The Broken Bond

by TheApexSovereign


VI.VI - The Long Road Ahead (to recovery of course)

“Anypony else... reckon that...” grunted AJ as she rowed, “we’re bein’ lured into the manticore’s den?” She stalled, panting once before muttering “Tarnations.” She resumed. “I mean, them witches apparently know we’re a-comin’ already… Ugh, c’mon now,” she exhaled, “an’-an’ they’ve known since ‘fore we even left, from what Starlight here is tellin’ us. So—hup—why let us—hup—come this far?” 

“...Makes no sense!” wheezed Rainbow Dash, straining against the black molasses. 

“No sense at all... Right, y’all?” 

The squelching below answered. Reality was the clearest thing in their current predicament, or perhaps too frightening to acknowledge as boldly as AJ. 

From the back, Pinkie politely chirped a quivering, “Sure does!” The thunderous softness of her voice vibrated like AJ’s in this tunnel, shuddering through Twilight. 

‘Tunnel.’ Such a benign word for a place blacker, more all-consuming, than the abyssal night. It was clear now, why Starlight of all ponies struggled to put it into words. 

When she first entered Froggy Bottom Bog to save Fluttershy (supposedly, and in her arrogance prove Pinkie wrong), the air was pungent with a sodden woodland aroma to the point of it being sickening. Twilight remembered the disconnect she experienced while trodding through, how the swamp tilted left and right.  ‘Impossibly weightless,’ she remembered writing, back when she was just a unicorn, ‘my brain heavier than stone.’

A fairly unpleasant experience. Not one that lingered equally as the heart-pounding survival instinct which took over, driving Twilight to flee for her actual life from four maws big enough to swallow a cart. 

Only now, almost four years later, was Twilight reminded of that feeling in such disquieted company. 

And only by how utterly deranged the present was. 

This place wasn’t muggy, beastly heavy with humidity like Froggy Bottom Bog, nor cool from a breeze whistling through like any woodland. Nor did it groan with swamp insects. There were no birds singing or even a swamp beast howling over territory, scattering them in a sonorous escape. 

It was simply nothing. Dead. A deep, all-encompassing silence somehow louder than the hum of two unicorns’ magic, and the muted suckling of poles leaving and stabbing the stagnant, inky river.

And after remarking it herself, Rarity shared that her magic, too, felt so much… less. As though it wouldn’t have mattered if everypony could produce light or none at all—barely three feet from Starlight’s snout stood a shadowy wall, pushing back and back as they rowed, always fooling or perhaps playing with Twilight’s paranoia and anxiety in making her believe that this time, surely, there would be a turn or a fork or a scrap of life or light or something or anything besides more gnarled, naked, splotch-stained trees. Fluttershy resorted to keeping her eyes on the floor. 

It really put a damper on their newfound confidence. Maybe it was just Twilight. Perhaps everypony felt it, and that’s why they hadn’t really said anything since Starlight informed them, “It’ll be like this for about an hour.” 

And then she took point, and hadn’t relinquished herself since. 

Part of Twilight feared she was avoiding her friends and feelings again. But that clearly wasn’t the case, at least not after yesterday.

No. 

With those stiff haunches, buckled forelegs, furrowed brows and clenched jaw, why, she wouldn’t be Starlight Glimmer if this wasn’t her way of making up for being “extra baggage,” putting herself between the ponies she loved and whatever horrors awaited them in the darkness. 

Something panged Twilight just now, a tightness. Not fear alone nor anxiety… 

No, just anticipation of a fight, a fearless resolution to throw herself in front of the witches’ grisly paws before the girls would even lay their eyes on true horror. Illogical, disturbing, and yet it felt so, so right. This desire to protect: fuel for these bad decisions, most terribly of them occurring last night when Starlight still hadn’t woken up—how she couldn’t, no matter the amount of shaking and pleading.

So Twilight similarly decided what was best for her, like a tyrant instead of a princess. 

Except… Starlight assured her that nopony wanted a princess more so than a friend they could trust. If it was really so simple, though, why hadn’t Celestia ever told her? 

Was it a test? 

