Homecoming

by Antiquarian


Purpose and Family

Trixie!” squeals Pinkie as she charges into the room to give the blue mare a hug. Well, ‘waddles’ into the room is probably more accurate, but it’s still a respectable clip for a pregnant mare. Even more respectable is that being with child (or children I suppose) has done nothing to diminish her capacity for bone-crushing hugs.

Gahck! Pinkie Pie!” gasps Trixie, who seems to agree that Pinkie’s hugs have lost none of their spine-compressing intensity. “Kindly release the Great and Powerful Trixie so she may breathe!”

“Oh, it’s so good to see you again, Trixie! It’s been so long! What has it been, a year? Two years? How many of your birthdays have I missed?!

“Can’t answer! Not breathing!”

“We have got so much catching up to do! It is gonna be a blast!

“Dying… please… halp…”

Bud ambles up beside his wife, seeming bemused. “Honey, I think you’re hugging the colonel a shade too tightly.”

Pinkie tilts her head in confusion. “Too tight?” she asks, unconsciously loosening her grip.

Trixie sucks down a double-lungful of air like her life depends on it. Which, in fairness, it might. Hard to say with her coloration. Bud coaxes Pinkie to release the poor dear, and I find myself supporting Trixie as she replenishes her oxygen supply.

“That… gasp… mare… wheeze… crazy!” she manages.

“Well, I should think that was rather obvious, darling,” I remark dryly.

“Almost… cough… killed… sputter… me!”

“In all fairness, it’s rather difficult to tell when a blue pony is turning, well, blue,” I point out. Then I shake my head sadly and tut, lamenting, “So tragic. We lose more blue ponies that way…”

Pinkie is rather sheepishly apologizing to Trixie when Rainbow Dash arrives with Thunderlane, Fluttershy, Shoddy, Nkea, Arinze, and the Zebra Guards. The guards all look perplexed by the gasping Trixie, but none of the ponies who know Pinkie are phased.

“Pinkie Pie hug ’er?” asks Dash knowingly.

Applejack snorts. “What tipped ya off?”

“Educated guess.”

Thunderlane and Bud both shake hooves with Trixie, exchanging genuine pleasantries and a few quips that might have been insulting if not for their obvious familiarity with each other. Fluttershy, not surprisingly, doesn’t say much, but the warm, sisterly hug she gives Trixie speaks volumes to how close they became in the war.

To Arinze, Trixie makes a courtly bow before trading grips and teasing him about something involving an apple bushel and chewing gum. Arinze replies with a question as to whether or not she’s read any good books lately… which doesn’t strike me as all that amusing, but he, Trixie, Applejack, Dash, and Thunderlane all laugh uproariously, so I imagine it must make for a pretty good story. One which unfortunately has ‘you had to be there’ written all over it.

Trixie then surprises me by waving to Nkea and saying something in Zwahili. Nkea raises an eloquent eyebrow and snorts, but there’s amusement in his eyes. No small feat considering his frosty exterior.

Shoddy, meanwhile, has hung in the back. From my angle, I can see that he looks just as happy as the others to see Trixie, but he’s hesitating, like he doesn’t want to impose or interrupt anypony. I frown. It’s plain that he’s excited to see Trixie, but he’s acting like he doesn’t matter enough to interject. I’m preparing to trot over and nudge him forward when Trixie spots him.

“Who lurks in the back behind Trixie’s other admirers?” she asks in her stage voice. “Could it be? Is it—?” she emits a dramatic gasp and sways on her hooves as though she’s about to faint. “Iron Shod?”

Blushing, Shoddy ambles forward, giving a casual salute. “Howdy, Colonel.”

“Don’t you ‘Howdy, Colonel’ Trixie, Corporal! Get your sorry flank up here and shake Trixie’s hoof!”

Shoddy grins sheepishly and trots forward, stretching a hoof out for shaking, only to be accosted by a surprise hug, which turns into an affectionate headlock as Trixie marehandles the poor lad around to show him off to me. “This stallion,” she declares, “saved Trixie’s battery from a platoon of buzzard fusiliers that slipped around to hit us from the rear! His keen senses picked them up before they could get into position, then he and his squad pinned them down until we could swing the guns to bear. Trixie feels he was cheated out of a Star of Valor for that one!”

My eyebrows go up and I look to Shoddy for confirmation. He blushes and looks down.

Then Trixie smiles slyly and jabs him with her free hoof. “This stallion also still owes Trixie thirty bits.”

