//------------------------------//
// If/Then 
// Story: Glimmer 
// by Estee 
//------------------------------//

Their relationship is dead.

Linchpin knows it's a dark way to put it, and there are ways in which that normally wouldn't suit him.  But the scheduled tides of the seasons have always affected him somewhat more than most.  When the nights lengthen, when the temperature is kicked ever-downwards...  that's when he can feel shadows stretching across his thoughts.  It's something which still holds true even with Canterlot's milder winters, and it has him slowly trotting down cold streets under a Moon which has been raised far too early for his personal comfort.  

No living greenery anywhere in sight, not when he's this far away from a respite park or the botanical beacon of the palace gardens.  No warmth.  Nothing but virtually-empty travelways, where most of the traffic is passing overhead and so the wingbeats of pegasi in a hurry drive additional frozen gusts directly down into his spine.  

It's a night for cold thoughts, and the stone seems to be leeching the heat from his soul.

The relationship is dead?  Well, that's one way to put it.  Earlier, he might have said that the tenuous connection had been looking for a stronger foundation:  a touch of mutual physical attraction was fine for a start, but it probably wasn't going to be enough for a long-term build.  Further on, there's the question of locating some workable support beams, and then he'd put a lot of time into figuring out which ones were supposed to be load-bearing.  The answer had turned out to be 'none'.

The relationship is dead and when measured across the journey of his life, it has plenty of company.  In winter, Linchpin doesn't see himself as having a social life.  It's more of a dating hospice:  you try to make the connection comfortable, you hope for a miracle, and you make sure the cemetery out back has room for one more marker because there's only one way out of a hospice.  After a while, you might reach the point where you didn't even truly hear the words spoken across the final gap, because they'd just been said too many times before.  A lead actor going through the motions on a show which has the same acts performed on slightly-different stages, only with a new mare co-star who also decides there's a better production somewhere down the road.

There are times when he wonders if it's his fault.  After all, the one true commonality in all of the failures is him.  If it had been a series of construction jobs where all of the foundations collapsed, then he would have quickly abandoned the suspect quarry and acquired new supplies from somewhere else.  But whenever he digs down within himself in order to find something worthy of long-term love, all he ever finds is more Linchpin.

Abjura...

The name spreads through his body, and it brings no warmth.  His hind legs hitch for a moment:  caught by internal ice.  And then he forces himself to continue onwards.

It wasn't the first death.  Most of the ones which had followed the most impactful found him revisiting a certain internal headstone.

...maybe he just has to stop dating government employees.  Which shouldn't be that much of a challenge:  even in Canterlot, it's only about one in every twelve ponies who works for the palace in some capacity.  So he just has a talent for hitting the long cumulative odds.  

At the very least, there shouldn't be any more Gifted School graduates.

There are multiple stereotypes about those who emerge from the frequently-rebuilt halls.  (That's how they met:  he had been asked to join the centuries-crossing herd of those who were forever architecturally battling against the most natural tendencies of the students:  she was visiting in order to conduct an analysis on exactly what had gone wrong that time.)  One of them directly implies that the worst thing you could ever do was to have one of them inside your bedroom, because there was a good chance that they would decide to be experimental.  The reasonable response to that was supposed to be terror.  But if you survived it...

She had.  He had.  And he tried to make it work with her, harder than he's tried with anypony else.  There are journals waiting in his home, things he started reading because he thought it would make it easier for them to communicate and he's still reading them because...

...because they're interesting.
Because it's a hard habit to break and there's nothing wrong with staying current.
...because if she ever came back, they would have something to talk about.
But...

...another corpse behind the hospice. 

...is it him?

He's put enough structures into the city's skyline.  For the last few years, he's been looking to build a connection.  Find his special somepony, and start a family. 

It's the same dreams, whenever it seems to be going well.  The ceremony of union.  The announcement of pregnancy.  The first birth.  Another kind of legacy, one of love, and...

...he's buried a lot of futures.

Maybe it's me.

After all, that is the commonality.  What does every one of his failed relationships have in it?  Him.  The Keystone which keeps collapsing inwards.  He wasn't exciting enough for Abjura.  For anypony...

And there's a moment when he glances back at his left hip.  It's where one of two images for the limb-and-track sketcher rests.  Anypony who knows what the little machine is for can identify him as an architect.  There are certain stereotypes which arise from that as well.  Creative, but in ways which tend to be built on a given foundation.  Intelligent.  Reliable, always making sure the job gets done...

...and apparently when you translate all of that into a relationship, the sum total works out to 'boring'.  Shortly followed by 'dead'.

He can leave an impact on the skyline.  But he can't seem to find any way to create lasting love.  To put down the roots of a family tree.  And when he looks at his mark in that instant, he's also looking across the graveyard of his failures in a cold winter where the warmth seems to have gone out of his soul.

