//------------------------------// // A Fear That Will Never Come to Pass // Story: Long Live the Sovereign // by Impossible Numbers //------------------------------// The sun set on the Crystal Empire, and entered the first night of the Crystal Kingdom. For a while, the world at large slept through the coming months: peaceful, dreaming, and relaxed. Not yet to be rudely awakened, not till the sunrise of a particular day, half a year later. What the sun saw, on each morning and on this morning, was Chancellor Carnelian stepping onto the balcony, overlooking the kingdom, summoning the crowds with the flugelhorn, and announcing the latest royal edicts. Under her echoes, the Crystal Kingdom cheered. Its citizens grew shiny and prosperous. The crystal ponies happily got on with their lives, and were even known to bask content in the radiance, abroad, enjoying the reign of Princess Flurry Heart. Oh, what the sun didn’t see… “Wheee heee heeeeee!” cried Princess Flurry Heart. “I’m winning!” The castle servants stood stock still. “OK, now… DOUBLE-WHAMMY!” At Flurry’s insistent hoof signals, one of the servants crossed the hall, counting the squares that had been embedded into the crystalline floor. Across the giant chessboard, he moved to meet one of his fellows, who pantomimed falling over and then got up to join a lost-looking gaggle on the side. Flurry giggled and flapped her wings in excitement. “Hee hee hee! I love double-whammy! Now you, go over there!” From the grand arching entrance, Chancellor Carnelian watched, wide-eyed yet slump-shouldered. By now, she should have been used to such sights, but every new game Flurry Heart invented always seemed to come out of nowhere and hit Carnelian’s brain top to bottom. She had to wait for the aftershock every time. When she judged that the princess had finished her game – “I WIN! I WIN! FRENCH FOR THAT IS FINNY FIN!” – she coughed genteelly. “Good morning, Your Highness.” Princess Flurry Heart beamed up at her, but there was a slight wobble at the edge of her lips that Carnelian had grown to recognize. “Carney, what a pleasant surprise. Oh, I feel so much better today. Look, I won the game.” Calmly, Carnelian surveyed the harassed-looking servants around or on the giant board. “Skilfully played, Your Highness. Shall I ask the royal historian to chronicle it for the ages?” “Ha!” Flurry Heart nodded to one of the side servants, who was already biting his quill and lifting a scroll to his face. “Beat you to it!” “Very good, Your Highness.” Carnelian straightened up. “And how are we feeling about addressing the kingdom today?” “Er…” “Or opening the Crystal Parliament?” “Um…” Or doing any “boring political stuff”? Carnelian almost said this one. Career and survival instincts cut her voice off. Throwing hoof to horn, Flurry burst open her wings in melodramatic fashion. “Not today! I need more time. Oh, Carney! I had the most awful nightmares last night. I kept seeing this beautiful tower vanish in a flash of light.” “I see,” said Carnelian, who if she had less self-control would have said this through clenched teeth. “No!” wailed Flurry. “I can’t face the crowds! Not like this!” She pouted, and tears pooled in her eyes. “Not since… Not since…” Carnelian almost sighed. Not since her parents died. Yes, the Chancellor had heard that one before. Daily. A few of the less experienced servants looked worried, or suppressed small sobs. “I understand, Your Highness.” “Thank you, Carney!” At once, Flurry leaped over and hugged the desperately-not-struggling figure. “You’re the best chancellor a princess could ask for! Now!” As if nothing had happened, Flurry reared up and clapped like a kindergarten teacher. “What shall we play next? Ooh, ooh, how about sliding down the crystal corridors? I haven’t tried that yet.” Rare impulse prodded Carnelian. A few weeks ago, she would have ignored it. Weeks and weeks later, though, weeks and weeks of going through this same appalling pantomime over and over again, finally had nudged her close enough to the edge for gravity to take hold. She said, “Ahem.” In shock, Flurry looked round. “I appreciate, Your Highness, that you are the Crystal Princess, and as such are capable of making decisions for