returns jovially, snuggling next to her, “you love it and you know it.”

Applebaum rolls her eyes as she shrugs off the bulkiest of her saddlebags and equipment. She cracks first one side of her neck, then the other, limbering up as best she can while wearing her heavy boots and coat. She kicks out two good hoofholds in the snow. “Ready,” she states, tail wagging back and forth as she bends down like she’s going for a personal best in the barrel lead.

“Don’t go too quickly,” Tempest Shadow cautions. “Only after the sparks fade.”

“Got it.” Applebaum paws at the snow, shaking her head with a loud nicker. She watches carefully as Tempest Shadow tosses the second orb, starting her charge even as green and gold sparks fly.

With a mighty thrust of her legs she leaps through the opening, Totem hot on her heels.

Ch. 114 - First Snow, Part Four

“Totem!” Applebaum shrieks as the colt stumbles into her, knocking her down and onto the hard ground of the cave. It’s nearly pitch black inside, and she can’t see where her hooves end and the warm floor begins except by feel. “What’re ya doin’ in here?”

“You said to follow you,” Totem answers readily, confusion in his voice. He nervously shifts, the gear on his back rustling. Applebaum can only tell his ears fold flat because the silhouette against the yellow shield changes. He says again, quieter, frightened as he tries to keep close, “You told me to follow you.”

“Well, stop it!” Applebaum growls as she gets up, angrily headbutting the colt away from her. “Go stand over there!”

“No,” Totem pleads, stifling a sob, even as he complies by standing close to the wall and out of the way. “You’re going to leave me here.”

Applebaum sighs, the distressed colt more than she wants to deal with. “Ah’m not gonna leave ya here. Okay? You’re gonna be safe.”

“You don’t know that,” Totem counters. “You don’t believe that.”

“Just… just stay there, okay?” Applebaum grunts as she grabs the torch from her saddlebags. She had shed the bulkiest, most cumbersome ones, leaving her only a few coils of rope and a hammer, flint, spare torches, and one of the glowsticks. Plus the two dynamite sticks Dig Root gave her in case the bell needs ‘loosening’. She lights the torch with the flint, wincing at the bright light, but also the worried ping her cutie mark gives her.

The light of the flickering flame only extends a few feet in front of her, leaving the center of the cave a darkened mystery. Dust has settled on the floor, two furrows where the orbs pierced through the shield and rolled only a foot before coming to a stop. The air has a musty taste to it, dry and dead. The heat helps warm her from standing outside, and without the wind she feels almost hot. Even so, she doesn’t want to shed her jacket; a little sweat won’t hurt her.

“That can’t be right,” she mutters to herself as she starts walking the perimeter of the cave, keeping a stone wall on her left. The cave feels too small, at least given the contour of the shield. Either it isn’t spherical, or the barrier extends into the rock. She pulls the hammer from her pack, wishing she had a pickaxe, and takes an experimental swing against the wall.

*Clang!*

“What was that?” Totem asks, still standing at his spot but shifting back and forth, ready to come if called. “Are you okay?”

“Just testin’ somethin’,” Applebaum answers, kicking herself for not warning him. The last thing she needs is him disobeying her orders. She takes another swing, the rock chipping away far easier than if it was a solid wall. The reason becomes obvious quickly: the shield has sliced through the cave wall, leaving a thin portion only supported by the connection it has to the rest of the rock.

She trots around the edges, surprised by how quickly she returns to Totem. His wide eyes reflect the light of her torch back at her, never blinking. “You okay?” she asks, concerned.

“T-the torch helps,” he stammers, breath coming in short pants. He offers a smile, but it’s shaking too much to give her any reassurance. “O-otherwise, I don’t know how to get to you if you call.”

“I’ll be quick,” Applebaum promises, returning the smile. She hopes it helps.

The cave lowers as she gets to the center, a depression she suspects tracks the lower bound of the shield. In the center of the cave, atop a cylindrical pedestal, lies a large green bell. A loop comes off the top, perhaps big enough to snag a hoof through, but it looks like a tight fit. Scratches mar the dull green finish where red rust hasn’t eaten away. A large chip is missing from one of the corners.

Her cutie mark doesn’t care for it, not at all. She warily regards the bell, the climax of far too many Daring Do books coming to mind. But those are all fictional, right? How many chambers actually collapse when the artifact is taken from the pedestal? That’s just silly, right? Unless the artifact is, for whatever reason, powering the protections around it.

She stops her outstretched hoof before it can touch the bell. No. She shakes her head, trying to clear whatever impulse would cause her to do such an ill-considered action. Just because there is a super-powerful artifact sitting right next to her, in easy reach, doesn’t mean she should go around touching it at random. Actually, she should especially not go around touching it at random.

She holds the torch up as high as she can. A frown slowly crosses her face as she sees a large pillar of stone, the world’s largest stalactite if she has any guess, in a precarious position above the pedestal. Her cutie mark screams at her to back up, that above her is instant death should it come loose, the whole thing liable to come crashing down. She tries to calm herself down, ignore her mark; after all, the ceiling has held for a thousand years, right? It’s just a trap against anypony who tries to touch the bell. The bell they are trying to get.

The thought of grabbing the bell and the roof falling fills her with dread.

She…

She doesn’t believe Celestia would make a trap like that. Right? Not the Celestia she knows, and she feels like she knows the alicorn better than the vast majority of ponies.

But it wasn’t just Celestia who put the bell here. It was also Gusty the Great. And from what she saw of the Kirin, with their ambushes and ‘I’m-right-you’re-not’ arguing and extreme measures…

She can absolutely see them putting in a trap that crushes first and asks questions later.

Her cutie mark quiets down once she gets a few body lengths away from the center. Her legs feel like jelly as she trots back to the entrance, but she doesn’t get the direction right at first and has to circle around until she nearly bumps into Totem. She can only make out the entrance when she is standing nearly on top of it: the translucent, semi-glowing barrier is dark and opaque from more than five feet away. She can barely make out Radiant Hope on the other side, a hoof pressed against the surface as the unicorn peers inside.

Nuanced communication through the barrier is nearly impossible. No sound goes through, there is too much distortion for any sort of writing, and all she can make out are yes and no head nods. She shakes her head when Radiant Hope holds up one of the orbs. She’s not going to give up, not yet, not when they’re so close.

“Alright, what are we going to do?” Applebaum asks herself, pacing back and forth.

“Well, I’ve got lots of food over here,” Totem answers, like the question wasn’t rhetorical, “enough for a few weeks, but I don’t see how that is going to help.”

“Starvin’s the least of our problems,” Applebaum counters. “Water, that’s what we’d run outta first if we got trapped. Or air…”

Her eyes go wide as she stares at the lit torch in her hoof. WIth a furious scream she throws it to the ground, stomping out the embers as quickly as she can.

“What was that for?” Totem asks over several plopping sounds, a panicked jitter to his voice.

Applebaum doesn’t answer. Instead she presses her muzzle against the shield, forms as good a seal as she can and then tries to breathe through.

Nothing.

“Why’d you put out the light?” Totem asks again.

“Because that shield ain’t stoppin’ just us from walkin’ through,” Applebaum explains, hoping she is wrong but dreading if she is right. She knew it was too warm in this death-trap of a cave. “It’s also stoppin’ cold, and light, and air.”

“Oh.” Totem waits a beat. “That’s bad, right?”

Applebaum takes a deep breath, even if that does waste their precious supply of oxygen. “No. We’ll make it work.” She looks back at the bell, or at least a vague direction of where the bell should be. “But how…?”

“Well,” Totem says, trying to stay positive, “I’ve got lots of rope over here. And some pitons, and a jacket, and I don’t need to go to the bathroom any more, and-”

“That’s it!” Applebaum rushes over to rummage through Totem’s packed bags.

“...It is?” Totem says, even more confused than normal. He awkwardly shuffles away from where he was standing before.

Applebaum rolls her eyes. “No, silly. The rope! If Ah can lasso the bell from over here?” She frowns at the near impossibility of doing that in the dark. Breaking the glowstick would help, and she does that, but she remains doubtful of the bell’s ability to be dragged. “Or, if Ah can tie it around the loop at the top?”

“Y-you know what to do,” Totem murmurs.

It’s tough to pull out the rope from the rest of the belongings Totem brought inside. Actually... It’d be a pain to take all those things back through the portal. And a lot of them are redundant anyway, right? They don’t need all the food and tents and whatnot if they’re heading straight back to the Crystal Empire.

“Totem, take all your saddlebags off,” Applebaum orders, the colt immediately and gratefully complying. “Then wait here until Ah tell ya to follow me. Got it?”

“Got it,” Totem answers, and she doesn’t need to see the grin plastered on his face to know it’s there. He’s always happiest when there’s a plan.

Applebaum takes one end of the rope in her mouth and walks the perimeter, letting the rest drag along behind her. Once she gets back to Totem she follows the rope to the center where it has looped around the cylinder the bell is resting on. Her cutie mark doesn’t care for getting close to the pillar again, not at all, the mere knowledge of its existence enough to set her hair on end. But she forces through, gritting her teeth around the rope. She delicately places two front hooves on the pedestal, ready to bolt in an instant.

Nothing happens.

She spits out the rope with a huge sigh of relief. She balances against the pedestal, slips one end of the rope through the hole at the top, and ties a knot to keep the bell from sliding around. Satisfied it is secure she carefully walks back to Totem, following the rope and not putting any force on it.

Radiant Hope seems to grasp their plan when she mimes pulling on the rope as hard as she can. It would be an extremely tight window; it was difficult enough getting herself through with Totem hot on her heels, but trying to bring the bell along with them? She has no idea how much it weighs. If it’s solid metal she likely would barely be able to drag it around. She has to assume it is hollow and she can at least move it. Otherwise, it would take too long. There just isn’t enough space!

Applebaum has an idea. A few throwing motions get Radiant Hope to hold up an obsidian orb. It takes longer to get her to hold up both, but once she does Radiant Hope has Tempest Shadow to stand next to her, each holding an orb and ready to go.

She estimates it would take two seconds to drag the bell from the center to their position on the edge. About as long as it takes the orbs to burrow through the shield. Muscles tensed, hooves dug in, she gives a testing pull on the rope. There isn’t enough rope for stretching to be much of an issue, and she can feel the bell just start to tip over when she puts her back into it.

She takes a deep breath. It’s going to be easy, like a game of rope pull. Just pull, grab more rope, repeat. She’s got this!

“Totem, you ready?”

“Ready.”

She nods to Radiant Hope, and as soon as she sees the hoof rear back she yanks as hard as she can.

The weight on the other end of rope flops onto the ground with a hearty *CLANG!!*, the reverberations echoing in the shielded room. It’s heavier than she hoped, but lighter than she feared, taking a lot of effort to move with the single rope. The first orb impacts the shield, spraying bright sparks in every direction. She doesn’t know if any of them hit her, her heart is pounding in her ears, a little pain nothing to her straining hooves. She pulls, and pulls, and the tumbling, clanging bell nearly smashes into her fetlock.

The second orb hits the shield, with a second spray of sparks, and her cutie mark goes insane.

From outside, Radiant Hope watches with wide eyes as the second orb hits the shield. The sparks hurt, but she doesn’t care, intent on seeing the two out.

But, instead of creating a larger hole, the shield collapses entirely.

Left with nothing supporting it the roof of the cave crumples inward. It pauses for a brief moment as a loud rumble shakes the mountain they are standing on. Something shatters inside; the pause gives her a fleeting glimpse of Applebaum tackling Totem further inward, while the bell - tossed by the earth pony as her final, desperate action - lands in the snow outside.

A split second later and rock crushes where Applebaum was standing. Radiant Hope rushes forward, only for an orchid hoof to yank her back. She fights Tempest Shadow, but only for a moment: the loud, shrieking wail isn’t coming from her, but from the top of the mountain. The north face is collapsing, rock and snow and boulders crashing toward them. She stares, slack-jawed, unable to comprehend what just happened and is about to happen to her.

A word, shouted in her ear, spurs her to action. She teleports to the other side of the mountain, the safe side, taking Tempest Shadow with her. Even before the rocks stop tumbling - the avalanche proceeding downward is the least of her concerns - Radiant Hope is on top of the pile of rubble, furiously shifting stones. She can’t lose those two, not now, not when they were so close!

One rock after another moves, but she seems no closer to her goal. She can’t tell if she is even digging in the right spot, but dig she continues, flinging snow and stones alike down the mountain.

“Hope.”

Radiant Hope isn’t sure how many times Tempest Shadow has called her, but she ignores it.

“Hope.”

It’s firmer that time, an itch of frustration laced in the words.

“Hope.”

Radiant Hope spins around, knocking Tempest’s hoof off her withers. “What?” she screams, hooves shaking even as she tries and fails to dislodge a boulder buried under a mountain of rubble. She hates, hates, Tempest’s callous exterior, her harsh tone, her unflinching stare.

“Can you detect them?” Tempest Shadow asks, cold and calculated. There is a firmness to her voice, an authoritative bent that demands compliance above all else. It’s enough to snap Radiant Hope out of her rage, her innate instinct to obey taking precedence.

She bites her lip as her horn flares. Tears well in her eyes, shimmering against the setting sun. “No,” she admits, dancing from one drift of snow to another. She has no reference, no idea where they are buried. “The range isn’t that far, it doesn’t go through material well, all I need to do is find the right spot and then-”

“Hope.” Tempest Shadow again gets Radiant Hope to snap out of her despondence. She motions to their bleak surroundings. Yet this time, there is a sense of desperation. “If you can’t find them, then we need to go. It will be night soon. We lost our packs, our food, our tents. Unless you want four ponies to perish on this forsaken rock, we need shelter.”

Radiant Hope’s head bows, her tears freezing against her face. “N-no. It can’t be. Harmony wouldn’t have led us here, all this distance, just for us to fail now.”

Tempest’s eyes close, but she doesn’t rebut Hope’s faith in Harmony, much as she might disagree. “Can you feel anything? Anything at all?”

Radiant Hope stills her breathing, their surroundings eerily quiet. “Yes,” she says, rushing to a nondescript pile of snow. She digs, frantic, flinging snow and rocks every which direction in her haste.

Her hoof hits something metallic, a muffled *clang* reverberating. She cries as she pulls out the ancient bell, marred and scratched.

She stares at it for a long time before an orchid hoof prompts her to rise. She does, slowly making her way down the mountain.

Ch. 115 - First Snow, Part Five

April 22nd, 1001 Domina Solaria

Applebaum first awakens to pitch darkness, a deafening scratching, and agonizing pain.

Keep fighting...

The next time she awakens to a throbbing pain in her head, a tortured scratching, and the same darkness. The pain is barely tolerable, radiating from her skull. She tries to raise a hoof to rub at it, test the extent of her injury, but stops short when she bumps into a rock. A large rock that has her head wedged between it and the floor, closed like the jaws of a timberwolf.

Until you stop breathing...

There is a light rumble reverberating through the rock; it almost sounds like music, heavy on the bass with a definite, steady beat. What is it from? Why is it there? She has no idea. It’s too quiet, and easily drowned out by the scratching that continues unabated, occasionally accompanied by low moans. It sounds like Totem, fretting and anxious. He’s above her. And close? She can’t tell. The darkness is all-consuming, leaving not a glimmer or sparkle of the glowstick, only random pinpricks of light she knows not to connect to anything.

Keep fighting...

She tentatively gives the rock pressing against her face a light push, worried about causing a cascade from the recently relocated rubble. Her cutie mark remains silent, but she might have exhausted whatever reserves she has. Her body aches, sore all over, and all she wants to do is sleep. But the pain in her head is too blinding for her to rest, her throat parched and scratchy from inhaling dust. She tries to move her right foreleg, but it’s trapped. The rest of her body is likewise buried, and she can’t twist her head to get a look at it, not that she could see anything regardless.

See you through to the other side...

She tries to piece together what happened. She remembers the shield going out and her cutie mark going insane. The spot where she was standing was not safe - a gross understatement, that - and her mark located two spots of relative safety: one outside that she might barely make, and one inside. There was no way she was getting to the safety of outside with Totem, even if he had his snout between her legs. So she took the heavy bell she was in the process of picking up, chucked it outside to give herself a smidgen more momentum, and tackled him. She must have been buried afterwards, and desperately hopes Totem escaped the worst of it. She waves her left foreleg, as far as she can, finding a fair amount of open space. A good sign?

“Totem?” she calls. Her voice is whispered sandpaper rather than the loud shout she uses at the apartment, the elderly Dig Root’s rasp instead of that of a spry young mare. She coughs, a dry, hacking wheezing, that doesn’t help her throat. She tries again. “Totem?”

The rough scratching stops, though the steady beat continues. “Applebaum?” comes the colt’s frightened reply from above her. There is a hesitancy, a disbelief, that she finds disconcerting. “You’re okay?”

“Ah’m not sure,” she answers, figuring that honesty is the best policy and all, even if he might be distraught over her condition. “Mah head hurts, Ah’m trapped, and Ah could really use a drink right about now.”

“Oh,” is all he says. After a moment the light scratching returns. He grunts, exerting against something, and a crash accompanies the pressure against her lessening.

Applebaum tries to smile, but her face hurts when she moves. “A-are ya close ta diggin’ me out?”

“Um.” He pauses, as though looking around him. “I’m not sure.”

Applebaum closes her eyes in frustration, along with a certain amount of, how can she put it delicately, utter loathing of the colt. She tries to keep the venom from her voice, but it’s hard to tell one way or the other if she succeeds. “Then what’re ya doin’?”

“I-I couldn’t dig you out. So I went back to what you told me.” The scratching continues as he says, voice shaking with pain and distress, “You told me to stand here.” She imagines he points somewhere. “But I can’t stand here. The rock is in the way.”

Applebaum stares in disbelief. She swallows, a bit of feeling returning to her throat. “...What?”

“You told me to stand here,” he explains, sniffling, scratching at the rock all the while. “But I can’t. I can’t do what I’m told.”

“Totem,” Applebaum shouts, though it comes out as an aggrieved whisper. She lets her frustrations pour out, “ya don’t always have ta do what you’re told!”

“But I do!” Totem counters, voice raising. “When I do what I’m told, it works out! Ponies like me, mares get things for me, and my cutie mark is satisfied! Things always work out! They’ve always worked out.” He whimpers, and she can hear the loud thunk of a head hitting a wall. “But now I can’t do what I’m told. And it’s not working out.”

“Totem,” she starts. That ain’t how it works! But she doesn’t voice that opinion; instead, a desperate desire washes over her, to console and soothe the ailing colt. “Can ya come over here?”

There is a brief pause. “Are you ordering me to?” he mewls, choking back a sob. “Because, if you are, then I couldn’t follow your order. I’ll have failed. I’ll be a failure.”

“You’re not a failure,” Applebaum reassures. “It’s not an order. Just… can ya come over here?”

“Promise?”

“Ah promise.” Applebaum forces a smile. “Ah’d Pinkie Promise, but Ah can’t get mah hoof to touch mah eye.” Or my chest, for that matter.

He hops down from the rocks around her, not that she notices the pressure changing. His tentative hoofbeats line up with the bass reverberating from outside. She notes the jingle of straps and a certain foul odor accompanying him. She ignores the latter, her nose quickly adapting, to focus on the fact that he is still wearing his pack. “I’m here,” he announces, as if she couldn’t hear.

“Do ya have another glowstick in there?” Applebaum grimaces at the clatter as he dumps the packs to the side and rummages through them. She didn’t think the glowsticks were that far in, but she’s never had to go through a pack blind. It takes a long time, too, like it’s his first time feeling every item and he has to figure out what it is purely by touch. She bites her tongue before it can get her in trouble.

“Do,” Totem asks, and she can tell he’s struggling to get the words out. “Do ya… want a drink?”

He’s… taking initiative? Even if it is somethin’ Ah asked for. “Yes,” Applebaum answers with a grin. “Please.”

She holds her mouth open, gladly accepting the contents of the canteen that dribble down the back of her throat. She feels like a foal, bottle propped up for her and just suckling away. The cool liquid sends shivers along her back, refreshing and reminding her body that it’s supposed to be alive and fighting, not resigning to a frozen fate.

“...Better?” He sounds hopeful, glad to be doing something right, but a twinge of regret that it isn’t what she ordered him to do earlier.

“Much.” She sighs as he goes back to emptying his pack, one item at a time. There comes the crinkle of a haybar wrapper, and the chomps of him chewing. She wishes he would share a bite, her stomach loudly reminding her that she has barely eaten. She frowns as something hard yet squishy pushes against her jaw, then realizes it’s the rest of the haybar. She opens her mouth, takes a big bite, and finds herself unable to effectively protest when he pushes the rest in. All she can do for a little while is chew the dense glob, glad she wet her mouth first, then listen as he rummages around.

When he finally finds a glowstick the light blinds her for a full minute, but it’s worth it.

She smiles at the blob standing in front of her, it gradually taking shape as her eyes adjust. She likes to think it smiles back, the dark red colt blending into the shadowy darkness behind him. “You did it,” she praises, loving how she can see his own smile return.

“...Sure.” He leans down to nuzzle her, their grime and sweat blending together. Her eyes roam over his dirt-stained coat, his disheveled mane, his worn-out expression, exhausted and spent and yet still going at it. Had he slept? She doubts it.

“Do ya see this rock?” Applebaum taps against the part holding her head down. Totem nods. “Can ya try liftin’ it?”

“Sure.” Totem tries gripping from the top, not budging it, then rolls to his back and next to Applebaum. He places his hooves on the far edge, grunts in pain, then strains, lifting the whole stack of rock trapping her a mere inch.

But an inch is all Applebaum needs. The pressure relieved, she pushes with her rejuvenated legs, squirming this way and that until her whole body is freed from the trap. She whoops in joy, dancing about as feeling returns to her whole body, glad to be alive. Her mark stays silent, thankfully, even when he gradually lowers the rock and pulls his hooves free.

She spots his hooves for the first time, gasping. He has whittled the left horseshoe away completely, the cornified layer underneath bleeding from where he has worn through that as well. For some reason, she finds this hilarious.

“What?” Totem asks when she can’t hold in her laughter.

“Y-your hoof,” she explains between fits of giggles. “Your right hoof is a lot larger than your left hoof.”

Totem looks down, inspecting his injured hoof. “Oh,” he says as he compares it to his right hoof. “I don’t get it.”

“S-sorry,” Applebaum says, but she can’t keep from laughing. I-it’s gotta be the altitude. All the blood rushing to the head…”

That sets her off again, and she flops to the dusty ground, laughing her head off.

Totem stares at her. “Oh.” He blinks. “Oh!” He grins. “Normally, I use both my hooves. Guess I’ll need to borrow yours?”

Applebaum snorts. “In your dreams.” She smirks as he flops down, his head on her belly. “Can’t wait to get to that part, huh?” Soft snores are all she gets in return. “You know, of all the ponies Ah could be trapped here with?” She tussles his short mane, sighing happily. “Ah can’t think of any Ah’d rather be with.”

“I can think of a few,” Totem answers, drawing a frown. “Princess Celestia, Princess Luna. Princess Twilight.”

“Totem?”

“Actually, anypony who can teleport, really.” Totem twists his head to look at her. “Yeah?”

“Next time you stick your hoof in your mouth?” Applebaum taps his left hoof. “Use your left hoof.”

He pulls it away, wincing, then immediately puts it next to her. “...Because I didn’t mention earth ponies who can dig really well?”

“That’s your right hoof again.” She pushes him off to stand up and take note of their surroundings. They are trapped inside a small hollow formed where the central pillar and attached cave roof fell on their side. This blocked most, but not all, of the debris from landing on them. She looks back at the spot where Totem had been digging.

The spot directly above where she was trapped, where a long section had fallen, and then in turn been buried. If he hadn’t been forcing himself to dig there…

She decides to focus on continuing his excavation. He had tossed a number of rocks toward the central pillar, clearing the route that, previously, led to their exit. There are also a number of their metal tools, their worn and rounded tips broken off and discarded.

“That’s it!” Applebaum grins, even as Totem hops up to where she is pointing to continue digging. She joins him, searching for an opening she can use, preferably high and tubular. “This is too hard to tunnel though with our bare hooves, right?”

Totem looks down at his worn hoof. “Right.”

“So we just need to break it into smaller pieces.” She grabs a slender stick from her pack, grinning like a madpony. She twists it open and inserts a small rock chipped off from the wall, then twists it closed. “I just need to find a spot…”

She taps a few areas, listening for a loose or hollow section she would have an easier time digging out. It’s hard with the beat still going on outside, and the first sections offer no help. Then she finds one, a thin seam where two rocks fell but the crack wasn’t completely sealed by smaller rocks. She slips the stick into the seam, leaving the fuse dangling.

“Can ya help me pick up the food?” Applebaum asks, hoping he doesn’t take it as an order and give her grief. After they finish she gently pushes him past the fallen central pillar, even though this takes them further into the mountain. “Stay behind here, and after Ah’m done you’ll be able to stand on that spot. Okay?”

“Sure,” Totem answers, the sparkle in his eye matching his grin. He tucks himself away while she finds a torch, lights it, grabs the glowstick, lights the fuse, and high-tails it to Totem.

There is no explosion, just a heavy *whumph*, and the heavy bass beat gets louder.

“Just keep on singing…”

She peeks out from around the corner. A spherical section of wall has completely disintegrated, replaced by a collapsed wall of white snow backlit by the sun. Snowflakes sputter about in their diminished hollow, like miniature pegasi flitting about their day over Ponyville, but the loss of space to a snowdrift and accompanying chill is the least of her worries.

“Just keep on dancing…”

Totem knocks her over in his haste to rush forward; she doesn’t even care as she eats a mouthful of cold snow as he plows in the solid bank, furiously digging until he comes to a seemingly random spot. Her muscles complain as she stands, legs wobbly.

“There!” he exclaims with a heavy whoosh of air, finally relaxing. She can feel the joy radiating from him, for doing something as simple as standing where somepony told him to. He turns to her, grinning from ear to ear. “Now what?”

“What’d’ya think?” Applebaum answers with a roll of her eyes. “Now we get the buck out of here!” She smirks, “Ah’ve never been happier to say, ‘Follow me, Totem!’”

She climbs the slanted wall, kicking snow behind her. Her body aches, but she doesn’t care; she tunnels toward the light, Totem pressed against her, the music getting louder and louder until they finally break free.

And they spot Princess Celestia, not a stone’s throw away, facing one of the nearby mountains. Singing.

“Keep letting your light shine!”

Her voice, beautiful and perfect and booming.

“Keep fighting the good fight!”

“Princess Celestia?” Totem asks, not quite as dumbfounded as Applebaum.

The alabaster alicorn stops singing, her ears flicking with what anypony would interpret as confusion. Her echo off the mountain comes back, much quieter though no less inspiring, “Never give up, never give up!”

Celestia turns toward them. “Applebaum?” She focuses on Totem for a moment longer, as though she is flipping through an index. “And Totem? What are you doing here?”

“Ah could ask you the same thing, Princess.” Applebaum gives a short bow, Totem following along and staying with his muzzle to the snow. “But Ah’m sure as shootin’ glad you’re here!”

“Y-you didn’t answer the Princess,” Totem cautions, gulping.

“That’s quite all right, my little pony.” Princess Celestia calmly walks forward, though with the angled climb she never towers above them. Applebaum notices that she isn’t cold any more, and that the wind - that Windigo harassing them the entire way up - has disappeared. “I came here to, let’s say, investigate the collapse of one of my vaults.”

“That happened last night,” Totem points out. Applebaum coughs something about ‘right hoof’ that Totem ignores. “You’ve been here all night?”

“As long as it takes for my investigation to complete.” Princess Celestia offers them both a fond smile. “Which, I am pleased to say, it has.”

“Oh.” Applebaum’s ears fold against her head. “A-and what’s gonna happen to us?” She glances behind her. “F-for, ya know, c-collapsin’ your vault?”

“Do not fear, my little pony,” Celestia reassures, leaning forward to nuzzle Applebaum’s teary cheek. It helps, immensely. “You are not the first pony who has sought after a source of power in a time of need.”

Applebaum nods, contrite nonetheless.

Celestia stands, smiling. “Now that I am done, might I offer you a ride home?”

“Ah’d sure be glad to accept, Your Highness,” Applebaum says, thankful to not need to climb down the mountain. Totem eagerly nods. “And, um…” Applebaum leans forward and takes a deep breath, Celestia cocking an ear to better listen. “Thank you.” She gulps. “For everything.”

“We would not be the ponies we are,” Celestia answers warmly, “without the trials and tribulations we face.”

Applebaum nods, not surprised that Celestia caught her meaning. “Maybe we can tell ya what happened?”

“I would be delighted to hear the tale.” Celestia’s horn lights, the three disappearing in a flash of gold.

Ch. 116 - Combat Focus, Part One

“Hey, Twi,” Doug greets with a cheerful wave, seated at the table in the Carrot House’s combination kitchen and dining room. He’s surprised by the cold shoulder he gets in return, spoon stopping halfway to his mouth. “Something wrong?”

Twilight doesn’t quite glare at her stallion; after all, she woke up next to him and performed her marely duties. She grunts as she stands next to the table and grabs her breakfast of apple butter lightly sprinkled with oats and little apples chunks. She’ll get a more balanced second breakfast in an hour; she’s packing on the pounds even faster than when she got her cutie mark. Doctor Sharps and Celestia assure her it is a healthy weight gain, what with the foals and alicornization, and Doug… appreciates her increased size with increased vigor.

When the cold withers approach doesn’t work, as he just looks hurt that she didn’t reply, she huffs out, “You couldn’t tell?”

Doug sighs, sets his spoon down and rubs at his temple and creased brow. “Look, if it’s about yesterday-”

“What else would it be about?” Twilight snaps, then stuffs her face with apples before she can say anything she’ll regret. They are delicious, they always are, but not enough to quell her temper. After all, Doug thought (or at least strongly implied) they were somehow lesser for not having developed better weapons, but that isn’t the pony stance on fighting at all!

“-Then I’m sorry I made certain assumptions about pony technology,” Doug continues testily.

“‘Certain assumptions’?” Twilight echoes through a mouthful of apple-y goodness. She swallows it, unchewed bits and all. “You think we don’t understand basic laws of physics!”

“That’s-”

“Like how a lighter mass will accelerate to a higher velocity if you apply the same force on it as a heavier one!”

“-Not true,” Doug finishes when Twilight takes a breath.

“No?” Twilight growls. “Then is it that we don’t understand how, for objects with similar momentum, the faster and lighter one will cause more extensive damage to a pony’s body? Unless you make it too small and then you’re just poking holes that you hope hit something vital. Or maybe you think we don’t know how to accelerate small objects to go really, really fast?”

“It’s not that you don’t know about any of these concepts,” Doug admits. “In theory you can do all those things. But in practice, or in a mass-produced manner that anypony, not just a select number of unicorns, can perform?”

“Ugh, not this again,” Rainbow Dash moans as she comes in through the front door, shaking droplets of morning cloud from her wings. She steps up to Doug, not quite between the two, but interposing enough to draw his attention. “Dude, don’t you know when to stop digging?”

“My name would suggest otherwise,” Doug returns, though belies the seriousness of his words with a quick tussle of the chromatic mane. He looks glad to be freed, if briefly, from Twilight’s glare, the alicorn showing no intention of dropping the argument.

Rainbow Dash snorts in amusement. “Alright, well, if you need another shovel, I’m here to help.”

“Rainbow Dash,” Twilight chides as the pegasus stands on the opposite side of the table. She’s upset at the pegasus for not taking her side of the argument, here or yesterday, when the combat characteristics of cannons was being discussed. On an intellectual level she can understand why: pegasi are certainly more pugilistic, what with their history and the Wonderbolts, and a chip on their horn (plucked primaries? What would be the pegasi expression?) from being second (well, third, counting alicorns) best fighters among the pony breeds. But that just makes her argument that they shouldn’t focus on combat all the more necessary!

“What?” Rainbow Dash serves a heaping portion of oats for herself. She’s been gaining weight, though far less than Twilight, even with her constant exercise and training. “I’ll lend you a wing if you need it.” She grins, sly and impish. “I’m just here to pour kerosene on this fire. I like my stallion hot and bothered.” She glances at Doug. “That’s what you use, right?”

“Gasoline,” Doug corrects, “though kerosene works, too.” He turns to Twilight, offering her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I confused innocence with ignorance.” He ignores Rainbow’s disappointed sigh, hoping to draw something from the stone-faced alicorn. “Better?”

“It misses the point.” Twilight rolls her eyes as Rainbow Dash perks back up. “You’ve played Atlas of Allies, as well as Ogres and Oubliettes. Did you think we just, I don’t know, fought by slapping at each other with our hooves?”

“I’ll admit,” Doug concedes, chuckling at the evoked image, “the thought did cross my mind. In my defense, your guards use spears as their weapon of choice. The highest tech ranged weapons I’ve seen are Pinkie Pie’s cannons, which hardly qualify, and a mouth-drawn bow. Mouth-drawn.” He throws up his hands in exasperation. “And then it’s a giant leap to Celestia conjuring a fifty-foot wide column of pure plasma.”

“Don’t forget,” Rainbow Dash adds between chews and smothering a long piece of bread with apple butter. “Unicorn cheats.”

“Exactly my point,” Doug agrees. “Why would you need to develop anything better - especially something your competitors might use - when you can just fry brains and zap everypony with your horn lasers?”

Twilight huffs, setting aside when she did exactly that, if only in an alternate timeline. “We wouldn’t-”

“And roast some uppity pegasi?”

“Mm,” Rainbow Dash happily moans, rubbing her taut tummy. She’s finished her breakfast and looking to snag some more, preferably anything from Doug’s plate, especially if she has to bump into him to get to it. “Pegasus barbeque.”

“Howdy, y’all,” Applejack greets as she joins the three. She has a bit of a scowl, though tries to hide it with a grin at Rainbow Dash. “What’re ya lookin’ ta barbeque?” She flicks her mane at a few cookbooks along the wall, mostly there for Doug and his more varied and exotic tastes. “Ah’ve got a few family recipes if’n ya want.”

“I believe the correct question would be,” Rainbow Dash amends, shifting to a near perfect imitation of Applejack’s voice, “‘who’ are ya lookin’ ta barbeque.” She smirks at Applejack’s confusion.

“‘Whom’, technically,” Twilight Sparkle corrects, then exasperatedly shakes her head. “But that’s not the point!”

“Agreed,” Applejack concurs with a firm nod, already recovered.

“Thank you,” Twilight Sparkle says with a huff, glad somepony finally agrees with her.

“We should be askin’ Rares,” Applejack continues. “Or Trixie. They’d know more ‘bout unicorn preferences, if’n they like leaner cuts or somethin’ a bit stockier.” She shakes her shapely flanks against Rainbow Dash’s, sizing them up like prize apples.

“You realize,” Twilight deadpans, “that I used to be a unicorn?”

Applejack shrugs. “Maybe your tastes changed after your ascension?”

Twilight groans, holding her hooves above her head in surrender as her head flops against the table.

Applejack chuckles, nuzzling the alicorn before taking her spot between Doug and Rainbow Dash with a plate mostly consisting of apple cores. “Ah blame Doug.”

“Agreed,” Rainbow Dash chimes in as Doug gives a sheepish shrug.

“What can I say? All you little ponies are so delightfully delicious.” Doug tussles Applejack’s ear, trying to get her to perk up. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothin’ much.” Applejack tries to eat, but Doug continues tussling her ear, not letting her go. “Oh, fine. Ah just got a letter from Brick Shoes, Applebaum’s landlord.” Her scowl returns in full force. “Said Applebaum an’ Totem ain’t come back yet. Can ya believe she blamed mah filly for bein’ a bad influence on her precious colt?!”

“Yes,” Doug jibes, earning himself a swat from the heavy blond mane.

Applejack steadily gets more stirred up. “She said Applebaum oughta know better than ta go gallivantin’ all ‘cross Equestria with some bitless unicorns, chasin’ dreams an’ wishes. She don’t blame her precious little colt, good little darlin’ he is, ‘cause he jus’ does what he’s told. Ah’ll spare ya the part ‘bout bad breedin’, but-”

“Bad breeding?” Doug repeats, his scowl matching Applejack’s. A series of cracks rattle through the room, both Twilight and Rainbow Dash bending and flexing their wings in a manner most menacing.

“Not you, per se,” Applejack concedes, realizing how automatically her herdmates moved to defend their stallion, even just his reputation. “But in a way, yeah. How her colt needs somepony who ain’t always curious, who ain’t always wanderin’ around. Somepony stable.” Applejack sighs as she looks out the window. “Ah’ve got a hard time faultin’ her for that. Ah know Ah sure like things nice and stable here at the farm.”

“Hard as that stability may be to come by,” Doug says, seemingly glad the animosity between Applejack and this Brick Shoes mare seems to be dying down. “You’ve seen how our nice life on the farm has been changing over these last few years. We’ve gone from farm and weather work while chasing after foals to becoming the Elements of Harmony and everything with the Princesses.”

“Eeyup. Sure was simpler back then.” Applejack nods, then asks after a brief lull, focusing on Doug and keeping her face straight, “So, what’cha talkin’ ‘bout? How come we don’t have better ways’a killin’ each other?”

“Well, when you put it like that...” Doug trails off with a grimace.

“Actually, when you put it like that, it does a good job of clarifying things.” Twilight grins at Applejack. “Thank you.” She turns to Doug as Applejack nods, mouth full. She asks, in her best Stalliongrad accent, “Who eez Equestria’s oldest enemy?”

“The Storm King,” Doug fires back, straightfaced.

“Before that,” Twilight Sparkle rejects, rolling her eyes.

Doug thinks for a second. “Lord Tirek?”

“Before that.”

“The changelings?”

“Before that.”

“King Sombra?”

“Before that!”

“...The changelings again?”

“Before that!!”

Twilight stamps a hoof in frustration as Applejack and Rainbow Dash desperately hold in their laughter. “I’m talking about an enemy who was there at the founding of Equestria!”

Doug gasps. “You can’t possibly mean…”

Twilight nods, sure and serious. “The Windigos. Spirits of disharmony, fueled by animosity and hatred.”

“Oh.” Doug glances at Rainbow Dash and Applejack. “I thought you meant the earth ponies and pegasi.”

“Urgh.” Twilight sinks against the table again, rubbing at her temples.

“You have to give her props for trying,” Rainbow Dash consoles.

“Eeyup.” Applejack thumps her head against Doug’s side, sending him lurching forward from the heavy hit. “She don’t got our experience dealin’ with ya.”

Doug focuses on Twilight instead of the instigating earth pony. “And these Windigos encouraged you to work together with your enemies, or competitors, rather than all perish. Or, should I say, your lack of cooperation would cause you to perish.”

“Precisely.” Twilight meets Doug’s gaze, her head still sideways on the table. “As Celestia would say, ‘What is an enemy, but a Friend who has not yet grasped our hoof in Friendship?’”

“So your goal is not to kill your enemies,” Doug rephrases, encouraging Twilight with a rub of her ear, “but to convert them to your way of thinking.”

“And I don’t know about you,” Twilight concludes with a smirk, pushing into the loving caress, “but I’ve never convinced a cadaver to change her ways.”

“Have you tried?” Doug gives her a playful tweak.

“I’m about to.” She growls, matching Rainbow Dash for impish mischievousness, and twists her head to snag his fingers in her mouth. They’re salty from his sweat, mixed with apples and her own scent. “Om nom nom!”

“If you think that’s delicious...” Doug grins, a leering look in his eyes. Twilight can barely hold in her snort. How is he ready to go again? And she knows he isn’t just teasing, either.

They all glance up as the front door opens; the latest visitor is unexpected, though certainly not unwelcome.

“Tia?” Doug greets the radiant alicorn with a quick wave; Twilight releases her stallion with a slow lick, reveling in his quick intake of breath, while the rest of the ponies give respectful nods. “What’s the occasion?”

Ch. 117 - Combat Focus, Part Two

I’m here for a delivery of sorts,” Celestia replies with her motherly smile. She steps to the side, revealing Applebaum and Totem. Both are clad in their heavy winter gear, dirtied and with bits out of place. Totem looks comically overburdened compared to Applebaum, enough to spark a touch of concern for the young stallion, but he bears it with a rugged determination that sets hearts racing.

“Thanks for the ride,” Applebaum says with a touch of sheepishness, unable to meet her dam’s stern gaze. Her legs shake as she scampers toward her sire, though her fear of Applejack turning him against her prove unfounded.

“Welcome home!” Doug grins as he hooks his hands under her forelegs, and lifts her up, sending her soaring nearly into the ceiling. She squeals in delight, even if it’s not as high as he used to get her, gleefully wrapping her legs around him when he catches her in a great big hug.

She beams at Celestia from over his shoulder, breathless, forgetting her worries for a moment. “We, uh, we really appreciate it.”

“It was my pleasure.” Celestia grins as she approaches her stallion, eyes twinkling as what starts as a fond nuzzle turns to a long, passionate kiss. She pulls away with a regretful sigh, careful not to monopolize her stallion too much, especially with her herdmates quelling their desires to match her nuzzle for nuzzle. She takes a place on the opposite end of the table, as far in the corner and out of the way as she can wedge herself. A package, labeled ‘Emergency Breakfast Cake’, levitates from the pantry along with a deftly wielded knife and fork.

“And what were ya doin’ that called for a ride from a Princess?” Applejack demands from her filly as Doug sets her down.

Applebaum’s ears fold against her head. She hoped to avoid this, or at least it being so confrontational. “We - uh, that is, me, Totem,” she points at the colt, who gives a hearty wave as he eyes the food from the doorway, “Radiant Hope, and Tempest Shadow - climbed to the top of Mount Everhoof.”

“Really?” Rainbow Dash interrupts with a heaping helping of disbelief. “I thought nopegasus could even get close to that mountain!”

“Legends have it that no-pony is able to,” Twilight Sparkle adds. “I’m quite impressed you made it!”

“The winds were really bad,” Applebaum admits as she reluctantly approaches her dam. “But we pushed past and found this cave at the peak. It was protected by a spell, but we broke through and found Grogar’s bell. Gettin’ out proved a mite, um, difficult.” She sinks lower, pleading with her eyes, thinking back to the conversation she overheard on the train. But voicing how much she wants to be out adventuring - even if it is dangerous - would only serve to ignite her dam’s protective instincts.

“Difficult how?” Applejack demands.

“It, um.” Applebaum stalls, trying to figure the best way to phrase her trial in a way that couldn’t be construed as a lie while minimizing the chance of confining her permanently to her dam’s watchful gaze. “Ah saved Totem from the roof collapsing, and then we dug ourselves out.”

Applejack stares at Applebaum, chewing on her tongue for several long seconds. Nopony dares intrude on whatever thoughts are racing through her mind, and she eventually turns to Celestia. “Is that why you were there?” she inquires, uncharacteristic of how any of them normally address the alicorn.

“Initially?” Celestia replies, the glow around her horn fading to give the earth pony her full attention. Before she can elaborate, Applebaum cuts in.

“She wasn’t there for us, specifically.” Applebaum grins, hoping her enthusiasm covers for the grime encrusted on her gear. “But to, um, investigate what happened to her vault.”

“Correct,” Celestia confirms as Applejack glances at her. “The artifact Radiant Hope and Tempest Shadow obtained, Grogar’s Bewitching Bell, contains within it a powerful magic. However, without the spell giving them full access to the range of its abilities, it-”

One of the cookbooks that lines the wall intrudes into the conversation with a deep, luscious voice. “This spell?”

Celestia regards the row of books with naked hostility, one of them decidedly out of place by being twice as wide, tall, and thick as the others. “Discord…”

“What?” The ancient, gold-embossed tome flops out of line. The ornate lock clinks open with the scream of a pony falling from a great height; a paper draconequus unfolds from the pages like a three dimensional foal’s book, holding the same stylized bell that appears on the cover except in tarnished green rather than gold. “I have a lot of free time, what with my ‘reformation’, so I spent some of it on studying magic that traps, ensnares, or otherwise depletes a creature of her magic.” He winks, slithering up a serpentine smile. “You know, just in case?”

Celestia’s eyes narrow.

“Oh, come on!” Discord waves his paper claw and paw around as he paces from one end of the page to the other. “You know how uncharacteristic it is for me to confine myself? My entire shtick is acting outside the box!” He zaps miniature bolts of electricity in every direction, making little ‘pew pew!’ noises, but they dissipate upon hitting an invisible wall around the edges of the tome.

Celestia snorts in disbelief.

“Really?” Discord scoffs. “You don’t seriously think I’d actually help somepony use a relic of ancient, order-inducing magic?” He sticks his tongue out, drops the bell like it is radioactive and wipes green dust off his claw and paw with a look of pure disgust.

“Do ya deny it?” Applejack asks straightforwardly.

Discord snaps his newly cleaned claws. Lemon and Meringue appear next to him, barely fitting on the large tome’s pages; they look completely nonplussed at the sudden change in surroundings. Lemon goes so far as to give everypony a friendly wave. “These two are the only ponies I would give such guidance to, and only to further chaos, thank you very much. Besides, I came here to watch the fireworks, not to be harangued by some honesty-hawking hooligan.”

With a whirl of his claws the tome spins like Tank’s torticopter, the two fillies gleeful to be along for the ride. He stops on top of the other cookbooks, sits down with a large ‘harumph’, legs dangling off the edge, and scarfs down on popcorn while chucking peanuts at the nearest alicorn.

Celestia ignores the tiny projectiles bouncing off her face and mane. “It is my belief that Radiant Hope, a powerful healer in her own right, will utilize Grogar’s Bell to restore Tempest Shadow’s broken horn.”

“You couldn’t have, Ah dunno, told ‘em about the bell?” Applejack huffs. “Or better yet, gave it to ‘em? Seems like that would’a cleared up a whole bunch’a headaches. An’ not needed ta send mah filly on some horn-brained adventure!”

“Would you appreciate it,” Celestia asks of the apple farmer, “if I planted, cared for, and harvested all your apple trees?”

“Err,” Applejack hedges, pawing at the floor nervously. She didn’t think Celestia would fire back so viscerally. “Well, no. Ah mean, Ah wouldn’t mind a vacation. Maybe. For a week, or a day…”

Doug coughs, and it sounds suspiciously like ‘ten minutes, tops’, earning himself a glare from his lead mare.

“Ah’d appreciate it,” Applejack growls at her stallion, “if’n ya backed me up instead’a joinin’ the peanut gallery.”

“My shovel is yours to command,” Doug replies with a melodramatic bow as he gets up to go to the fridge. He waves Totem over, the young stallion glad to get a glass and plate of his own. He pulls a large slice of ham out of the fridge for himself, bombastically asking, “And if they had died!?”

Applejack rolls her eyes, the others fidgeting uncomfortably, but Celestia takes the question with full sincerity.

“Then I would have returned their remains, so you might see them one last time.” A bright smile isn’t quite enough to dispel the gloom generated by the question, but it certainly helps. “And celebrate the life they had, short as it might have been.”

While the others gain pensive looks, Applejack retains her harsh focus on Celestia. “Ah get where you’re goin’ with this, but it ain’t between doin’ everythin’ an’ doin’ nothin’. Sometimes, somepony just needs a helpin’ hoof.”

“The difficulty lies,” Celestia counters, though gently, “in discerning when your help will be to their ultimate benefit. I do not believe that encouraging ponies to act recklessly or without proper preparation by minimizing the potential consequences is the correct course of action. No more would I encourage suffering so acts of compassion might abound. Rather, I believe in everypony assessing their own life, learning their own lessons, and growing in Harmony in their own way.”

“And ya’ve got centuries of experience,” Applejack exclaims exasperatedly. “So of course ya know the best course of action. ‘Scuse me for steppin’ a hoof outta line.” She bows her head with a frustrated snort.

“You have a kind, generous heart,” Celestia compliments. Her horn flares, gently tilting the earth pony’s head to meet her encouraging gaze. “Cherish that, as you cherish those around you. Do not let yourself become jaded, focusing only on the worst outcomes. Though I suppose it is the height of hubris to believe that others share one's own shortcomings.”

Applejack finds her smile quickly returning, even as Discord groans in the background. “Ah-Ah’ll try, Princess.”

“Um,” Applebaum starts. “W-what ya were sayin’ is true and all.” She hunkers down, not wanting to contradict the ruler or her dam, but neither willing to withhold anything that might be important. Celestia cocks her head curiously. “It’s, just… It wasn’t just about Tempest’s horn.”

Worry creases the long, graceful features, her worst-case scenarios apparently not taking enough into consideration. “No?”

Applebaum shakes her head, wavering under the inquisitive stare. She has rarely found herself the focus of the alicorn, and finds it disconcerting to be so thoroughly analyzed. “Ah think… Um, Ah know she had Sombra’s horn with her.”

Celestia’s eyes slowly grow wider as her pupils shrink to pinpricks.

“Yesss…” Discord whimpers orgasmically as the fallen peanuts snap pictures of the distraught alicorn.

“I let them go…” Celestia whispers, staring off into the distance. The everpresent flow of her mane subsides, limply resting against her barrel.

Shivers run down everycreature’s back as the atmosphere in the room chills. Nopony wants to speak, especially as Celestia sinks further into despair.

“How bad is this?” Doug asks first, cold and calculating. “We beat Sombra once, right?”

“By himself,” Twilight Sparkle answers, Celestia still lost in thought. “In a weakened, half-wild state.”

“So we beat him again!” Rainbow Dash shadow boxes a few jabs, weaving back and forth and interspersing uppercuts against her imagined opponent.

“We’re talking about King Sombra returning.” Twilight Sparkle shudders. “As in, an actual possibility of him coming back to Equus. And at his full power, not as some… necromantic construct.”

Doug frowns, rubbing at his forehead with growing intensity. “Can Grogar’s power do that? Revenants and liches, not mere shades and skeletons?”

“There isn’t a lot of information regarding Grogar the Necromancer,” Twilight admits with growing concern over Celestia’s despondent condition. “I haven’t read through everything in the Canterlot restricted section, but the storybooks depict him as creating monsters capable of terrorizing the land.”

“Ah’m gettin’ lost in the muck,” Applejack admits, scratching at her hat with a befuddled expression. “Can’t we just, ya know, nip this sucker in the bud? Find Hope and Tempest before they, um, restore Sombra or whatever?”

“If we can find them.” Twilight Sparkle frowns. “They could be anywhere. Radiant Hope had some haven she retreated to, in which she spent the time when the Crystal Empire was banished.” She glances at the ample provisions Totem still carries, a hoof rubbing at her chin as she calculates.

“Hey,” Doug says as he slips next to Celestia, running his hand through her silken mane. “What’s Twilight always saying? Everything is going to be just fine?”

Celestia’s eyes close, the light of a smile breaking through her gloom, as Discord and the other ponies - including Twilight - groan.

Ch. 118 - Combat Focus, Part Three

The room itself seems to warm as Celestia stirs, the gloomy chill burning away like morning fog. “Thank you, my little human,” she whispers, nickering softly as the hand stroking her head teases at her ear. She certainly wouldn’t object if he stole a kiss, or more, yet settles for draping a wing around his shoulder when all he does is grin at his sunrise. “It is not often I am humbled by what I failed to consider.”

“Here’s the thing, though,” Applebaum starts, only making her argument once Celestia has recovered. Her ears perk up with a streak of defiance that her dam finds objectionable. “Even if Radiant Hope is tryin’ ta bring Sombra back - and she is - Ah don’t think we should stop her.”

“What?!” the three Elements exclaim, Rainbow Dash the loudest. Discord moans with pleasure in the background as he slaps at an oversized sausage with a long, hard stick.

“You weren’t there,” the pegasus protests, hovering above the young mare, “but Sombra is seriously bad news!” She lists off on her hooves, “He petrified and shattered his Princess, he mind controlled and enslaved his people, and threatened Equestria with invasion. Which of those would you like him to start with?”

“N-none of them,” Applebaum says with a worried glance at the two Princesses in the room. Twilight’s grim visage is a sharp contrast to Celestia’s neutral, almost pleasant, smile. “But Ah trust Radiant Hope.”

“Ah trust her as far as Ah can chuck her, workin’ with a fiend like that,” Applejack retorts. She snorts, turns to Discord, Lemon and Meringue, fuming. Her eyes narrow as he stops beating his meat, visibly keeping herself from commenting and instead asking, “Ah don’t suppose ya’d be a dear an’ summon her like ya summoned those two so Ah can see how far that is?”

“As much as I enjoy the notion of watching wayward unicorns soar through the air, doing so according to the laws of gravity just seems so… boring.” Discord gives her an apologetic grin about as real as the rainbow reindeer antlers sprouting from his head. “Besides, I’m all about ponies learning lessons these days.” He flicks a switch and the antlers blare neon blue, green, pink, and purple. “What kind of teacher would I be if I did all the work for you?”

“And speaking of not doing all the work.” Twilight aims an inquisitive eye at her once-mentor and teacher. Celestia is doing a fabulous job of keeping Doug occupied, his hands running along her back and rubbing into her withers. “You’re being uncharacteristically pensive. Or, some might say, passive.” She cocks her head curiously. “Why is that?”

Celestia gives a great sigh, pouting at Doug in a manner most adorable. “I’m not that transparent, am I?”

Doug shakes his head. “Only when I want to see…” He interrupts himself with a series of loud coughs and a quick glance at the young mares in the room. “No, honey, you’re...” He sighs heavily. “Worse. Clearer than a crystal pony.”

Twilight gasps, that Doug would be so brazenly blunt with the literal paragon of pony potential.

Celestia matches his heavy sigh, sinking into her stallion. “I suppose I should leave the slinking in the shadows to my Sister.”

“Don’t beat yourself up for being the white knight,” Doug reassures. His smile slowly fades. “Unless you’re just feigning being distraught and poor at manipulation in order to teach us a lesson.”

“Doug!” Applejack’s admonishment turns to disbelief as Celestia fails to contradict their stallion. She eyes the alicorn with a mix of suspicion and skepticism. “Would… would ya really do that?”

“It would appear,” Celestia evades with a playful poke at Doug’s side, “that I should send Rainbow Dash to distract you.”

Rainbow Dash swishes her tail back and forth, smirking. “I am a pretty awesome distraction.”

Twilight chews at her lip while Doug squirms, though it’s hard to tell if it is from the hoof in his ribs or Rainbow Dash’s alluring display. “You…” she starts reluctantly, wanting to focus on anything in the room besides her former mentor. Doubts creep into her mind: how many other times has Celestia set her up for success? “You want me to take the reins on this? On deciding what should be done about Radiant Hope and Sombra?”

Celestia asks with a hint of disappointment, much like when she thought Twilight did not wish to become an alicorn, “Do you not wish that responsibility?”

The question pierces Twilight’s flimsy confidence; she sinks to the table, ears folding back, glancing at her herdmates for support. “I...I’m not sure. I don’t feel ready.” She gulps. With her head on the table she can look down the bottom of her barrel to the shifting shape of her belly, if one knows to look for it. How many other things is she getting into that are completely overwhelming? She’s going to be a dam; not only that, to twins; and not only that, to the first alicorn foals Equestria has ever seen!

How can she possibly make a decision that, on one hoof, could spell the destruction of all they know and love, and on the other threaten the same thing by giving up those values?

Celestia’s advice comes to her mind: that by sharing her concerns and fears with her Friends, they will be able to help her through. That them remaining ignorant of the trials she faces, of what she is going through, will cripple their connection.

“It’s overwhelming.” Twilight struggles to lift her head, not wanting to see the reproving looks of her herdmates. “There are so many different ways that this crisis can go, to say nothing of all the other things the future has in store.”

“If it is too much,” Celestia advises, “break the task into manageable portions.”

“You got this, Twi,” Applejack reassures with a firm nod.

“When the snow hits the fan?” Rainbow Dash grins, swooping down to nudge Twilight’s head with her own. “You’ve always come through. And you always will!”

“Thanks, you guys.” Twilight’s confidence surges back, bringing with it a determination the others would find worrying if it wasn’t on their side. “I just need to make…”

“A list?” Lemon suggests with a broad smile. She holds up a notebook while Meringue fans out a number of colored pencils.

Twilight grabs the paper, but struggles when it comes to deciding among the pencils. No quills?

“Insufficient.”

“Indeed,” Twilight agrees, Meringue’s comment prompting her to push past her anxiety. “I can’t rely on my old ways of doing things. I can’t just write checklists, adding more and more items as new concerns crop up. That’s too simple, too linear; I need… I need multidimensional analysis that can adapt to changing circumstances! I need…”

“Schema?”

Twilight’s grin becomes maniacal. “Flowcharts.”

Doug stage whispers to Celestia, loudly enough for all to hear, “What have we done!?”

“At least she can’t become an alicorn a second time,” Rainbow Dash jokes, though her eyes slowly grow wide as her words sink in. “R-right?”

Doug remarks with a religious reverence, “...The legendary Überpferd...” before throwing in a short bow, hands above his head. To his chagrin, Celestia follows along.

“Quiet, you.” Twilight flicks a peanut at Doug, which explodes into a cloud of thick, black smoke. She arranges a few pieces of paper as he coughs and sputters. “What are the different ways Radiant Hope’s… attempt with Sombra can go?”

“It could work,” Applejack spits out.

Twilight writes that down on one sheet. “And that can branch to her reforming him, or him persuading her to support his conquests. What else?”

“It could… not work?” Rainbow Dash adds, confused. Twilight writes this down on a separate sheet. “What else is there?”

“Radiant Hope could take Sombra’s horn,” Doug suggests, “and graft it to Tempest Shadow’s broken one.”

For a moment, the room goes silent.

“That,” Twilight starts, squinting while rubbing at her forehead and horn. “That can’t happen.” Growing more and more worried, she glances at Celestia. “Can it?”

“I should formally introduce you to Chancellor Neighsay,” Celestia sidesteps, talking to Doug. “You two would get along marvelously.”

“As you wish,” Doug says, with the good sense to look at least a little worried at his suggestion.

Twilight grimaces while she adds ‘Graft’ to a third sheet. “And that could go any number of directions.” Spokes sprout off the central circle. “She could be thankful for her horn and become a model citizen. She could, effectively, disappear off the face of Equus. She could become corrupted by Sombra’s darkness and attempt a takeover of the Crystal Empire, Equestria, or someplace else.”

“That also sums up what could happen with Tempest Shadow regardless of Sombra, right?” Doug glances at the others in the room. “Or do we think she is equally, hmm, capable and committed to some sort of revenge against Equestria?”

“Seems ta me,” Applejack says, hard and unflinching, “that if’n we track ‘em down, we’ll be harvestin’ two trees with one buck.” She points a hoof at Twilight’s papers. “An’ we won’t have ta worry ‘bout none’a that happenin’.”

“That’s a good point, and what we’re trying to determine. Does the risk outweigh the benefit?” Twilight Sparkle looks over the room. In order of how much she listens to them: a fellow Princess, her stallion, two Elements of Harmony, a filly, two young mares, a young stallion, and the self-styled Lord of Chaos. “But before we decide that, we must weigh another, more difficult question. Should we be the ones deciding their fate?”

“If not us, then who?” Applejack follows Twilight’s gaze. “Spike? The rest of us would follow ya anywhere, Twi.”

“Possibly, but deeper than that.” Twilight takes a deep breath. “Can we decide Sombra is irredeemable? Irrevocably and unequivocally evil, never to reform?”

“It sure seems like it,” Rainbow Dash says, but her conviction wavers. “I mean, how much darker can you get?”

“Nightmare Moon.” Twilight’s mention of the name drives ears against skulls. Even Celestia bows her head, Doug’s consoling hand doing little to lift her spirits. “Discord.” The draconequus waves a ‘Go Canterhorn Miners!’ flag while wearing a hoofball cheerleader outfit, complete with pompoms, in an attempt to prove his loyalty. Twilight continues, “Grogar. Tirek, debatably.”

“All’a them got locked up for what they did,” Applejack argues. “Are ya sayin’ we shouldn’t be doin’ that?”

“A fair point,” Twilight concedes. “But it isn’t strictly applicable to this situation. What laws have Radiant Hope and Tempest Shadow broken? Trespassing and theft of an unmarked vault in the middle of nowhere? Conspiracy to commit resurrection?”

“You know what I say about resurrection?” Discord muses. He summons forth a line of miniature Sombras with their necks on blocks of wood. He wields a comically oversized executioner’s axe. “Do it once?” He lops off a head as casually as chopping wood, the body going limp. He stops the blood spurting out by reattaching the head, the body resuming its squirming. “That’s impressive. Twice?” He repeats the maneuver the exact same way. “Now it’s starting to get old. Three times?” He doesn’t bother chopping, just shrugging. “Death loses all meaning. Where’s the fun in that?”

“Ignorin’ that ya could stop death and end all suffering everywhere,” Applejack continues, her harshness bouncing off Discord’s scales like drops of rain.

“That was Grogar’s ideal,” Discord interrupts, gagging. “Not mine. Life would be so boring then!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Applejack nearly shouts, apoplectic. “That’s an option? Then why the hay ain’t we helpin’ ‘em?!” She gallops to the window, looking out over the orchards. “My parents…”

Discord snorts, shaking his head disdainfully as he sighs at Celestia. “Do you want to tell her, or me?”

“Grogar and I…” Celestia joins Applejack at the window, though her focus is at the stars rather than the trees. “We have fundamentally different ideas as to what it means to live in Harmony. In fact, we have a fundamental disagreement about what it means to live at all.”

“So Ah wouldn’t see ‘em again.” Applejack closes her eyes, the top of her head thumping against the glass. “Ah… Ah guess Ah’ll have ta trust ya.” Twilight also joins Applejack, her focus on her Friend. She gives her a fond nuzzle, playing at the nape of her neck with her nostril. Applejack nickers in return. “Thanks. Ah’ll be okay.”

“I know you will.” Twilight swishes her head against Applejack one more time, then pulls back to address everypony. “But with regards to Radiant Hope and Tempest Shadow? We cannot judge them on what they might do, or we would also condemn Celestia for her potential. Neither must we hold their past actions against them, should they make an Honest effort to reform.”

Twilight finds her attention drawn to Discord, though she would rather have Luna in the room to make that point. The draconequus does seem contrite enough, at least at the moment.

“We must hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.” She grins, and perhaps it becomes a smirk. “In fact, I think everything’s going to be just fine.”

Ch. 119 - From Dust, Part One

Radiant Hope grimaces as her face brushes yet another wet, slimy branch out of the way. Her legs are sore, her horn is sore, and if it wasn’t for the brown cloak she’s sure she would have collapsed hours ago. Yet she follows the inexorable unicorn through the thick, gloomy forest. The orchid coat and rose mane occasionally dip behind a trunk or three. She hurries forward then, worried when that happens. If she lost her…

Just like she lost the two entrusted to her…

She hadn’t slept on the train. She had tossed and turned, fretfully replaying that final second over and over. It was so vivid: the hazy golden shield protecting the cave, the lack of clear communication, the seeming brilliance of their plan to buy them the mere seconds they would need. And then it went awry so quickly. There they stood when the shield disappeared, clear as day even in the shrouded cave, Applebaum halfway to lifting up their prize while Totem watched her with such focus he didn’t even react to the ceiling collapsing.

She could have saved them. If she had known the ceiling was so weakened, if she was faster with her teleports, if she, if, if, if...

The rest of the trip down the mountain passed in a daze. How did they get off the mountain so quickly (a teleport?), how did they get on the train (a teleport?), how did the awkwardly large and heavy bell become poorly concealed in her saddlebag (a teleport? Wait, that didn’t make sense…).

She snaps to reality as she nearly plows into Tempest Shadow. The unicorn has stopped in a small clearing by a stream. Thick, leafy branches cover the canopy, but that doesn’t stop her companion from glancing upward with a hard look in her eyes, teeth clenched and breath held.

“Again?” Radiant Hope asks, stifling her sob. All she wants is to lay down and sleep. Better yet, turn themselves in, confess what had happened and beg forgiveness. They didn’t mean for the roof to collapse, they didn’t mean, they didn’t, they…

If Tempest Shadow notices her pitiful condition she gives no indication. “Again.”

Joints burn and muscles ache as she acquiesces, too beaten by fatigue and doubt to protest. The flared bell seems stuck in her saddlebags, or maybe that’s just her exhaustion, and it takes a grumbling Tempest Shadow using her teeth to pull it free.

Placing her hooves on the bell helps. She can feel the magic stored inside. It wants to soothe, to comfort, to heal, to replenish that which was lost and revitalize that which remained. It wants to help, possibly more than she does.

But it can’t.

It’s stuck, caged, locked behind a wall she cannot break, behind a lock missing a key. Yet some leaks out, or perhaps bubbles out, forced out by more generating inside. From what she can tell the bell isn’t just a means of storage, one of those batteries she’s heard about being developed. It’s a capacitor combined with a dynamo, an artifact created by Grogar to generate, house, and then release a vast quantity of thaumic energy all at once. That would explain why it is indestructible.

But all that knowledge does nothing to help her access it.

She can sip from that tiny trickle, from the excess that flows out from what must be a relief valve of sorts. How long has it been bursting at the seams? She has no idea. But when she rings the knocker more shake loose, like the droplets that cling to the bottom of a gutter.

With stilted breath and a brief shudder she gives the bell a hearty shake.

The bell sounds deeper than it has any right to be, like if a newborn ewe gave off the rumble of a ram. Metallic yet not harsh, the echoing, ephemeral sound leaves a shimmer as it reverberates through the air. She grasps at that shimmer, willing herself to absorb whatever trace of magic she can.

It helps, she knows it helps. But to call the task before her daunting would be to compare reading a book to memorizing every text in the Crystal Library.

Still, she pushes her focus forward, out of her body and into the prone unicorn in front of her.

Her gut reaction is not as bad as the first time she gazed upon Tempest Shadow’s mangled core. She can look past the scarred tissue without delving into how such a grievous wound could be inflicted (shattering or severing a horn would not be enough, but an Astral Ursa doesn’t just affect the material plane). She can instead contemplate how she might stimulate the surrounding tissue to act as a conduit for Tempest Shadow’s considerable magical might. A path of least resistance of sorts, but not something she could construct block by block. It would need to be built organically, like the rest of a pony’s body, built according to rules simple enough to be encoded in a single cell.

Despite her work not being complete she moves on. As a rule, the body doesn’t build just to build. It builds for a purpose, and no two pony’s bodies are exactly alike. She couldn’t just copy a template like a house or build from a blueprint. It would need to be customized, and the only way to do that is with a physical horn constructed during the process. Then the thaumic circuits would attempt to circulate through the dense keratin. Splicing the nerves, the blood vessels, the skin and muscles and other tissues, there she has experience. She would need to provide that structure, or at the very least the raw materials so those previously mentioned rules might take effect. But such a horn would be useless without the thaumic circuits, and wouldn’t be built right if the construction is not simultaneous.

And no, she would not be sacrificing the last fragment of her beloved as raw material. She would sooner cut off her own horn, or better yet rob an abattoir. But to fall so low as to need to do that...

With a gasp she pulls her focus back to her own body. Her horn throbs as starved cells beg to be replenished. Did she tap herself too dry? A part of her hopes so, that she might slip into sleep, never to wake. At least the pain would end.

“Closer?”

Tempest Shadow’s single inquisitive word brings her back. She doesn’t want to raise her head; her muscles protest even lifting her neck so she can look her friend in the eyes. She owes her that much. She shakes her head, but the disappointment in those orchid orbs is nothing compared to what she feels for herself. She slumps over, barrel heaving.

If she can’t repair Tempest Shadow’s horn, how is she possibly going to repair her precious Sombra’s whole body?

She awakens several hours later, feeling no better. Groggily she looks around, stomach rumbling and throat parched. She digs her hooves into the soft earth and drags herself to the stream. A disheveled pony stares back at her, broken not only by the rippling current. She plunges her muzzle into the cold water, wishing she could break up the lingering image in her mind.

“Apricot?”

Radiant Hope looks up. Tempest Shadow motions to a few gray fruits by her side. They don’t look particularly appetizing, but her stomach doesn’t particularly care. She takes a bite, surprised by the full flavor bursting in her mouth. She doesn’t deserve it, so she puts it aside, ignoring her stomach’s weak complaint. “Juicy.”

Tempest Shadow pulls out a newspaper and tosses it in front of Radiant Hope. “Notice anything?”

Radiant Hope looks at the front page splayed out in front of her. News about some upcoming festival, caution about the weakening structural integrity of some rainbow sign, and other local interest items for a town she’s never heard of called Hope Hollow. “Should I?”

“Exactly.” Tempest Shadow munches on an apricot. She lets the word hang in the air. Radiant Hope merely stares back at her. Tempest Shadow explains with a touch of fervor, “If the Princess’ herd lost a foal, wouldn’t it be front page news?” Her smug grin widens. “Our mugshots plastered on every paper?”

It takes a moment for her words to click. Either they didn’t know what happened on the mountain - and they must know, Princess Celestia’s schemes run too deep for her to not realize - or they did know. And if they knew, and the two of them haven’t been apprehended yet…

Radiant Hope’s eyes shoot open. A great weight lifts off her withers, freeing her from her despondency; hope floods back in to fill the void. “They made it!”

Tempest Shadow nods, far too nonchalant for Radiant Hope’s liking. “Pie?”

Radiant Hope gobbles down the rest of her apricot before greedily digging into the grayish pie. It’s delicious and filling, everything she needed. She feels Tempest Shadow’s eyes on her the whole time. “So,” she says between large bites. “All that rushing through the forest, leaping off the train in the middle of nowhere instead of at a station. All that was for nothing?”

“It was not for…” Tempest Shadow defensively starts before noticing the jest in Hope’s voice. “Perhaps. They either know where we are, and we can do little about that, or they do not care to cast their net as wide as possible. Are you feeling better?”

The forced courtesy raises Radiant Hope suspicion. She teases, “Aww, did you make me feel better just so I could help with your horn?”

Tempest Shadow merely stares at her, reverting to her normal dourness.

Radiant Hope grins, giving her companion a quick nuzzle. “It’s okay. Now, lay down!”

Tempest Shadow obligatorily lays down.

The bell rings out again. It doesn’t give off as much as the last time, or maybe it just doesn’t seem that way because her own power has returned. She plunges forward, again attempting to wrap her mind around the daunting task ahead.

Partway through she pulls out, though her cry is of frustration rather than exhaustion.

“I… I’m…” she sputters out, teeth clenched. She doesn’t want to misrepresent what is happening. “If I could fully access the bell’s power, then there would be a chance. A good one. But without it… I can’t hold everything in my mind at once. It’s too much.”

Tempest Shadow nods, but without the malice or resentment Radiant Hope thought there would be. It’s a hard nod, implacable, looking to the future without overly dwelling on the past. She packs up the meager remains of their meal into the slim saddlebags at her sides, then pushes on through the woods.

Seeing little alternative Radiant Hope follows along.

Ch. 120 - From Dust, Part Two

Tempest Shadow and Radiant Hope cross one major road, staying in the trees. When the topography and her reserves permit they traverse miles in the blink of an eye. The time passes quickly, as the sun goes from directly overhead to nestling on the horizon, their shadows lengthening ahead of them.

“Do you ever feel lost?” Radiant Hope asks, her focus drifting from one tree to another in a slow, leisurely manner.

Tempest Shadow ponders the question for a moment. Is her newly invigorated traveling companion referring to right now or life in general? She doesn’t take kindly to the implication that it might be a condemnation of their current course even as they wind through seemingly endless forest.

“Do we seem lost?” she answers testily.

“No.” Radiant Hope giggles, too innocent for it to be a jest at Tempest’s expense. “I feel it too.”

Tempest Shadow isn’t sure what Radiant Hope refers to. They have a destination in mind, do they not? And every trot takes them closer to that destination, even if she cannot see every step of the way.

“Once.” Silence lingers after Tempest’s reply. “After I left Equestria I wandered through many places, not knowing what I was seeking or where I should look.”

“And after that?”

“I joined the Storm King with a singular goal in mind: accumulating enough power to restore my horn.” Tempest Shadow glances at Radiant Hope out of the corner of her eye. “Why do you ask?”

Radiant Hope continues staring at the trees around them, a pensive look on her face. “What if you weren’t lost then?”

Tempest Shadow grunts. “If you find comfort in the idea that there is some greater plan? So be it. But everything bad that has happened to me has been the result of a choice. Sometimes my own, sometimes that of another. Fate doesn’t exist, and Harmony abandoned me long ago.”

They come across a well-maintained dirt road which they follow to a small hamlet. The cursive ‘Hollow Shades’ on the sign out front, while likely meant to be cheerful, comes across as uncanny, a mortician and renderer attempting to hide the nature of their business. The same goes for the two-story thatched roof buildings that comprise the bulk of the town. Nothing seems outright amiss, but they two get the strong impression that the shadows would linger even if it were noon. Well-worn market stalls line the single main thoroughfare while several buildings have faded signs out front. Even the ponies are subdued, a few milling about as the day comes to a close. Most are closing up their shops, but all have their attention on the two newcomers.

“Do you want to stay for the night?” Radiant Hope asks Tempest Shadow while greeting the closest pony a friendly wave. The cyan pegasus mare waves back with a soft smile, then ushers her two foals to a nearby baker’s stand. The tan pegasus proprietor welcomes them with a quick nuzzle, his eyes remaining on the two unicorns while he prepares sandwiches as long as the foals.

“No.” Tempest Shadow looks about for a mayor’s office or some government building, but nothing stands out. She knows Ponhenge is nearby, somewhere, but not precisely. It would give away their intentions to ask around, but Applebaum already knows. She frowns when Radiant Hope trots to the baker’s stand; she follows, keeping her displeasure at her companion’s affable nature in check.

“Hello!” Radiant Hope greets, salivating as she peers over the wide selection of ingredients, stomach audibly grumbling. All the standard ones are on display along with spiced breads, thin slices of cheese, and hearty apples.

“Evening.” The bread-marked baker grins at the two mares, his gaze lingering longer than Tempest Shadow likes. “Name’s Rising Loaf, but you can call me Rise. What brings you two fine fillies to town?”

Tempest Shadow ignores the way he licks at his muzzle. If she was in Klugetown he would have a split lip to focus on, at the minimum. “Where is the weather office?”

“Not an office, per se, but the orders get posted over there.” Rise motions at a tall metal P.O. box with maps and lists of names and times posted under an overhang. He finishes building the sandwich for the two foals, splitting it in half and leaving them to bicker over who gets the bigger one.

Tempest Shadow grunts; the directions are not as much as she hoped. But if the maps are at all adequate it should do, and she starts walking that way.

Rise shrugs to himself and turns to the other unicorn mare. “And you?”

“It all looks so good,” Radiant Hope moans, a hoof lifting up as if to grab a bite to eat, but stops before touching any of the fresh ingredients. “Aww, but I don’t have any bits. I don’t suppose there’s anything you need? I am a pretty good healer!”

“A healer?” Rise rubs at his chin. “Well, I do have a swelling you could take a look at. It’s gotten quite hard.”

“Ooh, that’s not good.” Radiant Hope shakes her head for emphasis. “Is it tender?”

Tempest Shadow ignores the rest; what Radiant Hope does is her business. She inspects the topographic maps at the weather station. Dotted and dashed lines break the surrounding forests into colored sectors along with short descriptions of what defines the borders. Pins mark which pegasus is assigned to each sector. She looks around for a key, finding it at the bottom with a ‘Cold Digger’ signature.

“Got any questions?”

Tempest Shadow glances at the cyan pegasus. She has a broad, friendly smile. In the background the two foals are gaping at whatever Radiant Hope is doing to the stallion with her hooves. She turns back to the map. “We’re looking for the Ponhenge ruins. Have you seen them?”

“The ruins?” The pegasus frowns, then hops forward and stretches to tap a circular but otherwise unremarkable area. “Up here. There’s not much to look at, sadly. Why would you want to go there?” Her face suddenly lights up. “Oh! Are you an explorer like Daring Do?” She giggles. “At first I thought you were an inspector!”

“...Indeed.” Tempest Shadow recognizes the name, not from the books, but from her efforts spoiling the Storm King’s ventures into ancient temples to retrieve artifacts of power. It amuses her to be compared to the plundering pegasus when their goal is to return one of said artifacts, not relinquish it to the Sun Tyrant. Museums. What a laugh; she saw what was stored at the bottom of the Canterhorn, and if that was what Celestia was comfortable leaving laying around? She shakes her head, then plots the quickest course to take them to the ruins.

“...Well,” the cyan pegasus says after Tempest Shadow finishes. “It seems like your friend is… done.” She gags. “I don’t care to watch, you know?”

Tempest Shadow strides back. Rising Loaf has two hearty sandwiches prepared, piled high with lettuce and spinach, and an overly contented look on his face. The two foals scamper back and forth, more excited than she cares for.

“That’s much better,” Rise euphorically moans as Radiant Hope comes out from behind him. “Thanks!”

“Glad to hear!” Radiant Hope grins, then removes a bit of white from her hoof with her horn. She deposits it into a half-full cup of thick, goopy white liquid. “Hey, Tempest! I hope you like mayonnaise!”

Tempest Shadow grunts, her hard stare unwavering, any verbal reply overridden by the foals.

“I’m gonna be a doctor when I get my cutie mark!”

“No, I’m gonna be a doctor!”

Radiant Hope takes a big bite of her sandwich, happily chewing. She slows when Tempest Shadow keeps staring at her. “What?” She glances at Rising Loaf. “That? He had an abscess on his flank. Well, closer to his sheath. So I drained it and patched him up. Good as new!”

“...Indeed.” Tempest Shadow takes a dubious bite of her sandwich. It is heavy on the mayonnaise, as Hope said; the baker must think unicorns have an unhealthy love for the condiment. Well, he’s not wrong, she’s sad to say; it’s been a long time since she has indulged in the oily treat, and the sandwich disappears quickly. “Are you ready?”

Radiant Hope nods. “It was good seeing you!” She waves at Rising Loaf, who returns a cheerful wave of his own, and follows Tempest Shadow at a fast trot as they head back into the forest.

They soon arrive at a large circular clearing. Grass and underbrush quickly give way to bare stone that rises to a central platform. The most striking thing is the six pillars arranged in a circle, each as wide as four ponies and twice as tall. They would have been far higher if not for the diagonal cut shearing the top half away, leaving them like mirrors directing light toward the center. Pieces of rubble litter the ground. At the center of Ponhenge is a raised stone dais, half as tall as a pony and as wide as a pillar.

The two approach the closest pillar, ears perked and gaze furtively shifting from one darkened area to another. The sun has nearly set, making it difficult to tell shape from shadow. Tempest Shadow can’t see anything out of place, just solitary vines creeping along the sides, her keen eyes continuing to scan.

Radiant Hope’s horn glows softer than normal. She shakes her head as the light goes out, whispering, “Nothing I can detect. But I have a blind spot behind the pillars.”

Tempest Shadow nods, calming herself. Then she springs forward, galloping to the center of the ring with the hopes of surprising anypony or anything lurking there. Yet nothing is disturbed, not even a bird or critter in the grass, and she turns her gallop to a quick inspection of the pillars.

While they look solid from the outside, each of the pillars has a flat surface carved into the centrally-facing side. Curved runes spiral around, meaningless as far as she can tell. One has a set of runes, or possibly characters, non-magical and undecipherable. She ends her search at the dais; it has a lip to it, the center depressed, like the parapet of a tower.

“Nothing?” Radiant Hope asks with a twinge of hope, horn glowing bright and eyes white. Getting a head shake in reply she sighs and sits on the edge of the stone dais, slumping slightly. She drops her saddlebags onto the center depressed area with a dull, reverberating *thump*. The bell inside rings, deep and low, the very sound seeming to draw the shadows away.

“...Wait.” Tempest Shadow looks at the center. The sound that it made, and the resulting brightness... “I think this is hollow.”

Radiant Hope spins around, grinning from ear to ear. “Really? Is that why they call it Hollow Shades?” She giggles as her joke, snatching away her saddlebags before giving the stone a hearty tap. “Then-”

The stone crumbles away, falling into pitch darkness. Several seconds later a loud crash echoes from inside.

Radiant Hope’s ears go from flat against her head to perked up. “I guess that works?”

Tempest Shadow feels like a broken record, which is perfectly fine with her. “Indeed.” She looks around for both a light source and a way to get down, settling on the vines ringing several of the pillars.

In an instant the darkened sky disappears, replaced by near-total darkness and a single blue spot in the ceiling. Around her is dimly lit stone, hexagons patterned like tile. Next to her, and the only source of light, is a grinning Radiant Hope. That makes the blue spot the hole they came through, and their only (known) way out. The walls are smooth, the floor free of dust or debris except the pieces of the ceiling they broke through.

“Ready?” Radiant Hope asks.

Tempest Shadow stares at the exit. “I would prefer a method of departure not reliant on you.”

“Then let’s find one!” Hope’s horn flares brighter and brighter until it fully illuminates the hexagonal room. The corner of each wall looks to be directly underneath one of the pillars above ground. An open doorway is in the middle of each wall. Six six-sided gems are socketed, one above each door, colored red, orange, green, teal, pink, and purple.

Tempest Shadow frowns. “Those aren’t the Elements of Harmony.”

“They were,” Radiant Hope corrects. “Loyalty, Honesty, Generosity, Laughter, Kindness, and Magic.” She gnaws at her lip. “Did the Elements change from when Gusty the Great used them to what they are today?”

Tempest Shadow recalls her analysis of the current Elements of Harmony. “Generosity is purple, not green. And magic, or friendship, is magenta, not purple.”

“Fascinating.” Radiant Hope spends a few more seconds studying the gems, then approaches one of the doors. The passage quickly doubles back, spiraling downward. Three others go down, two up, and otherwise each doorway appears identical. “I guess that’s your exit. Ready?”

Tempest Shadow gives one last, forlorn look at the fading blue circle of sky, then follows Radiant Hope down.

They come to a fairly large pentagon-shaped room, brightly lit by the two-toned floor. The four doorways are there, leading back up, with one door leading out. Stark gold lines criss-cross the crimson pentagons and sapphire stars making up the floor. Seemingly endless other patterns spread out, an encaptivating design Tempest feels she could spend a lifetime studying and not see the end. She ignores it as best she can, her focus occasionally flicking down to spot a similarity to a pattern she’s seen before.

Before Tempest can stop her, Radiant Hope reaches down and plucks one of the tiles from the ground. It has a bright crimson hue, a sharp contrast to the sapphire blues that make up the other approximately forty percent of the tiles. It is an unfamiliar shape, with four pointed edges; the two pieces almost look like triangles, except on the blues one side bulges out while the red dips in.

A single reverberating clop draws her attention to the massive blue ram standing in the doorway. Great horns spiral off his skull, his broad chest decorated with small golden bells. She has never seen such an imperious sight, his golden eyes boring straight through her.

“INFIDELS.”

The single word overwhelms Tempest’s mind as Hope’s horn goes out. The word isn’t an accusation, it’s a descriptor, said with such force and conviction that she has no choice but to accept it. The word carries a weight, heavy and unbearable, that sends her collapsing to her knees. Her head bows in contrition - she is unworthy, she must beg and plead, all her failings coming unbidden to her mind. If it wasn’t for her whole body being frozen in place she would spill those secrets, all those times she failed to live up to the Tenets of Harmony. The first, when she was a filly, when she lost her horn, and her friends, she pushed them away even when they were accepting, and she, she could have been better, she should have...

“You dare desecrate Harmony’s hallowed halls?”

Ch. 121 - To Dust

“I…”

Radiant Hope withers under those burning golden eyes, hoof shaking as she tries to replace the crimson tile. Sweat beads along her leg, her throat burns, and any tears she might have cried evaporate before they get a chance to fall. It’s like she is moving her hoof underwater - no, under a thick blanket of snow, that gets harder and harder the more she moves. She gets the tile sideways at first, whimpering as she twists it this way and that until it finally slips into place.

Only once the pattern is repaired does that overwhelming burden lift. She raises her head, stopping just as she sees a pair of cloven hooves. Between her and the ram, shimmering in the air mere inches away from engulfing her, is a sphere of spinning fire, a miniature sun centered on that horn-spiraled skull. It ignores the walls and tiles but not him, making a grisly sight as hair and hide slouch off and turn to ash before her eyes only to be continuously replenished. Her body would suffer the same incineration, only without the regeneration, if he took a step closer.

“We… We didn’t mean to.”

She hopes the apology is enough, because she has nothing else to give. She can detect him probing at her thoughts for any hint of omission or misdirection, though that detection is likely only because he wants her to know; anycreature capable of overpowering basic mental defenses with just a word is capable of doing so without the subject noticing (as Sombra could, much as she does not want to admit that aloud). Whatever he finds must exonerate them; the sphere of fire winks out, though the uncomfortable heat remains.

“You may inform your Princess...” Grogar (she assumes, as he matches the descriptions she knows about, and shudders to think that there might be others that powerful) pauses to snort unhappily, sending his bushy white beard flapping. “...That my task remains incomplete.” He regards Radiant Hope with a pointed glare, sending her - though only briefly - into that penitent state. “And it will remain so if those she sends interferes.”

“Our Princess?” Tempest Shadow asks, bristling at the implication. Radiant Hope can’t help but smile at her friend; even if she is abrasive, her courage in flippancy gives Hope strength.

He turns to Tempest Shadow and nods, daring her to contradict him with a tone so patronizing it must be deliberately bombastic. “Only my own magic would allow you passage, trinkets I have imbued and granted to Solaris Invictus, may she never be overcome.” His reverence flatly marks as inconceivable that they might have come to one of those trinkets through nefarious means or broken into his ‘hallowed halls’; thus implying Celestia wanted them to have it. His confidence in his and Celestia’s abilities is either staggeringly misplaced or utterly terrifying.

With an air of finality Grogar turns to leave, though his gaze remains on them. “Now, Begone.”

The last word, though it carries more than the mere power of speech, leaves open the possibility of defiance. Radiant Hope resists, casting aside the mental force pushing her away, not having come this far to leave with nothing.

“Please.” She quails under his gaze, as though the consequence of wasting his valuable time would cost more than an untimely ejection from these halls. She pulls the long black horn from her saddlebags and holds it up as an offering. “You are Grogar the Necromancer, yes?”

He takes a long time to answer. “That is one of my titles, yes, for there is life to be found in death.”

“Please.” She pushes forward a little more. The impossibility of what she asks weighs on her, but there has to be a hope. “This is the horn of Sombra, who I loved. Can you… can you bring him back?”

He takes and inspects Sombra’s horn, ultimately setting it back in her outstretched hooves. “This is the horn of an Umbrum, a creature of shadow and darkness. He has deceived you, and-”

“No!” Radiant Hope shouts, slamming a hoof against the floor, ignoring how her hoof cracks and the tiles remain unbroken. “No! He wouldn’t have lied to me! He was a pony, I loved him, I wouldn’t have given all that I have for a lie!” She sinks as she weeps, letting Sombra’s horn roll from her grasp.

The horn stops at Grogar’s hoof. He picks it up, again taking a long look that ends with a heavy sigh. “You are motivated by Truth and Love,” he states, to which Radiant Hope nods over and over until her neck hurts. “It is… possible.” She can barely lift her head, his pensive gaze not focused on her or the horn but a thousand yards away. “He would not be as you remember, not fully; he would be stripped of his nature as a creature of darkness, instead imbued with the knowledge of Harmony and the consequences of his actions. Perhaps…”

Her breath catches in her throat as the possibility crystallizes in front of her. She wipes away the scalding tears. He would help?! What does he need…

She desperately looks around for why he has stalled, unable to find anything. “Would this help?” Radiant Hope pulls the heavy green bell from the pack at her side. She gently lays it down on the tiled floor, then takes a step back. She doesn’t want to give up the source of power, but if it helps bring her Sombra back?

“My Bewitching Bell.” Grogar frowns as he considers, the artifact clearly tempting him, though he makes no move to take it. “Celestia promised to return it to me, to concede defeat and assist in emblazoning all in Harmony’s name, once my task is complete. Why would Harmony lead it to me before I am finished?”

“Task?” she inquires. Her ears perk up as she boldly walks forward. If there is something he needs help with, something she can help with? “What task is that?”

Grogar grumbles deep in his throat as he regards her. “She did not inform you?”

Radiant Hope shakes her head, though Tempest Shadow comments, “She warned me against seeking you out. That it was a path that would only lead to ruin.”

“Ruin?” Grogar laughs from his belly, low and chortling. “This is the path of salvation. For why else are we put on this earth, but to find Harmony’s will?”

“Okay,” Radiant Hope says, not fully agreeing with his meaning of life but unwilling to disagree if it means she would be separated from Sombra. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I am deciphering Harmony’s will.” Grogar, seeing the incomprehension on the two mare’s faces, waves a hoof through the air. Dozens upon dozens of crimson and sapphire pieces come into existence, then intermingle and combine with each other to form simple shapes, following rules she doesn’t recognize. Patterns emerge as the shapes bifurcate and expand, with each copy growing in different ways.

“Truth and Love,” he explains, plucking one crimson piece and one sapphire from the turbulent mix, “serve as the foundation of our ethos.” He next chooses a simple sample of three darts arranged in a half-circle. “Every action we take furthers Harmony; or, it is incompatible with Honesty, Generosity, Loyalty, Kindness, Laughter, and Friendship. It is a choice set in front of each and every one of us: do we wish to act in accordance with Harmony, or do we wish to be separated from her?”

He copies the pattern of three darts; in one set he places another dart with the point inward, the circle now nearly complete, while in the other the dart is upside down and leaves nowhere for a piece to fill the pattern without making a gap.

“Furthermore,” he continues, motioning to the patterns that have increased to twenty tiles, some as large as fifty and still growing, “every situation we come across can be represented as one of these images. There will be correct ways to proceed, ways that are compatible with Harmony, and those that are not. Harmonic ways are those without gap or overlap. It may not be immediately apparent that one’s choice is incorrect, but the mistake will surely show itself.”

He demonstrates by taking two darts and lining them up so the point of one is inside the hollow of the other. Then, no matter how he places the next pieces, gaps form that he cannot fill.

“Ways that are not compatible may not be abided; they must be discovered, excised, and cast into the fire.” In each example the piece blocking the incorrect pattern dissolves into nothing, allowing tiles to complete the circle. “For only then will the proper way of life flourish.”

“I-is that why you called us infidels?” Radiant Hope shudders, hoping he doesn’t cast them into the fire.

Grogar nods, slow and solemn. “For all your intentions, you have not dedicated yourself to Harmony’s path. If any part of you would lead you away from the teachings of Harmony, it must be cast aside. Put to death the cravings of the flesh, for their reward is destruction and loss. Search what Harmony has written on your hearts and make it first and foremost in your mind.”

“I would,” Tempest Shadow asserts, stepping forward. She ignores how his head swivels to consider her, standing strong against his scrutiny. “If you would repair my horn, I would take an oath of service to you.”

“Not to me,” Grogar cautions. “Never to me. All that I am comes from Harmony, from Her teachings.”

“To Harmony, then,” Tempest Shadow corrects, her breath quickening. Her eyes grow large with anticipation, so close to finally achieving her goal. She bows her head, presenting the broken horn.

Grogar’s teeth set in a hard line, grumbling. “It is incomplete,” he says after a long, uncomfortable moment. “Celestia believes this must be the case; that one cannot come up with a finite set of actions or rules that will govern infinite situations. They must take into consideration the entirety of the other pieces; some additions, that may otherwise have worked, fail. She wishes for forgiveness to abound so they might continue to err!”

Golden bands wrap every tile, making five sets of parallel lines that extend through the patterns. Yet, even as pieces adhere to those new restrictions, some combinations become untenable.

He lets out a furious snort that Tempest Shadow gives a hearty nod. “While I perfect our knowledge, she allows suffering to flourish because she will not take the most basic of steps to ensure Harmony is considered!”

“Basic steps?” Radiant Hope inquires. Next to her Tempest Shadow growls, low and mean, at the mention of how Celestia has (in her eyes) wronged her.

“The Tenets of Harmony,” Grogar explains. “Honesty, Generosity, Loyalty, Kindness, Laughter, and Friendship. The pillars of pony society. Yet they are not exalted as such. Deceit and Greed are too frequently allowed to fester, their gains glorified and emulated to the detriment of all, including the one ‘profiting’ from their use. Betrayal and Malevolence provide an acceptable method of advancement while Despair and Apathy keep those in a position to right those wrongs from doing so. And this is in Equestrian society, to say nothing of the atrocities committed by those who have never accepted Harmonic ways as their own!”

“But she won’t?” Radiant Hope asks, confused. “Why not?”

Rather than explain with words Grogar turns and slowly walks down the hallway. The two mares easily follow, Radiant Hope grabbing the bell and horn.

The floor is patterned just as the room; in fact, every branching path they can see is tiled with sapphire and crimson. The individual rooms at the end of those paths have a thick gold line serving as a break between the room and the hallway, and each room starts with a central pattern that quickly diverges, making the layout of every room unique.

They come to a stop at the entrance to a massive chamber that must stretch for miles in every direction, the entirety sparkling with dimly lit blues and reds. Light gold rings, the size of the rooms they have passed, dot the landscape, seemingly at random. It takes their breath away, the magnitude of what has already been completed, and the idea that there must still be more remaining.

“For all I have labored these centuries,” Grogar says, seemingly disappointed by his progress, or perhaps lack thereof. “There remain situations that this world may present that I have not accounted for. Your actions and choices constrict the choices of those around you, as their choices constrict you. Imagine, for example, a plot of open farmland. Either of us may claim it, and it would be Harmonic if either of us do. But if we both lay claim to it, without coordinating with the other, there would be disharmony and resentment. And until I am able to account for all choices, those steps that seem basic do not remain so.”

“I don’t understand,” Radiant Hope says, staring out over the vast expanse. “Why would Celestia oppose a deeper understanding of Harmony?”

Grogar grumbles, or maybe that’s just the noise he makes when he’s thinking. “Our goal is for everycreature to make Harmonic decisions. She believes everycreature must come to that understanding herself. I would… I would make everycreature aware of the consequences of their actions. And if they knew those consequences, they would choose to act in accordance with Harmony, because it is only through Harmonic actions that we may all come together. But my understanding is incomplete.”

“But you know better!” Tempest Shadow whirls to face the Necromancer, the great room behind her. “You would show her the error of her ways!” She motions between Radiant Hope and herself, quick and full of energy. “Let us help you! Let us serve as, as, as acolytes of Harmony!” She yanks out the Bewitching Bell and thrusts it forward. “Use your full power, not restrained!”

Grogar stares at the two of them for a long, long time. Finally, he raises his eyes to the ceiling. Their gaze follows.

“Harmony.”

The single word echoes amidst the cavernous halls, growing louder and louder until it fills their ears with an intense ringing. Radiant Hope can feel her body, her mind, shifting. What once was an oppressive heat around her becomes the sun’s soft warmth on her coat, pleasant even deep underground.

“We beseech thee, as seekers after your blessing. We know that any request we have of you will be granted if it serves your purpose. We ask that you make us whole.”

With a roll of her jaw any thirst disappears, and her hunger, and any itching or craving or desire to flick her mane or tail. Her ears twitch, hearing a rattle despite the echo filling her ears and demanding her attention, a rattle of, of, of, of bones. Dry bones, screeching like hooves against a chalkboard as they scrape against each other. Her eyes remain on the ceiling, able to perceive out of the corners a swirling miasma of green, blue, and red.

The bell shatters, the light disappears, and the echo fades to nothing.

There, standing atop the broken remains of the Bewitching Bell, is a dark gray unicorn with an inky black mane.

“Sombra!!”

Radiant Hope rushes forward. She half expects to plow through her long-lost love, like he is just an illusion of dust and light to be scattered by the slightest touch. But she instead meets warm flesh, nothing like the clammy coat she would desperately heat with her touch during the Crystal Faire. She wraps her hooves around his rugged barrel and squeezes with everything she has, embracing and never intending to let go.

“Hope.”

The single word, the exact tone and timber that she remembers, has a somberness she has never heard in one whose name so resembled the word. She has to force herself to tear away from his thick neck and unbury herself from his flowing mane. She finds those crimson eyes of his, swirling full of light and love. His mouth hangs half-open, lips wet and waiting, exposing a pair of pointed fangs that she thought would disappear, but she leans forward to kiss them just the same.

“I’m sorry.”

It could have been either one of them, or perhaps both, but she’s too lost with a heady passion that threatens to rob her of her senses. She leans forward, silencing any further remorse with a chaste, questioning kiss. He returns it, modest as a colt kissing his dam, and tries to pull away. It infuriates her, that withdrawal, but not as much as the next thing he says.

“I didn’t-”

“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupts, shaking her head from side to side and loving the feel of her nostrils against his coat. She leans forward again, their lips meeting again, and this time he doesn’t resist, he doesn’t hold back, his warm embrace everything she ever dreamed it would be.

A few moments later and a low cough comes. Radiant Hope gives her love a mischievous, unrepentant smile as she pulls away, glancing at her companions.

Tempest Shadow stands next to Grogar, her horn made whole. Her chest is puffed forward, every bit the imperious commander she was under the Storm King. She begins to bend low but the large ram stops her; with a smooth motion he wipes clear any debris the shattering bell got on them, as well as the tears on Radiant Hope’s face, the four of them resplendent.

“Come,” Grogar commands the three horned followers. “There is much to be done.”

Ch. 122 - Energy From Within, Part One

Earlier at the Carrot House

“So.”

Applejack steeples her hooves under her chin. Her elbows rest on the sturdy kitchen table, all their dishes cleared away and surreptitiously being dried by Doug. The rest of the herd has moved on to their jobs or school (or both in Twilight and Celestia’s case), leaving Applebaum and Totem sitting on the long bench on the opposite side of the table. They aren’t quite tall enough to no longer need it, even though the young mare has grown half a hoof since Applejack saw her two weeks ago. Could that be a consequence of her ‘fulfilling’ her cutie mark, or just a growth spurt finally kicking in?

She takes a perverse pleasure in watching her middle filly squirm. It reminds her of when Granny Smith twists the metaphorical screws, always dreading when the answer to the rapid-fire questions is an honest ‘Ee-nope’ instead of the anticipated and desired ‘Eeyup’. It doesn’t work quite as well when either of them try it on Doug; he has a penchant for calmness, a certain surety of his actions and intentions, and never evades or hides his reasoning, which is all-too-often more reasonable than she wants to (at the time) admit.

Applejack turns her focus to Totem, regarding the young stallion with a casual smile, which just makes Applebaum shift back and forth all the worse - she can tell the young mare wants to interject, to cover up something, and won’t let her get off so easily. Not when she can have a little fun with this.

Totem stands perhaps a hoof shorter than she does, which reminds her of a smaller version of Big Mac. Her brother went through a brief gangly phase right after getting his cutie mark before filling out, expanding in all directions into the powerhouse he is today. She remembers that time well, memory made fresher by the stacks of pictures she needs to sift through and sort into albums. That doesn’t bode well for Totem matching her beast of a brother; maybe he’d grow more, but he already has a stocky look to him, a squatness and low center of mass that speaks volumes to his capacity to carry loads and haul wagons. Maybe she’ll put that to the test later on, if he can pass her initial battery of questions.

“Ah don’t think we’ve been introduced proper-like.”

She lets her smile grow a touch too wide, her best imitation of Chrysalis not letting the twinkle touch her eyes. Applebaum’s fidgeting gets more pronounced, her mouth opening a sliver and her ears occasionally folding back.

Whoever raised Totem didn’t raise a colt, they raised a statue. He doesn’t flinch or anything, just stares at her with piercing blue eyes, the same color and brightness of a changeling except he has pupils. His cutie mark reflects those eyes on some upright log that looks lumpy despite being intricately carved.

“Sure.”

The single word throws her off, if briefly: she wasn’t expecting a response, and if she was it would have been an ‘Eeyup’ or an ‘Ee-nope’. Not an ambiguous answer that just as easily could represent the affirmative ‘we should introduce ourselves’ as the neutral ‘you have stated a correct fact’. She leans toward the latter.

To get back on track she throws her drawl into overdrive. “Well, color me brighter n’a pair’a Pink Ladies for failin’ ta do so.” The table is a bit too wide for her to thrust her hoof forward and shake his. She’d rather greet him that way, but it’d be a bit awkward to cross over now, so she just grins and gives a quick bow of her head. “Ah’m Applejack.”

Totem blinks once. “Sure.”

Applejack chuckles, rolling with the unconventional response. “Now, Ah caught your name was Totem, an’ while Ah’m more’n’a mite interested in what led to y’all hikin’ up a mountain, maybe we can start with somethin’ a lil’ easier.”

“Sure.”

Even though Applejack hadn’t meant to leave space for him to answer he still took the opportunity. She likes that. “You’ll have to excuse mah jus’ bein’ a plain ole country gal, but most of us Apples got pretty simple cutie marks. Ah got an apple, Big Mac’s got an apple, Granny’s got an apple pie.”

“Sure.”

She glances at Applebaum’s cutie mark of an exploding apple, then decides not to comment on it. Totem’s eyes never leave her, even as her attention wanders. “Can’t say Ah’ve ever seen a ‘totem’ cutie mark before.”

She trails off, unsurprised by his anodyne, “Sure.”

“Totem,” Applebaum cuts in, exasperated. Applejack finds this a bit telling, though doesn’t react just yet. “Tell her how you got your cutie mark.”

“My sire,” Totem immediately explains, “told me to help him move five and a half dozen crates they excavated from a temple in the Tenochtitlan Basin into their warehouse while he took care of some errands.” Applebaum’s eyes grow wide with awe. “When he came back, I had them all moved, and I had this.”

“Those crates are massive,” Applebaum challenges as he motions backward. She immediately backtracks, fumbling for the words. “N-not that Ah’m doubtin’ ya or anythin’!”

Totem shrugs like it’s nothing. “I got it done. Life of a support, ya know?”

“Sure sounds impressive to me,” Applejack covers. She wonders how those crates compare to their own when filled with apples. As well, that Basin name sounds familiar, but she can’t quite place it; maybe Rainbow Dash or Twilight mentioned it? “Do ya work with yer sire often?”

“Sure.”

“Totem,” Applebaum admonishes.

Applejack finds a certain humor in how quick her filly is to tell Totem what to do. “Now, hold on, lil’ filly.” Applebaum pouts at being called such an endearing term in front of company. “Ah admire a colt who has a certain brevity. Remind ya of anypony?”

Applebaum scowls rather than answer, which is an answer all the same.

“Now,” Applejack says, turning to Totem, “if’n ya don’t mind me sayin’, ya look like a colt who don’t mind gettin’ his muzzle dirty.”

“Sure.”

“An’ Ah hope you’ll forgive a bit of a rant, but Ah appreciate a stallion who don’t mind workin’ an equal share.” Applejack grits her teeth. “Too many wanna mosey on by, lettin’ the mare do the work an’ only helpin’ out once a year, if’n ya catch my drift.”

She’s glad Doug doesn’t fit that category, even if it means that he doesn’t have as much time for her. Him being stallion to such a large herd doesn’t help matters, either, but she makes do.

“...Sure.”

“Dam,” Applebaum tries, only to be immediately hushed.

“Haulin’ crates ain’t exactly glamorous,” Applejack admits with a wry shake of her head. “But, truth be told, neither is harvestin’ apples. Still, we take pride in what we do here at Sweet Apple Acres.”

“Sure,” Totem says, and even the neutral ‘that is a true statement’ has a kernel of respect and admiration in it.

“Most’a the year, it’s long hours of hard, repetitive work.” Applejack finds a sense of joy at just the mention of her labor of love. “Most ponies ain’t up for it.” She lets a sly smile spread across her muzzle. “But you don’t seem like most ponies to me.”

“Sure,” Totem says with a certain cocky swagger.

“Now,” Applejack continues, turning on the pressure. Just because she likes him and thinks he might have a future on the farm doesn’t mean she’ll go easy on him. “There must be a reason she didn’t mention ya in any of her letters home, yet saw fit to go out adventurin’ with ya.”

“Sure,” Totem answers succinctly. Applebaum’s ears fold against her head.

Applejack thinks she can spot a bead of sweat forming on the colt, or maybe it’s just her imagining how she would feel if she was being grilled by Granny Smith. “Ah wonder why that is.”

“Sure.”

“I-it’s not like that,” Applebaum weakly argues. “Nothing happened.”

“Methinks the filly doth protest too much,” Doug quips from the sink, the dishes all dried and returned to the cabinets.

“Now, hold on,” Applejack says to Applebaum. “Ah’ll get your side of things, don’t worry your pretty lil’ head.” She turns to Doug as Applebaum nods, chastened. “An’ Ah don’t need no comments from the peanut gallery, ya hear?”

“Sure,” Doug says with a smirk she doesn’t care for.

Regardless, she turns back to Totem. “It ain’t the kinda action Ah’d expect from just acquaintances.”

She can definitely see the gulp this time. “Sure.”

“Now, ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” Applejack says, mollifying her tone quite a bit. She gives the two a pleasant smile, with only the slightest hint of a patronizing leer. “Ah just hope ya like apples, an’ don’t mind helpin’ out durin’ harvest.”

“Dam,” Applebaum tries.

“Sure,” Totem says at the same time with a grin of his own.

“Now, Ah ain’t sayin’ Ah’m lookin’ for grandfoals so soon,” Applejack says with an admonishing shake of her head. “Give it a few years, even if y’all are adults. No sense in rushin’ things.”

“Dam!” Applebaum protests, to no avail.

“Sure,” Totem says, his now gleeful grin growing wider.

“With that said,” Applejack continues, ignoring her filly’s protests, “Ah’m sure we could make room for ya here, if’n Canterlot don’t have some special hold on ya.” She winks. “Maybe even refit a barn for ya, outta earshot.”

“Dam!!” Applebaum shouts without raising her voice. “Ah don’t need ya settin’ me up! Not with Totem, not with nopony! Ah’m mah own mare! An’ Ah ain’t comin’ back here jus’ so you can keep an eye on me!”

“Applebaum,” Doug starts with a touch of admonishment in his tone.

Applejack cuts her stallion off with a shake of her head. Her muzzle scrunches up to a hard frown. It hurts deeply for her filly to reject her. “Why would ya think that?”

Applebaum huffs, matching her dam’s frown and looking away. Her words pierce deep, even if they aren’t spoken very loud. “Because Ah heard ya on the train,” she admits. “Ah heard ya say how ya was gonna write an’ have them send me home. How ya didn’t trust me.”

Applejack takes a long, deep breath that turns into a heavy sigh. She stays silent long enough for Applebaum to turn and look back at her as if something might be physically wrong and not just that her words had an emotional impact. She doesn’t want to admit that she was thinking those thoughts and saying those things. She also knows Honesty is the best policy, and how easily a well-intentioned lie can make things worse.

“You’re right,” Applejack finally admits. “Ah’m sorry. Ah said those things, and at the time Ah meant ‘em. Ah thought ya were bein’ wildly irresponsible, goin’ off adventurin’ an’ gallivantin’ across Equestria, doin’ nothin’ but stirrin’ up trouble. Ah was afraid ya’d get hurt. But it was for somethin’ ya believed in, more’n Ah’d like ta admit. An’ if ya get hurt doin’ somethin’ ya believe in? Well, there ain’t no better reason than that.”

“Huh.” At first, Applebaum stares at Applejack, who returns a small, repentant smile. “An’ the keepin’ me here?”

“You’re your own mare.” Applejack’s smile grows a little, becoming more hopeful. “If ya wanna go out there, make your own choices? Just know you’re always welcome back here, no matter what. An’ if ya wanna stay?” She winks, drawing a chuckle from Applebaum.

“Ah saw that goin’ way different in mah head,” Applebaum admits, hopping off the bench so she can playfully ram her head into her dam’s withers. “Thanks.”

“Ah know Ah sure prefer keepin’ things simple-like,” Applejack says, glancing up at Doug as he walks over and fondles one of her ears.

“Sure makes things easier.” Doug bends down to peck her cheek, then releases her with a solemn sigh. “Well, I need to get to work, and so do you.”

“Eeyup.” Applejack watches Doug walk to his office, then gives Totem and Applebaum a firm nod. “Y’all stay safe, ya hear?”

“Eeyup,” Applebaum echoes. She grins at Totem. “Hey, you want a tour of Sweet Apple Acres? We’re missing class anyway, might as well wait for the redeye back to Canterlot.”

“Sure,” Totem answers, following her outside and matching the bounce in her step.

Ch. 123 - Energy From Within, Part Two

“So, Po,” Diamond Tiara asks as she trots along the path to the recently repurposed and tritely named Cider Barn. Silver Spoon flanks on one side, back unladen, while Pomarbo is on the other. Two sets of book-stuffed saddlebags encumber him, one on top of the other, a dark blue tiara embroidered on the outer set. “Did you enjoy class today?”

“Ah guess,” Pomarbo answers noncommittally. He stares off at the apple trees lining the path, yet doesn’t seem to be focusing on them. Most are full of new blooms, evidence of recent harvesting. In fact, most of the trees are in bloom, rather than laden with apples waiting for (to be somewhat blunt) a buyer, as is the case most years.

Diamond Tiara cranks up her already bright smile, wishing her sister would look more than, at best, neutral to be there. Silver Spoon normally follows her cues, but she hasn’t with Pomarbo and it’s quite frustrating; her cutie mark doesn’t care for it, either. “It sure was nice of Miss Cheerilee to let you sit in class!”

“Eeyup,” comes the distracted reply.

“You should properly thank her next time.” Diamond Tiara nods, though it feels like she’s nodding to herself. “She likes apples. It’s not everypony she’ll let observe what happens a few grades ahead.”

“Next time?” Silver Spoon mutters off to the side.

Diamond Tiara watches to make sure Pomarbo’s focus is off somewhere else, then flicks her head to glare at Silver Spoon. It doesn’t have much of an effect; she’ll need to work on that more. She turns back to Pomarbo, reasserting her casual smile.

“Eeyup,” Pomarbo says, then sighs. “Ah don’t get it,” he admits with a downcast look at the ground.

Diamond Tiara sighs internally, not letting her smile fade. “It’s okay,” she reassures, taking the opportunity to briefly nuzzle at the side of his neck. It’s hard to do with them moving and him being shorter than she is, but she makes it work. He seems to appreciate it, which is good, but she can’t keep it up while they are trotting. “Which part?”

“So, Ah got the part about my-toe-kon-dree-ah.” His brown muzzle scrunches up, shifting around the black dots of oil staining his hair; she’ll need to see about washing them out somehow. After all, it wouldn’t do for her reputation to be as sullied as his coat. “An’ how they make energy usable by the cell.”

Diamond Tiara doubts he got it, because it took her three hours of studying the textbook to understand the process well enough that she wouldn’t look like a foal in class, but she lets that slide. Stallions got uptight if you called them out, especially if they thought they were in the right. Better to come at it from an oblique angle if it’s important to convey.

“But,” Pomarbo continues, “where do they get the energy from?”

“Sugars and fats the cell ingested, or ate,” Diamond Tiara explains, recalling the discussion in class. “It’s not like it comes from nothing.” She ends with a little half-laugh, trying not to make fun of his lack of understanding.

“No, no, before that.” His face scrunches up again in a manner she needs to learn to find adorable. “Where do those sugars and fats come from?”

“Griffons get them from little ponies who ask too many questions,” Silver Spoon gripes.

Pomarbo’s green eyes do their best to match Big Mac’s cutie mark in size. “Bu-but Ah asked all the questions!”

“Yes,” Silver Spoon icily agrees. “Yes, you did.”

“My dam always says that if you have a question,” Diamond Tiara encourages, doing her best to assuage Pomarbo’s fears without further antagonizing Silver Spoon, “that means that the others also have that question but are too afraid to ask. I thought you were very brave to raise your hoof so many times.” Pomarbo grins, though it takes some time before his pupils return to their normal size. “And while my sister is technically right about carnivores, most creatures and animals get their food from plants.”

Silver Spoon’s comment must not have rattled him too badly as Pomarbo says, “But plants have mitochondria, too.”

“True.” Diamond Tiara finds herself getting exasperated from the constant questions. Maybe asking him to tag along wasn’t the best idea; most foals would have been too intimidated by the older fillies to stand out like a sore hoof. “Plants use photosynthesis, a different process that lets them convert sunlight into sugars. They use chloroplasts for that, and their mitochondria to make the energy usable for them. We learned that last year.”

“Oh.” Pomarbo puzzles this out as they keep trotting along. “Where does the sun get its energy?”

“Nuclear?” Diamond Tiara doesn’t like not knowing the full answer. “That’s what Princess Celestia says.”

Pomarbo frowns at the uncertainty in her voice. “But ya can burn plants, an’ that makes light.”

“Right,” Diamond Tiara says with a firm nod. “It also makes heat.” She cocks her head to the side. “Doesn’t the Cider Squeezy do that?”

Pomarbo shakes his head with a confidence she finds mildly disturbing; she wouldn’t expect a colt his age to know about thaumics, much less an earth pony. “Ah mean, it burns ‘em, the bad apples, that’s where the smoke comes from. But it’s pullin’ whatever thaums they got before it does. Hay, that’s why we gotta keep rechargin’ the batteries, we don’t have enough bad apples.” He smiles, somewhere between a smirk and a grin. “Maybe that ain’t such a bad thing.”

“Ee-nope,” Diamond Tiara replies in her best imitation of Big Mac, which draws a chuckle from Pombaro and a roll of the eyes from Silver Spoon.

They arrive at the Cider Barn. It looks much like their other two-story barns with a high purple roof, bright and bold reds patterning the walls, and white accents on the sliding door (barely) large enough for the Squeezy to fit through. Only a single window has been cut out, high up in the loft, through which a magenta eye can often be seen watching for incoming ponies. Two carts overflowing with baskets of apples wait outside, one of sweet Red Delicious and one of the tarter McIntosh. The door to the barn is already opened, drawing a few curious glances among the three before they cautiously head inside.

Barrels fill the second story of the dimly lit barn, stacked and shoved into every last corner to give them enough space on the ground floor to move around. The Cider Squeezy stands in one corner, tall and imposing even chained to the ground with the wheels and anything else not required removed. To their surprise they find not one but four ponies waiting for them.

“Hey, Pomarbo!” Rainbow Dash greets them with a hearty wave from the rafters, mane disheveled. She takes a great big yawn before swooping down to hover above them, not unlike a hungry griffon with an eager look in her eyes. “Please please please tell me you’re ready to make more cider!”

“Ah’ve got quotas to keep,” Pomarbo fires back, bluntness abated by a fond wave of his own. He shucks the saddlebags off in a corner. “An’ Ah ain’t crackin’ a full barrel jus’ ‘cause we can’t fill two mugs with what’s left over!”

Diamond Tiara finds it hilarious - and a bit of a turn-on - to see the pint-sized colt, who could fit inside one of the novelty cider mugs Doug got Rainbow Dash last Hearth’s Warming, stand up to the full-grown mare. Some colts rule the kitchen, but this one sure has a grip on the barn! At least, this barn in particular.

Rainbow Dash peers outside, performing a few mental calculations Diamond Tiara suspects won’t add up. “So if a few baskets just happen to go missing…”

“Then Ah’ll stuff you in there an’ we’ll see if’n it thinks you’re a Zap Apple.” Rainbow Dash just smirks at the threat, all of them glad Pomarbo swiftly got over his initial experience with the machine. He turns to the other ponies, zipping past Cozy Glow to momentarily rest on the other colt before lighting up. “Applebaum! You’re back!”

“Couldn’t go without showin’ this’n a taste of fresh cider!” Applebaum prods the pony next to her; only then does he wave. “This is Totem, he lives where Ah’m stayin’ in Canterlot.”

“Cool! Ah’m Pomarbo, but you can call me Po.” Pomarbo motions to the two young mares next to him. “Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Diamond Tiara greets, adding in a casual nod and friendly smile. Silver Spoon goes so far as to curtsy, drawing the colt’s attention. She can’t help but notice how Applebaum tenses up, fixing her sister with a short-lived glare. How defensive is she about her relationship with Totem?

“Oh, golly!” Cozy Glow presses her hooves against her cheeks, beaming all the brighter. “It sure is nice to meet new ponies!”

“Come on, come on,” Rainbow Dash urges as Cozy Glow huffs at the interruption, motioning the Apple colt toward the Cider Squeezy with her hooves; she’d been reprimanded about using her wings and stirring up the sawdust that doesn’t quite cover the large black spot in the middle of the barn.

Pomarbo rolls his eyes. “Alright, daylight’s burnin’.”

Much to Rainbow Dash’s delight Pomarbo heads over to the recharging station, pulling out the topped-off batteries and leaving the rest to Diamond Tiara. Applebaum, Totem, and Silver Spoon watch from the sidelines as their operation starts up, as it does most days, with Rainbow Dash bringing in the first basket of McIntosh apples, ostensible so she can say she ‘helped’ and isn’t just the ‘adult’ in the room (since Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon would technically qualify). The apples roll down a chute they had built together, past a gap too small for a pony to fit through, to the bolted-down suction tube. Pomarbo goes through the checklist Twilight helped him make for starting up the Cider Squeezy, which mostly consists of making sure everything is topped off, the gauges are all in the green, and nothing is likely to explode. To be fair, that only happened once, but they all give the no-longer-magically-enhanced horn a wide berth.

Once started the process continues until they run out of apples, power, or when somepony hits the big red emergency stop button. Diamond Tiara helps Pomarbo roll barrels from the second floor down the ramp, load them up, then remove and stack the full barrels (they disabled the launcher for lack of space and because it used up a lot of power). Either could do it by themselves, if they had to, but with Cozy Glow bringing in baskets? She gets more time to spend with him, even if it’s too loud to have an easy conversation.

Barrels stack up and soon litter the entire ground floor. With a shuddering gasp and clank-clank--clank---clank the Cider Squeezy comes to a stop, two sweet barrels more than their quota of twelve sweet and twelve hard, split between Red Delicious and McIntosh. It has taken them a little more than an hour, enough time that Diamond Tiara’s stomach protests, at least wanting to get a snack. She holds in her complaint as Pomarbo lets out a great sigh; the Apples always have room at the table, Applejack especially happy to see her joining them.

“Well,” the colt gripes as he stomps over to the Cider Squeezy. With a loud huff he disconnects the batteries, then makes sure the furnace is off and cooling. Diamond Tiara can’t really fault his displeasure; the two carts are completely empty, and if they had gone just a few minutes longer then the machine would have cleaned itself out. Instead he has to slide over a stepladder and open the door, wincing as a blast of hot air rushes past. He pokes his head in, Rainbow Dash waiting just behind with her tongue tightly held between her teeth.

“Good news,” Pomarbo says after a few seconds inspecting the glass dome half-full of brown, bubbly liquid. “Ah think that cider’ll still be good, once it cools.”

“Yesss,” Rainbow Dash whispers to herself, pumping a hoof for good measure. She flies to the exit end, replacing the barrel with one of her oversized mugs. “Ready!”

Pomarbo clambers inside, ignoring the *hiss* of his hooves against the hot metal, to flick open a small release valve. Cider pours out, almost topping off Rainbow’s mug. She takes a sip, yelps as it scalds her tongue, then begrudgingly portions it into six smaller glasses, leaving half remaining.

“So, Cozy,” Pomarbo says as he arduously scrubs; it’s easier to clean out the gunk while it’s still hot, before the apples get a chance to cool and stick to everything. It’s much easier to hear now that the only sounds are contented sips from their warm glasses. “How was school?”

“Professor Chrysalis sure uses a lot of examples involving lying to teach us about Honesty,” Cozy Glow answers. She frowns as she swirls her cider around. “Headmare Twilight doesn’t like it, she keeps waving this big book around, but Professor Chrysalis doesn’t really care. And Professor Fluttershy shows how much Kindness helps those around us, but it’s kind of boring ever since Headmare Twilight took away her animals.”

“But that’s all her examples,” Pomarbo says. He pokes his head out to look at Cozy Glow, confused. “Anything else?”

“Oh!” Cozy Glow’s expression brightens as she flies down and ruffles through her pink saddlebags. “I got a letter back from Tirek! He thinks he can help with our problem!”

Ch. 124 - Energy From Within, Part Three

“Wait,” Rainbow Dash says, face scrunching up. And it’s hard to get her to scrunch up like that when she’s got a mug of cider in front of her. “Like, Tirek Tirek? The power-mad centaur that tried to steal Equestrian magic?”

“That’s the one!” Cozy Glow’s chipper grin looks entirely too chipper for Rainbow Dash’s liking.

“And,” Rainbow Dash continues with a certain trepidation, having difficulty putting aside the two times that she lost her magic, “why, exactly, are we writing letters to him?” She rubs at her taut belly; in her view, they got lucky there wasn’t any lasting damage from Tirek (well, Doug, sort of, after Discord got involved) to any of the mares or foals. At least, that they or the doctors could detect.

“Golly, because everypony deserves a shot at redemption,” Cozy Glow answers with an aura of innocence Rainbow Dash immediately suspects. “Right?”

“I mean, sure,” Rainbow Dash concedes. She doesn’t want to make the concession, not for Tirek, but can’t see a way to argue otherwise. “In principle.” To say that some ponies are past the point of redemption… Harmony, or whatever magic the Crystal Heart has, vaporized Sombra, and they are letting Radiant Hope try to bring him back. Even so, she raises an eyebrow at the other pegasus. “And there’s nothing you’re getting out of this?”

Cozy Glow titters to herself, covering her open mouth with a hoof. “I hope to get a friend.” She guilelessly sways back and forth like a foal clutching a cherished doll. “Is that so wrong?”

“Well, no,” Rainbow Dash admits, again not liking having to make the concession but still not buying the act.

“And if I get enough of the right friends,” Cozy Glow mutters, her innocent laugh and high-pitched voice devolving into a mad cackle as she rubs her hooves together.

“You’re doing it again,” Diamond Tiara reprimands.

“Oh.” Cozy Glow coughs a few times. She regains her innocent smile, the effect completely lost. “It’s just so sad to hear about how Tirek is imprisoned in Tartarus, all alone, without anypony to talk to.”

“Maybe we could get him a lady friend,” Silver Spoon suggests with an obvious glance at Diamond Tiara. The pink mare pointedly ignores her. Pomarbo’s face scrunches up from his perch inside the Cider Squeezy.

“Yeah,” Rainbow Dash deadpans. “Because Equestria’s problem is that we don’t have enough power-hungry centaurs roaming around.”

Cozy Glow rolls her eyes as Pomarbo goes back to scrubbing. “Which is why it’s so important to get to know him better.” She lets out an irritated snort as the scrubbing gets louder. “Not like that! Eww!” She huffs as she turns back to Rainbow Dash. “As a friend. You know, finding out what his interests are, his likes and dislikes.”

“If he likes long walks on the riverbank,” Silver Spoon adds as Diamond Tiara growls, their evening plans obviously shattered.

“If he prefers sucking out your magic beforehoof or after,” Rainbow Dash blithely continues. “Now, I’m an after kinda gal, but I bet he really likes before.”

“You aren’t giving him a chance,” Cozy Glow defends, harrumphing.

“Fine,” Rainbow Dash grumbles. “What normal, everyday activities does Tirek like doing?”

“Err,” Cozy Glow mumbles, quickly scanning her previous letter. “He, um, he likes magic items?”

“Urgh.” Rainbow Dash wants to dunk her head into her oversized cider mug, but there’s still cider in there and she doesn’t want to waste any. “Of course he does.”

“No, not for power, not like the Storm King.” Cozy Glow pulls out the most recent letter. “He finds them fascinating because he can’t drain them of their magic like he could a pony.” Cozy Glow stops, realizing her normal sing-song voice is too bright and cheerful for such a morbid topic. She shifts to a lower register, slowing to a dour crawl. “Which is so sad when he does.”

“Ye-ah,” Rainbow Dash snarks, forelegs crossing in front of her.

“So,” Cozy Glow continues, gradually losing her dour voice and becoming interested, perhaps intrigued, “before he pursued pony magic in Equestria he studied magic items, research he continued once he was imprisoned in Tartarus. Not that he could do a lot of empirical testing, of course, but theoretical work. And he thinks it’s possible for us to speed up how quickly the batteries recharge.”

“Wait.” Rainbow Dash takes a second to ponder the implications. “You mean…” Her eyes spring open. “We could have more cider?! Why didn’t you lead with that?”

Cozy Glow grins, obviously glad to have persuaded her greatest detractor. “He’s not sure we’ll be able to make it work.” She kicks at the air with a light sigh and small frown. “H-he’s not sure what we’re working with.”

“Oh, we can make it work.” Rainbow Dash and the others turn to regard Pomarbo, their resident ‘expert’, who only reluctantly comes out of the Cider Squeezy. While he looks a mess, covered with little bits and flecks of crushed apple, the inside sparkles.

“Ocellus built it,” he explains as he hops down, shaking his head like Winona and removing most of the pieces. “It’s a dual system modeled after how changelings operate. She said one part gathers passively, um, which means it pulls in a little bit of magic from everything around it. Basically, it’s how they sense emotions from everything around them, little tiny bites that aren’t that nourishing. Or Chryssy’s throne, but she didn’t elaborate on that one. She said it’s got a range, an’ ours is set to a big range, like Sweet Apple Acres big, but gathers a really, really small amount. Most ponies won’t notice, but somepony who works with their magic might feel a mite sluggish.”

“Somepony like Applejack?” Rainbow Dash asks, frowning. Now that he mentions it she has felt off when practicing around Sweet Apple Acres, similar to when she trains at high altitude and has trouble catching her breath. She hadn’t made the connection to assisting with cider production, instead suspecting that her increased cider consumption might have had something to do with it. Okay, it could be both, but she’d rather blame the magic stealing item than wonderful, wonderful cider.

Pomarbo’s ears fold against his head. “Eeyup. She knows it’s affectin’ her, not that she lets it slow her down. Us usin’ the Cider Squeezy an’ sellin’ the cider lets her grow more apples, an’ lettin’ more ponies enjoy ‘em, somethin’ she’s always for.”

“And the other part?” Cozy Glow asks, lowering the letter to watch Pomarbo and the recharger closely.

“The ‘active’ part is like a really slow version of a thaumic reactor, the furnace powerin’ the Cider Squeezy.” Pomarbo shuffles one hoof against the floor. “That one’s like a fire, pullin’ thaums out fast as it can an’ leavin’ a good bit left over. This one’s like a stomach, breakin’ down an’ then absorbin’ everythin’ it can from whatever we put in.”

“Stomach and intestines,” Diamond Tiara corrects.

“Err, eeyup.” Pomarbo takes a second to get his train of thought back. “‘Cellus said something about Chryssy finally spawnin’ a ‘ling that could replicate that slow burn? Ah didn’t follow exactly. But like Ah said, it’s slow, but it gets a lot more out. ‘Cellus said we’d be chargin’ one battery a day instead’a four if’n we only went passive.”

“Then we could get another recharger, right?” Rainbow Dash points at the recharger, as if there is any doubt about what she is referring to. “Or double the, err, active part of it?”

“Err,” Pomarbo stalls, scraping against the floor enough to expose the stained wood underneath. “We would need more, err, raw material. An’ Ah ain’t sure, but dam says we’re close ta breakin’ even as it is.”

Rainbow Dash’s ears fold against her head. “Oh,” is all she can say.

From what she understands, which is (not regrettably) limited, the changelings shifting from requiring regular infusions of magic from their herds to a caloric diet has drastically increased the demand, and thus price, of those foods that best comprise said diet. The second thing she’s heard, and finds somewhat disturbing, is the best foods are those that were originally highest in magic. Thus, while they are technically omnivores (even if eating rocks doesn’t get them that much benefit, but gems did, making them compete with dragons over the semi-precious stones), and could subsist on plants just fine, their preference (loudly insisted that they would do nothing illegal to obtain it, but quietly conceded that it is true if pressed) is for meat, the more intelligent the better. Except dragons are at the top, the brawny and often-as-dumb-as-the-rocks-they-eat creatures chock full of those delicious nutrients. Or whatever it is changelings crave, she tries to avoid thinking about it.

This compounds the stresses on the Equestrian agricultural system caused by their rapid population growth, even if only the changeling portion of the estimated twenty percent increase has been born. Their herd is an outlier, but not by much: Doug is stallion to nine mares (ten if one counts Starlight Glimmer), with seven foals on the way (eleven counting Starlight’s). With eight foals already born, that’s almost a forty percent increase (almost sixty with Starlight, which is high). Farmers around the country have been gearing up, requesting historic increases in the amount of rain and the distribution of said rain, which has made Doug’s job all the harder - something he gripes about to her, Applejack, and perhaps Celestia.

All that is to say, it would be too expensive to buy more magic-making material. If they need an active component to run it, it wouldn’t make sense to build another. Maybe she could chip in, but she might as well just buy bottles of the stuff if that’s what she wants. But if they could coax more out of the air… that would give them more extra barrels, barrels that get stored and then brought out for celebrations!

“So” Rainbow Dash says, drawing the word out, staying interested and hoping the others pick up on that energy, “what would we do to get more?”

Cozy Glow grabs the letter, frown deepening as she reads to the end. “He says that different magical items will have different effects if we hook them up to it. For example, one might double the range but halve the charge rate. Another might do the reverse.”

“Wait,” Rainbow Dash says, scratching at her head. “Why would we want to do that?”

Applebaum answers, speaking up for the first time in a while. “For the first one, because you’ll end up with a faster charge overall. You don’t grab as much from each thing, but you’re grabbing from more things. You’d end up with twice as high a charge rate, which means another battery per day.”

“It’s a sphere,” Pomarbo corrects.

Applebaum’s muzzle purses as she concentrates. “Four times as much? Wow, that’d more’n double your output!”

“Eeyup,” Pomarbo confirms with a nod.

“Sooo much cider,” Rainbow Dash drolls with a sated rub of her belly, tongue lolling out comically. She snickers as she goes back to normal. “Wait, why would you want the reverse? Wouldn’t that just be bad?”

“It’d get ya less charge,” Pomarbo agrees, “but it’d let ya be more picky ‘bout what it affects. Like, if it got concentrated enough, ya could put it on the edge’a the Everfree an’ not worry ‘bout it drainin’ yourself even when workin’ the south fields.”

“Until you went to change the batteries,” Applebaum cautions.

Rainbow Dash’s hoof starts shaking. “E-yeah,” she says. Until now she’s been fully on board with the youngsters trying out different combinations. “Could it really be that dangerous?”

“Ah’m not sure.” Pomarbo cocks his head, tapping at his chin. “Applejack wanted as low a drain rate as it’d go.”

“Tirek says an item could also do both,” Cozy Glow adds, now at the bottom of the letter. “The more powerful the magic item, the more powerful the effect, with up to six items at a time.” She rolls the letter back up, gulping.

“Ah’d imagine it could,” Pomarbo continues, “even capped at six. If ya notice the drain now… each one doubles, and then doubles that, after three ya’d end up with an eightfold increase, not six. Then sixteen, thirty-two, an’ sixty-four with all six. An’ that’s assumin’ it don’t get more powerful than doublin’.”

Rainbow Dash stares at her hooves. On one hoof, she doesn’t want to put anypony in danger. Further experimentation could certainly do that, and she should probably tell Twilight about what they are planning on doing. Actually, Twilight already knows, now that she thinks about it. On the other hoof, for the past week it’s proven to be safe at the current level. Surely they could find something that raises the size and keeps the drain the same, or decreases the drain. But then they’d run into laws about the airspace above the farm, and draining outside ponies, and a whole bunch of legal hassle that, again, Twilight would know about.

“Ah bet Ah could find some stuff we got buried in the Mausoleum,” Applebaum suggests with a wide grin. “Mail ‘em an’ let me know how it goes.”

That did it for Rainbow Dash; after all, Apples stuck together. Plus, she’d get more cider this way. “I’ll tell Twilight, see what she thinks. But until then, no experimentation.” She focuses on Pomarbo for this last part. “Got it?”

“Got it,” the colt says, withering under her intense stare.

Ch. 125 - Emperor's Wit, Part One

The pure white of the rising moon filters through the Crystal Castle’s stained glass, casting geometric patterns of hexagons and diamonds and sharpened spears, ostensibly in the shape of a snowflake, throughout Emperor Spike’s combination office and bedroom. The bright purple hue and swirling blue slowly traverse the room, mirroring the moon’s languid path along the sky.

“Your Majesty?”

