//------------------------------// // You Will Know // Story: House of Gold // by redsquirrel456 //------------------------------// “And then he said he’d get the Princess to speak with me!” Orion cheered prancing back and forth across the soft carpet. Even with his light steps, his mother had to hide her wince at every step, ears folded back with a pained smile. “That’s lovely, my child,” she whispered, needing to take a breath between words. “The Princess will... surely look on you and see what the rest of us see.” “Yeah!” Orion said, letting his enthusiasm get the better of him. He had not felt very happy about anything at all in the last few months. True joy had become an alien feeling in the Blueblood household, peering in through foggy windows and waiting by the door only to be brushed aside when the occupants left. Today Orion wanted to revel in it. “I’m going to do it, Mother! I’ll speak to the Princess, and then she’ll give me a place in the Royal Navy, and I’ll learn to fly airships and explore and--” “Yes, child,” Goldspinner murmured, putting a hoof on the bridge of her nose. The servants glanced at each other nervously. “She will—” “I’m finally going to do everything I said I would! Our dreams are going to come true and this will be the first step!” Orion said, running back and forth on the carpet. He picked up one of his maps and flapped it around excitedly, giggling aloud and exclaiming how he would be the master of the known world and he would find the treasure and fill in every blank spot and-- “Orion!” Goldspinner snapped, her voice breaking like a fallen vase. Orion stopped on a dime, ears going flat against his head. In all his years he had never heard his mother raise her voice to him. Not once, even before she was sick, and he had thrown tantrums like no other. “Orion,” she said, her voice softer now, cracked and weak. “Come here.” Orion didn’t want to turn around. His blood ran cold and he shivered. “Orion, come here,” said Goldspinner. Orion turned around. His mother’s face wrenched in different directions and her brow and lips quivered at the edges as if unsure where to go. It stopped somewhere between pity and pride. He decided he didn’t like it at all. “Yes Mother?” he asked, trembling as he approached her bed. “I’m sorry for being so loud. I was just so excited about everything and I realized I could finally help out in the house and…” Goldspinner took several deep breaths, patting the space next to her where he hopped up. “It’s fine, my darling. Now listen. The Princess will be there, and you must be on your best behavior.” Orion hopped up next to her, curling his hooves underneath him. “Yes, Mother.” “You must not speak too plainly to her, or act as though you went to her just to get something you wanted.” “Of course.” Goldspinner reached out and stroked some of his flaxen mane. “And promise you will remember to bow, but not to simper. We Bluebloods do not grovel. It would be disrespectful not only to us, but to the Princess. Keep your back straight and your chin up, so she can see your handsome face.” Orion managed to smile a bit. He didn’t know why his mother was telling him things he already knew, but she said it so tenderly he went along with it. “I will, Mother.” “That’s my boy,” said Goldspinner. “You will never be a disappointment to me, all right? You must remember that, Orion.” His smile faltered. “I will, Mother.” Goldspinner winced, curling her hoof tight into the mattress. Orion watched, uncertain if he should try to comfort her. She tried to speak, but she gritted her teeth instead and closed her eyes. A niggling feeling pricked the back of Orion’s skull. It felt like a claw scraping down his mane, cold and dreadful, a terrible reminder of something that lurked just out of sight. Orion shook his head to rid himself of that feeling though it clung to him tenaciously, like a parasite. He took his mother’s hoof. “Orion,” she murmured in a voice so quiet he had to turn his ears forward and lean in close to hear her. Her voice strained like she was being pressed beneath a great weight. “Promise me. “Promise me that whatever she says, you will be a good boy. That she will see you the way I see you. Promise me that she will think you are just as special and wonderful as you deserve, because your heart is just that good.” “I will, Mother,” he said, since it was the only thing he could think to say. “You know I will.” Goldspinner managed to smile again, which was the only thing that kept Orion from breaking into tears. Instead he leaned forward and buried his face into her fur, as she gently caressed his mane. He tried not to think about how she could only twist her hoof at the wrist, stroking back and forth with the tiniest of movements. Yet even after that, he felt the pricking sensation down his neck again as he listened to her heartbeat, gently tap-tapping against