yourself…” “That’s right.” Flurry nodded, uncomprehending. Carnelian took a deep breath. “But –” “But what!?” The words cracked like a weakened column under the castle. Servants flinched and trembled. Carnelian herself reeled from the shockwaves, despite professional detachment’s safe distance. She tried again. “Your Highness –” “There is no ‘but’!” Wings, horn, and ice-pick eyes towered, threatened Carnelian like an impatient glacier. “I am the Crystal Princess! I was born to be the Crystal Princess! Were you born to be the Crystal Princess?” Flurry scoffed, as though it was patently ridiculous. Carnelian was aware of a faint crackling around Flurry’s horn. She’d never seen it actually used, but perhaps she just wasn’t around when it went off… Then she peered into Princess Flurry Heart’s spreading, icy glare. “No, Your Highness. My apologies, Your Highness. It will not happen again.” Slowly, Flurry folded her wings and dimmed her horn, but the eyes remained cold and spreading. “And don’t you dare forget it!” They broke off. Carnelian stayed stock still. She was too professional to let out a sigh of relief, so left that to her fellow servants. Soon, Flurry was all smiles again. “And as your Crystal Princess, I declare we shall now sojourn in the Crystal Castle corridors! Ooh, let’s try downstairs! Bet the floors down there are extra slippery!” They all went along with it. After all, so long as she was happy, she was A Good Princess. Carnelian watched the other servants follow in single file: them shaking and whispering nervously, her calm and collected. Serving Princess Flurry Heart wasn’t proving much different from doing all the ruling by herself, really. It just meant occasionally breaking off from international conferences and parliamentary debates to check Her Highness was enjoying a game of hide and go seek. Over time, though, Carnelian had heard reports from beyond the kingdom, admiring and praising the “Crystal Princess’s” good work. A vein throbbed in Carnelian’s temple. It was nothing to what happened next. “Ugh,” said Flurry as though stumbling across a stain on the floor. “This isn’t any good at all.” Carnelian woke up from her ruminations to find the royal procession standing at the end of a corridor. Presumably, it had been a candidate for sliding down, except… “All these dusty statues!” And indeed, on either side, giant crystal ponies stood in considered poses, each different from the others, each tall enough to shade the ponies without yet touching the vaunted ceiling. “Who would wreck such a perfect slidey corridor by putting a bunch of statues in it?” Sensing the gasps and frozen horror in the other crystal ponies, Carnelian hurried forwards. “This is the Hall of Heroes, Your Highness. For generations, crystal ponies have honoured the brave, the inventive, and the charitable by erecting statues in their –” To her shock, she saw Flurry yawn at the lecture. “Bor-ing.” A flash. A groan of fresh horror. The statues vanished in sparkles. “There!” Flurry capered as though showing off a terrific trick. “I improved it! Who wants to slide first? Betcha none of you can slide as fast as me!” But this time, Carnelian saw the servants give up any pretence. Gapes and shaking heads met these words. Some frowns broke their bonds. One servant, to Carnelian’s admiration, actually stepped forward: she recognized the young and feisty junior maid, who’d only started a month ago. “How dare you!” “What!?” cried out Flurry, whose shock and outrage showed no restraint at all. “You heard me! That’s enough! I don’t mind the childish games and so on, that’s your right, but you can’t just wipe out our culture and heritage like that! How dare you!? You, whose mother always respected the –” Too late, Carnelian made frantic hoof signals behind a suddenly straight-backed Flurry Heart. “– traditions of the Empire! You, who are not fit to kiss her horseshoes…” Flurry Heart created silence through sheer coldness. It was like shouting at an ice block. With intelligence. The maid stared defiantly, but with an increasingly fidgety nervousness the longer the ice held. Carnelian hurried between them, or rather beside them: she knew better than to get caught in the crossfire. In Flurry