He loves to create.  He wouldn't have that mark if he didn't want to build.
But to a mare, all he has to offer is Linchpin and...  that's not good enough.
The mark implies certain things about the personality, and the personality has spent moons wondering if it will die alone.  Mourned by trickles of rain running across high glass.
He wishes he was something else.  
Somepony else.

And perhaps there's another pony on the street, one he's not quite looking at, who sees his face in that moment.  It could be a particular, subtle scent which rises from fur and skin, something long practice has allowed the witness to distinguish within the herd.  Or it's as simple as a device which was created for a function which nothing ever should have served.  

The exact methodology might not matter.  It's enough that it exists.  There's a means by which a witness can tell that a pony is at a low point in their life, potentially within some level of personal crisis, and they've just had a thought.  Something which comes with a particular emotional resonance and for the witness, it's one of opportunity.

The architect aimlessly moves through the cold winter night, knowing no loving form awaits in his home to warm him and so he has no intention of going there for a while.  Wherever he winds up has to be better than that.

Behind him, unseen, the witness follows.  Traveling down the chill road which leads to Linchpin's death.





"And Luna asked you to start with me," the accented voice slowly said, and blue eyes made a not-particularly-subtle survey of the library floor.  Checking for witnesses and finding none, because just about all of Ponyville knew that Trixie was in the tree and it had taken only a few extra days for a significant fraction of that number to realize that Twilight stood ready to stop all sudden rushes towards the basement doors.  It was something which had created a significant impact on library traffic, because those doors suddenly seemed to have too many shelves nearby and going for your desired reading material slowly and carefully somehow didn't look completely non-suspicious at all.

Nopony seemed to have come up with the obvious solution of just asking Twilight to get the books for them, but that was patrons for you.

"On the subject of doubt," the white unicorn continued.  "Not just that:  regret.  Applied to one's own mark."

There really wasn't that much accent in the last sentence.  There didn't have to be.  When it came to verbal emphasis, implying that Twilight had just questioned the core of a soul more than sufficed. 

The little mare reluctantly nodded.  Rarity sighed.  

It was something which happened fairly often with the designer:  some were feigned, others heaved, and more than a few varieties existed to tell the populace that there was a mare so distressed as to sigh among them, and what were they going to do about that?  But this one emerged with no artifice or extra inflections of drama.  It was simply a sigh, and a rather deep one.

"No further than the two of us," the unicorn softly said.  "Please, Twilight.  Your confidence, unless the words are truly needed to help another.  On this of all subjects...  please."

The librarian nodded again.  Rarity made one more check for witnesses.  Twisting ears listened to the sounds of Spike moving around the little kitchen, and then blue eyes slowly closed.

"I have wondered," the designer quietly began, "if there is no mark for appreciating fashion.  Certainly there are critics aplenty, more than anypony should strictly have to put up with, but...  perhaps that talent is for persuasion.  The art of talking another around to your personal lack of taste..."

Twilight listened, still and quiet, watching as elaborate mane and tail curls seemed to loosen.

"When my talent is at its height," Rarity softly continued, "I can simply glance at another and dream of how their ideal should appear.  The colors, the cut and stitching, which will bring them to their best.  A moment of vision.  Which...  takes some time to capture, of course."  The white head was dipping.  "Generally best not to try and translate dream directly into fabric, Twilight.  Sketches, measurements, careful balancing of fabrics.  And eventually, a dress.  Something which, as far as my talent is concerned, is perfect.  A talent for imagination, vision, and dreams..."

A slow head shake, just barely enough to disturb the sagging fall, and then the unicorn's lips briefly quirked.

"...but not telepathy."

Twilight blinked.

"Rarity?"  Because it had been a smile, and yet it had not.  Something where all the humor had been stripped away.

The white head didn't lift.  "You all provided a demonstration of that once, did you not?  All my talent does is tell me how another would be brought to their ideal.  It doesn't tell me how they see themselves.  My dream -- perhaps my own tastes and desires -- those are applied to another.  I know only what I want for you, not what you might personally desire.  And your own vision, applied to yourself -- that is the stronger.  I cannot see your thoughts and know what you wish for, Twilight.  I can't measure my dream directly against yours and try to tell you that I know best.  All I can do is create and sew and, when all is complete, hope that you perceive a fraction of what I saw for you, in that moment.  And so many cleave to their own dreams, stay with those visions to the last or --" a slow breath "-- to the stage.  The date, the ball, the Gala, the party...  which is, all too often, followed by blaming the one who failed to talk them out of it."

And then she was moving forward, angling her head for the nuzzle.  "I'm -- I'm sorry --"

White ears twitched at the sound of the approach.  Well-groomed legs took a half-step back.  Twilight froze.