her ribcage like a ticking clock. ------ The day of the Big To-Do was a Wednesday. Normally, Wednesdays were a day reserved for a larger meal than usual to help noble families make it through to the weekend. Orion’s lessons consisted then of table manners, etiquette, and the ins and outs of high society fashion. It wasn’t entirely horrible, because Orion liked dressing up and looking nice. It just seemed like a thing a colt should do. What he couldn’t stand was the standing. So much standing to be done here and there and on the balconies and on parapets and in front of big doors so you could only listen to what a grand old time everypony else was having inside while you shook hooves. Unfortunately since last week his lessons went into overdrive, and he was rushed through a quick succession of fashion designers, posture police, and silverware aficionados until he was pretty sure he had transmogrified into a brittle statue, ready to fall over at the slightest brush of wind to relieve his aching knees because he had to stand through every single lesson. Yet on this Wednesday, this glorious summer Wednesday, he could take standing because he stood over everypony else. Beneath him swayed the deck of the Ambient, and above the sun shone with a perky, gentle light that wasn’t painful to look at. Folklore said the sun was a reflection of Celetsia’s mood, so today she must be mild and composed, a good omen for the party. In front of Orion stretched a menagerie of rainbow colors and wigs of all shapes and sizes that loomed overhead, threatening to drop as they swayed with their owners’ forced laughter and polite head dips. In fact, Orion very much wanted to push one over and send every wig in the crowd falling like a row of dominos. The sea of wigs tossed and turned on a canopy-laden field in front of Canterlot Mountain. It was traditionally a place for nobles of Equestria to congregate for parties, given it was big and open and regularly tended to by earth ponies so the grass was always lush and green no matter how many hooves trampled it. In between the wig waves wandered lonely butlers and servants passing out appetizers and wine imported at great cost to the Blueblood household. Orion didn’t know the specifics, but it seemed to put everypony in a good mood. Dusty Shelves told him that long ago the field was a place where nobles met to discuss important matters of state when Canterlot was still being built, but Orion had seen enough of the nobility to know that matters of state were often far from their mind, which was how he liked it too. He wasn’t here to talk about economics or fashion. He had eyes for only one pony who had yet to show up. For now he just had to wait. Wait and talk. “Oh, what a simply marvelous get-together, Duke Blueblood!” squealed the Duchess of Marehampton, a lanky and cheerful unicorn with cheeks absolutely crimson with blush. Her whole body quivered with a sort of shimmy as she hopped up the gangplank. “I do so adore airships!” “It is well that so many could attend, not least of all yourself, my lady,” Orion’s father said, with a tight smile. Orion knew his father was also on the lookout for Celestia, and would not calm down until she had blessed the Ambient. “I don’t know what we would have done without your particular brand of enthusiasm.” The Duchess giggled and said something or other. Orion was already looking away from the small talk, up into the sky, to Canterlot, the City Above All Cities. He had only ever seen it from afar, and wondered what Celestia’s descent would be like. The Princess would be waiting in her throne room of alabaster pearl and marble pillars, wreathed in the glory of the sun, calmly waiting for her army of advisors to say it was time to go. She would descend from her throne carved of Tartarian rock said to be impervious to any harm, and don her regalia crafted by the master artisans of ancient Unicornia. She would ride on a chariot made of gold scraped from the mountains of Camelu, and then she would come to a stop, the crowd would go silent, and she would be so very, very beautiful — “Orion,” the Duke said with a nudge. “Welcome our guests.” There were six more ponies now alongside the Duchess of Marehampton, all with patient, cloying smiles as they waited for the official Blueblood greeting which would give them official permission to speak. Orion’s face lit up with a bright, ear-to-ear smile as he reached out for every hoof in turn, shaking them or clutching them like the hooves of an old friend, of which he had none. “Orion, son of Blueblood welcomes you all!” he simpered. “My Duchess, you are radiant. Good Sir Regal Rein, I remember you from the tennis party last month! Is your hip well? Oh, what a relief! And Lady Verity, I am so sorry your daughter could not attend.” “Such a shame!” Lady Verity agreed. “She speaks of you so often since you