Sharing the Nation

by Cast-Iron Caryatid


Chapter 6

— ✶ —

Twilight returned to the craterside at dusk, renewed and refreshed, to retrieve her saddlebags, but ran into one small issue.

Her inability to actually find them.

It shouldn’t have been difficult. Locating the small patch of craterside where she’d spent the more pleasant majority of her afternoon was embarrassingly easy, actually, seeing as she’d rather permanently marked it by adding a new crater to the craterside. Next, she thought that maybe she’d just been thrown a ways when she’d fallen into the crater. This was a reasonable conclusion, as she hadn’t noticed the damage on her return to the craterside, so she had to have been some distance away.

That said, reasonable though the conclusion might have been, it wasn’t actually helpful in divining the location of her saddlebags. Fortunately for her sanity, night had come as a prerequisite to her return, so she could actually divine the location of her saddlebags, in a manner of speaking. Referring to herself as divine was a little odd, though, so it was simpler to just say that she searched the craterside through her starlight, still coming up empty-hooved.

It was a little vexing, but there was at least a small silver lining; with her ability to search the entire craterside as quickly as she could focus and on and process what she was seeing, she could at least be reasonably sure that her saddlebags were, in fact, no longer wherever she’d dropped them, so she didn’t have to spend hours looking for something that wasn’t there. Briefly, she considered asking Fluttershy if she’d seen what had happened to them. Heck, it was even possible that Fluttershy had recovered them for her. In theory, Fluttershy could see anything that any animal could see, but if it was anything like Twilight’s ability to see through the starlight, focusing on multiple things was another matter entirely.

You know what? No. She’d already spent too much time on this. There wasn’t anything special about the invitations; she’d just have Spike send a letter to the Celestias asking them for a couple of new ones.

With little more than a thought, Twilight remanifested herself over at the ex-library and was about to knock when she reconsidered. She was still doing her best to let him have his privacy and didn’t really want to barge in on whatever he was doing. It was just an invitation; why bother him? And why bother the Celestias, for that matter? She could have actually gone to them directly just as easily as she’d come here, but she hadn’t even considered it.

Forget it. It was a piece of paper and she was a princess; she’d just write Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash her own damn invitations… and maybe slip in a small note of apology to Rainbow while she was at it. That sounded perfect, actually.

She was just shimmering out of existence to go do that when she heard the latch on the front door of the ex-library click, and the door began to open. Out of reflex, she rushed to hurried the process, hoping she hadn’t been seen… though in hindsight, that was probably a lost cause, else there wouldn’t have been a reason for Spike or his girlfriend to open the door in the first place.

Oops.

Twilight had been hoping that Spike would introduce his girlfriend to her sometime soon, but maybe it could wait a little while until they forgot about this little embarrassment. Twilight didn’t want to be seen as the creepy, hovering pseudo-sister-mother who stands around outside the house without knocking. Is that a thing? That’s not even a thing; that’s just being weird.

Thankful that her stars lacked the ability to blush, she pointedly did not check back where she’d just left to see what they were saying about her prompt departure, instead heading straight on to her destination.

Luna’s court was already well underway when Twilight manifested next to her and interrupted proceedings with her obligatory nuzzle. Rarity was absent, which didn’t surprise her but was inconvenient, as she was Twilight’s first instinct as far as ponies who might have the parchment she needed went. Twilight had had her own stock with different varieties for everything from notebooks and checklists to the specific type of scrolls she liked to use for writing Celestia, but they had all been packed away somewhere when she’d been moved into the palace, and now who knew what had happened to them? They were having were enough trouble recovering all the boxes of actually important paperwork to bother with stationery.

Luna noticed Twilight’s wandering eyes and hugged her close with one wing. “Were you looking for somepony?”

“I was hoping to beg some invitation parchment and envelopes off of Rarity,” she admitted, managing to sound only slightly sheepish. “I had an… incident down at the Everfree crater and there’s slightly more crater there now than there was before.”