Heart’s eyes, she could see the affronted pride sink, twist, turn into something darker. Too many lines had been crossed. Too much said. They waited for the tantrum. It wouldn’t be the first. Then Carnelian noticed Flurry’s gaze flicker. Followed it. Met one of the other servants, the elderly stallion, the Royal Cook. The maid was the Royal Cook’s daughter. Carnelian realized at once: if Flurry fired the maid, the cook – well-paid, respected – could support her with his earnings. That wouldn’t hurt as much as it should. For a moment, Carnelian swore Flurry’s lips twitched into a smirk. Then petty rage took over. “You!” Flurry’s hoof lashed whiplike at the cook. “You’re fired!” “Wh–?” “I will not have my orders questioned by traitors! You’ve been slipping lately. Breakfast was a shambles. It’s time to let you go. And you can kiss your pension goodbye!” Through suppressed anger, Carnelian almost admired the cruelty. Flurry had barely had seconds to figure out the sharpest way to retaliate, and by proxy too. Screaming, the maid fell to her knees. “Your Highness, please! Not my father! He’s too old to get another job!” “Stop yelling at me!” The horn crackled. The maid flinched. Flurry Heart settled down, sadly. “Why does everypony insist on picking on me? Do you enjoy hurting me?” Injustice, fear, and misery fought on the maid’s screwed-up face. At a casual “You’re dismissed,” she threw herself into a gallop and fled, weeping. The Royal Chef shuffled after her, head hanging low. “And I suppose,” added the venom-spitting Flurry Heart to the suddenly stoic servants, “anypony else would like to pick on an orphan? Commit high treason? Anyone?” Shaking heads. Flurry sighed with a weary burden no one but she understood. “Good. Then we’re all friends again. We are all friends –” her horn crackled “– aren’t we?” Nodding heads. Instant happiness: Flurry rubbed her hooves together with glee. “All right! I’m going first! Anyone who gets past the tenth doorway on the left gets a free snowcone! One, two, wheeeeee!” Carnelian closed her eyes. Carnelian opened her eyes. “…so you see,” she finished with a sigh, “it’s imperative you come to the Crystal Kingdom right away.” She gave a start at the look on Twilight’s face and bowed. “Your Highness.” It wasn’t just the look on Twilight’s face. It was Twilight’s face, period. Behind Twilight’s face wasn’t much better… Twilight swayed. First, there had been the delegation from Yakyakistan. Then there had been the cleaning up after the delegation from Yakyakistan. Then there had been the listening-to-Spike-and-giving-up-and-hiring-construction-teams after the delegation from Yakyakistan. Now there were the delegations from the Dragon Lands and the Griffon Kingdom. Since this involved trying to listen to Dragon Lord Ember’s fire-breathing irritation and Gilda the Griffon’s fed-up sarcasm, Twilight had the construction teams on standby. And just as Twilight was trying to remember her griffon-dragon history books, budget her snacks for gem-eaters, and reframe the “sharing is caring” moral for two creatures who preferred the “finders, keepers” approach to territorial rights, up popped Chancellor Carnelian outside her throne room, insisting they speak. Instead of – say – booking it for next month, which was the next chance Twilight had to book her in. Princess Twilight felt like Pauper Twilight During A Recession. Her normally regal face was one big rag. Gamely, she tried to see the other pony’s point-of-view. Both the headache and the pressing urge to sleep fought back. “I appreciate your concerns, Your Chancellorship,” she said with barely a warble, “but are you sure you’re not…?” Twilight’s bruised brain crashed in an attempt to open the “tactful” file. “…mistaken?” “Mistaken? Mistaken!?” Crystalline teeth ground together, spitting sparks. “After what she’s done to the Hall of Heroes, you think I am mistaken!?” From inside the throne room, sullen muttering prodded Twilight in the back of her conscience. Beside her, Spike hummed doubtfully. Carnelian backed off. “Ah… I appreciate…” she began, less furiously, “that this may be hard for you to believe, Your Highness. I find it hard to believe myself. But I assure you I would not have come here if