//------------------------------// // Growing Up // Story: A 14th Century Supplement in Celestia's Court // by Antiquarian //------------------------------// Pre-Chapter Note: Yet another chapter from the cutting room floor, published while I have writer's block. This was originally going to come between when training started and when Jacques and Co. went to Canterlot. The intent: to expand some on Twilight’s learning of shadowmancy (and her struggles with the nature of the threat of the Shades) and to complete the continuity of several remarks Jacques made regarding Spike and Rarity. As with most of these cutting room floor chapters, it’s incomplete, but still canonical. There’s also an explanation at the end to clarify a couple things in case people think I’m saying something that I’m actually not. Golden Oaks Library, Ponyville, one week before Jacques’, Rarity’s, and Oaken’s trip to Canterlot The days that followed Friar Jacques’ midnight excursion into the Everfree had been rather more intense than Twilight was accustomed to. Fritters referred to it as an “introduction to the high tempo lifestyle.” Twilight called it “exhausting.” It wasn’t that she was in bad shape, no matter what certain ponies (Rainbow Dash!) might have suggested. Twilight liked to be healthy, and she’d read enough books on the subject to know that her mind worked better if her body was functioning properly. That was one of the reasons she’d become so good at reading while walking, jogging, or otherwise working out, periodic head-on collisions with pedestrians and intimate objects notwithstanding. The bursts of exercise found in semi-regular monster attacks, evil-artifact-unearthings, and world-threatening catastrophes didn’t hurt her muscle tone either. With that said, the impromptu Ponyville boot camp she and her friends were experiencing (or perhaps enduring would have been more accurate) was grueling in ways she’d never experienced. The fact that the training had to work around the trainees’ schedules only seemed to make the trainers that much more determined to squeeze every possible ounce of sweat and toil out of trainees in the limited time they had. Fritters in particular approached this task with a zealotry that would have made even the hardest-nosed drill sergeant weep salty tears of joy (before promptly ordering the tears back into their tear ducts). There was nothing cruel about the methods of the soldiers, not even Fritters – tough as they were, they were the Bearers’ (and Big Mac’s) best chance of surviving the trials that lay ahead. Truth be told, it was nothing short of a miracle that they were making such great progress training so many disparate personalities in such little time. Twilight was immensely grateful to them. None of which made Twilight any less sore. Nor did it remove the mental ache of having to cut back on her daily reading regimen, a complaint which, in a moment of less-than-stellar judgment, she’d voiced to Fritters. The Konik had responded by offering to stimulate her mental faculties by providing an opportunity for demonstrating applied physics in a multi-variable equation. Which, in laypony’s terms, meant a sparring match against Rainbow and Applejack. Simultaneously. While she was limited to telekinesis and non-magical combat. Twilight lost, but only barely, and she took great satisfaction in having put Rainbow out of the match first (how was that for out of shape, Rainbow?!). The physical exertion and reading deprivation were not the hardest parts of her training however. No, that dubious honor belonged to shadowmancy. Her initial excitement at studying the art of shadow magic from Princess Luna’s very own hoof-written notes (squee!) had quickly been blunted when she’d actually tried using them. While Twilight was learning the new counter-spells and general combat spells that accompanied the shadowmancy with her customary speed, the shadowmancy itself seemed to actively resist her. She could barely manage the simplest spell without locking up, suffering backlash, or getting a headache. The reason for her struggle was quickly discovered. Morning Song made the connection while Twilight was busy shouting at her horn for not cooperating: Sombra. Twilight’s last experience with shadowmancy had been with the corrupted kind in the Crystal Empire. To say that the incident had left a foul taste in Twilight’s mouth would have been something of an understatement. Turns out that nearly being driven to despair by corrupted shadow magic in the icy north has long-term associative discomfort. Who knew? Song’s discrete discussions with Twilight led to them determining that Twilight had a mental block resulting from being essentially ‘gun-shy’ of shadow magic. The therapist’s advice was to face the mental block directly and apply steady, patient pressure. Twilight, however, found herself reluctant to do that. Even though she accepted, intellectually, that she needed to face the mental block in order to remove it, she found herself struggling to find the motivation to do it. She kept finding other areas of study to occupy her time, and reassured herself with the knowledge that there