By the time Twilight returned to her private chambers, it was well after midnight. Her hooves dragged against the cold stone floor as it gave way to plush carpet, her eyelids felt heavy, and only practice granted her the aim with which to remove her regalia and silver-wrought crown and deposit them on the cushion set out by her attendants for polishing. All the same, a contented, almost self-satisfied smile played upon her lips.
After nearly six hours of intense debate, she’d managed to make them see her point of view. Oh, they’d found some dozen ways to try to wiggle out of it or sway her along another path; little Hipitéis had even tried his best to recant his previous points in hopes that it might entice her back to a more traditional means of answering the call. Her parents, cunning as they were, had latched right onto that and tried their best to steer the conversation down a path that would see her distracted and lose sight of her goal.
They’d taught her just a bit too well. She saw that fact reflected in their eyes, even as they nodded and adjourned the assembly with the results quite handily in her favor.
For a given value of “in her favor,” she would have to note, but despite the cold feeling and tightening in her throat, there was just something in her belly—apart from the squirming—that told her this was the path she needed to take. This was what was needed of her as the bearer of Magic.
Now, if only she could negotiate with her heart to return to its proper place in her chest so she could breathe. Saying it was one thing. Actually following through and enduring what might come was another matter entirely.
Going to Equestria in her natural form? Unthinkable! And yet, it was the best course of action she could see laid out before her.
Twilight gave herself a little smack across her cheek. “Don’t think like that, or you’ll end up backing out,” she scolded. Turning toward her vanity and closet, she lit her horn and summoned her travel bags from the top shelf. “Packing for the trip. That’ll keep my mind off things. Need to be ready for the trip tomorrow so this can be taken care of quickly, and I can return to my research.”
Happy thoughts. Cadence once told her happy thoughts were the perfect way to get out of a funk or tumble into anxiety.
As she began to pack her things, her thoughts began to wander to her dear friends. How would they react to her arrival so soon after the invasion? Both would have just as much reason to distrust changelings as any—more so, even.
How would the wedding weigh against years of friendship together?
A pair of gentle knocks against her door jolted her from her thoughts. Twilight turned sharply and found her mother standing in the open doorway, her face blank save for a glimmer of concern still in her ancient amethyst eyes.
“May I come in?” her mother asked.
Nodding, Twilight smiled back at her. “I’m hardly a nymph, I’m not going to lock you out of my room because you wouldn’t let me have sweets, mother.”
“True, though this time it seems you’ve won that argument.” There was a beat of silence, then she stepped in and nudged the door closed. A frown played upon her lips. “And so formal outside an official function? Can I not be ‘mom’ or ‘mommy’ again?”
“Sorry, mom.” Her cheeks colored. “Habit from the assembly.”
“I understand.” Sireadh Firinn forced a tiny smile, her eyes flitted toward the open travel bags and back to Twilight. “Eager to leave home,” she noted playfully. Slowly, she approached, her steps seemed almost laden with hesitation as she drew near Twilight. “I don’t think I’ve felt this way since you first visited Canterlot.”
With a little chitter of mirth, Twilight turned away from her packing and closed the distance so she could nuzzle her mother’s cheek. “Dad still tells me how you’d watch over the fire path like a hawk while waiting for our letters.”
“Yes, your father does love to tease. I’ll have to pretend I’m angry with him for that again. He does squirm so.”
Her mother’s hoof wrapped around her shoulders and tugged her close. For a moment, the pair were content to enjoy their embrace in silence. Their cheeks brushed together, Twilight could feel the tiniest of tremors in her mother’s hoof.
“I hate this deal, and I hate that I let her convince me to take it,” Sireadh muttered. Sighing heavily, she added, “And I can’t say I’m overly enthused you want to go waltzing through Canterlot’s gates in your natural form so soon after what that idiot did, either.”
“I know.” Twilight drew back to offer a pained smile. That idiot. And I can’t even defend what she’s done this time. Aloud, she replied, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a mess of nerves about this myself, but I don’t know if there’s a better way.”
Sireadh hummed. “I don’t know that there is. Unfortunately, this is a scenario I created the day Celestia asked our line to take Magic and wield it on their behalf.” With a heavy sigh, she regarded Twilight as if looking over her for the last time. “And now what I took up falls upon the shoulders of my beautiful little nymph.”
Twilight ducked her head to hide her flushed cheeks. “I wasn’t that beautiful when I was little. I was a sickly little thing.”
