“—and an entire flight of pegasi-guards outside your windows,” Aegis finished in a matter-of-fact tone. He’d began briefing her on the new security measures as soon as Celestia had woken up the following afternoon, and it had taken him the better part of an hour to explain all of it.
However necessary or unnecessary she felt the extra security measures were, Celestia knew she couldn’t fault anypony for wanting to have them in place. She still wasn’t quite sure whether or not they actually made her feel safer, but it was the thought that counted, and she definitely appreciated the thought. “Very good. Anything else I ought to know about that didn’t make it into yesterday’s recap?”
Aegis, who had once more been commanded to sit down and speak freely, tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Uhm... I told you about the riots, and I think I explained Sunny Scrolls treatment of troublemakers and nobles alike... then there were...”
“The dragons, yes,” Celestia finished for him, trying not to let the small ember of irritation that had sat with her all throughout the night shine through in her voice. “I meant anything else.”
“I don’t think I mentioned anything about the Captain of the Guard, or lack thereof?” He flashed her an embarrassed smile. “The reason Sunny Scrolls wanted me and Rook to help her was because everypony knows us as your bodyguards, and I think she hoped it would lend a measure of authority to what we said. Among the guards at least.”
“A lack of...” Celestia frowned. “You mean to say the Captain of the Guard has disappeared as well? Do we suspect another assassination attempt?”
The embarrassed smile Aegis had given her, turned to a worried frown. “Princess...”
“Stonewall wouldn’t go down without a fight. Say what you will about the stallion, but he knows how to handle himself in combat.” Celestia smiled grimly. “I doubt he’d have had any trouble handling a few second-rate assassins.”
“Stonewall hasn’t been Captain for over a decade, Princess,” Aegis replied shamefacedly. “He was relieved of command when he refused to share information about an investigation he was making into smuggler rings here in the castle.”
Celestia vividly remembered the stallion’s powerful build, and his prideful demeanour, but couldn’t for the life of her remember relieving him of his duties.
“The council decreed that he was being deliberately obtuse, and fired him in your name,” Aegis helpfully supplied at her questioning look. “They even turned his name into a verb with a particularly nasty connotation.”
“And nopony ever thought to appoint a new Captain of the Guard?”
Aegis shrugged helplessly. “Last I was told, the decision was being sent ‘up the chain’ which I guess means that there’s a document about it buried somewhere in there.” He tilted his head towards Celestia’s writing desk, and the stacks of papers that seemed as insurmountable as ever. "Day to day decision-making simply shifted down a rung, which was working fine until...” he shrugged helplessly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well until now, I guess."
Celestia waved the notion away with a hoof. Even if such a document existed, there was no reasonable way to find it, if she’d even cared to in the first place.
She didn’t.
“Anything else?”
“We got word from the team looking into into the Duchess’ disappearance earlier today,” Aegis continued, picking up where her left off. “There was no sign of the mare herself, and there was nothing incriminating in the Blueblood mansion. The investigators are wondering if she was involved at all.”
Celestia nodded silently. She was under no delusions about her relationship with Blueblood. The mare likely had little but disdain for her, and the feeling was mutual.
As much as she disliked the mare, however, she had some redeeming qualities. The Duchess was no books-in-hoof intellectual, but had nevertheless become a savvy politician. Many of Equestria’s best trade routes and deals had been negotiated by her, for instance, and she had diffused tense situations among the noble houses on more than one occasion.
In that same vein, she had actually made significantly more friends than enemies while expanding the esteem of house Blueblood. She had, with sheer personality, managed to make peace with the one or two noble houses that had been long-standing opponents, and had even set a precedent by trading with predatory races like the gryphons when few others had been willing to even entertain the thought. Because of those achievements, Celestia could not help but respect the Duchess, even if she was a pain in the rump on a personal level.
That respect, too, was mutual. Or so she hoped.
“Oh, right,” Aegis continued, after a moment’s delay. “Twilight’s parents came by.”
That brought Celestia out of her short-lived musings. “They did? What did you tell them? They weren’t in here were they?” She cast a furtive glance around the room, feeling self-conscious and vulnerable. Not to mention the sudden awareness of the relative silence that permeated the room. Notable only because of absence of Twilight’s questions. And only now, after being prompted, did she remember Twilight herself saying something similar.
“I tried to assure them that Twilight wasn’t anywhere near the attempt, but they didn’t seem to believe me,” Aegis explained with a look as if he was still trying to figure out how they’d known. “So I told them that the castle is the safest place in Equestria right now.”
Celestia arched an eyebrow. From the conversation she’d had with Twilight Velvet, she doubted that either of Twilight’s parents were so easily dissuaded if they truly believed otherwise. “And? Did they buy it?”
Aegis shrugged. “They made me promise to protect her with my life,” he said with a dry smile.
Celestia nodded thoughtfully. She’d expected as much after her conversation with Twilight’s mother. “Did you?”
He almost scoffed and turned it into an awkward cough. “Of course I did. She’s always near and around you, Princess, and at this point I’m not about to let anything happen to either of you.”
It was a heartfelt statement, if, perhaps, a little presumptuous. Celestia appreciated it all the same. “So where is Twilight?” She asked, subjecting the room to another, more overt search.
“I sent her off with Rook.” Aegis shifted his neck, trying to work the stiffness out from their long conversation. “He volunteered to help Sunny Scrolls again, and I thought it might be interesting for her to see how petitions work.” He smiled. “And even if it isn’t, it’s better for her to be bored in the throne room than liven things up by making another splatactular appearance.”