Or perhaps, most blasphemously, Celestia herself didn’t quite understand the magic of friendship either. 

Twilight shook her head. That was tomorrow’s problem; the now’s, with sickness and passion fighting in her soul, was protecting her friends.

And I’m not alone. A side-glance at the blue half of their bubble of luster was Rarity, steeliness targeted ahead with a hunched disposition. It told of a pony who had seemingly forgotten who she was, what she’s spent years trying to show the world (and only half the effort for her friends in private). 

From her trembling bottom lip to the stare locked ahead, it was clear Rarity had left behind in Ponyville the refined pony she wanted to be, and completely donned who she was deep inside: a soul fiery with passion. 

Twilight thought back on Rarity this past month. To all the times she stacked herself against Starlight’s example. How she grieved with Twilight for the pain their friend was in. Their responsibility in all of it. 

Part of Twilight wanted to say something, as Starlight did for her. To make Rarity not carry the heavy burden she hypocritically did herself. 

It would be futile. But still…

Accepting her friends’ pain was not an idea which sat well with the Princess of Friendship—as it should be. 

But addressing it right now could do more harm than good. 

“Um, Starlight?” Fluttershy was less afraid than any of them, it seemed. “Wh-why, exactly, do you feel so bad about the things you’ve done?” Plop, plip… plop-plop, plip-plip, went the oars. “I, um, I-I’m not trying to say you should ignore them. But I… can’t stop thinking about the brunch after the Gourd Fest. What you said, and… how deeply your mistakes have affected you, and how you keep apologizing.” 

It was a problem that Twilight should have addressed, but didn’t in an effort to prevent more of the same. Such awful logic Twilight, couldn’t stand it and her instincts screamed at her to repel the notion. But for the life of her and her worry for Starlight, such a thing was impossible. 

I had distanced myself for her own sake… and hurt her terribly as a result. Twilight’s brain clenched not just from the maddening darkness embracing them, but a wallop of deja vu. I keep deciding what’s best for everypony without really understanding what it is they want, or need. 

“Um,” continued Fluttershy, “w-w’ve… all hurt one another before, some worse than you have... i-in my opinion.” Even after all these years, the Iron Will fiasco lingered as a scar in her memory. “But after forgiving each other, the next step is forgiving ourselves. I know that you know that you’re not the only pony here who struggles with that step. But I manage with the reminder that yesterday’s Fluttershy isn’t today’s, because she learned. She’s stronger for it. While they definitely hurt to think about—”

“Fluttershy.” Starlight didn’t move a muscle. “Please, cut to the heart of it. Don’t think, just say what you’re getting at. Please.” 

 Plip, plop, plip-plip, plop-plop, went the oars.

“Okay. Sorry in advance, Starlight.” 

She chuckled, its mirth amplified utterly by the darkness smothering them, lifting the mood, at least Twilight’s, if only a little. “Nothing you say will offend me, Fluttershy. I promise.” 

Twilight turned in time to see a smile upon Fluttershy’s face before it vanished. “Okay.” She inhaled deep. “Starlight, I don’t think you’ve ever forgiven yourself. Not once. And that’s why you’ve tried so hard this last month to make things better. S-so I don’t think you will get better until you yourself learn to forgive. Um, yourself.” 

A second passed. 

And another. 

And another.

Up ahead, the air hissed. Witches? Twilight’s hairs stiffened, only to fall upon hearing Starlight exhale. “Fluttershy?” Her meek voice was even softer aimed at the abyss. “Imagine, for a second, that you neglected to… say... deny an animal the care it needs. Or better yet, forget to feed it. Right off the bat,” she added quickly, “just the thought is unfathomable. Right? Maybe even ridiculous.” 

Fluttershy grunted, forehead glistening blue and magenta. The more Starlight spoke, the lower her gaze fell, her frown slunk. 