bumped into each other at the soirée some six Sundays ago.” “Oh, how lovely,” said Orion who remembered nothing of the daughter save that he was supposed to mention her, and quickly moved on through the others, dispensing hoofshakes and smiles like they were on sale at the local market. His father gave him a proud, rueful smile when he was done. “Your lessons have paid off, my son.” Orion smiled again, a little more genuine this time because it was his father giving out the praise, but he had only done this as part of their agreement. His purpose was to meet the Princess. “Can we stop standing on the deck soon?” he wondered. “Only after the blessing has been given,” said the Duke. “We cannot be seen to be ignoring our own ship while she is still under judgment.” “I think she is utterly fine and the Princess will only need to look at her before blessing her.” “Utterly fine is a standard to which only commoners aspire, my son. Remember that a Blueblood must be exceptional.” Orion wrinkled his nose. “Father, what did T’gallant mean by the fate of the Oriole?” The Duke abruptly looked away, up into the sky. “Not. Now. My son.” He raised a hoof. “Behold. She has come.” Orion’s gaze lifted with the noise of trumpets and drums. As one, the crowd followed suit. From the sky came a bright streak of gold, descending in twists and turns like a lost snowflake. As it grew larger, Orion saw pegasus stallions in gleaming armor galloping on the air, their wings carrying them with austere confidence. He felt an intense pang of envy, and his shoulders itched as if there were wings of his own, ready to fly. Behind the stallions was a white-gold chariot that could fit ten ponies end to end, shining so bright it hurt Orion’s eyes to look at it. But he did, because the Princess sat upon it, and he could not take his eyes off her if he tried. As the stallions and chariot set down across the field, the Princess stood tall, and taller still when everypony bowed down. Her ethereal rainbow mane shimmered as she raised her head, and her pristine white coat glistened like sunlight through dew-dropped glass. Then she moved, and oh, how she moved. An aisle of ponies graciously parted for her, and she seemed to sail over the ground as though the windy waves of grass reverently bore her weight. There was no wasted movement, no frivolous bobbing of her head or swaying of her hips, only smooth, gentle forward motion. A thousand years of lonely rule had trimmed away all excess, leaving only this slim creature of poise and venerable grace. For a moment, Orion thought he was in love. Then his father grabbed him by the mane and pushed him down until his face touched the deck, and he heard only the creaking of wood, the groaning of wind, and a rustle of soft feathers. “Is that her?” he asked the Duke. “Is that really her?” The Duke said nothing. Orion’s ears strained, but they heard nothing except for a gentle breeze on the grass and the quiet breathing of his father next to him. Soon his heart joined in, pounding blood as loud as hammers, and his head felt like it was about to float off his shoulders. “Rise, my little ponies,” said the Princess, sounding much nearer than she should be. Her voice was musical and resonant, making Orion’s ears tingle. He looked up and saw her right in front of him, taller than anypony he had seen before. She seemed to stretch up to the clouds that swirled overhead, a warm smile on her face as she looked straight down at him from on high. The shadows on her face highlighted her luminous magenta eyes, eyes that seemed to look back at him across a great distance, from a place and time ten centuries removed. “And one very little pony,” she said, with a laugh in her voice that could make a statue blush. “Duke Blueblood, this is your son?” “He is, your highness,” said the Duke, making sure to rise only after everypony else. “Nearing the age that all colts do when they get their mark. Speak, my son.” “I, I um,” Orion mumbled, his lips quivering. His whole body felt weighed down but his head was out of control, craning back, back, until he was forced to stumble over his hooves and fall flat on his bottom. “Um,” he said, cursing his clumsiness. The eyes of every single pony in attendance stared up at him. His lessons were forgotten, his mind gone blank, everything seized up or ran out of control. In moments the Princess had made a wreck of him in spite of all the drills and books and rehearsals. “Orion,” the Duke grumbled between clenched teeth. Celestia waited with a polite smile on her face. “M-My name is Orion and it’s good to meet you, madam, my lady, high princess!” Orion blurted out, finally managing to untangle his legs and stand up straight, a few paces back so he didn’t feel like he stood under a mountain. “Orion of House Blueblood, t-tall and mighty—the House is, I mean.” “Of course, young one,” said Celestia. “It