//------------------------------//
// 25. Deeper Waters V - The Personal and the Professional 
// Story: The Ship of State 
// by marciko322 
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Writing out ‘Happy Birthday Bowmound’ in huge letters on sheets of cloth was not nearly as off-putting as I had expected it to feel. Never mind the fact I was celebrating my child's birthday, I was more immediately concerned by my near-total lack of artistic ability; I didn't have the time or the ability to fix any mistakes I could have made to make any. Nevertheless, I remained determined and confident.

Lyra, my lovely roommate, was helping out in my efforts, copying my own work on a sheet of her own, though with considerably more grace than I could manage thanks to her telekinesis, which I was most certainly not jealous of, no sir. One would be in the living room, one in the kitchen, and another was going to stay in the hallway – the three most common places in which folk tended to congregate in my house. I'd considered a fourth outside, but figured that would have embarrassed Bowmound. So, three it was.

My own parents had done this particular song and dance more than a few times in my childhood. Of course, they didn't go to the effort of hand-crafting our decorations, and balloons and party streamers and bunting and whatnot were not going to be in my own repertoire; I only had ink and cloth to work with, and not even so much of it. There was still a certain charm to it, though, I thought. 

It was the morning before, November twenty-eight – a brisk morning indeed, judging by the frost I'd seen on the grass just before dawn. The foals were away at school for today, letting the two of us work in peace and secrecy, at least for the morning. Afterward, either we were going to have to chase them away, hope they run off by themselves, or more likely wait until they were put to bed. Couldn't spoil the surprise, after all.

We had been working in a comfortable silence, besides me outlining what I was looking for in our decorations and miscellaneous other things – it was a lot easier to plan a party, as it turned out, especially since the bulk of it was only going to take a few hours. The cake was going to be the most impressive part of it, honestly, especially considering I'd traded a favour to Celestia for it – who might as well have been the Devil himself, in terms of dangerous people to owe one.

"Adam?" Lyra's voice broke me out of the trance I'd worked myself into. I paused my handiwork instantly, looking over to her – seeing that she'd already finished her banner where I had only gotten to the H in 'birthday.' (Remember - not jealous.) 

"You're done already?" I asked rhetorically. "Be a dear and get started on the third one for me, would you? I'll finish about the same time you will."

"You got it, Adam."

So, yeah. Things were going pretty well, all things considered. I wasn't going to bet that they were also going well beyond my own line of sight, but there you go. Now wasn't the time to worry about work, in any case. I was a big fan of free time – even if my available activities for recreation were a lot more limited than they were back in the day.

Naturally, my tempting of fate immediately preceded a knock on the door – because of course it did. I rolled my eyes, barely even surprised any more at the sheer hilarity of it all, and stood up, popping my back audibly. "I'll get it," I called to Lyra. "Just keep going. If I don't come back, finish mine off too, please."

"Can do," came the reply. Thus sufficiently prepared, I ambled over to the front door and cracked it open, scowl at the ready but not quite visible yet.

It was Construct. Both concern and exasperation was visible all over her – head tilted down, vague frown, widened stance, eyebrows creased. "First Minister," she greeted. "Princess Celestia has arrived in the Free State."

It took me a moment to parse – so soon? Pretty quickly, though, a wide, happy smile broke out on my face. "Excellent! Where is she now?"

"In front of the government hall," she replied pointedly.

…Oh. That's not good, actually. Foreign royalty hanging around a capitol building, especially foreign royalty the locals hold no warm feelings for? Trouble couldn't be far away, and no mistake. Particularly if Blueblood was in tow – which obviously he would be. I needed to get there, stat.

"Very good, Second Minister," I said. "Let's go."

"Me?" Construct put a hoof on her chest.

"That's right." I set off without waiting for a follow-up. "As my second, and without a Minister for the Exterior for the time being, you will need to receive foreign dignitaries with me."

"I was hoping to oversee the sawmill administration process today, First Minister," she protested, even as she cantered up to my side and gave me the closest thing to a stink-eye that she dared.

"Which you will continue to have time for, Second Minister, since I do not expect the Princess to stay a dignitary for very long." Since I hadn't heard anything blowing up in either Equestria or the Free State, the pomp and circumstance of a formal visit might well only have lasted for a sentence or two, and I was sure Celestia was going to have a lot of questions for me, considering.

"...Very well, First Minister," she acknowledged, however grudgingly.

Fuck's sake. Even at a time like this, I can't catch a break.

Soon enough, we were nearing the government hall. The building itself was one of the most impressive in Bastion – damning with faint praise as that may be, but it was true. A trio of gilded carriages were stationed close by, in view of the building but not quite parked by it, as if they were afraid themselves. I see our reputation precedes us. The thought forced me to suppress a snort.

What shifted my mood the most was the sight of a growing crowd of ponies starting to gather around the building, gawking at the sight of the three carriages that were probably worth more than the homes they lived in. Many, many of those stares were… not friendly. Some of them were directed at me, somewhat warmer but – considerably more frighteningly – a lot more evaluating at the same time. 

I raised my head and took a breath, carefully schooling my expression into a stony neutral. “Construct,” I murmured quietly. “Where are they?”

“In the carriages, First Minister,” was the apparently obvious reply. I glanced down at her with a fleeting intrigue; the Second Minister had apparently chosen to follow my lead, drawing herself up tight with an air of dignified nonchalance about her that I damn near thought could have been real had I not spotted the very tips of her primaries twitching uncontrollably.

I took another breath, returning my attention to the visitors. No carriage had disgorged its complement yet, allowing me to organise my thoughts and concoct a plan of action. Last time Celestia came for a visit, it was during a crisis that restricted the movement of the Free State’s residents essentially completely, which meant that visit was, for all intents and purposes, entirely behind closed doors. This time, the crowd around us precluded such privacy – at best, our greetings would be public knowledge. At worst… everything would be public knowledge. 

Celestia and I were good friends. Good enough to make quips regarding sexual tension between us to each other. Considering the situation, this was a very bad thing. In public, I had to at least make a show of keeping the Princess at arm’s length, if only for the sake of representing the wishes of my people. If Cel tried to reach out and feel me up in front of what was shaping up to be a crowd of at least a hundred ponies… Christ, I couldn’t even imagine what the reaction to that would have been. 

…In hindsight, inviting foreign royalty to my child’s birthday party might not have been a sound political decision to make. So much for going our own way, when I apparently couldn’t even be trusted to oversee a single child’s celebration, much less the daily workings of a nation – admittedly more of a city-state – of thousands. I thanked every single deity I could name that I had the absent-mindedness to forget to seek out Night Gown to invite her to the party as well – although that might also have been because we weren’t that closely acquainted in the first place, I genuinely couldn’t remember which reason was the correct one. 

“First Minister,” prompted Construct, after a good few minutes of me seemingly standing still and staring off into space. “I believe the Equestrian delegation is waiting for you to approach first, before they disembark.” 