"I didn't say it was you," Rarity steadily added, even as her volume dropped ever-closer to whisper.  "Not any more.  You learned your lesson, and those apologies were accepted.  But that is why so much of my profession is centered in the weight of reputation, Twilight.  That my clients have to believe I know best.  And my reputation is, even after all this time, yet uncertain...  or unfounded, or unknown.  And my mark...  the icon itself hardly helps.  More interpretative than most designers display.  So many think it represents a talent for mining, and..." this time, her lips twitched "...there have been dark nights when I've wondered if that's the core of it, with the dresses as a long-running side delusion.  A few believe it's for wealth, and one of them --" 

Her teeth slammed together, bit off the syllables and sent them crashing into the library's floor as a lashing tail waved them to their deaths.

"-- was my mother.  Who saw what she wished most to see in spite of all sketched and sewn evidence:  a daughter whose station would rise above her own.  Social climbing by proxy, and that cost me five years, Twilight:  five years in a boarding school which only catered to her dreams.  We had yet another fight about that, just a moon ago, and it was one which nearly broke any bond which existed between mother and daughter at all.  Something which is still healing.  Compared to that, having yet another customer reject my dreams because she's decided that her best hopes lie in taupe and taffeta...  to fighting against the tides of fashion, when what I have decided is perfect happens to be what everypony else feels is on the outs...  to simple survival during the worst of it and making sure the Boutique's loan payments are always made..."

Slowly, her eyes opened, and she looked at the trembling little mare.

"...Twilight?"

"...you..."  The alicorn swallowed.  "You -- backed up..."

There was something wistful in the blue eyes now.  Wistful, weary, and somehow old.

"A personal moment," Rarity said, with just a little more volume.  "The sort of thoughts I normally have in isolation, at the end of a particularly horrid day, or during hours which Luna knows best.  I'm...  not used to sharing it, Twilight.  I apologize for your having felt rejected, and -- oh, come here:  we both know the only way to resolve this..."

Eventually, the nuzzle for friends ended, and the mares separated.

"Regrets," Rarity quietly finished.  "Yes.  And doubts, and wishes to have found a different path.  I can see why Luna advised you to start with me.  I can readily imagine Fluttershy having experienced a number of such thoughts.  Even Pinkie.  But Applejack and Rainbow...  that is harder to picture."

Two mares who often seemed to live in the heart of their talent.  Or, in Rainbow's too-frequent case, the center of the debris field.  "I've been having some trouble there too.  But I think it's a lesson Luna wants us to learn."

"The idea that, as you said before you reached the core question," Rarity steadily reviewed (and that steadiness had been audibly forced), "who a pony is at the most crucial moment may not represent every aspect of them for a lifetime."  Her fur twitched against its natural grain.  "Yes.  Not a concept which most ponies would welcome.  Are you going to ask the others?"  

"Maybe.  I at least have to brief them on the idea."  Twilight sighed, turned towards Periodicals and began to slowly trot, with the designer following.  "We'll probably have another meeting in a day or two.  But it won't be tonight."

A little too evenly, "Another late-night experiment conducted with our forced burden?"

I know what you did.

You didn't exactly hide it.

Everypony's been making sure they come to the tree.  Checking on me.  There's all sorts of excuses, and some of them are even partially real.  Two hours ago, Fluttershy wanted me to use the library exchange program and pull books out of the Canterlot Archives.  The flora and fauna for the places we might go, and I tried telling her that we need to narrow that down more.  I know that.  So does she.  But until we get a specific destination, it makes for a really good excuse.

Everypony has their own way of preparing.  In your case, you made sure I knew about it because you had Spike send the letter.  You might have dictated it to him in private, but I knew you were sending something, and you knew he would tell me about it.  A scroll for the palace, to ask for anypony other than Trixie and according to Spike, the tone was 'pissy'.  I didn't even know Spike had that word.  And then he got the reply about ten minutes after you left, caught up to you outside, and apparently that's when 'pissy' became an understatement.  

You've been by a lot.  Monitoring the tree.  It's reaching the point where some ponies may be starting to wonder if the Boutique is open at all.    

I know you feel like you're the big sister.
Please stop trying to make me feel like the little one.  Who's too young to understand and has to be saved from herself.
I know what I'm doing.
I know you haven't forgiven her.
I wish you'd talk to her.
But she's my friend...

"Trixie and I will be working on things during the day," Twilight carefully replied.  "Tonight is for the Princesses.  They sent word a little while ago.  There's some more things they want to tell me.  And Applejack, this time.  To save a little on repetition."

"So an air carriage pickup."

Twilight nodded.  Continued walking, adjusting a few hardcovers as she went.

