Our Little Brother, Spike

by Hope Caster


Chapter 20: Legends of Equestria: Mage Meadowbrook

There was an array of emotions which spread through the cave from the moment Torch entered with Flare. Joy and relief to begin with, but after taking one look at the injured patriarch of the Ironscales, their every emotion broke down into worry and anger.

“What happened!” Amber cried, rushing to her mate’s side and taking him from Torch.

Blaze was quick to assist her in leading Flare to a clear spot of the cave, so they could lay him on his side.

“Is he alright?” Blaze enquired while Amber looked Flare over, making sure no bones were broken and checking to make sure she hadn’t missed one wound, much to his chagrin and in disregard of his half-hearted protests.

Whenever Amber got concerned about her family, her grandmother’s lessons would kick in and she’d prove as skilled a healer as Topaz.

“I bet it was those ponies, wasn't it?” Smog sneered, keeping the children from crowding around Flare. “Come to try and finish what they started centuries ago! Torch, I hope you showed those equines what we dragons are made of!”

There were screams and fretful questions from the children, save for Spike, who simply looked at his father’s bandages, terrified, until Torch and Flare in unison shouted “enough!”, silencing the cave. Fortunately, no-one began to glow.

“I just had an accident,” Flare explained, taking Amber’s claws in his, thus ceasing her examinations. “That’s all. The ponies had nothing to do with this, Smog. I goaded Steelspine after a few drinks, and this is what happened.” He gave his children a look. “This is why we need to be careful about who we fight, and what we allow in those fights.” 

The young Ironscales took the lesson to heart immediately, again save for Spike. He didn’t know why, but it felt to him as if his father was hiding something from them.

Nor was Spike the only one. Amber, Blaze, even Smog, all of the grown-ups could tell that Flare was lying. Flare could crack a joke at someone else’s expense, he was an Ironscale after all, but he wouldn’t goad a mourning father. That was going too far. Still, unsaid, they each simply assumed that his evasiveness was for the children’s sake, and left it at that.

“You’ll be okay, though, right?” Smolder asked.

“I’ll be just fine, Smolder,” said Flare. “Your grandmother does good work for dragons like me. There’s no need to worry.”

His response seemed to put her at ease for now.

“We will not take up any more of your time,” Torch rumbled, addressing Amber. “The old shaman said he needed his rest. I thank you for caring for my family while I was away. I am in your debt.”

“It was no problem,” Amber said modestly. Blaze and Torch bowed their heads to the Ironscales and left, taking an unusually silent Ember with them. No sooner than the Royal Family had gone, however, Amber let her shoulders sag and spoke in a quiet voice. “Smog? Could you do us a favor and take them out to play for a bit? I need some time to rest.”

Smog nodded soberly. Using his tail, he began to gently guide the whelps towards the outside, only for Spike to go deftly climb over it and scurry to his father’s side.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Spike asked, pressing his tiny claws against his father’s scales.

“I’ll be fine, Spike,” Flare repeated, his tone patient. “You go play, I insist. The best thing for me is to rest, that’s what Grandma Topaz said. When I’m better, you and I can show off our scars.”

Spike nodded, reassured, and hurried to a waiting Smolder and Garble. Once they were alone, Amber gazed at her mate very seriously.

“So, what really happened to you? Was it ponies? Please tell me that the slayers didn’t escape.”

“No,” said Flare. “It was Kalamet.”

Flare explained what had happened, sparing no detail. He started the story from when Princess Celestia had arrived, and finished when he’d yanked Torch out of the way, taking the hit for the Dragon Lord.

Amber didn’t know what to say, weighed down by the news that one of those wrongdoers was still roaming the world, so she simply curled around her mate for the rest of that afternoon, and held him close until their children returned home.

She took solace in the fact that soon, they wouldn’t need to worry about another attack.


Torch took a deep breath as he entered his cave, deep enough at his massive sive for it to echo all along the cavernous walls.

He’d almost forgotten what the place looked like, ever since going into an exile that was maybe self-imposed, maybe had to do with awaiting forgiveness. There was a relief to being home with his mate and his child, moreso when Blaze strode next to him, to rest her head upon his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Torch said in a whisper, which for him was room volume. “For everything.”

“I’m sorry too,” Blaze mumbled, nuzzling her mate. “Perhaps I overreacted–”

“Blaze, there’s a difference between me abusing my authority, and you getting angry about it. I was cruel, overbearing. I’m sorry.”

They could go in circles all day, so Blaze decided to acquiesce.

