//------------------------------//
// Part 15:  Fleur 
// Story: A Million Miles from Home 
// by TooShyShy 
//------------------------------//

It seemed Canterlot would have to wait.

Once Marble was steady—both mentally and physically—enough to talk, Lyra had no trouble getting the coordinates from her.  They were vague, as they had come in brief flashes.  But Lyra was able to make something of them.

“Under the floorboards,” Marble kept saying.

As they started off in the carriage, Lyra wondered.  She brushed her hoof across the newly-discovered book.  Other than apparently hiding some important secret, it didn't seem special.  So why should its effect have been so dramatic and strong for Marble?

Zecora meant for this to happen, Lyra thought.

It was not a question or a theory.  Lyra had abandoned all those bothersome maybes.

Marble was lying on her back, head propped up by a pillow from the shack.  She was sweating and pale, but she had otherwise recovered from the shock.

Night fell and their journey continued.

Lyra peeked out of the carriage window.  She couldn't see civilization in the distance, but she knew it was near.  They'd be hitting a familiar place soon enough.

Is my adventure just a big loop?  Lyra wondered.

First she thought they were heading back to Canterlot, now this.  There had to be a reason.  As soon as they arrived, Lyra was going to look for it.





Appleloosa hadn't changed.

But Lyra hadn't expected change.  There were certain places in Equestria—Appleloosa, Dodge City, even Manehatten to an extent—that seemed immune to change.  The entire world could have shifted and Appleloosa would have remained hot, intimate, and rural.

Lyra almost implored Marble to stay in the carriage.  She was afraid that Marble—in her weakened state—might collapse from the heat.  They had arrived early in the morning, therefore the temperature was especially oppressive.

However, Marble didn't even flinch as she stepped into the domineering Appleloosan heat.

Lyra wondered if it was an Earth pony thing.  Alternatively, perhaps Lyra had spent too much time in cities.

Marble squinted into the bright light.  She blinked rapidly to adjust her eyes.

“Are we here?”  she said.

Lyra nodded.  Her memories of the place were as fresh as ever, even though her last visit felt like a century ago.  The vague taste of Granny Smith's cooking came back to Lyra.  Tears prickled at her eyes.  Lyra wiped them away before Marble could see and ask questions.

“There's an inn...,” Marble started.

Lyra shook her head.

“There's a family we can stay with,” she said.  “I think at least one of them has been expecting us.”

Lyra and Marble unloaded the carriage.  They temporarily abandoned it next to the saloon, leaving it alongside many others.  Neither knew if they would be using it again.

The trek from the town to the Apple family house took longer than Lyra had anticipated.  It took her a few moments to realize that she was intentionally taking her time.  But even with this knowledge, Lyra couldn't increase her pace.  Her heart was slowly withering with dread.

It'll be fine, she thought.  Why wouldn't it be?

Lyra couldn't answer that question, but she also couldn't calm herself.

They reached the house after nearly an hour of procrastination on Lyra's part.  It looked exactly the same as Lyra remembered it.  It was the same old house occupied by the same old family.  It was Lyra herself who'd grown up, who'd become something entirely different in her time away.

Marble knocked on the door.

Lyra stood a little ways back, somewhat trying to make herself invisible.  Her mind kept dwelling on Granny Smith's kind face and the last words they'd spoken to one another.

The door swung open.  Lyra braced herself.  She didn't know if she expected anger or kindness.  She felt she deserved both in equal measure.

“Um, hi,” said Marble.

She stepped back and Lyra was able to see who stood in the doorway.

Lyra froze.  Her eyes squinted at this affront to reality.  There was no way.  Not in this place, not under those circumstances, not at that moment in time.  Lyra must have been trapped in some impromptu delusion.

But then the impossible apparition spoke, her voice all too familiar.  Lyra couldn't have mistaken that grumpiness if she'd tried.

“I was wondering when you'd come back,” said Moondancer.  “Took you long enough.”





As hospitality incarnate, Applejack rushed to make tea as soon as Lyra was inside.  She seemed surprised to see her, but not angry.  Then again, perhaps she was too busy playing the part of the hostess to comment on Lyra's reappearance.

Lyra sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hooves.  Her mind was sprinting a perfect circle around disconnected thoughts.  She thought everything made sense, but here was again something the equation had neglected.

“Why are you here?”  Lyra managed.

She sounded more ungrateful than she intended.  In truth, Lyra was relieved that Moondancer was alive and well.

Moondancer was sitting at the other side of the table.  She rolled her eyes, crossing her hooves on the table.

“Yes, I'm fine,” she said.  “Thank you for asking.  Am I in trouble?  No, I'm alright.  Thank you very much for your concern.”

Lyra was not in the mood for sarcasm.  As sweet as their reunion was, it had fried her emotions.  Everything she felt and everything she should have felt was mixed up in a panicked whirlwind.  What spilled out of Lyra's mouth attested to her own unseen turmoil of thought.