"Have you met Joyous?"

"Not personally," Rarity admitted.  "I have seen her, though.  And..." with the designer, a blush was something which often possessed an audible aspect "...I've been working on a sketch.  In the event that she should ever come into the Boutique."

"Really?"

Defensively, "A dark blue metallic, Twilight.  The reflective aspects of her fur alone represent something of a challenge."

They reached Periodicals, and pinkish light began to straighten up magazines which didn't strictly need it.

"I have some concerns about you overworking," the designer told her.  "You're taking on a lot, Twilight.  The research, getting ready for the escort test, attempting to learn the spell which allows accompanying the teleport of another, you are still taking lessons in the mornings, and you are trying to keep the library going when you should have fully turned its reins over to Spike days ago --"

"-- I'm being careful," emerged as something much less than a perfect wall.

(The lessons with Rainbow and Applejack left Trixie alone with Spike.  It was... awkward.)

"You're being defensive," Rarity countered.  "And controlling, which I can freely say because we are both familiar with how you tend to act regarding your territory.  An alicorn is a blend of pegasus, earth pony, unicorn --" it was possible to hear the smile "-- and in your case, a touch of buffalo.  At the very least, Twilight, let Spike have the library.  Please."  

Eventually -- a period she knew was being measured -- "...okay."  Even though the little dragon had to use small ramps and ladders just to reach some of the shelves...

...the library kept her busy.
It gave her something else to think about.
There were too many thoughts in her head, and the sisters added new ones every day.





There was a briefing room.

Twilight hadn't known that use of a briefing room was even an option.  Briefings for Bearer missions tended to be done on the trot, the gallop, or 'Rainbow, slow down!'  There generally wasn't enough time for anything remotely like a full briefing, let alone the progressive stages of data dissemination which had been going on for the last few days.  But the palace had at least one briefing room.

This version was near the core of the Lunar wing, and so all the marble was shot with silver.  It was isolated, far too large for just four ponies (and that said something when two of them were the sisters), the table didn't have to be that big and the benches were ancient, somewhat too tall, and distinctly uncomfortable.  Given that they were using the Lunar wing, Twilight suspected the poor padding on the benches was deliberate.  Having multiple lumps of what felt like dead lichen under her barrel was probably meant to keep her awake.

She was trying not to twitch too much, maintaining a more or less constant eyeline across the table with each sister:  something which still meant a lot of changing angles as her head moved.  Applejack was shuffling around her own bench as if trying to pulverize the lumps through body weight alone.

The sisters seemed to be used to the benches (and Twilight was ashamed to find herself momentarily considering how that greater mass had probably turned all lumps into dust).  But they both looked tired.  The flow of manes and tails was slowed, and some of their fur didn't seem to be resting properly:  it was worst around the eyes.  She'd hardly ever seen them look tired...

"Let us move into the evening's concerns," Luna coolly began.  "The first is geographic.  And sociopolitical."

As a group, the Bearers had a significant amount of experience in dealing with Luna.  It wasn't always enough to save them from personally entering Translation Mode.    

"Socio..." Applejack awkwardly tried, with the hat slipping slightly to suit.

Celestia briefly carried the load.  "It means we're sending you outside the country," the Solar Princess explained.  "Regardless of which of the two possible overall destinations turns out to be the right one, you're going to be a long way from Equestria, Applejack."

"Which in turn," Luna took over, "means that you are outside the area in which we can exert direct authority.  On missions which took place within the borders, we could contact any settled zone and tell them that your requests were to be treated as something closer to orders.  In another nation...  all we can do is ask that you be respected.  And even that may wind up working against you."

Twilight distantly considered that the last few days had seen her gulping back a lot of saliva and therefore, under the rules of gaining experience with an activity through repetition, she should have been getting better at it.  "I don't understand."

The sisters briefly glanced at each other.  Centuries overflowed the small gap.

"There's other countries involved," Celestia resumed.  "Criollo, anyway.  They have an embassy in the capital, but it's barely used.  Mangalarga Marchador is more towards a series of territories:  most of the settlements are confined to the east coast -- and while they're familiar with us, they haven't bothered to set up formal relations.  Some of this will be in your briefing book -- and we are going to give you one, once we determine the destination.  But for the most part, as long as Sun and Moon keep moving through the sky, then they think we're doing our job.  It's all they care about."

"To the best of our current knowledge," Luna stated, "the vast majority of both areas remains unexplored.  There are places where rulership is implied more than enforced, along a number of regions where the leaders have not ventured.  They have no more mapped every square hoofwidth of their land than we, and have considerably less of a concept as to what might be happening near the center."

"So unless you're going to a city," the elder informed them, "we don't have much in the way of reliable maps.  We have guesses with contour lines."  There was a little sigh:  one which shifted quite a lot of rib cage on the way out.  "We're trying to improve that, but...  there may not be enough time."