is good to see the future of your House is secure. So tall for somepony your age! I am sure you will show the same aptitude for magic your father did.” Orion gaped at his father. He had never once been told that the Princess knew anything of his father’s magic. “Don’t look so surprised, my son,” said the Duke with a rueful smile. “I was a student at Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, far back in the day. Celestia herself watched my development.” “And a very good student you were,” Celestia said with a beatific smile and a raise of her wings. “But such things can be dwelt upon later. I believe that you have a young lady to introduce me to as well?” She shared a little wink with the Duke. “Of course,” said the Duke. “Your Highness, welcome aboard the Ambient!” He waved her aboard and began the tour. Orion walked alongside them, keeping his head up and his back straight like he had been taught, determined not to shame himself again. Celestia nodded and cooed her appreciation at the fine craftsmanship on the wall carvings and the excellent quality of the timber and sail cloth. Excessive lacquer and numerous enchantments had been laid into the woodwork to ensure not a single scuff touched the deck, and the hull was exquisitely gilded in gold and silver. “And how,” Celestia asked as they strolled below decks and entered the engine room, “does such a nimble ship expect to carry the weight of a royal retinue?” She ducked her head to avoid the low ceiling, and her ethereal mane seemed to waft through the floorboards of the above deck like smoke. “Oh, I know that one!” Orion chirped before he actually checked that he knew. The Duke seemed to flinch that his son spoke out of turn, but he did not upbraid him, instead watching with a clenched jaw. “Do tell, little Orion,” said Celestia with a calm smile as she looked through a porthole, surprising the nobles outside. “The, uh, the magic!” Orion said to buy time, poking at the engine. It took up over half the room, a gigantic compressor and turbine housed in a metal frame with exhaust pipes and shafts leading out to the fins on the sides of the ship. “The engine room is actually built to geometric specifications that allow a maximum space-to-energy ratio of magical output. A spell extends out in a web to hold all the enchantments that surround the ship. The heavier a load sensed by the spell web, the more it works to hold everything up! It’s proportional. Here, look!” He scampered over to the engine and pried back a square hatch, revealing a complex, gossamer-thin network of crystal around an arcane capacitor mounted on a metal plate. “This is the main energy relay station, which will dole out energy based on the need of the ship. The capacitor is a brand new design, able to hold ten percent more thaumic charge than predecessors at a much smaller size, allowing for more varied applications. Easy access means it can be immediately replaced or recharged in the event of an emergency. I was involved in its construction.” He puffed his chest out, proud he had remembered such big words in front of the Princess. In truth he had just read many books and taken notes until he got to personally mount the capacitor under careful supervision by unicorn engineers a few days ago, but that seemed immaterial. “How interesting,” said Celestia, turning to peer directly at him. Orion’s ears burned under her timeless gaze. “You have a keen interest in the subject of airships, then?” “He has grown up fascinated by travel and exploration, your highness,” the Duke answered with a pleased smile. “He has drawn maps and plans to visit every place with an airship of his very own.” “Father,” Orion chided him, but in reality he hoped very much to tell Celestia all about those maps. “Really!” Celestia gushed, one hoof lifting up in surprise. “An adventurer in the making. You will need more than a ship, little Orion, but a crew of close friends as well.” “Oh, I’ll get around to that,” Orion said with a shrug. “I just… I really like ships, your highness. And traveling. Or, the idea of it. I have…” His voice faltered and he bit back the explanation that almost spilled out. “I have plans.” If Celestia noticed his hesitation, she did not remark on it. Her porcelain smile did not even flinch as she turned back to the Duke and gave a gentle nod. “I believe I am ready to pass judgment, your lordship.” The Duke nodded and led them back outside. The deck was now choked with ponies who had been allowed on now that the Princess had taken her first steps, all from the upper echelons of nobility--dukes, grand princes, and marquises. Celestia made her way to the forecastle and stretched out a hoof for silence. The murmur died down so her voice rang clear and loud over the assembly. “Gentle ponies,” she said. “Today is a day of celebration and appreciation. We are gathered to enjoy the