“I know that,” I replied reflexively. I didn’t, actually, but no-one needed to know that. I did now, anyway – and besides, letting the Equestrians stew by themselves for a while might even send a good message to the masses, that I wasn’t so eager to dance to their tune, as it were, and rush over at once like a good little lapdog. Perhaps staring at the carriages mere dozens of metres away from them might have been more of a snub than I’d intended it to be, or more aggressive, but I knew Celestia, at least, wouldn’t take offense. Blueblood might have raised a stink, but he didn’t matter a rat’s arse compared to her. 

I only spent a few more moments stood still like a pillock, long enough to make it clear to Construct that I was (now) doing it deliberately, before finally striding forth to meet the delegation half-way. On cue, two of the carriages’ doors opened, both the ones facing closest to me – Celestia and Blueblood were in one, and a handful of other, somewhat less opulently dressed ponies were in the other. Only the former deigned to meet us, Blueblood unexpectedly leading the way for his Princess, both of them honed in on me in a way that I had to try to not interpret as negative. 

I walked calmly, slowly, enough for Construct to not even need to trot to keep up. The two arrivals did the same. I could feel the eyes on me, all around, watching. Judging. They probably wouldn’t hear us too clearly, unless they got a little close for comfort or we started shouting at each other, but I couldn’t be comfortable in that assumption – here was a time to act the part of First Minister Inns of the Free State, whose people would literally rather have starved than accept help from the Equestria they ran to me to escape in the first place. 

We stopped a few paces away from each other. Blueblood stepped off to the side, letting the Princess step up and peer at me. Our eyes were level, for which I was suddenly and powerfully grateful for – even more so when Celestia deigned to bow her head to me first, a small yet friendly smile on her muzzle. 

“First Minister Inns of the Free State. It is once again my sincere pleasure to arrive in your illustrious nation.” The words were considerably more honeyed than I’d expected them to be; Cel was really laying it on thick for me today. I resisted the urge to swallow or wipe my brow, trying to avoid darting my gaze to my peripheral vision at the sea of faces watching our interaction. Blueblood, I noticed, was not so subtle, turning his head around just enough to be noticeable and glancing around. 

I met Celestia’s profuse bootlicking with a simple, detached stare. “Princess Celestia Morningstar de Hemera, the Illuminant, of the Principality of Equestria.” I spoke simply, as if I was introducing an executive in a stuffy boardroom rather than greeting a close friend. “Welcome to the Free State.” My simple, almost not even cordial greeting seemed to deflate the Sun Princess, rising back to her full height and trying very, very hard to hide her disappointment and confusion behind a veil of regal confidence. “As you can see, our circumstances have… changed somewhat since your last visit.” I knew that was referring to both our lack of famine and my imminent parenting rite of passage, but there was another way Celestia could have interpreted that – a very bad way. “Unfortunately, I am quite busy at the moment, so I must insist on cutting our formalities short and moving straight to business.” 

“Of course, First Minister,” replied Celestia coolly, apparently having picked up the correct subtext judging by the lack of a more intense reaction. 

“Mmm. Second Minister?” I turned to glance half-way down at her, still keeping my head mostly facing the two Equestrians. 

“Yes, First Minister?” 

I gestured to Blueblood, who was apparently startled by being involved in affairs so quickly. “Please inform the good ambassador of the changes in the Free State that he requires to be appraised of. After that, you are free to resume your usual duties. Also, make sure he is at our cabinet meeting on the first of December – and expected there.” 

“Yes, First Minister.” 

I waited a beat, still staring out the side of my eyes at her, until she somewhat sheepishly got the hint, and practically dragged Blueblood away by the horn off to the government hall to get started as quickly as possible.

Only Celestia and I were left standing in the middle of the street. The crowd had grown slightly since we’d begun, slightly more packed up but still a respectable distance away. I looked over at her, contemplating how to word my next utterances, and make it look and sound natural.

She beat me to it, though. “…Shall we retire to our own business, First Minister?” 

I blinked, my train of thought derailing at the loss of initiative, but I recovered quickly and nodded once. “Yes,” I agreed, already spinning on my heel; the mass of ponies behind me split at once, revealing the packed earth beneath like Moses parting the Red Sea. “Let’s. Please, follow me.” 

… 

“To be honest, I can’t believe this is the first time you’ve been in this room,” I told her, making a show of sitting on the edge of my bed. “I’d have thought you’d at least have gone in here for a look. Maybe in an inspection, before I started living here. Not even once?” 

“Not once,” confirmed Celestia, glancing around my bedroom. “Bedchambers are a private space. I would not wish to intrude on that, without one’s permission.” 

It was permission I’d finally, apparently, given to her, having invited her to partake in the upcoming festivities of my household – and Christ if I wasn’t constantly finding new phrases to weird myself the hell out by using them correctly – as a personal favour, instead of a political, diplomatic, or professional obligation. 

Celestia had been rather taken by how much my home seemed to have changed since her last visit, even though to me it looked just the same as it always did. Perhaps it was just the couch in the living room now much more obviously looking like it had pulled double-duty as a bed, with its lasting indents – sans the sheets and pillows, now, though; ever since I’d moved my office necessities over to the government hall, the spare room now belonged to my two foals, where they now slept instead. She saw the three banners hanging up in their places, too, courtesy of Lyra – who didn’t seem very pleased by the intrusion of the Princess into our home. Neither pony had commented on their respective points of interest.

“Bedchambers.” I snorted. “Right. The same way I called my foals’ bedroom my ‘office,’ back before the government hall was finished.” 

Celestia looked back over at me. “Ah, yes, Blueblood and your letter both mentioned foals to me.” 

“Sure did,” I nodded. “Lyra’s idea. Two foals were among the first wave, all the way at the beginning, orphans. Street urchins, I think, I… I don’t think it’s my place to ask. They- well.” A thin smirk came upon me. “Story of my life, huh? ‘They didn’t have anywhere else to go.’ So I… well, I let ‘em sleep in my house, but Lyra took it on herself to, er… raise them, I suppose.” 

“Herself?” parroted Celestia, moving over to the bed and hopping on. “Not you as well?” 

I scooted over to the corner to give her some more room, to which Celestia frowned, but still lied down. “Heh. Guess that’s another thing I can write on the list of ‘things I was given that I didn’t want at first but eventually warmed up to.’ First Minister-ship, Free State, Lyra, now the foals. And no, to answer your question. Not me. Initially, at least. I was quite against the idea when she brought it up. I had a lot on my shoulders at the time, like the idea of seven hundred people, including the foals and myself, all starving to death. Not to mention… I didn’t really consider myself a role model parent, per se. Still don’t, even.” 

“What made you change your mind?” 

“Lyra would have pressed the issue until I gave in,” I replied smoothly. Judging by the slightly guilty look on her face, I thought she caught the hidden barb just fine. “Besides, they really did see me in that role all by themselves, and I don’t want to be a guy who breaks the hearts of literal orphans. And now that the Free State is… or, well, I guess was out of its crisis, I figured I’d actually be able to devote time properly to them. Y’know, without worrying about famine and shit.” 