Spike looks up at Golden Wheat’s worried tone, his stiff neck complaining from the unexpected motion. At the door stands Amethyst Shard, her plum coat turned guard’s regulation blue by her enchanted plate armor. He has no idea how long she has been waiting; Golden Wheat offers no clues, only a blank look of surprise. He runs through possible reasons for not immediately calling to his attention whatever pressing issue is at claw, yet still standing in the doorway, but none come to mind. If it isn’t important enough to interrupt then they could just add it to the next day’s docket, as the sun has already run her course.

Spike sets aside the contract he and Golden Wheat are reviewing, pushing aside dozens of others to make an open area on the cluttered desk. More and more companies and individuals are demanding formalized agreements after the snafu with Frenulum and Withers, foreling of the changeling miners and henchpony for one of Equestria’s front organizations respectively, over their acquisition of Crystal Empire resources and relics. It was, perhaps, an ill-considered action, reckless at a crucial junction when prudently considering long-term outcomes would have better suited the Empire. But it is too late to dwell on such possibilities, especially because he would stand up for those who put their trust in him again.

“Yes?” Spike asks, his frustration over reviewing and authorizing the contracts seeping into his voice.

Golden Wheat isn’t much of a legal expert - the cream coated pony’s expertise lies in wheat and cleaning, especially as they relate to her animal friends - but neither is anypony else in the Empire, a fact he counts as a blessing after learning how exploiting legal loopholes led to the corruption and eventual downfall of Abyssinia. Worse than a country and ruler that forces citizens to become slaves is one that allows the most desperate to shackle themselves, their transitory predicament now a permanent position enforced by law, whereupon they are fed into a ravenous system that only ever hungers for more. He would not see the Crystal Empire fall from Sombra’s clutches to the carefully trimmed hooves of such scum, no matter what rehabilitative measures Celestia tried with those Abyssinians.

“Your Majesty.” Amethyst Shard inclines her head just slightly, a far improvement over the groveling bows he initially received and had to forbid to get them to stop, though one foreleg still bends to lower her barrel instead of snapping to her head in a crisp salute. Her eyes keep darting backward, her breath drawing in as if to gush but being held back by instilled discipline.

“Princess Luna,” she finally continues with a note of adoration; the Princess of the Night is held by all in remarkably high esteem for her efforts fighting ex-king Sombra, her later descent into Nightmare Moon all but ignored. “She is waiting for your pleasure. She claims it is a pressing matter, the contents of which she refused to divulge, but understands it may be some time until you are ready to receive her.”

Princess Luna? What would she want? Spike is surprised she did not warn of her arrival through dragonfire, Princess Celestia’s go-to method of communication for Twilight Sparkle for a dozen years. He knows Luna has his address, as it were, as does Cadance, but now that he thinks about it he has not received a personal letter from any of them through dragonfire since his coronation, only official correspondence. He rhythmically taps his claws against the hard wood of the desk, digging miniscule divots. It is unfortunate, but he has yet to find a material that stands up to the sharp appendages. It seems like he goes through a whetstone a day keeping them at a manageable length.

“Send her in,” he declares with his deepening ‘voice of authority’.

Amethyst Shard gives an immediate nod and spins on her hoof. The loud clip-clop march gradually fades as she goes toward the first of sixty-six flights of stairs. Spike sighs at the inconvenience; his chambers are at the top of an extraordinarily tall castle. He holds court and entertains most visitors on the lowest full floor (that is, the sixth floor, as the first five are easily barricaded staircases that run up the Crystal Castle’s four massive legs) instead of the vast throne room. Is the lack of convenience the intent of placing the throne and royal chambers so high? A way of wasting the other’s time, a way to say ‘I am more powerful than you, and I deign to see you at my pleasure’? He could certainly see Sombra doing something that petty, and wonders how much of Amethyst Shard’s intentions ran similarly or if it is merely a holdever of whatever training she received under the mad king. The view, he has to concede, is excellent, and the main reason he stays.

“Here, let me.” Golden Wheat doesn’t wait for a response, not that he would deny her. Her firm, slender barrel gently pushes him to the side so she can get to work tidying the large desk. He raises an arm to steady himself, his claws sinking into the soft coat covering her flanks.

His scales tingle at the touch, reminding him of the times she has pressed and pulled and even yanked at those scales, helping disperse the rage and fury that constantly builds in him. It’s more than stress, more than mere displeasure at seeing the state of ruin his ponies are in and the massive undertaking underway, the required rigors of rebuilding and recovering. He wants those hooves against him again, stroking and prodding and probing for any sore or irritated sections that require her rejuvenating ministrations.

If she minds his touch she doesn’t show it. She stretches out with a wriggle that starts at her withers and ripples along her spine. Her hips drop as her weight settles on shifting forelegs; a faint smile spreads on her muzzle as she glances back with a twinkle in her bright gray eyes. Her golden tail swishes back and forth, drawing his attention to her cutie mark of a golden stalk of wheat, full and ready for harvest.

A single claw traces the golden outline, drawing a twitch from the supple muscles and an appreciative coo that dares him to go further. A second claw joins the first, then a third, gently resting against her. His lethargic pace reminds him of Sweetie Belle, the fumbles of an inexperienced youth and a cloistered librarian’s assistant not mattering as they clumsily explored each other. His thumb joins, grabbing a fold of flesh to watch the coat stretch.

Oh, the difference in maturity! He would have expected a whimper from Sweetie Belle, a cry of pain, perhaps, or an exclamation of some sort. But Golden Wheat doesn’t grimace, or wince, or pull away, even as pinpricks of red stain his sharp claws and the surrounding coat. Her smile does pull tighter, her forelegs pausing their sorting to keep her entire body still, a questioning look in her eyes. But not calling into question his action, instead asking how far he wishes to go and when he would like her to take the lead, if ever.

The easy acquiescence scares him. He releases her, bending his claws inward to knead with his knuckles, wondering how far would be too far. She does not admonish his timidity, but goes back to tidying, seeming to move things around for the sake of moving them while keeping her breath steady.

It is only once Luna enters the doorway that he hears her heavy hoofsteps, having taken far less time than he thought it would to reach the top floor. Did she teleport, or was he under her surveillance? He finds neither option reassuring, an exploitable weakness even if only those as capable as an alicorn could utilize it. He realizes, too late, that his fist is firmly pressed into Golden Wheat’s flank, and she has made no move to distance herself.

“Princess Luna,” he greets, unsure of what to do. To pull away would make the position incriminating, and the last thing he wants is to display weakness in front of another ruler, especially one from Equestria.

“Emperor Spike. Our apologies.” Luna inclines her head the barest amount, though does not divert her eyes. “We were led to believe thou would’st receive us in your chambers. Shall we return to thy throne room?”

Ah, that would be how she got here so quickly. “No, come in.” One claw motions to the other side of the table while the other remains possessively against Golden Wheat’s flank. He’s seen Doug do it to his mares, Luna included. Why not him?

Luna raises an eyebrow, only the loud thuds of her heavy shoes against the floor. They do not echo, making her approach all the more ominous. Her gaze shifts from him to Golden Wheat, lingering for a moment, then to appraise the contents of his room. There isn’t anything that might pose a threat to her, a concern Spike finds some compulsion to rectify, if only to somehow bridge the vast difference in their capabilities. It isn’t as if he can rely on age, as many dragons must do, to accumulate more power.

Spike isn’t quite sure on the protocols of acknowledging the leader of another nation, having only met with dignitaries. So when Luna fails to bow or otherwise submit to his authority he does the same, copying her grave stare.

“Good evening,” Luna begins conversationally. Her benign smile betrays a patronizing tone, a questioning of his capacity as she appraises him with her eyes. “Thou hast grown since we last met.”

Spike finds the remark belittling, no matter the veracity. He frowns and crosses his claws across his chest. “As have you.”

Luna’s eyebrows narrow for a brief moment, head tilting to the side. “We meant little by our observation, nor to diminish thy accomplishments.” Spike raises an eyebrow. Luna continues, pulling back slightly and making herself less imposing, “The position must suit; t’is a common occurrence among ponies to grow and mature as their destiny comes to fruition.”

Spike glances at Golden Wheat and the fist still resting on her flank. Mature? Is that what’s going on here? He unfurls his claws, careful not to dig in as he rests on her again. “Is that why I barely grew in all my time knowing Twilight?”

He leaves unstated the fact of Celestia’s physical stature compared to Luna. Did Celestia grow in her millennium of rule while Luna was locked away?

If Luna minds where his claws go she doesn’t show it, and neither does Golden Wheat. “Doth she strike thee as a pony who would deliberately retard thy progress? T’is not the pony way.”

Spike snorts. “And yet.”

“And yet,” Luna echoes, more melancholy than Spike expects.

He takes a moment to measure her as she stares off into space. She doesn’t seem bigger, except around the back of her barrel. But that shouldn’t be right; after all, he’s grown, so she should seem smaller. That happened both times his Greed Growth triggered. Why the hesitation in her voice if she is also growing?

“It has come to our attention,” Luna begins, abruptly changing the topic, “of a potential threat to the Crystal Empire.” She gives a telling glance at Golden Wheat, obviously asking whether the pony should be privy to such matters.

Spike waves a claw for her to continue, perhaps faster than he should.

Luna takes a deep breath, mulling something in her mind. “Dost thou remember Tempest Shadow?”

Spike nods, unsure. “She was the unicorn who worked for the Storm King. Quit when he allied with Equestria.”

“Correct.” Luna straightens her back, rising to her full height, which makes Spike want to fly up to match her. “And Radiant Hope?”

Spike isn’t as sure on this one. “Crystal pony, also unicorn, who wanted to become the leader of the Crystal Empire.” He wracks his brain. “She hasn’t been on any lists of reconstruction that I can recall.” A quick glance at Golden Wheat confirms this. “I remember seeing her recently, though. Why?”

“We believe,” Luna slowly states, “the two of them located Sombra’s horn.”

“Wait,” Spike says, letting go of Golden Wheat to fly level with Luna. “I thought he was vaporized by the Crystal Heart.”

Luna offers nothing more than a half-hearted shrug. “We believe they shall attempt to revive Sombra, as he is Radiant Hope’s misguided love.”

“Impossible.” Spike studies Luna’s face, grimacing when she doesn’t correct him. “No? You think it’s possible.” He notes a twitch in her otherwise stony expression. “Worse than that. You helped her. Or at least didn’t stop her?”

Luna sighs, her upright posture sagging. “We, Equestria, offer our aid, for the unlikely event that they succeed.”

“Aid?” Spike laughs, short and derisive. “Such as soldiers and guards? What better way to ensure my compliance than to surround me with ponies loyal to you?”

“We assure thou,” Luna claims, a note of indignation in her voice, “that is not our intent.”

“Then how am I to take it?” Spike demands, bristling with rage. “Sabotage? Deliberately undermining my rule? Why else would you let a known enemy of the Crystal Empire free?”

Ch. 126 - Emperor's Wit, Part Two

“Put simply,” Luna answers with a certain sharpness to her voice. It puts Spike on edge. “Because everypony, and perhaps everycreature, deserves a chance at redemption.”

Spike’s claws make harsh tinkling sounds as he raps them against his crossed arms. “And when the price of that redemption is measured in lives? How many must be risked, must be spent, to see one pony returned to Harmony?”

Luna raises an eyebrow. “Thou thinks us so callous as to hide behind our fellow equines? Dost thou forget who faced down the mad king?” Her mane billows behind her like a shockwave, snapping like a whip, then goes still. Golden Wheat flinches at the display, but Spike remains steadfast. “When we rose to forever supplant the sun in the sky, did’st our dear Sister sit weeping in the corner? Or did She contest our might, and place herself in the line of fire?”

“Yet she let you rise to power,” Spike fires back, landing on the desk. It creaks under his weight, all the more when he steps forward to thrust a sharpened claw in her face. “Just like Sombra, just like Discord, just like the Storm King! How many tragedies, how much suffering could have been stopped if she just acted earlier? Just like you should now!”

“If thou wishes to blame Her for all the suffering,” Luna retorts, “wilt thou also inculpate Her for all the joy She has allowed to flourish?”

Spike scowls. “She doesn’t get credit for not screwing everypony over. For letting them live their lives.”

A thin smile crosses Luna’s muzzle. “When thou divines the consequences of a pony’s life - neigh, of a single action before she has moved - we will gladly step aside, cede our thrones and our considerable power, to be directed by your every whim.”

Spike huffs. “You don’t know the consequences either, so don’t pretend like you do.”

“We do not, though perhaps we style ourselves more knowledgeable than most.” Luna motions to herself, her star-studded mane gradually settling against her back. “Which is why we are here to discuss what steps must be taken to ensure our safety, Equestria’s and the Crystal Empire’s, should our hope in Hope be for naught. We appreciate thy trust, and wish to assuage any fears and concerns, to help however we can.”

Spike flies to the large double doors that lead to the balcony, looking through the many-hued crystal. The sprawling city sparkles below like, well, an ocean of crystal, every wall and roof constructed from the glittering material. Even the fields that stretch to the edge of the transparent bubble shimmer with reflected light from the moon. “But not directly. Not at the source of the problem.”

In the reflection he can see Luna shake her head. “Unless thou has additional evidence, an angle we have not considered, then no. My Sister would allow ponies to succeed or fail on their own merits.” She sighs, glancing away. “It is a perspective we often do not share.”

“Which is why you’re here.” Spike turns to again regard the Ruler of the Night. “With her blessing?”

“She has ceded control of foreign relations to me, in more than name.” Luna meets Spike’s probing gaze. “She shall agree.”

“And are you here,” Spike asks, “because you think that the Crystal Empire needs help?” When she fails to immediately respond he digs deeper. “You said you often don’t share her perspective on allowing ponies to succeed or fail on their own merits. Is this one of those times?”

“Our primary goal,” Luna sidesteps,” is seeing the Crystal Empire, and all of Equestria, safe. We came here to warn and to freely offer our assistance. Dost thou believe our aid unnecessary?”

Spike grits his teeth together. He wants her to say that they don’t, that the Crystal Empire would be just fine on its own, thank you very much. Yet she is asking him to make that determination, an accounting of which he fears the answer. He turns again, staring out over the glittering ocean.

Would they be fine on their own? Could they spare the bodies patrolling the outer reaches, venturing out into the frigid cold? They would, he knows they would. Spotters from the top floors of the castle would be adequate in that regard. But it would pull workers away from other, more valuable work. Far more valuable than sitting around and watching for anomalous black clouds on the horizon. But it would take more than a patrol schedule to cover every avenue of attack, especially when the possibility of mind control is taken into account.

Then it dawns on him that Luna has come at dusk, with none of the fanfare normally associated with a Royal visit. The ponies she has interacted with could likely be the two of them and the guard standing outside. He states, to remind Golden Wheat not to mention this to her friends, “You want to keep this a secret.”

Luna cocks her head to the side just slightly. “This?”

“Sombra’s return.” Spike motions to the shimmering city below. “Whatever aid you give. The chance that your glorious plans might fall through, leaving everypony wondering whether their neighbors are who they say they are, if they have been corrupted by Sombra’s false promises or merely brainwashed into his service. You’re afraid of mass hysteria, or worse.”

Luna slowly nods. “We do not wish to spread mistrust, not without confirmation that Sombra has returned, much less declared his intentions.”

“And there’s no bet going on,” Spike muses, thinking about Chrysalis and the changelings. “Between Celestia and Sombra or anypony else, about whether or not they can successfully capture the Crystal Empire? Or anything of the sort?”

Luna’s countenance hardens to cold stone, her expression unreadable. “We t’would neigh speak of it, should that be true.”

Spike snorts. Could she have stated it any louder? “Yeah, yeah. Shining Armor gathered guards from everycity to Canterlot when Queen Chrysalis was going to attack. And you want to station troops here? Fine. I get it. So, what do we get out of it?”

Luna cocks her head to the side again. “We?”

Spike finds the question infuriating. “We. Me, the Crystal Empire, the crystal ponies. What do we get out of being a pawn in your game?” He snaps his claws before she can respond. “You need a pretext.”

A thin smile crosses Luna’s muzzle, like he’s been caught in her trap.

Spike grins a dragon’s grin, claws greedily tapping together. It’s a huge ask, the kind Triumph emphasizes in the book from which Spoiled Rich teaches Loyalty, How to Make Friends and Influence Ponies, and he goes for it. “The Equestria Games.”

“You wish…” Luna’s thin smile fades instantly. Her face scrunches up, and if it was Twilight she would be massaging her forehead just under the horn. “For the Crystal Empire to host the Equestria Games?”

“The Crystal Empire hasn’t hosted the games in over a millennium,” Spike states, glossing over the fact that the Empire hasn’t been around to host the games either. “I would say it is due - long overdue, in fact - for the honor. Wouldn’t you?”

Luna stares at Spike for a long time. His grin spreads wider with every passing second; he knows he has her, now he just needs to garner as much as possible.

“But if Fillydelphia is going to object too strenuously,” Spike continues, rolling a claw around as if to show his understanding and sympathy, “then we will just have to find another route to funnel in the guards you believe necessary.”

“T’would be a massive undertaking,” Luna replies, letting her whirling thoughts bleed through her stony expression. “Tracks, fields, equipment. Thou art missing a stadium. The logistics of it…”

“...Would be an excellent way to funnel in the required guards,” Spike finishes for her. His claws furl and unfurl at the mere thought of what he can accomplish. “And everything else. Materials for construction, increased lodging, fortifications. A way to transport everypony efficiently.”

Luna nods slowly. “An ambitious undertaking to accomplish in three months.”

“Accommodations for non-ponies,” Spike continues as though Luna didn’t say anything. When she raises an eyebrow he merely chuckles. “What? You didn’t think we would limit the Games to only Equestrians, did you?”

“It-” Luna starts before cutting off. Spike can see the words forming - it is the ‘Equestria’ Games - yet she holds them back. “T’would work,” she concedes.

“Then.” Spike steeples his claws and puffs his chest out. “Anything else?”

“...No,” Luna says after a long pause. She ruffles her wings before she inclines her head, as curt as when she entered. “Good night, your Majesty.”

“One more thing,” Spike adds before Luna leaves. She cocks her head minutely. “I want a list of everypony involved, delivered directly to me, as well as any changes. Got it?”

“Very well.” Luna turns to Golden Wheat, gives the same brief incline of the head, and shuts the door behind her.

“You did very well,” Golden Wheat congratulates, only for Spike to collapse into a heap onto the table.

“Scales,” Spike mutters, finally letting out the anxiety and rage and terror at having so brashly stood up to the Princess of the Night. Every limb wants to go a different direction, shaking and flexing and spasming uncontrollably.

“Of course,” Golden Wheat says, struggling to drag the shuddering dragon to the bed. Once she can put her weight on him and hold him in place he starts relaxing, though he still fights her on occasion. “You did very well,” she starts again, husky and drawn out, nuzzling him as the stress leaves his body.

---

Luna arrives on Canterlot Castle’s golden balcony with a ‘pop’ of displaced air, the instantaneous travel from the Crystal Empire exhausting but not as debilitating as the twice-as-far journey from Klugetown. At first all she can do is scowl; it will take a mountain of work to move the Equestria Games to the Crystal Empire. Doable, if everypony cooperates, but there would need to be smoothing of feathers and more than a little back-scratching for it to work.

She takes a moment to compose herself before opening the ornate double doors to Celestia’s quarters. The alabaster mare is hard at work as always, sitting at her massive desk and sifting through reams of paper, one report at a time.

Celestia glances up, showing no surprise, which isn’t unexpected given her teleport. “Luna!” She beams from ear to ear at seeing her Sister, though the papers continue their procession. “How did it go?”

Luna sighs, figuring it is better to get the bad news out of the way first. “We shall be moving the Equestria Games to the Crystal Empire.”

“Really?” Celestia’s joyful exclamation brightens the room, the exact opposite of how Luna thought it would go. “How on Equus did you convince him to do so?”

“Err,” Luna stalls, her face scrunching up. “T’was actually his demand of us. As a way of ‘concealing’ whatever troops we wish to station in the Empire.”

“Really.” This time, the single word has clear marks of suspicion running through. “You didn’t have to incept it?” At Luna’s raised eyebrow Celestia shakes her head. “No, nevermind, don’t answer that. I would appreciate some form of deniability.” She sighs heavily and happily as Luna rolls her eyes. “I would not have been able to accomplish that so easily.”

Now it is Luna’s turn. She is surprised, and more than a little elated, at the admission. “Really?”

Celestia nods solemnly. “You are quite talented at getting ponies on your side, especially by coming at them from oblique angles while I always barrel head-on. First Queen Novo, now Emperor Spike.” She chuckles to herself. “I would have had to convince him to accept our help, and struggled against his sense of pride and self-sufficiency. Yet you sidestepped that issue entirely by allowing him to demand those resources that we would have freely given them.”

Luna blinks. She hopes Spike doesn’t come to the same realization. “T’is fortunate we dodged that bolt, yes.”

The papers on Celestia’s desk settle down as the glow around her horn fades. She steps out from behind the desk, giddily trotting to her Sister’s side.

“Well done,” Celestia praises. She nuzzles Luna just under the ear as her head passes over her. She gently rests on the opposite side, their necks entwined, the white horn dipping under cobalt. She softly presses her head against Luna’s, grinning broadly, and lets out a long, content sigh.

Luna’s heart swells; she knew she wanted her Sister’s admiration, had desired it for so long, and here it is. Her legs shake with excitement, she wants to leap and bound and sing with joy, yet that would require her to break from their intimate position. She loves her Sister’s touch; how long has it been since they have done so? Too long.

The two stay together for a long time, long enough for Luna’s mind to wander to her remaining duties. She pulls away with a regretful sigh, one matched by Celestia, and offers a parting nuzzle her Sister eagerly accepts. “Much remains.”

Celestia gives an understanding nod. “Good night, Luna.”

“Good night, ‘Tia.” Luna takes off, hoping the head of the Equestria Games is still awake.

Ch. 127 - Might and Influence, Part One

April 23rd, 1001 Domina Solaria

“So…” Doug starts, trailing off. Luna stands next to him outside the Ponyville train station, stifling a yawn. There isn’t much to do besides stand and chat outside the single squat building. The cobalts and oranges of his ceremonial armor blend in with the colorful commuters as they wait for the morning train to Canterlot, though little can be done for his or Luna’s height. The armor hides most of the Celestial crest on his front and the Lunar on his back while leaving his arms and lower legs, and the tattooed marks, exposed. “I guess this is happening.”

Luna’s eyes close, her head dipping down. “We art sorry for the inconvenience.”

Doug gives the straps of the backpack on his back, the same one Rarity gave him all those years ago, an exasperated tug. “You couldn’t give me one day of warning?”

“We apologized already.” Luna raises her head to give Doug a sultry smile reminiscent of Rainbow Dash or Celestia. “Unless thou wishes for us to apologize again?”

Doug rolls his eyes as a few of the morning commuters chuckle to themselves about the ‘lucky colt’. It’s not like his proclivities as stallion of one of the largest herds in Equestria haven’t been speculated on by the townsfolk, made all the worse by his frequent physical affection with the mares - especially the Princesses - out in public. “It’s not that I’m angry. I just don’t know why this…” He pulls out a white business card stamped with the ‘Equestria Games’ logo of a golden chalice and inspects it closely. “...Ms. Harshwhinny character wants me to be the one giving the tour.”

“Not merely a tour,” Luna corrects. “Serving as the Welcoming Committee.”

Doug sighs at the correction. He has a list from Twilight that details what the position entails that he hasn’t gone through yet. “Sure. But if she’s really that pedantic, then surely there’s a better pony out there.”

“Yes,” Luna agrees, though Doug thinks it’s a trap. “We could send your herdmates.”

“Applejack and the others?” Doug stares up at the sky for a few moments.

How would that go? Well, probably in all different directions. Applejack would be dead set against hiding any little imperfection or problem while Rarity would obsess over covering them up. Rainbow Dash would show off her own skills in the aerial events; if she toned it down then she would just show off the tracks and events with emphasis on the ones she might participate in (though limited to one event by Games rules). Fluttershy would hang back, if the inspector even noticed she was there, while Pinkie Pie would be as erratic and ebullient as always. And Twilight? Well, she might have a chance of explaining why the Crystal Empire is an excellent choice to host the games, if she could get a word in edgewise.

“...It might work.” Doug grimaces as he adjusts the backpack again. “If they weren’t so busy.”

“Indeed.” Luna coughs into a hoof. “If they managed to find the right pony.”

Doug’s brow scrunches up. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just a premonition.” Luna yawns again, not bothering to hide it this time. “Our apologies; we spent most of the night making arrangements and chasing down everypony necessary; t’is more exhausting than dreamwork. T’is fortunate Twilight already browsed and categorized the literature she received.”

“Tell me about it,” Doug complains good-naturedly, having sat next to the ecstatic alicorn while she blazed through the books from Research, Inquest, and Procurement. Earlier this morning he had to physically wrest her away from stuffing the backpack with even more books, and that was before he realized she hadn’t included the weather assignments he would need to get through on the train ride. He didn’t want to mimic Rarity with how much luggage trailed behind him, thank you very much.

A shrill whistle announces the arrival of the morning train, and with it the crowd of ponies neatly line up to wait behind the alicorn, even though she won’t be getting on. An apple-tattooed wrist hides itself in the star-studded cobalt mane, Doug dipping down just slightly to exchange a chaste nuzzle and quick kiss to the cheek while the other hand snakes past her peytral to her chest.

“Booo!” one of the ponies shouts; it sounds like Cadance, or maybe just something she would say, Doug can’t be sure, frustrated that they aren’t going far enough. And encouraging them to rectify this gross oversight. Or maybe he’s reading too much into it.

Or maybe not, as Luna’s next kiss lasts twice as long and leaves a wet mark just under Doug’s nose. She takes a step back before he can mess with her mane, his fingers slipping free with just a hint of mussing, to smile and wave as though nothing at all happened.

Doug rolls his eyes as a few ponies disembark, only for the impatient ponies behind him to start jostling him forward. He waves back as they all board the train. He takes one of the few open spots furthest in the corner, giving him plenty of space to stretch out on the pony-style benches. They’re a bit short for him, both height and length-wise; if he can snag the entirety for himself it isn’t so bad, with his back propped up against the rattling walls.

It’s not too hard for him to tune out the constant chatter from the crowded compartment or the rhythmic ca-thunk-ca-thunk-ca-thunk as the train rolls along the tracks. The first thing he does is pull out the list Twilight gave him, groaning as it spills down and unfurls. She listed out every single one of the nearly two hundred events. Although, many of them won’t need separate facilities or buildings for him to inspect, just medals for aerial relay races and extreme nest building and whatever ice archery is.

The next thing is a map of the Crystal Empire, only slightly out of date. He has no idea where any of the new construction will go, unless they just plop down a giant stadium in the middle of the city. He doubts they would ruin the aesthetic of the city like that. That is, until he considers how out of place Twilight’s School of Friendship looks. At least he had the good sense to bury his affront to all artistry. He sighs as he folds the map back up, hoping Spike has a better plan.

Doug gives his backpack a wary glance. It’s not that he’s afraid of tackling the, to be frank, metastasizing problem of increasing demand for food. It’s just getting tiresome being pushed from all sides, with nopony happy about the result. Ponies need more food, and grumble about having to pay more for the limited supply. Higher prices get farmers to plant and harvest more; Applejack has been busy the last few weeks, a trend that doesn’t look like it will slow down anytime soon, and one of the main reasons she reluctantly delegated operation of the Cider Squeezy to Pomarbo and Diamond Tiara. Most other farms are doing the same, putting out feelers for hiring more workers for planting and tending to extra fields, also grumbling about having to pay more; similarly, herds of sheep and cattle are incentivized to ‘increase production’, as it were, which also puts a higher strain on the food supply. Those who buy their ‘product’ have to eat the higher cost, although here he gets to listen to Luna gripe about the dragon’s and griffon’s complaints about increased prices, of which she can offer only vague sympathies.

Those extra fields need water, which is where he comes in. Fortunately, he doesn’t need to figure out where the extra water comes from, but he does need to figure out where it goes, who gets it there, and what to do about all the extra clouds, made all the more difficult by his earlier commitment to Luna to shroud the night sky as little as possible. He needs to do this for each city and town under his purview, all of which have unique terrain, requested weather patterns, and crews. He can’t reuse a lot of his old material from previous years; his margin of time between finishing the schedules and submitting them is running dangerously low, a big reason why he’s working on the trip, and he knows he’ll need to up the numbers again in a few months.

He barely notices when the train arrives at the Lower Canterhorn station, rivaling Twilight in ability to bury a nose in a book. It’s only once the apologetic Steamer coughs next to him, the rest of the train empty, that he realizes he needs to get to his connecting train to the Crystal Empire, this one returning back the way it came. Rather than try to stuff everything into his backpack he merely gathers it up and carries it by hand. He passes ponies loading pallets of Cloudcrete and timber onto cargo cars, enough to make him think he has the wrong train, at least until he gets to the cheerfully painted passenger cars. He boards early, early enough that if he wasn’t a Prince he might get a visit from a security guard, and resumes his work.

An hour later a glut of ponies arrive and fill the most desirable seats in the middle of the car, happy to leave Doug off by himself in a corner. Most are construction workers in their safety orange, piling food pails and suitcases in between seats. A veritable horde of changelings comes next, taking up the opposite side of the car from Doug, greens and blues and reds mashing together as they squeeze three across on seats designed for two. A few touristy-types come next, with floral patterned shirts and suitcases that are severely out of place for both the Crystal Empire and the Frozen North. They, too, cram themselves into the train and chatter loudly, though not quite to the point where Doug wishes he pulled rank and got a train car all to himself.

“Excuse me?”

Doug looks up at the harsh voice. Or, maybe that’s too uncharitable; it’s hard to make out anything in the train car. It belongs to an orange earth pony mare with a medium length blond mane that covers her forehead. She reminds him of Applejack, though a shade darker in both coat and mane, and he imagines that Applejack would wear such a stark purple suit just to get on Rarity’s nerves. Her piercing blue eyes demand attention, or perhaps acquiescence, and fit her creased brow and dour scowl to a ‘T’. Or maybe that’s just because of the suitcase firmly held in her teeth.

She motions at his legs while leaning closer. “Is this seat taken?”

A quick glance around confirms that every other seat on the train is not only taken but close to stacking ponies on top of luggage for more space. “Nope,” Doug says, quickly folding his legs underneath him. He pushes his backpack underneath the seat, freeing up enough floor space for her floral print suitcase. Another tourist? She doesn’t seem old enough to qualify for a blanket right to be ornery, like Granny Smith. From his experience most ponies tend to get a little cranky if they need to suffer these cramped conditions, especially for an extended period of time. At least the Crystal Empire is just a few hours away, and they’ll be able to stretch their legs.

She seems surprised at his quick concession of the coveted space. She sets her suitcase down before smoothing out her suit and laying down in ponyloaf, rear angled toward him but as far into the wall as the bench allows. “Ank yo,” she says as she draws her forelegs up, or at least that’s what he hears.

“Sure thing,” Doug replies, not terribly happy about giving up the space where he would spread out a map, but he’ll make do. “I’m Doug,” he greets, offering a fist. After all, if he’s going to be riding this close to another pony, and not necessarily by their choice, best to make them feel comfortable. At least she hasn’t given him the evil eye, or looked too curiously at him.

The mare glances back, first at his outstretched arm, then at the cutie mark tattooed on his wrist and shoulder. She meets his eyes. “Mizarse Winnie,” she answers over the roar of the room, tapping his fist.

Ch. 128 - Might and Influence, Part Two

At first Doug tries to busy himself with his work, made all the more difficult by the cramped conditions and chatter of the nearby ponies. He much prefers stretching out, and knows his legs will soon start complaining. His benchmate doesn’t seem particularly interested in conversation, and he’s not sure if that’s a good thing. After all, most of the other ponies seem perfectly happy chatting with anypony and everypony, especially those they’ve just met. Even though her head is turned away, exposing a pink earring that matches the stylish scarf around her neck, no whites are visible in her eyes, just blue and black as she watches him carefully. It seems an uncomfortable position, one he feels a little bad about putting her in.

“So, Winnie,” Doug asks, speaking up a bit. Now that they’ve left the Lower Canterlot Station the clatter of the train has lessened, and with it the volume of voices. “Do you travel often?”

“Me?” Winnie says, confused at first that he would be talking to her. She quickly loses the puzzled expression, an orange hoof stroking at the base of her chin as she stares up at the ceiling. “All over Equestria, and quite often, I suppose,” she answers after a moment of consideration. She shakes her head, snorting with a certain exasperation. “Especially this season.” Her focus returns to him. “You?”

Doug finds he has to consider the question as well. What was his first trip outside Ponyville? “Let’s see; I went to the Badlands with Rarity a few years back. Canterlot a number of times, especially in the last year. The Everfree Forest, Vanhoover, the Crystal Empire, Klugetown. This will be my second trip to the Crystal Empire.”

“I see.” From the way she says it he can imagine her taking mental notes with a certain snobbery. Winnie turns to face him, having to step off the bench to swing her slender chalice-stamped rear around, and again tucks her forelegs underneath her barrel. She has a longer muzzle than the mares he knows, aside from Celestia, pursed in a hard, thin line. She regards him with an intensity he likens to an investigative reporter, not that he’s gone anywhere near one (and neither does he have any desire to do so). “Business or pleasure?”

He snorts, belying it with a smile. “Business, I guess you could say.” It’s not like they got paid for saving the crystal ponies; they did have fun along the way, especially coming back, but he’d hardly call that their purpose.

“Oh?” Winnie motions at the papers in his hand. The header says ‘Fillypelphia’ with a long list of pony names, all done up in the official Cloudsdale Weather Factory style with lots of blue and curly, wispy lines. “Does it have to do with that?”

“This?” Doug shakes his head. “No; the Crystal Empire doesn’t need to worry about weather at all, from what I’m told. They don’t have as much control as an Equestrian city, but they don’t need it; the Crystal Heart keeps the skies clear. I think they irrigate their fields, but I’m not sure.”

“I see.” Jot jot jot. “Is there anything you do know?”

“Well, I skimmed through this.” Doug doesn’t care for the insinuation. He pulls out Twilight’s reference guide and flips it open to a simple map of the city, little more than a grid detailing which roads go where. “This barely does it justice; the view is much better from the air. Maybe they’ll let you climb to the top of the castle!”

Winnie scoffs, which surprises Doug; he thought a tourist would leap at such a suggestion. “Yes, I suppose,” she concedes, if reluctantly. “Though I hardly think I will have time for sightseeing.”

“Oh?” He leans forward, curious. “You’ve got a whole bunch of stuff already planned? My mom was like that on trips, everything down to the minute.”

“Am I to take it that is not your method?” Jot jot jot. “Because a proper event must be planned and coordinated as precisely as possible. Otherwise one runs into chaos!”

“In my job it is, less so on my travels.” Doug shrugs. “Sometimes chaos isn’t all that bad.”

Jot. Winnie stops midway through whatever mental note she’s making to raise an incredulous eyebrow. “Really.”

“Well, yeah.” Doug looks out the window as green plains and rolling hills begin to give way to the everpresent white of the Frozen North. “There’s a certain, hmm, excitement in not knowing how something is going to go. Take, for example, the sprints in the upcoming Equestria Games. Everypony knows the Wonderbolts - or Cloudsdale, since that’s where they’re from - are going to take first place. It ruins any sort of suspense, and all you can wonder about is who wins second place.”

“For the masses,” Winnie concedes. “But for those running the Games themselves any sort of uncertainty is to be quashed as completely as possible. It would not do at all to not know which event is happening next.”

“Sure,” Doug says, his hand splaying open to acknowledge her point. “Chaos has its place, as antithetical as that sounds.”

She nods, though her strict features remain as uncompromising as before. “Do you believe the inclusion of other species will impact the Games?”

“...Hmm.” He rubs at his chin. He hasn’t considered this aspect at all, and neither have Rainbow Dash’s ramblings. “The events themselves? Maybe the griffons will give a run for bronze in the longer races. Oh, wait, what about ice archery? If they use their claws, that’s got to be way better than mouth for accuracy and speed.”

“They may use their claws to hold the bow, but not the arrow.” Winnie smirks at Doug’s look of awe.

“You knew that off the top of your head?” He glances at her cutie mark of a golden chalice; he feels like he’s seen it before. “You must be quite the fan.”

“One could say.” She studies him, like she’s trying to figure something out. She motions at her floral-print bag. “All my notes are in there.”

“But, overall?” Doug shakes his head. “I can’t see many of the other contests being impacted. Too many require enough training and dedication that a newly introduced competitor won’t stand a chance. Maybe at medaling, but not gold, if there’s some giant advantage they have.”

“Mm.” Winnie looks past him at the wintery landscape. “And the Empire itself? Will their facilities be as inadequate as their competitors?”

Doug grimaces. He feels like a frog in a pot of water and she keeps turning up the heat. “Oof, that’s a hard one. I don’t know if I agree with it, but that’s because I haven’t seen any of what they’ve done or what they’re trying to do. I’m hoping I can walk around and take it all in quickly.” She doesn’t appear to care for his uncertainty at all. His hand goes from thoughtful rubbing at his chin to rough squeezes. “I have no idea how well they’ll do. Apparently they used to host the Games way back in the day, so there has to be some history at competing, even if it’s in a few select events. But when I was there last? There was nothing. They’re going to have to put the whole city to work to build a stadium, if I have any guess. Or they’ve got to…”

Winnie raises an eyebrow as Doug’s face scrunches up. “Yes?”

He desperately tries to keep from laughing. “Well, the Crystal Empire has a certain… aesthetic, right?” Winnie nods. “Lots of crystal buildings symmetrically laid out. A giant stadium is going to look incredibly out of place. Like a big zit, or a boil, waiting to burst. They must have had one in the past, so they either took it apart or hid it somewhere.” She nods again, slower this time. “My thought was, have you ever seen those inflatable rafts?”

A frown crosses the long muzzle. “They collapse, and then are… blown up? Filled with air?”

Doug snaps his fingers, then points at Winnie. She seems surprised at the noise and action. “Exactly. My thought is: what if they have an entire stadium, all folded up in a room in the Crystal Castle, and they just open a window and let it all spill out?”

If Winnie had glasses Doug is sure she would be taking them off to rub. “Really.”

He shrugs, his grin refusing to go away. “Regardless. There’s a lot to do, and I mean a lot, but I’m sure they’ll be ready by the time the Games begin.”

She sneers as the jotting returns. “A fact that remains to be seen.”

“Hey, fair enough.” Doug leans back, resigning to the fact he isn’t getting any work done. “As far as the ponies themselves? They’re hampered by the fact that they’re all Crystal Ponies.”

“A limiting factor, yes,” Winnie points out, “but no worse than that of Cloudsdale. And they are one of the favorites to win the most medals.”

The corner of Doug’s mouth twitches. “As a resident of Ponyville, I am obliged to contest that statement.” He recalls the Iron Pony competition between Rainbow Dash and Applejack; even if they weren’t technically going against each other, it was pretty clear who would win each contest. “Not that I’m arguing that one pony breed is better than the others, but the strengths of the pegasi shine more frequently in these contests.”

If he thought Winnie was turning up the heat before, he can feel it now. “And this is unfair at its core?”

“I can see either side being argued, but ultimately no.” Doug has to side with Applejack’s conclusion: she doesn’t want a separate league to compete in, even if she loses; she just wants to be a worthy competitor. “There might be innate differences between ponies. Even between breeds. But except for the obvious wings and horns it’s not insurmountable and that opposition, that struggle, is necessary. We become stronger when we have something to fight than when we just get whatever we want. And that leads us to become better ponies.” He motions at himself with a slight smirk. “Or humans, or whatever else ends up competing at these games.”

Winnie stares at him for a long time, long enough for him to get uncomfortable. “You believe this.”

“Well, yeah.” Doug looks out the window as the rolling hills turn to snowy mountains. “I can see the argument about whether competing against the wild is worthwhile. Spike, back when he was with us, wanted to brave the hike from Ponyville to Vanhoover during the dragon migration, much like the dragons flew across Equestria. He ended up taking the train and feeling like he missed out on something. In the same vein, when does convenience turn into coddling? So many skills have been, perhaps not lost, but replaced by ones more suited to their current circumstance. Will Applejack lament the loss of making cider the ‘Apple’ way when the vast majority of their production is made by machine?” He exaggerates a shrug, huffing to himself as he cannot quite answer his own question. “There’s a lot to gain, especially in countering hardship, but sometimes something is lost and you don’t know what or why and it might be too late to get it back.”

“I ask,” Winnie clarifies as Doug ponders, “because it is what I would have said, and Princess Luna did not coach you.” Her head cocks, regarding him suspiciously. “Yet it was my choice for you to accompany me.”

“Your choice?” He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“I requested you as the one to accompany me, and Princess Luna agreed.” Winnie frowns at his lack of comprehension. “I am the Games inspector?” Doug blinks. “The one you are to serve as the welcoming committee for?”

That’s where he saw the symbol, on the business card! It’s also somepony’s mark? “Oh, that Ms. Harshwhinny,” Doug tries to cover, obviously failing. He coughs into a fist. “I don’t suppose you’ll, hmm, look past my ignorance and how poor a job I’ve done selling the city? I thought I’d have some time to familiarize myself first.”

“Mister Doug,” Ms. Harshwhinny reprimands. “Do you have any idea how many ponies have tried to shmooze their way into my good graces?”

“Err,” Doug says, coughing into his hand. “If that’s your way of trying to get something, then I’m not sure what I should offer.” He looks down at his hands, then at her, wondering (and dreading) what she’ll say. Especially if she asks something of him; would Luna get mad at him tanking the Crystal Empire’s chances by refusing?

“No, no, no,” Ms. Harshwhinny chuckles, shaking her head with a good-natured smile. “I appreciate your candor.”

Doug breathes a sigh of relief as he squeezes his hands together. “Oh, good. I was worried you might want something.”

“Focus, Mister Doug.” Ms. Harshwhinny rolls her eyes. “Is that how you keep your many mares satisfied?”

Doug smirks. “It’s mostly these.” He goes back and forth between fists and flicking his fingers out. He notes how her head draws closer to them, perhaps for a tentative sniff. She doesn’t seem afraid at all, instead highly interested. He sighs to himself; the things I do for Luna. “I do have to warn you. A pony has been reduced to a puddle by them.”

Ms. Harshwhinny, heedless of his warning, spins around to present her backside to him, tail folded down, and scooches into him.

Doug starts at her withers and works his way down. She is tense, worse than Rarity after a long day, and he digs into each spot. She gradually loosens, only mostly dissolving into the bench, her eyes rolling up as her tongue lolls out. “I take it there’s not much to worry about?” Doug asks, only somewhat joking.

“There was never anything to worry about,” Ms. Harshwhinny says, quieter and resigned. Doug has to lean in to hear her. “When a Princess asks you to do something, that is how it will be done.”

“From what she said,” Doug admits, not entirely convinced, “it sounded to me like you were really opposed to this. That she had to fight for you to consider it.”

Ms. Harshwhinny sighs. “I would prefer if this didn’t get back to her,” she confides, “but it would not do to submit so easily, even if I have no intention of going against her wishes.”

Doug gives a particularly sore spot a squeeze, drawing a euphoric gasp from the mare. “And so this is…”

“Just,” she says as she recovers, “a bonding moment between acquaintances?” She rolls her withers, looking much better. “After all, I have already told you there is nothing riding on your performance. As long as the facilities are adequate.”

“Which they will be,” Doug says, hopeful as they pierce into the shimmering bubble surrounding the Crystal Empire. They cluster together at the window, peering upward. He’s not exactly sure how the skies above stay clear even though the bubble only extends so high, but they do, bright light sparkling off the many crystal buildings.

And, oddly enough, the dozens of ponies hard at work scrubbing every surface to a mirror shine. Some of them slowly slide down the slick sides, seemingly without restraints or safety harnesses, leaving him hoping crystal ponies are as tough as earth ponies when it comes to falling.

The train pulls to a stop, disgorging the mass of ponies. Doug and Ms. Harshwhinny wait patiently as crystal guards go over the disembarking ponies, eyes wide as they watch one pony in a long, slow descent of the Crystal Castle, neither in a rush to wade through the crowd.

“Mind if I get that for you?” Doug offers, motioning to her floral-print bag when the crystal pony comes to a stop. “I’d hate for you to carry it everywhere.”

“My teeth thank you,” Ms. Harshwhinny accepts with a short bow.

Doug lifts it up, only to find it weighs much less than he expected. “Enchanted?”

“Empty,” Ms. Harshwhinny admits. “I carry it to look busy. All those notes?” She taps her head, smirking.

“Well played,” Doug chortles, following her outside.

Two steel-clad crystal guards are standing at attention immediately outside the doors, facing them. They salute in perfect time with each other, hooves brushing their helmets above their eyes, the one on the right announcing, “Good morning, Prince Consort.”

“Morning.” Doug snaps a salute back, though his fingers are at eye level. It feels odd, as few of the royal guards salute him or Celestia, not that he is around them that often. He drops the salute, quickly followed by the guards.

“The Brave and Glorious Spike,” the same guard announces, “invites you to observe the Unveiling, which will commence shortly. His city is open to you. We are instructed to follow you, and assist in any way possible.”

“Well, then.” Doug motions toward the castle, where a vast number of ponies, crystal and otherwise, are congregating. “Lead the way!”

The two walk down the main thoroughfare to the Crystal Castle. The crowds of ponies part to let the guards through, though Doug feels a little self-conscious at potentially blocking somepony’s view. His worry proves unfounded when they spot Spike.

The Brave and Glorious Emperor Spike flies five stories in the air, level with the base of the castle. A massive crystal-studded headdress rests atop his head, easily twice his size, only the slightest wobble showing any difficulty with the weight. It looks ridiculous, like it was made for a Princess intent on proving without a shadow of a doubt that she was from the Crystal! Empire, with a small Crystal Heart as the centerpiece of twirling blue and purple ribbons and crystals. Frankly, knowing the dragon, Doug is surprised he hasn’t eaten half the gems already, but that would probably make the intricate design fall apart. Spike holds a thick chain in his claws, the other end attached to a door on the base of the castle. Behind him the ground is cleared of houses and other debris, the nearby neighborhoods obviously denser and showing drag lines in the dirt.

“Attention, everypony!” Spike bellows, the crowd quieting down. He lifts his claws to the sky. “To the might of the Crystal Empire!”

A cheer goes out as he yanks on the chain, pulling out a wedge from the door. It swings open, clattering against the crystal wall with a rattling *clang*.

From inside the castle emerges, like a squished marshmallow slowly expanding, a gray, formless mass. It slowly extends, dripping down like drool from a sleeping foal, finally hardening when halfway to the ground. Then a second part pushes out. It expands as it gradually descends, surpassing the height of the door it came from. As it rises it folds out and away, a languid elbow bending away from the castle. Even as one lumpy section settles to the ground another seems to grow out of it, repeating the action of rising and falling like a stick being lifted up by a curious foal. A second section splits off from where it touches the ground, moving opposite the first and eventually coming back to make a gigantic oval.

“No bucking way,” Doug mutters as the globby material ripples and splits as it settles into the form of tiered bleachers. They sparkle in the bright sun, looking every bit like they are carved from the same crystal as the nearby houses.

Ms. Harshwhinny’s eyes shine as she leans forward. “That was…”

“Disgusting?” Doug guesses, not looking at her.

“Stupendous!” Ms. Harshwhinny whistles, high and sharp enough to get Doug to wince, as the ponies cheer. She stretches out, reaching one hoof as far forward as she can and barely keeping her balance. She rubs at her eyes, then opens them wide as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing. “Quite possibly the single most amazing thing I have ever seen!”

Doug rolls his eyes. “Do you say that at every performance?”

Ms. Harshwhinny scoffs as she returns to a neutral position. “Professionalism, Mr. Doug, requires me to show enthusiasm. I do suggest you try it sometime.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Doug chuckles as more and more buildings bubble up.

Ch. 129 - Elegant Hubris, Part One

“That’s all for today, class,” Miss Cheerilee announces as bright rays of sunlight reach a certain etched line on her desk. Rainbow Dash, wearing a blue Cloudsdale ballcap, solemnly stands next to a severe Ms. Harshwhinny. The cheerful teacher gives her crammed classroom a wide grin, the two dozen bright and smiling faces buzzing with excitement. “If anypony has any more questions about the Crystal Empire contest? No? Then, class dismissed.”

As soon as the highly anticipated words are spoken the barely suppressed silence disintegrates into a dozen spirited conversations. The students file outside, not as a neat and organized line as normal but a chaotic mass, with Diamond Tiara in her customary spot in the lead. Silver Spoon trots on one side, grinning eagerly, while Pomarbo looks as distracted and unconcerned as always.

“It’s going to be so cool,” Diamond Tiara gushes as the three head toward Sweet Apple Acres, “to lead all the delegations during the Equestria Games, don’t you think?”

“Lead?” Silver Spoon asks with a skeptical raise of her brow. “I mean, I know we’re going to win the Ponyville position for sure.”

“For sure,” Diamond Tiara echoes, haughtily sticking her nose in the air. She sneers, “Have you seen our competition?”

To be fair, Diamond Tiara is only really worried about one other pony. Lemon showed as much interest in the flag-carrying competition as she did everything else - which is to say, she would pour her heart and soul into it like her dam pours batter. As much as she is loath to admit the more Apple ponies they could recruit the better. It’d be better if she could recruit Lemon to the Rich team, but she expressed too much interest in working with her sister Meringue and they could only have up to four ponies on a team, with Hedge declining to participate entirely. But that enthusiasm would likely wane over the three days they have to prepare, and all she needs to do is distract the easily sidetracked mare and it will be clear sailing.

The rest? She nearly laughs out loud just considering them. Aura and Twist, Featherweight and Rumble, Pipsqueak and Zipporwhill? Rumble has an edge with his Wonderbolt brother, she has to remember that, but he’s often too busy to mentor his younger brother. Snips and Snails, don’t get her started on those two. If one of the blank flanks gets a cutie mark in extravagant performances? There’s not much that can be done, but that’s why she keeps tabs on everypony’s darkest secrets.

“I know, right?” Silver Spoon snickers, but quickly stops. “But if we want to lead the delegations from everywhere? We’re going to need a routine that’s truly divine.”

“Exactly,” Diamond Tiara confirms with a nod. “Which is why I already have one that’s sure to absolutely crush everypony else - and I mean crush.” She emphasizes her point by slamming one hoof into the other, enjoying the echoing *thud* with a wicked grin.

Diamond Tiara covertly notes the distraught looks the other ponies are giving her. Some of them try to hide it while others are less guarded, openly kicking at the dirt as they trudge away.

It is only once she has left them behind, safely secluded in Sweet Apple Acres, that Silver Spoon broaches the topic with a cross between awe and disbelief. “You really have a routine ready to go?”

Diamond Tiara huffs, hating when her bluff gets called. “Well, not exactly. But how hard can it be to come up with something so awe inspiring that we’re sure to win?”

“Uhh,” Silver Spoon grunts, confused. “...Pretty hard?”

“For anypony else, sure.” Diamond Tiara smirks. “But for us?”

Silver Spoon raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you counting your customers before they shop?”

“No.” Diamond Tiara scoffs at the thought of something not going her way. “Look, it’s simple. We just need…”

The first thing that comes to mind is a giant bust of her head made out of paper-mâché. It would be hollow and contain hundreds of candies, ribbons, and pretty knick-knacks she could procure in bulk. But how would she distribute the candy to the crowd? It wouldn’t do to have it broken open like a piñata, that would send the exact wrong message. Neither could the goodies spew from her open muzzle. Out the top of her head, showing how she is a font of ideas?

“I don’t think,” Silver Spoon intrudes, “an image of yourself would be good enough, especially in other cities.”

“It’s brand recognition,” Diamond Tiara contests, but knows her sister is probably right, as much as she doesn’t want to admit it. “Okay, something else. We need an uplifting message that’s impossible to rally against. Something that’s unique to Ponyville, but also applies to everypony. Something like… Ponyville is a place where different kinds of ponies can live together as friends!”

“Um.” Silver Spoon looks at herself, then Pomarbo, then back to Diamond Tiara. “Not that I disagree, but are you sure that’s the message we should be sending?”

“What,” Diamond Tiara counters with a roll of her eye. “Because we’re all earth ponies? Now who’s being breedist?”

“That’s not what I meant at all and you know it,” Silver Spoons huffs. “Besides, I thought you were talking about…” She jerks her silver and gray mane toward Pomarbo, who doesn’t react to their conversation. “You know. His sire?”

“What about his sire?” Diamond Tiara defensively demands, scowling at her sister. Fortunately (or, unfortunately, as the case may be), Pomarbo remains as oblivious to the revealing remark as he is to her licentious intentions. “I certainly don’t believe that we should discriminate just because somepony isn’t a pony.”

“Again,” Silver Spoon spits out. “You’re putting words in my mouth. Are you going to listen to your best friend, or are you going to barrel on ahead and hope we all fall in line?”

Diamond Tiara takes a deep breath. “Fine.” She comes to a dead stop. Silver Spoon turns to regard her while Pomarbo trots along. It takes him a moment to realize that he is leaving them behind. “What do you suggest?”

“First,” Silver Spoon starts with a smug little smirk, “thank you for listening to me.”

“It’s what a friend would do,” Diamond Tiara replies, offering an overly broad smile.

Diamond Tiara is glad Silver Spoon is facing away from Pomarbo or he might see the roll of her eyes. “...Yeah. Second, I think that’s a good message. But what if it isn’t inclusive enough?”

“Not…” Diamond Tiara squints. Suddenly it hits her. “By Celestia, that’s right! I’ve been thinking too small! We shouldn’t just be accepting of all ponies. We should also be accepting of all creatures!”

Silver Spoon grins. “Just like Twilight’s doing!”

“And our language hasn’t been inclusive enough, either!” Diamond Tiara gasps, covering her muzzle with a hoof. “I’ve been saying words like ‘everypony’ and ‘somepony’ when I should be saying ‘everycreature’! Great idea, Silver Spoon.”

“Thanks,” Silver Spoon says with a bat of her silver mane.

“Now we just need a routine that clearly and concisely conveys this message of inclusion.” Diamond Tiara trots up to Pomarbo, who thankfully looks like he’s been listening. “I think this is going to be the best performance ever. What do you think?”

“Ah think you’re countin’ your apples before they’re harvested,” Pomarbo answers.

Diamond Tiara’s heavy frown reaches her eyes as her head pulls up, entirely too reminiscent of her dam. “Oh, yeah?” she snaps, perhaps the first time she’s yelled at the Apple colt. “Well, if you’re so smart, then what should we do for our performance? Did you suddenly get a cutie mark in amazing spectacles that are sure to wow everypony?”

Pomarbo checks himself to make sure. “No, Ah guess not.” Diamond Tiara wants to hoofpalm - of course he would check. “Ah’m sayin’ it’s a bit early. Aren’t ya assumin’ they want ya to use other words?”

“I think that’s a safe assumption,” Diamond Tiara argues. “I mean, they aren’t ponies, so why would they want us to use a word that doesn’t include them?”

“Usin’ another word just highlights that there is a difference between them.” Pomarbo shakes his head. “That’s exclusive. What if they don’t want to be seen as different?”

“They are different,” Diamond Tiara states again. “But that’s okay, we don’t care that they’re different.”

“Then why,” Pomarbo says, speaking slowly, “do we need a different word to describe them if we don’t care that they’re different? What’s wrong with including them with a word like everypony?”

“Because they aren’t included. It’s in the very word!” Diamond Tiara takes a deep breath. “Look, how about this. You know how Thorax and Ocellus use words like ‘everyling’ and ‘someling’?”

“Sure,” Pomarbo says, guarded.

Diamond Tiara grins only somewhat maliciously, feeling a bit like Chrysalis. “How would you feel if they said ‘everyling’ with you around? You’d feel left out. Or if they included you in ‘everyling’. It’d be like they’re denying a part of you.”

“Mm,” Pomarbo stalls, looking up at the sky. He seems to be carefully considering her scenario. “No, Ah don’t think Ah’d feel left out. If they are excludin’ me, it’s ‘cause they got a reason to. An’ if they are includin’ me, Ah wouldn’t think nothin’ of it.”

“Oh, come on,” Diamond Tiara challenges. “You don’t actually believe that.”

Pomarbo shrugs, brushing off her challenge in a way she finds infuriating and, though she doesn’t want to admit it, exciting. After all, how many stallions stand up to their lead mares like that? “Mah dam’s the Element of Honesty.”

Diamond Tiara growls. There’s not much she can say to contest that, and her earlier remark calling him out was hoofing the line of deeply insulting him. She doesn’t want to say anything that would hurt her chances with him, but neither can she back down. “We could ask one of the changelings their opinion.”

Pomarbo nods along, his attention drifting to the Cider Barn still hidden by the trees. “Ah guess. ‘Cellus hangs out at the Aba most days.”

They continue plodding along, much of the spring lost in their collective steps. Both barns are isolated, obviously intentionally, on the northern half of the farm, with the Cider Barn closer to Ponyville and the Abattoir closer to the cow colony, as well as the expanded pig pens and the plains where Sassaflash keeps her growing sheep herd.

Diamond Tiara knows the pegasus has been asking around, but hasn’t found any takers yet. As she understands it, not terribly many earth pony stallions (or lead mares for that matter) are keen on having a pegasus join their herd, while the pegasus herds take issue with the fact that she’s from Appleloosa, a traditionally earth pony town, and that her cutie mark of twinned lightning bolts hardly matches her occupation, a surefire marker for trouble if not carefully managed.

As they pass by the Cider Barn a gamboge coated filly with a red and pink striped mane reluctantly steps out from between the two parked wagons of apples. Any doubt in Diamond Tiara’s mind that she’s an Apple is removed by the three white freckles next to her green eyes, just like Mrs. Applejack’s. Blank flank, a touch larger than Pomarbo, but looks closer to her age. “Hey,” the newcomer calls out tentatively, having trouble getting her eyes above the ground she’s awkwardly kicking.

Pomarbo, ever the inconsiderate colt, awkwardly stares back.

“You must be Babs Seed,” Diamond Tiara greets as she steps forward, having heard Applejack mention the incoming filly more than once. She’s not really surprised at the colt’s lack of attention to detail, more disappointed. She gives the shy filly her broadest smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Err,” the presumed Babs Seed says, looking more than a little out of place with her styled mane and tail. Diamond Tiara’s a little surprised she isn’t wearing anything, but trekking through the orchards in a dress is almost never the right call. “I-it’s a pleasure to meet, you, too?”

“I’m Diamond Tiara, this is my sister Silver Spoon, and this is Pomarbo.” Diamond Tiara motions to each in turn; Silver Spoon gives a small curtsy while Pomarbo nods in greeting. “We were just heading to the Aba. Did you want to come along?”

“The Aba?” Babs’ face scrunches up in confusion. “Um, Ah guess. Miss Applejack told me to wait for ya here.” She looks around at the trees towering above them, and if she had a shell she’d be retreating into it. “It’s so different here than in Manehattan.”

“Oh, you’re from Manehattan?” Diamond Tiara says as they all trot along, knowing full well where the filly is from. “You need to tell me all about it.”

Ch. 130 - Elegant Hubris, Part Two

It takes Babs Seed longer than Diamond Tiara thinks it should to start talking. After all, if a stranger asked her to describe Ponyville she might pause only because she doesn’t know where to start, what threads to leave dangling for the other pony to pick up, and what to cinch so tightly that she would reveal only after a concerted (and favor-expending) effort. But not this long, and not on something so basic!

“W-what’s there to tell?” Babs Seed nervously chuckles. She hunches over and covers her flank with her short cropped tail which, though quite styled and cute in what must be a big-city fashion, doesn’t do an adequate job. Diamond Tiara finds this very unbecoming, even of a blank flank. Or perhaps especially of a blank flank, because they shouldn’t be so self-conscious of their blank-flankiness to begin with. They should just hurry up and get their cutie mark! “There’s buildings and streets.”

“And,” Diamond Tiara starts, hoping to draw this cousin of Pomarbo’s out, “do you live in one of those buildings on one of those streets?”

As they trot along Babs’ attention keeps shifting to the tops of the trees, her focus warily jumping from apple to apple. Every once in a while, when a pony steps on a twig or a bird sings her song, Diamond Tiara notes a twitch from her hind legs, the precursor to a jump or dodge.

“Err, yeah.” Babs Seed nods, distracted, and Diamond Tiara doubts it’s from the scenery. “In Hooflyn with Mandy and Clement.”

Silver Spoon glances between Pomarbo and Babs Seed, a speck of doubt flashing behind her teal-rimmed glasses. “Are they Oranges?”

“Uh, yeah?” Babs Seed snorts with a pugnacious sneer. “What, you got a problem with that?”

“Ooh, big city attitude,” Diamond Tiara comments, smirking along with Babs.

“Yeah, well, there’s more where that came from.” Babs Seed grows half a hoof as she stops slouching. She spins around to face down Silver Spoon. “And I axed you a question.”

“Excuse me?” Silver Spoon draws herself up, looking down in a way more characteristic of Diamond Tiara’s dam than her own. “Maybe that’s how you talk to your friends back home, but that’s not how you’re going to address me.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Babs Seed blows a lock of pink mane out of her eye, and it immediately falls back onto the same place. “Yeah, they’re Oranges. Apples ‘n Oranges herd up, just like they do with Pears ‘n Cherries. Hay, my grandmare told me about the time his dam-” she flicks her short mane at Pomarbo, who Diamond Tiara realizes is starting to get away from them “-came over for a couple months. Maybe she woulda set her up with Clement, but she left ‘fore she got her mark.”

“Fascinating.” Diamond Tiara picks up the pace to catch Pomarbo while mulling over this new information.

Would Pomarbo be interested in Babs? More to the point, would Babs be interested in Pomarbo as third mare or as a potential competitor for lead? She can’t make her out to look too good if the latter, not if Grandmare Orange steered Babs like she might have steered Clement and Applejack, especially since the Apple definition of ‘cousin’ is so broad (and often malleable). Neither can she put her down too directly, that would send the wrong message. But why would Babs have told her this? An Apple sense of fair play, of giving the other mare due notice of her intentions, and then she will have no recourse if or when Babs tries to slip into place? Or is she reading too much into this, and Babs is here for a reason completely unrelated to Pomarbo and the Princesses?

…No. Even if that last one is the case, it won’t hurt matters to plan contingencies in case she is interested. Truth be told (ugh, she’s hanging around Applejack too much if she’s considering blurting out how she really feels) she would rather Pomarbo herd with her and her alone, or perhaps add Silver Spoon if she comes to her senses, much like Bright Mac did with Buttercup. That would allow him to spend far more time with their foals, not spread so thin that he sees them at mealtimes and little else. Too bad it’s a little early to set any plans into motion; she’ll have to see if he shares his sire’s proclivity for large herds (ugh) or non-earth ponies (double ugh. Not because she dislikes them, but because managing a diverse herd implies more disagreements from having different dispositions).

Regardless, she needs to secure him in the now before she worries too much about the future. She pulls up next to Pomarbo with an affable swish of her mane and a teasing grin. “What’s the rush?”

“Yeah!” Babs Seed exclaims from the other side, a bit more demanding in that Manehattanite way liable to bowl over an unsuspecting colt. “What’s so special about this A-baba thing, anyway?” She sticks out her tongue. “It’s not for babies, is it?”

“Sooner we get there, sooner we leave.” Pomarbo shrugs, his stricken face showing the dismay Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon have gotten used to suppressing anytime the changeling’s occupation (actually, come to think of it, around lots of things that concern the changelings) comes up. His next statement is little more than a whisper. “Might be some babies there.”

Him choking up surprises Babs Seed. She scoffs, looking over the colt with her mouth slightly open and her head shaking back and forth, a very ‘look at what I have to deal with here!?’ expression that Diamond Tiara would be making all the time if she lacked any tact. In fact, Diamond Tiara allows a slip of a smirk to cross her muzzle, if just to throw the newcomer off her game.

“‘Aba’ is short for abattoir,” Diamond Tiara informs with a hushed tone after she slows down and pulls away from Pomarbo. Babs Seed follows her lead with an indifference that could only come from ignorance. “They… process… animals there.”

“Prah-cess?” Babs Seed stutters through the word with a touch of scorn, though blanches when she realizes the meaning. “Then why the hay are we going there?” Thoughts of teasing the filly for her wide-eyed look of horror get considered, then quickly shunted to the side as Babs Seed comes to a halt. She glances back, repeatedly covering and uncovering her blank flank with her short tail. That shy, reluctant filly from before comes roaring back, if roars could whimper, her once-bright eyes as wide as saucers. “I… I might get my cutie mark there!”

Diamond Tiara chuckles as she wraps a hoof around Babs’ withers and gives her a reassuring squeeze. “I remember,” she wistfully reminisces, loud enough for all to hear, “three fillies who used to live on this farm who were very… focused… on finding their cutie marks.”

“Engrossed,” Silver Spoon chips in.

“Obsessed,” Pomarbo adds with a snicker, having stopped this time.

Diamond Tiara laughs at Pomarbo’s contribution, the tense filly under her hoof beginning to relax. “They would have been ecstatic to get a cutie mark working with animals. But I wouldn’t worry; it’s not like they’re very common.”

Silver Spoon points out, “Zipporwhill has a dog cutie mark.”

A very dog-like growl threatens to emanate from Diamond Tiara’s throat. “Yes, her dog Ripley. And she loves playing with him.”

“And then there’s Fluttershy,” Silver Spoon continues, staring up at the sky and tapping a hoof against her chin.

Diamond Tiara rolls her eyes while letting out an exasperated sigh. “The point is,” she says, giving Babs a little shake to clear the worry from her eyes, “that no matter what cutie mark you get, it’ll be something that makes you happy. And here in Ponyville we’re especially accepting of all ponies - indeed, all creatures - regardless of what mark they do or do not have.”

Babs’ smile struggles to reassert itself. “Heh, yeah.”

Diamond Tiara’s grin turns on Pomarbo. “Isn’t that right?”

“Uh, sure?” Pomarbo nods dumbly, not that Diamond Tiara would ever call it that.

“But, earlier,” Diamond Tiara continues with a little twist of a metaphorical knife (jeez the Abattoir is on her mind), “you seemed to object to including everycreature.”

Pomarbo’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Ah thought Ah objected to usin’ everycreature when everypony includes ‘em just fine. Makin’ our performance ‘bout includin’ everycreature seems smart to me.”

“Well, we’ll just see what Ocellus says about that.” Diamond Tiara gives a smart little nod, letting go of Babs to again trot at the head of their little line.

All the Apple barns haphazardly scattered across Sweet Apple Acres share a cheery apple-red exterior with white trim and purple shingles, large double doors and plenty of windows, and a three-story floor plan. At first glance Sweet Apple Abattoir looks just like any other, though with a well-compacted road leading north in addition to the dirt circuit that runs throughout the orchards. A few things stand out, though perhaps not to the untrained eye: the most obvious are the shadowed windows that aren’t actually shadowed, instead tinted nearly opaque. A moderate pile of dirt from excavating an area for two restaurant-rated walk-in Cloudcraft refrigerators (procured by Filthy as part of his investment in the venture) lies in a rounded pile next to the patchy ground where the barn used to stand before it was dragged on top of the buried refrigerators.

Fluttershy, Hedge, and Sassaflash stand outside by the unapologetic sign with a herd of sheep bleating their goodbyes. None of the pegasi are in the air despite the sheep milling around and occasionally bumping into them. This makes it difficult to get their attention, at least without standing on her hind legs and waving, an undignified greeting if there ever was one.

Pomarbo has no such compunction. “Howdy, Shy!” he shouts, waving a foreleg above his head like a buffoon. “Howdy, Miss Sass!”

“How come every time you greet me I think you’re commenting on my flanks?” Sassaflash teases as a single flap takes her over a dozen sheep and next to the four approaching earth ponies. She gives Diamond Tiara a respectful nod. “Miss Tiara, Miss Spoon. Is your sire doing well?”

“Busier than ever,” Diamond Tiara replies, nodding back. Fluttershy follows Sassaflash, though not in as much of a rush, while Hedge winds her way under the wooly ewes and around weeks-old lambs. “I’d like to introduce Po’s cousin Babs Seed. She’s visiting from Manehattan. Babs, this is Miss Sassaflash, Mrs. Fluttershy, and Hedge.”

“Hey.” Babs Seed flicks her head up, sending her pink mane whipping upward before flopping back in front of her right eye.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Fluttershy greets with a friendly smile. “Are they giving you the full tour?”

“We had a question for Ocellus,” Diamond Tiara answers, then turns to Babs Seed with a forced grin. “Did you want the full tour?”

Babs Seed takes a detached sniff, overly so, the rest of her features betraying her suspicion. Diamond Tiara would find it suspicious, too, the fact that they can smell sheep (quite strongly, unpleasantly so) but none of the other smells she imagines should be coming from a place of death and disembowelment.

“Nah,” she concludes as though such a tour is beneath her instead of terrifying. She struts forward to the closest sheep, giving the shaggy ewe a firm pat on the head. It’s hard to tell if she appreciates it, as she keeps chewing the hay (actually wheat straw, some of the cheapest feed available). “I’m gonna stay out here with these guys.”

“Suit yourself.” Diamond Tiara’s grin grows a little wider as she steps to the reinforced door of the Abattoir.

Ch. 131 - Elegant Hubris, Part Three

The only other time Diamond Tiara visited Sweet Apple Abattoir was just before it opened for business. Her sire was making sure the establishment complied with the stringent regulations placed on such places, though that wasn’t his only purpose in coming in pony: he also wanted to make sure he wasn’t throwing good bits after bad, as well as instructing his precious filly on the intricacies of investing.

(That’s one of the things she admires most about her sire: his ability to combine purposes efficiently, like he is wearing multiple hats while doing the same work. It’s even better when he gets paid multiple times for the same work, but he always claims those to be coincidences, not intentional double-billing, and not something to strive for, which seems a little counter-intuitive.)

The atmosphere was much different then. There had been nervousness among the changelings as they checked the spotless walls, stomped on the black tile flooring so clean you could eat off of it (not that she’d touch anything that came from there), and tested the reinforced tables large enough for the heaviest bull to lay upon. Racks stood close at hoof, laden with knives of every shape and size, all sharpened and gleaming in the harsh overhead lights. Her gaze had lingered on the thick cleaver that all but demanded a demonstration of why such a heavy implement was prudent, or even necessary, though she was relieved such an exhibition was not coming.

It had just been the four of them: her sire, herself, Thorax, and Pharynx. There was plenty of space to maneuver if she didn’t want to get next to anything in particular, such as the cleaver. It was quiet, eerily so, with none of the whimpering or begging or squeals of pain and despair she imagined would fill such a space. But that was the whole point of their visit, right? To make sure the animals (or creatures (or ponies)) didn’t suffer unnecessarily before their processing. Even when they were moving the clip-clop of hooves faded to nothing. A conversation on one side of the main floor was nearly inaudible on the other, and forget about hearing anything from the basement even if the double doors to the stairs are open.

The place reeked of off-brand antiseptic, which she later found out was a cleaning compound created (regurgitated) by specialized changelings. It irritated her eyes and caused her nose to scrunch up. She even sneezed not once but twice, spraying one of the tables with droplets; both times Thorax cleaned it up with an apologetic smile and more of the solution that caused the sneeze in the first place.

She is surprised, as she steps into the Abattoir, how similar it is to the first time she came.

The antiseptic stench hits her first, stronger this time. It masks an undercurrent she doesn’t want to place but finds herself associating it with the emergency room of Ponyville General, sterilized but not fully covering a hint of foulness. She does her best to not let it bother her, merely scrunching up and lifting her nose a touch while scanning the fairly open main floor.

The main addition is a wooden counter at the front with wrapped packets and tinted bottles available for quick purchase. On top sits a dull black changeling nymph. The bloated, hamster-sized ball happily munches from a plate of grape-sized marbled meats. Diamond Tiara can’t smell them - the sterile odor is too strong, which is just fine with her - though she worries as the nymph struggles to cram each piece in her gaping maw. As soon as the nymph notices the door opening she hastily swallows and quickly shoves the plate behind the register, followed by two bowls containing soupy mixtures, one a chalky white and the other a thick, oily black. She grins and waves at Diamond Tiara, showing off a set of sharp teeth closer to the changeling’s original wicked and oversized fangs than the pony-like flat-topped molars they’ve adopted after their transformation. The earth pony waves back, gamely keeping her grin.

The biggest difference is the hustle and bustle that makes it hard to concentrate on any one thing. Half a dozen (and probably more) brightly colored weeks-old nymphs, these ones sleek and thin like squirrels, scamper underhoof. She’s amazed how rapidly they grow, the newly hatched nymphs able to snuggle into the frog of her hoof. Is it from their diet, a steady stream of nutrients and freely offered love? The nymphs carry various minor items such as small brooms and dustpans, cloths stained all different colors (none her dam or Mrs. Rarity would approve of), and sealed containers with indiscernible contents.

Well, she knows what the containers contain, but it wouldn’t do to show her disgust at the butchering process. Any more than she can avoid, that is.

While she can guess which one belongs to which adult based on the color schemes - light green and teal to Thorax, pale blue and pink to Ocellus, crimson and purple to Pharynx - she’s not terribly confident in her accuracy, as the changelings exhibit just as much if not more variation as ponies. And that’s just in their coats; they also vary in their vaguely-pupiled compound eyes (there is a lighter spot in the darker eyes that seems to indicate where they are focusing, unlike the previous changeling’s pure, unvaried teal), wings, elytra, horns, and occasional jewel studded along their throat.

Diamond Tiara’s gaze follows one of those nymphs to the end of the barn and their target. Pharynx seems to be… inhaling something from a comatose ram, if one could gulp and gulp and gulp and never run out of space in your lungs. Ocellus stands next to him, running what would otherwise be a soothing hoof along the wooly back. Then she picks up a limp hind leg and clamps it to a chain dangling from the ceiling. Only once both legs are secured does she bark a short command to Pharynx, muffled by the distance, and approach Diamond Tiara and Pomarbo.

“Hey, you two,” Ocellus greets with a friendly smile, her ability to mask her motives quite disconcerting. She slips past the two, ostensibly to wipe her hooves on a towel she dips in the white bowl, but it seems her main purpose is to turn the two so they have to twist their head all the way around to watch Pharynx, who is barfing a thick blue liquid into a gallon jug. The pink changeling’s thin smile falters for just a moment, laced with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Diamond Tiara answers, a little confused at the ‘you two’ until she realizes that Silver Spoon didn’t follow her. She feels a little self-conscious at interrupting, and the fact that a dozen pairs of eyes in the room remain trained on her no matter where the nymphs scamper. Still, being in the spotlight is a position she must show comfort in, not distress. “We had a question about how you see yourselves.”

“Oh.” Ocellus’ light blue ears, which normally stick out to the side, droop down much like a pony’s. One hoof rubs at her side while her gaze flicks from nymph to nymph, mostly focusing on the pink ones, before settling at her hooves. “A-about?”

“If I use the word ‘everypony’,” Diamond Tiara asks bluntly, “would you feel included?”

It takes a moment before Ocellus’ ears - indeed, her entire expression - perks back up. “Oh? You’re not asking about…” Ocellus clears her throat. “In a normal, everyday context?”

“Yes.” Diamond Tiara motions to herself, Pomarbo, then Ocellus. “If I said, ‘everypony, let’s go outside’, would you think I am including you?”

Ocellus clarifies, “But without you pointing at me, or anypony else?”

Diamond Tiara rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”

Ocellus thinks for a moment. “Yes,” she says. After sensing a flash of anger and disappointment from Diamond Tiara she hastily adds, “But I was an infiltrator; dodging suspicion was part of my training. I took on disguises. For all intents and purposes I was a pony, and I had to act and react like one would.”

Diamond Tiara huffs. “Okay. But if I said ‘everyling’, would that include me?”

Ocellus looks between Diamond Tiara and Pomarbo, then at the other ‘lings in the room. She hunches down slightly, becoming smaller and less imposing. “No?”

Diamond Tiara barks out a short laugh. “See?” she imperiously notes to Pomarbo. “You wouldn’t be-”

“That’s because-” Pharynx interrupts from behind her.

“Ee!” The voice scares Diamond Tiara badly enough that she jolts upward. She spins around, hyperventilating - it shouldn’t be possible for a crummy creature to sneak up on her like that!

Pharynx doesn’t seem to care. “-pony and ‘ling mean different things. You aren’t changelings. ‘Everyling’ means a group of all changelings. ‘Everypony’ means a group of equines. It’s not our fault you can’t tell the difference.”

“Hey!” Diamond Tiara objects, more out of force of habit of defending ponies than a serious argument for their ability to spot changelings in disguise. “Wait, that’s my point! We should use words like ‘everypony’ when it is a group of only ponies, and ‘everyling’ for all changelings. But we need to say ‘everycreature’ when it’s a mixed group.”

“That sounds de-equanizing to me,” Pharynx argues back. “What if we want to be seen as ponies? After all, we’re in a pony society. Ponies get perks that other creatures don’t.”

Diamond Tiara rears up to her full height, which isn’t terribly imposing compared to the changeling soldier. “Well, that’s because ponies provide those perks.” She has no idea what perks he is talking about. Living in Equestria itself? Not thinking their neighbors are genocidal warmongers who would gladly devour them?

Pharynx shrugs off her objection like it is a weakly thrust dagger at his hard chitin. “You want us to do more than carry foals for you?” Ocellus hunches down even more, ignored by Pharynx. “We pay taxes. We follow your laws. That’s enough for your Princess, and our Q… Chief Architect. I don’t see what else we should have to do.”

“Now, now,” Thorax cautions as he steps up from the basement.

His appearance surprises Diamond Tiara, but not as badly as Pharynx coming up behind her. She glances over at the table where Pharynx was working, her eyes going slightly wide at the lack of ram or any indication there used to be an animal there at all. Did he process the whole thing already, or just incapacitate it for later? She shudders at either option being true.

“Chryssy, err, Chief Architect Chrysalis said we should work together.” Thorax offers his fellow changelings an overly wide smile, mostly aimed at his brother. “Right?”

“We can have disagreements and still work together,” Pharynx says, bristling. “See? We’re doing it right now.” He snags one of the dirtied cloths from a nearby nymph and begins cleaning blood off a thick blade, one Diamond Tiara only now realizes he is carrying. Once he wipes it clean he grabs a whetstone; the ominous screech of metal on stone grates on her ears. He doesn’t seem to care when she and Pomarbo flinch at the unfamiliar and eerie sound.

Thorax sighs heavily, and Diamond Tiara suspects this isn’t the only area in which the two don’t see eye to eye. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

“I’m not,” Pharynx counters immediately.

Thorax sighs again, seeming much smaller than his fairly bulky body would suggest. “I wish there was more we could do.” He glances at Ocellus, raising an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“I…” Ocellus starts, pulling herself into a ball nearly as small as that fat black changeling. Diamond Tiara frowns at the despondent way she rocks back and forth. “I, I’m not supposed to lie, but I’m not supposed to show you this, either.”

“Show what?” Diamond Tiara asks, having never seen a changeling sad, or even upset. Thorax always seems so happy, positively giddy, and she rarely sees anything but a smile on anyling not named Pharynx.

Words gush out of Ocellus, almost as a distraction. “It’s just like using the word ‘everyling’, it means a group of all changelings. And we only use it when we know it’s all changelings, even if we’re in a disguise, even if we hate wearing our stupid disguise, because it’s more costly to get comfortable for a moment and risk being spotted. We use it when we belong, when we know that everyling around us has our back, because the world has always been against us, and if we aren’t careful, if we don’t cover all our tracks, then they might find out and come after us and then it’s all over.”

“It’s-” Pomarbo starts, shocked, his eyes wide.

Ocellus keeps going. “And after things buck up and when we make it out - not when, if - it almost doesn’t even matter if we do, Queen Chrysalis wouldn’t care about you, and she shouldn’t, she has the whole hive to think about, and if you’re so incompetent to get found out then you deserve to be cast out, so any love that might have gone to a worthless wretch like you can go to someling who deserves it!”

“Ocellus,” Thorax barks, more of a command than Diamond Tiara knows he has in him. She straightens up, stifling a sob, her eyes wet in a remarkably pony way.

A part of Diamond Tiara feels sorry for the wild-eyed changeling; was this what life was like for them before they joined the ponies? A weight around their neck, constantly reminding them that if they make a single mis-step their entire world might come crashing down? She nearly scoffs - try being a Rich pony. Being disowned by her dam would be the least of her problems.

“She’s right,” Pharynx interjects with a callous shrug. Diamond Tiara nearly compliments him for taking the unpopular, though correct, position.

Thorax scoffs. “But her starting position isn’t.” He bends down to nuzzle Ocellus, and it takes Diamond Tiara a moment to realize that Pomarbo is there, too. She probably ought to join him. “She would need to mess up first.”

“But I have.” Ocellus presses her hooves against her chest. “I… I haven’t done what the rest of you have done. And I’m not giving up on my Queen. On Chrysalis.”

It takes Diamond Tiara a moment to realize what, exactly, the changeling is talking about. Ocellus, being with Mister Doug, is not with foal, or whatever human offspring is called. She only has nymphs, while Thorax and Pharynx have tell-tale bulges of their abdomens.

“Maybe,” Diamond Tiara starts, offering a hopeful grin. Her practice definitely pays off, as it brings a curious glance from Thorax, a muted scoff from Pharynx, and a peek from around her shell from Ocellus. “But that’s what makes ponies so great. We understand, we offer a way forward, and when necessary?” Her smile widens. “We forgive.”

“But,” Ocellus quibbles, not quite giving up on her sorrow, “what if I can’t?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Diamond Tiara’s grin becomes something of a diabolical smirk. She really needs to practice keeping that from happening. “How would you like to help us develop a routine showing that?

Ch. 132 - Poacher's Aim, Part One

“A routine?” Ocellus asks, raising one eyebrow. It’s a distraction, and her wayward mind grasps at anything, no matter how fleeting, that will keep her from slipping again.

“A performance for the upcoming Equestria Games,” Diamond Tiara explains with a wooden patience. The young mare’s smile flickers, the twitch of muscles revealing she must force herself to keep it. But the Rich scion is often like that, haughty and aloof but careful not to show such arrogance around the Apple herd lest it disrupt her plans to court the Apple colt.

Ocellus knows the Games are a quadrennial competition for the pony cities in a wide variety of events, which often have clear favorites from how well the competitors do in individual events held more frequently, such as rodeos for the earth ponies and races for the pegasi. She can recall little else, especially how it relates to the young mare.

“Let’s head outside.” Diamond Tiara gives the room a distasteful glance before strutting to the closed door. “More room to practice.”

A light green hoof on Ocellus’ withers stops her from following Diamond Tiara and Pomarbo outside.

“Hey,” Thorax whispers, the pleasant rose of his eyes whirling with concern. She’s not used to seeing emotion from a fellow changeling projected so obviously that even a pony could see it. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I…” Ocellus trails off, shying away. Little things are supposed to be hidden, to be dealt with when alone and shuttered away from the world, because an infiltrator could not count on having a fellow ‘ling. Big things? A changeling that has big things wrong is a ‘ling not long for the world. And a ‘ling that cannot fulfill her duty is even lower than that.

“I thought you were okay with…” Thorax glances at the door now blocked by Pharynx.

The dark green changeling soldier fixes Thorax with a pointed stare. “Your thoughts are leaking.” He firmly shuts the door behind him.

Once the coast is clear a grimacing Thorax motions to her abdomen, which remains as thin as it has been since her transformation. This fact fills her with shame. Maybe if her belly could hold all that shame she wouldn’t look so out of place.

Her head hangs. Has she grown soft? Since the changelings officially joined Equestria two months ago she had been inundated with love from her pony herdmates. (It remains difficult to extract love from Doug, not that she tries anymore.) The holes in her legs were filling in, her wings becoming clear and pointed. After their transformation they don’t even need the regular (regular! The thought itself is so delicious she could eat it, but doesn’t need to!) infusions. She should be happy, gleeful, filled with joy to the point of bursting! But the highs being so frequent and predictable has merely made the lows, those times when her failure sneaks up and shanks between her chitinous plates, all the more unbearable.

“Hey.” Thorax drops to his barrel beside her, dwarfing her with his bulk. She notices it has gone quiet all of a sudden, the nymphs evacuating the Abattoir like a sinking ship. His foreleg raises, slowly and jerking, with a trepidation as if he is debating the best method of consoling her, or if he even should be doing anything at all. “There’s…”

A grimace crosses Thorax’s muzzle as he stares off into the distance.

An infiltrator must be able to read the other ponies in the room, at least well enough to pass for whatever form she is currently taking, and completely separate their personality from the form or forms they take. An integrator takes that to the next level, at least with regard to a single form, one they have prepared for extensively; such prestigious assignments are given to the hive’s best impersonators. It is a rank Ocellus never managed to attain, her lack of confidence holding her back. Soldiers, though still trained to detect and copy surface thoughts of those they can directly observe, are rarely as competent at partitioning their mind, and often slip and give indications that an astute observer can pick up.

“One of the worries I had,” Thorax begins, bringing his focus back to her, “was that the peace we have with Equestria would last until our little ones are born and no longer. The ponies would take their foals and buck us out.”

This is not the topic Thorax wants to discuss, and on occasion a worry she shared, though only with regards to them bucking her out; she listens patiently, glad for him to speak if only because she doesn’t have to.

“And who could blame them?” Thorax motions to the equipment surrounding them, specialized to cut and dismember, though these rams are being exsanguinated, preserved, and shipped whole. That’s how the dragons ordered them; they would pay more for a chase, but Equestria (and, as importantly, the sheep themselves) nixed those bargains. “We lived off death. We survived by stealing, and had for ten thousand moons.”

Ocellus nods along, well aware of their history.

“But that’s not what’s happening.” A joyous smile crosses Thorax’s wide face, as broad as his horns. “They’re having foals of their own, playmates and friends for the new faces we will bring along.”

“I…” Ocellus shyly starts, unsure how to best challenge the assertion without bursting Thorax’s bubble. “...don’t think that’s why they are having so many foals.”

Rose eyes flicker with delight, smile never fading. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He leans in close. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t be.”

Ocellus finds she has to grant that.

“And there are going to be so many little ones!” Thorax grips his forelegs together and sways from side to side, in the way one might snuggle a young foal - or a whole pack of them. “Oh, it’s going to be so precious, watching them grow and learn together. Hay.” His eyes twinkle. “They might even fall in love.”

The greenish blue of her eyes whirls around in small circles. He has always been sentimental, his whole brood teased him about it, but this? This is downright saccharine, sweet enough to choke a honeybee.

“All that is to say,” Thorax continues, finally coming around to his main point. His voice drops to a near whisper, though he keeps a conversational tone. “I overheard that my lead mare wants to have another foal. This year. Well, early next year. You know how long ponies take.” He grimaces at the reminder, however unintentional, of her failure.

“Spoiled Rich?” Ocellus frowns. Ponies go into estrus at the start of March and it lasts a week; it’s now two thirds through April. Why would she hide her interest in another foal? Plus, Thorax isn’t the sneaky infiltrator type. Him overhearing something means the ponies must have been very loud or oblivious. “Isn’t it a little… late for that?”

Thorax nods. “Normally, yes. Filthy wasn’t happy about it. Maybe because he’s overworked? He’s been really busy and barely has time for any of us.” He sighs at the admission, that things might be less than perfect. “She’s coming over to the Apple’s tonight for dinner. And… dessert.”

Ocellus raises an eyebrow. “Dessert?”

“That’s what she said. She didn’t say what kind when I asked, just told me to get out. It’s probably pie.” Thorax shrugs. “So, I came here.” He glances to the main door. “Anyway, we’ve been in here a while.”

Ocellus nods, absentmindedly following Thorax out the door. Pomarbo and Silver Spoon march in lockstep to the heavy thump of Diamond Tiara’s hooves. From the looks of it the young mare’s aim is to showcase them working together, but it comes off as uncanny instead of unifying, especially as they mess up and she corrects them.

Off to the side, standing at the close edge of her flock, Sassaflash holds a pair of heavy metal scissors. They don’t look as sharp as the knives in the Abattoir, but few things are. Pharynx and Fluttershy are on the far side of the flock, the yellow pegasus covering her muzzle with a hoof to hide her quivering glower while Pharynx leads two older rams to the animal entrance of the Abattoir.

“These,” the pegasus sheepherder explains to an entranced Babs Seed, Ocellus recognizing the filly from Applejack’s description, “are called shears.”

“Shears,” Babs Seed dumbly repeats, staring at the metal contraption with the kind of blind awe ponies sometimes get when talking about love or joy. Ocellus wishes she could get that love for herself, even if she has to devour it, just to satisfy that craving. But she wouldn’t do that, not now, not when doing so might jeopardize everyling’s new life.

“Earth ponies,” Sassaflash says, “sometimes go for a one-hoof version.” She demonstrates how she straddles and holds a sheep in place with her hooves while using both wings to trim the wool.

“Wow.” Babs Seed giggles at the sheep now looking as naked as Doug. She grabs a hoofful of fallen wool, letting it fall down in little ringlets. “Let me get a try!”

“Now, you want to be careful,” Sassaflash cautions as Babs Seed jumps up and straddles a different sheep. Well, not so much straddle as rides, her little hooves not even close to halfway down the ewe’s side, let alone touching the ground. Still, the filly gamely holds on, the thick wool giving her plenty to grab onto, and the sheep doesn’t seem to mind - or even notice.

“I got this,” Babs Seed boasts, taking the shears. She blows her mane away from her face as she flips them over, smoothly slides the sharp edge along the shoulders, and snips off a section of wool. A cocky and genuine grin pushes away that mask of bravado as she switches from side to side, evenly shearing even closer than the practiced wings of the sheepherder.

Ocellus’ attention briefly returns to Diamond Tiara. The earth pony has rightly surmised that something is missing from their performance, but can’t quite put a hoof on it. They stop their marching, tossing ideas back and forth about unity and harmony.

“Wow,” Sassaflash exclaims as Babs Seed quickly finishes the job. “You’re a natural!” She grins as Babs Seed continues along the ewe’s back, then hops down to get the wool around her belly.

“Piece of cake,” Babs Seed brags, grinning with pride at the pile of wool that comes up to her eyes. She takes a deep breath, her chest puffs out, and she takes a confident look backwards.

Her face falls at glimpsing her still-blank flank.

“I… it felt so close,” Babs Seed mutters, the shears dropping from her grasp to pierce into the well-trod dirt. She looks ready to bury her head in the wool, eyes shimmering and lower lip quivering. Diamond Tiara and the others have stopped their brainstorming to watch, Diamond Tiara with a teasing smirk that she immediately quashes when she sees Pomarbo’s concern.

“Hey,” Sassaflash consoles, wrapping a wing around the despondent filly and tugging her close. “Even if you didn’t get your mark in shearing, you really knew your way around a pair of scissors.” She elbows Babs Seed in the side, grinning and hoping to elicit a similar reaction. “You want to earn some bits?”

“Bits?” Babs Seed asks, blinking away her tears. “I could earn some bits?” She looks down at her hooves, then the fallen shears, then at her blank flank. “I thought… I was told you needed a cutie mark to make anything.”

“Nope! Look at me.” Sassaflash shakes her turquoise flanks marked with a pair of lightning bolts. “You don’t need a sheep cutie mark to watch sheep, and it sure pays more than watching clouds blow across the sky.” She leans in close and winks. “I get to watch clouds blow across the sky anyway.”

“Oh, yeah?” Babs remarks, standing up straighter and shrugging the wing off her back. Eagerness gleams in her eyes as she grabs the shears, grinning to herself and blowing the mane out of her eyes.

“Mmhm!” Sassaflash calls to the herd of sheep, “Any volunteers?”

The sheep lazily shuffle back and forth, eventually ejecting those with the thickest, coarsest coats least suited for the upcoming summer, which looks to be another warm one judging by the pleasant spring. Babs Seed quickly gets into a routine, working her way around sheep after sheep and leaving a growing pile of shorn wool.

“There’s so much,” Babs Seed remarks, eyes widening as she tries to take in the whole pile.

One side of Sassaflash’s muzzle curls up in a half-hearted smile. “Eeyup,” she returns much like the Apples from Appleloosa. “Unfortunately, there’s not a lot of demand for wool here in Ponyville. Or anywhere in Equestria outside Vanhoover, really. It’s too warm and dry in Appleloosa or Dodge City. And while the climates of Manehattan and Fillydelphia might lean toward wool, the fashion gurus… don’t. They promote silk and designer lace and Saddle Arabian cotton over ‘exploitive’-” she spits out the word “-materials like wool.”

“Exploitive?” Babs Seed frowns as she looks at the sheep herd. “You mean how they’re…” She turns and glances at the Abattoir, Pharynx entering behind the two rams. She gulps, transfixed on the spot.

“They claim it,” Sassaflash scoffs, “but what do they know? They’ve never talked to a sheep. They don’t know what they want or believe. They don’t think even one step ahead to ask what would happen to the sheep if they were ‘allowed’ to run free.”

As Sassaflash rants Fluttershy walks over, broadcasting concern over Bab’s distraught reaction. Ocellus finds herself drawn to the conversation, though feels less of an obligation to soothe the filly’s fears.

“W-what would happen?” Babs asks with less of a foal’s exuberant curiosity and more dread, hunching over and letting her mane fall in front of her face.

Sassaflash shrugs. “Hunted down, most likely. They’d have to worry about finding enough food to feed ‘em all, and a flock this large would overgraze without a pony supplementing ‘em. It ain’t like they ain’t gonna die one way or another, and this way gets ‘em something back for their death, something they can put toward having more. That’s what they believe in, basically, um, they call it…”

She glances at Fluttershy for confirmation.

“The supremacy of life,” Fluttershy prompts, her voice quiet yet firm, like she isn’t willing to let herself cry.

“That’s it,” Sassaflash confirms. “That it’s better to have lived and died, no matter how horribly, than to never have lived at all. Because that’s what would happen to these animals if the dragons or whatever creature wasn’t buying ‘em, they just wouldn’t get born, and the small enclave left would scratch out a meager living hidden away, always wondering when they’re gonna be spotted by a roc and carried off to be a meal for her chicks. They want the best life for themselves and their lambs, and if it takes selling themselves to make it happen, then more power to ‘em.”

The last line hits Ocellus particularly hard. What would she do so her nymphs (or foals) would have the best possible life? What would she sacrifice to make those foals a reality?

The thought consumes her as she goes back into the Abattoir, thinking on it between pouring her energy into making preservation units. After all, she is the ‘ling with thaums to spare, the other’s excess going to their growing foals.

Ch. 133 - Poacher's Aim, Part Two

“Isn’t that enough?” Thorax asks in that thin, wheedling voice of his, halfway between concern and awe at the stacks of full-sized preservation units surrounding him. Each comfortably holds an entire ram, or two of the smaller ones if they are crammed in.

“No,” Ocellus whimpers, shivering at the frigid air of the freezer. She does her best to embrace the chill, the biting cold helping her maintain the proper attitude as she assembles the components for the next one. Bands of thin steel encircle specially treated wooden planks, each slotting into place with a thick line of black sealant coughed up by Chrysalis’ specialized and recently spawned nymph. It always goes easier if she can see every piece, touch them together, to know how they will interlock and connect and form the lattice around which she will add her essence.

“It’s a lot,” Thorax states as Pharynx drags the latest limp body into the room. He checks the tag, copying the information down onto their master sheet and then onto their weekly report. “Too much?”

“No,” Ocellus repeats with a weak shake of her head.

“It’s more than we’ve ever made before,” Thorax comments as Pharynx roughly deposits the ram into the most recently finished unit. “And you did it by yourself.”

Ocellus merely grunts, focusing on her latest creation. If changelings are good at one thing it’s copying; she crafts each preservation unit identical to the others. That makes it easier, like wearing ruts into a well-traveled road that push and guide when she might otherwise falter. She takes a deep breath, measures out a portion of her essence like so many drops of hemolymph, and pours it into the waiting container. It’s not painful, per se, but neither is it pleasant to watch a part of herself seep into and stain the newly forged container a vivid pink, the same as her bright wings.

Her task complete, the light blue changeling - now a touch duller than before - struggles to her hooves. “How many more?”

“One,” Pharynx answers, his cold demeanor starker than the freezer. “Though your question is ambiguous. She has wisely culled her flock of unnecessary males. One remains.”

“Pharynx,” Thorax admonishes with a hearty glare. Ocellus might be glad for him standing up for her if she didn’t agree with the assessment.

“What?” Pharynx follows the flick of Thorax’s head to Ocellus. “Why would you think I am referring to her? She has shown an appropriate dedication to the hive and its industries.”

Ocellus perks up, a warmth spreading from her core that reaches her extremities; that is quite possibly the highest praise she has heard the dark green changeling utter, aside from his unwavering veneration of Chief Architect Chrysalis.

Thorax notices this as well, as he shoots her a beaming smile. “So she’s done?”

“Her duties are complete. But ours remain.” Pharynx nods at Ocellus before leaving.

Thorax looks at her with a concern she finds patronizing, though not completely unwelcome. “Good hunting tonight,” he encourages, winking before following his brother up the stairs.

Ocellus’ mouth purses to a thin, hard line as she wearily drags herself out of the Abattoir carrying saddlebags with two of their ready-made meals that hadn’t sold, plus as a precaution one of the scintillating blue bottles (resignation, not the most flavorful but filling) Pharynx siphoned out. Sadly, the changeling’s unlikely praise is no substitute for rest and a thick, warm meal. The evening sun overhead casts long shadows, ones she wants to slink between and hide inside instead of trudging along the path where anypony might see her. She dares not fly, that would make her fatigue all the more obvious with her languid pace and the strong possibility of a light breeze blowing her off course. She stumbles up the gentle slope to the basement of the four-story Carrot House, her whole body aching.

None of the foals are home, most likely hanging out at the Cider Barn until dinner is ready. Applejack flits from stove to oven to fridge, hard at work cooking in the kitchen - by the smell, fritters, hay fries, wheat bread, and apple pie - and raises a questioning eyebrow at the changeling’s arrival.

“Welcome,” Applejack greets, her smile stained with confusion. Normally, given her diet, the changeling takes her meals alone; before their transformation, on a ‘date’ of sorts with a single pony. “Didn’t expect ya to be comin’ round tonight. Should Ah pile on a plate for ya?”

“Might want to make an extra two,” Ocellus returns with a wry attempt at humor. “I heard Spoiled Rich will be joining us.”

Applejack’s eyes widen like a rampaging Ursa Minor is coming to dinner instead of their longest business partner. “W-what?!” She whirls around, peeking inside the oven with the vain hope that the mundane meal has transformed into a sumptuous spread the Rich mare would deem acceptable. She grimaces when it hasn’t. She rips open the fridge, then the pantry, grabbing anything and everything that might substitute for hors-d'oeuvres that take hours to prepare.

Ocellus chuckles as she watches the stack of cheeses, crackers and fruits grow. She places her saddlebags next to the table, brief relief at having one less thing to carry. “She’s not that bad, is she?” Thorax never says anything negative about his lead mare, but he never complains about anypony, the syco.

Applejack huffs. “It ain’t that Ah’m worried ‘bout her makin’ a scene. More like…”

Her ears flatten as three hard, impatient knocks come from the front door.

“‘S’cuse me.” Applejack gamely trots across the room and pulls the door open.

Spoiled Rich stands there, long pink nose aloft as though afraid that by pointing down she might gather a speck of dirt on it. The pearl choker around her neck embodies its name, tight to the point where it shows off every breath; it matches the short-sleeved lace dress that covers most of her barrel and leaves her cutie mark exposed. Her smile can’t quite lose the sense of haughtiness, threatening to curl to its natural smirk.

“Evenin’,” Applejack greets with a jocular smile, shuffling to the side. “Welcome to our humble home! Ocellus was just tellin’ me ‘bout how you were plannin’ on eatin’ here.”

Spoiled Rich spares the arctic blue changeling behind the table a look just as cold. “Indeed,” she states as she steps inside. Judging blue eyes sweep from one modest furnishing to the apple-themed knick knacks to the board games only partially put away. Her attention turns away with palpable distaste, her tongue clearly bitten into submission. “I trust I am not too early?”

“Dinner’s still cookin’, but it’s never too early for a friend to come over!” Applejack grins as she trots to the counter, a flick of her tail gathering the food and spreading it on the dinner table. “Anythin’ Ah can get for ya? We got juice, cider, milk, water, or Ah can get somethin’ harder from the cellar.”

“Cider would be wonderful.” Spoiled Rich offers an overlarge smile as she takes a place at the table next to Doug’s chair, ignoring the snacks.

Applejack raises an eyebrow but nothing more as she brings a pair of chilled bottles. “How’re things at the school? Students keepin’ ya busy?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Spoiled Rich lets the mask slip as she shakes her head, using a sip of cider to stall and regain her composure. “Many of the students - especially our international ones - have had appalling educations. If they received any at all.”

“Really?” Applejack gasps. “Twi’s mentioned some troubles, but…” She glances at Ocellus, the obvious question on the tip of her tongue.

“I took a crash course in Equestrian society,” Ocellus answers, not minding sharing. After all, Chrysalis ordered them to divulge any information, secret or otherwise, from before their joining. “That meant civics, higher mathematics, and law, enough to pass as a guardsmare. But everyling knew the basics, we made sure of that.”

Applejack slowly nods, then turns back to Spoiled Rich. “Which ones are givin’ ya the most trouble?”

Spoiled Rich slowly relaxes as she swirls her cider, chewing over her words. Ocellus can understand being reluctant at sharing, especially since the student’s troubles could reflect negatively on the teacher. “Smolder the dragon and Gallus the griffon. Neither received any formal education; in fact, I discovered neither could read Equestrian after they failed their first test.”

Ocellus’ eyes bug out, as do Applejack’s. Noling would be so neglected!

“They hated the remedial course I put them through, but it got them up to speed.” Spoiled Rich takes another sip of her cider, scowling. “They would be better served in a separate class, able to cover more foundational topics the other students have long since ingrained, but Sparkle insists on keeping them together.” She blithely shrugs. “At least they have other members in their study group who are excelling, who are keeping them on track and on pace.”

“Ah guess that’s good to hear,” Applejack says, still recovering from hearing about somecreatures not being taught to read.

“Silverstream reads perfectly, though her penmareship is atrocious. Claws instead of flippers, from what I understand, combined with a lack of focus bordering on a disorder.” Spoiled Rich sets down her glass with a sigh. “But of all of them? Grubber is the one with whom I have the most frustration and disagreement.” Ocellus and Applejack cock their heads curiously. “The others may be uneducated, and at times insubordinate, but he has a defiant streak that crops up at the most inopportune of times.”

“Defiant?” Applejack’s face contorts itself as she recalls anything she can about the silver-maned hedgehog that could be construed as defiant. “The groveling cupcake hunter?” She chuckles as she shakes her head. “Sorry, partner, but he don’t strike me as the defiant kind.”

“Not as openly as the griffon,” Spoiled Rich acknowledges. Her words are deadly serious. “But his brand of subversion is far more seditious.”

Applejack frowns as her jaw slowly shuts. “Them’s strong words. But ya mean ‘em. What’s he doin’?”

“He derails discussions into topics better reserved for those in academia regarding the intricacies of our Tenets.” Spoiled Rich drains the rest of her cider, thumping the glass on the table. “Not in an introductory-level class where the most common question is ‘why shouldn’t we steal or cheat or lie?’ It becomes frustrating when an insufficient defense - and he is a master at strategically poking holes, not just with his quills - means the opposite position, that of disharmony, seems reasonable.”

“Err,” Applejack says, glancing at Ocellus. She offers nothing. “Ya got an example?”

“Say…” Spoiled Rich chews at her lip as she thinks back. “We acknowledge a mare has a responsibility - a loyalty - to her stallion,” she starts, setting up the scenario. “She should exemplify the Elements in their partnership, holding to her promises, being kind and generous and all the rest.”

“Ah’m with ya so far,” Applejack says, nodding along as Spoiled Rich twirls a hoof around in a tight circle.

“Similarly,” Spoiled Rich continues, “she has a responsibility to her foal. To provide for her the best possible conditions, to give her every advantage she can. Conditional, of course, on the limits of her knowledge and foresight.”

“Ya don’t wanna be too, um, domineering,” Applejack says, offering the pink mare a cheeky grin as she gets a pointed stare in return. “Ya know, gotta let ‘em learn some things on their own.”

“Hence the condition.” Spoiled Rich huffs to herself, having come across as belittling. “Your point is well taken; there are times when the foal’s short term enjoyment must be traded for a harsh lesson learned. And there is also the caveat that no mare is perfect.”

“‘Course,” Applejack agrees with a short nod.

“We are just going over the basics, how those in society should act. But,” Spoiled Rich says with a frustrated growl, “he would ask what happens should those loyalties come into conflict. Often with the implication - though never stated, that would be too easy - that the lesser loyalty should be discarded.”

“Conflict?” Applejack’s face scrunches up. “Ah’m sorry, that’s a bit too abstract for me. Would he make it more concrete? Or is it all academic-like, just hypotheticals and all?”

Spoiled Rich looks Applejack from head to hoof, making the mare a tad uncomfortable. “Say,” she cautiously begins. “You believe Doug to be less fit than Filthy Rich for siring your next foal. To which does your loyalty lie?”

Applejack’s eyes narrow.

“Hypothetically,” Spoiled Rich insists immediately. “I am in no way implying that to be the case.”

“If’n it’s just a hypothetical,” Applejack spits out, obviously agitated at the suggestion, “flip it around. Shouldn’t matter, right?”

“Indeed.” Spoiled Rich takes a deep breath, then walks up and kisses Applejack on the cheek, a short, subservient peck before meekly asking for a huge favor.

Applejack slowly raises a hoof, wide-eyed, gently tapping the wet spot as if she’s not sure if it’s real.

“Would you,” Spoiled Rich asks, acting completely serious, “approve Doug to stud me?”

Ch. 134 - Poacher's Aim, Part Three

Ocellus’ nostrils fill with Spoiled Rich’s strong perfume as the earth pony steps back. Cloying, an apple orchard tinged with sweetened sweat, the idealized scent a farmmare produces in her fantasies, as though the natural aroma of a hardworking mare isn’t alluring enough. The fact that the Rich mare wears such a specific brand means she came here with illicit intentions; or, she hopes the smell might subconsciously sway Doug toward her side, whatever that side might be.

“H-hypothetically?” Applejack stammers, her hoof never leaving her face. She looks too stunned to notice the smell, or maybe it’s close enough to her own that she can’t tell the difference.

“Grubber is shameless about such matters,” Spoiled Rich explains, waiting with growing impatience for a response. “With no compunctions about putting you on the spot with the kinds of questions no self-respecting mare would dare ask aloud. Considering such a position would imply that one has herded with the wrong stallion. Yet every second that passes while you blindly stumble about is a second he spends gloating with that insufferably stuffed face, every bite and chew and grating swallow reminding you that you still haven’t come up with an adequate answer to his audacious question.”

Ocellus finds herself glad to not be in the hot seat; she enjoys watching Applejack squirm like a fledgling integrator being grilled by the Queen, mulling over not just the original question of fancying another stallion despite being herded but the sly shift to the specific: would she allow Doug to stud Spoiled Rich?

Applejack finally speaks. “Well, Ah’d have to think about it, ‘specially ‘cause Ah ain’t sure what Doug’s answer’d be. There’s a lot Ah’d consider.”

“Indeed,” Spoiled Rich confirms, carefully watching Applejack’s every reaction. “I find it helpful to go over the lines of thought in class, if just to provide the others with an explanation, if advanced, of the reasoning behind the rules.”

“Alright,” Applejack says, huffing a little. “If’n ya came to me, can Ah assume ya’ve thought it through? You’re a sharp mare, ya know what it’d do to Filthy if’n ya went to somestallion else. And it ain’t cause he’s shootin’ blanks, he sired with Thorax, just you’n Set haven’t had any others and that’s your business.” She glances down at her own belly with a sheepish smile, as though every foal steals away a slot Spoiled Rich might have filled. “But this is gettin’ bogged down in the muck.” She regards the mare affirmatively bobbing her head with a frown. “And that’s what Grubber’s after?

Spoiled Rich takes a second to consider. “One finds equal evidence for malice, or perhaps a disruptive insolence, as an honest attempt to deepen his understanding.”

“Eeyup,” Applejack says, awkwardly shifting from hoof to hoof. “Sounds like you’re in a whole barrel full’a pickles. He does this every class?”

“Thereabouts,” Spoiled Rich answers. Applejack gives a sympathetic whistle. “Certainly more often than not, though it has become easier to shift the discussion back to the topic at hoof.”

Applejack chuckles. “Point taken. Ah can’t ever see studdin’ for mah foals. Ah guess ya might say mah loyalty to mah stallion outweighs whatever benefit they might get from havin’ a better sire, but that’s ‘cause Ah feel Doug’s the best stallion ya can find. Not ‘cause Ah think he’s the strongest but ‘cause he’s models the Elements. At the same time, Ah don’t believe ya’d get that if ya studded him, ‘cause he wouldn’t be raisin’ ‘em.”

“The nurture side of things,” Spoiled Rich labels. “But, purely playing Night’s Advocate, if you tried to improve on the nature side of things?”

Applejack chews on her lip. “Ah ain’t gonna lie, the thought crossed mah mind. They struggle with farmin’, though they make up for that in other areas. But, more’n that, the chance of things goin’ wrong? That’uns a mite too high. An’ if’n it did, it’d ruin everything. Ah wouldn’t risk an orchard just to get a couple more trees. An’ as far as tellin’ him Ah was goin’ to somestallion else?” She looks away, staring at the heavily laden trees outside.

Ocellus loves being a fly on the wall to these types of deep conversations, the kind ponies will only have when alone. It’s as though she was back in her guardsmare days, amazed at the personal thoughts and feelings a pony would divulge that would never be discussed in the hive. It makes her a tad frightened that Applejack will stop staring out the window, turn to her and ask what she might make of the situation. Because she knows the answer ingrained into her, and it is not the answer Applejack wants to hear.

“Rarity thought real hard ‘bout doin’ that,” Applejack confesses. Spoiled Rich cocks her head to the side just slightly, keeping her expression blank at the potential scandal. “First after Sweetie Belle was born, then again when Doug met Prince Blueblood. Horns’re important to unicorns, far more’n a green hoof matters to an earth pony. Ultimately? She decided, as Ah would, that bein’ with him fully - heart and mind and soul - was more important than whatever advantage our foal might eke out. If Ah didn’t have the same respect for him?” She stares at Spoiled Rich long enough for her to shift uncomfortably. “…Ah ain’t claimin’ nothin’ ‘bout Filthy, but if’n ya were here askin?”

“And with that assumption made,” Spoiled Rich continues, carefully neutral, “that I have done the calculation on my end, that I thought the risk was worth it, you would need to think of how things would be taken on your side. Is the Rich name a valuable one, a name you would choose to associate with? Would it sully your own?”

“Before, Ah would’a been glad to join ‘em.” Applejack sneaks a smirk at Spoiled Rich. “After all, ‘Bo’n Tiara sure are gettin’ close, an’ Ah don’t see anythin’ wrong with that.”

“Indeed,” Spoiled Rich returns, though Applejack continues before she can say more.

“Doug bein’ with the Princesses throws another wrench in it,” Applejack muses, her hoof now rubbing at her chin as she stares upward. “‘Fore we herded up, if’n Ah was a bettin’ mare, Ah’d’a expected the Prince Consort to be sirin’ foals left’n right, off’a everymare that so much as winks and swishes her tail at him.”

Spoiled Rich’s face falls, sensing the upcoming ‘but’. Applejack doesn’t notice, too busy staring. Her “Indeed?” sounds too devastated to be an act.

“At least,” Applejack continues, not reacting to Spoiled Rich, “that’s how Ah imagine that Prince Blueblood fella’d act. But Doug’n Rares tell me he only plays at bein’ a playcolt, so what do Ah know ‘bout them royalty fellas, ya know? Ain’t like there are many other stallions gallivantin’ about that everymare wants ta get with.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Spoiled Rich scowls. “My aspirations were never set so high.” She picks up her empty glass and gives the bottom a disappointed glare. “Anything stronger?”

“Last one ‘fore Doug gets ahold’a ya?” Applejack sardonically quips, though she dutifully goes to the upper cabinets by the fridge and brings down a dark tinted bottle and a single wide snifter. She comes back to Spoiled Rich staring at the bottom as though a strong enough glare might spring something equally hard.

“Were I so lucky.” Spoiled Rich drains the quarter inch of apple brandy with a practiced grimace. Applejack refills a sliver before setting the bottle next to the pink mare, though she merely stands with the glass balanced on her upturned hoof.

The beginnings of a plan start to come together in Ocellus’ mind. No, not a plan, a scheme. It’s clear to her that Spoiled Rich is more than a little envious of Applejack’s (unearned?) position, that she wants such a spot for herself. But leaving her current (quite comfortable) spot would not be worth the risk. It’s the same reason Ocellus hasn’t left the Apple herd, if getting a foal is all she wants; the damage to their reputations would be too high, too likely to cause fractures in the delicate web Chrysalis has woven.

“Eeyup.” Applejack goes back to nursing her cider. “In all honesty?” She takes a long drag, her cider-drinking smile notably absent. “If’n ya went to Doug? He’d put a foal in ya. But that ain’t why ya came over.”

Spoiled Rich laughs, sharp as a diamond saw. “No. Though I appreciate the candor. As you said, no offense to your stallion, the primary benefit comes from his association with the Princesses. Any foal raised by him gains such an affiliation automatically; any merely sired by him would require an explicit statement too gauche for polite company. No, I came to discuss a different issue.” She pauses for a split second, long enough for Applejack to frown and cock her head slightly at the lie. “Two issues, that is, though one does not concern you: a favor to recall from Headmare Twilight.”

“Alright,” Applejack says succinctly. She offers a smile, small and kind. “What’ll it be, partner?”

Spoiled Rich smiles at the appellation as she sets down her brandy. She fixes Applejack with a steady gaze, boring into her as a miner might a seam of gold. “I am here to come to a formal agreement with regards to the courtship and herding of Diamond Tiara and Pomarbo.”

“Formal?” Applejack raises an eyebrow, her smile evaporating quicker than a glass of cider within flying distance of Rainbow Dash.

“Formal,” Spoiled Rich repeats. She waits for Applejack to respond, though the farmmare looks decidedly out of her depth. “It would be customary for the families to come to a mutual understanding of our foal’s intentions, yes?”

“Err,” Applejack mumbles, scratching at the back of her head, “Ah’m afraid Ah don’t know all that much ‘bout that. The Oranges talked a little ‘bout it, but Ah never really got the allure.”

“...I see.” Spoiled Rich takes a deep breath, her posture shifting as she assumes a teacher’s position. It comes off as condescending to Ocellus, though Applejack doesn’t show any offense. “My apologies; I forget the practice is not as common in Ponyville than Manehattan. We would merely make a public declaration of our foal’s intentions with regards to each other. While the exact terms may be kept confidential it gives any other potential suitors a short timeframe to throw their own hats in the ring.”

“Terms?” Applejack says jokingly, as though despite her serious face Spoiled Rich might be putting her on. “Like, a dowry?” She snickers to herself. “Somehow, Ah didn’t think Ah’d need ta pay ya for takin’ Pomarbo off our hooves.”

“Indeed.” Spoiled Rich glances off to the side, resigned and almost apologetic. “Were you to demand one, we would be prepared to offer at-cost contracts for Barnyard Bargains and other affiliated businesses, construction of a suitable dwelling, and forgiveness of the remainder of your mortgage on the former Pear property.”

“That’s…” Applejack holds her breath as her eyes shimmer; the land offer alone is easily a quarter million bits. “...Awful generous of ya. Real generous.” She frowns, suspicious. “Ya really think bein’ close to the Princesses’ herd is that important?”

Spoiled Rich nods. “Indeed. Such an arrangement will benefit her and her foals for the rest of their lives, setting them on a trajectory that may well place them among the stars themselves. I would shoulder any burden to get her there.”

“Wow,” Applejack says, soft and subdued. “Ah… Ah never thought about it like that. Ya really care about her, don’t ya?”

“Indeed.” Spoiled Rich looks Applejack in the eyes. “I would do anything - anything - for her sake.”

Another piece of the puzzle clicks for Ocellus. She grins to herself, her heart beating faster. Is this why Chrysalis loves scheming? Understanding how every component connects, the rush from figuring it out, and putting the plan into motion? Spoiled Rich is less concerned with her own standing than that of her foal(s) - after all, any status they gain will reflect onto her - and what better way to gain such standing than by ingratiating herself to the Princess’ herd? Now, if she can just figure out a way…

Applejack chuckles nervously as the purple ponytail swishes. “Ain’t ya supposed to keep your cards a bit closer to your chest?”

Spoiled Rich readily nods. “We decided on being upfront as the best strategy.”

Applejack nods, slow and cautious. “Eeyup. Still, Ah can’t see askin’ for so much. Plus, all that money’d come around to ‘em anyways, right?”

“There is a stark difference between a shareholder in a company and the company itself,” Spoiled Rich starts, far more admonishing than she has been before, then immediately changes tack to a gentler explanation. “If Pomarbo was the sole owner of Sweet Apple Acres and Diamond Tiara the same for Barnyard Bargain Businesses, there would be no difference, and would effectively nullify that provision. But that is not the case; it is your decision, and your grandmare’s, how to split their inheritance, may that day take its time in coming.”

“Ah.” Applejack offers a sheepish grin. “Still, herdin’ together’s a decision they’re supposed to be makin’, right?”

Spoiled Rich cocks her head. “Of course. I did not mean to convey otherwise. But their decision is one that impacts us, and that impact is something they should take into account. Proper consideration benefits all involved, and helps avoid… spontaneous decisions.”

Applejack snorts, all amusement gone. “Like between me’n Doug.”

Spoiled Rich sighs heavily, avoiding meeting Applejack’s gaze. “That is a topic I wished to avoid.”

“Eeyup.” Applejack glances at the oven; their dinner is nearly done. “Bo’s still a bit young. But he likes her, and she likes him. Ah ain’t opposed to settin’ anythin’ up, just with the understandin’ that he might change his mind once he gets his cutie mark. Hay, he might not even stay in Ponyville, if’n his older sisters are anythin’ to go by.”

“Indeed.” Spoiled Rich finds pen and paper on the counter. “Would you like me to draw something up?”

“Eeyup,” Applejack returns, though she seems somewhat put out. “While ya do that, Ah’ll let everypony know dinner’s ready.”

“Of course.” Spoiled Rich begins writing, then glances up when Applejack doesn’t leave. “Yes?”

“Ah was thinkin’,” Applejack starts with a hesitation not normally seen in the stubborn farmmare. “‘Bout when you’n Filthy got together.” Spoiled Rich sets the pen down, giving Applejack her full attention. “Ah thought he was interested in me; why’d he end up makin’ you lead mare? And Silver Set second?”

Spoiled Rich takes a deep breath, then lets it out in a long sigh. “In all honesty? Of course he was interested in you. The Rich and Apple family have done business together for generations; tying them together only made sense.”

“Ah think Ah know quite a bit more ‘bout that than you,” Applejack spits out.

A disdainful glare flashes across Spoiled Rich, but she quickly suppresses it with a harsh bite of her tongue. “Indeed; I did not mean to imply otherwise. But the fear was that your focus would remain on the farm and lose track of the bigger picture.”

“Err,” Applejack mutters, her anger fading. The farmmare does love farming, that’s obvious to anypony, and would gladly give up other activities (such as swamp-crossing deliveries) if an economic alternative presented itself. “Ah guess ya’ve got a point there.”

“Indeed.” Spoiled Rich sighs at herself for verbalizing the remark. “As it so happened, I met Silver Set at a jewelry show in Canterlot, The Golden Rule. We got to talking, and the matter came up. It was… it was thought that you would not be opposed to the arrangement.”

“Well,” Applejack says, quite cross, “Ah did mind.”

Spoiled Rich nods, contrite. “Indeed. It was a spontaneous decision we made; it would have been better to include you in the process. Though, as you have quite clearly shown, not all such decisions turn out poorly. You are a finer lead mare than we thought.”

“Err, thanks,” Applejack says, abashedly rubbing at the back of her head, “though Ah can’t take all the credit.” She glances again at the oven. “Anyway, Ah gotta go ring the bell.” She nods, leaving through the front door and leaving Spoiled Rich to her writing.

It comes as a surprise to the mare when Ocellus steps forward. “Yes?”

“What if there was a way,” Ocellus purrs, the final piece having clicked, “for us to get everything we want?”

Spoiled Rich stares at Ocellus for a long moment before answering.

“I’m listening.”

Ch. 135 - Poacher's Aim, Part Four

Ocellus pauses outside the applewood door to Doug’s office, steadying her shaking hooves. What will she say, what will she do, what is the best way to convince him without letting on to her true intentions? She has an inkling of how it will go: he’ll be willing, if hesitant, as he was after the first time she bore him a nymph instead of a foal. But will he suspect foul play? As Queen Chrysalis taught her, the perfect crime is the one nopony knows occurred. She wishes she had more time to plan, to ensure everything is in place. Yet sometimes opportunity drops without warning and the most adaptable will be the one to take advantage. But can she pull it off?

She raises a hoof, takes a deep breath, and knocks twice.

“Yeah?” comes the muffled, irritated reply.

She cracks the door open, peeking inside. The office is as disheveled as ever. Mismatched folders splash a rainbow against the wall behind his heavy desk, little apple-themed knick knacks hold pencils or sticky notes or highlighters, all bleeding together into an organized chaos the ponies detest and in which the human thrives. Doug sits at the desk, working on three different cities at once, the Baltimare - Fillydelphia - Manehattan corridor on the Celestial Sea, having combined the maps over the bed on the back wall in a sideways manner one must cock their head to read.

He glances up at her, a flash of annoyance crossing his features, uttering a brief “Hey” before going back to scribbling on an already full sheet of paper not unlike the crumbled balls littering the floor or the other pages scattered around. “Need something?”

“Applejack sent me.” Ocellus lets herself in the rest of the way. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t miss the bell.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Doug snaps, oddly frustrated. She knows he enjoys the weather work, especially when it’s trying, and she steps closer to get a better look at what’s bothering him. One hand rubs at his forehead while the other idly twirls a pencil around; as she nears he raises his hand, welcoming her to his side. Fingers glide over smooth chitin, searching for the soft spaces between armored joints. But he’s missing that leering grin he gets when his mares are in his grasp, and stops before he can dig between her plates the way she likes. It lets her pretend he’s a predator, ripping away armor to get at juicy insides, the morbid thought oddly titillating.

“Something wrong?” she asks, tilting her head just the right amount to look him in the eyes while maintaining that innocent aura he prefers.

Doug snorts; perhaps the question was too obvious. He swipes at each map in turn, starting with Baltimare, sending the pages ruffling like leaves in the wind. “It’s nothing imminent, but Celestia sent me the latest estimates. Between the changelings and new foals, Equestria is looking at something like a twenty percent increase in infrastructure over the next year. Maybe more.”

“Wow,” Ocellus utters, mesmerized by the maps in all their intricate detail. In place of streets and buildings are elevation markers, terrain types, and desired rainfall, far more than she can take in at a glance. Little notes fill the margins, all the colors of the rainbow.

“Most of that will be concentrated in the cities.” Doug traces a few dashed blue lines around the tan metropolitan complexes, close to the existing borders in thick black. “But we’re not going to see everything grow that rapidly. Most likely, we’re going to pack new ponies into existing buildings, but by next decade they and their new brothers and sisters will be chomping at the bit for places for themselves. What will happen immediately, though, is all those ponies need to be fed. Which is where I come in.”

Doug shifts to the outskirts of the cities, grid after grid of dark green representing the thirstiest farmlands and orchards. “While you can cram more ponies into a building without too much hassle, it’s a lot harder to convince them to go hungry. But it’s not as simple as growing twenty percent more food; at least, not for me. You can’t just add more clouds as easily as you can add more fields. You put too many rain clouds together and you get thunderstorms. Ponies don’t like that. You put too many thunderstorms together and you get tornadoes and hurricanes. Ponies really don’t like that.”

“Weak,” Ocellus japes, drawing a smirk.

“But that’s what I’m working on.” Doug taps on the medium green area between Baltimare and Fillydelphia. It suddenly doesn’t seem as large as before. “How to get more water to these farms without it being too much. And then doing the same thing for next year, and the year after that, until this baby boom runs out. The real kicker will be when these two grow into each other, an even bigger Whinnyapolis and Faint Falls.”

“I can imagine.” Ocellus snuggles closer to the human; she licks her lips in anticipation. “And, speaking of growing together.” She lets herself get pushed back as he takes a closer look at her, his pencil idly dropped on the paper. “I was wondering… if you… wanted to try again?”

Doug raises an eyebrow. “Like, for a foal? Right now?” He glances out the blue curtained window to the Carrot House where everypony has likely stopped waiting and are busily chowing down. They’d be lucky to have food left and not have to scrounge from the pantry. “We’re already late, and-”

“No, no, silly,” Ocellus says, grinning like Pinkie Pie. “After. I’d need to get ready. And there’s…” She sinks down, mumbling while hiding behind her wispy pink neck fin, not that it provides any protection. “...Something I’d like to try.”

Doug frowns, concerned over the sudden shift in her demeanor.

“I know you like my natural form.” Ocellus offers Doug a shy smile as though she was scared of his reaction, of any sort of rejection. “You don’t have me copy somepony else. And that’s… that’s freeing, to know I don’t need to pretend around you. But I was afraid that might be… that might be why I can’t give you a foal. A generic pony form didn’t do the trick, so I need something more.”

For a long moment Doug merely stares at her. She can’t get a perfect read on him, not like she can on the ponies. She finds it worrisome what thoughts might be going through his head, but she keeps that infuriating feeling carefully hidden away. He’s obviously trying to read her, and it wouldn’t do to send mixed signals his way. She pulls the corners of her muzzle a little higher, a little tighter, playing the scared mare putting on a brave face. The worst part is the bald-faced lie, that knowing that even if she copied a specific mare it would make no difference.

“The nymphs you’ve given me have been enough,” Doug says, consoling her in exactly the opposite way of what she wants.

“No, they’re not,” Ocellus blurts out, drawing on the bluster she learned as a guardsmare. It gets Doug to lean back, startled but not afraid. “Maybe if I was in some other herd, but you’re the Prince Consort. You deserve the best. And if I can’t give that to you…”

She looks away, blinking rapidly to help the wetness saturate her eyes. His hand strokes her back, reassuring if she actually needed it.

“...Maybe noling can.” She chances a glance; his eyes are filled with concern, the worry on his face plain to see. “But I’m going to try. I have to try.”

Doug takes a deep breath, his hand digging into her withers. “Okay,” he finally says, pulling her face into the Celestial crest tattooed on his bare chest. She finds the warmth invigorating. “What did you have in mind?”

With a firm hoof she guides him back to his chair, pressing him down. “How about…” she draws out, potential schemes racing back and forth. “You wait here. I’ll tell them you’re busy; they won’t mind. I’ll bring dinner.” She winks, grinning from ear to ear. “And when I do? I’ll be in character.”

She sashays to the door. Her rump burns from his leering gaze, made all the worse when she transforms a certain purple ponytail and swishes it back and forth like she’s taunting a minotaur. She slips out the door before he can charge her, relishing his exasperated groan, and returns to the Carrot House in her natural form.

Today’s remnants of the herd are clustered around the dinner table. Applejack stands in the middle, pointing at the open photo album on the table while Luna and Twilight watch from the wings. Spoiled Rich looms over Diamond Tiara, the eager young mare occasionally snickering and sneaking a shared smile. The rest of the youngsters titter to themselves as Pomarbo lays slumped, his head against the table, hooves covering his face as though they could ward off the abject humiliation only a well-meaning dam could inflict.

There is a heaviness to Spoiled Rich’s breathing, a flush to the already pink face, a languid swish of a tail that will not stay still. Twilight’s ovulation spell must be working fast, far faster than she thought it would. But that’s the power of an alicorn. It amazes her that Chrysalis was able to impersonate one at all, much less for a week; then again, she did fail, but that was her plan all along.

“An’ this is his first bath,” Applejack explains, sparing Ocellus a brief glance before going back to their most recent album. She smiles, fond and doting. “Little tyke couldn’t stand the water. He thought he’d melt if’n Ah scrubbed the soil from his skin!”

“I was never that bad,” Diamond Tiara announces with a haughty grin at her dam.

“No,” Spoiled Rich agrees with a twisting smirk. “You were worse.” The words sink like a dagger, at least judging by Tiara’s look of utter betrayal, such a contrast from her dam’s light and airy tone. “We couldn’t drag you out of your hour-long bubble baths. That’s why we had the pool installed.”

“Dam,” Diamond Tiara pouts, now looking very much like the colt next to her.

“Spike was like that, too,” Twilight adds, then snickers. “Wait, who am I foaling? He’s still like that.”

Another round of giggles passes as Applejack flips the page, now showing Pomarbo attempting to push a soccer ball bigger than himself with his head.

Ocellus passes like a whisper to join Spoiled Rich’s side. “You ready to go?”

“Excuse me, but I do believe your spell has taken its full effect.” Spoiled Rich nods to Princess Twilight before stepping towards the kitchen. The alicorn returns a warm smile and wink before her attention returns to the giggles of the fillies.

“Doug’s busy in his office,” the changeling explains. She keeps her voice low, though Ocellus has little doubt the ponies, the alicorns especially, would have no trouble overhearing their conversation. She spots a plate waiting on the counter, a half portion suitable for Doug’s smaller size. “Could you take his dinner to him?”

Spoiled Rich seems offended by the request, aghast that she might be treated like a servant. Then she swallows, perhaps as practice, yet takes her part in this scheme as naturally as any changeling. “Very well.” She struts to the counter, deftly slides the plate to her back, and smoothly glides out the front door.

Ocellus studies every movement. The mare oozes a haughty sophistication that might be graceful if it wasn’t carried so highly. Her own legs limber up to practice the kinesthetics required: a dainty and refined gait as if one stepped lightly enough the dirt wouldn’t collect between her shoes, a tension in her facial muscles undergirding every masked and feigned expression, a rushed and indignant sharpness to her breath. This would carry over to the bedroom; she takes charge, commanding to the point of domineering, concerned with the pleasure of her stallion only as it makes her more appealing in his eyes. She wants to be important; no, she wants to be seen as important, and she wants the same for her foal, her foals, going to great lengths to ensure their success and thus her own. She recalls any and all words and phrases spoken, sorting by repetition and likely chance of being used.

The pale blue changeling goes to her pack, withdrawing the vial of energy extracted from one of the rams. A dark, effervescent cobalt swirls about, billowing like smoke from a fog machine, only for her to draw the fuming cloud into her gaping, vacuuming maw. She tries to be quiet about it, making no attempt to draw attention to herself, but inwardly hopes the others notice. It’s the same procedure she went through the other times she lay with the human, prepping her body for the hopeful implantation, though then it was done with the pony’s purloined power. She’ll leave it up for them to draw their own inferences.

Molding a pony womb next to the chambers dedicated for eggs takes all of her concentration and more energy than a single vial provides. Her reserves easily cover the deficit, though the taxing part will be after the deed is done and she needs to return to her normal form. A hasty transformation is liable to dissolve foreign objects or expel them, neither conducive to the continued survival of an embryo.

It takes a few minutes of meditation until the deed is done, a mature ovum patiently waiting for fertilization. She steps outside, noting Twilight’s cursory glance, and waits until the door shuts behind her. Once she is halfway down a flash like green lightning brightens the darkened hill. Her gait shifts with her form, pink hooves beating a haughty trot back to Ponyville. Anypony glancing outside would see nothing more than Spoiled Rich returning after an evening with her filly’s friends.

She arrives at the mansion unaccosted, her quick pace discouraging any passersby from engaging her in conversation. Again she has to stop outside the front door, steadying her hooves. She has never been inside the expansive residence, nor has Thorax described the interior. Where will she start? But standing around outside gets her no closer to her goal, so she tugs open the front door and slips inside.