fruits of labor of a very good friend of the crown, Duke Blueblood the Tenth, Earl of Marehampton, and the excellent and well-pleasing presentation of his ship, the lovely Ambient.” There was a round of dutiful stomping from the crowd. “He has shown us the inner workings of this fine vessel, in the hope that we would look upon her with favor and admiration, and take her into our service. In honor of the Duke's dedication to the craft and the crown, and because of how clearly his design excels above his peers, we are pleased to announce that this ship shall have the Blessing of the Solar Throne, and henceforth a date shall be set, upon which she will be inducted into our Royal Fleet, and will serve honorably as a new chariot for your Princess!” The crowd erupted into cheers, though many of them had very little stake in this whatsoever. As the Duke said, many were here just to witness the event, and to be witnessed witnessing it. Orion’s heart swelled as he looked up at the Duke. His father had tears in his eyes. The Duke paused to shade his brow with a hoof, and when he looked down at Orion, Orion saw that he had not been crying at all; it was merely a trick of the sunlight glinting in his father’s eyes. The Duke never cried. It was simply not possible for him, and it was unseemly for one of his rank. Orion had come to understand this long ago. ---- The party was in full swing, but Orion had lost all track of it. The rest of the nobility had been welcomed aboard soon after the Princess gave her blessing, and then every one of them wanted to be seen near the ship, or on it, or in it. Everypony knew that proximity to great things meant you were also great by association. As a consequence, Orion had been forced to stand even more than his lessons ever made him and congratulate everypony who set hoof on the Ambient, with barely a glance Celestia’s way since the blessing. He didn’t know how his father managed it, speaking without end to the same ponies who asked the same questions and laughed at the same jokes over and over again. But he had a plan. When he looked over at the Princess in between hoofshakes that were getting more sweaty, he saw her put a hoof to her head and breathe heavily as she tucked some of her unruly mane behind her ear. It seemed to him that she felt hot or thirsty, if that was possible for a Princess who commanded the Sun. So when his father seemed sufficiently distracted with rubbing his newfound esteem in the faces of his peers, Orion snuck away through the crowd and wound his way through a forest of legs to the snack table atop the bow deck. His magic reached out and grabbed a pitcher of iced punch, drenched in condensation by the late morning sun. He pulled it from the table without disturbing a single drop and worked his way through the crowd once more, maintaining good posture as he’d been taught. The nobility barely paid him a second glance—the event was far more important than the ponies hosting it, though his father seemed certain this would raise the estimation of the Blueblood family by several notches. He searched for Celestia’s tall form through the sea of hats and manes soaked in hair gel, and spotted the very tip of her rainbow mane across the deck. He hurried towards her, though the pitcher didn’t even wobble a bit. If he remembered anything of his lessons, it was the switch he got whenever he let his poise waver. He took pride in it now, and thought it would be a very good thing to march right up to the Princess the picture of a gentlepony. There she was, walking with the same calm grace. But as he watched her long legs sliding through the crowd, he realized nopony stood aside for her. None of them moved. Perhaps it was just a trick of perspective, or they had cleared a channel when he wasn't looking. He followed her to the edge of the deck and saw her suddenly turn and walk down the gangplank, her ethereal mane disappearing below the edge. He hurried his pace and pushed on through to see nothing but a crowd of ponies below the ship, milling, talking, without a care for the goddess who had just walked among them. But where was she? A flash of rainbow light disappeared around the stern of the ship, and he followed it in silence. It did not occur to Orion that this behavior was at all strange. She was Princess Celestia; she did whatever pleased her and Equestria bent to her will. Instead he dutifully hopped down the gangplank and hurried after the faint shimmer, weaving through the crowd with the punch still firmly in his grip. When he came around the front of the ship he saw her far off, much further than she should have gotten at the meandering pace she went. She sat under a stand of trees, looking south, her legs curled up beneath her and her mane swirling more quickly than before. Orion stopped short several feet away, wondering at her slight frown and melancholy curve of her brow. Her wings were tucked tight against herself. It seemed to Orion that she was hiding, after a fashion, though he could still see ponies on the deck of the Ambient from here. But he knew all about wanting to be away from the claustrophobic presence of other ponies sometimes. It made him stop short in perplexed silence, wondering if it would be rude to try and speak to her, but knowing this might be his only chance to do so for many weeks hence. “Your field control is impeccable,” she said, which made him jump and almost drop the pitcher. "Some of the best I've ever seen." “Ah!” he gasped, struggling to straighten the drink out again. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt, Your Highness. I’ll leave, I was just curious when you left and nopony else saw you go—” “Be at peace, my little pony,” she said, turning and fixing him with that stare, the stare that saw so many things he never would. It riveted him to the ground, trapping him mid-step between leaving and going forward, to those eyes. To fall into them. “You need not leave, and I am not bothered if you stay or go.” Something about her voice echoed, reverberated in his bones. It made him plant his hooves to the ground, and that seemed to be answer enough for the Princess. She smiled gently. “I meant it, by the way. Your control over your magic.” Orion glanced at the pitcher floating next to him in a field of shimmering gold. “Thank you. How do you know it is better than others?” “I have seen more magic than most ponies will ever learn exists,” said Celestia, without pride or vanity. She stated a fact. “I know what it looks like when a pony exhibits greater control over themselves than others.” Orion cleared his throat. “My father has taught me well.” “He has.” Celestia gestured to the ground next to her with her wing. “He was a gifted student, once. But that is a tale you should ask him about yourself.” Orion hesitated. “Your Highness, I am sure the party misses your company.” Secretly he hoped she would say nothing about it and he could stay here indefinitely; only decorum made him bring it up. “They will not. I did not exactly leave.” Her angelic wing extended to its full span, stretching over Orion’s head like a sail. His gaze followed the pointing feathers, and there stood Celestia on the stern deck of the Ambient, waving and smiling and even conversing with ponies. Not a one batted an eyelid or seemed to remember Celestia had left the ship a few minutes before. This time, Orion dropped the pitcher. It was caught by Celestia, who set it down gently. “Am I dreaming?” asked Orion. “No,” said Celestia. “Though sometimes I feel like I am when I do this. You could say I am… splitting my attention. I know exactly what to say for this kind of thing, and the ponies will be satisfied with it. We may speak without being disturbed.” “I don’t understand.” “You don’t need to, not right now,” Celestia said with a smile. “Suffice to say I am truly here and there, and we are truly speaking, and I will treat what you say with the utmost respect wherever we are.” Orion gulped, feeling very small. Celestia was much more than he thought she would be, and he didn’t know what to make of it. She was big and powerful, like a tidal wave eternally poised to crash down, but gentle and calm as his blanket. He opted for the choice that he always took when he was uncomfortable: go for the blanket. Celestia’s wing settled over him, limp yet comforting all the same. “I’m glad you like my magic,” Orion whispered, staring at the horizon. “It is something I have learned to keep an eye out for. Ponies so rarely see the full extent of their talents. I want to help them all reach it. I want to help you, Orion.” Orion’s breath hitched in his throat. “I don’t need help,” he whispered. “But you do,” Celestia answered. “I can feel the tension inside you, Orion. There is such turmoil in you. I know why.” Orion’s heart leapt. He felt queasy all of a sudden, and his body went cold in spite of the warmth of the Sun Princess. A brick seemed to be trying to force its way up his throat. The words were knotted and wouldn’t come undone. He had so much to ask, but the question—the most important question—was so simple, yet so hard to say. Words felt like razors in his throat. “Can you cure my mother?” Celestia’s hesitation was all the answer he needed, but the tightening of her wing around his small body kept him from falling entirely into the darkness at the edge of his vision. “What ails her,” she said, “is not a matter of curing, my little pony. Magic is not just a tool. It is an extension of what we are. An expression of who you are inside. Do you understand?” “Not really,” Orion muttered, feeling his spirit sink further than ever. “You will,” said the Princess. “My little pony, your mother’s magic is destroying her because… because sometimes, ponies are