"She has your coat, you know," I say. "On the other hoof, she's also exactly what you'd expect from a mix of Shiny and me. But I'd like to believe she gets it from you, at least a little."
"I am not certain how to react to that statement," my guardian replies.
"Her eyes are all Shiny's, though. Through and through. I always wondered if she'd have amber eyes, like yours. Kind of a long shot, I suppose?"
The ancient unicorn inclines her head at me. She seems thoughtful, elegant, wise. A little exotic, too; her breast collar and leg bracelets are elaborately ornamented in a long-lost Unicornian style. That's okay. Grandmares ought to look a little out of fashion. It adds to their gravitas.
"I am not certain how to react to that statement," she says, again. "My knowledge of heritable traits and the relative probability of their expression across multiple pony generations is limited."
I chuckle. "Oh, that's so you! Classic Mom."
"I am not certain how to react to—"
"Little Flurry Heart really is adorable. I know all parents say that about their foals, but I really do think she's above average on the foal front. I'll bring her down here to show her to you soon, I promise. I just need to be a little more confident of her telekinetic control." I give a quick glance to the cluttered shelves and racks surrounding us. "Some of these old armaments you have down here may be a little too, um, fragile. For Flurry, that is."
Mom's eyes snap into sharp focus. "I am prepared to give you an inventory of the contents of this chamber," she says. "Including a comprehensive analysis of the structural integrity and relative fragility of each item found herein. Would you like that inventory now?"
"Maybe later," I say. The Crystal Armory is Mom's area of expertise; as usual, she'll go on and on about it if I let her. "What I really came down here to ask you about is Flurry's words."
"There is no charm nor enchantment with the name 'Flurry's Words' present in the armory. Please describe either its physical form or its intended effect so I may help you locate an acceptable alternative."
"Flurry's so very vocal, but as of yet, she's not talking. Twilight tells me that it's not unheard of for fillies and colts to say their first words at one month of age. Flurry's well over a month old by now, but she still mostly babbles. It's adorable babbling, of course, but I'm worried that maybe she's a bit language-delayed. But then again, none of the foals Twilight's dealt with were alicorn babies, so the timeline could be completely skewed. I know you're not an alicorn either, but you're her grandmare. Do you have any idea how long I should wait? Part of me wants to give it time, but if she's going to need language intervention, I want to start it sooner rather than later."
Mom appears to think this over for a moment.
"I am not certain how to react to that statement," Mom says. "My knowledge of the linguistic development of alicorn foals is—"
"—Limited, I know. But, hear me out. Mine is limited too. So is anypony's. There hasn't been a new alicorn birth in over a thousand years, and I'm really struggling with knowing whether or not Flurry is meeting all her developmental milestones. Can you tell me this: am I doing the right thing by waiting?"
"I am not certain how to react to—"
"I understand. You don't want to overstep your bounds. But I'm desperate here, and I'm looking for a little guidance. Velvet thinks everything is fine. That's Shiny's mother, by the way; I can't recall, have we ever talked about her?"
"One moment while I search through the memories I have of our previous conversations." Mom's eyes go distant for a moment, then focus on me once more. "The name 'Velvet' has not been mentioned by you in any previous conversation we have shared."
"Well, she's very sweet. Shiny loves her dearly, and she's a true Celestiasend when it comes to helping to watch over little Flurry Heart. She's upstairs watching her right now, in fact. My point here is that I really, really don't want to mess up her language development. I'm thinking that it can't hurt to have as many opinions as possible before I try and make up my mind, so I thought I would come to you."
"I am not certain how to react to that statement."
"Please," I say. "Put aside your job for the moment. As her grandmare. What should I do?"
Mom pauses. She watches me for a moment. Her eyes are analytical.
"I am not your child's grandmare.”
"Mom—"
"I am not your mother," she continues, her voice frustratingly even. "I am—"
"I know who you are," I say. "Believe me, I know. You're Amore the Third. My great-great-to-the-nth-degree-grandmare, last queen of the Crystal Empire. But I never knew my birth mother, and my entire adoptive family passed away some time ago, so you're the closest thing to a mother I have."
"I am not Amore the Third," Mom says.
"Right," I say, looking away. I know full well what's coming next.
"I am an enchantment bearing the basic likeness of Princess Amore," Mom recites. "I was placed in this chamber a thousand years ago, on the cusp of the Empire's overthrow, to safeguard the potent spells herein. My duty is to ensure that only ponies of great kindness may access the contents of this room. I exist to keep dark forces from claiming this arsenal. This was, and is, my only function. This is the—" a brief pause "—five hundred and forty-fifth time I have expressed this purpose to you."