Ch. 136 - Poacher's Aim, Part Five*

The entryway opens like a vast cavern with half a dozen different tunnels and exits. It reminds Ocellus of the changeling hive, though decorations in gold and alabaster make for a far more opulent experience than shifting stone and treacherous trails, even as she finds the porous rock easier to navigate. She wants to inspect the portraits and paintings on the walls, the colorful vases of glass and crystal, and the individually molded candles that bathe every corner of the multistory room in a soft glow. Yet she can't be caught gawking at what should be ‘her’ decor.

A grand staircase gives two options for upwards exploration, an inset door under those stairs likely leads to the basement, and two carpeted hallways split off to the left while one meanders to the right. Purple catmint and lilac blooms abound, filling the room with their pleasing aroma, though not strong enough to cover the wafting trail of bread and cheese from the left - either the kitchen or dining room, depending on what time the Rich herd dines. The faint sound of a filly and colt’s boisterous laughter suggests the dining room; she cannot detect any other voices. Likely for the better: she wants to corner Filthy Rich alone. But which direction to go?

The front door swings closed with a soft thump. Her ears flick at the unexpected noise, then swivel to the muffled clip-clop coming from the dining room. She stiffens; there isn’t enough time to hide, and hopes it comes from the herd’s stallion. She forces herself to relax, to assume the imperious position into which Spoiled Rich naturally slips.

A bespeckled earth pony mare with a styled amethyst mane just starting to turn as silver as her lustrous coat greets her with a pleasant smile. Silver Set, the Rich herd’s second mare and dam to Silver Spoon and the twins Silver Hoop and Silver Stud. “Back so soon?”

The first test of her impersonation skills. “Indeed,” she returns, a haughty flick of her long nose serving as a greeting. “I trust I am not too early?”

“Of course not.” Silver Set takes a long whiff. She must like what she smells, as she shoots a smirking wink. “A quite productive trip, for being so quick.”

“I do believe,” Ocellus quotes, stumbling over splicing in a word, “the spell has taken its full effect.” She swishes her tail, hoping the slip isn’t noticed. Spoiled Rich can be belittling, but there’s a method to her meanness. “Though I appreciate the candor.”

“It wasn’t too weird, was it?” Silver Set shudders. “I can’t imagine asking a Princess, even Twilight Sparkle, for something so… personal.” The curling smirk returns, a touch of eagerness to her tone. “Did she stick her horn in you?”

Ocellus shrugs her pink withers, deliberately vague. “I find it helpful to…” She trails off, as if considering; conjugating verbs in Rich’s nasally tone is not quite as easy as she likes, given her lack of practice. “Be shameless about such matters. I forget the practice is not as common in Ponyville than Manehattan; I thought the risk was worth it.”

“I guess that gamble paid off. Like so many of yours.” Silver Set glances back the way she came; the loud laughter has only gotten more raucous in the interim. “I know you like your quiet.” Without waiting for an answer she spins on a hoof, shouting, “Alright, you two! Who wants to play in the pool?”

Ocellus takes a deep breath as Silver Set leaves. This is much harder than she thought it would be. There are only so many phrases she can draw on, and an extended conversation with her supposed stallion will surely end in disaster. Plus, she needs to get back to Doug and the real Spoiled Rich before the Princesses join in. She doubts the mare could keep up the charade, and even just being with the human might be too much for the teacher of Loyalty.

A quick trot takes her up the stairs, hooves silently sinking into the plush carpet, and down a hallway full of doors. What extravagance! Every wall and window, every floor and skylight, every room big or small showcases more ornate adornments than the entirety of their old hive. She passes a library filled from carpet to ceiling with books, a washroom all in alabaster, a filly’s room in pinks and dark blue, a bathroom suited for a creature of Doug’s stature, and the spacious master bedroom before she finally comes across Filthy Rich at his massive desk.

Neatly stacked papers form squads, groups of squads into companies, until two battalions face each other with a desolate no-mares land between them. Candles cast their shadows as the grim stallion draws a single soldier into the line of fire, executes her with practiced slashes of red and black, and consigns the signed paper to a growing pile of her fallen comrades. A halfhearted whinny passes his lips before he glances up, the weary lines etched into his brow melting away as he recognizes her.

“Evening,” Filthy Rich welcomes with the tired grin of one already hours into a long night’s labor. But every flick of his sharpened quill means another few bits from a brokered deal here, a shipment there, an order to buy while the wheat is ripe and sell when stores of bread run low, stuffing the bitbags on his flanks fuller and fuller. He gingerly returns his weapon of choice to her inkwell, giving his ‘lead mare’ his full attention. “So. You decided to go through with it.”

“Indeed,” Ocellus returns, finding the affirmative easy enough to repeat. “You still haven’t come up with an adequate answer.”

“To why we shouldn’t go through with this?” Filthy Rich laughs, remaining behind his desk as she stalks around, a hungry look in her eyes. He regards her warily. “Just because we’ve had two at a time before doesn’t mean we have to keep doing so.”

“No. But, from what I understand?” She gives him a wicked smile, every step taking her closer and closer. She finds it easier to cut words than add them. “It would be customary to come to a mutual understanding of our intentions, yes?”

“Wicked intentions, I have no doubt.” He gives her a brave grin, inhaling deep of her heated musk. His expression goes slack, clearly enjoying himself.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” She saunters next to him, a swift nudge getting him to back up a pace. He does so, surprised at her aggression. She faces the myriad doors to his desk; her magenta tail teases his nose and draws a frustrated snort.

“Right now?” Filthy Rich peers around her vexing tail, eyes growing like saucers as she puts her hooves up on the desk. He seems more concerned about his papers.

“Indeed.” She flicks her tail to the side, exposing her moist outer lips. “Are,” she pants, “you,” she takes another breath, “siring your next foal? Or would you approve Doug to stud me?”

That sends him over the edge. His long cock springs from its sheath as he mounts her. He takes only a moment to line up before his flared tip parts her moist lips, his second thrust sinking half his length into her, the third threatening to send her sprawling forward and bloody half a hundred stacked soldiers with a single spilled inkpot. She hits her limit before he does, deeper than anypony has ever gone, battering against her final wall. Shouts and screams and splashes from the window mix with the grunts and pants and squelches from inside.

She enjoys it, of course, her ‘heat’ not clouding her mind as it does the ponies. Thorax is lucky to share him. But then, in far less time than she’s become accustomed to, he whinnies into her mane, biting and tugging hard on the magenta strands. He unleashes his load deep inside her, without a doubt enough for her purposes.

“I helped fulfill your mark,” he states as he pulls out, not quite cold but minorly displeased, curtly flicking his short black mane at the ring emblazoned on her side. “Now, leave me so I can fulfill mine.”

She does, though she shows only sorrow. At least until she hurries outside with the stallion’s musk plain for all to smell.

*

Spoiled Rich dubiously regards the weathered door to Doug’s office. Cold hooves? Might she be reconsidering the plan? No, she mustn’t; to deviate now would end in disaster. Everypony (and everyhuman, she grudgingly adds) will get what they want: Ocellus a foal of her own without being seen as straying, Doug another to add to his admittedly impressive brood, her husband another chance at an heir to Barnyard Bargains (Tiara seems destined for Mayor, if not higher, while Silver’s three will likely follow in her silversmelting hoofsteps), and herself a foal fostered by the greatest ponies in Equestria. It galls her to make the concession, that this humble herd has outpaced her own, but it would not do to lament hypotheticals. She needs to focus on the now, and securing a spot for her filly.

Don’t overthink it, Ocellus had warned. Just do what you do, and all I have to do is copy you. Then we don’t have to worry about what you think I think you’ll do.

She knows what must be done, and pushes the unlatched door open. The human hums an unknown ditty to himself at his cluttered desk, two magelights lighting the room and reflecting off the Celestial sun on his chest instead of the other way around. Luna’s moon lies darkened, disappearing from sight as he turns. A teal pencil clashes with the apple at his wrist while gemstones lose themselves in his cropped auburn hair. Hard at work, as her stallion should be, and she surmises he shares a certain possessiveness to his workplace.

She saunters in, full hips swaying back and forth with every step. Her loins burn from the effects of Twilight’s spell, but this is about him, not her.

He watches her, leering, licking his lips at getting a taste of her. “You look ravishing.”

Who can blame him? “Indeed,” she returns coyly, giving a single flick of her magenta mane. He follows the tips, and even with his small eyes she can tell when his gaze shifts from her to the plate of food on her back. She chuckles at the low growl of his stomach. “And here I thought you’d be happy to see me and not your supper.”

“Can’t I be both?” Doug grins as he starts to get up from his chair.

“No, no, no,” she insists, a hoof on his knee keeping him from rising. “You have had a long, hard, day. Here, let me help you with that.”

She rests one hoof on his chair, in between his legs and dangerously close to his rapidly growing cock. The body is different, but the stallion is the same. He wants to be tended to, lifted up and praised, smiled at and loved, and what better way than to serve?

Her other hoof reaches behind her, removing the cloth covering fritters, fries, and pie. It smells delicious, but cannot compare to his mouthwatering musk. Oh, sweet Celestia! He reeks of apples and soil and salt-tinged sweat! She can’t help herself; her tongue flicks out, gathering his tip into her lips and relishing every lick and cherishing his every groan of pleasure.

“They said you sired Apples,” she waxes from around his stiffening member. “They did not say you used a tree!”

“Sweet Celestia,” he moans, as though he could slip into her mind as easily as he will slip into her body. He pushes his hips forward along the smooth, varnished chair to thrust more of himself into her while apples hide themselves in her mane. She gladly acquiesces, letting his entire length slide along her tongue until her face buries itself in the thick copse of hair. “Did Chrysalis teach you herself?”

She pulls back slowly, painfully so if his groans are to be believed. Her cock filled muzzle twists to a smirking grin as she stares up at him. She had only done this once, her stallion preferring to rest on her back instead of on his, but spoiling has always been a knack of hers. She waits, dancing her tongue along his tip, curious if he wants to continue this or swap to a sweeter spot.

At the gentle press of his hand she again slides down his turgid length. Up and down she goes, over and under, lavishing with licks and soft kisses and hard, slurping sucks. She loses herself in the rhythm, loving the squeezes and nips and the tender rubs to her withers until he throbs deep inside her.

No! she mourns as his first spurt of seed paints the back of her throat. That belongs inside my belly! But it is too late to pull back, another blast staining her tongue. She swallows the sweet syrup, purring in pretend pleasure, the fire of her heat keeping her from truly enjoying his taste. She makes sure to leave a good portion dripping from his cock as she withdraws, only for a final feeble pulse to wet her nostrils.

Her mirthful giggle is music to his ears as his hard pants and gasps are music to hers. She coyly shrugs the plate onto his desk, making sure to stay clear of any paper. He’s still hard, thank Celestia, and she’s heard more than one tale of his ability to go multiple times. She springs to the low bed, laying atop the thin, coarse sheet. “Hurry,” she whispers as she rolls to her back, legs lifting, baring her sex. “I want to feel you inside me.”

And then he is inside her, again, but this time none of his seed would be wasted. It goes on, longer than the first, the bed shifting and creaking as strong hands grip her flanks, slam her against him, balls slapping. Over and over he drives himself into her, hitting his limit every time, stretching to caress her cheeks and run through her fur until he reaches her belly, where his foal will live and grow, though she might never suck the teats he seems so fond of fondling.

And then, sealed as he is fully sealed inside her, his seed gushes forth to quench her heat.

For a moment she lays there, legs quivering, locked in their embrace. And then it is done. “That was wonderful.” She cleans him off with a quick lick, grinning up at him again as he teases her mane. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Indeed,” he echoes, sending her off with a hearty slap to her rump. She waggles the smarting side back and forth as she departs, winking with her backwards glance.

Once she gets to the base of the stairs a bright flash of green comes from under the bathroom door. Ocellus, back to her changeling form, steps out.

“It worked.” The pale blue changeling grins as she steps forward, a long lick removing Doug’s seed from her nostrils. “Quite well.”

“Indeed,” Spoiled Rich returns, inwardly aghast she might have missed such an obvious sign. She would need to be extra cautious not to slip up again.

“I’m glad it worked.” Ocellus gives her a quick nuzzle and an equally quick sob. “I’ll see you in eleven months.”

“And then we swap.” Spoiled Rich nods firmly, needing to steel herself as well. Nomare wants to give up her foal, they have that much in common. “I… look forward to it.”

As Spoiled Rich goes to leave Ocellus interrupts. “Oh, and remember?” She turns to regard the changeling as the pale blue horn flickers on and off. “It’s Doug’s foal you have in there.”

She absentmindedly nods to Ocellus as she leaves. By Celestia, she’s right! His foals don’t show up on normal thaumic scans, too close (identical, initially) to their dam’s magical signature to be differentiated. She would have to be careful around doctors - really, anypony who might inadvertently scan her and notice a lack of what should be there.

Ch. 137 - Inspired Learning, Part One

April 26th, 1001 Domina Solaria

Lauday.

A tired sigh escapes wearied lips as Headmare Twilight Sparkle’s quill pauses. Her horn rests as she stretches, yawning in a fashion most unbecoming of a Princess but perfectly understandable for anypony pulling an all-nighter. Or several all-nighters in a row, taking catnaps in place of real rest, but such is the price she must pay to keep her School of Friendship running at full steam.

Today marks the end of the second week of classes, but it already feels like the end of the second month with how much effort she has to pour in. She wonders if Celestia gets this frustrated, or if she’s molded her expectations over the centuries to accept the… peculiarities of her fellow ponies. Fluttershy has taken to teaching Kindness like a fish to water, if only she can refrain from bringing the fish (and spiders and puckwudgies and other ‘friendly creatures of the Everfree’) to class. Spoiled Rich only needs occasional reminders that a friendship ‘earned’ does not mean a friendship ‘bought’, but otherwise seems to have garnered the grudging respect of the greedier students, not that she thinks of them like that. Chrysalis has been remarkably compliant, suspiciously so; Twilight struggles to forget what the changeling has done or threatened to do, even as she tries to forgive. Trixie is only slightly less frustrating than Pinkie Pie, her freely told tales containing as much substance as the students paid for them, while the partymare takes any suggestion to rein in her ‘Parties as Teaching’ as an affront to her very being. Which, to be fair, it is, but the students need a more productive environment than a perpetual party.

Still, the sight of smiling students streaming from the school makes all the struggles worthwhile. They wave to each other as they depart, banding together in groups of two and three and four while the six foreign students laze about in the sun.

Years ago (or even last year) she might have thought that time wasted, frittered away like bits at a bourgeois bar instead of the local bakery. She would have lamented any minute spent outside school or the library, vastly preferring to keep her muzzle firmly ensconced in whatever tome she was working her way through at the time.

She sighs, glancing around her office. Is she reverting to old habits? She managed to line only three of her four walls with books. Covering her window and door with more seems counterproductive, as much as she wants easier access to the books she was forced to set aside at her castle’s library, even if that library is literally under her hooves. She looks forward to reorganizing and reshuffling, picking the most relevant ones to keep close at hoof. But how can she choose between two halves (or hundredths, as the case may be) of herself? But before she can get to that labor of love, she has a checklist to finish; she has to go over the lesson plans for next week, and-

A knock comes at her door.

She suppresses her groan. Hopefully it’s not another student wondering if they can leave campus for the weekend. She really needs to hire a pony to deal with minor issues and schedules, some sort of guidance counselor, but she’s too busy making sure her current teachers are up to snuff.

This reminds her of Princess Celestia’s assistants around the time she got her cutie mark and an assistant of her own. Every week the alicorn had a different rookie or two doing coffee runs, collecting her numerous reports, or starting to gather records of their own. Most didn’t last long, a week or less, but any that made it the full month she found a place for. That changed once the changelings joined her posing as Raven, the alicorn finding their ample aid indispensable in these hectic times.

Another knock comes before the door opens and in peeks a pink muzzle and purple eye. “Twilight?”

Any gloomy thoughts flee faster than shadows before the sun. Or, in this case, a Crystal Heart.

“Cadance!” Twilight bounds over, in her haste nearly ripping the door off its hinges. “Sunshine, sunshine, ladybugs awake! Clap your hooves and do a little shake!”

Hooves clap and flanks shake, the two grinning as they end their foalhood dance with cutie marks mashing into each other.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Cadance remarks, not bothering to pull away. “Even if I can’t say I’m surprised by the decor.”

“Oh, well, if that’s the case,” Twilight says, beaming as she trots to her desk and pulls her quill out to strike off ‘reorganize decorations’ from her checklist. She shudders as she leaves the incomplete list behind next to a framed picture of Doug and her herdmates about six months out of date; she really needs to get a new one! She turns to face Cadance and hopefully put the list out of her mind. “What brings you to Ponyville?” She cocks her head as she inspects Cadance’s cutie mark, but nothing seems amiss. “It’s not a cutie mark problem, is it?” She stamps her hooves in a rapid dance, jittery with excitement. “Ooh, please let it be a cutie mark problem!”

“No, not that I’m aware of,” Cadance chuckles. “I just thought I’d stop by when the fate of Equestria wasn’t hanging in the balance.”

Twilight joins in the laughter. “Seaquestria, the Storm King and the Council of Creatures.”

“Doug, Discord and Tirek.”

“Chrysalis and her changelings.”

“Conceiving alicorn foals.”

“Discord again.”

“Nightmare Moon.”

Twilight frowns. “Wait, what did you do about Nightmare Moon?”

Cadance sighs heavily. “Should Celestia’s plan not pan out, as the remaining Princess I was to officially surrender Equestria to her rule and ensure the survival of as many ponies as possible.” She winks at Twilight. “Fortunately, we didn’t have to go through with that.”

“Right,” Twilight says nervously. She coughs. “It’s been quite the year, hasn’t it?”

Cadance nods, smirking. “I berate myself for ever thinking I wanted more exciting responsibilities.”

“Yeah, me too,” Twilight commiserates. “Some days I want to just snuggle up in a corner with a good book or ten.” She sighs as she glances outside at the congregating students. “But, then, I wouldn’t be doing all this.”

“It may not be an easy choice,” Cadance agrees, “but it is a worthwhile sacrifice.”

“Mm.” Twilight trades a fond nuzzle with her former foalsitter. “So, what other sorts of exciting responsibilities are you saddled with these days?”

Cadance sighs as she plops down on her rump, Twilight quickly following at her side, the two staring out the window. “Well, you know Celestia was grooming me to take over the Crystal Empire if or when it returned. After that fell through? I was already training new hires and finding positions for promising candidates, and Luna took over most of our foreign relations, so I’ve mostly been working with my husband on security and keeping close tabs on our neighbors to the north.”

Twilight grins eagerly. “Any weapons testing?”

Cadance pouts, quite put out. “No. Apparently I’m too valuable to risk if something goes awry, but he’s perfectly expendable. Not that Shiny wants to leave me and the foal, of course.”

“That’s a shame,” Twilight consoles, the two resting their heads against each other. She tries not to think about the herd accepting her were something to happen to her brother. “Hey, you mentioned trying out new hires?” Cadance nods; Twilight loves the way their fur rubs against each other, but she pulls away slightly. “Were you assessing me back then, too?”

“Well,” Cadance stalls, “you were the foal of her Backup for the Stars and a double six agent. She saw great things in you.” She nips at Twilight’s wings. “Rightly so, I dare say.”

“Oh.” Twilight self consciously rubs a hoof against her leg. “Um, thanks.”

“But, no, I wasn’t officially testing your capabilities at that time, though Celestia values all reports.” Cadance studies Twilight. “What brought that on?”

“I’m thinking about bringing on a guidance counselor or vice headmare,” Twilight explains. “Somepony to work with the students, take care of minor issues and discipline while I focus on the teachers and curriculum.”

“Hmm.” Cadance taps her chin as her gaze wanders to the ceiling. “You want my advice?”

“Sure,” Twilight says, all ears.

“First,” Cadance explains, “you wouldn’t want somepony just like you.”

Twilight’s face scrunches up. “Wait, what?”

Cadance nods. “Yup. You still want the same goals, of course, they’re there for the student’s well-being. But if they thought a goody four-shoes could solve their problem they’d go to you. You need somepony who is the opposite of you in many ways.”

Twilight snickers. “You make her sound like some sort of comic book villain, a twisted mirror image of myself.”

Cadance raises a hoof and shakes it in a ‘yeah, pretty much’ sort of way.

“Oh.” Twilight nods along, warming up to the idea. “So, they should be somepony like me who grew up friendless?”

“You had your brother,” Cadance gently reminds. “And Spike. And me.”

“Okay, but Shining is my brother, that hardly counts. Spike was my ward. And you married my brother, so you’re retroactively family, too.” Twilight sticks her tongue out at winning the pedantic point.

Cadance merrily rolls her eyes. “And, having few friends, they surrounded themselves with false friends instead of true.”

“~True, true friends~” Twilight corrects.

“~A True, True Friend helps a friend in need~” Cadance sings along, though neither can place the song. She goes back to studying Twilight. “They should be mostly self-taught yet still powerful, experienced at taking care of personnel problems, and with a certain disregard for the rules.”

“Ooh, I would find that infuriating,” Twilight comments, writing down the suggestions. “That’s perfect.” She glances back, eagerly asking, “You have somepony in mind? Somepony who has been down this dark and starlit path, yet there remains a glimmer of hope?

Cadance chews at her lip. “Nopony comes to mind.”

Twilight sighs. “Shoot.”

“I doubt my husband would let you do that, either.” Cadance winks, smirking as Twilight chuckles.

“Maybe not a pony, then?” Twilight laughs to herself at the absurdity that comes to mind. “What about Discord?”

“You’d best be quick about it,” a deep, magnificent yet annoyed voice rings out. “Somepony nearly scored in me, and I would hate for them to think I was playing favorites.”

“Hello, Discord,” Twilight greets as her doorframe walks away from the wall and transforms into a bent draconequus, leaving the door precariously balanced against nothing. She pulls out a contract from deep within her desk. “I have an opening for vice headmare. Would you be interested?”

Discord skims through the contract, the smile on his face growing wider and wider until it stretches fully around his head. “I should thank your lawyer; this is loopier than a roller coaster convention.”

Twilight frowns. “I wrote it myself.”

“Well, no wonder.” Discord flashes a grin at Twilight before going back to reading. Then his eyes bug out when he reaches the end, his lower body flopping to the floor as his gaping maw cuts himself in half. An arm on the floor points at nothing, too far away to jab at the paper that somehow stays aloft. “Wait, wait, wait. You expect me to abide by the spirit of this?”

“Eeyup,” Twilight says, echoing the mare she spent last night with.

Discord scoffs, letting the paper drift to the floor. “I’d sooner return to being a goalpost. And I think I shall.”

He disappears with a snap of his claws.

Twilight shrugs. “Worth a shot, I guess. Let me know if you find anypony who matches the mark.”

“Will do,” Cadance says, returning to snuggling withers to withers. “How else are things here?”

Twilight eyes Cadance warily. “I already send Celestia a weekly report, as do my teachers. If she wants more, she can ask herself and be specific.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” Cadance offers Twilight an apologetic grin, which Twilight readily accepts. “As one Friend to another.”

“Oh.” Twilight pauses. “I mean, I could talk for hours about the school and not scratch the surface. It’s not that I’m frustrated…”

She sighs. If Applejack were here she’d be raising an eyebrow in her direction.

“Okay,” she admits. “It’s a little frustrating. But that’s mostly the workload, and these little ones, and not having my Friends at my side. I mean, they are, but they aren’t, and…”

“I understand,” Cadance reassures, a comforting hoof tenderly rubbing at Twilight’s outstretched leg. “I’ve been back and forth between the Crystal Empire whenever I’m not packing up. I don’t see my Shiny nearly as often as I’d like.”

“Crystal Empire? Packing up?” Twilight gamely pokes her in the side. “Spill!”

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose what’s happening there,” Cadance says, eyes twinkling at the pout Twilight gives her. “It’s a surprise, and I would hate to be the pony who spoils your surprise.”

It might be Twilight’s imagination, but the picture of Pinkie Pie sure looks like she’s menacingly pointing at her.

Ch. 138 - Inspired Learning, Part Two

“Aww,” Twilight moans, more than a little upset Cadance won’t trust her with whatever secret happenings are going on in the Crystal Empire. She’s a Princess, too! “Does it have to do with the upcoming Friendship Games? Lots of ponies have been talking about that!”

“Maybe it does,” Cadance evades with a sly smile, “and maybe it doesn’t.”

Twilight huffs at the evasion, especially because that’s the kind of response she should give when asked about matters that don’t concern the askee. She might have persisted with her guessing, and if it was Doug it would probably work. But she doesn’t want to draw Pinkie Pie’s ire; she’s not sure how the party planner would find out, only that she will. “What can you tell me?”

“Let’s see.” Cadance’s hoof beats an infuriatingly slow tune as she stares up at the ceiling. Tap. Tap. Tap. Her grin gradually widens as she cannot contain her glee at playing with the agitated alicorn’s curiosity. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Twilight growls, petulantly butting her ear against Cadance’s neck, just like she did when she was a foal. It didn’t work then, but maybe now that she’s bigger?

“Oh, fine,” Cadance concedes, snickering. She gently guides Twilight’s head away from hers, the younger alicorn putting up a token resistance before settling down. “You’ll want to be careful what behaviors you show around your foals. They’re little sponges, liable to copy anything and everything you’re doing.”

“Like you are right now?” Twilight grunts, dubiously peering at her former foalsitter. She’s evading, but pressing more won’t help. “Is that where I got my love of books?”

Cadance laughs, high and tinkling. “I don’t think any amount of discouragement could have kept you from your books. Do you remember our… heated discussions about bedtimes?”

Twilight snorts. “My presentations about later bedtimes did include a caveat about bedtimes not applying if I was pursuing school activities. I thought I was so clever when you said yes.”

“You fought so hard for an activity most parents have to… incentivize.” Cadance sighs happily; she reaches first for her own belly and then takes a long, loving stroke along Twilight’s side. “I can’t wait to see what our foals will accomplish.”

“Eeyup.” Twilight gladly returns the snuggle, their former fight forgotten. “You think I’ll do a good job?”

“Nope.”

Twilight’s breath catches in her throat, chilled from the ice-cold answer. “W-what?”

Cadance turns to plant a hoof on Twilight’s check, apple-eating grin touching both ears. “I know you will.”

Twilight stares at Cadance in disbelief before she bursts out laughing at the alicorn’s audacity. “You’re worse than Doug, you know that?”

“Thank you.” Cadance returns to ponyloaf next to Twilight, again full of warmth and life. Twilight gladly snuggles close. “You’ve done a marvelous job raising Spike. I’m amazed how readily he took to the rigors of governing. There’s not a pony in the Crystal Empire who has a negative word to say about him; he tirelessly works for their benefit, selflessly sacrificing his time and not taking advantage when he so easily could.”

“I don’t think it’s that sunny,” Twilight weakly protests, beaming, her heart soaring at the praise. “I wish he’d write more often.”

“You should tell him that the next time you see him,” Cadance suggests softly, her serious tone injecting a touch of melancholy at the reminder that it has been some time since Twilight has seen him. Longer than they’ve ever been apart, actually.

“...Yeah.” Twilight’s gaze meanders around the office, passing over snapshots and homey knick knacks that remind her of all her Friends to linger on the color-coded sticky notes detailing her various goings-on. So many things to do, to monitor, to take care of. “I’m just so busy here, I don’t know when I can spare the time to visit. Especially if it’s going to be some big production.”

“It might be sooner than you think,” Cadance hints, giggling at Twilight’s curious glance. She quickly covers her mouth with a hoof. “Oops! I might have said too much.”

Twilight huffs, then looks out the window, wondering if she can spot any circling Wonderbolts. All she can see are Dash’s chromatic contrails, but that could just be from her practicing. “Did you sneak out here or was it an official visit?”

“It’s not enough for me to come see my fellow Princess?” Cadance sighs when Twilight shakes her head. “Oh, very well. I must confess that I did have an… official reason for coming to Ponyville.”

“You mean,” Twilight snarks; she wants a full taste, not tantalizing hints! “You didn’t come all the way from Canterlot just to tease me?”

Cadance laughs with her. “There’ll be a lot more teasing should the Castle of the Two Sisters prove livable once again.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” At first, Twilight can scarcely believe it, an even bigger upset than when she thought Cadance didn’t believe in her earlier. Because this one might be real! “You mean the one in the Everfree?”

Cadance cocks her head to the side. “You know another one?”

Twilight rolls her eyes. “Rarity was talking about taking a trip there.” She rubs at her chin, lost in thought. “But I thought she would be getting it ready for Celestia and Luna and their foals. And, of course, brainstorming about an upcoming line of ancient fashions she could work on while restoring the decorations.” She again regards Cadance, grinning from ear to ear. “I didn’t think you’d be moving in!”

“Nothing’s set in stone yet, not like those drafty halls.” Cadance shudders. “I’m afraid it’s going to be lonely. And a lot of work; I don’t think the Everfree will appreciate us carving a path, much less an actual road.”

A knock comes at the door with a white head and purple mane following right behind. “Excuse me,” Rarity says as she barges in, a thin veneer of politeness over a twitching slab of giddiness, “I couldn’t help but overhear you mentioning a trip to the Castle of the Two Sisters?”

Twilight frowns. “Were you eavesdropping outside my door?” She tries to look past the unicorn and see if anypony else is huddling against the wall. She can’t see anypony, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

“Oh, darling,” Rarity coyly laughs, dismissing Twilight’s question with a flippant dip of her hoof. “Let’s not focus on silly things like who is listening in on whom. Two Wonderbolts circling the school aren’t going to draw only Rainbow Dash’s attention, after all.”

“I knew it!” Twilight exclaims, quickly shushed by Rarity.

“Let us focus on more important things.” Rarity’s jaw twitches, the crazed look in her eyes barely contained. “Such as when we will make the trip, what sort of tools we might need, and whether I should pack for multiple days or if you will be providing transportation back and forth as required.”

“Mm,” Twilight says, chewing on her lip. Any excitement she might have felt dissipates as reality sinks in. The skies aren’t much safer, and teleporting isn’t an option for everypony else. “Applejack routinely complains about monitoring the forest alongside her farm to make sure it isn’t encroaching. Apparently, Chrysalis keeps it at bay by eating anything that comes near.”

Cadance’s bright expression turns dour at the mention of the changeling. “And how is my… herdmate doing?”

“She’s been good,” Twilight explains, immediately covering for her teacher. She doesn’t like the tension in the room; Trixie has a competitive streak, and her indolence often rubs her the wrong way, but that’s nothing compared to the intense animosity from Cadance. “Well, mostly good. She didn’t react to Spoiled Rich’s announcement, or have a word for Thorax, but when she heard about Ocellus she stalked Doug for an afternoon before withdrawing to her hive.”

“Mm,” Cadance grunts out, plainly unhappy at the changeling’s advances. “And at school?”

“Her class is one of the best behaved,” Twilight says, trying to stay upbeat even as she disagrees with the changeling’s methods. “But that’s because they don’t know her well enough to realize she won’t actually tear out their throats.”

“Are you so sure about that?” Cadance asks; no, demands, eyes narrowed and jaw set. “Do you know what she threatened to do to Shining Armor if I didn’t obey her every command? If I didn’t tell her everything she wanted to know?”

“Err,” Twilight mumbles, not wanting to meet those piercing purple eyes. “N-no, I don’t think you ever told us specifically.”

Cadance takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “She would have drained his love for me entirely, leaving him an empty husk. She would have made a mockery of our commitment to each other had she wormed her way into his mind, shattering the sacred bond we shared, in deed as well as in the eyes of everypony else. Or she might have gelded him.” Her brow narrows, and Twilight can barely meet her gaze. “Do you think she would have failed to follow through on any of those threats?”

Twilight’s withers sag, wanting nothing more than to curl into a little ball. Rarity, her white paler than usual, seems oddly invested in Shining Armor’s equipment, a downright dismay at anything potentially happening to him. “No. You’re right. She’s changed, but not so much that she’s as likely as you or I to do those things. Especially if one called her bluff; she’d follow through, consequences sent to Tartarus.”

“Maybe you should make her in charge of discipline,” Cadance suggests darkly.

Twilight can’t help but laugh. But then I won’t have any students left!”

Cadance joins her in chuckling, the gloom gone. “True, true. They can’t all be goody four-shoes like you.”

“Or have such an amazing foalsitter as you.” Twilight sighs, snuggling against Cadance’s side. It’s just like she remembers as a filly, soft and inviting and comfortable. Suddenly, she bolts upright. “You could join me!”

Cadance reacts only by tilting her head to the side, not at all surprised by Twilight’s outburst. “Oh?”

“You could join me as Vice Headmare!” Twilight grins as her breath quickens. “You’d live so close, you’re great with students, they could all learn so much from you! It’d be perfect!”

“Hmm,” Cadance muses, going deep into thought.

Twilight waits, fidgeting nervously, the silence stretching uncomfortably. She desperately wants to address any objections and assuage any fears her fellow Princess might have. “Bit for your thoughts,” she asks when she can’t stand it any longer, afraid she might burst.

“It would be a lot of work,” Cadance starts, muzzle pursing to a thin line as Twilight slowly nods. “Now, granted, I do have a fair amount of free time, as my Princess studies have more or less completed, as much as they ever will. I don’t know how much longer the Crystal Empire will need me freelancing.”

“We can wait until after that’s done,” Twilight offers, wanting nothing more than for Cadance to join her. From Rarity’s eager smile she wants the same, something Twilight is especially grateful for.

“On the other hoof,” Cadance continues, staring outside, avoiding their saccharine grins. A smile flickers across her muzzle as the brown yak tumbles over her long braids into and then on top of the light green pony, though it fades as the blue griffon points a claw and laughs, the dragon quickly joining him. Only once the pink hippogriff helps her off, the lethargic hedgehog reluctantly assisting, does her attention return to Twilight. “...They certainly could use some help.”

“...Yeah,” Twilight admits, having watched the exchange and berating herself for her student’s poor display of friendship. She wants to insist they are just having fun, but Gallus’s jabs are as pointed as his claws and Smolder rivals him as often as she can.

“I’ll think about it,” Cadance finally says. “After all, if the castle proves unworkable it’s a moot point. Not that I wouldn’t want to see you more often! The commute from Canterlot would be a lot to bear.”

“As somepony who grew up with an often absent sire,” Rarity shares, contrition written across her face. She ponders for a moment, stroking her chin, staring up at the ceiling. “It took a lot of effort from everypony. We understood that his hoofball career came first, that was his mark, but neither did we want to tear up our roots here in Ponyville.” She gives a dour shake of her head. “It made things difficult. But we loved him, we made it work.”

“I’ve seen him play a few times on the Miners,” Cadance says as Rarity sighs. “Though I dare say Shining Armor has taken more inspiration from ‘Big Daddy Magnum’ than I have. He aspires for every unicorn in the guard to match him in strength and endurance!”

“Your husband certainly tried to match my sire himself,” Rarity says with a wink at Cadance. “I dare say he succeeded.”

The alicorn, smirking, winks back. “He certainly has.” She pauses, suddenly pensive. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen him play, hasn’t it?”

Rarity gnaws at her lip. “Years.”

“Maybe you can return with me to Canterlot and run a few of your ideas about restoring the castle past my Aunts.” Cadance offers her an encouraging smile. “And you might make that simple business trip something more.”

“As long as they don’t try to push their own ideas,” Rarity gamely retorts. “And, speaking of business trips, are we bringing along the others? I wouldn’t mind a few extra hooves, and Doug does a marvelous job of taking notes.”

“I’ll go see what they’re up to,” Twilight agrees, not at all lamenting leaving her work behind - her Friends come first.

Ch. 139 - Inspired Learning, Part Three

“You’re sure about this?” Doug asks Twilight, worry etched on his flat face, back against his favorite tree and open notebook propped against his knee. He’s shirtless, glistening with a light sheen of fresh sweat from working with Applejack, wearing shorts that conceal his flanks and a pair of sturdy jackboots laid off to the side. It’s a perfect vantage point to watch the fillies and colts play in the field between Sweet Apple Acres and Ponyville. Their six on six soccer game is just starting to heat up as Diamond Tiara boots the ball all the way upfield, stymying yet another of Rumble’s aggressive rushes, Hedge unable to keep up with the pegasus colt. It might even have gone in if the goalpost didn’t suddenly reposition itself.

Twilight sighs at his obstinance. “You never give Applejack or Rainbow Dash this kind of pushback.”

Doug merely grits his teeth, his head slowly lowering towards his knees.

She lays ponyloaf next to him with the slim hope that the physical proximity will lessen his resistance. His apple-tattooed hand meanders its way across her saddlebags and under her wing, which she takes as a good sign and gladly lifts to better accommodate him. “I’m hoping we’ll be done by tonight, at least the initial survey.”

“Yeah, it’s just…” Doug stops idly twirling the pencil in his other hand. While she finds his deftness fascinating - manual motions can be much more interesting than those performed with magic, even if the magic can perform more fantastic feats - the stoppage is rarely a good sign.

“...The Everfree?” she finishes. The foreboding forest stretches to the south, and from their hill they can see the tops of the Castle of the Two Sisters poking out among the treetops. His knuckles go white around the pencil, and she doubts she’ll find him looking that way. “There’ll be seven of us. And it’ll be during the day, not like when the others and I went to…”

She trails off, her eyes slowly widening at the realization. The scars encircling his hand stand stark against the three blue diamonds. He’s not worried about the journey, he’s worried about what they found at their destination, and what happened to the foals he is keeping a watchful eye on. Though he’s probably worried about the journey, too; the Everfree Forest is not to be trifled with under the best of circumstances.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammers, hating how she dredged up memories best left undisturbed. She moves to get up. “I didn’t mean-”

“Come here.” Doug pulls her over, the hand under her wing giving him excellent leverage. She gladly flops on top of him, staring at him with watery, soulful eyes. He hugs her close, and she does her best to hug back from the somewhat awkward position. “I know you didn’t mean to. I’m frustrated with myself.”

“You don’t have to go,” Twilight whispers, ears folding against her head. She squeezes tighter when he doesn’t answer.

“I’ll go,” he says, forcing a smile and squeezing back. “The best way to get over your fears is to face them, right?”

“~You’ve got to giggle at the ghosties~,” Twilight sings, snuggling against him. She’s glad to be there to reassure her stallion, even as she wonders how often this fear afflicts him. Every time he’s with Luna? He didn’t seem affected the last time they shared his bed together. Maybe it’s when his foals are around. She likes how her stallion views himself as a protector, even as his mares are more suited to the task.

“Seven of us, huh?” Doug asks as he gets up, checking the sky. Cadance stands out while her Wonderbolt retinue blends into the cloudy blue, all circling leisurely. Rainbow Dash rests on one of the larger clouds, tail lashing from side to side, panting as she readies herself for another set of sprints. “Rarity staying on the ground?”

“Something about not wanting to plummet through the air a second time. I transported her there already.” Twilight winks as she extracts herself from his embrace, dropping to let him mount her withers. Teleporting that far wasn’t the easiest, but flying will let her rest her horn. She tests her legs and makes sure he is balanced against her full saddlebags before taking to the air, his grip on her neck and mane good and tight. With her earth-pony imbued strength she doubts he could strangle her even if he tried, though she doesn’t want to put that to the test. His awkward weight gets easier to manage every day; she’s not sure to attribute that primarily to her slowly growing stature, her familiarity and skill with flying (with plenty of thanks to Rainbow Dash), or her rapidly increasing thaumic potential. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Doug replies, thighs squeezing her as tight as he can. He yells at the fillies, getting curt waves of acknowledgement from Diamond Tiara and Lemon, “Make sure to pick everything up!”

“I do have to make one stop,” Twilight Sparkle cautions, glancing back at with a reassuring smile. She feigns not noticing how the game stops so the players can watch her ascend, steady beats of strong wings propelling her higher and higher. Maybe she should have Rarity craft a special saddle; she can feel him slipping against the base of her wings during the vertical parts, his breath coming in shorter gasps as he grabs hold of her mane. “Fluttershy asked me to update the rocs.”

Doug squints as he scans the ground for suspicious boulders. Not spying any, he asks, “The giant flying birds?”

“Yup!” Her magic pulls out a thick packet of ‘Wanted Alive’ posters depicting Gallus, Silverstream, and Doug, explicitly saying to spare instead of hunt down. “They should know not to hunt pegasi and to keep an eye for anypony lost in the Everfree. But griffons, dragons, any other intruders?” She grimaces at the necessity, at least in the past. Hopefully they can change that perception, too, but change only happens so quickly, but it remains to be seen how thoroughly their reforms will be accepted. “Too many tried to hide out in the forest and use it as a base for raids.”

Doug merely grips her tighter. Cadance, Rainbow Dash, and the two Wonderbolts stay high altitude, coasting southeast towards the castle, while she and Doug stay low and take a detour east and away from the heart of the Everfree Forest. Twisted trunks wave gnarled branches full of dark green leaves, leaving the ground shrouded in shadow except where sunlit paths made by marauding creatures criss and cross. They follow the river, towards the waterfalls and the Rambling Rock Ridge where the rocs make their nests. It would be a fantastic sightseeing trip if not for the many sets of eight beady eyes peering up at them from gloomy traps.

“You’re doing a great job back there,” Twilight remarks, the press of his thighs against her back becoming a welcome presence. “You seem a lot more comfortable with flying!”

Doug snorts. “That sounds like I won the ‘Most Improved’ trophy.”

“Oh, I don’t mean it like that at all!” Twilight quickly reassures. “I was just thinking, if it wouldn’t be too awkward, about getting fitted for a saddle.”

“...Huh,” Doug says, glancing down at her back as if trying to figure out where it would go. There isn’t a lot of space between her wings and where he neatly slots in, unless the saddle rides halfway up her neck.

“I know you haven’t talked a lot about how humans ride your sky gliders,” Twilight continues, hoping to keep him at ease.

“Horses,” Doug corrects.

Twilight frowns at the taboo word. She doesn’t care for the profession, most don’t, but sometimes mares get lonely and there aren’t always enough stallions to go around. “What did I say?”

“Sky gliders,” Doug says, Twilight still confused. “I’m referring to bigger ponies.”

“Oh! Right.” Twilight coughs. “Rarity explained to me once about what the saddle means in High Equestrian society. It denotes that a mare is unavailable, or spoken for, which is quite possibly the exact opposite of what it means for anypony else. Well, except for the Saddle Arabians. As their name suggests, the saddle is an integral part of their attire for both mares and stallions. The stallion’s saddle is more ornamental than anything; they’re a bit more, hmm, strict about that. Their saddles flare toward the tail, compared to a mare’s flare on the left and right.”

“Okay,” Doug says, though Twilight can hear the unstated ‘what does this have to do with anything?’

“So, um, my question would be, what kind of saddle would your…” She mulls the word in her mouth before reminding herself she is referring to their common ancestor and not the harlot, “horses wear?”

Doug takes a moment to collect his thoughts. Twilight wants to fill the void with speculation and guesses, having to bite her tongue to keep from doing so. “Something to make it more comfortable for the steed and rider, like the seat of a chair. Soft leather, a blanket, to distribute the weight over more than just here.” He slaps at his thigh before immediately moving back to holding on to her mane. “Stirrups for our feet. And harnesses, straps to keep it from shifting around.”

“That sounds very close to the Saddle Arabian style.” Twilight gulps. “It’s very… restrictive, by design. Would you…” She gnaws at her lip, wondering what she would do if Doug says yes. “Would you want me to wear a bit and bridle as well?”

“Am I telling you where to go, where to fly?” Doug shrugs dismissively. “The only thing I would want is some sort of buckle, a way to keep from slipping off. Not that I don’t love holding on to you.” He gives her a quick rub along her neck.

Twilight sighs in relief. A simple saddle would be a lot less work to haul around than an entire chariot, especially if their excursions are less than optimally planned. Celestia and Luna might want one as well, and theirs wouldn’t need to be as adjustable as hers. Maybe Rainbow Dash would want one too? The pegasus has been itching to give it a try after she rode around with him on the ground in Klugetown, working her forelegs more than normal and practicing hauling clouds with the straps in weird locations that make sense if she was trying to imitate the human’s weight. She sets her mind to designing a saddle for each of them, though she’d leave it to Rarity to work on the embellishments.

It takes nearly an hour, about as much time as it takes to fly to Canterlot, before the lush forest turns to brown rock, stark and uninhabited but for the occasional shrub brush and hare. The ground slopes, up and up, though never steep enough to require climbing or high enough to be thought a mountain.

Twilight thinks he has fallen asleep until he casually remarks, “You know, I wouldn’t mind living out here.”

“Here?” Twilight frowns at the thought of living in such a barren wasteland, especially compared to her home in Ponyville. She tries to find what intrigues him about the area, failing. “Why?”

“The view, for starters,” Doug says wistfully. “There’s so much potential.”

Twilight has to admit the view is nice; as they climb, they can see the entirety of the Everfree Forest and lands beyond. If they were on the other side of the Rambling Rock Ridge they could see the Celestial Sea. ‘Potential’, though, just sounds like a nice way of saying there’s nothing there. “Canterlot has similar views,” she counters, the lonely spire standing out among the mountains of the Frozen North.

“Yeah,” Doug admits, “but it’s a bit crowded there, from what I hear.”

“Around you?” Twilight twists to plant a kiss on his chest, right at the center of the Solar crest. “It’s always going to be a bit crowded.”

Doug laughs, ruffling her mane, not that he could muss it any worse than the wind. She can understand why Rainbow Dash keeps the top short and rarely bothers brushing. At least he won’t object to helping her straighten it out. “Why didn’t Fluttershy want to make this trip?” he asks, obviously changing the subject.

“It is a bit far.” Twilight looks up; their targets can be seen lazily circling around craggy cliffs, looking like normal sized eagles. She knows better, given the vast distance, and a shiver of fear travels down her spine at the thought of them ignoring their instructions and attacking. It isn’t unheard of, especially recently, and she has no intention of being caught and ‘ransomed’ for twice her weight in meat. Even if that is a price she would gladly pay were she lost in the woods.

“She’s made long trips before,” Doug says, legs squeezing as one of the small brown blurs twists in a dive toward them. “Helping fruit bats find a home, resettle overpopulated frogs and predators, or just to help an animal in distress that one of her birds warned her about.” He points at the rapidly approaching roc, voice trembling. “Is that?”

“Yes.” Twilight rolls her withers, straightening up to an imperious position as best she can while maintaining altitude. “Head up. Don’t show fear; they might be big, but they know the pecking order.”

“Still,” Doug says, and she can hear the ‘I don’t want to get pecked by that’ behind the word. The building-sized tawny bird could have plucked both goals from the field where Doug’s foals played and gathered every player between black talons as long and sharp as spears. The golden beak is strong and sharp enough to pierce dragon scales, and her feathers are reportedly resistant to magic and fire. Not that she has any intention of harming the giant creature, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.

When the roc is nearly three hundred yards out and hurtling toward them a loud screech pierces the air, half greeting and half terror-inducing hunting cry. As soon as it ends Twilight booms back in the Royal Canterlot, “Fried Chicken!!”

With a second screeching cry, this one half-hearted and full of disappointment, the roc spreads her massive wings, the gusts as it backpedals nearly enough to send Twilight spiraling out of control. She grits her teeth as she weathers the windstorm, knowing any sign of weakness might be interpreted as ‘we need saving!’ in the eyes of the opportunistic predators. The roc comes to a stop and hovers a dozen yards away, if it can be called ‘hovering’ where every flap of the field-sized wings takes it up and down two stories. Rage smolders in her green eyes, obviously not liking the comparison to the domesticated fowl.

“I am altering the deal,” Twilight states, sharp and brooking no disagreement. A third screech comes, short and ending with an upswing like she is asking a question. Twilight lifts the stack of posters, which the roc’s beady green eye (for all that she could fit inside it) follows closely. “I have here a list of additions to those to whom no harm is to come. If you see them flying about, they are not to be harried or harassed. If they are in danger, treat them as you would anypony.”

A raspberry glow floats the posters over, the roc gingerly plucking them from the air with two wickedly sharp talons. One eye studies the pictures, the other warily watching the alicorn and the strange creature on her back. A deep, unhappy rumble roils from her throat.

“You have faithfully hunted those who would hunt us,” Twilight acknowledges with a curt nod. “Dragon, griffon, Arimaspi. For that, you have our thanks and more. But times are changing; soon I shall further alter the deal.”

A keening cry sets her teeth to rattling. It doesn’t take Fluttershy to realize she is upset.

“You will neither be neglected nor forgotten,” Twilight reassures. “And we know there is no love lost between dragon and roc. But it is our solemn wish that all - griffon, dragon, roc, pony, and all others - may live in Harmony together. Someday soon, I pray.”

Twilight can see the calculation in those great green eyes. The mulling over of what it might mean to live in peace, to not need to be prepared to swarm an ancient dragon who, though individually more powerful, lives and travels in isolation. If the dragons did learn Friendship, and coordinated their attacks? The rocs would be wiped out to a bird. She has no desire to see that happen, no more than the roc does.

“Let Kanahish and her brood know as well,” Twilight orders, the giant spiders as liable as the rocs to snag an unwary flier.

The roc returns a dejected cry before turning and flying away. Twilight can’t help but share her sorrow; after all, if her cutie mark was made obsolete by some advance, especially one out of her control, she certainly wouldn’t be happy about it.

“Good job,” Doug cheers, rubbing her neck in just the way she likes.

“Thanks,” Twilight whispers back, wishing she felt better about it. But changes needed to happen, and that means incompatible cultures and ways of life being trimmed, much like pruning removes unproductive branches from a tree. She’ll make certain nocreature is left behind, or at the very least given the opportunity to follow.

Ch. 140 - Inspired Learning, Part Four

Moss covered towers and crumbling stone parapets peek out from the overgrown Everfree Forest, the first parts of the Castle of the Two Sisters visible from the east. An empty moat encircles the entirety, though adventurous plants have been sending shoots and feelers ever since Celestia’s aversion spell was broken by Nightmare Moon. As Twilight and Doug approach they spot two blurs of blue working the outskirts in a grid formation, High Winds and Misty Fly tasked with guarding Princess Cadance and now assisting with scouting for any approaching threats. More and more of the castle becomes visible, from the almost completely destroyed entrance hall to the relatively intact buildings in the back. Twilight can make out the hole into the library she explored when Discord betrayed them, the attached grand concert hall, the-

“Took you two long enough!” Rainbow Dash shouts as she buzzes Twilight from below and behind, just out of the alicorn’s sight. The pegasus laughs uproariously at the filly-like shriek, flipping head-over-tail and ending up with cerulean wingtips lightly touching lavender. “You didn’t get lost, did you?”

“I didn’t spot any rocs patrolling,” Twilight covers as she catches her breath. She hates that she was caught unawares. “We had to fly to their nesting grounds.”

“Still, you were gone a long time.” Rainbow Dash regards Doug with a swarthy smirk. “You didn’t stop for any activities, did you?”

Twilight can feel the eyes rolling behind her. “No,” Doug denies. It sounds weak, but that might have been because she nearly threw him.

“Wait, wait, wait. You got it down to during flight!?” Rainbow Dash whistles appreciably, leering at Twilight’s rump. “I didn’t think he was big enough to fly with no wings! Or, you know. No hands.” She deftly closes the distance, nuzzling the back of Doug’s head. He might have swatted her away, but both hands are busy keeping him nice and secure. “I can see going slow if that’s the case. Wouldn’t want ya to fall off, big guy.”

“He didn’t fly with no hands,” Twilight denies, more out of a concern that Rainbow Dash might imitate her imagination than actual opposition to intercourse during flight. It sounds exciting if impractical, at least enough to try.

“Did you use your magic?” Cadance asks as she pulls alongside Twilight, eyes twinkling and barely suppressing her smirk. Twilight glowers at their teasing. “I could use some pointers! Or a demonstration.” She playfully winks at Doug before waggling her flanks back and forth. “Sunshine, sunshine!”

“Ladybugs awake,” Twilight gamely replies, covering her eyes with her hooves and joyfully spreading them wide. “Clap your hooves and do a little shake!”

She spins around, as does Cadance, their rumps mashing together, the midair maneuver coming naturally. It takes a moment longer than it perhaps should for them to come apart (completely Cadance’s fault!), leaving Rainbow Dash unable to contain her snickering.

“Nothing happened,” Twilight half heartedly insists as they near the front gates where Rarity is testing miniature woven grass skirts on a disorderly group of small, colorful puckwudgies. The porcupine-like critters seem as unenthusiastic about their predicament as she is about the teasing, made all the worse by the (hopefully slim) possibility of Doug taking Cadance up on her offer. She needs to beat the alicorn at her own game to get the teasing to stop (and it better be just teasing!)

“Do I need to get Applejack?” Rainbow Dash snorts. “You expect us to believe you flew for two hours with him on your back and nothing happened? You spent the entire time… talking? What could possibly be so interesting?”

“Saddles,” Doug answers as he hops off, legs shaking from having held on for so long. He runs his hands along his inner thighs, groaning at the stiffness.

“Oh, come on! Saddles?” Rainbow Dash repeats at a shout, gawking at the two. “How can nothing happen when you’re literally talking about how to have sex?”

“We’re weird?” Doug’s eyes widen as Rarity stomps over, her light pink aura yanking the pegasus back. “Y-yes?”

“You mean to tell me,” Rarity demands, a horde of irate puckwudgies behind her, the gnashing teeth in wide mouths only slightly less fearsome than the scorned mare, “that you spent your time with Twilight discussing fashion?”

“Comparing technical designs,” Doug clarifies, to no avail.

Rarity dismisses his answer with a swift swipe of her hoof. “No matter. What you discuss with her is your own decision. But if you think you can get out of doing what I wish to do because you’ve already done it, then you have another thing coming!”

Doug grunts, which Twilight finds quite understandable; her own hormones flare up from time to time, made all the worse when she finds herself vying for her stallion’s limited time and he’s busy with somepony else. He steps forward, wrapping an arm around Rarity’s neck as she glares upward at him. “Do you know what a pommel is?”

Rarity frowns at the seeming non-sequitur. “The blunt end of a rapier?”

“That size, but on a saddle.” Doug makes a fist and rubs it into the thick of Rarity’s back. “Right about there. Gives the rider something to hold onto.”

Rarity twists her neck, calculating, her animosity gone. “Hm. A rider, you say? That would be impractical for hooves, at best. Or teeth. But for hands?” She chews at her lip; her horn lights, pulling out a pencil and pad of paper to begin a sketch.

“How are things going here?” Doug asks, looking up at the grand entrance with more than a hint of trepidation. The gray stone stairs leading up to the tall wooden doors are the only thing about the entrance that has remained intact: while the iron studded doors look serviceable the hinges have rusted shut, the ground is more wall than ornate tile, and the ceiling has likewise invited every stained glass window for a party on the floor.

“It’s not half as bad as I feared,” Cadance answers with an optimism only matched by Pinkie Pie. She walks up to the front doors, her magic wrenching them open with a horrific shriek that sends the nearby critters scurrying for cover. Or loosing a hail of quills in her direction, which she neatly dodges. “This is the worst of the damage.”

“Still,” Twilight says as she steps inside, surveying the scattered rubble. Her horn lights, but nothing happens, only a few shards of glass tepidly waving. “Oh.” She frowns; the stones are layered with spells, some of them concealing what the others are doing. If overpowered they would do as they were told, but it’s like overcoming friction when pushing something: anything less is negated, and then the task gets easier, but not by much. It would take an extraordinarily large initial output, more than she can safely bring to bear without risking her foals. “Restoration won’t work?”

“I haven’t tried everywhere,” Cadance confirms, “but most of the stone is warded for durability. It’s great while it holds…”

“...But terrible once broken.” Twilight grimaces. Even if they got the pieces back in place, a lot of the hornwork would need to be redone. “That’s a lot of work.”

“But not an insurmountable amount.” Cadance cracks her neck one way, then the other. “Here, help me shift some of them. See what we’re dealing with.”

“If the whole place is like this?” Twilight could see a team of builders spending a month and not restoring the castle to its former glory. Her School of Friendship seems a paltry lot by comparison, a foal’s plaything built of sticks and mud. Now, if they had their hooves on an artifact with the power of four alicorns, maybe they could heal the damage in one fell swoop! Alas, the Storm King snapped the Staff of Sacanas across his knee. Is that why Celestia crafted the artifact in the first place, she knew it could be used here? Twilight feels a little bad if that was the case.

Regardless, she tests one of the heaviest stones. Neither horn nor hooves make much progress, gaining a few inches and exposing a bright white floor. She sweeps a few of the smaller pieces aside, exposing more of the intricately tiled floor. Tiny cracks form spiderwebs much like the wispy cobwebs clinging to the corners. It makes her sad to see the pattern despoiled so, and resolves to do whatever it takes to return the castle to its once pristine condition. “You know, Applejack knows more about this sort of field work.”

“She does, but I wanted to get an estimate on how much there is to do.” Cadance smiles at Rainbow Dash. “Can you carry a message to High Winds and Misty Fly? Ask them to scout for more signs of collapse, places that need rebuilding, and make a list. Thanks!”

“Sure thing!” Rainbow Dash snaps off a quick salute before zooming into the air.

Rarity returns to a plain pink suitcase, pointedly staring at Doug. “Here,” she orders. He doesn’t look terribly upset at being used as a packmule and gamely picks it, initially surprised at the heavy weight. “This way!” the unicorn calls as she takes off to the biggest building at a swift trot, the three of them happy to follow.

The doors here are quite similar to the ones Doug buried in Castle Sparkle. They have to crane their necks up to see the top, yet are thin enough to only allow six ponies abreast if they don’t mind squeezing. The vertical design helps ameliorate the claustrophobia many pegasi feel at being trapped indoors, but the rooms themselves are not spacious enough to allow free flight, the dark corridors even worse.

A cobblestone path splits in three directions, with low (compared to everything else) corridors leading left and right while a staircase rises ahead. A short, unappetizing grass grows off to the sides and in between individual stones. Holes in the ceilings and walls allow a good amount of light to filter through. Otherwise, sconces shaped like gargoyles and ferocious beasts hold unlit torches inside gaping maws, snarling unicorns in place of horns, or at the end of eerily lifelike pony legs.

“I would have a word with the interior decorator,” Rarity remarks to Cadance as they take the staircase at a slow walk, putting to words the sinister feeling they are all getting, ears and eyes on high alert. “Too much contrasting light and dark.” She shudders as they enter a long, carpeted corridor with embossed portraits along each wall. “Thankfully, you’ll be taking over!”

“Aww, you don’t like it? I’ve always wanted a ~spooky~ castle!” Cadance grins before diving toward a thick cobweb, stirring up a cloud of dust as she nearly buries her muzzle in the sticky strands. “Come on out, little guys! No need to be afraid!”

An itching sensation creeps up Twilight’s foreleg as dozens of teal star-emblazoned black spiders peek out from their webs. She shrieks, stumbles backward and furiously shakes her leg, only for nothing to be there. She plops down on her rump, hyperventilating, which opens a trapdoor three paces in front of her.

Right underneath Doug.

Ch. 141 - Inspired Learning, Part Five

“Doug!” Cadance shouts as the human falls from view.

A pink blur moves in an instant. The floor under Doug’s feet had split in two, dumping him down a chasm wide enough to keep a pony from touching either side but too narrow for wings to be practical. Her feathers stay tucked to her sides as she dives, clattering loudly as she bashes against the wall, her purple and pink and gold tail last to disappear.

“Cadance!” Twilight and Rarity scream as they rush forward, cursing at their delay, only for the trapdoor to swing shut with a booming thud. Rarity skids to a stop at the edge while Twilight leaps upward, wings flaring as she slams into the floor. But it holds fast, made to support Celestia’s weight when not triggered, leaving her hooves smarting from the impact.

“The latch!” Rarity calls, fumbling around until she finds the spot where Twilight’s rump landed. The trap clicks open once again; Twilight stands on the edge and stares down until Rarity joins her, having placed a rock on the trigger to keep it open.

The shaft through which Cadance dove extends down, down, down, smooth metal on the sides receding into inky darkness and nary a torch to light the way. No light comes from the bottom, no trace of the fallen human or the alicorn who dove after him.

While pegasi prefer their open spaces and lofty, towering halls, up is not the only direction ponies build. Earth ponies, and to an extent unicorns, dig down into their namesake, delving deep for ores and veins of precious metals while their horned brethren search for caverns of crystal and gems. One needs only look at Mount Canterhorn, the hollowed husk of a mountain stripped bare of resources and converted to apartments, grand villas, and a majestic shining castle. Alicorns, thus, prefer the style of all three breeds, and the Castle of the Two Sisters is a perfect - though dilapidated and half-demolished - example.

“T-they’re okay,” Twilight reassures the ashen-faced unicorn, for all the good it does. “Celestia and Luna wouldn’t have sent ponies plummeting to their death, there would have been a spell on the bottom to cushion their fall.”

“Magic doesn’t always work on Doug,” Rarity whispers, sounding dead. And no wonder; when she and Rainbow Dash competed at the Best Young Fliers competition the cloudwalking spell Twilight cast on all of them failed due to Doug’s null nature, leaving the glamorous dancer plummeting and saved through her herdmate’s quick action.

Twilight gulps, her heart skipping a beat. “Cadance will have grabbed him,” she claims, the words flat even to her ears. The former pegasus, much like Rainbow Dash, must have had ‘Pony Overboard!’ drilled into her from a young age to have such a decisive and quick reaction. She berates herself for never developing the same instincts, but now is not the time for recriminations. “And we can’t go after them, not directly.” Not that Rarity had moved to do so. “If this was a trap, the place it took them to is likely trapped as well.” Could Cadance teleport? Possibly not, depending on what’s around her, and she’s not sure if all of Doug would come along for the ride, the main reason nopony has tried with him. “Come on, let’s find where they fell.”

Half a dozen options present themselves, hallways off the main corridor that lead to more and more tall doors. She opens one experimentally, only to find a bleak and bare room covered in dust. She shuts the door with a heavy sigh and glances at the unicorn still standing by the open trapdoor. “Alright, no need to panic. This will go faster if we split up. We just need to find a way down, and… Um, Rarity, what are you doing?”

Twilight takes a step back at Rarity’s stern approach and winces as the hoof gently clocks her in the head.

“Haven’t you played Ogres and Oubliettes?” Rarity admonishes, masking her scowl with a thin smile. “Never split the party. What would happen if we found another of those traps? A rotating door, or a tunnel that spits us outside?”

“Okay, you have a point,” Twilight admits, rubbing the sore spot on her head. “You take the left doors, I’ll take the right.”

“Better.” Rarity huffs as she opens one door, just as quickly closing it. “What makes you think that we can find anything down these dusty passages? Now, maybe if we had a map or…”

Twilight turns around to see what caused Rarity to trail off, her eyes slowly widening. Outside, all that decorate the once majestic halls are scraps of fabric, bits of blue trimmed in silver or gold embossed in alabaster, and bars to hold banners that instead hold empty rods or nothing, leaving bare stone to greet any visitors. Yet inside this room? Rarity already has one of the spare banners unfurled, a magnificent design of stars in glimmering silver on a night sky of cobalt that would stretch from floor to vaulted ceilings. Rolled bundles form neat stacks, each the size of a pony, half in Celestial orange and the other in Lunar blue.

“You go on ahead,” Rarity absentmindedly shoos, flicking a hoof in Twilight’s vague direction, her eyes transfixed on the banners. “I’ll stay here, and, um, wait for them.”

“What happened to ‘never split the party’?” Twilight rolls her eyes as Rarity makes no move to follow her out. “Those sat there for a thousand years. They can wait a few more minutes.”

“But, but, but,” Rarity objects, then lets out a single exasperated huff at Twilight’s insistent gaze. “Oh, fine. But if any moths decide to make these hangings their homes, I shall be very cross with you. Not only I, but all of Equestria! For theirs will be the true loss of such finery!”

“Ah huh. Come on, the sooner we find them, the sooner you can get back here.” Twilight steps out, then waits. And waits. Her eyes go to the ceiling before she spins around. “Rarity!”

The unicorn has two bolts tilted up, one gold and one blue, inspecting the bottom for any imperfections. “Oh, Twilight,” she begs, “surely it wouldn’t be improper to take one of these along? For inspiration?”

“One,” Twilight allows.

“Oh…” Rarity gnaws at her lip, frantically glancing between the rolled up banners. “Oh, I cannot! Surely you wouldn’t force a dam to choose between two of her foals!”

“You only have one foal,” Twilight deadpans.

“Right now,” Rarity counters, flustered. “I’ll have my second soon enough.” She grunts as she hoists the bolts up, barely able to manage one at a time, and lays them across her back. It’s a good thing the doors are so wide, or it might have been tough to fit. “Ooh! Well, it’s like Applejack says, a little hard work is good for the body, yes?” She strains to grin at Twilight. “Now, where are we going?”

“This way.” Twilight continues down the hallway, trying doors on left and right but finding nothing but empty and dusty rooms. She comes to the end of the hallway, a T intersection with a door opposite her. She glances left, then right, and tries the door.

A few short tables lay in the center of the large room, piled high with books. Shelves line the walls, crammed with books of every shape and size. One shelf has been pulled away from the wall, the secret entrance she came through a few months ago, the inside of that chamber empty and dark.

“Booooks,” Twilight draws out, a dribble of drool dripping out her gaping muzzle. Doug is probably fine, he has Cadance to look after him, right? No worries. She can take her time, she doesn’t have anything pressing to get to. They can wait wherever they are while she looks through these books. One day won’t hurt them! Or two. They’d be fine after two.

Rarity shoulders past her, dropping the banners next to the table and plopping down with a giddy grin.

“No!” Twilight shakes her head in a vain attempt to dislodge the siren call. “No, we have to keep looking! We need to…”

“Find a map?” Rarity has found a blank sheet of paper and a pencil and busily sketches designs similar to the solar skyscapes and lunar landscapes depicted on the banners, completely engrossed in her work.

“...Yes. A map.” Twilight plops down next to Rarity. The books on the table are all the ones she sorted through when Discord betrayed them, all titles from far in the past that might have helped with Lord Tirek. None seem particularly relevant, although they could use a second look…

“Oh!” Twilight exclaims after a time, having skimmed through half the selections, grinning as she pulls out a purple book embossed in gold with two orange and yellow alicorns crossing their horns and grinning upward. On the bottom half six gems depict the Elements of Harmony in their pentagonal configuration with purple in the middle, all inside a golden crown decked with diamonds. “This is Celestia and Luna’s journal! The Journal of the Two Sisters!”

“Mm,” Rarity replies absentmindedly, having filled two pages with drawings. She glances over, eyes lighting up at seeing the artwork, and reads over Twilight’s shoulder.

A pang of doubt fills Twilight at rifling through what might be the Princesses’ secret thoughts. But, it’s a book; they wouldn’t have written anything down they didn’t want to potentially get out. And they wrote it together. And they are all herdmates now; herdmates shouldn’t have secrets from each other! Right? Right.

She cracks the book open, both of them giggling at the little pink stars and golden hearts and orange suns dotting the borders. Rarity’s breath catches at a doodle of her cutie mark, but it’s the same as the Element of Harmony. Half of the book is a golden yellow done in Celestia’s elegant hoofscript, the other half a dark blue cursive quilled by Luna. Twilight fondly strokes the gold and brown sketch of Star Swirl the Bearded, huffing as Rarity flips ahead to the crude representations of alicorns.

Some time later, the sun having long gone down, a low booming echoes from every wall.

“That…” Rarity stammers, going from yawning to alert in an instant. “What was that?”

“That sound…” Twilight flips back a few pages, hornlight glowing brighter to better illuminate the pages. “That could be the Organ to the Outside!”

The tone changes, a different note played a few times. It doesn’t sound like a message in Mare’s Code, but Twilight jots the number and length down anyway.

“Yes! It could be! And recall-” Rarity flips back a few more “-that Princess Luna wished a trapdoor to be built into her very throne! And look at this. It’s a schematic for the Organ, and one of these triggers leads to a trapdoor, another one the throne!”

“Yes, but that escape route takes you outside.” Twilight frowns. “Which, actually, sounds like a security hazard. If somepony found that way in, they could be underneath you without any sort of warning.”

“Luna could have trapped the entrance,” Rarity suggests, “much like she trapped the rest of this castle. Honestly, portraits one can spy through? Revolving doors? Trick levers built into walls? Those seem more suited to scaring ponies passing through than any sort of defense against a determined attacker.”

“They were that confident in their abilities?” Twilight shrugs. “But, how would you use the Organ to escape if you had to be sitting on the throne at the same time?”

“Not,” Rarity says with a smirk, “if it’s for an impudent sister sitting on her throne. Or one of those early royalty they entertained. If any of them were as rude as they claim Princess Platinum was? I’m not saying I know somepony who could use a quick chute to the outside, but…”

Twilight snorts. “Okay, you have a fair point. And if Luna wanted to play this prank, she would need a fast way to get there. This trapdoor here? If we follow the diagram, it should be located…”

Twilight glances around, measuring the ceiling and walls, then takes off the way they came with Rarity hot on her hooves. They quickly come to an ornate room with two large banners over two thrones, a large hole in the center of the wall between two tall banners, the same as Rarity had on her back.

“Here.” Twilight points to a side alcove just out of view of the thrones.

“There you are!”

The two glance up to see the large hole shrink by about a pony’s size. Light from the moon reflects off the prismatic mane, Rainbow Dash a mottled gray as she descends.

“Took you two long enough. You weren’t off…” Rainbow Dash trails off as she spots the book in Twilight’s raspberry aura, her smirk disappearing. “Oh. You found books.”

“We found a map of the castle in the library,” Twilight retorts defensively.

“Yeah, well, at least you weren’t roaming around the grounds.” Rainbow Dash sticks out her tongue. “We’d spot Doug or Cadance on one side of the castle, wandering around like they’re lost, then by the time we alerted each other they’d be gone or on the other side. This place has more holes than Fluttershy’s.”

“Do you know where they are now?” Twilight asks, glancing down. Hopefully they haven’t wandered off again, the organ has been quiet for a while now.

“Yeah, Misty’s keeping an eye on them.” Rainbow Dash frowns as she zips back up to the hole, glancing back at the land-bound unicorn. “Can you teleport Rarity there? They didn’t exactly make this the easiest castle to navigate if you can’t fly.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Rarity says, giving Twilight a quick nod. “There’s a certain room calling my name, and I would hate for you to have to lug all those heavy banners around. That’s what Doug’s for.”

Twilight and Rainbow Dash snort. “Let’s go find that porter of yours, then.” They take to the air, leaving Rarity to study the twin thrones, and zip down to another opening.

This room is nearly as large as the throne room, dominated by a massive organ. Thick pipes extend upward and out, only half opening while the others disappear into walls, presumably to pipe the music to every corner of the castle. Doug sits at the keyboard, one hand on the keys, Cadance’s chest pressing against his back, her attention on his fingers.

“Stretch a little further,” Cadance commands while she shows which keys his fingers should be on. “Good. Now, how do you think it goes again?”

He pounds out a simple, yet dark and foreboding tune.

~Daahn Daahn Daahn Dun Dah Daahn Dun Dah Daaahn, Daah Daah Daah Dah Da Daahn Dun Dah Daahn~

Twilight frowns. “Where did you learn The Storm King’s March?”

“Is that what it’s called here?” Doug glances over, flexing his hand. Two leg-shaped bruises stand dark against the Celestia crest. “I heard it in a movie. It’s a tossup which sounds better, a full orchestra or an organ this grand.” He gladly accepts Twilight and Rarity to his side. “I can’t quite reach the right notes, your keys are too big. Not that I can really play.”

“I thought it sounded great.” Cadance winks, then gently pushes Doug to the side. Her horn lights, half a dozen keys depressing at a time and continuing the melody from where Doug left off.

The discordant music sends chills down Twilight’s spine; she feels like any moment a hundred armored Storm Troops will come marching through the door, the Storm King in the lead.

“I think I’ve made my decision,” Cadance says as she lets up on the keys, a huge grin at Twilight. “But first?”

Twilight grins back as Doug tries to improvise on the organ. ~”Sunshine, sunshine, ladybugs awake! Clap your hooves and do a little shake!”~

“I’d love to stay here,” Cadance says, attempting to nuzzle Twilight into submission.

“That’s great!” Twilight pulls out the journal despite being under assault. “I found a map that includes all the secret-”

“Nope!” Cadance pushes the journal back to Twilight. “I’d much rather find all the secret entrances and passageways myself. Far more fun that way!”

“Fun,” Doug spits out, rubbing at his chest.

“Hey, I caught you,” Cadance retorts, though she leans down to gently nuzzle the higher of the two bruises. It makes Twilight a bit jealous (and perhaps worried) to see the married mare treating her stallion so intimately, though Doug seems more perturbed than passionate.

Doug takes a deep breath, then lets it and his anger out. “That you did,” he says cheerfully, giving Cadance one of his cherished ear rubs.

She nickers as she lowers her head to the other bruise, and Twilight has the brief fear that she is going to keep going down.

Doug seems to have the same thought, propping her up and twisting so Cadance is again focusing on Twilight. “Now, didn’t you have something to say?”

“It’s getting late,” Cadance remarks, glancing at the starry sky outside. “Or, it is already. Did you want to bed down here, or-”

“Nope!” Rainbow Dash cuts in, forcing herself in between Cadance and Doug and staring up at the human with eager eyes, not at all hiding the possessiveness Twilight is feeling. “Come on, big guy. They’ve all given you rides. Now it’s my turn!”

“Dash,” Doug starts, though his objection falters when he sees the resolve in her eyes.

He offers her a hopeful smile as she leads him away from the organ, and reluctantly mounts between her neck and wings, just above her withers. It makes a comical sight, like Trixie hornlessly ‘levitating’ an unbalanced board: his feet touch the ground even when on her back, and if he leans forward he’d look straight into her eyes. It might make sense for him to put his legs behind her wings and lay across her, but then she’s certain they’d at least attempt ‘no wings’ on the way back.

“You good?” Doug asks.

“Careful,” Twilight warns before the pegasus can take off. She earns herself an eye roll, but at least Rainbow waits to hear what she has to say. “You can’t use your magic to accelerate him like you would yourself. You might leave him in the dust, or worse, falling. You’ve got to do it entirely by force. He’s got a strong grip, but it’s not unbreakable.”

“Don’t worry about a thing! We’ll be back home in ten seconds flat!” Rainbow Dash snorts as she takes to the air. At first she struggles with the imbalance, a bit stricken at the implications of her proposed maneuver. “Right. T-thanks. I’ll keep it slow.” She glances back at Doug. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life.” He hugs her tighter.

“Dude, careful; I don’t have a neck like Twi over there.” Rainbow Dash winks at him nonetheless, slowly gaining altitude. Suddenly, her face lights up. “Omygosh omygosh omygosh! We could go to my place! I’ll ask Flutters if she wants to swap!”

“Err,” Doug says, glancing back at Twilight only for the two to disappear outside.

Ch. 142 - Careful Planning, Part One

May 3rd, 1001 Domina Solaria

“Aaah,” Twilight moans as she relaxes into her office chair as she ticks off the final entry on the day’s checklist. The week is nearly over, and couldn’t have gone smoother: classes are starting to settle into a routine, Rainbow Dash can’t get enough of flying Doug around (and has given her some good tips on managing him), though Rarity’s saddle keeps him strapped in too tightly to allow any airborne amorous activity. The Cutie Map called Applejack and Rarity to Manehattan - they brought Babs Seed with them, who got a manestyling cutie mark after shearing Pomarbo’s mane like she would shear a sheep - and she’s thankful they didn’t need anypony to cover their classes for the multi-day mission. Her vitals are healthy, her foals steadily growing, and life couldn’t be better.

She pulls out Block’s Book of Barricades and Barriers, settling down for a quick refresh on defensive wards she can use to help the repairs at the Castle of the Two Sisters. The work there has been slow, Cadance only available a small portion of the time, though Rarity has remarked on the cold and empty feeling the two times she brought her for measurements and color comparisons.

“What’s this?” Twilight asks her otherwise empty office. The formal envelope that just popped into existence in front of her is markedly different from the other correspondence that piles up on her overly large desk. A golden script far fancier than any official Canterlot text adorns the front of the long, flat package, with very… crystalline characters full of loops and swirls. She sets aside the other pieces of parchment, lesson plans, and checklists-in-progress to give the majestic missive her full attention. She breaks the seal at the top, notes the check of her magical signature, and extracts the ornate paper inside.

Her eyes dart back and forth as she skims through the long list of titles the Vainglorious Spike has taken for himself. She takes longer on the main body, a slight frown forming, until she reaches the end.

Her eyes go wide as a sharp gasp drags the letter to her lips. She disappears a heartbeat later, scattering the papers on her desk.

A rapid series of short and medium range teleports later and Twilight paces back and forth in front of the Cutie Map. Six of her herdmates cluster around, Trixie crammed inside Spike’s small seat while the Elements sit in their chairs. They glance back and forth with looks ranging from bewildered to exasperated to merely bored. While they look around the alicorn sets up two whiteboards, with six markers already starting to jot down notes and ideas for what must be a very special project.

“Excuse me, Twi?” Applejack breaks the awkward silence with an irritated glare, having found herself splayed out across the chair mid-buck. She’s glad she didn’t cave the chair in.

“There’s no time to explain.” Twilight’s focus stays on the whiteboards. Their seven cutie marks are now listed, along with a few quick notes the others have trouble making out. “The sooner we can act, the better.”

“Act?” Rarity demands, haughtily tossing her mane back. “Darling, whatever the rush, surely-”

A letter to the face silences her objections. Rarity peels it off with a dissatisfied grunt, grumbling to herself as she reads the fancy calligraphy. Her eyes grow wider and wider until she reaches the end. “This…” she stammers, hooves shaking, “this explains…”

She lays the paper down with a heavy thunk. A picture of a gray and silver crown, bent and torn in places, sparkles in the dim light of the castle. The others stretch to get a closer look, equally confused and perturbed.

“...Absolutely nothing.”

“Fine,” Twilight explains, a pointer telescoping out to tap the picture. “That is the hard-won Helm of the Sibling Supreme. When Shining Armor and I were small, we competed over everything. To keep it friendly, our parents gave us gold stars every time we did something special. Sharing, getting good grades, even telling a really funny joke. And at the end of each week, we’d add up the stars. The sibling with the most would win the Crown of the Sibling Supreme - and bragging rights - until next time.”

“That explains your love of charts,” Trixie quips, drawing snickers from the others. “And…“ She shudders. “So much else.”

Twilight ignores the jab. “Take a good look at it, as it will be the objective in our mission.”

“...Mission?” Rainbow Dash asks, her dour stare turning to an eager grin.

“With the return of Sombra, Emperor Spike wants the defenses of the Crystal Empire tested. Our objective is to locate and retrieve the Helm.” Twilight quickly sketches a map of the Crystal Empire, the castle prominently displayed in the middle. “It could be hidden anywhere inside the Crystal Empire, but the most likely place is deep inside the castle. I’ve come up with a plan that plays to each of our strengths.”

“Ooh!” Pinkie Pie exclaims, pronking up and down excitedly. “It’s like you’re assembling a team!”

“Precisely.” Twilight shoots her pink partner a wicked smirk. “Pinkie Pie?”

“Yth?” Pinkie Pie says, now entirely encased in a black ninja outfit, her muzzle covered.

“Infiltration.” Twilight’s pointer smacks the castle in the middle of her sketch. “Your job is to scout the castle interior from top to bottom. Sewers, dungeons, anything with no access to the outside. And if you see the crown? Snatch it.”

Pinkie Pie snaps a quick salute. “Yuh goh ih!”

“Rainbow Dash?” Twilight focuses on the cerulean pegasus. “Aerial reconnaissance.” Rainbow Dash rubs her hooves together, slow and menacing. “The Crystal Empire loves their windows. I want you to check each and every one of them. That will help narrow down where it’s hidden. And if you see the crown? Snatch it.”

“You got it!” Rainbow Dash returns with a quick salute.

“Ooh, ooh!” Pinkie Pie exclaims, pronking up and down, now wearing a fishbowl on her head. “I can do that too! I can be your eye in the sky!” She hops onto the Cutie Map and waves her hooves around the miniature Empire like a pegasus flying about. “But not up here. Up here!” She stands up, holding her hooves as high as she can. “In space!”

“Woah!”

The ponies stare as the entirety of the projected image zooms out. Equestria now fits inside a single sheet of paper, the rest of the map darkened ocean and shadowed, shifting continents. The lines slowly fill in as color spreads, Zebrica and Horsolulu and far-off Neighpon popping up as tiny blobs. Even familiar landmarks are unrecognizable at this scope.

“Oh,” Pinkie Pie huffs. “That’s not very helpful.” She squats down as the map returns to normal and pouts, filling the fishbowl with saliva.

“Rarity,” Twilight continues as the unicorn experimentally moves her hooves back and forth, trying to replicate the zoom feature, but nothing seems to work, even as she stretches her legs as far as they will go. “Gather information. Juice joints, salt licks, anywhere ponies might hang out. Find out anywhere that ponies used to go but are now restricted.”

“This coincides with the preparations for the Equestria Games,” Rarity remarks, though she looks eager enough. “There are probably a lot of those places.”

“True,” Twilight says, nodding. “Focus on the castle: maids, butlers, guards, anypony with access to the inside. In addition, we’ll need disguises. If Spike realizes we are attempting to enter the Crystal Empire, he’ll have us tailed. We need to be able to steal the crown without being caught. Oh, and if you see the crown? Snatch it.”

“You got it,” Rarity returns, aura grabbing a pencil and quickly working on a few outfits.

“Fluttershy.” Twilight turns to the cowering pegasus.

“Y-yes?” Fluttershy says, quivering in her chair, her mane almost completely covering her face.

Twilight gives her an encouraging smile, which helps perk her up. “Talk to the local wildlife. See what they know. Any areas that have been blocked off, or that they have an aversion to entering. If they’ll scout for us, even better.”

“Oh.” Fluttershy gets up, swiping her hair back. “You mean you don’t want me to go into those dark, confined, scary places?”

“Only if you want to.” Twilight snorts as Fluttershy shrinks down again. “But if you happen to see the crown? Snatch it.”

“You got it,” Fluttershy says, no longer afraid of being involved.

“Applejack.” Twilight turns to face the farmmare.

“Is this gonna take awhile?” Applejack huffs. “Ah can’t exactly lose another week bein’ off the farm.”

Twilight takes a deep breath, then lets it out. “What sort of assistance does the farm need to make up the deficit?”

“Err,” Applejack stammers, looking like she regrets mentioning anything. “That’s okay, Twi, Ah jus-”

“How. Much?”

Applejack sighs. “Plowin’ three new fields. Then plantin’, wheat on two. We were, uh, we were gonna see if’n we could get a new crop’a Zap Apples on the last.”

Twilight scribbles something down. “No, that’s perfect. I wanted to practice clearing the Everfree for a road to the Two Sisters. Just show me where you want plowed.”

“Alright.” Applejack stands up straighter. “What’cha need me for?”

“You probably guessed it. Muscle.” Twilight winks as Applejack chuckles. “Any fortifications they’ve thrown up, I want you testing. Oh, and if you see the crown? Snatch it.”

Applejack cracks her neck one way, then the other. “Ya got it.”

Twilight nods, regarding each of her fellow Elements in turn. “Then we’re agreed. Sparkle’s Six will be the first to retrieve the crown, thus cementing me as Sibling Supreme once and for all! My brother will never know what hit him!”

“Excuse me,” a seraphic voice calls from above. Everypony tenses as they look up to see Princess Celestia descending from the entrance on the ceiling. Her smile sets them at ease. She lands, wings tucking to her sides, looking over the whiteboard and notes Twilight has written down.

“Princess,” Twilight greets, offering a brief dip of her head. The others quickly follow suit.

“Elements,” Celestia returns, nodding at Trixie as well. “Is something the matter?”

Twilight glances over everything, deciding it is too much to attempt to conceal. “With King Sombra’s potential return, Emperor Spike wants us to test the Crystal Empire’s defenses. He has challenged us to use whatever means necessary to break in, to help expose any flaws in their security.”

A red glow gleams behind Celestia’s eyes. “Any means necessary?”

Twilight sighs, managing to not rub at her forehead. “I don’t think they want us to reduce the Empire to ashes.”

Celestia huffs in a most un-princesslike manner, the glow fading from her eyes. “Ah, ponyfeathers. Nopony ever wants me to use Heaven’s Light.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” Rainbow Dash says, everypony nodding along.

“Very well.” Celestia straightens. “What would you have me do?”

“First, a question.” Twilight chews at her lip as Celestia cocks her head to the side. “Are you working for my brother?”

“I am working for neither of your siblings,” Celestia answers succinctly.

“I see.” Twilight checks her charts, then the Princess with her tall stature and flowing mane and general un-hide-ability. “Do you want to help me check their magical defenses?”

“I am at your disposal,” Celestia says, “in any manner you require.”

“Perfect.” Twilight again regards each of them in turn. “Then Sparkle’s Seven will be the first to retrieve the crown, thus cementing me as Sibling Supreme once and for all!

“Seven?” Trixie cuts in as the others cheer, glancing around the room and making a show of counting. “There are eight of us. And you never gave me a job, not that I’m complaining.”

“Exactly.” Twilight turns her focus on Trixie, the showmare uncomfortably shying down while attempting a grin. “They will be looking for each of us. They won’t be expecting you.”

“I see.” Trixie’s grin slowly grows larger. “So you want me to-”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Twilight silences, holding up a hoof. “Don’t tell me. What I don’t know they can’t wriggle out of me.”

“Oh,” Trixie remarks, her smile spreading from ear to ear, “you don’t need to worry about them not noticing.”

Ch. 143 - Careful Planning, Part Two

“Applejack,” Twilight rebukes, the farmmare wistfully staring out the back of the train. Even though they left Ponyville an hour ago she still hasn’t moved. “It’s fine. Pomarbo isn’t going to burn the farm down while you’re gone.”

Applejack huffs, her slouched posture not shifting one iota. “Eeyup,” she admits.

“And,” Twilight continues, “neither is he going to get sucked into the Cider Squeezy.”

Applejack doesn’t react beyond a halfhearted, “Eeyup.”

“Everything’s going to be fine.” Twilight rolls her eyes as scattered groans from her fellow Elements meet her declaration.

“Eeyup.” Applejack sighs, apparently deciding staying silent won’t end Twilight’s torment. “Ah’m just frettin’ a bit ‘bout ‘Bo. Ya think he’s gonna be okay with, even with Miss Tiara sleepin’ over?”

“Bow chicka wow wow,” Pinkie Pie chimes in, much to the amusement of the other mares.

Applejack snorts. “Ah wish. That colt’s more interested in what goes in an’ outta the Cider Squeezy.”

“Mm. He’ll come around, one day.” Twilight offers her an encouraging nuzzle, little more than brushing the side of her head against Applejack, then moves on to Rarity and a half tan, half cerulean pegasus with a mane six shades of gray. “Really?”

“I had the colors on hoof,” Rainbow Dash retorts unapologetically. “Don’t judge me.”

“It’s not that I’m judging you,” Twilight claims. “It’s that we’re trying to be less conspicuous, not more.”

“And who would think to impersonate a famous pony like Daring Do?” Rainbow Dash nods confidently. “It’s the perfect plan!”

“...Right.” Twilight glances at Rarity, who busily spreads more dye along Rainbow Dash’s coat. The unicorn has on a full length burgundy coat that at least covers her cutie marks but leaves her distinctive tail free. Likewise, her wide brimmed black hat fails to conceal her styled mane.

“Relax,” Rarity reassures with a wink Twilight does not find particularly reassuring. “Remember the color changing spell Trixie taught me?”

Twilight frowns. “The one she used with the roses?”

“Precisely.” Rarity’s horn flares, and her mane and tail turn a too-bright green with garish orange streaks. “See?”

“You’re right,” Twilight snarks. “Nopony would ever suspect somepony so fashionable to not dye their mane and tail if it was such a hideous color.”

Rarity squints at Twilight, trying to figure out if she’s being insulted or not.

Twilight moves on to Fluttershy, who is staring out the window as they near the base of Mount Canterhorn. Nearby birds flit up to her, though they struggle to keep pace, hurriedly chirping their news before the train speeds off. “Anything going on?”

“Nothing they can tell,” Fluttershy answers, reserving a soft grin for herself. “It’s kind of fun playing Spymaster, isn’t it?”

“Barrels of fun,” Twilight says, turning to Pinkie Pie. She sighs. “And speaking of barrels.”

“Look,” Pinkie Pie says, exasperated, as she guards a giant barrel full of fireworks. Green, purple, blue, and red tips haphazardly poke out in every direction. “If you didn’t want me to bring along all the untested fireworks I got from Trixie, you should have specified that instead of saying I could bring one.”

It’s Twilight’s turn to roll her eyes. “You can’t strap six dozen sparklers to each other and call it a simple cake.”

“Excuse me,” Pinkie Pie retorts, “this ‘cake’ is six baker’s dozen Romane Legion Candles strapped to a Sparkler to End All Sparklers, thank you very much, and I can and I did.” She sticks her tongue out at Twilight before going back to warily scanning their closed environment. “I just have to make sure Applebaum doesn’t catch a whiff of this and we’re golden.”

Twilight groans, plopping down next to Celestia. The eternally busy Princess has a far-off look, horn glowing a soft gold, likely engrossed in reading the thousands of reports she sifts through each day. She doesn’t want to bother her, not if she doesn’t have to, and there are already plenty of distractions aboard their private car on the Friendship Express.

Twilight cracks open her book on magical barriers, having read through the thick tome twice already, and goes back to thinking about how to best break through whatever defenses Emperor Spike has constructed. So much depends on what type he uses it’s almost not worth thinking about, similar to studying Chess openings with Doug and Cozy Glow. Even so, more preparation won’t be wasted, so back into her book her muzzle goes.

They arrive at the Lower Canterlot Station, grumbling about having to swap trains. It would be a tad conspicuous otherwise, even if Spike had not enacted a provision that all travel to and from the Crystal Empire must be done by either Crystal owned and operated enterprises or after going through an onerous (and expensive) application process. He claims it is for security reasons, but many contend that it is to line his own pockets. To be fair, these are the same ponies who would gladly line their own pockets if they think they can get away with it.

With all the preparations for the Equestria Games, travel to and from the Crystal Empire has gotten both quite crowded and quite lucrative. They pack themselves in one of the squat changeling-built haulers, having to double up on the cold seats on their third of the car. Nopony seems to pay Celestia much mind, though Twilight cannot say whether that is from some spell of hers that she cannot detect (though being able to detect the spell would ruin the point) or the fact that her wings stay firmly pressed to her sides.

“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice announces as the crowded train begins moving. “Hello, L-S-B-F-F.”

Twilight looks over to see none other than her brother staring her down. She scowls at her presence already being noticed. Her tone matches his, high and aloof. “Hello, B-B-B-F-F.”

“Now,” Shining Armor concedes, though he remains aloof and condescending, “I know you’ve harbored a grudge ever since I left home with the Helm of the Sibling Supreme.”

“Grudge?” Twilight scoffs, coming off far more grudge-bearing than she means. “What grudge? Just because you’ve had it way longer than you should have and I never got a chance to win it back!”

“Then now’s your chance to become Sibling Supreme Forever.” Shining Armor grins as stars sparkle in Twilight’s eyes. “But just because you’re my little sister doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on you.”

“Of course.” Twilight smirks knowingly. “I see you’ve noticed my Sparkle’s Seven. You may be a master of shields, but I have every angle covered.”

“That’s quite impressive.” Shining Armor doesn’t sound impressed. “But I knew you would do something like that. So I’ve assembled a team.”

Introduction music plays, upbeat drums and a guitar riff that sends excited tremors down Twilight’s legs. She turns to glare at Pinkie Pie, though the party pony doesn’t relent or even apologize at hyping her brother’s team. What, she doesn’t deserve accompaniment?

Out of the crowd of ponies behind Shining Armor steps a light blue stallion with a dark blue mane.

“Commander Soarin,” Shining Armor introduces as Rainbow Dash’s eyes bug out; Twilight has to magically restrain the now-tan pegasus lest she charge forward. “Will be in charge of aerial reconnaissance.”

Soarin snaps off a crisp salute as Rainbow Dash struggles.

“Come on, Twi!” Rainbow Dash pleads, to no avail. “It’s Soarin!”

“No fraternizing with the enemy,” Twilight states, growing incensed at her brother’s tactics and the fact that it’s working.

“Please?” Rainbow Dash grovels. “Just a little fraternizing?”

Twilight sighs. It seems unbecoming for an Element of Harmony to beg for something, and even worse to be the one making them do the begging. “Fine,” she relents, releasing Rainbow Dash from her hold.

The tan pegasus zips over, giddy as a filly, prancing in place. Soarin merely raises his head in greeting. “So, were you planning on a grid search? Random? Gradient-based depending on the likelihood of finding the Helm?”

Before the two pegasi can discuss the relative strengths and weaknesses of different kinds of searches an aquamarine pegasus steps forward. He shakes his drawn-up golden mane, grinning with a certain leer at Rainbow Dash.

“In charge of disguises,” Shining Armor states, smirking at Twilight. “Zephyr Breeze.”

“Wha… Rainbow Dash? Is that you?” Zephyr Breeze laughs as if at a joke known only to him. “Girl, I could recognize you anywhere; you didn’t have to wear all that for me!”

“I take it back!” Rainbow Dash shouts, frantically trying to flee, but there is nowhere to run. “No fraternizing! Absolutely no fraternizing of any kind!”

“Aww,” Zephyr Breeze purrs as he steps next to Rainbow Dash. “You don’t have to hide your feelings from me.”

Fluttershy comes to Rainbow Dash’s rescue. “You managed to find a job? All on your own?”

Zephyr Breeze shrugs. “You know how it is, sis. This breeze is gonna blow.”

“You can blow right out of here,” Rainbow Dash mutters.

“Aww, why so harsh?” Zephyr Breeze sniffs at Rainbow Dash’s mane, long and uncomfortably for the mare. “I hear you give a pretty good blow. Ever thought of getting one?” He blows a short gust at Rainbow’s mane, lifting the red strands, then inspects it from every angle. “Mare, you could definitely use some conditioner, a gel to keep those tangles away, maybe even a braid…”

“I’m glad to hear you are learning a lot at mane therapy school,” Fluttershy covers as Rainbow Dash fumes.

“And,” Shining Armor continues, “to keep the guards distracted, I have enlisted the premiere party pony in all of Equestria.”

“Excuse me,” Pinkie Pie states, crossing her forelegs across her chest as Twilight glances at her, “but the premiere party pony is sitting over her, thank you very much.”

“You might be the premiere party planner of Ponyville,” an orange coated and brown maned earth pony states coldly, his yellow shirt matching his cutie mark of a split grilled cheese sandwich. “But I’ve traveled all across Equestria in search of parties in need. The name’s Cheese Sandwich.”

“Pinkie Pie.” The pink party mare meets his cold stare, neither of them budging and yet somehow stretching so far forward that their muzzles mash into each other. Then they both burst into laughter along with explosions of confetti, the squawk of a rubber chicken, and a single blaring horn. “Two party planners? This party’s gonna be the best!”

“Hah, I don’t doubt it!” Cheese Sandwich grins, competing with Pinkie Pie for who can get the widest smile.

Pinkie Pie beams as she pronks next to him, a smile wide enough for two ponies. “Fraternizing’s back on the menu!”

Twilight groans. There goes another of her Friends to the Shiny side.

“And while those guards are distracted,” Shining Armor continues, smirking at Twilight’s glower, “We’ll need somepony to break in. The muscle of the team, Big MacIntosh.”

“Eeyup,” the powerfully built stallion rumbles.

“Now hold on’a tic!” Applejack stomps over, glaring hard enough to shake the large green apple off her brother’s flank. “What in the hay are ya doin’ here?”

“Come on, Applejack,” Big Mac states in his deep, somber voice. “You’re always goin’ on these adventures. Ah jus’ thought-”

“Ya thought wrong!” Applejack huffs, scratching at the floor as if to charge. “No fraternizin’ goin’ on here!”

Big Mac bullies over Applejack. “That Ah might like to have some hero stories of mah own, instead’a just chores’n helpin’ out when Ah can.”

“But you’re a stallion,” Applejack emphasizes, drawing nothing but scornful looks from the others.

“Ya may not’a noticed,” Big Mac states slowly, “but we’re all stallions on this team.” He snorts, trying not to look at Zephyr. “Mostly.”

“Look at you, still openin’ that big mouth’a yours,” Applejack spits out. “Who’s gonna look out for Pomarbo while you’re gone?”

“Granny,” Big Mac says, letting Applejack’s scoff hang. Even Twilight knows Granny Smith despises the Cider Squeezy, leaving Pomarbo essentially unsupervised.

Shining Armor continues on as though he expected the heated reaction from Applejack, Big Mac slipping to the background, “And, to help on the information gathering, Prince Blueblood.”

A well-built alabaster stallion smoothly glides forward. His dapper quartersuit likely costs more than the train, black silk trimmed in cobalt with a large bow tie. A long, thin and pristine bag rests at his side. He gives a flip of his golden mane, which sends the rest of the train into tizzy murmurs.

“Pardon my presumption,” Prince Lunaris Blueblood eloquently asks, slipping a green and orange rose in front of Rarity, his charming smile melting away any lingering animosity in the room, “but if fraternizing is still an option?” He gives a short, graceful bow. “I was looking forward to matching wits or steel again, whichever the lady prefers.”

Rarity accepts the rose, desperately trying to fan the blush from her face. She steals a glance at Twilight, getting a grudging okay, and speedily zips to the large unicorn’s side, fretting that she didn’t bring anything equivalent to wear.

“And last, but certainly not least, to help with the magic side,” Shining Armor introduces, smirking all the while, “Princess Luna.”

Twilight isn’t sure how she didn’t notice the cobalt alicorn, but there she is. Her star-studded mane flows freely, her peytral has been polished to a mirror shine, and her sinister gaze slips past Twilight’s defenses to eat at her confidence.

“Sister,” Princess Luna glibly calls, regarding her fellow Princess with a barely-concealed look of derision.

Celestia, who had for the most part remained out of the way during the introductions, slowly gets to her hooves. The light surrounding her horn winks out, her full attention now on Luna. She seethes, a detestation Twilight has rarely, if ever, seen in her before. “Sister.”

“Still sore thy were not chosen for the winning side?” Luna smirks, a wave of her wing indicating the members of Shining’s Seven behind her. “T’was not I forced to slink to her student’s side and beg like a noble to be admitted.”

Celestia gasps. “Noble!” She scowls, eyes rimmed in red. “You take that back this instant!”

“We are neigh afraid of thou,” Luna states, returning a cold and hard look. “As they say these days, ‘Bring It!”

“Now, now,” Twilight chides, getting in between the fuming alicorns. At her power she could certainly bring Luna to a standstill, but stopping Celestia is another story. “There won’t be any ‘bringing it’ or foalish displays of power. We are here to test the defenses Spike put up around the Crystal Empire. Got it?”

Luna snorts. “Thou needeth thy student to defend thyself?”

“She is not defending me,” Celestia returns just as hard. “She is defending you.”

“Fillies,” Twilight growls out. “Do I need to come over there and tweak your ears?”

It works for Doug, and she desperately hopes it works for her.

“Fine.” Luna haughtily sticks her nose in the air. “We shall see thy pitiful efforts on the battlefield.”

“Fine.” Celestia sticks her nose up as well. “We shall do the same.”

Twilight sighs as the two alicorns return to their respective sides, slumping down.

“So much for arriving incognito,” Applejack remarks, still glaring at Big Mac.

Twilight merely smiles. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

Ch. 144 - Careful Planning, Part Three

“Everypony clear on the plan?” Twilight Sparkle asks as the train nears the pink bubble surrounding the Crystal Empire. The Barrier of Love rises up and up into dark and snow-filled storms, translucent and ephemeral yet unyielding to the elements of cold and hatred that might seek harm for those inside its single spherical wall. She hopes that includes nopony traveling with her or her brother, though she’s not exactly sure what would happen to said pony as they failed to pass through.

“Everypony clear on the plan?” Shining Armor asks at exactly the same time.

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” Soarin and Rainbow Dash chorus back, the mare edging away from Zephyr while trying to stay as close to Soarin as possible. Both teams nod along, though half of them are intermixed and the other half are as far away from each other as the cramped quarters allow.

Twilight scowls; either her brother is actually a changeling in disguise to be able to mimic her every move (a method of infiltration she should have investigated further), or his read on her is so good that he can predict what she is going to do before she does it. She suspects the latter. How else could he have assembled a team that so perfectly mirrors her own?

Or maybe she’s just scowling because, of the ‘sibling rivalries’ going on, only Fluttershy doesn’t have some sort of death glare aimed at her brother or vice versa. Actually, no, she does, but she just hides it better than most, or is afraid of her stare actually melting what little brain must be there: Zephyr hasn’t stopped hitting on Rainbow Dash and if they don’t get some space Twilight will have to step in to save the hapless stallion.

The train rumbles on through the barrier, pink flashing through the window before returning to eternally sunny skies.

Rainbow Dash tries one of the windows, frowning as she fails to jiggle the latch open. “It’s locked,” she claims, low and fast, growling as she tries forcing it.

“That’s against fire safety codes,” Twilight states, her horn flaring. She locates the mechanism easily enough, but some sort of gunk (changeling?) has gummed it up to the point of inoperability. She could blast through, but then their covert egress wouldn’t be as stealthy.

Suddenly, about a quarter of the way to the city itself, the brakes engage and the train comes to a screeching halt. Worried looks flash around as the ponies return to their seats (though some have swapped), wondering what could have caused the delay.

For a minute nothing happens, stony silence reigning. Then the front door slides open. Two Crystal Guards stride inside, their steel sparkling as much as the purple pony underneath. The silver crests on their helmets sweep back and forth as they scan the passengers, their spears nearly scraping the ceiling, the heavy clank of their booted hooves grating as they stomp up to Twilight and Shining Armor.

“Prince Consort,” the burlier of the two announces, the other keeping her chest puffed up as she stands shoulder to shoulder.

“Captain Prince Consort,” Shining Armor interrupts.

The two guards exchange brief looks. “Captain Prince Consort,” he repeats, carefully enunciating the first word. “Your wife sends her fondest regards, as well as a message.” He clears his throat, the tenor of his voice raising to a reasonable facsimile of Cadance. “Dearest, honey, I know you think you’re being clever by doing exactly what I thought you would do.”

Shining Armor’s smirk falls, his quick glance at Twilight not going unnoticed. Hah! Twilight gloats silently.

The guard clears his throat. “Here’s a quick pick-me-up.” He edges forward and gives Shining Armor a brief kiss on the nose, then returns, as stoic as before. Shining Armor crosses his eyes to look at the wet spot. “Look forward to seeing you in the throne room.” He winks, though his stony expression belies any affection.

“Err, thanks,” Shining Armor manages to get out, stunned at the revelation that his wife predicted his moves.

“Princess,” the guard says, turning to Twilight.

“Do I get a kiss, too?” Twilight asks glibly, smiling sweetly.

“You’re under arrest.” Twilight gapes as he turns to regard the other Elements of Harmony. “You’re all under arrest.”

“Buck that!” Rainbow Dash shouts.

The guards twist, spears lowering to intercept, but Rainbow Dash is faster. She launches forward, forelegs outstretched, and barrels into the smaller guard before she can get her spear around. Rainbow Dash grunts at the impact, which lifts the guard off her hooves and smashes her into the wall, while she bursts out the open door and zooms upward.

“Come on, partner,” Applejack drawls with a cock-sure grin, letting her rope spool out. She slowly twirls her lasso around. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

The guard looks at Applejack, glances at his fallen partner, then bolts. He gets about two steps before the rope slips around his neck and a hard tug sends him crashing to the ground. Applejack kicks the spear away as she mounts and twists him around as easily as if he was a foal, the hogtie completed in record time.

“Ah’m glad you chose the easy way,” Applejack remarks with a gentle pat of the trussed-up stallion. “Talkin’ our way outta this’un would’a been way harder.”

The guard growls, struggling against the bonds. Applejack just sits on him, quashing any hope of escape.

“Applejack,” Twilight chides, frowning at the violence.

“What?” Applejack looks around dubiously. “Ya think Sombra’s gonna play nice?” She taps the squirming guard. “Ah’ve got half’a mind ta ask ya to cast some fancy mind control spell on this’un, jus’ ta make it more realistic-like.”

The idea sickens Twilight, though she’s careful not to show that disgust. They’re supposed to be coming at Spike’s forces through any means, but especially those that Sombra might have used. It doesn’t sit well with anypony else on the train, either, judging by their quivering stances and flattened ears.

“Or they could play along!” Pinkie Pie suggests. She pronks up and slaps a glowing green sticker on the guard’s helmet. “You’re one of ours now, silly!”

The guard goes from frantic writhing at the mention of mind control to a sudden cessation of any struggle, limply lying on the ground, having taken Pinkie Pie’s advice.

“Sorry ‘bout that, partner,” Applejack says, stepping off and loosening the rope. She notices the guard keeping careful note of her legs, that he might try to sweep her as soon as she lets him go.

“Before you get any ideas,” Twilight states, keeping the guard pinned with a hoof. “Whatever Emperor Spike told you, your helmets aren’t Mareneto quality. They won’t protect you from Malevolent attacks, except that it’s slightly harder to make eye contact. But a powerful enough unicorn - and King Sombra certainly qualifies - doesn’t need eye contact.” She offers the guard a hoof to help stand, which he reluctantly accepts. “Just a friendly tip. Your friend will be fine, she just got rattled a bit. Now, I think we have a train to get started?”

“Y-yes, Princess,” the cowed crystal guard states with a glance at his partner, whom Pinkie Pie has also affixed a sticker to and is slowly recovering. After a quick explanation they pick up their spears and trot outside.

“Spike couldn’t have actually thought that we would go along with getting arrested,” Twilight asks nopony in particular. She frowns. “Could he?”

“It worked for Tempest Shadow,” Luna remarks with a dark glare at her Sister.

Celestia doesn’t bother looking up, continuing to stare out the window as she works. “Confronting Commander Tempest would have resulted in unnecessary casualties. Including, had things gone poorly, you and I.”

Luna scoffs, though she doesn’t rebut the point.

“That was some blue-ribbon ropin’ ya did there,” Big Mac congratulates, extending the olive branch to Applejack.

“Thanks,” Applejack says appreciably as she replaces the rope under her Stetson. Her smile turns to a grimace and half-hearted glare as she struggles to maintain some semblance of anger. “Ah mean, Ah bet yew jus’ wish yew were the one to put down the varmint.”

Big Mac snorts, pawing at the ground, only for the train to lurch forward and send him sprawling to the floor.

While Twilight stares outside, Shining Armor walks up behind her. “I think,” he starts with a certain reluctance, “we need a change of plan.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Twilight assesses each of her herdmates in turn, her once-cheerful smile turning grimmer and grimmer. “But he knows each of us, our strengths and weaknesses.” She gauges each of Shining’s group, coming to the same conclusion. “How are we supposed to beat that?”

To Twilight’s surprise, a green maned, burgundy coat-clad mare steps in. She has to remind herself that it is Rarity. “Twilight, you’re certainly correct that nopony knows you better than your own brother, and Spike has been as much of a brother as he has been your ward.”

Twilight’s spirits fall. “You’re saying we should just give up?”

Rarity turns to Shining Armor, ignoring Twilight’s question for now. “And Cadance has known you for nearly as long, yes?” His mouth purses to a thin line as he nods. “Then we shall assume the same for her, though I will concede that there are times when my stallion surprises me.”

“No,” Shining Armor says with a slow shake of his head. “She knows me, inside and out.” The thin line curls to a smirk at Twilight. “Much like I know her.”

“I was there,” Twilight says with a low groan. “You don’t need to remind me.”

“Which is precisely why Spike will win. No matter how brilliant your plan is, no matter how many variations you try, it will be something your brother expects. Unless…” Rarity has a knowing edge to her voice. “When the perfect chance comes along, you do something he can’t expect. Then you’ll win.”

“And what’s that?” Shining Armor asks, doubtful.

“Simple.” Rarity tosses back a hideous green curl. “What’s the last thing Spike would expect us to do?”

“Work together,” comes the immediate response from both of them. Shining Armor at least has the decency to look ashamed after saying it.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” Rarity pairs off the ponies with their sibling, Pinkie Pie with Cheese Sandwich, grinning as she gets to Prince Blueblood standing all by his lonesome. Luna scowls the worst, followed by a poor attempt by Applejack, and she leaves Soarin at a window to stare at Rainbow Dash’s contrails. “He’s expecting us to stay in a group or to spread out individually. He’s not going to expect us to pair off with the opposing member of the squad.”

“I think he knows you want to work with Lunaris,” Shining Armor objects, though she can see the gears in his mind turning.

“Yes, but we know he knows we know he knows.” Rarity takes a second to let that sink in. “Which is why he will never suspect us actually going through with our original plan.” She points at the crystal guards standing outside as they draw close to the main station. “Why else would he dissuade us from our original plan, where our strengths lie? He must not be able to overcome that advantage.”

“Could be,” Shining Armor answers, guarded.

“So we do what we were going to do. Only now?” Rarity’s grin spreads even wider, quickly joined by Twilight and Shining Armor. “There’s two of us.”

Ch. 145 - Careful Planning, Part Four

As Soarin slips outside to join Rainbow Dash the rest of the train falls into an uncomfortable silence. To be perfectly honest, Twilight finds disturbing how readily the other ponies comply after the assault and ‘capture’ of the Crystal Guards. The Equestrians she can understand; after all, three of their Princesses are aboard and did not stop the violence, or even outright condoned the usage of ‘dark magic’. But the Crystal Ponies? Not a peep, just bowed heads and furtive glances, trying to appear docile and beneath notice. A relic of King Sombra’s rule, or would Equestrians accept bit and bridle as easily?

Or is their lack of defiance because of the perceived futility of their actions? After all, any who spoke up would be dealt with, perhaps harshly and painfully. Applejack did attempt to link their actions to a reasonable facsimile of the mad king. Should she encourage the deception and go as all-out with over-the-top acting as Pinkie Pie? Or should she conduct their testing in a professional and detached manner?

Well, she knows which she would prefer if Doug et al planned some sort of elaborate prank or pulled a surprise party on her. But explaining and apologizing for frightening the Crystal Ponies wouldn’t give them terribly realistic results, either. It gnaws at her, treating her fellow equines so callously, but that’s what King Sombra did and would do, given the chance. And that’s not something she will allow.

Twilight nudges Pinkie Pie, looks pointedly at the roll of green stickers, and flicks her head at the huddled passengers.

Pinkie Pie takes her mission, as she probably should have expected, a touch too enthusiastically, reminding her of when Princess Luna attempted to reshape Nightmare Night and was thwarted by Nightmare Moon (played by Trixie).

“Alright, everypony, listen up!”

Pinkie Pie struts back and forth, occasionally disappearing only to reappear from impossible angles, staring straight into the eyes of those afraid to look in her general direction until they have no choice but to follow her around. Cheese Sandwich looms behind her, though with considerably less dimensional hopping, with an expression that would be far more dire if not for the #2 stamped rubber chicken flopping off his black bowler hat.

“Outside those pink walls,” Pinkie Pie foretells with a direness reserved for tales of Nightmare Moon, “lurks an evil so black, so vile, so despicable that foals quiver in fear at just the thought of his name! Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is simple: to make sure no foal, no pony, no creature at all is ever terrorized by such a villain again! Now, can you do that by cowering behind those walls, by relying on other ponies to protect you?”

“Y-yes?” comes the tepid reply.

“No!” Pinkie Pie stamps the floor, releasing a cloud of confetti around her. “Because if you think that will work, you will be forever suspicious of shadows, dreading what lies behind the next darkened corner! You can live in fear, or you can be fearsome! Will becoming strong make the shadows go away? No, it will not.” She shakes her head, dejected, before perking right back up and again getting in everypony’s face. “But being weak means the shadows will consume you! Will horrible atrocities be committed against all of Ponykind, only to be forgiven after the slightest of apologies and swept under the rug? Yes, because that’s who we are! Now, do we want to cause said horrible atrocities, or do we want to stop them?”

“Um,” one of the crystal ponies in front meekly speaks. “S-stop them?”

Pinkie Pie points precisely, prompting the packed ponies to perk up. “Exactly!” She stretches her hooves behind her head and whips out a squat blue party cannon, slamming it on the floor.

“This,” she announces with a satisfied pat on the top of the cannon, “is a basic Z&R party cannon. I never leave home without it, and neither should you! It comes equipped with a water resistant fuse, three pounds of confetti capacity, and the most adorable flower prints on the wheels. Options also include hearts, balloons, or skulls. I have five of these for the first five ponies to raise their hooves!”

Pinkie Pie raises five hooves, each one pointing to the five crystal ponies that raise their hooves.

“Excellent choice!” Pinkie Pie goes to the closest window by one of the volunteers, banging on it until the glass drops down. She crams a package of confetti down the barrel, then slots the cannon so the barrel mostly sticks outside. The low windows make this barely possible by placing the cannon on the pony’s seat.

“Where did you get all these cannons?” Twilight asks, as Pinkie Pie clearly didn’t carry them on board.

“Everypony in class finished making their own cannons,” Pinkie Pie explains, though Twilight thinks the explanation is worse than being uninformed, at least in this case. In Pinkie’s defense, she did say that was what she was going to do in her Conversations with Cannons class. “So I had a whole bunch of loaners left over!”

This doesn’t really answer Twilight’s original question, but she doubts she’ll get a satisfactory answer even if she asks in a slightly different manner.

Not to be outdone, Cheese Sandwich rolls in on a treaded red tank with a rotating blue cannon on top. “This,” he announces in the exact same voice as Pinkie Pie, giving it an appreciative tap from his seat on top, “is a Cannonball Surprise X-S, though extra small is the last thing anypony will say about it. It can deliver a fully packaged party up to one hundred and fifty yards away, two hundred with a good tailwind. Who wants one?”

Every hoof shoots up this time. Even Pinkie Pie’s.

Where Pinkie Pie gets the next four cannons, or the ten Deluxe Party Throwers, or Cheese Sandwich his full-sized Cannonball Surprise X-L that neatly clamps onto the roof with a ponyhole to access the targeting controls, nopony can rightly say. By the time they get to the station the entire train car is bristling with enough cannons to persuade even the citrusiest of ponies to become the scurviest of pirates.

“Stop pouting.” Luna rebukes her Sister from the loading port of the X-L, Pinkie Pie’s barrel of fireworks ready and waiting. She seems to derive an excessive amount of pleasure from the position. “T’is unbecoming of a Princess.”

“I am not pouting,” Celestia contests, horn aglow and staring off into the distance at a blank wall. One could make the argument that her busying herself in work at this point is because of dedication to her fellow Equestrians instead of remorse over swapping her spot on the Cannonball Surprise X-L for a basic Z&R cannon, but it would be a weak argument. “You looked so devastated after you traded your Deluxe.”

“Pah,” Luna pouts. “We hath seen her dreams of venturing to the skies and becoming a renowned buccaneer. This t’was merely the first step in her journey.”

“Maybe you should join her,” Celestia advises, aloof and a tad self-righteous. “Embark on your own journey of self discovery.”

“We neigh recall our disposition improving after our last sojourn,” Luna remarks coldly. “Perhaps thou must enlighten us. Perhaps beginning with the effects of a bucket of ice water poured over one’s head.”

“I fail to-” Celestia begins before a bucket held in a dark blue aura upends itself over her head. The ice water mats her once-flowing mane to her head, leaving her fuming through steaming strands of soggy hair. With one smooth motion she flicks her head to the side, spraying Luna with droplets as she gathers her listless mane into a dripping ponytail. “...So.”

Luna meets Celestia’s glare, her own mane sagging wherever the droplets hit. While Celestia looks pedestrian with her simple style, she just seems unkempt. “So.”

“That’s enough,” Twilight commands, stepping between the two petty alicorns before their feud can worsen. Worsen more, that is. Shining Armor is at her side while the rest of their teams - minus Pinkie Pie and Cheese Sandwich - gather at the rear. “You two, you’re with me.”

“Where art we heading?” Luna demands.

“You heard Cadance’s letter,” Twilight explains, grinning. “To the throne room! We’re just waiting for…”

The door slams open, a tan Rainbow Dash streaking inside with Soarin close behind. She shakes a bit of snow from her feathers, shivering minutely, but otherwise appears unharmed.

“Report?” Twilight asks, glancing nervously between the frosty pegasi.

“They’ve set up clouds around the top of the Crystal Castle,” Rainbow Dash explains as she gratefully spreads her tan wings out to let Twilight’s warmth spell blow over her. “Mostly harmless cumulo, but they’ve got a few hailers mixed in.” She rubs at a small lump on the top of her head. “They hurt if you run into them. I didn’t realize we were working on a cold counterpart to the Lightning in a Box package.”

“We aren’t,” Celestia says, Shining Armor likewise shaking his head. They both look a tad worried.

Twilight frowns. “Then somecreature either managed to modify the boxes we’ve made, or they reverse engineered them and built their own versions.”

Rainbow Dash awkwardly rubs at a rubbery wing, smoothing out the paint, and trying to get feeling to return. “Yeah, well, flying into one unleashed a torrent of frost. You might be able to trigger them with a sufficiently large body; pieces of hail didn’t trigger a chain reaction from nearby clouds. Or the rest were duds, we didn’t stick around to test.” She glances up at the ceiling, tapping her hoof three quick times. “They had twenty four ice archers posted on the second and fourth quintets, each, leaving the bottom, middle, and top unguarded.”

“You counted and remember all that?” Twilight asks, somewhat incredulous. Normally the pegasus is pretty, well, scatterbrained.

Soarin takes the question as Rainbow Dash shrugs. “They put some sort of wire mesh, a blend of light and dark green, on the inside of every window on the bottom, middle, and top fifths.” He takes note of Twilight’s knowing nod. “Something to stop teleportation?”

Twilight nods. “A Maraday Cage, if they made it with the right material. It absorbs all overt magic trying to get through, though ponies should be fine. But it’s pricey; I don’t know how comfortable I am with chucking hunks of rock to break through, especially if that might bring down the entire castle.”

Rainbow Dash continues, “From the looks of it, they completely sealed off the very top of the castle, where the Crystal Heart was hidden before. The pieces of crystal that Spike ran down were still there, not that they lead anywhere.”

Twilight nods again. “Your overall impression?”

Rainbow Dash uncomfortably tosses her head back and forth. “He’s not hiding the Heart on the top; any defenses there are a bluff, I’d put a round of cider on it. The balcony that leads to the throne room looked wide open, but I suspect a trap. My bits are on the middle; it’s guarded enough to keep away any cursory looks, but not so heavily guarded that it shows all his apples are in one basket.” Soarin nods in agreement.

“Excellent work out there, Dash. And Soarin.” Twilight dismisses the two pegasi; they snap a quick salute in return. “Now get out there and keep distracting them.”

“You got it!” Rainbow Dash and Soarin take one more gust of warm air before slipping out the door to the alarmed shouts of the surrounding guards.

Twilight peeks past one of the cannons to view the heavily guarded platform. Brightly sparkling and spear-armed Crystal Guards have cleared the nearby area, leaving a barren nomaresland between their train and any sort of cover. Passengers hurriedly disembark from the other cars. They huddle low, ears down and luggage left behind, dashing across in single file lines to the unheard shouts of the guards. Once across they are patted down, checked for injuries, then shuffled to a few makeshift holding pens. Twilight gasps when she thinks she sees Doug dart across and get waved past, a gray duffel bag at his side, but her concentration is disrupted by loud blasts of music.

Dueling accordions blare out a polka rendition of the Crystal Kingdom Anthem from atop the train car. Occasional flugelhorn toots mix with hooves stomping on the ceiling, creating a cacophony of sounds that might have grated if they didn’t so perfectly mirror the original composition. Pinkie Pie and Cheese Sandwich add their voices to the racket, perfectly synced with each other as they battle back and forth.

“That’s the signal,” Twilight says, completely unnecessarily and probably unheard, as the cannons surrounding them go off.

Her compatriots in crime stream out the back, mixing in with the dozens of colorful flash parties raining down from the sky. Each parachuted party package bursts into stacks of bowtied presents, platters of mouthwatering morsels, and enough streamers to shroud Celestia’s tall form in ribboned color. Amidst the confusion Twilight, Shining Armor, Celestia, and Luna boldly stride forward, taking wing (Shining Armor on a floating shield) as soon as the cascading cakes allow.

The Crystal Empire stretching out before them hasn’t so much as transformed as doubled in density and area while maintaining the overall look and feel of before. The Crystal Castle dominates the center of the city with the Crystal Heart sheltered underneath, spinning between two pointed teal cones. Colorful houses of red and blue and purple and green sparkle in the sunlight, with the many new additions matched as closely as possible. It’s more obvious on the outskirts that concrete and steel has been used, though every effort has been made to conceal those outliers; Twilight suspects as soon as sufficient material has been mined from the nearby mountains the incongruous spots will be layered over. Ponies fill the streets, all varieties, though pegasi are notably absent from the sky and instead stick to the ground.

The pink of the shield is only noticeable on magical spectrums; otherwise the sky appears a perfect blue with the occasional wispy cloud little more than a wavy backdrop. This is less true of the castle itself: some areas appear as black as Doug, obviously where nullstone has been incorporated into the windows. Others shine with an angry intensity, promising to loose hail or lightning or fire at any unwary creature that dares venture too close. The clouds sporadically scattered around, the kind in which a pegasus might take a nap (or cover, should their intentions be malicious), appear trapped as well. She makes sure to steer clear of any and all obstructions on their route.

Their destination, the balcony that leads to the throne room, bristles with traps. From a distance Twilight cannot make out which do precisely what, except that they must be easily triggered: nopony, and nodragon, can be seen observing the hectic bustle around the train station. The rest of the many-spired castle looms sleek and unblemished, reflecting the sun’s blinding rays whenever the angle lines up just right - and, with how many surfaces there are on the castle, the angle is always right somewhere.

Twilight lands on the balcony, a shield readied and expecting to be immediately hit by half a dozen spells, but to her pleasant surprise nothing happens. Her brother touches down next to her, Celestia and Luna just behind, the Sister’s animosity briefly forgotten.

For there, sitting on the raised throne in the center of the throne room, is a silver paper crown.

The rest of the throne room is empty, as far as she can tell; her magical scans are blocked by the nullstone pervading the area. Teleportation is out, too, as well as any form of levitation. But once they enter the Maraday Cage effect their spells would work, but this time limited to inside the nullstone.

Twilight’s eyes go wide. It can’t possibly be this easy, all they need to do is cross the threshold, there must be some-

“Hey!” she exclaims as Shining Armor pushes her over in his haste to be the first to claim the crown. His horn flares; a pink glow surrounds the crown, only for Twilight’s raspberry to trip him up and send him crashing to the floor. He turns the fall into a roll, head tucking to his barrel, but before he can leap upward an obsidian orb slams into his chest.

The stone unicorn statue skids across the floor and gently bumps into the base of the throne.

“Shiny!” Twilight gets up from her spot just inside, about to gallop forward, only to skid to a stop as the tall, cackling Storm King steps out from behind the door leading to the balcony. His steel and teal armor has been polished to a mirror shine, reflecting a wide-eyed alicorn scrambling backward. His imposing visage is made all the more menacing by the second obsidian orb in his hand, crackling with green energy, and ready to throw.

Ch. 146 - Careful Planning, Part Five

A hardened look crosses Twilight’s face as she warily regards the Storm King.

The wiry leader of the Storm Realm looks back with bemusement, his low cackle of ‘jajajajaja’s more a whisper than an attempt to gloat. It infuriates her nonetheless, that he can laugh after what he did to her brother. Yet rather than the relaxed posture a confident victor might take, he stands coiled like a spring; his free three fingered hand twiddles minutely, creeping toward the long staff loosely strapped to his back, waiting for her to make a move.

She has no idea what would happen to her foals should she be petrified, and has absolutely no intention of finding out. She considers her options, specifically going on the aggressive - a teleport to a random spot in the open ceiling, simultaneously disabling a section of the Storm King’s spine - but such an action would put her at a momentary disadvantage as she reorients herself, leaving her vulnerable to whatever traps have been set against fliers. The obsidian orbs pierce shields, she saw a flicker of an instinctive one from Shining Armor before he was hit, and she doubts that is the only trick in the hedgehog’s arsenal that deals with unicorns. Or alicorns for that matter: he was prepared to invade Equestria, after all.

Her defensive options seem slim as well. She hasn’t scanned to see where might be a safe location to teleport, and the Storm King guards the entrance she just came through. He likely has some sort of true sight, a method of detecting invisibility and seeing through smokescreens, and the slender staff on his back shimmers like a mirror. She feels like one of the Crystal Ponies presented with a dilemma King Sombra might propose. If she resists, she might win. Or she can give in.

And subject herself to the whims of a capricious monster.

And that is something she cannot do. The safety of her foals is too important. And whatever interest he showed in Celestia and Equestria must be a ruse.

Her horn flares raspberry as his left hand slips behind his back. She teleports as he whips the silvered staff out, reflecting her spine-numbing spell not back at her but to her destination. It shatters into the ceiling a leg’s length to her left, her shield able to intercept the pieces of crystal that rain down around her.

Her shield would not have gotten up in time to block her own spell from disabling herself. She grits her teeth, unsure if he meant to miss her or not. She does not like the idea that she is being toyed with, but neither does the idea that he almost got lucky sit well with her.

“Suavemente, Princesa,” the Storm King calls from below as he slips into a hypnotic dance, the staff never ceasing its spin, his chest puffed out as he sensuously sways from side to side; she can almost hear the music, a lively trumpet-filled tune, and the land he stole it from. “Quiero sentir tus labios besándome suavemente!”

“You will never kiss me,” Twilight retorts, trying to ignore the ruthless reference to the places he has taken. “Nor anycreature else if I have anything to say about it!”

One of the few places run by stallions, Mexicolt - located in the desert between Klugetown and the Realm of Clouds - would have been reduced to a bump in the road when the Storm King’s forces rolled through had they not given in. She’s read speculation that their swift surrender was partially due to the Storm King also being male, but the earth-bound population stood little chance against the aerial invaders even if they put up a hearty resistance. When the Storm King joined the Council of Creatures they pledged as a vassal state, theoretically independent but kowtowing to his demands, as many Storm Creatures had settled in the more hospitable lands (more hospitable than the Storm Realm, that is) while a good number of ponies (voluntarily, they claim) moved to the stormy island to work in the nullstone mines and massive shipyards; this led to increased tensions between them and the neighboring Realm of Clouds, who saw their air dominance in the area challenged when the Storm King installed military bases. She doubts any interest in Mexicolt culture is genuine, a way to get to know ponies better, even as Celestia has promised not to prevent her foal from dating him.

She wants to beat him, badly, and at his own game. She releases a forcebolt right at his chest, nonlethal but strong enough to knock him off his feet. It travels slowly, just begging to be knocked away.

As expected he bats it back; it returns a touch faster, but she’s ready this time. She rebounds the spell, as does he, volleying back and forth and faster and faster and faster until her reflector is on the verge of breaking. Despite the deadly dance his grin only grows greater, matched by hers, until he notices the roundabolt sneaking in from behind.

With a yelp he pirouettes, simultaneously smashing both spells with opposite ends of his staff and sending them careening into the nullstone walls, where they fizzle harmlessly.

“Ready for another?” Twilight notes his hard gasps as he returns to his lithe dance, but she’s only getting started. She conjures another bolt, waiting to release it, and then two more. “How ‘bout three?”

“Sí, pero hay algo que debes saber.” The Storm King holds up the obsidian orb in his right hand, having held onto it the entire time. He has a knowing, confident smile she finds utterly disconcerting. “No soy zurdo.”

Twilight grimaces, realizing how much her focus had been on landing the two spells and how little attention she was paying to anything else. Juggling more of her own spells wouldn’t be an issue, but intercepting a curveball that can be thrown at any time? She would-

“Down, dog.”

Twilight frowns at the high-pitched voice interrupting their duel.

So does the Storm King, the spin of his staff slowing as he addresses the figure flying out from behind the throne. “It’s pronounced hog, you impertinent whelp.”

“That’s Emperor Whelp to you,” the purple dragon commands, staring down the Storm King with a look as hard as the crystal surrounding them. “And after what you did to my brother?”

Spike!? Twilight barely recognizes the dragon that emerges. The resemblance is obvious, of course, once she makes the connection. The coloration of his scales and frills are the same, and his head is still round instead of isosceles. But he has grown, at least one hoof if not several, and not the lanky way of his greed growth that emphasized stretching, grasping arms and loping legs. Neither does it resemble his early surge when she got her cutie mark that merely increased him proportionally. Instead his torso has widened, his shoulders becoming as broad as Big Mac’s, and there is the start of a pronounced chin that will someday remove the foalish look of his face. His legs are still a bit scrawny, probably from all the flying by enlarged wings, while clearly defined muscles bulge along his crossed arms. But those physical changes are nothing compared to the commanding gaze in his eyes.

“I did what you asked me to do, and stopped him by any means necessary,” the Storm King claims, redirecting Twilight’s ire as cleanly as he did her spells. Spike put him up to that?! “It’s not like he’s permanently injured.” He shrugs as he relaxes, a carefree smile replacing his tensed posture. “Besides, we’re even now. One to one. And as long as you’re not going for the helm? We’re cool.” He winks at Twilight and holds up a clenched fist for her to bump; she returns a glare nothing short of furious.

The main doors to the throne room boom as they open. “If that’s the case,” Princess Cadance states, as close to yelling as Twilight has ever seen her (and she was captured by Chrysalis!), “then restore him. Now.”

With a sweeping bow that ends with one foot off the ground, the Storm King removes his right greave and a six-gemmed bracelet from just under his knee. Twilight groans to herself, but she should have expected that one of the most powerful creatures would have some sort of protection against impediments. With a bit of a squint and twist of his hand he tosses the bracelet from across the room and lands a ringer on Shining Armor’s horn, smirking as he walks forward to retrieve the spent orb, his whole body sensually swaying as though he is continuing their ‘dance’.

All six of the gems instantly go from bright to a dull black, but so too fades the stone surrounding her brother’s body. While Shining Armor recovers Emperor Spike picks up the Helm of the Sibling Supreme. Two crystal guards wheel in a thick-barred cage about the right size to hold an alicorn. Spike tosses the helm underneath the solid bottom; Twilight thinks they are going to crush it flat, raising a hoof as if that might stop them, but the silver status symbol phases straight through. She bets it would be protected from magic inside there, and wonders what defenses would keep a medium sized stick from poking the helm out.

“It’ll be a week before that’ll work again,” the Storm King states as he grabs Shining Armor by a foreleg. With a loud grunt he hauls him to his hooves, clasps the bracelet to his own knee, then forcibly leads the recovering unicorn towards Twilight and the balcony. “Try not to do anything foalish, okay? Okay.” He gives him a light punch on the withers, then a quick salute to Celestia and Luna, who are still outside on the balcony and watching carefully. Celestia returns a polite wave while Luna stands impassively.

“You’re well?” Twilight asks as she lands, trying to be sensitive while reserving an acidic glare for the Storm King.

“Only thing injured is my pride,” Shining Armor admits as he coughs out a bit of dust. “Too bad you missed your chance to go for the crown, what with me having exposed all the traps.”

“Not all the traps,” Cadance corrects as she approaches Twilight, a grin plastered on her muzzle and all animosity gone. “Sunshine, Sunshine, Ladybugs awake! Clap your hooves and do a little shake!”

“That never gets old,” Twilight gleefully claims as she bumps rumps with her former foalsitter. She turns to Celestia and Luna. “Are you two coming in?”

“My apologies,” Celestia says, not moving. “I have a policy of not treading hoof where horn cannot teleport out.”

Luna snorts, sticking her tongue out at her Sister, and trots inside.

“You’ll be safe,” Spike claims as he flies over and hovers next to Twilight. “You have my word on that.”

Celestia looks to the left, then the right. She closes her eyes, her horn briefly flaring, and walks inside. “Raikou.”

“Princesa.” The Storm King steps close and they exchange brief, chaste kisses on each cheek. Twilight can feel her face flush.

Celestia takes the more intimate greeting in stride, happy that she doesn’t have to stoop down. “¿Besas suavemente ahora?”