Luna’s eyes rose. “You were demanifested?” she asked, surprised. “We—that is, Spike and I—had wondered why you had not come back for him. In any case, you can no doubt find Rarity in her workshop preparing garments for my sisters’ coronation—or you can let her be and go raid the desk in my office. I do believe the second drawer from the bottom has some gilt and textured cardstock that shall do nicely.”

Twilight gave Luna one last nuzzle, hesitated, then added a peck on the cheek. “Thanks; I’ll do that,” she said, backing away from the throne and hopping down the small raised dais that was absolutely not a collection of apple crates with a velvet curtain draped over it. She was still getting used to the idea of actually being in a relationship, let alone engaging in public displays of affection, but she was making an effort.

Just as she was walking past, at the very instant she left his field of view, the pony at the head of Luna’s current crop of appellants spoke up. “Ahem. Now that the matter of the archlibrarian’s… arts and crafts project is settled, perhaps now we can get back to the matter of the spurious, anachronistic zoning ordinances?”

Twilight winced at the remark, but Luna bristled. Anticipating an application of the Royal Canterlot Voice and the rejection of whatever the pony in question was here for, Twilight turned with an audible clack of her sparkling shoes on the marble floor and took a closer look at the pony who apparently couldn’t resist getting in a jab at her.

The pony in question was a thin, older stallion whose defining features were sunken cheeks and a white mane tied back in a ponytail. Any mention of his demeanor would be superfluous, as he simply radiated—or perhaps oozed—self importance. Twilight didn’t have to guess whether or not this was a Ponyville native as he made even Filthy Rich look meek and modest.

“Anachronistic zoning ordinances, did you say?” she asked, feigning the perky interest she’d been known for as a bibliophile. “What a coincidence! I’m rather the expert on those, maybe I should stick around and lend an ear?” Actually, she wasn’t lying; Ponyville’s zoning had come up on several occasions, not the least of which was Winter Wrap Up, which she’d been preparing for before discovering her alicornhood.

The face of the older pony whose name she hadn’t even gotten made it very clear that he’d rather do almost anything else.

“No?” Twilight said, mock pouting before returning to a more dry, acerbic tone. “You know, it’s the strangest thing; ever since I stopped holding court, ponies seem to have gotten the impression that I’ve been… I don’t know, pacified? Defanged? Put to pasture?” Twilight made a show of thinking of it then gave a shrug. “Personally, I think it’s great if ponies see me as more approachable. I try to actually be approachable, as a matter of fact, and to treat everyone as an equal if they’ll let me. That’s why I stopped holding court; it was only making it harder for me to be the kind of pony—or alicorn, or goddess, if you prefer—that I want to be.

“That’s what makes it strange. I’m still all of those things, and if you think about it, I haven’t, as it so happens, given up any of my many powers—judicial, legislative or otherwise—either. I’m still a princess—still one of Ponyville’s official resident alicorns. I’m even still the archlibrarian of Libraropolis in spite of my attempts to rectify that. In fact, literally the only thing I’ve actually done is decide that ponies like you aren’t worth my time.”

She let that statement hang in the air for a moment before continuing.

“So no, I won’t be sitting in as you describe whatever longstanding fixture of Ponyville you’re trying to appeal the mere existence of using wordy legalise, as funny as that would be. I trust that Luna has it handled anyway. She actually enjoys crushing the dreams of upstart nobility who think they can twist her words so long as they just fill out the right forms in triplicate, and has the equanimity and perspective to do it without getting carried away. That might be you, it might not be; as I haven’t read your proposal, I can’t say one way or the other, nor do I care to find out. Frankly, sir, I have better things to do that are far more deserving of my time. They involve crayons.”

The slender stallion seethed—and as Twilight turned to leave, she felt… nothing, curiously enough. Previously in her alicornhood, ponies—having stars of their own as they do—were able to trigger a kind of atavistic fear not unlike that which the starbeasts had, or when she’d been certain that Equestria had wanted to eat her. She’d eventually mastered her reaction to the feeling through sheer exposure, but that sense of predatorial threat from ponies she came into conflict with had never actually gone away.

Except, well, obviously it had—either because there were none of her stars in her manifest body down here on Equus to actually be threatened, or because she was now invested into all of her stars at once, including the one inside of this cantankerous pony. It was the best news she’d had all day and she decided to celebrate it by doing… absolutely nothing as she walked away.