Shoddy’s embarrassment is replaced by outrage. “Bu- s- what?!” he sputters, ducking out from under her grasp. “I won that bet, colonel! Ya’ll said I couldn’t eat more of that green hash than Ramrod, but I ate a full bowl more’n him!”

“That’s not how Trixie remembers it,” replies Trixie airily, examining her hoof with affected unconcern. “Trixie remembers that the bet was that you could both eat more hash and keep it down, and you may recall that after eating four bowls of green hash you—”

Okay! That’s enough of that!” interrupts Applejack like an angel of sanity. “We got two pregnant mares and a roomful o’ ponies who’re about ta eat! Last thing we need is to hear about green hash!”

“What’s green hash?” asks Twilight innocently.

Applejack shudders. “Let’s just say only a fool eats it and leave it at that.”

Twilight looks like she’s about to pursue the matter of the green hash, but, mercifully, Big Mac arrives in that moment to inform us that dinner is ready.

He also loops a hoof over Twilight’s withers and bends to give her a quick kiss.

This prompts a mock-outraged look from Trixie. “Oh, come on!” exclaims the stage mare. “You’re the reason he’s taken!? It’s not enough for you to show Trixie up magically, but you need to take this strapping fellow out of the dating pool as well?”

In a surprising display of smugness, Twilight smirks. “Jealous?” she asks coyly.

Trixie sniffs. “Covetousness is unbecoming and low. Trixie is above such things.” Then, after a pause, “She is not, however, above asking if you Apples have any other stallions of similar stature. You have a billion cousins, do you not?”

Applejack laughs and Big Mac grins. “We got a couple,” answers the former.

“We’ll talk later,” says Trixie in a stage whisper. “First, however, the Great and Magnanimous Trixie has brought gifts to formally congratulate the happy parents in our number. Come forth, parents!” Applejack, Pinkie, and their respective husbands obediently assemble. “First, for the Marine parents,” with a flourish, she produces a pair of children’s books from beneath her cape and bequeaths them to Applejack and Bud. “And now, for the parents from civilized branches of the military.” Amidst chuckles, she lifts her hat and bestows another set of books upon Arinze and Pinkie.

The latter set of books are the sort of early-learning readers to be expected for small children (Goodnight Luna, Go Diamond Dog Go, Grannie Goose’s Nursery Rhymes, and the like), though with the added feature of being made of durable, non-toxic, waterproof pages that the foals can safely chew on without damaging the books (which seems to delight Twilight even more than the actual parents).

The Marine books, however, prove to be much more unique, if Bud guffawing and Applejack nearly falling over laughing are any indication.

Ponies crowd in to see what the joke is, Applejack’s copy is passed around, and soon the whole room dissolves into hilarity. Shoddy is laughing so hard has tears in his eyes.

Fluttershy and I are the last to see the book. It’s… interesting. Trixie somehow managed to procure copies of a “children’s” book called ‘Slay Bodies’ and other Marine Bedtime Stories by Gunny Sack. The cover features a wide-eyed filly sitting in bed and looking up with innocent wonderment at a benevolent-looking gunnery sergeant reading from a book riddled with bullet holes.

Oh my,” says Fluttershy, thereby expressing her views on the book as well as mine.

Obviously, the book is not actually intended for foals, a fact made even more evident by the… colorful terminology used within. I pass the book back to Applejack before I can turn redder than Big Mac.

“Ah can’t believe Sack actually got it published!” exclaims the farm mare through her merriment.

I can’t believe he managed to resist picking fights with the Rangers long enough to keep the extra stripe,” remarks Bud, referring, I presume, to rank insignia. “I figured he’d be stuck in a perpetual state of getting promoted to Gunny and then busted back down to Staff.”

“Well,” I remark, “it’s amazing what a Marine can accomplish when he sets his mind to it.”

I say this in the hopes of subtly reinforcing an optimistic worldview for Shoddy, but Rainbow takes it in another direction. “Yeah,” she smirks, “until today, I never would have believed one of you could learn how to write.” She ducks a swipe of Applejack’s hoof. “Maybe one day a Marine will learn how to read too.” This time she has to spring into the air to avoid retribution.

Thunderlane comes to his wife’s aid and addresses Arinze and Pinkie. “So, as ponies who married Marines, I assume you two will be reading that to your spouses, helping them sound out the vowels, that sort of thing?”

Applejack growls, but Bud pats her on the shoulder. “Disengage, Gunny. Remember what they told us in basic: don’t argue with Airheads.”

