//------------------------------// // Chapter 40 // Story: The Perilous Gestation of Swans // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// Lifting her head high—and feeling self-conscious for doing so—Celestia gazed over in Gosling’s direction while there was a brief lull in the onslaught of hoofshakers. For a moment, she envied him, a downright painful sensation that left a dreadful weight upon her heart, and she longed to have his sense of ease when dealing with strangers. He was eating this up and appeared to be loving every minute of it, while she herself had to play the role of princess. Truth be told, she wasn’t enjoying herself much at all. The line on the stairs was the same as the last gala, and the one before, and the one before that. Already, her hoof and fetlock were throbbing, bruised by those who just had to have a better grip than an alicorn, the need to squeeze as hard as equinely possible. Alas, she could not squeeze them in return as none of them would survive such an encounter unscathed. “Princess, I think ya need a break.” The commanding country twang made Celestia’s head turn, and she found Applejack standing beside her. Funny, she hadn’t seen the orange earth pony creep up on her. Had she been distracted? Maybe. Applejack was squinting, she was studying, and Celestia looked down upon her distant descendant with a raised eyebrow. “At some point, every mother needs a break,” Applejack began, and she dispensed her earthy, country wisdom in a fine, slow drawl. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my girls. Hidden Rose and Ambrosia are the best things that’s ever happened to me. I love them dearly, I do… but sometimes, sometimes… sometimes those little fillies are a huge pain in my hindquarters, and I get fed up with them. Big Mac says I get a look on my face and I done reckon that right now, you have that same look.” “Applejack… I…” Dumbfounded, Celestia’s words trailed off into a breathy exhale. “When a mother gets fed up, it don’t mean that she loves her foals any less, it just means she’s fed up. When I left Hidden Rose and Ambrosia with Tarnish and Maud, I was so relieved to be away from those little stinkers that I just about cried. And of course, my girls, they thought I almost cried because I was sad to leave them, and consarnit, I let them think that too.” “Applejack!” “Lettin’ go is important.” Applejack tilted her head back, wiggled and squirmed inside of her gown, and one hind hoof clattered against the floor. “Tarnation, I can feel sweat rolling down my belly and I can’t do a thing about it!” The rough mare gave herself an unladylike shake, and then, resorting to desperate measures, she gave a quick scratch to her stomach with one hind hoof. “You’ve had a rough go of things, near as I can tell. There was that whole thing with Mister Mariner, we’re beset on all sides by powerful enemies, so Twilight tells me, and ponies are mighty unhappy right now with the way things are. Everypony seems to expect for Mom to just have a magical fix, and so far, that hasn’t happened. Ponies are a bit peeved with Mom, and it seems that Mom is peeved right back. Right now, Mom’s got that look on her face, and as one Mom to another Mom, I can see it plain as day.” “Except I can’t just go away and take a break. I’m stuck in a house full of bickering foals.” “No, I done reckon you can’t, and yeah, I reckon ya are, and shucks, that’s not fair to you.” Snorting, Applejack tried to smooth out her dress, but each swipe of her hoof seemed to make the wrinkling problem even worse. After a few more half-hearted attempts, she gave up and ignored her mussed dress. Down at the base of the steps, the guard stood in a solid row, preventing access. Foals were dancing with one another, along with a few adults. Off on the other side of the ballroom, Gosling was dancing a lively jig with a filly, and Celestia watched while letting heave a wistful sigh. Realising that something was amiss, Celestia did a quick check of the room and then turned to Applejack. “Where is Pinkie Pie?” “Well, she had to work,” Applejack replied, her words more of a sigh than anything else, and she punctuated what she had to say with a short huff. “And she’s been staying with Tarnish too, because there’s another Mom in trouble, and that’s Trixie. She was worn real, real thin there and all of us was starting to worry about her. There’s been uh, uh, what’s Twi call it again? A concerted effort? Something like that. Anyhow, Pinkie is basically pulling double shifts and she just couldn’t be here tonight.” “She always makes a gala so lively. I was looking forward to her mayhem.” “I didn’t even want to leave my two little headaches with Tarnish and them, but Mac was busy, and my foalsitter got the flu. I didn’t want no stress and strain on poor Trixie, but Tarnish insisted that everything would be fine. At least Sumac gets to spend time with his cousins. I wish they’d stop teasing him, though, they’s powerful annoying.” Reaching out one wing, Celestia pulled Applejack a little closer, grateful to have the wise mare’s comfort. In thoughtful repose, she watched the gala, taking note of the many bright, eager faces. Little unicorns that might change the world someday. All around, the first steps of gawky romance were being taken by many and more established relationships were being forged by a few. Rainbow Dash was regaling a crowd of little unicorn foals with how she saved Rarity from falling to her death and performed a sonic rainboom. There was no sign of Rarity either and this made Celestia sad. Blueblood was working the crowd, baiting those whom Celestia absolutely could not stand and saving her from their soul-sapping banality. He was a smooth operator, Blueblood, and Celestia valued his service. The record, scratchy, skipped a bit, but nopony seemed to notice. Down below, the starry-eyed lovebirds were too focused on one another, the timid were too busy holding on to their courage, and the dancers were too busy having a good time. In a corner, Twilight was holding an impromptu story time and was reading a book to a group of foals huddled together. Clever Twilight had found a way for shy little bookworms to have a pleasant time and still be social with one another. It dawned upon Celestia that somepony had allowed Applejack access to the landing. Perhaps it had been Twilight. “Applejack… I have a confession.” “Well, go on, I has a whole bunch of those myself.” Smiling, Celestia had to hold back laughter because of Applejack’s response. “I’ve not been a mother. Not in the traditional way, anyhow. I’ve foaled more times than I can count, but being a mother is more than having a foal. After foaling, I’ve