“Why didn't you contact me?”  she demanded.  “If I'd known you were alright, I would have come right away!  Do you think it's funny to just leave me in the dark?”

Granted, Lyra had done very well on her own.  But that wasn't the point.

Moondancer angrily adjusted her glasses.

“Hey, I was helping you,” she said.  “I left a trail for you to follow.”

Lyra opened her mouth to object, but she couldn't.  She tried not to see it, but the trail was spreading itself out before her eyes.  She saw gaps here and there, but altogether it was a very clear path.  Lyra realized why she'd felt as if she was being led.  Defeated, she sank down and put her head on the table.

“So the shack...?”  she said.

Something—perhaps fear—flashed across Moondancer's eyes.

“What shack?”  she said.  “I didn't send you to a shack.”

Lyra had a thousand other questions to ask, but she pounced on Moondancer's obvious distress.

“Me and Marble found it after leaving Los Pegasus,” she said.  “It was filled with books....”

She watched Moondancer's eyes.

“.....old clothes....”

There it was.  A subtle change in expression, a brief lapse in Moondancer's chilly demeanor.  It was gone quicker than it had come, but Lyra saw it.

“We don't know who it belonged to,” said Lyra.  “Whoever they were, I think they were a lot like me.  Somepony looking for the truth.  A pony chasing that one lost town.”

Moondancer looked directly into Lyra's eyes.

“You don't know anything,” she said.

Lyra raised her head from the table and smiled.  She liked seeing Moondancer shaken up, even if she was concealing it.  Perhaps it would give Moondancer some idea of how Lyra had felt for those past weeks.

“Yeah, you're right,” she said.  “But I'm trying.”

She hoped Moondancer would interpret that as an invitation, but apparently not.

Moondancer stared disinterestedly in Lyra's direction, their conversation at an unexpected and awkward halt.  It was almost a challenge.  Whoever broke the silence first won the game.

Applejack placed two cups on the table.

“Tea's ready,” she said.

They drank their tea in silence.  They made an effort to avoid eye contact.

Lyra held her teacup in her hooves, smiling into the light brown liquid.  Maybe she should be rushing to ask Moondancer those thousand questions, but she was in no hurry.  She had waited months for answers.  She could wait the few hours, days, or additional months it would take Moondancer to thaw.

I can wait forever, thought Lyra.

She felt as if she already had.





Lyra slept in a bedroom that night.  Big Macintosh insisted she take his bedroom.  She was too tired to protest.  Marble agreed to sleep on the floor, although Lyra would have preferred something even less intimate.

“Where's Moondancer going to sleep?”  Lyra wanted to ask.

But she didn't bother.  All she wanted was a bed and a good night's sleep.  Asking questions would only delay that wonderful serenity.

Unfortunately, Lyra didn't sleep.  Big Macintosh's bed was absurdly comfortable, yet she couldn't force her eyes closed.  She instead stayed awake, her hooves idly playing with the pages of the blank book.

She was beginning to doubt if the mysterious blank book was anything at all.  Maybe it only existed for the sole purpose of triggering Marble's abilities.  Perhaps beyond that it was just somepony's journal.  But why would somepony go to the trouble of concealing their thoughts with such a powerful spell?

“Moondancer, why?”  Lyra groaned to herself.

It was such an easy prospect:  apologize for her behavior and ask Moondancer those questions.  But at the same time, Lyra wasn't sure she would even answer.  Her mention of that shack had shut several doors between them.  If only she knew what had scared Moondancer, they could both move away from this unwanted obstruction.

The clothes.  Moondancer had reacted to the mention of the clothes.  But Lyra hadn't been paying too much attention to the clothes at the shack.  Other than the cloaks, there had been nothing particularly eye-catching.  There had been a sweater, but it hadn't looked like the kind Moondancer would wear.

“Why can't anything make sense?”  Lyra asked the air.

She shot a look at Marble.  Marble was fast asleep in her sleeping bag.  She hadn't stirred.

Nevertheless, Lyra made an effort to speak quieter.

“Spells,” she said.  “A music box.  A well that should be here.  What does it all mean?  What could Moondancer know?”

Out of her control, her voice rose in anger.

“And what does it have to do with Ponyville?”  she said.

She pressed both hooves against her head and closed her eyes.  Lyra commanded herself to think, to come up with something.  But her mind was empty of any of her usual theories.  Her brain had taken a break from churning out information and hints.

Lyra heard a tap on the window.  She didn't turn to look.  Instead, Lyra lay down and threw the covers over her head.

“Goodnight!”  she snapped.

But her visitor didn't seem to hear.  More likely, they didn't care.  The tapping started again.  There was no insistence to it, only a patient request for attention.

Lyra realized that she was on the second floor.  The pony tapping on her window must either be a pegasus or somepony who had mastered that elusive hovering spell.  Both ideas intrigued her enough for her to throw off the covers.  Curious but reluctant, Lyra turned to the window.