Celestia smiled, and shook her head. It was time to take some action, and while she herself still needed to rest, that didn’t mean that others couldn’t help with the reorganization. “Would you say that Sunny’s hunch has merit to it?” she asked.
“About the guards following our lead?” Aegis shrugged. “I think so, Princess, although I haven’t exactly asked a lot of them. Rook could probably tell you with more certainty.”
“Good enough. Do you know anypony in the guard with an eye for leadership potential?”
Aegis got up and snapped to attention. “Yes, Princess. My drill sergeant always made examples of the ponies that would rise highest. He gave them harder tasks than the others.”
So either an eye for it, or nurturing leadership through training... Celestia shook her head again. It didn’t matter. Right now it would serve its purpose. “I imagine he worked you to the bone then.” It wasn’t a question, and Aegis didn’t respond like it was. “Tell him I want him to find our next Captain of the Guard. For now, you’re acting captain.” She held up a hoof and nodded before Aegis had even opened his mouth. “I know, I know. I meant Rook. Tell him that he’s acting captain.”
Aegis grinned but paired it with a respectful salute. “As you wish, Princess.” He turned and headed for the double doors but came to a halt before going through them. “Will you be alright, Princess?” he asked, looking back with a concerned frown.
Celestia motioned to a pegasus squad that passed by the windows. “I doubt I’ll have a lot of privacy for the foreseeable future, but yes, Aegis, I think I’ll be fine.” She let out a sigh and got up gingerly. If she was forced to rest, the least she could do was work on correspondence and the like. “Oh and Aegis?”
The guard had almost closed the doors but stuck his head back into the room immediately. “Yes, Princess?”
“After you’re done with that, could you bring Twilight to me?”
He nodded.”Yes, Princess.”
After the doors closed, Celestia looked at the piles of horror on her desk, and thought better of it. She left the papers for what they were and walked back to her bed, letting herself collapse on top of it, and draping the covers around herself like a cocoon like she’d seen Twilight do. It was a little hard to do without magic, but it was wonderfully warm. Perhaps, she thought to herself while snuggling into the covers. Perhaps indulging and resting a little would not be such a bad idea after all.
Though she’d been in the throne room before, Twilight had been too preoccupied with getting the Princess’ attention, and subsequently with not dying, to take in much of the architecture. Now, after gawking at it for a little while, she came to the conclusion that it was a very pretty room.
The throne itself was obviously the first thing anypony noticed whenever they entered the room. Big enough to seat almost four fully grown ponies, or about a dozen fillies of Twilight’s size, it nevertheless looked softer than any bed Twilight had ever seen. It was adorned with gold filigree of course, but Twilight didn’t care about that nearly as much as most ponies seemed to. All in all, it was a monolithic centerpiece that inspired awe in the young filly. Which wasn’t too say that the rest of the room was anything other than opulent.
From carpets with clearly defined embellishments that, while pretty, also helped separate the audience from the petitioners, to the symmetrical columns that held up the ceiling, to even the roof which had a painting of a flight of pegasi on it. All of it made the rest of the castle look like a shabby cottage in comparison. Or at the very least a much more... sober place.
Unfortunately, the prettiness of the throne room could not hold up against the utterly uninteresting things happening within. Ponies came and went, asking for all sorts of difficult things like ‘arbitration’ and icky things like where to put a new public restroom. One pony wanted to know how the Princess was doing, the next wanted to know if funding for schools would be cut (As much as Twilight loved learning, she didn’t like schools very much, so that one sounded fine to her) and yet another wanted to know why the weather team was late with the rains.
In a word: boring. Not helped in the least by the fact that Rook had hardly even acknowledged that she was even there after they’d arrived. Most of the time, he just stood there like a big dumb statue. The only indications that he was even alive came in those rare occasions when Sunny Scrolls asked for his input, or when he stepped in to make ponies quiet down.
From what Twilight knew of Miss Sunny Scrolls, she seemed to be a nice enough mare, if a little strict with the rules. She remembered the Princess mentioning that Sunny had been in charge of handling some important paperwork for her, but hadn’t had the time anymore after she’d started overseeing court. Twilight now knew why. Even if anypony liked doing this sort of thing, there were simply too many petition-ponies for one pony to handle all by themselves. And from the looks of things, Miss Sunny didn’t really like doing court, though she was really good at getting ponies to agree on things. While Twilight didn’t understand what most of the explanations and conversations that were being had Miss Sunny patiently listened until ponies were finished, and sometimes asked other ponies that sat right below her for their opinions on things before giving them an answer. She looked like she’d swallowed a sour grape the whole time, though. Maybe even several.
Nopony asked Twilight anything. She’d tried to amuse herself by following along with the court happenings, but that quickly and decisively went absolutely nowhere. After that she tried practicing the illusions spell, which could have helped if Sunny hadn’t shot her an even more sour look after the second attempt. Lastly, she’d tried to play a little game with Rook, trying to guess which roles ponies would play in books going by their appearance. He didn’t participate. If only the Princess were better. Twilight didn’t know how long ago they’d arrived in the throne room, but it already felt like forever.
It was another forever of silently watching court proceedings before anything interesting happened and even then, it wasn’t what Twilight had been hoping for.
She, and several other ponies, were pulled out of a slumbering trance when the two big doors to the room were thrown open, and a group of ponies made their way inside. The pony that had caused the trance rambled on as though nothing had happened. It didn’t look like he’d even noticed. “And as you can see on this graph, the northern part of the country is experiencing a drought that could be solved simply by—”
“We demand the head of Duchess Blueblood!” One of the mares in the front of the pack of ponies yelled, startling and silencing the previous speaker, which she pushed aside with a look of disdain.