“Why not?” asks Twilight.

Shoddy chuckles and explains. “It’d take a lobotomy to get on their level.”

The non-Air Corps ponies and zebras enjoy a laugh at those worthies’ expense as we make our way to the dining room.

One thing I notice as we walk is that, while Trixie is naturally the center of attention, she makes a point of using her focal position to make sure the attention gets spread around so no one is left out of the conversation. She’s not overbearing about it – respecting Fluttershy’s preference for quiet for example – but the masterful way she directs the conversation is… more subtlety than I thought she was capable of, to be frank.

It’s impressive. After years playing the gracious hostess (both on my own behalf and as Twilight’s de facto Steward), I can certainly appreciate the skill it takes to manage a group like this. The fact that the showmare can do it is a testament to how capable she has become now that she’s gotten out of her own way.

Spike meets us in the dining room. Having presumably been briefed on Trixie by Big Mac, he reacts to her reformation with the ready aplomb he’s cultivated in maturity, though he can’t help but snort laughing when Trixie apologizes for “that unfortunate incident wherein she folded him into a basketball.”

The others take their seats, but I wait near the door that leads down the hall to the kitchen, listening for Chef’s approach. Sure enough, his arrival is preceded by bearlike growls and a litany of expletives calculated to turn the walls bluer than Trixie. He cusses about a myriad of topics, among them last minute changes to dinner, royal attendees, the sensitive palates of two pregnant mares, and the inadequate pay he receives for the kind of… shall we say ‘restroom leavings’ that he puts up with.

Chiefly, he complains of the return of that “Ivory-coated, ice-hearted, persnickety, pedantic, petulant, forged-in-Tartarus-windigo-in-pony’s-skin called Rarity!

Truly, it’s nice to be appreciated.

The rant continues right up to the door, and I can picture the ferocious scowl on his grizzled features clearly as my own reflection. The latch clicks, the door opens… and he enters the room with an angelic smile plastered across his features.

“Welcome, honored guests,” he says in a honey-sweet voice. “My name is Chef, I am the chef, and it is my privilege to serve you this evening. On the menu tonight we have…”

Chef proceeds to list off the culinary wizardry his is preparing for them tonight, making special note of the many options available and often lapsing into Prench or Bitalian as needed, even going so far as to make the appropriate Bitalian hoof gestures when describing the ricotta cheese on the pasta. The guests all thank him, and he makes his way back to the door from whence he came, wearing that same indulgent smile he entered with.

Just before passing through the door, he shoots me a glare calculated to curdle milk at 50 yards, then slams the door shut behind him.

I smile and let out a contented sigh as I take my seat with the others. Twilight shoots me an odd look as I sit down. “Rarity? Why were you hanging out by the door?”

“Oh, nothing, darling,” I reply. “Just reminiscing.”


The dinner is exquisite, of course. I would expect nothing less from a chef of Chef’s caliber. Granted, my waistline won’t thank me for indulging my passion for Bitalian food, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make on this auspicious occasion. Especially since Twilight has an excellent wine selection – one of the few elements of class she needed no help from me developing. Chef even brought up one of my favorite chardonnays. Such thoughtfulness is typical of him, not that he’d ever admit it to anypony, least of all to me.

I’m not the only one imbibing, of course, and the wine quickly loosens the tongues of all present (excepting those of two specific mares, of course). It’s not long before we are being regaled with some of the more colorful tales of the Front.

And, I must say, I’ve quickly discovered that my friends were never the sort to let a little thing like Total War get in the way of having a good time.

“… so Rainbow lies there, barely awake, a whole squadron’s worth of empty cider bottles piled up beneath her like a dragon hoard, the MP demanding an explanation,” guffaws Applejack, giving the mare in question a hearty slap on the back that almost puts Rainbow’s muzzle in her pasta, “and you know what this crazy gal says to ’im?”

“Something snarky, I’ll bet,” predicts Twilight.

“She looks ’im dead in the eye, blinks, and says, ‘Listen, buddy, if you didn’t want us drinking the contraband, you shoulda locked it up better.’”

Laughter fills the room as Rainbow smiles sheepishly. “Cripes, Dash!” chuckles Bud. “Tactical error!”

“Yeah, not the smartest move I’ve ever made,” she admits.

“Not the dumbest either,” Thunderlane remarks.

“Yeah, I guess no— hey!” she exclaims rounding on her husband. “Friendly fire!”