was merit in these other areas. It was displacement activity and she knew it, but she rationalized that it beat having another attempt at shadowmancy blow up in her face. All of this meant that, on the occasions when Twilight was free to simply stay at the library and research – normal, non-shadow-related research – she was grateful beyond words. This was one of those times. None of the soldiers wanted to risk pushing the trainees too hard, so Twilight had been allowed most of the day to relax with a cup of tea, a stack of icepacks, and a bottle of mixed Zebra herbal remedies (for inflammation). She relished every minute of it as a pony in the desert would relish every drop of water. Twilight briefly considered using her time ‘off’ to at least do some reading on shadowmancy, on the grounds that it would be productive towards that goal without being as exhausting as actually trying it. But she quickly dismissed the idea. This was her day ‘off,’ and she was not going to deal with the headache of shadowmancy. Solving an obtuse aspect of transmogrification theory that had long eluded her was much more to her liking. Friar Jacques, upon hearing she’d be spending the day in the library, elected to accompany her so as to brush up on Equestrian history and political theory. His reasoning was that, with his trip to Canterlot with Rarity and Oaken fast approaching, it would behoove him to be prepared. It was quiet in the Golden Oaks Library, with only the turning of pages, the scratch of quill on parchment, and the occasional muttered calculation on Twilight’s part breaking the silence. The clock ticked through the second hour of the afternoon, and the only two living beings in the library, Twilight and Friar Jacques, were quite engrossed in their respective work – research and magical number-crunching on Twilight’s part, and the reading of Equestrian lore on Jacques.’ The silence was peaceful and free of distraction. Unlike some of her other friends, Jacques had a tendency to study in silence, to the point that Twilight sometimes forgot he was there. Now would not be one of those times. “Twilight, how old is Spike?” asked the friar. Startled from her concentration by the abrupt question, she turned in her seat to see Jacques sitting on a stool, book open but ignored, gazing at her intently. Caught off-guard, she answered automatically, “Sixteen years, seven months, and twenty-one days.” Jacques smiled, amused. “Rather precise of you.” Twilight blushed. “In my homeland he’d be considered a man, or at least close to it,” continued the friar. “He’d be called an adult in your culture as well in little more than a year. Yet he is a baby dragon.” “Well… yes,” replied Twilight, not sure what to make of the abrupt remark. “He has in many ways the maturity of an adult, yet at other times he is like a teenager, or at others a young child,” remarked Jacques. Shaking his head and chuckling, he added, “An interesting mix of contradictions, to be sure.” “I suppose so,” agreed Twilight, turning fully around to face him now that it was clear this would not be a passing question. “He’s sort of been like that ever since he got old enough to form his own opinions. I’ve just come to accept that’s the way it is with him.” Jacques nodded. “You’ve raised him for much of those sixteen years, seven months, and twenty-one days though, have you not? Obviously, your parents, brother, and the princess all helped you, especially when you were a young filly. But you’ve always had a special role in his life – a bond of guardian and caretaker, present from the day you hatched him. It is a maternal bond in more ways than one, perhaps the deepest such bond he has.” Twilight shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I… it’s… yes…” she said. “It’s… it’s complicated. It’s sort of a sibling thing, and he was also my first friend, but, well, I did hatch him, and as I got older I took over more and more responsibility in raising him, even took a lot on when I was young, so, um, I guess you could call that… maternal… b-but I don’t want to just call myself his— I mean, he has to have a real mothe—” realizing she was babbling, she took a deep breath. “I don’t want to claim to be something I’m not.” The friar raised an eyebrow. “Nor am I suggesting you should. Dear lady, you cannot supplant the mother who gave him life. Wherever she is, whatever the circumstances by which he came to you, whether or not she still lives, whether she is a worthy dragoness or not, she is still his mother, and that cannot change.” Jacques flipped the book closed and set it on the table beside him, continuing, “But there is more than one form of parental bond. An adoptive mother is just as true a mother as a blood mother, and in some cases a better one. Many times have I seen adoptive mothers, and fathers for that matter, forge bonds with their children as strong as those found between blood relations. Yet that is just one example.” He tapped his chest. “In my case, I shall never have children of my own flesh, nor shall I adopt any. For all that, I have been blessed with a bounty of spiritual children.” The friar pointed to her. “Your bond is