Twilight thought the mare looked kind of pretty. She had a bright blue mane and a simple earth colored coat, but she looked like she’d taken a bath in sapphires. Every few inches, her coat was interrupted by a another sparkling gem, and her makeup followed the trend set forth by her mane. Unfortunately, the disdain that seemed etched into the mare’s face all but ruined the effect it was supposed to have. It did however, make her seem imposing, and Twilight didn’t want to talk to her if she didn’t have to.
Miss Sunny had no such qualms, and her agitation shone through in her response. “And what makes you think you have the right to demand something like that, Countess Thoroughbred? Has she wronged you personally?”
Sunny’s reply seemed to take the mare aback. “Well, no, not as such, but she masterminded the attack on the Princess.”
“Based on what evidence?”
“She’s been undermining the Princess’ authority at every possible occasion, and furthermore, she hired those assassins that posed as tutors!”
“So you have evidence that she was aware that they were assassins when she hired them?”
“Well... no.” The mare floundered for a moment before redoubling her efforts in an even louder tone of voice. “But she still ought to be punished!”
“Rest assured, if and when we find her, Duchess Blueblood will be held accountable for the wrongs she has committed.” The entire group of ponies that had barged in cheered. “That being a given, however,” Sunny continued over their cheers. “We have no conclusive proof that she has done any wrong beyond being a disruptive force in the castle. You ponies on the other hoof, are interfering with court affairs, making baseless accusations at the address of one of Equestria’s eldest noble houses, and are sowing distrust. Which is not to speak of the problems your earlier actions caused the throne and the Princess by extension. I could have you jailed for any and all of these, but out of respect for your own supposed nobility, I will refrain, for now.” Sunny Scrolls shifted a little on the throne and whipped her tail behind herself menacingly. It looked a lot like a cat toying with a mouse to Twilight. “So do us all a favor and kindly remove yourself from the room before I ask the guards to do it for you.”
There was some sour grumbling from the group, and more than a few hackles were raised, but it seemed like none of them actually dared talk back after Sunny’s response. She kind of reminded Twilight of a very strict teacher she’d had.
“Fine,” The mare leading the group said finally. “But don’t think this is the last you hear of us. If something isn’t done soon we won’t be the only ones here demanding justice be served.”
“Let me worry about that, thank you.” Sunny retorted angrily, making shooing motions with her hooves. “Why don’t you all go organize a garden party or something? Some of us have real work to do.”
There was more sputtering, but in the end the nobles left with a minimum of fuss, and a measure of order returned to the court. And with that order, the boredom returned as well.
For a time, Twilight managed to entertain herself with what-if’s and maybe’s. What would she do if she were a Princess? She would definitely make cookies a staple food, and require ponies to read at least one book every month by law. Maybe she’d become a powerful Queen one day? There would definitely be lots of dress-up dinner diversions and plenty of play-pretend parties. In either case, she didn’t want to hear one word about ‘court’ or anything like it.
What if ponies tried to hurt the Princess again? That one, she really didn’t want to think about. And luckily, A messenger pony (a creamy white pegasus that looked familiar) saved her from having to entertain the thought. The pegasus came up to the dias from one of the side doors, and headed straight for Miss Sunny. She bounded up to the regent and excitedly began whispering into her ears.
The messenger pony wasn’t the first one to have shown up during court proceedings. They had been coming and going even before Twilight and Rook had arrived at the courtroom. It was, however, the first time that Sunny held up a hoof and called for silence from the trio of ponies that were presenting their argument for a new and improved pegasus taxi service. “A moment of patience, please,” She told the room before turning to the Pegasus.
“Tell me again, Seabreeze. Without skipping every other word if you would?”
“I lost the baby dragon!” Seabreeze almost yelled, her voice cutting out just before ‘baby’ as her eyes darted over to the spectators down below. That did not, however, mean that Twilight couldn’t hear her.
Baby dragon? Twilight had always thought that the baby dragon she’d hatched during her exam, had been given back to its parents. Now, while Seabreeze told Sunny of how she had turned her back on the baby for ‘just a moment’ however, Twilight realised that that wasn’t the case. Moreover, she was sure that the Princess would have given the baby back to its parents as soon as possible, so if she hadn’t...
Maybe it doesn’t have any parents? Twilight wracked her brain trying to remember what to do when an animal didn’t have any parents. According to the ‘Nature’s Preservation’s Guide’s Guide to Nature Preservation’ animals would have to be given to caretakers to be... well... taken care of. She didn’t know if dragons counted, however, since she’d heard the two massive ones that visited the castle talk, just like any old pony.
Furrowing her brow she delved deeper into the stores of knowledge excessive book reading had provided her with. Maybe dragons were a little like chickens. Smarter, obviously, given that the ones that had visited the castle after the... problem had apparently talked to Sunny. From what she knew of chickens, the mother always hatched the eggs. Did that mean that she was its mother? Another crease appeared in her forehead. If it didn’t have it’s own parents, or worse, it’s parents didn’t want it (hens didn’t much care for peeps they hadn’t hatched themselves, right?) then what would happen to it? She imagined having no parents to tuck her in at night, or read to her, or tell her things would be alright when it seemed they wouldn’t ever be alright again.