Spike helps himself to another bowl of shrimp scampi. “Sheesh, Rainbow. How long were you in the stockade for that one?”

Rainbow smirks. “Zero hours, Spike. ’Cause I’m awesome.”

“’Cause Trixie bailed ya out, you mean,” corrects Applejack. “As Ah recall, she somehow convinced the MPs to let her handle yer punishment. Then, soon as you were in her custody, she let ya off with a ‘warning.’”

“W-well,” sputters Dash, “she owed me after you all left me curled up on the bottles. Sticking a friend with the evidence after we all made the empties was kinda blue falcon if you ask me!”

I lean over to Fluttershy and whisper, “‘Blue falcon?’”

Blushing, she whispers back, “It means… um… backstabbing friend.”

I raise my eyebrow at that answer, but elect to listen to the main attraction rather than press the matter.

“Ya still sore about that?” retorts Applejack, “ya may recall raiding the contraband crate wasn’t mah idea! An’ we weren’t tryin’ ta leave ya hangin’. That starched shirt surprised us an’ we bolted. We was all gonna step up an’ take the heat with ya if’n Trixie hadn’t taken charge.”

The showmare tosses back her mane and waves a hoof airily. “Yes, well, let it never be said that the Loyal and Charismatic Trixie leaves her dearest friends twisting in the wind.”

Thunderlane raises an eyebrow. “Especially when the Breaking and Entering Trixie is the mare who got us into the contraband in the first place.”

Trixie flushes slightly as ponies chuckle all around the table. “Y-yes,” she stammers. “Especially then.”

“I can’t believe you all raided the MPs’ contraband chests like that,” remarks Twilight. “That violates, like, twenty regulations. At least.”

Applejack huffs. “Ah can’t believe some starched shirt thought it was a good idea ta confiscate cider from troops who just came off eight months on the line.”

“Yeah,” agrees Spike, his voice dry. “Forbidding cider with Dash around, you’d think he’d have been in fear for his life.”

Thunderlane gives Spike a long look. “See, you joke about that…”

“Half them ciders weren’t even hard,” protests Applejack. “Shows how much he knew! An’ we were miles from the Front that day! Even if we hadn’t been, it’s not like any of us got plastered! Only reason Dash passed out was ’cause she’d been up for forty-seven hours straight!”

“Forty-eight,” corrects Dash as she takes a sip of her hard cider. It’s a minor culinary sin to pair a cider with scampi, but I suppose she’s making up for lost cider seasons. “Don’t short-change my misery.” Thunderlane clears his throat and she nudges him affectionately. “Our misery. Sorry, ’Lane.”

Trixie laughs lightly. “Princess Twilight, if the Wise and Insightful Trixie may make an observation, it strikes her that this incident is exactly the sort of situation where the regulations, nobly-intentioned though they are, deserve to be interpreted in a… relaxed fashion. Why, after seeing the horrible deprivations these brave stallions and mares had suffered, Trixie considered it her duty as an officer and a lady to succor them in their distress.”

Twilight smiles dryly and jots down a note on the scratch paper she keeps around for note-related emergencies. “I’ll be sure to bring it up at the next meeting with the Joint Chiefs.”

“Give General Poneshing my best,” purrs Trixie.

Arinze cuts in. “Speaking of the good General, I have a question I’ve been meaning to ask: did he really threaten to court-marshal you after the Second Battle of Trotter’s Hill?”

“On the contrary, Your Highness,” corrects Nkea, “I believe he threatened to have her shot.”

All eyes turn to Trixie, who takes a dainty sip of wine before replying, “Trixie is reasonably certain he was speaking in jest.”

How certain?” asks Twilight.

“Eh. Seventy, seventy-five percent? In any case, he promoted Trixie instead.”

Applejack chuckles. “Well, shoot! Ah didn’t know that! Musta been right before ya got sent down our way! How come ya never said nuthin’?”

“Yeah!” agrees Dash. “Woulda been a hilarious story!”

Trixie gives a nervous laugh and rubs the back of her neck. “It… might have had something to do with the fact that Trixie couldn’t believe you were actually talking to her after… everything.”

“Hm. Fair.”

Ah, perfect! An opportunity to ask a question that’s been tormenting me all day! “Trixie, I have to ask,” I remark, my tone casual as I swirl my pasta onto a fork. “How did you encounter the four of them? Was it just coincidence, or did you seek them out?”

The showmare sits back in her seat. “Trixie supposes that’s a fair question, but yields the floor to Her Royal Apple-ness for the opening narrative.”