"I know. I know. I'm sorry. I get very emotional in this room. You look just like her, sound just like her..."
"I am not certain how to react to that statement. You have indicated to me that Amore the Third's dissolution at the hooves of the Tyrant Sombra came many years before your birth. Though I am able to tell you that I was made in her image, it would not be reasonable to say that you have any practical means of comparing my likeness to hers. It is likewise not reasonable for my appearance to evoke in you memories of an emotional connection the two of you shared."
"You don't understand," I say. "Of course I feel an emotional connection to you. You're my Mom."
"I am not your mother."
I squeeze my eyes shut. "Can't you just...pretend to be my mother for a little while?"
"I exist only to judge."
"See? You're not far off! That's what most mothers exist to do!"
"I am not your mother. I am an enchantment—"
"Don't. Please."
Mom goes silent. A flicker of magic momentarily distorts the translucent lines of her perfect cherry-blossom face. She waits, placidly, on my next words.
"You're not just a random security enchantment," I say. "I know you're just a few recorded hours of her life, but you're the only few hours I've got."
"I am not certain how to react to that statement," Mom says.
"And you're not just a simple recording, either! You're more like a tiny slice of her. A recording couldn't interact with ponies like you do."
"Interactivity is key to my function. I was placed in this chamber a thousand years ago—"
"There must be something in there," I insist. "You can't just make a full-size judgmental talking illusion of yourself without including a piece of the real you. Intentionally or no."
"I exist only to judge."
"No," I say. "No. I refuse to accept that. If you really, truly, honestly existed only to judge, you would be an intelligent door lock. Glows green to admit ponies of great kindness and compassion, glows red to refuse anypony else. Simple. Done. But you're more than that! You have a voice. A face."
"I am an enchantment bearing the basic likeness of—"
"Tell me more about your hair-chain," I say. "I've been admiring it from the moment I first saw you. I just adore the way it drapes around your horn. Who gave it to you? Is it one of the Empire's lost crown jewels? A family piece?"
She pauses, as though in thought.
"There is no charm nor enchantment with the name 'Princess Amore's Hair-Chain' present in the armory."
"It's right there. Right below your horn."
"I am an enchantment bearing the basic likeness of Princess Amore," Mom says. "Any adornments to my visage are visual replicas of those worn by Princess Amore at the time this enchantment was cast. I have no further information than this."
"Nothing?"
"I am afraid not."
I frown. The expression does not look good on me. Aunty Celestia once told me my face would freeze like this were I to hold on to it long enough. "Please help me," I say. "I'm looking for something, anything in this room that you had some sort of personal connection with."
Mom's face literally and figuratively lights up. "I am able to assist you in locating such an item!" she says.
"Wonderful!" I reply. "What am I looking for?"
"The Lapidoptera Box!" she says. "This item fits the criterion you have just mentioned. Proceed to shelving unit seven, second shelf from the top, third cubby from the right."
"'Lepidoptera'?" I say, picking my way through the time-ravaged arsenal toward the proper shelf. "Something to do with butterflies, right?"
"And 'lapidiary.' Because it is a jewel box. The name is a subtle pun. Gifted to the Empire by the legendary Mage Jasmine Flower. It is said that a pony who faces a hail of arrows need only open this box to transmogrify the incoming projectiles into a swarm of harmless butterflies."
With some effort, I locate the exact cubby that Mom has indicated. Inside is a delicate box of alabaster, covered in the filigreed images of butterflies and ladybirds in flight. I imagine it sitting on Mom's vanity, an innocuous jewel case with a hidden strength known only to her.
"Tell me the story of you and this box," I say.
"Once upon a time," Mom says, "Princess Amore the Third plucked that very box up from that very shelf..."
"...Yes? And?"
"...And she recorded a message about its origin and function so as to properly catalogue it in this armory. She then proceeded to put the box down. This concludes my account of Princess Amore's interaction with the Lapidoptera Box."
A moment of silence.
"Okay. Acknowledged. Please tell me another story about you and this box."
"This is the only story I have about Princess Amore's interaction with the Lapidoptera Box. Please note that the charms and enchantments in this armory were acquired over many years. Most were not the personal possessions of Princess Amore herself."
"You said," I say, desperately trying to keep the scolding tone out of my voice, "that you had a personal connection with that box."
"This is true. Once upon a time, Princess Amore the Third—"
"I know! She picked it up, recorded a message about it, and put it down again! What good does it do me?"
"It is said that a pony who faces a hail of arrows need only open this box to—"
"I understand! If I'm ever facing down a hail of arrows, I'll make sure to think of this box that you picked up one time and then put down again!"