“As do we,” the pony muttered sourly, having to get the last word in. She let him have it in spite of having a great riposte involving an offer of crayons, preferring the heady freedom of being able to just walk away from the confrontation. She would have been gone in just a few moments more had he not gone for one final jab. “Power or not, your lack of attendance is most appreciated. We trust that the lunar princess will be quite fair, are thankful to be rid of you and your… kangaroo court,” he announced with a sniff of disdain, turning back to Luna assured of his verbal victory.

Twilight saw red, but she burned white, instantly remanifesting back to the center of the room to… poke him aggressively in the chest with her hoof. “You take that back,” she snarled at him. “The kangaroos had one bad ruler—one! They don’t deserve that reputation! King Hopsalot the Eighth was a single mediocre monarch in a long and distinguished line of kangaroyalty."

“Ah!” he cried, stiffening and looking down at her hoof burning with starfire. “I—I—I’m sorry, what?” he asked, unable to take his eyes off the threatening appendage.

“Not only is it blatant, racist stereotyping, but it’s blatant, racist stereotyping that doesn’t even have any basis in fact!” she lectured, driving him further back and back with each poke. “The kangaroos loved Hopsalot the Eighth. For a peacetime ruler, he was perfectly fine, and it was because of his unique approach to ruling that his sons were able to bring real prosperity to the enchanted lands when they took over.”

“I—I have no idea what you’re talking about!” he screeched, abandoning his dignity in favor of terror and utter bewilderment as he fell over backwards, scrambling away from Twilight’s hoof. “I had no idea that the kangaroos even had royalty! Or that there were kangaroos! I thought they were just anima—I’m not racist!”

Twilight sneered as she looked down on him. “Apologize,” she commanded.

“I’m sorry?” he asked, confused, then panicked when his lack of response only made the starfire flare up. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll donate tw—fi—ten percent of my income to social programs benefiting orphaned joeys in the enchanted lands, wherever that is! J—just let me keep my magic, please!

The starfire went out as if it had never been there. “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” she told him, smiling as she wandered off to find the parchment she needed. “The kangaroos were wiped out during the discordian era.”

“…What.”

— ✒ —

“Ember!” Spike shouted, running down the street after the cloaked dragoness. “Ember, wait! You don’t even know where you’re going!”

Wonder of wonders, that actually worked. The figure came to an abrupt stop, then turned and darted over to him, clapping her hands over his mouth. “What interpretation of don’t let anyone know who I am and stealing an ancient artifact of my people from the pony gods makes it okay to run around shouting my name at the top of your lungs, you dolt?”

Spike rolled his eyes and pulled her hand away from his mouth. “Yeah, because running after you yelling, ‘Mysterious cloaked figure! Hey, mysterious cloaked figure! Wait up!’ would have been so much better.”

“There’s no one else on the street!” she hissed, trying to yell at him and still keep quiet.

Spike threw his arms up in the air. “Fine! Whatever! Coming up with something else to call you is just one of the things we need to do instead of running off half-cast the instant I suggest something.”

“It’s not complicated!” she argued. “We go there, we find the ring, I put it on and turn into a dragon twice the size of my dad, go kick his tail, become the dragon lord and show everyone how to dragon.”

Spike gave her a dead flat look, said, “no,” turned and walked straight back in the direction of the library.

Ember stomped after him, silently fuming until they got back inside. “What the tartarus are you playing at? You said you wanted to do this!”

Spike stood his ground, crossing his arms. “You said you wanted to be like the dragons of the empire—to show dragons that there’s a better way than what they’ve been doing.”

“I do!” she insisted, indignant. “That’s why we need Ashmund’s ring!”

“So you can go stomp your dad,” he said.

Ember bristled, flexing her claws. “Yes!”

“And force everyone to do what you say,” he reiterated.

“For fury’s sake, yes!” she yelled. “It’s not a difficult concept!”

Spike had to bury his face in his palms. “How do you not see the problem here?”

“What—problem?!” Ember demanded, stomping her foot and raking curls of wood up off the floor.