‘Her Royal Apple-ness’ rolls her eyes at the moniker, but starts in all the same. “Truth be told, we had no idea Trixie was even in our AO at first. All we heard was General Poneshing had transferred some crazy artillerymare to us, and that whoever it was had a rep fer crazy tactics – placin’ her guns way forward o’ the line in concealed positions, hauling ’em inta impassible mountains ta get good angles, experimental shot, fireworks ta disorient, that sorta thing.”

Rainbow snorts. “Those were just the sane rumors. Some ponies said she had her bombardments timed to live music, that she had posters advertising her ‘show’ made up and mailed to the buzzard officers, and that she fired dummy shells over enemy lines that dropped leaflets bragging about her brilliance and the inevitability of an Equestrian victory.”

Slowly, I turn my stunned gaze to Trixie, who shrugs casually. “Art never rests,” she says. “Trixie has her reputation to consider.”

“Anyway,” resumes Applejack, “point is we didn’t know what to make of ’er. And it looked like we weren’t gonna find out any time soon, or at least Ah wasn’t, because me an’ the boys got sent up ta Hill 223. You remember that hill, doncha, Shoddy?”

“Sure do, Gunny.”

“You remember why we were there?”

“Sure don’t, Gunny.”

“Hill 223 was one o’ them hills that traded sides more times’n Ah care ta remember. This was one o’ the times we held it, maybe even the time we kept it, Ah honestly don’t recall fer sure, but the point is we held it. 223 was forward o’ the lines by a ways cuz the terrain around it was too marshy ta dig in, so we was really hangin’ it out there.”

Too far out,” agrees Shoddy grimly.

Applejack nods. “Eeyup. They waited for a night when we had practically no moon, then hit us hard. Turns out the buzzards had brought up a bunch o’ them owl-type griffons that could see in the dark. First warnin’ we had was when Shoddy here thought he heard something comin’ through the wire. He took a peek over the top, saw ’em creepin’ up on us, swore loud enough ta wake the camp, and put a grenade right in the middle o’ the sorry dastards.”

I glance in Shoddy’s direction and nod approvingly. This is the second time tonight I’ve learned that his keen senses and heroics have saved our brave soldiers from ambush. I’m about to ask whether he was decorated for this action, but the stallion in question blushes deeply and mutters, “I got lucky is all.”

“Tartarus with luck, ya saved the platoon,” retorts Applejack, with the tone of a mare who’s had this argument before. “In any case, before we knew it we were up to our eyeballs in griffons, fire pourin’ in from every direction. All we had ta shoot by was muzzle flashes, on account o’ not havin’ any moon ta speak of, so we were pretty much firin’ blind. Any unicorns what lit up were lucky not ta get their horns blown off, and there were so many o’ the dastards that we didn’t have a prayer o’ keeping ’em off the hill.”

“My word!” I exclaim, feeling the sort of uncertain dismay one feels when the outcome is in doubt, even though the survivors are plainly in front of me. Dramatic tension is funny like that. “How ever did you survive?”

Applejack dips her head in Dash’s direction. “Ah’ll let the Zoomie take over here.”

“Soarin busted into the barracks and roused us, saying Hill 223 was getting hit,” says Dash, her eyes taking on a hard quality at the recollection. “We threw our kit on and lined up to take off but…” she scratches the back of her head, a displacement action to cover frustration, “Spitfire ordered us to stand down.”

Twilight tilts her head in confusion. “Why?”

“Pegasi can see a little better than other ponies in the dark, but not that much better. There are lots of griffon breeds that can see better than us, especially owls, and Spitfire had a hunch that was what was waiting for us. It’s how they’d operated during other night attacks. She figured we’d get shot out of the sky if we went in before having the mages cast night vision on us. In hindsight,” again she scratches the back of her head, “in hindsight she was right, but I… didn’t think so at the time. I kinda… blew up at her.”

I raise an eyebrow. If Dash’s history of understatement is any indication, she did a great deal more than ‘blow up’ at Spitfire.

Thunderlane rubs his wife’s back comfortingly. “Hey, the boss forgave you, and nothing went on your permanent record.”

Dash does not seem soothed. “’Lane, that’s sweet and all, but I tried to assault a superior officer. Only reason I didn’t wind up in the brig was that she knew she needed warm bodies.”

Wow. I… I can’t say I blame Dashie for her outburst, but… wow.