yet another form. You have mothered him these many years. Whatever the nature of your relationship, it is, in part, maternal. Were his birth mother to reappear, that would not change the reality of what you have been to Spike for nearly seventeen years.” At his words, Twilight found she had tears in her eyes, a reaction to the emotions his words had given voice to. “I… um… I…” she wiped a hoof across her eyes, huskily saying, “I guess wouldn’t.” Jacques smiled warmly. “It is a truly a remarkable thing you have done, Twilight, to raise a creature of a species so alien to your own, with such inevitable contradictions of age and maturity. More exceptional yet is that you did so from such a young age, and instilled in him such virtues as he displays. He is a fine young man, or rather a fine young drake. You are to be commended.” “T-thank you, Friar,” managed Twilight, who was suddenly in dire need of a tissue. Seeing this, Jacques rose and passed her the box, moving his stool closer as he did so. “You are most welcome,” he replied. Twilight blew her nose and wiped the tears from her eyes. In the time it took to do it, she wondered what had prompted this conversation. Especially since it looks like he isn’t done, thought the mare, noting the patient look in his eyes as he waited for her to finish. Once she’d composed herself, she asked, “Friar, if you don’t mind my asking, what brought this on?” Jacques tilted his head as though to examine a space on the wall above her. “Several reasons, if I am honest,” he replied, “though two in particular. Firstly, because I have always found that people benefit from contemplating the things which are most important in their lives, especially when they are facing times of strife.” Twilight’s thoughts drifted to spells Luna had sent her for combat, shadowmancy, and counterspells. “Well, now certainly qualifies,” she quipped. “Indeed,” he smiled, letting his eyes fall to meet hers. “Secondly, because, as his guardian, there is something I must ask you.” “Oh?” she said, straightening up. “What?” “How long has he pined for Rarity?” Twilight recoiled in shock. “What?” “A ‘crush’ I believe you’d call it,” elaborated Jacques. “Don’t bother denying it. It’s as plain as day to anyone with half an eye to see and half an ear to hear. How long?” The mare looked away. I promised Spike I wouldn’t tell anypony about his crush. But then, Jacques already knows. So it’s not really breaking the promise if there’s no secret to keep, is it? “Since we got to Ponyville,” she admitted quietly. “I see,” said Jacques. “And you have tried to dissuade him, yes?” “Well, yeah, but nothing’s worked,” Twilight said, looking up. “I’ve hinted at it, I’ve joked about it so he’d see how silly it was, I’ve made sure not to encourage him. I’ve even suggested he not bother and then tried to get him to focus on other things. Rarity’s always made it clear she thinks of him as a friend and tried to show her affection for him as such, but he always interprets it differently, no matter what anypony says or does! He just won’t put two and two together!” Jacques raised an eyebrow. “In my experience, men and boys smitten by eros are seldom logical in their thinking.” “So what am I supposed to do then?” Twilight demanded, aggravation slipping into her voice. “Tell him to his face? It’ll crush him!” More softly, she added, “I don’t want to hurt him.” “Pain is a part of life, Twilight,” said Jacques, his voice gentle, yet firm. “Learning to endure and overcome pain is an essential part of growing up. If you protect him from this truth too long, he will indeed be crushed, and he will have no idea how to rebuild afterwards.” His voice took a harder edge. “I fear that if you wait too long, he may grow to expect life to bend to his affections and desires, and, when it doesn’t, he may become deeply bitter and resentful. Better that he have it broken to him gently, that he may endure a lesser pain and build calluses in advance of the heartache of future turmoil.” Twilight looked away, not wanting to meet his gaze. Jacques sighed and laid a hand on her shoulder, speaking with compassionate tone, “Dear lady, I know you have no wish to see him harmed, but it is my belief that he will hurt less if he learns now how to deal with sufferings and upsets before the pain grows too great.” Twilight felt a lump rise in her throat. “I… I’m not sure I can break this to him.” “I’m not asking you to,” replied Jacques. Twilight looked up in surprise and saw earnest entreaty in his eyes. “I’m asking for your permission to.” It took Twilight a moment to process what he meant. When she did, her eyes widened. “You’d do that?” Jacques nodded. “My mother was my great teacher in most matters of the heart and soul, but this lesson I learned better from my father. For better or worse, men sometimes respond better to other men. And, in this case,” he smiled dryly, “I am a relative outsider. If I should offend him, at least one of his closest bonds will not be associated with the pain.” Twilight hesitated. I don’t want to hurt Spike, but if Friar Jacques is right, and I think he is right, then it’ll hurt worse if he’s not told the