it was not urgent.” Even so, Twilight felt her own heart sinking. Exaggeration or not, it wasn’t entirely impossible for Flurry to have run into difficulties. Sooner or later, with or without Flurry’s… inexperience… “Morale is at an all-time low,” insisted Carnelian, glancing nervously at Spike. “The only reason the staff refuse to quit is fear of what’ll happen if they try.” Twilight winced an aunt’s wince. “I’m still not sure this isn’t a misunderstanding, but…” “A-hem.” Spike gave her a warning nudge. Ironically, this made Twilight more determined to ignore it. “…but I’m sure I can spare some time next week. To come and check on Flurry.” “You can’t come any sooner?” pleaded Carnelian. “Next week. The schedule will need some work. I’ll do my best.” “Good. Remember, you didn’t hear anything from me!” Carnelian made to leave, stayed, made to leave again, stopped to inspect Twilight’s face, then left, repeatedly glancing back all the way down the corridor. The muttering in the throne room spilled over to mutually cynical laughs, too light to be really hurtful, but heavy enough to make Twilight’s wings and withers wilt. She knew Spike would hum, louder and more doubtfully, seconds before he did so. “I can handle Flurry Heart,” she said at once without looking up at him, almost pleading. “Better than I can handle anyone else. I know her. She’ll listen to her Best Aunt Ever.” “If you can stay awake long enough to finish a sentence.” Spike chortled behind his claws. “She’s just… having some difficulties.” As gently as the curved points could, Spike’s claws patted her on the shoulder, making her bones jangle. “You need a break. And don’t say you can handle it.” Twilight rapidly closed her mouth. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” The noise Spike made may have been a snort. It may have been a suppressed laugh. Twilight turned and met him gaze for gaze. Dragon eyes – even Spike’s, which had been rounded and softened by years of pony-watching – cut deep. They had Jurassic strength. Then the lightbulb in her head, which never dimmed for long, blazed back. “Tell you what, Spike,” she said slyly, “how about we solve both problems with one spell?” “Twilight –” “Figure of speech, Spike! Listen: how about I ask Flurry to deal with the next Yakyakistan delegation? It’d lighten my workload and give her some much-needed experience. A wake-up call.” From the throne room, Gilda murmured something. The word “Twilight” was unmistakeable. Ember laughed. Twilight’s ears drooped. “Well,” said Spike, stretching a smile across his muzzle, “at least we’re making progress. Sort of.” “What do you think?” Twilight forced a smile of her own. It would have worked if she didn’t have to suppress a yawn partway. Spike looked her up and down. They’d been together a long time. That meant seeing things in each other they wished had never been witnessed. He shrugged. “Got to be worth a try, hasn’t it?” Twilight closed her eyes in thanks. Twilight opened her eyes in regret. “…so you see,” she finished with a heavy sigh, “as much as I appreciate how… difficult it can be, I must insist you take on more responsibility. You’re a princess now. A Crystal Princess.” For one thing, Princess Flurry Heart’s throne chamber was much less pristine than hers had been. Apart from row upon row of toys – some of which waved at Twilight as her eye passed by – the coronation banners and drapes were still up. Servants hadn’t even swept up the confetti. They probably hadn’t dared. On the throne, Flurry’s face resented the confusion forcing its way through. “Somepony’s snitched on me! Haven’t they!?” Despite herself, Twilight growled. She hated standing here before Flurry’s throne, avoiding the merest thrown accusation, speaking gently, going as roundabout as she could go. The effort was wasted: whether through suspicion or intimate knowledge of Twilight’s psyche, Flurry bristled anyway. “I have received reports, yes,” said Twilight stiffly, “but that’s not important. Flurry Heart, you can’t just play around all day, like we did when we were together.” She’d thrown that last bit in, hoping her niece would take the hint. To her dismay, Flurry looked no less aggrieved. “But I am a Crystal Princess!” “And that