“You’re so absolute in this opinion: never would you do such a thing, make such an obvious mistake. This is your world, after all, and you’d do everything to preserve it. But! Nothing lasts forever, except friendship apparently… And so one day, your fate’s tested. Maybe one critter needs an urgent trip to the vet, or the Map summons you on a quest, and throughout all of this Discord cannot be reached because he’s twirling around on some other plane of existence. Whatever. Forget the minutiae. Point is, one lone critter falls by the wayside and doesn’t get the attention they need. They’re left hungry, sick… abandoned. Neglected. With nothing they are left wondering if you just forgot about them, or didn’t care about their needs compared to everyone else’s. They torture themselves deciding which is less painful. Now you might never know if this is what they truly think. But you do anyway… even if they won’t ever tell you this.” 

Twilight blinked, back in the neverending blackness and no longer in her room—though she was still obsessing over where she went wrong, knowing full-well where and how she did. 

One scan of the others’ solemness indicated a similar trance. 

“You think about how they feel constantly,” Starlight continued. “And what that says about you, and if you really were as good as you thought you were, and it just makes you feel worse and worse as the world feels heavier and heavier and harder to even exist in—!” Fluttershy whimpered, Starlight spun around, eyes wild and wet. “Uh, oh, gosh I’m sorry, for putting this awful thought in your head. F-forget it, forget it. You clearly get the poi—”

“No.” Hard, welled eyes rose to meet Starlight’s. “Continue, don’t apologize, please.” 

Starlight’s parted lips pressed shut with a nod. “R-right. Anyway, you try rationalizing it, horrible as that is. Not in justification so much as to make it so it’s not totally your fault. But... there’s this, ah, part of you, right? A little voice or something that nags you and ties your guts with its words—because it knows a great deal of the blame is on your shoulders, and by proxy, so do you. You feel horrible for even entertaining such a thing, even though others do it constantly for far less and they care equally as much.” The oars paddled away. Starlight turned towards Twilight, eyes full of hurt, awash in magenta. “So would forgiving yourself be even possible after all of that, Fluttershy?” 

Twilight would have nodded if not for the miserable look in Starlight’s face, resolute in her feelings. Hopefully for the time being. Fluttershy, on top of that, had made it perfectly clear: self-forgiveness was up to the individual alone. 

To deny Starlight by smothering her with affection would be missing the point of all of that. 

“Never,” Fluttershy whispered, then louder, joining with Starlight’s gaze, “I’d never forgive myself. But I’d do everything I could to make sure that never, ever happens again.” 

Starlight glanced behind them, shivered at the nothing awaiting, and returned to Fluttershy. “Ex-actly. So you understand, now, how I feel? Why I’ll never forgive mys—?” 

“But still, at the very least, you should learn to love yourself.” Fluttershy rose on all fours. “To look past your mistakes and see the genuinely good pony underneath them. Because that’s the real you, Starlight. I mean that.” 

“Sure as sugar,” said AJ, Rainbow adding, “Yeah, no way would anypony do what you did while lookin’ for nothing in return! That’s a hero whether ya like it or not!” 

“Abso-tutely-lutely!” Pinkie hopped, though the raft remained calm as a placid lake (not that their current environment would allow much more). 

Starlight’s eyes danced to each of them. Twilight fought against everything not to chime in—this was their moment, after all. “Y-you guys…” murmured Starlight, practically booming in this smothering darkness, “...you guys,” she swallowed, “stopped rowing.” 

Rainbow zipped before her, forelegs crossed, smile cocked. “Yeah, ya don’t really care about that right now.” Her wings thumped thrice. “You’re about as excited to meet these creeps as everypony but me.” 

Starlight tittered. “Right. We get it, Dash. Nothing at all in this whole world scares you.” 

“Ya got that right!” 

Starlight shook her head, a fond smile in place. “You’re not stupid, Dash. You’re brave, and we need that now more than ever.” 

Dash looked stricken, so much so she lowered to the raft, saying, “Y-yeah… wait, are you calling me a liar?” 

Starlight opened her eyes, peering straight into Rainbow’s. “Can you make a promise for me?” Their brave friend’s looked anything but as she only parted her lips. “You girls are… something to me.” She looked to each of them, Twilight last. “Everything. Not a single word feels good enough to me, and… and I sound like an idiot,” she laughed, cupping her eyes, “I’m sorry, this’s so lame and I’m an idiot—”

“Enough of that,” said Rarity gently. “You’re beautiful, Starlight. What is it you were going to say?” 