“The boss forgave you because she knew you were out of your head with worry,” corrects Thunderlane, unwilling to let his wife stew without a fight.

Rainbow shakes her head. “Whatever. We’re off topic. Point is, it was gonna take time for us to get enough fliers with night vision, and we weren’t sure we had that kind of time.” Dash shudders at the recollection, then looks up at Trixie with a grateful smile. “Then we got a runner from our mystery artillerymare with strict orders and a plan to save the Marines.”

Trixie shrugs casually and takes a sip of wine. “T’was nothing, really. Trixie had been experimenting with some new illumination rounds – flares of a sort, with a few slow-fall enchantments to keep them airborne longer, loaded into low velocity shells that dropped the flares at intervals in a line. Trixie merely prescribed a path for our brave fliers to follow that kept them out of the line of fire, softened the griffons up with a barrage, then lit the sky once our airponies got close enough. Once they had the light, the combined fire of the Air and Marine Corps made short work of the attackers in the immediate vicinity, and my battery kept any reinforcements from coming up.” She takes another sip of wine, her smile coy. “It was a reasonably effective tactic if Trixie may say so.”

Applejack snorts. “Ya may say so, an’ ya should say so. It weren’t just effective – it was a total rout! Poor buzzards never knew what hit ’em.”

“Good riddance to bad blood,” growls Shoddy, throwing back half a beer in a single swig. His snarl is bitter, and the hate in his voice sounds fresh in spite of more than a year’s distance between him and the war. It’s a sharp contrast to the more casual way the other veterans tend to refer to the enemy which, while often mocking and sometimes serious, is seldom venomous.

Fluttershy shoots Shoddy a long look and opens her mouth to say something, then returns her attention to her food without voicing her comment.

I almost wish she had; perhaps I’ll have to ask about it later.

In my brief distraction I miss a part of the narrative, but it seems to have only been a transitional part, giving a few details about the after-action cleanup. I probably missed some minor context, but not enough to throw me off track for when, at some point after the battle, Dash and Applejack sought out the mysterious artillerymare who’d saved the Marines, bearing with them a celebratory bottle of… well… applejack brandy.

I sometimes forget that Applejack is named after an alcohol. “Out of curiosity,” I ask, “did you have that shipped from home, or did you distill it in the field?”

Applejack coughs. “In the spirit o’ not rattin’ out the ponies who hypothetically helped me in this theoretical scenario where Ah may or may not ’ave broken a few regs makin’ the stuff, Ah respectfully decline ta answer.”

That’s about what I expected.

“Anyhoo,” continues Applejack, “we got ta the Cheap Seats… er… for you civvies in the room ‘Cheap Seats’ is Service-Speak fer the artillery ponies, an’ we asked ta speak ta the commandin’ officer. Took a minute for us ta get invited inta the office, but we got there eventually.” Smiling fondly at the recollection, she turns to Trixie. “Imagine our surprise when we saw her Great an’ Powerful self waitin’ for us.”

Twilight laughs. “I think I can imagine that after today. How’d it go?”

Trixie laughs weakly. “To be honest, it almost didn’t go at all. Trixie heard who was outside and… well… Trixie… I came closer to dropping a smoke bomb and vanishing than I’d care to admit. Only the knowledge that it would be impossible to avoid them forever when sharing an encampment kept me from attempting the greatest vanishing act of my career. I… was not expecting it to go well.”

Dash laughs. “Meanwhile, we didn’t know who to expect when we walked into her office, but it sure wasn’t Trixie! My jaw dropped so hard I almost dislocated it, and Applejack froze up like Twilight in a quesadilla factory.”

Twilight blurts a word that princesses probably shouldn’t say and flings a fork at Rainbow’s head, which the latter barely ducks. “Sorry, Twi,” laughs the pegasus.

“Don’t apologize to her,” says Spike with a chuckle. “Apologize to Princess Luna for the nightmares she’s going to be cleaning up tonight.”

Shoddy gives me a befuddled look and I mouth “long story” before turning to Trixie and asking, “What happened next?”

“We… talked,” replies the showmare at length. “Explanations, apologies, Trixie won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say we emerged with an understanding.”

Rainbow snorts. “Understanding, heck! We emerged friends, Trix. Don’t sell it short.”

Trixie smiles. “Yes, I suppose we did.” Her gaze sharpens. “A fact which you were supposed to have informed Princess Twilight of.”

“Hey, we tried! We didn’t know the mail didn’t go through!”

“Oh, you didn’t?” exclaims Pinkie Pie abruptly.

