//------------------------------// // Past 7-Funeral for a Friend // Story: The Woes of Scorpan // by articunos bitch //------------------------------// Today’s a miserable day for a funeral, Nightmare Moon thought as she laid on her belly on the balcony. She figured just about any day would be miserable, but the weather today was the worst. Spring was just around the corner. The snow and ice were melting, the sun was out longer, and the weather was warmer, but it still dipped below freezing at night. The grave dug yesterday had a sheet of ice coating the inside walls and crystallized mud at the bottom. Millimeter-long stalagmites grew up from a pockmarked brown puddle, frozen even before the sun set last night. She looked in it this morning, surprised at how smooth it was dug considering the simple shovel used and ground water slowly seeping in. The cemetery would be a thin layer of snow sitting atop a mud field by the time the casket passed the iron gates. Nightmare Moon had sent a letter to her sister saying she would be returning home tonight. It had been two weeks since they had seen each other and Celestia was worried. But Nightmare simply could not leave Midnight Castle yet; her friend needed her. ** ** ** She stopped by fourteen days ago with a net and a ground pick. Scorpan had promised to take her ice fishing sometime and she wanted to do it before spring arrived. Upon entering the castle, she knew something was wrong; the guard standing at the gate warned her Scorpan probably would not have time for her. She wandered through the corridors, looking for her only friend before finally looking in his bedroom, or, rather, knocking on the door. The study door behind her opened up to an unshaven Scorpan with a hairbrush in his hand. “Oh, Nightmare. It’s good to see you. Come, we’re in here.” He was clearly distracted and looked more to her hooves than face. He ushered her into the study with Baugh, who slouched in a chair and looked like she had put on twice as many clothes as normal. She smiled brightly with Nightmare’s entrance, taking a pillow off the nearby couch and offered it to her. Setting herself down on her haunches, Nightmare noticed how Scorpan nervously fiddled with a tray of food to serve her soup. The fireplace was crackling merrily and the room seemed a tad warm for winter. “I’m sorry about this, but Baugh has fallen ill and—“ “It’s nothing,” Baugh said, waving her hand. “Winter’s giving me a final sniffle before she leaves. He’s making a big deal out of nothing.” She waved her hand at her husband. Scorpan cleared his throat. “I’m fulfilling my vow of ‘Sickness and Health.’ There’s not much of a challenge in Health, so I’m taking Sickness seriously.” Baugh giggled and asked about Nightmare’s recent activity. “Well, I was hoping your husband could take me ice fishing—“ He interrupted her. “Ice fishing! I did say I would do that, didn’t I? Hmm… Nightmare, I’m sorry, but this isn’t a good time for me at all. Maybe next week—“ “You stop right there, Scorpan! You made a promise to this lady and you will keep it. Go off, have fun. I’ll be here, and I’ll be back on my feet in a day or two.” Baugh smiled lovingly and stroked his hands when he stepped next to her. “Don’t be silly, I’ll be fine, and if I need help, Kevin can get off his lazy backside and stoke the fire. Really.” Baugh coughed. “Go.” Nightmare saw him frown when she held him, and it stayed on his face when he answered, “Okay. For you.” After leaning down to kiss her lips, he tossed another log onto the fire and called Nightmare to follow him to his closet. ** ** ** Ice fishing was more exciting than normal fishing, Nightmare decided. Scorpan had bundled himself up tight. He donned thick, waterproof boots, long johns—she laughed at harder at them than she should have—a flannel shirt and an extra-insulated jacket, woolen gloves, and a hat to complete his outfit all before he showed her the tools they used. He threw a saddle pack over her back, hefted the drill over his shoulder, and put a hammer in one of his jacket pockets. She mentioned they could fly, but he insisted on walking the kilometer and a half down the river to a pond it flowed into. If she really wanted to use magic, she could point out thin spots in the ice. It was hard to imagine that so much life laid under the thick and falling blanket of snow, just waiting to awaken a few weeks from now. Even more surprising was the ice being thick enough to hold a man as big as Scorpan, all 1.8 meters of him. He laughed as he stepped out onto the ice, daring it to break. Walking a little ways, he stopped, placed the drill face down on the ice, pulled his