“Alright, you were wrong. Only you, and I forgive you.” Blaze’s eyes closed, and her tail started to slither, wrapping itself around Torch’s. “I just want to put it all behind us. With everything happening, it seems so small now. I didn’t know if a sarcastic jab was going to be the last thing I said to you. I didn’t want it to be the last thing. Besides, I miss having you to hold me at night.”

Torch wrapped an arm around her, bringing his mate just a hair closer to himself. If the Dragon Lord was being honest, he too missed her nightly embrace.

Meanwhile, beholding her parents’ love for one another made Ember want to wretch.


A week soon passed and slowly, tensions began to ease, somewhat.

Torch’s leadership was becoming a common topic of debate. Quite a few dragons deemed his actions cowardly and mewling. A true Lord would have forced the name out of the pony, whether Celestia was present or not. It would set an example to Equestria. But many saw the matter from his perspective. The criminal who’d got away was, in the end, a mere tool; better that the true mastermind be made an example of in Equestria, and let the absconding criminal sow fear amidst his ilk, than risk another attack.

The dragons did as they usually did after a week of arguing, and agreed to disagree with one another, in what took the form of generally-cordial wrestling matches so as to let out any remnant ill-feeling, with it being decided that the winner had a better claim to having won the argument. In truth, everyone saw there was no easy answer to a question like this, although many dragons would continue to treat Torch coldly until the end of his reign.

On the other hand, Pala visited Torch, chewed him out, even went so far as to strike him repeatedly, hurling a stream of obscenities at him. Torch took it for a little while, for none in the Dragonlands had the right to free speech like a dragon who’d been wronged, but soon he caught her wrist and dismissed her. He could understand her mourning, her pain. Deep down, he pitied her, not that this was admissible from one dragon to another. For her sake, he pretended nothing had happened there. 

There was also the issue of the alleged first attack.

The prospect frightened many dragons, but some questioned if there’d even been such a thing. Some tried to deduce the victim, yet nothing came to mind. There had been no missing egg, no mothers with unusual injuries, and there certainly hadn’t been any families discovered to been murdered. The only oddity anyone could name was young Heathspike Ironscale, and he’d been abandoned, not abducted. Perhaps Amber had hidden ties to ponies, but what then could her motive be? She could still bear children; she’d already had two prior to Spike. And where were Spike’s parents? If they were dead, someone would have found the corpses by now.

It was a question the realm would have to leave unanswered.

Flare had slowly recovered from his injury, quicker than Topaz had expected. His family was also gifted half of the platinum Celestia had brought. Despite the tragic history of its origins, they were still grateful to accept such a gracious gift from Torch. Amber and Flare kept the figurative lid on this new pile to add to their hoard, but mentally divided it four ways. Garble and Spike could use their share to forge wonderful presents for future brides, while Smolder could use the dowry for herself and her own future mate’s hoard.

But when Torch tried to do the same for the Steelspines, reneging on his penalty, they made it clear that they’d rather claw their own eyes out than accept any part of the gift. Sacred as the metal was, to them the platinum felt sullied, as if Tiamat herself had put a curse upon it. Hence the rest was allocated to their religious order, who put it to good use. 

The egg, now dubbed Onyx Steelspine, was buried in his clan’s crypt, along with a single bar of platinum embedded with a blood-red ruby, a symbol of the highest status, typically reserved for Dragon Lords. Though many mourned his passing, the priests took solace in the fact that the child would have no issue finding his way back to Asgorath himself, without the need for Null, God of Death. His inner flame untainted, Tiamat could not touch him on his journey, even if he wanted her to. They prayed that during his journey, however short it was, Sardior and Bahamut himself would walk beside the hatchling, if only to keep the lad company.

Finally, there was Spike. He never learnt the truth about his father’s wound, and as such, his mind began to wander, filling in the blanks himself. The only reasonable answer he could come up with was that ponies had attacked him with platinum blades. Nightmares now plagued the little drake, waking him up at odd hours. Sometimes there would be a phantom pain from a wound received in a dream. At other times, the Specter would appear, reaching out a jagged claw to throttle the boy.

Amber soon began to take notice. The growing bags under Spike’s eyes worried her to no end, as did the times he woke up weeping, frightened by images of his family attacked. She wasn’t too shocked, not with everything that had happened. However, a drake his age needed sleep, so she would get this fixed.

Without a second thought, Amber gathered her children, and went to Topaz.

“Oh, little one, you look unwell,” Topaz said upon seeing her youngest grandchild.