truth now, and if I’m not ready to tell him, maybe it’s better coming from someone else. Maybe— The front door opened. “Twilight?” Spike called from downstairs. Twilight’s blood ran cold. What?! No! He can’t be back yet! I still don’t know what to do! “I’m back from running errands!” No no no no no! Why did this have to happen today! I was just researching about how to fight the Shades! I don’t need this right now! We’re gonna be risking our lives and… and… Her gaze drifted to a picture of herself and freshly-hatched Spike on the wall. He was nuzzling her as a newborn foal nuzzled his mother. … and who would teach him if I didn’t make it back? It was a question she’d never thought to ask before. Though, came the guilty realization, I really should have after, like, the third I almost died saving the world. “Twilight?” Now that it had occurred to her, however, it caught her like a lasso and refused to be shaken loose. She’d always known that, as Spike grew up, the lessons she’d have to teach him would get harder and harder. This was a lesson it was time to teach. In fact, if Friar Jacques was right, it was past time. At some level, Twilight guessed that she had simply assumed that she’d have plenty of time to teach him when the moment felt right. “Twilight, are you upstairs?” Footsteps sounded on the stairs. But time is one thing that’s not on our side. Twilight Sparkle turned her eyes to Jacques and found him waiting patiently, respectfully for her answer. She could not bring herself to say the words. So she nodded. Jacques pressed her shoulder, sympathy plain on his features as he mouthed, “Thank you.” Rising, he stepped downstairs before Spike could catch sight of the distraught Twilight and ask what was wrong. “Ah, Spike,” he said cheerfully. “Twilight’s just in the middle of something right now, but I’m glad I caught you. What say we go for a walk, you and I, and have a little chat, man-to-drake.” “Oh, um, okay. Sure, Friar. Sounds fun.” “Splendid! Let’s be off then. By the way, thank you for lending me that comic book of yours. My reading has been rather heavy of late, and it was a welcome distraction after a long day.” “Glad you liked it! A lot of ponies don’t like Aquamane, but I think he’s an underrated character. Not as great as the Power Ponies, of course, but this version did a great job with his character…” Twilight bit her lip and waited as the voices faded and the front door shut behind them. Moisture tugged at the edge of her eyes, and she felt emotion rise in her throat. There had been times over the years that she’d caught her mother or father with tears in their eyes after she or Shining Armor had experienced a landmark moment whilst away from home. Whether that moment was a great accomplishment, a hard lesson, or a personal victory, there were times when her parents teared up seemingly for seemingly no reason… except that something big had happened while they weren’t there. When she asked them about it, the response was typically something to the effect of, “You’ll understand when you have children of your own.” Twilight had always found that evasive, but her parents had insisted it was something that had to be experienced (at least in some fashion) to be understood. Well, I understand now, she thought, wiping away a tear before it could fall. Spike is growing up without me. And if… if something happens to me… he’ll grow up… She found her hoof was shaking. Had this come at any other time, it would not have stung so much. Had the threat of the Shades not loomed over their heads, Friar Jacques’ offer would simply have been a kind favor from a fatherly figure which helped Spike learn a lesson that Twilight had difficulty teaching. As things stood, it was a wakeup call. Twilight wasn’t sure if Jacques had intended it to be, but a wakeup call nonetheless. Twilight’s gaze drifted down to the transmogrification research she’d been immersed in mere minutes ago. What had captivated her then now left an ashen taste in her mouth. Her lips curled in a frown. Time, she thought as her horn lit with magic. Time is against us. With a flurry of magic, she cleared the research, stacking it in the corner where it would stay until the present crisis was concluded. Taking its place on the desk was Princess Luna’s book – the compendium of shadowmancy which caused so much hesitation in her. She could not help but wince at the sight of it. No matter how strongly she felt about her decision, it was still a bitter pill to swallow. Her hoof rested on the cover, but did not open it. You have to learn this, Twilight commanded herself. You have to. For him. “For Spike,” she said aloud. Twilight Sparkle opened the book and read. Jacques and Spike took a leisurely walk to the park, the friar taking an extra slow walk so as not to outpace his smaller companion. Along the way, they discussed the finer points of the Aquamane comic the friar had read, a topic which earned more than one bemused glance from passersby. Not that either of them minded. In fact, I doubt Spike even notices, thought Jacques with a smile as the animated drake expounded on one of his favorite parts of the comic. Much of