means you have duties to your Crystal Kingdom.” “Ha! What would you know about duties? You had to work your way up to princessing. I was born a princess. You don’t get to lecture me!” Silence. Twilight wished she could believe she hadn’t just heard that. The sharpness dulled in Flurry’s face. She seemed to pause and think, and then creased up her face and looked askance. “Sorry. Anyway, all my duties are being met, right?” Seizing the point, Twilight leaped out of… whatever horror that was, and back into what she told herself was a normal niece-auntie argument. “That’s not the point! This is about accepting responsibility for the power entrusted to y–” “Anyway, I don’t want to meet the yaks! They’re a bunch of meanies!” Twilight rubbed one leg against another. “They are a bit… ebullient… but they’re getting better –” “It’s all right for you! Your parents are close to you! I’ve got no one to help me here! Can you imagine what that’d be like, sitting with those yaks, listening to them go on and on? I couldn’t stand it! YAK SMASH! YAK STUPID! YAK TALK LIKE WIDDLE BABIES!” A brief chuckle, then Flurry scowled. “They’ll ruin my castle, too! No, Auntie, I’m not doing it!” Yaks, homework, cleaning up… Twilight thought drearily. “Yes. You are.” Sobbing, Flurry Heart pouted and flopped over the arm of her throne. “Wwwhhhyyy!? Why are you picking on meeeee!?” No! Too much Bad Auntie! Twilight nearly panicked. No. She couldn’t bully her niece. She wouldn’t. Even through her own stress, if there was one thing she never wanted to be caught doing, it was being a stressor to somepony else. Especially somepony as close and as young – as hurt – as Flurry Heart. More soothingly, Twilight explained, “Meeting personally with other creatures shows how much you care about them. Imagine if someone didn’t turn up to meet you. Wouldn’t that feel bad?” To her relief, she saw Flurry wince. “I guess…” “Exactly.” “But I can send Carnelian to meet them. That shows how much I care. They should be grateful! She’s so good at putting up with them for me. Then all their problems just disappear, the kingdom’s happy, I’m happy, everyone’s happy.” To Twilight’s disappointment, she saw Flurry beam proudly. She also saw, standing statue-like beside the throne, Carnelian’s eye twitch. But Carnelian bowed all the same when Flurry turned to check on her. “Her Highness is correct,” declared Carnelian. If Twilight hadn’t been listening for it, she never would have heard the bite in those words. The worst part? Twilight knew why. Deep down, she could sense the strange… coldness from Flurry Heart. There was something about her, something horribly like an act. This wasn’t just a little kid struggling against Auntie. Something adult was growing, watching Twilight, testing her. Something which apparently thought the definition of “good” was “being nice to me”. And that the opposite was… Right. Time for a different tack. “Please,” Twilight murmured, smiling as sweetly as she could, “do this for me?” To Twilight’s shock, she thought she saw – for a second – the sparks crackle along Flurry’s horn. Just for a moment. It must have been her imagination. Flurry was stressed. She knew it. Although Twilight was sure she could match or even counter Flurry’s magical outbursts at her worst, the best thing of all was not to get to that point. So it was a wonderful relief when Flurry slumped and sighed. “Oh, all right. Only for you, Best Auntie Ever.” “Good girl.” Thereafter, Twilight’s heart was lifted. She no longer weighed herself down with thoughts and concerns. She was too busy savouring the sight of a slightly easier week stretching ahead like rolling fields and hills of green… …and empty whiteness. Endless. Dead. There were several clues across the snowfield. The snow was not noticeably deeper than usual. Neither were the mountains lighter of load. This was not the time of year for avalanches, in any case, and even if there had been a freak event, the yaks had long since learned new clearing techniques. Nor were there the usual bellows, guffaws, hearty cries, or proud announcements echoing among the peaks. They certainly didn’t greet the surprise arrival of an honoured guest, which they almost certainly would have