Fleur was outside.  At first glance, she seemed to be calmly standing on the air.  A second look revealed her to be floating, her hooves moving as if she was trying to swim.  She resembled some miserable specter.

Lyra opened the window with her magic.

“Do you have my stuff?”  she said.

Fleur stepped through the window and into the bedroom.  In the meager light, she was less of a specter, but there was an eerie quality to her slender form in the semi-darkness.

“I'm afraid it was confiscated,” she said.

Lyra laughed.

“Who are you, the bucking Royal Guards?”  she said.  “Who gave you the authority to confiscate my stuff?”

Fleur smiled gently.  It was a surprisingly motherly smile, like she was a guardian speaking affectionately to her nervous foal.

“You don't care anymore, do you?”  she said.

Lyra shrugged.  She couldn't muster up the energy to be scared.  After all she'd been through in the last days alone, facing her greatest fears seemed like a blessing.

Fleur levitated something out of a bag at her side.  It was a small vial of light green liquid.  She gave it a shake.  Still smiling in a motherly fashion, Fleur levitated the bottle over to Lyra.

Lyra gently pushed the bottle away.

“I'm not poisoning myself,” she said.

Fleur shook her head.

“Not poison,” she said.  “An amnesiac.  A powerful one.  One sip and the whole year is gone.”

Lyra stared at the bottle.  At first, she wasn't thinking about the offer itself.  She was thinking about the implications of losing an entire year.  She could go back to Canterlot.  She could return to her old apartment and be a happy oblivious truth-seeker.  Lyra could even take a few more sips and hopefully forget everything to do with her journey.  Fleur was offering her something she wasn't sure she could refuse.  However, her expression was one of defiance.

“Why would I do that?”  she said.

Fleur sighed and put the bottle on the table.

“I'm offering you an easy way out,” she said.  “I'm making it your choice.  If I wanted, I could restrain you and force you to drink it.”

Lyra raised her eyebrows, genuinely confused.

“Then why don't you just do it?”  she said.  “You're obviously way more powerful than me.  Why bother giving me a choice in the matter?”

Fleur sighed again.  Any trace of fabricated motherly affection had left her voice.

“I'm being kind,” she said.  “You're not a foolish pony.  You know what you really want.”

Lyra's head began to spin ever so slightly.  Amnesiacs, classified anomalies, ponies tailing her.  It was crazy.  But somewhere buried in all the madness, there was a nugget of sense.  A chunk of pure truth that Lyra was starting to dig out.

It wasn't just Fleur.  Lyra had suspected this all along, but now the fact shone brighter.

It was an entire group, a series of ponies interconnected by a combination of technology and magic.  Ponies bound to one another by a single goal.  Ponyville wasn't even half of it.  There was more, so much more that Lyra didn't know about.  The words “Anomaly 63-C” leaped out at her, their meaning becoming clearer the more she thought about them.

Fleur must have seen the sparks going off in Lyra's head.  She smiled rather sardonically.

“I knew you'd get there,” she said.

Marble turned over in her sleep and groaned, reminding Lyra and Fleur of her presence.  But she continued to sleep, cheerfully oblivious to what was going on inches from her.

“A secret organization...?”

Lyra nearly choked on the words.  She could hardly believe she hadn't noticed all the signs.  But it explained everything.  Above everything else, it explained the so-called “Anomaly 63-C”.

“Secret?”  said Fleur.  “I'm afraid you're only partly right.  Our little operation is fully funded by the princesses.  Although I am certain they know very little about our actual activities, we're hardly “secret” in the grand scheme of things.”

Lyra couldn't help being somewhat in awe.

“So you chase anomalies for a living?”  she said.

Fleur smiled in mocking sympathy.

“Yes, I suppose that's how somepony like you would put it,” she said.  “I assure you that it's more than that.”

She gestured to the bottle on the nightstand.

“Back to the issue at hoof,” she said.  “I believe you were about to take a swig from that lovely bottle.”

Lyra looked from the bottle to Fleur's face, her childish awe melting.

“What makes you think I'd do something like that?”  she said.  “What would you give me in return?”

Fleur grinned somewhat wolfishly at the question.  It was rather unsettling how she could go from motherly to businesslike and then straight to downright conniving.  Her voice and mannerisms shifted with such ease that it was clear she'd had practice.

“The thing you want most in the world,” she said.  “Or rather the pony you want most in the world.”

The color drained from Lyra's face.

“B--?”  she said.

She didn't dare say Bon-Bon's name.  Even though it was the name of a pony she loved, it suddenly felt cursed.

Fleur nodded, the wolfish smile not fading.

“I know where she is,” she said.

She gestured towards the bottle again.

“Take your medicine, Lyra,” she said.

Lyra's hooves began to shake.  She could already feel the tears.