The thought made her sick in her stomach. It felt awful, and if it felt awful for her, then it must be really REALLY awful for a little baby dragon. With a resolute nod directed at herself, she got up. If nopony else wanted it, then she had the responsivabilitiness to take good care of it.
After a glance at Rook and Sunny and a sneaky tip-toey motion towards the door she vanished from the throne room. There was a baby dragon she needed to take care of. She just needed to find it first.
Rest and relaxation. Celestia understood the concept, but it seemed like every time she put the concept into practice, it felt slightly off. Like a dress that didn’t quite fit, laying down in bed doing nothing made her uneasy after a time. She was used to doing. Acting. Making decisions.
Being forced to rest, was several times worse still. It did, however, give her ample time to think and plan. Political restructuring, criminal investigation, even an actual lesson plan for Twilight. That last one was likely the most important one. The duel had shown her something she should have seen from the start: Twilight was not a unicorn... not a magic user in the way her other students had been.
Magic was understood by most ponies to be akin to a scientific subject, like math. There were right and wrong answers when it came to spells or their application. A plus B equaled C, and if it didn’t you were doing it wrong. The magic that resulted from that thinking was still more than flexible enough for most anypony, although the archaic manner in which it was taught was a little cumbersome. For Twilight, however, magic was art. A creative endeavour that could be changed. Molded into something that fit the situation.
Twilight was definitely going to have to learn to turn the valve on her magic reserves, (Throwing an entire lake full of water at a kitchen fire was rarely the right solution.) but Celestia now saw that it was less about teaching her sequences and formulas, and more about teaching her... well, everything really. Creativity thrived on a wide range of experiences, and perhaps that was more important to teaching Twilight magic than anything.
As such the new and improved lesson plan, such as it was, included a lot more general lessons. Math, astronomy, and literature, were in there, sure, but she had no doubt that Twilight would handle those subjects with aplomb. Learning to draw, write, and maybe even dance were much more important. As were the things that Celestia couldn’t really plan for, like trips outside of the castle.
Teaching her to think outside of the box wasn’t solely for Twilight’s benefit, however. The more Celestia mulled over the dream-that-wasn’t-a-dream, the more she believed it was a premonition of sorts. For all the details that she couldn’t quite recall, two things were very clear.
The first was, that the elements hadn’t ‘disappeared’ Luna entirely. She believed that once again. She had to.
As for the second thing... She would never get to the place, or time, or what have you, where she could have her sister back on her own. She needed Twilight. Perhaps even more than Twilight needed her.
Twilight, an adorable filly who had stolen herself a place in Celestia’s heart from the first lesson she’d tried to give. Twilight, a filly wise beyond her years, who had told her it was okay to cry, when she herself had forgotten. Twilight, a scared young child who had stood up to a dangerous assassin because she didn’t want to leave Celestia alone.
Twilight, who would pull her through the barrier that separated her from the future in which she could have her sister back.
Celestia shivered when a chill ran down her spine and looked around her room. Flowers had heralded spring some time ago, and her room wasn’t especially cold. Perhaps she was just getting too used to having blankets wrapped around herself. She tossed them off and gingerly stepped out of bed. There was no reason for it, it was some time after noon and after Aegis had left, all had been quiet. But then, that was kind of the problem, wasn’t it? It was too quiet.
She needed somepony to talk to. Somepony with whom she could share her hopes and dreams without being called crazy. Already halfway to the balcony, she froze mid-step. Would ponies believe her if she told them it was a premonition? A vision? Given the rumors about her supposed ability to ‘burn’ away ponies’ magic, they probably would.
It was an alarming realisation to have. Luckily, it came with its own version of a silver lining. While Celestia was convinced that Twilight would, somehow, be the key to getting her sister back; she did not believe that it was preordained or anything like that. Even if it had been, she always liked to play it safe. If ponies really believed that she could foresee the future, then perhaps she could influence them to make whatever Twilight needed to do that tiny bit easier.
Out on the balcony, she was struck by just how cold the winds were, and made a quick(ish) trip back to the bed to bring her sheets along. She draped them around herself and looked down at the city for a moment, before looking up at the sky. The sun hung behind her, she could feel the warmth of its rays on her shoulders, but right now, she wanted to talk to its sibling. Her sibling.
The sun, imposing and bright as it was, helped her in whatever way it could. It was a constant companion. A friend. And in the same way having somepony to help carry a large cabinet made such a thing easier, for her, the sun made it easy, obediently rising and falling with the barest touch of her magic.
The moon, by contrast, did everything it could to make it harder. It was delicate, in a way, but nevertheless a huge influence in its own right. It behaved more like a cat that needed to be coaxed out of hiding, hissing all the while. Sometimes there was simply no way of getting around the time restrictions, and Celestia had even wrangled it. before it would begrudgingly do as she asked. Celestia chose for the latter and hoisted the moon up into the sky, heedless of anypony that might quirk an eyebrow. Or panic.
Lacking the brilliance of its sister, the moon appeared in the sky as an apparition of it’s more common nightly splendor. That did not, however, mean that the imprint of the nightmare wasn’t clearly visible to Celestia. She despised the monster and all it had cost her, but she hadn’t pulled the moon out of its slumber to experience that pain.
She had somepony she wanted to talk to.
“Hello, Luna,” she began, trying to look past the face on the moon, and into the memory of what Luna had been like. “It’s me again.” She chuckled at herself, it wasn’t a happy chuckle. Of course it would be her, nopony else even remembered Luna.
The moon offered no response. The frozen image of the ‘Mare on the Moon’ simply looked off into some distant star, utterly impassive.