Her sudden entrance into the conversation makes more than one pony jump in surprise, myself included. Strange as it would have seemed a few years ago, Pinkie hardly ever speaks during meals anymore, to the point that it’s easy to forget she’s there. Shocking, I know, but she is eating for five, and I suppose that only leaves so much time for talking, even for a mare like Pinkie.

In spite of the shock, however, Dash recovers quickly enough to retort, “Wait, Pinkie, you knew she didn’t get our letters?”

“Of course, silly!”

Then why didn’t you say anything?!”

“Eh. Pinkie Sense,” replies the pink menace casually.

Face-hoofs and groans of dismay echo around the table.

Spike, who seems more amused than anything, asks, “How did Trixie meet you and Fluttershy then?”

“Oh, that’s easy!” said Pinkie Pie. “We met when Trixie won the Battle of Eagle’s Ridge.”

My eyes widen at the name. Eagle’s Ridge is remembered by the public as a great Equestrian victory, but rumor has it the soldiers call it by a different name: Butcher’s Ridge.

I remember walking into the room when Twilight got the casualty reports.

She was sobbing uncontrollably.

I look to Trixie, whose good humor seems to have deserted her. She grips her wine glass in her magic and swirls it in a slow circle, gaze lost in her drink. “Pinkie exaggerates,” she says quietly. “I did not win the battle; my artilleryponies simply gave us a much-needed edge.”

“I’ll say you gave us an edge!” says Pinkie Pie. “Everypony thought she was crazy, wanting to haul cannons up the cliffside and mount them on the tippy top of the Ridge! But I knew my engineers could do it, and boy was it a good thing we had ’em up there! We dug in and camouflaged the guns where Trixie’s ponies had a view of the entire field, only the griffons didn’t know we were waiting to surprise ’em! When they charged the main lines down below, they didn’t know what hit ’em! By the time they figured it out, it was too late to stop us! Even—”

Her voice breaks and she swallows, blinking rapidly as her smile falters. Bud puts a hoof across her withers. A moment later, her grin returns, though it seems forced.

“Even when they launched all their squadrons at us up there,” she says, almost managing to mask the shake in her voice, “Trixie held us together. She walked the line with her saber and pistol, calling out shots, leading the defense whenever the birds got close, keeping us calm while the squadrons kept coming and coming and…” Pinkie swallows again and beams across the table at Trixie, moisture in her eyes, “she kept us alive.”

Silence descends on the room. Trixie stares into her wine, not meeting Pinkie’s gaze. After a moment, she speaks in a voice soft and controlled, “Trixie was just in the right place at the right time, that’s all.” Clearing her throat, she stands up from the table. “Trixie’s afraid she needs to use the little fillies’ room. Fluttershy can tell her part of the story in Trixie’s absence.”

Without another word, she turns and leaves. Nopony says anything at first. Then the silence is broken by Shoddy, who refills his beer and says, “Well, Miss Fluttershy, what happened next?”

Sweet Celestia, how can anypony be so casual when asking that?

Pre-War Fluttershy would have been a wreck just hearing a story like that. Now, she may have a distant look in her eyes at the memory, but she’s very much present with us as she says, “I was a medic up on the Ridge. It was… there were so many wounded, more than I’d ever seen at one time except Angriff.” A lock of hair has pulled free from her bun, and she brushes it back behind one ear. “Trixie was in the thick of it from start to finish. When she ran out of bullets, she used her pistol as a club. When her saber broke, she fought hoof-to-hoof. She was wounded three times but refused to be treated until the griffons were driven off. Then she refused to be treated until all her ponies had been treated.”

Once more, the room falls silent. Pinkie nods at the recollection, as does Bud who, being in the same army group, must have heard about it immediately afterwards. Arinze, looking quite impressed, makes a remark to Nkea in Zwahili which the latter returns. Myself and the other girls, along with Thunderlane, Mac, and Spike, all stare at Fluttershy in degrees of awe ranging from profound to total.

Shoddy chuckles and raises his beer in a one-pony toast. “Hot dang. I knew Bag-o-Tricks was a tough old nag, but that’s some jarhead-level horseapples there, eh boss?”

“Uh… yeah,” manages Applejack.

“Now how the hay’d she get cheated outta the Star o’ Valor?” wonders Shoddy aloud as he raises his beer to his lips and takes a swig. “Typical brass BS.”

“She was approved for it, actually,” says Fluttershy quietly.