"You are searching for something in this armory," Mom says. "Something you are unable to locate."
"Yes!" I cry out. "I am!"
"Please state the nature of the danger you face so that I may recommend an appropriate defense."
"The danger I face? You want to know the danger I face?"
"Yes. So that I may recommend—"
"The danger I face is that I'm trying to be the mother of a beautiful, challenging daughter, and to be the princess of a beautiful, challenging empire, and I feel so...cut off. From my family, my heritage. Everything that a normal pony would lean on at a time like this!"
Mom is silent before my screed, her gaze—as always—endlessly patient. I continue, in a much smaller voice. "Shiny and I have brought the Empire back from the brink of re-destruction at least twice now, and we've brought a child into this world, and I keep feeling like we're doing it completely alone."
"I am not certain how to react to that statement," Mom says. "Please state the nature of the danger you face—"
"I don't know if what I'm doing is right or not! In school, all the tests had answer keys! The teacher would go over your test booklet with a red pen and tell you exactly what you did wrong and what you did right! Shiny and I don't have that!"
"Velvet," Mom says.
"Pardon?"
"You have identified 'Velvet' as 'Shiny's mother.'"
"Okay. You're right. We have Velvet."
"And she gives you advice on how to raise your child."
"Yes," I admit, shuffling my gold-booted hoof against the dusty crystal tiles.
"You have also identified an 'entire adoptive family.'"
"Yes. Also yes. A kindly old couple, craftsponies, in a tiny village at the edge of the Undiscovered West. They were earth ponies, and I was their little foundling pegasus foal. They loved me, and I loved them, but I don’t think they ever really understood the needs of young sky-ponies. And then there came the incident with the witch, and the, um, unicorn horn, and then Canterlot, and Aunty Celestia...and she taught me manners, and poise, but she was never really a mother. She's a whole steamer trunk full of issues and complexities. Whereas you're so...perfect."
"You have indicated to me that Amore the Third's dissolution at the hooves of the Tyrant Sombra came many years before your birth. It would not be reasonable to say that you have any practical means of judging her perfection relative to any external standard. Is 'perfection' a necessary prerequisite for the advisor you seek?"
"No, of course n—"
"Have all the listed ponies given you advice on how to live, and how a child should be raised?"
"Yes, but—"
"You have in hoof the weapon you have requested," says Mom. "My service is complete."
"Wait," I say. "Okay, yes, I see what you're saying. Don't go."
"I am here," Mom says. "For as long as you require my services."
There is a long silence as I struggle to form words.
"Do you still require my services?" Mom asks, after a minute.
"Yes!" I blurt out.
"All right," Mom says. "I am here. For as long as you require my services."
"I'm trying to ask you something," I say. "And I'm trying to phrase it in such a way that you won't just say that you're not certain how to react to it. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Mom says. "You are attempting to confine your questions to the areas of my expertise so that I will not express uncertainty."
"No, no, that's not what I'm doing at all."
"I'm sorry," Mom says. "Please rephrase your intent."
"I want you to say something real. Something you'd really say."
"Very well. Please tell me the nature of your question about this armory."
"I don't care about this armory!"
"I'm sorry," Mom says. "Please rephrase your intent."
I very nearly utter a most unprincesslike word. "Darn it!" I say, instead.
"I am not certain how to react to that statement," Mom replies.
"Are you proud of me?" I practically shout.
Mom is silent.
"You don't know how frustrating this is!" I continue, beginning to pace, my hooves clicking against tile. "I have all the time I need with the hours you spent cataloguing this armory and absolutely nothing of the entire rest of your life! I don't want to know about the boxes that turn arrows into butterflies or the spears that call lightning from the skies, or the gems that grow into impenetrable walls. I want you to tell me that you love me and that you're proud of what I've done!"
I stand there, quivering, for a moment longer. Then I slump.
"I am—"
"Please don't say that you're not certain how to react," I beg.
"Acknowledged," Mom says. "I am an enchantment bearing the basic likeness of Princess Amore. I was placed in this chamber a thousand years ago, on the cusp of the Empire's overthrow, to safeguard the potent spells herein."
"I know," I say, weakly. "You don't need to repeat it."
Mom processes this for a moment.
"When Princess Amore cast this enchantment," she says, "she was adamant that the dark-hearted unicorn who usurped her throne should never enter this armory. Princess Amore determined that only a truly good-hearted pony, a pony of gentle kindness, possessed of the virtues of humility and self-sacrifice, should have access to the potent spells safeguarded within this room."