“And now here you are,” she finished.

“Yeah.” I nodded absently, looking out at the door to my bedroom. “Here I am. Never thought my life would have gone the way it did six months ago, let me tell you. And now I’ve invited a Princess to my kid’s birthday.” I snorted. “Sounds a little ridiculous, doesn’t it?” 

“Less than you might believe,” she replied.

“Mmm. I guess so, considering you’re here in the first place.” 

“And you said they were… ‘street urchins?’” she asked next, tilting her head.

I nodded. “Yeah. Maybe you don’t have that term in Equestria. Basically children who grow up on the streets. No parents, no roof over their heads at night unless they’re lucky.” I sighed heavily, dropping my hands onto the edge of my bed and bunching up the bedsheets. “I’m glad I at least helped two kids out of that sort of life. Even if they never should have been in that position to begin with.”

Seeing my mood rapidly deteriorating, Celestia tactfully decided to change the subject to something completely different. “So you’ve officially adopted them?” 

“…Uh, no,” I said, rather awkwardly – then hastened to clarify, realising how that might have sounded. “Uh, I mean, not yet, there’s still so much to do and I’ve got a whole country to build up from scratch still, I don’t have time to focus on an adoption apparatus for the Free State when we still don’t even have an official police force yet-”

“Be calm, Adam,” soothed Celestia. “I am not passing judgment on you. I merely wished to know if you are providing for them as a father figure – or a father directly.” 

…Uh-huh. Sure. “Sure I am,” I said, just barely heatedly. “They’re my foals. Not by blood, sure, but if that matters to you then you can kindly stick your head up your arse and choke yourself to death with your own kegel muscles.” 

“That does not matter to me,” said Celestia, ignoring my rather colourful outburst. “I’d simply figured… well… I was almost afraid to ask.” 

“What?” I asked, amused. “You think I made some the old-fashioned way? Please. I’d probably have died alone even on Earth. I am literally the only human being on the planet, and I strongly suspect not even your magic is powerful enough to let me conceive… what, centaurs? Satyrs? Something like that.” 

That little comment made Celestia rather upset, I saw, even where suggesting she clench herself decapitated didn’t. Were centaurs taboo in Equestria? 

“Why do you say you would die alone?” 

…Oh. Probably shouldn’t have said that one out loud. 

“Because it’s true,” I said, flatly. “I ain’t a beacon of sunshine, Princess. I’m a little bit like a hedgehog – with all the warm, inviting personality of eighteen feet of concertina wire. Either you’ll be infantry and my barbs’ll cut you up, or you’ll be a tank and crush me underneath your treads. Besides, it’s already happened once.” 

“What do you mean? You’ve died?” 

I chuckled. “No, no, nothing like that. I mean… God, it’s been such a long time.” I quieted down, lost in memories. “I used to be sweet on a girl, once. Back in secondary school. Well, I had crushes before, but that was the first time I confessed to it. I’d told her I had a crush on someone a few days back, over text – like a magic scroll,” I explained, “that burns whatever’s written on it onto another scroll over long distances – anyway. She wanted to know who it was.” I laughed. “I don’t think she expected it to be her. But, well, it was.” I shook my head. “I know I definitely didn’t expect her to tell me she liked me too. 

“It was… good. Well, it was my first time in a romantic relationship, and I use that term very generously, so I guess I can’t really compare. But… I liked it. Had something to look forward to in school, I guess, besides learning new things. Heh, I was such a sap. So hopeless. Sappy romance bullshit was something I never was really good at, even though… well. Everyone has weaknesses, I suppose.” 

I exhaled. The time had dulled the sting, and in hindsight it really was much more embarrassing than sad, or impressive, but it was still something that had irrevocably changed me as a person. I continued, toneless. “It didn’t last. It just sort of… stopped, one day. I didn’t know why. And I didn’t like that very much. I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with her – but, then again, that’s how crushes work, isn’t it? That… that hurt. I decided I didn’t like being hurt. I wasn’t ever gonna get hurt again. I got very, very good at being alone without being lonely.” I snorted. “Guess that’s where I got my habit of talking to myself. 

“Anyway. Turns out she was ill. Mentally, I mean. I think it was an actual, official diagnosis. We were still good friends, make no mistake. I didn’t hold a grudge. Helped that we didn’t talk in person; she’d moved away before I got the chance to. Didn’t stop us from slowly drifting apart anyway. 

“It probably wasn’t going to last either way,” I said. “I’d have moved back at the end anyway; I wasn’t sure about my chances at any foreign universities, ‘cause of some extenuating circumstances that screwed the whole year up, and my parents would probably have taken me back home regardless of if I managed to get in anywhere or not. Or if not, I’d have gone with them myself.

“Anyway. That taught me a good few things. Most important was this: don’t get too close. It’ll just hurt me.” I looked at her, sadly. “I always was a sensitive sort of chap. Once bitten, twice shy. Six times… even just a sudden movement will set me off these days.” 

I abruptly ran out of things to say. I could only stare at my feet. Celestia picked up the slack. 

“And… you consider ‘dying alone’ to be preferable to that?” 

“Not like I had anything else going for me,” I retorted. “I’ve never even been kissed. It would have been easy. All I’d have had to do was… nothing. More of the same as now.” 

“You?” Celestia was incredulous. “Never kissed?” 

“Yeah, me, never kissed,” I snapped. “Me, with the body of an intellectual, the mind of a damp bag of cement, and the soul of a cantankerous psychopath. I ain’t exactly Casanova over here.” 

“You sell yourself too short,” declared Celestia. “There is somepony out there who would accept you for who you are.” 

“Oh yeah,” I sneered. “Everyone knows all the girls want bad boys. I guess, in a sense, ‘damaged’ is a pretty similar word to ‘bad.’” 

“That’s not what I mean.” I’d found, to my surprise, that Celestia had closed enough distance to be able to wrap a wing around me. She pulled on me, with enough force to make me actually slide a little bit closer to her. “You do sell yourself too short. You have a good soul, Adam. It is plain to see. You don’t have to cover it up with… muck, and dirt. Just let it shine. Somepony was bound to see through it some day. 

“You were right in calling it a crush,” she said, staring right into my eyes. “That isn’t love. What love is, is seeing all the dirt and muck and imperfections that makes one who they are, and being with them anyway. What love is, is wanting them to see the muck on their soul, and helping them wash it off, so that they can shine all the brighter for it. What love is… is sacrificing yourself for their sake, and they for yours. That is what love is. 

“When somepony loves you, you won’t be able to drive them away, even if you want to. They’ll just keep coming back, again and again… Love is something that is given, whether you want it or not, and all you can do is just warm up to it.” 