always had to pass off the care of my little ones to wet nurses, nursemaids, and nannies. An army of governesses have always reared my young. It was necessity, you see. A matter of time management. Other things took priority. Now, I find myself with a good deal of trepidation and the shadow of motherhood scares me.” In response, Applejack said nothing, but appeared to be chewing her lower lip while her ears pivoted to follow every nearby sound. Her mane, done up in an enormous bouffant, was breaking free of its restraints a few golden strands at a time. Applejack’s green eyes reflected the light, they twinkled, and she existed, oblivious, with no awareness or comprehension of her own exceptional natural beauty. When one golden strand fell down over her face, she puckered up the corner of her mouth and made several futile attempts to blow it back into place. “I think you’ll be fine,” Applejack said, banishing the break in conversation. “I wanna say that things are different now than they once were, but I don’t know that for certain. You do run a school and in my mind, being a teacher ain’t much different than being a mother. I mean, Cheerilee is practically a mom to most of her students. I raised Apple Bloom, but when my own time came, I was scared to death that I’d be a bad mother. I’d like to think I’m good at what I do, but that could be pride talking, sho’nuff.” After a moment, the little mare raised her head and cast a sidelong glance up at the much larger mare. “And let’s not forget that you practically raised Twilight Sparkle. Twi’s done told me stories.” “Thank you, Applejack.” “Don’t mention it, Princess.” “It was just what I needed to hear.” “I find that sometimes, we’re in need of a reminder of the obvious.” Celestia found herself taking a moment to reflect upon this, and with her wing resting on Applejack’s sturdy back, she nodded. With her head tilted off to one side, she watched as Gosling sat on the floor and played a clip-clop game with an electric blue filly that had a crazy pink mane. His tongue was out and he had an exaggerated expression of concentration that made him look absolutely ridiculous—which was perfect. Gosling was at his best when he was at his most ridiculous and Celestia found herself wishing that she was alone with him in private. “I suppose my break should be over…” Celestia retracted her wing, folded it against her side, and drew in a deep breath. “Thank you, Applejack, for everything.” “Aw, shucks, it ain’t nuttin’.” Grinning, she added, “I’m gonna go start a belchin’ contest ‘round that punch bowl over yonder!” From this height, from this angle, Gosling was a magnificent creature. Approachable, friendly, affectionate, warm, sincere, kind, the list could go on forever. Being this small offered a unique perspective, a reminder that a foal saw the world in a way that was fundamentally different than adults. Gosling, with his rubber ducky cutie mark and his face-splitting goofy grin, he was the sort of adult that was easy to approach. The whole of the world was different down here. Adults were giants, sometimes benevolent, sometimes scary. To a foal, the narrow chasm that an adult saw beneath the bed became a vast, yawning expanse rife with the potential for monsters, shadows, and things that went bump in the night. This very ballroom, which was quite cavernous by adult standards, was downright overwhelming when seen through a foal’s eyes. Alone in the crowd, the nondescript filly looked about, her wide eyes blinking only when absolutely necessary, and her ears listened to every sound with great suspicion. Why, even just the simple act of searching out potential threats became far, far scarier when one was this small, with the danger, real or imagined, feeling so much more dangerous. The mind in this body wanted to imagine, to pretend, it demanded to play and to run away on flights of fancy. This mind too, was young, just like the body, and this mind had needs. These needs were a distraction, a detriment, because there was no time to tell colts they were stinky, or to admire new styles of manes and tails on pretty fillies. There was only a constant neverending strain on the mind, pressure almost to a breaking point. Making it obey, making it conform, repressing all else—it all grew quite tiresome and was a struggle with no end in sight, no respite. Giving one’s self over to the whims of whatever body was being worn at the time was a dangerous, dicey proposition. One might ask for upsies or any number of embarrassing, awful things, and then the barrier became thinner. Should the barrier ever break, a loss of self might result, or maybe some worse fate. The outcome was unknown. This duality? Plurality? This indefinite state of ever-changing, ever-shifting existence threatened to shear the mind, but it was necessary. Lifting her head, the filly looked about, and her mind, already stretched thin with fatigue, tried to filter out potentially hostile thoughts. For a moment, her resolve slipped and hundreds of minds poured into hers all at once, unfiltered, unrestrained, all of the screams left echos in the canyons of her mind. Adultery! Scandalous thoughts! Lecherous perversions! Dread! Love! Warmth! Friendship! Arousal! Desire! Fear! Lust! Terror! Broken Heartedness! The sudden rush threatened to crush her mind completely and it was only with a great deal of strain that the filly regained control of her senses. One thing stood out, and that was a sense of longing desire for her. Fearful that she might be the target of some grotesque stallion, the filly homed in on the sense of need and saw a filly sitting in line, waiting for Gosling. She was small, vulnerable, scared, and had a powerful sense of desire for another filly. Probing deeper, there was confusion, guilt, shame, fear, and doubt. A dreadful sense that there was something wrong, something off. With this flood of emotions, a gradual realisation was reached: this filly had not yet made peace with who she was and she was consumed by fear. What dreadful dreams she did invite, what terrors did she call upon herself. The nondescript filly blinked once and then stood unmoving. She knew the unicorn foal’s fear and her undiscovered identity. In this body, with this mind, the sense of sympathy was almost overwhelming, almost too much to bear, and it was with great regret that the connection was severed. It was a detriment, a distraction, and had to be cast aside. Still, it felt nice to have caught some filly’s eye, to have been the target of wholesome, normal emotion. Not everypony was corrupt and there was still good in the world. Moving with a slow, methodical gait, the small nondescript filly prowled the crowd…