Raikou laughs, no trace of smugness at contravening Twilight’s earlier vow. “A las ponis no les gusta áspera.”

Twilight tries to ignore their chatter. “Hey, Spike. Or should I say Emperor?” Twilight giggles as the cold look melts off Spike’s face. “I never know what the appropriate greeting is, especially now that I’ve got wings.”

“You can call me anything you want, Twi,” Spike returns. A smirk crosses his face. “As long as you don’t try to kiss me.”

“With how you’re looking?” Twilight whistles appreciably as her little brother puffs his chest. “Mares must be falling all over you.”

The jovial smile fades. “Yeah,” Spike says sullenly. “Something like that.”

Twilight frowns, not meaning to remind him of Sweetie Belle, or anypony else if that was the case. She decides to change the topic. “What was that you were saying about traps?”

“We disabled a good number of them with all four of you coming,” Spike admits, looking a little ashamed at the necessity.

“You were worried about our safety?” Twilight doesn’t know how to take that. On one hoof she’s glad to not be subjected to something that might potentially injure her. On the other hoof, the whole point of her coming was to test the efficacy of their defenses, especially the magical ones.

Cadance offers a half smile, stepping in to explain. “No, we-” she indicates Spike and herself “-were more worried about the cost. They’re expensive to replace after being discharged, and with the crystal ponies lacking the native caster talent of Equestria we would rely almost exclusively on hired talent. Not exactly the best idea where security is concerned.”

“Of course,” Twilight concurs, having done a lot of the trapping of her castle and school herself.

“But more importantly, the vast majority of the traps would have done little to nothing against a hermetic shield, especially one of your caliber.” Cadance winks. “Impressive work against Raikou, by the way; you almost got him.”

“Almost,” Raikou interjects, “only counts in horsey-shoes and grenades.” He tosses the spent obsidian orb to himself before slipping it next to five neighbors on his belt; he and Celestia had been discussing their construction and rechargeability. He smirks at Twilight’s glower, though Celestia doesn’t seem impressed by his bluster.

“We could use a hoof constructing and testing the defenses,” Spike continues unabashedly. “No offense to Cadance, but the team I assembled is a bit lacking in thaumic capacity.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Twilight says, her gaze flipping between the Storm King and Spike. “You assembled a team?”

“Spike’s Seven.” The dragon grins a very dragony grin, all fangs and grasping claws, as Shining Armor and Twilight gape at him. “What, you think you’re the only ponies who know the other that well?”

“Well, no,” Twilight stammers, quite put out.

“So.” Spike strides to the balcony, looking down over the Crystal Empire. “How do you think your Friends are faring against them?”

Ch. 147 - Brittle Barrier, Part One

Rarity and Prince Blueblood dart out under the cover of falling presents. She knows better than to question the logistics of a Pinkie Party, and her partnership with Cheese Sandwich would likely not double but quadruple the insanity. She can feel the gentle tug in the back of her mind, an insidious coaxing that promises laughter and joy and good times for all if only they would stop and join. She’s not sure if her previous exposure to the partymare’s parties makes it easier or harder to resist, because she knows she really would have fun blowing on the party horns and playing the party games and eating the party food and party party party party-

She shakes her head, partly clearing her mind and wishing she could cleanse it further, and drags the enraptured Lunaris along.

The perimeter of Crystal Guards has fallen into disarray, with a third of them striving to maintain order with shouted commands and furious stamps, a third of them ruining the chances of the first group by wildly scurrying about, and a third of them showing an interest in the diversion that would be better classified as dereliction. And no wonder, with the unclaimed presents practically begging to be ripped open, their contents sure to satisfy any and all cravings…

She bears down on a body of buffoons bunching up around a banana-themed box. She prays the peeling presents present a perplexity that protects their presence from perception, and hides her hair halfway under her hat. A glance at her gallant guardian gets a gasp at his guise; he slanted his saddlebag sideways, seeming a simple sharecropper with slumped shoulders and stupefied surprise at his showering surroundings.

They pass through unmolested, drawing little more than a cursory inspection from one of the few remaining guards attempting anything approaching order. Even so, the oppressive feeling of being watched remains; their hurried pace slows to better blend in. She does not want to be caught, an ignoble end if there ever was one, and given that the Crystal Guards are specifically looking for Twilight and her Friends?

Once the presents pass from eyesight she feels a weight lift from her mind. They pull into an alley between two crystal buildings, one fancy shop and one bustling restaurant. “Remind me to never antagonize your alliterative ally,” Lunaris remarks as he straightens up, a mere shake of his golden mane enough to restore his chiseled good looks and send her heart fluttering. His broad chest, his pure white coat, his long horn - and what else might be as long? She might have swooned if he shot her a smile; instead, he adjusts the long, thin bag at his side as he studiously looks around. “Do we have a heading?”

“We need information.” Rarity scans their surroundings. They’ve gotten a little off track, but not by much. Most of the closest buildings are numbered homes, unlikely to be of any help. A massive stadium dominates the back part of the castle, and most of the hustle and bustle is directed in that direction. They could try to blend in with the construction ponies, but there are a number of bored-looking guards monitoring the passers-by. The broad street leading toward the Crystal Castle itself looks relatively unguarded, and-

Wait. She squints at the tall figure carrying a bulging gray duffel bag and making his way to the outer edge of one of the four legs of the castle. Doug? What is he doing here? And accompanied by two Crystal Guards? She frowns as he walks up to the solid wall, glances left and right, and then slips around the side to the door on the inside. The guards wait outside on high alert.

Going through the front door wouldn’t work. They’d be spotted and taken in for questioning for sure. She needs to find another way inside, and the best place to do that? She checks the sign on the building next to her.

Perfect.

The nearby bar has to be the seediest joint Rarity has ever laid eyes upon. The berry-stained sign reads ‘Halter Sops’, as likely a name as an imperative directed at anypony who treads inside. Darkened windows obscure the ponies crammed like cattle into stalls, the many slow-moving shadows trudging about aimlessly, as far as she can tell. Not seeing any better choices she presses the door open, the soft glow of sparsely spread lightstones embedded in the ceiling casting everything in dull shadows. Off duty guards sit in grim groups, burly construction workers wearing roughened outfits as tough as their husky coats, and a motley mix of changelings big and small fill the booths, leaving two spots available at the bar.

“Salt or hops?” the surly changeling running the counter demands as they draw up. He’s one of the smaller ones, but with a rack of horns she could hang half a dozen dresses on. He idly cleans a glass with a rag so dirty Rarity wouldn’t have used it to wipe up spilled oil from the Cider Squeezy. She’s appalled at the conditions, mouth moving but no sound coming out as she works through how to best display her displeasure.

“One line of finely ground sea salt,” Lunaris covers when Rarity fails to respond.

The burgundy barling grunts before sifting underneath the bar. He pulls out a long bottle with a tapered cone on one end and a hoof crank. A blackened hoof tips it upside down, the thin end just above the counter, and expertly grinds out a thin white line. He dips the rag into a bowl of thick black liquid, a squat changeling nymph occasionally barfing up more.

“Excuse me?” Rarity exclaims, aghast at the order, but more so how Lunaris puts the side of his head against the dark laminate and licks the salty trail up with one smooth motion.

“Fer’s you?” the barling demands as Lunaris’ eyes roll back in their sockets, cleaning up the minute remnants of the line.

“The lady will have one small block of trace-mineralized,” Lunaris answers, somewhat out of it and not moving from against the counter, as Rarity again fails to respond.

“Excuse me?” Rarity repeats, this time directed at Lunaris, as the barling brings out a (somewhat) clean black plate and a small, sandy-textured white block dappled with spots of orange and brown.

“I’m sorry, would you prefer it loose in a bucket?” Lunaris chuckles at his own joke, Rarity not at all amused. He flicks his eyes at the entrance. “You’ll need it to recover your strength. Exercise and sweat burns through a lot, and there will be no shortage of strenuous activity soon enough.”

Rarity follows his gaze to the dozen or so Crystal Guards congregating just outside the door. The one wearing the most ornate getup barks orders left and right, the polished spears of the others waving to and fro as they hustle into position. Her eyes widen, then turns to surprise as the barling flips a sign on the window to ‘closed’ and bars them inside. She gulps, taking the opportunity to daintily nibble a corner from her block.

It tastes, well, salty. Any other flavors, if it is flavored at all, are easily overpowered. But it’s not the taste that displeases her so much as the earth pony connotation; the, for lack of a better phrase, cheapness, the raw utility, as opposed to acquiring the required sodium through higher quality meals. Now, she does not begrudge any ponies who do need the increased intake, primarily earth ponies and to a lesser extent pegasi. Even her sire would partake in a block or two after racing around the yard for hours with her, but her dam did her best to keep her from noticing.

“What was that for?” she asks as the barling returns, finishing off her block with another two chomps, a certain urgency in her voice.

“The seedy salt joint always closes this time’a day,” the barling responds with a detached shrug as one of the Crystal Guards futilely bangs against the barred door. Nopony in the bar reacts more than a cursory glance before returning to their cups. “Now, what brings the two’a you’s in here?”

Rarity grins, quickly getting into character. “We’re looking for information,” she demands as Lunaris gulps down a gallon of water and searches for another. The barling slides him one without so much as a glance. “Any way into or out of the Crystal Castle that wouldn’t be guarded.”

“They’s blocked off all’a da secret entrances,” the changeling answers with a gruff grunt. A thin smile creeps across his burnt-red muzzle. “All but one. Ya know the stadium they’s puttun’ up?”

“It’s hard to miss,” Rarity says with a nod.

“Dey still’s need’s ta keep it connected fer water’n such.” The barling’s eyebrows flick up at the ‘n such’; Rarity suspects (with mounting horror) that will be where they need to go. “Best way out’s the back.” He waves his horns in the general direction.

“Perfect.” Rarity grins despite her trepidation, then pointedly looks at Lunaris and then the empty plate. She grumbles to herself about how he ordered the most expensive item on the menu as she searches through her coat for an appropriately sized gem.

A thunk on the counter surprises her. “Keep the change,” Lunaris says with a suave smile at the barling, the sparkling stone on the counter easily triple the cost of their ‘meal’ and whatever tip she might have given for the information. He shifts the bag on his back, loosening the straps on the front, and heads to the rear exit without a backwards glance.

Her heart beats faster as she follows him to the back door, trying to keep her eyes off his rump. She didn’t know the Prince had such a generous streak in him! She thought he would be like so many of the other nobles she has run into in her line of work, pompous and self-important with little love for the common pony. Is it merely to impress her, the Element of Generosity? He would have been more obvious about it then, right? Made some sort of sign, a wink and nod perhaps, to impress upon her his gallantry and love for his fellow working pony (or ‘ling)? And she wouldn’t have liked that, it would have confirmed him as just another rich snob with more coin than compassion. Perhaps it is a way of greasing frogs, forging new contacts with bits and promises of more for continued service. That would make more sense, Equestria’s foremost foreign diplomat always looking to expand their web of informers.

He stops as soon as they are out of view of the rest of the bar and pulls out a small vial from a compartment on the rear of his bag. “Take this,” he says, levitating it to her, “but don’t drink it yet.”

“What is it?” Rarity says, taking the round vial. It’s small, holding less than a swallow’s worth of liquid.

“It’s a sow potion,” Lunaris explains, though the word means nothing to Rarity. What would pigs or planting have to do with a potion? He notices her confusion. “I got the recipe from Zebrican shamans. Don’t ask what’s inside, you don’t want to know.” Rarity holds it a little further away from herself. “It makes you run faster. But don’t drink it yet, it doesn’t work indoors.”

“Oh, one of those.” Rarity shoots him a sly grin. “Do you use any other performance enhancing spells?”

“Alacrity.” Rarity rolls her eyes as he ignores her banter. She nearly gags as he removes a pair of old black leather (leather! the thought sickens her) boots, the craftmareship far from expert and clashing with, well, everything else about him. She’s not sure which bothers her more. Thankfully he doesn’t put them on, merely taps them together and replaces them into his bag. She goggles as he pulls out a flowing black silk sash, leaving it loose around his chest. “Ready?”

Rarity nods as he trots forward, yet his pace would imply a walk. He opens the door, letting her go first (how gracious!), and follows behind her into the alley on the opposite side of the bar.

“Hey!” a lookout shouts. “They’re going out the back!”

Ch. 148 - Brittle Barrier, Part Two

The Crystal Guard standing in the two unicorns’ way doesn’t look like much: a bit on the scrawny side, constantly shifting as though uncomfortable in his armor, and his spear wavers between the two as though he can’t figure out which is the greater threat. Yet he has conviction in his eyes, a firm set to his muzzle, and a commanding tone to his voice. “By the order of Emperor Spike, you are under arrest!”

“We don’t have time for this.” Lunaris glances backward toward the main road, where any second now the bulk of the guards will round, and then back to the lone guard. “Let us pass and you will not be injured.”

The guard grimaces. His stance lowers as he steadies the sharpened tip at Lunaris.

Rarity pops open the potion, doing her best not to sniff the viscous fluid. It takes several seconds to force down, tasting of pipevine and maple syrup and something thicker than water she tries not to place. After the last swallow she feels no different, leaving her wondering what the effects are, if any.

With one smooth motion the Prince slides an ornate rapier from the long, thin bag at his side. The golden metal shines like the sun, with glints of platinum runes along the slender edge. It hangs in his golden aura, point facing down and toward the guard. “This,” Lunaris explains with no lack of reverence, “is Gilded Graze. The merest prick from it will-”

The guard roars, charging with his spear leveled at the stallion.

The master duelist ripostes the attack as casually as Rarity would flick her tail at an annoying fly. The guard crumples to his hooves, gasping in pain and clutching at one foreleg. Rarity’s eyes widen; she barely saw the restrained blow that hobbled him, and never knew a pony other than Celestia to maneuver a weapon with such haste.

“You tried to catch me monologuing!” Lunaris laughs, but there is no derision in his tone. “Well done! Most would have waited for me to finish. Now, don’t get me wrong, I dislike being deprived of the opportunity, but-”

“Lunaris!” Rarity shouts from the other end of the street as guards stream in from the front of the store. She doesn’t remember taking as many steps as it would have needed to get there. “Hurry!”

The crown Prince snaps the fallen guard a hasty salute - his every motion faster than Rarity would have guessed - and gallops toward her. The guards, hot on his hocks, fall behind like they are standing still.

Rarity suddenly gets the effect of the potion and the boots Lunaris tapped together: for every two steps she takes, she moves forward as if she had taken three. It brings no more strain to her muscles, no extra lengthening of her stride, yet the distance closes as though her legs were as long as Celestia’s. She laughs, galloping alongside her companion as though this was the Running of the Leaves and not a reckless race through the roads.

They pass between another pair of crystal covered buildings, each street closer to their destination than before. Shouts from their pursuers spur nearby guards into action as civilians hustle out of their way, their advantage in speed partially negated. Rarity dances away from any attempting to intercept her as easily as her sire danced around her when she was a filly; she briefly wonders what his hoofball competitions would have been like if these substances were legal, though in all fairness (if utilizing magical boosts to one’s abilities can be construed as ‘fair’) it wouldn’t make much of a difference, as every player would chug one of these ‘sow pots’ before every game.

That ‘fairness’ that might be present in sports doesn’t help the guards chasing them. Neither does Gilded Graze, swishing and twirling in Lunaris’ golden aura like a dancing dervish. The spears in the guard’s mouths are too unwieldy to snare the sword, especially at a gallop, much less prevent him from carving an uppercase ‘B’ into each of their breastplates. She’s thankful he isn’t doing anything more to them, just dragging them along like a foal with a kite. Yet it feels like taunting when he pauses so they can nearly catch up, then takes off at a pace they cannot hope to match. She knows it’s to keep the sword closer to himself, it’s easier and more maneuverable that way, but it’s not making him any friends.

They round another corner, all the crystal buildings blending together in their shining splendor, and ending up staring at the towering walls of the stadium.

And standing outside, five armored Storm Minions with heavy metal shields and weighted nets.

“So much for the element of surprise,” Lunaris quips as the two dozen Crystal Guards form ranks behind them. Their shouts ring out, largely ignored. He withdraws his second rapier, a deep cobalt that leaves shadows in its trail, and holds it to Rarity.

It’s the same rapier she dueled him with during the Grand Galloping Gala, Ward Pierce. It’s not as versatile a weapon as Gilded Graze, the golden weapon imbued with every offensive enchantment possible - light as a feather, perfectly balanced, slim enough to slip inside an opponent's defenses, and with a sharpness that can be spread along the edge or concentrated in the point to where merely dropping the rapier will pierce through solid stone. The second activation turns the lightest graze into a gaping wound, exsanguinating the hardiest of creatures in a matter of seconds. She has heard of that ability being deployed against dragons, their heavily armored scales only serving to slow them down. She hopes to never see it in action.

Ward Pierce, by comparison, is much clumsier, but it excels where Gilded Graze would struggle: against magical barriers. When activated, the Apathy magic nullifies any magic thrown its way except for a carefully sculpted area with which to hold. Any barriers it touches are dispelled, the same with any ongoing effects, the breaking of the spell sending a feedback pulse to the caster. It is the bane of many a unicorn; she knows Shining Armor has practiced against it, to his regret (and Blueblood’s, to the unicorn’s credit) when it sent him reeling to the floor after shattering a single shield.

The bag at Lunaris’ side has a magic of its own, the ability to recall the swords last placed inside. It would certainly help should one of their swords get tangled in the Storm Minions’ nets. She doesn’t look forward to running away from them, especially when they try to snare her. Unless her scanning magic is wrong (and she is never wrong), the shields of the guards will deflect any magical projectiles sent their way. Now, the physical swords in their auras will fare better against them, and the Apathy of Ward Pierce might cause a backlash if it connects with the shields, but that could easily go either direction, as there is more shield than there is sword.

She takes Ward Pierce in her cornflower blue aura, the light fading to almost nothing everywhere except the hilt. She holds it warily, a body length from herself, tilting it this way and that as she refamiliarizes herself with the weapon.

He asks, a challenge in his voice, “How many could you handle?”

Rarity grimaces as the guards break apart to surround them, staying a healthy ways away from the pair standing barrel to barrel but facing opposite directions, leaving no way for them to be flanked. She doesn’t want to appear weak, not in front of (or compared to) a stallion, but neither does she want to exaggerate her ability. “I don’t think more than ten.”

Lunaris almost looks hopeful despite being drastically outnumbered. “Including the big ones?”

Rarity solemnly shakes her head. She doesn’t trust herself to dodge the nets, but with the potion she could outpace the crystal guards and easily outrange them.

Lunaris grunts. “Leaving twenty for me.”

“Nineteen,” Rarity corrects with a teasing grin.

“You’re forgetting the one I crippled,” Lunaris returns. Rarity rolls her eyes at his pedantry, but the injured guard is indeed limping toward them, using the spear in his mouth as a fourth leg. The renowned duelist sighs as the other guards tense, a hard look in their eyes, like this is no longer a game to them. “Temporarily!” the Prince calls, giving a smile that fails to soften their stony looks. “We don’t want to hurt any of you! He’ll walk it off in a day, or less!”

Rarity gulps as the guards edge closer, their options quickly becoming more and more limited. Fear enters her voice. “What do we do?”

Lunaris stays far braver than she expects, calmly asking, like this is some sort of game to him, “What are our assets?”

Rarity keeps the rapier at the ready so none of the guards get any ideas while she thinks. “Your steel. Those spells.” She flicks her mane, restoring her natural colors. A few of the guards whistle appreciably as her long purple locks tumble to her sides. “My beauty.”

Lunaris’ gaze rolls across her, and she can feel his heart beat faster for a moment. Still got it. Then he asks, “Can you charm any of them with that beauty? Even the numbers a little bit? Even a short mesmerize would work.”

“Err,” Rarity stalls. She’s never tried utilizing her beauty in that manner, and doubts anypony would look kindly on that sort of Malevolence, even if it isn’t a spell she cast from her horn. “...No.”

Lunaris huffs. “Well, why did you list that among our assets in the first place?”

She scowls.

He loudly exclaims, “What I wouldn’t give for a fire-breathing dragon we could use as a flamethrower!”

A few of the guards take cautious steps backward. To minimize their susceptibility to area attacks, of course.

“I thought we weren’t trying to injure them,” Rarity questions, her eyes going wide at just the thought of burning ponies alive.

“It’s called a blave,” comes the irritated response.

“A bluff.” Rarity feels like clobbering her companion. “You were bluffing about that?!”

“True,” Lunaris concedes, showing none of her exasperation. “But that’s hardly common knowledge, is it?”

Rarity gapes at him. “You literally just said that we didn’t want to hurt them.”

“Yes,” Lunaris says, circling around so he faces a different section of guards. They back off in a hurry. He glances up at the sky with a growing smirk. “But there is one thing left to do when the odds seem insurmountable.”

“And that is?” Rarity demands.

A twinkle gleams in Lunaris’ eye just before he dons a thick pair of sunglasses. “Cheese it.”

“What?” Rarity says, not quite understanding when nothing happens. “You mean run away?”

“‘S’cuse me, partner. Pardon me.” Cheese Sandwich pushes through the wall of guards. He stands in a duelist’s stance, wielding a floppy rubber chicken in one hoof and an accordion in the other. His yellow shirt is stained with fruit punch, red frosting, and tomato juice. He saunters up to the Prince. “Need something?”

Lunaris takes the appearance in stride while Rarity lets out a shrill shriek. “Running late?”

“Nope.” Cheese Sandwich checks a timepiece, then jams it back into the chicken. “You’re running fast.”

“Ah,” Lunaris concedes. He glances at the train station behind them. “My mistake.”

Rarity huffs. “What are you-”

She’s cut off as her hat tugs down over her face. Suddenly, the entire area is bathed in white, even through the thick fabric. Light, bright as though she is staring at the sun, burns her eyes even as her eyelids slam shut. Then a thunderous noise, the low rumble of a dozen cannons firing without end, rolls over her. She can’t hear, can’t see, can barely make out the feel of a hoof dragging her along a section of crystal rubble.

Ch. 149 - Brittle Barrier, Part Three

Moments before

“Party cannons?”

“Rolled out!”

“Party cannon song?”

“Polka’d out!”

“Moves?”

“Busted out!”

Mayhem reigns around the two party ponies. All have succumbed to their power, persuaded to party with wild dances, whistled ditties, and whisked desserts. In the rare instance where raging recreation threatens to recede, an opened present explodes in a shower of confetti, releasing half a dozen more presents and pinatas and pieces of parmesan cheese. In unlucky cases (or where it’s especially needed) this results in a presen-ception of presents popping out of presents and presenting panicking partygoers a placating panacea to their problems.

Needless to say, Pinkie Pie loves every second of it. The glitz, the glamor, the grandeur; has she ever hosted a party this epic?! She’s a bit jealous of how smoothly her partymate duplicated that silly Sombrero’s duplicating technique, but it shouldn’t matter how mean a pony is if you’re using their style in the right way, right? Besides, she did the same thing with hats, it can’t be that hard to copy. What’s frustrating (and a blast at the same time!) is the metric tonne of jokes she’s come up with, but he just comes up with an imperial ton and takes the cake right back! It’s so unfair! But she’ll show him, she always does!

“This is it,” Pinkie Pie narrates to herself from atop the train car. Her tubanjaccordidrum might as well have been an extension of her hooves for how naturally the music comes, dancing along to the improvised rendition of the Crystal Kingdom Anthem. “Are you ready to decide the greatest party planner, not just in Equestria but in all the world?” She smirks as her eyebrows furrow. “Or are you boneless?”

“Nopony calls me boneless,” Not Boneless retorts. “Right, Boneless?” The rubber chicken on his back stays comically flopped to the side. He turns back to her, spurs jingling, and strums a quick ditty on his accordion. “And I was ready before I was born.”

With a grin to end all grins she begins the feud to end all feuds. Faster and faster she goes, matched beat for beat by the orange stallion opposite her. Their instruments heat up, scalding hot to hold. He uses sprays of water from trick flowers and trick shirts and trick buckets to keep his accordion cool. She relies on the fact that accordions are the coolest.

With one long last note they both finish the fiery anthem to the cheers and hoofstomps of all around. She grins at the cheese-sandwich mark as she checks the last item off her mental list. No, Twilight is not rubbing off on her. “I hereby declare this berry stand officially blown!”

“Now, hold on, my little pony.” The brown-maned stallion shoots back a smirk that suggests Pinkie Pie knows nothing of parties. It steams her dumplings, to say the least. “You’re forgetting one thing. And it might be the most important thing you’ll ever know.”

“Oh?” Pinkie Pie’s smile spreads extra wide. A chance to learn party tips and secrets? She’s all ears!

“And that is-” He cuts off as orange ears twitch, glancing behind his back at a spot somewhere past the Crystal Castle, and exclaims, “My Cheesy Sense is a-tingling!” He sweeps back his black-and-white poncho, then takes the time to adjust his dark fedora (almost as cool a hat as Applejack’s Stetson, or a good tall fez) before doing the same to Boneless’ tiny bowler hat. The rubber chicken may be cute, but he’s a little too lifeless, unlike Gummy.

“Oo-Oh! A Cheesy Sense?” Pinkie Pie pronks excitedly. “I have a Pinkie Sense!”

“I sensed you did.” Equestria’s number two party pony tips his hat goodbye, then Boneless’, a lonely tune playing from his accordion as a tumbleweed blows by. “I must move on. Goodbye, Pinkie Pie. Don’t forget to load the cannon.”

What!? He’s leaving? Especially without telling her what the most important thing is! “Is that what I need to know?” she yells after the galloping stallion. “To listen to my Sense?” He disappears between two stacks of presents, the cloud of dust behind him quickly dissipating. She’s not sure where the dust came from; the crystal cobblestones are clean enough to eat off of.

Pinkie Pie plops down, huffing to herself, her instruments collapsing in a pile around her. Her forelegs cross across her chest, and she blows a bit of bent mane out of her face. It falls right back down. All around her the party rages. Inside something else rages, but it’s certainly no party.

Why did he have to go? She was having so much fun! No, she still is having fun! See? She stands up, shaking a pair of maracas at a passing pair of ponies. They chortle back, but she can sense the edge in their expressions, the gilding of a grimace with the guise of a guffaw.

Her half-hearted attempt squashed like so many gourds, she plops back down. Crushed. Mashed and mangled, pounded and pulverized, not to a pie but to a tart.

Is this what her life will be when things go back to normal? Condemned to forever wander the streets of Ponyville, hoping against hope that somepony new will show up? Or somepony will use Twilight’s fertility spell and she can celebrate a birthday outside of Foal’s Week? Or Fluttershy will throw one of her… gag… picnic parties?

No! She can’t give up so easily! There will be other parties! Other chances to have fun and feel alive!

They just… wouldn’t be parties with him. Whatever his name is.

She hasn’t had this much fun at a party in years! Lemon’s Cute-ceañera, Nightmare Night, the Grand Galloping Gala: none compared to the magnitude, the sheer scope, the way the bash started off as a simple storm-the-castle distraction that unexpectedly flipped off the hook so quickly it left her spinning!

Okay, the Grand Galloping Gala came close, but for entirely different reasons. Reasons she would be moderately okay with triplicating, but her Friends wouldn’t like that.

And the reason for this party being what it is is trotting off into the distance, never to be seen again.

She never feels like this with Doug. Not because he’s a human (though that has something to do with it) or because he prefers his peace and quiet (though that also has something to do with it) or because he isn’t super supportive (though that has a lot of somethings to do with it; if you wanted to get technical (quite possibly the worst quality a pony could have) he just goes along and rarely encourages her to do more). He never tells her off, not with words, but she can sense the exasperation behind his eyes. There’s always a reluctance, a hesitation, an inability to let go of what is certain for what is possible. It’s like the saying goes: a pie in the hoof is worth two on the ‘sill. He’s the kind of pony who always goes for one in the hoof, while she knows she can snatch those two on the windowsill. And does, no matter how fast Granny Pie swings the switch.

“Hey, dam.”

“Hey, Lemon.” Pinkie Pie glances over as a teenage mare trots along the top of the traincar, a blue and pink vacuum cleaner strapped to her back. She’s not sure if the yellow earth pony is her foal or a figment of her imagination.

“Feeling blue?”

Pinkie Pie sighs. She holds up her hooves. “Still pink.”

Lemon doesn’t react beyond brushing one of the cream streaks in her bright yellow mane to the side. She’s gotten so big, she’s nearly eye level with Pinkie Pie, though still on the slim side. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Pinkie Pie lets out a forced laugh. “It’s not like I can just chase after him like some heat-struck filly.”

“And why is that?” Lemon asks, scratching notes on a pad of paper.

Pinkie Pie scoffs. “Seriously?” She motions at her filly. It would be wrong, and yet… She has to change the topic before she pulls a Rarity. “What are you even doing here, anyway?”

“I have to clean this party up, but I saw a chance to use my mark.” Lemon motions to her mark of a pitcher of lemonade. “Plus, you know what they say about distractions.”

“If you don’t know who the distraction is, it’s you.” Pinkie Pie’s eyes suddenly go wide. “I was the distraction!”

Lemon grins. “And what were you the distraction for?”

Pinkie Pie stands up, staring at the castle. “You know what?” She matches Lemon’s grin. “Maybe I am feeling a little blue.”

With one flip she fits herself into Rainbow’s dark blue Shadowbolt costume. She skitters down the length of the Cannonball Surprise X-L and slips inside the barrel before remembering that she needs to load the cannon. Now that would have been an epic mistake! A quick trip down retrieves Trixie’s Sparkler to End All Sparklers. It feels like a travesty to light something so majestic, but Romare Candles just won’t glow until they’re burned! Neither will they light up the sky if they aren’t hurled at hilariously high speeds, but being rockets helps with that part.

The Cannonball Surprise growls as it ratchets up, an ominous clank-clank-clank, aiming at the pointy tip of the Crystal Castle. It’s hard to tell which is more foreboding, the clanks or the steady hiss of the fuse.

She calmly straps on a set of goggles, counting down the seconds.

With a loud ka-thunk the spring in the cannon releases, catapulting her and the massive cake of fireworks high into the air. She can see her house from up here! Wait, no, that’s the Crystal Empire. All the buildings sparkle, straight angles and sharp corners, reflecting the light of the sun in a way that might be blinding if it wasn’t filtered through the pink shield first.

And there are her Friends! Applejack and Big Mac, Fluttershy and Zephyr Breeze, slinking after a growing group of guards chasing Rarity and Prince Blueblood and leaving their posts under the Crystal Castle completely undefended. Silly ponies, don’t they know a distraction when they see one?

She screams in delight as she thrusts with her hind legs, sending the fireworks even higher while she plummets down. With a roar the first rocket ignites, but she’s too cool to look at explosions (that and she doesn’t want to get blinded by the second sun). She pulls out a ball of fluffy cotton (well worth every StormyBuck!) and gives it a (for her) short hug. A cloud envelops her hooves, bringing her fall to an abrupt stop - well, more like a gentle coast as she silently skims along the ground straight at her Friends.

“Alright, everybirdie,” Fluttershy explains to a pack of four birds, all crisply standing at attention. “I’ve assembled this team with one purpose, and one purpose only: to infiltrate the castle with nopony else noticing. You’ve scouted their normal patrol routes, which is good, but they’re going to be all helter-skelter with what’s going on outside. I want each of you to fly ahead and report any guards or movement to either me or Zephyr Breeze.” She gives her brother a pointed look. “Isn’t that right, Zephyr?”

“Err,” Zephyr Breeze says, a little surprised at his sister being so commanding. “Yes?”

“Good.” Fluttershy sticks her hoof forward, and each bird hops on it. “Fluttershy’s Five, get ready!”

“But there are six of us,” Zephyr Breeze complains.

Fluttershy rolls her eyes. “Everygroup else has an extra secret member. Why can’t we?”

Applejack and Big Mac race the last few steps to stand outside a locked door leading into the Crystal Castle, the same one Doug went through, and into position. All of a sudden the entire Kingdom lights with the unmitigated light of a makeshift sun. They wince, unable to properly see their targets, but they have years of applebucking, especially applebucking to the point where they can’t keep their eyes open and yet still go on. With heavy grunts they rear back, bucking the barred barricade right as a thunderclap rolls over them. The door busts down, nopony able to hear the shouted command to ‘Go, go, go!’ as Prince Blueblood leads a behatted Rarity inside. It seems to occur to everypony that there is still a competition going on, all trying to be the first to find the Helm of the Sibling Supreme. They all stumble up the stairs, ears ringing, but Pinkie Pie lags behind as the sandwich-stamped stallion enters last and goes to prop the door back in place.

Her heart flutters in her chest. His eyes, always full of mirth, darken as she approaches. He waves a hoof over the four pock marks marring the door as though there was something he could do to make it less obvious. With a loud grunt he neatly slots it back in place, but he doesn’t turn around to face her.

“Hey.” Pinkie Pie pulls him aside. “Can we talk?”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, head hanging. “But no. This isn’t something I can talk about.”

Pinkie Pie’s lower lip quiver. “But-”

He takes a deep breath. “I have to sing about how I began my saga with a pie.

~A long, long, time ago,
In a town not far away,
A colt was having an attack.
Alone and rejected, I could never
Make a friend; and each endeavor
Always seemed to send me straight back.
I wandered off to the horizon.
Thinking that some time might wizen.
But it all made no difference.
They still showed their indifference.
I hit the road with time to kill.
Braved the forests and crested hills.
Stumbled in to Po-ny-ville.
That’s where, I found, this toy.

Hi!, my, name is Pi-in-kie Pie,
May be savior someday later, now I just play ‘I Spy’,
Balloons and banners, many fun games to try
Askin’ what would you like on your pie,
What would you like on your pie?

Did you know this smalltown mare,
With frizzy tail and poofy hair,
Greets everypony with a smile?
Rich or poor or alicorn,
Hooves or wings or pointy horn,
All are worth her while.
And I know that some think she’s insane
Just a, crazy mare they can’t explain
But that never mattered to me-e
When I spread joy and glee-e-e!
I took my pack out to the plains.
Trekked through snow and sleet and rains
Until all might learn of her refrains.
That’s how. I used. This toy.

And she was singing,
Hi!, my, name is Pi-in-kie Pie,
May be savior someday later, now I just play ‘I Spy’,
Balloons and banners, many fun games to try
Askin’ what would you like on your pie,
What would you like on your pie?

I found my purpose there and then,
To bring laughter to each glade and fen.
Even those that haven’t smiled in a while.
When I left, they all felt better.
It was like they each had met her.
The inspiration for my style.
Looking at her, you’d never think
She brought the world back from the brink
That when things got the darkest
Her Laughter shined the starkest.
She’s the mare I admire most.
Chipper, gracious, a faultless host.
Yet humble; she would ne-ver boast.
That’s why. I share. This toy.

Hi! My, name is Pi-in-kie Pie,
May be savior someday later, now I just play ‘I Spy’,
Balloons and banners, many fun games to try
Askin’ what would you like on your pie,
What would you like on your pie?~”

Pinkie Pie stands there, stunned. “I…I was the inspiration? You became a partypony because of me?”

“Because of you.”

Suddenly the name comes to her. “Cheese Sandwich! You were at the Arri-versary party I threw Doug! February seventeenth, nine-ninety four!”

Cheese Sandwich nods. “I was the brown-coated colt who picked up the rubber chicken you dropped.” He holds out the floppy fowl. “So in a way, this is me returning what you lost so long ago.”

“Then in a way…” Pinkie Pie leers as she sidles up to Cheese Sandwich and shares a kiss that is neither short nor chaste. “This is me thanking you.”

Cheese Sandwich pulls away with a firm nod and a smile too close to a frown for Pinkie’s comfort. “Maybe in another time and place, my little pony, but a smile on your face means my work here is done. And that is all the thanks I need.”

Pinkie Pie returns a smile that wishes she could feel the same.

Ch. 150 - Brittle Barrier, Part Four

“They have made it past the guards and inside the first floor,” Princess Celestia narrates, her horn aglow. She is the only creature on the balcony of the Crystal Castle without hoof or claw vainly attempting to rub the sunspots from Pinkie Pie’s second sun from blinded eyes. She finds the light mildly pleasant, a tender caress to an ear or along the side, nowhere near the pure joy she gets from channeling Sol - or finding she was truly pregnant, and would remain so.

“Inconceivable,” Raikou spits out from next to her. The conceit is obvious to Celestia, scorn at being bested, but there is more than contempt tingeing the word; he seems flustered, similar to the time in front of the Council of Creatures he allied with Equestria rather than lead the charge. The Storm King leans over the railing to squint at the guards milling about far below, his sharpest scowl reserved for the Storm Minions who failed to corral the two unicorns. “They train for this! How could they miss?!”

“The mighty are no match for the observant,” Emperor Spike comments from behind steepled claws. He remains perched on the gilded balcony, contemplating his words. He seems… mournful, though Celestia has an unpropitious chance at correctly reading between the stark lines of dragons. And he has become less equine and more draconic the longer he has reigned. Does he lament the failures of his guards, as does the Storm King, but is less liable to show his displeasure? “And a clever diversion can create the most interesting opportunity.”

“Diversion shmi-version,” Raikou shoots back. “They had plenty of time to engage before the lights went on. And if you don’t know what your opponent will do, don’t give them the chance.”

“Perhaps their hesitation is because their opposition did not immediately roll over,” Princess Luna remarks from next to Celestia. Her Sister is the first to fully recover, but that does not excuse the snide remark, regardless of its factuality. There is a hint of pride in her namesake’s skillful evasion of the Crystal Guards, and more so of the Storm Minions. “Excepting their dodges, of course.”

The Storm King grumbles, three-fingered hand twitching toward the mirrored staff on his back. His gray brow furrows, nearly concealing his sharp teal eyes behind bushy white eyebrows. Then, to Celestia’s surprise, his fingers straighten, and he idly brushes a speck of dirt off the steel and teal crest on his otherwise unadorned ebony plate. “I can respect that kind of skill,” he grudgingly admits, his focus on the soldiers below. “Our soldiers could stand to learn a thing or two.” He flashes Luna, Cadance, and Celestia - lingering on Celestia - a grin. “Something they could learn… together?” He roars with laughter, slapping hand against muscled thigh. “They could teach each other!”

By Heaven’s Light she is torn! On one hoof, she must give him credit for attempting to live in Harmony, regardless of his past transgressions. After all, if she - or her Sister - can be forgiven for her crimes, and she dearly believes that is the case, then she must extend that same forgiveness to even the most abhorrent of foes. On the other hoof, any missteps give her an escape, should he pursue a relationship with her yet-born filly. But how can she hope that any should falter in Harmony?!

“Joint training exercises?” Captain Shining Armor frowns, glancing at Celestia for confirmation.

She knows the worry on his mind: that by opening themselves in such a manner they become more vulnerable, hoofing the opportunity to precisely the forces with the means and motivation to take advantage. Yet what a show of trust that would be! “As though they were our own recruits,” Celestia confirms. Doubt remains in Armor’s mind, and a modicum of surprise in Raikou’s. She hopes they prove worthy of that trust, and she does not merely mean the Storm Minions.

Deciding to show that trust herself, Celestia steps through the horrid nullstone doorway and into the throne room. Her connection to the sun again severs, leaving her adrift and bereft of her most powerful weapon and easiest escape. So too can she no longer detect the scrying spell back in her Canterlot office, nor the paused minor wind charm that deftly blows one page of a report at a time. The minute drain keeping them active remains, thankfully; the pair are a finicky combination to get right, and she doesn’t want to fall behind. At the same time she regains her link to the six Zooming Eyes she covertly cast earlier. She doubts any but Raikou had noticed the invisible scouts, though it appears their patrol patterns were disrupted when she lost the link. She reestablishes the routes as the others step inside.

Three scout the lowest levels, one working its way down the leg connecting to the ground. Two she sends upward, as a precaution if any fliers or unicorns attempted some sort of orbital insertion. One she leaves on the throne room floor, a last precaution if somepony slipped through the lines.

She quickly finds the intrepid Prince Blueblood and Rarity, locked in a standstill against a pair of net-wielding Storm Minions and a half dozen Crystal Guards, soon to be flanked as the other guards recover and come up the stairs. Applejack and Big MacIntosh are likewise located, breaking down the door of what is unfortunately a storeroom with only the one exit while a number of Crystal Guards bear down on them. Pinkie Pie and Cheese Sandwich have the most luck, bounding back and forth while their pursuers slip on banana peels and marbles. A sneaking Fluttershy, with Zephyr Breeze slinking behind, has made the most progress. How the two manage to evade all the Crystal Guard patrols becomes apparent once she spots a crimson Crystal Chickadee whisper a high-pitched string of chirps into the caretaker’s perked ear, then dive away to continue scouting.

“You’ve missed one,” Cadance comments from her side. “A pair of pegasi, coming up the western side, third floor. Fluttershy, if I am not mistaken, and a stallion.”

Celestia spares a glance, wondering if her Niece co-opted her scrying spells, as she had when Chrysalis originally proposed her ‘deal’ some years ago. To her delight, it appears not. “Heartbeat?” she asks, excited that others are taking the initiative to expand their skills.

Cadance nods, still concentrating. Celestia finds it impressive she can recognize them on so little information. “I set up relays. Otherwise I could barely reach across the throne room.”

Spike snaps his claws and points at the closest door. One of the two Crystal Guards that brought in the nullstone cage currently surrounding the Helm of the Sibling Supreme hustles off. Celestia hears the faintest whisper of a command from across the room, stifled against eavesdropping with the expertise that comes with regular practice. Interesting.

The sounds of combat gradually increase as the battle draws closer, muffled shouts and the clang of steel on steel as the guards give ground against Lunaris’ aggressive assault. Then the battle sounds abruptly cut off, the clatter of a rapier hitting the tile and Rarity’s hurried, “I surrender!”

“Unhoof me, you brute!” The main doors bang open. Prince Blueblood and Rarity stride inside, flanked by three guards on each side and the two Storm Guards at the back, all with spears leveled as best they can while nursing bruised limbs and dented helms. Blue goop covers Lunaris’ horn, the impairing sealant doing little to suppress his affronted look, and lines of the sticky concoction splatter on his black silk quartersuit. He snatches his golden rapier from the closest guard and roughly shoves it into the long bag at his side, then does the same with the cobalt. “This suit is worth more than you will make in a year!”

Celestia knows it to be no idle boast; that particular piece of formalwear (along with the name) has been passed down from stallion to stallion for fifty two generations. His sister Solaris likewise has artifacts that have traveled down the matrilineal line, though the family tree of the Bluebloods looks more like a braided rope.

His eyes flick to her, on his right, but never to Cadance, on his left; otherwise, his gaze remains firmly locked on Luna. Even so, she can hear the sharp catch of breath from her niece, and she has a hard time blaming her. His solitary attempt with Cadance was a break from the Blueblood tradition of siring or bearing foals late in life (how else would they have two thirds as many generations as other ponies?), yet it ended in disaster and an insurmountable rift. Celestia wishes they could reconcile, but it must be on their terms, and even the lightest prompting from her could be seen by either of them as a command. At least things seem to be improving since Cadance married Shining Armor.

“My apologies, Princess,” Lunaris states as he offers Luna a deep bow. “I was unable to obtain the Helm for you.”

“For you?” Shining Armor and Celestia ask at the same time. Celestia scowls at her Sister’s conniving play while Shining Armor continues, “You were supposed to get me the Helm!”

“Err,” Lunaris stammers, tugging at his collar, while Celestia tries to put the unharmonic thoughts out of her mind, all the unkind words she could say about disloyal alicorns.

“I, too, am sorry,” Rarity apologizes to Twilight, her nose high as she disdainfully regards the golden-maned stallion. Her horn lacks the blue goop, but one of the nearby Storm Minions has a fistful of it and looks ready to smear it on her at a moment’s notice. Celestia dismisses him with a quick wave, though he only takes two grudging steps back. “It appears we must rely on our compatriots to retrieve the Helm.”

“What Helm is that?” Rainbow Dash asks from above. She and Soarin hover just out of reach, warily watching the Storm Guards and the heavy, blue-coated nets in their hands. She frowns as another two contingents of guards lead Applejack, Big Mac, Fluttershy, Zephyr Breeze, Pinkie Pie, and Cheese Sandwich inside. None of the six look particularly put out, unlike Lunaris. “Did you guys find it?”

Emperor Spike lifts up, gleefully pointing a hoof at the empty nullstone cage. “It’s right-” He cuts off as he realizes that the metal bars contain nothing. He whirls around, only to find Twilight and Shining Armor with ear-to-ear grins. “What did you do!?”

“Oh?” Twilight demurely asks. She rolls her shoulders as she swishes her head from side to side. Celestia finds the conceit unbecoming of a Princess. “Is something missing?”

“How?!” Emperor Spike screeches, the flaps of his wings becoming harder as his claws furl and unfurl. Trails of smoke spew in small spurts out of the corner of his clenched maw, pointed teeth backlit by glowing embers. “We caught all of your Sparkle’s Seven! And Shining’s Seven!”

Twilight returns the smallest of smiles. “Oh? Did you?”

Spike seethes for a long while. “Lesson one,” he finally mutters, still enraged by Twilight’s quip, managing to keep his cool only with great effort. “How to control your temper.” He gulps, then glances to Cadance for confirmation. “Did they use their alicorn powers?”

Cadance shakes her head, equally perplexed. “Nothing outside of Sombra’s limits, that I saw.” She meets Celestia’s gaze, then Luna’s. “If they made an attempt.”

“T’would ruin thy efforts if mere might were all that were used to gain entrance,” Luna confirms, Celestia agreeing with a nod.

Cadance frowns, then begins trotting toward the center of the throne room and the empty cage.

“Your mistake,” Twilight continues, only the tiniest hair away from gloating, “is assuming that when I said seven, I included myself in that number.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Shining Armor complains. “You copied me!”

“What?” Spike roars over the stallion’s comment, enraged at being deceived. He takes to the air right as Cadance calls, “Intruder alert!”

A billowing gout of orange flame blazes forth from purple jaws, searing heat sending the air to shimmering. With a loud snarl Spike charges forward, at an area just behind the cage that isn’t flickering like the rest. Just before he gets there Trixie’s invisibility spell drops, revealing the azure mare clad in glinting crystal armor, just like the other Crystal Guards. Spike pounces on the cowering mare, wrenching the poorly-fitting crystal helm away and sending her pale blue mane spilling around her quivering body.

“Where is it?” Spike demands, the paper helm nowhere to be found on the mare. He roughly shakes her, claws making a horrible screech as they dig into the crystal plate. “What did you do with the Helm?”

“T-Twilight,” Trixie coughs out, the thick black smoke bothering her despite her familiarity with smoke bombs. She gulps, clearing her throat. “Twilight isn’t the only one who can enlist an extra pony. Or in this case?”

Emperor Spike follows Trixie’s pointing hoof to Twilight’s gleeful smile, Shining Armor’s confused grin, Cadance’s look of utter betrayal, and Luna’s and Celestia’s pointed frowns. And to Doug, a duffel bag at his side, with the silver tips of the Helm of the Sibling Supreme peeking out.

Ch. 151 - Brittle Barrier, Part Five

“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” Doug says placatingly, palms facing the Princesses. He focuses primarily on Cadance with her marked scowl, hoping to forestall her evident wrath, though he grimaces as Twilight’s smug smile fades as she realizes the crown peeking out of his duffel bag might not be meant for her. He does his best to keep his voice chipper and unwavering. “And I can explain.”

The clustered mares do not take his reassurance well. Each Princess fixes him with a harsh, implacable glare, the scorned and double-crossed mares waiting for the slightest provocation to unleash her rage.

“You promised to help Twilight win the Helm,” Trixie cuts in from across the room. She uses Doug’s appearance to slip out from Spike’s grasp, staring down her stallion like that might make his arms move. She joins Twilight’s side while Spike hovers above Cadance. “So hurry up and give it to her!”

“That’s what you said to me!” Shining Armor loudly claims, though he quails as his wife’s wrathful gaze pivots to him. “W-wait! I didn’t know you asked him too!”

“Thy pledge to us was that thou wouldst not reveal thy intentions.” Luna fixes Doug with a cold stare. “How couldst thou agree to assist these plebeians, knowing thy efforts were already spoken for? Surely we did not come to you first!”

“Wait,” Shining Armor says, whirling on Luna. “You were going to keep the Helm for yourself?”

“Thy request was for us to retrieve the Helm from Emperor Spike’s clutches,” Luna claims, affronted. “Just as it was yours to Doug. T’was thou who failed to specify what t’would happen after the fact.”

“By all the…” Shining Armor spits out, visibly angered by the alicorn’s deception. Likewise, Celestia regards her Sister with no small amount of shock.

“He told me he would keep our arrangement a secret as well,” Cadance confirms, the target of her fury switching from Shining Armor back to Doug. “You were to protect the Helm, not betray it!”

“In my defense,” Doug says slowly, still holding his hands up and making no move toward the paper helm at his side. His worry is less that any of the aggravated mares will take some aggressive action against him and more that they might turn on each other. “I never let on to anypony that my help had already been requested. Correct?” Doug checks each for confirmation, getting grudging nods in return. He mutters, though loudly enough for all to hear, “You’d think I like working myself to the bone to have enough time to go on excursions like this. And you would have suspected if I declined to help, right?”

“Fine.” Cadance huffs loudest of all of them. “You said you would help Spike keep the Helm. How do you propose to do that, and still uphold your promise to Twilight?” She smirks, half-jesting, “Will you claim the Helm for yourself, to be passed around like mares sharing their stallion?”

“Tempting,” Doug glibly answers, shooting the pink alicorn a flirtatious wink, though neither she nor her husband show any sign of softening their stony expressions.

“I would not be content with one fifth of the Helm,” Twilight states. The other four nod their heads in agreement. “That was the arrangement when we were foals, trading it back and forth; this was to be the final contest, determining who remains Sibling Supreme forever.”

“Forever,” Shining Armor repeats with the same awe and eyes full of sparkles. Celestia and Luna share a similar shine, and even Spike shimmers with desire.

“So,” Doug says, gulping as beads of sweat form along his brow, hoping to keep his (and thus the alicorn’s) cool. “Each of you is only content if you take the Helm home?”

“T’would prove we art the superior Sister,” Luna confirms. Celestia snorts, earning an angry glare from her Sister.

“But you didn’t do anything!” Emperor Spike points at the empty cage and the sole guard standing next to it; she looks stricken because she allowed the Helm to be taken. “At least Twilight made an attempt to beat one of the defenders! All you did was stand and watch.”

Luna manages a look of complete bewilderment. “Is that not how it is done?” She gives a long look at her Sister. “Our apologies. We must be following the wrong model.”

“I have always believed in my students, and seen their failures or successes as my own.” Celestia sighs, though she regards Doug with a wistful smile. “Unless you believe the crown should be mine?”

“You know what?” Doug laughs, to himself since his cheer is shared by none of the mares. He pulls the silvery crown out of the bag. “You’ve convinced me.” Surprised, Celestia nonetheless tips her head so Doug can neatly drop the unfolded Helm of the Sibling Supreme around her long horn.

The dumbfounded alicorn brushes the green bangs of her flowing mane to the side, the eight-pointed silver star on the front of the Helm replacing her golden crown as the most prominent piece of adornment. “Thank you,” Celestia says, halfway between a question and a refusal at being recognized above the others.

“Hey!” Luna objects, frowning first at her Sister before rounding on Doug. Only Celestia does not follow her furious lead. “Thy dares-”

“It turns out,” Doug states with a certain command, forestalling Luna’s rant by placing a single finger on her snout. Her eyes cross to stare at the offending appendage, and Doug is glad she doesn’t have teeth like Spike, since she’s doing a marvelous job baring them. “Somepony else wasn’t happy about not being asked to participate in your little game.”

Cadance sharply draws in a breath. “Chrysalis.”

Doug nods, then points at the lone guard standing at attention next to the empty cage. “She could be her.” He places his hand on his chest. “She could be me!” He calmly points a finger at You. Yes, You. “She could even be-”

“Hey!” Pinkie Pie interjects. “That’s my joke!”

Doug looks puzzled for a second, then shrugs to himself. “I went to Canterlot and talked to Twilight Velvet and Night Light.”

“Y-you did?” Twilight coughs, hiding her bashful frown, probably because it’s been a while since she’s seen them and their last interaction with Doug started off with a bit of a hot patch. “And, um, how are my parents?”

“They wish you well, especially with your two little adventures.” Doug pauses, debating how much to reveal; he decides to go with full disclosure. “They’re debating how much help you’ll need, and if they should move to Ponyville.”

Twilight’s smile draws tighter to the point where she can barely keep it in place. Her anger from Doug’s earlier actions certainly doesn’t help; some seeps through. “Really.”

“I told them,” Doug continues, “we have a number of experienced mares in the herd, all of whom are willing to chip in as required.” Applejack tips her hat, Rarity giving a short nod. “And, if you would like them to be involved more than the occasional visit, you would tell them.”

It takes Twilight a second to parse his response. Her anger fades, rewarding her stallion for his faith in her with a quick kiss that promises considerably more. “Thank you,” she gushes, grinning from ear to ear.

“But,” Doug says, pulling away and addressing the crowd of mares before he can get too distracted, “The main reason was to learn what materials they used. And you know what? It turns out changelings are really good at duplication.”

Doug opens the duffel bag at his side, revealing dozens of silver paper crowns, each a perfect replica of the Helm of the Sibling Supreme.

“And, since I promised to help each of you win one?” Doug pulls out a Helm and places it on Twilight head. He continues down the line, Shining Armor and Cadance and Spike and Luna each getting one. But he doesn’t stop there; he walks to the double line of mares and stallions, and each of them - even the ones that aren’t technically siblings - finds a five-pointed crown resting on their manes.

“Now,” Doug concludes with a certain finality, “you can all be the Sibling Supreme.”

He waits with a certain smugness, though it fades as none of them acknowledge his brilliant resolution. Instead they frown to themselves, exchanging uneasy glances with each other.

“But,” Luna stammers with a certain befuddlement, first to break the awkward silence, “how art we all declared Sibling Supreme? The very word means ‘above all others’!”

“Well,” Doug starts before being cut off by Rainbow Dash.

“The contest wasn’t even over!” Rainbow Dash motions to herself and Soarin. “We weren’t caught yet! We could have still gotten the Helm!”

“You could have tried,” Raikou interjects, crossing his meaty hands across his chest. “But you wouldn't make it.”

“The Great and Powerful Trixie! made it!” The azure unicorn sticks her nose up with no small amount of self-righteousness. “She deserves the Helm the most of anypony!”

“Technically,” Doug corrects, Trixie deflating, “I’m the one who reached through the bars after they stopped your hoof. And the guards let you through because you claimed you were tailing me on Spike’s orders.”

Trixie gives a loud sniff. “The cunning and resourceful Trixie makes no apologies for her methods. And she could have picked that lock just as quickly as you reached your hand in!”

“Oh yeah?” Pinkie Pie loudly claims, “My party is what got everypony this far in the first place!”

The Storm King snorts. “Then spontaneous parties should be treated with suspicion.”

“No!” Pinkie Pie pleads, dropping to her knees to beg. “You can’t! Parties are supposed to be sacred! A time for anypony to gather and make merry, not enmity!”

“Then perhaps,” Celestia rebukes, “the sanctity of parties should not be sacrificed for brief gain.”

Pinkie Pie’s head droops, her hair straightening as tears weep from clenched eyes, that her actions spread distrust and doubt.

“Not how I wanted to win this,” Spike solemnly states. He mournfully slides the back of a claw along the silver paper adorning his green frills. “Apparently this is the ending we all deserve.”

Doug sighs heavily, sitting down. Only Applejack sticks close to him, and she looks more like she’s doing her duty as lead mare rather than because she believes in him. “I thought it would be a fun reward for everypony, since you were all putting so much effort into this.”

Applejack nuzzles Doug, looking forlorn. “Ah’ve won mah share of ribbons, but gettin’ one just fer tryin’?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Rainbow Dash sputters, ripping the silver crown off her head to stare at it. “You mean this is a participation trophy?!”

Doug reaches for the Helm. “Well, if you don’t want it…” Rainbow Dash snatches her Helm away, aghast that he would even think of such a thing. Doug sighs, rubbing at his temples as more and more grumbles permeate the throne room.

“No, no, everypony,” Twilight says, suddenly chipper. Everypony quiets down. “Don’t you see? Doug didn’t do this to show how we all equally failed at our task.” Most of the ponies stare at the floor, ears drooping. “He wanted us to realize that we are focusing on the wrong thing. King Sombra isn’t going to break into this castle and steal a simple trinket.” She places her hoof on her brother’s chest, and he looks at it, confused. “He’s going to try to get into our hearts and corrupt us.” She reaches up to gently tap Spike’s head, giving her longtime ward a fond smile. “He’s going to try to get into our heads and separate us. That is what we cannot allow.” A single flap of her wings brings her to Doug. “And we have you to thank for that.” She reaches down to peck at his lips, blushing as she realizes this is the second time she’s stolen a kiss.

“Uh, sure.” Doug scratches at his scalp. “Not exactly what I was going for, but I’ll take it.”

“Now, aren’t you forgetting something?” Twilight grins as she grabs a Helm of the Sibling Supreme from Doug’s bag, standing two-legged to place it on his head. “There.”

Doug leaves the crown slightly askew, matching her grin as he wraps her whole body in a hug. It doesn’t take long for the rest of the ponies to join him in one giant ball. “Thanks.”

Ch. 152 - Brawn, Part One

Diamond Tiara frowns as Cozy Glow flies back to her, the curly rolls of the pegasus’ light blue mane shaking back and forth. “You didn’t see any of them?” she demands, incredulous that none of the numerous Apple herd are out and about this beautiful afternoon. Why did she stay late taking care of her School Pony President business and not accompany Pomarbo back home like normal?

“Only Granny in the sorting barn,” Cozy Glow answers, a bit impertinent for Diamond’s liking.

A low growl escapes as Diamond Tiara glares down the boundary between Sweet Apple Acres and the Ponyville Schoolhouse, as if a strong enough look might make somepony appear. Pomarbo wasn’t at the Cider Barn, he wasn’t at the Carrot House, or the main farmhouse! She’s tired of trotting around looking for him. She doesn’t want to start a panic, but if multiple ponies are missing? “Maybe the weather patrol knows?”

A look of exasperation flashes across Cozy Glow’s face, likely at the arduous climb to the sparse and high clouds where the on-duty officers hang out. Nevertheless, she takes off, small pink wings beating hard.

While the pegasus flies up, Diamond Tiara asks Miss Cheerilee. The schoolmare only knows that Lemon and Meringue have notes excusing them from class for a special project, curiously not signed by Pinkie Pie, while Hedge normally goes to the pond to hang out with the ducks. She doubts Hedge knows about Pomarbo’s whereabouts, the filly preferring her solitude much like her dam.

While she puzzles out where to look next, Cozy Glow lands next to her. “They saw Doug and his mares board the Friendship Express to Canterlot, along with Big Mac. Pomarbo went to the arcade. Lemon and Meringue weren’t spotted, but that’s normal. Hedge is at the pond.”

“The arcade?” Diamond Tiara huffs; why is he wasting time at the arcade? Only layabouts and low-status ponies hang out there, little colts and disco jockeys and jam-loving weirdos! She trots off in a tizzy, fully ready to tweak an ear or two. And if he’s lucky, she’ll stop at tweaking ears.

By the time she gets to the grass-roofed bowling alley much of her anger has dissipated, replaced by a cold fury. Unlike most of the other buildings there is a dearth of windows to peer through, all the better to keep the bowlers and other degenerates unaware of how much time and bits they are frittering away. Two large white bowling pins and black bowling balls surround the glass entrance. She doesn’t see him at Saltlick or Double Dragon Ninja Warriors, the outside arcade cabinets. She doesn’t want to go inside and make a scene dragging him out, nor to be exposed to those gimmicky games on the off chance she gets enticed by flashing lights and promises of prizes. At least there is a nearby cafe she can use to stake out the premises. She orders a vanilla milkshake for herself and a strawberry for Cozy Glow before settling down. She can finish her homework before the weekend starts, and her School of Friendship compatriot has some friendship assignments.

After her second milkshake and Cozy Glow’s order of loaded hay fries (they’ll go straight to her rump if she doesn’t fly them off, and not in a good way!) Pomarbo squats down on the steps just outside the Ponyville Arcade, green eyes buried behind brown hooves, his green and red mane mussed and pulled in all directions. His tiny legs shake with rage, breath whistling through clenched teeth.

“There he-” Cozy Glow starts before a pale pink hoof blocks any more from coming out.

“Shh,” Diamond Tiara orders, dropping enough bits to cover both their meals and a generous tip. What could have gotten Po so riled up? She wouldn’t find out by trotting up there. Instead she slinks around to the bushes next to the door, Cozy Glow following close behind. Her frown deepens with every step until she ends up hiding behind the black bowling ball, Cozy Glow peeking out from the white pin.

After about a minute the arcade door swings open. Button Mash steps out, sipping on a large cherry smoothie. He stands for a second, pausing as if deciding what to do, before sitting down next to Pomarbo.

“Thanks for playing,” the brown colt says, the green propeller on his red and white hat whirling around. “They don’t like it if I’m playing back there by myself.” He awkwardly scratches at the back of his head at the long pause after his statement. “I know it was your first time, but…”

“Ya could’ve gone easy on me?” A chuckle escapes Pomarbo’s muzzle, and his dark attitude seems to be lifting. “Nah.” He rubs at his rump. “Ah mean, it hurts, but more ‘cause Ah came out on bottom than ‘cause ya went too hard.”

“It gets better the more you do it,” Button Mash explains, his smile gradually growing. “You get a feel for what goes where, and after a while it just comes naturally and you can focus on speed.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Pomarbo shakes his head, his mouth hanging open in awe. “Ya moved so fast, Ah could barely keep up. But then, when you went for somewhere they had no place belongin’? Ah would’a sworn up’n down it wouldn’t work, but then ya went and did it!”

“It’s all in the twist,” Button Mash explains, a wise sage to his pupil. “If you go the wrong way, it pops right out. But the correct direction, and…”

“...It just sinks in like it belongs there.” Pomarbo’s tongue lolls out as he grunts. He glances back at the door. “Ah’m feelin’ better, if’n ya wanna go back in an’-”

No way she can let that happen! Diamond Tiara clears her throat as she steps out, smiling with just a hint of condescension. No need to go all out just yet. “Oh, hey Po! Button Mash! Fancy seeing the two of you here.”

“I practically live here,” Button Mash deadpans while Pomarbo returns a confused look.

“What were you two talking about?” Diamond Tiara continues, dreading the answer yet hiding behind an innocent facade. She can see his older sisters’ influence on him, that instinctual drive to try anything, no matter how unlikely, in the hopes of getting his cutie mark. That won’t work at all! If he gets a cutie mark playing arcade games, what would others think? And how will he help support their herd? Or help her rise in the social ranks?

Nevertheless, she fixes Button Mash with a pointed stare. He’s Lemon’s age, old enough to have a reasonable shot at figuring out what he wants to do with his life. He better not answer yes. “Getting your cutie marks?”

Button Mash scoffs, not at all what Diamond Tiara expects, and spits out, “Better not.”

Wait, he doesn’t want a cutie mark in playing silly games? By his own admission, he practically lives here. If that’s not your calling, why would you bother? She takes another look at the colt’s brown flank, her frown briefly beating her self-composure before she gets her face back under control.

Pomarbo tries to cover for the other colt’s lack of tact. “We were playin’ Block Ablater. It’s really fun, an’ Button’s gonna be competin’ at the Games! Ya got these, um, funny-shaped square pieces?” He motions with his hooves, not that it means anything to her. “Except that they’re not squares, there’s all kind of weird shapes like straight pieces, and blocks, and hooks, and-

“-The seven tetrominoes,” Button Mash cuts in to explain as though Pomarbo’s fumbling bothers him. “The seven unique combinations of four contiguous squares with respect to rotation but not reflection: I, J, L, O, S, Z, and T. ”

Diamond Tiara raises an eyebrow at the wordy explanation. Does he think she is actually interested? Although, as one of the many opportunities for Ponyville to win gold at the Equestria Games, she shouldn’t put him down much, if at all. Maybe she should give it a chance? Ugh, Celestia zap her now.

“What he said.” Pomarbo isn’t fazed at all by the interruption. “And you have to figure out where to place them. Ya don’t want gaps, or ya can’t fill in the whole line and clear it. It’s pretty tough doin’ that, even if ya gave me all the time Ah could want!”

“Oh, I can’t imagine why you don’t want a cutie mark there!” Diamond Tiara gives a single haughty laugh, covering her muzzle as though she is embarrassed to be laughing at their plight.

“Ya should join us!” Pomarbo gives her a wide smile that she has far too much difficulty returning. She’ll need to run through her exercises again. “Ah bet ya’d be really good, ‘cause ya’re smart’n ya love thinkin’ ahead!”

Diamond Tiara may recognize when flattery is used on her, as she doles it out all the time, but is it really flattery when it’s true? She giggles, uncovering her muzzle as she glances at Cozy Glow. “Oh, I’d love to. But don’t we need to head to the barns? I’m sure Granny Smith has finished sorting the apples.”

“Oh.” Pomarbo rubs at the back of his mane, suddenly withdrawn. “Um, my dam said she’n uncle Big Mac would be gone, maybe for the whole weekend. An’ we’d need to save those apples in case she weren’t back yet; we might need ‘em to fill the orders.”

Diamond Tiara frowns internally, keeping her smile. The Apples get more bits per bushel making cider, even with Flim Flam’s cut; it would make more sense from a business perspective to prioritize that over just about anything else. Just one more thing to take a look at once Sweet Apple Acres is under new management. Well, depending how they split the orchards, of course; Big MacIntosh likely won’t stay a bachelor forever, much as they joke about him being married to the farm. Eventually somemare will decide his weight is worth the work, and that will be that.

“I see,” she says slowly, allowing a small section of frown to creep through.

“But, um, ya’re still welcome to come over, if’n ya want.” Pomarbo offers her a hopeful grin. “Ah don’t think Granny’ll say nothin’, an’ it’ll just be you, me’n Hedge.”

Diamond Tiara blinks. While this won’t be the first time she’s slept over at the Apple’s, this is the first time Pomarbo has asked without specific (and sometimes repeated) prompting. “That would be lovely,” she says, throwing in a hint of a curtsy and wink. Have to encourage them whenever they do anything right; like her sire says, small bits invested now will pay large dividends later. “I guess we can stay here.”

As soon as the door to the bowling alley opens every one of her senses comes under assault: the flashing lights of the games, the striking of pins on the lanes, the smell and taste of cheap oil-and-salt amusement food permeating the air. Even the polished hardwood floor feels off as she trots inside, Pomarbo holding the door open. She follows an impatient and hurrying Button Mash to the back, hoping in vain there might be an out-of-the-way spot she can relax, but Pomarbo quickly returns to her side and practically pushes her in front of the game. Well, if he insists, she’ll give the game a try. Again, building up that account so he’ll do the things she wants to do.

The Block Ablater cabinet looks much like the other games, a blocky purple box taller than she can stretch. She can reach the controls - on the left, four buttons in a diamond pattern that she can completely cover with one hoof, three on the right - by standing on her hind legs, an unflattering position if there ever was one. Pomarbo and Button Mash use step stools to reach, and she’s glad to be spared that humiliation. Pomarbo pulls his stool away from the machine and sits on it a little ways back. She wryly notes the slot where you put bits hangs open, not requiring them to actually insert anything to play.

The game itself looks mildly interesting, at best. Button Mash explains as he stands up next to her, “You send junk to the other pony by clearing lines, the more the better. The four buttons on the left move your piece around: left goes left, right goes right, down drop it faster, up hard drops, if you press all four it hard drops but you can still rotate. Right rotates clockwise, left counterclockwise, up holds the piece or swaps for your held piece. Ready?” He doesn’t wait for her to answer, just flicks a little switch twice and stretches to press two buttons near the top, starting up a two player game.

Clearing lines? Hard drop? The whole ‘teach me how to play’ trope would go a lot better if it was, you know, Pomarbo showing her the ropes. All he needs to do is get behind her, almost like he’s mounting her, and guide her hooves to where she needs to go. And then, as she gets a bit more confident, he would slide down her barrel, and… Well. That would be much better. She glances back to get him a coquettish wink and flick of her mane, inviting him over, but he seems oblivious. As always. Figures.

The game starts, showing five pieces on the right while a square piece begins falling on her side of the board. She taps to one side experimentally, finding it takes just the slightest touch to get it to move. And, if she holds it, after a brief delay it quickly shifts all the way across. She tries pressing up, and the piece jumps to the bottom with a happy *schew!* sound, the next piece coming from the top while the pieces on the right shift up. Okay, she can make sense of this. It’s like she’s commanding the ponies underneath her, just like her cutie mark wants! She moves the ‘j’ piece that comes to the right, testing out what rotating it looks like. It spins about, and she places it on its side next to the ‘o’ with another happy *schew!*. Not bad!

She places another piece, and another, the grin on her muzzle slowly widening. This is pretty fun! And then she fills the bottom row, and half the blocks disappear on her with an almost insulting *puh*. She frowns, having expected more.

Then the *puh* sound repeats. And repeats, again and again and again. Her eyes widen as the bottom of her field pushes up with a line of gray with every block she places, and then another, and two more, even when she manages to clear a line more just come and come, until her side is nothing but ugly gray blocks.

“What was that?” Pomarbo asks Button Mash, Diamond Tiara slightly miffed. Cozy Glow seems just as lost.

“Four wide,” Button Mash explains as though either word means anything. She glances at his side of the field, the game not having cleared everything yet, and he has two short towers on either side of an open middle. “It lets you get an absurd combo, but is weak to a D-T or a PC setup since it takes so long to build and relies on height. I need to practice it more, I’m still pretty slow.”

Slow?! “That was slow?” They barely played for thirty seconds! Did he have to go all out?

“Yeah.” Button Mash shrugs. “And it’s not like I’m going to slow down for a noob.”

Diamond Tiara grits her teeth as she readies herself for the next game. She doesn’t know what that word means, but she hates being called it.

Ch. 153 - Brawn, Part Two

“Rrrgh!” Diamond Tiara growls, smashing the rotate right button as her field again explodes into a thousand gray pixels. “Again!”

Unbidden, her muzzle contorts to a deep scowl. It isn’t fair! How can this, this, this cutie-markless colt be good at anything, let alone this good? He’s beaten her every single time they played, no matter how many nudges her cutie mark gave her about what piece goes where. Listening to it always paid off, but she just isn’t fast enough. This next time, though? She has a plan.

“Maybe,” Pomarbo ventures hesitantly, “we can try another game? Road Jousters looks fun, they have the new one with Luna-”

“No.” To Diamond Tiara’s surprise, both she and Button Mash object.

The game dutifully resets, restoring the clear field on her side. Button Mash again goes for that stupid four-wide strategy, the one that takes a while to get rolling but steamrolls her no matter how many four-line clears she gets. She plays much faster than normal, but sloppily, intentionally leaving gaps in her field. She can hear Pomarbo’s confused murmurs to Cozy Glow, which makes sense: her play is atrocious, which is exactly what she’s going for.

Because as soon as Button Mash reaches the top of the screen she yells “Switch!” and smoothly slides over to his side of the game, roughly shoving him and his stool to what used to be her side.

A grim look comes over Button Mash’s face, but the command in her voice overcomes whatever resistance he might have had. He quickly sets to work dismantling the wall of junk in his way, one mistake from losing.

“Hey!” Pomarbo objects, though faintly; her focus is on the game.

All she needs to do is keep this ‘combo’ going, which will send more lines of junk the longer it is, until ablating a single line is as effective as ablating four. O piece here, Z piece standing, hold the S until it fits, L upside-down in a way that looks like it stops her cold, and sneak in that S with a rotation that really ought to be cheating. At first it seems like she’s losing, because her stack keeps rising as he sends lines of junk her way. But then the lines stop coming, and whatever progress he’s made on downstacking gets reversed as her combo gets bigger. His gray field grows closer and closer to the top…

And then she runs out of lines to clear, stuck with an open field. As far as she can get from losing, and yet just as far from winning. She can only watch with horror as he converts what seem like misdrops into those forsaken T-spins, an inexorable gray tower building before her eyes.

The scoreboard blinks 1-24.

“That was great practice,” Button Mash comments, cracking his neck. It makes her feel like a well-trod whorse, waiting for the next mare to mount. “Wanna do it again?”

Diamond Tiara feels like crying, but she won’t. Not for some stupid game that taught her stupid words like ‘combo’, ‘downstacking’, and ‘T-spin’.

“How?” The word comes out soft, yet no less a demand. “How are you so good?”

Button Mash offers her a faint smile. “Practice?”

His smile meets her scowl, and quickly fades. For a while he just stares at the screen.

“You’re asking the wrong question,” he finally says, barely audible over the happy beeps of the game and the strike of pins on the nearby bowling lanes.

Carefully curled eyebrows mash together, her hackles raising. “What’s the right question?”

“Why.” Vermillion eyes wander around the arcade before coming back to meet her blue. There is a steel behind them she doesn’t expect. “Do you know what my name means?”

“When you press buttons.” Diamond Tiara rolls her hoof between the four buttons on the left. “Really fast.”

“If pressing them fast was all it meant, then this should have showed up by now, right?” Button Mash’s stare becomes more and more uncomfortable the longer she holds it, even when it flicks to his flank. “I think it means something else. Pressing the buttons unskillfully or randomly.”

“Err,” Diamond Tiara stalls as her mind goes to the Cutie Mark Crusaders. They had tried all sorts of different activities in a ‘quest’ to get their cutie marks. Then, one day, Starlight Glimmer removed (partitioned? It was hard to get a straight story out of them) the chaos magic their hybrid bodies had stored after an incident with the Everfree Forest. Their marks had immediately appeared, shields they claim represent helping other ponies with their own cutie mark problems. She doubts he has a similar block, unless a mental resistance counts. Does mental resistance count? “I guess?”

“Look at you.” His gaze flicks to her rump, the dark blue tiara stark against her pink flanks. Her hoof unconsciously goes to the silvery twin atop her wavy mane. “Your name’s Diamond Tiara. And what do you have as your mark? A diamond tiara. Same thing’s true with your sister. Silver Spoon, and a silver spoon.”

“Golly, but that’s not true for everypony,” Cozy Glow pipes up, displaying her cutie mark of a red chess piece, the earth pony. She giggles to herself. “Hard to construe that as cozy or a glow.”

“That’s right,” Button Mash agrees with a firm nod, returning to staring at Diamond Tiara with an even more formidable intensity. “And I fully intend to get a cutie mark that has nothing to do with my name.”

Suddenly it clicks for Diamond Tiara. Her Harmony-bestowed cutie mark is of a tiara, a crown. As far as she can tell, it represents leadership and the ability to command others, to slot them into the places where they will do the most good for her and for others. She sees that manifesting with the hints it gives her about her fellow ponies, the best levers to pull and places to prod. And that is something she always knew she was destined for. “Because you don’t want to be a button masher.” She says the word with the derision he seems to believe it deserves.

Again he nods, solemn and daunting. The icy coldness he gives off, the stone visage, sends chills down her spine. She finds such a harsh demeanor repulsive, with respect to such a Harmony-blessed topic. But why? The best she can come up with is that her cutie mark wants to know what he is good at, and a blank flank isn’t - or shouldn’t be - good at anything. There is potential, but potential is wasted if not improved upon, and what better indication than a pony’s mark? Did she always have such an attitude towards others? Or did it come about when she got her cutie mark?

“If I got my cutie mark in button mashing,” Button Mash portents, randomly waving his hoof at the game, “I’m afraid that I could beat you with my eyes closed.”

Diamond Tiara snorts. “You mean like when Cozy Glow beats me blindfolded?” She turns to grin at the chess-marked mare, but the agonized look on the pegasus’ face leaves her stupefied. What did she do wrong? Cozy’s really good at chess, her mark says so, and she’s proven so at the chess club meetings they’ve attended. Sure, she has something similar with reading ponies, knowing their insecurities and the pony to whom they least want them told. But she always chalked that up to listening between the lines, of asking the right questions and what answers they or their friends didn’t give. She shakes the thoughts about herself from her head. “Hey, how come you aren’t competing for Ponyville? Isn’t chess one of the events?”

“Cozy Glow’s from Hollow Shades,” Pomarbo comments, as if she doesn’t know that already.

“I could compete here.” The chess-marked pegasus bashfully smiles to herself. “I’m actually writing an essay for your dam about where my Loyalty lies.” She bashfully scratches at her curly blue mane. “I, uh, don’t know which one I’ll pick.” She stays silent for a few seconds, then seems compelled to continue. “Because Ponyville has a much better chance of winning the most medals. And, um…” If there was a window to stare out of, she’d be staring out of it, but the best she can do is the arcade monitor. “I-I’m not terribly close to my sire.”

A few seconds pass before Diamond Tiara’s tail flicks Pomarbo’s rump, as covertly as she can.

“Ya’ve got a home here,” Pomarbo says as he stumbles forward, giving her a fond smile. He chuckles as he regains his balance. “Plus, with you on our side? Ponyville’s got a much better chance of winning the most medals.”

Cozy Glow gives Pomarbo a cozy glow; Diamond Tiara has no doubt if it were winter she would be snuggling up next to him by the cozy glow of a fire and going as far as he wants. The exact same words had gone through her mind, but if she said them it would have come across as calculated and self-interested. But she can’t let the pegasus edge her out in the colt’s mind; how should she best assert herself as his to-be lead mare?

“Argent was incredibly demanding,” Cozy Glow continues as Diamond Tiara thinks. “He pushed me really hard, harder than I thought I could take. He was happy - a-at least, I think he was - when I got my cutie mark. Jeepers, not that he let up on me, it just got worse.” She snorts as if in disbelief. “And then, when Princess Twilight opened her school, he pulled every string he could to get me in. Like it’s some sort of grand test before he lets me in on the family business.”

Diamond Tiara knows the feeling; neither of her parents let the tiniest thing slip, and it takes all her effort to meet their high expectations.

Wait.

If she deigned to drink anything in this establishment she’d be spitting it out. If true, Cozy Glow would jump about several dozen places in her mental rankings of social standing. “Your sire is Argent? As in, the Argent Silverhoof? Owner of Argent Endeavors?”

Argent Endeavors is one of Barnyard Bargain’s main competitors in the shipping business, though their sires maintain a good relationship. They have operations in crystal, gem, and silver mining; fabricating and augmenting magical armors; and crafting enchanted jewelry. Her dahm Silver Set is one of his (many) offspring, though that’s a point the silver mare almost never brings up. Even though they were once Nightmare Moon’s most ardent supporters, the Silverhoof family tree frequently intertwines with Prince Blueblood’s, but not only: like silver metal it is best alloyed, studding with those of every breed and station, though rumor has it he paints silver the coats of those with insufficient luster.

She needs to reevaluate Cozy Glow’s intentions, as well as her prospective placement. And soon. She knew there would be competitors after her dam’s announcement, but Cozy Glow?

The pegasus in question shrugs with a little half-scowl that lets on far more than she likely wants. “He doesn’t like it when we talk about his work.”

Now it’s Diamond Tiara’s turn to scoff. “Please. What’s the point of having a reputation if you don’t use it?” She rounds on Button Mash. “Just like, what’s the point of having a cutie mark if you don’t use it? If you’ve got it, flaunt it!” She shakes her flanks for emphasis, happily noting Pomarbo’s leer.

“Flaunt what?” Button Mash demands. “How I can beat you without trying? Is that supposed to prove something?” He answers his own question with a sharp shake of his head. “I want to solve the puzzle of the game.” He stares up at the blinking lights with a reverence normally reserved for Princess Celestia. “The min-maxing, figuring out build varieties and compositions and every nuance and trick. And I want to be the one figuring it out, not just having it hoofed to me by my cutie mark.”

“But your cutie mark is a part of who you are,” Diamond Tiara argues back. “Not using it, denying it, that’s just… wrong. I mean, Who would you rather see race? Rainbow Dash and Thunderlane, or Fluttershy and Bulk Biceps?”

“Exactly my point,” Button Mash says. “Rainbow Dash and Thunderlane have an unfair advantage provided by their cutie mark.”

“Rainbow Dash was fast before she got her cutie mark,” Pomarbo claims. “Plus, wouldn’t they be on the same team?”

Diamond Tiara ignores the colt, maintaining her gaze on Button Mash. “But a pony is more than just their mark, and a game is about more than just one aspect. Rainbow Dash is fast, yes, and so are most ponies with a lightning bolt as their mark. Who can say if the cutie mark caused that, or if those are the ponies that get one? But being fast isn’t all there is, or she’d be a Wonderbolt already.”

“But it’s a big part,” Button Mash spits out. “How is somepony else going to make up that difference? It’s not like you can train speed like you can train wingpower, or whatever other benefit your mark gives you.”

“Oh?” Diamond Tiara points at the arcade cabinet next to them. “You want to compete at the Equestria Games, right?” Button Mash nods, smoldering. “Are you going to whine when those with a gaming mark beat you? Or are you going to prove to everypony out there that you can become a Master Ablater through hard work and dedication?”

Cozy Glow snickers, unable to contain her giggles even with a hoof covering her muzzle, and it doesn’t take long for Button Mash to join in. It takes her a second to realize why, leaving her exasperatedly rolling her eyes as Pomarbo remains oblivious.

“Oh, come on!” Diamond Tiara scolds, but this only sends them into a second round of tittering laughter.

Ch. 154 - Brawn, Part Three

Dinner is a simple affair, hardly uncommon in the Apple household despite their skyrocketing status. Certainly not how Diamond Tiara would run things, given the option. Hedge, kind as ever, serves fresh wheat bread with thick helpings of apple butter and sides of carrots, cucumbers, and - as always - whole apples. More apples than you could eat in a setting, or a lifetime, going by the heaping baskets of green and red and gold. If Diamond Tiara never saw another apple in her life? Well, it’s probably too soon to make a judgment like that; she has a solid feeling in her belly, like an apple seed taking root, that she’ll find herself eating apples more often than not. A fate she supposes she can live with, thinly sliced with a selection of fine cheeses.

Dinner is also a somber affair, with only her and the two youngsters inside while Granny Smith fades along with the setting sun on her porch rocker. An eerie quiet, unnatural and so unlike the previous times she has eaten here, the absence of the other fillies and mares sorely felt. It is nice, in a way, that she can spend her focus solely on Pomarbo and not need to worry about the rest interfering.

The other two eat like famished foals, as if their sisters are still around and the food might run out at any moment. At least, the food that Applejack or one of the mares is willing to prepare, as there is always forage to be found in the pantry or the cellar. Not that she would deign to lug it up; colts are good for some things, after all. She takes one dainty bite after another, careful not to spill a crumb.

“Excuse me,” Hedge whispers as she clears her and Pomarbo’s empty plates. If she hadn’t said anything, Diamond Tiara might not have even noticed; the pegasus’ tan coat blends into the floorboards, her demeanor not very different from the doormat. In fact, if Diamond Tiara did not pay close attention to the student body over which she presides, she might have missed Fluttershy’s foal completely. “I need to go feed the chickens. And the pigs.”

Diamond Tiara looks down at her plate. Half the meal remains, with gnawed apple cores neatly lined up on the side. She dreads going full Apple, inhaling the entirety of her meal in one bite. Why even bother eating if you’re not going to savor the taste? “You could have sliced them,” she reprimands, sticking her nose up as the pegasus meekly slides the remains off her plate.

“Next time,” Hedge promises with a faint smile, balancing the dirty plates between her hooves before briskly walking (more like upright staggering, an admittedly impressive imitation of their sire) to the counter. With concerted effort that stems from deliberate practice she flaps her wings and slowly rises until she can deposit them next to the sink. The scraps (not that there are many) go into a large wooden bowl, along with the rest of the bruised or not-so-fresh fruits in danger of spoiling.

Pomarbo watches his sister leave with, if Diamond Tiara reads him right, a flicker of longing, or perhaps boredom, and he continues staring at the door even after it closes. The silence is even more obvious without the two Apples chomping down their meal, and she would rather fill the void with cries of pain than the sounds of her chewing.

“You’re being quiet,” she remarks, hardly uncharacteristic of the colt. Normally she would take a more circumspect route, disguise her intentions, but the Apples have a penchant for forthrightness. “Did what Button Mash say bother you?”

Pomarbo squirms in place, avoiding her gaze before finally turning. “Ah get wantin’ to be real good at a game,” he says, shaking his head with a certain bewilderment, “but not wantin’ to play a game at all unless ya masteried it? Ya don’t have to mash buttons, but how’d’ya ever get good in the first place?”

“Lots of study,” Diamond Tiara explains; the curious colt hasn’t asked a rhetorical question yet, and she doubts he is starting now. He nods along at her answer with a dawning understanding. “Kind of like school. Ponies do that for sports, games, and you’d be a foal if you don’t do it in your business.” She pauses with a slight frown; it continues to bother her that he doesn’t have a cutie mark, and this discomfort butts heads with a reluctance to pressure him. Even if such pressure could very well be the buck in the flank that finally gets him a mark. “Any activity that involves your cutie mark.”

Pomarbo glances at her flank, and she finds herself enjoying his lingering attention. “Do ya ever study for your cutie mark?”

She coyly covers her tittering muzzle, not wanting to insult him as with a snort. “All the time.”

“Oh. Really?” His gaze travels to the tiara atop her mane. “What’s that kinda studyin’ look like?”

Diamond Tiara takes a dainty bite of her apple, chewing as she mulls over the best answer. “Observation. A Rich pony must always know where she stands, and one must pay close attention to her surroundings to do so.” She takes another bite as he processes this. “Do you still have that guessing game your sire gave Pinkie Pie?”

“Yeah!” He goes to the haphazard stack of board games, right where she knows it is, with a fond smile. A brief scamper later and he has the pink top off and the cards - which depict each and every resident of Ponyville in various positions and expressions - spread out on the table. “He updates it every year on their herdy-ver-sary!”

Diamond Tiara does let out a snort this time: the latest update includes all the changelings that relocated to Ponyville. However, with two exceptions (Pharynx and Chrysalis), every single one of the black beetle-like equines looks identical, only their stances and backgrounds differing. Actually, no, that’s not quite right: they have unique placements and sizes of the holes in their limbs. None of them look anything like they do today; she’d be hard pressed to pick Thorax out of the group, or Ocelus.

“Pinkie wants an early update,” Pomarbo continues, snickering to himself as he sifts the cards around to find the eagerly grinning pink mare. “Daddy wants to wait until the last of the little ones are born. Ah think that happened, ‘cept for Chryssy, but he’s been busy.” He grabs a baked apple chip from a bowl, then motions with it towards the cards. “You know all these ponies?”

“Of course.” Ponyville isn’t large enough, like Manehattan, for there to be ponies she has not or never will meet. She starts plucking cards at random, not needing to check the back. “Burnt Oak. Sunshower. Pinny Lane.” The colt’s look of awe feels exceptionally nice. “Studying everypony got me that far. But what my cutie mark helps with is knowing how to get those ponies to do what I want them to do.”

“Ya mean, like, if’n ya wanted to win the most medals at the Equestria Games?”

“Precisely.” Diamond Tiara begins sorting the speedier pegasi into one pile, the athletic earth ponies into another. “With each pony restricted to competing in only one event, it becomes a question not only of what category they would perform best in, but finding the pony best suited for each category. And then you have to take their competition into account.”

Pomarbo’s blank stare prompts her to explain further.

“Take Rainbow Dash.” She slides cards around until she comes across the chromatic maned pegasus, posing as though she just won a race. “She’s the fastest sprinter in Ponyville - although it’s more of a contest with her being pregnant - and no slouch in the distance department. You could put her in the ten mile, hundred mile race, and she’d have a strong shot at medaling. But gold? Unlikely.”

Pomarbo gnaws at his lip. “Because of Cloudsdale.”

Diamond Tiara nods. “Because of Cloudsdale. They have a depth of airborne talent that, to be frank, Ponyville would struggle to match. Fortunately, that depth extends almost exclusively to the flying fields, and few other cities have competitors on their level.”

“They snatched up all the good ones,” Pomarbo says with a certain glee. “We’d be guaranteed second!”

Diamond Tiara grimaces, wiping the grin off Pomarbo’s face. “Which is why we need to remind ponies like Thunderlane where their loyalties lie. We can’t have our Wonderbolt recruits racing for Cloudsdale, we need him sprinting for Ponyville.” She slots the black pegasus into the ten mile race. “Open Skies and Clear Skies, they aren’t much for racing, but there’s not a duo better at cloud-wrangling. Button Mash? Arcade gaming.”

Hours later, the last of the hundreds of categories filled, and Diamond Tiara looks over her work with a strong sense of satisfaction. Convincing everypony they will compete in these events will merely require smoothing a few ruffled feathers here and there.

She glances over at her compatriot. She’s not sure how long he’s been asleep, with his head resting on her withers and lightly snoring, but she didn’t notice, so engrossed was she in her project. She doesn’t want to disturb him, and one night sleeping outside a bed won’t be that disruptive. She rests her head on his, closes her eyes and counts the pegasi that zoom by in one race after another.

April 27th, 1001 Domina Solaria

Diamond Tiara wakes up to the sound of Hedge bringing in the chicken eggs. Now there’s a pony who needs to hurry up and get her animal caretaking cutie mark! She yawns, snuggling closer to the warm body next to her, before jolting fully awake with a start. Well, if Hedge objects to her sleeping next to Pomarbo, she doesn’t show it, merely giving the two sleepyheads a smile and asking about their pancake preferences.

A stack of whipped cream and strawberry pancakes later and the two hit the town, spreading her plan. She lets Pomarbo take all the easy to convince ones. Nopony objects, or not for long, a few expressing regret at not competing in their favorite field.

It isn’t until late afternoon that the Apple herd returns to Sweet Apple Acres, all achatter about their trip to the Crystal Empire.

“Excuse me, Rainbow Dash?” Diamond Tiara grins, peeling the pegasus away from the group. “Your assignment for the Equestria Games.”

“Hey, DT! Ooh, which one?” Rainbow Dash smirks as she grabs the slip of paper. “Ten mile?” Her smile, much to Pinkie Pie’s abject horror, flips upside down. “Wait, wait, wait,” she exclaims, stamping a hoof over her name. “You saddled me with Fluttershy and Bulk Biceps?”

“It makes sense-” Pomarbo starts before being silenced by Diamond Tiara’s quick wave.

“You know I’m better at sprinting,” Rainbow Dash continues, heating up and drawing the attention of the other mares. Fluttershy, hearing her name, trots closer. “I mean, at least it’s a race, but a relay team? Seriously?”

“Who,” Diamond Tiara asks with a pointed stare, not backing down at Rainbow Dash’s aggressive stance, “would you be competing against in the ten mile sprint?”

Rainbow Dash huffs, looking away and at first not about to answer the question. “Fleetfoot,” she finally spits out.

“And,” Diamond Tiara continues, “do you want to race against Fleetfoot in your current condition? Or when you’re at your peak?”

Rainbow Dash’s frown lengthens to the point where Pinkie Pie comes inches away from manually assisting in its righting. “No,” she finally admits, still pouting and not about to let her herdmate get her hooves on her muzzle.

“Thunderlane will medal for Ponyville in the ten M,” Diamond Tiara reassures, driving the point home with a sharp jab. “As long as somepony can convince him to race for Ponyville.”

Rainbow Dash rolls her eyes. “Fine. But Bulk Biceps? Seriously? Shouldn’t he be, oh, I don’t know, lifting weights?”

“Oh? Just him?” Diamond Tiara flutters her eyelashes innocently as her gaze flickers to Fluttershy.

Rainbow Dash huffs, continuing to stare down the young mare.

“There are a number of earth ponies stronger than him,” Diamond Tiara explains, drawing a tight grimace from Rainbow Dash. “It’s never been his strongest field.”

“...He does train on his flying a lot,” Rainbow Dash finally concedes. “We just need to work on speed. And, maybe, streamlining.” She snickers. “I don’t know if he can fit through some of the obstacle rings.”

“A-and you don’t mind having me on your team?” Fluttershy looks halfway between pleased and horrified out of her mind. “I-I would have thought that you wouldn’t want me.”

“Are you foaling me?!” Rainbow Dash grabs Fluttershy’s forelegs and drags her off the ground and into the air. “I’ve seen you zip across a field faster than I can blink to catch a falling bird!”

“Or a falling unicorn,” Diamond Tiara reminds.

“O-oh,” Fluttershy moans, gently floating down while covering her eyes. She chances a peek once she lands. “Well, as l-long as there aren’t any r-rampaging d-dragons…”

“Ah dunno,” Applejack remarks, shooting Rarity a wink. “Ah heard Our Town’s flag-carryin’ routine might do the trick. Ah ain’t even mad that Ponyville ain’t leadin’ the charge!”

“Ugh,” Diamond Tiara moans as both she and Fluttershy rub at their heads, but for entirely different reasons. “Don’t remind me.”

Ch. 155 - Mutated Growth, Part One

May 4th, 1001 Domina Solaria

“Ah can’t believe it,” Applejack drawls, alternating between staring at the flashing red apples on her flank and the identical set rotating with a star-topped rod over the western edge of Equestria. A sharp, disgruntled gust fails to blow her disheveled mane out of her face. “The map’s callin’ me again?”

“We haven’t exactly established a pattern,” Twilight Sparkle comments. She glances at Meringue for confirmation, getting a curt nod as the yellow filly flips through her calendar and the copious notes she has taken, scanning for any sort of insight that might lead to discovering the map’s purpose and intentions. Meringue tries, bless her heart, but she struggles to replace Spike and his years of experience absorbing information, and how he could always arrange things just the way she likes it. She gets better every day, though, giving Twilight a strong sense of hope for the future.

“A month ago,” Twilight recalls, “to the day, we were all called to the southern border when the Storm King’s forces traveled here. That led to the other nations reaffirming their trust in Princess Celestia, as well as potentially accepting Harmony into their lives. Four days later, Princess Luna and Princess Cadance’s marks appeared above Seaquestria. Since then, Mount Aeris was reestablished not as a Hippogriff city, but as a joint enterprise between Seapony and Hippogriff. On the twentieth you, Fluttershy, and Pinkie Pie helped restore the Kirin’s voices, their trust in each other, and their relationship with Equestria.”

Their fellow Elements of Harmony nod in agreement, each sitting in their marked seat around the Cutie Map in the castle buried underneath the School of Friendship. That doesn’t stop the confused and covert glances at the seventh member of the herd.

“Yes, yes.” Trixie’s cutie mark pulses brightly, a sharp contrast to the heavy yawn she gives the map. A hoof brushes her mussed mane closer to her normal curl - Doug rarely spares her mane like he does Rarity’s - before flicking dismissively. “The Honored and Ecstatic Trixie eagerly awaits her assignment. But she wants to know where, exactly, the map is trying to send her.” She yawns again before smacking her lips a few times. “Please tell me it is somewhere with no strange and exotic creatures trying to suck us dry.”

“The Arimaspi weren’t that bad,” Fluttershy defends, giving Trixie’s unkempt appearance a disapproving frown.

Trixie sighs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Somewhere peaceful and quiet?”

“Pretty sure Las Pegasus is the exact opposite of peaceful and quiet,” Pinkie Pie says, looking disappointed that she isn’t going as she watches a miniature roller coaster flit around and inside a fancy building. “It’s like a perpetual party that never sleeps!”

“An’ maybe if somepony spent less time catchin’ fireworks and more time catchin’ winks?” Applejack pokes the azure unicorn’s glowing flank. “Then maybe that somepony would be ready when she gets called.”

“The Gainfully Employed and Perpetually Overworked Trixie leads a busy life,” Trixie asserts, shaking her head from side to side. She seems to be waking up as she argues. “After all, Ponyville’s nightlife isn’t going to start itself. And it’s not like you can see the fireworks during the day. When else am I supposed to test my designs?” She blinks a few times as realizes, then takes a hesitant step away from the map. “Wait, did you say Las Pegasus?”

“Eeyup,” Applejack says, though she has a hard time seeing the cloud city from across the room. “That’s where you’re from, right?”

“Y-yes.” Trixie gulps. “And the map wants me to go there? To do… what, exactly?”

“We’re not sure exactly,” Twilight says, studying her notes. “Previously, it has been to divert events that might have been catastrophic, or led to an entire culture embracing Harmony.”

“Oh.” Trixie hesitantly sticks her head up, craning her neck to get a better view of the marks swirling around the city. She glances at Applejack, doing her best to divert attention from herself. “You don’t seem put out by this. Wouldn’t you rather be, I don’t know, harvesting apples or something?”

Applejack snorts, but it’s good natured. “Eeyup. But Big Mac was gonna take Granny Smith an’ the rest of the Golden Horseshoe Gals up there this weekend anyway. He won’t mind me takin’ over chaperonin’ ‘em, ‘specially after all the stories ‘bout the kinda trouble they get into. That’ll give us plenty of time, an’ a couple extra eyes’n ears, to figure out what’s goin’ on an’ where we’re needed.”

Trixie lets out a sigh of relief. “So, it wouldn’t be about somepony, say, reestablishing a connection with her estranged sire?”

“Err,” Twilight shrugs, her muzzle pursed. “I mean, it could be. But, would Harmony really send somepony on a mission that’s so… mundane?” She waves her hoof at the map. “I mean, it’s not like you’re the only pony who…”

Twilight trails off as a trio of teal diamonds pops up above Canterlot. A six-pointed magenta star joins it shortly after.

Twilight shudders as a euphoric wave crashes over her. If Doug was in the room she would be pouncing on him, much like Applejack and Trixie have already done. She has half a mind to teleport to the human right now, but he’d probably appreciate them letting him rest. She squelches the feelings, instead concentrating (if with difficulty) on the map. Rarity seems completely out of it, her tongue lolling out of her mouth, but at least she hasn’t raced up the stairs.

“Why would my mark appear?” Twilight frowns to herself. “I write to my parents all the time, almost as often as I write to Princess Celestia.”

“Can we trade?” Trixie’s horn lights, attempting to wrest the star from above the lonely mountain but to no avail. “You can wander around Las Pegasus with Applejack; it’ll be loads of fun!”

Twilight gives an apologetic smile. “I… don’t think it works like that.”

Trixie sighs before reasserting her smile and turning to Rainbow Dash. “How about you?” Her smile widens. “You could ride the Wild Blue Yonder!”

“The what now?” Rainbow Dash asks, mildly intrigued.

“It’s only the fastest, most thrilling ride of all time,” Trixie explains in a hurried tizzy, pulling on every ounce of showmare inside her. “Just like being a Wonderbolt! You ride in a cloud-rocket car, with daring dips and terrifying turns before coming to a screeching halt. But you only have a limited time! It’s closing for good, something about being too extreme for normal ponies.”

Rainbow Dash’s eyes widen in wonder. “That does sound pretty awesome,” she says, but there’s a hint of apology. She points at the other end of Equestria, her hoof shaking. “Unfortunately, I think I’m going to be a little busy.”

Trixie follows Rainbow Dash’s pointing hoof to Cloudsdale, where a tri-colored lightning bolt swirls with a trio of pink butterflies. “Seriously?!”

“Oh, dear.” Fluttershy’s tail lashes against the chair, her self-control obviously tested. “It’s been years since I’ve seen my parents. And Zephyr, aside from the Crystal Empire.”

“This has to be a coincidence,” Twilight asserts, frowning at Pinkie Pie intently stares at a stony rock farm far to the west of Ponyville. To Twilight’s dismay and Pinkie Pie’s chagrin, a trio of blue and pink balloons pop into existence high above.

The pink mare’s jaw drops, her eyes screwing up into her skull. “Y-you don’t mind,” she struggles to get out, “i-if I take Doug with me?”

“Aww,” chorus the rest of the mares.

“But I’ll be all alone,” Pinkie Pie argues. “Plus, he hasn’t met my parents yet! We’ll be able to do all sorts of traditional Pie activities together! Maybe that’s why the map is sending us!”

Twilight’s frown deepens. “Why would we need the map and Harmony’s help to solve issues - if there even are issues - that could be fixed with a long letter? We shouldn’t need a map to tell us to stay close to our parents.”

“Well,” Applejack firmly states, “Ah know that question ain’t gonna be answered by sittin’ ‘round here.” She fixes Trixie with a pointed stare. “We better skedaddle if’n we wanna make it in time. Ya ready?”

Trixie sighs. “Fine,” she pouts, trudging up the stairs. “But who’s going to cover my classes?”

“I’ll talk to Chrysalis and Spoiled Rich,” Twilight says, hoping the changeling won’t mind an extra-large class. The contingency plan she submitted to the Equestrian Education Association didn’t count on Trixie also being called away, and she’ll need to revise it.

“Now,” Applejack explains to Trixie as they leave the castle and walk outside the school. Many of the students give the two confused looks, wondering why their teacher is heading to Sweet Apple Acres instead of the other way. “There’s a couple things Ah better explain, an’ Ah want to be sure you’re listenin’.”

“Eeyup,” Trixie drawls, copying Applejack’s languid accent.

Applejack’s eyes narrow. “These grannies ain’t as young as they used ta be, an’ it’s easy for them to over-do it. An’ Ah don’t know ‘bout you, but we ain’t gonna find any Friendship problems in an emergency room. Got it?”

“What if,” Trixie speculates, staring up at the sky, “a series of elaborate and ever-escalating lies leads us to an emergency room, where we have to either face the consequences of telling the truth or watch a loved one’s limbs be surgically pruned?”

Applejack clears her throat with a long, low growl. “Got it?”

Trixie sighs, sounding defeated. “Eeyup.”

“Good.” Applejack straightens back up. “As long as we make sure they get their naps, eat only soft foods, are careful when dancing, an’ don’t get too excited, we’ll be fine. Oh, and don’t let them out of your sight - ever.”

“Getting a nap sounds good,” Trixie concurs with a heavy yawn.

Applejack rolls her eyes. “Long as you’re ready to board when everypony else is?”

Trixie closes her eyes as the two travel down the road to the Apple farmhouse, relying on the sound of Applejack’s hooves to lead her in the right direction.

Applejack saves her breath, glad the unicorn is at least ostensibly listening to her. She spots Big Mac before the building, busy chasing one of Goldie Delicious’ many cats. She hopes the grandmares at least have their luggage packed, but judging how the elderly ponies languidly traipse around, complaining about aching joints and lack of flank cream and lapse into reminiscing about times that may or may not have actually passed?

It might take a while.

Ch. 156 - Mutated Growth, Part Two

“This,” Applejack introduces to a still-sleepy Trixie, “is Grand Auntie Applesauce.”

The bright green grandmare gives the star-cloaked mare a pleasant, if slow, wave as she boards Cherry Berry’s forest green balloon. “Finally! For years I’ve been telling Big McIntosh he should book some entertainment on this trip. Who knew all it takes is getting a mare in charge?”

“Good to meet you,” Trixie automatically replies, her years of performances letting her half pay attention to the elderly relative and half wonder how they will possibly fit seven ponies and their luggage in Cherry Berry’s not-terribly-spacious balloon. At least there are some racks on the side. It doesn’t really bother her, being referred to as the ‘entertainment’; in her experience, there are two kinds of elderly ponies: those too old to pay attention, and those who think they are too experienced to need to. Both make easy marks.

“Hurry your haunches, hinnies!” Granny Smith waves a light green foreleg with the sort of ferocity that would fail to disturb a flower. “Daylight’s burnin’, an’ this old nag is hot to trot!”

Trixie would believe Granny’s declaration if it hadn’t taken the four of them an hour to make the five-minute trot to Ponyville.

Applejack, after loading Auntie Applesauce’s luggage and helping Granny Smith board the balloon, turns to the light orange grandmare next in line. “Cousin Apple Rose.”

“Good to meet you.” Trixie grunts as Applejack squeezes the next mare in place. Only halfway loaded and she’s already itching to take her wagon instead of the balloon, packed tighter than a firework and just as liable to explode. Or the train, but she prefers to enjoy the attractions along the way, and it’s hard to do while speeding along like a bullet.

“You know,” Apple Rose remarks, lost in thought as she stares up at the balloon, “this hot air balloon ride reminds me of the time I climbed a tree. Have I ever told you that story?”

“Only about a million times,” Auntie Applesauce retorts, grumbling as Apple Rose pulls out a small horn.

“Huh?” Apple Rose asks, fitting a small horn in her ear and jabbing the bell end in Trixie’s face. “What did you say?”

Trixie’s nose scrunches up. Better head off any rambling yarns; she doubts they would let her sleep through their stories, liable as they are to nap through her own. “Who wants to witness the amazing magic of the Great and Powerful Trixie?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, even as Apple Rose has no trouble at all hearing and puts on an appropriately excited face. Auntie Applesauce regards her with a searching suspicion - she’ll need to be careful with her tricks around her - while the newly boarding Goldie Delicious gives an appreciative coo. Applejack boards right after, and Cherry Berry prepares the balloon for departure by lifting sandbags, tightening the straps, and turning on the flame. Goldie Delicious squawks something about leaving her napping cats behind, but it’s nothing a series of quick levitations can’t fix, and the now cat-covered grandmare gives a quick nod of thanks. While doing so she grabs a number of leaves, transforms them into random playing cards once they are out of sight, and starts a five minute timer.

Trixie dons her star-studded magician’s hat, then magically withdraws an ordered deck of cards from one of the many folds of her purple cloak. “This,” she says as she gives the worn deck a number of false shuffles, simple cuts that leave the order the same, and sets of four perfect riffle shuffles, “is a very special deck of playing cards.” Between one of the perfect riffles she flashes the contents of the deck, everything appearing jumbled together. “It has been signed by everypony Trixie has given a private show.” Auntie Applesauce squints, trying to read the flowing signatures, but Trixie has already resumed her fake shuffles. “Now, what are each of your favorite cards?”

While the four grandmares ramble about their choice the balloon lifts off the ground, only Applejack seemingly concerned about the lack of safety harnesses and parachutes. Trixie herself isn’t terribly worried; after all, it isn’t a pegasus operator but an earth pony. She grew up in Las Pegasus, and the danger isn’t anything a quick featherfall won’t fix.

As Trixie begins her performance she limbers up, not minding the cramped quarters as much. In fact, the close proximity adds a whole new dimension to her tricks, being surrounded and not able to use one specific angle to shroud her actions. It excites her, steaming away the fog of sleep like the bright morning sun. She barely notices as the balloon rises above the light layer of clouds and they begin their hours-long journey.

Once the grandmares give their choices - the unassuming Goldie Delicious picks the four of clubs, a first, while Apple Rose chooses the less common seven of hearts; Auntie Applesauce and Granny Smith go for the practically scandalous princesses of hearts and spades, respectively - Trixie takes the ordered deck and levitates it in front of her. With eyes closed she carefully pulls out the middle half - the two requested princesses now on the bottom - and deftly shuffles the four of clubs and seven of hearts next to each other. One more cut and shuffle cleanly brings all four cards to the bottom. With a grand flourish she peels off the requested cards, grinning to their light applause.

She passes each card to the requestor, along with a fine-tipped pen. The four is unmarked, the seven has a single signature, but both princesses have so many names scrawled one can barely make out the flaunting image underneath. They chatter among themselves as they sign while Applejack (three of hearts) watches the ground disappear with a certain longing.

She flips the bottom card of the deck before presenting it as though it is right side up. “Place your cards back in the deck,” she commands, looking away. “Hide them anywhere you want. Top, bottom, middle. All together or separate, it makes no difference to the Talented and Ineludible Trixie!”

Each grandmare slides their card into the levitated deck, which Trixie squares up. She takes a deep breath as if intently concentrating.

“Can you use your hooves?” Goldie Delicious asks, snapping Trixie out of the moment.

She puts on a fake smile. She should refuse on principle, make some joke and continue the trick as planned. But - perhaps unbeknownst to Goldie Delicious, who may or may not be trying to trip her up - she has spent many an hour in the back of her wagon, far more hours than she might have liked, practicing with razor blades until she never nicked a hoof or trimmed a fetlock, so unlike many other unicorn performers who rely entirely on their magical talents. She has her sire to thank for that, though she hated the practice until she got good enough to fool even him.

“I once knew a unicorn as good with his hooves as he was with his horn,” Apple Rose begins with a wistful sigh, clearly about to ramble all the way to Las Pegasus. She glances at her fellow Golden Horseshoe Gals. “Did I ever tell you that story? He used to get me on my back, and then-”

“Yes,” Trixie interrupts with a stretched smile. A tiny voice in the back of her mind goes ‘Eww, old pony sex’. Though she has known a grizzled stallion or two, silvered manes sparse and wrinkled muzzles pulled taut, who got her going as well as any in their prime. She snickers at the glower Applejack gives the floor. “Horn or hooves makes no difference to the Adroit and Ambidextrous Trixie!”

She snatches the deck from her aura - not before hoofing the short stack of fake cards - and flips the whole pile over to disguise the cards running counter to the others. Two quick shuffles (the edges are cut such that a backwards card is easy to find) puts the chosen cards on the outside of the fakes. She spreads the deck out on the rail, all faces showing, and with a flourish flips the lot over to reveal their four signatures staring up at them. The praise is more muted this time, at least until she furiously snatches the section of cards and hurls them into the air. The grandmares gasp, decrying her reckless action and shaking her, pleading for her to light her horn and save the cherished cards. Their cries turn to cheers as the cards transform back into leaves, stomping and hollering as she reveals the four chosen cards, still safe in her hooves.

“The Magnificent and Marvelous Trixie has many such tricks up her sleeves!” Trixie grins to their applause, pulling out a single red apple and three cups. “Now, many lesser magicians perform this trick with easy-to-compress balls and fake cups. But watch closely, and see if you can follow…”

Applejack grumbles from the bottom of the balloon as minutes pass into hours as surely as balls and bits and baubles pass around the showmare’s starry cloak. She wants to watch closely, to follow Trixie’s every move and spot when the switch is made, when the apple fails to swap from hoof to hoof yet seems for the life of her to have done so, or when she slips an apple under a cup and presents another fruit as though it were the same one. She struggles to place her frog on exactly why the deceptions bother her. Yet they do, like she is the apple being reduced to a core by every bite the juggling Trixie takes, only for another apple with the exact same teeth marks to appear rolling out from where tail meets tunic.

She tries to focus on something else, but there isn’t much going on besides the sun making her slow journey across the sky. Why does this bother her so much? Sure, she had a sordid past with lies; the worst was the time when her brother ended up in the hospital with his leg about to be cut off. She swore them off then and there, and has mostly held since. She enjoys the occasional game of poker, sure, but after gaining the Element of Honesty the game (and others like it) lost any appeal. And she doesn’t think it is just because she can sense, like a pony stepping into the shade, when they bluff or outright lie. There seems something wrong with bolstering one’s ability to bluff, even just to play games.

But maybe that is it? It’s not that it seems wrong, it’s that there is something wrong with deceiving others. Even when those others want to be fooled, to try to figure out the con before the game is up, to dream up their own tricks and deceptions. And here Trixie is, wowwing the crown not with her dexterity (though she has that in spades) but with deceit!

She doesn’t want to call the showpony out, not when the grandmares are enjoying the performance so much. Trixie has kept Apple Rose from getting even one story out, which has to be a record. Not that she minds the rambling tales, but if she wanted to follow twists and turns she’d be uprooting stumps. Goldie Delicious stomps with the rest when one of her cats appears under a startled (well, pretending to be startled) Trixie’s hat. Even Auntie Applesauce has kept her biting comments to a minimum.

Is the whole town of Las Pegasus going to be like this? Applejack scowls as the city goes from a speck on the horizon to a hoof-sized sparkler. She feels sick to her stomach. Does the Cutie Map somehow think they are going to turn the entire town towards truth?

She takes a deep breath as the landing platform approaches, a few pegasi flitting about and assisting. Well, if it is, she’d better start now.

Ch. 157 - Mutated Growth, Part Three

The city of Las Pegasus opens up like a gilded rose, every petal promising grander riches, more spectacular thrills, and unique possibilities available nowhere else. All a sham, of course, as phony as the pyrite gilding the bridges and walkways that snake from one island in the clouds to another like stems and poorly concealed thorns. The landing pad is not the largest, and certainly not the most splendid, but it is the one that Trixie trusts the most. After all, sinking through the ground after your very first step would hardly hook a pony for long.

Trees stand alone as if they too are spectacles, providing a touch of shade and a splash of green but never enough cover to block the gaudy sight of the next flamboyant attraction, or to shroud a themed hotel to the point of anonymity. And such locations abound: a pink castle oddly reminiscent of Twilight’s School of Friendship, a casino garbed as chess pieces facing off on a checkerboard (and the buildings do move about over the course of the night!), and a thick facsimile of Seaddle’s Space Stylus that towers above everything but the looping track of the Wild Blue Yonder. Gladmane’s, their destination and the home of said Wild Blue Yonder, is the farthest one on this cumulus: a hatted hotel sculpted in the shape of the founder, a giant ponyloaf pony with amethyst windows along the sides and sapphire bands around the lifted hooves.

Trixie hops down onto the well-trod grass with a practiced ease, her starry cloak billowing behind her. Home! She feels a surge course through her at just the thought of seeing the sights again, and her old friends. (How much older? She doesn’t want to ponder her extended absence.) She flips her wind-brushed mane back, glad she got tips from Rarity on maintaining and restoring her natural sheen with minimal effort. She barely needs to touch it up before they hit the town; while nopony might get kicked out for an unkempt appearance, she would certainly garner a number of unwelcome glances were she not looking her best. And Trixie never fails to look her best.

Applejack gives the grass a tentative touch before gingerly stepping down. She wants to trust her hooves underneath her, but she bets she could toss a suitcase over the poofy edge from where she is standing. Her mind tells her that it is safe, that there are plenty of other ponies plodding along, but it’s hard to convince her gut - a lot like when Twilight Sparkle cast her cloudwalking spell when they toured Cloudsdale. It would be a long, long way down, then much like now: she can see the rescue pegasi on standby, watching like griffons for any grandmare to trip and tumble off a platform, and she’d hate to have to use their services.

The noise isn’t as bad as Big Mac made it out to be. It’s worse. Far worse. It takes her a moment to acclimate to the constant thrum of street musicians serenading passers-by, the synthesized tunes blaring from every restaurant packed for dinner, and the voices and hooves of those traveling the crowded streets. They all blend together into a horrible cacophony, with none of the harmony Pinkie Pie so expertly twines when she plays a dozen instruments at once.

The grandmares plod along behind Trixie, each familiar with the springy surface and chattering amongst themselves as they amble along, their loud conversation sounding like they’ve had it at least a dozen times before.

“How ‘bout,” Granny Smith ventures, ”a trot down the avenue to see the sights, girls?”

“Forget the sights!” Goldie Delicious exclaims, cracking her neck first one way and then the other. “I came here to play some serious horseshoe toss!”

“Remember the time we spent the whole night splashing in the Rainbow Fountains?” Apple Rose reminisces as they pass a spectacular water show, dozens of jets shooting sprays of brilliant color. It turns to a multicolored mist as it dissipates, leaving them lightly sprinkled. “They’re so magical!”

Auntie Applesauce laughs off the story. “My pores are cryin’ for a mud mask at the Prism Palace Spa! Gotta look my best when we get invited onto Big Bucks’ stage!”

Trixie’s easygoing grin locks at the mention of her sire’s longtime partner, her hooves coming to a stop while the other mares amble on. He’s not the issue, but the reminder of why they came here keeps her legs from working. She doesn’t want to return a disappointment, and what does she have to show for her time away from home?

“Ah guess Ah’m gettin’ stuck with the luggage?” Applejack calls from behind, to no avail. Cherry Berry finishes unloading the balloon and reboards, already being waved to fly it off the prime landing spot. There isn’t a wagon in sight, and she’s not sure how the grandmares managed to pack as much as Rarity. Okay, it ain’t that bad, but at four bags apiece (she packed only one) and all different sizes? It’s the kind of logistical Nightmare she would gladly shove Pomarbo’s way.

“Here, let me help.”

Applejack glances up at the suave voice. A tan pegasus stallion has separated from a group of two giggling concierge mares. He stands a respectful distance away, his easy-going grin making her swoon almost as much as his toned, glittering flanks with a cutie mark of a dark brown cylindrical suitcase being shoved between two red roll-arounds. The strapping stallion fills his crimson bell-hop outfit, embossed in gold with black cuffs. “S-sure,” she stammers, blaming her swaying on the spongy surface. “Ah’m Applejack.”

“Package Pusher.” Without a hint of complaint he locates the large chest full of what must be Apple Rose’s bricks and uses one wing to pack it straight onto his sturdy back. Applejack should stop him, offer to take at least her share of the load, but she finds it too fascinating to watch one suitcase after another get piled on top of the gregarious stallion. “Gladmane’s?”

“Eeyup.” Applejack again finds herself impressed by the stallion’s quick pace and steadfast attitude. She has to remind herself of their reason for being there, and not focus on what must be an illusion of the dark brown cylinder squeezing between the two red suitcases before pulling out, repeated every time he dips down to grab another item. Is she getting dizzy? It must be the altitude. “Hey, y’all heard about anypony havin’, Ah dunno, some sorta Friendship problem?”

Package Pusher chuckles, deep and soothing. “Ma’am, lots of ponies ‘round these parts need a friend.” He winks at her. “You lookin’?”

Applejack might have snorted if she didn’t find the offer so tempting, only trusting herself to shake her head no.

“Suit-case yourself.” Her refusal rolls off his back, unlike any of the suitcases, and he easily outpaces her as he trots to Gladmane’s resort.

“Oh, my,” Auntie Applesauce comments as the stallion strolls past her. “You are a strong pony. Aren’t you, sugarhocks?”

She gets a smooth smile in reply, enough to send the other grandmares chittering. “Only the best of the best for our favorite guests. Which, of course, means you lovely mares.”

Auntie Applesauce giggles as he dips his head, fanning herself like a filly. “Why, thank you a bushel and a peck, you scrumptious morsel of frosted carrot cake.”

Package Pusher tips his hat. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“I think he was sweet on me,” Auntie Applesauce comments as the concierge pulls away, coming off as dutiful instead of rude. Her grin widens; she whispers, “Maybe I should ask him to accompany me to the magic show tonight.”

Granny Smith laughs off the suggestion. “You sure your name isn’t Apple Saucey? Better find the brakes on that buggy, sugar, we just got here!”

“You’re right,” Auntie Applesauce concedes with a conspiratorial look at the other attendants waiting for the next passengers to arrive. “Better see what else is out there first. The day is young, and I am not!”

Another balloon arrives at the platform, carrying a pair of well-to-do earth pony stallions. The two concierge mares, all smiles and swishing hips, keep the pair’s attention so well they miss their step and tumble down. Applejack rolls her eyes, lest she get caught up in the stallions’ unabashed ogling, and sets off.

She pulls next to Trixie, the unicorn still lost in thought. She deftly pushes her out of the way into a shaded alcove, lest they get trampled by a huge pack of recently disgorged tourists in their haste to see the sights. Frankly, she’s surprised it hasn’t happened already. “Ah’m gonna go make sure our bags get put away right,” she informs, a quick nudge getting Trixie to pay attention. Ostensibly. “An’ see if’n Ah can’t find out why we was sent to this…” She looks around at the bright and glittering exteriors, all specially engineered to keep foolponies inside and unawares as bits slip from their frogs. She wants to call it a ‘Celestia-forsaken wasteland’, but after seeing how many ponies prefer the facade? “...Paradise.”

“Oh?” Trixie waggles her eyebrows, heavily implying that Applejack merely wants to chase Package Pusher.

Applejack seethes. “It ain’t like that,” she spits out as though she could quell Trixie’s implication with just a glare. “Look, we gotta figure out why we came here. We’ll cover more ground if we split up. You wanna cover the hotel? Fine.” Applejack grimaces at the thought of going to the many unfamiliar locations. Still, she can’t let her reservations keep her from doing her duty. “That’s where Granny Smith an’ the rest of the Gold Horseshoe Gals’re goin’, anyways.”

Trixie brushes her mane back as though the location doesn’t bother her at all.

“An’,” Applejack continues before Trixie can make some glib remark, “you remember all them things those grannies ain’t supposed to be doin’, right?” Her glare narrows at Trixie’s nonchalance. “Right?”

Trixie gives a plastered-on smile and answers with a sing-song insolence Applejack would never have allowed if it came from Pomarbo. “Naps, soft food, careful when dancing, don’t get excited. Keep them in my sight.” She grins even further. “Did I forget anything?”

Applejack huffs. “No,” she reluctantly concedes.

“Then the Observant and Scrupulous Trixie must make sure to keep those rascals under her watchful eye.” Trixie winks before slipping into the fast flow of traffic with a practiced ease, leaving Applejack wondering how to do the same without bumping somepony sidelong and off the edge. The showmare quickly catches up to the grandmares stretching outside Gladmane’s, eager to check the first item off their list.

Applejack regards the steady flow of traffic with a dour gaze. Well, she has to start somewhere. Might as well be the closest hotel, the chess piece shaped buildings ready to rumble while dozens of wizened mares and fresh-faced fillies battle it out for the top two positions, the soon-to-be headliners of tonight’s game. She judges the gap between the two platforms; it’s only separated by a ponylength of cloud, but she won’t get a running start. Well, she hasn’t been practicing her rodeo skills for nothing, and makes the leap rather than squeeze her way into traffic.

She studies each face in turn, but trying to find a pony out of place is like trying to find one of Doug’s ham-burgers among the hay-burgers. Downright difficult without using her nose, and trying to isolate a single whiff here is next to impossible. Everypony has a look of cheer, of gleefulness, chasing an ephemeral giddiness as though permanent joy might be lurking just around the corner.

Except for those two unicorn stallions. Applejack frowns at the blue and white pinstripe suits, the yellow coats with sliced apples, the slicked-back red and white manes hidden under straw hats. Flim and Flam. What are those two charlatans doing here?

Ch. 158 - Mutated Growth, Part Four

A larger-than-life-sized and grinning image of Gladmane, embossed in gold on the luxury resort’s double doors, greets Trixie and the Golden Horseshoe Gals. The overwhelming grandeur takes the unicorn back; she fondly remembers the first time she got the opportunity to perform on stage here, even if the prize for winning the Amazing Amateurs was rescinded for cheating. (It was a magic trick - you were supposed to cheat!) She pushes the door open, briefly astonished by the spectacle inside - which, for her, is saying something.

The spotless floor shimmers with reflected lights, so unlike the wooden boards she has gotten used to from her year in Ponyville. No signs of dirt, either, or any trace of scuffs or tarnish or marks other than the clinking bits and three white stars of Gladmane’s cutie mark, stamped or inlaid or carved everywhere she looks. That or his image, standing on two legs and waving with a cheerful grin. Barkers line half of the many doors leading from the grand atrium, bellowing about the sights and spectacles located just inside. Talent shows, minstrels, open-mic comedy, anything under the sun (and many things under the moon, if she reads between the lines) are at her hooftips, and her only regret will be that she didn’t partake sooner! And, conspicuously emphasized, is that each of these attractions is brought by none other than the chairpony of kindness, Gladmane.

In the center stands Gladmane himself, dressed to the sixes in a Hoity-Toity original three-quarter suit of dark cobalt silk trimmed with glittering sapphires and aquamarines. He runs a polished hoof through his slicked-back silvered mane as soon as he sees the grandmares approach, making his way directly towards them while their attention is captured by the roller coaster zooming overhead and the bright, flashing lights of the casino and game rooms.

“Well, well,” the gregarious earth pony merrily welcomes, sending all four grandmares to giggling with a single wink. “Bless my eyes, if it isn’t my friends the Golden Horseshoe Gals! I’m ever so honored that y’all’ve once again returned to Gladmane’s luxury resort. Why, it just tickles my heart to see your fresh faces!” He bows low, then deftly turns to Trixie, regarding her with nothing less than a dam’s warmth for her filly. “And little miss Lulamoon! Back after all these years! Any chance you’ll be showin’ off some of the tricks you’ve learned? We’ve got a slot just for you, lined up and waiting!”

“Gladmane,” Trixie greets, though the offer worries her; open performance slots are never a good sign, especially somewhere as prestigious as Gladmane’s. Same with open mic’s; great to find new and up-and-coming talent, but here? “The Great and Powerful Trixie would love to, but-”

“Oh, oh, say no more,” Gladmane reassures as he notes Trixie’s glance at the grandmares. “I should’ve realized you were giving these fine gals a private tour of the premises!”

“Forget the private tour!” Goldie Delicious exclaims, revving up her horseshoe-tossing hoof. “We’re here to play some serious horseshoe toss!”

“Oh, is that right?” Gladmane gives the elderly mare a friendly wink as he pulls a broadcast mic to his muzzle, the announcement broadcast through multiple loudspeakers. “Listen here, y’all! Drinks and apple fritters are half off for all my friends spectating the Horseshoe Toss Competition happenin’ in the Stars’n Strikes Game Room, and free for any competitors! Enjoy!” He turns back to the grandmares as a large number of ponies of all ages head to the darkly lit game room. “Y’all have a lovely day now, ya hear? Uh-huh-huh.”

*

Applejack stomps over to the two hatted charlatans, her scowl liable to grind the pieces they are idly pushing around to dust. Flam notices her aggressive approach before she can let her tongue loose; he jumps up, greeting her loudly enough to draw attention from a few nearby ponies and stifling her half-formed outburst. “Cousin Applejack!”

Flim leaps to his hooves, shooting her the same smile he used to sell the operator rights to the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000. “How good to see you!”

“Cousin Flim,” Applejack states icily enough to chill their fruity drinks, addressing first the clean shaven one and then the mustached. “Cousin Flam.” Her brows furrow, their smiles not depressing an inch. She demands, barely loud enough to be heard over the ebullient atmosphere, “What in the hay are you two charlatans doin’ here?”

Flim gasps as Flam holds a hoof to his head as though he is about to faint. “Charlatans?” His smile widens, though it can’t get any more fraudulent. “No, no! You have it all wrong! We’re legitimate businessponies now!”

“Always have been,” Flam adds, poofing out the ironed lapels on his pinstripe shirt.

Applejack growls at the obvious lie, but Flim and Flam banter back and forth before she can get a word in edgewise.

“Ever since you and your stallion set us on the straight-”

“-And narrow-”

“-we’ve been racking our brains on what sorts of stellar services we can provide.” Flim motions to a stack of papers next to the chess game the two are ostensibly playing.

“Speaking of racks,” Flam says, pulling next to Applejack with a look of worry, the first sincere emotion she has detected, “that brute isn’t around here, is he?” He gulps, massaging his neck. “I would hate for there to be another… misunderstanding.”

Applejack sighs, her anger dissipating at the reminder of how Doug treated the two, even if it was (by their own admission) entirely deserved. “No, he ain’t.” The two visibly relax, much to her consternation. She looks around at the two dozen or so other chess games going on, and the street performers doing their best to keep everypony entertained. “But if’n ya two ain’t concoctin’ some sorta scheme, then, what’re ya doin’ here? Don’t ya get enough from cider sales to not need to play for a room?”

Flim randomly pushes a pegasus on the board. “We… may have accumulated a few debts in our time.”

“Costs of business, you know.”

“Why pass up an opportunity?” Flim grins. “And what better place to find opportunity than Grin City itself?”

“And, speaking of opportunities,” Flam continues before Applejack can answer the (probably) rhetorical questions that there are a bunch of opportunities the two should pass on. He pulls out one of the papers, a detailed and dense set of figures and tables labeled ‘FFMCT’. “Perhaps we can get your, how shall I say, input as to where we should next direct our attention?”

Applejack takes the offered page, though the closely packed numbers threaten to make her head spin. She deadpans, “Weren’t ya runnin’ out of apple juice’n beet leaves to make that Flim Flam Miracle Curative Tonic?”

Flam doesn’t lose an ounce of enthusiasm. “Buy it now while supplies last!”

Applejack fixes Flam with a renewed scowl. “But it don’t cure anythin’!”

If Flam was wearing glasses he would be peering over them with an inquisitive stare. It’s enough to make Applejack flinch. “So you, Applejack of Herd Apple, are willing to go on record to say that apple juice does not, in fact, possess any redeeming medicinal qualities? That it is, in fact, impossible for that to be the case? That an apple a day does not, in fact, keep the doctor away?”

Applejack sighs, averting his scrutinizing gaze. The paper lists such ‘maladies’ as tummy aches, hunger pangs, and scurvy. Not exactly false advertising, but a marked improvement over their prior unfounded assertions. “Ya ain’t gettin’ mah endorsement on that. What else ya got?”

Not to be deterred, Flim pulls out the next sheet of paper. “Why, a multitude of money-making measures sure to slick those saddlebags of yours with enough bits to last a lifetime! Like this! Drumroll, please!”

Flim and Flam alternate which one holds up a crude picture while the other huckster explains, Applejack shaking her head the whole time.

“We heard about the success of Twilight Sparkle’s Friendship School, and we need a prominent member of the community to endorse our very own Friendship University, where they could learn the same lessons in half the time!”

“Licensing?” Applejack frowns. “That’d be up to Twilight, an’ Ah don’t-”

“How about a pawn shop where we sell undervalued items retrieved from yard and estate sales?”

Applejack’s eyes narrow. “No fencing?”

Flam hurriedly puts that paper away while Flim pulls out the next. “Parasprite repellant? They’re a huge problem in Phillydelphia right now!”

Applejack raises an eyebrow. “That works?”

Flim shoots her a grin. “Do you see any parasprites around here?”

Applejack sighs. Of course it’s too good to be true. “Ee-nope.”

Flam comes back undeterred, “Purchasing the land out from under a pony’s store and selling it back at an outrageous markup?”

Applejack doesn’t even bother to respond to that, and Flam stuffs it with the other rejects.

“Giving away Windy the Windigo dolls, who brings snow when ponies spread Kindness every Hearthswarming Season?”

“Err,” Applejack says, struggling and failing to find fault. “That actually don’t sound that bad. Ah mean, it’s made up, but so’re lots of traditions.” She frowns. “Ya’d give ‘em away? For free?”

“Of course,” Flim smoothly says, giving Applejack a one-legged hug and Flam a wink.

“It’s the accessories-” Flam starts before a quick motion from Flim shuts him up.

“Ah,” Applejack says, understanding the scam now. Or is that just smart advertising? Maybe that’s the same thing. She pushes Flim away. “In that case, Ee-nope.”

Flam continues, “A huggable, hoof-made toy promoting the wonders of capitalism that every filly will dream of owning? That we can then rebrand to denounce greed and encourage sharing?”

“Ee-nope.”

“Fleecing sheep for their wool?”

“Ee-nope.”

“A sneaky method to smuggle King Sombra and a ravenous army into the Crystal Empire?”

“Ee-no- wait, what was that?”

“A ring toss game where the rings are only slightly larger than the milk bottles, thus making it technically possible but extremely technical to win?”

“No, no, no!” Applejack stamps a hoof, getting Flim and Flam to pause. “Go back. What was that ya said?”

“A… ring toss game?” Flim glances at his picture. “It’d be difficult to win, but some ponies would, but we would have to cover expenses, the cost of running the booth. No different than other carnival games, like a bottle toss or-”

“No, before that!” Applejack growls.

Flam looks at the picture in his hoof. It’s certainly not Sombra, but she’s not sure which she would rather have in her house. “Holly the Hearth’s Warmer is a cherished gift for only the most special of friends, and-”

Applejack huffs, waving a hoof and cutting him off. Did she imagine it? “Forget about it. Why can’t you two do something honest with your life? You’re obviously good at comin’ up with ideas, an’ much as Ah hate to admit it, implementin’ ‘em and convincin’ other ponies they’re good ideas instead’a scams!” At Flim and Flam’s puzzled look she continues, “Like the Cider Squeezy. Even Ah gotta admit it makes quality cider - well, as long as ya feed it quality ingredients. Couldn’t ya make more’a those?”

“Cousin Applejack,” Flim says with an earnest though patronizing tone, wrapping a hoof around her withers, “are you familiar with the concept of a cartel?”

“Err,” Applejack stammers. “It don’t sound like an honest organization.”

“But it is!” Flam counters. “You see, by restricting output, one is able to maintain scarcity and thus demand a higher price. If we produced more, the price would fall, and so would our profits, and all we would have gained was more work.”