“Only for a short while. But you grew strong, and blossomed like the wonderful purple rose your father and I knew you’d become.” She leaned in and nosed against Twilight’s forehead. “And I have them to thank for the chance to hold you as I do now. How could I refuse to send my daughter to answer the call when Celestia’s students answered mine so many years ago?” Her eyes seemed to flicker. For an instant, Sireadh Firinn showed every one of her thousand-plus years. “I do have conditions.”
Of course. Why would she not during such times? “I understand.”
Sireadh released Twilight from her embrace and fixed her with a stern gaze, both parent and Queen of the Seekers all in one. “You will not go alone. You will travel with Silín Labhrais and three of her Black Helmets. She and I have already spoken on this, she’s making selections as we speak.”
A fair demand. Twilight nodded once. “I accept. It would put me a bit at ease to have another familiar face, and one who might help if needed,” she added.
“And ours.” Her mother flicked her tail. “Second, I’ve sent word back to Celestia. I expect you will remain in either her castle, Cadence’s apartment, or Night Light’s home.”
“I would add Shining Armor’s flat as substitute.” Before Sireadh could protest, she held up a hoof. “It’s close to the castle and barracks. You’ve not been there yet.”
Frowning, Sireadh sniffed. “Very well, but I prefer the three I know.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out in a slow sigh. “You’ll give them my regards, I hope.”
“Mom, please,” Twilight chided, a crooked smile spread across her features. She closed the distance again to catch her in a hug. “You know I will.”
“I do.” That small, sad smile began to spread across her features. Sireadh looked her over for a moment longer, then lit her horn once more. “My last is something you’ve put upon yourself with this decision,” she said gravely. “But I suppose I knew this day would come, if not a bit sooner than I wished.”
Before Twilight could question her, there was a burst of green light a mere hoof’s length from her mother’s shoulder. There, floating in place, was a gold necklace gleaming in the flickering candlelight. Its deep purple gemstone shone with untold magic.
The young princess felt a heavy weight fall upon her shoulders. “Mom, I—”
Sireadh placed it around her neck and stepped back to appraise her. “It suits you well,” she whispered. “You’ll be the perfect bearer.” Again, she drew in close and placed her hooves upon Twilight’s shoulders, and planted a soft kiss upon her forehead. “Never doubt that your father and I are proud of you.”
Words failed her. Twilight’s hoof went to the Element, touching upon the cool gemstone. She closed her eyes and reared up to wrap her mother in a tight embrace.
As much as Sireadh might complain about her husband being a complete goof and a bit of a pain in the rear, especially in how he’d happily share stories about her acting anything less than the pillar of Seeker society to those closest, there was one area she simply couldn’t find fault.
Behind those sky blue eyes so many students—changeling or otherwise—called enchanting, haunting, or even piercing should the mood strike him, was a brilliant mind packed to the brim with knowledge and wisdom the likes of which no Seekers save his wife could ever compare. But one area he held the top spot, and had for longer than any could remember, was preparation.
Halla Eolais’s winding tunnels and secret passages had been his design—guards and Black Helmets used them constantly to better accomplish their duties.
Twilight felt the urge to fidget as he stood before her, idly tapping his hoof as he glanced between her and the suitcase laying open upon her bed. A hint of a grimace, one part consideration, another displeasure at the situation, played upon his lips.
Worst of all, he was quiet. Far too quiet for her taste.
Certainly, she’d heard tales of her parents’ demeanor in times of crisis long before she’d hatched—her mother always wore a visage of utmost fury before she unleashed her rage at whoever threatened her hive, while her father was more cool and calculating. Worlds apart from the warm, doting father Twilight knew. Eolais ag Iarraidh’s wrath was terrifying, even by changeling standards.
It had been his devotion to the hive during his time as the earliest form of the Black Helmets that earned Sireadh Firinn’s attention and affection.
That very same devotion he’d always held toward his duty as a father to his one and only daughter.
Twilight turned her gaze away, finding a patch of slime trailing down the main entry chamber. “Are you upset with me?” she asked.
“I would try again to dissuade you from this path, but you would have cause to call my argument redundant,” he said, breaking his lengthy silence. “And I suppose I’d break our hive’s trust in the open forum debate—no armor? Not even mithril? Twilight, you can’t be serious.”
She winced, mumbling, “I wasn’t sure I should make my entrance wearing armor when I was meant to show that I came in peace. Also, wouldn’t Celestia and Luna take offense at an implication they couldn’t keep me safe?”