“Sorry I stopped talking to you. I guess... I guess I ran out of ways to say ‘sorry’,” Celestia shook her head and looked up again. “I guess that’s not really true either. Sorry. Life has been... hectic, and I guess I just didn’t feel like I could bear thinking of you every day.” It was an honest assessment of how she’d felt. Almost brutally so, and she felt the truth of it as a maul to her heart.
Taking a long moment to banish the dour thoughts that assailed her, she instead tried to think about what she wanted to tell with her sister. There was so much she wanted to share. Decades of experiences and developments both within the technological and without. Centuries even, but she did not have the time to relay all that had happened. She found she could not even properly remember it all.
“I want you to know that I’m doing well,” she told the moon after waving to and waiting for a pair of Pegasi guards to fly by. “I’ve fired the council for being a bunch of work-shy annoyances, and even promoted one of my aides to court official.” The last part especially brought with it a deep sigh. Celestia had no doubt that Sunny was trying her very hardest to keep that part of the system running, but it was clear as crystal that the mare had a lot to learn still.
She wondered if she should tell Luna about the attempt on her life, but decided against it. Luna had always been somewhat of a worrywart. “I took a new student,” she continued, with a small smile. “One of the brightest fillies I’ve ever met. Even if she’s more than a little headstrong...” Her train of thought didn’t so much derail as it simply decided to go walkabout. “But thanks to her, however indirectly, I know that you’re still out there. Or at least, I hope you are. I guess she’s given me a fool’s hope.”
It was strange to think of Luna as being alive without knowing where she was. Where could she really be? The moon felt like an obvious place, until you went there and checked. Celestia had checked. “So, I guess I’m wondering how you are doing... and hoping that you’re having pleasant dreams, wherever you are.” She could not imagine it being a very happy place, whatever it was. Being blasted by the elements of harmony was supposed to be a punishment after all. Dreams, at least, would give her little sister no trouble. She took comfort in the thought.
“I will bring you back,” she finally said after waiting for another patrol of Pegasi to pass. “Somehow.”
Routine was the death of a creative mind. That was the philosophy that drove Mead to experiment with his dishes nearly constantly. Repetition was unavoidable, of course. He did work in a kitchen, and had a responsibility to see to the dietary needs of those living in the castle. Big breakfast, buffets for lunch, and lavish dinners, those were unavoidable, although he frequently changed the menu for each, to keep things fresh. In his experiments, too, some repetition was necessary. You didn’t design a good dish in one try, after all.
He could say with pride that he had made more mistakes than edible dishes. Four times as many by his conservative estimate. As far as he was concerned, that was the only way forward. It was an ideology that more often than not caused some delay during the crunch times of morning and evening as he frequently rearranged cooking utensils to keep everypony on their toes, which, he hoped, kept their creative juices flowing.
Today had started out great. Hot Plate had suggested they try a quiche buffet for breakfast. An unusual suggestion to say the least, but he hadn’t seen any reason to disagree. It had been a great success to the point that many breakfast goers had come by the kitchen to express their satisfaction and asked if they could do it again sometimes in the near future. That in turn had boosted the spirits of the cooks, inspiring them to come up with more new ideas.
Then, after another failure (a souffle recipe. No matter what he tried, it always deflated within minutes) he had the brilliant idea to use it as a base instead. Filling it with egg and pieces of roasted carrot and sweet peppers, and he’d turned it into a delectable looking dish.
Yes, today was going well.
Thought that wasn’t to say that there weren’t some challenges. No matter how many positives in the day, the entire castle seemed on edge ever since the attack on Celestia. Mead personally felt that there was little to be done but wait for her to recover (and hopefully create some excellent dishes that helped speed up that recovery) but he could understand the consternation. For as long as ponies could remember their Princess had been an immovable rock upon which their view of the world was based.
Some of the cooks were still making rookie mistakes because of nerves, and it slowed down everything. For Mead, however, it just meant that he would have to work a little harder. He was no stranger to hard work, and pressure also lead to some of the more interesting things in life.
“Mister MEEEEAAAADDDDDDD!?”
And things were about to become even more interesting. Honey Mead laughed to himself and shook his head, wiping the suds and water from the dishes he’d been doing off on his apron before turning around. “Hello, little mi—”
Twilight zoomed past him, and he almost missed the tiny column of smoke wafting from the top of her mane before Twilight dunked her head into the sink he’d been using mere seconds ago. While Mead could think of more than one question to ask the young filly, his first thought when she resurfaced was a comparison to when one of his daughters had given the cat a ‘bath’ in the toilet. That then lead him to wonder what Twilight would look like as a cat, which made him stifle a chuckle.
The two of them looked at each other, neither saying a word. Then, suddenly, Twilight yelped and spun around in a circle trying to get at something on her back. For a moment Mead was convinced that some other part of the filly had caught fire, perhaps due to some sort of failed spell. The truth of it was much more interesting.
Twilight whirled around and tried in vain to pry several locks of her mane from the grip of a tiny dragon that sat on her back. The dragon was cooing happily, oblivious of the torment he was inflicting on the filly, and unconcerned by Twilight’s flailing. Mead chuckled at the spectacle and grabbed a ceramic pot from a nearby cupboard. He then nudged the back of the little reptile’s head, blowing on the fin like protrusions at the side, earning himself the dragon’s attention.
“Here you go little buddy,” he said warmly, pulling the stoppered lid from the pot and deftly pulling out a pickled gherkin which he then waved in front its face.