The sheer sincerity in her tone threw me far off-balance. I looked up at her more intently, though not really sure what I was looking for in the first place – finding instead only more of the very same sincerity. “…That was a low blow,” I finally said, quietly. “Using my own sentiments against me.” 

“I’m not hearing any denials,” she teased. Still staring into my eyes… almost as if she was looking for something – asking for something. 

I looked away. “...No,” I said. “You aren’t.” 

The wing stayed around me. 





The morning started bright and early for the three of us – Lyra, Celestia and I – courtesy of the Sun Goddess shaking us awake an hour before raising her oversized paper lantern into the sky to make sure we’d get everything done before the foals woke up themselves. Not that I couldn’t have done that myself, but I still appreciated the assistance. 

Tiptoeing around the house to make sure we wouldn’t wake them early was a deceptively nerve-wracking operation, but we managed it without too much trouble – each of the three banners went up in their respective places without fuss. Breakfast was a little noisier, but fortunately the foals appeared to be heavy sleepers that night, most likely tired from their previous escapades doing whatever it was young ponies did in their free time. It worked out great for all of us.

Until, that was, I spotted the little colt start to stir on the bed during a check-in, a good long while yet before sunrise was scheduled. I shot a look at Celestia through the door, then the window, making sure I didn’t just zone out for forty-five minutes – outside was still dark. I supposed we might have ended up making too much noise after all.

Well, ain’t nothin’ for it, I guess. I moved quietly over to the bed, trying not to wake up Wish as well, and gently put a hand on the colt’s withers, over the bedsheet. “Mornin’, little guy,” I whispered, looking down fondly at him. Bowmound didn’t seem very eager to wake up, judging by his shuffling and mumbling, trying to burrow deeper into his little nest – until, that was, he realised what was supposed to be happening today, at which he seemingly instantly leapt up and out of his slumber, taking only a few short moments to orient himself on the floor before looking up at me with an impossibly bright, and not a little smug, smile. 

“Good morning, daddy!” Bowmound all but yelled at the top of his lungs, drawing an annoyed grumbling from his partner still on the bed; I frowned minutely and put a finger to my lips, which got a sheepish look at the floor from the enthusiastic colt for all of a second and a half before he sprung right back up again. “Good morning,” he repeated, this time quietly enough to not draw anyone’s ire.

I smiled down at the little fuzzball. “Morning,” I greeted. “What’s got you so excited so early, eh? It’s not like you two to wake up before sunrise.”

Bowmound practically pranced in place, his hoofclops once more catching the displeasure of his adoptive sister, along with the pillow he’d been sleeping on not minutes ago. “Oof!”

“Wish, that’s not very nice,” I warned, without any real heat behind it. 

“Sorry, daddy. Sorry, Wish.” The colt threw his pillow back onto the bed – not coincidentally bouncing it off of the sleeping filly’s head in the process. I moved to interpose myself between the two to prevent a pillow fight from breaking out, intercepting the return fire with my back. “I’m just really excited today, daddy! Today is a really special day for me.” 

I smiled at my colt’s attempt to act coy. He evidently had not noticed the banners put up on the walls yet, placed less than an hour ago as they were - or his immense enthusiasm might have also helped in that. “Really? And why’s that?” 

His eyes dimmed for just a single tiny moment, before he started trotting out towards the kitchen, forcing me to follow along. “Nuh-uh! I can’t tell you, because it’s a surprise! And if I told you then it wouldn’t be a surprise at all! So you’re gonna have to wait until-” 

A gasp cut him off before he could finish, as he turned his head to look where he was going – spotting Celestia hanging around with Lyra at the stove, busy with preparing a considerably larger meal than usual, together with some poor man’s baked goods; not as many or as convenient ingredients, but how hard could it have been to bake some simple oat cookies, anyway? 

The two busy ponies turned around at the sound, Celestia wearing her usual diplomatic serenity which I had the pleasure of watching first-hand as it morphed into a just-barely contained expression of true, unadulterated joy; Lyra was content with a simple, motherly smile that still somehow managed to outclass the royalty next to her.

The little colt stood frozen in place, staring up at the alicorn beaming down at him like she’d descended from the heavens right in front of him, his muzzle dropped open far enough to make me worry about a dislocation. “Good morning, little Bowmound,” greeted Celestia. “I understand today is a very special day in your life, is it not?”

No reply came from the thunderstruck colt, prompting the Princess to giggle. “Not many ponies can claim to have been wished well by the Princess of Equestria personally, little Bowmound. I can understand your shock.” 

Again, nothing. I smiled knowingly, and knelt down to pat him on the back to try to break him out of his trance. “Puh-” came a sputtering little exclamation, the second I made contact, as if I’d freed the syllable from his lungs for him. Bowmound whipped his head around, turning his massive glistening eyes on me for just long enough for me to see the wonder in his eyes, before careening back to Celestia, as if afraid she’d vanish if he took his eyes off her for too long. 

I glanced up at her, myself, catching her gaze, discreetly gesturing with my other hand for her to do something – but before she could take the hint, Bowmound returned his attention back to me, stars in his eyes and a trembling smile pointed my way. “Daddy…?” 

I looked down at him, returning his smile with a somewhat more restrained one, though no less warm. “Happy birthday, Bowmound.” 

He blinked, glancing back at Celestia, the banner hung up on the wall opposite the stove in the kitchen then catching his attention, earning a second shocked gasp from the little colt. I was a little bit too busy to fully appreciate the aftermath, though, since right afterwards my ribcage was preoccupied with being crushed by a nine-year-old colt in the middle of what was depressingly likely to be the happiest day of his life. “Ack-!” I flailed my arms out a little to catch my balance, shifting my weight to carry his own a little better and allowing me to return his embrace.

The sobs starting to emanate from the little colt weren’t something I was prepared for; my head darted up to my two visitors in alarm, prompting Lyra to immediately trot over to join in the hug and nuzzle up against his cheek. “Thank you, Daddy…” he sobbed out against my shoulder, my heart seizing up at once. “Thank you, Mommy… thank you, Princess…” he added, somewhat belatedly.

“There’s nothing to thank us for, kid,” I murmured into his ear, rubbing his back to try to calm him down as best I could. “Nothing at all.” 

“Nothing at all,” echoed both Lyra and Celestia, the latter having apparently overheard me even as quietly as I had spoken – in fact, she’d closed much of the distance, looming over the three of us and watching with barely-concealed interest. 

“Now c’mon, son,” I said, patting him on the shoulders and starting the long and arduous process of disentangling myself from the mass of limbs we’d woven ourselves into. “We’ve worked pretty hard to make this day special for you – and I’m sure you don’t want your cookies to be burnt, do you?” 

“Nuh-uh!” At once, Bowmound disappeared as if into thin air, but in reality he had just scarpered to the oven and was peering into it expectantly. I had to catch myself on Lyra to prevent falling face-first onto the floor, though rising to my feet without further assistance. 