“I can see it now,” Flim says dreamily, waving a hoof to the darkening sky. “All the trees of Ponyville, clear-cut to make room for endless orchards, stretching as far as the eye can see.”

Applejack chuckles. “Failin’ to see the problem there.”

“Don’t forget the factories,” Flam adds. “Smoke-spewing behemoths, ravaging the land as they devour greater and greater quantities of apples.”

“Still speakin’ mah language,” Applejack says with a widening grin.

“...Huh.” Flim stares at Flam, who stares back. “You mean there’s a scheme the Flim Flam Brothers can concoct that a member of the Apple family won’t show up and ruin?”

“Long as it produces quality Apple products?” Applejack’s shrug is met with downcast eyes and heavy sighs. She gently pushes up Flim’s face. “Look. Long as you’re sellin’ things ponies need, not just things ya can convince ‘em they want? Ah won’t have nothin’ to say. Hay, Ah’d even endorse it.”

Flam nods reluctantly, and pulls away to confer with Flim. “It’ll take some time to draw up plans.”

“Expensive plans,” Flim concurs, grimacing. “Unprofitable plans.”

“We’re sorry,” Flam says to Applejack with a shake of his head. “But we have principals, madam. Take joy in profit, and profit from joy.” He sits down and studies the chess board.

“Rule fifty-five,” Flim adds with a curt, dismissive nod as he goes back to their game.

Applejack sighs. “Worth a shot, Ah suppose.” She glances at her cutie mark. It’s not pulsing with pleasure, just sitting there like normal. “Well, Ah best be goin’, then. Y’all stay outta trouble.”

“Of course,” the two chorus back, tipping their hats as she stalks off.

Ch. 159 - Mutated Growth, Part Five

“This is it, folks,” Buff Mic bellows into his microphone, whipping the teeming crowd into an even greater frenzy. “The Final Round!” A quick showdown tune plays, Dun-dun-dh-dnnn, as Butterbarrel waddles up, steel horseshoe dwarfed in his massive hoof. The rotund stallion concentrates, staring down the post like it’s a tray holding his morning snack of a dozen hayburgers.

“When they think they can toss,” Iron Will, Butterbarrel’s minotaur trainer, roars from right behind him, “you show them who’s boss!” He flexes, stretching the ‘Sooks Need Not Apply’ jacket emblazoned with a grinning picture of himself.

Butterball, with a smoothness uncharacteristic of his stout shape, lets it go.

*Clang!*

“Another ringer for the Stock Train!” Buff Mic announces to the cheering crowd. Butterbarrel raises both hooves to the ceiling in celebration, flexing pecs that would rival Bulk Biceps’ - if one could get past his barrel-esque physique. A number of mares in the crowd moan in ecstacy at the sight, desperately fanning themselves lest they fall to the floor in a dead faint.

Trixie, along with Apple Rose, grabs yet another fritter from the server standing next to them. She takes a bite (almost as good as homemade, must be the extra butter) as Granny Smith plows through her third bowl of nachos. Are nachos soft enough? Eh, probably.

They go silent as Goldie Delicious ambles up to the stage, unruffled and unhurried by the delirious atmosphere. The white-maned mare focuses, letting loose with the practiced motion that has won her every round so far.

*Clang!*

“That evens the score for the Golden Horseshoe Gals!” Buff Mic takes a huge breath as stomps echo throughout the crowded arena. “Folks, could this get any more exciting? In fact, this might be the most exciting time of your young lives!”

Huh, Trixie wonders to herself as she stomps her hooves along with everypony cheering for Goldie. They make up only a small fraction, the majority cheering for the Prince of the One Rounders. Didn’t Applejack warn about letting them get excited? She peers at Goldie Delicious; the elderly mare doesn’t seem affected at all by the cheers and roars of the crowd, nor do her cats, merely smiling as Butterbarrel gives her a good-natured bump of the hoof as they trade places. She takes another bite. Eh, she’s probably fine.

“If they think they can win,” Iron Will bellows, “you show them your spin!”

With an agility none would suspect from a pony so round Butterbarrel spins, releasing his horseshoe to the gasps of the crowd. It spins, sailing toward the post in a perfect arc.

*Claang!*

“It bounced!” Buff Mic and everypony hold their breath as the spinning horseshoe collides with the post. But it doesn’t stop there; it careens off the felt floor, the spin keeping it moving and looping back. It stops with one heel balanced against the post. “It’s leaning! That gives the Golden Horseshoe Gals a chance to take the lead and clinch the win!”

Butterbarrel closes his mouth and gives the post a single respectful nod. Iron Will claps him on the back with a hearty, “To have a comeback, you have to have a setback!” They both turn, staring through narrowed eyebrows as though their intense glares might give the granny a heart attack. Which, given her performance so far, might be their only chance.

Goldie Delicious plods forward, squinting at the post. One of her cats lets loose a long meow; she nods, as though agreeing.

“She’s on a roll, folks, about to roll this barrel of butter out of here! She’s-”

*Clang!*

“That’s it! She’s done it!” Buff Mic whoops into the microphone as the arena erupts into cheers and applause. Trixie stomps along with them, whistling long and loud as Butterbarrel congratulates Goldie by hoisting her to his withers and holding her foreleg as high as his short but solid frame can lift.

“Those whippersnappers should’a known better’n t’ challenge their elders,” Granny Smith chuckles, bones creaking as she stands up and bumps hooves with Goldie Delicious.

“Easier’n eatin’ peach pie on a stallionsday,” Auntie Applesauce grins, though her eyes keep straying to Butterbarrel and giving him an appreciable whinny.

“The Talented and Technical Trixie is… moderately impressed.” Trixie trades a hoofbump with Goldie nonetheless. “Did she ever tell you about the time she beat the one and only Princess Twilight Sparkle in a game of horseshoes?”

“With yer hooves,” Granny Smith cuts in, though her attempt to dampen Trixie’s spirit fails. “It weren’t even close with those horns’a y’alls.”

“Yes,” Trixie states, swishing her mane back with a certain nonchalance, “but a true game of horseshoes is played with the hooves, is it not?”

The grandmares nod along in agreement, though Apple Rose asks, “Then why weren’t ya playin’ on the stage there?” Apple Rose glances around the thinning crowd. “Hay, we could go up there right now an’ have a match!”

“...Of course, Trixie would not have wanted to steal your thunder.” Trixie gives a curt nod. “And, didn’t you want to go dancing before the magic show?”

The loudspeaker above cuts in, Gladmane announcing, “Listen here, y’all! If you’re a friend of mine-”

*

“-then you’re entitled to a free nights stay, and everypony is a friend of mine! Thank you. Thank you very much.”

Applejack glances around as a veritable horde of ponies push towards Gladmane’s resort. She even spots Flim and Flam darting this way and that. She’s glad she already has a room reserved and doesn’t need to worry about finding herself packed four to a double bed in order to take advantage of such a generous offer. Even if it is late enough that responsible ponies should already have a room booked.

Still, the chaos makes it a lot harder to continue her search for some sort - any sort, really - of friendship problem. Sure, she passed ponies a bit down on their luck - though, given the availability of games of chance that could easily do a pony wrong as right, maybe it ain’t that unexpected - and those who are just makin’ ends meet. Others look like they just need an opportunity to show their skills, like Sprigfield and Roar Horn with their pink prairie dogs that Fluttershy would have absolutely adored, or the earth pony acrobats flipping (and in some cases practically flying) from one lamppost to another with a dexterity that oughta be downright impossible. Others, the big names, draw in large crowds to see their shows, yet she doubts their acts could be any more impressive than the street performers. Fair? Maybe not. But does that make it a friendship problem?

The mass of ponies gradually squeezes forward, over the thick bridges and past more of those street performers trying to earn their last bit before turning in for the night. A few pass Applejack, and she tosses them a bit apiece for their impressive skills. Overhead, ponies riding the Wild Blue Yonder scream in excitement and fear as the riders race along the thundering track. Fireworks explode high above, painting dazzling images across the night sky of suns and moons, stars and hearts, and prancing ponies cavorting this way and that. It’s an amazing sight, nothing less than spectacular, but she has a hard time paying attention.

Unfortunately, as much as she doesn’t want to, she has to call this night a bust. Either nopony has a friendship problem, or nopony wants to admit they have one. Still, there’s always tomorrow! Early to bed, early to rise, and judgin’ by the moon it’s already past dinner and time to rustle some fillies off to bed. Actually, no, she doesn’t have to worry about that, not today. She joins the tail end of the crowd heading toward Gladmane’s, and while waiting glances down at her belly, her pregnancy becoming a little more overt if one knows where to look. Seven more months and then she’d be doin’ an awful lot of rustlin’. Way more rustlin’, given how busy the Princesses are and the likelihood of Doug watchin’ an alicorn filly. Or four! Celestia help them if’n that’s the case!

“Howdy, Applejack,” greets a suave-sounding bass voice from the edge of the crowd. One glance at the statuesque stallion confirms him as Gladmane, his portrait prominently displayed on the doors and even the form of the hotel behind him. He runs a hoof through his slicked-back silver mane, almost a wave in case she didn’t see. She makes her way toward him and out of the way of everypony else. “Now, what’s got that pretty little mane’a yours in a twist? I’d hate to think it was something I said or did!”

“Oh, nothin’ like that, Mister Gladmane,” Applejack chuckles. She’s surprised how personable he is; she would expect a pony with so much extravagance about his persona to be at least as stuck up as the fashionistas Rarity always goes on about. “Somethin’ Ah did-” a wink confirms exactly what she’s talking about “-a few months back.”

“Say no more,” Gladmane says, returning the wink. “Four’s enough for anyherd, and you’re filling that just by yourself!” He has a joviality about him she finds refreshing, a welcome respite in this tumultuous town. And she’s barely been here a few hours! “And, please; just Gladmane’ll do. It’s a pleasure to meet an actual cohort of the Princess of Friendship! Thank you for coming. Thank you very much.”

Applejack cocks her head to the side. She’s not that surprised he knows her name, given her connections to the Princesses, but how many foals she has? “You know who Ah am?”

Gladmane nods, occasionally flashing the crowd a smile as he talks to her. “I’m what you might call a friendship connoisseur, so imagine my surprise when somepony ascends to be Princess of Friendship! Why, naturally I did everything I could to learn all about her and that motley collection of mares she herded up with! Applejack, it’s an honor to have you here.” He leans in close, though not uncomfortably. “Is it true what they say about that stallion of yours?”

“Every word,” Applejack answers with a hearty wink, getting Gladmane to let loose an uproarious laugh. She continues, somewhat more seriously, “Even with the Princesses joinin’ the herd he still spends time with us regular-ole workin’ mares.” She motions toward Gladmane. “He ain’t what most would expect, an’ Ah could say the same ‘bout you.”

“Me?” Gladmane asks with a look of genuine surprise, touching his fancy suit with a polished hoof.

Applejack nods. “You ain’t at all the type’a pony Ah’d expect to find in Las Pegasus.” She motions upward and all around. “All the lights, the music, the parties…”

Gladmane chuckles as he glances at the crowd milling around, the attendants hard at work getting everypony situated. He turns away from the excitement. “That may be what my guests are looking for, but hard work and making friends is how I turned this hotel into what it is today. I’m just about to finish my rounds; care to join me?”

“Why, Ah’d be delighted to.” Applejack steps along with Gladmane, the two trotting through a side entrance and up a flight of stairs to an impressive office overlooking the main entrance.

Ch. 160 - Mutated Growth, Part Six

The booming bass stylings of DJ-Pon-3 echo above the frenzied stomps on the riotous dance floor, vying against scintillating strobe lights and dizzying disco balls. Electric, in a word, with a theatricality evident in every outrageous costume and getup half the ponies sport. Manes and tails, striped with streaks of glaringly vivid colors, flip and whip about, the result a chaotic calamity to make Discord proud. When one spins about the others press together, barely making enough room to avoid the flailing hooves, only to collapse back in as soon as the unbridled motion ends.

Trixie regards the pack of prancing ponies with a leery eye. Not that she minds giving the ‘ole flank a crank, but with the number of nachos she scarfed down? She’d hate for them to make an unwelcome reappearance on the dance floor, not that any of the psyched-up prancers would notice. Granny Smith shares none of her inhibition, looking ready to storm the checkerboard floor despite having consumed three times the sour cream and pepper laced chips, not to mention the complimentary ciders.

She glances down, watching the reflection of the glittering lights on the polished floor. They remind her of the fireworks she loves to fire off, back when she was performing nearly every night. A far cry from watching the foals on the farm, or teaching Generosity at Twilight’s School of Friendship, or any of the multitude of things a responsible, herded mare does. And something something about not letting the grandmares go too hog-wild.

She looks back, briefly mesmerized by the swirling colors. Eh, what the hay. You only live once, right?

While Trixie sticks to a simple sway-and-bob, the four grandmares have something more strenuous in mind. Each of them takes the quickly-clearing center stage, directly in front of the headset-clad ravist.

And, on the other side, a pair of unicorn studs.

The larger, Big Bucks - cutie mark of a yellow star coming out of a top hat, his coat an electric purple with a neon green mane and a trimmed tail that hides none of his prodigious package - sips from a teal cocktail. He glances backward as Apple Rose begins her stretches, green eyes running over every inch of her suddenly supple body. His handlebar mustache twitches as he lets loose an appreciative snort. The smaller of the two, Jack Pot - who sports a mane, tail, and coat identical to Trixie’s - trades a grin with his partner as he sips from a yellow drink through a pink swirly straw.

Granny Smith struts past the swaying DJ to the raucous woops and hoots of her fellow Gals, eyeing the smaller and snazzier of the stallions. With one smooth motion she pulls the band from her braided hair, the decades falling away much like the long, silken strands of silver mane. She swishes them back with a practiced flick, standing on two legs and borrowing Doug’s standing method of dancing. She moves like a fish in water, all curves and shakes and alluring rolls.

The display certainly entices the stallions. Jack Pot adjusts the collar of his spiffy brown suit, taking the lead while Big Bucks follows just behind, not about to let his partner have all the fun. The three yellow stars on his flank ripple back and forth as he saunters to the swaying grandmares, the two offering a low bow while touching their hoof to their chest.

“Look!” Auntie Applesauce exclaims, sidling next to Big Bucks as the grandmares circle like a pride of griffons. “It’s our favorite magicians, Big Bucks and Jack Pot! And aren’t they lookin’ handsome as ever?”

Jack Pot chortles as the grandmares giggle. “You little fillies have got some smooth moves!”

Big Bucks continues as Jack Pot puts his hooves together, “Say, how would you Gold Horseshoe Gals like to bring some of that good energy into our magic show tonight?”

Jack Pot pulls his hooves apart, revealing five golden tickets. “Here’s five complimentary tickets to our most amazing show, just over there!” He motions toward a rippling fabric entryway, several other ponies just heading through.

“Sugarcube,” Auntie Applesauce drawls, “we never miss your show.”

“Fabulous.” Jack Pot winks at Granny Smith. “We’ll save a spot for you on stage.”

Big Bucks grins even wider, focusing on Apple Rose and Goldie Delicious. “And in our hearts.”

The four grandmares ‘daww’, slowly surrounding the stallions, their intentions clear. As Jack Pot’s gaze shifts from mare to mare, as if deliberating which one to select, his eyes settle on the azure mare on the periphery.

“Hello, sire,” Trixie states, muzzle tight as she bites her tongue. What (or, in this case, who) the grandmares pursue isn’t her decision, but her dad? Really? Her eyes flick to Granny Smith, the mare on whom her sire’s gaze lasted the longest, then back to her dad’s. If anything, his smirk grows larger, and not in a good way. “Hard at work?”

“Hardly working,” he shoots back with a wink. His ears flick as an announcement about the upcoming magic show comes over the PA system, mostly drowned out by the deafening music. “Sorry, Gals, we can’t stay and chat.” Jack Pot offers Granny Smith a regretful sigh, laced with eager anticipation. “We get to know our assistants after the show.” He tips an imaginary hat, the two stallions strolling away with a leering glance backward that leaves the Gals giggling like schoolfillies.

*

The first thing that surprises Applejack about Gladmane’s office is the spartan decor, a sharp contrast to the ostentatious adornments lining the rest of the luxury resort. All he has on his large desk (though not oversized compared to Doug’s, who likes to spread his maps out, and especially not to Filthy Rich’s monstrosity) is a little metal box with some slits on the side and a plain desk lamp. She gives the box an odd look as she walks past, curious what it does. The plush red carpet does an excellent job of muffling any hoofsteps, with a pattern of curling black lines that climbs the walls and spreads out over the brightly-lit ceiling. Large glass windows line half the room, but the top half of those are blocked by the twisting rails of the Wild Blue Yonder.

“Ain’t she a beaut?” Gladmane asks, the two staring out over the atrium below.

Applejack is inclined to agree, even if the decorations ain’t to her taste, but finds she cannot. “To each their own,” she remarks after a moment of silence, apprehensive as to her Honest reaction. “But for me?” She shrugs. "As Ah said before, it’s all too much." But she notes his gaze is not focused on the inside of the hotel and the ponies milling about but on the large windows leading outside, to the lines of colorful buildings making up the rest of the strip. She gives him a curious glance, cocking her heading to the side enough to ask the question.

Gladmane gives a jovial chuckle. “Never thought I’d be shown Honesty by the Element herself. Rumor has it you’re lookin’ for some sort of friendship problem? By Celestia, I hope you ain’t hopin’ to find it here! Why, this is one of the friendliest places on Equus! Uh-huh-huh.”

“Eeyup,” Applejack replies, unconvinced about his contention about friendliness. “But friendship problems can crop up anywhere. Which is why it’s so important to make sure all those friendships keep goin’, ya know?”

“Now you’re talkin’ my language!” Gladmane roars, merrily pounding a hoof on his desk. He presses the button on the little metal box. Applejack can hear his voice, faintly reflected through the speakers throughout the resort.

“Hey there, friends. If you think my resort is a winner, wait ‘til you see Big Bucks and Jack Pot on the big stage! Tickets are on sale now, two for the price of one! Thank you. Thank you very much. And good night.”

He releases the button, then rummages about the desk long enough for her to peek inside, intrigued by row after row of personnel files. “Those are… friends who used to work here,” Gladmane explains as he pulls out two packets. Applejack can taste the… not quite a lie, but certainly a hesitation, a reframing of the relationship not unlike when Twilight Sparkle viewed Queen Chrysalis not as an ‘enemy’ but as a ‘future friend’.

“Quite the number,” Applejack remarks, a tad jealous of the sheer number of ponies Gladmane has had working for him. How much bigger would Sweet Apple Acres be if’n she could round up that kinda help? “How’d ya get so many?”

“Why, by treating them like friends, of course!” Gladmane grins, though Applejack can detect more and more chips in his chipper demeanor. “Lots of ponies come to Gladmane’s, both the top of the talent and those just startin’ out. I give ‘em all a chance, and many more’n that - prime spots, free advertisin’, my personal recommendations.” He chuckles to himself, a deep ‘Uh-huh-huh’, as he continues with a touch of darkness, “Quite unfortunate I can’t convince my employees to stay the same way you did at the farm. Or at all.”

“Ya heard ‘bout that?” Applejack says, more curious than ashamed, not terribly surprised that her method of ensnaring Doug made its way to Gladmane’s ears. Not that she’s remorseful about it; stallions often entice mares to put their talents to use on their farms in much the same way. Maybe they should have been looser with their requirements? Mm, but the Apple way isn’t like that. And if there’s one thing that’s worked for her in the past, it’s the Apple way. “Too bad it only worked the once, least as far as the farm’s concerned. But me’n Big Mac make do. Hay, Ah’m holdin’ out hope that one of these days he’ll put those muscles toward something that ain’t a plow.”

“When that time comes,” Gladmane drawls as he opens the first file, adding notes from today to what looks like a personnel review, “mind if I make a few recommendations? From one friend to another?”

“Err,” Applejack stalls. She has no doubt there are a dozen mares in that desk that would leap off Las Pegasus without a parachute for a chance to be with her brother, but how true was that a year ago? “Ah’m sure he won’t mind a few hats thrown his way. But…” Applejack doesn’t want to say it, but neither can she stay silent. “What makes ya think ya know the kind of mare mah brother wants?”

“Why, because we’re friends, of course,” Gladmane explains matter-of-factly. “Normally it’s him chaperonin’ those grandmares around, but we’ve got around to talkin’ more’n once. Uh-huh-huh.”

“Talkin’?” Applejack contests, dubiously raising an eyebrow. “Mah brother? ‘Bout what?”

“Oh, this’n that.” Gladmane shrugs off her doubtful gaze. “Maybe I was the one doin’ most of the talkin’.”

“Eeyup,” Applejack returns a shrug of her own. While she might need to take her brother’s eventual love life into her hooves, given his stoic (some might say stolid) pace, now ain’t the time. “But, back to those employees’a yours. Ya said ya couldn’t convince ‘em to stay? Why not?”

“Why,” Gladmane starts, regarding her with a confused expression, then pausing at some puzzlement befouling him.

“Because my friends,” he tries, again failing to continue.

“Friends wouldn’t…” His smile - which up until this point has remained plastered on his face - falters, letting a flash of fury twist his muzzle to an angry grimace. For a moment Applejack tenses, until he slumps forward. His head rests in his hooves, staring blankly at the bare desk.

Ch. 161 - Mutated Growth, Part Seven

“...They’ve done it!” Big Bucks exclaims, clutching his top hat to his chest as though he might faint. The four grandmares slowly extricate themselves from the glass-sided water tank. The feathered headgear that started so perky and bold now flops against their sides, sopping wet, as they cheerfully wave.

In an instant the captivated audience goes from dead silence to raucous roars, no longer burdened by the weight of witnessing mortal peril.

Not that the grandmares were in any real danger, Trixie wryly notes as she stomps along. She wouldn’t ruin the perilous performance like some frightened filly, heavens no. The glass tank is specially designed to keep the heads of those inside clear of the water while soaking every other inch, and the tiny bit that seeps through from their ornate headpieces completes the terrifying deception. The horns of the showstallions had remained unlit throughout the entirety, adding to the uncertainty; after all, most unicorn magicians utilize their magic to complete their sleights and illusions, a technique her sire vehemently opposes.

“All done using instructions we gave them,” Jack Pot continues, exaggerating every aspect of his character as Big Bucks offers towels, “…with our minds!” As though the grandmares did much at all. Eager stomps meet his melodramatic manner; he gives a long bow as the four grandmares shuffle off the stage. “And, for our final act?” He motions for Trixie to join him to the confused chatter of the audience. “You may have seen her performing in Canterlot, Manehattan, and Ponyville: my little filly, returning after three years on the road! Trixie Lulamoon!”

Trixie - ready for this moment, having suspected her sire would call her out - sweeps her starry purple cloak so it billows behind her as she leaps to the stage, showing off her star rod and moon cutie mark. She grins at the applause, striding toward her sire to exchange a brief nuzzle, only for him to flick her flank with his tail as she turns to the audience. Her smile widens, inwardly appalled at his immodesty - she’s in a herd! - and waits for the cheers and wolfish whistles to subside.

“Thank you, thank you.” She takes a deep breath, used to the lack of amplification; for the duration of the trick, her horn would remain unlit, a proof to her sire she can and has followed in his hoofsteps. Even as she (greatly) prefers magic-based tricks that utilizes her Generosity magic to its fullest extent.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie has traveled to many distant and exotic locations,” she tells, weaving the story as she pulls out her battered box of playing cards from inside her cloak, leaving a set of six specially prepared cards in easy reach. “At every place she performed her spectacular feats of magic she had those who most appreciated her performance sign a very special deck of cards.”

She stands on two legs and fans the cards out to the audience, showing off the signatures on each (most forged as best she could recall, as the real deck perished in an astral-ursa caused fire) and that every card is present and in a random order. On some they can barely make out the card underneath, while others lack a single signature. She gives the cards a real shuffle - one hooved, of course - and continues flipping the deck around to form intricate patterns as she speaks. “So, to continue that tradition, I ask you.” She turns to her sire and Big Bucks. “What is your favorite card?”

“Knave of hearts,” Jack Pot answers with a salacious wink at her, drawing bemused chuckles from the audience. Big Bucks booms out, “The three of clubs!”

Trixie nods at each, quickly locating the two cards and passing them over along with a thin black pen. She slips the six of spades fourth from the top along with a specific nine, prince, and princess. Any shuffles from now are false shuffles, or ones that leave the top four cards the same, or simple cuts repeated in pairs, giving the appearance the order is constantly being rearranged. Jack Pot squeezes his signature next to half a dozen others while Big Bucks has only Quill Jillette’s to avoid. They place their cards in the middle of the deck; she covertly keeps a break while she tucks the pen away.

She bombastically commands, “The Great and Powerful Trixie requires the use of your hat!”

Big Bucks tentatively pulls the large top hat off his head, exposing his horn. “Careful,” he warns. “Anything put inside has a tendency to… disappear.”

Trixie exaggerates a gasp. “Disappear? What do you mean?”

Big Bucks nods solemnly. “They… vanish.”

“...I see.” Trixie gives a worried gulp, and very carefully holds the hat as far away as she can, squatting down to slowly set it on the polished floor as an impromptu table. She explains to the audience, “However, this deck is not the only wonderful and marvelous artifact I acquired during my travels. In fact, due to all the time spent on them, and the Great and Powerfulness of my performances, my very horseshoes were imbued with magic!”

Murmurs spread among the audience, many never having heard of magical items being created this way. A complete farce, of course, but they lap it up.

Trixie nods as though that might convince them, and it sometimes does. “However, the nature of this magic is difficult to detect, and even harder to figure out.” She holds up her front hooves, the steel of her shoes gleaming. “With these, I can make any card I wish appear! Behold! The six of spades!”

She seems to pull off the top card of the card, though actually grabs the princess of hearts, and proudly displays it for all to see. When the audience laughs, she twists it around, muzzle scrunching up in distaste. “What? No, let me try again!”

She replaces the princess to the top of the deck, carefully deals the three of clubs from the middle as though it is the first card - it lands face down on top of the hat - and announces, “The six of spades!” while brandishing the princess of hearts again.

“Impossible!” Trixie stamps a hoof in frustration as the audience guffaws, again replacing the princess. She deals the noble from the center. “Six of spades! Six of spades! Six of spades!”

Four cards - including two cards matching those concealed in her cloak - now rest on the top hat. “Six of spades!” she calls one last time, this time letting the princess of hearts go and revealing the top card - the six of spades.

“But that’s not all,” Trixie continues, the scattered applause quickly dying. “The real magic comes from this one here.” She lifts her left rear hoof, balancing on one hoof so the bottom faces the audience. “And trust me,” she reassures with a huff and shake of the head, “it was not easy to figure out.”

She puts the remaining deck of cards away inside her cloak, then withdraws a Pull Off, a farrier’s tool to remove shoes, and wiggles the sharpened head between the loosened metal shoe and her hoof. A quick jerk rips the shoe the rest of the way off, the sharp nails pointing out.

“This Great and Powerful shoe, when dropped, will rearrange the cosmos!” Trixie holds an exaggerated grin for a second before giving a reluctant shrug. “Other times, it will merely rearrange the order of the cards. But not something as trite as the black cards on the bottom and the red cards on top. No, it will order the cards from least to greatest! Behold!”

Trixie swaps the shoe and Pull Off for the six cards on the hat and fans them out for all to see: three of clubs, noble of diamonds, and nine of clubs in her left hoof; prince of diamonds, princess of hearts, and six of spades in her right. With a careful grip she takes a deep breath, flicks her hooves to the side to conceal how she slides the middle card to the top while turning the cards over, and mashes the two piles together so that the three goes on the bottom, the six comes next, then the nine and noble followed by the prince and princess. She drops the pile on the hat and picks up the shoe and Pull Off with one quick motion.

“Behold!” Trixie carefully angles the shoe when she drops it at the corner of the cards. The shoe flips over the stack of cards as it bounces off the springy hat - she deftly catches it on the way back up - and reveals the cards, perfectly sorted.

The audience gamely stomps, though it’s more muted than Trixie likes. She forces herself to keep grinning.

“Oh? Are there some neigh-sayers in the audience? That claim because the Prestidigitatious and Dextrous Trixie touched the cards, that is how they reordered themselves?” Trixie nods along as though she agrees with them. “Very well! To prove Trixie’s Great and Powerfulness, behold!”

Trixie wriggles out one of the nails from her shoe. “Big Bucks! Can you verify that this is, in fact, a standard Mustang M-X seventy, two solid inches of steel?”

He takes the nail, testing how far it bends. Jack Pot tests the sharpness of the point, wincing.

While the stallions inspect the nail Trixie picks up the cards with the same hoof holding the Pull Off and slips them both into her cloak. She replaces two cards, the six and nine, with two identical versions that have a slit cut on the bottom of the card. She comes back with the cards and a soft-headed hammer.

Big Bucks nods, returning the nail to her, his mouth opening in shock at seeing the hammer.

Trixie again holds up the cards, showing the sequential order. While keeping the faces to the audience at all times she performs a series of cuts - bottom half to the top, middle two to the top, and the top card to the bottom - that gets the cards in the right order: three, noble, prince, six, nine, princess.

She replaces the shoe against her hoof, places the edge of the cards against the shoe, and slams the hammer down, piercing the cards and quite literally nailing them to her shoe.

Jack Pot winces at the sound of cards tearing, Big Bucks startles backward, and at least one audience member throws her hooves in the air as she faints.

Trixie calmly gives the cards a tug left, right, and down, showing they are firmly nailed to the underside of her shoe. She fans the cards out, revealing the order is the same as before. Then, with a flourish, she pushes the cards back into a stack - hiding during the flourish how she tugs the cut six and nine out just enough so she can slip them between the three and noble - and pushes them back in.

“Down goes the shoe,” Trixie narrates as she stamps her hoof on the ground. “Behold!”

She lifts her leg and fans the cards out with some difficulty, the bulging head of the nail keeping them tight, and reveals them again in sequential order. “Are these your cards?”

The stomps come without restraint as Jack Pot and Big Bucks nod, astonished. Or at least pretending to be. Trixie bows, flicking her cloak back with the same motion that replaces the hammer, flips Big Bucks’ hat back on top of his head, and waves to the thundering audience as she trots off to join the grandmares on the hidden side of the stage, the curtains closing behind her.

As soon as she leaves the stage her measured walk turns to a giddy prance. She did it! Not that there was any doubt, of course; she had performed the same trick during the balloon ride over. A quick flash from her horn removes the cards from her hoof and repairs the tears, the cards returning to their spots under her cloak.

She keeps that elated feeling the entire trot to the dressing rooms. The grandmares impatiently wait outside, one marked by a top hat and the other by three stars. Their congratulations are muted, constantly glancing past her, something considerably larger obviously on their minds.

“We’ve waited years to get called as assistants,” Auntie Applesauce confides to Trixie. A hearty shudder ripples from her wrinkly face to her sagging flanks, an itch that no amount of cream could scratch.

Something Applejack said briefly crosses Trixie’s mind, something something overexertion, something something. But the stallion would be doing most of the work, though it’s quite likely been years since the elderly grandmares have gotten their hearts racing. And while her sire certainly isn’t an eager colt any more, she doubts he’ll fail to satisfy both mares.

Big Bucks arrives first, Jack Pot not far behind. The hefty stallion slips between Apple Rose and Goldie Delicious. “Well done, everypony!” he booms, casually draping a violet foreleg over each mare’s back. Their grins grow ever wider, exchanging leering glances.

“You ain’t so bad yourself,” Goldie Delicious purrs, white tailing curling around his hind leg like one of her cats. It slides higher, and he gives a little jolt.

Big Bucks idly examines the hoof around Goldie’s neck, doing his best to play off his excitement. “I’ve picked up a few tricks here and there.”

“We know a few tricks ourselves,” Apple Rose tantalizes, swishing her mane back and forth, looking a lot more like she did on the dance floor than the walk down the hallway. “Let’s make the magic happen!” She pushes open the door to Big Buck’s dressing room, the stallion sandwiched between and not minding at all how he is led into his room, the door slamming behind.

Auntie Applesauce’s eager stance turns to a heavy sigh of disappointment as Jack Pot walks past her, his attention solely focused on Granny Smith and Trixie. She recovers quickly. “Ah’m going to find that pegasus porter,” she explains to nopony in particular, “and we’ll paint the town candy apple red!” Granny Smith gives her a quick wave, more of a shooing motion if anything, not taking her eyes off Jack Pot. The bright green mare trots off, leaving the three of them alone.

Wait, Trixie thinks, suddenly self-conscious. Why did she-

“Quite the progress you’ve made with your hooves,” Jack Pot notes as he sidles next to Trixie, wearing an impressed grin. His jacket is draped over his back, a certain disheveledness to his look now that he has finished performing, a rugged appearance Trixie finds appealing, much like Doug after a few hours working with her. Or any of the other stallions she invited to her wagon, though they were generally a bit buffer. His muzzle twitches, a sly grin that leaves his eyes sparkling with desire. “Care to show your sire a few more moves?”

Trixie meets the question with a roll of her eyes. “You knave,” she calls, playing on his name, belying the crude nickname with a smirk and half-laugh. It’s not that she’s surprised at the offer, or even terribly offended; after all, her sire has been ‘entertaining’ his assistants in this manner for as long as she can remember. She always harbored a certain envy of the mares he met up with after a show, and his offer is more than a little tempting.

Jack Pot merely snorts. “Just hoof-stuff, then?”

“Daddy,” Trixie petulantly whines, not that it ever got her out of her practices when she was a filly.

“Princess Luna returned,” Jack Pot asserts with a hopeful shrug. “Maybe some of the Lula-Moon customs could come back, too.”

“I’m in a herd,” Trixie asserts, not retreating at the gentle press of his withers against hers.

“Oh?” Jack Pot sounds surprised. She’s not sure why; she sent him a card. She did send him a card, right? He pulls away just slightly, enough to no longer press against her, and she finds herself missing the contact. “And how is that going, then?” He glances at her barrel, but not in the leering way he was before, now measuring and calculating.

“Ah’ll be inside,” Granny Smith interjects as she brusquely pushes past Jack Pot and into the three-starred dressing room.

“No foal yet,” Trixie explains, slightly put out at the admission. He doesn’t relax, or really react at all. “Next year. Otherwise, it’s been…” She wants to say it’s going well, great even, yet she’s reminded of Applejack’s edicts about Honesty. She wishes the mare was with her, to back her up at least. “...Good. They’re certainly stricter than life on the road,” she continues with a rueful smile that turns to a long sigh. “Less after-parties and more regular parties, when I’m able to put on a show. Which happens less and less now that I’m teaching ponies and other creatures about Generosity.”

“Teaching?” Jack Pot pulls away so he can look her straight in the eyes. “Are you putting your skills to use in your… classes?” The last word rolls off his tongue slathered in vitriol. “You know how important practicing is, and if you’re not fulfilling your mark?” He pauses for a split second, gathering energy like a storm brewing over the Everfree. “You could have been performing in Manehattan, or Canterlot, or even back here if you wanted, but instead you’re stuck in a trifling town like Ponyville?”

Trixie huffs. “It’s not-”

“No, no,” Jack Pot cuts off, waving away her indignant rebuttal. He loses the edge in his voice, wistful for what might have been. “That was too harsh. What you do with your life is your decision. You made that clear when you left to tour the world, or at least Equestria.” He offers her a glum, half-hearted smile. “You always thought there wasn’t enough room in Las Pegasus for two azure-coated unicorns performing magic tricks.”

“What would it be like if there were four, or even six?” Trixie giggles at his horrified gasp. He always acted so over-the-top. “Okay, okay, four foals might be pushing it.”

“I’d say,” Jack Pot says, fanning himself while catching his breath. “One would be best. Maybe two, if you spread them out. Any more and you aren’t able to spend enough time with them, to best focus their efforts.”

Trixie snuggles next to her sire. “I… I mean, the Great and Powerful Trixie appreciated all the time you spent with her.” She twists to wink at him. “…Even if I didn’t show it at the time.”

Jack Pot plants a chaste kiss into the thick of her mane. She sighs happily. “And now you’re spending your time… teaching?”

“Generosity,” Trixie confirms. She rolls her eyes at his genuine look of disgust. “No, it’s not about teaching them stage magic. Even if that is my talent, and you know it.” She sticks her tongue out at him, and he sticks his right back at her. “Besides.” She takes a deep breath. “Celestia knows my foals will… probably struggle with that.” She gives him a hopeful, if strained, smile.

He musses with her mane. “I would be honored to help,” he answers her unasked question. He cracks his neck. “After all, if I got the best stage magician aside from Hoofdini-”

“The Great and Powerful Trixie is second to no mare,” Trixie rebuts with a broad grin.

Jack Pot gives her a questioning glance. “...The best stage magician in Equestria?” Trixie coughs. “The world?!” Trixie nods eagerly. Jack Pot takes a deep breath. “If I got the best stage magician in the world to put her talents aside and learn real hoof magic, then-”

“Ah ain’t gettin’ any younger in here,” Granny Smith shouts from inside the dressing room.

Jack Pot offers Trixie an apologetic smile. “...What the Gold Horseshoe Gals ask for…”

“...They have been long supporters,” Trixie concedes. She gives her sire a quick peck before waving, her cutie mark pulsing and making her wish she wasn’t leaving.

Ch. 162 - Mutated Growth, Part Eight

For a few long moments Applejack just stands next to the slumped stallion, unsure of what to do. She tries to theorize what could have caused his stupor, the vacant stare, the labored breaths that don’t quite make it to a sob, but nothing comes to mind: as far as she can tell Gladmane sure seems to be doing well, fulfilling his cutie mark of cascading coins and sparkling stars with aplomb. She recalls the instances when Doug’s visage turned as gaunt and hollow: after Rainbow Dash lost her magic and nearly everything else helping Scootaloo. When the catapillt attacked Ponyville, and his insistence on bringing the trio along almost got them killed. When Nightmare Moon tortured him and the young’ins, and he relayed the anguished tale. She thinks about herself, how she reacted when Applebaum ran away to fulfill her mark, or when her parents were claimed by chaos magic.

What has Gladmane lost, or might have lost, that would bring him to such despondency? His so-called friends? He seems to refer to everypony that way! She doubts he’s as outgoing as Pinkie Pie, who legitimately could call everypony in Ponyville her friend.

She takes a cautious step forward, then another, until she stands withers-to-withers. “Ya okay?” she whispers. When he doesn’t respond she tries again, slightly more insistent. “Anythin’ Ah can do t’ help?”

Gladmane closes his eyes. “You’re the Element of Honesty,” he states, struggling with every word. Applejack slowly nods, even though he can’t see. “That makes…” He takes a deep breath. “I’ll tell you what, that makes me wanna be honest with you. Uh-huh-huh.”

Applejack reaches up and gently tugs away one of the hooves covering his eyes so he can see her beaming at him.

Gladmane lets out a low, unsurprised chuckle, so different from the forced laugh before. “Should’a figured,” he drawls, slowly pushing himself up. He opens the top drawer of the desk, fumbling with the latch, and pulls out a rolled up blueprint labeled ‘The Grand Plan’. It shows not just Gladmane’s Resort but every hotel on the strip, each with a little picture of a grinning Gladmane.

Applejack frowns as she tilts the blueprint to get a better look. He wants to… own everything? That sounds like a Rarity problem, but Gladmane seems to have no problem with Generosity. Wait, that’s what Trixie teaches; should she find the unicorn to weigh in?

“At first,” Gladmane explains, choking up, “it was a struggle to succeed. Just startin’ out with a little plot of cloud an’ the hope that Celestia might smile down on me. After all, ponies crave the familiar, an’ woe to the entrepreneur who dares think she can break in with somethin’ new.”

Applejack’s gut twists. She knows the feeling first-hoof. Granny Smith pounded into her, like she was one of the budding trees, what it was like being an Apple, how things are done on the farm, and how any deviation from tradition was to be regarded. It chafed, more often than not, and yet those lessons sank in regardless, leaving her as the one unlikely to buck tradition. Well, mostly unlikely, if’n she’s being honest. Doug, pigs, increased wheat farming, the abattoir, and now the Cider Squeezy…

“Ponies know what they like,” Gladmane continues, as though she needs the explanation. She lets him ramble, knowing how cathartic just laying out the problem can be, something she picked up from Doug and Lemon. “An’ not many ponies like tryin’ something new, uh-uh, uh-uh. They want to see the mark of approval, the three-hoof rating, the ‘nod’ from their friends. Gettin’ ‘em to try something unfamiliar? That’s worse than pullin’ teeth, uh-huh-huh.”

Applejack nods along. Just like with herding; a stallion, even one everypony considers a good catch, might remain a bachelor long after he gets his mark purely because nopony else has made a move. And then, when one bold mare does, it’s a rush to fill the slots, leaving those left behind stamping the ground in frustration and going back to waiting for somepony else to move in first.

Gladmane steps up, turning to the window with a pensive look. “But then, one day, somethin’ changed. Maybe I became familiar. Ponies started givin’ me a chance. Well, not to brag or nothin’, but before I knew it business was boomin’! It was like I had Celestia’s own touch, turnin’ everythin’ to gold; ponies crowded in to see the sights, the attractions, anythin’ and everythin’ I could find. It was then I vowed to always give a pony a chance, even two, no matter how unknown, how downtrodden, how hard their luck might have been. And so my circle of friends grew, and grew, with no end in sight. Ah-huh-huh.”

He glumly shakes his head. “But, then, something changed again. The musicians I hired, the chefs, the performers, they began to leave. I couldn’t figure it out. It ain’t like I was treatin’ ‘em poorly, or payin’ ‘em peanuts. I treated ‘em like they were friends!” He scowls, and only shakes the scowl off his muzzle with determined shakes of his head. “I thought I saw the silver linin’. Ponies leavin’ meant I had openings, more performers I could give a chance.” He motions to the closest hotels to his resort. “But all I was doin’ was stockin’ my competitor’s halls. They… enticed ‘em away, with bigger bonuses and lofty promises. Or they went on tour, and why go all the way to Las Pegasus when there’s a concert right in your hometown?”

He motions toward the employee dossiers in his drawer, becoming more and more dour. “The only act that’s stayed with me all these years is Big Bucks and Jack Pot, an’ I’d bet bits to bagels that’s ‘cause I turn a blind eye to the, open door, they offer the assistants they invite on stage. Ah-huh-huh.”

Applejack’s left eye twitches. She’s heard about that practice being common among celebrities. It doesn’t sit right with her traditional Apple values; ya oughta be herded up if’n you’re plowin’ the field. But to each their own.

“...I’ve thought about ways I could keep ‘em on, ah-huh-huh” Gladmane confesses. His laughter, the deep, soulful laugh that would make Pinkie Pie proud, rings hollow. “Make ‘em think they ain’t as good as they are. Or turn ‘em against each other, always arguin’ instead’a makin’ plans together.”

“Hold on, now,” Applejack interrupts. Lying and cheating? How’s that supposed to help!?

He huffs, a spark of anger against the gloom, and that spark quickly fades. “I know what you’re gonna say. That it ain’t Honest.” He motions at the map of the strip. “If I owned everythin’, then all my friends would be workin’ for me, no matter where they end up.” He huffs, short and pointed. “But they could still go on tour, and Gladmane’s ain’t doin’ well enough to force it, ah-huh-huh.” He turns to her, pleading with his eyes, a fearful, haunted timber to his voice. “What should I do?”

At first, Applejack can only stare back. What advice can she give? Keep doin’ what you’re doin’, and everything’ll work out? That’d be the Honest way, but it sounds like he’s tried that, and is on the verge of giving up. “Well,” Applejack says slowly, considering every word. “Ya sure seem to know ‘bout Honesty. Ah’m glad yer… takin’ it into account. Have ya talked to anypony else about this?”

“‘Course not,” he spits out. “How would it look for me, the foremost connoisseur of friendship, if I came to them with my problems? I’d be losin’ the one thing they respect!”

“Really? Nopony?” Applejack frowns. He sounds a lot like Starlight Glimmer, unable to confide with others for fear of rejection. “See, when Ah’ve got a problem that needs workin’ out, the first ponies Ah go to are mah friends’n family. Ah’m honored that ya see me as enough of a friend to share this. But, not to be blunt or nothin’, when ya refer to all those other ponies…” Her muzzle pinches closed, but she has to ask. “How do ya know they’re friends?”

His muzzle tightens, aggravation replacing despondency, which she takes as a good sign.

“‘Cause what Ah see,” Applejack hurriedly continues, “ain’t what Ah’d call Friends. Acquaintances, maybe. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothin’ wrong with treatin’ ponies the way yer doin’, friendly-like, and Ah see ponies linin’ up outside those fancy doors, every one-a them glad t’ see ya. And yet, there ain’t a single soul here who’ll be bluntly honest with ya! If’n what yer doin’ don’t go past a friendly wave, how can they tell ya when yer doin’ right and when yer gettin’ it wrong?”

Gladmane chews on his tongue, his stare just shy of a glare.

“Take mah brother,” Applejack plows ahead. “What’s he like doin’? An’, ya might say farmin’, an’ ya’d be right, but that’s too simple. Too surface-level, if’n ya’ll pardon the pun. He likes the strain of the plow against his chest, the feel of muddy hooves sinking into fertile ground, and the satisfaction of a long task finally done, and done well. But ya know what he loves more’n that? He loves doin’ that with me, with Granny, with ‘Bloom’n ‘Baum’n ‘Bo. Even with Doug. Did you know that?” She points at his desk and the row of files within. “Would ya’ve recommended a mare that’d be with him on the farm, and not just there when he wakes up before flyin’ off to her job?”

“Then what?” Gladmane begs, stamping a hoof in frustration. “I heard Flim and Flam are starting up some sort of Friendship Correspondence Class, and-”

“How’s about,” Applejack interjects, not about to let whatever foalhardy curriculum those two collate get any more traction, “Ah set you up with Princess Twilight herself?” She doesn’t like dropping the title, but Gladmane sure seems to appreciate it, his ears perking. “Ah’m sure she’d be more’n happy to get ya whatever ya need.”

Gladmane snorts. “Now, why’n the hay would I settle for the Princess of Friendship when I’ve got the Element of Honesty workin’ with me? Ah-huh-huh.”

Applejack chuckles. “Ah appreciate that. But Ah don’t know enough ‘bout yer situation to give any really great advice. Ah’ve always had the opposite problem on the farm, not enough hooves to work the orchards, an’ since Ah can’t get ‘em to step on the fields Ah haven’t needed to worry ‘bout ‘em steppin’ off.” She pats her pregnant belly. “This here’s another way to tackle that problem, if’n a bit more long-term, though mah track record ain’t the best in that regard. Not like Trixie and her sire.” Applejack pauses as she realizes Trixie left Las Pegasus in exactly the manner that confounds Gladmane. “Okay, maybe that ain’t the best example.”

“If I had a herd and a dozen years,” Gladmane returns with a jovial moan, torn between hope for the future and the lack of a clear path forward. “I don’t suppose you have any, cousins, that might want to work here?”

“I’ll keep ya in mind, but that ain’t helpin’ in the here and now,” Applejack echoes, muzzle drawing tight as she concentrates. Show biz mares among the Apples? She can worry about that next reunion. “If pressed to say somethin’?” She recalls Flim and Flam selling her and Granny Smith on the idea of using their Cider Squeezy on the farm. “How about… how about a little rebrandin’? Rather than lament ponies leavin’, embrace it.” She draws a hoof across the sky, as though proclaiming with a broad banner, “Gladmane’s’ll be the place to see up-and-comers, every kind’a act under the sun, a variety ya won’t get someplace more… entrenched. New ponies’ll come here hopin’ to make a name for themselves, an’ Ah’m sure ya could convince others to come back for reunion shows. Plus, it ain’t like Equestria’s worse for all the ponies ya’ve helped showcase their talents.”

Gladmane thoughtfully nods along, on the verge of talking to himself. “That… that might work. Embrace turnover. The folks that come would get a unique experience, each and every time! Too chaotic? Ponies want - no, crave - stability. A predictable reordering? Term limits, obviously. Easy enough to get rid of the successful ones; I could get Triumph to come up and bellow ‘You’re fired!’. Too garish? Harumph. But what about those that don’t make it? Quietly let them go? No, no, I can’t have that; everypony can succeed, and everypony will one day be fired!”

Applejack chuckles as Gladmane rambles through the ins-and-outs of the new system he’s coming up with, more pony-management than she’d ever like to shake a stick at, only for a sense of pure euphoria to hit her, sending her collapsing to her knees. “Ah think mah work here is done,” she ekes out as pulsing red lights brighten the room.

“Thank you, Applejack,” Gladmane gratefully says, extending a hoof to help her up. He turns it to a crushing hug that she gladly returns. “Thank you. Thank you very much. Uh-huh-huh.”

“Yer more’n welcome.” Applejack doesn’t want to extract herself from the hug and the waves of pleasure coursing through her body, especially because Doug’s a long ways away and her body is begging for release. “Now, don’t be afraid to write, ya hear? Ah’ll be sure to make the trip to Las Pegasus next year, but Ah sure won’t mind gettin’ a letter in the meantime. Hay, even just writin’ the letter is good. It helps make the problem more real, more grounded, an’ sometimes just layin’ the problem out proper-like jolts ya in the right direction. Makes ya realize ya knew the answer all along, even if’n it ain’t the one ya want.”

“I suppose I’ll have to give that a try,” Gladmane agrees, reluctant to let her go. “Y’all take care now, ya hear?”

“Back at’cha.” Applejack waves as she staggers out of the office, Gladmane already muzzle deep in planning. The atrium is eerily empty, many ponies already off to their discounted beds, leaving the blinking lights to compete with her flashing cutie mark. She steadies herself against the wall, catching her breath and trying to quench the fire raging inside her. It doesn’t subside easily, though Doug being nowhere nearby certainly helps. She spots Trixie limping from the Pone Fantastique theater, star rod cutie mark glowing as if it was her horn. A quick wave draws Trixie over, though Applejack is bothered by the lack of grandmares trailing behind, and it gives her something else to focus on.

“Howdy,” Applejack greets, Trixie barely managing a grin in return. She can certainly understand why, this being her second time dealing with the burst of Harmony-infused pleasure. “How long ago did the grannies head off to bed?”

“Bed?” Trixie frowns, a feat given how her tongue lolls out as she pants. She glances back at the entryway she just came from. “...Not long?”

“...Alright.” Trixie’s evasive answer doesn’t really bother Applejack, being somewhat used to the often ornery unicorn. She finds the sign leading to their rooms. “Well, Ah’m plum tuckered out from chasin’ down leads. Ya ready to hit the hay?”

Trixie scratches at the back of her head, poorly stifling a yawn. Applejack feels the same way. “Err, not yet? I… The Great and Powerful Trixie fears the room may be… occupied.”

Applejack cocks her head to the side.

“Give it,” Trixie continues, glancing upward and counting to herself. “Another twenty minutes? He looked fit, for a pegasus.”

Applejack stares at Trixie for a long moment. “...Ah see.” She follows the unicorn’s furtive glance back at the Theater entrance. “All’a them?”

“It’s not weird, is it?” the showmare asks, uncharacteristically unsure. Normally her bravado covered any hesitation. She squats down to hold up one forehoof, then the other. “Your grandmare…” She awkwardly taps the two hooves together, grimacing. “My sire…”

“Oh.” Applejack lays down, Trixie quickly following suit. It does bother her, but it’s family. “Ah mean… they’re both grown ponies.” She looks up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the flashing lights. It’d probably be better to close her eyes, but she doesn’t want Trixie to think she isn’t paying attention. Neither does she want to think about what is going on. “Did’ja know, the Gold Horseshoe Gals? Time was, all four’a them was in a herd together.”

Trixie blinks before joining Applejack in laying ponyloaf. “Really?”

Applejack nods. “This was way back, ‘round the time Ponyville was founded. The orchards, new as they was, needed lots of hooves to get ‘em growin’ nice’n strong. Way more’n one mare could hoof, but a solid herd of five’n their fillies’n colts gave the ground a good lickin’. Al Mus, mah grandsire, stationed Granny Smith there once Bright Mac’n Buttercup, mah parents, could keep it goin’ on their own.” She taps a hoof against her chin, lost in thought. “That’s around the same time the Pears left and we bought their farm. Dunno why they left, though.” She snickers. “Pears just ain’t as good as Apples, that’s what Granny always says.”

“If you say so.” Trixie yawns, not bothering to hide it this time. “The great and powerful Trixie is happy sleeping under either.”

Applejack chuckles as Trixie lays her head against her withers, soft snores quickly coming from the spent unicorn. She feels exhausted too, the burst of energy now depleted. She tips the brim of her hat to cover her eyes, quickly fading to dream of times long past.

Ch. 163 - Ancient Waystones, Part One

“And that’s everything you need to know about my sister Marble,” Pinkie Pie explains as she, her two foals, and Doug wait outside the otherwise deserted Ponyville train station.

“But, Pinkie,” Doug objects, “you haven’t said anything.” They have, in fact, just arrived; he sets down Pinkie Pie’s glaringly pink suitcase, followed by shucking the Rarity-made rucksack off his back. Lemon traipses to the booth and rouses the drowsy ticket stallion while Meringue stares down the tracks, her natural frown at any sort of delay slowly deepening.

“Exactly!” Pinkie Pie nods as though that miniscule description should be sufficient. Doug merely sighs. “Pa, Igneous, he’s the bedrock of our family, even if he’s stuck in the mud. Ma, Cloudy Quartz, she’s a real gem.” She winks, drawing a short chuckle. “Limestone, on the other hoof, is just a teensy-” she holds her hooves a scant inch apart “-weensy bit dry.” She grins, waiting with bated breath for their reaction.

“Don’t look at me,” Lemon says as her sire glances her way, hoping for some explanation. She struggles to only bounce in place and not off the walls. “I get to meet my aunts!”

“No uncle?” Doug asks, curious.

“Octavio’s in Manehattan learning to bake,” Pinkie Pie explains in a rushed voice. “He’s hoping he can one day be as good a baker as I am! And Maud’s getting her rocktorate, so she probably won’t be there either.” She pokes Doug in the side. “It has to do with Limestone’s name,” Pinkie Pie hints.

“...And not her lack of humor?” Doug guesses.

Pinkie Pie scoffs. “Look, I’d set a bad precipitate if I filled in all the blanks.”

Doug groans. It’s going to be that kind of trip. Better get ready.

“Speculation superfluous. Focus upon locomotion.”

“Thanks, Meringue,” Doug says, ruffling his youngest filly’s dull yellow mane. The train, a dusty hauler built for carrying massive rock slabs, slowly comes to a screeching halt. The earth pony conductor tips his blue-and-white Union hat before going to his checklists. Two changeling drones leap down and grab their luggage.

“Antares,” the reddish orange changeling introduces himself, then motions to his pink colleague. She gives a brief wave. “And Fang. Are you sure you’re okay without a passenger car?”

Their surroundings are particularly bare, with no furnishings and metal slats for windows that barely let in any light. Doug finds it perfectly suitable, though Lemon gives the walls an appreciative nod, like she is regarding a blank canvas.

“Accomodations adequate.”

The changeling grins at Meringue’s succinct response, grateful they don’t need to modify the hauler or add a car. He lays a thick blanket inside the covered hopper with a quick demonstration of the heavy sliding door, closing it behind him.

“Water evaporating is how limestone is made,” Pinkie Pie finally explains once they’ve settled down, crossing her forelegs with a huff. “One way, at loess. Hence, dry. How do you not know this?”

“I’ve had a lot on my plate,” Doug answers with a shrug, sitting next to her. “It’s not my fault.”

Pinkie Pie stares at Doug for a moment before giving a resounding ‘meh’, complete with forelegs splayed to the side. “A tad caliched,” she consoles, patting Doug on the head. “Limestone does not sulfur foals lightly. Especially those mantled with pyrite.”

Doug spreads his jacket to better expose the giant golden crest tattooed on his chest. “Good thing I lava challenge.”

Meringue groans, thunks her head against the hard floor, and bundles the blankets around her ears. Lemon snickers as she removes a set of colored chalk from her saddlebags, laughing along as her parents refine their slate of rock puns.

Several hours later, the train slowly pulls to a stop. A heavy thumping comes from outside, loud through the thick metal, pulling Lemon away from her mural of the desolate countryside and getting Meringue to poke her head out from her blanket burrow.

A moment later the door slides open with a shrill complaint, exposing a monstrous scorpion standing scant feet away.

Doug scurries back, heart racing. The reddish orange behemoth fills the entirety of the opening, at least five times as tall as a pony and just as wide, not even counting the wicked claws. Thick plates armor the body, with eight squat legs and a segmented tail curling upward and ending in a nasty stinger.

“Come on, Dougie!” Before he can stop her Pinkie Pie leaps forward, suitcase in muzzle, and pronks underneath the waving claw. Wait, waving? Eight blue eyes whirl with bemusement as the scorpion steps to the side, revealing a shrubby desert and a second scorpion, this one pink.

“Nice morph,” Doug remarks as he folds up the blanket, then dons his rucksack, doing his best to appear unflustered. He doubts he fools anyone. “Pure scorpion, or crossed with something?”

“Pure Hadrurus,” the surprisingly high pitched voice answers. “But this one’s a bit on the small end.” Antares flexes his claw, then scoops out a chunk of dirt, making a little ramp for Lemon and Meringue. Once they’ve all left he closes the door, his large bulk making it seem effortless. “See you tomorrow!” He gives a quick wave before lumbering off, joining his partner by a pile of rough-cut marble slabs and begins loading them onto the flatbed cars.

The unstaffed train station, though similar in size and shape to Ponyville’s, offers little in the way of amenities, not even a map of the surrounding area. Pinkie Pie follows a winding path between towering mesas and deep canyons. Wide-mouthed caves dot the landscape, some natural and some carved by Quarry Eels or wide-ranging maulwurfs. Other bowl-shaped areas cut into the mesas are abandoned quarries. It reminds him of spelunking with Rarity, though it seems the very terrain is as valuable as the gems.

“So your parents are rock farmers,” Doug asks as they trek along. It would be easy to get lost in the dry and monotonous landscape, as it seems behind every mesa is another flat-topped mountain, nearly identical. “Did they open these quarries?”

“No, silly,” Pinkie Pie answers with a cheeky grin. “They’re farmers, not miners. Though they would dig their own rocks instead of buying from the Bombo’s or the Na-Mites or the Kieselgurs.” She identifies several of the quarries they have passed by, with their small shacks built into the surrounding mesa. “Oh, and look! We’re here!”

Pinkie Pie points, past the elliptical boulder precariously propped over a prodigious pit, toward a rustic farmhouse, windmill, and grain silo. The cozy farmhouse shares much in common with those built by the Apples, with a steep wooden roof and thick stone chimney and shuttered windows that all suggest heavy snow during winter. A blue-gated wooden fence surrounds the property, mostly consisting of a few scattered fruit trees and the flowing gold of a large wheat field.

Out of the field strides a light brown stallion, his gray-banded black fedora covering a gray and white mane that doubles as a mutton chop beard. He wears the thinnest white collar Doug has seen, not even a quarter suit, along with a solid black tie. His cutie mark is a simple mining pick. He stares at the approaching pink pony, and remains as still as a statue except for the chewing of the wheat stalk in his mouth.

Pinkie Pie stays uncharacteristically quiet, her grin gradually becoming more and more forced at the ensuing silence. Lemon and Meringue follow their dam’s hoofsteps, though only Lemon seems to struggle with not speaking.

“Verily,” the aged stallion finally says as Pinkie Pie gets within speaking range, his voice dour and cold. “Mine prodigal filly returneth.”

The words open a floodgate. “Pa! It’s so good to see you! How’s the farm? How’s the fam? Ma? Maud? Limestone? Marble? Octavio?” She grins from ear to ear, waiting for a response. Anything, really.

The stallion weathers her outburst with the stoicism of a stone. There is a hardness present that sets Pinkie Pie’s teeth chattering behind her grin. “Thine untimely departure hast brought naught but peril to thine hearth and home.”

Pinkie Pie’s eyes grow round as saucers, tears bubbling on the edges. “W-what?”

The conversation baffles Doug, all the rock puns he prepared tumbling from his mind. The unfeeling ‘greeting’ from Igneous, Pinkie Pie’s distraught but unchallenging acceptance as her rump hits the ground? Something is going on that Pinkie Pie never alluded to, but he has no clue what.

Pinkie Pie’s sire turns to Doug. He cracks a friendly, if guarded, smile. “Surely thy name is not but Doug Apple.” He offers a short nod. “I am called Igneous Rock Pie, son of Feldspar Granite Pie. May Providence favor thee well, and to thou comfort our humble homestead bring.”

“Err, yeah,” Doug answers, still quite confused. “Nice to meet you. This is Lemon Pie and Meringue Pie.”

Igneous turns his smile to his grandfillies, warmth filtering through the guarded cracks. “My fondest greetings to thee, ones of little stature.”

“I’m not that little,” Lemon objects, bouncing forward to wrap her forelegs around Igneous’ barrel. She doesn’t have to reach far, as she is only slightly shorter than her dam, if ganglier. He, somewhat surprised by the motion, taps her back twice, brown muzzle lost in her poofy yellow mane.

“Observation accurate.”

Meringue waits for Lemon to pull away before offering a brief nod.

Igneous nods back, looking pleased at the filly’s greeting. He turns to the other approaching members of his family: an older light gray mare with a bundled green mane, a checkered kerchief around her neck, and a cutie mark of three green gemstones; a mare just a shade darker than her dam, purple eyes half-hidden behind a straight, greenish gray mane, her cutie mark of three purple marbles; and a purple mare with a harshly cut gray mane, scowling like she just ate the lime and two rocks of her cutie mark.

“Oh!” Pinkie Pie exclaims, bounding to her hooves. “Now you can meet the rest of my super-mega-fun-derful family! This is my dam, Cloudy Quartz!”

Cloudy Quartz taps a hoof to her kerchief, smiling at Doug and not reacting to anything Pinkie Pie said. “Thou shalt know me as Cloudy Quartz.”

The purple mare pushes forward. “Gaze into the eyes of Limestone Pie. Ma and Pa may-”

“-Hold on,” Doug says, interrupting the lime and stone marked mare. Oh, Limestone. She growls at him, but holds her tongue. He motions at the despondent Pinkie Pie, now straight-maned and on the verge of tears. “What’s going on here? Why are you ignoring her?”

“Limestone Pie,” Igneous admonishes, clearing his throat. “If any mare neigh obey Thy will, note that mare, and neigh hath company wilt her, that she ashamed be. Yet she shalt neigh thine enemy be, but as a sister admonish.” Limestone glares at Doug for a long second before closing her eyes and stepping behind and beside her sire, focusing her anger at a nearby mesa.

Cloudy Quartz stays at his side, addressing Doug as Marble slips behind her. “Thou art an outsider, and of the world,” the flinty mare starts, explaining without malice in a hard, matter-of-fact voice. “We do neigh expect adherence, neigh even understanding, of our ways. To expect such would folly be.”

“But what did she do,” Doug insists, drawing minute glances but little more. He finds it infuriating that her family would treat her so poorly, his hands balling into fists that he has to consciously unclench.

“She did’st herd with thou,” Cloudy Quartz states unapologetically. If Doug’s frown lengthening bothers her, she doesn’t show it. “She did’st so neigh the blessing of the Pairing Stone being given.”

“The… what?” Doug glances at Pinkie Pie for confirmation. She, muzzle twisted to a sullen glower, stares at the ground.

Igneous Pie trots to the house, quickly returning with a bottle-shaped rock. He holds it reverently, displaying it for all to see. The other mares of the Pie family give it respectful bows.

“You’re… grievously insulted,” Doug says, taking a deep breath to keep from shouting, “she herded up without spinning a rock?”

Ch. 164 - Ancient Waystones, Part Two

Cloudy Quartz lifts her nose just a fraction. “Hadst that her only folly been,” she continues, not deigning Doug’s snide remark with a response, “she wouldst still recrimination face. After she strayed, away she stayed, yet created cracks her departure didst. For where art Maud and Octavio? They her prideful hoofsteps follow.”

“Prideful?” Doug crosses his arms across his chest. “You can hardly blame her for their choices.”

“Neigh?” Cloudy Quartz meets his gaze, steady as a rock. “Had returneth she after a year of Rumble Running, wouldst we in this situation be?”

“If she returned here,” Doug snaps back, “a thousand years of darkness we might have suffered.”

“I’ll show you a thousand years of darkness,” Limestone Pie growls at Doug; at her sire’s commanding throat clearing she spins to curtly address her family. “Shouldn’t you all be working?”

Igneous glances to the sky. “Our noon-time meal approacheth,” he evenly states, giving Doug, Lemon, and Meringue a guarded smile that seems to be as far upward as his muzzle will go. He pointedly ignores Pinkie Pie, much to the pink mare’s distress. “Wilt thou join us?” With faces hard set the rest of the Pie family disperses, though Marble Pie gives a curious look back, quickly hiding it when Cloudy Quartz glances her way.

Doug doesn’t hear any objections - Pinkie Pie gets his side wet as she presses her head against him, but doesn’t say anything - and hopes they can get to the bottom of this. “Sure.”

Igneous gives a solemn nod, leaving the four behind.

“Pinkie, you doing okay?” Doug asks as he finally returns his mare’s plaintive hug. “You don’t have to go through with this. We can leave, and put this…” He sighs, knowing what her answer will be. “Put your family behind you.”

“W-well,” Pinkie Pie forces out between heaving, half-stifled sobs, “the m-map sent m-me here f-for a r-reason, right?” She offers a smile that verges on cracking in half. “Y-y-yey, we found it!” She blows a kazoo she got from somewhere, yet even the cheerful noise fails to dispel her glower.

“That’s the spirit!” Lemon joins Doug in delivering a much-needed hug to her dam. “So, what’s the plan?”

Doug has no idea where to even start. “Any idea why your parents are acting so distant?”

Pinkie Pie frowns as she taps at her chin, staring up at the sky. “They were always super strict about following the rules. Traditional, too; like, there were tons of things we weren’t allowed to say, or do, or even think.” She glances back at her three balloons cutie mark. “Like, when I threw my first party after I got my cutie mark? That was the first time I had ever seen balloons. Or cake. Or decorations! Outside of our Hearth’s Warming decorations, of course, but those are mostly rocks.”

Doug rubs at the back of her mane, hoping to help restore its springiness. “Really?”

“No.” Pinkie Pie sniffs. “All our decorations are rocks.”

“Unacceptable.”

“Ssh,” Pinkie Pie consoles, hugging her youngest filly even as Meringue looks like she wants no part in any cuddling. “It’ll be okay.” She offers Doug a sad yet struggling to be hopeful smile. “Right?”

“Right.” Doug musses with Meringue’s mane as he addresses each of them in turn. “We’ll need to figure out more. Meringue, chat with Marble. Lemon, get to know Limestone. Pinkie, stick with me. We’ll figure out what’s going on and get everything right as rain.”

“Logical decision.”

“You got it, hoss,” Lemon shoots back as they walk to the rustic farmhouse. The only way Pinkie Pie could get closer to Doug would be if he rode her, an action he strongly suspects would not endear him to her relatives.

The decorations inside are identical to the ones outside, jutting crystal pillars too small and pointy to sit on; instead, they glow, casting the otherwise darkened rooms in a pale light. The heavy, plain curtains on the windows would give Rarity a fit, especially with how they are drawn against the noon sun. Marble Pie ushers them to the dining room; there are a few gray-scale paintings of the nearby mountains scattered over the hearth and the otherwise plain walls.

Four settings line each side of the long wooden dining table, one of which has a blue rock plunked in a bowl of thin brown soup. A large serving dish sits at the center of the table with more soup, and scattered smaller dishes hold hard rolls and loose greens. The Pie family have taken up their seats on one side of the table and regard them with long looks. Pinkie Pie pushes past Doug to the bowl already served; she gives him a long look and smile that says, ‘Don’t complain about how they are treating me; we’ve got this’. Doug takes the ‘seat’ closest to Igneous (there aren’t any chairs; he kneels on knees long accustomed to the position) while Lemon and Meringue stand opposite Limestone and Marble, though Meringue can barely touch the table much less see over it until she stands on her suitcase like a stool.

“Before our bread we break,” Cloudy Quartz states, turning to admonish Limestone with a hard, resolute look, “apologize I must for mine filly’s wanton outburst.”

Limestone bites her lip to keep from saying anything that might get her in more trouble; with visible effort she swallows, nodding a resigned acceptance before leaving the room.

“As of her scorn thou art the target,” the flinty gray mare says to Doug as Limestone returns with a long, thin switch in her teeth that she presents to him, “T’is thy due to administer punishment.”

Doug finds himself taken aback. He can’t immediately place the outburst Cloudy Quartz is talking about. Her remark about showing him darkness? How does that deserve any sort of punishment, much less whipping her? And making her bring him the very implement? She certainly doesn’t look happy about it.

“Look,” he diplomatically starts, trying to head off wherever this is going. “Far be it for me to tell you how to run your house, but it’s fine; I don’t take any offense to her ‘outburst’, as you said.”

Cloudy Quartz waits a moment, then nods. “Very well.” Limestone draws in a sharp breath with a displeasure Doug didn’t expect. “For the forsaking of Friendship and Kindness to one offered hospitality.” She takes the switch from her filly.

Limestone presents her backside and braces herself. “Yes, dam.”

Two savage strikes of the switch leave stinging stripes on the gray mare’s flanks. She hisses in pain after each, yet says nothing, returning to standing at the table with only the occasional twitch of her hind legs showing any discomfort.

Doug grits his teeth. Lemon gasps, gnawing at her lip as her focus dances between Doug and Limestone, torn between suppressing her reaction like her sire and intervening, or at least offering Limestone some sympathy. Meringue’s eyes narrow like she is taking notes on how to swing a switch.

Igneous takes over as Cloudy Quartz puts the switch away. “Our admonition complete, again we in harmony gather.” He places first one elbow on the table, then the other, his frogs touching together, and bows his head. The other Pies copy him, Pinkie included. Lemon and Meringue follow suit shortly, leaving Doug to slightly incline his head and clutch his hands together, again wondering where this is going.

“In Friendship’s pursuit we gather today. Let us laugh in troubled times. Motivate us by kindness to all; remind us where our loyalty lies. Keep us from conceit and greed, and our tongues from spreading falsehood.”

The other Pies chorus, “Gather us together, united in harmony.”

The prayer, or whatever it was, bothers Doug; it seems so at odds with how they are treating Pinkie Pie. And Limestone, for that matter. An uncomfortable silence descends, a sharp contrast to the often unruly atmosphere at the Carrot House, broken only by the occasional clatter of hooves against the table. Igneous serves himself a bowl of soup with a long ladle, including a chunk of blue rock that juts out like an island. He passes the ladle to Cloudy Quartz, who murmurs thanks while serving herself a similar portion, and down the line the ladle goes, though Marble stays silent, merely offering a nod to Limestone. Meringue struggles to reach the serving dish, stretching out and nearly climbing on the table, but Limestone’s unhappy grunt keeps Lemon from helping. Pinkie Pie doesn’t touch the ladle when Lemon passes it to her, leaving Doug to reach across and serve himself, though he has to fish around for the last chunk of rock. There aren’t any utensils; instead, everypony lifts the bowl to their mouth to slurp their portion down.

Initially, he doesn’t expect much from the thin gruel with small pieces of barley floating under the brown surface. To his surprise, it isn’t bland at all; instead, there is a metallic taste, the difference between tasting natural spring water compared to rain. Nopony else touches their rock, to his relief - he was worried he would have to excuse himself not eating it, if it was a saltlick or made of something other than the solid stone it seems to be - and his bowl empties quicker than he thought it would.

“This is quite good,” Doug compliments, deciding sugar to be a better tactic than vinegar - though he’ll probably need the entirety of Sugarcube Corner to get through this. He motions toward the serving dish, which is still half full. “May we have seconds?”

“Help thyself,” Igneous replies, waiting for Doug before refilling his bowl and - to Doug’s discomfort - Pinkie’s. She’s been uncharacteristically quiet, though her mane is still poofy, and that - along with her encouraging smile, even if the rest of her family isn’t smiling back - gives him a sliver of hope.

“I’m curious about the recipe,” Doug continues, as amiable as he can. “Barley, carrots, cucumbers, a touch of… something.” He pushes the rock with a finger. “Is the rock for show, for taste, for vitamins and minerals? Or… Dessert?”

“T’is an old recipe,” Cloudy Quartz answers, “from dam to filly passed. A pinch of calcium, finely ground.” She offers a kind smile. “The rock is for show.” Doug pauses, just nodding, with a look of intense concentration that a conversation about soup would not warrant; her head cocks to the side, somewhat puzzled. “About our ways, thou art curious. Neigh?”

“...I am,” Doug confesses, deliberating how direct he should be with his questions. He doesn’t want to bring up Pinkie Pie’s shunning, or whatever it is, or what might have caused it. What else is there to talk about? “Lots of questions, really. I guess I’ll start with this one.” He motions to the Pairing Stone, which stands nestled on one of the crystal decorations that must be specifically carved to hold the rounded end. “How exactly does this Pairing Stone work?”

“Eligible mares in one circle stand,” Cloudy Quartz explains, a touch of excitement in her voice. “In another, the stallions. One stallion spinneth the stone against the ground; betrothed wilt he be with the mares it does point. The mare to her left then taketh the stone to the circle of stallions, and spinneth the stone, until all stallions have been paired.”

Doug stares at her in naked disbelief. It’s exactly as bad as he thought.

“The choosing stone decreed,” Igneous adds as though it might help, “‘Thou shalt love each other.’ And lo, it was so; betrothed were we, and within a fortnight wed.”

“But,” Doug objects, struggling to phrase his objection.

“Sadly,” Igneous continues when Doug does not, “chosen hath Limestone Pie failed to be.”

“Twice,” the gray mare spits out, as bitter as her namesake.

“How…” Doug glances between Igneous and Cloudy Quartz. They seem reasonably appropriate for each other. Yet randomly pairing off… there has to be something more, something he is missing. “How does the stone choose?”

Cloudy Quartz frowns for just a moment. “T’is a rock. It spinneth until to a stop it cometh.” She waits a beat. “The final spin, shouldst one stallion remain, t’is a conclusion forgone, but done still.”

“Seriously?” Doug’s hands come up to massage his aching temples, and he can’t help but give a single strangled laugh. “You can’t possibly base a relationship on, on, on nothing!”

Cloudy Quartz and Igneous share a long look, practically embedding an entire conversation with just stares, minute twitches of muzzle, and abridged snorts and sniffles. She turns back to him, asking with a hint of incredulity, or perhaps ridicule if it was anypony else, “Upon what foundation wouldst thou a relationship base?”

“I don’t know,” Doug shoots back. “Similar goals? Mutual attraction? Shared interests?”

“Madness,” Igneous mutters, shaking his head. “Truly our filly didst not these favor!”

“Hey!” Pinkie Pie objects. “He did! And he was super optimistic, and kind, and loyal, and generous, and honest! All the qualities you taught me to look for!”

Marble adds a quiet, “Mmhmm!”

Cloudy Quartz and Igneous exchange a quick glance, doing their best to ignore Pinkie Pie’s interjection. “And believeth thou,” she continues to Doug as Igneous returns to a stoic standing, “our relationships these qualities lack?”

Doug crosses his arms across his chest, infuriated they keep ignoring his mare. “It seems exceedingly unlikely that they would have them, correct. You’re not even arranging a marriage between two ponies whom you believe would be a good match for each other. You’re leaving it up to chance!”

“The mares thy didst herd,” Cloudy Quartz asks, again with an air of austerity that sets Doug’s teeth gritting against each other. “Did they thine goals, thine attractions, thine interests share?”

Doug reels, suddenly on the back foot. “Of course they do,” he shoots back, even as his confidence buckles.

Cloudy Quartz stares at him, her head slightly tilted to the side as if asking him to reconsider.

With a huff Doug stares back, but that doesn’t stop him from dredging up how their relationships started. Did he and Applejack share goals, attraction, interests? Sure, more than the others. Rarity? Mostly. Rainbow Dash? He scowls. Not at all; she wanted nothing to do with him, and they only ended up herding because of Scootaloo. But they got there! And the rest…

“Eventually,” he finally answers, her stare getting to him. “But that was, or at least should be, the exception. Not the rule.”

“But maketh it work thy didst,” Cloudy Quartz presses. “Despite thy differences, thy at-odds goals, thy inflamed passions that sputter out as so much tinder. For called we art to in Harmony live. Neigh?”

“Sure,” Doug admits, though his frown remains. “But that doesn’t excuse failing to minimize those differences. You’re being unrealistic, or at the very least idealistic. What if somepony fails? Or isn’t happy with their ‘chosen’ partner?”

“Perhaps,” Cloudy Quartz admits. “Perhaps. Our members from a tight-knit group cometh, with eyes open, our ways already pledged to uphold. Those whom with this life disagree?” Her eyes flick to Pinkie Pie, then immediately back to Doug, with a hint of annoyance that she slipped up. “Leave they art free to, as choose many.”

“Too many,” Limestone echoes, still failing to repress her scowl. “Especially the stallions.”

“Those that remaineth,” Cloudy Quartz continues, “knoweth that for a higher purpose is their herding. Doth Harmony prompt deceit, or greed, or despair? Neigh. Neither shouldst we, in any aspect of our lives. The fruits of right living, the yield of a solid foundation, are the traits thou so highly values. Should it matter with whom thou art called to grow those fruits? Neigh. Thus, with whom one herds should not matter, as the call is the same: to pursue Harmony in all things, and to encourage thy partner in the same, and likewise be encouraged by them.”

Doug can’t find an objection to this, as he mostly agrees; it would suck to be in such a situation, but if one finds themselves there, one should do their best to make it work.

He blinks a few times as it hits him.

“Wait.” Doug turns to Pinkie Pie. “Please tell me you didn’t intentionally find the pony, or person, you were the least compatible with. That needed ‘encouragement’.”

Pinkie Pie sheepishly scratches at the back of her mane. “Err… maybe?”

Ch. 165 - Ancient Waystones, Part Three

“Equestria’s a big place,” Pinkie Pie explains with a nasally nonchalance. “I’m sure there’s somepony out there less compatible than you.” Her mane sags. “Even if I have been to lots of places.” She wilts even further. “And met lots of ponies. And I mean lots of ponies.”

Doug stares at Pinkie Pie. Did any of my mares actually want to be with me?

“I mean,” Pinkie Pie chuckles, turning her frown upside down, “it’s not like you’re a griffon. Even if you eat like one!”

Worried looks pass between the Pie parents, the soup, and Doug himself.

“And I didn’t need to teach you that much!” Pinkie Pie grins, as though this will smooth over all their problems. “Just a little nudge now and then, or in case something terrible happened!” Her grin grows a touch higher. “Everypony needs a little help now and then, right?” Her ears slump as she fails to elicit that coveted smile. “I should stop digging, huh?”

“I’m sure there’s a gem buried there somewhere,” Doug japes, mussing her mane with an iron grip wrapped in velvet, much like when he held Starlight Glimmer’s horn after she first took his fillies’ cutie marks. He turns to Igneous and Cloudy Quartz, mare firmly in hand. “As you can see, Pinkie Pie was - and still is - staying true to the things you taught her. Just in a more, hmm, colorful manner. Yes?”

“See, look at this guy!” Pinkie Pie springs from Doug’s grasp to perch on his back, staring into his eyes from above. “You can’t get him down! He’s always finding those golden rays of sunshine and looking on the bright side of things! That’s, like, the dictionary definition of Laughter!” She pulls out Twilight’s copy of Predictions and Prophecies and points at the Element of Laughter and a crudely taped picture of Doug modeling the three blue and yellow balloons tattooed on his right thigh. He doesn’t remember her taking that picture. “And that’s why I herded up with him!”

“Yes, you all love to give me every opportunity to show those Tenets.” Doug grins as he reaches up to rub Pinkie Pie’s cheek, getting rewarded with a slobbery kiss to the forehead.

Cloudy Quartz and Igneous exchange a long look. “Perhaps in haste we acted,” the gray mare says. “And time enough we did not give.”

“Mmhmm,” Marble grunts, grinning.

“If in one year they cannot determine?” Igneous snorts as Marble’s grin falls. “This then their place is not.”

Doug leaps at what sounds like the central issue. “You were mad Pinkie Pie didn’t return and work on the rock farm? You thought she betrayed you or your ideals?”

“Disappointed,” Cloudy Quartz corrects. She breaks her gaze away to stare at a wall. “Her many letters did us inform of her intention to stay. T’is not uncommon, for mares especially, for outside’s allure too enticing prove.” She glances at the Pairing Stone.

Doug cuts her off before she can break any sort of ground. “Sorry, that’s not going to happen.”

“Even shouldst Pinkie Pie in the circle of mares be?” Cloudy Quartz frowns as Doug shakes his head. “Shouldst she be the only mare?”

“Pinkie Pie wanted to go,” Limestone breaks in. “And we don’t need anypony forcing their way into our family!”

“Mm,” Marble grunts unhappily.

“She doesn’t say much,” Lemon remarks to Meringue, who doesn’t say anything. “Kind of like you!” Lemon pokes her sister as her grin turns conspiratorial. “And not unlike somepony else we know.”

“...Fluttershy?”

“True, but.” Lemon smirks even wider. “Somepony else.”

Meringue’s head slowly tilts as she studies Marble Pie, from her soft smile and shy demeanor to her full flanks. “Good essence. Recombination of sequences… likely.”

Lemon scoots under the table to wrap a foreleg around a cheek-reddening Marble. “So, you like life on the farm? I imagine it gets… lonely here.”

Marble Pie’s blush deepens. “Mm…hmm.”

“What my baby sister is trying to say,” Pinkie Pie says before Limestone cuts her off.

“How would you know what she’s trying to say?” Limestone glares. “It’s not like you’ve been around!”

“Oh, that’s easy!” Pinkie Pie explains to Doug, “I did all the talking for her when I was growing up!” She turns back to Limestone. “And she’s saying that we should stick to the question at hoof. Boring, I know, but that’s life around here!”

Doug grimaces; he’s glad for the time their digression gave him to mull over the contentious issue, though doubts his answer is the one she wants. “As a formality? Sorry, no. It’s just, that, I feel that… I feel that cheating your system that way is wrong. If I can force the outcome I want, why not anypony else? And, besides, the gist of your system is that anypony can be with anypony else and make it work. My eclectic herd proves that is a paradigm I already operate in.”

“Many things taketh we for granite,” Cloudy Quartz, so solemnly Doug nearly misses the twinkle in her eye. “But shouldst one filly return, would there not be possibility for three?”

“Of Maud’s loyalty there is no doubt, despite her prideful pursuit.” Igneous grunts. “Pinkie Pie’s return remaineth uncertain.”

“Yeah, Pinkie,” Limestone chips in. “You want your ‘baby sister’ to be able to talk again, don’t you?”

Pinkie Pie’s face screws up in confusion. “Wait, what?” She gasps, hooves covering her muzzle. “You mean she’s staying silent because of me!?”

“In protest, until thy return is assured,” Igneous states.

“It’s until,” Limestone corrects, though she looks pained to do so, “we are on speaking terms.”

“What would it take to get there?” Doug asks, finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

“She wouldst to the farm returneth,” Igneous says. He glances at Limestone for confirmation. “The eastern fields have most need of turning.”

Limestone huffs. “Nopony buys those stones.”

“Earthly profit shouldst not a concern be,” Igneous councils.

Limestone scowls. “When you’re in danger of losing the farm it is.”

“Harmony will provide,” Igneous states, “as she always has.”

Doug blurts out, “Bits are a concern?” He glances at himself; it’s not that they are rolling in bits, but with the Cider Squeezy, and the uptick in Rarity’s business, and Pomarbo’s potential herding with Diamond Tiara?

Limestone turns her scowl on him. “We don’t need your charity.”

“Daughter,” Cloudy Quartz rebukes. “Generosity entails accepting others' assistance.”

Limestone Pie snorts, even as her eyes flick to the switch. “Yeah, well, Generosity is Octavio’s specialty, not mine.”

Doug, trying to keep it civil, asks, “You’ve been doing this for a long time. Why the trouble now?”

Limestone grunts. “You want the honest truth? Fine. We paid our taxes with precious stones, ores, whatever enchanting material we happened to dig up. Not gonna lie, it was a pretty lucrative deal, since only the royal guard uses the types and quantity we find. But then, about four or five years ago, around the time Maud left, a startup sprouted up. Diamond Dog Digging Company. Located in Equestria, so they bypassed the tariffs and ‘Buy Equestria’ policies that keeps manufacturing pony.”

Four or five years ago? Doug does his best to keep his expression level as he gulps.

“Then, when Princess Luna returned?” Limestone looks torn between vicarious delight at Celestia’s fortune and dismay at their resulting misfortune. “A lot of those government deals crumbled away, what with the lack of looming invasion. And selling private is tough, with changeling competition and increased imports from the dragons.”

“All a sill to the prime problem,” Igneous sternly says. “Our harmony she so recklessly rent, disappearing mere moons after attaining her mark. United we would have stood, with beacons of loyalty and honesty and laughter and kindness and generosity to follow. Instead we are fractured, a fault line that may well destroy our entire foundation.”

The pieces slowly come together. The government - Celestia - funding ponies whose beliefs give them a high likelihood of exemplifying the Elements? He had never thought of his mares as particularly ‘destined’ to become the holders of the Elements of Harmony. How many other ‘projects’ like this had she encouraged, seeing as she could not have a direct hoof in their actions. At least, not if she wanted her Sister to remain as anything other than Nightmare Moon.

“And speaking of fault lines,” Limestone warns, “don’t go anywhere near Holder’s Boulder!”

“Noted.” Doug takes a deep breath, then focuses on Igneous. “I am sure Pinkie Pie didn’t mean to break apart your family.” Did he know Celestia’s intentions? Regardless, it worked out, it shouldn’t matter. “And now she is spreading Laughter everywhere she goes, to anypony she meets.”

Igneous regards Doug for a long time before solemnly addressing Pinkie Pie. “Is this true?”

Pinkie Pie grins. “Of course it is, silly!” Igneous looks anything but silly. “Don’t get me wrong, I would have loved staying here, it’s just…” She looks around at the monotone decorations, the plain food, and the dour atmosphere. “My calling was elsewhere. You know? I never meant to break this family apart! Or go against what you and Nana Pie taught me! But instead to spread that same joy to everypony!”

Little bits of stone chip away from Igneous’ muzzle as he finally smiles. “Then t’is with a gladdened heart that to our humble home we welcome. Please, help thyself.”

“Don’t mind if I do!” Pinkie Pie blurs, giving her parents and sisters a gigantic hug each between piling the remaining food high upon her plate. She devours the entirety in one go. She groans, lost in ecstasy as her cutie mark glows.

“So,” Marble says to Lemon and Meringue, clearing her throat as she gets used to talking again. “Pinkie Pie says you two live on a farm, too?”

“Yup!” Lemon sweeps her hoof from one side to the other. “Sweet Apple Acres, home of the best apples in Equestria! And the best Apples, too.” She winks in case the uppercase ‘A’ wasn’t clear enough. “Apple trees as far as the eye can see! It’s a lot of land for them; we’d help out when we were younger, but now we spend most of our time at Sugarcube Corner when we’re not at school.”

“Pinkie’s bakery? She’s said a lot about it.” Marble’s soft grin drops for a moment. “And… you stopped working on the farm? Even though they needed your help?”

“It’s a tough call,” Lemon counsels, emboldened by her mark despite the disapproving glances Cloudy and Igneous send her way. “I doubt we’ll stay at Sugarcube forever, either; there are many places we, and you, could go in life. And I’m sure we'll be happy at any or all of them, especially with what your parents taught you.” She grins at her grandparents, mollifying their concern if only marginally. “The important thing is to follow your mark!”

“And, um,” Marble says, half-hiding behind her mane. “Pinkie might have mentioned an… apple-farming hunk?”

Lemon breaks into an uncontrollable series of giggles, grunts, and guffaws. Limestone ribs her sister from the other side, words lost in the uproarious laughter.

“T’is as we feared,” Igneous states somberly. “The further fracturing of our family.”

“True,” Doug says, “but it looks to me like you’ve raised a number of winners. I’m sure they’ll do great, if Pinkie Pie is anything to go by. And… if you need any help…”

“Neigh about us worry,” Cloudy Quartz nods. “In Harmony must we trust.”

Marble Pie staggers over, a heady grin plastered on her muzzle. “Dam? Sire?” She takes a deep breath. “Um, do I have your blessing to go home with Pinkie?”

“Sight unseen?” Cloudy Quartz considers for a moment, then turns to Doug. “Dost thy brother-in-law follow the Tenets of Harmony?”

“His whole family has a penchant for Honesty,” Doug says, nodding. “And he follows the rest just as closely.”

“Then with our blessing dost thy depart.” Cloudy Quartz embraces her filly in a warm hug, followed shortly by Igneous and the rest of the Pies.

Ch. 166 - Natural Affinity, Part One

Fluttershy does her level best to keep her eyes on Cloudsdale as the sparse city gradually grows closer and closer. Her wings burn, but the unfamiliar exertion is nothing compared to the dread she feels whenever Hedge pokes her scraggly tan mane out of the lightning bolt stamped saddlebags.

“Enjoying the view?” Rainbow Dash asks the second the curious filly peeks out from the loosely latched bag. “Is there anything better than this? The sun on your coat, the wind in your feathers!”

Fluttershy has to admit, when her gaze strays from their destination to the mountainous horizon and the lush green woodlands and sparkling blue lakes, that the view is pretty good. Not good enough to outweigh all the sights on the ground, but still pretty good. There’s a lot fewer critters one mile in the air, just the odd flock of geese honking their hellos, or a lonely hawk spiraling on a thermal, or a hungry roc scanning for intruders.

“What better way to feel alive?!” Rainbow Dash lets loose a loud ‘woohoo!’ as she raises her hooves in celebration, prompting Hedge to do the same and let loose her own cheer, before throwing in a quick aileron roll.

Hedge, dizzy from the spin, wobbles badly enough to nearly fall out of the saddlebag as she screeches, “Again!”

“Mm-!” Fluttershy has to bite her tongue to keep from screeching herself. “Umm,” she starts, pushing harder to catch up to her recalcitrant herdmate. She hopes Rainbow Dash doesn’t take the increased pace as encouragement to go faster. “M-maybe I can take her?”

“Aww,” Hedge moans quietly.

“You sure?” Rainbow Dash cracks a jovial, if worried, smile. “I don’t mind carrying her the rest of the way.”

Fluttershy shakes her head. Swapping Hedge from Rainbow Dash’s saddlebags to her own shouldn’t be so terrifying - her filly can hover, at least - yet she can’t rid herself of the memory of plummeting unnoticed through the clouds.

“Alright, then.” Rainbow Dash shrugs, slowing until she is steadily gliding just behind Fluttershy. She unbuckles the saddlebag on Fluttershy’s flanks and pulls out their bagged lunch, making room for the new occupant. But when she pushes forward to fly at her side, about to let Hedge leap the full wingspan separating one bag to the other, Fluttershy lets out a quiet ‘meep!’ and spins, catching the clambering filly just before she jumps.

“Hey!” Hedge cries.

“Whoa!” Rainbow Dash exclaims as the sudden spin splits them apart, Fluttershy barely able to keep her hooves on Hedge. “Careful, ‘Shy! You gotta warn me before you pull a stunt like that!”

Fluttershy frowns, especially as the squirming filly in her hooves spreads her wings and tries to climb up her leg. “But she was going to jump!”

“I was fine,” Hedge says, her claim ignored by her dam.

“Well, yeah!” Rainbow Dash gives the hay fries and apple slices in her hooves a dubious look, ultimately deciding they aren’t worth the effort, and lets them fall to the forest below. “Here, let me help.”

Fluttershy yanks Hedge away as Rainbow Dash flits around her. “N-no, Rainbow, stop! It’s my filly, I have to do this myself!”

Rainbow Dash backs up, looking none too happy. “Alright, ‘Shy, but be careful.” She winces. “Watch your wings.”

“You think I don’t realize that?” Fluttershy again tries to maneuver the filly in her hooves to the saddlebags on her rump, but if she stops flapping she’ll fall, and she might not recover in time, and she doesn’t see any butterflies beneath them, and-

“Woah, ‘Shy! Eyes on the prize! Head up!” Rainbow Dash buzzes next to Fluttershy, startling the mare out of her inadvertent dive. “Hey. Want me to show you a cool trick? Me’n Scoots do this all the time! Watch!” She wriggles Hedge out of Fluttershy’s grasp, then tests the filly’s weight and glances back at Rainbow’s open saddlebag.

Fluttershy bites her lip, berating herself for not being competent enough, and here her herdmate is showing her up! In front of her filly, no less!

“Ready?” “Ready!” “And… Toss!”

Rainbow Dash chucks Hedge into the air, angled up and just behind. Hedge screeches as she climbs, and with a few corrective wing flaps drops straight into the open saddlebag.

“Pretty cool, right?” Rainbow Dash shakes her rump, sending Hedge swaying back and forth.

“Rainbow. Dash!”

Rainbow Dash blinks twice. “Err. Yeah?”

“Didn’t you hear her?” Fluttershy zips next to Hedge, but hesitates at grabbing the grinning filly - that would put her right back where she was before. “She’s terrified! What if you had dropped her?”

“That screech of joy?” Rainbow Dash snorts. “Hold on tight, Hedge! Here we go!”

The cerulean pegasus disappears in a blur, leaving a rainbow contrail and an oddly deep screech. In ten seconds she returns, bags of hay fries and apple slices in her hooves. “Come on, ‘Shy! Of course I got this! Remember when I caught Rarity during the Best Young Flier competition? Better yet, remember when you caught Sweetie Belle and Spike after he, well, rampaged around Ponyville?”

“That was different!” Fluttershy huffs. “I’m not intentionally dropping somepony just so I can go rescue them!”

“Well, there goes that idea for the relay race.” Rainbow Dash winks, entirely failing to lift Fluttershy’s spirits, instead sending her into a depressed tailspin. “Come on, ‘Shy. You’re a good flier, when you’re motivated.”

“And I’m a lousy one when I’m not.” Fluttershy sags, her wings slowing to the point where she might fall out of the sky. “If I wasn’t here you would’ve made it to Cloudsdale and back already.”

“That’s… that’s not what I meant at all!” Rainbow Dash gets in Fluttershy’s face, tilting her head up with one hoof and wrapping the other around her neck. “Sure, it’s slower than I normally fly, but that means I can practice control! Remember when I lost my magic, and you helped me train?”

“You hated training with me,” Fluttershy counters, tears threatening to shed just like they had after Rainbow Dash stopped training with her after one day together.

Rainbow Dash covers her muzzle with a hoof as she looks away, muzzle quivering, not expecting Fluttershy to call her out so harshly.

“I-I like flying with you,” Hedge says from behind Rainbow’s flapping wings. She carefully climbs out of the saddlebag and walks along Rainbow’s spine until she pokes through the blowing chromatic mane. Rainbow Dash gives the intrepid filly a wide grin. “Or am I a lousy flier, too?”

That wipes the grin off Rainbow’s face. Fluttershy gasps - she can’t believe her filly would say such a thing! - and barely keeps from shouting, “Don’t talk about yourself like that!”

“Well,” Rainbow Dash concedes, “it’s kinda true. She’s the worst flier I’ve seen. Ever.” Fluttershy whirls on Rainbow Dash, only for the cerulean grin to reassert itself with twice the intensity. “But she is a flier. And she’s got this.”

“Thanks.” Hedge gives Rainbow Dash a big hug, not at all what Fluttershy expected. “Ready, dam?”

Fluttershy’s eyes go wide as she realizes what her filly intends to do. “Oh, dear, um…” She gulps; it’s such a long way down if she misses the mark. Wouldn’t it be safer to do this any other way? “...Okay.”

Rainbow Dash raises her head as Fluttershy lowers hers, assisting Hedge as she leaps. Brown wings spread out, flapping once, before she parts the pink mane and trots down Fluttershy’s back to the open saddlebags. She plops inside, head sticking out to rest reassuringly on the butterfly-stamped flank.

“See?” Rainbow Dash tilts Fluttershy’s head up. “Nothing to it!” She rips open a bag of fries. “Hungry?” She shakes the bag when Fluttershy doesn’t go for it. “Come on, ‘Shy. We’re nearly there.”

Fluttershy eyes Cloudsdale, measuring the distance, then turns around to see if she can spot Ponyville. She can barely make out Mount Canterhorn on the horizon, Ponyville just on the other side.

“Oh, no. We are not flying for three hours just to turn around when we’re ten minutes away.” Rainbow Dash gently spins Fluttershy until she again faces Cloudsdale. “Please don’t prove those jokes about pink maned mares.”

“But I know that way is safe.” Fluttershy reluctantly takes the bag, but doesn’t eat. She lets out a heavy sigh. “I-I wish I had your confidence. Sometimes, I wonder if…”

Fluttershy does her best to avoid glancing backward at Hedge, but feels like Rainbow Dash knows what she is talking about, as her herdmate stops prodding her forward, ears flicking as she studies her every twitch. She doesn’t want Hedge to hear this, she doesn’t want to talk disparagingly about anypony.

“Sometimes,” Rainbow Dash prompts, hooves tracing her pregnant belly with a slight frown, “you wonder what it would be like if…”

Fluttershy grimaces at her herdmate’s prompting. “No, not if I herded with some stallion other than Doug.” She still doesn’t want to say it, but Hedge gently presses her head against her flank, encouraging her to go on. “But if I had pushed Hedge like you pushed Scootaloo. Would she be…” She closes her eyes. She knows her filly knows how poor a flier she is. How could she not? Yet her filly’s hoof stays where it is, not pulling away.

“Would she be a better flier?” Rainbow Dash’s muzzle pulls tight. “It’s tough to say. I trained with Scoots for three hours a day. Mostly wing exercises and endurance runs, with some strength training sprinkled in. And that was on top of whatever hoofball games she played with everypony else. I even…” Rainbow Dash blushes the red of her mane, “I even went to the library to look up flying techniques, optimum wing angles, that sort of thing.”

Fluttershy grins from ear to ear. “Twilight must be so proud of you.”

Rainbow Dash snorts. “And ruin my reputation? I’m not an egghead!” Her snort turns to a chuckle. “Hey, maybe I should. Especially if she can help this guy…” Her chuckle cuts off as she chokes up, legs wrapping tightly around herself. Fluttershy is amazed she keeps flying with how she locks herself up so tight.

Fluttershy wraps her hooves around Rainbow Dash, and isn’t surprised at all when Hedge comes bounding along her back to do the same. “You really want him to fly, don’t you?”

“More,” Rainbow Dash sobs, “more than anything in the world. More than being a Wonderbolt. Celestia, I hope and pray he can fly.” She blinks rapidly, trying to clear her eyes, sniffling, “But even if he can’t…”

She breaks down again, tears streaming as she buries her head in Fluttershy’s mane.

Fluttershy holds on tight, not caring how wet her mane gets. “We’ll still love her,” she consoles, gently rubbing a hoof along Rainbow’s back. “Just like we love Scootaloo.” She gives her filly a soft grin. “Just like we love you.”

“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash gives her a final hug and pulls away, wiping away the remaining tears. “We will.” She looks Hedge squarely in the eyes. “We do. Even though Scoots never got higher than level flight, or you go more than straight up and down. We still love you.”

“I love you, too,” Hedge returns, smiling at Rainbow Dash and hugging her dam.

“I love you,” Fluttershy says, a slight edge to her voice as she addresses her filly. “Now, back to your seat. We wouldn’t want you falling off, would we?”

“No, dam.”

Rainbow Dash glances at her cutie mark, then at Fluttershy’s. They aren’t glowing or looking at all out of the ordinary. “I guess we still have a mission to do, huh.”

“Yup!” Fluttershy points at one of the greener clumps of clouds. “We can start with my parents.”

Ch. 167 - Natural Affinity, Part Two

Her parents’ house looks just like Fluttershy remembers, the middle in a long row of Pegasopolis revival-style houses complete with cloud roofing, curling rainbow fencing, and ornate columns decorating everything from the chimney to the entryway. It looks inviting as always, though the purple curtains on the second floor are drawn against the noon sun. Wispy white spirals, reminiscent of the Weather Factory’s motif, cover the few bare spots of cloud in the front and back yard as well as the walls, the rest teeming with green.

Wait, teeming? Fluttershy does a second take. She doesn’t remember there being so many flowers growing, in the front yard or back yard or on the roof. Even the windowsills have blossoms! Sure, her dam has a green hoof, uncommon among pegasi, but she had generally confined her hobby to a few planters along the sunhouse in the back. To be fair, it has been years since she’s been here, and she spots her dam in the backyard, carefully measuring scoops of enhanced dirt. A number of empty containers are littered around her, as well as square clouds anchored by thick cords. It feels weird having dirt be a precious commodity, what with the effort required to haul it up, as well as pay an earth pony to imbue it if you wanted more than one or two blooms a year.

The saddlebags on her flank keep shifting, Hedge trying to look around her wings and body. She’s glad her filly is respecting her wishes to stay put even without telling her to. “Ready to come out?” Fluttershy beckons. Her grin turns worried as Hedge leaps out, eager to spread her wings and glide to the chimney. “Oh, do be careful!”

“Careful?” Rainbow Dash laughs. “Come on, ‘Shy! Let her live a little!”

The exchange draws Mrs. Shy’s attention. The aged mare raises a yellow hoof, clad in a dark brown gardening glove, and pushes her curly magenta mane out of her sweaty face. A wide smile slowly crosses her muzzle as she recognizes her visitors. She wipes her gloves on her apron, then stands to greet them with a fond wave, her soft voice easily carrying in the serene neighborhood. “Hello, Fluttershy! Rainbow Dash. It’s so good to see you! Oh my, and little Hedge! Did you fly the whole way here?”

“Hi, Grandmare Shy!” Hedge, first to land, races forward. She wraps her hooves around Mrs. Shy, then proceeds to wipe her muzzle back and forth as only a filly can, heedless of the dirt now staining her face and coat. “No, Mrs. Dash ferried me. She’s real nice!”

“Fluttershy helped, too,” Rainbow Dash says, hovering nearby.

“Not nearly as much as you,” Fluttershy says as she lands, huffing at how Hedge has already gotten dirty, even if the brown is hard to tell against her tan coat. She licks her hoof, ready to scrub it away. “What have I told you about playing in the dirt?”

“I need to keep my hooves and face clean,” Hedge answers with a resigned sigh.

“Speaking of dirt.” Rainbow Dash gives the garden an appreciative nod. “This place is looking great, Grandmare Shy!”

“Please, call me Sylvia,” Mrs. Shy winks. “Coming from you, Grandmare Shy makes me feel so old!”

“That’s ‘cause you are old!” Rainbow Dash smirks as Sylvia concedes with a warm, grandmare-esque smile. She looks around, peeking into the sunhouse, more as a formality than an actual search. Inside are dozens of bottles arranged on the walls containing a myriad of tiny twisters, resplendent rainbows, and miniature storms. “Is Mr. Shy around? I thought he’d be retired by now!” Her smirk turns mischievous. “Or should I call him Dick?”

“Slick is working the morning shift at the factory.” Sylvia stands, stripping off her gardening equipment. “I don’t know if he’ll ever retire; they keep piling more and more work on him! And now they’ve got him covering half the midnight shift, too.” She offers Fluttershy a soft smile at seeing her cross look. “Now, we may not be as bold as you, Fluttershy, but don’t you worry. We know how to stand up for ourselves!”

She heads to the main house. Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash follow. The inside of the Shy house is quite cozy, with numerous cloud-themed decorations and pictures of the Shy family covering the tan-and-cloud wallpaper. Rainbow Dash can’t help but smirk at how Zephyr Breeze, Fluttershy’s younger brother, dominates the majority of the pictures he is in. “Slick might stop by Stormy and Sleethoof’s,” Mrs. Shy explains as she washes up in the Cloudcraft sink, “but he should be here in time for lunch. Were you planning on staying long?”

Rainbow Dash’s eyes go wide with delight. “Stormy and Sleethoof? Maybe we can eat lunch with them!”

“Well, I don’t see why not!” Mrs. Shy gives a half-hearted smile before calling upstairs, “Acridy?”

A door upstairs opens, the acrid stench of disinfectant covering something worse wafting down and stinging their eyes. A slate-gray changeling sticks her head through the cloud-and-rainbow railing. She swallows her mouthful of flower stalks before asking, “Yes, Sylvy?” At seeing how their nostrils twitch she gasps, “Oh, sorry! Here, let me take care of that.” She darts from window to window, opal-white wings struggling to keep her bulging belly from bonking on the extra-stuffed chairs and couches covering most of the floor space. “Normally I go in and out through the window upstairs. Keeps the irritants away.”

A second smell joins the first, this one decidedly less antiseptic and more desperately requiring antiperspirant. A green head, complete with an untidy blond mane tied in a rough bun topped by a silver paper crown, sticks down. Amber eyes light up upon seeing Fluttershy, or far more likely Rainbow Dash.

Rainbow Dash gags. “Speaking of irritants…”

“Hi, Flutterbutter! How’s the bestest big sister ever?” Zephyr Breeze dances down the stairs, wrapping his entirely unamused sister in a hug. “Hey, where’s the love? How about a little excitement to see your baby brother?”

“I’m just surprised,” Fluttershy answers as dryly as she can. “I thought Luna would have paid you enough to get out of the house for more than a week.”

“Paid to leave? Sis, I get paid to…” Zephyr Breeze laughs, but it quickly becomes nervous. He steals a decidedly worried glance at Acridy. She cocks her head to the side just a touch, enough to send a message. He turns his glance into a wide yawn, probably thinking himself as deceptive as Chrysalis herself. “Oh, would you look at the time? And, hey Rainbows, sorry I can’t stay to chat. I’m touched you came to see me, really. I hate to deprive you of my presence, but this breeze needs his Z’s.”

Rainbow Dash looks ready to comment on the time of day, then wisely shuts her mouth.

Zephyr retraces his steps, dancing backward as though in reverse, probably thinking himself clever. He shoots Acridy an overly broad smile, which she returns, and promptly shuts the door.

Rainbow Dash remarks, “You know changelings don’t need to steal love anymore, right?”

Acridy giggles. “It’s not stealing if you pay for it!” Her grin loses any semblance of Laughter, capital-lettered or not. “Some stallions just have a different kind of ‘productive’ labor. And with how much love he has for himself?”

It bothers Fluttershy that somepony - or someling - could have such a poor impression of her brother. But is it inaccurate? She scowls. She knows her brother is better than this!

“I hope you don’t mind,” Mrs. Shy explains, obviously hoping for an affirming nod from Fluttershy, “but when Acridy needed a place to convert to a, well, you know…”

“A burrow,” Acridy states, looking far less fraught about the topic and more about the smell emanating from said burrow. “And harvesting station.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Shy says, still uncomfortable. “...We decided your room would be, um, best suited.”

“Less likely to be used again,” Acridy adds unabashedly. “Also, we needed a bed.”

As much as Fluttershy wants to criticize her brother’s choice, it is his life. Right? He didn’t look coerced. He had even shaved! Certainly a step in the right direction. Is it really her place to set him on the ‘right’ path? Or would sticking her hoof in the hornet’s nest - or changeling burrow - merely get him to regress? And can she really fault Acridy for taking advantage - or, as Chrysalis would put it, exploiting an opportunity?

As much as she wants to meddle, Fluttershy decides to set aside her animosity and offers the changeling a fond smile. “I’m glad you’re… making it work.”

“Exactly!” Once all the windows are open Acridy turns to Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash, eyes whirling a happy red. She notes how Rainbow Dash’s eyes focus on her belly. “Hi! I’m Acridy Day. But you can call me Acridy! And that’s Slick’s little one in there. We’re naming her Drizzle Day!”

“How precious! I’m Fluttershy, as you probably guessed,” the yellow pegasus introduces, “and this is Rainbow Dash.”

“Hey!” The cerulean mare gives a quick wave as she hovers even with the low ceilings. “We, uh, haven’t come up with a name for this little guy yet.”

Fluttershy motions behind her. “And this is… Wait, where is Hedge?” Fluttershy checks the kitchen first, in case Hedge started preparing lunch, but she’s nowhere to be found. And there aren’t the dozens of nooks and crannies for timid critters that her house contains.

Rainbow Dash sticks her head out the front window. “Hedge?”

Fluttershy zips to the back. “Hedge!” She doesn’t see any motion at all. She tries to make out any holes in the expansive garden, made difficult by the numerous bushes. “Did she go through?”

“The base is solid cloudcrete,” Rainbow Dash says as she joins Fluttershy. She looks up, a direction Fluttershy berates herself for not even thinking of considering. “Doug could walk on it and be fine.” Her muzzle tightens. “Probably.”

A large sack of dirt, logo of a sprouting tree, ambles from the sunhouse to one of the empty planters. Hedge, Mrs. Shy’s gardening gloves going almost to the pint-sized filly’s haunches, tosses the bag to the side with a loud grunt. Her ears flick in surprise at seeing Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy staring at her. “Y-yes?”

“Hedge!” Fluttershy eschews the door to leap out the window, torn between admonishing her filly for scaring her and relief that she is okay. “Mommy was so worried!” She settles for wrapping her in a tight embrace, never wanting to let go. “What have I told you about wandering off?”

If it was Scootaloo she would have rolled her eyes with a sarcastic remark, but Hedge just sighs, ears folding against her head. “Yes, Mama.” Her gaze roams from the empty planters just waiting to be filled with packets of seeds to the nearby sunhouse. “But, Mama…”

Fluttershy huffs. She knows she shouldn’t be one to talk, but her filly can be so stubbornly shy! “You can help with the gardening once we’re home. We are going to eat lunch with your grand-dahms. Don’t you want to meet them?”

“Um,” Hedge mumbles, glancing away. She picks up Mrs. Shy’s trowel and nervously fiddles with it. “I, uh, maybe I can stay here?” She gulps at Fluttershy’s disapproving stare. “The dirt is, err, different?” Her ears sag down. “And there aren’t as many insects. Or… animals.”

The last word, nearly a whisper, sets Fluttershy’s teeth against each other. What is Hedge insinuating? That she wants her filly to get an animal caretaker cutie mark, because that’s what she has? That her encouragement to work exclusively with the animals on the farm is actually controlling her, against her interests?

As a Malevolent mind would control another?

“I don’t mind staying with her,” Acridy says, earning herself a flicker of Fluttershy’s glare. It doesn’t have quite the effect that it does on Hedge. “I’m nowhere near as good as Slyvy here, but I’ve been picking up tips!”

Mrs. Shy blushes, still unused to the ingratiating nature of the changelings. “Half this garden was your idea! And you’ve been the one putting in the heavy lifting.”

“It’s not like she’ll be missing much,” Rainbow Dash cuts in.

Fluttershy doesn’t care for how her herdmate isn’t standing up for her, instead anxious to leave. Understandable, perhaps, and she doesn’t like being outnumbered. “Just be careful, okay?”

Hedge grins, so broadly it nearly breaks Fluttershy’s heart. “Okay!” She races forward to give her dam a hug, then rips open the bag with such exuberance that she showers herself in dirt. Her ears fold as she glances back at her dam, then brighten when Fluttershy gives an encouraging, if subdued, motion to continue on.

“So, what brought you three here to Cloudsdale?” Mrs. Shy asks as they take off.

“A friendship problem,” Fluttershy answers. “A lesson to learn about Friendship.”

But for whom is that lesson for?

Ch. 168 - Natural Affinity, Part Three

Rainbow Dash would never admit to wanting to get away from the Shy’s serene house, and that oft-obsessed layabout of a stallion; in fact, she has the latest Daring Do escapade packed away just in case things got a touch too, well, boring. And not in the digging way Doug often jokes about with Rarity, much to her delight that she tries to hide with a long-suffering smile and roll of the eyes, but in actual interminable tedium. She’s not sure how Doug keeps up with each of them, how he manages to stay interested in what each of them are up to; she struggles to pay attention to her weather work, and she gets paid to be interested in that. She’d much rather be obsessing about the Wonderbolts, pushing her body to its (temporarily lowered) limits, and hitting the sack. Napping! To recover, of course!

She’s not sure what to think of Zephyr’s predicament, if being an all-too-willing love battery for a changeling actually is a predicament. She knows he has potential, when she had seriously considered his self-infatuated and all-too-obvious propositions, but he lacked the drive to follow through on his lofty ambitions - and clearly hasn’t gotten any better. But Fluttershy seems okay with him no longer pursuing his mane styling degree, and it hardly seems like Fluttershy’s place to push, much less Dash’s.

And while she might feign interest in any number of subjects, she could not hide her desire to meet up with Stormy Flare and Sleethoof. Her wings twitch, itching to burst ahead. Yet that would leave the other two pegasi in the dust, and Mrs. Shy is leading the way. Slowly, of course. So slowly.

Her heart skips a beat as The Tracks come into view. How many days had she spent winding her way through the training courses and introductory flight classes at the bottom of the tiered racecourses, figuratively - and oftentimes literally - zooming ahead to such a degree that she skipped up a year? It was there she met Fluttershy and earned her cutie mark through winning a race with stakes against the bullies that had been pestering her newfound friend. Not everypony celebrated her success, as few of her peers appreciated her cocky confidence bolstered by the loud cheers of her proud parents.

Parents she has barely seen, even when Cloudsdale’s flight path drifted over Ponyville. She puts the thought out of her mind just as quickly.

The top stands come into view, row upon row of tiered stadium seats, the cold and uncomfortable metal a necessity in case non-pegasi want to watch. She shudders at the memory of when she won the Best Young Fliers competition. The elation of saving her herdmate and two of the three Wonderbolts the flailing unicorn knocked out was so embittered by what could have happened that even cider couldn’t completely wash out the taste. And she tried, after the fact, knocking back one glass after another as the six Wonderbolts in attendance - Spitfire, Soarin, Misty Fly, Blaze, Fire Streak, and Silver Zoom - raced her into submission. But what a rush it was, even if she lost every time!

Dozens upon dozens of specks of color slowly make their way to those stands, and with a start Rainbow Dash spots why. The Wonderbolts are there!

If her heart swelled at seeing The Tracks, it nearly bursts at seeing them. The Wonderbolts. They are the culmination of what she has worked toward for so long, years and years of practice with that singular goal in mind, spoiled by delays and setbacks. Even if other goals and responsibilities have taken their place in her life, responsibilities she has no intention of setting down, she still has that burning desire in her heart to one day join the prestigious division and prove herself.

All she wants to do is watch, even if all they are doing is warming up. Those distinctive blue and yellow uniforms spin around and around and around in ever tightening circles, the grave looks on everypony’s face tightening and straining until they simultaneously burst apart.

Except one bursts apart too early, yellow wings folding abruptly as her two-toned blue mane sags in frustration. Rainbow Dash has a sinking suspicion of who it is: Misty Fly, one of the ‘Bolts Rarity clocked into unconsciousness. And that’s not a good sign, not at all, and she hopes whoever is on reserve is ready to pick up the slack if Misty can’t get it in gear.

When the maneuver finishes they come together, fiery-maned Captain Spitfire (omygosh omygosh omygosh!) exchanging a couple of serious-looking words. The uniforms don’t quite cover the scowls of the others. Rainbow Dash wishes she could fly up there and just listen, the awesome Captain sure to have some inspirational speech that will get the group back on track!

While Rainbow Dash wants to watch the Wonderbolts practice, Mrs. Shy’s course isn’t taking them to the stands; instead, to her chagrin, it’s taking them to the Wunder Bar! Which, come to think of it, makes sense, as Sylvia said they would be getting lunch. The W-shaped restaurant and bar, tilted so every table can watch the action, caters to the ‘Bolts and their biggest fans. Most days attendance would be low, just die-hards come to hang out, but on days when the aerial aces grace Cloudsdale with their presence?

The casually-dressed and flair-laden changeling server recognizes Mrs. Shy and points them to one of the tops of the ‘W’. Even in the packed place it’s easy for Rainbow Dash to spot Mr. Shy and the other two mares of his herd. The green stallion, clad in his work uniform of a light blue half-suit, looks ready to hit the hay: his green eyes struggle to stay open while his swirly light pink mane sags lower and lower before snapping back up. Stormy Flare and Sleethoof are far more animated, the two yellow pegasi arguing back and forth. It’s easy to tell which is which, with Stormy Flare’s orange and yellow mane, a shade darker than her filly Spitfire’s, and Sleethoof’s teal and sky blue, also a shade darker than Misty Fly. Both are wearing snazzy suits, purple on Stormy Flare that accents her pearl necklace and earrings, and dark blue on Sleethoof, a Winter Specialist.

Their keen eyes notice her before she can introduce herself. “Hey,” Stormy Flare greets curtly. Rainbow Dash wonders if any lingering animosity is from way back when she was beating Spitfire in the Junior Racers, because she quickly goes back to arguing while stealing glances at the Wonderbolt practice session. They must have seen the same lapse Rainbow did. “I’m not saying it’s a disabling condition yet,” Stormy Flare contends to her herdmate, “but it’s not one that’s going to get better with time.”

“It’s her choice,” Sleethoof retorts just as forcefully. “And if the doctor gives her the okay, then who are we to argue?”

The conversation intrigues Rainbow Dash greatly. It reminds her of when, years ago, she would have made it into the Wonderbolts if not for Scootaloo, and even then she had a chance. A chance she never regrets passing up, but she occasionally wonders what might have happened had she tried anyway. But they can’t be talking about her, can they? She butts in with a chipper, “Who’re you talking about?”

“Hey, Dash.” Sleethoof eyes the pegasus with the impertinence to sit down at their table, but then her gaze slides behind Rainbow in a manner most aggravating. “Syl!” she greets, a split second ahead of Stormy Flare. She smiles, but in an aggressively persuasive way. “We need you to settle this!”

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Shy says as two servers hustle an extra table next to Stormy Flare’s, making room for all of them. Rainbow Dash is impressed with the service, second only to what she imagines they would give to actual Wonderbolts. Mrs. Shy takes a deep breath as she sits in the middle, her herdmates on each side and leaving the new table for Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy. “What is it this time?”

“It’s about Misty,” Sleethoof explains, her concerned tone drawing a frown from Stormy Flare. “Stormy here wants her to retire if she can’t keep up.”

“She can keep up,” Stormy Flare says, adopting just as concerned a tone. Rainbow Dash strongly suspects their weird argumentation method - it sounds nothing like when she and Doug disagree - has to do with winning their lead mare’s support. “It’s not about that. The question is what she will have to put herself through to do so. If it’s worth the risk.”

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Shy says. Rainbow Dash snickers at how similar Fluttershy sounds to her when she gets worried. “Now, you know I’m not a doctor.”

“We’re not saying you would determine if it’s too dangerous,” Sleethoof says, keeping most of the sarcasm from her voice. “But when the risk becomes too much. And that should be her choice, what level of danger she accepts. Her doctor can tell her how dangerous it is, but it’s ultimately her call.”

Rainbow Dash, hovering barely above her seat, pays attention to the conversation while watching the six ‘Bolts go through a steep turn. Five of the six have their lightning jets on, spewing sparkling smoke behind them, while the two-toned blue mane has hers off. Not a good sign, not at all: it means the outlier is more than a hoof-length out of position, and has accordingly turned her jets off.

“That’s certainly a tough decision,” Mrs. Shy starts.

“But it’s her decision,” Sleethoof interjects.

“Let her finish,” Stormy Flare reprimands. Sleethoof huffs, but goes silent.

Mrs. Shy offers Stormy Flare a quick smile. “What do you think, Rainbow Dash? You went through something similar.”

“Twice, actually. Three times if you count this one.” Rainbow Dash grits her teeth, though not because of the conversation. The six Wonderbolts again regroup as the maneuver finishes, this time joined by a blood-colored doctor she recognizes as Dr. Vacuum Suction, more commonly known as M. D. Vac, though his cutie mark is of a white dove instead of an aspirator. She’s heard he would sign off on a pegasus with two broken wings just to see how far she can fly, but also that he is capable of patching up said pegasus to pristine condition.

“If her decision only impacted her,” Rainbow Dash says as she turns her attention to the four yellow pegasi at her table, “then I would agree. It’s her call.” Sleethoof smirks, but it’s short lived. “But her decision doesn’t only impact her.” She points at the five contrails, the absence of the sixth obvious. “If she messes up, it might just be a botched performance. Or somepony could get seriously hurt. Or worse. If there was somepony I couldn’t count on?” She grimaces, showing how much she doesn’t want that to be the case. “Then I wouldn’t want them on my team. And I think the others on her team should have that say.”

“But if she pushes herself,” Sleethoof argues, “she’ll make it. She knows she can!”

“You don’t know that,” Stormy Flare counters, “and neither does she.”

Their arguing grates on Rainbow Dash’s nerves; she’s amazed the two pugilistic pegasi can stay together, but at least they have Sylvia to settle their disagreements in a fair manner. She would find it super frustrating if she was always arguing like this with Applejack, and her lead mare used that position as a cudgel.

“It should be-”

“It looks like it’s a moot point,” Rainbow Dash interrupts.

High above, Misty Fly slips from their circle of ‘Bolts with the barest of goodbyes. A turquoise-winged pegasus, the reservist, joins the five ‘Bolts at the doctor’s beckoning call. She flips her orange and yellow mane, a confident smirk on her muzzle. Rainbow Dash knows that mane, and those wings, and she knows the orange eyes behind the blue-tinted goggles would be burning with a desire to finally prove herself.

For it could be none other than Lightning Dust, the best filly in their flight class (at least, after Derpy’s vision started to go) until Rainbow Dash overtook her for the coveted spot. Well deserving of that top spot, too, with a daring (some called it recklessness) unmatched by any of her peers. When Gilda came to Equestria as part of a student exchange it was Lightning Dust who went to the Griffon Kingdom, and judging by the chatter about her time at the Academy her heedless nature has only been honed. Her risk-taking sure seems to have paid off, though, climbing from recruit to reservist to actually performing in a show in a matter of months. Rainbow Dash can’t help but be impressed, knowing how hard she will need to push herself to keep the same pace.

But what doesn’t impress her is how M. D. Vac escorts Misty Fly off with little affection and less ceremony. Rainbow Dash can’t believe it, that they would dismiss a seasoned ‘Bolt in such an ignoble manner, without even waving goodbye. And yet they do, quickly getting into formation and putting Lightning Dust through the wringer.

Completely ignoring the ‘Bolt slinking down to a nearby cloud, her hoof held against her head.

Sleethoof lets out a long and disappointed sigh before turning to address Rainbow Dash with an expression that shouldn’t possibly be so chipper after what she just witnessed. “So, Rainbow Dash! It’s been a long time; how’s herded life treating you?”

Rainbow Dash finds her list of things she can’t believe rapidly overflowing. How could somepony regard their filly with such contempt? Such utter disregard, even if they couldn’t make the cut? Somepony should make sure Misty Fly is okay; if it isn’t her dam, or her fellow ‘Bolts, then it might as well be her.

She stares at Sleethoof for a long moment before muttering, “Excuse me,” and flying out of the Wunder Bar, straight to the solitary cloud.

Ch. 169 - Natural Affinity, Part Four

While Rainbow Dash might have departed with the best of intentions, by the time she actually gets to the solitary cloud second thoughts have crept in like Everfree storms about to spoil an otherwise perfect summer afternoon. How many audience members are watching her instead of the practice? What is she even going to say? Doubt gnaws at her as she pulls up, hovering a moment before she would land next to the wind-tossed mane blending into the cloud. Can she do anything to help at all? But before she can leave with her tail between her legs Misty Fly cracks an eyelid, her face scrunching up in confusion.

“Rainbow Dash?” The fallen ‘Bolt lets loose a sharp snort as she struggles to her hooves. She hesitates before lifting her teal goggles, revealing unsteady aquamarine eyes. “Not the pony I thought would be up here. Not that I don’t want to see you!” She sighs heavily. “But I don’t know how a Sonic Rainboom will help me out this time.”

“Hey, Misty Fly,” Rainbow Dash returns with a cocky smirk, settling down on the cloud. There isn’t much room, though Misty Fly doesn’t shift from her spot in the middle. She’s not sure if snuggling next to the ‘Bolt is the right move or not, but it always makes her feel better when Doug does it. “We’ll make that Plan B.”

The corners of the yellow muzzle peeking out from the flight suit curls upward as Rainbow Dash plops next to her. “Does that mean there’s a plan A?”

“Err,” Rainbow Dash says as she scratches at the back of her mane. She probably should have thought this through.

“Or did you barrel ahead,” Misty Fly continues, a hint of a laugh behind her watery eyes, “heedless of the consequences?”

“No, there’s a plan!” Rainbow Dash gulps, having no clue what that plan is. But she can’t let Misty Fly sit here, letting the rest of her life fly by. She remembers being in a very similar situation, despondent and having no clue about what her future would hold, and a certain pair of hands had tapped rhythmically against her belly.

That’s it! She just needs to go with her gut. When has her gut ever steered her wrong?

“You’ve got a choice to make.” Rainbow Dash firmly presses her hoof against the yielding cloud. “You can let some stethoscope-wielding nutcase tell you how to live your life. Or?”

She whips her hooves to the sky as the Wonderbolts burst apart in perfect sync.

“You can be awesome again!!”

Misty raises an eyebrow as Rainbow Dash takes a deep breath, puffing her chest out. “Are you…”

“I know the world can get you down.”

“…Singing?” Misty Fly sighs.

“Things don’t work out quite the way that you thought.
Feeling like all your best days are done.
Your fears and doubts are all you’ve got.”

“Dash,” Misty Fly tries, looking more embarrassed being serenaded than ejected. “My best days are done.”

Not that Rainbow Dash notices. She taps against the cloud, ripping away bits and pieces that dissipate into nothing with every staccato note. Her voice rises, a crescendo that quickly eclipses the cheers of the spectators.

“But there’s a light!
Shining deep inside!
Beneath those fears and doubts,
So just squash ‘em.
And let it shi-i-ine
For all the world to see!
That it’s time, yeah,
Time to be awesome!”

“Dash!” Misty Fly exclaims as Rainbow Dash rears upward, fully ready to smash the remaining cloud to mist. The cerulean pegasus gets a confused look, her hooves twitching, and barely puts her destruction on a brief pause.

“Dash,” Misty Fly tries again now that she has gotten her attention. Rainbow Dash has to strain to hear her low voice. “They didn’t kick me out.” She sighs. “I pulled myself.”

Rainbow Dash stares at her for a long moment, the revelation taking its time to pierce her galvanized thoughts. She glances at her hooves, still primed to bust, and sheepishly lowers them to the remaining cloud. She lays ponyloaf, withers to withers, their close proximity now a necessity lest she hover alongside. “You… you what?”

If Misty Fly begrudges her the loss of the cloud, or her personal space, she doesn’t show it. “I told them it was time.”

“But you can’t just,” Rainbow Dash exclaims before she immediately quiets down, lest too much of their conversation be overheard by the spectators. “What went wro-, um…” she trails off with a sigh. She can’t imagine being in that position and just giving up! “Sorry I’m not any good at this. Not like Fluttershy; she knows how to talk to struggling ponies. And not make them feel like a, well…”

“A loser? A failure?” Misty Fly shrugs as though the words have no meaning, but it’s obvious they hurt. “Wonderbolts are supposed to be tough. Able to take the jeers of the crowd, or the jabs of your teammates.” Her gaze raises to the practicing ‘Bolts as she lets out a heavy sigh. “And you can’t call me anything worse than I’ve called myself.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Rainbow Dash exclaims. “Hold up. You’re not a failure, or a loser. You’re a Wonderbolt!”

“Was,” Misty Fly corrects. Rainbow’s ears fold against her head. “I was a Wonderbolt for sixteen years. Now?” She chuckles, cold and on the verge of giving up. “Your song wasn’t wrong. Fears and doubts are all I’ve got.”

Rainbow Dash gnaws at her lip. Does she go hard, tell her to get back in there? Soft and caring? Hopeful? Understanding? Brutally honest? “You’ve still got the uniform on,” she states, treating Misty with the hard hoof she uses when Scootaloo gets down. “The goggles. The mane. What’s stopping you?”

“I can’t keep up with her.”

Rainbow Dash follows Misty’s pointing hoof to the six ‘Bolts in formation, specifically Lightning Dust and her bright orange and gold striped mane. They’re going through the same tightening circle exercise that Misty failed. Lightning Dust keeps the turns tight, possibly even tighter than the others: she looks relaxed as she comes out, laughing almost, while the others have a grim concentration that speaks of being at their limits. She can understand Misty Fly’s trepidation at competing with the mare; it’s a position Rainbow Dash would put her in, were she up there and practicing instead of pumping out another foal. She knows she’ll get that shot, and soon, but it doesn’t make the waiting any easier.

“Goldie’s good,” Misty Fly says, admiration in her eyes. She trails off, just watching her go through the routine she would have been flying. Should have, in Rainbow Dash’s opinion, but it sounds too late for that.

“Goldie?” Rainbow Dash interjects. She’s certain it’s Lightning Dust up there.

“Lightning Dust,” Misty Fly confirms. She lets out a quiet snort as she recalls, “When she got here, couple months ago, she tried to buy us off.”

Rainbow Dash nearly chokes. “Wait, what?”

Misty Fly laughs along with Dash. “That’s what we thought, too! But, apparently that’s the griffon way; anytime you want a lesson, or a meal, or just to shoot the breeze, they expect to be paid. Even when getting a promotion you’re expected to slick the beak of the griffon promoting you.”

“So the nickname isn’t for her mane,” Rainbow Dash says, longing for the camaraderie, “but because she thought gold was the way up?”

“Pretty much,” Misty Fly says, trailing off again.

“Well,” Rainbow Dash prompts, “what about you? I bet you’ve got an awesome nickname!”

“Dizzy.” Misty Fly taps her head while she rolls her eyes about their sockets. “My first day after graduating from the Academy I ran smack into a wall. Couldn’t fly straight for a good fifteen minutes.”

Horror crosses Rainbow Dash’s face. “That’s… that’s serious.” Her gaze raises to where Misty Fly abandoned the g-intensive spin maneuver. Head injuries are the worst, as they make it more likely to get injured again, and you can’t really build up your resistance with conditioning or training.

“At the time, we just laughed it off.” Misty Fly shrugs as though it doesn’t mean anything, but it obviously does. “And it wasn’t too bad. Sure, I had to be more careful with my maneuvers, and a head-on collision would ground me for a day, until we made sure everything was okay. But I always got back up.” Her head dips. “But now? Goldie’s ready to take over for me. I don’t have to worry if today’s the day my head gives out.”

“What did the doc say?”

Misty Fly stifles a snort. “He said it was unlucky it wasn’t my heart. That the heart is so easily changed out, but the head can’t be persuaded.” She glances down at her chest, worried and at the same time curious. “Is Doug like a Gigaboon?”

“A mega monkey?” Rainbow Dash snorts. “Sounds like I’m not the only one who reads too much Daring Do. And you can’t have his heart.” She sticks her tongue out at Misty Fly, who giggles. “It belongs to me! …And the rest of the herd.”

“Must be nice.” Misty Fly goes back to watching the Wonderbolts circle around, their practice nearly complete. “What’s it like being with your stallion?”

“Doug?” Rainbow Dash’s muzzle scrunches up. For as long as she’s been with him, she should have a quicker answer to this question. “I know he has my back, that I can count on him and tell him anything. That he’ll support me, no matter what I do, and at the same time he’ll tell me when he thinks I’m screwing up.”

“So, he’s loyal?” Misty Fly smirks. “Where do I sign up?”

Rainbow Dash chuckles; she hopes she’s joking. “In a word, I guess so.” A sheepish look crosses her face; she remembers some gossip she overheard when she was last flying with the ‘Bolts, when she saved Misty Fly after Rarity clocked her. “I, um, take it there’s not a stallion you’ve already paired up with?”

“Fire Streak’s retiring next - who knows how long that’ll be with me dropping out - but he’s got his eyes on somepony else.”

“I heard if High Winds says no he’ll ask you.”

“Gee,” Misty Fly says with a roll of her eyes, “thanks for reminding me I’m his second choice.” Rainbow Dash grimaces; her and her big mouth. “And that was before I got cut.”