Shoddy slams his tankard down. “What? Then why in the hay don’t she have it?”

Before Fluttershy can answer, Trixie struts back into the room, her previous somberness gone. “Ah, the joys of indoor plumbing,” she says. “One never ceases to appreciate it after the detestable squalor of the field.”

Shoddy starts to address Trixie, presumably to ask her a barefaced question about the Star of Valor she doesn’t have, but a sharp nudge from Fluttershy and a shake of the head silences him. He appears bemused, and I suspect he doesn’t understand why she bade him leave his question unspoken. In truth, I’m not certain I understand myself, but I’ll defer to Fluttershy’s judgment.

Trixie sits and remarks, “Still, for all the conveniences of living once more in Equestria, I must confess, I do miss the War.”

“You WHAT?!”

The exclamation is out my lips before I can stop it. And I’m not done there.

“How could you p-possibly…?” I stammer, “But it was so… I just… I can’t…”

No, I can’t. I can’t understand. After all we’ve heard tonight, after she just had to leave the room because she recalled Butcher’s Ridge, after what the war did to my friends, to Shoddy, to Twilight, how can she just—

Unless she really is just a callous nag who simply doesn’t care about the killing and the death, but then my friends wouldn’t be friends with her unless they also—

“What in the blazes do ya mean, ya miss the War?” demands Applejack.

“Yeah,” adds Rainbow Dash, seeming a little leery. “Did AJ hit you harder than she thought earlier?”

Their questions send relief flooding through my body, though they don’t answer the questions I have of Trixie.

The mare herself remains composed. “Oh, don’t act as though you don’t feel the same way at some level. Trixie would wager all you fellow soldiers of mine miss the War, except perhaps Fluttershy.” She takes a sip of wine. “Though perhaps Trixie… no… perhaps I should clarify – I don’t miss the killing. I’m not a savage. And I don’t miss seeing my comrades die. I’m not a sadist. But there was so much more to the War than that! It was…” she turns her gaze to the ceiling as though searching for inspiration there. “It was…”

“Purpose,” supplies Shoddy, his words ringing and his eyes intense. “Family.”

Trixie grins and points at the stallion. “Yes! The Marine gets it! Purpose. Family. Every morning I woke up over there, I knew I had a purpose. I wasn’t just some random showmare, I was the shield of the innocent, the sword of Equestria, defending ponies like Twilight or Snips and Snails or strangers for Celestia’s sake – I defended them all, and avenged the evils the Dominion had done them! I woke up knowing I was charged with leading the finest soldiers in the world into battle with our enemies… and with bringing my ponies home safely! I, Trixie, loud mouth, braggart, petty villain, had been trusted with the awesome responsibility of lives, and where I once would have run, I now knew I would die before I failed my ponies!”

She punctuates her declaration by smashing one hoof on the table as she bares a toothy grin. “And, best of all, I was amongst my soldiers, my family, ponies I never knew before the war and may have had nothing in common with… but who I would die for. And they were willing to die for me! No question, no doubt! Because we loved each other! Battle proved our love for each other!”

Her gaze sweeps over the six of us Bearers, electrifying us as though with a spell. “You all knew this purpose, this family before the War. You had causes bigger than yourselves, bonds bigger than yourselves, things and friends worth dying for. Others are lucky enough to say the same.” She gestures to herself. “But a pony like me? I never had that. Not once in all my life. Then, suddenly, I get over there, and I have…” Trixie’s gaze turns to Shoddy, mutely asking him to finish her thought.

“A place to belong,” he concludes, matching her intensity. “A brotherhood, a sisterhood of hundreds.”

“Sacred bonds, proved in combat,” says Trixie reverently. “Nothing has ever been so thrilling.” Her eyes are locked on Shoddy’s as though the two of them are seeing into each other’s souls. “It’s amazing. Surrounded by death, and yet I never felt so—”

“—alive,” he finishes.

“Yes!” Trixie exclaims, raising her glass in salute like a warrior baroness of old and declaring, “You understand War, Iron Shod.”

For once, Shoddy does not protest the compliment.

Casting her gaze over the veterans, Trixie says, “You understand. I know you do. Perhaps you do not miss the War as much as Trixie - you have other bonds, other causes to satiate those needs. And you needn’t say you wish the War was still on. I do not wish that! I thank the heavens every day that the damnable War has ended, that more of my ponies don’t need to die! But can any of you, any of you, honestly say you don’t miss it at all?”

I stare in disbelief as, one by one, my friends all answer “No.”