Lyra followed him to the stove, then back to his and his sister's bedroom as he evidently changed his mind about his priorities – I heard the sounds of cloth hitting cloth, surmising the colt didn’t want to wait for Wish to wake up naturally – letting Celestia sidle up to me and throw a knowing smirk my way. 

“And you sold yourself short on your parenting, too, Adam,” she chided. 

I shrugged helplessly, ignoring a squawk of surprise from the bedroom – then a second, more adult one. “Better to keep people’s expectations low and surprise, than keep them high and disappoint.” 

“Don’t weasel your way out of my praise.” Her brow lowered. “Your colt is going to remember this day for the rest of his life. You’ve done good, Adam. Why can’t you just accept that?” 

I snorted, turning to glance back in the direction of the bedroom. The smacking sounds had gotten more intense and frequent, but I hadn’t the heart to go in there and break it up. Certainly not today, of all days. “Guess that’s just my sunny optimism at work. But whatever,” I declared, spinning on my heel and kneeling to inspect the cookies baking in the oven. “Let’s make sure this day is remembered for the right reasons, yeah?” 

“Quite,” Celestia agreed, lowering herself down with me and peering into the window. “Hmm… does that look done to you?” 

“…I have no idea.” 

…

The ‘official’ get-together for Bowmound’s birthday was surprisingly spirited, considering both the low number of guests and their nature. I’d essentially gathered whoever I could find and recalled the names of – the four of us in my house, Celestia, Steady and his family, Blueblood, even Fountain Quill of all ponies had made an appearance, though admittedly only because he was presently shadowing the good ambassador for the sake of learning some of his duties. I wouldn’t have believed company like this would have ever fit together and created a good time – but then again, I supposed the foals had a hand (hoof?) in that. 

The five kids were huddled around at a corner of the house, just barely within sight at our behest, chattering excitedly to one another. It seemed like Steady’s and mine had struck up friendships pretty quickly with each other, which at least proved my foals were more gregarious than I was. Then again, I’d probably have made more friends here if I’d been forced to be in the same schoolhouse as them for going on two months now. The others were courteous enough to let the birthday colt take charge, too; I could make out his exultations the clearest, even if I couldn’t quite make any sense of them.  

I shook my head fondly and returned my attention to my present company. Celestia stuck out like a sore thumb, not least because of her considerable height matched only by my own. Credit to her nerves, she didn’t seem the least bit put off by the less-than-cordial stares sent her way, instead doing her utmost to break the ice around the locals that clearly didn’t much care for her presence. It seemed to be working, too, at least some; some genuine polite chuckling could be heard from the group around her every now and then. 

I, on the other hand, was in the middle of a discussion with the stallion himself, the good ambassador. “And to think,” Blueblood was saying, “you wished to have nothing to do with this business! Now you’ve abused your connection to the most powerful pony on Equus for the sake of making your colt happy.” 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Ambassador,” I grumbled, without any real anger behind it. “I changed my mind, I was wrong, and so on. And I’m glad I did.” 

“Excuse me, First Minister,” he said. “I didn’t mean to imply disparagement. I, ah…” 

I saved him the effort. “Let me guess, either it’s a bad idea to abuse personal connections with foreign officials for personal purposes, or I’m somehow a terrible parent for doing so?” 

“Not in the slightest, First Minister,” he said immediately, a little offended. “Don’t put words in my mouth, that was not what I was going to say. I merely wished to point out the irony of your situation.” 

“Mmm.” I hummed non-committally, admittedly mollified by his backtracking. “Well, I guess people change their minds all the time, why should I be an exception? Hell of a change to make, though.” 

“Indeed,” concurred Blueblood. “You have come a long way from your roots as a countryside peasant, First Minister Inns.” 

Rather than taking offense at the remark, I instead chuckled – then laughed. “Ain’t that the truth, Ambassador! I think that might be the most flattering compliment you’ve ever given me, too. Heh!” 

The party didn’t include any zesty drinks for obvious reasons, so we’d made do with water, which I took a sip of to wet my throat while I basked in the atmosphere. Lyra continued to take it on herself to keep watch of the foals, though making enough space to hold a conversation with Steady and Deft; Celestia was now doing her best to shake my Immigration Secretary out of his shell of nervousness, with rather limited success. Lord only knew what for, though, considering bureaucratic advice from her would have been more akin to biblical proverbs – perhaps even literally. Not to imply Celestia was the one to pioneer Proto-Indo-European or anything like that, but… she did out-age me by a factor of at least a hundred and eighteen.

…Which, now that I thought about it, made our dynamic seem considerably weirder. Fuckin’ ponies, man. And fuckin’ goddesses, too. I didn’t really want to delve deeper into that topic, so I chose not to. My gaze drifted off into the far distance, staring out at some unknowable speck of something or another at the edge of the forest – by now, it was much less of a view to write home about; the snow hadn’t yet started falling, leaving the trees bare and brown, not even shiny white to hide away the torpor of nature yet. 

“Peasant…” I muttered, finding myself lost in memories for a second time. How far I’d come, indeed, from that ‘country yokel’ Blueblood had met in my cabin that fateful day, back when my nearest neighbours were days rather than minutes away – the good old days, were I feeling less charitable than I was at that moment. I certainly couldn’t dispute those days being simpler, though. Back when all I had to worry about was whether my crops would be watered by rain or by my own efforts, and whether the hooch I’d have made from them would have been enough to buy the replacement cloth and luxuries I’d need to live a comfortable enough life out in the middle of nowhere. 

“First Minister?” Blueblood’s quiet concern refocused me. “Is everything alright?” 

“Oh, yes,” I said, “I’m fine. Merely got lost in my head a little.” I glanced around, wondering if anything had happened while I was zoned out. The foals, and Lyra, were out of sight; hopefully they were staying out of trouble. Steady and Deft had ambled over to the Princess, a little wary at first, but Cel’s natural charm seemed rather overpowering, and she had them talking animatedly about something or other very quickly. My man, Quill, though… he shot a look my way that just screamed ‘oh god get me away from here.’ I gave him a little impish smirk, and waved him over clearly enough for him, and anyone in that group who’d been watching, to get the message.

He trotted over at once, trying quite hard to suppress his relief, leaving only the fur on the sides of his head matted with sweat to indicate his previous discomfort. “First Minister? Ambassador?” he called out, slowing slightly as if not quite sure who to walk up to. 

“Secretary Quill,” I said – as did Blueblood, at the same time, which we exchanged bemused glances at. I gestured at him with a wry smile in a ‘go ahead’ sort of way. 

“Please, go ahead.” Quill hopped over to the good ambassador at my insistence, rather more enthused than he was mere seconds ago. “I certainly don’t have anything for you right now.” 

That left me all on my ownsome, only a half-empty cup of water to keep me company. I was never much of a social sort, I didn’t see the need – or desire – to butt into Celestia’s gathering, or to continue to impose on Quill and Blueblood after I’d just excused myself. I’d had half a mind to retire into my house and catch a few minutes of a nap for quite possibly the first time this whole year (wasn’t much of a napping sort, either). 