“Perhaps, but were it one of their daughters I wager they’d feel the same.”
“Cadence never came in armor or mithril,” Twilight retorted before she could stop herself.
Both royals flinched, Twilight at the thought of her oldest friends’ suffering—he under Chrysalis’s charms, her trapped in the caves beneath Canterlot and replaced at her own wedding.
She licked her lips and turned to face him again, bowing her head. “I’m sorry.”
Her father drew in a sharp breath through his nose. “She did not,” he murmured. “Cadence and Shining Armor came to us without need for such protection, because your mother and I vowed it ourselves to her as a member of the Royal House of Equestria, and he as if he were our own hatchling.” A low, dissatisfied chitter rolled in the back of his throat. “You learned our lessons too well.”
“I’m sorry,” Twilight repeated. “This entire thing has me just …”
“Flustered?” he offered.
“To put it kindly, yes.”
Despite himself, Eolas gave that crooked half-smirk which never failed to drive her mother insane. “You’ve chosen a path neither your kin, your mother, nor your father approve, knowing the risk it brings. Frankly, if you weren’t, I might think you insane or denying the gravity of the task at hoof.”
Twilight arched a brow. “I thought you weren’t going to try to dissuade me.”
“I’m not.” That smirk grew into a cheeky smile. “You inherited far too much of my stubbornness and your mother’s talent to see through my word games for me to try that after the assembly. At this point, all I could do to change your mind would be charming you or having the guards cocoon you until we could think of a better option—oh, don’t give me that look! I’m just saying!”
Just saying. Twilight’s eyes flitted about, keenly searching out any sign of one of her kin hiding in the corners or behind the slime trailing down the walls. No changeling in the hive played tricks or hid their meaning like Eolas ag Iarraidh.
How many times had the hive been protected without loss as a result of his trickery over the centuries?
Far more than even their history knew.
Perhaps it was no wonder, then, why when Twilight returned her attention to him, she was met with a familiar, proud smile. Eolas ag Iarraidh shook his head and said, “So much like your mother. Even if I tried, they couldn’t have hidden well enough no matter how distracted you were.”
“I have her wit,” Twilight reminded him, her lips tugging into a smile of her own. “And a loving father who taught me well.”
“Too well.” He trotted over and wrapped a hoof around her shoulders, laying his chin atop her head. “Far too well, the old fool. He never could resist that pouty lip and those eyes when they glistened with want and tears.”
Twilight made a sound the likes of which could never have come from a pony’s throat, sputtering as she pushed away to fix him with a playful glare. “I did not pout at you!” she huffed.
“So you always say, and yet …” His smile turned wicked. Eolas leaned down to peck her forehead. “Well, we’ll resume that debate upon your return. Though, could I not convince you to at least take—”
A flat stare cut him off. “I’m taking four Black Helmets,” she said, prodding his chest with her every word. “Silín among them. Anything else might actually offend Celestia.”
With another dissatisfied chitter, Eolas frowned. “True, I suppose.” Again, he wrapped her in a one-hoofed embrace and sighed. “I would prefer you take more than four, to be honest, but Silín felt that might be too conspicuous - even for this undertaking.”
Twilight hummed an affirmative. It was nice to know that despite her misgivings with the notion, Silín could put them aside and think the situation through.
“She’s selected three of her best,” Eolas continued. “They will stay with you at all times—if not openly by your side, they will follow unseen.” He glanced up, his smile returning. “Ah, and here they are now!”
Perking her ears, Twilight turned to greet Silín and three of her Black Helmets—all, thankfully, had traded their black armor out for the traditional green of the guards of Halla Eolais.
The disguised Black Helmets stopped two paces from Twilight and Eolas. Silíin took one further and bowed. “Your Highnesses,” she greeted warmly, then rose to stand at full height. She gestured toward her fellows with a wave of her hoof. “My team is ready to escort Princess Twilight to Canterlot. By your leave, of course.”
Eolas nodded once. “If I don’t give it now, I never will.” He turned to plant another kiss on Twilight’s forehead, lingering a second longer as if he feared she might turn into smoke the instant he let go. Sighing, he drew away and released her from his embrace. “You have my leave, as well as that of Queen Sireadh Firinn, Captain Labhrais.”
At the mention of her mother’s name, Twilight’s ears twitched. She turned to glance about, checking the distant corridor and the hidden stairwell leading to the Paca Plains Observatory. A tiny frown marred her face as she looked to her father and asked, “Mom didn’t want to come and say goodbye?”