"And if you are in a settled zone," the younger followed up, "then you have no true authority.  We can ask that your requests be honored, but -- that is all we can do:  ask."  Much more slowly, "And it may be in your best interests for us to say nothing at all.  For none to even know that you are there."

Both Bearers blinked.

"We're gonna be a long way from home, like y'said," Applejack urgently insisted.  "Ah know recent history's kind of bad on our askin' for local help --" and there was a quick side glance in the direction of Twilight's automatic twitch, one which promised a private apology later "-- but if'fin y'all smooth the way --"

"-- we're sending you into foreign territory," Celestia cut her off as the long white neck arced over the table, "to investigate something which may change or erase a pony's mark."

"An act," Luna darkly added, with two stars in the mane choosing that moment to shed their outer shells, "which may have been deliberate."

"I know," Twilight hastily said.  "You asked me to consider that he might have wanted this --"

"-- and now we're asking you to think about whether someone else wanted it," Celestia tightly stated.  

"Ah don't --"

"-- what if," Luna calmly asked, doing so at the same moment when the first true supernova went off, "this is a weapon?"

Two mares briefly stopped breathing.

"To take away what has so frequently been our best advantage," the younger of the Diarchy steadily added.  "To neutralize --"

"-- who would do something like that?"

Twilight didn't know why her ribs were heaving.
She had no awareness of having stood up on her bench.
The height gain didn't seem to mean much.
Whatever her wings were doing seemed to have been determined by them alone.  She was hoping they had some idea what it was for.

This time, the exchanged look was much longer, and carried considerably more weight.

"Ponies," the white mare quietly said.

"BUT --"

"Ponies," the dark one stated, "have done exactly that.  You are a student of magic, Twilight Sparkle.  Have you somehow never heard of Kalziver's Severance?"

All four knees folded at once, and Twilight crashed back onto the bench.  

"Ah haven't," the farmer shakily tried.  "Ain't never --"

"-- it temporarily breaks the link between a pony and their talent," Celestia carefully informed her.  "The mark is still there.  The magic isn't.  It was designed to use against ponies who wield their marks against the world, Applejack, and it's one of the most crucial weapons in Equestria's arsenal.  We've had those who tried to take over from within.  Criminals, con artists who were a little too good.  Would-be conquerors, self-titled generals, and all of them were ponies whose marks aided their desires.  So when the mark stops meaning anything, when all of the advantages it brings are gone...  they have to adjust.  Quickly.  I haven't seen one do it yet.  And that's when they can be taken down."

"And my sister asked for the creation of that spell," Luna softly said, "of Kalziver himself.  Because there are times when the last thing standing between sanity and destruction is the invocation of blasphemy.  A student of magic is among us.  Would she do the group the favor of telling us how many times that spell might have saved Equestria?"

At the very least, swallowing this fast over and over had to count for speed-learning.  "Three --"

"Seven," Celestia gently corrected.  

Twilight's mouth opened.  Nothing came out.

"But three would be the number visible through the public record, so no fault," the white mare finished.  "Twilight, I asked for a weapon against pony magic because there's been more than enough times when ponies were the problem.  The Severance works.  But --" and her focus moved to Applejack "-- it only works when you cast at a triple corona, the usual duration is twelve seconds, and I can just barely make it hold for ninety-eight.  And once it wears off, I can't cast much of anything else for hours, because the migraine is just that bad.  And you got caught up in Star Swirl's spell --"

please don't say his name, not in front of her

"-- where the image moved -- but the talent stayed where it was, in dormancy.  Because he never figured out how to switch what he saw as the crucial aspect, and everything fell apart once those talents were called upon again.  That's the level of power and skill it usually takes to disengage mark from magic, Applejack.  And nothing I know of can do it permanently."

"But neither of us," the dark mare finished, "know everything.  So consider this, both of you.  Allergen, potentially.  Disease as something to be feared.  But this could be a weapon.  Something designed to be used against us."  She leaned forward somewhat, coldly focused at them from across the too-large table.  "And as we do not know who would be developing it, alerting those nations to your presence might serve as a critical mistake.  It would let them know that Equestria has, at the very least, certain suspicions.  Especially if news of that stallion's death has reached them.  If they are aware, to use what may not be the accurate phrase, that a test subject had escaped..."

"You're askin' us," Applejack forced out (because a shaking Twilight could not), "t' see those places as the enemy."

"We're looking at it as a possibility," Celestia stated.  "But it might not even be those nations.  As we said, there's a lot of unexplored territory.  Anyone could have gone into that area and set up their research, feeling they had a low chance of being discovered.  Another nation could be working there, someone more hostile to Equestria.  Those two countries mostly don't care."