Spike grimaced, not sure if he wanted to bang his head on the floor… or maybe bang Ember’s head on the floor. Instead of doing either, he sucked in a breath through his clenched teeth and slowly let it out. “Ember,” he said, speaking slowly for emphasis. “Would a civilized dragon of the empire… do any of that? No, they wouldn’t! If you actually want to be a better dragon, you have to actually do it. You can lead a dragon to civility, but you can’t just beat him over the head until he learns respect.”

“Sure I can, if I want him to actually listen!” she said with a sneer. “They’ve been doing it this way since my grandfather was a hatchling, Spike. Overwhelming strength coming from someone bigger, meaner and tougher is the only thing they understand!”

“If they don’t understand respect, honor and civility, then make them understand!” Spike pleaded, trying to get his point across.

“Exactly!” she declared with a grin, missing the point entirely.

“No, make them understand by using those things and showing them how they’re better!” he clarified, beginning to wonder if she was being obtuse on purpose. “If you beat them with strength, all they’ll learn is that you’re stronger than them. If you beat them through honor and… and… devoir, then they’ll see that those things have value.”

“I can’t beat someone into submission with devoir,” she said, putting all the contempt she could into the word. “I don’t even know what that is!”

“You don’t want them broken on the floor, Ember; there’s no point in that. You want them to change, so beating them in this means getting them to change. You beat them…” He struggled to put it into words. “…By being successful and building a life that you can be proud of—one they’ll crave and envy so much that their own greed and desire will change them for the better just for the chance to achieve something similar and surpass it. Pride—envy—greed—desire—you know what those are, at least. If you can’t even get those out of a dragon, then how can you say your way is really any better?”

“It’s not that simple!” Ember slammed the book down on the ground and pointed at it. “It was a way of life! The empire worked because it had the empire to back it up! All I have is me, and nobody is going to envy one small, little girl on the run from her daddy.”

“You have the book, don’t you?” Spike said, pointing at it in exactly the same manner she had. “You have what sparked that envy in you, and all it did was sit there and let you read it.”

Ember scowled unhappily. “Yeah, but—”

“And what am I?” Spike interrupted. “Chopped ginger? You have me—tartarus, you have an entire society here that’s not as noble and gallant as what you’re looking for, but it’s still an organized community that runs on leadership and cooperation ruled over by two ponies that were just reborn part dragon. And…”

“…And?” she prompted, merely simmering in her distaste and inability to refute his logic.

Spike hesitated, but had to begrudgingly finish his thought. “And for the rest, we’re going to steal the Ring of Ashmund—”

“But you said—”

“We’re going to steal the Ring of Ashmund,” he said, talking right back over her. “But for Celestia’s sake, Ember, we’re going to do so and use it intelligently and responsibly,” he emphasised. “You’re right that no one will listen to you at your age, but that doesn’t mean that bigger is better. They’re more likely to listen to you if you’re not too different from them.”

“Dragons listen to dragons that are bigger than them,” Ember argued.

“I don’t care what someone is—they’ll empathize with those who are like them,” he said, stressing the correction and moving on. “That’s what empathy is, and empathy is how you build a… rapport… I think it’s called? Look, I’m not exactly an expert on any of this. I don’t know all the steps to getting a bunch of lazy, disagreeable dragons to get up and build a society together, but I know the answer isn’t Godzilla arm wrestling children, and you have no idea how hard it is to put that feeling into words. Can you just… trust me on that? Please?”

Ember looked begrudgingly thoughtful, but slowly seemned to warm to the idea. “Godzilla. I like that. That can be my undercover name.”

Dragons were not known for their precognitive abilities, but all the same, Spike felt the inevitability of the future looming over him and whimpered.

“It’s perfect for you.”

— ✶ —

Twilight spent a good half an hour making up the new invitations for Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie. This was in spite of them looking more like she’d spent five minutes on them and the other twenty-five spinning around in Luna’s chair. Fortunately for Twilight, her ethereal mane was proof against becoming disheveled, so there was nopony in the world who could have said otherwise.

The knowing smile on Luna’s face as Twilight stopped by the throne room on her way out begged to differ.