“I’m tired, Grandma,” Spike mumbled as he took a seat on a stone slab. He looked around for his grandmother’s assistant, finding her strangely absent. “Where’s Gemstone?”

“Away. She needs time off from work. Let’s focus on you right now. Having nightmares again?” When Spike nodded an affirmative, Topaz then said, “Amber, why don’t you leave them with me for today? I could use some help mixing the herbs he needs.”

“Alright,” said Amber.” You three be good for Grandma.” She received three nods, gave each of her children a goodbye nuzzle in return, and took her leave.

“What are the nightmares about this time?” Topaz asked her grandson.

“Ponies,” Spike admitted. “I keep having dreams that they come after me.”

Topaz let out a sigh. She couldn’t blame the boy, after what happened, it was only normal. “Garble, find the kettle and heat some water. Smolder, get the chamomile leaves, the leaf trap, and a cup. Spike, just make yourself comfortable.”

Garble and Smolder scattered around the cave in search of the items, while Spike fell on his back, staring a hole into the ceiling.

“Why do they hate us?”

“Beg pardon?” Topaz laid her head next to Spike’s prone body.

“Ponies. They wanted to kill a mother and father for their hoard, and then they smashed an egg. Flash Magnus attacked us and killed some of Grandpa Furnace’s family. One even smashed a bunch of eggs. What did we ever do to them?”

“That’s a very complicated question Spike. I can’t tell you why they hate us, or even if the majority of ponies do hate us.”

Ponies, or Equestria as a nation hating dragons, was an illusion in Topaz’s opinion. One that had been maintained for a thousand years. The Ironscales especially were taught to be wary of ponies. How could they not be? She could imagine that Flare, Smog, or even the old wrym Furnace had told the children the tale of Flash Magnus by now.

But Spike, Smolder, and Garble didn’t just have a history with ponies through their Ironscale blood. Topaz herself had a history with ponies, and not just through Squires’ Gate. What would happen to that illusion if she were to slightly crack it?

“Garble, Smolder, come here,” said Topaz. “I want to tell you all a story.”

Their ears perked. Garble extinguished the fire he’d made to heat the water, Smolder placed the cup and leaf trap in a small pile, and they scurried next to their little brother, with Smolder holding him in her lap.

“Good. Now, what if I were to tell you that the only reason any of you exist today is because of a pony?”

“That’s dumb, what did a pony ever do for us?” Garble scoffed.

“It’s far from ‘dumb’, Garble. And, they didn’t help you specifically, but a family member. Do any of you know what wingbreak is?”

“It’s an infection caused by fungus,” Smolder quickly said. “If you don’t treat it, we have to have our wings removed.”

“Correct, but did you know it can spread past our wings if left untreated, and can then cause scale-rot.” Two nods, and a mumble from Spike. “I once had scale rot. Worse, it was during our war with Equestria.” 

“But don’t healers have medicine for that?” Smolder asked. “It couldn’t be that bad.”

“Oh, little one, this was a time before us healers existed,” Topaz sighed a heavy sigh. “Have you ever paused to consider why some dragons refer to me as a shaman, but I call myself a healer? It’s because we are actually two separate vocations. Though, I suppose you could say we healers usurped the role Shamans once held in society. Unfortunately, the cure for scale rot at the time involved–” She paused, thinking of how to explain mutilating a whelp’s hide without using those exact words. “Removing the infected area. It would’ve happened to me, but I was treated by someone very kind, rare during such troubled times…”


Little Topaz whimpered and wept as she tossed and turned on the cave floor.

Only her Uncle, Dragon Lord Meliek, was there to give her comfort. Her parents, poor things, had passed away three years prior, leaving her in his care.

Perhaps the world was shaping to match the little one’s current feeling of misery; perhaps it was shaping to match their realm’s anguish. The skies were dark, hoards were getting raided, dragons had stooped to eating ponies like mere beasts, and a good number on both sides relished in the carnage. It was a time when Bahamut and his paladins were asleep, while Tiamat and her brood wove the threads of fate entirely to her liking.

Topaz’s infection was worsening by the day. Had things been normal, had they not been at war, Meliek would have caught onto it sooner, he could have helped his niece, but now, he needed a shaman’s help. What the shaman would do would hurt her, it was risky to say the least, but it would give his niece a chance to live. If he let the scale-rot spread, she wouldn’t last long. Not at all.

“Lord Meliek,” boomed a voice.