The dragon sniffed the air, cooing softly when it smelled the gherkin, and let go of Twilight’s hair in favor of the apparent treat on offer. The shift in weight almost made it fall from Twilight’s back, but luckily, that was something Mead had anticipated. Three decades worth of parenting experience caring for four little devils of children had prepared him for much worse.
He smoothly caught the baby dragon on one of his legs and gently lowered the baby dragon to the floor before looking it over with a keen eye. “And who might you be?” The dragon had, in true baby fashion, lost the first gherkin in seconds and responded only in the form of two outstretched paws towards him. He gave it another cucumber and turned to Twilight instead. “I see you’ve found a friend.”
Twilight groaned softly and pouted at the burnt hairs of her mane. “He’s not a friend,” she said earnestly. “He’s my baby.”
“Your baby?” Mead looked over the little dragon once again, trying to find any sort of resemblance. The fins didn’t match, and obviously the species didn’t, but the coat did. He shrugged to himself and handed the baby another gherkin, if only for the image of a little dragon with a gherkin in each claw, and the perplexed look on said dragon’s face. It was obviously having trouble deciding what to do with such abundance. Come to think of it, it wasn’t all too dissimilar from how Twilight had looked at the breakfast spread a few weeks back.
Mead chuckled to himself. “I can see the similarities. When did you get him? And where have you been hiding him all this time?”
“I hatched him!” Twilight all but shouted while she endeavoured to climb onto one of the counters. She met with limited success by using a small stool Mead’s own kids sometimes used when they needed to stir a pot. It slipped away just as she pushed off, leaving her dangling from the counter by her forehooves. Before Mead could move to give her a helping hoof, however, the filly reached for a pan she probably thought could use for leverage, but which sadly dumped both her and the pan back onto the floor. Luckily, the pan had been empty, having just come from Mead’s soapy water. Twilight’s grousing was audible from underneath. “That means I’m his mommy,” she said after pushing the pan off and righting herself.
“I see...” Mead said thoughtfully. The young dragon had decided that both gherkins were equally worthy of its attention and had stuffed both of them into its mouth, sucking on them with equal measure of wonder and glee. It stopped when Mead lowered his head and cooed happily before going back to its meal. “What’s its...” he paused briefly to recall the differences between male and female dragons’ fins. “...His name?”
“I don’t know,” Twilight replied, sitting down next to the dragon, reacting quickly when the little bugger lost his balance and gently laying him down onto the rough stone floor of the kitchen. “I don’t think he has a name yet... wait... it’s a he?” She looked from the dragon, to Mead, and back to the dragon. “How do you know?”
Mead scooped up both Twilight and the dragon, depositing them on one of the kitchen counters when one of his cooks cantered past. “See this shell-like fin here?” He pointed at it with a hoof, while using the other to support the dragon’s back.
Twilight inspected the structure closely and thoroughly before she nodded.
“Well, that part is smaller and more oblong when it’s a girl,” Mead continued. “Has to do with their horns, which guy-dragons don’t have.” He watched twilight open her mouth, close it, open it again, and repeating all of that for about a minute until Mead was pretty sure she just couldn’t settle on which question to ask.
“Oblong?” Was the word that finally passed the filly’s lips, along with a healthy dose of confusion.
Mead chuckled, reminding himself that the filly he was talking to was only eight. “More stretched out. Longer but thinner.”
“Oh.” Twilight inspected the side of the dragon’s head again, before asking: “How do you know all of that, mister Mead? I tried looking for books on dragons, but the library only had breezytales.”
With a grand clearing of his throat, Mead sat down and began. “When I was younger, not quite as young as you are now, but still little more than a colt for all intents and purposes, I traveled the world. I hadn’t gotten my cutiemark yet, and I was searching for what made me special...”
Grand tales were Mead’s forte. He could go on for hours upon hours about the interesting (or uninteresting) things he had experienced throughout his life. Some of those tales were even true. Before he could get properly settled in his latest one, however, a big ‘clang’ and a string of yelled curses pulled him back to his domain. “I’ll tell you later,” he said with an apologetic smile before getting up to help out.
The problem turned out to be one of the kitchen’s cauldrons. It was a monstrosity in sheer size, easily as big as five ponies stacked atop one another. It had ruptured, covering a big part of the kitchen in withers height viscous meal, ruining several other dishes when it swept over a few counters. Luckily, the only casualty was Turnip’s favorite apron. Worse was the fact that those contents were in fact the stew they kept in reserve in case anypony needed anything to eat quickly during the off hours. Pandemonium reigned in the kitchen, as it often did, ponies screaming at the mess and at one another, while Mead shouted his orders over all of that.
He barely registered Twilight trying to help out with a mop she had found Celestia-knew-where. She was being more than less than unhelpful, but he didn’t feel the need to tell her that. What he, and the other cooks did very much register, however, was the dragon bursting into tears once or twice. Dragon or not, baby or not, the kid had an impressive set of lungs. Much to the relief of everypony, he quieted down quickly when Twilight abandoned her cleaning to hug and talk to him instead.
With the mess cleaned up, and dinner still hours away, Mead went back to Twilight and her new companion. He found the baby dragon sleepily looking up at Twilight, while the filly made grand gestures with her hooves. She’d sat down, and put the dragon in between her hind legs so that he could lean against her, much in the way that Mead had done with his own children when they were still younglings. Heck, he still did so with Pepper Pots, his youngest. Twilight did not seem to be aware of her audience’s waning attention, but then, she didn’t really know dragons in the way Mead did.