“At least,” Rainbow Dash tries again, “you weren’t dishonorably discharged.”

Misty Fly fixes Rainbow Dash with a hard stare. “You mean like if I knew I wasn’t capable of flying a show, but tried anyway? And crashed?”

Rainbow Dash huffs at her foalhood nickname. “That’s not what I meant.”

Misty Fly slowly nods. “I know. I’m sorry. But I’ve been working with Goldie, putting her through the paces, and like I said before: she’s good. You should see the gaps she squeezes through, and her cloudbusting! She’ll try anything, even to the point of being reckless, and makes even the hardest stunts look easy. That’s why she’s getting this shot so early. Yet she doesn’t care for anypony who can’t keep up, which is most of her fellow recruits, and even a few of the older ‘Bolts like me. But that’s the Griffon way.”

“Being a Wonderbolt isn’t just about being the best,” Rainbow Dash contests. “It’s about being a team. I… I hope she realizes that.”

“Oh?” Misty Fly raises an eyebrow. “You gonna show her the power of Loyalty?”

“With this?” Rainbow Dash taps her pregnant belly, the two snickering. “Next year.”

“Next year,” Misty Fly agrees with a grin. She snuggles next to Rainbow Dash, draping a wing over the cerulean back and feeling the bulge on the other side. A moment of silence passes before she asks, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” Rainbow Dash asks, lost in the moment and just enjoying the contact.

“How do you have that hope for the future?” Misty Fly glances down at her hooves, hidden in the cloud. “How do you stay so optimistic? You’re going to have not one but two foals, when nopony else in the ‘Bolts has even had one. You’re starting eight years later than you should, those growth years gone, and yet you’re raring to fly until your wings fall off. While over here I’m worried what stallion will even want a mare whose best years have already been used up, who can’t keep a spin going for more than fifteen seconds without blacking out!”

“Are you foaling me?” Rainbow Dash exclaims. “What herd wouldn’t want you? They’ll be fouling each other’s wakes to invite you in!”

“I don’t want to be invited to a herd only because I’m a former Wonderbolt,” Misty Fly claims. “And they don’t want somepony they can outfly. That’s all the stallions here care about. I want somepony who doesn’t care about my ‘fame’. Why can’t there be more stallions like that in the world?”

“So don’t,” Rainbow Dash counters just as strongly. “You don’t need to join a herd right away.”

“Then what am I going to do?” Misty Fly sinks into the cloud. “I thought I would work weather, but I don’t want to go to the office like my dam. I, uh, don’t have the head for it.” She grimaces. “Anything else I could do feels like such a downgrade. Wonderbolt to some cloud jockey?”

“You could come to Ponyville,” Rainbow Dash suggests. “It’s got some tough weather to deal with. Hardest in all of Equestria! Nopony’ll look down on you for working there.”

“That does sound nice,” Misty Fly says wistfully. “As long as I don’t have to do cloud runs.”

“Ugh, those are the worst.”

“Tell me about it.”

Ch. 170 - Natural Affinity, Part Five

Rainbow Dash and Misty Fly return to the Wunder Bar, their spirits high, squeezing through the crowd that’s quickly becoming hovering room only. Fortunately Rainbow Dash’s spot is still available, though she chooses to hover just behind Fluttershy, figuring the mostly ground-bound pegasus won’t mind her blocking her view. She snickers at seeing the five yellow pegasi clumped together (Misty Fly having taken off her flight suit), wondering if that was from the quite green Mr. Shy’s timid demeanor extending even to his offspring or just a happy coincidence.

“Hey, dam,” Misty Fly greets Sleethoof, then quickly gives her two dahms a nod. “Stormy. Sylvia.” Her smile falters for just a second. “Did, er, you see what happened?”

“We saw you converse with the doctor,” Sleethoof says as she reaches forward to squeeze Misty Fly’s hoof. “Is everything all right?”

“Well, yes and no?” Misty Fly takes a deep breath, glancing up at Rainbow Dash for support. The hovering pegasus returns a broad grin. “There’s nothing wrong with me. Well, there is, or I would be up there.” Her smile becomes more strained. “But it’s nothing too terrible!”

Sleethoof grips her filly’s hoof a little tighter.

Misty Fly sighs, her head lowering, soft enough to only be heard by those at the table. “I can’t keep the turns as tight as I need to without feeling like I’m about to pass out. For my safety, and that of the team, I’m dropping out. Retiring after a long and distinguished career, as I’m sure they’ll spin it.”

“Oh, dear,” Sleethoof says, bringing a second hoof to bear on her filly’s. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Though the choice to leave obviously weighs on her, Misty Fly straightens up and holds her head high. “I’ve got a lot of life ahead of me. Who wants to ruin that by pushing too hard? Especially with Lightning Dust eager to step up.”

“We did see her in your spot,” Sleethoof confides. Stormy Flare nods along, though Sylvia and Fluttershy look a bit lost. “Are you sure you’re doing okay? Being a Wonderbolt was your dream.”

“It was. But now?” Misty taps her dam’s hoof twice, finally letting go. “I’ve been thinking about what I want to do for a long time. No offense, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life stuck in an office. Fly is even in my name!” Both Sleethoof and Stormy Flare roll their eyes, getting a friendly snort from Misty. “After talking to Rainbow Dash, Ponyville sounds like a good option. Fluttershy’s there; it’ll be great having family nearby.” Misty Fly flashes her cutie mark, two teal butterflies shrouded by dark blue mist.

“It sounds like you’ve thought this through,” Mrs. Shy says, the other mares agreeing with warm smiles and nods. “Whatever you think is best, dear.”

Misty Fly grins, embracing each mare in turn.

Their food arrives, hearty helpings of pickled cabbage, white asparagus, and cheesy noodles with crispy onions that Rainbow Dash has a hard time sharing (seeing as nopony knew to order for Misty). But she does, figuring she can grab a loaded hay sandwich when she visits her parents. It feels much like the last time she was pregnant, barely able to keep her ravenous body sated with how much exercise she gets. Maybe if she stopped hovering everywhere? Nah, not worth it.

“Thanks for showing her that kindness,” Fluttershy whispers to Rainbow Dash. She giggles adorably. “I must be rubbing off on you!”

“It was the loyal thing to do,” Rainbow Dash counters, grinning as she bumps withers with her herdmate before again taking to the air.

“That went a lot better than I feared,” Misty Fly remarks to Rainbow Dash as she joins her hovering. “Are your parents this easy to talk to?”

“As far as not being a Wonderbolt?” Rainbow Dash gulps down her meal, not quite dreading their reaction but neither being enthused by telling them it would be at least another year before she became a Wonderbolt. In fact, she’s not really enthused by telling them much of anything. “More or less. They were always super enthusiastic over every little thing I did. Especially the little stuff. Embarrassingly so.” She gives a little half-shrug. “It’s great having parents who support you, no matter where your cutie mark takes you, I guess.”

Misty Fly cocks her head. “I’m sensing a but?”

“Being embarrassed by them isn’t enough?” Rainbow Dash sighs. “I guess… there’s such a thing as being too supportive, you know? Like, how are you going to achieve your full potential if you’re being praised for being where you are?”

“Because you’re not just praising somepony’s position,” Misty Fly answers between bites. “You’re also praising their trajectory.”

Rainbow Dash stops chewing.

“In fact,” Misty Fly continues, “that’s probably the most important thing to praise.” She blinks as her mane blows back, only a rainbow contrail next to her. “Dash?”

Rainbow Dash nervously taps the carved path just outside her parent’s cloud house. The walls are mottled like stone, with wavy windows and rainbow decorations. The only trace of green is on the tinted windows, so unlike Ponyville and Mrs. Shy’s. She can hear her sire harvesting the clouds in the back yard - the regenerating stratus are always growing, the excess sold as sod - but she can’t find the words that she’ll say to him.

How did she not see that before? She had resented her parent’s incessant cheering, their obsession over what she saw as insignificant achievements. Of course she was focused on the here and now - she always tends to live in the moment - and never considered that their praise might have been what bolstered her confidence and kept her climbing. And how had she treated Scootaloo? She didn’t heap praise; no, she pushed and pushed, never satisfied with almost hovering or her comparatively slow pace when she raced down the hoofball field. She wanted a filly who could improve, but she didn’t, she couldn’t see in what direction her filly had. It had all been about flying. She’s so glad Scootaloo doesn’t resent her for that - unless Scootaloo is as good at hiding her true feelings as she is.

But what is she going to say?

Thanks, mom and dad, for always supporting me? Sorry for leaving you out of my life for seven years because I thought I had stalled, and I was worried your praise would keep me in that rut?

Huh. When she puts it like that, it does sound kind of silly.

The sound of the harvester cuts off, her sire calling, “Uh, honey?” as he stares at the rainbow contrail above their house. He wipes a bit of sweat from his brow onto his green shirt, yet his mohawk rainbow mane remains as perky as ever.

“Yes, dear?” her dam’s voice returns, muffled until the goggled blue mare sticks her head out the upstairs window. “Done already? The bath is nearly…”

Windy Whistles trails off as she spots Rainbow Dash. She pushes her goggles up to her orange and scarlet mane, jaw slowly dropping before snapping to a gregarious grin.

It takes her sire only slightly longer to recognize that the quickly dissipating rainbow ends at his daughter.

“I should have known!” Bow Hothoof bellows, abandoning his harvester to embrace his filly in a rib-bending hug. “Who leaves the best contrails? You do!”

“And they last so long!” Windy Whistles strains to make out the tail end of the rainbow, whistling appreciatively. And loudly. Very loudly. Also, overly long in duration. Rainbow Dash can’t help but think every eye in the neighborhood is on them. Even Fluttershy, lagging far behind and following said contrail, seems to be snickering. “Best aerial performance ever!”

“Yeah, sure,” Rainbow Dash deflects, rubbing at the back of her mane. Or she would if her sire would let her go, but he’s too busy crushing her, only made worse when her dam joins in. “Can, um, can we take this inside?”

When her parents don’t respond Rainbow Dash groans, waddles to the front door, and lets herself in. At least they’re not dead weight, sort of helping with their wings except when they have to slot through the thin opening. Then they just pinball back and forth with every flap until a lucky twist slips them through and sends them tumbling to the floor. At which point they still haven’t let go.

Inside looks just like she remembers, with half a dozen different places to sit down, depending on what kind of mood she’s in. Rainbow Dash crawls to the biggest couch, since it can hold all of them, though a good part of her wants to curl up and hide inside the egg-shaped chair.

“So strong,” her sire praises, giving her a final hug before settling down. “The strongest pony ever!”

“That’s Princess Celestia,” Rainbow Dash counters with a roll of her eyes.

“Strongest pegasus?” Windy Whistles tries.

“Bulk Biceps.” Unless they’re talking wingpower, in which case it very well might be her, as nopony else can generate a Sonic Rainboom. She allows a thin, preening smile. “Okay, that one might be true.”

“Yey!” her dam cheers,

Rainbow Dash’s rolling eyes wander to her dam’s collection of Princess Celestia themed decorative plates. One of the four stands out. “Hey, did you get some new additions to your collection?”

“Aren’t you just the most perceptive pony ever!” Windy Whistles grins, and when Rainbow Dash doesn’t counter that true fact she flits over to show off the plate with the same painfully large amount of enthusiasm. “This one was hoof crafted and fired by Princess Celestia herself! You can see how she carefully worked the gold with the ceramic, not just as an overglaze or gilding but solid metal!” She steps back, her entire collection of Celestia dolls and statuettes and impressionist paintings on display.

“Wow. That’s really special.” Rainbow Dash gulps, not at all sure how to start this. “And, um, speaking of really special, I have something I need to tell you.”

“Oh,” Windy Whistles returns, suddenly serious. “We have something we need to tell you, too.”

The shift is so stark Rainbow Dash dreads whatever comes next, made only worse when her sire joins her dam in solemnly nodding, the two holding onto each other for support. “W-what is it?”

Windy Whistles and Bow Hothoof simultaneously rip off their shirts, revealing t-shirts with her cutie mark of a cloud and multicolored lightning bolt.

“Just how awesome you are!!”

Relief floods Rainbow Dash, enough to make the room spin. “What?!”

“Doesn’t she just have the best reactions?” Bow Hothoof grins as Windy Whistles dutifully snaps a picture, again pulling Rainbow Dash into a hug.

“We heard you like pranks,” Windy Whistles explains.

“So you’ve worn my cutie mark every day,” Rainbow Dash squints as tries to parse this, “just in case I happened to show up?”

“We had to do something with the overstocked boxes,” Bow Hothoof offers. “Since your arrival into the Wonderbolts was delayed.”

Windy Whistles gives her an almost apologetic smile. “We also made napkins, table cloths, dish rags, sheets, and quilts.”

The thought of her parents wearing her cutie mark, while sleeping on her cutie mark, makes Rainbow Dash a tad nauseous. “Yeah. Right. And, um, about my arrival into the Wonderbolts being delayed.”

She draws in a deep breath, her parents’ grins turning up to full blast. “You’re gonna be grandparents again!”

If she thought her parents were loud before, it’s nothing compared to the massive eruption they let out, like Fluttershy pre-Sonic Rainboom versus Fluttershy after.

Somewhere, in the chaos and the congratulations and the repeated bear hugs that go on for far too long, Fluttershy lets herself in, her mane blown back by the exuberance.

“Best announcement ever!” Windy Whistles exclaims between squeezes. “I knew you had it in you!”

“Of course it was in her,” Bow returns, apple-eating grin wide. “How else do you think it happened?”

Windy Whistles wallops her husband over the head. He groans as he lets go, but his grin remains. “Ignore him, dear,” she says, Rainbow Dash wishing she could. “Now. Colt or filly? Or are you leaving that a surprise?”

“Colt,” Rainbow Dash says, glad for the respite, however brief. Her ears fold down. “I’m, um, sorry I didn’t tell you about Scoots until she was born. And then, um, didn’t involve you all that much after.”

“That was your choice, dear,” Windy says, seeming far more understanding than Rainbow Dash would be were the positions reversed. “We’re happy to support you, however you choose.”

Rainbow Dash lets out a small, only slightly impertinent smile. “As long as that support is long, and loud, and frequent.”

“It sounds like you found a stallion who’ll treat you the same way,” Bow rejoins, earning himself another playful swat in the head.

Windy Whistles shakes out her wings, ignoring the stallion now splayed out on the floor. “More importantly, dear. Was that remorse I heard, the product of a lesson learned?”

Rainbow Dash offers a hopeful smile. “It was. And, um, if you want to be a larger part in this little guy’s life, then, um, you’re welcome to.”

Windy Whistles glances at her husband. “We have been talking about moving.”

Bow nods back. “And Ponyville would be a fertile market.” He evades his wife’s wing this time, ready for it. “Is your house still the only cloud-based?”

“Yup.” Rainbow Dash scratches at the back of her mane. “We might need to rezone some areas, build ‘em low, to keep the aesthetic. Mayor Mare can be pretty particular about that.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Bow says, his chest puffing out. “Leave that to the professionals.”

“Professional rapscallion, more like it,” Windy counters with a wink. “But, you’re sure, dear? We wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“I think I need a bit more of that intrusion in my life.” Rainbow Dash grins at her parents. “Your support helped make me the awesome, confident, amazing, awesome, and awesome pony that I am today. I took that for granted for too long.”

“We’d better get started right away, then!” Bow Hothoof leaps up to give Rainbow Dash a final hug, then darts from this item to that and makes sure everything in the room is strapped down. Windy Whistles gives Rainbow Dash a firm pat on the withers before gathering up the things that aren’t.

Rainbow Dash gives them a wave goodbye before slinking out of the house, her wings conspicuously covering her cutie marks. Fluttershy, who has perhaps wisely stayed to the side the entire time, raises an eyebrow.

“It’s one thing to have them back in my life,” Rainbow Dash explains as they fly back to the Shy household. “And quite another to have them fawning over every little thing I do.”

“Even so,” Fluttershy says, “it’s nice to have parents so supportive.”

“Yeah,” Rainbow Dash admits, grinning. “It sure is.”

Their good spirits last until they return, and Fluttershy spots Hedge working on one of the floating plants, a solid splotch of green marking the filly’s brown flanks. None of the other mares seem to have returned, and Acridy is nowhere to be seen. At first Rainbow Dash thinks it might be something stuck to the dirty filly’s side, but by the way the image ripples in the wind?

“Hedge!” Fluttershy exclaims, more in shock than in joy. She zips closer, faster than Rainbow Dash has ever seen. As they get closer they can make out the finer details of the stunned filly’s side: a mass of dark green vines with pointed leaves spilling out of an obscured cloud planter. A pair of orange spots seem to hide inside. “Is… is that your cutie mark?!”

Hedge glances back at her flank. She gulps nervously. “Y-yes?”

Fluttershy stares at the mark while occasionally glancing at the surrounding planters. “Oh, dear.”

“Is that…” Rainbow Dash guesses, squinting and trying to make out anything else among the leaves.

“...You can say it,” Hedge answers, heading bowing.

Rainbow Dash sports her best apple-eating grin. “A hedge?”

Hedge, still bowed, shrugs slightly. “Maybe?”

“Oh?” Rainbow Dash snickering. “Hedging your bet?”

“Rainbow Dash,” Fluttershy admonishes, though Rainbow Dash only rolls her eyes. She turns back to Hedge, her eyes slowly widening.

“I-it’s not an animal,” Hedge whispers. Fluttershy just stares. “I know you wanted me to get one like that.”

“What?” Rainbow Dash asks. Her grin returns. “You’re sorry you got a… hedge?”

“‘M sorry,” Hedge whimpers.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Rainbow Dash says, giving Fluttershy an expectant look. “Right?”

“It’s a plant,” Fluttershy says, chewing on her lip. “But Applejack’s been hoping for an apple on her fillies.”

Rainbow Dash’s face scrunches up. “Wait. You’re not mad that Hedge got a hedge for a mark, but that Applejack might resent you for it?”

Fluttershy offers a meek smile. “Err. Yes? She’s been hoping for one, any kind of plant, really, and I’ve gone and beaten her to it.”

“Yeah, well, she’ll get more shots at it.” Rainbow Dash winks at Fluttershy, whose gloom finally seems to let up. “Besides, we should be happy! And supportive, even if she is a pegasus with a plant cutie mark.”

“Of course,” Fluttershy agrees, embracing her filly. “I’m so happy! You got your cutie mark!”

“Thanks,” Hedge says, returning the embrace, lifting a hoof for Rainbow Dash to join in.

Ch. 171 - Spirit Guards, Part One

Twilight carefully places her well-worn bookmark as the train comes to a trundling halt. She’s not exactly sure why Rarity insisted on taking the commuter instead of just teleporting; they could have been getting to the bottom of this cutie map problem hours ago!

“You’ve been staring out that window the entire time,” Twilight observes. It comes out more ornery than she means. She much prefers the view one gets from free-flying outside, and her wings itch with restless energy. The cost of being cooped up, she supposes, and finds Rainbow Dash’s habit of hovering everywhere oddly alluring. Though she doesn’t want to draw too much attention to herself, and she wonders if Rarity would view her the same way that she used to see Rainbow Dash: a bit of a showboat around those hapless grounded ponies.

Rarity, wide-eyed face firmly pressed against the thick glass, fails to budge.

“Rarity,” Twilight gripes with a roll of her eyes, “you can stop looking at everything like that. You’ve been here before; it’s just Canterlot.” Not that the lacquered gold and alabaster of the capital city looks bad, if too ostentatious for her liking.

“Sorry,” Rarity says, then immediately corrects herself with a swift shake of her head. “No, I’m not sorry. This is Canterlot! The capital of Equestria! The pinnacle of couture, the apex of fashion! Everything looks so amazing, from the highest spire to the garden mazes to the niche boutiques!” She peels away to grace Twilight with her most ingratiating grin. “Darling, you’ll have to show me around!”

“Darling?” Twilight’s muzzle scrunches up. “You only use ‘darling’ when you’re trying to get something.”

“That’s not true,” Rarity objects, turning back to stare out the window. The other ponies have disembarked, leaving them alone. “I call Doug darling all the time.”

Twilight snorts. “I stand corrected. Besides, you must have me confused with a different Princess. I wouldn’t know the streets of Canterlot from the back of my mane.”

Rarity regards Twilight’s mane with a volatile mixture of disdain and well-meant advice, much like the shampoos she’s always trying to get her to use. “I keep telling you, you should join me at Aloe’s. Ooh, do you think the royal spa is available?”

Twilight pulls out their planned schedule. Each fifteen minute block has been filled in, leaving precious little time for extraneous activities. Her dam works late, and her sire often sleeps during the day so he can be fully awake at night, so it just makes sense to see Rarity’s parents first. She pretends not to notice how her herdmate’s face falls. “I’m not sure; I’d have to check with the Princesses.”

“Oh, pshaw, darling. You’re a Princess!” Rarity suddenly grins, far too ebullient. “Just walk up there, and I’m sure we could luxuriate for hours!”

“Rarity,” Twilight lectures, “the map called us here for a reason.”

Rarity sighs, but concedes with a heavy nod. “Yes, yes, of course.”

The two exit into the busy station, luggage levitating behind them. Rarity stops, glancing backward at the train. “I was curious, though, about the history of the rails. Did they always take such a tortuous track up the mountain?”

Trivia surges into Twilight’s head, demanding to be shared with somepony, anypony who would listen. Especially somepony who just used ‘tortuous’ correctly. “The trains used to be slower,” she explains, breaking away from the crowds heading inside the mountain. She heads to the edge, feeling a tingle as she trips a sensor that corresponds with two pegasi glancing up from their perches. They quickly go back to scanning the cloudless skies, watching the airships come and go from the nearby sky docks.

Access to the open air is a premium in Canterlot, and the cavernous train station is no exception. Much of the excess rock has been chiseled away, leaving periodic reinforced pillars that would block an airship from entering but allow pegasi to slip between. Their little alcove is out of the way, though the view it offers is spectacular. Untouched land stretches for miles and miles to the south, forests and rivers and occasional hills that gradually turn into the deserts of Appleloosa and the rocky and foreboding backdrop of the Macintosh Hills. She looks down, and down, the nearly mile-long drop down the steep slope only marginally less dizzying now that she has wings. She has to lean over the ornate railing and crane her neck to see Ponyville, her school but a speck of color among the vibrant shops and houses. She can easily understand why the other Princesses live here, though she can’t see herself leaving Ponyville any time soon.

“In fact,” Twilight explains to the hesitant unicorn behind her, “there are three other tracks one can use to ascend or descend Mount Canterhorn on the outside.” Her horn lights up, an image of the mountain appearing with the tracks lit up in gold. “One pair operates on a funicular system, with pulleys and waypoints that allow one to traverse the height with minimal energy expenditure. But energy conservation is less of an issue because of the interior lifts, so those tracks serve as a backup, or in case maintenance needs to be done.” She leans over the railing to point at the tracks with their distinctive cables.

Rarity approaches the edge with far more trepidation, only stretching her neck out long enough to catch a glimpse before retreating. “And which course do you think has the best view?”

Twilight chuckles. “They all go up the same mountain with minimal tunnel usage. In fact, most of what used to be interior tunnels has been shifted to exterior tracks, as the price of dwellings that border the outside has increased by…”

Twilight trails off, her eyes widening at the realization. She whirls upon her herdmate. “You’re using my love of trains to derail us!”

Rarity sheepishly rubs at the back of her head. “Err, of course not, darling.”

“We need to get back on track.” Twilight sticks her nose in the air. “Now, given that the others went to places where their parents live, I think it only logical to start there.”

“Yes,” Rarity agrees as she stares at the ground, rubbing one foreleg against the other. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

While Twilight would never have considered herself the most in tune with somepony else’s emotions, it’s obvious even to her that something is wrong. “Hey,” she says, drawing close to Rarity and offering what she hopes is a comforting wing around her side. She glances down at her schedule, then puts the paper away. It pains her to deviate, but Friends come first. “You okay?”

It takes Rarity a moment to respond. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen my parents,” she forces out, almost at a whimper. “And, we didn’t exactly leave on the best of terms. So…”

Twilight grimaces. She didn’t realize it was so bad. None of them really talk about their parents, but she assumed their relationships were all at least cordial. “Do you want us to see my parents first?”

Rarity nods just the slightest amount.

“Alright. I can understand that.” Twilight straightens up, focusing on one of the upper plazas that juts out from the mountain. With an easy surge of power and a raspberry flash she teleports; another blink takes them to Luna’s balcony, then to just outside her parents’ villa.

“Whew,” Rarity exclaims, unsteady on her hooves. “Just, give me a moment.” One eye struggles to focus on Twilight, the other behind a closed eyelid. “Three group teleports in a row? I must say, you have taken to pregnancy better than any mare I know. With twins, no less! While over here I can barely weave three spells together without feeling exhausted.”

“Oh. Really?” Twilight rubs a hoof self-consciously; she doesn’t mean to make her Friend feel bad, or to show off! “It must be my alicorn powers. I’ve noticed a slight drop in efficiency, but trifling compared to what most mares report.”

“I know,” Rarity reassures between deep breaths, “you do not mean to brag. But the power you so casually throw around…” She shakes the doldrums from her head, then looks up at the tall double doors. “Very nice place your parents have.”

Twilight never thought about it before, but now that Rarity mentions it she has to concede the villa is very nice. Lavish, even, though not quite as conspicuous and gaudy as many of the mansions that dot Upper Canterlot. Tall windows frame the front and sides, with pink curtains half drawn against the noon sun. Lavender bushes climb the sides, their planters situated under windows and above doors, with purple blossoms contrasting the muted gold and alabaster. They trot along the crescent path, white and black stones making a mosaic of the mare in the moon, and admire the blue-flowering gardens on each side.

The front door swings open easily, Twilight not bothering to knock. The parlor has a lounge couch for two opposite a rarely-used fireplace, decorations of historic battles, a set of crossed swords (not to be touched! even with magic!) and a suit of plated barding, complete with helmet. A brief check of her thaumic sight shows every object (including the carpet) to be enchanted, ranging from simple softness and self-cleaning on the couch to automated dancing on the swords, triggered by a command word. Perks of Princess Celestia’s employment, she supposes, though she wishes the defensive layers surrounding the house weren’t necessary.

A dark blue curl of a mane pokes out from the kitchen, the rest of Night Light quickly following. “Hey, Twily!” her sire greets with a whisper, levitating off the ‘World’s Best Sire’ apron she and Shiny got him a few years back. He tiptoes over the carpet to greet her with a firm hug. He turns to Rarity, offering her a nod, smile, and similar firm hug, clearing her for access deeper into the house. “Rarity, good to see you; you’re both looking well. Cadance is in the other room,” he says, explaining the whisper, “and she’s a bit…”

“Nighty?” comes a call from the kitchen, swiftly followed by unsteady hoofsteps on the tile. “Who’s there? Is it…”

Twilight has to do a double take when Cadance comes around the corner. She looks like she did after spending a week Chrysalis’ captivity, haggard and unkempt with bags under her eyes and a disheveled messiness to her mane. At least she smells better, and has a fullness to her barrel that complements her otherwise slender figure.

Cadance’s eyes brighten as she spots Twilight, though her approaching steps are lethargic and unsure. “Sunshine, sunshine, ladybugs awake!”

Twilight returns the song and dance with a vigor that seems to inspire her fellow Princess. “Clap your hooves and do a little shake!”

The two bump rumps, devolving into giggles as their foalhood dance completes. “What are you doing here?” Twilight asks, hopping onto the couch as her sire leaves to grab a platter of snacks. With a bluntness she somewhat regrets, she appends, “And, um, how are you doing?”

“Oh, this?” Cadance says, brushing her mangy mane back with an embarrassment Twilight normally doesn’t see on the Princess.

“Heavens,” Rarity exclaims, leery of getting her hooves close, as though it might contaminate her. “Don’t take me wrong, but to borrow a leaf from Applejack’s tree? You look terrible. Like a robbing rat Opal dragged in.”

Cadance merely nods along. “I feel like I’ve eaten something that disagrees with me, but I’m afraid it’s this hungry little girl.”

Twilight’s brow furrows as Cadance taps at her belly, her eyes shining white. As far as she can tell everything looks healthy, if perhaps parched, a pony close to the end of her reserves. The sort of sight you might find after a long session of rigorous practice.

“I haven’t noticed any difference from my first time,” Rarity ventures, either unable to clear the frown from her muzzle or unaware it is there. Twilight suspects the latter. “Some shortness, but never so much as to cause overt distress.”

“I’m definitely sensing an increased draw,” Twilight says, dropping her mage-sight to better focus on Cadance’s reaction. “More than the two of mine combined.”

Cadance sighs, joining Twilight on the couch. In fact, she gets far closer to Twilight than normal, snuggling like a mare would with her stallion. Twilight lifts her wing, hoping the closeness helps; it seems to, but not by much. “She’s certainly a hungry baby,” she says, “and I’ve been putting in extra hours at the Crystal Empire. But… I… oh, dear.”

“Hey,” Twilight says, joking and at the same time quite serious, “I helped get you into this mess. You can tell me anything.”

Cadance snickers, though the glee is short-lived. “It is somewhat… personal.”

Twilight fixes her with a steely glare. “More personal than watching my brother ejaculate inside you, then having to study his sperm closely enough to time when they would reach your egg?”

Night Light, who was about to walk into the room, does an abrupt one-eighty back into the kitchen while whistling tunelessly. Rarity snags the plate of snacks in his aura; the three mares eagerly partake, Cadance especially glad for something to stuff in her mouth.

“It is about Shining Armor,” Cadance explains after she finishes her cucumber and mayonnaise sandwich, leaving the more exotic cheeses and crackers for the others, though Rarity contests the other pieces of the unicorn’s favorite meal. “I know he still loves me,” she quickly appends at their shocked reaction, though it does little to mollify their distress. “He sees me every chance he gets. And he’s doing it for the baby’s sake.”

“But?” Twilight Sparkle and Rarity demand simultaneously.

Cadance buries her head in Twilight’s side. “But what is the Princess of Love if she can’t get any?”

Ch. 172 - Spirit Guards, Part Two

It’s almost like Rarity can’t help herself. “I thought you specifically weren’t the Princess of Sex?”

“Yeah.” And, apparently, neither can Twilight; the distraught alicorn burying her head in Twilight’s side garners little sympathy. “And I distinctly remember, when the map called you to Seaquestria, you and Shiny… getting some.”

Cadance just hugs Twilight tighter, muffling her sobs.

Twilight immediately feels bad, and from the way Rarity’s muzzle draws tight it’s apparent she does too. “I mean, um, I’m sure he has his reasons.”

“That’s the worst part!” Cadance exclaims, as she pulls away, her large, expressive eyes puffy and red. “I can’t even get mad at him, because he’s right! That one time, when he really let loose?” Another weeping cry sends her into a blubbering wreck. “He b-b-battered away at m-me, and afterwards I was so sore, and when he thought about what he nearly did, if he had pushed too hard?”

“I-I didn’t realize,” Rarity says, trying to be reassuring. She surreptitiously glances at Twilight, asking with her eyes.

Twilight wishes she didn’t know this, but nods; yes, her brother really is that big. Rarity, to conceal her vivid reaction, takes the time to inspect the various objects decorating the room, spending an awfully long time on the glass cabinet containing Shining Armor’s commendations and awards.

Cadance sniffs, long and hard, as she wipes away her tears. “And here I am, overreacting to every little thing. It helps, when he’s just with me, laying by my side. It even helps when Nighty is here, or you.” She gives a cautious smile to her sire-in-law, now standing at the doorway to the kitchen with a worried look on his face. He must have heard Cadance crying out, and came to investigate despite the uncomfortable topic.

Twilight’s eyes turn white as she again engages her mage-sight. She, Rarity, and Night Light shine pale pink, light blue, and pale blue respectively, no trace of the foal inside the two mares - a discrepancy resolved by a similar scanning spell Celestia taught her, developed by her former student Sunset Shimmer as a way to detect Doug’s abnormal foals. Cadance, on the other hoof, has an angry yellow buried in her cornflower blue, which is closer to how other pregnant mares present. What isn’t normal is how the miniscule aura inside pulses Shining Armor’s rose. Except it isn’t pulsing out, it’s drawing in, the thaumic currents inside Cadance straining to keep up.

She wishes she knew what is causing this, and at the same time knows the answer: the spell she used to drain Shining Armor’s seed of its unicorn magic, letting it safely combine with the alicorn, a spell also devised by Sunset Shimmer. Now that magic is seeping back in. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say she wishes she knew what to do about this; it sounds like a very similar (if opposite) problem that Doug’s foals face, where a portion of their magic goes to suppressing the ‘human’ aspects that might otherwise problematically present themselves. The unicorn magic is trying to make itself known, to integrate with the alicorn, but that has always resulted in an abrupt and unavoidable termination.

Cadance turns back to Twilight, her wistful gaze intensifying. “It feels so good when he’s with me, like the baby can sense her sire is close. There’s this sense of relief, and replenishment, and… Oh, it’s like taking a drink after a long and thirsty day. Do… Do you think Doug would have any advice? Or do you?”

“I-I’m afraid Doug has never had that… particular problem,” Twilight says, suddenly acutely aware of her sire listening in. The thought creeps in, wondering if it is a problem her sire shares, but just the idea of asking him (or checking for herself!) colors her cheeks with a furious blush.

Rarity steps in, Twilight incredibly thankful for the more experienced fashionista. “Have you tried a different position? One where his… length is not able to fully come into play?”

“We talked about it,” Cadance explains, “but this was after, and…”

Her ears swivel, locking onto the front door. A moment later a knock comes. Night Light answers, revealing a blue-maned and currently unhelmeted guard with a goofy grin on his white muzzle.

The change in Cadance is immediate and apparent. Weariness falls from her face like rain off her coat, her light purple eyes show no trace of her tears, and even her sweeping mane loses its mangy appearance to slicken and regains its attractive curls. The relief is palpable, the lifting of a great weight off her withers. She bounds forward, limp gone, and embraces her husband, peppering him with kisses and moans and what Twilight desperately hopes isn’t actually an invitation to take her then and there.

“Careful, Cady,” Shining Armor warns, weathering the barrage of kisses with a stoicism that might leave Twilight infuriated if she was on the receiving end of such reservation. “I love you. But I’m still on the clock.”

“It’ll be quick,” Cadance promises, enticing the stallion with flicks of her voluptuous tail. “I’ll be on my back, and-”

A flash of anger crosses his face. “Human-style?” He finally acknowledges Twilight’s and Rarity’s presence with a glance and curt nod. Hey, L-S-B-F-F. Rarity. Dad. Sorry I can’t stay, but I need to get back to patrol. I just had to make sure somepony-” he turns to Cadance, offering her a genuine smile and quick kiss that she obviously wishes was longer “-was okay.”

“They really need you that badly?” Rarity asks, halfway to a demand at their (Celestia’s?) unreasonableness.

When Shining Armor returns a steely nod Rarity’s face scrunches up in confusion. He asks, incredulous, “You haven’t heard?”

Rarity shakes her head.

Shining Armor takes a deep breath. “Radiant Hope and Tempest Shadow have been spotted at various large events.”

A chill runs down Twilight’s spine. “Sombra’s back?”

Shining Armor grimaces. “Officially, these are only rumors. Somepony seeing a shadow and jumping to conclusions. But we do have at least one confirmed case of him appearing before a crowd and speaking.”

“Speaking?” Rarity says, almost offended by the lack of significance. “That’s all?”

“So far.” Shining Armor glances up at the sun and frowns. “A few minutes ago, Rad and Shad were spotted outside the Pitmare Arena. I need to get there, make sure they aren’t causing another disturbance.” He gives Cadance’s mane a fond stroke, holding her close. “But, just in case something happened, I wanted to stop by and say how much I love you.”

Twilight recognizes the arena, but only from maps of the underground part of the city: it is where the Canterlot Miners and the Canterlot Castles play hoofball. There is a game scheduled for later today, part of the reason she wanted to see Rarity’s parents early.

Twilight and Rarity exchange worried glances. “Another disturbance?”

Shining Armor huffs, made difficult by how closely Cadance is holding him. “I wish we could book them on disturbing the peace, or incitement, but it’s always been the crowds. They want Radiant Hope to take a look at them, but they don’t want to listen to what Tempest Shadow has to say.”

“And,” Rarity says, miffed at the vague explanation, “what has she been saying?”

Shining Armor offers Cadance a sly smile as he replaces his helmet. The enchantment washes away the color of his mane, and even some of his bulk, leaving him indistinguishable from any other guard aside from the captain badge on his chest. “You could join me, hear for yourself.”

“Of course we’ll come along,” Cadance assures, grateful to not have to leave her husband’s side. Twilight confirms with a nod, curious if this is why the map sent them. “We should monitor the game, too, in case something happens there.” Her eyes light up. “We could use the Princess Box!”

“We would need to get there quickly,” Rarity says, far more familiar with the stadium’s procedures than Twilight. “They’ll have raffled it off otherwise.”

“Quickly quickly?” Twilight asks, readying for a group teleport. She could locate the large cavern that makes up the Pitmare Arena with a series of scanning spells, but would rather not take the risk. “Or just a fast trot?”

Rarity peers outside, muzzle tightening. Twilight’s not sure if it’s because of the deadline or the possibility of running into her parents. Regardless, she decides she better not leave anything to chance, and trots to her sire to give him a quick hug. It feels a little awkward, but she chalks that up to nearly being the same size and things not lining up like they used to. “Love you, daddy.”

“Love you, too, Twily. I’ll tell mom you said hi.” Night Light pulls away, stifling a yawn. “You kids have fun, but some of us need to sleep for our night shift.”

“Thanks for keeping Cady company,” Shining Armor says, giving a quick wave before departing.

The others hurry behind, his quick pace taking them underground almost immediately. They don’t bother to take any of the lifts, those mostly reserved for ponies going up, and rush down Screw Friendship, one the six spiraling tunnels collectively known as The Screws that can take a pony from the surface all the way down to the lowest levels or even the base of the mountain. The broad passageways are tall enough to accommodate pegasi flying in both directions while earth ponies and unicorns trudge underneath (though most pegasi prefer to live somewhere - anywhere at all, really - with an outside commute).

Twilight never really had a cause to visit the lower parts of Canterlot before, and finds she doesn’t regret this in the slightest. The top of the tunnels are the most crowded; the crush gradually lessens, fewer and fewer to rush past in their hasty descent, until two twists down a mass of ponies blocks the wide entryway to the stadium. Hundreds throng about, maybe more, all restlessly shifting, their attention trained on a single spot even as their bodies orient along a meandering path. At first she worries it might be the beginning of some sort of brawl between rival teams, but the few guards are on the outskirts, more looking for trouble than directing traffic. A lone voice competes against an agitated din, the odd shout sometimes hushed and sometimes joined by other complaints.

Twilight wonders what they are in line for; she spreads her wings to take off, to get a better view. The nearest few ponies automatically compress against each other even as they grumble about doing so, though to little avail, as the crowd is easily a dozen deep. The limited airspace is likewise blocked by pegasi hovering wingtip to wingtip, clustering in a manner Twilight has never seen before, making it impossible for her to see deeper into the crowd.

A young colt sheds his crutch as he peels off from the front of the ‘line’, accompanied by a mare Twilight assumes is his dam. He looks emaciated, with the skin around his nose raw and eyes red, but has a bright smile that reminds Twilight of Cadance just after Shining Armor showed up. The others step back in awe as he prances to a partly filled sign that lists diseases and symptoms. Some are common, such as reins, the spurs, or a sprained wing. The others are ones Twilight would expect to see at the palliative care ward or hospice, the sort of incurable illnesses only the most scurrilous of scoundrels would claim to treat, much less cure: horsentery, encephalomyelitis, or the Clydesdale fur blight. The colt grabs a marker and writes “Strangles”, an infection that certainly belongs on the second of those two lists.

Twilight, curious what could be the cause of the colt’s elation, takes a deep breath and plunges into the crowd. Shining Armor follows closely behind, then Rarity, with Cadance taking the rear, her wings puffed a few inches from her body. The gap closes behind, packing them in as they get closer to the center.

Twilight stops at the edge, stunned by the sight of a fully horned Tempest Shadow pacing back and forth with every eye and ear trained on her.

Ch. 173 - Spirit Guards, Part Three

Tempest Shadow restlessly trots from one end of the small enclosure she has staked for herself to the other. Her cutie mark of a twisting explosion shines as it shifts, stark against her orchid coat. Her bright eyes, full of passion and righteous ardor yet notably lacking in anger, slide from one pony to the next. Twilight has the eerie impression she is taking in the entirety of their character in a mere glance. The alicorn steadily meets her gaze until the unicorn moves on to Rarity, then Shining Armor, and then Cadance, sparing each no more time than any other.

Her rant never ceases, even when other ponies interject their two bits.

“-of Harmony! To live a life of Order! To live a life of unity! There is no higher calling, there is nothing greater! Dedicate yourself to this, with every fiber of your being! In doing so, will you not fulfill your mark, fulfill the precious tenets that Harmony has graciously bestowed upon you? There is joy to be found living in accordance with Honesty, with Generosity, with Loyalty, with Kindness, with Laughter, and with Magic, which is Friendship!”

Twilight finds herself wanting to stamp along, except she would be the only pony doing so. The surrounding ponies groan, roll their eyes, and mutter vague obscenities about Tempest’s parentage. She finds herself baffled as to why.

“This is not new,” Tempest Shadow continues with a shake of her bright rose mane. “This is not a message you have not heard before. Yet it is that very repetition that has quenched any fire you have had, that has blunted any keenness you have had, that has stilled any energy you have had! Harmony has blessed you with a cutie mark which gives you joy! Why bother with anything else? Strive to be perfect in Friendship and in Love! Or do you believe Harmony will accept you the way you are?”

Ah. That would be why.

Those in line are hesitant to push past the Princesses until it becomes obvious the four are only there to listen, then stream past with muttered apologies. Twilight doesn’t want to stay in their way; she spots a few others who seem similarly situated, pressing against the far wall to avoid the crush of the crowd. Those ponies watch Tempest Shadow with a quiet intensity, the scowls on their muzzles drawing deeper and tighter with every word. Twilight wants to join them, if just in solidarity. But their animosity is by far the minority, the ambivalent or disregarding others steadily heading to the pony at the end of the line.

Radiant Hope. The healer Celestia had praised as being one of, if not the, most talented she has ever seen. The pale purple unicorn idly brushes her flowing ice-blue mane out of sparkling blue eyes and pleasantly greets the next pony in line with a fond smile. The golden caduceus on her flanks shines, a muted pulsing, with every pony that walks past.

“All that Harmony gives is good,” Tempest Shadow expounds. “Why look for joy elsewhere? She has given you the means of finding that joy, has stamped it upon your flank as surely as she has stamped it upon your heart! It is better to live in truth than in falsehood. It is better to be generous than to be greedy. It is better to live loyally than to betray. It is better to be kind than to be malevolent. It is better to have laughter than despair. It is better to have magic, which is friendship, than to have apathy. And if it is better to have these things, why give them up? Why trade lasting joy for fleeting misery?”

The other pony, a middle-aged mare with thick bandages wrapped around her barrel and down one foreleg, stumbles forward. She struggles to avoid using her injured foreleg, stumbling forward as she explains the trauma she endured while cooking. She gingerly pulls off the bandage around her chest, exposing an ugly burn wound.

Radiant Hope nods along. Her horn glows as it bobs, then shuts off a mere moment later. She mouths a few words before her attention turns to the pegasus hovering, both his back legs in a cast.

The mare looks incredulous at first, and more than a little perturbed. She goes to shake her leg at Radiant Hope, and indeed succeeds - only this was the leg she had been avoiding. She stares at it, dumbfounded, and at her fully healed coat, before laughing aloud and giddily galloping to the sign, adding ‘burns’ to the bottom of the growing list.

At first, Twilight cannot believe it. Radiant Hope so, so, so casually healed an extensive burn wound! And then two broken legs! And now a hacking cough alongside an early case of mare-pattern baldness! She shouldn’t be here, she should be stationed at a hospital!

“What sort of pony do you wish to be?” Tempest Shadow demands, not of Twilight or Cadance but of everypony. “Do you wish to pursue disharmony and chaos? To live your life hedonistically, thinking only of yourself and of the moment? Or do you wish to be consumed by your calling, sacrificing all other opportunities for your adventure of a lifetime? So orient yourself toward that adventure, toward your calling, toward Harmony!”

It takes Twilight a moment to realize that bringing Radiant Hope to the hospital may not be necessary, as there are a number of ponies in line wearing hospital gowns, mostly further back in line. Still, spreading by word of mouth, that’s wasting valuable time!

Unless she is here to serve as a draw for Tempest Shadow, a ‘loss leader’ of sorts that gets ponies to step their hoof through the door. But there aren’t any ponies charging admission or assessing after the fact. There isn’t even a donation box! If the price is merely listening to Tempest Shadow rant about how ponies aren’t living up to their potential then it’s no wonder they have a line that would curve throughout the entire stadium if they set up there. Actually, she should go and inquire about reserving the Princess Box, but their group seems to have lost any desire to do so.

Cadance eyes Radiant Hope with a sense of longing, glancing between the unicorn and her belly and their spot far back in line should they have claimed a place when they got there. She takes an unconscious step toward the healer; Shining Armor follows, sticking by her side, and the ponies in line automatically defer to them, though not without grumbles sprouting up about Princesses getting priority. Twilight can hardly believe it, that they would be so ungrateful as to complain about getting a free complete heal fifteen seconds later.

A pony shouts at Tempest Shadow, difficult to tell if she’s heckling or not, “How can I have this joy in my life? How should I be, say, generous?”

Tempest Shadow stops, the first time Twilight has seen her respond to a comment, constructive or otherwise. “There was a certain cave,” she says, Rarity’s ears pricking, “and outside that cave was a pony, stuck in the rain. So the cave called to the pony, ‘Take shelter in my mouth’, and she did, and both were grateful. On a later day, when the pony was sheltering in the cave, she saw the glint of gems and precious metals inside. So she asked the cave if she could mine the gems and the precious metals, and the cave gave up its nodes and veins, and both were grateful. Some time later, when the pony had exhausted the cave, she looked at the tunnels she had widened and carved and said, ‘This would be a good place to live, and to work, and to bear my young. The cave agreed, and soon the sound of foals scampering and playing could be heard throughout the tunnels, and both were grateful. As time went on the tunnels grew and grew, until one day the mouth of the cave had grown so large that it was on the verge of collapse. So the mare, having gathered her family, went to the top of the cave and struck until it collapsed, and the cave was no more. And both were grateful.”

Twilight stares in naked disbelief. No wonder the crowd has turned against Tempest! How could anypony set that as an example, to be so… naively taken advantage of! To be unable to stand up for yourself, for a small favor to expand and expand until it consumed the offeror!

With a shake of her head she turns to follow Cadance, listening with half an ear as hecklers taunt Tempest Shadow. The former commander ignores their jeers and goes back to imploring them to abandon their Discordant ways and return to Order, the words clearly capitalized by her enunciation.

“Can you believe her?” Rarity scoffs with utter disdain. “What a preposterous concept. Is she always like this?”

“Apparently,” Shining Armor confirms as he and Cadance draw close to the front of the line. It moves quickly, one pony after another seen by Radiant Hope and sent away with a quiet word of encouragement. “Why do you think there have been near riots every time they show up?”

“And Friendship?” another pony demands of Tempest Shadow. Or possibly the same one from before. “Who should I show this ‘generosity?’” Twilight can’t help but feel targeted, and wonders if they will ask about Love next.

Tempest Shadow pauses again before saying, “A pony was traveling from Ponyville to Saddle Arabia when her caravan slipped, plummeting into the Ghastly Gorge and dragging her along with it. Stuck clinging to the rocky cliffs with little hope of rescue the pony called to a passing earth pony and pegasus, but they ignored her. Later, a traveling unicorn with her own cart likewise passed by, but she turned a deaf ear to the pony’s cries. Finally, a griffon was flying by. He spotted the isolated, defenseless pony and swooped down, grasping her with his talons.”

Twilight Sparkle gulps, along with much of the audience, a single foal letting loose a high-pitched cry that is quickly shushed. She knows where stories with griffons have gone, at least historically; the predators are kept at a distance for good reason. Only the most intrepid (and able to defend themselves) travel to the Griffon Empire, and even then will make every excuse not to.

“With beats of his powerful wings the griffon lifted the pony, then set her down on the cliffside road where he tended to her wounds. Likewise he flew to the bottom of the Gorge and, piece by piece, retrieved the remains of her supplies and caravan, which he repaired as best he could. Seeing the state of the pony he bade her to lie down inside while he hauled the caravan to the next town, where he refused any payment, and even provided his own bits toward her recovery. Now, which of these three showed the pony Friendship?”

“The one who helped,” the pony says, reluctant to even say that much.

Twilight agrees with the reluctance of the pony with every fiber of her being. Tempest Shadow has completely mischaracterized griffons. Granted, the number of griffons she has personally met isn’t the largest, but the ones she knows are to a feather greedy, grasping, and as prone to help without recompense as she is to set a book on fire. And her idea that Equestrians would just ignore the plight of their fellow pony? Preposterous! Utterly absurd!

More and more of the crowd agrees with her assessment, their grumbles and complaints growing louder and louder, hooves shaking at the unicorn who dared to insult her fellow ponies. It might be Twilight’s imagination, but several of the ponies are shaking their I. V. stands like they are pitchforks, the beginnings of an unruly mob forming.

She might have done something to stop this except, as Cadance comes to the front of the line, Radiant Hope gasps, scurrying back a step.

“Abomination,” the healer spits out, locking eyes with Cadance. “What have you done?!”

Ch. 174 - Spirit Guards, Part Four

Twilight grits her teeth. She recalls Discord saying ‘If you have to trick Harmony into going along, it de facto makes it an abomination’, though he had been referencing her twins. And now Radiant Hope is saying the same thing about Cadance, or her foal?

“How dare you,” Cadance growls at Radiant Hope. She takes a step forward, as does Tempest Shadow, withers to withers with her husband, and both lock eyes with the unrepentant unicorns. A chill runs down Twilight’s spine as they square off, a hush coming over the crowd. “You talk of Harmony and Kindness, yet call an innocent foal an abomination?”

Radiant Hope raises her muzzle higher as Cadance spits out her words. “Is it Kind or Honest to call a pile of dirt a bale of hay, and feed it to your young? Harmony has bestowed upon you Her gifts. Yet you have taken those gifts and twisted them, denying Harmony’s primacy in your life as surely as you denied his seed of its magic.”

Twilight’s eyes narrow as worried rumbles permeate the crowd. How could Radiant Hope have gone from not knowing what is wrong to accurately divining the origins of Cadance’s foal? Rumors exist about the nature of Tirek’s magic-draining spell that Celestia researched and taught to Twilight but the exact details remain hidden, for obvious reasons. Or is she testing her?

Cadance’s resolve falters for an instant, her eyes growing wide. “Never.”

“Yet now that magic returns.” Radiant Hope stands straighter, seeming to tower over the shaken alicorn. “For Harmony will prevail through the darkest times and against the strongest of foes, even if those foes are our own desires.”

“She is no mere desire,” Cadance states, cold and hard. Next to her Shining Armor snorts, pawing at the ground, clearly unhappy about any slight against his wife or their foal. The crowd echoes his agitation, perceiving an implied threat against their Princess. “And how can you claim she is against Harmony’s will, if we used that very power to bring her about? Does Harmony want her to exist, or not?”

“Harmony is not Chaos,” Radiant Hope says, firm and unyielding, “but Harmony turns Chaos into Order, turns discord into unity, and turns enemies into Friends. What is dark magic except that which would strip a pony of their Harmony, as displayed by their cutie mark? So ask yourself. Do you wish to follow Harmony’s tenets, and subsume your desires under Hers? Or do you wish to follow your own path, to be your own master? For one cannot follow two paths; her hooves will trod along one and spurn the other, or seek one and ignore the other. You cannot serve Harmony and your own heart.”

Cadance shudders as though struck; Shining Armor looks stricken, that he cannot defend his mare. “But Harmony gave me this heart,” she implores, and Twilight isn’t sure if she is referring to her desires or the blue crystal stamped on her flank. “How can the desires of that heart be wrong?”

“When Harmony uplifted us from our ancient horses ancestors,” Radiant Hope says, softer yet still clearly heard by all present, “She imbued in us Her power, the ability to think and to choose. She has no use for automatons, for beings with no will of their own. Yet, for now, Chaos continues to exist in this world, as do the basic desires of our bodies. She wants us to use our Harmony-given talents to follow Her tenets, to act according to Her will, to join Her chorus. The choice exists for us, as it does for Her, the choice about how we act. She will generously bless all who live in Honesty and in Friendship.”

“But not with foals,” Cadance spits out, eyes narrowing.

“Each mare has their own gifts from Harmony,” Radiant Hope concedes to Cadance, “and their own talents, as shown by their mark. Is it not better to focus on those? But if your desires are so inflamed? Harmony has not inspired me, but I would say it is better to herd than to stray.”

Shining Armor scoffs, “And all you demand is our complete devotion? To sing to your tune?”

Radiant Hope addresses Shining Armor, “Harmony demands no less from us than our entirety. You despise it when your mare leaves in the evening and comes to you in the morning; Harmony is no less jealous.”

With a mighty stamp of his hoof Shining Armor shatters the ground, rage contorting his features. Everypony staggers backward. “That’s it! I’ve heard enough. Guards!” Four armored and spear-wielding earth ponies muscle forward at his call with two burly Storm Guards lumbering behind, on loan from one of the joint training exercises Raikou initiated. He points at Radiant Hope and Tempest Shadow, growling, “Arrest these mares.”

Dead silence passes over the restless crowds. They immediately give way, without even a breath of protest, as the six guards warily approach the two unicorns. The earth ponies exchange hesitant glances, not wanting to potentially incite the agitated mob by detaining two clearly peaceful and compliant ponies, even if they were insulting a Princess. The towering Storm Guards have no such compunction, though; one withdraws a pair of metal hobbles from one of the many pockets strewn about his armor, the other a bottle of gel that shines with even the slightest magical current.

Cadance whirls to confront her husband. “What?” she hisses out.

“They are disturbing the peace,” he retorts, his steely gaze leaving no room for argument. “Inciting a mob by insulting the Princesses.” He whispers, “I have to protect you. What good am I if I can’t do that?”

Cadance chews on her lip for a moment before turning back to Radiant Hope. “Why the change of heart?” she implores. “You did not react this way when we met in Klugetown.”

“Why Harmony has revealed these things to me I do not know.” Radiant Hope presents her hooves to be shackled and her horn for the gel. Tempest Shadow gives a disquieted grunt, though makes no motion to intervene. “But she has made clear to me everypony’s iniquities. For Honesty entails that all will be revealed, every hidden thing made visible and every secret exposed to the light. But those who deal in Deceit will despise this, fearing their deceptions being revealed.”

“Sorry, Commander,” one guard says to Tempest Shadow as she is likewise restrained.

“Anything committed against me will be forgiven,” she says, her holier-than-thou attitude played up to the fullest. “But woe to any who besmirch Harmony.”

Shining Armor’s scowl deepens as Cadance continues, “We have nothing to fear, yet you believe us to be separated from Harmony by our desire to be our own master. Do I have that right?”

Radiant Hope nods. “You have ears, but your hearing is not at issue.”

“Then…” Cadance hesitates. She glances at Shining Armor, eyes large as saucers and lips quivering.

“You would trust her?” he spits out. “After what she said?”

Cadance gulps, then slowly walks next to Radiant Hope, the guards standing aside to let her through. “You have healed the others here. Can you heal what ails me?”

“If you wish to again know Harmony?” Radiant Hope closes her eyes and tilts her head upward. Suddenly her muzzle clenches, as if in agony or severe doubt. “If…” she falters, struggling to form the words. “If Harmony required it of you. Would… would you give her up?”

Cadance blinks as she processes the question. “Eh… excuse me? Give her up?” Her eyes slowly widen. “You mean…”

“No!” Shining Armor shouts, whirling on his wife much like she whirled on him, terror straining the stoic unicorn’s normally neutral expression. “Never!”

“I am the Princess of Love,” Cadance states as she stands with her husband, her resolve returning. “There is nothing I would not sacrifice for those I love.”

Radiant Hope opens her eyes to regard Cadance with grim resignation mixed with a steely determination as pointed as her armor piercing question. “But do you love Harmony?”

Cadance’s eyes narrow. Twilight is amazed she can keep her cool and not lash out at the pony who would dare ask such a question. “And what do you know of Harmony? How would I even know that it is Harmony demanding this of me and not some fiend?”

“You have heard what has been said, and seen what has been done.” The chain rattles as Radiant Hope indicates the crowd, many still waiting in line for their turn at being healed. She seems completely unconcerned about the spears pointed at her or the hobble between her legs. “Do our powers, our abilities and talents, not come from Harmony? Could Chaos have produced such effects of Honesty and Laughter? And if you do not believe me about physical things, then how will you believe anything else? Harmony, through Grogar Her servant, has granted me my most fervent wish: to be reunited with Sombra, my love, whom you saw scattered as ashes. She restored Tempest Shadow’s horn, who wandered and searched for decades without avail. She has redeemed the Mad King, purified and sanctified him against the corruption of the Umbrum from which he came. And she can do the same for you.”

Twilight bites her lip. Could she see Discord doing something like this, bringing back foul enemies and getting them to work together? It doesn’t seem like the Lord of Chaos to do such a thing, but she can’t put it past him, either. What would be his end goal?

Cadance’s lip quivers. “I want to believe,” she whispers.

Radiant Hope speaks, so quiet Twilight can barely hear. She suspects the words are also for her. “Harmony knows the contents of your heart. Raise your foal in her tenets, teach her Harmony’s ways. But for you: before you lay down to sleep, turn around three times. The relief you feel from knowing the sire of your foal will extend until the next evening.” She smiles and says louder, “Now go, and live in Harmony.”

Cadance studies the purple unicorn, memorizing the words. “Guards,” she says firmly. “Unchain these mares.”

The Storm Guard dutifully removes the restraints while a burst of magic from Cadance evaporates the gel with a bright flash. Shining Armor looks a little put out that Cadance countermanded his order, and the guard complied without looking to him for confirmation, but says nothing.

“Come on, Shiny,” Cadance says with a wink, trying to stay upbeat. “We’ve got a game to get to.”

Shining Armor gives Radiant Hope and Tempest Shadow a long, hard stare as he nods, keeping his eyes on them as Princess Cadance leads the way through the murmuring crowd.

“What about me?” Twilight asks, stepping forward. “And my foals. Do I need the same advice?”

Radiant Hope turns her head toward Twilight, regarding her with such perplexity as though it was Discord asking about the best ways to spread Harmony. She blinks a few times, her features smoothing. “You worry about your friends and your… foals?” Her features scrunch together again, confused. “About placing them in a higher position than Harmony. Treat them as Harmony has taught: with honesty, generosity, loyalty, kindness, laughter, and magic, which is friendship. Treat all creatures this way, and teach them to live this way, as Heralds of the Chorus to come.”

With a cautious nod and glance to Rarity - who has remained silent the entire time, almost lost in thought - Twilight gallops down the stadium tunnel after Cadance, Rarity following in her wake.

Ch. 175 - Spirit Guards, Part Five

Rarity trundles down the (comparatively) empty hallway, following Twilight without really focusing on the alicorn or the occasional janitor tidying up in preparation for the big game or the concession-ponies setting up their wares. Far more of her attention goes to the white-and-gold decorations lining the walls, histories proclaiming their proudest moments and anguished defeats, posters picturing teams past and present posing around prizes and trophies. She can sense Twilight’s forlorn glance without really looking, knowing the alicorn would like nothing more than to stop by each and every glitzy display, though the often-gaudy decor does an admirable job of distracting from the fact that they are deep underground.

She hadn’t really paid much attention to anything Radiant Hope said, besides making sure nothing was going down, her mind too occupied by Tempest Shadow’s screed. Could she call it a screed? A screed about greed? Indeed, none should heed the steed’s greed screed, to succeed solely in deed as Harmony decreed. Ooh, she should remember that for when she recounts the tale to Pinkie Pie.

“So…” Twilight tentatively asks after nearly half a minute of silence, slowing so they can trot side by side. Cadance and Shining Armor, meanwhile, have only increased their frenetic pace, disappearing from sight around the curved hallway. “What did you think about what Tempest Shadow was saying?”

Rarity scoffs. “It was utterly preposterous.”

“Oh.” Twilight goes silent, but Rarity can see the gears in her head spinning. “All of it, or…”

“Why?” Rarity laughs. “She didn’t persuade you with her nonsense about Generosity, did she?”

She finds it disturbing when Twilight doesn’t immediately agree, and the follow up is even worse.

“Well,” Twilight says as she awkwardly scratches at the back of her mane, avoiding eye contact, “it’s just, I remember Pr- Celestia cautioning me against telling even the smallest, the kindest and most well-intentioned of lies. What Tempest was saying about Generosity and Friendship seemed like a continuation of that.”

Rarity huffs. “Oh, darling, pah-lease. What she was saying was like asking for a dress to be made without any stitching. Possible, maybe, if all you want is a simple frock whose leg and neck holes will fray in a week and wear out completely in a matter of months. I can’t see her teaching going any other way; nopony would be able to sustain it. I mean, can you imagine somepony actually giving away their possessions like that cave? What would they live on? What business could possibly stay afloat giving away their wares?”

“But,” Twilight disputes halfheartedly, “if everypony lived like that…”

Rarity laughs aloud. “Yes. If everypony lived perfect lives? No, scratch that - everycreature would need to live perfect lives, because you can be sure not everygriffon would be like the one from her story.”

Twilight nods, slow and unsure. “But if somepony was trying to persuade them to be that way and, say, started a certain school…”

Rarity sighs. It would be just like Twilight to second-guess herself. “But the difference is that you aren’t requiring them to meet such exacting standards. They would each hold to their own way. Could you imagine trying to get a dragon to not be greedy?”

“Spike wasn’t greedy,” Twilight counters, her face scrunching up. “But besides him. Would you lower your expectations because they aren’t ponies? Isn’t there something wrong with that?”

“It’s being reasonable.” Rarity looks down one of the many corridors to the stands and picks one that leads to the stadium green. A pair of security ponies give them quick nods, recognizing the alicorn. “Here, come this way.”

“Um,” Twilight says, glancing back the way Cadance went as she follows Rarity into the cavernous stadium. For a moment she just looks about, stunned at seeing ten thousand empty padded seats rise around them. You could fit everypony from Ponyville inside the stands and barely notice!

Some days the sheer size of the cities startles Rarity, too. A partly cloudy sky seems to rise up above them, majestic and beautiful, but she knows it is merely blue and white paint with soft lights mixed in to give the appearance of being outside. A fantastic illusion, for all it uses no active magic, and along with the high ceilings it does an excellent job of removing the oppressive atmosphere that seems to clog most of the crowded Lower Canterlot.

She offers the amazed alicorn a sly smirk. “I’m sure you saw the look Cadance was giving your brother. I’m sure they would appreciate a moment or two alone?”

Surprise briefly flashes across Twilight’s face, then a quite grateful smile as Rarity points at the bright yellow ‘sun’. She can barely make out how a blurred figure inside closes the shades of the Princess Box, one after another, until the sun shines with a uniform brightness she finds difficult to concentrate on.

Twilight’s ears fold down as Rarity chuckles. “I guess I can be pretty naive about that stuff.”

“Oh, no, darling,” Rarity quickly encourages. “I find it quite endearing.” She looks around for something to distract the still gloomy alicorn, settling on a dozen hoofballs. “Quick! Go long!”

Twilight looks bewildered at Rarity - she hopes her look isn’t too manic as said dozen hoofballs twirl about in her aura - then takes off at a respectable gallop across the marked field.

Oh, this takes Rarity back! She fondly remembers coming to this exact field with her sire dressed in her Canterlot Castles costume and showing off her control with her aura. Or, when she was the mascot for the Miners, doing much the same but only using her hooves. What great fun!

She hopes Twilight can’t see the tears as she streaks away. It has been many years since she last saw him play. Or vice versa.

She fires off the first ball as Twilight nears the midfield line, her power lacking but achieving a great spiral. Still got it!Twilight wheels around to catch it, horn snatching in an egregious violation of the within-limb rule. Her sire would have been all over her about that, how important it is to not give the ref even the barest thought of flagging you - since that could lead to ejection and loss of possession if too flagrant! - but she lets it slide. She grips the familiar ball in her hooves, coils like a spring before exploding out, and chucks the ball as hard as she can.

It is a great throw, probably, and might even get all the way to Twilight, but the pulled muscle in her hindquarters brings her whimpering to the ground long before the ball reaches its intended target.

“Rarity!” Twilight shouts, beating her voice as she teleports to the fallen unicorn’s side with a soft crack. Two balls follow along almost as an afterthought. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Rarity reassures, grateful for the excuse for why her mascara is running. Oh, and the offered hoof that hauls her to her hooves. She gamely stretches out the sore muscle. “Just should have stretched, that is all.” She melodramatically raises a hoof to her forehead, though she restrains herself from summoning a fainting couch to flop on. “Oh, the perils of getting old!”

Twilight giggles, though her eyes widen as she regards the ten balls still surrounded by a soft blue. “Wait, you kept hold of them?”

“Of course.” Rarity stacks the balls in a quick pyramid before letting her horn rest, smearing her makeup even further as she wipes away the tears. “It wouldn’t do to let your hold go just because somepony hit you, now would it?”

“Err, no.” Twilight looks a bit uncomfortable at the topic. “I suppose not.”

Rarity raises an eyebrow. “Really? Given your parents, I would have expected concentration to have at least played some role in your studies.”

“No, that was always my brother.” Twilight bobs her head back and forth as she recalls, “A bit backwards, I guess, but he took to the physical portion of our practice in a way that never really appealed to me.” She offers a sly wink. “I mean, Shiny had to win at some things, right?”

“Yes,” Rarity says, returning the wink, “stallions do have to have their victories.”

“Speaking of victories,” Twilight says, trailing off as her attention turns to the opposite side of the arena. She whistles appreciably as the three dozen Detrot Silverados trot two by two onto the green.

Rarity can certainly understand why. Bulk Bicep’s impressive stature stands out among the stallions in Ponyville, his front end competing with Big Mac’s back - though perhaps her interest would only be in the latter, as far as Doug’s formulation goes. But these behemoths? She would expect half of them to give Celestia a run for her bits, and the other half to have her clearly beat. And that’s just in the height department. They look like an entirely different breed, from their cantaloupe-sized heads with squinty eyes and pursed mouth, with barely any neck to speak of. Thick muscles strain every inch of their silver-and-steel uniforms, like they intentionally tailor them two sizes too small, threatening to explode apart if you glance at them the wrong way. They are so wide it would take more than one step to get around them, like you painted a face on somepony’s barrel and stood them sideways. They could conceivably wrestle Ursa Minors. Hay, there probably is an Ursa Minor mixed among them, and nopony noticed.

“That?” Rarity laughs, all bravado. She always thought of her sire as big, bigger than life if she believed the hype surrounding him. And today is no different. “That’s what we’re going to beat.”

She turns her attention to the team coming on their side of the field. The Canterlot Miners, clad in bright gold accented in blinding white, don’t have quite the bulk of their opponents. But what they lack in size they more than make up for in speed, agility, and a game sense that always seems to put the ball in the right space at the right time.

And there, trotting alongside head coach Bell Check and quarterback Mottled Braid, is her sire.

Her breath catches in her throat. It’s all she can do to not wave like a sun-struck filly.

Her sire exchanges a quick word with the two mares he is trotting with and, after getting a delayed nod from the coach, turns toward her. The rest of the team continues their warmup, occasionally stealing curious glances.

“Hey, sport!” Hondo Flanks calls as he slows. He removes the cumbersome helmet that protects his horn, his brown mane spilling free. His long, dashing mustache twiddles as his smile threatens to break.

What doesn’t break is her stance as he plows into her, both of them rearing up to embrace her other. “Hi, daddy,” Rarity greets, stretching her hooves halfway around his impressive barrel. The pads get in the way of him completely encircling her as he used to. She squeezes, which he returns with a gentle strength, nowhere near the crushing grip he is capable of. She goes to disengage, which he refuses, leaving her awkwardly looking around as he hugs her all the tighter.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he says, closer to a sob than when he twisted his hock and had to sit out three games. He gives her a final squeeze before letting her go, the two returning to their hooves. “How’s life treating you in the…” he glances at Twilight, as though the answer might reside with the alicorn, “...fabric industry?”

“Fashion industry,” Rarity corrects with a playful roll of her eyes. Her sire never really got fashion, what she does, though whomever tailored his uniform certainly did. That or he’s joking, she wouldn’t put it past him.

Hondo Flanks just chuckles, mussing with her mane that she good-naturedly allows. “You know, I should have suspected something was up when my grandfilly came by.”

Rarity blinks in surprise. “Sweetie Belle?”

Her sire bowls over her response, not unlike when he bowls over his hoofball opponents, but he does nod. “But I can’t talk now; we’ll catch up after the game.” He flicks his mane at the rest of the team, as they go through basic warm up drills. “You’ll be cheering from the stands?”

“The Princess Box,” Rarity explains with a grin.

Hondo Flanks whistles appreciably. “Give the rest of the herd my best,” he says before departing, joining Leedmare in the line of receivers.

All she wants to do is watch him run about, have fun, and ignore everything else that’s going on.

It works, for a while. But Twilight, ruiner of everything, has to ruin everything.

“So…” Twilight says with a glance to the stands as they slowly fill up, security ponies ushering ponies around but not yet addressing them standing on the field, “should we go to the Princess Box now, or…”

“Just…” Rarity says, not wanting to take her eyes off her sire. “Give them a bit longer. As long as Doug takes?”

Twilight snorts. “But then the game will have started.” Nevertheless she settles down, only getting up when the teams hustle off the field to their lockers.

Ch. 176 - Spirit Guards, Part Six

The gold-inlaid double doors to the Princess Box slide open so smoothly Rarity has to double check that they are actual doors and not some sort of projection. A waft of heavy-duty cleaner blows out, the same brand Doug used when Cadance and Luna returned from Mount Aris. It masks whatever activities happened, if obviously, though the smile brimming from one pink ear to the other gives away the game. Meanwhile, Shining Armor doesn’t look particularly pleased with himself, not like Doug does, just spent.

“Greetings!” comes from the exuberant alicorn, bursting with energy as she bounds toward Twilight. “Sunshine, sunshine, ladybugs awake!”

Twilight’s returning, “Clap your hooves and do a little shake!” lacks the vigor of the pink alicorn, but Rarity doubts anypony could, and she shows an understandable reticence when they bump rumps.

“It worked?” Twilight asks, glancing at her flank as though afraid something might have splashed onto her.

“It worked,” Cadance answers breathlessly, winking at her husband, who can only return the barest of smiles. She loses her exuberance, if only briefly. “We’ll need to see how long it lasts, and whether Radiant’s ‘treatment’ helps, but I’ve got high hopes.”

“Yup!” Twilight’s attention turns from her fellow alicorn to their opulent surroundings. The place is spotless, with wispy spirals of gold dancing on the muraled walls, separating scenes of ponies playing and working and even sleeping, all aspects of life. Rarity even spots a hoofball game in progress, a steel-faced Celestia leading the charge against opponents more massive than those lining up outside. Plush seats stand ready at the large windows, one of them occupied by a now-catatonic unicorn. “Have you been here before?”

“A number of times,” Cadance says. She opens one of the inlaid cabinets. “You’ve got plenty of snacks, cakes - Rarity, cucumber sandwiches are here - and drinks. They’ve separated the alcoholic ones over there.”

“Fancy,” Twilight remarks, peering over the contents of one drawer. She pulls out a wrapped quesadilla before making a face and shoving it as far back as she can.

“Not quite, though I appreciate the comparison.”

A belated knock comes from the open door. A pure white unicorn stallion with a lush silver mane aims a jovial smile their way. His full-length suit is exquisitely tailored, running all the way down his back and forelegs in the most elegant of styles, and leaves his cutie mark of a silver crosshair exposed. He does remind Rarity of Fancy Pants in regal stature and gregariousness, except his actual stature leaves something to be desired: he is surprisingly short, as even she needs to look down to meet his stark blue eyes. Embroidery on his lapel labels him as the owner of the Detrot Silverados, the colors matching his team’s silver and steel, though there is a bluish hue to the steel that reminds her of the night sky.

“Argent Silverhoof?” Rarity says, recognizing the manufacturing and shipping mogul. She’s completed at least one order for him, an evening dress for one of his many pursuits, and would leap at the chance to craft an entire ensemble for him, her current backlog of orders be damned.

“At your service. But please, call me Argent.” He motions to the silver earth pony mare next to him. “My pilot and assistant, Plot Aplenty.” She gives a quick, though pleasant, nod. Rarity cannot believe anypony would be so cruel as to name their filly that; it must be a later change, like Chiffon Swirl to Mrs. Cake, though why eludes her.

“You must be Rarity,” Argent continues. “I would recognize such striking style anywhere.” Rarity feels her face flush at the compliment, yet he continues as if it is nothing. “You’ll have to excuse me. I heard the Princess Box was to be formally occupied, so I took the liberty of crafting something suitable.”

Before anypony can object - and Rarity doesn’t know why they would, the food is far from ideal - Plot Aplenty pushes a long silvered cart laden with silver platters into the room.

“I’m starting to notice a trend,” Rarity comments, earning an affable grin.

“I have a certain love of the metal,” the mining magnate concedes, running his impeccably polished hoof over one of the solid silver lids like he is traveling up a mare’s inner thigh. Rarity could easily see the unicorn of years past yearning for that hoof to travel along her own flank, and steels her features before she betrays the fact that she still does. “The look of it, the smell, the texture, the taste…”

The two quickly get to work, removing lids from plates and revealing the delicacies underneath.

“The silver topping is called vark,” Argent explains as he removes a medium-sized lid and reveals a circular cheesecake, completely silver with drizzled blueberry in an excellent rendition of the Mare in the Moon. It makes Rarity’s stomach rumble just looking at it, and it only gets worse from there. Nuts, fresh fruits and salad drenched in dressing sit next to a sizeable bowl of teal fruit punch. And then a miniature stadium that takes up more than half the table, with fine cheese and stacked crackers as the fans and stands, the green field made entirely of crisp heads of asparagus with white celery borders and bright orange umpires chiseled from whole carrots.

“I don’t know if I could ruin such a work of art,” Rarity protests, feeling ashamed at such fine treatment. Even if it is the Princess Box.

“Such a waste,” Argent replies, melodramatically mournful. “What good is something if it does not fulfill its purpose?”

Rarity has to agree, she has no intention of avoiding the mouthwatering creation. “You must have been listening to Tempest Shadow,” she remarks, coming off more biting than she intended, though perhaps appropriately.

Argent cocks his head to the side, carefully gauging her reaction. “You disagree?”

“Surely a mare is more than just her mark,” Rarity argues. She finds herself speaking bluntly despite the fact that the stallion in front of her far exceeds her station. Or at least did before she was an Element of Harmony.

“We all have our side pursuits,” Argent argues back, “but that ignores the main point. What of a mare who misses her mark? After all, is that not your filly’s mark?”

“Sweetie Belle?” Rarity mumbles, momentarily dumbfounded. She scowls. “How do you know what she is up to?”

Argent raises an eyebrow. “My filly and grandfilly write to me of their adventures, those of the aptly named Cutie Mark Crusaders.”

As if on cue the pink and purple maned crusader comes through the door, leading her grandmare, Cookie Crumbles, and a pink mare Rarity vaguely recognizes as being a part of Our Harmony. Their happy chatter ceases as they walk into the room, eyes going every which way as they inspect the splendor.

Rarity briefly locks up upon seeing her dam. It’s been years since they last spoke, and the bitterness of their departure still stings. Add to the fact that she’s still not sure what to say to her? What could she possibly say to the pony who should have supported her decision to herd with Doug, but instead could only focus on the negatives? And has the gall to go behind her back and meet up with her filly!?

“Dam!” Sweetie Belle exclaims, breaking into a smile and hurried trot. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

“Sweetie Belle!” Rarity replies, gleeful this time, as she embraces her little filly. Except she’s not so little any more: Sweetie Belle is taller than Argent, and very likely to grow more. It feels like she’s hugging Fluttershy, not the young mare that went off with Starlight Glimmer. But she holds on, focusing on everything to do with her filly and as little as possible on her dam. She breaks apart, though still holds on like she’s afraid her precious filly will run off to rejoin her friends. “What are you doing here? And where are Apple Bloom and Scootaloo?”

“They’re still in Our Town,” Sweetie Belle explains. “Working with the others.” A blush spreads across her cheeks. “I’m, uh, trying to get used to doing, um, things without them.”

Rarity blinks a few times, not understanding why Sweetie Belle would be trying to break up the Crusaders, before it dawns on her. “Ah.” She offers a sly wink, voice dropping. “Because of Spike?”

Sweetie Belle smiles, unsure yet hopeful. “Err, yeah.”

“Well.” Rarity looks at her dam - whom Twilight has helpfully intercepted and routed toward the window, engaging her with questions about hoofball - then back to her filly. “Far be it for me to forbid you from following your heart. Just realize, there are certain… tradeoffs… that come with that particular choice.”

“Thanks.” Sweetie Belle blushes again, nervously scratching at the back of her mane. “Grandmare Cookie, um, said something similar.”

Rarity grits her teeth. But before she can lambast Sweetie Belle for going behind her back her filly continues, “But as for why I’m here?” The young mare motions for the unknown pink mare to join them. “I’m taking Sugar Belle around Canterlot to learn about different cooking styles!” She whispers, “She recently got her cutie mark back.”

“Oh, it’s no secret,” Sugar Belle replies, a touch hesitant, like she doesn’t want to draw attention to herself. She glances back at her cutie mark of a cherry-topped cupcake with enough frosting to choke Pinkie Pie. If such a feat was even possible. “Before Starlight Glimmer… helped… my mark encouraged me to bake with as much sugar as I could. So much… too much…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sweetie Belle encourages, a swift tap of her hoof enough to break Sugar Belle out of whatever depression she was spiraling into. “That stadium sure looks good!”

“Definitely better than terrible muffins,” Sugar Belle returns, forcing a smile. Even that doesn’t last long. “There… isn’t enough for everypony, though, is there?”

“I’m sure Pinkie Pie could gobble it up on her own,” Rarity says, wary of invoking the earth pony’s name too many times, even if just in thought. “But I’m sure there is enough for all of us.”

“Oh, no. I meant them.” Sugar Belle points her hoof out the window at the swiftly filling stands, now nearing their massive capacity. “I… I don’t know if I feel right eating something that we can’t share with everypony.” She glances at Sweetie Belle for confirmation, then Rarity when she answers with an unsure shrug. “What would they be eating?”

“Haydogs dipped in batter,” Rarity says, her stomach queasy at the thought. Who knew Applejack’s cooking would spoil her so badly? Argent looks mildly offended at the idea of such common food, though he quickly hides it. “Hay fries with cheese. Maybe a shriveled old apple and some stale lettuce?”

Sugar Belle brightens at the list of unsavory foods. Brightens. It makes Rarity’s stomach turn all over again. “Yes. I’ll take that!”

“Very well,” Argent says, gracious and understanding while Rarity can barely keep from uttering something snarky that would be sure to get her in trouble. “Plot? Would you be so kind?”

“Of course,” she says, spinning about and leaving with Sugar Belle.

Argent glances between Rarity and Cookie Crumbles as Twilight returns with the pushy pink mare, though he focuses his attention primarily on the alicorns. “Thank you for graciously accepting my gift,” he purrs, tongue smooth as silver. “But I would not wish to overstay my welcome.”

“I’ll walk back with you,” Twilight offers, keen to engage with the short stallion. “You said you carved it yourself?”

“Oh, yes, though I leave some of the simpler sections to my assistants. You see, I’m very good with a blade.” Argent levitates a dagger from seemingly nowhere. Rarity instantly recognizes it as a twin of Luna’s, silver instead of cobalt, and she doesn’t need to switch sights to tell it is heavily enchanted. Twilight gives a low whistle, clearly interested despite the danger it might pose. He continues as he exits, glad to explain and Twilight more than happy to listen, “Most is simple sizing and slicing, but the tricky part is whittling the facial features on the carrots. I find the point to be best, but it takes a careful hoof lest one-”

Their hoofsteps slowly recede until abruptly cutting off as the sliding door shuts, leaving an uncomfortable silence. Cadance, just out of sight of Cookie Crumbles, gives Rarity a knowing wink - Rarity wants to gulp, yet she knows she would never act on those mounting feelings toward the silver unicorn, even if given the chance - before retreating to join her husband. Leaving Rarity with her filly…

And her dam.

She’s been dreading this conversation all day, ever since her cutie mark appeared over Canterlot. No, longer than that. Far longer. Ever since her dam confronted her over herding with Doug, insinuating and then outright stating that it was a mistake and she should withdraw from the herd. And fix this. Their later conversation went no better, merely entrenching them in their sides, and ended with her family leaving Ponyville entirely. And now she has been chatting with the foal she once encouraged to end as though nothing had transpired between them!

A part of her wishes she had accompanied Argent back to his box, even if it meant letting the infamously fecund stallion mount her. Anything - literally anything - to avoid this conversation. She mulls over just leaving. She has nothing to say, and doesn’t even know if she can trust herself to respond.

It seems Cookie Crumbles has the same idea.

“Soo…” Sweetie Belle says, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Grandpappy said you might be here.” She chews on the word. “Grandpappy. Grandsire Flanks. You know, it feels weird that we haven’t seen our grandparents more.”

“Apple Bloom’s are dead,” Rarity states coldly. Her dam flinches as though the statement was directed at her. It very well might have been. “And we don’t know if we’ll ever see Doug’s parents.”

“Err, yeah,” Sweetie Belle says, keeping her game face on. Rarity is surprised to see such resilience in her filly. “Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy’s parents are all busy with work, and Pinkie Pie’s parents are pretty isolated. But, um, I was talking with Gran-dam Crumbles, and she said Grandsire Flanks used to commute from Ponyville to Canterlot all the time.”

“Really,” Rarity says, sounding disinterested. She looks her dam square in the eyes, barely holding back her fury, her question directed at Sweetie Belle. “What else did you talk about?”

“Life? Work?” Sweetie Belle brightens. Rarity wishes she had half the filly’s energy. “Like, with Sugar Belle! We talked about the pros and cons of different restaurants and cooking styles in Canterlot, and how they differ from Our Town. But Sugar Belle still has a long way to go; even with her cutie mark back, she has a tough time making anything other than muffins so tasteless you might as well be eating the wrapper and something so sweet your stomach screams at seeing it.”

“I see. Pros and cons?” Rarity continues staring at her dam. This time the statement is clearly directed at her. “And here I thought you only cared about the cons.”

Cookie Crumbles raises her nose just a fraction. “Because I worry about you not considering them.”

Rarity snorts. “Oh, pah-lease. Just because I didn’t chronicle every single miniscule detail about our encounters so you could take them into account doesn’t mean that I didn’t.”

“No,” Cookie counters, “your heat-addled mind leapt with nary a thought as to the consequences!”

Rarity stomps a hoof, glaring daggers at her dam. Her horn lights, grasping for something to throw in her dam’s face. Why, if she had Argent’s dagger, she’d-

“As much as I like hearing about my conception,” Sweetie Belle butts in, stepping between the sparking unicorns with no regard for her own safety, “can we please stop? And talk about this like civilized ponies?”

Rarity feels her fury begin to leave her. She takes a deep breath, turning to glare at the alicorn watching them closely. The pink glow around the long horn fades as Cadance tries an innocuous whistle. “You didn’t cast a spell on us, did you?”

“Who, me?” Princess Cadance asks innocently.

“You stay out of it.” Rarity turns back to her dam. “And as for you?”

Her aura whips a glob of punch straight into her dam’s face as she lowers her shoulder and performs the best hoofball charge in her life.

Ch. 177 - Spirit Guards, Part Seven

Rarity crashes into her dam with a shrill cry, sending the two of them stumbling backward and smashing into the long table. The cheesecake flips up, landing square on Cookie Crumbles and leaving her face and mane coated with gooey silver frosting, while the punch bowl stains her pink coat a bright teal. Rarity isn’t spared, bits and pieces of the cheesy stadium sticking to her once-pristine white coat like miniature suns in the sky.

Gasping and sparing only a moment to clear the worst from her eyes, Cookie Crumbles pushes back with a deep roar.

Rarity is surprised by her dam’s strength, but maybe she shouldn’t have been; after all, her dam is far, far more accustomed to ponies much larger than her charging, pushing, and just generally being a lot more physically aggressive. But she can’t spare that idea any thought, forced to backpedal until the two of them ram into the large window overlooking the field.

Much to her shock the window swings open. The two tumble down the short drop onto the bleachers, each hard step adding another painful jolt and wince, the roaring crowd drowning out their furious shouts and barbed insults. Twenty painful bumps later and they roll onto the field, the second play of the game already well underway. Oh, what a sight they must have been, Cookie Crumbles decked out in Detrot Silverado silver while Rarity sports Canterlot Miner white and orange (though it really should be gold), brawling like two overeager mascots. The players certainly find them quite the distraction, as a number of them stop to watch. Amidst the confusion her sire leaps forward to intercept an otherwise perfect pass, if only the receiver had thought to catch it, though the referees blow their shrill whistles to stop the play dead. Cookie Crumbles growls as she finally forces Rarity to the ground, her satisfied grin remaining even as two security ponies tackle her away. Rarity isn’t spared, a massive Storm Guard clad in the cutest of uniforms rudely shoving her facedown and twisting her forelegs to her sides before carting her off the field as easily as if she was a doll.

Wait, this is ridiculous. Her sire plays wide receiver, not cornerback!

Rarity finds herself back in the Princess Box, a split second away from charging, the pink glow around Cadance’s horn fading as she innocuously whistles.

“As for you?” she finds herself repeating to her dam, still shouting, adrenaline coursing through her. “Doug has been the perfect stallion, even if he has his faults! And you wouldn’t even give him a chance!”

“And if I did,” Cookie Crumbles snarls back, “what then? Would everypony else have suddenly accepted him? Would he have been able to give you strong, healthy foals just because I liked him?”

“Well, no,” Rarity concedes, if reluctantly. She quickly builds back her head of steam. “They would have turned out how they turned out. But what would have changed is how those around them saw him. All ponies want and need is somepony to follow, and look at the example you set!”

Cookie Crumbles scoffs. “And you knew this after how many days of knowing him?”

“Do you think Sweetie Belle is weak?” Rarity demands, ignoring her dam. “Is she suffering? Does she have no future because of her sire?” Her hoof sweeps across, ending up pointing at her filly. “Do you think she is better off without you in her life?”

“Err,” Cookie Crumbles stalls, glancing at the anxious young mare standing next to them. A wan smile crosses Sweetie Belle’s muzzle. “Well, no. Of course not. But you can’t judge an action purely based on the outcome,” she claims, reluctant yet firm. “You have to look at what else might have happened. If he was abusive, or greedy, or a carnivore. Did you know hamsters sometimes kill and eat their young?”

“Now who’s judging without thinking? How did you know it wouldn’t turn out well?” Rarity asks, quickly growing exasperated and not even wanting to acknowledge that last question with a response. “Because of how other creatures have acted? Well, news flash for you: Doug isn’t a dragon, or a griffon, or a manticore!”

“But we’re back to square one,” Cookie Crumbles argues. “How did you know it would turn out well? And if neither of us knew, then you acted foalishly and recklessly by herding up with him instead of going with somepony tried and true, or at the very least waiting for Applejack to test the waters!”

Rarity closes her eyes as she sucks in a deep breath. This is going nowhere. They’re just rehashing the arguments they had before. Obviously her dam has her notions and reasons for her actions, and is unwilling for hindsight to change how she viewed the situation at the time. Maybe if she had argued all those years ago then she could have gotten a different outcome, but it’s too late to change anything then.

But maybe she can change something now.

Rarity looks up, the room back as it was before, the pink glow around Cadance’s horn fading as she innocuously whistles. The door to the Princess Box opens; Twilight Sparkle and Sugar Belle step inside, the alicorn scarfing down a monstrous haydog as she exchanges their foalhood song and dance with Cadance.

“Are you all right?” Cookie Crumbles asks, concern replacing her tense frown.

“I don’t want us to just rehash all the arguments we had before,” Rarity explains, struggling to keep tears from ruining her mascara. “I’m going to do what I should have done a long time ago.”

She trots forward and turns what might have been a charge into a hug, wrapping her forelegs as far as she can around Cookie’s muscled neck.

“I’m sorry.” The words burst out like a flood breaking a dam, one she so carefully maintained all these years. “I know you only wanted to help, that you wanted to make sure I was considering every angle, but I took your words so personally. That this was a decision I was making, like when I started the Boutique, and I couldn’t help but take any criticism of that decision as criticism of me. I wanted… I wanted you to trust my judgment, I wanted your support, not condemnation, and when criticism was all that I felt I got? Add that to the way I would have had to go back on my decision, and I hated you. I wanted you out of my life.”

Rarity squeezes. It hurts to say these things about how she felt and still feels. Yet it feels good to get them off her chest.

To her surprise her dam squeezes back.

“I want,” Rarity continues, pausing to take a deep breath. It’s hard, giving up all the epithets she wants to sling her dam’s way, the heartache and wounded emotions, but it has to be the best way. Right? Otherwise they would just be rolling out on the field. “I want to put this past us. I want to bury the bolt.”

Cookie Crumbles gives her a firm hug, yet Rarity can feel the gears turning, almost hear the thoughts going through her dam’s mind, the ‘why now’ or ‘what is she trying to get from me’ or ‘how can this blow up in my face’.

“I have never thought you were stupid,” she ultimately says.

“Please,” Rarity begs in a soft voice, straining to keep her smile, “don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Her dam’s pink nose raises just a fraction. “Merely rash.” She sighs. “Such is the fate of the fashionista, I suppose, beholden to predicting the trends and staying ahead of them.” She pushes away, just slightly, to better regard her filly. “I’m sorry, too, for not conveying my admiration of your hard work and dedication. It takes a lot of guts to try something new, and I should have supported your decision after giving my input. After all, it is you who would reap the rewards and suffer the consequences.”

“It is my life,” Rarity says with a smile. Her flank tingles, and she spies a glowing cutie mark out of the corner of her eye. “Though, if you wanted to be a part of it…”

Cookie Crumbles gives a smirking, knowing laugh. “Oh?” She pointedly glances at Rarity’s belly. “For no reason?” She winks, her smile turning genuine. “I would love to. Once your sire retires we can move back to Ponyville. Or earlier, should our grandfilly prove too much of a… handful for that stallion of yours.”

Rarity chuckles. “Oh, his hands will be full, no doubt about that.” She gives her dam another hug as the muffled roar of the stadium intensifies. She’s glad to put this past them, even if she still thinks she was in the right and her dam was being unreasonable, but it’s more important that they reconcile.

Her dam moves off to sample the treat Argent brought, though the pleasant aroma is replaced by a pungent salt-and-grease stench. “Hello, Twilight,” Rarity greets, her mouth watering at the nostalgic smell of stadium fare. Her eyes widen as a second haydog levitates from behind the alicorn’s back, happily accepting even as it will spoil her appetite for the finer food.

“Well done,” Twilight congratulates, eyeing the glowing diamonds.

Rarity smiles, but her attention strays to the other alicorn in the room. Cadance’s focus is on her and not the third down attempt outside, whereas Shining Armor’s eyes are locked as though he might transform the outcome with his attention.

“What did you do?” she asks. At the slight cock of Cadance’s head she continues, “Your spell. I saw…”

She’s not sure how to describe the vision, and fortunately Cadance steps in to explain.

“It…” Cadance says, mulling over her words for a moment. “It isn’t quite my doing, as I have no control over what a pony sees. From what I have gathered, it is Harmony giving a pony insight into the consequences of their actions, thus allowing them to reconsider. It is more vivid, certainly, than what one might conceive in their mind’s eye, but any rekindled emotions are just that, re-kindled, not inserted or replaced.”

“Oh.” Rarity giggles as she recounts the two other outcomes, Shining Armor perking up at the first and her dam especially interested in the second, though Cookie Crumbles obviously has to bite her tongue to keep from defending herself.

“At least you weren’t using your horn,” Shining Armor comments, earning a long-suffering roll of the eyes from Cadance. “No, seriously. The officials take any interference, especially magical, extremely seriously.” He points outside, and though they have to strain to see it a tell-tale blue surrounds the horns of the spectating unicorns. “We get some special privileges, being royalty, but it would only take a single incident for us to be subject to the same restriction.”

“Of course,” Rarity says with a grateful look at the haydog suspended in her aura, glad to not have to carry it like an earth pony. “But let us stick to happier topics.” She turns to Sweetie Belle and Sugar Belle, taking a moment to register how her filly is growing up, with a job and responsibilities. Oh, where has the little filly gone who spent afternoons with her sibling, trying everything under the sun in the hopes of gaining a cutie mark? It must be the haydog making her yearn for simpler times. “You mentioned being a cook? Or a baker?”

“I thought we were sticking to happier topics,” Sugar Belle remarks, though there is a playful smirk to her pointed jab. “But, well,” she stalls, her smile slowly fading as she glances at Sweetie Belle, fishing for support, who gives her an encouraging smile. “We haven’t exactly found a good fit.”

“Yes,” Rarity agrees, “the restaurants here do tend to be quite, well, trendy, as in they all follow the same trends. A surefire way to success, if you ask me.”

“That’s not what you do at the Boutique,” Sweetie Belle argues, momentarily taking Rarity aback. Since when did her filly argue with her? “You always whined whenever somepony wanted you to make duplicates.”

“I would not whine,” Rarity claims, though her mind immediately goes to the time Hoity Toity commissioned a dozen copies of the dresses she made for her herdmates, Trixie’s alterations and all. “Okay, maybe I did whine, on rare occasions, but it was completely justified!”

“Uh huh,” Sweetie Belle says, obviously not convinced.

“Yes, well.” Rarity huffs, turning to address Sugar Belle. “If Canterlot is not to your style, have you considered somewhere less conventional?”

“Like Ponyville!” Sweetie Belle pipes up.

A thoughtful expression crosses Sugar Belle’s face. “After seeing firsthoof the hustle and bustle of Canterlot?” She smiles, relieved. “I never thought I’d grow accustomed to the quiet of Our Town.” She looks Rarity in the eyes. “Is Ponyville a quiet place?”

“Err,” Rarity says with a reluctant scratch to the back of her mane. It feels like Twilight’s strained smile is boring into her. “Most?” She does a rough count on her hooves, nodding that most is a true qualifier. “Most days in Ponyville are quiet. Notwithstanding the inevitable Pinkie Pie party, of course.”

“Of course,” Sweetie Belle and Twilight say simultaneously, nodding along and looking quite eager for the pink unicorn to join them in Ponyville.

Sugar Belle matches their fervor. “Then maybe I’ll have to give Ponyville a try. After all, how bad can it be?”

“I’m sure it’ll be-” Twilight gets out before a glob of cheesecake forces its way into her mouth. She rolls her eyes as the glow around Rarity’s horn fades, all of them settling down to watch the game. It looks to be a hoof-biter, the Silverados already putting up six points, though Rarity is confident Mottled Braid will pull off another miracle in the fourth quarter.

Ch. 178 - The Golden Rule

“Daddy,” Diamond Tiara whines, flopping in front of Filthy Rich’s ornate desk as much as a Rich pony will allow herself to flop, “why are the Apples so poor?”

Filthy Rich, ever so deliberately, returns his quill to its inkwell and straightens the still-drying parchment in front of him. He doesn’t care much for the formal instrument, but the thick, elegant lines look so much better than those of the simple and utilitarian pen. An important distinction when dealing with important ponies, which he finds himself doing more and more frequently as of late.

“The Apples are one of the wealthiest families in Ponyville,” he states, regarding his filly with his full attention. Her spine stiffens at the correction. “In what way are they poor?”

Diamond Tiara huffs, obviously wanting to complain instead of answering questions. Or is she whining? It can be hard to tell. “Their house is small.”

Filthy Rich takes a long, slow look around his spacious and well decorated office. One floor of the Apple’s main house, or their new Carrot House, would fit comfortably inside. “They can hardly be chided for wishing to spend more time working their cherished orchards than staying inside, and devoting their resources accordingly.”

Diamond Tiara sniffs, sharp and quick, disdainful without being overly rude. “Their food is simple.”

“True.” Filthy Rich opens one of the many drawers on his desk and pulls out a plate of apple fritters kept warm by a special heating charm. He slathers a thick layer of apple jam on top. “And yet, more often than not, we eat their fritters and pies when we could be eating something more exotic, such as pineapple or pear.”

“That’s because it’s fresh,” Diamond Tiara argues.

He takes a bite, savoring the explosion of flavor, then dabs at the corners of his mouth with a checkered napkin, which he carefully folds and replaces alongside the remaining fritters. “Fresh, simple, and familiar, with little pretense or pomp.”

“The Apple Way,” Diamond Tiara says with a sneer, though she quickly loses the snide expression. She must realize she is about to hitch herself to their herd and ways, and had best get used to it. Her muzzle sags. He doesn’t care for the overt grimace, wanting more than anything to set it right. Yet what would she learn if he fixed all of her problems? “But, Daddy. They don’t have any bits!”

Filthy Rich steps away from his desk and walks over to his sorrowful filly, laying ponyloaf next to her. “Let me tell you a story about two families,” he starts, staring up at the vaulted ceiling as he recalls the details.

Diamond Tiara looks up at the ceiling, then at him. “About the Apples?”

Filthy Rich chuckles. “Let us call them the Shackles and the Bares.”

Diamond Tiara’s eyes briefly widen. “The b-bears?”

“Unfurnished or spartan,” he reassures with a twinkle in his eye. “Not the animal.”

“Of course.” Seizing the opportunity she scooches closer to her sire, then calmly adjusts a few stray strands of mane back to her wavy ponytail. It’s not her normal style, more suited for the farm he surmises she’ll be going to. She grins up at him, ever so patiently waiting for him to continue.

He loves when she gives her old sire her attention, a rare occurrence these days. So frequently she is out and about, spending time on her studies and her mark. Or, far more likely, with the pledged Apple colt.

“One day, two herds moved into a fledgling town. They were the same in many regards: both were industrious farmers intent on taking a plot of virgin land and turning it into fertile fields. They had identical visions of the life they would like to live: a two story house with four bedrooms, enough to comfortably hold each mare and her foals, and plenty of room to expand.”

Diamond Tiara smirks. “That sounds suspiciously like somepony I know.”

Filthy Rich nods. “And they had their life savings, let’s say twenty thousand bits each, but that wasn’t enough to cover the cost of the land, not to mention the barns they would need to raise, the house to build, or the costs of living until their first harvest came in. Let’s say it would cost the Bares, oh, sixty thousand bits to build the bare minimum, to live in the very barn where they stored their produce.”

“Actually live in a barn?” Diamond Tiara sticks her tongue out in disgust.

Filthy Rich chuckles. “A sacrifice to be sure. Now take the Shackles. It would take one hundred and twenty thousand bits for their dream house.”

“Their house isn’t that grand,” Diamond Tiara interjects.

“Compared to an open barn?” Regardless, he waves away her objection, and she settles down. “This left the Shackles in a precarious position: their dream house, the one they wished to live in, was expensive. Not to mention the numerous barns and implements and other infrastructure necessary for the efficient running of a farm. To afford such an expenditure, they would also need to borrow heavily. Say somepony was willing to lend them the bits they needed at a modestly generous six percent annual percentage rate, calculated monthly, and they could afford to repay six hundred bits a month. What would their terms be?”

Filthy Rich watches with a growing sense of pride as her eyes twitch back and forth. Suddenly, she frowns. “They would… they would never pay back that loan. The interest they owe is the same as the payment.” A devious smirk slowly spreads on her muzzle, almost a cackle as she glances at his bitbag-marked flank. “Shackled, indeed.”

And what a terrible place to put anypony. He laments how his filly could be so callous, to see such a situation as beneficial to anypony, even the one profiting. When, where did he go wrong? Has his Mark led him astray? Or has she misunderstood his pursuit?

“Do not forget,” he gently corrects, “their loan was not the full one hundred and twenty thousand; they had their twenty thousand in savings to put down, the standard one sixth.”

“Oh.” Her eyes twitch back and forth again. He’s impressed she has the amortization tables memorized, at least for a standard rate loan. “Thirty years?”

“Very good,” he congratulates with a firm nod. She beams, preening just the appropriate amount. “Now, our other herd, the Bares. They too have six hundred bits a month to put toward their more modest loan.”

“A forty thousand bit loan at the same six percent.” Her frown returns as she concentrates, cute as a button. Pomarbo will be a lucky colt indeed, when that time comes. “Six and a half? No, closer to seven years.”

“Correct. If we include the time to restore their initial twenty thousand in savings, it will take approximately nine years before they have returned to their initial state, richer sixty thousand bits.” He taps his chin, as if the thought has just occurred to him, though it is obvious it has not. “Now, say the Bares sell this plot of land for sixty thousand, and purchase another. They go through the same process as before, though this time they decide to build their dream home. It will again cost them one hundred and twenty thousand bits.”

“But this time they have eighty thousand to put down.” Diamond Tiara’s eyes slowly widen at the realization. “They get a loan for forty thousand that takes them seven years to pay off. Even if we go with nine, that’s still twelve years sooner that they paid off their land! Meanwhile, the Shackles still have sixty thousand bits left on their loan!” She whirls to face her sire, aghast. “Is this why the Apples are poor?”

“It is worse than that,” he confirms with a grim face. “For who bought the Pear’s farm?”

Diamond Tiara’s lower lip quivers. “The Apples.” She firmly shuts her mouth, plainly willing herself to not show her contrition. “But then…”

“The land they purchased did not lie fallow,” Filthy Rich reassures. “They would not, will not stay destitute forever, though the inevitable surprise and setback did occur. For them it was worth it. The Pears labored many long years in their modest arrangement; the Apples got their dream house immediately, fulfilling their mark the entire time. And, after acquiring more land, were able to fulfill it even further.”

Filthy Rich watches as his filly processes this, though the low chuckle she gives at the end reveals she has already figured out the ‘twist’. “But still. You’d have to be an innumerate foal to take that deal. To be shackled for so long!”

“So,” he asks, setting her up to spoil his big reveal, “you would rather be the Bares?”

Diamond Tiara grins. “No. I would be the banker.”

Filthy Rich can’t help but join her. “Ah, yes. To take the profit of one’s labor, and rather than consume it immediately to loan to another. Though it is not a route without risk.”

“If the pony you lend to cannot pay you back,” Diamond Tiara confirms. “Hence the interest rate.”

“I have heard that compound interest is the most powerful force in the world,” he says with a wistful glance at the ceiling. “Perhaps in the universe. And in many ways this is true: you must have money to make money. And the more you have, the more you are able to make. Two bits might glean a third, but ten thousand will double or triple in the same time, from economies of scale to efficient marketing to cornering the market.”

“And you have a lot,” Diamond Tiara praises, though it fails to lift the corners of his mouth.

Filthy Rich pulls his filly close. “Do you know what I cherish more than the great stacks upon stacks of bits in our vault?” In actuality the notes of who owes him what - after all, bits that lie fallow won’t reproduce - but anypony who has deposits with him has their physical gems stored in the same location. He would gladly spend every one of those bits if it would secure her future - and had offered, though thankfully the Apples did not require such a heavy toll.

Diamond Tiara rolls her eyes. “Me.”

“True.” Filthy Rich leans back just slightly and enjoys how she presses forward to stay next to him; she is just like her dam, able to read the body language of a pony to an astonishing degree. “There is a saying,” he continues, “that one should not lend bits to friends or family.”

Her features mash together in a frown. He can hear the unspoken objection quite clearly.

“If I held to that,” he says, poking her in the chest and eliciting a giggle, “then I would have nopony at all to lend to. For there is a force far more powerful than that of compound interest.”

“The power of friendship.”

Filthy Rich might have been mad that she has again preempted his lesson, but there is no sarcasm in her voice or dismay that she has been pursuing the wrong path.

“Precisely. A pony’s wealth is not measured merely by how many bits they have at hoof. The power is not in the bits themselves, but in what they allow you to do. And if a lack of funds is a barrier for a pony to do what their mark desires?” He offers his most sincere smile. “Then what better use of your bits than to help them achieve their goal?”

“But,” Diamond Tiara challenges, “if the goal is to enable others, then why charge at all, why not give them the bits they need? Surely you could assist more ponies that way.”

“For a time,” Filthy Rich concedes. “But will their imprudent pursuits allow them to fulfill their mark in a sustainable way, in a way that does not require the constant infusion of capital from other sources? Surely there must be such a way, though it may not be immediately obvious, or Harmony would not have given them their marks. We are not meant to be leeches on society, or even on our friends.”

“That,” Diamond Tiara points out, “and you wouldn’t be able to fulfill your mark.”

Filthy Rich chuckles as his filly’s tail flicks him in the flank. She’s grown so much since she got her mark, and not just in size. That she would consider another’s perspective! Even if that is part of her mark. “Do you still believe the Apples to be poor?”

She squirms uncomfortably. It can be hard to break one’s preconceived notions, but she certainly seems to be making a valiant attempt. “...They could use better marketing.”

His chuckles turn to full-bellied laughs. “I have been saying the same thing for as long as I have known them. If she had joined…” He shakes his head, dispelling any wistful thoughts of what might have been. “But no matter. They wish their products to be enjoyed far and wide, not solely by those already able to afford any luxury.”

“Like their Zap Apples. If they farmed only those?” Diamond Tiara sighs; and Filthy Rich knows exactly why: jars of the coveted commodity would easily sell for ten times the current rate, if not higher, as nobles and nouveau-riche bid each other up. She gains a hopeful grin. “Speaking of…”

With a conspiratorial grin Filthy Rich opens a second compartment of his desk and pulls out a rainbow colored jar.

His precious filly eagerly grabs it, and the offered fritters, doling a dollop so thick it makes his eyes water. It smells delicious, so sharp and tangy that it makes the plain (if any Apple product can be called plain) apple jam taste like dirt, and he unconsciously licks his lips in anticipation. She smirks. “It’s good to be a Rich pony.” She takes a huge bite, smearing some on her top lip. “Thanks, daddy,” she says through the mouthful.

“Any time, my little gem,” he says, planting a kiss on the top of her tied-back mane. His eyes cross, focusing on the offending stain on her lip. “Except my diamond looks a little rough.” He takes advantage of her temporary confusion to lick off a good bit of the mouth-watering jam, just like when she was a foal, though it doesn’t taste as good as her reaction.

“Daddy!” she squeals, playfully trying to wriggle out of his grasp. “That’s mine!” She twists her head this way and that but to no avail as he lands a second lick. “Fine,” she huffs, allowing him to finish cleaning her muzzle of the delicious jam, and using his distraction to spoon a second heaping helping onto her fritters. “I’m spending the night at the Apple’s again.”

“Mm,” he says, nuzzling her again. “Have fun.” He gives her a sly wink. “But not too much fun.” She rolls her eyes as he chuckles. “Love you.”

“Love you too, daddy,” his precious filly returns, giving him a quick kiss that turns into a yelp as he steals a bite of her zap apple-smothered fritters.

Ch. 179 - Omen on the Winds, Part One

May 5th, 1001 Domina Solaria

Big Mac wakes, as he often does, before the crack of dawn and the crowing of the rooster. His slow, even breaths ruffle the quilt covering him, nothing else to disturb the serene quiet. He takes a long drag through his nostrils, imbibing the smell of fresh baked apples that he doubts would ever air out.

He runs through the list of chores that he needs to do, and the extra he’ll cover for Applejack. Most days are like this, his far more famous sister called to deal with some crisis or another. Not that he minds at all. On rare occasions he feels that pang of envy, short-lived and feather-brained as it may be. Ee-nope. He prefers his days simple and straightforward. A couple extra rounds around the orchards doesn’t bother him at all. He likes working in the orchards, though it’s nicer when his sister is at his side.

But something about today doesn’t feel right.

He rolls over in bed, ears twitching, nostrils sniffing, eyes searching, but the feeling doesn’t go away. He can’t quite put his hoof on why, or what the feeling is besides a vague suspicion. It feels like somepony is spying on him, watching from over his shoulder, hearing his very thoughts. Could it be Princess Luna? No, she hasn’t watched his dreams since the Tantabus and his transformation into Alicorn Princess McIntosh. Not that he would mind if she joined his dreams, maybe as a cat, and together they would battle the forces of the Knightmare Kingdom. No, that would be silly, and he’s glad nopony knows about those coltish fantasies. Could it be Discord behind the feeling? He wouldn’t put it past the Lord of Chaos, but he’s been remarkably well behaved. That or absent, which often translates to the same thing, and he’s not sorry if he’s seen the last of him.

Except that leaves him no closer to solving the problem of why he feels off. And why today? There’s nothing special planned. His sister should be coming home tomorrow with Granny Smith and the rest of the Golden Horseshoe Gals, so he needs to make sure everything about the house is ready. He already took care of the baking; as long as Lemon comes by, he won’t need to distribute them. Wait, no, the young mare is off with Pinkie Pie and Doug, he’ll need to cart them into town. Feed the animals? Hedge will take care of that. Except she’s off with Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash. More chores to add to the ever-growing list. Meringue? Also gone with Pinkie Pie. Leaving only Pomarbo in the Carrot House with Miss Tiara.

He wants to slump back in bed, wait until the rooster crows, but then he’ll be late. And Apples keep their promises, no matter how much it costs them. He groans as he gets up. Better to stick to his normal schedule and hope whoever is watching him gets bored.

His first stop is the kitchen. He grabs the trimmings and leftover bread from cooking all the fritters and turnovers and pies and places them in a big bucket. The trimmings, of course; the fritters and turnovers and pies get placed in boxes and stacked next to the door. That’s more a precaution if it’s raining, which it isn’t yet, but it’s easier to stick to old habits. The bucket he carries in his teeth. It’s not terribly comfortable, and he does his best not to smell the contents, but at least it’s not the scraps from when Doug is done cooking. Not that they’d feed that to the pigs, of course, giblets and offal are too valuable to dispose of like that, distasteful as they might be.

On the way back from the pigs he checks in on the Carrot House. Pomarbo’s room is in the cellar right next to the lower entrance, making it easy to get outside. Or for Diamond Tiara to slip inside, now that he thinks about it, not that he hasn’t dwelt on the two pledged ponies more than is healthy. Some days he wishes that was him, and finds those kinds of thoughts creeping in while he’s plowing or harvesting. Only some days, though, as too many mares are more trouble than they’re worth. Still, he ought to make sure they’re okay and ready to start the day, and he does his best to muffle his heavy hoofsteps as he creaks the colt’s door open.

The cot set up for Miss Tiara lies empty, making him suspect the shrouded shape pressed against the wall of the colt’s small bed contains more than one pony. He waits for his eyes to adjust, the rays of moonlight doing a much better job of illuminating the path outside than the cool cellar. He can smell her, a manufactured sweat-and-apple perfume that mostly covers her natural musk; he prefers the latter, but maybe the former just reminds him too strongly of his sister. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to adjust, spotting Pomarbo laying on his back (an uncomfortable position only Doug favors), softly snoring, with one brown foreleg draped over the young mare slumbering with her head resting on his barrel, white and purple ponytail splayed on his belly.

In some ways Big Mac finds himself quite jealous of the colt. After all, who wouldn’t want a nubile mare pursuing them, breathlessly awaiting the day you get your cutie mark and can finally herd up? And as long as she believes his continued wellbeing benefits her, well, she would make him a happy colt indeed. Though he doubts anything truly untoward would happen before they herded up; after all, she has a reputation to maintain, and Pomarbo won’t be interested until months after he gets his mark. Hopefully.

He can’t help but chuckle to himself; given how much time Cozy Glow has spent with them in the last couple weeks, he wouldn’t be surprised if there is a healthy competition alongside (a reluctant and possibly pressured) Silver Spoon for being first in a long line of potential paramours.

His chuckle must have been louder than he thought as a single blue eye opens, searching in the dark. “B-Big Mac?” Diamond Tiara chances with a wavering whisper, slowly shifting to a stance that would better enable her to defend her stallion against whatever intruder might be present.

“Eeyup,” Big Mac replies, just as quiet. He admires the way she challenges him, unlikely as it would be to succeed. Better than just giving in, that’s for sure, and a necessity if she lives at Sweet Apple Acres, what with the Everfree Forest on the border.

“Oh, good.” Diamond Tiara sinks back down, sighing in relief. “But, still. You shouldn’t sneak around like that!”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac returns, a twinkle in his voice. “Ah came by t’ let ‘Bo know he’ll be runnin’ the apple stand while yer at school. An’, if’n yer feelin’ up to it, Ah’m sure he’d appreciate help with the mornin’ deliveries.”

Diamond Tiara stares at him, chewing on her tongue. “I liked it more when you didn’t talk,” she mutters to herself.

“Eeyup,” Big Mac agrees, her eyes widening as she realizes she was overheard. He winks before softly shutting the door. He likes it more when he doesn’t have to talk, too. Simpler that way, when all he has to deal with are apples, Apples, and fruit bats.

After making sure Pomarbo’s cart is packed and ready to go he heads out to the orchards. He likes being there to greet Celestia’s sun as it rises. He finds it a little awkward when the Princess herself sups with them, or goes to sleep a mere stone’s throw away. As great as it would be to sire with the most powerful mare in Equestria if not the world? He’s glad it isn’t him. Too much responsibility, and time taken away from the farm.

Which merely raises the question of who he would want to sire with.

He ponders this as he hitches up the plow. Obviously they’d have to be okay moving to Sweet Apple Acres, or at least Ponyville, especially if Pomarbo doesn’t get an apple farming cutie mark. And of those already in Ponyville? He dreads asking anypony he’s known his whole life. After all, they’ve had the opportunity for years and haven't made a move. Or take Miss Cheerilee. The fairly young schoolteacher’s pleasant greetings never amounted to anything more. The few times they were able to chat, back when Apple Bloom was in school, they didn’t click. She had talked about dance raves, something he has less than no interest in, and talk of flowers led nowhere. He can’t see himself pursuing anypony younger, and nopony caught his eye at the last reunion.

Once the latest wheat field is done and gone over a second time Big Mac heads back to the farmhouse. It lies quiet and empty.

He finds that depressing, but it would be hard to tell from his demeanor.

“Hey, Big Mac!”

Big Mac looks up. Rainbow Dash, sporting a wide, unabashed grin, floats down with a butter yellow pegasus, cutie mark of light blue mist and two dark blue butterflies, with a brilliant light and bright blue striped mane. She strongly reminds him of Fluttershy. He vaguely remembers seeing her before, and wonders why Rainbow Dash would be introducing him to a new weather recruit. She is pretty cute, though, with sea green eyes and a nice swish to her voluptuous tail.

“Eeyup?”

“Big Mac, this is Misty Fly.” Rainbow Dash indicates the well-toned mare. She gives a sharp smile and curt nod. He finds it uncomfortable to be under such scrutiny. “Misty Fly, this is Big McIntosh, or Big Mac.”

Not knowing what else to say (though questions as to Rainbow Dash’s intentions top the list) Big Mac merely nods and says, “Eeyup.” She waves, her smile one he wouldn’t mind seeing more of.

Rainbow Dash frowns, though a saccharine smirk quickly covers it up. “I’m showing Misty Fly around Ponyville.” Big Mac, having known Rainbow Dash since she arrived, has neither seen nor heard of her doing this for anypony. “I was telling her about how you like your trees watered!”

Big Mac stares at Rainbow Dash. He’s not sure what her plan is, or what she’s up to. It doesn’t feel like one of her pranks, but they never do until all your apples are painted bright and bold. “Ee-yup.”

“So, yeah!” In the meantime, Misty Fly has lost herself looking at the coming rain clouds, so Rainbow Dash clears her throat before beginning her explanation. “See, we run things differently now than back when we were at school. Instead of dumping eight tenths of a cloud over a lake or in transit, each of us will be assigned to a specific area. You’ll take your cloud, mash it real thin, and spread it out over the grass or trees or whatever.”

Rainbow Dash keeps glancing over as if to make sure that he is paying attention, that she’s explaining things correctly. He’s surprised she knows all this, and finds himself nodding along with the occasional “Eeyup.”

“Now, at Sweet Apple Acres, with the way their orchards are set up? Long, thin chains work best. I start at the east end, on the Ponyville side, and contour the clouds so they’re barely covering the wheat fields to the south and stretch all the way to the White Tail Woods to the north. It takes a little getting used to how wide they should be; you don’t want any excess pushing out over the Everfree. Don’t worry about going too wide; the trees have roots that spread out under the paths, so it’s not like it’s wasted or anything, but it should be even the whole way.”

Misty Fly pays attention the entire time with a certain focus, as if every instruction might mean life or death. He’s surprised by her intensity, especially given the daydreaming she seemed to be doing just seconds ago.

“Then, after you’ve got your bank set up, it’s just a matter of moving it every so often, maybe thirty minutes or so. I would generally alternate, you know, a nap on one, then a quick hundred, light lunch, max sprints, that sort of thing.” Rainbow Dash shrugs. “Doesn’t seem like much, but getting it right’s important. Any questions?”

“Understood. No questions, ma’am.” Misty Fly turns to Big Mac, regarding him with a sharp smile. “Anything to add, ma’am?”

“Hey, no need to be so formal,” Rainbow Dash cuts in with a chuckle.

“Yes, ma’am.” Misty Fly’s posture relaxes noticeably, but her frame is still erect with limbs carefully tucked. She watches him, waiting for an answer.

“Ee-nope,” Big Mac replies. The weather team - which, for Sweet Apple Acres, mostly consists of Rainbow Dash - does a fine job. When she’s not crashing into the trees, that is.

Misty Fly’s smile twists upward, her eyes twinkling. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Big Mac isn’t sure how to take that, so he answers with a simple, “Eeyup.”

“Now,” Rainbow Dash orders - he finds the commanding edge in her voice quite appealing - “the clouds for today should have been delivered to the northwest pen by the lake. Go retrieve our share, and get to work spreading them out. I need to make sure everypony is up and at ‘em, but I’ll be back around to check on you. Any questions?”

“No, ma’am.” Misty Fly’s foreleg jerks, and she turns the aborted salute into a short wave. “Pleasure meeting you, Big Mac.”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac says before realizing that probably isn’t the best response. “Err, nice meetin’ ya, too, Misty Fly.”

She takes off at a quick pace he would expect from Rainbow Dash and not the green recruits. He watches her, admiring her flanks and wondering if she would be able to take his considerable weight. And girth.

“Sooo,” Rainbow Dash draws out. Big Mac quickly averts his gaze, but to no avail; if he could get any redder he would, her interpretation of his leer right on the mark. Yet the expected teasing doesn’t come, instead a certain gleeful anticipation. “It’s, um, pretty nice having a weatherpony that takes such an interest in the farm, right?”

“Ee-” Big Mac starts, gulping, wondering what Rainbow Dash is going to extort out of him for her silence. “Eeyup?”

Instead of pressing her advantage she lands. “And, at some point pretty soon, hopefully next year, I’ll be joining the Wonderbolts.”

She pauses, staring him in the eyes.

He blinks. She isn’t…

“I won’t be around to make sure the farm gets the perfect weather,” Rainbow Dash continues, as though he is a particularly hard-headed foal.

He fumbles around for what to say, settling on his go-to, “Eeyup.”

“And I don’t think Doug wants to add another mare to his herd,” she says, as if her intention wasn’t already obvious. She nods twice, trying to get him to nod along. “She likes a fruit heavy gelatin, big haydogs with all the fixings, and a cinnamon and cardamom pudding with a pinch of lemon and lots of cream. You know, just in case.” She winks, entirely unnecessarily, before taking off.

Big Mac sighs. This is what he gets for complaining, even to himself. Oh well. After all, how bad could it possibly be?

Ch. 180 - Omen on the Winds, Part Two

“Eeyup,” Big Mac says to himself as he looks over the cartfuls of harvested apples with a certain satisfaction. Six large piles, two each of scrumptious Red Delicious, Granny Smith, and Golden Delicious, enough to fill their orders with more than enough left over for the Cider Squeezy. Nothing in life quite compares to that sense of meaning. Of a job well done. Of fulfilling one’s mark. He’s not really surprised it’s already dinnertime. The days go by so quickly with his hooves in the orchards, just himself and his thoughts and the apples.

That sneaking suspicion somepony is watching him remains. It isn’t a pegasus, as far as he can tell, for all he can’t get a certain pegasus out of his mind. His thoughts about Misty Fly had been all jumbled when he was working, and still are.

Is this something he wants to pursue? Well, if not now, when? Never? He can hear the clock ticking, that soon enough he won’t have the energy to chase foals around and take care of his responsibilities on the farm. What mare would want a stallion that isn’t able to do both, who would either get bitter and resentful about not fulfilling his mark or neglect the foal(s) to do his own thing? He does want foals, and a herd, yet waiting around for a mare to ask him hasn’t worked, so he’ll have to take things into his own hooves.

What would Granny Smith say? He’s certain Ma and Pa would have told him to follow his heart, and everypony else can keep their opinions to themselves. He can hear the objections, though, the same asked about his sister’s stallion. How will it impact their foal, assuming she wants one (or more!)? He’s heard mixed breeds can sometimes turn out stunted one way or the other, like a pegasus with small wings who struggles to fly, but the worst of those are nowhere near as crippled as Doug’s foals. His sister certainly seems okay with it, seeing how she’s carrying another one of his, but he can see how she bites her lip when Pomarbo talks so passionately about the Cider Squeezy and not the orchards. He’s had a lot of time to come to grips with how they have turned out; he hopes his foals will be inclined to work on the farm, where even many full-dirted earth ponies struggle.

When Fluttershy arrives with a newly marked Hedge, the green hedge on the brown filly’s flanks shyly displayed, he feels the same swelling in his heart. Here is another pony who will be able to find that same satisfaction. He can’t wait to see how the young mare makes her mark, especially if the greenery indicates a talent that can be utilized on the farm. Truth be told he was worried about her getting some sort of animal cutie mark more in line with Pharynx and the Abattoir than Dr. Fauna.

He isn’t the only one excited, even if his reaction is the most subdued. The three are almost to the Carrot House when he hears a booming exclamation from the horizon, followed by a dust cloud that cuts across the path along the Everfree Forest to the southwest and heads straight for them. Big Mac gulps, stoically standing his ground while Fluttershy and Hedge take refuge behind him.

He squints, trying to make out who or what is the pink blur at the head of the dust cloud. Could it be the head of a Tatzlewurm, kicking up an excess of dirt as it burrows toward them? Or something far worse? Oh, who is he foaling, it’s obviously Pinkie Pie, the crazed mare skidding to a stop inches away from him and staring with an intensity that makes him question if she is looking straight through him. She peers one direction, then the other, and he can sense the two mares behind him swaying the opposite direction, as if they could stop instead of only delay the inevitable.

“Hedge!” Pinkie Pie finally exclaims as the young mare reacts a fraction of a second too slow. “Your cutie mark!”

“Mm,” Hedge reluctantly answers, stepping out and bashfully showing off her mark.

“That’s amazing!” Pinkie Pie presses a pink hoof into Hedge’s flank, tracing the vines and planter and pausing on the pair of orange eyes. “Oh! And it even seems like it’s looking at you!” She whirls on Fluttershy, who shies away from the excited attention. “You must have been so proud when it happened! Tell me all about it! Where were you standing? Did you have a good angle to see it, or were her flanks obscured by the-” Pinkie Pie takes two quick sniffs, tongue flicking out like a snake ”-Flo-Gro brand soil and fertilizer?”

Hedge’s muzzle scrunches up. “You know what imbued dirt smells like?”

“Of course, silly,” Pinkie Pie says, ruffling her brown mane. “The real question is why I know what imbued dirt tastes like.”

“Why do you know what imbued dirt tastes like?” Hedge asks, giggling at the silly question.

“Oh, that’s easy! You see, back at the rock farm after I got my cutie mark I wanted to make this confection called ‘dirt’. Most ponies make it with chocolate pudding, crumbled cookies, and gummy worms. But I didn’t have chocolate pudding, crumbled cookies, or gummy worms.”

Fluttershy and Hedge gasp in utter shock and disbelief. Big Mac joins in, but just to humor her.

“I know, I know!” Pinkie Pie melodramatically lifts the back of her hoof to her forehead. “But, don’t despair. At the rock farm, we had dirt in spades!”

Big Mac nearly, nearly, groans. He has to stay stoically above this humor or Pinkie Pie will hound him day and night with more jokes, which will really interfere with his farming. The other two aren’t as lucky, Pinkie Pie grinning all the wider at their mewling moans.

“Anyway, like I was saying,” Pinkie Pie explains, trying to sound particularly profound, “dirt is like the soil of the earth. You can braise it, grill it, poach it, roast it, simmer it, steam it, stew it. There’s chalky dirt, clay dirt, loamy dirt, sandy dirt, silty dirt. Oh, and if you get it wet, then you can make mud pies!”

Hedge pipes up, “What way’s your favorite?”

“My favorite?” Pinkie Pie blinks twice. Big Mac wonders if she - or anypony else - has ever been asked that question. “That’s easy! See, you take a clump of dirt - also known as a rock - and put it in a bowl of soup. Rock soup!”

Hedge snickers. “That’s silly.”

“Maybe I’ll make some for your cute-ceañera!” Pinkie Pie gasps at what she just said, whirling around to grab Hedge, lift her up, and stare directly into her eyes, suddenly super serious. “Now. On a scale of ninety six to one hundred, how off-the-hook do you want your cute-ceañera to be?!”

“Um,” Hedge stalls, glancing at her dam for support, “t-two?”

Pinkie Pie stops breathing, tears glistening in her slowly widening eyes. “You… you want your party to be the second most off the hook party I’ve ever thrown, paling only in comparison to the Crystal Empire’s escalating escapade?!”

“Um,” Hedge starts, but to no avail.

Pinkie Pie lets go of Hedge, leaving her suspended in midair, and takes off, disembodied words remaining. “SorryI’vegottogoprepareeverythingbye!”

Big Mac watches the dust cloud zoom toward Ponyville, then split off and go three different directions. He feels a rising sense of certain dread. And that it will somehow come back to him.

“Wait!” Hedge calls.

The three dust clouds stop, reverse, and zoom back together, coming to a stop just in front of Hedge. “Yes?” Pinkie Pie asks before exclaiming, “Oh! Silly me! I forgot to ask what kind of cake you want!”

“I-I like strawberries?” Hedge says.

“Okie Dokie Lokie!” Pinkie Pie pronks once, then she is off again with a trailing dust cloud that splits into three, then each of those splits in two.

“Oh, dear,” Fluttershy says, worry plainly etched across her face.

Some days Big Mac is glad he doesn’t have to deal with Pinkie Pie’s shenanigans. No, wait, that’s not true. It’s most days. His attention turns to Doug and the three ponies trotting along the southern road. The human is wearing his traveling clothes and boots, all dusty from the long trip and Pinkie Pie’s sprint. Wait, three ponies? He can make out Lemon and Meringue, but who is the gray mare next to them? She’s good looking, but he has a sinking feeling he can’t quite place.

“So,” Doug says to Fluttershy as he gets close, greeting Big Mac with a quick raise of the head that he returns, “how bad is it looking?”

“Pinkie Pie is throwing a party,” Fluttershy answers. Lemon and Meringue gasp before tackling Hedge, ecstatically bouncing around. “A big one.”

“Ah,” Doug says, mostly ignoring the fillies. “Snabu, then. What’s the occasion? Successful return to Ponyville?” He exchanges a quick nuzzle with Fluttershy, surprised but not saddened when she turns it to a deeper kiss. “Completion of our Friendship missions?” He glances at Big Mac, almost apologetically, as he fondly rubs Fluttershy’s flank. “New pony in Ponyville?”

Big Mac frowns. How did he know? “Eeyup?”

“Wait, really?” Doug focuses on Big Mac, picking up Fluttershy before she clambers onto him. “There’s a new pony in Ponyville and you know of him?” A smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Or her?”

“Eeyup.” Big Mac can feel his blush returning, but there’s an acute sense of jealousy, that this is the mare he will be pursuing. “Misty Fly.”

Doug’s brow scrunches up. He asks Fluttershy, “That’s your sister?” She nods, nestling into Doug’s embrace, curiously watching Big Mac.

Fluttershy’s sister? Big Mac supposes he can see the resemblance. Hopefully it isn’t awkward, but she seems happy.

“...I see. Oh, and speaking of new ponies.” Doug motions toward the gray mare, cutie mark of three banded purple rocks. Big Mac is glad they got off that topic so quickly. “Big Mac, this is Marble Pie, Pinkie’s younger sister.”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac says. Wait. Two sisters?

“Marble Pie,” Doug says after only a momentary pause, “this is Big Mac.” That cursed smirk returns. “He farms apples.”

“Mmhmm,” the bashful mare greets, hiding behind her two-tone gray mane. There must be something Big Mac is missing, and he doesn’t like whatever it is.

Doug waits for her to say something else. When she doesn’t he continues, “Well, I’ll leave you two to it.”

He takes two steps, letting go of Fluttershy, and reaches down to pluck Hedge from Lemon and Meringue and give her a great big hug. When she’s halfway up he notices the green mark on her flank, spinning her around to get a better look. “Your cutie mark!” He squeezes her to his chest, happily swaying side to side while Fluttershy looks on, beaming. “How did it happen?”

“Urk,” is all Hedge can get out, compressed as she is, and he only reluctantly lets her go. “I was at Grandmare Shy’s house. She had all these, um, planters on the nearby clouds. Like big boxes! And she had dirt. It was really dirty dirt.” She looks down at her hooves, some still caked around her frogs. “I should go wash.”

“But you haven’t,” Doug starts before stopping himself, taking a deep breath as he lets Hedge gallop to the nearest pond. “That filly,” he mutters, shaking his head. Fluttershy gives him a consoling pat on the back, the two of them content to watch her run off.

“So you farm apples?” Marble Pie asks, taking hesitant steps toward Big Mac. She stops, their noses nearly touching.

“Eeyup,” Big Mac says, wary about pointing to the giant heaps of apples at the sorting barn behind him in case she decides to step even closer. Something about this doesn’t seem right, but he can’t put his hoof on it. She’s watching him really closely, except only focusing on his eyes, while his gaze roams all over her. She has a long, straight mane and tail, kind of like Applejack’s. Her flanks are just as wide, and well muscled, presumably from hauling stone at the rock farm. Would plowing fields fulfill her mark? He could see those flanks pulling a plow. He could see himself plowing those flanks.

Big Mac blinks as she holds up a long rock shaped like a bottle. When he just stands there she nudges it toward him, prompting him to take it. “Err, thanks,” he says, berating that he doesn’t have anything to give her in return. “Ah, um…”

She giggles, which he finds infuriatingly cute. She makes a twisting motion with her hoof. “You’re supposed to spin it.”

Spin it? Big Mac looks at the bottle in his hoof. Not seeing the harm, he puts it on the ground.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Pinkie Pie zip into a tree he would have sworn wasn’t there before, clasp her hooves to her cheeks, and take a deep breath.

With a shrug he gives it a good spin, ending up with the tip pointing at Marble Pie.

“Mm,” Marble Pie says, looking pleased. She leans over to give him a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Wow!” Pinkie Pie exclaims as she zooms over. “That was quick! Oh, now I need to update all my fliers! Good thing I already planned for a big celebration! Get it? Big?” She scrawls on a piece of paper, then another, slapping one into Big Mac’s hooves and one into Marble Pie’s, then pronks over to Doug and Fluttershy before disappearing with an explosion of confetti.

‘Welcome, one and all!’ the flier reads in bold letters, ‘to Hedge’s cute-ceañera! Enjoy classic games and fabulous fare from four to six!’

Scrawled on the bottom is ‘Don’t miss out on the grand announcement of Big McIntosh’s herding!’

His eyes bug out. Wait, what!?

Ch. 181 - Omen on the Winds, Part Three

Doug claps Big Mac on the withers, next to his harness. “Congratulations!”