The Dragon Lord was surprised to see a guard enter the cave. Following him were two ponies, both of the earth pony tribe. One was a mare whose coat was a light blue, near as blue as the sky, the strands of pink and scarlet in her mane done up in a bun; accompanying her was a bearded and burly stallion, who wore a jerkin, which together with his thick braided mane and beard denoted a northern origin.

“What are those creatures doing in my cave!?” roared the Dragon Lord.

“They surrendered,” said the guard. “One asked to see you about your niece. She said she could help.”

“Help? Help? I need no help from the likes of them!” Meliek sneered. “You should’ve incinerated them.”

At this, the bearded stallion stomped forward. “Try it, ya overgrown lizard,” he growled, unslinging an item he’d worn on his back, a humongous shovel.

“Rockhoof, that is enough!” spoke a gentle feminine voice, that of the mare’s. The stallion relented and took a step back. “We don’t need to escalate things,” she said quietly. “Dragon Lord Meliek, was it? I heard that someone was sick, so I wanted to offer my help–”

She saw Topaz laying past her uncle and let out a horrified gasp. Instantly and unhesitantly, she ran past the Dragon Lord, stopping at Topaz’s side. Seeming to recognize the ailment, the mare knelt, doing her best to comfort the whelp as she stroked her back gently.

“Oh, you poor thing. Don’t worry, I have–”

“Step away from my niece!” Meliek roared, slamming his claws on either side of the mare.

The mare didn’t flinch. She simply stood up, looked the Dragon Lord dead in the eyes. “She needs help. I can help her.”

Her voice was soft, but had the force of a dragon behind it.

“I have a shaman for that. Step away from her. Now.” Smoke billowed from Meliet’s nostrils and maw, but the earth ponies seemed unimpressed.

“How is the shaman going to treat her?” asked the stallion, unhindered by the mare. “I suppose it’ll be by cutting her up and blood-letting? My own people gave up on that centuries ago.”

“Of course,” nodded the mare. “Because that’s an answer to everything, to people who disdain showing weakness above all else. Lord Meliek, if ya let your shaman near her, she’ll be mutilated.”

“He would save her life!”

“No, you’d scar her for life!” the mare snapped, stopping a hoof on the ground. “You’d rip off her scales, her skin, tear out her flesh, leave her bloodied and on the verge of death! My cure is nowhere near as painful, and a thousand times more effective!”

Meliek glared down at her. “I do not need an equine’s help!”

She looked almost disgusted at the Dragon Lord. “You’d honestly risk her life, just because I’m a pony? How dare ya call yourself her uncle.”

His gaze narrowed. Had this pony been a stallion, she would have been reduced to ash by now. “I’ve seen what you ponies do to dragons. You’d lecture me on mutilating? Eggs have been shattered, dragons have been speared and skinned. The sons of the Ironscale Clan have been nearly wiped out. Now you ask for my trust? What assurance can you give that you won’t kill her.”

“Me.” she said, voice firm and determined. “I’m a healer, my duty is to the ill and wounded, whatever their banner. If she dies, you’re welcome to light me on fire, eat me, smash me to a pulp, anything. Just let me help. What do ya have to lose?”

Meliek thought it over for a moment. His other two choices damned him, one way or another. What was the harm in letting the mare try? If she was lying, if anything happened to Topaz, he’d pass judgement on the mare and her friend, name a successor to the Bloodstone Scepter, and then exile himself. 

He let out a sigh. “Fine. Do what you must, but know that neither you nor the brute leave this cave without my say-so.”

“Deal. We may be here a while… Rockhoof, come over here, bring my saddlebags.”

The stallion obeyed, and the healer took out a jar of ointment, the contents of which she began to apply it to Topaz’s back, causing the whelp to grunt in pain.

“I know, it stings, but this should take care of the infection in a snap. Don’t worry, little one, I’m going to have you fixed up before you know it…”

It wasn’t only medicine the healer had brought. The two ponies had taken care to bring sleeping-bags, provisions for food and ablution, scrolls for the mare and dice for the stallion; all of whatever they needed for time to pass during their prolonged stay, though never were they left alone to their devices. The Dragon Lord kept his eye on them for every waking hour he could allow, and a guard would serve as his eye when he could not.

In return, the ponies took turns as one kept watch while the other slept, although it didn’t go unnoticed that despite the stallion’s sturdiness, more than once he had to remind the mare she needed rest.


The healer proved true to her word, much to the shock and amazement of Uncle Meliek. The infection practically vanished overnight. Sore spots lingered here and there, but regular applications of ointment took care of it, until by the end of the morning after the healer and her bodyguard had arrived, they were truly gone.