Starlight held a quivering stare on their, until now, silent friend. Her eyes screwed shut. “If one thing happened to you girls on this excursion then it’ll all be my fault—I got the witches involved in our lives and I’m the main reason you’re here now. So—Rainbow?!” The pony in question flinched and fell as Starlight’s damp eyes flashed towards her. “Rainbow, no matter what we see or what they say to us in there, I want you to promise me—! ...Promise. Me. That you’ll help keep us together. Don’t let any one of us play the hero.” 

Rainbow looked ready to shatter, sitting there, wings at half-mast. “Totally,” she squeaked. Rising, clearing her throat, she gave a nod. “We’re all in this together, Starlight. You don’t ever have to be afraid of losing us.” 

“Never again,” Pinkie added softly, a smile to match, and a hug to follow. 

Starlight just swallowed, nodding. She patted her twice. “If anything happens to you girls… I’ll do something crazy.” 

Twilight’s gut froze over. “Nothing will,” was the best she could offer. 

As Starlight gave her shoulder a nudge, a gentle signal for Pinkie to step away, Fluttershy approached wearing a look of forlorn. “Starlight… this is what I mean. You’re ready to shoulder all the blame for something we as a group of friends wanted to do.” 

Applejack, who’d taken the center-rear and both oars, and was powering ahead without so much as a grunt, called out, “And don’cha start… with that manure... ‘bout us doin’ this cuz we’re obliged to!” She gasped. “Y’hear? That crud cut us mighty deep when ya slung it our way!” Applejack cursed the land before doubling her efforts.

“I understand why you feel the way you do, I do!” said Fluttershy. “But if you had it your way, well, we’d might as well be back in Our Town nodding at everything you say.” Starlight, gaze wide and empty, couldn’t meet those of her friends any longer.  “How is that fair to us, and our own wish of repaying your friendship in kind?” 

“...For goodness sake,” Starlight croaked, dropping to her rump. “This isn’t… that’s not… I mean, you’re… absolutely right, Fluttershy. All of you.” She lifted her gaze, twinkling like deposits of sapphire. “It’s shortsighted stuff like this that makes it so hard for me to let go of my mistakes. You girls are so compassionate, so patient and kind and understand while I—! I’m…” Starlight snarled, shook her head. “You see one pony and I see the same one, but worse, I know her. I am her. I know a lot of what she does is for selfish reasons. Every single time.”

She glanced, avoiding Twilight’s stare. That would not do. “You aren’t selfish, Starlight,” she said. “Everything everypony does in every household in every city… we all, at the end of the day, do what we want. That’s not to say we’re all selfish, that would be pessimistic and quite selfish to think in of itself, I feel. But, well, look at me. Look at your friends right here. If you’re selfish, then I’m selfish for risking Equestria to Tirek’s rule. In exchange for my friends? Yeah, I’m ready to do something that crazy and irresponsible without a second thought or regrets.” 

“But-but you couldn’t have known that it’d turn out fine!” she cried. 

Just the thought of Tirek… what he might have done, had she not agreed to the trade. 

Twilight smiled, relieved that horror was just another memory. “I knew we’d manage, though. Together! Because if there’s one thing that’s stuck with me across all these years, it’s that I’d rather be loved than alone. Therefore, almost everything I do… is...” Twilight’s heart stopped, despite darkness peering in through her veil of magenta, she was witness to a bottomless blue sky—her “eureka” moment. 

“Everything I’ve ever done since coming here,” she thought and spoke at once, “has been for that goal of getting ponies to like me, and because I liked them back. Because I wanted friends and I wanted to be an example Celestia could be proud of. That’s me, mistakes and triumphs all… Starlight? Starlight!” 

All gathered had taken a step back, regarding her with worry their friend would not allow herself to regard as Starlight rocked her head in her hooves. “Everything I’ve ever done, triumphs and all, has been to make ponies happy… No matter the cost to myself.” Her eyes welled. 