Big Mac barely feels the hit. He gulps, staring at the flier. Herding announcement? When did he-

“So,” Doug says to Marble Pie, quickly changing tacks and now giving a supportive pat, “somepony needs to get ready.” He tussles Big Mac’s short cropped mane, gently leading the stupefied stallion away. “See if we can’t get this big lug presentable. Stallions, you know?”

“Mm,” Marble Pie says, readily accepting this explanation. It is getting close to party time. She walks away with Fluttershy and the fillies, though her focus stays on Big Mac.

“You doing okay?” Doug asks as they leave earshot, though Big Mac suspects the human again underestimates pony hearing.

“Ee-” Big Mac starts. Part of him wants to end that with a clear ‘Nope’. A large part. One could even say a big part. How is he possibly supposed to herd up with a pony he hardly knows? At the same time, a ‘Yup’ would be a lie with how his thoughts are all jumbled up. Wouldn’t it?

He chances a glance back. Marble Pie’s smile grows a little larger before she looks away, flipping her mane. He likes seeing her smile.

“...Yup.” Big Mac snorts as they head toward the shower stall, his muzzle hard. He flaps the ‘invitation’. “This ain’t real. Rainbow Dash put you up to it. Or Pinkie Pie.”

“‘Fraid not,” Doug says, kicking off his dust-covered jackboots. He strips out of his traveling garb, Big Mac understanding him wanting to get out of the constrictive and concealing garments, even as he finds his own yoke a comfortable weight. “There’s a mare out there who fully expects to bind you to her and vice versa. Maybe not tonight, but within a fortnight or so.”

“Oh?” It’s just like the human to play peacekeeper. Big Mac demands, “Then Pinkie Pie put ya up to this? Ya knew what that bottle meant?”

Doug looks away, mouth tightening, left hand squeezing the apples on his right hand. “I did,” he answers as he continues stripping down. “I didn’t know she planned on doing anything so soon. Nopony put me up to it, but they made their intentions plenty clear.” Big Mac stops outside the outdoor shower. Doug holds the door open, expecting him to follow. He cracks a smirk. “I know I like the smell of apples and sweat, but I can’t say the same for everypony in Ponyville.”

Big Mac grumbles as they head into the shower stall. Of course he won’t be able to skip out on the party, not if it’s for him. And why does Doug think he needs help getting ready? He’s not some little colt, needing dam to scrub behind his ears!

Doug has to stoop over to fit under the nozzle, the one in the Carrot House built to accommodate his taller stature, though there’s plenty of space for them to fit. He sets out the shampoo and sponges before grabbing a brush and scrubbing away at the dirt caked into the red coat. He shrugs as Big Mac just stares at a wall, the sun tattooed on his muscled chest rippling. “I don’t mind if you talk, even if Applejack doesn’t always appreciate it.”

He wants him to talk? Fine. “So ya just went along with it?” Big Mac asks, resisting when Doug pushes him this way and that, though he struggles to stay mad at the one willing to clean his back and other hard to reach spots. “Ya didn’t think Ah’d object to some mare Ah don’t know nothin’ about up’n decidin’ Ah was gonna be her stallion?”

“Yeah,” Doug says with a bitter edge Big Mac didn’t expect, his brush strokes getting harsher. “I did.”

Oh. Big Mac gulps, no longer fighting. Ah guess he does know what that’s like.

“You could back out,” Doug continues, making quick work of Big Mac’s sides before filling a bucket with warm water and rinsing his coat. “Nothing is set.”

Could he do that to Pinkie Pie’s sister? It’s expected of a stallion to say yes, barring some extenuating circumstances, and this certainly would qualify. He would tell Marble Pie no, he’s interested in somepony else. And she would burst into tears and run off. And Pinkie Pie would forever haunt his nights, endlessly sharpening her bread knives and zucchini skewers and castration shears, madness in her straight-mane shrouded eyes.

No, no, that’s ridiculous. Pinkie Pie doesn’t grill with zucchini skewers, that’s more Doug’s specialty. Maybe she’d borrow them from him? Regardless, he doesn't want to draw the partymare’s ire.

“...Eeyup.” Big Mac sighs. He wonders if the rock farm can support apple trees. It should; after all, cousin Braeburn makes it work in the deserts of Appleloosa. “Why’d she want to herd up with me, anyway?”

“This is probably something you should ask her,” Doug says with a chuckle. “You know, get to know her better and all.” He starts on Big Mac’s undercarriage, working in the shampoo and rinsing as he goes, talking to distract them. “She thinks she should be able to make it work with anypony who shares her values. Not that she doesn’t think you’re fine stud material or anything; we may have talked up some of your hunkier attributes.”

Big Mac stands straighter. “Eeyup?”

Doug barks out a laugh as he slaps Big Mac’s muscular flank. “She’s quiet. You’ll like her.” He takes two towels to dry him off, then runs a second brush while rubbing in a little oil to leave the coat nice and glossy.

Big Mac takes a moment to admire himself. He looks good. Doug’s washed him off before, of course, but he didn’t expect this skill at pampering from the human, who takes but a second to wash his hair and then towel off. “Ya practiced with Rarity?”

“Eeyup,” Doug returns with a wink. “And Rainbow Dash, but don’t tell anypony.”

Big Mac rolls his eyes, as if anypony didn’t know the pegasus’ love for anything physical.

The other ponies have already left, and if they don’t dawdle they’ll get to Ponyville when the party starts. Big Mac can see decorations sprouting up all over, gulping at the thought of being the center of attention. He’s glad for Doug walking next to him, though he doubts the human is any more thrilled.

“So,” Doug says with a conspiratorial note in his voice, “tell me more about this Misty Fly.”

“Err, what’s there to tell?” Big Mac lets out a nervous chuckle. Now that he thinks about it, he knows as much about her as he does about Marble Pie. “She’s new to Ponyville, and-”

“A new pony in Ponyville?!” Pinkie Pie exclaims, eyes bulging as she skids to a stop. “Skewer me! How come nopony told me there was a new pony in Ponyville!” She grabs the flier out of Big Mac’s hooves and scribbles in the margins that, in addition to being a cute-ceañera and herding announcement it would also be Misty Fly’s Welcome to Ponyville party.

“Hey, Pinkie?” Doug says a split second before she takes off. She pauses in midair. “Isn’t Marble Pie also new?”

Pinkie Pie’s eyes bulge out a second time, now threatening to spill out of her face. “Well, yeah, silly, but if ponies thought I brought ponies to Ponyville just to throw them a Welcome to Ponyville party then my pony party propensity might be probed!”

“Problematic,” Doug agrees. “But since you’re already throwing a Welcome to Ponyville Party then that potential pickle doesn’t apply.”

Pinkie Pie gasps. “Perfect! Appreciated, partner!” She gives Doug a great big hug before zooming off. Furious sounds soon echo from Ponyville, saws and hammers and drills, the construction version of Pinkie Pie’s tubanjaccordidrum.

Big Mac looks at the flier in his hoof, which now states the party is also for Marble Pie, crammed into the one remaining empty spot. He doesn’t remember her changing it. Or giving it back to him, for that matter. Best to ignore it.

He continues from where he left off, “Rainbow Dash pointed out how nice it is havin’ a weather pony with a stake in the farm.”

“Rainbow Dash does take pride in proving she’s the best,” Doug agrees. He elbows Big Mac in the side. “Plus, it helps that Misty’s a looker.”

Big Mac snorts. “You say that about everypony.”

“I can’t help it if it’s true.” Doug whistles, a catcall, his attention suddenly on the pink mare standing brashly in front of them. “Speaking of.”

“Miss Cheerilee?” Big Mac says, momentarily confused. No, it’s just a mare that looks exactly like her except more muscular, with a cutie mark of a brown branch with three white blossoms, her two-tone pink mane spiky and hugging her neck.

“Close,” the mystery mare says with a confident smirk. Behind her, in Ponyville proper, a number of ponies from Ponyville are gathering to watch, including Rainbow Dash and Misty Fly. “Name’s Cherry Blossom. My sister wrote about here, and about you, but it wasn’t until Gladmane recommended I come on down that I decided to see what all the fuss is about.”

Another sister of a Ponyvillian? And she knows Gladmane? Big Mac isn’t sure where this is going, but he is certain he doesn’t like it.

“Honestly?” Cherry Blossom’s smirk intensifies. “I don’t know that I care for what I see.”

“Ee-what?” Big Mac says, his hackles rising. The crowd boos, yet she seems immune to it, even going so far as to relish the jeers.

“Either everypony here must be blind,” Cherry Blossom continues with a dismissive flick at the coarse crowd. They mutter among themselves, dams plugging foals’ ears and glaring not at the ponies uttering the invectives but at the mare deserving of them. “Fine stallion like you, and you’re only now getting snatched up?” She waves one of the fliers, which Pinkie Pie takes the opportunity to modify mid-wave. “Either that or you’re the kind of stallion who gets caught up in his own harness.”

“It ain’t worth it, Mac,” Doug cautions, lightly pulling on his yoke, but Big Mac can see the twinkle in his eye, like he’s playing a part rather than saying what he actually believes. “You’re better than this!”

“So which is it, hoss?” Cherry Blossom demands, puffing her chest out. “Are you a nopony from Notown?” She pauses, Rainbow Dash nudging Misty Fly and muttering some nonsense about ‘dramatic effect’. “Or just too chicken to prove it?”

That does it. “Eenope,” Big Mac says, shrugging off the human. Doug stumbles back, exaggerating the push. He takes two steps forward, which Cherry Blossom mirrors, the mare downright eager to take on somepony with a hundred kilos on her. That makes him wary, especially how she smoothly slips into a wrestling stance, low to the ground with one foreleg raised, warding him away while threatening to quickly close the gap.

So that’s how she wants to play it? Big Mac raises the opposite leg, charging forward, batting her aside so he can grab at her supporting foreleg.

She must have read him like a book because she uses his momentum against him, rolling with his charge while grabbing onto his reaching foreleg with both of hers. She pulls, hard, throwing him off balance and on top of her. He does little to cushion his fall, landing with his entire weight on her, but the hit that knocks her breath out barely fazes her. She tries to sweep her body around his head, to wrap her back legs around his foreleg and completely neutralize any danger he might pose while threatening to dislocate one or both forelegs by straightening her body out.

Big Mac has none of that. He pushes forward, his grip on her withers like a vice, completing the roll and bringing him to his hooves. She still has a death grip on his foreleg, her body suspended in midair, her whole weight hanging from the one appendage. He doesn’t want to hurt her, not badly, but she’s not looking like she’s going to let go any time soon. He lifts her up, ignoring the discomfort, and drops down on her, using about a tenth of his weight.

She grunts at the hoof compressing her chest, redoubling her attempt to subdue him with the legbar. If she could get her back legs around his neck he’d be done, but his yoke is doing a marvelous job of keeping her from completing the hold.

Big Mac grunts in pain, not yet out of the fight. He roars as he lifts again and slams down with everything he has.

Cherry Blossom lets go, rolling out of the way in the nick of time as he pulverizes the street, a cloud of dust billowing upward.

‘Ah put too much into that,’ Big Mac thinks, off balance from how much power he used, as she seizes the opportunity to leap onto his back and slip one foreleg between his yoke and his neck. He clamps down, instinctually, trying to keep her out, but there’s no dislodging the mare now. The dust makes it impossible to hold down a breath without coughing, and he can’t reach her. He drops down on his side, trying to relieve the pressure, but it’s too late, and all he can offer is a pair of light taps to her foreleg.

“Whew-wee, partner!” Cherry Blossom offers as she immediately lets go, hopping off and offering to haul him to his hooves. “Yer a fighter!” He accepts, if grudgingly, though there’s no glee or gloating coming from her. Likewise, the crowd doesn’t seem put out at all, even Rainbow Dash stomping along. “Didn’t expect to go all out like that!” She winks as she pulls him close, whispering in his ear, “I like that.”

“Ee…” Big Mac says as he pulls away, only for her to plant a kiss solidly on his muzzle. “...What?”

“What?” Cherry Blossom echoes, smirking as she raises an eyebrow. “Did ya think I’d put ya down for puttin’ up a good fight? ‘Course not, partner! How many stallions are willing to take a stand like you did? There’s no shame in losin’, as long as you gave it your best shot! And your best?” She winks again, slower this time, making absolutely sure he gets the full implication. “I think I could stand to receive a little more of your best.” She flicks her head at one of the fliers dotting the crowd. “That herding announcement? I want in.”

Big Mac blinks twice, kicking himself for ever being jealous of Pomarbo. Three of them? How much worse can this day get?

Ch. 182 - Omen on the Winds, Part Four

“In?” Big Mac says, trying to stay confident. “But, after what ya said about us here Ponyvillians…”

“Oh, that?” Cherry Blossom snickers, brushing off his concern with an easy smile. He immediately regrets saying anything that might encourage her to leave. “I’m so used to playing the face, I thought I’d give playing the hock a spin. It’s fun and all, and I love hamming it up. But honestly?” She leans in close again. “You Ponyvillians are so kind compared to the Manehattanites I normally chum with, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already forgiven me.”

“Eeyup.” Big Mac can’t help but agree. They are a forgiving bunch. His ego isn’t bruised, no more than his coat. And, surprisingly, he’s still nice and glossy. He glances over at six approaching ponies - Rainbow Dash and Misty Fly, Doug and Marble Pie, but also Rarity and Twilight, the latter two at whom Doug directs a goofy grin and wave - while the crowd disperses to their preparations.

“Great success?” Doug greets with a fond ear scratch to the alicorn, Rarity quick to get in on the action that leaves her tongue lolling and eyes rolling to the back of her head.

“Met up with the families, saw Cadance and my BBBFF, listened to Radiant Hope and Tempest Shadow.” By Doug’s grimace and the slow of his hand Big Mac can tell Doug is more than a little concerned. Twilight quickly continues, already missing his ministrations, “But everypony is doing well; they might even be coming to Ponyville!”

“Err,” Big Mac stammers, trying to covertly scan the crowd for anypony showing too much interest. “You don’t happen to have any sisters, do you?”

“Me?” Twilight frowns for a second. “Twinkleshine and Minuette.” She motions behind Big Mac, her pleasant smile reasserting itself. He doesn’t have to look to recognize the names, the unicorns having moved into town several years ago. Twinkleshine, pink mane and white coat with a cutie mark of three blue stars, often comes by the stall late in the day after she wakes up for her job as night warden. Minuette, dark blue and gray mane with a light blue coat and a cutie mark of an hourglass, is more esoteric, helping the musicians with their timepieces and keeping everything running. Both are proficient casters, which makes sense given their pedigree, and neither has interacted beyond occasional pleasantries. Twilight’s smile broadens, perhaps knowingly, yet alarmingly so all the same. “Why?”

“...Curious,” Big Mac finally says, dreading the outcome of meeting them. He knows Rarity has a few sisters; except for young Namby Pamby and her dam Niminy Piminy they all moved to Canterlot with Hondo Flanks. Would they come back too? Would he… want them to come back?

“How’s the foreleg?” Misty Fly asks during the lull in conversation, Rainbow Dash right behind her. She must have taken his look of mental discomfort for something physical. Misty Fly gently takes his hoof after the slightest wait, giving it a minor twist. “Any pain?”

“Ee-nope.” Well, there’s a little, but nothing more than the soreness anypony would expect.

She looks at him, like she can detect even the merest hint of dishonesty. He gulps, then gives a slight nod.

“You have to be careful,” Misty Fly warns, setting his hoof back on the ground. She gives it a light tap, and a smile. He likes her smile. Why would he do something that would wipe that smile away? “You wouldn’t want to injure your leg, would you?”

“That would make your mark harder to fulfill,” Marble Pie adds with a firm nod.

Big Mac glances at Rainbow Dash, who seems stuck halfway between a smile and a grimace. Granted, the pegasus (and most of Doug’s herd) did help out with his half of the applebucking after her ‘trick’ left his leg broken, but it sure wasn’t the best week for either of them. “Eeyup.”

“Now, hold on,” Cherry Blossom says, affronted. Big Mac doesn’t like seeing her - or the other two - out of sorts. “Just because he might be injured doesn’t mean he shouldn’t try something.”

“But,” Marble Pie argues, “if it takes away from his mark?” She pointedly looks at Cherry Blossom’s cutie mark of a cherry blossom. “He wouldn’t be able to focus on that.”

Cherry Blossom scoffs. “There are more things in life than just your mark.” She turns to Big Mac, head cocking to the side. “What do you think?”

There are, but they all fail to live up to the joy he gets from farming. The mares all make good points. He doesn’t want to disappoint the others by agreeing with one. How can he possibly choose between them?

He gulps, looking every which way for some way out of this that won’t upset any of them.

He spots Sugarcube Corner. Pinkie Pie is suspiciously absent from the establishment this close to party time.

“Ah, ah, ah think Ah better go check on the food,” he says, backpedaling as fast as he can without them getting too suspicious. He doubts he succeeded. “Make sure the, um, pies are done right. For the herding. Announcement.”

Misty and Cherry look at Marble, but by the time they look back he has galloped halfway across town, head lowered so he doesn’t accidentally make any eye contact with Twinkleshine or Minuette. Or anypony else for that matter. He’s not sure if they are following him, he doesn’t want to look back and check, but at the same time worries how they took his departure. He hopes they took it well.

The door to Sugarcube Corner swings open easily, the store deserted and uncharacteristically bare for an imminent party. Young Meringue staffs the counter, the light yellow filly only able to see above by utilizing a series of stools. She’s setting out a number of pies of questionable quality, at least judging by the discounts and the… pungent odor. They smell like crust, an overcompensating amount of butter and a lack of… something. Something vitally important, something no baker would think to exclude, yet there it isn’t.

The filly stares at him with an expressionless visage, mulling over something.

“How’re the, um, pies?” Big Mac asks. There’s no way they are serving something like that for any party, let alone his own, right?

“Poor essence. Little value.”

“Oh.” Big Mac frowns, inspecting the pies closer. It’s not like Pinkie Pie to let any sort of substandard cooking pass the counter. Except that time Applejack baked a whole bunch of baked bads with sour gummy worms. They weren’t that bad, come to think of it, just not up to the Pinkie Pie Party Guarantee he’s come to expect. Is she too busy setting up the three, or maybe four (or even more!) parties? “Ya need help?”

“Preparations inadequate. Must improve. Assistance… appreciated.”

Big Mac chuckles to himself as Meringue prompts him to enter the kitchen. He doesn’t talk because he needs to make sure he listens, while Meringue tries to be as efficient as possible with her language. Not that she gets her point across any faster than Pinkie Pie, she just uses a tenth of the words.

The kitchen is no better than the counter. The smell of burning assaults his nose as soon as he walks inside the kitchen. Not the good burning of a wood oven, or the distressed burning of an overdone pie, but the burning of… plants?

“Big Mac!” Sweetie Belle screams from next to her bowl of charred lettuce and extra-crispy greens. “Thank Celestia you’re here! You gotta help me!”

“Eeyup.” He’s not sure how the young mare burned a salad, only that this isn’t the first time. Did she use her horn again? Why would she be doing that? His nose wrinkles as he walks over, cautious of the contents bursting into flame, and calmly takes the bowl away.

Sweetie Belle sighs a huge sigh of relief. “Thanks, Mac.” She points to the other end of the table at a lovely pink unicorn mare with a curly dark purple mane and a cutie mark of a heavily frosted cupcake topped by a cherry. She’s obviously struggling, but why eludes him. He would think a mark like that would be at home in the kitchen. “I was helping Sugar Belle with her mark, but when I tried to demonstrate it got a little, erm… incendiary.”

“Eeyup.” Big Mac walks over to this Sugar Belle, wondering what’s wrong. He stops next to her, by an opened but unused bag of sugar. She has several filled bowls, everything ready to be mixed, but for some reason hasn’t been.

The mare jolts as Big Mac walks next to her, though she doesn’t seem at all afraid about him being there. She’s clearly distraught over something, though. Cutie mark related? Why would a baker - he assumes a cutie mark of a cupcake would make somepony a baker - struggle with baking? She bites her lip, her nose scrunching up. He doesn’t care for seeing anypony’s nose scrunch up like that, especially hers.

“Sugar Belle,” Sweetie Belle cuts in, eager to explain. “This here’s uncle Big Mac!” The pink mare cautiously looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “This is perfect! He’s a much better baker than me; he can help you!”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac says with a firm nod. He doesn’t like to brag (Applejack would glare at him if he said that out loud), but he is a good baker. One of the best in the family! (Applejack would also glare at him if he said that out loud. It’s a good thing he keeps his mouth shut most of the time.)

“I’ll leave so you can work on this together,” Sweetie Belle says, stepping away. She returns to add, scowling and pointing at her eyes and then his, “Alone. Together.”

Big Mac frowns at the impertinent young mare. She skitters out of the kitchen, only to peek from around the swinging door. What is she worried about? It’s not like he’s going to look into her eyes, and see her smile, and fall head over hooves in-

He turns back to Sugar Belle. She’s still standing there, looking at him with the same dread that he had when thinking about having more mares chase after him. Wait, no, she’s not looking at him, she’s looking at the bag of sugar next to him.

Whew.

He takes a step back, to make sure her focus stays on the bag of sugar and not him.

It does. He’s not sure why, he feels like he should be relieved that she doesn’t find him distasteful. Yet a part of him wishes the revulsion in her gaze was directed at him, because then he wouldn’t have to worry about yet another mare trying to insert herself into his life.

“‘F’raid that sugar’s gonna leap out at ya?” Big Mac quips, chuckling at his joke. His laughter dies off as she takes his joke with deadly seriousness, the grimace in her gaze intensifying.

“It’s not getting into my hooves that I’m worried about,” Sugar Belle says, keeping her hooves pointedly planted on the floor. “It’s getting it out.”

“Yer worried about usin’ too much?” Big Mac sidles up to the distraught mare, wanting more than anything to comfort her. And not just because she has a set of half-starved flanks that could really use an apple - a whole cartload of apples - to fill out. He gently takes her front hooves and lifts, placing her on the counter and ready to work. “Ya can’t be afraid of usin’ some ‘cause ya might use too much.”

She goes along with his motions, putty in his hooves, though this putty is jiggling worse than a jar of apple jelly. “But what if my mark wants me to add more? And more and more and more and-”

“When Doug started bakin’,” Big Mac interrupts, much to the mare’s relief, “we had to write down a bunch of family recipes that we normally would’a passed by word’a mouth. An’ if there’s one thing that human likes, it’s havin’ things hashed out.”

“Sweetie Belle told me about the wheat farming,” Sugar Belle says, a hint of a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth.

“Then ya haven’t heard the half of it,” Big Mac says, trying to hide the fact that he’s avoiding her gaze by searching the lower part of the counter for a measuring cup. Except he can’t find any among the pots and pans and baking sheets. He belatedly realizes his mistake, that the cup is already by the mixing bowls.

“Am I missing something?” she asks.

“Here, try this,” he says as he comes up with a cheesy grin, trying to play this off like he meant to do that, and to his relief finds her not the slightest bit amused by his antics. “The crust is nice and ready, but we need to fix the fillin’. Ah find six to one sugar to flour works best, so lets try fillin’ two cups over here. That way ya can put the bag down, an’ won’t feel pressured to add more.”

“I guess I can try that,” Sugar Belle says, reluctantly stepping next to him. She takes the measuring cup, holding it as far from her as she can. She lifts the bag of sugar, a low moan emanating from her throat as she pours. And pours. And pours, heaps of sugar cascading from the mound on top of the cup.

And then she grits her teeth, rights the bag, and takes a deep breath. She grabs a nearby knife and carefully slides the excess back into the bag before dumping the requisite two cups of sugar into the mixing bowl.

“I did it,” she breathlessly exclaims, staring at the bowl. “Now I just need the filling. Like peaches, blueberries, or rhubarb.” He spots a teasing smirk on the corner of her crinkling muzzle. “Something sweet.”

He can’t help himself. “Something like… apples?”

“Those would be sweet.” She mimes looking all around the store. “Do you have some?”

“Eeyup.” He would have sworn Sugarcube Corner would be well stocked with apples, but he can’t see any. He hopes this isn’t like the measuring cup. “Ah’ll, err, Ah’ll go get some.”

“Thanks, Big Mac.” She coyly looks at him, smiling. “You’re pretty sweet, yourself.”

Big Mac finds himself falling in those cerise eyes, lost in her wrinkling smile. Why did he want to avoid her gaze? Her flanks don’t need apples, they need an Apple, and-

“I’m back!” Lemon calls as she enters through the front, a heavy bag of apples on her back. The yellow mare is swiftly filling out, larger than the slim Sugar Belle if a touch shorter. “Sorry it took so long, nopony was at the farm, so I-” She cuts off as she spots Big Mac and Sugar Belle, the two longingly gazing into each other's eyes. She squeals in delight, scampering over and jumping onto the counter. She takes one whiff of the pie filling, grinning from ear to ear. “You did it!”

“She did it,” Big Mac hastily explains. He doesn’t want to pull away from Sugar Belle, neither of them do, but she finally does with a certain look in her eye that promises that what he sees now will be waiting for him when he returns.

“We did it,” Sugar Belle insists as she takes one of the apples from Lemon’s bag, paring the skin with a deftness that leaves Big Mac shivering in anticipation. Yet her eyes never leave his, not even as she slices the apple apart, and especially not when she pops the core in her mouth, trapping it between her front teeth before letting it fall back and swallowing the core whole.

Big Mac shudders, only for her to start peeling another apple. “Thanks, Lemon,” he says, barely sparing the young mare a glance.

But that’s enough to see her smile, and get lost in the ocean of her eyes. Sure, she’s young, but she’s old enough, she’s been through one heat, and-

“Ee-nope, nope, nope,” Big Mac mutters. He frantically backpedals, eyes growing as large as the apple pies Sugar Belle is quizzically looking up from.

It’s not that Lemon’s smile grows unnaturally, spreading from ear to ear in a grotesque mockery of a filly. It doesn’t even reveal jagged teeth or a tentacled tongue. Her perfect smile merely grows a touch of concern, piercing into his heart and throwing his entire world into disarray.

“Big Mac?” the too young, too cute, too perfect mare asks innocently.

“Nope,” Big Mac says one final time, unable to look away. He fumbles for the latch on the storeroom door, finally opening it, and stumbles inside. How has this happened? Why has his entire world been thrown into disorder? Or, one might even say…

“Discord.”

“At your service,” says the hunched-over draconequus, clad in a white lab coat. He closes the door behind him, breaking the effect. “Is everything all right?” He peers over a set of spectacles Big Mac doesn’t remember being there before. “Do you require… assistance?”

Ch. 183 - Omen on the Winds, Part Five

Questions burn through Big Mac’s jumbled mind. Lemon and Meringue have been studying Chaos with Discord, and he puts it at too much of a coincidence for them not to be involved together. Which means the draconequus knows of his dilemma. Can he trust this offer of assistance? How would he help?

Or, perhaps most importantly, what would it cost?

“Hmm,” Discord remarks to himself, jotting down notes. His mismatched horn and antler scrape against the ceiling, his torso uncomfortably coiled to fit inside the small box of a storeroom. He regards Big Mac again, unsuccessfully tries to stretch, then goes back to his notepad.

If Big Mac didn’t know any better - he interacts with the ‘reformed’ Lord of Chaos as little as he can, let Lemon and Meringue play foalsitter for the unhinged enigma - he might feel some measure of pity for the cramped conditions. As it stands, he just wants to get out with all his limbs correctly proportioned. And attached.

Discord lets out a long, forlorn sigh that borders on being melodramatic. “I knew it was too simple, too elegant.” He shakes his head while clicking his tongue.

Before Big Mac can inquire further a hoof pounds at the door.

“Discord!” Lemon shouts from outside, warbling and on the verge of tears. “Let me in!”

The door swings open, seemingly of its own accord, except it goes to the ceiling instead of the side. Big Mac gets the barest glimpse of the other interested mares clustering around Sugar Belle’s pies before the door swings shut with a reverberating boom.

“Big Mac!” Lemon squeals in delight as she barrels inside.

Big Mac worriedly takes a step back, partly from the boom, but also from the sheer giddiness the mare radiates.

Lemon skitters to a stop when she sees his reluctance. “Big Mac,” she says again, pleading with every fiber of her body. “What’s wrong?”

Big Mac chews on his lip. What’s wrong? What isn’t wrong? How is he supposed to put into words that, for his whole life, mares have avoided him like the trots? Who wouldn’t be dismayed about the exhausting work and long hours he puts into his labor of love? Sure, Sweet Apple Acres is a prosperous farm in every way but bits, their wide-spread acclaim available to the masses at Applejack and Granny Smith’s insistence. But that doesn’t have the same appeal to an individual mare; they aren’t looking to hitch themselves to a mute brute, to a stallion devoted to such a grueling mark. They want a stay-at-home stud to watch over the foals. And now he has five of them?!

He stares at the lanky mare, not yet filled out despite inhaling her dam’s cooking. He has a hard time separating the grown mare from the inquisitive filly from a year ago. In fact, all of Doug’s foals have sprouted up like weeds once they got their cutie mark, famished flowers finding fertilizer and finally flourishing. “It’s hard to say.”

Lemon nods patiently. “I can wait.”

Discord huffs, but when challenged by Lemon’s crossed glare he says, “Well, you might, but those mares outside won’t. Tick tock.”

Big Mac knows this won’t be easy, and it’s not like he has any practice breaking mare’s hearts. But what can he say? The objections wither before they can even reach his tongue. Age? She’s old enough, barely. Size? Irrelevant, they’d make it work, and with how fast she’s growing? He’s known her since she was born, she’s grown up on the farm, and feels like a little sister to him. Maybe that one would stick. “This ain’t right, between us.”

Her lip quivers, eyes watering, and he’s not sure how long he can resist drowning in those watery depths. He takes a deep breath, close to gasping. The air whistles through his teeth, and his wheezing exhale sounds suspiciously like the Cider Squeezy, mechanized and synthetic. He suspects Discord is messing with him.

He finally says, “Yer mah sister’s herdmate’s elder filly.”

Discord holds up his claws and tries to fit them together, a puzzle that doesn’t fit. “And… what does that make you?”

“Absolutely nothing!” Lemon steps forward with an assuredness that surprises the stallion. “I love you! I want to spend the rest of my life with you, to help you along the way, to bear your burdens and your foals!”

Big Mac can scarcely believe it; he likes to think he taught Applejack a thing or two, yet he can’t sense any sort of dishonesty from the mare in front of him. Hay, even her scent screams that she’s serious, her musk intoxicating, and it’s all he can do to keep from getting distracted - neigh, overwhelmed by it. He doesn’t dare look at those slender, taunting flanks. When did this idea get planted in her head? And what did Discord mean when he said it was too simple, too elegant? He glances at the draconequus, as if there might be any answers there.

Lemon notices. She asks Discord, fervent eyes never leaving Big Mac, “Did you tell him?”

“And spoil your big reveal?” Discord bows, inviting her to continue.

Now it’s Lemon’s turn to take a deep breath. “Discord helped make a love potion, so we can live together in Love and Harmony.”

Big Mac snorts in disbelief. Like they could trust him. “Eeyup?”

“Honest to Celestia!” Discord’s lab coat shifts to a collared tan shirt festooned with badges of every shape and color. He holds up two claws in an unfamiliar salute, the other two making a circle. After a moment he gives an apologetic shrug, sending the badges shifting around. “Well, as far as I can foresee. I’m the reformed Lord of Chaos, after all, not ORDER. Who wants to know what the future holds?”

Big Mac turns back to Lemon. If he breathes through his mouth it ain’t as bad. “Maybe ya might want to start at the beginnin’.”

“When we were at the Pie’s,” Lemon explains with a certain urgency she inherited from her dam, “we learned about Harmony, and how she wants us to be honest, and generous, and loyal, and kind, and to laugh, and to be Friends. More importantly, we should be that way with anypony: young or old, near or far, mean or nice. But that can be hard, impossible even, and too many ponies fall short of what they could be. They don’t accept you with your flaws and quirks. They decide it isn’t worth pursuing any more, or not pursuing in the first place because it might not work. However, what if it doesn’t have to be that way?”

She pauses, waiting for a response she doesn’t get, and gamely continues, “Big Mac, you’re strong and stoic, the best uncle a filly could hope for. You’re honest, hardworking, and if anypony deserves a special somepony it’s you.”

Big Mac feels his heart swell at the compliments, but did it have to go like this?

“But you aren’t looking for somepony flashy, splashy, or obsessed with jelly. You want ponies who will stand by you, with you, on the farm. You want somepony you grow to know and to love, quirks and all. And if you could have somepony who will do the same with you, to have a love as perfect as can be, with no chance of messing up, wouldn’t you take it?”

Big Mac has to admit, that would be an alluring idea, as alluring as the yellow tail flipping back and forth. “How?”

Lemon glances at Discord. “Meringue read in one of Twilight’s books about how Hearts and Hooves day got started with a love poison.”

A chalkboard pops up behind Discord, now back in his lab coat and a spiky blue manecut, on which he draws two ponies smiling at each other with little animated hearts floating around behind them. “Love poison,” he emphasizes, “works by rerouting the joy and fulfillment a pony gets from their cutie mark to simply… oh, let’s say, staring into each other’s eyes.” He flutters his eyelashes, which have grown comically long, and puckers up for a big kiss.

Big Mac frowns. He vaguely remembers the story, having never cared much for the holiday. Or things that don’t help him plow a field. “Didn’t that story end with the kingdom in ruin?”

“Yes,” Lemon concedes immediately, “which is why we aren’t using a love poison, but a love potion. We went to Discord for help.”

“I had to break it to them,” Discord grumpily says with a sour smelling belch, “that what ponies call love is just a chemical reaction that compels them to breed. It hits hard, then it slowly fades, leaving them trapped in a failing herd. Just like the ‘joy’ you get from fulfilling your mark can be turned on and off like a switch.”

This sounds… this sounds heretical. How could Harmony be corrupted like this? Her plan rerouted like a stream?

Yet… yet ponies do reroute streams, to irrigate their crops; they divert rivers with dams, they change the weather, they use their Harmony-given tools to shift the very sun and moon. Would it be wrong to do the same with their cutie marks? Starlight Glimmer didn’t think so, and Celestia practically endorsed her - or at least the E. E. A. did. Although the Crusaders are spending their time there, helping those ponies who thought their destinies lay apart from their cutie marks. So what does he know? Or anypony else, for that matter?

Against his better judgment, Big Mac asks, “Ee-what?”

“Those mares out there?” Discord motions, too broad to acknowledge only the five mares that have shown interest. He grins a grin that’s far too chummy, like a shark slowly circling the water. “I can make their interest go away.”

He snaps with his leonine hand, too staccato a tap for the four padded claws.

Lemon sags to the ground, body stilled, a hoof holding her head, her sappy smile completely gone.

“Or?” Discord holds up his eagle hand, ready to snap. “I can make your resistance crumble, and you would be the perfect stallion to those mares for the rest of your long life.”

Big Mac shudders. He knows messing with minds is possible; hay, when Twilight enchanted Smarty Pants to teach the Crusaders a lesson, he was in the lead before Doug spirited the doll away and things went back to normal. But to so blatantly state it? And for a pony to voluntarily desire that? What kind of weak-willed wuss would want that? Not that his resolve is perfect or anything, but isn’t that the point of life? To get better at living as Harmony wills? A shortcut like this, forcing somepony to act Harmonically, even taken with the best of intentions…

“Celestia’s desiccated teats,” Lemon spits out, “that’s what feeling in love is like?” Her tongue hangs out as she pants, then a quick shake of her yellow mane sets her right. “But love is more than just that, that feeling,” she claims, Discord rolling his eyes as he crosses his arms. “It’s about sacrifice, about doing things for the betterment of the other. It’s about caring for the other pony even when you don’t feel attracted to them. That’s what we would do with a love potion: make it impossible to act in a manner you know would be detrimental to those pledged.”

Big Mac’s eyes narrow. “If ya’d force-”

“-No force,” Lemon interrupts. “No compulsion beforehoof, no requirement to be unaware. Completely voluntary.”

“Then those mares out there?” Big Mac points to the closed door. “What they were feelin’... what Ah was feelin’...”

“There may have been a slight nudge in that direction,” Discord admits. Lemon’s attractive scent remains, though he finds it easier to ignore. “But only with mares amenable to herding with you and not already engaged.”

Big Mac pointedly asks Lemon, “Then why were you affected?”

“Because I believe in this,” Lemon immediately answers. She still looks the part, eager and hopeful, but without the threat of breaking down if he so much as backs away. “Why would I agree to it, if I didn’t think it was best?”

Big Mac frowns, his objections stymied at every turn. Yet something still doesn’t feel right about this. “This love potion,” he asks, hesitant. Discord grins as he gives a slight nod. “How’s it work?”

“Essentially,” Discord explains, sullenly spelling it out, “the joy you get from fulfilling your mark would also come from when they fulfill their marks. Among other things, it keeps you from lying, straying, and from being discontent with your lot in life. It would automatically include any additions to the herd, on your side; they would make their own decision when the time came.”

“Keeps you?” Big Mac asks, unable to keep from shuddering. He struggles to put into words the objection he has, why he would reject such a tempting offer. Sure, he worries about straying, he doubts his willpower. But removing the possibility of the other mares being tempted away, of looking for better, more suitable prospects? He saw how Rarity struggled with Sweetie Belle; even Rainbow Dash, Element of Loyalty, obviously had her doubts and fears. Yet both ultimately decided to have a second foal with the human. What a display of commitment, of trust and love! With a unicorn and a pegasus interested in joining, he would face the same struggles. Yet using this love potion would eliminate the possibility of a similar display, of a similar bond developing between them. Is it generosity if it is forced? Is it really loyalty if it comes at the point of a horn, or antler?

“It ain’t right,” Big Mac finally says, but his conviction wavers. Is it not right? Would Harmony rather have a pony who occasionally screws up, but wants to do the right thing, or somepony who has no choice but to follow her?

“Do you want Harmony to guide you as you would a plow?” Lemon asks. “Or would you choose your own path?”

Big Mac doesn’t like the idea of being a plow, but if Harmony’s hoof is at the tiller…

“Oh?” Discord says, cocking his head. He seems to peer directly into Big Mac’s mind, perceiving his doubts and fears. “Afraid of being Harmony’s little wind-up toy?” He seems oddly pleased at this, like he wants Big Mac to reject the offer.

Big Mac isn’t sure how to take that; shouldn’t he want to please Harmony, not Discord? Unless the draconequus knows he would doubt his intentions… ugh, no, he can’t trust Discord’s reaction one way or the other. He has to choose based on what he thinks.

“What’s wrong?” Lemon asks, also sensing his trepidation. “You want to keep your ability to miss the mark? To stray, to err, to mess up?”

When she puts it like that… Is it her cutie mark giving her intuition about how he’s feeling, or is he just that much of a ripe orchard?

“Or…” Lemon pauses, rubbing at her chin in a considering manner entirely too reminiscent of her sire. “You want to go through the process of getting to know somepony. Flaws and strengths, quirks and all. You want to do this to forge that bond, a tree spreading its roots deep underground and making it impervious to the storms and droughts of life.” She steps forward, slowly, cautiously, and takes his hoof in hers. “I want that, too. I want it with you.”

“Welcome to your lucky day,” Discord intones, low and foreboding. He holds out a tray with six glasses of swirling purple. Lemon takes one, ready to drink as soon as he does.

Big Mac can’t decide. Which is more important? Doing the right thing, taking the path that promotes harmony? Or is the act of choosing the right thing important, the thought behind the action, even though you sometimes fail? Would they even be equines without that?

What would Harmony want?

Author's Notes:

Should Big Mac take the offer? Assume it is a genuine offer, and works as intended.

Ch. 184 - Omen on the Winds, Part Six

“Ee-nope.”

Big Mac doesn’t feel a hint of remorse as he declines her ‘offer’. He is a free pony, and he’d rather keep his faculties about him, thank you very much.

Lemon stares at Big Mac, as though she might will his hoof to move up and accept the drink. It soon becomes obvious - painfully so - that he won’t. She quivers, now focused on the floor, the bright purple liquid in her glass sloshing from side to side.

“I tried,” she whispers, but not to Discord as she shakily replaces her glass on his tray, somehow managing to not spill any. It all turns from clear glass to a metallic green stained with a red rust that seems to shed everywhere. “I gave it my very best.”

Discord laughs, sharp and derisive. “What did you think would happen? Harmony is a self righteous life form who is eager not to learn but to prosecute, to judge anything she doesn’t understand or can’t tolerate.” He sneers, remarking to Big Mac, “You made the right choice. Your own.”

As much as Big Mac is upset about Lemon trying to convince him to give up his wits, he doesn’t care at all for how Discord is treating her. “You should leave,” he says, gruff and unyielding.

The lanky draconequus leans against the wall, really leans, looking quite ‘cool’. Big Mac grumbles at being ignored, though he unconsciously tries to emulate that lean, crossing one foreleg ahead of the other and letting his weight settle against the wall. It is decidedly uncomfortable.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Discord remarks casually, “how hard it was convincing the map to send the lot of them on missions to see their parents, knowing that they would pick up a mare or four along the way. That is what you ponies are going on about these days, isn’t it?”

Wait, the Lord of Chaos sent the mares on those missions? And he did it in order to set me up? Somehow the realization that he needs a mare or four in his life sounds worse coming from a primal deity than it does coming from a practically newly minted mare, especially one with less faith in love than in harmony.

The horselike head dips down to peer at Big Mac over a set of dark shades before suddenly brightening. “Oh, and that reminds me! Here’s my contribution; after all, isn’t six just the perfect number of mares in a herd?”

Six?! Does Discord think Lemon is still joining, or will another mare ‘spontaneously’ show interest in him?

At the snap of claws a cardboard cutout of a skeletal mare - as in, an actual skeleton with exposed ribs and an empty skull and no nose - pops into existence. The sharply drawn paper regards Big Mac with sunken green sparks for eyes that seem far more intelligent than a piece of cardboard should be. She effortlessly wears heavy plate barding with black greaves, twin notched battleaxes strapped to one side, a kite shield on the other, and a longbow on her back. A red studded leather kerchief is wrapped around her neck, the only bit of color; bony ears poke up in front of her wispy light purple mane, and thick black eyebrows seem to pop into existence when she gives Discord a questioning look.

“Big Mac, this is Skellinore,” Discord introduces, the bony mare giving a curt nod while her rictus of a face contorts to what Big Mac hopes is a smile. “She’s a level seventeen bone warrior in the dark wizard Squizard’s mage army, but just to pay off skeleton student loan debt.”

“Evil medical school,” Skellinore adds in a raspy monotone. She slides her kite shield to reveal a red saddlebag with a bone white cross emblazoned. On the other side is an extra large saddlebag that even Rarity would blush at bringing along, stuffed with all manner of supplies. He can’t help but think she has to ignore encumbrance modifiers, able to carry a heavy load without flinching, and blushes (though who can tell) at the thought of what (who) else she might carry.

“Sure,” Discord continues at Big Mac’s lack of enthusiasm, “she’s an imaginary one dimensional cardboard cutout, but I think you’ll find she has a depth of personality most other mares lack!”

Big Mac has had enough of other ponies trying to set him up. “Out. Now.”

Discord stops laughing, regarding Big Mac with something between incredulity and disdain. “I do so only because it suits me,” he says dismissively. “And Grogar needs his Transfixing Tea Set back. It reeks.” He makes a show of brushing off the red dust before disappearing with a snap of his claws. The dust settles to the ground, making a weird five sided pattern of interconnected rhombi. Skellinore remains, off to the side, glancing around the storeroom, remaining silent and sullen.

“What was that?” Big Mac demands from Lemon, letting some of his frustration slip now that Discord is gone. He’s not as mad at her as before, seeing as Discord is behind all this, but it’s aggravating nonetheless. Apple trees never gave him this much trouble.

“I think…” Lemon starts, though she pauses to mull over her words and take another few deep breaths. “That was a test.” She sighs, looking downtrodden. “I just wish I knew if we passed or not.”

For a moment nothing happens. Then Lemon shudders, the yellow pitcher on her flank flashing brightly. Her tongue lolls out, panting, her seeking eyes raising to meet Big Mac’s with the same fevered intensity from before. Her flanks sway as she approaches, raised tail swishing from side to side, and licks her lips as though ready to pounce.

“Err,” Big Mac warily says, unable to back up without wedging himself between bags of flour and boxes of collapsed boxes.

He’s never directly seen a cutie mark glow like this before, but he has heard about it, most notably the time Princess Luna and Princess Cadance were getting a bath with Doug. It supposedly happened right as he was cleaning out their nethers, leading to quite the blowup between the two Prince Consorts. He did get to see the aftermath, though Shining Armor and Cadance were covered with bubbles, and had never seen a happier mare. Except maybe Applejack a couple times, like when she told him the news about Apple Bloom or when two of her fillies got their cutie mark. The idea that he could see the same face on the lusting mare in front of him…

Before he can act on such a crude idea, or bark out a halt, Lemon abruptly stops. “Sweet Celestia,” she breathlessly spits out, taking a moment to recover. “No wonder I wanted to herd up with you! When you’re feeling like that…”

“Eeyup?” Big Mac asks cautiously. Did Discord do that, just to mess with them, or is Harmony ultimately behind all this?

“You weren’t just the first pony to come to mind.” Lemon blushes furiously, her yellow coat almost getting to Big Mac’s red. “You were also the best. I mean, I’ve known you all my life. And when Marble Pie was asking about you?” She exhales with an appreciating whistle, shaking her mane from side to side. She offers Big Mac a hopeful smile, one he has a hard time returning. “It just felt, like, why would I feel that way if nothing was supposed to happen, you know?”

Big Mac isn’t sure he knows, but he is sure about one thing. He steps out of the corner to draw her in for a chaste hug. He’s glad she doesn’t seem to take it the wrong way. “Ya may not be a daughter‘a mine,” he explains in a slow, somber voice. “Ah might’a never changed yer diaper, but Ah was certainly ‘round when yer sire did. It makes it hard t’ think of ya as anything else.”

“Apples have married their cousins before,” Lemon contests, offering a weak smile that poorly covers her shattering heart. Big Mac feels terrible about doing it. “And ponies grow older, and change, or become…” She glances at Skellinore. “Um…”

“The otherwise alive,” the skeletal mare rasps. She doesn’t sound upset at the question.

Big Mac takes the opportunity to look the pale mare up and down. She doesn’t seem imaginary. Doodled on the cardboard are white and yellow lines, green spirals and orange stars, giving the impression of movement or maybe combat without actually moving. She’s surprisingly tall, or maybe it’s the boots and paper perch, her bony shoulders almost coming up to his withers. He isn’t sure if she can move around, or how. It’s hard to get a read on how old she is, her teeth in pristine condition, though a few of her bony plates are marred with deep slashes. He can clearly see through her barrel, making him also wonder about what it would be like being with her, if that is Discord’s intention.

“So, uh,” he starts, hoping he doesn’t offend her. “How would this… work?”

Skellinore seems to grasp his meaning, at least the lewd part. “I’m actually two pieces,” she explains forthrightly, in a way he finds he likes, tilting so he can see first her left side and then her right. They aren’t mirror images, the scratches different, the heavy saddlebag more visible. Her scratchy voice continues invitingly, “If I clench just right, and you press down, then I split apart.”

Big Mac has a deep longing - coltish and excited and voyeuristic but there nonetheless - to see what happens. He nods, curious about what lies inside, having never asked a mare to ‘show him hers’, as it were.

She seems to sidestep in frame, which rotates her cardboard cutout, lining up with him and becoming nearly invisible. She then takes a deep breath and holds it in nonexistent lungs. What once was an imperceptibly thin line splits slightly, like Trixie bending a pair of playing cards in her hoof, shadowy around the brown cardboard but with light visible between her ribs.

Big Mac rears up, having to reach to press on the top, and there is surprisingly little resistance as the cardboard crumples until he reaches her exposed spine. She grunts, and when he peers around his barrel he can see her bony legs bow out slightly. He feels an ethereal sensation in his hooves (and lower barrel) as her tail flicks, cold and clammy, yet titillating and tantalizing. And, if he cranes his neck back, he can see an area that didn’t crumple, it split apart, just about the right position and size and-

“Wow,” Lemon remarks with an approving whistle. “And I thought my sire was fast!”

Big Mac gulps, having completely forgotten that Lemon is in the room. This is why he never put himself out there, too afraid of getting enticed into something he isn’t looking for and they on the farm can’t afford. He hops off the cardboard mare, the background brown springing back up with slight creases that quickly fade.

“Also,” Lemon adds, “you might want to, like, invest in some lubricant. She looks bone dry back there.”

Big Mac groans even as Skellinore chatters, a booted hoof covering her coy smile. Now he’s getting… that kind of advice from her?

“Don’t worry,” Lemon reassures with a pat to his withers, which only makes him feel worse. “I’ll pick it up for you. Wouldn’t want to keep her from your boner, am I right?”

“Ah better go,” Big Mac says, hurrying to the door. He catches Lemon giving Skellinore a look of longsuffering, the kind that goes with a muttered ‘stallions’, though in this case it’s entirely deserved. If it was anypony else he would wonder where she got it from. “Make sure everypony else is okay.”

He yanks the door open, completely forgetting that he took his eyes off Pinkie Pie - worse, Party Mood Pinkie - for more than five minutes.

Ch. 185 - Omen on the Winds, Part Seven

At first Big Mac thinks he opened a door to Discord’s realm, not Sugarcube Corner’s kitchen. Gone are the sugary smells and sweet indulgences; everything has transformed, to shockingly bright strobe lights overhead and checkered tiles underhoof and frosted walls. The counters have been rearranged to make room for a dance floor, complete with disco ball. If it wasn’t for the four mares sitting down across the room, Misty Fly and Marble Pie and Cherry Blossom and Sugar Belle, he might have turned and bolted, kicking down a wall in the process. The fact that Pinkie Pie stands behind a podium overlooking the mares, like Granny Smith about to start a round of Trivia Trot, microphone in hoof, almost gets him to reconsider and bolt anyway.

Lemon pushes past the stupefied stallion to take her place as the fifth member at the table, getting a few unsure glances among the other mares. Skellinore comes next, the stand on the bottom of her cutout spinning and somehow serving as a track that drags her along. Muted inquiries turn to open disbelief at the addition of the cardboard skeleton, though none voice a verbal objection to her addition. Yet.

“Welcome!” Pinkie Pie greets, her booming voice distorted by the microphone into a synthesized and echoing version. “You’ve*-” Big Mac can hear the asterisk “-requested my Second Biggest Party Package EVER! So hold onto your harness, your hats, and your horseshoes, this party’s gonna be the BEST!”

Big Mac gulps. He wonders if he can make it to the trapdoor that leads to Pinkie Pie’s party planning cave before they cotton on and stop him. And it wouldn’t just be the party pony, those other mares are getting too into this, especially that Cherry Blossom.

“You will be asked to perform a series of challenges,” Pinkie Pie explains, leaning forward to better convey her excitement, everymare mirroring her, “in which you demonstrate your knowledge of your mares, yourself, and the Elements of Harmony.” Marble Pie seems especially pleased at that last one. “But first, a question.”

Pinkie Pie fixes Big Mac with a long, weighty stare. It feels like he’s dragging his new plow, except it’s on his back instead of behind him.

“Big Mac,” she says conversationally, as though it was just the two of them in the room, “you have my blessing to herd up with my baby sister.” Big Mac is fairly certain she’s only a few minutes older than Marble Pie, but lets that slide. “And if you’re good enough for my sister, then you’re good enough for my filly. Is it going to bother you that you are kinda-sorta-but-not-really related to my filly, or is there something else about her that you find uncomfortable?”

“Ee-” Big Mac says, not sure how to best answer the question. He doesn’t want to insult anypony. “She should find somepony her own age?”

“I see.” Pinkie Pie taps two hooves together, unconvinced, before turning to her filly. “Lemon, are you going to take advantage of the fact that Big Mac is a work-aholic curmudgeon who should count himself lucky to have you?”

“No?”

“Perfect!” Pinkie Pie exclaims loudly, then whispering (made completely pointless by using the microphone), “Just, maybe, wait a good five years to have a foal, you know? Not because you aren’t ready, but because those mares might not be able to wait, if you know what I’m saying. Especially that skelly one, she looks like she could use a frown turned upside down right now!”

Skellinore tries to grin, made impossible by the fact that she has no muzzle to move. Or maybe she’s always grinning.

“Now,” the partymare announces, “on to the main event!”

Big Mac takes a deep breath. Well, this isn’t so bad. If all he has to do is answer a few questions, then-

Pinkie Pie rears up and slams her hooves down. A loud rumble echoes around the mares, shaking the very foundations of Sugarcube Corner. All of a sudden the walls crash down with a reverberating boom, leaving support beams holding up the upper story, and exposing the entirety of Ponyville surrounding them.

Doug sits at the closest table, and it’s a big one, with Applejack and the rest of the sizable Apple herd, including a drowsy Luna and chipper Celestia, their heavenly manes subdued and tied back so as not to be too much of a distraction in the waning hours of the day. The Rich herd reclines next to them, pleased at the proximity, though Diamond Tiara and Pomarbo are at a small table in between, with a confused Cozy Glow and an irate Silver Spoon. Vinyl Scratch is on the other side of Pinkie Pie inside her DJ station, headphones and shaded glasses on. The rest of Ponyville clusters all around, matched at tables with their herds, or singles giving the other suspiciously arranged singles wary glances, all eyes watching him with a guarded curiosity.

Big Mac’s desire to bolt goes from a slowly declining three to a seven. All of Ponyville will be watching him? Sure, he doesn’t recoil from the spotlight, but what sort of lewd and debasing acts will that crazed mare demand?

Dozens of changeling grubs scurry to and fro, heavy laden with food as brightly colored as their shimmering carapaces. Soon every table is laden with tall piles of apples, every dish and delicacy he could name and a good number he can’t, and a rock, though nopony yet digs in. Only once their assignments are complete does Pinkie Pie continue, booming from Vinyl’s speakers.

“Welcome to the biggest party Ponyville has seen since the Summer Sun Celebration!” Pinkie Pie pauses as everypony stomps their hooves, eyes briefly turning to the three Princesses. Celestia politely waves back while Luna musters a smile, slumping over with a yawn once the attention leaves her. “We welcome five new ponies to Ponyville - assuming everything goes well-” she directs a wink at Big Mac large enough for those in the back row “-and Hedge getting her cutie mark. But, if things go really well, we might even see more than just a herding announcement!”

Chuckles ripple through the crowd that Pinkie Pie quickly quiets down. Big Mac is thankful for this; he can see Hedge is, too, at her dam’s side and glad her accomplishment and celebration is being quickly glossed over.

“But what kind of party would it be if everypony wasn’t involved?” Pinkie Pie motions toward the delicious and varied food piled on every table. “We all know the quickest way to a stallion’s heart is through his stomach, but now it’s your turn! Stallions! You have six minutes to serve your mares and foals their favorite dish! GO!!”

A split second passes before Doug hurdles to his feet, races away from Fluttershy to snatch a basket of red delicious apples and hurl it at Applejack, then a pineapple at Luna. Big Mac can certainly see why, he has the largest herd of anypony there, and he’ll need every spare second to prepare Celestia’s cake from scratch. Rainbow Dash gets a sloppily prepared haydog, loaded with everything, while Twilight gets a double hayburger covered with sauce but missing any trace of cheese. Rarity’s cucumber sandwich on white is impeccable, a dainty bite confirming it as acceptable, while Fluttershy gets a jiggling fruit gelatin. Pinkie Pie snags a tossed bright pink cupcake, eagerly scarfing it down, all without taking her eyes from Big Mac. She gives him an encouraging nod.

Big Mac stares back, wondering why-

Oh, Celestia, he forgot about them! He racks his brain, trying to recall anything he knows about the six mares waiting with growing trepidation about not getting anything to eat tonight.

Misty Fly is first, and he vaguely recalls Rainbow Dash telling him about her. He mixes together gelatin with strawberries, grapes, oranges, and pears, adding extra apples, everything hastily sliced thin. It gets easier to remember as he works. For the main course he gets two leg-long loaves of bread, cuts them down the center, and adds cheese, chili (vegetarian, of course, though the fish is tempting), and extra sour cream. For dessert he finds an already-made cinnamon and cardamom pudding with a pinch of lemon and lots of cream. He suspects Lemon made it, given how she grins as he takes it.

“Exactly right,” Misty Fly says with a note of awe, nibbling the apples out of the gelatin.

Big Mac gives Rainbow Dash a nod, she returns with a wink, and it’s off to Marble Pie. He knows little about her, but Pinkie Pie did mention her own favorite food. He finds a bowl of soup and adds the rock, hoping it isn’t too thin. He certainly likes his meals chunky. He adds an apple to be safe.

“Mmhmm,” Marble Pie grunts, fishing the apple out with a quick thrust.

Cherry Blossom smirks at him, a puzzle he struggles to solve. She’s from Manehattan, but also Las Pegasus, and her sister Cheerilee is from Canterlot. Ugh, he doesn’t have time for this! He finds a deep dish apple fritter, thanks Doug for the use of his speed apple cutter, and spreads the slices as a hasty garnish.

“Eh, close enough,” Cherry Blossom says as she licks off one of the slices.

He gets to Sugar Belle, who smiles back sweetly. His intuition says a pie, but what kind? Apple? Is that too obvious? Whatever, he doesn’t have time to second guess himself, and locates an apple pie that looks like it just came out of the oven seconds ago. Part of him wants to keep this delicacy for himself, it’s too good to give up, and it’s quite likely she baked it herself. Too late, he’s already sliding it toward her, and adding an apple just in case.

Sugar Belle’s nose scrunches up in the most adorable way. “Thanks.”

He’d love to stare at that smile, but he doesn’t have time. For Lemon he takes out a bowl of meringue, and then gives her a lemon.

Lemon rolls her eyes good-naturedly and takes a bite, muzzle puckering at the sour flavor.

Big Mac relents, also giving her an apple, which she grabs with a ferociousness he didn’t expect and chomps down the entirety in a single bite.

Skellinore poses an entirely different problem. Can she even eat? How would he get the food to her? He suddenly brightens, gathering three empty boxes and ripping them into small pieces. He grabs a gallon of milk, chugs half, and adds the cardboard, squashing in an apple for good measure. He violently shakes, glad the carton doesn’t explode, and reduces everything to a fine pulp.

Jug in hoof, he reaches up to press down on the spot just above Skellinore’s bony head. He grins when a small area opens up over her tilted skull, perfectly situated to pour the contents down her gaping jaw. He watches with a morbid fascination as the creamy solution splashes against her muzzle, dribbles down her spine and legs, and coats her marred shoulder blades, ultimately dripping down her ribs and onto the floor.

It doesn’t seem to have worked.

She gives what he hopes is an apologetic smile, emptying her boot of the thick substance. “Sorry,” she rasps. “It works for magical potions, but anything else just goes straight through me.”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac says, saddened by the failure. “Worth a try?”

“Worth a try,” Skellinore agrees as a large bell rings.

“Well done!” Pinkie Pie congratulates as Doug slumps back in his seat, his foals and Ocellus all served in just the nick of time. “Wow, looks like the Apple stallions really know their mares, even the newbies!”

Filthy Rich apologetically taps his hooves while Spoiled Rich looks affronted, pushing away her fine cheese platter in favor of the warm apple fritters the young mares at Pomarbo’s table are eagerly munching. Big Mac can’t help but snort; apparently he and Pomarbo pegged their mares, while other stallions who have been herded for years failed.

“Mares,” Pinkie Pie continues, “it’s your turn to bring da noise! Who’s gonna be the most in sync as we sing Our Harmony’s Hi Hi Hi?”

Karaoke? Big Mac leans against the table, cool as any stallion could be. “Ah’ve been singin’ in the Ponytones for years,” he boasts, inspecting the back of his hoof. “We sing every week, concerts once a month.”

Worried looks pass between the mares. “I know the Cloudsdale anthem and the national,” Misty Fly admits, looking sheepish.

“I only rock,” Marble Pie says. “...What?”

Cherry Blossom shrugs. “I mostly do guttural roars.”

Sugar Belle stares at her hooves.

“One Hearth’s Warming pageant,” Lemon says, staring upward and trying to remember more.

“I’m more of a theremin player,” Skellinore rasps. She mimes wobbling her hooves about. “It’s spooooky.”

The six mares nervously shuffle around. Big Mac puffs his chest out. Nopony wants to challenge the beast of the bass.

“Sugar Belle?” Lemon asks.

“I’ve been a member of Our Harmony for six years,” Sugar Belle confesses, “with close to sixty concerts a year.”

Beads of sweat gather on Big Mac’s coat. Hmm. A challenge?

“Then what are you waiting for?” Cherry Blossom swats Sugar Belle in the flank. “Get up there and show that stallion who’s boss!”

Sugar Belle gulps, but when she gets up it is as if an entirely different pony took her place. She glides one way, then the other, with a series of dance moves so smooth she slides all the way to the center. A flick of her hoof stops Big Mac right where he is. “It’s not gonna be you!”

Oh, it is on!

Applejack whistles long and loud as she and Doug join the center stage, everypony else (perhaps wisely) giving them a wide berth.

Vinyl Scratch raises a record above her head, ready to slam it down onto her turntable, only for Discord to appear behind her and pluck it out of her hoof, smoothly adding one of his own. Titled DSY, it has an image of the draconequus dressed in baggy pants and backwards ball cap, arms splayed out to the sides.

“Hit it!” Pinkie Pie shouts, followed by a descending series of drum beats that leave Big Mac puzzled.

This can’t be-

“~We’re no strangers to love~” Doug serenades before Pinkie Pie tackles him.

“Not this one again!” Pinkie Pie screeches. “Next track!”

Vinyl Scratch shrugs and hits the next track. A heavily synthesized beat booms from the speakers, another tune Big Mac is wholly unfamiliar with. Pinkie Pie gives a big shrug as she hops off Doug, neither worse for wear, and starts bobbing her head. Big Mac finds the tune quite catchy, his leg tapping to the beat.

“Nocard Equus style!” Doug bellows with a lazy roll of his head, following the golden words projected in front of him.

Sugar Belle, however, has turned beet red. “Equus style!” she bellows to the music, along with a clueless Applejack. The mares continue singing, swaying to the beat, tails swishing back and forth.

“An inviting equine mare when the sun is brighter,
A refined mare who knows how to enjoy a glass of cider,
A mare who heats up when her stallion is inside her,
A mare with such a twist?”

Big Mac’s eyes bulge out. No wonder Sugar Belle objects to this song! But what he is not prepared for is the dance Doug breaks into.

Scandalous doesn’t begin to cover it. His hands, those cursed hands that were washing him earlier that day, join at the wrist and kip up and down as he ‘gallops’ about the two mares.

He’s miming riding Applejack as a whorse!

“I am a stallion,
A stallion who loves the warm sun on his coat,
A stallion unafraid of hot cider burning his throat,
A stallion whose heart he would wholly devote,
A stallion ready for such a tryst.”

Mortified, Big Mac can only stare in horror as Doug slides a hand mere inches away from Applejack and Sugar Belle’s flanks, accentuating every sinuous curve and bulge. Sugar Belle relishes the attention, magenta eyes lighting up in delight as he bellows how beautiful and lovely they are.

It only gets worse from there. Rarity and Rainbow Dash leap up to join Applejack, dancing in some silly style that mimes their front hooves spinning a lasso while stomping grapes in the winepress. Lemon implores him to join them as she hops with Sugar Belle, but Big Mac just stands there, transfixed on the draconequus dancing in the center like he’s been there all along.

“Isn’t chaos so delightfully disruptive?” Discord muses as he stops pantomiming the dance moves for Doug and slides over to sling one mismatched arm around Big Mac. The human keeps going, the number of ponies following along doubling again and again with every coarse chorus and verse. “You throw one monkey in the mix, and that change propagates outward until he wrenches the whole operation.” He pulls out what might be a green popcorn kernel, inspecting it closely. “Who knows where we might be if he hadn’t come along?”

Big Mac tries to wrap his head around this, made difficult with the blaring music. Is Discord trying to claim credit for Doug’s appearance, or just commenting on how things might have been different? Well, if he never herded up with Applejack; that would have been a big change, certainly. What would have happened with Rarity, with Rainbow, with Princess Celestia? He steals a glance at the towering alicorn, currently engaged in some solo with Doug before Luna steals him away.

“Ya ain’t talkin’ ‘bout this dance,” he states as the entirety of the town hops to the catchy beat. The noise and chaos of the party seems to subside, fading into the background. “Ya planned all this?”

“All?” Discord smirks, tapping one claw against his long nostril as he tosses a handful of the eerie green and gray seeds into his mouth like popcorn. “It’s amazing what one extra seed will do. Whoops!” One misses, scattering onto the ground and sprouting little black shoots. “Careful,” Discord warns as Big Mac picks it up, his mouth tingling with chaotic energy. “You wouldn’t want to go the same way as your sire, would you?”

Big Mac freezes. His sire? What does Bright Mac have to do with-

Suddenly, it connects: his parents died of acute chaos poisoning, speculated from something his sire had eaten in the Everfree Forest. The Lord of Chaos is munching on these seeds. Could they be the same, presumably planted before Discord’s petrification by Princess Celestia and Luna? Then if Discord did that… then Discord meant for his parents to die?!

Big Mac spits out the seed that plundered the life of his parents. He snarls, “Why, you…”

Lemon’s eyes cross to peer at the seed sticking to her forehead, the draconequus nowhere to be found. She slowly removes it, her muzzle scrunching up as she inspects it. His mouth opens to warn her, but to no avail; all his rage is replaced with horror when she scarfs down the seed like she did the apple.

“Spicy,” she comments, tapping her chest and burping before offering him a hopeful smile. Pinkie Pie, muffled, can be heard directing the ponies on their next task, not that Lemon cares; all her attention is on him. “You doing okay? Like, I saw you over here, and thought that if this was too much we could go somewhere quieter and-”

Lemon cuts off as Big Mac squeezes her tight. Did his parents have to die, taken before their time? But that’s not a question he can put on her, and Discord apparently decided to nope out rather than confront him. “Mah parents,” he sobs into the fluffy mane of one of the ponies who wouldn’t otherwise exist. Oh, Celestia, how can he want his parents restored if it would mean her removal?

“Shh,” she consoles, clueless to the real reason he’s crying. She pats his back as best she can, his tears soaking into her soft coat. “I’m sure they’d be proud of you.” He can feel the smirk, hear it in her voice. “Even if it took longer than they might have thought.”

As much as Big Mac wants to chuckle about her jest - it sure has taken him a while to herd up - he can’t shake the question about how things might have been. He glances up to see the other five mares walking toward him. Well, four, with Skellinore rolling.

“Hogging the stallion to yourself again?” Cherry Blossom asks, smirking.

Big Mac takes a deep breath, attempting to straighten up and present a stoic side. He doesn’t want to be seen as one of those prissy stallions who cry at every little thing

“He doesn’t care for the lights and sound,” Lemon explains.

“Eeyup,” Big Mac agrees, glad for the diversion. It’s technically true. He glances at Sugar Belle, who has reverted to the demure mare who doesn’t seem to care for the stage either. “Ah wouldn’t’a pegged ya as somepony lookin’ for the limelight.”

“Oh, I promise you, I can’t stand all that nonsense,” Sugar Belle explains. “Or anypony so full of themselves! But when our dear leader told you to do something, or somepony, you did it. Now, though?” She bats a hoof, winking. “I’d much rather be baking apple pies, apple fritters, apple turnovers, caramel apples, caramel apple cakes! If I can find the space to display them all.”

“E-e-eeyup,” Big Mac chuckles, his gloom slowly lifting. That won’t be a problem at all; he could go build her some shelves right now! He’d enjoy that a lot more than the party. Plus, it might make her smile again, and he loves seeing that wrinkle-nose cutie face!

“I don’t think any of us would mind baking an Apple of our own,” Cherry Blossom remarks with a wink. The other mares cover their muzzles, but that doesn’t stop the twinkle from reaching their eyes. “You’re big on family, aren’t you?”

“Eeyup.” Big Mac appreciates the forthrightness, even if he thinks they are moving a little quick. “Wouldn’t want more’n two in a year, though, at most.”

Cherry Blossom snickers as she glances at Doug. “Oh, I don’t think any of us are that crazy. And what was up with that dance number?” She groans as she shakes a hind leg.

Big Mac relaxes as the conversation shifts to more benign topics, Lemon and then Sugar Belle snuggling next to him. Maybe this won’t turn out so bad after all.

Ch. 186 - Overwhelming Odds, Part One

June 2nd, 1001 Domina Solaria

Pomarbo grits his teeth as he loosens the last nut holding the Cider Squeezy’s oil filter in place. There has to be a better way, so the oil doen’t flow so freely when undone. He and dahm Twilight have improvised a number of modifications, enough changes in the two months it’s been here to deserve an upnumber. The Cider Squeezy 7000, if not higher. Some are minor, like dismounting the motor from the wheels and disabling the barrel chucker. Some are major, like installing access points so he could get to every inch of the machine, and reconfiguring the thaumic power matrix to draw more from the batteries than the bad apple chute.

The rest of the room has been reconfigured as well, mostly by the mares that continue to hang around after school and on weekends. Sunny drawings and paintings line the walls next to hanging tools and crates both empty and brimming with apples. DT and Silver Spoon stay by their table while Cozy flits up to the rafters, even though he’s gotten quicker at pulling his hoof away and only splattering a little bit. Besides, what’s wrong with getting your hooves dirty? All it takes is one glance at his dam in the orchards or his uncle with his plow to see that soil holds the sweetest scent. Maybe one day he’ll join them, if he gets the right mark; his dam sure hopes that is the case, as plain to see as her love for Apples and apples.

Blackened gunk gushes out as soon as the seal is broken, thick globs that drench his hoof and drip down into the prepositioned pan. Too late to pull away, he sits there waiting for the torrent to end, grimacing not at getting his hoof dirty but from the tiny flecks of metal dotting the oil. More of the engine corroding away, more than the filter can remove. After DT got covered he hammered a set of wheels onto a board, making a miniature wagon. It works, even if it won’t steer, and he doesn’t have to take it far to the newest and youngest addition to their merry band.

Born a mere month ago, Roil easily fits inside his saddlebags when he travels from the Everfree hatchery to the Cider Barn. Her caramel chitin, smooth and lustrous, shines like the engine oil she expels rather than the metal-flecked gunk that balloons her small stomach when she gorges, a far cheaper - if somewhat gross - option than the exorbitant prices Flim and Flam charge for replacement oil and filters. (It was funny to hear Chrysalis rant about charlatans and thieves, but she got over her fury quickly and went to Doug instead of doing something to his cousins.) Her teal irises glimmer with anticipation; her wide, thick tongue that scarcely looks like it fits inside her long jaw flicks out to moisten her lips in preparation for the ‘treat’. He supposes he should be thankful Chrysalis bred her with a taste for the metallic, but he has to keep her from gnawing on scattered tools and loose nails.

“Mm,” Roil moans after taking a long, slow slurp from the oil pan. She eyes his darkened hoof, bits still dripping off, and darts forward to steal a lick, then grasps his foreleg to hold herself in place as she cleans him off.

“That tickles,” Pomarbo giggles before spotting the barely repressed smirks of the other three mares. “What?”

“Silver Spoon says she’ll lick that oil off anywhere,” Diamond Tiara claims, snickering while Silver Spoon shoots her a venomous glare. “And she’s jealous.”

“Am not,” Silver Spoon returns, scowling.

“Am too,” Diamond Tiara says, miming how Roil takes quick cat-like laps from the pan, then an entirely too long slurp.

“Ah don’t get it.” Pomarbo’s spit-shined hoof gleams, but the Rich mares’ bickering only gets worse. His muzzle scrunches up; he’s not sure why they’re upset, and thought they liked being clean. Well, he still needs to scrub out the filter, but that gets the brush dirty, not him.

“I’m pretty sure,” Glow Glow remarks as she drops to his side, “that they aren’t coming over just for the fritters.”

“Huh?” Pomarbo looks over at the plate on their table that used to be piled high with apple fritters. For some reason (maybe she’s getting old?) Granny Smith keeps baking too many, and insists he take the extra with him when he goes to the Cider Barn. Silver Spoon tags along with Diamond Tiara and scarfs them down, not that he minds or anything, it just gets crowded with the three mares (and sometimes Rainbow Dash) cramming in the barn. And with Roil joining them whenever the oil needs changing, which is every other week what with the cruddy metal used for the engine (did Flim and Flam not expect it to be in use this long)?

“It’s okay,” Cozy Glow reassures, bringing the distracted colt’s attention back to her. “Golly, I didn’t understand Friendship for the longest time, either. But you’ll get there!”

“Like bein’ honest ‘bout how yer feelin’?” Pomarbo brightens; he knows all about that! He watches with mild amusement as Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon wrestle, each trying to tip the other into the half-full pan. Coil hisses at them, torn between guarding her prize and imbibing it as fast as possible.

A loud thump against the barn wall brings their struggles to a temporary halt. A blond maned gray pegasus sticks her head through the open door. “Mister Pomarbo?” she inquires, one eye searching for him while the other scans the ceiling. Or maybe the floor.

“Howdy, Derpy!” Pomarbo says, drawing the bubbly mare’s attention. He likes how the word ‘howdy’ sounds. “What’re ya lookin’ for me for?”

“I’ve got a package for you!” Derby exclaims.

“That’s what he said,” Diamond Tiara japes, drawing a snicker from Cozy Glow.

Pomarbo doesn’t understand. Why would he say that? Derpy’s the one bringing in a small crate with a letter strapped to the top.

“Now,” Derpy begins apologetically, misreading his perplexity as stemming from her delivery, “I know it’s a little small, but it’s what’s inside that counts!” She winks, then takes off, zooming off like his dahm Rainbow Dash and narrowly avoiding the cloud planters Hedge has been putting up all over the farm with help from Misty Fly.

“That’s what he said,” Cozy Glow echoes, getting a snort from Diamond Tiara and a crack in Silver Spoon’s stony facade.

“Ah’ll get the crowbar,” Pomarbo says, his chest puffing out. “Ah can’t wait t’ crack ‘er open’n get inside!”

“That’s what he said,” Silver Spoon tries, drawing bursts of laughter.

“Err, yeah,” Pomarbo says, confused. “That is what Ah’m sayin’.” He rolls his eyes as the mares keep snickering, grabs the crowbar from its spot on the wall and tries to jam it under the lid. It slips off on his first two attempts - he’s far more experienced hammering crates together than taking them apart - and he shoots DT an apologetic smile. “Ah guess Ah’m a lil’ rusty. But ya know what they say, practice makes perfect!”

“Here, let me help.” Diamond Tiara steps forward, hunching down so she doesn’t tower over him so much. She hides her disdain well as she takes the tradesmare’s tool, her hooves pressing down against his as she helps guide the tip between the wooden boards. She feels soft, and smells like earthy sweat, even though she rarely runs about. It feels good, hearing the rapid beat of her heart, but they have work to do!

“Ah know what Ah’m doin’,” Pomarbo protests, but weakly, as the point wedges in. He shrugs her off, only for her hooves to slip past his and attack his belly with a barrage of tickles. He squeals, or tries to, too busy laughing and squirming to mount any sort of effective defense. The assault is short-lived, as she withdraws with a heady smirk, hauling him to his hooves so he can pop the top off.

The crate is packed with small dirty boxes, short cylinders and plates of broken metal, and shattered cobblestones.

“Huh,” Diamond Tiara says, taking the words right out of his mouth. Pomarbo frowns in disappointment. Who would ship such a mishmash of junk?

“There’s a letter,” Cozy Glow points out.

“It’s from Applebaum.” Diamond Tiara opens the letter with a practiced slip of her hoof, clearing her throat before beginning to read.

Dear Pomarbo, I hope the excitement's died down, and all five mares are taking to the simple ways of our small town. I can hardly believe it. Our uncle, married?! I thought his only lover was the packed dirt he plowed. I hope Lemon isn’t too disappointed, but she should have known better. I bet Discord put her up to it, just to mess with Uncle Mac, and her for that matter.

Canterlot’s the same, underground all the time and packed like apples in a crate. Mr. C’s having me inventory the Mausoleum, so I get away from the hustle and bustle, and it's where Totem and I found all this stuff! I thought you might be able to put it to use. Most of it is pretty minor, bits of enchanted mail and boards more costly to cobble together than to just make something new. The cobblestones used to be part of a hidden cache; they’re enchanted to be less magical than ordinary building material, to help disguise whatever might be stored inside. Let me know if any of it helps, or you want more.

Stay safe,
Applebaum

P. S. Looking forward to seeing you trot behind us during the Games! Canterlot Rules!

Diamond Tiara scowls as she crumples up the letter.

“Hey!” Pomarbo objects, snatching the paper before it bursts into flames. He carefully smooths out the wrinkles. “Ah’m sure we’ll still wow ‘em all with our routine!”

Diamond Tiara huffs before stalking back to her table. Pictures of everypony competing cover every available inch, some teetering dangerously close to the side, and marked-up lists of the events.

Pomarbo gnaws on his lip. Part of him wants to sift through that treasure trove, brainstorming all the ways that they could use the bits and pieces. Maybe they could completely refurbish the inside of the engine! Iron is clearly insufficient, so maybe some… aluminized steel? Where did that come from? And it wouldn’t need much, a quarter inch or so, conforming to the insides of the cylindrical engine. He can feel his hindquarters rising, as images of engines disassembling and factories assembling paint the back of his eyelids.

No, he can think about that later. He trots after DT, heavy again. “You doin’ okay?”

Diamond Tiara closes her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Oh.” Pomarbo glances back at the box, then at the mare pledged to him. The box is enticing, so very enticing, but his sire doesn’t let his mares stay angry with him. “I was worried…”

“You should be worried about getting your cutie mark,” Diamond Tiara shoots back.

“I thought you might need help with yours.” Pomarbo’s apple-eating grin only grows when the mare turns her sour expression on him. “Unless ya wanna help me sort through that box of junk?”

Diamond Tiara scowls. “Yeah, no.”

Normally it’s her bumping into him, casual touches that leave his coat tingling, and it seems to have the same effect when he lays down ponyloaf next to her, withers touching her foreleg. She gasps, then lays down, pressing more of her weight against him. He has to take slow breaths to keep his heart from beating quicker, especially as her tail flicks over to cover his. “Does it have to do with our routine? Ah know Ah could practice more, but-”

“No,” Diamond Tiara cuts in, “our routine is fine. Perfect, even.” She flicks her mane out of her eyes, even though the ponytail she has it in doesn’t allow much to drop down, not like the wavy style she had before.

“Diamond Tiara thinks everypony’s going to blame her when Ponyville loses,” Silver Spoon claims, eager to repay her sister when DT shoots her a venomous glare. “It was her plan, after all.”

“It’s not my fault they’re performing better in some areas and worse in others,” Diamond Tiara returns, scowling.

“Is too,” Silver Spoon says, smirking back. “Especially when those ‘worse areas’ are going to cost Ponyville gold, if not an entire medal.”

“Hey.” Pomarbo snuggles closer as Diamond Tiara sags. He wants more than anything to console his mare. “What’s that Twilight’s always sayin’? Everything will be hunky-dory? No, um, everything’s gonna be a-o-kay? No, that wasn’t it either.”

“Everything’s going to be just fine,” Diamond Tiara snaps, only to realize she said it.

“Yeah!” Pomarbo claps his hooves together. “An’ it ain’t about winnin’ or losin’. It’s about workin’ hard an’ doin’ yer best. No givin’ up or mopin’ around ‘cause ya lost, but tryin’ somethin’ different. That’s what daddy says. An’ Ah’m sure everypony’ll forgive ya, even if Ponyville gets less medals than the griffons.”

Diamond Tiara scoffs, “I will take a bath in motor oil if the griffons leave the Equestria Games with more medals than Ponyville.” Her scowl quickly turns to a smile as she wraps a foreleg around him for a quick hug. “And thanks.”

“Awww,” comes from the open doorway, Applejack wiping a tear from her eye. She flicks her hatted head toward the Carrot House. “Train’ll be leavin’ soon, an’ Ah know y’all need to make sure yer equipment’s all packed up. Ponyville’s flag carriers don’t wanna disappoint the town, right?”

“Right,” chorus the ponies, gathering up their things and replacing tools along the walls. Pomarbo has to grab his screwdriver from Coil’s maw, grimacing at the tiny teeth marks along the grip. He needs to take her back to the hive, otherwise there might not be a Cider Squeezy left when they return.

Ch. 187 - Overwhelming Odds, Part Two

Pomarbo stares at the approaching blue bubble from the hard-cushioned seat aboard the Friendship Express, doing his best to make out the opaque and barely visible barrier through the swirling snowstorms that perpetually rage in the Frozen North. This will be the fourth time he’s left Ponyville, all within the last six months. The other three times he went to Canterlot for various parties, and all descended into disaster: Discord at the Grand Galloping Gala, Chrysalis at Twilight’s Coronation (though he didn’t learn about her presence until after Shining Armor’s wedding got ‘disrupted’), and the Storm King’s forces at Twilight’s Friendship Celebration. Will this one be any different? Maybe he should have stayed home and sorted through that box. Nopony ever got hurt around the Cider Squeezy. Except for that one time.

The mares and fillies of the herd (except those that live in Canterlot) fill the rest of the train car. Chief Architect Chrysalis sits alone in the furthest corner brooding about some big venture she has planned for the Griffon Empire. The rest hustle and bustle about making sure everything is in order, Rainbow Dash especially unable to sit still. The Brave and Glorious Emperor Spike (though he stills answers to Spikey-Wikey, according to dahm Twilight) has ramped up security for the Equestria Games, and that includes the Princesses themselves, regardless of how above suspicion they really ought to be. He can feel the train slowing as they approach the first checkpoint, little more than a shack on the outskirts of the blue shield.

“Po?” Diamond Tiara flutters her eyelashes from next to him. It’s annoyingly distracting. “Can you help me lace up?”

Pomarbo shrugs. “As ya wish.” If they need help they should have picked a simpler dress, but the mares have been asking more and more for him to assist with even the tiniest of chores. He wants to tell them to help each other, or grit their teeth and do it themselves, yet finds himself being generous and helping out nonetheless. You know, he really should find a better way to refer to the mares than ‘the mares’.

The layered pink and gold dress is scrunched halfway up DT’s barrel, the pink tie around the center is loose, and a golden rose pin lays on the bench. He has to admit, her outfit for the flag ceremony looks really good, though it’s far too frilly. To be fair, any frills would be too frilly, and he’s glad his suit is spared any of the flair that exudes from her and Silver Spoon’s full-body gowns like worms from a mealy apple. He dutifully wraps a pink ribbon around her barrel, trying not to stare at her exposed flanks as he shifts from one side to the other, and ties a pretty bow on the left side. He’s gotten a lot of practice tying bows, and laces for that matter, with how often they have him dressing and undressing them. Satisfied with his work he moves to her front, undoes her crude attempt at a bowtie, and carefully folds the pink fabric with a few quick moves and cinches it down. His dam would be proud of this knot! He nods to himself as he pins the golden rose above the crisscrossing pink straps, right on the bow tie, careful not to prick her. He’d never hear the end of that!

“Acceptable,” DT says, rewarding him with a quick kiss. He blushes - why does she insist on doing that? She holds out all four hooves. “Now these.”

“As ya wish.” To be fair, only a unicorn would have an easy time with the strapped shoes, and he quickly threads the laces around her forelegs and straps them down. They really ought to have gone with simpler and more comfortable shoes, no matter how good they look in them. Like galoshes! He should have worn galoshes.

“Thanks,” Diamond Tiara says, winking. “Maybe you’ll get a cutie mark in costumes!”

He would sooner shear his flanks. “Ah’ll leave that to dahm Rarity’s filly.” For as many alterations as the latest round of foals are causing, he half expects Rarity second filly to pop out with scissors in one hoof and a measuring tape in the other.

“Now do me!” Silver Spoon exclaims, presenting the twisted and knotted remains of her attempt. Pomarbo sighs; at least Cozy Glow doesn’t have anything to wear, just her purple parka if they want to play in the snow, though they won’t have much opportunity to do so until after the Games tomorrow.

Afterwards he leaves the mares to admire themselves in a hoofheld mirror. “Hey, Twi?” Pomarbo says, trotting over to the mare holding very still while Rarity applies some sort of product to her mane. She doesn’t like it when he’s formal with her, even though she’s a Princess. “Ah have a question.”

“Of course,” Twilight says, though her attempt to turn and regard Pomarbo is foiled by Rarity’s iron hoof.

Celestia help him if he has to go through that. “What’s a word with ‘C’, ‘D’, an’ ‘S‘ in it?”

“Cads,” Twilight returns immediately. “Cods, cuds. Disc. Audacious.” A smile plays on her muzzle. “Any particular reason?”

It probably wouldn’t go over well if he said, ‘I want a word to refer to these mares that keep following me around’. Oh, he should include Roil. “What about usin’ an ‘R’ as well?”

“Cards, curds, ciders. Cadres. Decors. Discord.” A twinkle shines from purple eyes. “Cursed.”

“You will be cursed if you do not hold still,” Rarity chides.

Twilight obeys, though her smirk remains. “Predacious, if you want to include a ‘P’. Or crisped. Did I answer your question?”

“Eeyup. Thanks!” Pomarbo trots back to his fellow Ciders, who have finished admiring themselves and now require assistance in removing their garments, but not before Rarity comes by and, after smoothing out a few wrinkles and straightening the edges, gives her okay. Then they insist on making sure his suit fits, even though it’s just a quarter suit, barely more than a collar and bowtie.

At least it’s not as bad as what his sire is wearing. He’s covered head to foot against the chill of the train piercing through snow-covered tracks, even with a mare snuggling at each side, this time Fluttershy and Twilight. It’s weird seeing him with his flanks covered, the colorful garments adorned with cutie marks in roughly the same place as the tattoos underneath, but they look artificial, like he’s disguising himself as somepony else. Not that anypony would make that mistake, of course.

The train comes to a gradual stop outside the bubble, the whistle blowing a muffled greeting. Two crystal guards step inside, fully clad in arctic gear with gray plumed helmets and teal plate barding. Icy wind rages behind them until a completely covered Storm Minion blocks the doorway, his beady eyes as stony as his white mask.

“Attention, everypony,” the yellow crystal guard states loudly, though wearily, as they have been checking passengers for days. Even the presence of one of Equestria’s four Princesses fails to rouse any sort of excitement. “Please have your tickets, invitations, or event passes ready for inspection. You will be asked a series of security questions, checked against an Honesty stone. Thank you for your cooperation, and welcome to the Crystal Empire.”

Thanks to Twilight’s obsessive organization, everypony has their forms ready to go. The yellow guard quickly makes her way down one side, her purple partner on the other. The Honesty stone in her hoof flashes green, green, green, all Applejack’s answers short and to the point. And then it’s Pomarbo’s turn to be regarded with a long stare that sends the hair on the back of his neck on end.

“Name?”

At least the first question is easy. “Pomarbo.”

After a second the stone blinks orange. Uh oh.

The guard sighs, bored at what must be a common occurrence. “Full name?”

“Pomarbo Apple?”

Green. “Did you bring any fruit with you?”

“Apples!”

Green. The guard makes a note of this. “Are you a changeling?”

What? “Ee-nope.”

Green. “Do you know of any plans to overthrow the democratically elected government of the Crystal Empire, or the current whereabouts of the tyrant known as Sombra or his accomplices?”

Pomarbo’s face scrunches up. “Ee-nope?”

Green. “You will be required to submit any magical items for inspection. Do we have your consent to perform a full-spectrum scan of your person, followed by a dispel that may disrupt any ongoing spells or magical items not disclosed? If so, sign here.”

They want to what? He doesn’t think a dispel will affect him. “Eeyup.”

Green. He signs the presented page.

“Thank you,” the guard says, asking Diamond Tiara and then Silver Spoon the same questions and getting signatures before moving on. Everything proceeds smoothly until the yellow guard gets to Twilight and Doug.

“Classified,” Twilight replies succinctly when she refuses to surrender any of her magical items, or allow the scan and dispel on her person. “And I would strongly recommend against a covert attempt. The backlash could seriously injure whomever tries.”

“We understand the desire for defensive measures,” the yellow guard says, still sounding bored. “Are you willing to submit to a personal inspection by Princess Cadance or Princess Celestia?”

“Sure,” Twilight snaps. According to Meringue she loves fulfilling bureaucratic red tape, and it must chafe to leave a box unchecked. “Seeing as they helped, that will be no problem.”

“Very well.” The guard flips to the back and pulls out a red index card that she gives to Twilight. “When you arrive at the Crystal Empire, present this instead of going through the standard screening process.” She turns to Doug. “Name?”

“Doug Graves Apple.”

The stone stays dark. The guard gives it a shake, but nothing happens. “Worth a shot,” she says, pulling out a red card and repeating her instructions, which Doug accepts with an apologetic shrug. The two guards then disembark, faces covered against the freezing cold, before the train gets underway once again, struggling to regain any momentum against the packed snow.

Pomarbo watches with growing fascination as the shield of the Crystal Empire approaches. From a distance it seemed like such a little thing, a painted apple dropped in the snow. Yet he has to crane his neck further and further back just to keep the top in sight, the sides becoming a sheer and holdless surface that would stymie even the most adept climbers. He grips Diamond Tiara’s hoof, her harried breaths quickening, as they speed headlong towards the opaque wall.

And then they are through, a sudden transition from winter to summer. Celestia’s sun shines brightly through the transparent barrier while wispy white clouds swirl above in wide circles. The window seat suddenly becomes a luxury as the Ciders crowd the chilly glass. Already wide eyes strain to grow even wider as they pass one sparkling building after another, every colorful sight a new wonder to behold. At least for the Ciders; he mostly wonders how that giant castle manages to stay standing on four flimsy legs. Ugh, and ‘magic’ is such an unsatisfying answer.

The Crystal Empire train station is nearly deserted, their arrival being the last of the day. Security ponies still roam the premises, watching the train with what his dam would call stoicism and what everypony else would call utter boredom. They stack their luggage on a cart, hauling it to yet another checkpoint where they are asked stupid questions about their bags and who packed them (Twilight, of course), walk through some weird beeping machine staffed by apathetic unicorns, and finally get to the other side. Free at last! And just in time to see Princess Celestia, his sire clinging to her back, fly from the train station to the balcony of the Crystal Castle and set the sun.

Competition is fierce between which of the tall buildings lining the street is the brightest and most colorful, every surface polished to a mirror shine. It’s even fiercer between the vendors along the sides who shout their wares, each looking for one last sale before closing for the night. It’s all Pomarbo can do to keep his modest bitbag shut at the promised ‘deals’. Diamond Tiara has no such compunction, decidedly unconcerned about price and snagging everything that catches her eye, from fruits to fabrics to a brand-new flugelhorn. He doesn’t care for the wasteful expenditures. That is, until she comes across a set of crystal tools with a guarantee to be inedible even to dragons. He needs that!

After another hour of shopping, and needing to drop off bags to be sent to their rooms in the Crystal Castle twice, their yawns get too large to ignore. He’s not tired, of course, and they haven’t even been to the library yet! Or the stadium, but that’s dark and guarded. Still, dahm Rarity instilled in him a certain generosity, of doing what others want you to do, so he dutifully follows along, dragging their latest purchases behind.

Their sparsely decorated room feels like a repurposed janitor’s closet, complete with exposed piping and racks for brooms, but if Diamond Tiara complains he doesn’t really listen. Silver Spoon and Cozy Glow push the four slim beds together while trading smirks, then hop on, testing the springiness. Dam never lets him jump on the bed, but after a moment’s hesitation he joins them, giddily bouncing up and down.

Diamond Tiara comes out of the ‘bathroom’ with her face completely covered in purple goop and her mane in rollers. Pomarbo can’t help but stare, confused as to the purpose of the cream. With a mere glance they all quiet down. She carefully spreads a towel over her pillow and slowly climbs up, careful not to spill any.

“Do ya really think Sombra would try anythin’?” Pomarbo asks Diamond Tiara once they are settled, all ponyloaf with him in the center. He hopes they don’t need to get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom.

“With all the Princesses and Elements and guards?” Diamond Tiara snickers. “He’d have to be an utter foal to try. Or suicidal.” She yawns, head dipping down but staying above her pillow. “Good night.”

“Night,” they chorus to each other. How can they possibly sleep when…

Ch. 188 - Overwhelming Odds, Part Three

Princess Celestia sits alone in a plain white room, her mind elsewhere. Figuratively, mostly; her monitoring spell arguably splits her consciousness between two places, as it processes a vast amount of generally useless and trivial information, flags outliers, and stores the rest in the same location she dumps memories of distant ponies from centuries past. (Carefully filed and indexed, of course, though any retrieval spells take a relatively long amount of time if they are searching her archives.) Her little ponies aggregate and synthesize the same material in their daily or weekly reports, helping keep her up to date on the fine tunings of her kingdom, but she likes to read random samples of raw data nonetheless.

She thanks Harmony for giving her a mind and mark that enjoys this often thankless task, that finds meaning in monitoring the minutiae of her little ponies’ lives.

She’s not sure whether or not to see the time she is spending in the Crystal Empire as a vacation. Sure, she’s out of the castle (debatably, as one of her scrying spells is anchored in her main office). The higher courts are taking a week off for the Equestria Games and have made a very good case that they should be closed until after the upcoming Summer Sun Celebration. She could say something similar about her nobles and other managers, if they took a month away from ostensibly working together but more often than not squabbling with their petty games over power and influence and status. The disadvantage of having an independent and free-thinking people, she supposes: they form their own opinions and make decisions contrary to her own. Necessary, however, not just as a foil to her otherwise unchecked power but because such differences are essential to Friendship. Otherwise you’d be making ‘friends’ with a copy of yourself, a reflection! True friendship, she knows, lies in accepting and loving others despite deep flaws and mismatched priorities and fractious personalities.

She thanks Harmony for giving her the opportunity to be friends with so many ponies, every one unique and special.

Sometimes she wonders if a truly harmonious society is even possible. What would it look like? Grogar imagined a land with no quarrels or qualms over doing what must be done, without diversion or hindrance, a land of Order and Accord. A people unified and organized, with every part working in harmony toward a singular goal: to spread their unity and harmony to every corner of the universe. A laudable goal, certainly, if implemented properly; what goal could be greater, what goal could be more worthwhile?

She thanks Harmony for impressing the importance of Honesty, Generosity, Loyalty, Kindness, Laughter, and Friendship on her.

But that is a problem Grogar has been studying for more than a thousand years, their armistice extended time after time when his work remained unfinished. Her own millennium-long ‘experiment’ has gone as well as she could hope, especially considering her Sister’s absence. Practice is so much messier than theory, with variables that don’t turn out the way one predicts, to say nothing of those unaccounted for. But with Radiant Hope, Tempest Shadow (formerly Fizzlepop Berrytwist), and Sombra spreading their message of Grogar’s radical harmony… Could it mean his work is nearing completion? The thought excites her, even as she dreads it. If he has truly found a way to spread harmony - true harmony - more effectively than her? She would be first in line to submit to him, to pledge an endless lifetime of service. But she fears him reaching a false conclusion, a ‘harmony’ built on sameness and tyranny, not unlike the experimental town Starlight Glimmer founded, a town Doug’s three eldest foals are in the process of dismantling.

She thanks Harmony for allowing her the opportunity to fail and then be forgiven, to be rejected and then reconciled.

The minor displacement of air triggers one alarm, the approaching being of high magical potential another. Luna? No, but similar; her focus turns to the doorway, just in time to see her fellow Princess enter, clad in an antique white dress. It covers her entirely, an embellished frock, with embroidered suns and moons along the edges.

“You’ll need to take this next one,” Cadance says, doing a poor job of hiding her scowl. She selects a spot on the floor, turns around three times, then lays down with a palpable look of relief.

“Of course,” Celestia says. The other reason she is helping, as her niece would have struggled to scan everypony who declined, their experimental and hastily set up processing station accepting purely because she and Cadance were there endorsing it.

She thanks Harmony for the many opportunities to practice Generosity, the wisdom to know when such assistance would be detrimental, and the humility to know she is often wrong in her assessment.

She walks to the special processing area, feeling the swing of her swelling belly as she walks. She giggles as she puts a bit of sway in her step, wondering if that alone would be enough for her stallion to be unable to keep his hands off her. She opens the door and spots a haughty white unicorn between two crystal guards, all looking quite disgruntled. Her heart beats faster at his immaculate appearance, barrel chest and long horn, the epitome of what a pony would look for in a mate. A long, thin bag that holds his two rapiers rests at his side, his customary quarter suit impeccable.

She thanks Harmony for Kindness and patience, to know when to hold one’s tongue and when chastisement is the proper course of action.

“Is this the only way you can lay your hooves on me?” Prince Lunaris Blueblood berates, the guards scowling. He offers, glare as sharp as his swords, “Kindly remove them, or I shall remove them for you.” As soon as the guards see her enter they beat a hasty retreat. He inclines his head grudgingly. “Auntie.”

“Nephew,” Celestia says, returning the gruff greeting. “Need I revoke your diplomatic immunity?”

“This is hardly a laughing matter,” he chides, his public persona as imperious and disdainful as always. His lambaste fails to wipe the smile off her muzzle, though the casual flick of his luxurious mane sends a shudder down her sides. “I cannot abide useless ponies, nor those who take pleasure in ordering about their betters.”

“You embarrassed them for all the Empire to see the last time you were here,” Princess Celestia reminds, her harsh tone removing any sense of acclaim for his and Rarity’s charge through the city. “Perhaps a humble attitude, a gracious deferment toward their efforts, might be better suited.”

“They did manage to corner us at the end,” Prince Blueblood concedes through gritted teeth. He looks around, and she wonders if he can spot the pinpoint scrying spell monitoring her inspection. “Can you get on with it? I would rather not spend the rest of the day here, thank you.”

“Of course,” Celestia says graciously, her scan beginning. She wishes such an antagonistic attitude wasn’t necessary on his part, but has found Equestria’s neighboring nations more willing to accept the idea of a belligerent Prince perpetually frustrated at being forever forestalled, never to ascend higher than a figurehead, than one who eagerly follows her every command. She continues conversationally, “By the way, Cadance has found your gift very helpful.”

Those heartthrob eyes briefly widen at the abrupt change in topic. “I-I am glad.” She can see why Cadance made the attempt with him, anypony liable to swoon at seeing his smile. “Though I still wish she was wearing it under different circumstances.” He clears his throat, struggling to regain his overbearing attitude. “I expect it back when she is done. Dry cleaned.”

Celestia nods, all business. “Your Blessing of the Six and Symbol of Harmony will expire at dusk tomorrow, though I will be overriding with Hoof of Virtue as normal. Your suit, sheath, and swords all match the descriptions given. No other enchantments, buffs, or effects noted.” She smiles, carefully neutral. “Anything else?”

Prince Blueblood inspects a hoof, disdainfully flicking away a speck of dust. “Directions to the nearest spa.” His eyes flick up to meet Celestia’s, a hint of a smirk. “Is it true what they say about Crystal Ponies?”

“That you’ll cut yourself to ribbons if you aren’t careful?” Celestia taps her chin thoughtfully as Blueblood blanches, even through his pristine white coat. “I’m sure the palace staff will be happy to accommodate.”

“Err, yes. I’m sure. Now to see where they’ve misplaced my luggage.” He nods as a way of farewell, trotting out. She hopes he manages to stay out of trouble’s way, and if trouble has any sense it will avoid him. She would much rather spend her night reading reports than lists of charges and casualties.

She thanks Harmony that their diplomatic relations have worked so smoothly this past decade, thanks in no small part to Prince Blueblood’s petulant and quarrelsome personality.

Cadance is happily snoozing away when she returns, and Celestia is happy to let her rest. Today is the last day new ponies should be arriving, though there would undoubtedly be supplies and provisions that need checking. Her little ponies should be up for the task, but there is always the possibility that something gets missed. The consequences of such smuggling… could it end in disaster? The Brave and Glorious Emperor Spike wants those three disciples of Grogar kept from entering the Crystal Empire and spreading their stark message of Harmony. Perhaps he overstepped his bounds when he gleefully commanded Princess Cadance to assist with the security. Juvenile, to take such pleasure in power, but Spike is a juvenile dragon thrust into the trappings of power. He has as good an upbringing as could be asked, but is still a dragon, and a teenage one at that.

She thanks Harmony for the adventure to come, to be a shining example for her precious foal.

An hour later they are called again, this time for Doug, fellow Princess Twilight Sparkle, and Pinkie Pie’s luggage. She moves to check the luggage, as it would be improper for her to inspect her stallion and herdmate. She splices into the room’s security feed, watching even as she unfolds what seems to be a dimensional suitcase full of every single item Pinkie Pie keeps on hoof, with enough rooms and hallways to rival her castle.

Cadance rushes to greet Twilight with their Sunshine Song and dance, though a waggle of Celestia’s hips is all it takes to draw his attention from the rump-thumping, his choked greeting music to her ears. Celestia takes a deep breath and pushes in, hoping she doesn’t get lost.

She thanks Harmony for that assurance that, no matter how much junk collapses on her, things will be just fine.

“C-Cadance,” Doug says as he recovers, waving to her in that human fashion. His eyes travel down her barrel, whistling approvingly. “You look good in that dress.”

“Thank you,” Cadance says liltingly, a quick twirl swirling the edges.

“You look even better without it on,” he continues, smirking, though his leer is mostly directed at Celestia’s back end, the other half in the suitcase.

“Doug!” Twilight scolds.

“You are incorrigible,” Cadance says, flipping her mane and clearly enjoying the attention. “Do I need to tell you to keep your hands where I can see them?”

“Would that work?” Doug jokes, though dutifully scratches her ears when she presents her head to him. “Is it some Crystal Empire fashion, or…?” He traces the large sun on the front, glancing between her dress and the identical tattoo on his chest.

“A loan from-” Cadance starts before her jaw clenches. It takes her a moment to recover. “The Prince.” She takes a deep breath. “His dam wore it, and hers before, for some fifty odd generations. It has a wide array of monitoring spells, protective charms, resizing and self-cleansing. It saves me the trouble of casting them myself. And with how voracious the baby is?” She struggles to smile, made quite easier when Doug goes back to scratching her ears. She steps forward, her horn laying on his neck while her head rests on his muscular chest. “Any little bit helps.”

“Glad to be of assistance,” Doug says, running his hands along her back, though he frowns at how little give the dress has. “Though if you want a proper massage, you might need to strip out of it.”

“Your room or mine?” Cadance asks with a wink.

“Cadance!” Twilight scolds.

The unrepentant alicorn rolls her eyes while Doug stammers. “Mine, then. Don’t worry; Shiny will be there, and he’ll want tips.” She pulls back to inspect him, her purple eyes shining white. She frowns. “No enchantments?”

“They fell off almost immediately,” Doug says with a disappointed huff. “Like the cloudwalking spell, there’s nothing to anchor to.”

“And linking still isn’t a good idea.” Cadance sighs, giving him a nod and turning to Twilight. “Virtue? Six and Harmony is a better combo, especially for alicorns.”

“I was worried about slots,” Twilight admits. “Plus, it’s not like I’m emptying my reserves anytime soon.”

“Six clickies?” Cadance shakes her head. “You must be really worried about dispels.” Her eyes suddenly widen. “Oh. Oh. I see. Will that also trigger if you’re silenced?”

“Or muted.” Twilight’s muzzle pulls tight. “Dangerous, yes. But it should be non-lethal.”

Cadance’s frown lengthens. “And since it won’t trigger offensively, it’s technically a defensive measure.”

Doug chimes in, “Technically correct is the best kind of correct.”

“You’re cleared,” Cadance says, drawing her words out. “But this will be noted. If you provoke anypony…”

“Who, me?” Twilight beams, fluttering her eyelashes innocently. She looks around. “Celestia?”

“In here,” Celestia calls from between a lifesize replica of Gummy and a stuffed caiman. Even more reptiles are crammed further in. She backs up and, despite being several rooms in, immediately exits the suitcase. She turns to Doug, who hesitantly picks it up. “It’s clean, with the standard disclaimer about extradimensional storage space interactions.”

“Then we’re ready to go?” Doug grins, eager to hop on her back and wrap his arms around her neck, a soft kiss to the bottom of her mane. She appreciates the fondness, even as she occasionally pines for a more fiery and passionate stallion. Earth is useful, and those that dig it. It’s just… boring.

She takes off as soon as they are outside, flying up to the balcony of the Crystal Castle, just in time to set the sun. She exchanges a quick kiss with Doug, careful not to prime his pump too badly before he leaves with Cadance.

She thanks Harmony for him, and for all the blessings in her life.

Ch. 189 - Overwhelming Odds, Part Four

June 3rd, 1001 Domina Solaria

Diamond Tiara wakes before the crowing of the rooster, as she always does, though the only cock she really wants to see is next to her, ensconced in its sheath. Where, to her bitter frustration, it would likely remain for a good number of years. She tells herself that she shouldn’t mind, that herding with him will be worth the wait, but biding her time has proven more aggravating than she originally thought. She keeps dreaming of him laying across her back, his muzzle buried in her mane, their sweat mingling as he rests before rutting her again. Sometimes she wonders if she should have gone with somepony else, somepony closer to her in age that she could relate to a little better.

A thin line of soft moonlight from the small window provides all the illumination she needs to extricate herself from the soft bodies pressing on both sides. A part of her hates losing the closeness, and leaving the comfortable warmth of the bed, a part she struggles to tamp down. She watches Pomarbo shift about in his sleep until the newly opened gap between him and Silver Spoon has been closed. She studies the lines of his small flanks, how his thin barrel rises and falls between breaths, the lay of his short-cropped mane, the same auburn as his sire but with two green streaks like leaves hidden in a field of apples. Would he keep the emaciated build of his sire, or would he fill out like his uncle? Mister Doug has put on more muscle in the last year, which gives her hope, but until then Pomarbo is just a blank-flanked colt.

That could be it. Colt. Snuggling with him felt like snuggling with her younger sister and brother. Quick pecks to his cheek were met with blushed hesitance, or maybe a timorous try of his own, and she hasn’t yet attempted anything longer or closer to the lips. But what should it look like? Her parents had never been the affectionate type, not overtly like the Apple herd, though she knows they all love each other. Her loins ache at the thought; summer heats aren’t unheard of, and more common in growing mares before they get that function under control, not that she would make an attempt. Ugh; she hopes it isn’t that, she doesn’t need any distractions right now!

Regardless, she needs to get ready. A prod to Silver Spoon’s flanks gets her sister to grudgingly rise, bleary-eyed and cross. Her loud stomps to the bathroom surely would wake the castle, but Pomarbo just leans into Cozy Glow, softly snoring.

She feels refreshed after washing up and applying her scents - earth, lightly salted, seems to be his favorite, and would cover any hint of what she’s going through. She ties her mane in a quick ponytail; it still feels foreign, but does its job of drawing his attention. Hungry, she steals out of the room to find some breakfast, hoping she can carry theirs back, much like when she makes breakfast for her parents. What she doesn’t expect is the crystal guard stationed directly outside her room, who regards her with the sour expression of one who has things they would much rather be doing than standing watch over a young mare’s room. Are they new, recruited just for the Games, or does the Crystal Empire have different standards for how they expect their guards to act?

“Good morning, ma’am,” Diamond Tiara cheerfully greets. It costs nothing to be courteous, and if that’s the difference between a hired hoof guarding you with their lives versus throwing their spear down and fleeing? With all the talk of King Sombra, that could be a very real possibility. “Which way to the kitchens?”

She heads down the given directions, dreading coming back up the many flights of stairs with multiple trays on her back. She keeps her cheerful smile on, grinning at the guards stationed at every floor. Their presence makes her feel more nervous, not less, like they know an attack is impending, and yet all they would do is add an armored body to the crush of fleeing ponies.

The kitchens themselves are bustling with chef-hatted ponies, buscolts, and - to her surprise - a disheveled Princess Luna munching on an unpeeled pineapple with all the mechanicalness of the Cider Squeezy. She doubts she’ll ever get over the idea that seeing the Princesses would become a regular thing!

Diamond Tiara marches forward, mouth watering at the mound of fruit-topped pancakes in front of the alicorn, yet the only smile to be seen is made of whipped cream. She greets, much like Doug when he sees the alicorn in the morning, “Good night, Princess Luna!”

The alicorn turns her weary eyes toward Diamond Tiara, her scowl letting up for a brief moment. “Miss Tiara,” she replies stiffly after a long pause. Diamond Tiara gulps, wondering if Luna is thinking about the dream she had, but there isn’t any condemnation on her bleary visage, or a knowing smirk. She’s not sure which one she would rather see. “...Good night.”

“Did you sleep well?” Diamond Tiara chances.

“We spent our night racing from one nightmare to another, calming fears of invasion or performance anxiety or heartache.” Luna sighs, exhausted; Diamond Tiara doubts she would let this side of her show if it wasn’t somepony close. She loves being that pony. “Or, in one case, all three.”

Diamond Tiara’s muzzle scrunches up. All three? Who would that be? Her stomach growls, interrupting any musing. “Sorry,” she says as Luna regards her with a slight frown. “...You gonna eat that?”

Luna looks at the untouched smiley-face pancakes, then the half-eaten pineapple, and slides the buttery concoction towards Diamond Tiara. “How went thy night with Honesty’s colt?”

Honesty’s colt? She supposes that’s one was to refer to Applejack. “Uneventful.”

Luna sighs, but this time it’s a sigh of disappointment.

Diamond Tiara realizes, too late, what she just said. She quickly swallows the bite of syrupy pancakes, hating having to cut short the euphoric experience. “Not because the night is boring! It’s, just, we have to wait before it gets more exciting!”

“Mm,” Luna grunts, returning to her pineapple.

“Don’t mind her,” a chipper white chef chimes in as she stirs a big bowl of blueberry-studded batter, tall hat comically askew atop her long horn. “She’s never been much of a morning pony.”

It takes Diamond Tiara a second to realize that this is Princess Celestia, moonlighting as a cook. “P-Princess Celestia!” She gulps at how casually the Princess is addressing her, and finds herself quite unable to stifle the deep desire to bow, even after all the time the ruler has spent at Sweet Apple Acres.

“Thank you, my little pony, but enjoying my pancakes is enough honor for me.” Princess Celestia, who surely must not have meant the jab at her Sister, holds up a hoof, frog up. With remarkable balance she pours some batter into the little indentation, where it sizzles as though atop a skillet. A few seconds later she flips it, catching on the same hoof, and offers it to Diamond Tiara. “Would you like more?”

Diamond Tiara looks down at the giant pile of pancakes in front of her. She doubts she can finish these, and the others would love something cooked by a Princess!

“Too late!” Doug says as he slips next to Celestia, snatching the pancake from her hoof and stuffing it in his mouth, leaving a smear of blueberry across one cheek. She gives him a look of mock exasperation, then Diamond Tiara one of exaggerated longsuffering, especially as he draws a finger along her foreleg and comes up with a dollop of batter. Diamond Tiara suspects he dipped that finger into the bowl of batter first, Celestia would never spill. “You missed a spot,” he remarks, sliding the finger into his mouth.

“Neigh, you missed a spot,” Celestia returns jovially, tongue lashing out to lick the offending blueberry off his face. He yelps, trying to backpedal, she keeps pace with a series of graceful three-legged hops.

Diamond Tiara sighs happily. She’s glad the Princesses found love. “Good night, Princess.”

“Good night,” Luna responds absentmindedly, watching their antics with a certain fondness despite her exhaustion.

Without too much effort Diamond Tiara loads the plate on her back. The pancakes should be enough for everypony, and she’d hate to impose on the Princesses. Her heart beats faster at even having the opportunity to impose on the Princesses. Did she ever dream such a thing would happen?

The other three eagerly devour the pancakes, though it takes some cajoling to peel Cozy Glow away from her book on chess openings and to get Pomarbo up and about. Their dresses go on easily enough, especially with him helping, and their makeup. She tucks the kit into the side of her dress, just in case. Then it’s a short trip on an arched walkway to the stadium right next door. She’s glad for the proximity, and not needing a dressing room, or having to haul their props around.

The Cloudsdale Colosseum might be larger, Canterlot’s Pitsmare Arena might be more well-engineered, but the Crystal Empire Stadium is easily the most ornate of them all. Every seat shines like polished crystal, even those all the way at the top. The section for the Princesses and visiting V. I. P.s sticks out from the rest, especially opulent even without the royalty and their gilded retinues. Her family will be sitting close by, though with relatively few of the Princess Herd, as many of them will be much closer to the action in the Competitor’s Seats. Including, to her chagrin, Doug; she suspects fowl play, the griffons and hippogriffs pushing for the category of Ice Archery to be split into two hind legs versus fore. Regardless, it is one of the few categories the human had any chance in, and it lets him sit with his mares when they aren’t competing as well as give Ponyville another shot at medaling.

She doesn’t have much time to appreciate the sights, as Ms. Harshwhinny, the head of the Equestria Games, stands at the entrance. The orange earth pony looks down her long muzzle and, without reference to the checklist at her side, directs the three flag carriers to the lowest section while Cozy Glow heads to the competitor seats. Two guards are there helping to explain the many security procedures, but being earth ponies their warning is mercifully brief, and limited mostly to staying in their designated area.

It occurs to Diamond that arriving early might not have been the best plan, as there is nothing to do except wait. In their fancy dresses no less, so it’s not like they can scamper around, or kick a soccer ball, if they had thought to bring anything along. She takes a page out of Pomarbo’s book, the colt watching the slow trickle of spectators with a sense of genuine wonder, and lays next to him, careful not to wrinkle her dress, and it’s not long before her sister joins them on his other side. She can feel her tail twitching on its own, swishing back and forth, but there’s not much she can do about that besides sitting on it, something a Rich pony would never stoop to.

The sun rises, and along with it a flood of ponies. They pour into the stadium through every entrance, gradually filling the stands like paint in Pinkie Pie’s satchel, somehow remaining distinct colors as they swirl about until finally setting down. Other species join the mix: tall and broad Storm Creatures alongside equally bulky Yaks, hippogriffs and griffons commiserating with the pegasi about the restriction against flying, and spiky dragons being given a wide berth by everycreature.

The other flag carriers line up behind Diamond Tiara, their whispering about her proximity to this unmarked colt gradually getting less and less concealed. Even her most pointed glare fails to silence them, leaving her to endure their mockery. It’s so unfair! Why doesn’t he hurry up and get his mark?

Her breath catches as Dragon Lord Torch descends from the sky like a hawk about to smash into a wayward rabbit.

*BOOM*

The massive dragon impacts the ground with a shuddering crash, his building-sized feet leaving deep depressions in the earth. He barely fits inside the stadium, having to coil his orange-tipped tail around his legs and fold his wings one at a time against his back.

“Greetings, puny creatures!”

The Dragon Lord laughs as he turns to regard the skittering ponies, his door-sized claws gouging furrows in the field they are supposed to play on.

Diamond Tiara feels rage bubbling inside her, that this bully of a beast is ruining their opening ceremony! But it appears somepony - or somedragon - is equally incensed. Emperor Spike flies out, miniscule against the elder dragon. There’s even a golden crown hanging from Torch’s armor that’s bigger than Spike! But while his words might not be audible, his anger clearly is.

“What do you mean I wasn’t invited?” Torch roars with laughter. “I’m the Dragon Lord, mate! I go where I want to! And you’ve got a great bullseye set up here!”

Spike crosses his arms across his chest.

“RSVP?” Dragon Lord Torch scoffs. “Do I look like a puny princess to you?”

Diamond Tiara growls, and Spike’s reaction is no different.

Torch’s expression darkens, his eyebrows narrowing. “Really?” He snorts, a cloud of smoke billowing from his nostrils that completely envelops Spike.

But as it clears, the purple dragon is still there, just as cross as before, unmoved by the ferocious display.

Torch holds his pugnacious expression for one long moment before laughing uproariously. “I like you, Spike! Remind me to introduce you to my daughter once this is all done.” He looks upward, calculating, before a massive thrust propels him upward. He lands on top of the Crystal Castle, somehow not tipping it over, and reminds her of Canterlot jutting out from the Canterhorn.

“What?” Sweetie Belle says from next to Diamond Tiara, having arrived sometime during Torch’s grandstanding. Her lower lip quivers, tears forming at the corner of her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Scootaloo encourages, rubbing withers and helping her sister stay upright. “It’s not like he’s said yes already!”

“You’ll get yer chance!” Apple Bloom says from the other side. “But you can’t let him see you like this!” She turns to Diamond Tiara, pointing at Sweetie Belle’s running makeup. “Hey, DT! You got anything that can help with this?”

Diamond Tiara grins, pulling out her makeup kit and a wipe cloth. A few seconds later and the unicorn is back to normal, though a little red around the eyes that concealer won’t help with.

The Princesses’ arrival seems an afterthought after Torch’s display, everypony hastening to their spots. Cadance, with an apoplectic Ms. Harshwhinny, takes one look at the depressions. She gives Celestia an apologetic glance; the white alicorn flies down and, her horn shining gold, evens out the deep pits.

The Crusaders reluctantly move to the head of the line. Ms. Harshwhinny arrives shortly after, hurriedly shuffling all the competitors around and explaining the order of events with a rapid fire that leaves Diamond Tiara’s head spinning. She’s glad her orders are easy: Our Town only has five ponies competing - three pegasi, one earth pony, and one unicorn - while Ponyville seems to have half the town crowded in. Diamond Tiara lets a satisfied smirk slip, seeing as it was her hoofwork getting everypony organized into so many events, all the better to win the most medals.

At Ms. Harshwhinny’s signal they file out, first watching the Crusader’s short dance, Scootaloo zooming about on her scooter, and the three pegasi flying through Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom’s raised hoop.

Then it’s their turn. Their tumbling dance passes quickly; it’s fortunate Pomarbo doesn’t have much to do, since he seems overcome by a bit of stage fright. She and her sister are far more used to the limelight, and it only takes a little encouragement to finish with Pomarbo lifted up, she and Silver Spoon standing precariously on their hind legs, him balancing one hoof on each of theirs. Their arch is barely tall enough for everypony to sweep under, and by the end her legs are screaming to let him dropo. But she grits her teeth, her grin never fading, until it’s finally near the end. She takes a deep breath as Bulk Biceps approaches - the pegasus would never fit between them - and, just as they practiced, she heaves Pomarbo into the air. He does a single flip, mostly unintentional, and lands right onto his sire’s shoulders to the excited cheers of the crowd.

Her chest heaves, finally getting relief, but there’s no time to rest. She trots to the front of the mass of Ponyville competitors, smiling and twisting her hoof to the audience as the rest of the towns and cities follow through. Belatedly she can hear an announcer introducing everycreature; she was so focused on her dance and the roar of the crowd that she couldn’t make it out before.

With everycreature in position, Emperor Spike flies to the great purple torch. A ridiculous contraption sits on his head, some sort of crystal headdress amid a braided wig, but he somehow pulls it off. Or is so self-confident he manages, a trait she wishes Pomarbo shared. He takes a deep breath before letting loose a long, thin gout of flame. The pyre catches immediately, going up in a blaze of orange and red and yellow.

“Let the games begin!”

Ch. 190 - Overwhelming Odds, Part Five

High above the Crystal Empire stadium nine pegasi, a hippogriff, a griffon, and a young dragon furiously beat their wings. Their circling seems almost lazy, but only because of the great distance, their track taking them to the Crystal Heart’s blue boundary. Two of the pegasi are clearly in the lead, Soarin from Cloudsdale barely ahead of Thunderlane from Ponyville, the rest struggling to match their speedy pace through all five of the hundred mile laps. The first event would take hours to complete; a few of the others with multiple rounds are just getting underway, such as Cozy Glow playing blitz chess and Button Mash on Block Ablater.

Doug, far below in the crowded stands, gives Rainbow Dash another worried look. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Doug,” Rainbow Dash replies, an inch away from throttling her stallion, “I love you. But if you ask me again? You’re gonna shoot that bow from a wheelchair.”

His bow, as tall as him and requiring all of his strength to draw, sits next to a full quiver with arrows fletched in the sixteen colors of every mare and foal in the herd. And, since he needed a total of twenty, several from without - banded pale blue and pink for Ocellus, black and green for Chrysalis, pink and purple for Starlight Glimmer, and - on a whim - pink, purple, and gold for Cadance.

“Sure you’re not gonna need the wheels?” Doug smirks as Rainbow Dash mock glares at him, ruffling her chromatic mane, though it could hardly get any more windswept. She flicks it back into position as he travels down her neck, dancing along her wing until tickling at her stretched belly. “Even so.”

“I’ve been doing five hundred’s without a problem,” Rainbow Dash argues, struggling to hold in her giggles and settling for rubbing her head along his upper arm and hoping he gets the message. “This is way less than that. Bulk could be a Wonderbolt if he fit into a suit, and as long as Fluttershy keeps her blinders on she’ll be fine. I won’t even need to go all out!”

“YEAH!!” Bulk Biceps roars from one row behind, whistling with his hoof for good measure. “PONYVILLE RULES!!”

“If I knew where you were,” Fluttershy says, eyes firmly shut, “I’d kiss you. But I don’t!” She makes a couple kissy faces, one of which Bulk Biceps tries to return, though when she moves on without noticing he gives an overly dramatic sigh.

Doug rolls his eyes at their antics. Telling himself that pegasi have been flying while pregnant for thousands of years does little to calm his nerves, yet hearing how relaxed the mares are about the situation does wonders.

He lets his attention wander from the Competitor Seats where Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, and Applejack are sitting to the neighboring spot with Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo, as well as Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. All five of them have their cutie marks, and are thus technically ‘adults’, supposedly able to be off on their own. The Crusaders have even shot up in height, catching up to the Rich pair and nearing the size of their dams, if a bit gangly. He still struggles to see them as anything but three munchkins running about and trying anything they could to get their cutie marks. He wonders what they’re talking about, the dull roar of the stadium preventing any eavesdropping from so far away, but they certainly look like they’re enjoying themselves.

His musing is interrupted by the sight of Pinkie Pie wielding a towering cone of cotton candy, the saccharine scent competing with sweat and hay for the most prominent smell. A spare totters behind her; he’s somewhat (but only somewhat) relieved when the second cone peels off to join Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. Pomarbo peeks out from under the mass, apparently content to eat his way out while the other two eagerly join in. Pinkie Pie plops down in her seat right in front of him, licking her lips and giving her cotton candy the kind of eager grin he wishes was reserved for only him.

“Not worried about spoiling your appetite?” Doug ribs, his view quickly becoming less and less obstructed as great hunks of wispy pink disappear down the gaping maw, reminding him of Chrysalis consuming an entire meal in one go.

“Doug,” Pinkie Pie returns between bites, in much the same manner as Rainbow Dash, “I know you’re worried about us, what with King Sombra on the loose and likely going to try to mind control us all. Why don’t you stick to your area of expertise and I’ll stick to mine? Everypony knows that stomachs need to stretch before a workout!”

“Oh?” Doug can’t help but laugh as one of Pinkie Pie’s ears twitches despite her harsh demeanor, attracting his hand like a magnet. “And what area of expertise is that?”

“That’s easy,” Pinkie Pie starts, only to go silent and still, her wide grin slowly fading. She hems, then haws, pausing on each of her herdmates as if in deep thought.

Doug’s own smile persists, though his eyes narrow at the ‘concentrating’ mare. “Really?” he asks, more jovial than might be expected from the mare struggling to name anything he is an expert at.

Pinkie Pie’s grin returns like a rubber band snapping back into place. “See? You get me!”

Rainbow Dash chimes in from the side, her ears waggling as well, “And who else is going to tell us ‘everything’s gonna to be just fine’ when Twilight’s not around?”

“Ya certainly focus on the bright side’a things,” Applejack says with a certain wink, just like the day Apple Bloom was conceived. He’s glad he’s sitting down, and for the formalwear Rarity insisted that he wear, or he might repeat that scenario.

Fluttershy, rather than shout over the dull roar of the stadium, shakes her rump in his general direction. Doug groans, crossing his legs.

“Up next,” Ms. Harshwhinny directs, her voice broadcast from dozens of speakers, “the Aerial Relay Race! Contestants, to the starting pylons!”

“YEAH!!” Bulk Biceps shouts; Fluttershy uses his whooping cheer as a primitive echolocation while Rainbow Dash brings up the rear, putting a little shake into hers for good measure. Fleetfoot, Lightning Dust, and Spitfire are the favorites to win gold by a large margin, but the battle for silver will be fierce between the griffon team, the Manehattan team, and Ponyville.

“Anyweight Eating Competitors, to your stations!”

Pinkie Pie gives Doug a quick kiss, her cotton candy long gone and belly already grumbling for more. She pronks down to a series of long tables where waits a massive yak, a long cragadile-like monster from the depths of Canterlot, and a team of eighteen pegasi freightlifters.

Doug personally thinks Celestia is bending the rules by including a technically sapient creature from the depths of the Canterhorn. The Rock Swalligator preys on Quarray Eels by chomping down when they stick their head out, then drags the long, thrashing body out, and swallows it whole. He has little sympathy for the monsters, Rainbow Dash having warned him about a potential infestation in the Galloping Gorge and other rocky areas. The limp body on the table does look like an adult Quarray Eel, though alive or dead is impossible to tell.

The pegasus lifters will carry Dragon Lord Torch’s meal up to him, one after another, each table with enough food to feed his family for a week. The yak looks positively dwarfed by his towering feast, ‘only’ his own body weight in gourds, root vegetables, and other traditional yak foods. He would clearly be the underdog if it wasn’t for Pinkie Pie.

The diminutive pink pony, at least compared to her competitors, has on her table what looks like a full-sized Quarray Eel, jaws open and ready to consume her whole if it wasn’t for the pony-sized cupcake shoved between its teeth, accompanied by two fifty-gallon barrels of chocolate milk. She ties a bib around her neck, then picks up a comically oversized knife and fork, licking her lips as she eagerly awaits the start.

A pop gun goes off, Bulk Biceps starting for Ponyville and quickly overtaken by the other teams. His small wings struggle to propel him forward, just as his large bulk struggles to fit through the colored rings scattered around the stadium. Before he’s halfway through Fleetfoot passes her horseshoe baton off to Lightning Dust to the loud cheers of the Cloudsdale Cheerleaders, the other competitors straining to keep pace.

On the eating side of things, the Rock Swalligator latches its long fangs onto the top and bottom of the Quarray Eel’s head and slowly forces the red monster inside its stretched jaw. The first of the Dragon Lord’s meals rises, which Torch snatches with a disdainful snarl and pops the whole thing in his mouth, chomping it down, swallowing and waiting for the next. The yak attacks his plate with a gusto, but it’s nothing compared to the fervor of Pinkie Pie. She takes a brief moment to decide where to start, eventually settling on cutting off the snout and revealing that the monster is actually comprised entirely of cake. She pops the first piece in her mouth - it disappears with nary a chew - and cuts off a bit of the cupcake, which is also made entirely of cake.

Bulk Biceps manages to pace himself, nearly catching up to the slowest hippogriff while Lightning Dust passes them like they are standing still. Then it’s Fluttershy’s turn; she blindly grabs the baton, Doug’s breath catching as it nearly drops, and then she’s off. She slips through one hoop after another, managing to make up a little time against the hippogriffs while the griffons are neck and neck with the Manehattan team. Spitfire passes them all, securing Cloudsdale the gold.

The yak is the first to give up, barely making a dent in his towering table of food. He groans as he lays down, food coma quickly setting in, and earns the first disqualification of the Games. Torch slows after the tenth table, having to take the time to chew and force his food down. The Swalligator, meanwhile, continues her meal with a certain detachment, unconcerned about the clock or that the pony is neck and neck (literally!) with her. Pinkie Pie's lower body has comically ballooned out, half a barrel of milk visibly sloshing around whenever she moves.

The Manehattan team is halfway along the third lap when Fluttershy, panting and sweaty but laser focused on her goal, passes the baton to Rainbow Dash. She erupts like a crackling whip, precisely snapping from one ring to another, the only evidence she actually made it through every checkpoint a stark rainbow contrail that even includes the three jolts where she passed the hippogriff, the griffon, and then the Manehattan pegasus by the width of a feather. The Ponyville section explodes into cheers as Rainbow Dash secures their first medal of the day, louder than Cloudsdale despite getting silver.

“You gonna finish that?” Pinkie Pie asks the comatose yak, taking his silence as an affirmative. “More!” She adds his unfinished meal to the crumbs of her cake, and eagerly scarfs it down. When Torch lazily waves off the fifteenth table, fighting to stave off his own food coma, she directs the pegasi to her own mouth with an exasperated “More!” Pinkie's attention turns to the Swalligator. Fifteen feet of thin red tail pokes out the tooth-filled maw, too exhausted to finish a meal that normally takes several hours. “More?” Tiny legs that barely stick out of her bloated bulk let Pinkie slowly waddle over; she coils the red tail and gently places it inside the gray jaws, which slowly close.

“Yay!” Pinkie Pie cheers before letting loose a loud burp. “Now we’re all winners!” She looks confused as Ms. Harshwhinny tries to drape a gold medal around her nonexistent neck, Canterlot getting silver. “Oh, right! Yay, Ponyville!”

The crowd echoes her cheers, even as it takes two Princesses to remove her and the barely mobile Swalligator from the grounds, happy squeals from the mare as she rolls about. Two of the unconscious Yak’s unhappy companions cart him off and dump him in a convenient ditch, bemoaning the shame brought onto their entire civilization.

“Gratz!” Doug cheers as Rainbow Dash lands next to him, earning a raised eyebrow.

“Can’t you just say ‘congratulations’ like a normal pony?” Rainbow Dash quips, his exuberant hug jamming her against his chest. She lets out a heavy sigh as she sees him biting his tongue. “Fine, you can ask.”

“Feeling okay?” Doug gushes out, hands moving from her sides to her belly.

“Dude, I’m fine.” Rainbow Dash rolls her eyes, though she clearly loves the attention. “He’s fine, too. You should feel him bouncing around in there!” A thin, hopeful smile plays on her lips. “Think he’ll like flying as much as I do?”

Doug laughs; his eyes stray to the Crusaders, specifically Scootaloo, and though he can tell Rainbow Dash desperately doesn’t want to make the comparison, she already has. “I don’t think anypony likes flying as much as you do.”

Rainbow Dash echoes his laugh, snuggling closer to him. “I hope he does,” she whispers, worried anypony else might hear. “With every bone in my body I hope he does.”

Before Doug can do more than rub at her head the pegasus is tugged away by a pair of muscled forelegs. Bulk Biceps presses the champion to the sky to the roar of her fellow Ponyvillians as Doug whoops loudly, his sharp whistle piercing through the roar of the crowd, only for the entirety of the stadium to fall strangely and suddenly silent.

For there, in the middle of the newly cleared green, stands Radiant Hope and Tempest Shadow, wreathed in Hope’s bright blue aura.

And, cloaked in light amber, the former King Sombra.

Ch. 191 - Pacifism

Fear grips Doug as he gazes upon the three wanted ponies that just appeared in the middle of the stadium like lightning. And not just because of the fearful whispers traded back and forth, or the guards abandoning their posts to flee or form ranks in equal measure, or the way the four Princesses alight to join him, looking less like noble steeds charging into battle and more like anxious foals cowering as they await the foundation-shaking thunder. Especially fraught are the crystal ponies, their palpable fear apparent in flattened ears, downcast eyes, and subservient bows as if that might spare them from the coming wrath.

In sharp contrast, Radiant Hope looks about, wide-eyed with wonder, an irrepressible smile splattered across her muzzle, while Tempest Shadow swivels back and forth, eyes never still, her fully intact horn ready to flare at a moment’s notice. But Sombra? Doug’s heart hammers at the sight of the stallion. From the long spiraled horn to the coal black tail, the former tyrant looks exactly like the pony he imagines Celestia would fall in love with: tall, regal, with a strong jaw and stronger convictions, standing confidently in accord with his mares even as hordes of enemies take up positions around them.

“Peace.”

The word, an entreatment, a command, a blessing all in one. Doug’s racing heart subsides, his rapid breathing slows, his fingers cease their shaking as he fumbles with his quiver. It’s clear everypony else heard it just as clearly despite the distance, their frantic movements slowing and widened eyes returning to normal. He straps the open quiver to his waist, though at the same time wonders what good it would do in the coming confrontation.