Predictably, Lyra and the foals chose precisely that time to return, Bowmound leading the charge almost right into my legs – though swerving around at the last moment and pirouetting past me like he’d actually meant to do that. The others continued after him more conservatively, not quite willing to risk a collision with me, or the soil beneath. Lyra cantered up to me but dug her hooves into the ground to screech to a stop in front, panting like she’d only managed to run about a sixth of a marathon.

My brow quirked in not-even-concealed amusement. “Having fun?” 

No verbal answer came besides more laboured breathing. Instead, what I got was a nod of her head and a tired, but very satisfied smile. “Mmm,” I hummed, my smirk slowly widening. “And I’m not about to have to scold him for throwing eggs at ponies’ houses, am I? Because birthdays are all well and good, but even I knew I couldn’t get away with that excuse.”

I paused, considering. “…Actually, I did get away with it, if I recall. With worse, even. But that was because the other guy didn’t. So…” I made a show of looking back at the foals, who were now busy pestering ol’ Sunbutt – not that she minded, of course, with her outstretched wings all but smothering the little ponies to their squealing delight, and her blissed out smile telling damn near half the town what she thought of the current arrangement. 

When I looked back, Lyra had finally recovered enough to no longer be heaving. “Is that why you leave all the hard work to me, Adam?”

“No comment,” I replied instantly. It wasn’t, obviously, even if I did consider myself a poor candidate for fatherhood – and anyway, if a physical goddess vouched for me, I supposed I couldn’t be that bad. It was just massively convenient to have someone else stay at home and watch over the foals while I was busy with the whole ‘running the whole country’ shit I’d saddled myself with. And besides, my comment got at least a polite chuckle out of the mare, so I considered it a success. 

“Whatever you say.” Lyra held her hoof out at me, eyes silently pleading. I blinked at her, parsing her query for slightly longer than I probably should have, before handing her the remains of my water. She just about threw it down her throat, barely even bothering with swallowing properly. 

I looked on, quietly intrigued, as she hoofed me the cup back. “Five foals really take that much out of you, Ly?” 

“It’s a special occasion,” she defended with a pout.

I laughed. “I won’t deny that. And they’ve not even gotten their cake yet, Christ, just imagine how they’ll act when they get a kilo of sugar in them.” 

Lya actually shuddered at that image, her face going slack in disbelieving terror. She even went so far as to take a step back, just to really sell it. I huffed out a breath, the idea of my two foals in the middle of a sugar rush not entirely welcome in my own imagination. Then again, it was a special occasion, was it not? I certainly couldn’t begrudge them for indul-

“Step away from my daughter, Inns.”

The cold voice behind me served to almost stop time itself in its tracks. The ambient sound simply disappeared, such was the authority behind it. I craned my head around, looking for the interruption, and found a stallion behind me, facing me about a dozen paces away. The greenish mane and the horn on his head rang a bell, but I couldn’t quite place him. Behind him, I saw Blueblood staring oddly at us, apparently not recognising the pony either. 

I made my confusion clear with a frown. “…Sir? Do I know you?” 

“Yes, you do,” he said, managing to make it sound cordial despite the undertones of a growl. “If you recall, I was the one to interview you after your Summer Sun appearance.”

That gave the game away. I nodded along in sudden realisation. “Ah yes, I do recall. You must be Lord Heartstrings, then. I hope the Free State has lived up to your expectations so far.” Then his first statement returned to the forefront of my attention. “Wait… your daughter?” 

Heartstrings’ gaze slid right off me at once, glaring darkly at the pony now doing her best impression of a marble statue; seemingly every muscle in Lyra’s body was locked tight, just like her own wide eyes were locked onto the stallion. “Indeed,” he said. “I have been searching for you for a very long time, Plucked.” 

…What the fuck is all this now? “I think you have the wrong pony, Lord Heartstrings,” I said. “Her name is-” 

“Not what she says it is, First Minister,” he interrupted. “Believe me. I know my daughter, whatever she decides to call herself.” His jaw clenched, hard enough for me to see it from here. “She has been running from me for almost ten years. I am here to finally take her home.” 

Heartstrings stepped forward, his intent clear as day. Lyra still didn’t move a muscle; if I didn’t know any better I’d have thought she had actually been petrified at the sight of her father in front of her. A pathetic whimper squeaking out of her was the only indication she was still among the living. 

I took a step forward myself, meeting the stallion halfway with an arm outstretched to vaguely block his line of sight to her. “Whoa, whoa, let’s settle down for just a second, shall we?” I’ll admit I wasn’t doing very much to try to de-escalate the situation, stern as my tone came out. Though Heartstrings darkened even further, he did stop in his tracks. “I’ve more of a mind to trust her than you right now, considering what I’ve seen from her. So tell me, exactly what is all this about?” 

“You are harbouring a murderer, First Minister.” The accusation was blunt, and bone-dry. Heartstrings’ gaze slid over onto me, making a visible effort to calm himself as he did so, rather the opposite of what my expression was turning into. “Of her own mother. I’ve spent a decade searching for justice. You cannot trust her, Inns. Do not make the same mistake we did – I did.” 

My mind raced as Heartstrings regarded me coolly. How could this even be possible? Turns out my roommate and the other adoptive parent of my fucking children was actually matricidal and on the run from justice for a decade? And Heartstrings – who I recalled was part of the Equestrian government, as well as EIC of the Canterer – had been searching for his daughter all that time? 

…Instead of people who would actually be qualified to do so? Didn’t he have better things to occupy his time with, and leave the man- or rather pony-hunt to the police, or the Royal Guard? Why do this personally? I understood that this was quite a personally charged affair, but shouldn’t he have known better than to confront Lyra himself? Assuming this was all true, that is - 

I looked down at the mare in question. Her sheer, unadulterated terror didn’t exactly make her look like a hardened criminal, although admittedly being caught by someone searching for her to bring her to justice might have unbalanced her rather strongly. Could someone like her really have a side as dark as that? 

“First Minister.” Heartstrings took another step forward, starkly imploring. “Please. You cannot allow her to… to get away with her crimes.” 

“It’s a lie,” was the whisper almost too indistinct to hear that Lyra answered with. She still didn’t take her eyes off her father for a moment, apparently operating on Weeping Angel logic. “I didn’t do a thing to either of them.” 

Naturally you’d say that. As far as I knew, in the absence of actual proof, this whole farce was essentially ‘he said, she said’ with a noble against a former vagrant – and for all I knew, in an Equestrian court of law that would be all they needed to slap a conviction on Lyra’s arse. Of course, I just had to be put in the position between the two, effectively the deciding vote between two sets of presently-baseless allegations. 

“Please don’t let him take me,” pleaded Lyra, again almost too quiet to hear.