the conversation revolved around the noble qualities of the title character, and what enabled him to be a hero. Once they’d found a section of the park with some seclusion, the friar subtly turned the conversation to the point of their venture. “What do you think is the most critical element of Aquamane’s heroism, Spike?” The young drake’s brow furrowed. “Well… I’d say it’s his bravery. Some ponies think it’s his strength or that he can communicate with sea creatures, but those don’t mean anything if he’s not brave.” Friar Jacques nodded approvingly. “A wise answer, young Spike, and one that many overlook. Power itself does not make the hero – only how one uses it.” “Exactly!” exclaimed Spike. “Even if,” he looked a touch wistful, “it sure would be nice to have the power to protect my friends.” “From what your friends have told me of the Crystal Empire, the great timber wolf, and a number of other adventures, I think you’ve made brave use of what powers you have,” Jacques said. Spike flushed, smiling in embarrassed pleasure at the compliment. “Thanks, Friar.” “I speak only the truth,” replied the monk. “Though I think there is a quality of heroism even more important than bravery, one which I know you also prize highly.” The dragon tilted his head quizzically. “What’s that, Friar?” “Love,” replied Jacques with a smile. “Love?” repeated Spike. “Isn’t that kinda… fru-fru?” “Not at all,” answered Jacques, folding his arms into his sleeves. “Consider your comic – it was love that drew Aquamane’s parents together, love for which his mother was willing to sacrifice herself, love for which his father raised him all those years alone, love which drove Aquamane to protect the innocent and to fight for his home, love which, in the end, enabled him to act with mercy towards his enemy. All the virtues in the world mean nothing without love to direct them. As Paul put it, ‘If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.’” Spike pondered his words. “I guess that makes sense,” he admitted at length. “I never really thought of it that way. Whenever I hear love, I guess I just hear ‘romance.’” Jacques chuckled. “You’d hardly be the first to make that mistake. It is easy to regard love as mere feeling and emotion, but it is not. It is an act of the will. It is desiring the good of others for their own sake rather than our own. It is sacrifice.” He unfolded a hand from the sleeves of his habit and ran a finger along the edge of the crucifix around his neck. “Strange as it may sound, the greatest acts of love are often found in the midst of death and violence, where dreadful sacrifices are made for the good of others at the cost of the self.” With a somber smile, he looked down at his young companion. “My father once told me what the mark of a man was. Like many other young men, I expected it to be ‘strength’ or ‘skill at arms,’ but, well, I think you can guess what he said.” “Love?” guessed Spike. “Indeed. This was how he described a man: he who is willing and able to sacrifice his affections and desires for that which is right, true, and honorable. He who embodies Love. And, as the essence of Love is sacrifice, then the essence of manhood is to will the good of the other, whatever the painful cost to self.” Spike let out a long breath. “That’s… kind of heavy, Friar.” Jacques smiled somberly. “Yes, it is. Especially when you realize that, sometimes, the greatest love we can show is to let go. To let go of dreams, of ambitions, of desires, of all the ways we imagine our life will go. Sometimes, to love is to let go, so that we may grasp hold of something better, even if we don’t know what that better thing is yet.” He stopped by a park bench. “Do you understand what I’ve told you?” The dragon paused, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Kinda? It’s a lot to think about.” Another pause. “Friar, why are you telling me all this?” Jacques did not respond immediately, but sat instead on the bench and gestured for Spike to sit beside him so they could be closer to the same height. There was still a great disparity, but it was the best he could do. “Because you have grown into a fine young drake, Spike, well along the road to maturity. You prize love and bravery and…” he let out a small sigh, “and I think you are ready for a hard lesson.” Spike wrung his claws. “Is this about death? I mean, I’m almost seventeen, and with all that Twilight and the girls do, I’ve sort of… I think I’ve got that one figured out.” That’s what everyone says until they lose a brother or sister. Still, that is a conversation for another time. The friar shook his head. “No, young Spike, this is not about death. As you say, you’ve become accustomed to the risks inherent to Twilight’s life.” And become as prepared as any man can be before experiencing it. “This lesson is an easier one than life-and-death in most respects, though harder in a few, as it touches on matters of the heart, and desire is a powerful force whether for good or ill.” He held Spike’s gaze levelly. “It’s about romance, maturity, and respect.” He let that sink in for a moment before gently saying, “Spike, tell me how you feel about Rarity.”