In fact, he wonders what good he will do.

The alicorns land not with the thunder of hurried hooves but the soft taps of one afraid of waking a napping foal, making a show of being calm and collected when he can feel the nervous energy in the air. Rarity floats closely behind on a cloud shared by Raikou, Starlight Glimmer levitates herself next to Shining Armor and Chrysalis, and a snarling Spike brings up the rear on madly flapping purple wings. They form a rough circle, the Elements of Harmony clustering in one corner and standing in front of Doug as though they might shield him from any sort of involvement. Though, knowing Celestia, he’d find himself on the front lines for some seemingly insane but ultimately plausible reason.

Speaking of the eldest alicorn, her focus is off in a way Doug has only seen once before. It was almost a year ago that he asked her about the thousandth Summer Sun Celebration, mere days before Luna’s return as the Nightmare. Yet, rather than horror at the miscalculation it is curiosity splashing across her muzzle, a peculiar interest in seeing these events play out than decisively acting to prevent them.

“What happened?” Emperor Spike demands, seeming to have come to the same realization about Celestia that Doug did. “How did they get past your wards and the Heart?” He waits a beat, yet Celestia gives no reaction, seemingly determined to let the others lead. Doug can’t help but wonder why she would stay so aloof, so detached during a time when clear leadership is needed. Or is she worried about misinterpreting Harmony, avoiding speculation, much like when Luna was called to the Hippogriffs?

“My understanding is that the Crystal Heart stops those with ill intent,” Cadance claims, her doubt as obvious as her desire to be with her husband.

“If he doesn’t have ‘ill intent’,” Spike spits out, “then who does?”

“Options?” Twilight Sparkle asks the gathered mares, trying to gain some semblance of control over the proceedings.

“Blast him,” Spike says immediately, jumping at the chance. Quick nods join him from the others. “Subdue him, lock him up. Stop him!”

“C-can we talk?” Fluttershy whimpers, seemingly the only voice for a peaceful resolution.

“How yearned for are the hooves,” plays a deep, echoing baritone, straight into Doug’s head, “of those who bring glad tidings!”

It’s unnerving, the pleasant tones of a relaxed conversation coming from directly in front of him, and yet nopony is there. Everypony glances this way and that, ears splaying low, trying to find the source, while Celestia’s gaze remains locked on the black stallion.

“Did he come to the same place we did?” Spike scoffs. “Who does he think he is?”

“And it is glad tidings I bring,” the voice continues, becoming more and more obvious that it is Sombra speaking as he circles about, magically amplified even with his horn unlit. “Sent by Harmony, to speak so all might hear, and after believing to call on Her!”

“We cannot sit here and remain silent,” Luna argues, drawing agreement from everycreature, though Celestia remains hesitant. “Not with what he did to the Crystal Ponies!”

“But Harmony desires more than mere belief in her existence,” Sombra continues, becoming more and more fervent with every word, as though his own existence is contingent on convincing as many ponies as possible. “She desires those who follow her with heart and mind, body and soul! Who reject the fleeting fancies and momentary pleasures of this world for something greater!”

“Then let’s stop him!” Rainbow Dash snarls, eager to fight. Around the stadium the panic has subsided, leaving ponies listening to Sombra’s words with an alarming amount of interest.

“Do we have to fight?” Fluttershy asks, looking none too happy at the thought of a pending confrontation.

“Give Harmony your mind! Allow her to dictate your actions, to lead your life, to be your master! Has she not marked you as uniquely special, destined for something greater than mere existence? Follow her decrees, and she will bless you beyond your wildest imagination!”

Twilight Sparkle’s frown deepens at Sombra’s latest screed. “What he proposes is little more than mind control of those too naive to resist.” The normally reticent alicorn spreads her wings, though not to take flight; whether consciously or unconsciously, she has assumed the role of Princess. “We cannot allow this false version of Harmony to persist.”

Her gaze lingers on Doug for a brief moment, allowing him no chance to slip away. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, even if the most he can do is appear intimidating - and he doubts he can even do that.

“But we can do this peacefully.” The already strained smile pulls tight. “Hopefully.”

Princess Twilight Sparkle strides forward, everycreature stepping aside to follow her onto the stadium field. Celestia and Luna flank the commanding alicorn on the left, Cadance and Shining Armor on the right. The Elements of Harmony spread out past Canterlot’s Captain of the Guard while Doug, Chrysalis, Starlight Glimmer, Raikou, and Spike take the left. They make an impressive line, the powerhouses of Equestria come to meet the latest threat head on.

Sombra turns to face them, unfazed by their display, with Tempest Shadow and Radiant Hope standing at his side. His voice loses the echoing quality, but Doug doubts there is a pony in the stadium who cannot hear him. “In the name of Harmony, I greet thee.”

“Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship,” Twilight returns with an amiable smile, though Doug can tell it is strained. She comes to a stop a dozen yards from the black stallion. “Not sure exactly what is going on, but I’m sure we can work it out!”

“You have come to resign,” Tempest Shadow states, a command and not a question.

“Preposterous,” Luna mutters, loud enough for all to hear. “Though hath no cause for such a demand!”

“There was once a farmer who owned many acres,” Sombra explains. It seems like a non sequitur to Doug, except for the focus the unicorn trains on Celestia. “One year, she was going away for a long time, so she entrusted the land to her farmhooves according to their marks. To one she gave the orchards, to another the fields, and to the last the herb garden. The first tended to her orchard, expanded it, and multiplied her yield. The second did the same, plowing and harrowing, and likewise multiplied her yield. But the third, though she watered and weeded her garden, did nothing to improve it, and her yield remained the same.”

Twilight hisses, affronted at whatever implications Sombra is drawing.

“What?” Raikou whispers, voicing a confusion that Doug shares.

“He implicateth Celestia as the third farmer,” Luna explains in hushed undertones. “For Equestria hath neigh increased as an expanding forest during her reign, but as a single tree.”

The stallion continues, undeterred by Twilight’s exclamation, “When the farmer returns, will there not be a reckoning, in which she will praise the first and second farmpony, and condemn the third? For the first and second have been good stewards of their charge, and will be placed over much more, but the third shall be rebuked for failing to fulfill her mark.”

“Rebuked?” Twilight asks, askance. Her demeanor darkens, turning hard. “For failing a test she was never given?”

“For Chaos to be turned into Order,” Sombra answers, “it must be refined as gold, purified as silver in the forge! So must the dross of our hearts be separated and cut away, leaving the pure behind.”

“These are ponies you are talking about,” Twilight argues before drawing up abruptly. She takes a deep breath, continuing in a lower voice that still transmits clearly. “You need to stop. All you’re proposing is a continuation of your old methods, trying to control ponies’ minds through any means necessary! Cease your spreading of this false message, and allow ponies to live their lives without your meddling!”

“You believe my message to be false,” Sombra states, cocking his head to the side. “That I do not come in Harmony’s name.”

“Ya might be some ploy o’ Discord’s,” Applejack says. “Sent here t’ deceive us all!” Her green eyes, normally so vivacious and pleasant, narrow in distrust. “Can ya prove ya ain’t?”

“You find it plausible,” Sombra says, doubt laced through every word, “that Discord disguised himself as a great blue goat and restored my very being all so that I might return to Equestria and the Crystal Empire-” one eye squints, as though trying to make sense of this “-for some ultimately nefarious purpose?”

“It ain’t gotta be nefarious,” Applejack claims. “He might be tryin’ t’ help.”

“Very well.” Sombra straightens, training his focus on Twilight. “Are you prepared to be tested in kind?” A smirk plays on his muzzle as he glances at Celestia. “Shall we call down fire from the heavens?”

Twilight blinks, stunned at the suggestion. Celestia offers no assistance; in fact, it seems unlikely they can count on her at all. It worries Doug that she’s playing this so passively, ignoring what seems to be a direct assault on their way of life. “Um…”

“Aww,” Radiant Hope teases. “Nopony ever chooses fire.”

Twilight glances back at her Friends, getting confident nods. “We’ll test your knowledge of Harmony.”

Sombra relaxes, motioning forward with a casual shrug. “Proceed.”

“Ah got a question for ya,” Applejack thunders, stomping forward, hooves pounding out the anger she can barely repress verbally. “Say somepony was asked to judge a bunch’a dresses, each gaudier and more impractical than the last.” Behind her, Rarity sniffs, affronted. “How should she best express her honest opinion?”

Applejack smirks as Sombra carefully considers her question. Doug finds it a difficult one, especially because he knows how much Applejack loves sharing her honest opinion.

“The Apple says not to lie,” Sombra answers, red eyes locking with green. “But I say your truthful response must come from a position of love, not looking to belittle or disparage but to improve. For we all err, and need correction, and at times that error must be pointed out to us, so we might grow closer to Harmony and each other.”

Applejack’s jaw slowly tightens. Unable to find fault in his response she backs up, a slow and restrained pace, her glare failing to subside.

Rarity sticks her nose up as she walks forward. “Say,” she leads in a wandering way, even going so far as to look pointedly at Applejack, “you are a dressmaker, having crafted the latest in fashions using a fabulous fabric you have spent months developing. The most wonderful of materials: stretchy, but not clingy; shimmery, but not showy. A rival fashionista asks to ‘borrow’ this fabric before Fashion Week, the largest event in all of Manehattan, but you know he will steal your hard work and pass it off as his own, ruining your chances at winning. What is the generous thing to do?”

“Not only should you share the fabric with him,” Sombra answers, “but your designs as well, and in doing so he might recognize his error. For if one asks, will it not be given?”

“What!?” Rarity exclaims, stumbling backward at the unexpected answer. “But, but, but, you’re just enabling him to take advantage of you!”

“Are you so concerned with recognition that you would allow their greed to overcome your generosity? He has gotten his reward. But you?” Sombra looks Rarity in the eyes as she gulps. “Will Harmony not bless you with gifts far greater than fabric should you put your trust in Her?”

“Alright, my turn!” Rainbow Dash barrels forward, skidding to a stop in front of the stallion as Rarity sticks her nose up and returns to the line. “Say somepony close to you betrays you.” She meets Tempest’s gaze for a moment, then Raikou’s; the orchid unicorn returns a dour scowl while the Storm King gains a pensive pose, rubbing at his shaggy white beard while leaning on his silvered staff. “Or, you’re a Wonderbolt and you cheat, or use underhooved methods to keep your records from being broken. What do you do?”

“When I was a foal,” Sombra answers, “I desperately wanted to attend the Crystal Heart Faire, but every year I grew sicker and sicker when the day drew close.” He turns to look deeply into Radiant Hope’s eyes, his smile growing wide. “It was through Hope’s ministrations that I was able to keep the shadow inside myself contained. She even gained her cutie mark through watching over me!” His smile falters, and his gaze returns to Rainbow Dash, humbled. “But when she was called away, I gave in and allowed the darkness to consume me. I shattered the statue of the Princess I petrified and enslaved the kind and gentle ponies that had taken me in.”

“I shouldn’t have-”

“It was not your fault,” Sombra says, cutting Radiant Hope’s apology off, though he assuages her distress with a gentle smile. “But my own.” He turns back to address the other ponies. “And for my many crimes, my loss of faith in Harmony, I was deservedly disintegrated by the combined love of the Crystal Ponies. Good riddance, you might say, and rightly so; but is that not the fate of all of us should justice be served? Which of us can truthfully claim to have never crossed Harmony’s strictures, to have in all actions and all words and all thoughts lived in accordance with Honestly, Generosity, Loyalty, Kindness, Laughter, and Friendship, which is Magic? Should any of us be spared those searing rays?”

“It made us sparkle,” Rainbow Dash states, smirking as she glances at Chrysalis. She scowls back at the pegasus. “All of us.”

“It is fortunate, then,” Sombra continues, acknowledging Rainbow Dash’s objection, “that Harmony is not solely concerned with justice, but also with mercy. For we are to forgive each other, even when betrayed. Is that not the way to return to right standing with one another? And if Harmony can forgive me, as evidenced by my presence here, is there any that She cannot forgive?” While Rainbow Dash had looked at Tempest Shadow, he looks at Princess Luna. Her eyes drop, unable to meet him. “Is Harmony not stronger than the challenges you face? Will She not use your failures and your flaws to draw you closer to Her, and to each other?”

The ragged scars criss-crossing the back of Doug’s left hand ache; clenching into a fist does little to suppress the pain, or keep him from remembering what Luna had done to him and his foals when possessed as the Nightmare.

That he forgave her for.

He has to force himself to raise his other hand to rub reassuringly at her neck; the mere action helps immensely. She glances at him through tear-filled eyes, a faint smile playing on her muzzle, before resting her head against his chest. He hates that they had to go through that ordeal, both for his sake and hers, and yet something wonderful had developed between them because of that, and continues to grow. Could that have happened otherwise?

Rainbow Dash frowns, perhaps expecting a more antagonistic answer. She grunts before returning, though she has to remind Fluttershy with a pointed cough that the shy pegasus is up next.

“Oh, um, me?” Fluttershy cowers into her mane, tepid steps only hurried along once Rainbow Dash gets fed up and puts her head into Fluttershy’s backside. She skids to a stop before Sombra who treats her with a genial, if fangy, smile. “Oh, dear. Err, let’s say, um… what’s the nice thing to do?”

“Nice?” Sombra asks patiently, cocking his head slightly to the side.

While Fluttershy dithers, Radiant Hope walks up to Doug, greeting him with a pleasant smile that dissipates any suspicions he might have had. “May I see your hand?”

Luna looks up to warily regard the light purple unicorn as Doug extends his scarred hand. Celestia herself had cast a spell to heal the wounds; it worked, but not perfectly, leaving an often painful and stiff reminder.

Radiant Hope gingerly takes his hand, turning it this way and that to inspect the raised white lines. She turns her cute small smile on him. “Do you believe in Harmony?”

Doug forces himself to keep from chuckling. “It’d be hard not to.”

“Well, she…” Radiant Hope says before her smile fades to a concerned frown. “She doesn’t…”

“Believed in me before I believed in her?” Doug tries, swiftly growing concerned. He knows magic doesn’t always affect him, or have the same effect as it does on ponies, but he finds Hope’s reaction alarming.

“No. Yes.” Radiant Hope grits her teeth, breath whistling before she again focuses on his hand. Her horn flares, her light blue aura settling on his wrist. It takes away the pain, though not the scars, leaving him free to flex and stretch without any discomfort. “There.”

“T-thank you,” Doug mumbles, staring at his healed hand. The idea that Radiant Hope would be so kind to him even while Twilight confronts her stallion…

“Thank Harmony,” Radiant Hope advises, meeting Luna’s eyes briefly before returning to Sombra’s side.

“Nice,” Fluttershy repeats. When this clarification fails to prove sufficient she continues, slowly growing bolder, “If somepony is in need, but refuses to help themselves. Say somepony has, mm, a brother, or, uh, not a brother, a close relative, and you’re worried that your brother, err, your close relative is wasting his life away. He’s too busy living in the moment, living off his parents, ignoring his responsibilities and his mark. “How do you show him kindness?”

“It ain’t easy putting your hoof down,” Sombra says, drawing a surprised jolt from Fluttershy.

“I know!” The pegasus loses her shyness to commiserate, “It’s so hard to be confident, to come out of your shell, when you’re afraid of what he might say!”

“Indeed, it is important to keep calm and flutter on, lest the sounds of silence prevail. Should the task prove too daunting for you alone, bring a friend who might articulate more confidently than yourself.” Sombra’s soft smile encourages Fluttershy, who returns a cheerful grin, as though she has completely forgotten any sort of antagonism between them. “Though this reprimand you bring must be motivated by love, and a desire to see them grow in Harmony.”

“Of course! Thanks!” Fluttershy happily trots back to the others, unaware (perhaps deliberately so) of the cross looks the others are giving her and Sombra.

Well, aside from Pinkie Pie. The perky pony pronks forward, a wide grin spread from one ear to the other. “What present would you get me for my birthday?”

The question takes Sombra aback, and it is one that has plagued Doug since he met the effusive mare. “More than the love I would show anypony?”

“Well, that depends,” Pinkie Pie says with a sly wink, sitting back to hold her hooves about six inches apart. “Does ‘your love’ fit in a box this big?” She spreads her hooves about a foot apart. “Or this big?”

Not seeing a response, Pinkie Pie goes wider than her withers, eyes growing like saucers. “This big?!

Sombra merely gives a quizzical twist of his head. Behind him, Radiant Hope gives the slightest of nods, prompting a furious blush on the pink pony. Cadance fans herself, much to Shining Armor’s consternation, while Doug is mostly glad he wouldn’t fit in the first box.

“O-okie dokie!” Pinkie Pie stumbles back into line, though nopony seems particularly keen on returning her scandalous smirks.

“You did not wish to ask about Laughter?” Sombra shrugs before turning to Twilight as she steps forward. “Princess. Perhaps your question will be more relevant?”

“I think it was perfectly pertinent,” Twilight states, though she has to bite her tongue to keep her opinion on the propriety to herself. “After all, giving and receiving gifts is the primary way Pinkie Pie, and many other ponies, share Laughter.”

Sombra concedes this with a low bow and deferential wave of his hoof toward the Element of Laughter. “Then I, too, have much to learn about Harmony.”

“As do we all.” Twilight pauses, his concession throwing her off. “Why are you here? Why did Harmony pick this time and this place to send somepony on her behalf, and not some other?”

“Harmony’s ways are, at times, as unfathomable to me as to any of us. Were I to hazard a guess?” Sombra glances at Celestia, who continues to regard him impassively. “It would be that we are at a pivotal time in Equestrian history. With the advent of alicorn foals we shall see an expansion of the Equestrian nation, not just internally but spreading to all corners of Equus. Have there not been dramatic inroads with the changelings and the Griffons, the Hippogriffs and Storm Creatures, the Abyssinians and the naked mole rats, the dragons and those beyond? The time is ripe for Harmony’s message to spread as well, and it should be one that emphasizes a conscious application of Her rules and a rejection of the corrupting influences of anything to the contrary.”

Doug slides a hand over the lightning bolt tattooed on his shoulder. He had gotten it as a consolation to the Storm King, a way of blending their cultures as the Storm Creatures had taken on the tenets of Harmony. Did that count as corruption? Would the other nations see this new ‘contribution’ to their culture as beneficial or as an existential threat to their way of life?

“Truly?” Twilight’s tempered expression breaks at the thought of partnering rather than prosecuting the former tyrant. She extends her foreleg with an earnest smile. “Why, if you would accept our hoof in friendship, then-”

“Enough!”

The ponies look up as a shadow spreads over the field, barely able to dodge to the side as Dragon Lord Torch smashes into the ground with a sickening thud, pulverizing the area where Sombra once stood.

Ch. 192 - Militant Faith

“Nooo!” Radiant Hope screams from where she was knocked down, the other ponies slowly recovering. The words echo, elongating, or maybe that’s just the ringing from the shockwave.

Doug groans from where a cerulean blur had pushed him back, shakily rising to quivering limbs, barely able to make out the titanic dragon from the cloud of falling dirt and grass. Two other ponies made it through the shockwave unscathed, Celestia and Rainbow Dash, the former with a thin golden shield surrounding herself and the latter already airborne.

“You wish to test fire from the heavens?”

With a sadistic smirk Dragon Lord Torch scoops a giant clawful of earth and stallion, loose bits of soil and grass falling through his claws. His jaw opens wide as he inhales, revealing a swirling vortex of flame; he relishes the moment before loosing a torrent of fire that coats his claws, dripping like lava and scorching the contents to a smoldering husk.

“Stop!!” Tears stream down light blue cheeks that boil against the oppressive inferno, yet Radiant Hope’s plaintive cry has no effect on the gargantuan dragon. The rest of the ponies seem too stunned to intervene. “Sombra!”

Dragon Lord Torch shovels the lot into his massive mouth, lifts his head to the sky, and swallows as though it was no more than a random table of food.

Doug shudders. To see a pony, even an antagonist like Sombra, torched and then reduced to a mere meal… He feels sick to his stomach, understanding the revulsion the ponies got years ago when he claimed that he might, only in the most dire of circumstances, eat a fellow pony. To see it happen in front of him…

The monstrous dragon grins, swiveling his bulk to face Radiant Hope, and takes another deep breath, readying a second vortex of flame.

The despondent unicorn shifts, rage boiling past her tears. She stands defiant, heedless of Torch’s threat, and barks out a single word.

“Die.”

There is no warning, no flaring of her horn, no burst of green magic that might have been dodged. The light merely leaves the great Dragon Lord’s eyes as though flicked off with a switch. He falters, his deep intake ending as though choked off, and falls flat on his face. Dead.

The power of the word stuns Doug. C…can Harmony do that? A healer with vast power over life can just as easily rip that life away? He cannot tear his eyes away from the once-cute unicorn now consumed with fury as she races toward the downed dragon, tears still flowing freely. She shouts, but to no avail, the corpse doing little more than gracelessly settling to the ground.

“Why?” Radiant Hope wails, barely shifting the snout as she pounds at the teeth as large as herself. “You promised!”

High above, the circling red dragon, Garble, breaks away from the other fliers, racing to the southeast as fast as his youthful body can take him. A smaller teal dragon, Ember, shrieks from the opposite stands, thin claws scraping at widened eyes as if that might change the scene in front of her.

If Doug knew what part of him made him shift his legs forward instead of back, he would have excised it immediately. But there’s something about seeing a mare in desperate need - Luna, Trixie, hell, even Applejack when he first arrived - that draws him like a magnet.

At least, until Radiant Hope swirls around, focusing all her rage on him. “You! You did this!” She swaps between him and Twilight, the alicorn hurrying to catch up to the human. “All of you! If you hadn’t challenged us, then none of this-”

She cuts off as a scraping sound comes from Torch’s shuddering gullet, racing to press a hoof against the thick scales. Her desolate expression evaporates as quickly as her tears. “Sombra! You’re alive!”

The mouth slowly opens, revealing a smoldering but remarkably unharmed unicorn. “I made you a promise so many years ago,” he says as he welcomes Radiant Hope’s ecstatic hug, a chaste kiss to the top of her mane, “that no dragon would defeat me. Even when eaten.”

Radiant Hope’s whole face scrunches up as she glances at the body behind him. “Really?” she challenges, yet unable to keep the radiant smile from her muzzle. “I’m pretty sure he had you dead to rights.”

“Unlikely.” His smirk turns serious. “But what you did…”

“I did for you,” Radiant Hope claims, but doubt immediately scrawls across her face. “In defense of us.”

Sombra’s eyes light up, going for a kiss that would be far less than chaste, only to be interrupted as a teal blur smashes into the light blue unicorn, the small dragon raking deep wounds along her exposed side with claws as long as kitchen knives, and far sharper. Blood sprays out in a fountain, streaming down her sides and soaking the grass underhoof. Radiant Hope howls in pain; her horn flares, only for Ember to gouge her forehead, interrupting her concentration and sending rivulets of red into her eyes.

“You fiends!” Ember shrieks as she tears into Radiant Hope, only for a solid buck from Sombra to send her tumbling backwards. She spits in rage, shaking, barely able to control herself as she swiftly regains her balance.

A thin vertical orange line splits the air between them, then expands to a swirling portal. Ember dances backward, yelping at the sudden heat, while Radiant Hope shakes in shock at seeing the white of bone poking through her sides, when she can see at all.

“It is not yet the time,” a great blue ram states coldly as he steps through the orange portal, which closes behind him, “for such brazen displays of power!”

He surpasses Celestia in height and bulk, the tip of her long horn barely passing the spiraling blue monstrosities jutting from his thick skull. The sight reminds Doug of Tirek at the height of his power. Around the broad chest chest is strapped a crimson harness with six golden bells, together ringing a harmonious, almost cheerful sound completely at odds with his sour expression. The goat takes in the ponies at a glance, his stony expression barely dipping at Radiant Hope’s sorry state. “Vitality. Purity of Fire. Discipline. Determination.”

With each barked word a shimmering aura surrounds the new arrival and his three acolytes. The deep wounds quickly close, Radiant Hope rising to rapidly steadying hooves with Sombra’s help. The goat then turns his attention backward to survey the bulk behind the apologetic unicorn, disappointment clear as he strokes his blue beard.

“You killed my dad,” Ember screams, whizzing forward, a whirlwind of razors that open no more than paper cuts that quickly heal. Radiant Hope flinches away at first, though her surprised laughter at the ineffectual attacks only makes Ember more infuriated.

“Princess of the Dragons Ember Everburning,” the goat greets as though they were at a fancy dinner, completely disregarding her seething temper and furious blows as she turns her rage on him, “Whose Scales Gleam Like Moonlit Jewels.” He glances down as she huffs, exhausted from her onslaught. “Your distress is understandable, if misplaced.”

“W-wha?” Ember stammers, torn between incredulity and indignity at his brusque manner. She backs off, bloodlust still in her eyes, searching for any weakness she might exploit.

“You must be Grogar,” Twilight greets as she steps forward, clearly intent on diffusing the tense situation. Doug follows reluctantly; he often steps in between his mares when they argue, but this seems an entirely different beast.

“Grogar the Necromancer, Servant of Harmony.” He appraises her openly, coming up with a respect Doug didn’t expect. “Princess Twilight Sparkle, Courtesan of Friendship.”

Twilight blushes, intensely cute even as she makes no move to deny the title. “I-I’m sure we can work this out!”

“Indeed.” Introductions seemingly over, Grogar turns back to regard the dead dragon. His imperious tone echoes against the stadium, a choir of one voice.

“Rise, Torch Everburning, The Unquenched Flame!”

One massive eye opens, followed by the other. Torch coughs out a bit of dirt as he rises, sitting on his haunches like an obedient dog. It’s completely at odds with what Doug remembers, a firebrand willing to go to war with Equestria over Spike’s potential punishment, or Sombra’s thinly veiled threats of what the ponies would do if they followed his strictures.

“Might need to change that,” he remarks, twisting his head this way and that as if all he is doing is stretching after waking up from a long nap. He regards Sombra with a familiarity opposite his earlier actions, going so far as to smile and nod at Radiant Hope as though he wasn’t about to incinerate her moments ago, or that she hadn’t (at least temporarily) killed him.

“D-dad?” Ember asks, hesitant to accept the change that’s come over her sire. If she even trusts it is him. “You’re okay?”

“More than okay.” Torch looks to the sky, then to his daughter. He barely seems to recognize her as such. “I have finally been shown the truth. It’s real, my precious Ember. Harmony, and all that. You and the rest of the dragons have best be ready to accept her.”

“No.” Ember backs away slowly, warily, as though the much larger dragon might lunge at her at any moment. Her face scrunches up. “Give me an order. Something. Anything!”

Torch merely gives his head a somber shake. “I am no longer Dragon Lord,” he confides. “The title will pass to the next dragon to claim the Bloodstone Scepter.”

Ember scans the sky, searching for Garble, but the red dragon has already pierced through the blue bubble. “What happened to you - it isn’t right!”

“It is more than merely right,” Grogar states in his overwhelming tone. Ember shudders at hearing it. “All dragons shall share his fate. Indeed, all creatures shall share it. They shall die, their flaws purged, and be reborn in Harmony’s service. ”

“Mind control,” Twilight stammers. She slowly backs up, afraid a sudden movement might provoke a drastic response. Doug follows, sharing her trepidation, glad to put as much distance between himself and the giant goat.

“Not in the way you claim,” Grogar states absentmindedly, paying Twilight as little mind as he did Ember. “No more than when persuaded by an argument, by the holy power of Harmony at work in their lives. For they have seen the light, and know its awesome power.”

“We must stop him,” Twilight says, low and hopefully only heard by Doug. “But how?” She races back as her Friends and fellow rulers once again line up, ready to face the oncoming threat.

Grogar’s expression darkens as he focuses entirely on Radiant Hope, admonishing her as though her slip is more important than anything Twilight is planning. “We are called to keep that faith, to trust in Harmony at all times and with all things.”

“I, I’m sorry,” Radiant Hope mumbles, looking stricken. “I lashed out, I wasn’t thinking. Please, forgive me.”

“All shall be forgiven by repenting,” Grogar says, grasping her hoof and lifting her up, the bells around his chest singing a joyous song. He looks up at the sky as though searching for something, but Doug can’t see anything but the blue bubble of the Crystal Heart. “Yet there remain those whose faith must be tested by Harmony herself.”

Princess Twilight Sparkle, Element of Magic gracing her mane, stands with her Friends. Each looks eager, even Fluttershy, confidence bolstered by their unity. Doug rejoins the line of ponies on the other side, standing with Princess Luna. He would much rather be relaxing, caressing her lovely coat while she snuggles against his chest. But he stands tall, resolute against whatever threat Grogar sends their way.

“We stand together,” Twilight claims loudly, “united as one!”

“Their connection to the Elements is strong,” Sombra states, the three acolytes standing alongside Grogar. “But those that they follow?”

“The Princesses,” Grogar concurs with a weighty nod, “and their two consorts.”

“Wh-” Twilight starts, cut off as the six golden bells around Grogar’s chest flash a brilliant white.

The four Princesses of Equestria and their two consorts slump to the ground, eyes rolling to the back of their heads.

Ch. 193 - Brittle Barrier

Shining Armor struggles to his hooves, mentally berating himself. How could he blank out at such an important time? He should be court-martialed for such dereliction, stripped of his position of Captain of the Guard for risking those who entrust their protection to him. He would hoof over his badge if he thought it would do any good; he knows Celestia would be more than willing to forgive his lapse - entirely too forgiving, as she has made abundantly clear before. If it was a recruit under his command she would be shoving apples for the rest of the month, and not the kind Applejack grows.

Fortunately, the scene hasn’t changed. Grogar the Necromancer still stands with Sombra, Radiant Hope, and Tempest Shadow, Torch towering behind them. They haven’t made any aggressive actions, merely waiting for some sign from the heavens (or Tartarus, he snidely posits, or the realm in-between Discord inhabits, either would be far more appropriate).

The dossiers of each flit through his mind, dissected with all the impartiality as if considering the players on a buckball team. Celestia provided all the information on Grogar, the rest lost to time. The goat thinks himself - accurately in Her Highness’s opinion, though Shining Armor is inclined to disagree - a true servant of Harmony. According to Celestia, this manifests in vast magical abilities, and he can’t doubt their reality - he saw Ember’s attack on Radiant Hope, and how quickly the situation turned when Grogar arrived. Any attack on him would have to be massive in order to overcome such regeneration, and not fire based if Purity of Fire does what it says on the tin.

Speaking of the healer, Radiant Hope would also have to be a priority. He doubts the unicorn’s physical fighting capability, but she would have to be removed quickly so they could deal with the more offensive members. Doubly important to silence her, or otherwise remove her casting, as she demonstrated against the former Dragon Lord.

Sombra and Tempest Shadow he regards with equal enmity, and a grudging respect. The Crystal Empire’s usurper shows no signs of the dark magic he is so infamous for, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there, and he wonders what he is capable of if he truly is imbued with Harmony’s power. The Storm King’s former commander was a threat before she regained her horn, as demonstrated when she came at the front of the task force to bring Princess Celestia to the Council of Creatures, willing or not. Now that she has it back?

The Storm King himself looks bored, treating the thick tension with the same nonchalance he treats everything. It rankles Shining Armor to see the power-hungry dictator at their side, his decades of sweeping through the southern seas like a hurricane brushed aside as soon as he professed even the slightest proclivity towards adopting the tenets of Harmony. And for Celestia to promise him even the hint of her future filly’s hoof…

His gaze sweeps to the two mares carrying his foals, though thinking of Chrysalis as a mare is nearly as unpalatable as thinking of Raikou as a fellow Equestrian (worse, an in-law, however distant). After all, if things had gone differently on his and Cadance’s wedding day… But now is not the time to dwell on possibilities. He is glad the changeling is at his side, he tells himself; she could just as easily have been working with Sombra, plotting their downfall, singing songs about the better ways to be bad while feasting on their love.

Cadance, on the other hoof… His focus breaks at seeing her lovely face, the way her flowing mane curls around her withers, not a hair out of place despite their harried circumstance. He can’t get past how lucky he is to be with her, to be able to run his hooves down her neck when they embrace, to feel the soft velvet of her lips, to steal a glance at the gentle swell of her belly when she isn’t looking. He would do anything for her.

“Cady,” Shining Armor whispers, trying and failing to keep the distress from his tone.

“Shiny,” Cadance replies, short and curt.

He winces. He can hear the rebuke in the single word, the same way she rejected his other attempts to curtail her activity, how she claimed that she was pregnant, not an invalid. Yet there is love as well, as always, noting his attempt to protect her and the noble (if misguided) intentions behind it.

“I’m just worried,” he starts, offering what he hopes comes off as a hopeful smile.

Her beautiful purple eyes flick from Celestia to Chrysalis to Rarity.

He wilts as her muzzle draws tight. She doesn’t need to say it. Who would be left, who could go hoof to hoof with Tempest Shadow or Sombra, to say nothing of Grogar, if those with foal sat out?

He would be.

He itches to test his mettle against the goat, to pit his shields against whatever these pretenders throw their way. He had done it against King Sombra. He had done it in Canterlot when the changelings invaded. He could do it again, unleash an expanding barrier that would once again expel them from the Crystal Empire!

The moon crests the western horizon, the opposite horizon, moving far faster than it has any right to and bringing with it the dark of night. Likewise the sun speeds up, looking like she is about to crash into her heavenly counterpart. Luna looks stricken, as does Celestia, both tracking their respective astronomical objects, seemingly unable to stop the impending collision.

Could this be the sign? The tension in the air rises, none daring to make the first preemptive move.

Then the sun and moon slow, coming to a stop. Half the sky is shrouded in twinkling stars, the other half bright day. It is an eerie sight, unnatural, and sends shivers down Shining Armor’s spine. Half of the stadium stays engulfed in darkness, shadows shifting as Storm Minions, already geared for battle, set up a defensive perimeter around the retreating civilians.

“The reckoning is finally at hoof,” Grogar declares, booming across the entire stadium. “A revival shall sweep across Equestria, bringing all under Harmony’s righteous shackles.” He straightens to his full height, stretching his legs and neck. “Remember,” he tells his acolytes. “Death is not the ultimate end. Keep Harmony at the forefront of your mind, embrace her, and we shall prevail against all who do not hold to Her ways.” He focuses on Celestia, the challenge clear.

“I must delay him,” Celestia states dispassionately. There is no eagerness in her voice, just the heaviness of necessity. “For as long as possible, before he gets out of hoof.”

Out of hoof? Shining Armor doesn’t have time to ask before Celestia trots forward.

“Wait!” Twilight calls, only for a swift shake of the elder alicorn’s head to stop her in her tracks.

“I will only be able to stall him,” Celestia admits grimly. “You must figure out a way to stop him.”

And then she is off, quickly closing the distance.

The sound of dozens of scampering hooves from the opposite side draws Shining Armor’s attention. Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo lead the pack, all of Doug’s foals along with Diamond Tiara, Silver Spoon, and Cozy Glow.

Applejack is the first to respond. “Buck no,” she commands the incoming youngsters. “Y’all go back! Right now, ya hear?”

“We want to help,” Apple Bloom says, as stubborn as her dam.

“We can be a distraction,” Sweetie Belle continues, and her flag-carrying outfit is certainly that.

“Or which of you is gonna make us sit out?” Scootaloo demands, challenging any of them to meet her gaze.

“Fluttershy,” Applejack orders, glancing at the pegasus for confirmation.

“We need her,” Twilight counters, lips pursed in a tight line. “All the Elements, just in case.”

Their attention turns to the confrontation in the middle of the stadium.

“Herald of Fire, Skitterbots, Righteous Fire,” Grogar says, with the ponderous tone of the immortal. Flame wreathes his hooves as two contraptions jump out of nowhere, skittering about, one cloaked in frost while the other crackles with electricity. A ring of fire expands outward, moving with him, burning the very air around him. Their view ripples, the heat felt even two dozen yards away.

Shining Armor had once seen the effects of a dragon’s breath on an unlucky pony. The fire clung to her coat, resisting any attempts to extinguish it, and burned slowly, almost cruelly, as though the fire had a mind of its own and wanted to draw out the torment as long as possible. While they were able to put it out, it had sunk deep into her skin, leaving her scarred for life (until Radiant Hope had healed her, that is). The fire surrounding Grogar reminds Shining Armor of the dragon’s flame, touching only the tips of his shaggy coat; it burns, thousands of flickering candles, yet his regeneration keeps the many wicks from closing in.

“Options?” Twilight Sparkle asks without taking her eyes away from Grogar and Celestia, her quick voice hard, yet unable to completely hide her worry.

Shining Armor’s heart swells at seeing his little sister step up and take charge. While he might not have described her as shy, the reserved and often unassuming mare has certainly grown into her new role as Princess.

“Frontal assault,” Rainbow Dash proposes, as eager as Grogar to test herself against their adversaries. “Hit ‘em hard, hit ‘em fast.”

“His fire will burn anypony who comes close enough,” Cadance states as Celestia enters the ring. The white alicorn looks serene, like the heat washing over her is nothing more than a warm bath.

“Raikou, see if your orbs can punch through and petrify Grogar,” Shining Armor says, moving creatures about like they are pieces on a chessboard. Which ones would he keep safe, which ones would he sacrifice? “Everypony else, avoid him. Chrysalis, Cadance, focus on Sombra. Twilight, take Tempest. The rest of you, Radiant Hope. Keep her distracted, don’t let her assist any of the others.”

“And you?” Twilight asks, turning to stare him down.

“I’ll assist Celestia,” Shining Armor says, his voice steel. It may be a death sentence, but he won’t allow any of the others to take that place.

Celestia, however, doesn’t seem to need assistance. “Is that all?” she asks Grogar, more curious than taunting.

The goat growls, a twist of his head flinging out a triangular device at Celestia’s hooves. “Fire trap. Flammability. Elemental Weakness. Punishment.”

“Sorry, I’m immune to curses,” Celestia apologizes as the trap explodes at her hooves, coating the ground in flames. A grin crosses her muzzle, eyes twinkling. “Also fire. Comes with this, I believe.” She shakes her flank, the sun looking remarkably appropriate surrounded by fire.

“All shall be tested,” Grogar states, staring her down, no emotion in his burning red eyes. “Every. One.”

“I-I have an idea,” Cozy Glow puts forth, though hesitantly, unsure of the repercussions of sharing her plan. She shies down as Twilight turns to her. “G-golly. I-I’ve been talking to Tirek, sending letters, a-and he t-told me about a d-d-device I could make.”

“Go on,” Twilight says, everypony listening closely.

“Y-you know the recharging station we use to power the Cider Squeezy?” Cozy Glow frets as Twilight nods, rubbing her hooves over each other. “Y-you’re not supposed to hook up more than one or two enchanted items to it because it grows exponentially. W-well, if you hooked up enough magic items - say, the six powerful artifacts we learned about in class…”

“With the right items, yielding a harmonic balance…” Twilight stares a thousand yards away. “It would expand as it absorbed more magic. Even starting on a very low draw, it would quickly envelop the entire world. Then…” The blood drains from her face. “It would pull more and more magic, until every trace has been taken from even the smallest blade of grass.”

“So,” Cozy Glow says, forcing a smile, “better than living under Grogar?”

Twilight snorts at the audacity, that living under such an authoritarian would be worse than freezing as Equus drifts away from the sun. “But it wouldn’t work with any battery; you would need to hook it up to something capable of absorbing an essentially infinite amount of thaumic energy.” Her eyes suddenly widen, their flick at Doug not unnoticed.

To his credit, the human squares his shoulders. “Whatever you need.”

“But it would take too long,” Twilight speculates. “Days. And we need something right now!”

“Could you,” Doug says, frowning, looking mad at himself for even suggesting it. “Could you reverse the polarity?”

“Making it extremely small,” Twilight continues, nodding along, “but extremely potent.”

Luna’s horn flashes bright cobalt, summoning a crown, a helm, a conch shell, a talisman, a cloak, and a necklace. “Relics of the Elements,” she explains with a dire warning. “If they fall to the wrong hooves…”

“I won’t let you down,” Twilight says, hastily getting to work assembling Cozy Glow’s doomsday weapon.

“Die,” barks Radiant Hope at Celestia, though it lacks the fervor of her earlier command.

Celestia merely shakes her head. “That will not work,” she chides, cool against Radiant Hope’s scowl, “against one who has given their life to Harmony.”

“Enough,” Grogar calls, stepping back. He gives Celestia a grudging bow. “Others remain to be tested.”

The blue goat charges towards the Equestrians, the fiery ring a dread beacon in the night.

“Forgive me,” Celestia whispers, staring at the sky, before she explodes into a searing exarch, shod in orange and white, her mane a billowing yellow flame.

“Flamestrike.”

A pillar of fire erupts on Grogar’s position, enveloping them in a blazing twister.

“Engage!” Shining Armor shouts, throwing up his most powerful shield against Celestia’s - Daybreaker’s - blistering heat.

The blue goat rams into it seconds later as he exits the fiery pillar, seemingly unharmed; it only becomes apparent when the smoke clears that Torch has spread his now-tattered wings, protecting the acolytes from the worst of the flames. Radiant Hope presses her hoof against his side, horn lit, the smoldering holes quickly filling in.

“Flame Dash.”

In the blink of an eye Grogar disappears from the other side of the barrier, a trail of fire marking his movement. He appears next to Chrysalis, engulfing her inside the circle of fire, steam escaping her lungs in a shrill shriek as her hemolymph boils. Raikou is barely able to backflip away, whipping a crackling obsidian orb at the goat in the same motion.

“Flame Dash.”

Grogar once again blinks away, the petrifying orb missing him by bare inches, this time into the middle of a regiment of advancing Storm Minions. Those facing forwards are incinerated instantly, suits of steel armor sizzling, while those who happened to have their antimagic shields facing the goat are spared the worst of the injuries. Shining Armor is impressed by their resolve: rather than break ranks and try to flee they form a half-circle, attempting to surround Grogar, threatening him with long spears he blatantly disregards.

Then their former comrades stand, eye slits of their helmets glinting gold; they twist the protective shields away, exposing the remaining guards to the tremendous heat.

Shining Armor finally understands Celestia’s warning: every opponent defeated by Grogar would return on the other side, bolstering the opposing ranks while diminishing their own. Tartarus-damned Necromancers. They really would need to end this as quickly as possible.

“Flame Dash.”

Grogar again appears next to Chrysalis, but this time she is ready: a blast of green magic knocks him back, bolstered by Luna’s blue. A cobalt dagger whizzes through the air, slashing with expert precision.

Shining Armor can barely keep track, the battlefield quickly descending into chaos. A glance to the others shows Tempest Shadow throwing sparks that Rainbow Dash evades by a hair’s breadth and Applejack grounds and Spike tanks. Fluttershy locks flashing eyes with a defiant Sombra while Starlight Glimmer attempts to contain his magic. Radiant Hope seems to have surrendered to Rarity and Pinkie Pie, cowering with a horn covered in cake and pleading with Sombra to do likewise, all with a backdrop of stone that Shining Armor realizes is Torch, petrified by Raikou’s dodged orb.

Shining Armor turns back to face Grogar as the regiment of golden Storm Minions is intercepted by their King. Except that is the least of his worries: Cadance now faces off against Grogar, stalling his advance as Twilight hastily assembles what hopefully will end this. Permanently.

“Back off!” Cadance shouts, a blast of pink knocking Grogar back.

The goat turns to face Cadance, lowers his horned head, and charges.

He shatters Shining Armor’s hastily constructed shield, shrugs off Cadance’s and Chrysalis’ blasts, and ignores the cobalt dagger raking an unhealing line across his side.

The ring of fire touches her, igniting her golden mane like a torch, her pink coat lighting like she is doused in kerosene. Her shriek is inequine, worse than Chrysalis’, worse than anything Shining Armor has ever heard. He had hoped to never hear that sound, and it burns his heart to do so, as much as the heart on her flank is sizzling away.

“Got it!” Twilight shouts before hastily backing away from Doug. He carries the long tube on his shoulder like a carpet, nowhere near as threatening as it could be.

Shining Armor can’t see a difference, but Doug bravely charges the ring of fire. That’s suicide is all he can think; the human might be immune to some magic, but fire? He can see the beads of sweat streaming down his face, those that haven’t evaporated from the heat.

“Hah,” Grogar laughs as Cadance slumps down, her delay successful but costly. Too costly. “A grave cannot stop me!”

Faster than Doug can close the distance, though, Grogar charges towards the Elements of Harmony, only to be slammed by a flame-wreathed Celestia. Any spell or word he might have tossed out is knocked from his mouth, just as the light leaves both of their eyes as soon as they get within arms reach of the human. The heat surrounding Grogar fades, replaced with a chill wind.

Shining Armor absently notes the bubble surrounding the Crystal Empire has faded, the cold of the Frozen North seeping in, aided by an arctic aura surrounding Luna. But he’s more focused on reaching Cadance, desperate for some way to heal the burns that have seared away her coat, leaving her shaking and unresponsive.

“I need a medic!” Shining Armor shouts, cradling Cadance’s precious head, hoping against hope that something, anything, can be done for her. He wishes he had studied healing more, always confident his shields would be enough, and they weren’t-

“Open your eyes,” Doug pleads, only to realize that he is preventing any help by remaining close to his beloved. He backs away from Celestia, dragging Grogar’s limp body with him. “Chrysalis!”

“My reserves are exhausted,” the changeling explains, staggering forward. Steam still seeps from her mottled and distorted chitin, swirling against the frigid air. A malevolent smirk crosses her muzzle. “But if I could get a refill…”

At first, Shining Armor thinks she is talking about him. He would gladly do so if he thought it would be sufficient. But then he realizes she is talking about their three captives.

“I can heal her,” Radiant Hope claims, no sign of deceit in her voice. Even Applejack seems convinced, if wary. She bows her head, adding, “All you have to do is forgive him.”

Shining Armor wants to stride forward, to tower over the submissive unicorn, but that would mean leaving Cadance’s side. Something he will never do. “So he can try again later?” He shakes his head. Radiant Hope slumps forward as Tempest Shadow stands defiant even when captured. “Drain them.”

Chrysalis licks her lips as she advances.

Shining Armor buries his head against Cadance’s side, willing her to survive, to hold together for the few seconds it will take. He can hear her ragged heartbeat, slowing, her breaths getting shallower and shallower. He holds her tight, squeezing her gently, only for her to fade from his grasp.

He gasps, staggering to unsteady hooves, only to realize the landscape around him has reverted. Grogar and his acolytes stand, unharmed, staring at the sky as though waiting for some sign to appear. The princesses and Doug lay about him as though sleeping.

Was that a dream? A portent of things to come? …A test?

…If it was a test, did he pass?

Ch. 194 - Shattered Chains

Princess Twilight Sparkle yawns as she wakes up at her desk, smacking her lips and trying to clear the sleepiness from her eyes.

Wait, sleepiness? Her desk! What is she doing in her Headmare’s office? There’s a battle about to start! She needs to-

Her train of thought is interrupted as her intercom buzzes.

Her intercom? She stares down at the odd black box. The motion of pressing the little button feels strangely familiar, almost automatic, like she’s been using this avant-garde technology for years. But that can’t be the case! She just started the school, they haven’t even finished a semester!

Still, her curiosity gets the better of her. She presses the button, ears folding at the crackle. “Yes?”

Meringue’s voice comes through the box, loud and clear. “Mrs. Wren is here for her two o’clock.”

Twilight frowns. The filly should be at the battle at the Crystal Empire. If she’s not… well, maybe she’ll play along, see where this leads. “Send her in.”

Twilight takes a moment to look around her office. It’s decorated as she remembers, with a solitary potted plant in one corner and lofty windows that give a lovely view of the entrance fountain. Crammed between tall bookshelves (hmm, she really ought to reorganize for better accessibility for texts concerning ancient threats) is a pinboard dotted with photographs of herself and her herdmates, though she’s not sure who the cameramare was, or even could have been. Like somecreature was viewing them through a wall, or the sky, or a random doorway. But that’s impossible; she remembers these situations, she would have remembered seeing somepony there, or noticed a scrying spell, or…

Twilight shakes her head, trying to clear whatever nonsense that was about. She needs to focus!

The door opens, a haughty earth pony stepping inside. Twilight doesn’t like using the word to describe anypony, but it fits: the light pink mare strides in like she owns the place, disdainfully sniffing as though Twilight’s choice of decoration (or lack thereof; she really should get Rarity to help, especially with the Two Sisters theme she’s been working on lately) offends her. Two foals trail behind, a young pink filly with a similar stuck-up golden manestyle and a light blue colt with a mane that reminds Twilight of her brother, except with more purple. Neither has their cutie mark, one and a half years old if Twilight has any guess.

“Phyllis, Argyle, behave,” Mrs. Wren orders. The filly, Phyllis, seems to have no trouble with this, already copying her dam’s mannerisms. Argyle looks about with wide-eyed wonder, trying to focus on anything but Twilight, like he’s been told not to stare but can’t help himself.

“Argyle?” Twilight says, doing her best to break the ice by dropping down and smiling reassuringly at the colt. He takes the opportunity to stare at her, jaw dropping before he clamps it shut, just for it to drop down again. “That’s one of my favorite patterns!”

Unsure of what to say - maybe a direct question would work better? - Argyle just continues to stare.

Not to leave the filly out, Twilight turns to the side, noting how Argyle’s focus shifts to her cutie mark. “Phyllis? That’s a lovely name. And I love your mane!”

“Thank you,” Phyllis says with a surprised smile, quite articulate for her age, and gives her tall manestyle a gentle bob. “Dress for success, and-”

“Yes, well,” Mrs. Wren interrupts with a pointed sniff, Phyllis quickly clamming up with a forced smile. “We are here to discuss more important things than manestyles.”

Twilight doesn’t care for her attitude, though she’s not sure how to best diffuse the tension. “We?”

“A group of like-minded citizens,” Mrs. Wren says. She pulls out a long list and offers it, sneering as Twilight plucks it from her grasp with her magic. “Who believe this… fiasco with Sombra and his Harmonites is but the latest, and not the last, of a series of schisms that are symptoms of a failed experiment - indeed, a failed system - that is directly contradictory to pony nature.”

Twilight frowns. There is so much to unpack in that statement she’s not sure where to begin. Worse, one of her wings begins itching. She stalls by reading down the list, easily representing five hundred herds - and that’s just the earth ponies! Pegasi are about the same, with half as many unicorns. That could be because of the numerical superiority of earth ponies, or the fact that unicorns are ‘better’ represented in the higher status stations, if one can classify one station as higher than another. There are a number of prominent families listed: the Cloverleafs (of which Mrs. Wren is a member), the Storms, and the Arcanas. Secondary players in the political games who are constantly vying for more, and the ones most frequently a thorn in Celestia’s side.

“Alright, Mrs. Wren-”

“Please,” the earth pony cuts her off, sounding offended. “Call me Care.”

“Alright, Care,” Twilight amends, scratching at the offending wing as she steps behind her desk. She’s not used to the whole ‘princessing’ thing; might as well make this as official as possible. “You believe there was a fiasco concerning Sombra?”

“It’s not that I believe it,” Care says, launching into what sounds like a rehearsed tirade. “It’s what the facts support. There are many ponies who believe in his hard-line ways, that there is one and only one way to act out Harmony’s will upon Equus. Sombra and his ilk have convinced many ponies through their signs and… well, someponies claim miracles, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Twilight’s frown deepens. She can’t really dispute that, except to note that those ponies are the ones who Radiant Hope has directly healed or close family members. “And this constitutes a fiasco?”

“Of course,” Care says. “Now, if Celestia had staged some sort of counter demonstration, displayed her own ‘power’, then maybe this would be different. But the fact of the matter is, she didn’t.”

Raising the sun and moon for a millennium isn’t enough? But she stays silent, as Care obviously has more to say.

“To be frank, Celestia’s influence in this world is waning. What with the changelings joining, and your… ascension.” Care looks Twilight up and down, seemingly unimpressed. “I thought it was better before you got your wings.” The comment makes Twilight want to spread her wings, just to show her authority, but she keeps them folded against her sides, even as the itch worsens. “Then we had Luna’s… reinstatement, and Cadance?”

“You’ve got it completely backwards,” Twilight argues, unable to hold her tongue any longer. “Hated enemies becoming friends, alicorns ascending from acts of Love and Friendship? Those were all proof of Celestia’s position, indicators of the accuracy of her ideals.”

“It smacks of desperation,” Care argues back, yet is quick to change tacks. “And does little to distract from the fact that earth ponies, pegasi, and unicorns have little in common with each other. This is clearly evident in their differing interests, hobbies, and occupations. But, most importantly, it is obviously seen by with whom they mate. After all, how many mixed herds are there?”

“You’re looking at one,” Twilight remarks, careful to keep from snapping, even though she wants to.

“Exactly. One.” Care retorts. “And since there aren’t any alicorn stallions out there, you had to break ranks. Yet even then we still see all but one of the alicorns joining the same herd. Why? Because the pony breeds belong together.”

Twilight grits her teeth. “I was a unicorn before I became an alicorn, and I can assure you, the breed makeup was the last thing on my mind.” Doug not being a unicorn, on the other hoof…

“Yes, well,” Care says, flipping her mane out of her eyes, “it doesn’t seem believable that the six of you would be friends in the first place. But, regardless, how many other mixed herds can you name?”

Twilight thinks of all the ponies she has known, mentally berating herself for not paying more attention when she was in Canterlot. Her brother, obviously, but Care would claim that doesn’t count. She knows Rarity’s sire, Hondo Flanks, has a pegasus mare. The Cakes have a pegasus and a unicorn foal. Flim and Flam are part Apple… best not to bring that up.

“Ponies are inextricably integrated in ways other than herding,” Twilight contests. “After all, earth ponies are best suited for growing food, pegasi moderate the weather, and unicorns keep everything running smoothly, now that they no longer need to channel the Sun and Moon. All our infrastructure is predicated on that symbiotic relationship.”

“I’m so glad you brought that up,” Care says with a sly grin, not at all the response Twilight expected. She pulls out a thick folder, placing it on Twilight’s desk and sliding it over.

Twilight opens the folder, casually flipping through the pages while inwardly horrified. It is, as far as she can tell, a detailed list of all the requirements for the creation of an entire city, or maybe a large town. Housing, industry, power, sewage, irrigation for farms, everything is zoned and labeled, along with the strict requirements that having only earth ponies would require. “You even have a lighthouse marking your maritime boundary,” she remarks to herself.

“Maretime,” Care repeats, dropping the middle ‘i’. She sounds genuinely happy. “That does sound good.”

“I see,” Twilight continues, not sure how she should feel about the abuse of language. It’s bad enough when Doug and Pinkie Pie go at it. “And, where would this be located?”

“We would leave that to the discretion of the crown,” Care casually remarks.

Twilight knows why. It’s not as though Equestria has a surplus of prime oceanfront property just waiting to be developed, and this faction could hardly tell an existing population to up and move. Collectively, they might have the bits to afford it, especially if she takes their existing property into play. Could they work out some sort of land swap? Logistically that would be a Nightmare, and she doubts Luna would be eager to take on that task. Doug might, he knows the possible areas, but she doesn’t want him to be any busier - he doesn’t spend enough time with them as it is!

Twilight stands, turning to stare out her window. She doesn’t like turning her back on Care Wren, but she wants as few distractions as possible.

She follows the small dots of color that flit about the entrance fountain, coming and going to her School of Friendship. Pegasi and unicorns, earth ponies and yaks, dragons and griffons, hippogriffs and storm creatures, all coming together to learn about Friendship. They are all here…

…But they are all here by choice. If they decided they didn’t want to come, would she force them? Would she strap them down, break their spirits, even break their minds if they would not comply with her version of Friendship?

…No.

As much as it pains her to admit it, as much as she desires everycreature to get along, the answer cannot be yes. She would argue, she would demonstrate, she would espouse in every possible way the benefits of Friendship, of living in Harmony and Love, but it is not something that can be forced, for that would destroy the very essence of what it is she is arguing for. If she truly believes in the merits of Friendship - and she does - then she can only hope that her words and her way of life will be enough to persuade others to follow in her example.

“I truly believe you have it wrong,” Twilight says softly, still staring out the window. Her wing itches something fierce, and a quick jerk of her head rips out the offending feather. She twirls it about in her aura, immediately feeling better. “Our differences - our flaws, if you will - help to make us special. They bond us and keep us strong. You believe that minimizing the differences between ponies will make them more cohesive, and will unite them. But it is those very differences that allow there to be any friendships in the first place! None of us are perfect; we all have our dents and quirks, flaws and features that make us special and unique. It is by accepting those differences that we become stronger, that by drawing upon the magic of Harmony and allowing it to work through us that we fully realize our potential.”

Twilight turns about and steps forward, snapping the folder shut. “But you believe that to be false. You wish to go your own way, to separate rather than unite. You believe that will be a better way of life.”

Care gives a slow, sure nod. “I suppose we shall have to see.”

“I want you to know there are no hard feelings.” Twilight takes a deep breath. “That you are welcome back whenever you return.”

Twilight does her best to smile as she kneels down in front of Argyle. She takes the long purple feather and gently lays it across his hooves. She whispers, “I hope you do return.”

Argyle stares at the feather before his large purple eyes look up to meet Twilight’s. Those eyes are the last to fade as everything turns dark.

Twilight awakens back in the stadium. She slowly gets to her hooves, her brother already on his while the other Princesses and Doug remain laying down.

Was that a dream? A portent of things to come? …A test?

…If it was a test, did she pass?

Ch. 195 - Hazardous Research

Cadance awakens in a classroom she recognizes from back in high school at Canterlot Academy, History of Equestria. Memories come flooding back: pep rallies, polo, studying, the fall formal, exams, prom. Quite a number of dances, now that she thinks about it. Oh, how the petty squabbles of the day seemed so important back then, who was dating whom and who was going to be voted class president or head cheerleader or the prom queen. Well, except for prom queen, she was always a lock-in for that.

In fact, that’s how she and Shining Armor started dating. She was originally planning on going to the fall formal with polo captain Buck Withers, who had asked her after a rousing victory (inadvertently aided by Shining Armor and his O & O buddies). She wanted to go with Shining Armor, not caring for Buck’s bravado, but when the shy stallion never materialized? She figured she needed to give Shining Armor a good kick in the flank, and seeing her with Buck would be just the trick.

Fortunately, it worked. Largely due to her friends’ timely intervention - and a number of distractions by his friends - she and Shining Armor ended up as Queen and King. They ended up happily ever after from that point on, with one agonizing exception: her brief engagement with Prince Blueblood. It ended as all of Celestia’s relationships had ended, a failed conception and near-banishment of the unfortunate stallion. Though she can barely think of the time without breaking into furious tears, she remains thankful that she made the disastrous attempt with Blueblood and not her precious Shiny.

And, thanks to Celestia’s tireless efforts and her sister-in-law’s deft casting, she and Shiny were finally able to succeed! She can feel her precious foal inside her, occasionally kicking, sometimes testing her wings, and rarely firing off unfocused blasts that give Cadance heartburn for the rest of the day. Yet it is a burn she cherishes, one she wouldn’t give up anything. She can’t wait for her foal to be born!

As picturesque daydreams fade from her eyes, she realizes she is not alone in the classroom. A black-robed stallion stands staring at a chalkboard filled with information from every subject under the sun, and many that aren’t: anatomical diagrams, thaumic casting charts, and geological surveys. To his right are depictions of the Elements of Harmony, interwoven and linked. To the right of that are weather patterns, subterranean pathways, and orbital mechanics of the sun and moon. To her mounting horror she realizes that the chalkboards continue to the right, seemingly endless - every time she finishes reading one there is another, filled with novel information.

And then there is a section on Mi Amore Cadenza. She frowns as she reads through facts about herself that could be verified, and others that nopony could possibly know: height and weight to an astonishingly precise number; the number of hairs on her coat, her tail, her mane; how many sperm have been ejaculated into her (TMI!); how many breaths she has taken, how many she has left - though that number is (thankfully?) shaded out. With a sense of dread she notices the ‘breaths taken’ number continues to increment. What kind of being could possibly compile all this?

“What,” the stallion asks, breaking her out of her thoughts by snapping a thin rod against an intricate drawing of a funny-looking pony, “is this?”

Cadance squints, not because it helps her perfect eyesight, but because it seems the right thing to do. “A horse,” she says confidently, feeling like she is in the Advanced Pharmacology class taught by the ruthless Professor Flintheart. “A precursor to the Equestrian race.”

“Not ‘a’ precursor. The precursor,” the stallion corrects. He has not turned to face Cadance, head shrouded by a hood. “From which all pony breeds were uplifted by Harmony.” Without moving a muscle - or any hint of magic - three ponies split away from the drawing, sliding across the chalkboard as though they are made from light instead of chalk. One grows a horn, another an extra set of limbs along the back, the third seemingly unchanged. The proportions shift, shrinking, though the head stays roughly the same size.

“Should I be taking notes?” Cadance asks, tongue in cheek. Although, if what he is saying is true, it would certainly settle a number of debates in the archeological and biological community.

“It is only the most important exam of your life,” he answers, deathly serious.

Cadance grimaces. She hopes she can trust her memory, not seeing anything to write with or on.

“Tell me,” he continues, snapping the rod against the original horse and then the three pony breeds. Rather than Anatomy, the topic is now Philosophy, double underlined. “What is the difference between this and these?”

“Magic,” Cadance says simply.

He turns to face her. Under the hood is completely black, with two darker spots that might be eyes boring into her. It might be terrifying if ol’ Flinty hadn’t pulled the same trick from time to time. “Elaborate.”

“Magic is in all things,” Cadance recites, almost as a mantra. “The infusion of so much thaumic potential in ponies positively influences their intellect, their abilities, even their personality. It’s especially evident in their cutie mark, which helps define their purpose in the world. In short, the first is an animal, capable of little more than basic instinct, while the second is a free-willed intelligent creature molded in Harmony’s image, who gave us this gift.”

The stallion nods, seemingly pleased with her response. Cadance can’t help but feel elated, her head high and cock-sure. He moves on to Elementary Thaumics, a notoriously difficult branch of magic. “And this?”

Cadance unconsciously gulps as she studies the complex diagram. It is a spell, that much is obvious, but a deviously designed one, notated in an unusual fashion. That sense of dread returns, as the spell feels oddly familiar. It takes her some time - thaumics was never her specialty, being a pegasus - to break it down into chunks she can understand. Yet the pieces come together quickly, like a puzzle she’s solved before.

Her hooves tremble as she comprehends the spell’s nefarious purpose. “It is dark magic,” she admits in a whisper, struggling to keep her voice even. “It strips a pony not only of her magic, but also of her self, her very essence. Irreparably.”

The topic switches to Law. The stallion cocks his head to the side slightly. “Could one consent for this spell to be cast on them?”

“It is impossible to give consent to this spell,” Cadance replies, voice flat, thrusting her emotions deep inside. It is the only way she can keep from breaking down and crying at the loss such a spell would entail. “The request would sufficiently indicate that the pony is not in a state of mind to give consent, similar to suicide.”

The stallion’s soft voice thunders in her ears. “And what would the punishment be for casting this spell on another pony?”

“Dehornment and banishment,” Cadance states immediately. Keeping herself dispassionately focused solely on the question helps, her mind still roiling under the surface, but she can’t quite put her hoof on why. “If not beheading.”

“Yes,” the stallion agrees. “Any spell so contrary to Harmony’s design deserves such a punishment.”

Suddenly, Cadance realizes why the spell seems so familiar. Twilight cast a modified version just before her foal was conceived, siphoning away the ‘unicorn’ aspects and allowing her ‘alicorn’ to take full control. Not only would her sister-in-law be culpable for casting it, but so would her Shiny, for conspiring with them!

“It cannot,” she stammers, aghast at the ramifications of her actions. “We did not… We thought we were following Her will! Repurposing evil for good, overcoming a technical limitation!”

“It is by grace that the foal inside you is just that, a foal, and not a soulless abomination!” The stallion seems to grow, towering over her, or maybe that’s just from her pupils shrinking to pinpoints, unable to focus on anything else. “Did you not think to consider why there are no alicorn foals, why this ‘technical limitation’ existed in the first place?”

Cadance cannot answer, not without speculating about how the different breeds do not actually ‘interbreed’, aside from traits such as color, size, and thaumic specialization. There are no half-unicorn, half-pegasi, for instance, and alicorns are indisputably composed of all three.

“Not for that reason,” the stallion answers, even though Cadance didn’t utter a word. “Becoming an immortal alicorn is reserved for those who have proven their resolve, their willingness to follow Harmony, and that will dedicate their lives to Her cause! A foal cannot consent to such a life, cannot make that sort of choice, without risking them becoming an agent of Chaos! Could a clearer message than the pain and loss you endured have been sent?”

“Then why?” Cadance pleads. “Why give alicorns such a strong desire to become dams? Why make us fall in love at all, if it is contrary to Her will?”

“Does the cloud say to the pegasus, ‘put me there’ or the seed to the earth pony, ‘plant me here’? Yet you wish to know why?” The stallion spins, whipping the stick like a bolt of lightning. It impacts with the crash of thunder, six words filling every chalkboard. “What is the meaning of life?”

“To fulfill our cutie marks,” Cadance states, hoping against hope she is correct. “To make friends, to love, to follow Harmony!”

“To follow Harmony’s will?” the stallion demands, turning to face her. His eyes burn with passion, even shrouded in darkness. “Or to follow your will?”

Cadance realizes there is no right answer. On one hoof, she knows she should say to follow Harmony’s will. But if doing so entails giving up her foal? How can she possibly choose between those two options? The only way would be if Harmony’s will somehow involves keeping her foal alive…

She bows low, thrusting her horn against the floor. She stretches her hooves in front of her as far as they will go, her neck exposed, as penitent and supplicating as she can be.

“Please,” she implores. “Please, I beg you, hold me fully responsible! Take my life if you must, but do not blame Twilight Sparkle or Shining Armor for what I convinced them to do! And, should Harmony find it in Her heart to forgive Her humble servant, I will teach my foal, instruct her in all of Harmony’s ways!”

“So quick to sacrifice yourself,” the stallion muses. “Should they not be held accountable for their actions? Should they not face the punishment you yourself declared?”

“Forgive them,” Cadance pleads. “They did not know that what they were doing was wrong. But let Harmony’s will be done, not mine.”

The stallion stays silent, long enough for Cadance to worry.

“Very well,” he finally states. “We are in accord.”

Cadance cannot believe it. She stares at the stallion as the light around her slowly fades, until the only thing she can make out are two dark holes in a sea of black. She wonders what her future holds, and - perhaps more importantly - what her foal’s future holds.

But in the immediate, how will she possibly tell Shining Armor and Twilight Sparkle that what they did, this wonderful thing they created, goes against Harmony’s design?

Cadance awakens back in the stadium. She slowly gets to her hooves, her husband and her sister getting to their hooves while the other Princesses and Doug remain laying down.

Was that a dream? A portent of things to come? …A test?

…If it was a test, did she pass?

Ch. 196 - Pitch Darkness

A light cough stirs Princess Luna from her drowsy state, not uncommon when she works the Night Court in addition to her normal duties.

“T’is time?” she asks, willing herself not to yawn. It is unbecoming of a Princess to yawn, as her more stately Sister constantly reminds her. She was just having the worst nightmare, where Equestria and the forces of Grogar were about to quite literally tear each other apart. Quelling those horrific dreams often leaves her mane in complete disarray and her eyes bloodshot, and a quick check thankfully confirms neither ailment is the case. Regardless, she will need to find the dreamer again - it felt like her stallion-in-law, err, Shining Armor - and ensure it does not get out of hoof.

Something bothers her, though. She’s reminded of her Tantabus, how she constructed a dream realm to confine it, and how Laughter delved doubly deep into the dream of her filly.

“It is, your Highness,” Solar Flare, one of her lower-ranked batpony guards, confirms. Most of them have names that pledge their loyalty to Celestia, an understandable if regrettable necessity to survive after her descent into madness, and one of many minor things that rankle her.

“Very well.” Luna settles on her throne, the built-in cushion making the otherwise odd sitting position comfortable. Celestia has made some improvements over the centuries, if only by chance. “Let the Night Court begin.”

As expected, her proclamation is met by silence. No petitioners waiting for her to settle some petty grievance, no judge asking for her wisdom regarding some weighty matter, nothing at all to do in the hours between dusk and dawn. Every muffled cough, every minor adjustment, every scrape of repositioned hoof against floor does nothing but draw attention to this fact. What does it say about her that nopony comes to see her? Is she not as wise as her Sister? Do they not expect a fair hearing, or are they just not able to fit a visit into their otherwise packed nightlives?

She does her best not to slip into her normal duties. The act of battling the nightmares encountered by Equestria’s ponies is often seen as ‘sleeping’ by the uninformed. True, her eyes are closed, and she prefers laying down while she is in the dream state, but it is hardly restful!

Would she find any, if this was a dream inside a dream?

Fifteen minutes pass before she cannot take it any more. “Night Court is closed,” she declares, Solar Flare thumping the end of his spear twice against the marble floor. It echoes loudly in the empty hall. She stands, her rump half asleep already. “We shall retire to our quarters, should our presence be required.”

Her announcement is met with little fanfare, unlike the disappointed sighs from petitioners that were not able to be squeezed in to see her more illustrious Sister. Solar Flare pauses while the other guard files out. “Everything all right, your Highness?”

“Everything’s perfect,” Luna replies dourly, “as usual.”

The guard nods along, unconvinced, and leaves her alone.

Luna doubts she could convince herself, either. She takes a different exit, even if it takes longer; she could teleport, but that would trip too many of her Sister’s alarms, and she doesn’t feel like bothering to slip through unnoticed. She trudges toward her tower, through silent corridors laced with lavender, across courtyards where the only activity is the soft rustle of wind through the trees. Even the streets are bare of commoners traipsing about their nighttime duties. Where is everypony? She knows her Sister’s day is preferred, but this is ridiculous!

Everything else is in its place. A consequence of being so attuned with dreams, or is this real?

She spots a lone figure balancing on her balcony, his silver-white hair glimmering in the bright moonlight. With a sigh and a scowl she trudges to her door, electing to take the stairs. She tells herself it is to keep a low profile, so none will know her Night Court was so abandoned, but she really wants to avoid Raikou as long as possible.

Avoiding the dictator might be possible, but keeping him out of her mind is another story. The doors to her penthouse are locked, all her alarms in place, but there is something about having a former enemy, especially such a formidable one, in such close proximity to make her uneasy. Like she’s expecting him to snap at any moment, break into her room and capture her, if not something more nefarious.

She tries to busy herself by looking over maps of proposed settlements in the Griffon Kingdom. Chrysalis’ audacious plan to restore glory to the griffons is plagued by the utter lack of, well, anything in the area. Food, manufacturing, housing, transportation: all the infrastructure of a modern civilization needs to be accomplished simultaneously, as well as clear the forest of anywhere they inhabit. The fact that the changeling’s plan involves sending a mere dozen settlers to accomplish this, and then expand those settlements over time, smacks her of a severe underappreciation of the danger. It is not a wager she would have made, but perhaps that is why Chrysalis is in charge and not herself. After all, she has difficulty seeing the griffons as anything but power-hungry (and often pony-hungry) predators who would raid and pillage these undefended hamlets without a thought of remorse. Thanks to Lunaris’ efforts (and, unconnected, the loss of their Idol of Boreas) their aggression has been curbed, but as far as she is concerned it is only a matter of time before they raise claw against the ponies once again.

Much like the aggression of the Storm King. She watches the motionless figure through her window. He is facing away from her, balanced perfectly upon his silvered staff, only the slightest twitches in his lean muscles showing the constant fight against gravity’s relentless tug. She respects that dexterity, admires the control required to keep from toppling over.

With a certain curiosity she unlatches her door, joining the meditating hedgehog on her balcony. He says nothing, not even a nod of greeting, his focus on the empty streets far below.

While his focus stays down, hers raises. She looks at the moon, stark white against a gold-flecked sky. Her prison for a millennium, cast out by the Elements of Harmony, for seeking her rightful place - or that was what she thought. Is this, then, to be her destiny? Empty nights and empty responsibilities, along for the ride while she watches others accomplish everything?

Or is this what her dreams have become?

“Short night, huh?”

The glib remark sets her hair on end. She snaps back, “What art thou implying?”

“That you don’t have much to do.” He grins, ignoring her scowl. “That makes two of us.”

Luna frowns. He sounds… forlorn, almost regretful. “Would’st thy rather be out there, pillaging and conquering the world?”

“Have you been reading my diary?” The Storm King looks at Luna, then smacks himself on the head with a silly smile. He nearly topples off his staff, his frantic efforts to stay upright comical - and also successful. She can’t help but be amused at his antics. “Wait, look who I’m talking to! Of course you know my dreams.”

Luna can’t see any gain from denying the truthful assertion. “And thy aim to become the most powerful creature on Equus?”

“Oh, look who’s calling the storm cloud black.” Raikou flips onto the rail, holding his staff between his feet and lifting his legs toward the sky. He does a few pushups, maintaining his hand stand, before swapping to a single arm. “Just because your bid for the championship failed doesn’t mean I can’t be a contender.”

“Then why the pretense?” Luna demands, half a mind to knock the dictator off the ledge and save them the trouble. “Thou believes friendship art a weakness. That friends art a ‘liability’, who distract from thy goals. Who holdeth thou back, and ask thou to sacrifice thy ambitions to help them.”

“Well, I need somecreature to govern after I’ve taken over.” Raikou grins. “The rigors of ruling: administering taxes, running committees, negotiating retirement packages. You think I want all that?”

“Thou shalt not succeed in thy conquests,” Luna retorts with a solemn shake of her head. “Not against the power of Friendship, and Harmony.”

“How’s that been working out for you?” Raikou asks as he switches arms. “Celestia doesn’t need you, she didn’t need you for a thousand years. Where’s the friendship and harmony in that?”

“Equestria needeth balance,” Luna claims, as much as the truth of his statement hurts. “Without balance, there’s no harmony; Equestria needeth both sun and moon, day and night, to flourish.”

“Flourish?” The Storm King laughs, loud and raucous. “Who needs balance when you can have it all? Have you made any friends who inspire you to greater heights?”

“Yes,” Luna asserts strongly.

“Outside of your herd?” Raikou demands. “Or your Sister?”

The question knocks against Luna’s convictions. “...Neigh.”

“Then how do you do it?” Raikou’s question surprises her, as does the scowl etched on his face. She worries the twitch of muscles is less about balancing and more a strain to keep still.

Luna keeps her face carefully set. “To what doth thou refer?”

The Storm King snarls as he stretches his hand towards the buildings far below. “How do you endure the jeers and complaints of those who are lesser than you in every way without kicking them off a conveniently high building?”

“Ah. Yes.” Luna looks down her tower at the streets far below. She wonders how he had guessed at her earlier urge, but more importantly, how - if she even does - suppress those insidious thoughts.

Raikou drops the staff, sitting cross-legged on her railing. Luna notes how his hands tremble with rage. “How do you swallow your pride, quell that voice inside you telling you that you are better than them, that you deserve to be the top hog?”

“We art not better than them,” Luna says solemnly. “Despite our advantages, despite our abilities, we art still at our core a pony. Prone to mistakes, to pride and greed, and desperate for forgiveness and restoration. So we become friends with somepony in just as dire circumstances as we art.” Luna turns to the Storm King with the beginnings of a wicked smirk. He gulps. “And we believe we have found one.”

“No no no,” Raikou says, backpedaling.

“Thou do not believe thou art up to the task?” Luna cocks her head to the side, challenging him with her blank expression. “A pity. We art the least of the alicorns, least worthy to be called by Harmony’s name, for we alone assaulted Harmony’s champion in our misguided coup. We suppose we will wallow in darkness for eternity, for if there is anypony who least deserves a friend, it is us.”

“You’re the worst?” Raikou says, laughing at her challenge. He thumps his chest, armor clanging against his fist. “You might have attempted to overthrow a country, but I’ve been the tip of the spear, driving into the hearts of a dozen.” He strides back to her, sitting down, deliberately hunching over so he is lower than her. “If there’s anycreature who is undeserving of a friend, it’s me.”

Luna lowers to ponyloaf, head bowing to the white moon. “We have tormented the dreams of ponies for a thousand years, a curse and boogiemare all in one.”

“Pony dreams are tormented by spooky looking sticks and bugs.” Raikou lays down, hands behind his head, joining her in staring at the moon. His voice lowers, almost a whisper. “You really think she’ll forgive us?”

“I do not think so,” Luna says, turning to wink at Raikou.

“Don’t say it,” he threatens.

“I know so,” she says as she yawns, briefly closing her eyes.

She awakens back in the stadium. She slowly gets to her hooves, Twilight, Cadance, and Shining Armor rising while Celestia and her stallion remains laying down. She chances a glance backward; Raikou, who looks to be dozing, briefly raises his head to wink at her.

Was that a dream? A portent of things to come? …A test?

…If it was a test, did she pass?

Ch. 197 - Apex Mode

Celestia awakens in a wide open expanse, eerily similar to the demiplane where she keeps her memories, where she met Twilight the day her faithful student became an alicorn. Yet something feels off, very off, and it takes less than a moment to realize why.

Her magic is gone!

Try as she might, she cannot access it. Nothing works, not even the simplest spell a foal might perform. The few times she has stepped hoof in those despised Zones of Negation she could still feel that comforting presence, if locked away. But here, in this place? Nothing!

Gone also is the sense of her foal growing inside her, but a quick check to her flanks shows a familiar bulge. Relief washes over her like a flood. Her cutie mark also remains, though only a simple stamp, not the freely flowing font of energy it was before. Likewise, her colorful mane lays limp against her back, and it takes considerable effort to wrangle the thick strands into a simple ponytail. Her wings feel useless otherwise, a testing push unable to lift her even the slightest.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. Despite feeling utterly abandoned she will not give up hope that easily. She murmurs a quick prayer to Harmony; she must keep faith, and by doing so prevail against whatever obstacles are in her way.

She looks around for any sign of life. The lights in her demesne twinkle, calling her to reminisce over old times and treasured acquaintances, but the ones here lie dull and empty. Even the stars above Equus shine with a taunting light, a smirk of sorts, as though they each hold a secret that they want to reveal, if only she gets close enough.

She steels herself, unwilling to succumb to despair so quickly. “Is this the end,” she calls, more of a challenge than a question.

From the corner of her eye she spots movement, turning to see a being step out as if from behind a tree, despite there being no such object in sight.

“Doug?” she asks, taken aback at the familiar sight. He is clad in a dapper suit that comes up to his neck and completely covers his arms and legs, solid black with a white shirt underneath. White gloves cover his hands, black dress shoes his feet, his short auburn hair neatly slicked back. There is a swish to his every movement, a casual grace as he walks, a litheness that promises strength and cautions danger should one cross him.

“Do you wish it to be?” he asks with the faintest of smiles.

Her heart beats faster, unsure to which question he is answering. Or which one she would rather he answer. But that just makes the contrast between her Doug and this imposter all the more glaring. His guarded grin is confident and conceited, so unlike the trepid and unsure smiles from the stallion she knows. It is the smile that, in her heart of hearts, she wishes Doug wore, assertive and brave, yet at the same time easygoing and playful, even flirtatious.

“You should have worn the guise of my Sister,” Celestia says scornfully. “On her I would have expected a sense of smug superiority.”

“You do not wish what could be?” He laughs, and in that laugh promises to provide that wish, that anything she wishes would be granted.

“Begone.” Celestia sits down, firmly staring past the imposter. “If this is the end, then leave me in peace.”

“The end?” He sounds honestly surprised. “Why think it is the end when there is so much more to show you?”

With a wave of his hand the scene around her changes. What once was an empty void studded with dead stars transforms in the blink of an eye to a dark and barren wasteland, an improvement only in the sense that there is potential. The ground is cracked, dying of thirst, with dry riverbeds cutting gashes through rocky steppes. Everywhere around her is bare, not a bite to eat or a drop to drink. Worse, studded around the bleak landscape are ponies, many blank flanked, huddling under makeshift shelters or hiding inside caves, emaciated and parched, the foals with distended bellies and skeletal limbs. Tens, hundreds, thousands, all looking to her for some relief, a respite to their dire situation.

“Stamp your hoof,” the imposter Doug commands with a certain urgency. “Stamp your hoof, and from the ground bring forth grass and trees, hay and apples, the good fruits of the farm and orchard. Feed your little ponies, and they shall follow you!”

Her earth pony magic returns, surging through her hooves. It only heightens her sense of desolation, the emptiness of the land. Her heart breaks at the despair around her. What kind of monster wouldn’t see their need and assist in any way possible? And there is so much need, ponies desperately trying to survive, but unable to provide for themselves. And she has the ability to see to their needs! With the power coursing through her she could, as he says, stamp her hoof and raise enough forage for everypony!

This is a test.

Not that it isn’t real - how many times has she come across a similar situation? But whatever being is in charge has put her in this situation to see how she reacts. Does she desire ponies to follow her commands, to do what she wants?

“They would follow,” she allows, her hooves remaining still, “but only because I fed them. Yet it is not in me whom they should put their trust, but in Harmony.”

“You would tell them to starve?” Doug asks, incredulous. Every ear flicks toward her, and a good number of them lay flat, dejected and hopeless. “They are dying out there! Is it not your duty to be Generous and Kind?”

“Doing so would rob them of their potential, of the meaning of their life.” Celestia meets their eyes, encouraging them as best she can. “Were I to err - and err I shall - I would counsel relying on Harmony too much, rather than too little.”

“You think they haven’t asked?” Doug demands, flinging his arm to indicate the vast multitudes. Many of them are standing, their eyes lifting to the skies. “You think they haven’t begged Harmony to provide for their needs? What if Harmony sent you for this very purpose?”

Celestia closes her eyes, but she can’t rid herself of the images. “I would seek forgiveness, were I not to follow my mark and my heart.”

“Your heart.” Doug scowls, both at her words and as cutie marks start popping on pony flanks, trees and flowers, streams and rain clouds, scrolls and sorcery. The ground under their hooves blooms green, springs of water break forth, while lights from horns guide the way.

Celestia notices not, firm against the despair battering at her heart, while a snap of his fingers brings them to the lonely peak of the Canterhorn. About them swirl dark storm clouds, lightning-streaked thunderheads and billowing tempests. They blot out the sky, leaving the land in cold darkness. Far underneath she can barely make out those hapless ponies searching about in their desolate wasteland.

“Have you not been given power over the skies?” Doug motions upward, a grand sweeping act. Her pegasus magic returns, surging through her wings like lightning and leaving her energized. “Flap your wings, and scatter these storms! Have they not sworn to obey, to do nothing that you do not command? Then all shall praise you, for giving them clear skies when wanted, and rain when needed!”

Celestia longs to see her Sun’s radiance again, the utter lack sorely felt. Cadance told her of the work she did with the Hippogriffs; this seems ten times the task, and she would be alone in her toil. Yet it is not the arduous task that keeps her wings at her sides.

“It is not a pony’s place to seek praise for the power Harmony has vested in them.”

The imposter scoffs at her denial. “Yet is that not precisely what you have done? Did your fellow Princess, Twilight Sparkle, not revere you from a young age? Did it not bring you pleasure to learn she thought of you as a goddess? Does her timorous tongue not tie in your presence, ever afraid of falling short of your expectations? Has this not been the case with every pony you have ever met?”

“You speak truths,” Celestia concedes, “but truths meant to tear down, not teach. She was mistaken, as many ponies are; Harmony desires ponies to freely follow Her, and recrimination for doing otherwise would be tantamount to coercion.”

Her focus remains on the heavens, not seeing the pegasi that rise up to combat the storms.

He again flicks his fingers, bringing them even higher, higher than she’s ever flown, so high the air is too thin to breathe. The sun is absent from the sky, but so too are the moon and the stars.

“Bring about the sun,” he commands, stretching his arm to the east. “Bring light to the whole world, and they shall bow to you. Is that not your duty? Is that not why you were put upon Equus? To lead your little ponies?”

Her unicorn magic returns, her cutie mark coming alive with power. Celestia feels whole again, invigorated by Harmony.

“That is my duty,” Celestia concedes, her horn lighting, the power of the Sun channeling through her. The sun peeks out from behind Equus, gradually sliding into place. “As Harmony has called me, so I will lead. But not so they will bow to me, but to Her, to follow Harmony’s ways.”

The imposter crosses his arms, staring at her.

Celestia waits for an answer, something, only to realize that her Sun is becoming bigger. Far bigger. Equus shrinks away from them as the Sun grows, filling her vision. The light becomes blindingly bright as she spreads her forelegs as though to embrace her Sun.

I feel…warm.

As the light fades, she finds herself in a large room.

“I tried,” the imposter Doug begs, but not to her, to the ceiling. “I tried everything I could think of. What more could I offer?”

He stares for a long moment, immobile, only to nod. “Very well.”

He stands as though reluctant. “You are to be allowed a single boon,” he says, motioning to Celestia’s side. “Choose,” he orders, a smirk breaking through his stone demeanor.

In front of her is a large table, laden with many things. Her heart nearly stops at the grisly sight of a skinless foal, barely as wide as her hoof, organs clearly visible alongside stark white bones. But then the bones lengthen, the beginnings of wings and the nub of a horn. Skin covers the organs, then a coat of soft alabaster fur and beautiful white feathers. A hint of orange and red along the neck becomes a billowing torch of a mane, dark blue eyes open and regard Celestia with calm assurance, and on her flank flash a set of scales. She stands, then sits, patiently waiting to be chosen, every bit as regal as Selene, the mare Twilight described from the alternate timeline. Her filly, radiant and graceful and healthy. Her Noon.

The fluttering of pages draws her attention. She has to tear her eyes from her precious filly, not wanting to give up just watching her breathe. A plain white calendar, with benign pictures of roiling hills and chocolate rain, courtesy of Discord. Days are crossed off, then months, then years, until the pictures suddenly transform to sunny skies and moonlit nights, calm and peaceful. For one hundred and eleven years the pages rip away and fade into nothing, and then it is only blue or cloudy skies, the night notably absent. A thousand years rip away, decades at a time, then centuries, slowing again as the thousand years near their end. A heart joins the sun as the pages slow, and then the moon and stars as it skips, a month at a time, a week, a day, until coming to a stop on June 3rd.

Today. For a seeming eternity the calendar waits. Would this day be her last?

And then the pages begin pulling off again, faster, much faster, millenniums a blink and eons that barely last any longer. Would this be her life, a promised eternity?

Next, a large basket overflows with crafted ponies, none larger than a foal’s doll. They are her friends, her paramours, her companions, every pony she has ever loved, and newcomers she doesn’t recognize. Some are more rugged than others, with powerful bodies and boundless energy; some are studious, with sharp minds and sharper wits. Luna is there, larger than the others, her stitched muzzle a playful smirk; and Doug, his features painted a permanent smile, with one hand poised to pet an ear. They wait patiently for her to choose, to relive the memories they had together, and with a promise to always be there, should she wish to make more.

Then there are foods, every delicacy and delight she can think of: cakes and pies, cheeses and breads, salads and seafood, steaks and bacon, every dish more tantalizing and delectable than the last. And there are other pleasures: musical instruments and choirs, fragrant aromas and perfumes. A pair of well-muscled stallions stand oiled and ready to massage; Doug seems to flicker in and out of this group, replacing some of those she recognizes from earlier.

Lavish riches cover the next part. Chests overflow with gold, threatening to spill off the sides, and brilliantly cut gems are piled next to heaps of magical items. They promise strength, security, and wealth, and the call of adventure, that with these she could acquire more, artifacts so powerful to make these seem useless baubles.

And there, at the end of the table, almost as an afterthought, is a plain gold crown. It is a tiny thing, smaller than the one that used to adorn her head, with five modest jewels around the band colored teal, green, yellow, pink and red, intertwined with a central purple star.

Celestia agonizes. How could she possibly pick between these? How can she choose her filly over her friends? Would a long life be worth living if it was alone, without pleasure or adventure? How many words of wisdom has she heard over her years: that if you don’t have your health, you don’t have anything, or that it isn’t the destination, but the journey, and the friends you make along the way?

She focuses on the last item, the crown, seemingly insignificant compared to the rest. Not ostentatious, not boasting or bragging, but modest and humble.

Perhaps that is the answer.

“I choose Harmony,” Celestia says, picking up the crown. It feels heavy in her hoof and heavier on her head, a constant reminder. “I ask for her guidance, her wisdom and discernment, to always distinguish between right and wrong.”

The imposter laughs, a low and slow chuckle, and it takes Celestia a moment to realize he is not laughing at her. “She will do what you ask,” he says, his laughter turning to euphoric gasps. “She will grant you wisdom and discernment. Moreover, She will grant you what you did not request. As long as you follow Her ways, all that you see here will be yours.”

Celestia’s eyes widen as her filly, her precious Noon, scampers off the table and into her waiting hooves. All of it? The long life, the friends, the pleasures, everything?

“As a sign,” he says, raising one arm to the ceiling, which fades away to reveal a familiar starry heaven, “She will fix the stars in the sky, all but your Sun. No longer will they shift about under your whims, for they shall belong to your posterity, to your descendants, and to those of your friends. And though you shall live to see your descendants settle those stars, they are not yours, for the day you leave this solar system is the day you shall perish.”

“A-as She wills,” Celestia says, stunned by the turn of events.

“I’ll see you soon,” Noon says, hugging her tightly.

Celestia closes her eyes, hugging back.

She awakens back in the stadium. She slowly gets to her hooves, her fellow Princesses and Shining Armor slowly rising while her stallion remains laying down.

Was that a dream? A portent of things to come? …A test?

…If it was a test, did she pass?

Ch. 198 - Nadir Mode

Doug awakens in a featureless black void.

“Not this again,” he groans, reminded of the time Celestia locked him in a Geas. That one was a small white room, while this one seems to stretch on forever - not that he can make anything out. He gets up, somehow, despite there being no surface on which to stand. He yelps, off balance, yet twisting this way or that does nothing to relieve the sense of vertigo. He closes his eyes, which helps, but leaves him no better off than before.

After a minute the feeling subsides enough for him to chance opening his eyes again. The unsteady vertigo returns with a vengeance, except this time he notices a small patch of white light, gleaming in the distance. Focusing on it helps, but leaves him with an entirely new problem: it’s getting bigger. It starts off as a blip he can fit between his fingers, then a baseball, then a basketball, getting larger until becoming about the size of a door. Two lines of black dots come into view, evenly spaced along a central line, until he realizes it resembles two snakes circling a staff with two wings on top. A caduceus.

Radiant Hope’s cutie mark.

Then his orientation shifts, like a two dimensional image being viewed at an angle side instead of from above, becoming thinner and longer. The cutie mark appears to be burning, shimmering and wavy, without any heat coming off. Standing on top and completely unfazed by the flames is a mare (based on the slight build) completely covered in a plain white garment, hood over her head and sleeves that come past her hooves. Her mane and tail are likewise hidden, reminding him of Rarity when they went hiking through the Badlands.

“Doug Merrick Graves,” the mare greets in a lilting, feminine voice. She sounds absolutely confident in her words, so confident as to be off-putting, except for the soothing tone of her voice. “You are a remarkably difficult soul to locate.”

Doug’s heart seizes at the mention of his middle name. He has not told anypony that fact. Did he let that information slip in a dream? Can she read his mind, know his thoughts? There is a fire that isn’t consuming anything…

“That’s me.” He straightens, looking the mare in the face, only to realize that he can see the inner lining of the hood. The mare inside is invisible. Is he prevented from seeing her face to keep him from dying, or is he already dead? He asks timorously, wondering if he is on sacred ground, “Are you God?”

She replies with a thick Austrian accent, “If someone asks me ‘Am I really a god’, I say yes!”

It takes Doug a moment to place the quote. It’s not the original from Ghostbusters, it’s from Starcraft II, the Thor. A similar reference had come with Discord, when the Lord of Chaos sounded like Alarak. Did she pluck that quote from his mind? Is she trying to tell him something with the reference, or is she being truthful?

“A shade less than omniscience,” she states, answering his unvoiced question. “I know the outcome of all things who follow my laws, but there are those who act outside my cognizance, whose perturbations must be inferenced from deviations. Discord, for one, for he is Chaos. You, for another, for you are not mine.” Her head cocks to the side, unseen eyes boring into him. “When ponies unnaturally became pregnant, the nearby Everfree Forest seemed a likely cause, a Discordant creation taking root. For he cannot create, only corrupt, and making a distorted copy would be a logical extension of his abilities. It turns out you are something else entirely.”

“What are you?” Doug asks, struggling to put words together with the revelation that he’s talking to a being far more powerful than the alicorns, than even Discord.

“I reflect what I perceive.” The invisible creature lifts one foreleg, peering inside the empty sleeve, the hood turning back as though inspecting its body for the first time. “From you, that is remarkably little. What I notice is because of this.” She motions down at the caduceus, slowly burning away. A lingering remnant of Radiant Hope’s healing spell? “Shall I take a different form?”

“No,” Doug says, shaking his head. He feels like she didn’t answer his question. “It’s fine.”

“But to answer your question,” she says, unnerving him again with her ability to read him, “I am Harmony.” She says the word like it is something concrete, not an abstract idea or a group of tenets. “I am Order, I am Law.”

“Law?” Doug challenges, feeling contrarian. What would Discord say about that?

“Definitionally.” Harmony nods, as though that settles it. “Discord would challenge that definition, as he challenges all definitions - is a rabbit still a rabbit if it has longer legs, or is a predator, or is an orange?”

“Everything?” Doug asks, skeptical. Her rabbit example, though, is eerily similar to the ‘random’ acts Discord has performed when working with Lemon and Meringue, such as swapping pony mane color.

“Indeed.” Her voice is patient, no trace of superiority or condescension. “For example, you have wondered how it is possible for Celestia to raise the Sun, for a celestial body to move at such great speed. ‘Is the distance wrong, or the size?’” She shakes her head, not waiting for him to confirm what he knows is true. “Discord broke the rule governing mass. The Sun’s mass should be two times ten to the twenty seven Celestias, yet it no longer bends the fabric of spacetime as it should. Its mass is effectively any amount one wishes it to be, and it took creating a permanent conduit - the alicorn Celestia - to manipulate this value without annihilating the harmony of those not suited for the task.”

Doug raises an eyebrow. He finds it entertaining using Celestia as a unit of measurement, though has no idea whether or not that value is accurate. Regardless, he enjoys the position of Lunar Advocate. “You couldn’t just fix that yourself?”

“By all means,” Harmony says with a sweeping bow, “if you believe you could do better, then I shall grant you all of my considerable power.”

Doug’s mouth purses to a thin line. He’s not so arrogant as to take that sort of bet. Besides, he already had that chance when he gained the power of the ponies, and all he did was build a gaudy castle. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

“A humble choice. I limit my influence, with one exception-” Her hoof sweeps to indicate the caduceus cutie mark “-for all creatures have been bestowed free will, as has Discord. By empowering one pony, tying her mortality to that of the sun, many more problems were solved than just one, many more ponies encouraged to embrace Harmony.”

“And Luna?” Doug asks, folding his arms and partially obscuring the Celestial crest. “Where does she fit into this?”

“A companion through the ages,” Harmony answers, “for this life is not meant to be walked alone. And, as Harmony requires difference - a pitch does not harmonize with itself - Luna provides balance, another perspective, and a check on unbridled power.”

“And when she fell from grace?” Doug asks pointedly. “You couldn’t have, I don’t know, made ponies that follow you?”

“Her fall was a necessary consequence of free will.” Harmony sits back with a sigh and a profound sense of loss. “It is my desire for ponies to freely choose harmony, and it is not a true choice if there is no alternative.” She makes a circle with her hoof, and a large block of brown dirt appears. “This earth follows my laws perfectly, it cannot choose otherwise. But there can be no companionship with such material, no love, no harmony. But for a pony that does choose otherwise, Luna’s tragic fall provides a demonstration of the forgiveness we are to show our fellow equines - indeed, all creatures - when they honestly repent of their actions and choose to again follow my tenets.”

“It’s a test,” Doug speculates. “But you can’t reveal yourself to everypony, be obvious about it, because…”

“Their mind would be persuaded,” Harmony allows, “but not their will. For one must know their own faults - their balefulness and betraying, their apathy and avarice, their deceit and despair.”

Doug frowns, unconvinced. “And if they continue to choose otherwise?”

“Then their will be done.” Harmony pushes her hoof forward, and the cube of earth slides underneath Doug’s feet, roughly twenty feet in diameter. “But they will have no place in the choir.” Next to him springs a fully grown tree, complete with ripe red apples. A pickax lands, point embedded next to a bucket of lava and a bucket of water. Harmony looks at him, seemingly sincere. “Should I start with you?”

Doug grimaces. While surviving with just an apple tree and a cobblestone maker would be an interesting challenge, it’s not what he wants to do with his life. Not at all. “No.”

“You are a being that I cannot predict.” The hood turns slightly to the side. “Where would you fit?”

“At Celestia and Luna’s side,” Doug says, hands curling into fists. The question pierces deep, seeming more than a simple query into his intentions. She more than implied he doesn’t belong, yet did not state that outright. She’s giving him the option to argue? “And at the side of the rest of the mares of the herd, as a good husband and sire to their foals.”

“You believe that to be a good thing?” Harmony asks, curious. “An undertaking upon which you would not relent?”

“Correct,” Doug states harshly. “Unless you can somehow convince me otherwise. Why limit the alicorn’s ability to bear foals?”

“Why?” Harmony laughs, though not at him, a high and melodious chuckle. The fire at her hooves has burned halfway through. “You might as well ask what is the meaning of life.”

“Okay,” Doug says, undeterred. “What is the meaning of life?”

“Why, to fulfill one’s cutie mark,” Harmony answers without hesitation. “To make new friends, and to love. Is life not best described as a drama, a romantic adventure full of angst and strife?”

Doug looks down at the colorful marks tattooed on his chest, his arms, his legs, the marks of every mare in the herd. What does it mean to fulfill one's mark? “Surely foals are part of ‘love’,” Doug retorts, unable to hide his grin, too many fond memories of that part of love. “Chaotic little bundles of joy that they are. Unless that’s a part of themselves the alicorns need to completely cut off, to show their dedication to you.”

“There are many ‘parts of themselves’ that ponies must ‘cut off’ should they desire to live in Harmony: their greed, their pride, their lust for power and prestige.” Harmony sighs, stirring a breeze that fades as quickly as it came. “The random combinations of genes,” she says wistfully, almost regretfully, “carries an inherent flaw of sorts, an inability to distinguish between combinations that produce one who might embrace harmony, who may accept my yoke and bridle, and one who shall reject it, who will never accept another as their master, who wishes their own will to be made manifest. Such is the dilemma! And, though I could, I shall not differentiate from the start those who will or will not choose harmony, as that would be tantamount to choosing for them. It had to be all or nothing.”

“And you chose nothing,” Doug spits out.

“For the alicorns,” Harmony confirms unapologetically. The fire at her hooves withers ever lower. “Those who prove themselves worthy, who will not abuse their position, have been granted Life. Celestia needed that mothering instinct, compassion, and a desire to see her little ponies succeed. But they could not be her ponies, not then. Do you believe you have a better solution?”

“Well,” Doug stalls, wondering what ‘Life’ means. Exceptionally long life? Not aging? True immortality? “Does there need to be a limit?”

“Say you allowed two foals per alicorn,” Harmony offers. “Not too many, right? But then, after nine years, those two, now grown up, demand their two apiece. And so on. With enough seed - and who are you to deny them? - then after a mere seven hundred years they will have converted the entirety of Equus into alicorns. Two hundred years more and they will have consumed the Sun. After five millennia they will have reconfigured every molecule in the universe into alicorns.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Doug asks, not sure if she’ll take that as a joke or not.

He senses a twinkle of eyes, or maybe it’s his imagination. “Only if you believe in limiting the number of creatures who embrace Harmony.”

And now Doug isn’t sure who is joking. Is she implying that death is also designed, to make room for more creatures to embrace (or reject) Harmony? Even Discord seems to go along with their tenets, at least for now. But if there was a creature who lived forever, who ultimately never accepted Harmony…

“It is possible,” Harmony contests, “for everycreature to be tempted by what they desire most - what they really, truly, desire - and for all to choose to follow Harmony, and for it to be a true choice. But as for your foals with the alicorns…”

“No!” Doug blurts out, spreading his arms wide. “Take me instead! Please, leave them alone, give them a chance!”

Harmony laughs. “So quick to sacrifice yourself! You are much like Mi Amore Cadenza in that regard. But, if you are not present, who will ensure the alicorns are raised properly? Not pampered and indulged, admired for whom they came out of, but who prove they deserve the power they are born with through their good works. For if they do not, then they shall give up that power, and for an alicorn that means death.”

“I’ll do it,” Doug states, grateful for the opportunity. “Anything at all.”

“Mm.” Harmony seems to smile. “It seems like you haven’t exactly been fulfilling your name.”

Doug frowns, puzzled. “My name?”

“Doug Graves.” She motions at his feet. “How many graves have you dug?”

“Just one,” Doug admits with a sigh. “After Applejack informed me the bones and organs were also valuable, they got packed and sold alongside the rest.”

“Mm, but Doug Grave doesn’t roll off the tongue as well.” He gets the distinct impression the hooded figure is winking at him. “And how many have you sired?”

“Foals?” Doug has to do a quick count. That’s probably a bad sign.

“All,” Harmony clarifies before he finishes.

“Eight foals with twelve more on the way,” Doug says, feeling overwhelmed at the admission. He really signed up for more than he could chew. At least he wouldn’t be doing it alone. “Three diamond dogs. Thirteen changelings at various stages of development.”

“Hmm.” If the invisible occupant wasn’t grinning, Doug would eat the cloak surrounding it. “It would seem you are far more suited to growing new things than putting the old to rest.”

“Hey,” Doug contests, though amiably. “I nearly got everypony killed.”

“Nearly,” the voice confirms. “Not quite the same, as all those living ponies would attest.”

“I happen to be a deft hand at digging,” Doug swarthily confides, “after all those years at Sweet Apple Acres.”

“You also buried the castle I so elegantly designed.” A sleeve raises to tap at the tip of an invisible face. “Such a mismatch cannot go unacknowledged.”

She draws up, standing imperiously. The fire at her hooves is nearly out.

“No longer shall you be known as Doug Graves. Instead, you shall be known as Doug Gardens, for the plots you have prepared have grown into verdant gardens. Indeed, any earth you dig shall bear the seed which is planted in it.”

Doug’s face scrunches up as the cutie mark finally burns away completely. “Isn’t that backwards? And-”

He awakens back in the stadium.

“-Already something that happens!” He looks around. The four alicorns and Shining Armor stand around him, relief slowly washing the worry on their faces, while Grogar and the others stand motionless a ways away.

Was that a dream? A portent of things to come? …A test?

…If it was a test, did he pass?

Ch. 199 - Sublime Vision

“So…” Doug drawls as he gets to his feet and brushes himself off. He gratefully accepts a nuzzle from Celestia and Twilight, who seem unharmed, even empowered from whatever trial they went through. Luna gives him a curt nod, nothing out of the ordinary, while Cadance hangs back with a timorous queasiness contrary to her normally confident stance. She seems to be measuring the hairs on her coat. “How’d it go?”

“Everything’s just fine!” Twilight replies, grinning from ear to ear. “We all passed! …I think.” Concern scrawls across her face as she inspects him. “Are you okay? It took you some time to wake up.”

“Long enough for Raikou to fall asleep again,” Luna comments, the Storm King indeed nodding away with his head resting on his staff. Doug wouldn’t have expected the small grin the alicorn wears, especially in reference to the tyrant.

“Which leaves just one more thing,” Twilight says ominously.

“Do we really need to fight?” Fluttershy asks, dipping her head down. Doug realizes the Elements of Harmony have taken up posts around him and the alicorns, ready to defend against anypony that approaches.

Shining Armor takes an imperious step towards Grogar and his acolytes, the former Dragon Lord Torch looming behind them. “See?” he calls. “We have all passed your test!”

Grogar takes his eyes off the sky, turning his contemplative gaze their way. “All shall come to embrace Harmony.” He scratches at his scraggly beard. “Yet perhaps not as I foretold.”

Tempest Shadow takes up a defensive position on the large goat’s side. “Could it be a trick?”

Shining Armor smirks. “I saw what happened when your ‘sign’ appeared in the sky. It did not end well for you.”

“Really?” Tempest Shadow’s unbroken horn sparks with magic, static charges rolling down her back and clustering on her flanks.

Shining Armor pauses, not recognizing the spell the orchid unicorn cast. It looks like a variant of the one on Twilight that would shock any contact greater than a heavy hug. A way to extend it? It threatens his confidence in the victory he foresaw. He glances at Twilight. “Is it possible…”

“...that the victory you saw isn’t sure?” Her muzzle purses to a thin line. “Obviously, any cognition of the future with the ability to act on that knowledge threatens the veracity of that cognition, unless it’s under a Cassandra clause. Could you verify it somehow?”

“Grogar activated his righteous fire and bypassed shields with a flaming dash,” Shining Armor explains, the goat slowly nodding in agreement. “Torch was petrified by Raikou.” The Storm King tosses an obsidian ball into the air, then slips it back into his armor. “Sombra, Tempest Shadow, and Radiant Hope were subdued by Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, Twilight Sparkle, and Starlight Glimmer.”

Tempest Shadow scoffs. “I’d like to see them-”

“-Boo” Pinkie Pie says from directly behind the orchid unicorn.

“Gaa!” Tempest Shadow shouts as she flails backward. She scowls at the small bit of cake in the pink hoof, then at the grin plastered on Pinkie’s face.

Time seems to stand still, everypony holding their breath as they wait for Tempest Shadow to attack.

Pinkie Pie, with an exaggeratedly slow motion, tosses the cupcake towards Tempest Shadow. She doesn’t move; it lands in front of her, splattering against the ground.

“You’re supposed to catch it,” Pinkie Pie says with a roll of her eyes, rummaging around her mane for a spare.

With that, the tension breaks. “They have passed the required test,” Grogar declares, gratefully accepting a brick of chocolate from the baker. Tempest Shadow growls, taking a stiff step back, and only with great reluctance takes the offered spare cupcake. “Who are we to deny Harmony?”

“We wish for you to join us,” Celestia says with a motion to the spot next to her. “To hash out our differences, and for all to ultimately be guided by love and harmony. But it must be a choice they make, not one forced onto them.”

“An unlikely outcome it might be, but may Harmony’s will be done.” Grogar looks between his companions. Radiant Hope is the only one with anything approaching optimism.

“Thou claims it as unlikely,” Luna states, a flick of her mane indicating the Storm King and former changeling queen. She places a hoof on her peytral. “Yet even the most vile of creatures can be forgiven, and become friends.”

“In my test,” Twilight offers, “I saw ponies with fundamental disagreements separate, each believing their way as the one desired by Harmony.” She reaches her hoof forward, heedless of the distance between them. “Yet there is nothing stopping them from later reconciling, different ponies realizing that those very differences bind them together and allow there to be friendship at all.”

Grogar laughs, deep and echoing. “There are few who see anything but stark difference between us all,” he says as he trots forward, gently placing his hoof against Twilight’s. “And fewer still who embrace it.” He looks from one alicorn to another, resting on the human. “Princess Celestia. Princess Luna. Princess Mi Amore Cadenza. Princess Twilight. Prince Consort Shining Armor. Prince Consort Doug Gardens.” Grogar offers a deep bow, his acolytes following. “We thank you for your enlightenment.”

Doug’s eyes widen in surprise. “How did you know my name changed?”

Twilight whirls toward Doug, peering at him closely. “It did?”

“Harmony said that at the end of my vision,” Doug says, flabbergasted.

“The truth is revealed to me,” Grogar says mysteriously, failing to elaborate further.

“It’s an advanced Honesty technique,” Starlight Glimmer states, ruining the mystique. “But much like any lie detector, it doesn't necessarily reveal what happened, it reveals what you believe happened. It is capable of being deceived, which is why such evidence is inadmissible.”

Doug frowns. “You mean I merely thought that I talked to Harmony?”

“It’s a possibility,” Cadance says, surprising Doug with how quickly she jumps in to support Starlight. Why would she want to discount whatever happened?

Twilight ponders this, looking cute as ever with her forehead scrunched up. “You said ‘already something that happens’ when you woke up.” Her eyes sparkle with anticipation. “You believe you had some sort of vision? A revelation? The third kind of close encounter with an omnipotent deity?”

“I wouldn’t say omnipotent,” Doug says, recalling how the being specifically said it wasn’t. “But we talked about free will, then alicorn fertility and why it was limited. It ended with her observing that my name is a bit of a misnomer and changing it to Doug Gardens.”

“Did you learn anything new?” Cadance asks, overly curious, almost like she’s hiding something. “Something that surprised you? Something verifiable, information you couldn’t have had before, not merely an argument that you might have made yourself?”

Shining Armor glances at Tempest Shadow and the lightning orbs still clinging to her back. He speaks first, unhappy his wife is raising doubts on the victory he foresaw. “Everything I saw was from briefings or speculation, fitting within known parameters.”

Twilight is equally as unsettled. “Mine was more of a hypothetical situation, involving ponies who likely exist-” A glance at Celestia gets a confirming nod. “Who do exist, but I’ve never met.”

A few ponies glance at Cadance, but she merely looks at Luna, her expression grim.

“Ours was an extension of dream navigation,” Luna confides. “Not immediately recognizable as such, but a distinct possibility.”

“Mine was…” Celestia trails off, looking euphoric for a moment before staring at the bright sky above. “Do you feel them?” she asks Luna, no louder than a whisper. She gets a concentrating frown in return, then a slow shake of starry mane. “I dare not test it; the stars above are no longer mine to command, and I would not excuse another to tamper with my sun without my permission.”

Doug feels a profound sense of loss at the admission; he loved seeing the patterns Celestia would draw in the night sky on the new year. He hopes whatever she gained makes up for it.

Grogar takes the opportunity to depart during the solemn moment. “We will return to our sanctuary.” Radiant Hope’s horn flares blindingly bright. The three ponies and Grogar disappear, leaving Pinkie Pie in front of Torch.

Celestia claps her hooves together, putting on a bright smile. “We have an Equestria Games to complete, do we not?”

“Yes,” says Emperor Spike, glad to get back on track, especially if they can drop the ineffective security arrangements put in place against Grogar. “Yes, we do.”

The alicorns and the Elements of Harmony spread out to all corners of the stadium, helping usher ponies back to their seats and calm the most distressed with assurances that all is well. They need little coaxing after the first, and soon all Doug does is stand and watch the procession.

As the last of the ponies file back to their seats, Cadance pulls Doug aside into a slim hallway, out of view of everypony. Her horn flares, a soft buzzing that would hide their conversation from all but the most adept of listeners.

Doug’s heart beats faster, wondering what’s going on, but any quip dies in his throat at Cadance’s distraught appearance. She chews on her lip, furtively glancing behind her as though she is worried about anypony - including Celestia - overhearing their conversation.

“What is it?” Doug asks, dropping to his knees and running a hand through the thick purple part of her mane, searching for the back of her ear. Even frazzled she looks beautiful, a part of him drawn to any mare in distress and wanting nothing more than to comfort her.

Cadance briefly struggles against herself before giving in, careful to point her horn over his shoulder as she draws close to him. “I could use some love right now.”

“Err,” Doug says, abruptly aware of their close proximity, his hands suddenly with nowhere to go except velvety fur that gets his heart racing. Her head presses against his chest and nearly knocks him over; he braces himself, which just makes her snuggle closer. He knows ponies are tactile, extraordinarily so, and she hasn’t done anything too extreme yet, but he’s just as afraid of her tilting her head upward and kissing him as he is of trying to reassure her the same way. He steels himself, wrapping both arms around her neck and holding her tight.

“Of course.” The words coming out of his mouth feel like a betrayal, but he hasn’t done anything. Yet. “I’m happy to help. Anything you need.”

For a long moment they stay there, just breathing, until he feels a wetness trickle against his arm. He looks down, only to meet her tear-filled eyes staring up at him.

“Anything?” she whispers, barely able to manage the word.

Doug doesn’t quite grimace, but neither can he force a smile. She loves Shining Armor. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. “...Within reason.”

Cadance draws a large breath, slowly growing less despondent. “You have to keep this a secret.”

Now he grimaces. “I… I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that.”

“The others can’t learn about this,” Cadance nearly shouts, shaking with unexpected fervor. She spins in his arms, trapping him with one leg as immobile as iron on each side. “Ever!”

Doug’s mind turns to desperate thoughts of escape, or failing that, if he could subdue Cadance if she becomes hysterical. The hallway seems quite cramped, the walls pressing in and leaving nowhere to maneuver. But with her directly on top of him? He settles for hugging her as tightly as he can, one hand snaking through her mane to the base of her horn.

Perhaps Cadance recognizes his plan, or perhaps she merely seeks more contact. “Please,” she begs, pushing him prone with little effort and straddling her full belly against him. She stares into his eyes, blinking away her tears, and only now notices his distress.

“Please,” she tries again, softer this time, but without budging. “I-I can’t go to any of the others. Luna keeps no secrets from her Sister, a-and the rest were in on it. It would destroy them.”

“Your vision,” Doug guesses, grasping at anything other than how this position normally ends with his mares. “It had to do with the spell Twilight cast?”

Cadance nods quickly, glad to get it off her chest. “I saw a being that could only be Harmony. It… it knew things about me that nocreature could possibly know. It knew everything. I tried estimating the number of hairs on my coat, and I was within a hundred of the number it gave. It knew about the spell Twilight cast on Shiny, it showed me the elemental version of the spell, the one stripped off all the safety features we added. But it was the same spell, in essence, and she said our foal would have been a soulless abomination if she hadn’t intervened!”

“T-that’s,” Doug stammers. An abomination? Didn’t Radiant Hope say the same thing? Does the same thing apply to his foals? His vision didn’t include anything like that. If anything, it was encouraging him to keep going. But such a stark difference seems unfair, grossly so. He glances down at the belly pressing against him, slipping a hand to gently rub against it. Her fur is incredibly soft, taut against his testing touch. “Is she…”

“The baby is fine,” Cadance says, both releasing a sigh of relief. A twinge of a smile appears on her muzzle. “I may have promised to raise her in Harmony’s ways in order to escape the punishment my own words decreed, that we all should be beheaded for conspiring to cast such a terrible spell.”

“Obviously you should have gone with me from the start,” Doug quips with a wink. He finds it funny how quickly he reverts to flirtations when the possibility of acting on them is remote. Cadance chuckles, giving him a quick nuzzle as she relaxes. “But if it wasn’t Harmony giving you this message… you think it could have come from you?”

“The message lined up with so many of my fears,” Cadance says, sounding relieved at just the suggestion, “that it very well could have been my subconscious, a figment of my imagination condemning me.” Just as quickly, her distress returns. “But even if that is the case, what does that say? That I believe, deep down, that what we did was wrong, that it goes against my understanding of Harmony? They cannot know that!”

“But how did your vision end?” Doug asks, scratching at her long muzzle, hoping to encourage her to break from her doldrums. “With you broken and defeated, or resolved to further Harmony and her goals, whatever they may be?”

“Well, I did surrender to my fears, if that’s what they were,” Cadance says, her eyes twinkling.

“Your fears of doing the right thing?” Doug withdraws his hand with a look of mock indignation. “Well, if that’s the case, then I don’t know if there’s any hope for you.”

Cadance playfully headbutts Doug, both of them laughing. She sighs as she stares out at the empty corridor, resting against him once more. “You really think it was just a dream I concocted?”

Doug takes a deep breath. “I’m… I’m not sure. In a way, mine felt too good to be true. I can’t have done everything right, you know? But it sounded like Celestia believed it was real, with Luna and Twilight on the fence, while you and Shining Armor had your doubts. Do you believe you did the right thing, using forbidden magic to conceive?”

“I love Shining Armor with all my heart.” Cadance presses her hoof to her chest, smiling at the fond memories they share. “I would do anything to make manifest that love.”

Doug wraps one arm around her withers. “Well, it sounds like you have your answer.”

Cadance darts in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Doug, for helping me feel better about this.”

It feels far too good to be kissed, and Doug has to clamp down on the part of him that wants to continue. “Of course.” Suddenly, he remembers. “Hey, I can ask Celestia about the sun. If it doesn’t line up with what I learned, then that’s more proof it was just your subconscious, right?”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Cadance bounds to her hooves, gently and then more forcefully ushering him to the entrance to the stadium.

The two return to the special seats designated for the Princesses. Celestia eyes him, curious what took them so long, as he slips next to her.

“Celestia,” he greets with a quick nod. “What’s the mass of the sun, using yourself as the reference?”

“Myself?” Celestia ponders a moment. “Approximately one thousand quadrillion times. Why?”

“Thanks.” Doug counts threes on his fingers - thousand, million, billion, trillion, quadrillion. Fifteen, and another thousand makes eighteen zeroes. Not the twenty seven zeroes ‘Harmony’ told him, brushing off the fact that Celestia could have used quintillion instead. He covertly winks at Cadance, who releases a sigh of relief. “Well, I better head back to my seat.”

Ch. 200 - Inertia

June 4th, 1001 Domina Solaria

Celestia carefully considers her hoof of cards, mouth a thin line as she stares at the pieces arrayed on the board in front of him. She selects a card, placing it face down and drawing a new one. “Japony Response.”

Doug, opposite her, ponders his action for a long time. “Air battle. United Equestrians against Western Equestria, discarding two to double attack.”

“Mm.” Celestia removes a blue piece and a purple piece, placing them in their respective stacks. “Germane Event. Blitzkrieg.”

“Drat.” Doug eyes the Codebreaker card in his discard he used against Bitaly earlier. “Stalliongrad builds a land army in Manehattan.”

“Fuel for the fire.” Celestia grins as she plays a card from a different hand. “Bitaly event, building a Germane Troop in Saddle Arabia and a boat in the southwest Lunar Ocean.”

Doug’s eyes widen. “You’re going for Klugetown and the Democratic Republic People’s Kingdom of Storm.” His forces are poorly arrayed for such an attack; he goes deep in the tank, trying to remember the dozens of cards played and what she has left. Can he interrupt her supply lines before she strikes a decisive blow against his allies? A buzzing draws him out of his contemplative state. “Oh. Time to raise the sun.”

“Indeed.” Celestia stares at the board, memorizing the position, before a soft golden glow places all the cards back into their respective places, the lid of the box shutting with a hiss of escaping air. “I have a busy day ahead of me.” She eyes him curiously, then the numerous boxes of similar strategy games that line the walls. “Is this all you wish to do?”

“I like thinking through everything,” Doug says, exchanging a quick kiss. He taps her noggin, just behind her horn. “It gives me insights on how you think.” He waits a beat. “And it’s the only arena I have any chance of competing with you.”

“Do not worry,” Celestia reassures. “They will forgive you for losing Ponyville the overall medal count.” She waits a beat. “Eventually.”

Doug rolls his eyes. “Don’t you have a sun to raise?”

Celestia winks. “As you wish.”

“Hey, that’s my line!” Doug gets out just as she disappears. He stands, stretching and rubbing his eyes, though he doesn’t regret getting up early to spend time with Celestia before her busy day. He heads to the kitchen to begin preparing breakfast for the hungry herd.

A moment later Luna appears outside with a muted crack, the sun rising through the open windows. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Doug replies, welcoming the uncharacteristically put-together pony with a fond hug. Most nights wreck her, leaving her looking like she lost a fight with a dumpster. “Pleasant night?”

“T’was less rigorous than most,” Luna says, eager for the pancakes he is preparing. "Much anxiety has passed, now that the dreaded event is over and done." She sits in the corner spot on the table as the other mares and fillies slowly make their way inside, licking her lips as he slides a plate stacked high and decorated with fruit and syrup. “What art thy plans for thine future?”

“Today the future or in general?” Doug says, greeting Applejack and Rainbow Dash with kisses that they return with only the barest of effort. The two mares trudge to the table; Applejack tries to hide her dislike for Luna and all things Canterlot, while Rainbow Dash does nothing to disguise her glare.

“In general,” Luna answers, returning to the mares only a look of smug superiority.

“Hmm,” Doug considers as he brings Applejack and Rainbow Dash plates piled with pancakes. “Be nice,” he growls, rubbing behind their ears with the unspoken threat of knocking their recalcitrant heads together. “Just because Canterlot won the most medals doesn’t mean you should be angry with Luna.”

Applejack and Rainbow Dash share a glance. “Yer right,” Applejack drawls, Rainbow Dash following with a curt, “We should be mad at you.”

Doug sighs as the two mares turn their glares on him. “Did Celestia put you up to this?”

“Given thy new appellation,” Luna says, avoiding the question, “we thought it relevant.”

“Well, I’m not looking to plow any new fields,” Doug answers Luna. He taps the spatula against the griddle a few times as he thinks. “I suppose I wanted to raise the foals and watch them grow in harmony, but that might be out of the question.”

“Take solace,” Luna says through a mouthful of pancakes. Her magic wipes a blueberry off her muzzle, which she pops in her mouth. “Their displeasure art only temporary.”

“I’ll show you temporary displeasure,” Rainbow Dash mutters, though having a difficult time with it given the delicious pancakes in front of her. Her turgid belly growls, not to be denied.

“Speaking of temporary,” Doug says, second plates ready for the extra-hungry mares, “how are your fillies doing?”

“Apple Bloom and Scoots?” Applejack ponders for a moment. “Last Ah heard…”

---

“Wow!” Party Favor exclaims as two orange and red balloons inflate in front of his eyes, forming binoculars. He gasps as he peers through, the three ponies in front of him expanding to many times their small size. “I never knew balloons could be so versatile!” He snatches up the three Cutie Mark Crusaders in a huge hug. “Thank you!”

“Of course!” Apple Bloom grunts out as she squeezes back.

“You’re welcome!” Sweetie Belle says, grinning.

“We’re glad to help!” Scootaloo smiles.

All three Crusaders wave as Party Favor swiftly trots to the last unadorned rowhouse in Our Town. Everypony in town cheers him on, their cutie marks proudly displayed on their flanks. He concentrates for a moment before loosing a loud sneeze, and up from the ground springs a dozen inflated topiaries, the decorations giving much-needed color to the once-drab town.

The Crusaders admire their hoofwork. The town bursts with laughter and joy. Everypony has been reunited with their cutie mark, even the most seemingly-useless and droll-feeling ponies given a sense of purpose in their lives and a hope for their future. Nopony has expressed a desire to return to where they came from, instead to stay here and make this humble town their home.

All but one.

“You did it,” Starlight Glimmer says breathlessly, amazed at the progress the three young mares have made. After the first pony regained her mark and sense of purpose in life the others quickly followed like a puzzle whose solution reveals itself only after the first connection is made. “Your work here is done.”

“Almost,” Apple Bloom says leadingly.

“There’s just one more,” Sweetie Belle agrees.

It takes Starlight Glimmer a moment to realize there is only one pony who has not fully embraced her cutie mark, whose house is not festooned with bright banners and colorful decorations. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You can’t mean me!”

“Of course we can,” Scootaloo says, ignoring the unicorn’s wails.

"Just 'cause yer mark is on yer flank," Apple Bloom states, "doesn't mean ya've embraced it."

"Look around you," Sweetie Belle implores. All three Crusaders beam.

Starlight Glimmer does so, but only reluctantly.

"There's a whole host of ponies just waiting for you to join them," Scootaloo continues.

"They'd be right glad if'n ya did," Apple Bloom drawls.

"But I was wrong," Starlight Glimmer says. Her head hangs low. "Wrong about cutie marks, wrong about magic, wrong about everything. They deserve a better leader than me."

"You're wrong," Scootaloo states.

"See?" Starlight Glimmer sighs. "Wrong again."

Scootaloo grimaces, but Sweetie Belle is quick to take over. "That’s because, while your mark might be on your flank, you haven't embraced it."

"Early on," Scootaloo claims, "didn't you love practicing magic? Didn't you get a rush from molding the very fabric of reality?"

"Sure," Starlight Glimmer reluctantly allows.

Apple Bloom nods along. "Then maybe this town ain't the best place for ya ta flourish."

"You need a challenge," Sweetie Belle continues. "Something innovative, involving something never seen before in Equestria!"

Scootaloo grins. "Something where it matters that you've embraced your mark, not that-"

“-It’s on my flank,“ Starlight Glimmer interjects with a heavy sigh. "I get it. You want me to go back to your sire."

"We want ya back with our sire!" Apple Bloom exclaims, only to realize she just repeated what Starlight said. She offers a cheesy grin.

"It'd sure be a challenge," Sweetie Belle says. "Four alicorn foals?"

"Five whenever Cadance needs a break," Scootaloo says as a loud aside.

"And my four?" Starlight Glimmer asks, looking askance. "What about them?"

"Pff," Apple Bloom dismisses with a wave of her hoof. "Unicorn foals are easy."

"Hey," Sweetie Belle objects weakly.

“Her point is,” Scootaloo covers, “that your foals will need extra magic instruction. Well, so will the alicorns. Who better to develop an innovative, constantly evolving curriculum to best teach all of them?”

Starlight Glimmer stares at the Cutie Mark Crusaders, then at the spiraling wisp of blue on her flank. “I was perfectly happy,” she says with the last vestiges of her anger, “living in a world where everypony was equal. And you all came here and, and, and ruined what I built!”

“Good,” Apple Bloom says confidently.

“Good?” Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo echo, confused.

Apple Bloom steps forward. “Because what ya built was built on a lie. We ain’t equal. But that ain’t bad!”

“We’re all created with different strengths and different talents and different marks,” Sweetie Belle adds. “What’s important is embracing those differences!”

“Ya wouldn’t bake a pie with only apples,” Scootaloo says.

“Speak for yourself,” Apple Bloom interjects.

Scootaloo continues, “See? We can have different ideas about what makes a pie. What’s important is that we stay friends!”

Starlight Glimmer rolls her eyes. “Because Friendship is Magic?”

“And Ah have to say,” Apple Bloom says with a wink, “that ya’ve got magic in spades.”

“So embrace what makes you you!” Sweetie Belle grins.

Scootaloo belts out, “It’s time to show them what you’ve got!”

Apple Bloom whispers, “Wrong musical number!”

“Oh, right,” Scootaloo whispers back. She sings, even louder than before, “Don’t ever think that it might be too late!”

“Ya don’t have to wait!” Apple Bloom picks up from the middle. “There’s no mistakes with the friends ya make!”

“I get it,” Starlight Glimmer groans. “You don’t have to-”

“A friendship’s only made of what you bring,” Sweetie Belle sings over her, the whole town starting to get in on the dancing. “And if you do it right, then you can do anything!”

---

Celestia steadily flaps her wings until she lands next to Chief Architect Chrysalis on a large white cloud overlooking Griffonstone. It’s a procedure she’s been through many times before, being consulted about starting a new town or city, and her golden seal of approval has never once led to disaster.

She desperately hopes this isn’t the first.

The split mountain rises like a beak chomping at the sky, the stone tree at the top a pitiful gray echo of Canterlot. The mountain itself is desolate, though not snowcapped, the closest trees long since logged and dragged up the steep slopes. The further down one goes the greener it gets, from sparse grass to shrugs to a dense forest. Four large clearings have been trampled into the thick forest below, the starting points for the support hamlets the ponies would need to create from scratch. The circles look painfully small, open to surprise attacks from the trees or (more likely) from the air. Still, the earth is fertile, the nearby lake provides fresh water, and being on the windward side of the mountain means they wouldn’t need to worry about irrigating, only sheltering from the daily rainstorms.

“I must say,” Celestia remarks to Chrysalis. “There’s a lot of potential.”

Chrysalis scoffs. “That has to be the nicest way of saying it’s a shithole.”

Celestia offers a wan smile. No, the real ‘shithole’ would be the inside of the split mountain, where the griffons have been dumping their refuse for generations. “You have done more with less.”

“Indeed,” Chrysalis preens, unable to resist the compliment. “The Badlands were a challenge. A grub could manage to thrive here.”

“By taking advantage of the solitary nature of the griffons?” Celestia guesses.

“Not something we have done,” Chrysalis claims, recalling the vivid memories of being accused as much by the griffons. “But even without such a straightforward scheme? As you said, there is a lot of potential, but also for us to learn about building a city from the ground up.”

Celestia cocks her head, glad to learn any she can of the changelings. “What do you mean?”

“All our previous hives developed organically. As needs grew, so did our tunnels, but often led to inefficiencies as existing infrastructure interfered with optimal routes.” Chrysalis motions to the desolate mountaintop. “It also presents the challenge of developing in two dimensions, rather than three.

“But,” Celestia says, hoping for her to elaborate, “don’t griffons fly?

“Yes,” Chrysalis answers, sneering, “but try telling one they need to live underneath another. Or that their roost is best positioned underground. Go on, try it.”

Celestia knows how well that would go. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“Perhaps?” Chrysalis scoffs. “Of course I’m right. No, the real challenge will be convincing the griffons that they must accept the inclusion of a species with views completely antithetical to their own.”

Celestia cannot hide her grin. “Good thing you are a master at worming her way into hostile societies.”

Chrysalis narrows her eyes at the alicorn. “Is that a bug joke?”

---

The Dragon Lands are a harsh land, as inhospitable as their people, who grew up swimming in lakes of lava and sharpening their claws on obsidian when they aren’t sharpening them on each other. Terrifying beasts roam the land, from the earth-burrowing Tatzlwurm whose hunger for magic never ceases, to the geyser-spewing sea wyrms, to the massive rocs that roam the skies.

But none is as dread-inducing as the dragon. Devious and despised, these solitary creatures only congregate for one reason: to elect a new Dragon Lord. Everydragon competes to claim the Bloodstone Scepter for themselves, for whoever holds this scepter has proven that they have the might and cunning to rule over the unruly bunch, their every word considered law.

In the middle of a large, lava-filled caldera broken on one side and making a perfect amphitheater, a small red dragon holds the scepter aloft amid the groaning bodies of his new subjects. What Dragon Lord Garble lacks in size he makes up in fierceness, instilling a terror in his fellow dragons never seen before. He laughs, a loud and grating cackle, gazing upon his domain.

Off on the ridge stands a solitary pony, Princess Celestia observing the ritual with a carefully neutral expression. She notes the presence of Emperor Spike on the outskirts of the horde and how he studiously ignores her. He did not compete against the others, but still answered the Call of the Dragon Lord.

“I am the new Dragon Lord!” Garble declares, his voice booming against the jagged rocks.

“Garble! Garble! Garble!”

The fierce dragon revels in the chant, basking as it continues on and on and on. Finally he grows bored, silencing the horde of dragons with a sharp slash of his claws.

“For too long dragons have slunk in the shadows, content to live in caves and eke out a meager existence mining gems that we traded to the ponies.” Dragon Lord Garble paces back and forth, building a rage that echoes in the surrounding dragons. “Those anointed ponies want to keep us there, reduced as nothing more than a novelty, a bangle about their wrist, a banner on their wall to show how enlightened and harmonious they are! They wish to keep us pampered and sated, existing on their largesse! Is that the kind of life we want?”

The collected dragons glance about at each other, unsure of the correct response.

“No!” Garble thunders. “Are dragons livestock, to be fed and herded and tended by our benevolent pony caretakers?”

That question, at least, is more obvious. The roar that comes back is deafening. “NO!”

“Are we to live,” Garble bellows, “defanged and declawed, neutered in the name of namby-pamby ponies?!”

“No!!”

“What proves the might of a dragon?” Garble demands. “Is it the size of his hoard?” He points at the pony off in the distance. “She has a large hoard. Maybe the largest ever!” He sneers. “And if you promise to be good, she might even share it with you!”

Hisses and boos fill the caldera. A few even flap their wings as though to take flight and harass her.

“What makes a dragon,” Garble shouts, “is adversity! The power of the foe you fell! And the idea of competition is one ponies would eliminate from your lives! They want you to become weak!”

The hisses turn to roars of rage as great gouts of fire light the sky.

“Pony!” Dragon Lord Garble yells, pointing at the white silhouette against the blue sky. “You and your kind are no longer welcome here. Begone!”

With a look of sadness Celestia’s horn glows gold, and she disappears.

Garble turns to the gathered dragons. “We shall take whatever we want from Equestria,” he shouts, smashing one fist into the other as roars reverberate the ground underneath him, “and burn the rest!”