Twilight flushed in slight embarrassment at having been caught despite the fact that she wouldn’t have acted any different had Luna actually been there in person. Neither of them said anything about it out loud, though, and before long Twilight was gliding out over the city bearing her missives to their destinations.

It was only when she was faced with the darkened storefront of Sugarcube Corner that she realized her error.

Rather than knock and risk Mrs. Cake’s ire for waking the newborn twins, Twilight sighed and made do with dropping Pinkie’s invitation through the mail slot, all the while wondering how exactly they all managed to live in the same building without driving each other crazy.

Or crazier, in Pinkie’s case.

However they had been handling it, she doubted that it would have been sustainable for long, so it was probably a good thing that Rarity was going to be having a tower built for the immortal party planner before Pinkie Pie could come up with a solution of her own. Twilight could just imagine her excitable friend setting up a party planning lair up in a belltower or down in some cave like in one of Spike’s comic books.

With Pinkie Pie’s invitation now some manner of delivered—truthfully, Twilight suspected she could have put it under a rock and Pinkie Pie still would have received it somehow—she now had to address the matter of what to do with Rainbow Dash’s. After being rebuffed by Fluttershy, Twilight had planned to just leave the invitation at Rainbow’s home before she had a chance to get back, but she’d then gone on to make two small missteps in her execution of that plan.

One—Rainbow Dash was Rainbow Dash, and she could have beat Twilight to her home just by casually thinking about it, and two—Twilight had stopped outside of town at the Everfree crater and, in general, done not a single thing towards actually engaging in making any part of that plan happen. Now, Rainbow would almost certainly be at home unless she were staying over with Fluttershy. Twilight probably shouldn’t use her starlight to check, but…

…Well, uhh, that was a very large pile of yellow bunnies, wasn’t it? The, uhh, the kicker was, she couldn’t actually tell if Rainbow Dash was in there or if it was just Fluttershy seeking a little self-comfort. She could have checked Rainbow Dash’s house next just to make sure she wasn’t there, but Twilight wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

Ponies deserved their privacy.

— ✶ —

Twilight had ended up casting several enchantments on the letter before tossing it through one of Rainbow Dash’s windows and fleeing with all the inconsiderable strength she could beat her wings with. It wasn’t the most dignified solution, but Rainbow Dash was the kind of demigoddess that only checked her mailbox once in a while unless she was expecting something and her monthly issue of FlyFast wasn’t due for another two weeks.

Whatever. Delivered was delivered, and being accosted in the morning by a floating, blinking letter in her living room was the sort of thing that Rainbow would probably get a kick out of… eventually. It’d be funny in hindsight once Rainbow had her coffee, anyway, which was all that mattered because Twilight wouldn’t be there.

Her two-hour duty finally dispatched in just over twelve hours, Twilight spent a while just flying over the city enjoying the wind in her face and and under her wings. It was hard to believe that her mere presence had caused the city to swell and change so much in so little time.

The changes didn’t seem like much when you only looked at a small area; the roads were paved, the buildings a hodge-podge collection of old and newly remodeled, the city limits pushed out just twenty percent or so by what had originally been a ramshackle collection of structures but had now become not just an actual part of the city proper, but the cleanest part with the best infrastructure. Warehouses and other buildings devoted to producing and storing the massive amounts of construction materials the city was using had been pushed further out, as had farms, uprooting ponies from land that they’d tended their entire lives.

Early on, not much planning had been done to keep the whole thing under control, which was why a wall had gone up on the side of the city bordering Sweet Apple Mountain. The ponyville natives had rallied, put their hooves down and said, “Here, and no further” to the encroaching urbanization, else they end up pushed further and further out with each crop that was harvested and replaced with roads and buildings. It was early, but the compromise looked like it was going to work out, with all the other farms moving to that side of the divide as they were able.

Twilight was considering whether or not there was some method of transit they could use to bring the farmers into the city when a deep blue blur came down on her from above. They tumbled through the air with an entirely-dignified squeal and peals of laughter before impacting a slightly too conveniently-placed cloud with a fwumph.