And wasn’t that the precisely right thing she just said to me - 



“Will you keep me safe?” she asked, voice quiet yet brittle like glass. “Please, don’t let them take me…”

“I promise,” I repeated. “You’ll be okay here.”



…Son of a fucking bitch. A disgruntled grimace split my face by degrees as I recalled the night Lyra had all but broken down on learning a Court’s Eye had been in the Free State. I recalled a few other things alongside it, too, like the very first day she’d spent here – the overpowering desperation she’d shown me, not begging outright only because her body language had done that duty for her… that couldn’t have been an act. Could it? 

Could I take that chance?

What sort of person would I be if I didn’t?

The foals picked quite possibly the worst time to come running back up to us, the birthday colt practically fusing himself to Lyra’s chest while Wish, perhaps sensing something was amiss here, stopped a few paces away from us all, watching cautiously. Heartstrings regarded the newcomers with the same dispassion he continued to afford us, though frowning something fierce at Bowmound so eagerly snuggling up to his mother figure. 

“First Minister,” he tried. In truth, though, my mind was already more or less made up. Maybe it was all an act. Maybe Lyra was secretly the sort of pony that could sell snow to penguins and was just using me for an easy life and a bulwark against law enforcement – but seeing my little birthday boy nuzzle into her chest in an attempt to rejuvenate her into the land of the living? Having seen her take care of my foals for months without asking for anything more than a bed and three meals a day? Even when I couldn’t give her the latter for a short while? 

I looked at Heartstrings, my expression grim. “I don’t believe you, Lord Heartstrings.” 

A momentary shock rippled through his body, eyes widening and a hoof planted behind him for stability as if my words were threatening to physically knock him over – and then a darker side started to creep out of him, returning to eyeing his daughter. “I see she has dug her claws into you already, Inns,” he muttered. “A skillset I taught her. Don’t I regret grooming her for my role now.” 

I got the impression I wasn’t supposed to hear that latter half, and neither was Lyra. Neither of us gave any indication that we did. “Perhaps if you came to me with more concrete proof than your account against hers, I might be more amenable to your polite request to toss the mother to my foals into a prison cell.” 

“Ah, yes, proof,” he sneered. “Perhaps you’d like for me to dig the body of my wife out from her tomb to convince you? Shall I return with a warrant, maybe?” 

“It might help,” I replied glibly. 

Admittedly, that might have been a poor response, considering. Heartstrings practically growled, his stance lowering and his horn starting to spark dangerously; the sight made both Lyra and the foals take a step back, Lyra and Bowmound both retreating into my shadow. “I am warning you, Inns,” he said lowly. “You are making a terrible mistake. Plucked Heartstrings is not who you have been fooled into believing she is.” 

“Perhaps,” I allowed. "But that doesn't change the fact I'd sooner trust her word over yours. I've known her longer than I have you, lies or not."

"What in the starless hells is going on here?"

It seemed like Heartstrings' light show had attracted some attention from the peanut gallery; Blueblood had hurried over but didn't quite commit to interposing himself between us. The remainder of the group had merely ambled closer, curious but content to watch and listen. 

The added attention seemed to discourage the stallion from escalating. He turned his head incrementally towards the ambassador, powering his horn down, if not his glower. "Your Highness, with the highest respect, this is not your place to intervene. I am attempting to resolve a private matter-"

"Load of bollocks," I immediately shot. "I won't have a member of the Equestrian government kidnapping Free State citizens, private concerns or not, and we certainly haven't signed any extradition treaty either."

"It is not your place to intervene either, Inns!" Heartstrings snapped, evidently starting to lose his patience. His voice grew sharper and louder as he continued snarling. "I am taking my daughter home to face justice for what she has done, whether you condone it or not! You do not get to dictate to me, either of you!"

"And what's she got to say in the matter?" I hooked a thumb out in Lyra's direction. The mare in question still somehow remained in precisely the position she'd assumed at the beginning of this whole shitshow. At my drawing of attention to her, she momentarily glanced up at me, bearing to look away from her hunter, for lack of a better term, only for a short moment. Terror remained etched into her expression. I doubted she'd approve of the suggestion of simply leaving with Heartstrings. 

"Nothing," he growled, starting to scuff a hoof against the earth in clear aggression. "Her opinion is forfeit."

"Mine isn't," I said.

By now, Celestia had gotten in the fray as well, walking up to us with a blank look, glancing at both of us in turn. For once, I couldn't quite read her, though I supposed she mustn't have been too enthused by me getting into a confrontation with one of her own little ponies. She'd stood out of sight of Heartstrings, but her natural presence still managed to give him pause.

"You have foals of your own, Inns," he began, an air of conciliation about him now. "You should empathise more than most. What would you do to find them if they'd gone missing for a decade?"

"Doublespeak doesn't suit you, Heartstrings," I spat immediately, taking a step forward, trying my best to loom over him over the distance. "Touch my foals and I will kill you."

Heartstrings didn't have a reply ready for that. His muzzle scrunched up in what I saw as distaste - perhaps finally realising I wasn't about to back down, he bowed his head incrementally, and turned away to retreat. I watched him try to look dignified in defeat with a powerful scowl, wishing Construct had shown up just so I could tell her he wasn't welcome here any longer as soon as possible.

"Go inside, Lyra," I spoke, doing my best to keep my tone even. "Bowmound, Wish, you go too." All three parties obeyed immediately, shuffling off into my house at speed. I turned to shoot Celestia a deeply unkind look - which she continued to return with nothing. "This had better not mean anything, Princess," I spat, spinning on my heel and following Lyra and the foals into the house.





All things considered, Lyra was holding together surprisingly well. Perhaps she'd simply exhausted her reservoir of panic and terror already, having met her father face-to-face apparently at long last. I'd have expected her to melt down at the sight, considering just the mention of a Court's Eye nearby had given her a panic attack, but apparently Lyra - or rather 'Plucked Heartstrings,' feh - was made of sterner stuff.

Not that I wasn't concerned, of course.

I didn't dare bring the subject up myself, of course; I wasn't a complete moron, after all. The aura hung around the both of us like a bad smell, but that was much more preferable right this second than cutting to the chase. 

I'd sat her down in the living room, to absolutely no resistance whatsoever. I'd practically had to pose her manually like a ragdoll to get her comfortable, but we got there in the end. The foals tried their best to snap her out of it, nuzzling up to her on either side. Lyra'd put her forelegs around them, so I supposed it must have helped somewhat.

I gathered my thoughts in the middle of getting her something to drink. Lyra was the daughter of Lord Heartstrings, apparently, and the two were on much less than good terms with each other. Heartstrings accused Lyra of murdering his wife and her mother, Lyra denied it. She'd been running from him specifically for those ten years - having run away from Canterlot for that reason. He'd evidently been looking for her all that time, using his own considerable resources to find her.