hurt in ways that medicine cannot fix.” “Why not magic?” “Because magic is part of us, Orion. When we hurt, our magic hurts. You can no more ask a pony to stop hurting than you can a cloud to stop flying.” Orion felt something other than inevitability. It was dread. A horrible knowledge that there remained something he hadn’t seen yet in the bottom of that deep, dark pit where his greatest fears waited. “What hurt my mother?” Celestia did not answer. Instead she lifted her gaze and stared into the horizon with him as the sun crawled over the sky. About five minutes must have passed before she spoke again. “You will know,” she said, in a voice that reminded him of her eyes. Deep and resonant and frightfully knowledgeable. The voice of utter certainty, spoken with the gravitas of prophecy, or just ten thousand years of cultivated foresight. “I am certain of it, Orion. In a certain place at a certain time, you will know. But that time and place has not yet come. Though I am a Princess, there are certain words it will never be my place to say. But some day soon, perhaps sooner than it should, it will come to you. And the choices you make before that day, and especially the day after, will determine who you are forever.” Tears pricked at the corners of Orion’s eyes, and he huddled tightly against her side. He felt like he stood at the edge of a precipice, and clung to her as the last bit of foundation he had. “I’m scared,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m so scared. And I’m angry and I hate things and I don’t even know why. And everything’s worse because it doesn’t fix anything.” “It is all right to be all of those things,” Celestia murmured, raising her hoof to brush away a tear that leaked out down his cheek. “Trust me, Orion. I know grief. I have been just as scared and angry as you are now. I have watched loved ones slip away from me more times than I can count. I understand what you feel. Do you believe me?” Orion nodded. It was easy to believe someone as nice as Celestia, but it didn’t untie the knot in his chest. “Do not be scared of your fear. It is part of what helps us care so deeply. I know it hurts. But there is nothing that cannot be overcome. I promise you, Orion. I promise you. None of this is your fault. And you will never be alone.” Orion rubbed his tears away against her pristine white fur. She did not even flinch as he let out a hoarse sob, struggling to keep his noble composure. The party still had to be attended to. He could not be seen crying in front of his father, or anypony else for that matter. But Celestia made it better. It was still painful and disgusting and salty and wretched. But he did not feel ashamed for it here. When he finally got himself back together with a sip of punch, he managed to speak. “W-will you visit me?” Celestia nodded once. “I think it would do both of us good to stay in touch, my little pony. Do not be afraid to write, or ask for my company.” She lifted his chin, and this time he was unable to look away from what he saw in her eyes. There was something behind them, something vast and bright and ancient. A presence that looked down at him as much as it welcomed him. “I know you will do great things,” she whispered. “You will take a ship. You will push the edge of the map further than it has ever gone before. You will find your islands and dragons. You will be a spark that ignites the greatest fire since the Flame of Friendship first bloomed. But none of these things can you do alone. Do not let yourself be alone, Orion.” Orion, uncomprehending, could only nod. Then she shooed him back to the party, and when he looked over his shoulder, she had vanished. Her other self still stood on the deck of the Ambient, conversing politely with the nobility. When he spoke to her next to thank her for coming as she departed for Canterlot, she replied with some rote words of welcome. It was as if they had never spoken at all. But her gaze lingered on him for half a second longer than it needed before she turned away, and Orion saw himself in her eyes. ---- The trip back home hummed with a quiet excitement, filling the carriage and making Orion unable to sit still. “That was wonderful, father!” he chirped. “The Princess blessed the ship and everypony was so happy!” “It was a much more fortuitous day than I believed it would be,” the Duke replied, stoic as ever. But a smile cracked his facade. “I believe Her Highness took a shine to you as well, my son. You did well.” Orion chuckled and buffed his chest with his hoof, remembering how many ponies fawned over his good manners and his impeccable hygiene. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I think I did. I liked making all those ponies smile, father. It felt good being friendly.” “That is well, my son. I am sure your mother will be glad to hear it.” Orion hadn’t told his father of his secret meeting with Celestia, but he knew deep down that today had been a turning point. It was not a conscious realization, not something he would remember until much later as the point where his entire life swung on this fulcrum, but he felt it deep down in his gut. Something important happened today. When they reached the doors, the servants were there to greet them, head butler and house guards included. Orion saw Dusty Shelves in the crowd, which he found odd, as usually on her off days she was squirreled away in some corner of the mansion reading or taking trips to visit relatives. But today was a day to congratulate and uplift, so she must have come out to do that. She had a black scarf wound around her neck, to ward off the cold, certainly. They stepped down and the head butler approached the Duke. His normally pale face and tight skin looked paler and tighter than normal, and a black cloak rested over his shoulders. That was not normal dress at all. “Father—” Orion said, but when he looked up at the Duke, he froze. His father cried. A stream of tears ran in furrows through his fur, constant, unending, though he didn’t seem to notice them. His strong, solid body shivered with a wintry chill. “My lord—” said the butler. “When?” “An hour ago, my lord. She was sleeping, and the maids turned away but a moment. When they checked again…” “Father,” Orion said, his voice tumbling out in a wheezy half-shout. “Father, what’s he saying?” The Duke cried. He did not cry. He had never cried before, not once. Why was he crying? The Duke did not cry. If he stopped crying, things would make more sense. The butler sputtered. “We were about to send a messenger.” “No,” the Duke snapped. “Better not to dread it all the way home.” “Father?” “I want to see her. She is still in bed?” “Father, stop crying, please!” “As always, my lord. She was—she is peaceful.” One of the maids burst into tears, and Orion almost yelled at her to shut up, but his father was still crying. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. His father did not cry. “Where’s my mother?!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Orion, come with me,” the Duke barked, marching into the house and leaving a wet trail behind him and all over the front of his coat. Orion shoved anyone who got in his way, shoved away Dusty’s hoof when she reached out to comfort him. It didn’t make sense. It was insane. Fathers didn’t cry, and mothers… His mother couldn’t... He heard himself crying for his father to explain, to tell him what was happening. It’s all a joke, they’re just saying mother’s happy for us but can’t take the commotion, right? His ears shrank back when his father shouted at him to keep quiet. His entire body quivered and he collapsed on the stairs, everything swirling and going dark and cold. The precipice he stood on next to Celestia was there. Gaping. Waiting. Stop crying, father. Get up, Orion. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t walk. Dark spots swam in front of his eyes and the Duke had to drag him the last few steps. When he hit the top of the stairs a jolt of animal fear hit him, and his throat felt raw until his father cuffed him hard and held him by the shoulders so he stopped shouting nonsense. Look at me, son. He couldn’t look at his father. Not when he was crying. I want you to stay here. All the iron had fled from his voice. He sounded afraid. Hoarse and weak and far away. It made less sense than his tears. Fathers feared nothing and mothers did not and he wanted to see her. I wanna see my mom. Stay here, his father pleaded more than shouted, and stalked down the corridor, to the open door to Mother’s room. Orion fell forward by chance and staggered a few more steps, but Dusty was on him and he fought her like a wildcat with strength he didn’t know he had but he didn’t even know where he wanted to go. He pressed forward a few more inches, past maids and butlers and Dusty, craning his neck to see Mother and show her the maps and the ships. He saw his father’s back. A physician standing like a statue. The four poster bed and the soft covers he nestled in so many times, the whole picture frozen in warm candlelight. There was someone on Mother’s bed, someone thin and unfamiliar and horribly, awfully still. A white shroud covered her face and he did not know why. He didn’t know that pony. He didn’t know why his father cried. He didn’t know why his face was soaking wet and the floor was slick and his throat felt like knives or who kept shouting gibberish. No, screaming. They screamed so loud it hurt his ears and his ears also burned but his hooves were ice cold and his chest collapsed in on itself as everything inside fell over the precipice, tumbling down and down and down. His father's magic enveloped the door and slammed it shut like a slab of stone, and the noise seemed to crack the whole world in two.