"And if any such nation is rather more local," Luna darkly continued, "then they may have already read of recent Canterlot events.  The press working against us again, if inadvertently..."

The dark mare pulled back.  Took a slow breath.

"When this ends," the younger quietly considered, "we may find ourselves placing that stallion among Equestria's greatest heroes.  He might have fled from an encampment which was trying to treat the ill.  He also might have died in an attempt to alert us, through providing the evidence of his corpse.  His name will be verified.  He will be honored, even if circumstances require the final portrait to be hidden.  This I vow."

She slowly shook her head, and the two smaller mares waited for the meteor streaks to leave the flow of her tail.

"There's something else," Celestia eventually added.  "Until proven otherwise, we should assume there's at least one pony working with them.  It's possible that the lockdown effect was generated by a device, and we need to test the age of the teleportation guide.  Just in case it's something old and lost.  Pre-Discordian is an option.  But if it's new, then at the very least, somepony constructed it.  Somepony is keeping it charged.  They may not know what it's being used for -- but they're involved."

"Or we could have an effective traitor to their own species," Luna darkly offered.  "Or -- somepony as desperate as Triptych and Joyous, who believes themselves to be saving those who can be helped in no other way."

(Twilight, whose thoughts seemed to be spiraling in all directions, found a rather small part of herself distantly noting that the temperature in the room seemed to be oddly stable.  Perhaps the sisters cancelled each other out.)

"But no matter what," the white mare concluded, "they could know we're coming.  That's one of the hazards with preparation time:  it's all the more days for the news to go that far.  And there's another problem wrapped up in it.  If this is something deliberate, and the news reaches the source..."

"We can dispatch spies," Luna rather too casually announced.  "To gain insight into the state of each area.  But they cannot explore the land entire.  Some of them would still be new pony arrivals at a time when a nation which is doing this deliberately might expect ponies to appear, and we have only a few non-pony citizens to send.  Abruptly-arriving griffons are only slightly less suspicious."

"And when it comes to new pony arrivals," Celestia softly sighed, "there's another problem.  The seven of you aren't...  quite as anonymous as you used to be."

The white mare looked at Twilight.  Or rather, at her flanks.

Both of Twilight's wings twitched, and did so at the same moment when a twisting plume of thought tossed off "Well, that's kind of your fault --"

-- her mouth slammed shut.

Celestia blinked.  Luna snickered.

"Point established," the younger smugly determined.  "It remains a problem.  One I am personally attempting to solve."

"How?" Applejack quickly asked.  "The rest of us can use fur dyes an' the like, but Twi --"

"-- can potentially be placed within a mobile shell of illusion," the dark mare interrupted.  "Similar to the enchantments on thestral armor:  something which keeps perfect pace with the movements of the wearer.  The simplest solution is to hide the horn -- and there is the reaction I was expecting:  sit down, Twilight Sparkle -- but you are not a natural pegasus.  Not that many in those areas would be likely to have direct experience, but...  just about any is sufficient for determining that somepony is unused to her wings.  Far easier to pass you as a unicorn -- if you can prevent all physical contact.  And the donning of cloth."  With open irritation, "And if I can enchant a device which does not simply overlay a batlike shell atop feathered wings -- also, I use 'simply' with some sarcasm -- but which detects the immediate environment, and creates the illusion of what would normally be visible when looking past your flanks.  And updates that illusion as you move.  Instantly.  Constantly." 

Eventually, Twilight became aware that her mouth was open again.

"Or we may cloak the horn while issuing you a set of bandages," Luna added.  "The wings are present, and they are simply too injured for flight at the moment."  With a soft snort, "Without her somehow tapping your aspect at all times, Applejack Malus, I have very little confidence in her managing to continually retain a hat.  There are solutions.  Some of them are mundane, because that can be easiest.  It is partially a matter of determining which has the chance to actually work."

"On the mundane side," Celestia told them, "we're having Hoovmat suits made for all of you.  Functional ones, Twilight:  I know you've seen the Flower Trio's come apart under the pressure of light breathing, but -- it's possible to get better ones."  Without all that much loss of volume, "Considering that the Trio are just about his last customers, you'd think he'd stop complaining about being blackmailed...  At any rate, if it is an allergen, they could give you some protection."

"But we can't use magic when we're wearing them!" Twilight instinctively protested.  "A corona can't get through!  Rainbow won't be able to move her wings --" Wait.  "-- Applejack?"

The farmer looked thoughtful.  "Never tried, Twi.  Don't see why they'd stop mah voice -- but it's somethin' we'd better test before we leave."

Both sisters nodded.  "We have exacting measurements for most of the group, from Rarity.  We've already put them in the order."  