Either that, or Lyra was merely paranoid that he could have done that - I dismissed the idea instantly; it was no coincidence Heartstrings showed up after a Court's Eye did. He ran that whole organisation personally, after all. It didn't really matter whether he did or not - he could, so I had to assume he would, and did. 

Did the murder accusation hold any weight? I was very perturbed by the fact I couldn't know for sure, not without handing her over to Equestria - and who knows what would happen to her there, guilty or not. Lyra didn't strike me as the criminal sort.

But… Heartstrings did let slip he'd taught her at least some of what his own work entailed - as either EIC or as Chancellor. It wasn't a secret Lyra pressed buttons for me. Perhaps he was merely trying to sow as much doubt between the two of us as possible. I was certainly cautious enough a person to be susceptible to that kind of tactic…

I handed Lyra a glass of water, trying not to jerk as my mind shifted back into reality. Lyra floated the cup out of my hands and drank greedily; barely ten seconds passed before the empty cup was all but shoved back into my hands.

She looked at me, then, expectantly. Almost existentially resigned, like she was facing the hangman even with her father (hopefully - note to self, make sure he gets booted out of the FS posthaste) having just been driven off.

"I suppose you want an explanation, don't you." Her tone was dead. I frowned down at her, glancing worriedly at the foals, considering my words.

"...I would like one," I finally decided on. "I said I wasn't going to push you on this if you weren't comfortable, but-"

"But now there's no point in hiding it any more," she finished. Presumptively, at that - I was more concerned about the repercussions of so aggressively blowing off a foreign noble, and what he might have ended up doing to try to bring Lyra home - and, quite possibly, bring the Free State to heel in the process.

"Maybe not," I said instead. "You know how far I'd go to keep you safe." I paused, glancing at the foals again. "All of you."

"Yeah," Lyra breathed, as if only now coming to that conclusion; I could have sworn I saw hope filling her like a water bottle, but probably that was just the foals squeezing her a little bit too enthusiastically. "You would."

I wasn't too sure about having the foals around for this conversation, but I didn't have the heart to send them away as Lyra began her tale. They'd probably seen worse themselves, honestly - as much as I wished they didn't.

Lyra, or Plucked as she went by in those days, was indeed born into a life of relative luxury - the daughter of one of the most influential nobles around, practically a stone's throw from living right in the palace itself. Her foalhood was emblematic of a sheltered noble, all private tutors and court intrigue she was too young to comprehend or care about. She'd found time to be happy, though, since she was largely beyond the usual social considerations; she'd had friends of all sorts, and was rather outgoing, so long as she didn't falter in her studies.

Those including eventually succeeding her father in his role. The one that mattered was Chancellor of the PID. Being the head of a shadowy domestic intelligence apparatus didn't quite gel with the image of the Lyra in front of me now, but apparently she took to it rather enthusiastically - even in Equestria, the power of daddy's approval was not to be underestimated. That, or she just didn't know any better.

That changed once Lyra hit her adolescence, and Heartstrings saw fit to finally include her into society for real. She didn't elaborate on the reason why that was done, but I could hazard a guess - easier to manipulate real people if you've talked to a few in your life. The program she was admitted to was rather intense, being literally better than anything money could buy - instead having been bought by influence and personal favours. 

"Father didn't see any issue with allowing me to enrol in a music class," continued Lyra, in the same toneless voice she'd regaled the rest of the tale. "He'd never expected my cutie mark to deviate from the plan he'd had for me. And it did."

"You found your real passion in life for music," I said quietly. 

"Yes," said Lyra. "I had an assignment to compose a short piece of music. I wasn't given any direction on how to do it, my teacher told me to make it from the heart. That was the first time I'd ever been asked anything like that in my life. It took me thirty minutes to figure out what to do."

"Yeah. Art doesn't quite work the same way as… anything like that," I ended up saying lamely. Lyra nodded her agreement.

Lyra came out of that class a changed filly, in a way besides her newfound destiny - or perhaps not. She'd become more carefree, free-spirited, and much more independent than Heartstrings had liked. Perhaps the mark meaning all his years of creating his dynasty went up in smoke at once, or perhaps just Lyra starting to rub him the wrong way… whatever the reason, he slowly started tightening the leash. And by that…

"I was hardly allowed to leave his sight," said Lyra. "I had to drop out of the CSGU at his orders. Nopony else would do - he was the only person I would be taught by from then on. It got stricter from there."

"Didn't your mother have any say in this?" I asked.

"No," she answered simply. No clarification came. "I could not stand it for very long. My mark was in music, not blind obedience. Eventually, I decided escape was the only option."

It was no Escape from Alcatraz. As it turned out, Heartstrings was not so paranoid as to expect his daughter to simply leave in the dead of night, though that phrase was something of an oversimplification. Having a good idea of how her father thought gave her good odds on evading him for the decade she'd spent on the run - until she arrived here, on my doorstep.

"And now he's found you," I finished the tale, as Lyra was winding down. "In the Free State."

"Yes," she breathed. "He has."

I glanced back at the foals. At some point during the retelling, they'd dozed off, cuddling up to her like the world's snuggest plushie. My lips pursed. "So. What happens now?"

Lyra didn't reply. She, too, snuck peeks at her side passengers, her face momentarily curling up into some expression I couldn't even begin to identify. "He knows you're here," I tried again. "Somehow, I doubt my stern finger waggling will keep him away for long."

"I know," she whispered.

I hesitated. Probably wasn't a good idea to keep pushing her on that front. "So what is this going to mean for you? For us?"

"You promised, Adam," came the instant, rather heated reply. "To keep me safe."

"I did," I said.

"So?"

"...Well, what do you want me to say?" I asked, confused. "You expect me to toss you away like used trash for the sake of not rocking the boat? I've already pissed him off by not having done that the first time. He comes back, and we'll deal with him."

There wasn't any compromise in my tone. I hadn't a doubt in my mind there'd be repercussions for this - hopefully on both sides, but I wasn't about to hold my breath. 

Lyra, though, had fallen silent, tearing up at my sincerity. She made to move off the couch, but reconsidered after jostling the foals still napping next to her. Instead, she made do with a nod of the head and a very quiet, "Thank you, Adam."

"Always," I replied. "You feeling better now?"

"Somehow, yes," she said, remarkably glibly. I couldn't help a chuckle.

"Suppose I'll take your word for it. Take a nap, yourself, maybe." I nodded at the sleeping foals. "I'll keep watch if I have to."

"...I'd appreciate that, actually. Thank you," she repeated, louder this time.

That settled it - with a casual shrug, I made to set myself down in the armchair adjacent to the trio and grabbed a nearby book. True to words, Lyra settled down herself, curling up like a cat in a way I found quite adorable to watch. 

It was safe to say this birthday party was well and truly fucked, thanks to Heartstrings. Celestia and Blueblood and the rest were presumably still outside, or failing that somewhere in the Free State - I had some strong words to exchange with the former, without a doubt. If he'd arrived here at her behest…

Fuck a duck. And on my fuckin' day off, of all days…