Twilight found herself breathless and heart beating from the sudden rush, looking up at Luna against the night sky and wasted no time pulling her down into a kiss.

“Hey,” she greeted her marefriend once they had separated.

Luna was less winded and smiled brightly before asking, “Kangaroos? Really?”

Twilight broke into laughter again while Luna shook her head and rolled off to lay beside her.

“It’s—not—funny,” Twilight insisted between breaths, entirely ignoring the fact that it was her that was laughing. “I’ll have you know that I adored stories about kangaroos as a filly. I was legitimately angry, or there wouldn’t have been starfire.”

“Starfire?” Luna asked. “Is that new?”

Twilight shrugged. “A little of column A, a little of column B. I’ve been known to catch on fire on occasion for longer than I’ve been a proper alicorn, but this wasn’t quite the same thing. I’m not concerned, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Luna rolled up onto her side so she could look at Twilight. “Do you think that he at any point realized that by defending the kangaroos, you were thereby demeaning your own court?”

“I’m not sure if that would be much of a revelation?” she suggested. “I acknowledged pretty clearly at my final session of court that the whole thing had become a farce.”

“Sometimes the louder one speaks, the less they are heard,” Luna intoned with faux-wisdom.

Twilight leveled a dry look at her. “This, from the mare who routinely put her guards, seneschal and sometimes even petitioners into the hospital with nothing but her voice? Honestly; some day they’ll ask me just how I became so overbearing in court when I’d been such a sweet, innocent little student of Celestia before then and I’ll have to tell them that it was you. I learned it from you.”

“Ah, but have you not heard? I am reformed!” Luna playfully asserted. “The ponies flock to me now; it is quite disconcerting, actually.”

“Please,” Twilight scoffed, exaggeratingly rolling her eyes. “You’ve just gotten more subtle. I know full well that you’ve been tearing them down at every opportunity, considering you then come and tell me about it afterwards.”

Luna sniffed in seeming affront. “It’s not my fault that they need tearing down. You would not believe some of the loopholes I’ve come across that have remained under my sister’s rule because there simply wasn’t a better option. Would that I could audit their souls as easily as I can their bank accounts.”

Twilight gave a single chuckle, then frowned and eventually grimaced.

Luna cocked her head at the rapid change in Twilight’s demeanor, then it clicked. “Ah, I suppose you could do that, couldn’t you? You needn’t concern yourself, t’was only—”

Twilight shook her head. “I can’t do it anyway,” Twilight interrupted somewhat uncomfortably. “Not like you mean, at least. Just being able to see the quality of a pony by looking at them… I wouldn’t mind being able to do that—but all I can do is go back into their lives and see what their star remembers. It’s not comprehensive, and it’s not fast. Maybe in a hundred years when ponies have gotten used to my library we can use them for criminal trials, but only in the worst cases—no, only at their own request. I’m really not comfortable with anything else.”

Luna let out a huff. “I told you not to worry about it. We shall cross that bridge when we come to it. Now,” she said with a devious grin. “Tell me how you managed to disincorporate yourself this afternoon.”

Twilight felt a resurgence of her earlier frustration and embarrassment with the change in subject, but it managed to turn back the rising tide of melancholy and for that, she was grateful.

“Well, Applejack wasn’t helpful and getting ahold of Pinkie Pie is like trying to read a greased book with hooves—don’t ask me how I know—so I figured I’d…”

— ✒ —

Ember looked like her patience was being tried, but she was clearly trying, so Spike considered it a win. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying, ‘Never raid a phoenix nest twice when once will do?’”

Spike glared disapprovingly at Ember. “No, and I’ll thank you not to talk like that about phoenixes. I helped raise one until he could go back to his parents.”

“No need to thank me; I probably won’t do it,” she said from where she sat on the floor, dismissively picking wood shavings out of her claws. “So tell me again why you want to steal the Ring of Ashmund twice? Sounds like failure talk to me.”

Spike wiped his palm down his face in exasperation and groaned. “Okay, look. We want to steal the Primordial Ring of Ashmund, which is an ancient draconic artifact capable of changing the age, size and physical maturity of any dragon, including the wearer. Now, I shouldn’t need to say this, but stealing is against the law and means we don’t want to get caught.”