done. In short, there was no evidence of a freak avalanche. There was also no evidence that Yakyakistan had ever existed. There was no Yakyakistan at all. Twilight focused on the little clues, because she was gasping for breath, reeling from the blow to her heart, and fighting her traitor brain as it came to the inevitable conclusion… “It was a freak avalanche –” began Flurry calmly. “For the last time, I know it was not a freak avalanche!” The words echoed around the dining hall of the Crystal Castle. Servants pressed themselves against the walls or fled outright. Even Carnelian backed away from the long table laden with crystallized delicacies. Only Flurry didn’t move. At the head of the table, in her own throne-sized chair, she seemed unperturbed by Twilight’s having burst through the double doors opposite. Instead, she’d stopped to listen to Twilight’s deductions, then selected a crystal berry pie and started ferrying bite-sized pieces to her mouth. At one point, she stopped to regard a few other dishes on her table. It was no secret the new cook hadn’t been satisfying her lately. She simply vanished the dishes she didn’t like. Flurry shrugged. “You got me,” she said, still fussing over her pie. The room held its breath. Twilight was feverishly forcing her fury to stay down, but the blatant unconcern rattled her too much to keep her grip. “Flurry Heart, do you have any idea what you’ve done!? Yakyakistan has vanished! How did it happen!?” Sullen scowls clenched and unclenched on Flurry’s otherwise-unconcerned face. Only then did she look up, like a teenager torn between avoiding her parents and giving them a shouting match. “Spell,” she said, gloomily. The effort of hiding her horror broke Twilight’s teeth against each other. Too much tiredness: she wasn’t thinking straight. Well, what the hay was Flurry Heart thinking!? Twilight tried to make herself see what she was doing wrong – was she not connecting properly with Flurry Heart, somehow? – but all she could think of was the stupid insistence on doing things the right way. It was that stupid insistence that had worn Twilight’s brain down to schedule-squished sludge, that stupid insistence that had mysteriously given way just once to let Flurry take the reins, that stupid insistence that had prodded Twilight’s doubts and made her come up to check anyway, and never mind Spike’s protests. It hurt not to get any eye contact, even now. Twilight swayed where she stood, forced herself not to, and paradoxically swayed even more. She felt seconds away from total collapse. Meanwhile, Flurry sat there, calm and unfussed, openly defying her. Then Flurry Heart looked up. That was the shock of it. There’d been sullen teenager around her face, but her eyes… her eyes were ripe with laughter. No innocent baby making teddy bears dance. No gurgling and giggling of tiny joy anymore. And that new laughter was aimed at Twilight, struggling and swaying. The look flickered towards Twilight’s horn. That was when it hit her. This wasn’t just amusement. The look was cold, unhurried. Twilight realized with horror that Flurry Heart was calculating. Unable to stop herself, Twilight’s horn lit up, bright and zapping with magical sparks of electricity. Flurry straightened up at once. “All right,” she said in a tone of unconcern that fooled no one, “I got mad with the meanies. But you should have seen them! Big, noisy, smelly, stupid jerks. And their hovels! Urgh. I couldn’t stay another minute.” “And that’s your excuse for vanishing them!?” Flurry’s face started to crease up as though forming one big teardrop. “Well… sort of?” “Bring them back! Now!” “I don’t know how!” Flurry’s wings fanned out as though the feathers wanted to escape. “The magic just came to me! I don’t know what I did!” “Then tell me what spell you used! Let ME fix it!” “Stop YELLING at me!” Bursting into tears, Flurry curled up, enveloped herself with wings, and shrouded the lot behind a golden bubble as a shield. Eventually, her sobs trickled through Twilight’s mind, touched something old and near-forgotten. Memories of tiny tears and child cries stung her. Twilight relaxed. The sparks died in her horn. “I’m… I’m sorry,” she found herself saying on automatic. “Why are you