Topaz’s fever remained for another two days, but after a strict regime of water, and medicine, and a good meal, all that was left was a happy and energetic hatchling.

On the third day, Topaz was playing tug-of-war with Rockhoof.

She held a rope in her mouth, growling as she pulled with all her might, while Rockhoof held his end in his own mouth and simply stood there.

“Looks like someone’s feeling better,” the mare chuckled, watching them from the sides.

Hearing her, Topaz released the rope and nodded her little head. “Yeah, I am! What was that stuff you put on me, what did I drink, what’s your name?” she asked, in quick succession.

The mare smiled. “I rubbed ointment into your scales, made from a special root and flower. You drank a tea I had specially prepared to bring down your fever and help ya sleep, sweetheart. My name is Meadowbrook, and if ya didn’t know, that stallion there be Rockhoof. What’s your name?”

“Topaz. I wanted to be Princess Topaz, but Uncle Meliek says I’d need to be his daughter, not his niece. That stinks, because I don’t even have any cousins, and he hasn’t even got a mate!”

Topaz paused before continuing as another question entered her head.

“Why did you help me? I thought ponies hated us.”

At those words, Meadowbrook frowned. “I can understand why you’d think that, Topaz… What’s happening out there, it’s complicated.” Her face darkened, but soon she smiled again. “But such a sweet little bee like you don’t need worry about that for much longer. My friend Stygian is here to take Flash Magnus and them soldiers away. Until then, Rockhoof and I will make sure you’re safe. No slayer will get close to ya.” She turned to the stallion and smiled. “Right, Rockhoof?”

“If they get too close, I’ll break them,” Rockhoof said. He forced his shovel deep into the cave’s floor. “This I promise.”

“Good, now I need to make a note real quick.” Meadowbrook picked up a scroll, beginning to take notes. Topaz’s eyes widened in wonder.

“What are you doing with that?”

“It’s a medical journal,” said Meadowbrook. “Basically I put everything I know in here, so that future healers can use it to make little girls like you better. Want to know what it says?”

Topaz nodded and a seat next to the pony. Meadow drapied her cloak over the both of them, as she began to teach the whelp the basics of reading and writing. Rockhoof, true to his word, sat near them, keeping guard in case anything threatening came near. For the first time since she could remember, Topaz felt safe.


“She taught me much, during the short time she was here. She left me a few of her books to remember her by. I slept so much easier knowing they were near. Having saved my life, my uncle gave Meadowbrook a boon, just one. She asked that the soldiers be given safe passage back to Equestria, and that after that, they would never return. He allowed it, reluctantly, but her word was good. Like she’d promised, the raids stopped, the soldiers left our lands, and Flash Magnus vanished along with Meadowbrook, Rockhoof, and the fabled Stygian. I always regret not meeting him.”

“That’s nice and all,” Garble mumbled, “but they still killed a lot of Ironscales.”

“True. There’s always an echo of the past, Garbuncle. Flash Magnus’s is just heard clearer. Recall when you were sick, or when Smolder and Spike were ill. What did I give you?”

“You gave us medicine,” said Garble.

“I did, do you know where they came from?” smirked Topaz. “Her. Those medicines are her medicines. The writing and reading that you do, it was taught to me by a pony. The reason you, the reason dragons these days can stay healthy and happy is because one pony, long ago, decided to help us. Flash and his ilk killed many of us, true, but Meadowbrook saved many more. We dragons have been wronged by ponies, but we can’t ignore the good they’ve also done for us. Promise me you’ll remember this.”

Garble gave his grandmother a half-hearted nod, while Smolder just looked thoughtful. It was as good as Topaz would get.

“What happened to Meadowbrook?” Spike asked, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m unsure. I’d like to think Rockhoof and she died old and surrounded by family, loved.”

She smiled at the memory of the pair. Perhaps it was the little whelp inside of her, but she liked to believe Rockhoof and Meadowbrook were in love, seeing as Rockhoof had stolen the occasional glance towards the mare. She allowed the thoughts to fade, before turning her attention towards Spike.

“Now, let’s do something about you.”

Topaz poked her grandchild’s nose with an oversized claw. She and Spike then spent the rest of the day reading from a new book, until dusk fell on the land. Spike was given some warm tea to drink, permitted to snuggle with his grandmother and both of his siblings.

That night, Spike slept as soundly as he ever did, no nightmares to plague his dreams. But a small thought whispered at the back of his mind that, perhaps, meeting a pony wouldn’t be so bad.