Ember grunted unhappily and Spike thought that she’d leave it there when she spoke up. “What happened to not winning by betraying the tenets of the cause you’re trying to advance?”

Spike gave her a long, weary look. There were several ways he could justify it since he’d gone through all of them himself, but what he actually said was, “You know the word ‘tenets’?”

Ember snapped her hands back like she’d been caught with her hands in the cookie jar. “Of—of course I do!” she insisted, looking away. “Shut up! It was in the book!”

“Anyway,” Spike said, skipping over the issue of theft. He still wasn’t happy with it, but also strongly suspected that the reaction if they got caught would be along the lines of ‘Why didn’t you just ask?’ He’d considered actually sending a letter to Luna about it regardless, but whatever else he felt about Ember, he wasn’t going to betray her like that when she’d been so explicit about it—in more ways than one.

— ⭗ ✹ —

Corona was going through the various correspondence for the upcoming coronation when something began niggling at her mind. Eventually, it came to her. “Come to think of it, it’s been a while since young Spike sent us any letters, hasn’t it? I take it that you haven’t received any?”

Candesca looked up from the book of tablecloth samples and shook her head. “No, I would have mentioned if I had, of course. Do you suppose he has forgotten us?”

“I more expect he’ll have sought support closer to home,” Corona suggested diplomatically. “Perhaps with things having settled down for Twilight, she might be making herself a part of his life again?”

Candesca frowned. “That would be for the best,” she admitted, remembering when they’d made a much similar decision about Luna. “I suppose it hasn’t helped that we’ve been fairly out of touch since our regenesis. I don’t imagine he would know which one of us to send a letter to if he did. We’ll have to touch base with all of them after the coronation.”

“Because we’ve been so very busy recently?” Corona queried sarcastically. “You know as well as I do why we haven’t been down to Ponyville.”

“Are they still calling it that?” Candesca asked. “It’s not much of a village anymore and it’s more and more looking like it’s not going to be all ponies at the next census either.”

“Stop changing the subject,” Corona said, frowning at her twin. “If I can admit that acting like Celestia did feels stilted and awkward but I have no idea how else to behave, you can, too.”

Candesca let out a huff. “You can’t even explain it without sounding stiff and formal. I hardly think it is something we should just come out and say. Besides, you are the one changing the subject. We could just write to Spike, you know.”

Corona hesitated. “I’m sure he’s fine. From the sounds of the letters he was sending before, it sounded like he was heading towards a simple, quiet life, and I doubt much about that has changed.”

— ✒ —

“Anyway?” Ember needled, calling attention to the way he’d drifted off in thought.

Spike shook himself out of the rabbit hole he’d been digging into. He supposed that he could just leave Ember out of things when talking about the subject, but the possibility of actually talking to Luna about it revealed significantly less trust in her reaction being positive than he’d thought he had.

“Anyway,” he said, doing his best not to think about his previous train of thought. “If we steal an age altering artifact and then I suddenly show up for work the next day looking years older, they’re going to notice. Twilight’s not stupid—she is, in fact, the absolute opposite of stupid. She’d be under ‘stupid’ in the thesaurus as an antonym… and I would never have been able to make it halfway through that sentence if she was watching, so I think we’re safe.”

Ember gave him that ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, so hurry up and make this relevant,’ look that was her default expression.

“But if we sneak into wherever it’s being held and use it to make ourselves just old enough to be listened to, we can just say it was part of the… what did you call it?”

“The molt?” Ember said, clearly uninterested, but beginning to see the point.

“Right,” Spike agreed. “Tell them it’s part of the molt, and then, days or weeks later when the ring actually disappears, nopony will actually give us a second thought.”

Ember scrunched up her face in a scowl before finally giving up. “Fine! We’ll do it your way!”

Spike let out an incredible sigh of relief that she wasn’t going to fight it. “Thank Celestia,” he muttered to himself. “Trust me, it’s better this way. We’re going to need the extra time to figure out the second problem with actually stealing the ring anyway.”

“What’s that?”

“The fact that it’s the size of a wagon.”