“And then once we find the special potion that makes you stronger, you’ll be bigger than a mountain! And I’ll be a princess and we’ll go flying. Every. Day,” Twilight finished her story and smiled at Mead. “Hey, Mister Mead. Is everything fixed now?”
Glancing over his shoulder, Mead eyed the pot. It would take a while before that one could be replaced. “More or less,” he replied. Looking back at the pair, he just caught the young dragon’s eyes flutter closed, and smiled in turn. “Have you come up with a name for him yet?”
“Spike,” Twilight declared proudly. “His name is Spike. Or maybe Spikes.” She closed her forelegs around the little drake for a hug, but proceeded so tenderly that Mead wondered if he’d misjudged her awareness. “I wanted to call him ‘Grapes’ first, because he’s purple with a little bit of green like you sometimes see when they’re not ripe yet? But I thought that ponies would make fun of him at school with a name like that. So then I wanted to call him Shelly because he came out of an egg with like... a shell, but then I thought about it some more, and it seemed even worse.” She frowned, shrugged, and hugged her dozing dragon a little tighter. “But then I noticed his tail has these very small spikes on it, and he seemed to like it. So that’s his name.”
Mead nodded. Spike, or Spikes for that matter, didn’t really sound like a great name to him either, but he had learned that it was far easier to let foals figure out their own mistakes. And even if Twilight didn’t change her mind, he was sure that it would be seen as a normal name in no time at all. Little Twilight seemed to have a knack for getting things to work out in her favor. Perhaps it was Celestia’s influence. That mare always got what she wanted sooner or later. Speaking of Celestia... “Shouldn’t you be with the Princess?” He asked belatedly.
Twilight shook her head. “Aegis insisted the princess needed her sleep, so he told me I could explore the castle as long as Rook knows where I am,” she said, keeping her eyes on Spike.
Mead was pretty sure that she was lying, but figured that as long as he looked after her, returning her to wherever it was she needed to be could be postponed for a little while. He put a hoof to his chin, wondering what keeping the filly busy could entail. Had it been one of his own kids, he would’ve dumped them behind a stove and gone from there, but with Twilight it wasn’t quite that simple. With a soft smile and a shrug, he went back to his dishes. It was always an option, but before he could do anything of the sort, he would first need to get everything ready for dinner rush.
“Mister Mead?” Twilight asked a good five minutes after he had gone back to work. “How do you know so much about dragons? Can you teach me?”
He smiled again and beckoned her over with an inclination of his head. Twilight took a step towards him, but then looked back at Spike with uncertainty. “He’ll be fine, Twilight. You and I can both keep an eye on him there.”
“Right.” Twilight finally smiled back and made her way over to him. It took her a little bit of doing. Hopping down and climbing back up until she could sit down next to where Mead was working. “Mister Mead, what do dragons eat?” She asked following it up with a giggle. “Hey, that rhymed.”
“In a moment,”Mead replied with a smile. He put away a freshly washed plate and picked up the next one. “First, I wanna know where you found him. Last I remember, the Princess doesn’t exactly keep dragons in the castle.” And if she had, then why hadn’t he heard about it?
“Like I said, I hatched him.” Twilight glanced back at where she’d left Spike. “He was part of my entrance exam into the school for gifted unicorns— or I guess not him, but at his egg was.”
It sounded incredible. Unbelievable, even. Mead had, once upon a time, had a conversation with Celestia’s about her philosophy on the trials. Simply put, the lesson young unicorns were supposed to take away from it was that perseverance was more important of an atribute than success. The challenges were not designed to be overcome. Much as he liked Twilight, he wasn’t quite ready to believe that the filly may in fact have done the impossible.
“So you’ve been hiding him in your room all this time and simply forgot to tell me about it?” He quipped, deciding to keep the situation light. Just because what Twilight told him sounded implausible, didn’t mean that she was lying after all. And somepony doing the impossible? Well, he had seen, firsthoof, that the impossible wasn’t always that.
Twilight giggled softly. “No, silly,” she said, shaking her head. “I thought his parents had come to take him away, but then I found out that they’d lost him somewhere. So I started looking around and found him chewing on his own tail.” She fell silent after that, looking around the kitchen much like she had the first time she had set hoof in there, although there was the occasional glance at the dra— at Spike, who was still happily suckling on his twin gherkins. Mead, just about done with the dishes, wondered if she was looking something specific. Before he had the chance to ask as much, however, the inevitable happened.
“Twilight!” Rook’s voice thundered through the kitchen. The guard was not a soft-spoken pony at the best of times, the sheer volume was enough to give Mead a headache. The guard stomped down the staircase and marched over to the filly who, in turn, scrambled over to hide behind Mead. “What do you think you’re doing sneaking away like that? Are you mad?!”
“I didn’t sneak away, I was just—” Twilight began from behind Mead, half sticking out of the dishwater she’d scrambled right into.
“Just what?” Rook demanded, looking past Mead as if he wasn’t even there. “There’s half a platoon of guard guards out looking for you and— Is that the hatchling?”
“Yes! I found him!” Twilight said defiantly, suds and the fact that she was still hiding behind Mead notwithstanding. “He was all alone in a small alcove near the Dining Hall and I—”
“You weren’t supposed to go looking for him in the first place,” Rook growled. “You were told to stay with me while the Princess rests. Is it really so hard for you to follow orders?”