His smile fell. “It’s not that she doesn’t want to, honey,” Eolas said softly. “You know how hard it is for her to let you leave home.”
“Ah.” Twilight shifted in place. So much for avoiding that. With a rueful smile, she ducked her head. “She’s never not going to see me as her sickly hatchling, is she?”
Eolas cupped her chin with his hoof, gently guiding her to look him in the eye. “She sees you as a brilliant young changeling, we both do,” he corrected. Leaning in close, he nuzzled her nose and added, “But to us, you’ll always be our hatchling. Sickly or not. We’ll always worry. Part of being a parent, I’m afraid.”
It took all her effort not to let the pang that shot through her chest show in her expression. Far be it from her to refuse their love and care, but Twilight was quite different from the rest of her kin. Even among the royals of other hives.
They hadn’t grown up stunted and sickly, constantly watched and guarded by the most capable changelings and a budding guard pony wherever she went. Not to mention the Eternal Sisters themselves.
So many had watched over her and worried for her health and safety all her life. Out of love, of course. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind of that.
But sometimes—just sometimes—Twilight wished she could go without their worry.
This could be her chance, she realized. Her battle with the tatzelwurm was certainly a boon to her, as proven in the assembly, but this?
This could be the chance to prove herself to the hive and put that image of the sickly hatchling behind her forever.
Turning her attention to Silín, Twilight nodded and cast a quick spell to shrink her suitcase and stow it in one of the pouches hidden in her old friend’s armor. After a moment to adjust the silver wrought crown upon her head, she turned to face the Gate of Eolais and motioned for the others to follow. Though, not after she reared up to kiss her father’s cheek.
“I’ll come back,” she whispered. “No matter what happens.”
“I know.” He leaned down to nuzzle into her mane and held her tight one last time. “Be well, Twilight.”
Once Eolas released his embrace, Twilight made her way to the gate, flanked by her guards.
“Disguises on from here on out,” Silín commanded. “We’ll drop them once we’re far enough away from the mountains.”
Standard practice to keep Halla Eolais hidden. So natural to each Seeker was it that all five had begun to shapeshift into their preferred disguises before she’d even finished the order. In place of the undersized Princess of the Seekers stood a unicorn of modest height, her coat the same color as her carapace and the starburst emblem of the Element of Magic surrounded by five lesser stars emblazoned upon her flank.
Twilight allowed herself a smile and contented sigh as she stepped through the high arches of the Gate of Eolais and felt warm sunlight bathe her form. Its gentle kiss upon her false coat never failed to bring joy to her heart.
As if Celestia herself wished to send thanks for her decision and entice her to come with the promise of warm welcome and love.
“Let’s hurry along,” Silín called, trotting along at a brisk pace. “I’ve arranged a guide to lead us through Paca Plains until we reach the forest, let’s not keep our alpaca friends waiting too long.”
“Is it that overly peppy one again?” one of the guards whined.
Another sighed and brought a hoof to his face. “If she flaps her legs in greeting, I won’t be held responsible for what I do, Captain.”
Silín fixed the pair with a glare. “You’ll behave yourselves and return her favor with gratitude and your protection! Changelings honor their deals, and I’ve given my word!”
Twilight tried to stay focused on her task as she watched her old friend scold her guards. Her mother had protected Halla Eolais and Equestria from monsters, armies, plagues, and curses countless times over the course of centuries. It fell upon Twilight’s shoulders to take up the mantle and fulfill that old promise.
Halfway down the slope, Twilight felt it—a tingle down her spine, like someone was watching. She turned, her steps slowing as her eyes tracked up until she found a particular spot, nestled in what most would think nothing more than a fissure in the stone.
In her favorite spot in the Paca Plains Observatory, Sireadh Firinn stood in her favored disguise—a beautiful unicorn mare of soft purple coat and flowing, pale pink mane. She gazed down at Twilight, their eyes meeting for but a moment, long enough to see the pain and pride in those ancient eyes.
Twilight watched as Sireadh slowly brought a hoof to her forehead, then her chest, then her lips before holding it out as if offering her mind, heart, and love across the distance. An old Seeker gesture, meant to bid their kin farewell and fortune.
Even as she walked, Twilight smiled back and returned the gesture. She could have sworn for an instant, she saw a hint of tears welling in her mother’s eyes. Her mind wandered back to that hug they’d shared the night before, so warm and full of all the love and care and worry her father spoke of.
Little did Twilight realize it would be the last they’d share in the world as it was.