"Most?  Y'need a set for Spike?"

Celestia shook her head.  Looked at Twilight again, and the librarian winced.  

When compared to her state prior to the change, she was slightly taller.  The difference wasn't currently at the point where most ponies could spot it, but...  Rarity wasn't most ponies, and also came with a frequently-used accessory of measuring tapes which had some extremely fine gradients.  And after the librarian had spent her adult life as Unicorn (Extremely) Petite, it hadn't taken all that long for the numerical evidence to reach the point where she could no longer deny it.  Twilight was slightly taller -- and each moon saw her as just a little taller still.  Eventually, it was going to reach a stage where all of Ponyville would pick up on it.  

The adolescent, who had readily foreseen a future where she was forever rearing up on her hind legs and still had to crane her neck to see the top shelf, would have welcomed a little extra height.  The mare, looking at two of the three rather oversized examples for those who had already gone through the process, mostly wanted to know when it was going to stop.

"They're precision fits," Celestia explained.  "But we do have Spike's latest numbers, and we're going to have a suit made for him because if it is an allergen or anything similar, we don't want to find out what it does to a dragon."    

Most of Twilight appreciated the consideration.  A minor remainder was internally muttering about going back into the tapes.

"Language is a factor," Luna told them.  "You will find very few who speak Equestrian in that region, and we likely lack the time to teach you all the native tongue.  Fortunately, those languages are recorded, and we have speakers in the capital.  Translation devices can be set accordingly, and as they do not need to decipher a newly-encountered vocabulary, they can be of the most basic type."

"We may still send you with one advanced sort, though," Celestia added.  "In case whatever's going on turns out to be the creation of a new species.  It'll leave you going through the wearer for all exchanges, but -- we can't leave you with no ability to communicate."

"Communication."  It wasn't quite an echo.  Luna had put too much restrained force into the word for that.  "Yes."

And for the last time that night, the sisters looked at each other.  

They're holding that for a really long time.
Really long.
I wish they would talk to us.
To me.
There's something forming between them.  Some sort of mist --
-- is that fog?

And then the Diarchy was facing the Bearers.

"We already know there's a lockdown effect in play," Celestia began.  "And we know Spike can't send a scroll out of one.  I also can't send one in.  Not without breaking the lockdown, and I'd have to be present in order to do that.  We have to assume that if you track this to the source, you're going to be directly in the lockdown zone."

"And should you find a way to break it," Luna added, "there remains the fact that you will still be in the southern half of the planet.  A long way from Equestria.  Something which makes calling for help, or rapidly-arriving reinforcements...  rather difficult."

Her stars are dimming.
She's worried.  About something big. 
We've almost always been out of contact.  The magic isn't there for it.  Without Spike...

"Scrolls sent to Spike target him," the white mare stated.  "I'm not sure it's possible to follow one, even with the attachment spell.  Because it's not tracking a living thing.  I've been..." and the purple eyes scrunched into a wince "...trying to find out, for the last couple of days.  It...  hasn't been going well."

"And at some point," the dark mare softly repeated, "we must expect that scrolls will cease to become a factor.  That you will have no means of contacting us."

"We also don't know if you can get another one of those transport devices," the elder added.  "Or use it safely."

"There is the very real possibility," the younger quietly said, "that you will effectively be isolated, several thousand gallops away.  Lost, with no means to inform us of what has gone wrong, of asking for aid, of simply telling us that the mission is complete and that you need to come home."

"Ah get it," Applejack carefully offered.  "Could be a really long boat ride back."  With a sigh, "I'm gonna hate bein' away from the Acres for so long.  An'...  if it hits spring, then Ah kinda have t' ask for some -- help.  Extra crew, 'cause Ah won't be there.  Plus we were gonna start on some agronomy, so any expert y'might know..." 

I know you.  It's more than that.
Honesty doesn't mean you have to say everything.

Something about the white mare's voice felt hollow.   

"We've made arrangements," Celestia said.  "Both of us."

"You will be issued devices," Luna stated, and the syllables seemed to echo inwards.  "At least three, so that you may carry -- I believe 'backups' is the term.  They are being created now, as their function is simple.  They create...  a visual effect."

"Something which can be seen," the elder quietly continued.  "From a very long way off.  If you use it...  then anyone in the area who just glances up will know something is going on, because the radius is that significant.  It may center a lot of activity on your location in a hurry."

"Twice per cycle," the younger told them, "within temporal windows ninety minutes across, centered on that region's noon and midnight...  if it is necessary, you may use them.  And if you do, we will know that something has happened."

Twilight took a breath.