“I was! It was just so boring, and then I heard that there was a baby dragon in the castle, and that he was missing and alone, and didn’t have any parents. So then I thought to myself: Why doesn’t he have any parents, and then I realised that he had to be the dragon that I hatched during my exam!” A small purple hoof flew by in Mead’s peripheral vision, letting him know that Twilight had likely been gesticulating wildly the whole time. He had to stifle a chuckle. “But there were dragons at the castle earlier, and if they didn’t want him, then he didn’t have anypony... or anydragon... I guess. So I tried to—”
“Quiet!” Rook shouted. “Every single time we find out you ran off on your own you manage to get yourself tangled up in some kind of disaster.” He had been looking around the room while Twilight talked and pointed at the disaster that was the cracked pot. “As soon as I heard that there was some trouble in the kitchen, I knew that I would find you here. What happened this time? Did you cast a spell on it?”
“No!” Twilight shouted back empathically.
“Then what? Teleported into it? Did you try cooking by yourself? What?”
Mead sighed heavily and shook his head. He knew Rook to be a stern but fair stallion and guard, but over the last couple of weeks he had become stricter than ever. Even to the point of being unfairly harsh towards ponies that clearly didn’t deserve it. Twilight certainly didn’t. “She did nothing wrong, Rook. The darned thing was simply old.”
Rook arched an eyebrow. “Well, I’m sure that she’s done something—”
“Rook, walk with me for a moment wouldja?” Mead said, draping a hoof around Rook’s neck. He was almost a head shorter than the robust stallion and likely wouldn’t have been able to move him had Rook resisted. The guard seemed amenable, however, and together they walked over to a different part of the kitchen where the sounds of everyday cooking would keep their conversation relatively private whereupon Mead turned to Rook and asked. “What’s going on with you?”
“What do you mean what’s going on with me?” Rook asked defensively. “I’m just telling that bratty unicorn that she can’t just do as she pleases all the time. We have rules for a reason and she’s no exception.”
Mead took a long look at the stallion in front of him. For an Earth pony, and especially for a Royal Guard, Rook was surprisingly not built like a cover model for the Colts Illustrated magazine. Rather, he was a more heavyset stallion, and not in the way that Mead was either. Where Mead had muscle, Rook had muscle. Where Mead had flab, Rook had muscle. And where Mead had fat, Rook had... more muscle. All of that strength, combined with his grey coat and lighter grey mane, did little to dissuade the comparison to a particularly strong boulder, even with the inclusion of a golden harness and helmet.
But while he looked powerful enough to lift a house by himself, he also looked tired. Bedraggled. Like he hadn’t gotten enough food or sleep for at least a week, or given the recent developments, perhaps two. His armor was still mostly shiney, but the plume of his helmet was in disarray, and every so often, Mead thought he could see the slightest of tremors running through the stallion’s frame.
“She’s only eight years old, Rook,” Mead said quietly. “I can only imagine how difficult the last few weeks have been for you, but that doesn’t mean you take out your frustrations on a kid.”
“I’m not—” Rook began defensively before stopping when Mead held up a hoof.
“Look, it’s not like you and Aegis don’t normally have everything under control. Frankly, I’m often amazed by how much you manage to get done by yourselves. Even with everything going wrong, you two kept most everypony together.” He paired the praise with a big smile and clapped the stallion on the shoulder. “That being said, even you have limits. I’m not gonna lie, you look less like a guard right now, and more like something the cat dragged in.” Mead nodded his head to the other side of the kitchen where Twilight was watching them apprehensively. “Is she really the biggest problem you’ve seen? Or can you admit that, even for you, it’s all a little too much right now?”
Rook clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times before sighing. “You’re right,” he said tersely. “She’s not. But I can’t admit that it’s too much. Not now.” When he looked back at Mead, the stress was clearly written on his face. “We’re on the edge here. Not just on edge, but on the edge. The Princess needs time, and don’t know about you, but I’m not gonna be the one to tell her that we let the country fall apart because she had to take some time off.”
Mead nodded. “Gotcha. But maybe you can leave some of the small stuff to me? Like that filly and the little dragon guy too. They might’ve had a big impact, but they’re pretty small. You’ve got more than your fair share on your plate already, and I could stand to do a little more. Burdens shared’s burdens halved, as my wife always says. Besides, she’s gonna havta learn how to cook eventually, if only to make sure that she doesn’t starve herself again.”
“The Princess made her my responsibility,” Rook said after a prolonged silence. “I couldn’t ask you to—”
“You’re not asking. I’m telling you. I will take care of the both of them.” Mead nudged Rook with a shoulder and walked past him back to where Twilight was. “Burdens shared’s burdens halved. Just let the Princess know I’m keeping them busy. You go and grab yourself a sandwich or twelve and take a break.” He waited for the lump of muscle to do just that and then made his way back to Twilight, grabbing a towel from the side of one of the kitchen counters and tossing it over her. “Now,” he said, grabbing a few ingredients to make something to eat for Twilight as well. “Where was I?”
The towel turned into an undulating mass for the few seconds it took Twilight to get it off of herself after which she looked at him with a smile. “Uhm...” she began. “You were going to tell me how you knew Spike liked gherkins?”
Mead laughed. “Right. Right. So there I was, a young colt who had just gotten his cutiemark setting off alone into the wilds of—”
“But you said you didn’t have your cutiemark yet!”
“Did I?” Mead scratched his head. “Well, don’t mind that, it doesn’t really matter to the story anyway.” He cleared his throat and set the stage with the sweep of a foreleg. “So, there I was, galloping through a field of geysers with nothing on my back except my cooking equipment and a sleeping bag...”