“Daddy… was…” 

Her eyes shot up to meet Twilight’s. “You were right. All of you were right and I—!” There was a soft gasp, a breaking cry. “I’m so… stu-pid!” The others closed around her; Twilight allowed them to have their time. “I’m so weak! I thought to myself—I thought, and reassured, and believed that I didn’t matter and you wouldn’t care and you never have but I was wrong, I was so, so wrong! And I almost ruined you guys for-f-for-for—” 

Pinkie, gently, wrapped herself around Starlight’s shuddering form. “You’re not alone,” she said. “There’s a yucky part of me that feels lesser than my friends. That I’m not doing or adding anything but a headache.” 

Fluttershy embraced them, sandwiching Starlight. “I sometimes think I’m only kind because there’s nothing else I can do.” 

Starlight sobbed over Pinkie’s shoulder as Rainbow, throwing herself around them, hurriedly cried out, “I-I’m afraid of what ponies think of me!” 

Rarity laid upon the huddle. “I’m false,” she muttered. “So very false. In everything but my selfish drive to be such.” 

In no other world would Twilight have considered Rarity ever labelling herself a liar. Or Rainbow as insecure, Fluttershy’s low self-esteem or Pinkie Pie’s deep, inner sadness. 

A pressure built within, on her tongue, within her eyes. “I’m… I’m all of those things,” said Twilight. “In my own way.” 

“Get in here, Egghead,” called a misty-eyed Rainbow Dash. 

An idea struck Twilight as her heart throbbed with want—a silly one she felt she had to do. While maintaining her light, Twilight envisioned herself beside Starlight, forelegs wrapped around her. 

In an instant, she was, and jostling everypony back in surprise. Of course she wrapped them in a levitation field so as not to send them into the tar. Shrieks and laughs and tears filled the air, none more clear, warm, and real right now as Starlight’s, her cheek nuzzling against Twilight’s. 

“Hey, Applejack!” she heard Pinkie say. “Got any deep dark shames you wanna share?” 

“Deep n’ dark?” Applejack pondered the turquoise above, Rarity sitting up before her, wiping mascara away. “Nah. I’m as straightforward as they come.” She rowed for three more beats. And then, “Though, I gotta be, I suppose. Grown used to it though. For the farm. Not always easy, I gotta say.” 

“Cry, Applejackie! CRY FOR FRIENDSHIP!” 

“Hard pass, hon.” 

Starlight giggled. “I get that, too, AJ.” Her smile turned to Twilight, and was replaced with a blush. “Uh, Twi? You mind?”  

“Wait, one more. I don’t get this often.” She gave one last greedy squeeze to Starlight before letting her go. Deep down, Twilight felt this was her trying to remember what it felt like to hug her again. 

It had been too long. It might always be that way. 

Starlight rubbed her shoulder, grinning away bashfully. “I am stupid,” she said. But I’m ready to start learning again. Teacher.” 

Twilight’s heart skipped a beat. Then she composed herself. “V-very well, my pupil.” Her voice cracked—it wasn’t a decent composing. “We’ll, um, we’ll see about supplementary friendship lessons when things have settled down.” 

“Yeah. ‘When.’” Starlight lifted her smile to the magenta-painted shadow. “I like the sound of that.” 

“Hey, y’all! I see a light!” AJ cried. 

Starlight shot up, aghast. “Wait, what?! Really?! We’ve been going for like, twenty minutes!” 

Applejack rowed even harder, the stuff beneath them clapping almost with enthusiasm. “All’a y’all unicorns and the like, yer magic’s convenient an’ all,” she gasped. “Sure. T’ain’t nothin’ against the pure muscle of an Apple Family farmhand. ‘Specially one lookin’ to right her wrongs n’ give ‘er kin a good night’s sleep.” She glared pointedly their way, Twilight and Starlight’s. “That means the both-a ya, ‘specially!” 

Starlight turned away, toward the expanding speck of white. “Yeah, Ma, we heard you.” Twilight looked away so as not to embarrass her; Starlight was grinning, crying, blushing, and giggling.