"I can look at the enchantments."  Normally the height of misplaced ego, to presume she could improve on something the sisters had created -- but Trixie was present to help her with the new.  "See if the window can be extended.  Maybe we can even get rid of the visual side effect.  Just tell me which spells are involved in this kind of long-distance signal."  The words were coming faster.  "And what you're using for the carrier, and why it has to be time-dependent --"

Both sisters raised a forehoof.  

(Celestia was right-side dominant.  Luna was left.  It could take a while to spot that...)

"You can't do anything about this," Celestia told them.  "There's no improvements possible."

"This is the best which can be rendered," Luna informed the mares.  "All we can offer."

The smallest alicorn looked from one to the other.  They were just...  gazing at her, and there was something in their eyes, something which wasn't supposed to ever be there...

They're scared for us.  
That has to be it.
Please let that be it.

"Ninety minutes," Twilight found herself repeating.  Any other words would have let the questions flow.  "Twice per day.  Forty-five minutes on each side of that region's noon and midnight."

Both siblings nodded.

"And you'll know we're in trouble."

"More than that," Luna stated.

"It's possible the devices will be confiscated or broken," Celestia recognized.  "If that happens...  find a way to make a signal, during that window.  Something which wouldn't be natural for the area, something big, and something which can be seen from...  overhead."

"It may take a moment to recognize," Luna told them, "Longer to react.  The response will not be instant.  But after we see it...  we will come to you." 





He's in a bar, because it's that kind of night and of course he was going to wind up in a bar.  

It's not the kind of bar where you find mares, because he's nowhere near ready to try again.  There are stallions, and none of them are interested in each other.  It's the sort of bar where you pay for a private trough and spend most of the night staring into it.  Waiting for the moment when the liquid starts talking back.  It generally promises to keep the drinker company and as truths go, that one's rather short-term. 

The bar is constructed in a way which makes it about ten percent central payment station.  The remainder is isolated clusters of private shadow.  It's a minor architectural miracle.  Linchpin could normally puzzle out how it was done, but there's drinking to do and besides, if he holds off for a while, the attempt might add something to the hangover.

He approaches the payment area.  Hopefully there's some unoccupied shadows left.

"You look like a stallion who could use a drink."

The words come from behind him.  It makes him turn, and then the looking up part is a followthrough because he wasn't expecting the other pony to be quite that tall.  

"Realizing that's kind of obvious," says the other stallion, and forehooves scrape at the floor.  "Being that we're in a bar and all."

Linchpin almost smiles.

"Just a little," he responds.  "Do I pay you?"

"Nah.  I just..."  All four hooves perform a brief shuffle, something so awkward as to be almost instantly endearing.  "I don't work here.  I just saw you go in.  And I thought, that looks like a stallion who needs somepony to buy him a drink.  And maybe talk about why he needed one so bad."

He came here to be alone.
No.  He came here because he's tired of being alone.
The other stallion is wincing a little.  Waiting for an answer, visibly unsure of whether he should have even asked the question.  It's like watching a really big colt debating the wisdom of having asked somepony out, exactly three seconds too late.

"This isn't about dating, right?"  Calm words, gentle.  "Wrong kind of bar.  And...  I don't.  Not with stallions."  He almost wishes he was interested.  If nothing else, it would seem to give him more prospects for future failures.

"It's about..."  More shuffling.  "...it's about passing somepony who just...  really looked like he needed to talk.  Who needs a friend.  I'll understand if you'd rather --"

He has a drafting table.  Models.  
The ponies he took classes with have scattered across the continent.  In some cases, the world.
He doesn't have a lot of friends.
Maybe this kind of drinking is better with company.
It's a cold winter, and the stallion's awkward expression is warm.

"-- who's buying?"  And that does emerge from the center of a smile.

"I can get the first," the other stallion offers.  "Maybe the second.  After that, if you don't have bits on you, we can keep going.  I just hope you like clearing your bill by scrubbing troughs."  Helpfully, "I'm sort of an expert there.  If you need hints."

It makes him laugh.  And there is a shadow available, one large enough for two...

They approach it together.





When you meet somepony at a low point in your life...  during a crisis, in the middle of a collapse, when everything is going wrong and now there's a new voice, somepony you can listen to...

The librarian who eventually follows his trail would understand.  After all, it happened to her.  She met five mares, and they showed her how to overcome her weaknesses to get through.  They reinforced her strengths, shored up her life, and eventually became part of her soul.  They told her the answers were waiting outside -- but they didn't have all of them.  They just wanted to help her look.

But if the new pony plays on those weaknesses, looks for chances to strengthen them until it seems that the flaw is the whole, forces you to turn inward until the only thing you can see is your own pain and the new pony standing at the center of it, because they're the only one with the answers and all it takes to solve everything is to split you off from the world, leaving a single voice and it isn't your own...

The mare was offered friendship.
The stallion will be brought into a cult.