I can practically hear the thaumaturgic sparks as the enchantment makes a desperate leap for a conclusion.
"The fact that you are in this room," she says, "is evidence enough that she considers you to be a good pony."
Tears well up at the corners of my eyes.
"Okay," I say. "That'll do."
"Do you still require my services?" the enchantment asks.
"Yes," I say. "Always."
"I am here," says the enchantment. "For as long as you require my services."
"Can you hold me?" I ask, my lip quivering.
"No," she says.
"Can you pretend to? Just for a second."
A pause.
"Yes," she says.
"There you are!" Velvet says, putting a bookmark in the massive old tome she's been poring over. "You were downstairs a long time! I was beginning to wonder about you."
"Bah!" says Flurry Heart, waving her hooves excitedly from within her playpen. I lift her up in my magic and set her gently upon my back. The object of my fiercest love proceeds to tangle her hooves in my mane and drool all over my withers.
"Sorry it took so long," I say. "I hope Flurry wasn't any trouble."
"A perfect angel most of the time," says Velvet. "And nothing I couldn't handle for the rest of it," she adds, with a wink. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"Something like it."
"Well, I'm glad you turned up more than I did." She glances back at the dusty old book, a look of dismay crossing her features. "That lovely young Sunburst has been an absolute gem at finding all these old texts about alicorns for me to look at, but I'm afraid some of them are a bit too scholarly for little old me. I can't find any notation in here of how old baby alicorns should be before they start talking!"
"I think we age peculiarly," I say. "Maybe there isn't a single right answer."
"Oh, well," says Velvet. Then her face brightens. "Guess we'll be going at it alone!"
"All alone," I say, smiling. "You, me, Shiny, Night Light, Twilight..."
"Yep!" says Velvet, missing my meaning. "We'll all just take our best guesses. Together, we'll figure something out. Do you think that'll be okay, hon?"
"I think that'll be just fine, Velvet," I say. Without quite even planning to, I give her a quick peck on the cheek.
Crinkles form at the edges of Velvet's eyes. "My gosh," she says, touching her cheek with her hoof. "I'm not certain how to react to that."
"Is it okay?"
"It's wonderful, dear. It’s just that you’ve never done anything like that before."
"I'm going to start. If that's all right."
She beams, bright as the sun.
"Of course it is," Mom says.
"Now, I want you to be very careful entering this room," I say, my voice sounding immensely sing-song-y and matronizing to my ears. It's a good Mom Voice. "Many of these charms and enchantments haven't stood the test of time, and many of the others can be dangerous if misused."
"Buh?" asks Flurry Heart, all aflutter.
"Don't worry," I say, with the smallest of laughs. "I've spent a lot of time with a friend of mine making sure that anything truly harmful is well out of hoof's reach." I pluck Flurry Heart up off my back and boop her on the nose. "Mommy's friend is very old," I explain. "She knew your great-great-great-grandmare very well. And I'm sure she'll just love showing a new face around."
I push open the doors to the glittering cavern that houses the secret armory beneath the Crystal Castle. The Guardian is there. I do not know if it is my imagination, but I believe I see the ghost of a smile on her impassive face.
"Empress Cadance, and Crown Princess Flurry Heart!" announces the Guardian.
Flurry Heart is positively aglow. Her tiny hooves struggle vainly to reach out to this new, friendly stranger.
"You are both judged to be good and kind ponies," says the Guardian, crossing to a table containing a small sampling of the armory's inventory. "Thus, you are welcome to this protected place. Crown Princess Flurry Heart, your mother the Empress has requested I prepare an age-appropriate selection of some of the charms and enchantments safeguarded within these walls. If you would care to begin?"
"You'll love this one, Flurry," I say, plucking up a thick, craggy-looking crystal jar from the far side of the table. A silvery fluid sloshes about inside it. I turn to the Guardian. "Please tell us all about this jar."
"You hold in your hornglow a flask of Alchemical Albedo. Useful for any encounter with cockatrice, basilisk or gorgon."
I uncork the jar and withdraw a small hoop from its depths. A thin film of gleaming liquid shimmers across the surface of the hoop. "Like a bubble," I whisper to my daughter. "Blow."
She sticks out her cheeks and puffs hard. I help, just enough. With our combined breaths, a small circle of silver flows out of the hoop, shimmers for a moment, and then stabilizes into a flat mirrored plane, hovering in midair. Flurry laughs and bats at it with her hooves, causing the mirror to twirl crazily about. As it spins, I catch glimpses of the three of us: a beautiful pink filly, her doting mother, and the ancient being who has judged us both to be kind and worthy.
We are all, in our own way, perfect.