always making me do things!? I thought we were friends!” “We are, Flurry. We still are,” whispered Twilight. At this, she frantically ignored a more sarcastic part of her mind. She compromised by adding, “But you need to realize how serious this is. I am very disappointed with how you’ve behaved. This isn’t something where I can just tell you off and call it forgiven. You need to take responsibility. Please.” The golden shield hummed. The wings uncurled slightly. Muffled, the voice said, “I’m very sorry I upset you, Auntie.” Twilight cut off the anger just in time. “This isn’t about me getting mad. Your actions affected the yaks, and they’ll affect the surrounding nations too. Whether or not you get on with them, the yaks still deserve to be treated right. You have to understand that.” The shield faded out. The wings unfolded. Flurry Heart looked confused. “But they’re meanies…” she began. “That doesn’t mean you should be a meanie right back –” “All I did was vanish them.” “Flurry Heart!” As soon as the wings and shield rose up, Twilight backed off. “All right, just please, please, please bring them back, and say you’re sorry. Do this for me?” Wings and shield retreated. Flurry Heart regarded her with another careful, calculating face. “Fine,” she said, and there was a catch in her voice. She set on her pie again. “Consider it done.” On her way out, past the unwinding servants, Twilight glanced back. Briefly, she saw the stare Flurry was giving her food. It was the stare of a pony facing a future of fear… Down below, the crystal pony protest stood awkwardly but determinedly in the plaza at the foot of the Crystal Castle. Several held placards. As a sign of how new the crystal ponies were to the concept of rebellion, most of the placards were in tiny writing, and they listed their grievances as politely as possible. Shouting over all the heads, the junior maid screamed defiance. Her voice could be heard even up here. A few wingbeats: Spike took off from the waiting balcony. Twilight didn’t even sit up on his back. “Wowsa,” said Spike, “I knew the Royal Cook was popular, but I had no idea so many ponies loved his food.” He grinned over his shoulder. “Used to give me excellent emeralds whenever I dropped by.” “I’m worried, Spike,” said Twilight, voice weak and almost-frozen: they hadn’t even left the warmth of the kingdom yet. “Ha! Nothing new there, then.” “Do you think I should have told Flurry Heart I was disappointed with her? It seemed a bit… strong.” They flashed over the faceted rooftops of the kingdom, and soon found themselves over the nearest ridge, entering the white expanses beyond. Already, the sky darkened. “She needs to learn,” said Spike bluntly. “If you keep coddling her, you’ll only make things worse.” “But it’s not like telling you when I’m disappointed with you.” “What do you mean ‘when’?” said Spike in mock outrage. “‘If’, sorry. You’d understand what I meant. I’m not sure Flurry Heart really grasps what responsibility means.” The first flakes of frost bit at their skins. Spike’s scales didn’t notice. Twilight shivered. Carefully, Spike arced his neck up and round, aimed, and blew a slight jet of warming air over her. Not enough to keep her warm for long, but enough to keep out the worst of the cold. “And vanishing Yakyakistan… that really has me worried…” “Hey,” said Spike reflectively, “isn’t that like what King Sombra did to the Crystal Empire a thousand years ago? Some kind of curse, wasn’t it?” The blizzard grew pushy, demanding they take notice, hitting them with more flakes. Spike squinted through the barrage of white and blew another warming breath over Twilight’s coat, already caked with iced tips of hair. “Relax, Twilight. She won’t go that bad. You wouldn’t let her. Heheh, I bet Sombra would’ve gone straight after a lecture from his auntie.” “This is serious, Spike.” “So am I. You need to have more faith that she can fulfil her destiny, Twilight. Give her another chance. That’s what good friends do. That’s what you do.” Twilight’s sigh was barely audible over the howling winds and her own encroaching weakness, but it was there. “You’re right, Spike. I’m sorry. I’ll try.” Yet the cold seeped in, no matter how much he tried to warm her.