arm back and, swung the hammer on top of it. Pong! Swinging again, Nightmare saw the drill tip dig deeper until the screw blades stopped it from going any further. Grunting with effort, he put all his weight on the drill and gave it a sharp twist. Every quarter turn allowed it to dig deeper into the frozen surface. Nightmare finally saw the genius of such a simple tool. “Who taught you to ice fish?” she inquired, trying to break the uncomfortable silence that followed them since leaving the Castle. Scorpan was setting up a line. He had already showed Nightmare how to bait a hook last summer. “My grandfather. He’d take my brother and I out and we would sit and talk about… magic, science, the world, girls. Girls were our favorite subject, boys and all.” He fell silent, but continued working. With the trap set up, he picked the drill and hammer off the ground and carried them to a thin patch of ice Nightmare had found. “With thin ice, the water’s warmer and fish are sure to flock here. We could get a bite before we finish setting the other traps.” Letting her hammer the drill in this time, he watched her smile gleefully when she struck it. Pong! Nightmare tried setting up the next two traps amongst many failures and a premature flag to Scorpan’s face. Taking a break and lying on the ice, she on her belly and him on his back, she asked what was bothering him. “What do you mean?” “You’ve not been terribly talkative today. Are you worried about Baugh? She said she would be fine.” He shuffled around and lay on his side, his back turned to her. She thought she heard him sniffle a tear. “She’s not fine,” he said slowly. “I’m not fine. No one is fine.” He sat up, pulled his knees to his chest, and buried his head in them. “I hired a team of researchers to look into Dr. Wheatley’s claims. He has seen no pregnancies since we moved here nearly two years ago. They took a census of the whole city; not one child here is younger than eighteen months old. The babies born here were conceived in Ur. And many, many couples have said they’ve tried to have children.” He started rocking back and forth, tapping his feet to push himself. He sniffled more. “They… they think the magic of the land is to blame. They put an egg and sperm in a test tube… They met, but nothing happened. They just sat there…” She heard him holding back a dam of tears. She climbed to her hooves and sat down next to him, draping a wing over his shoulder. “The same magic that gives us good grass, big, healthy crops… it’s sterilizing us.” He buried his head in his knees again, finally breaking and letting out a sob. “And… they don’t know what to do. We can’t go back to Ur! We don’t know what it’s like! It could be a warzone. They told my wife and I a few nights ago, and… Baugh… she just collapsed. It was like a seizure.” Tears freely rolled down his face, threatening to fall to his forearms. “She… Baugh says she’s fine but… She’s never been a strong woman. Yes, in mind and spirit, but not her body. Nightmare, I’m worried. I’m scared. I don’t want her to die, but I think this… this news might have been too much for her.” He buried his face in her withers and bawled. “I don’t want to lose her!” He was a five-year-old boy who just realized his mother wasn’t waking up anymore. He pounded the ice until he bruised his hand, and kept striking it. Nightmare wrapped both wings around him to shield him from the cold wind picking up. The sky was getting darker and she would have to raise the moon before long when she looked up. She didn’t remember when, but she had packed up the remaining traps, bait, line, and Scorpan’s hammer into her saddle pack. She levitated the drill in front of her and then him onto her back when he fell forward, wrapped his arms around her withers and his legs around her belly. She trotted back to the Castle, her hooves crunching every step she took. The wind began to pick up even more as the sky finally blackened to darkness. She then raised her moon. Her steps were slow and soothing. She felt his legs loosen after a while, and his sobs eased, but his hot tears on the back of her neck did not. She stopped a hundred meters outside the Castle gates and enjoyed the peaceful silence. Nightmare sighed deeply. She never felt this at peace in Everfree Valley. He sat up straight and grabbed the drill from her telekinetic grasp, laying it across his lap. “What am I going to do, Nightmare?” His voice was a snowflake landing on her ear. “If she dies… she is my whole life. She’s the most wonderful woman I have ever known. I won’t even let Spike care for her because… I’m so certain she will die. I want her to… Am I killing her by—“ Nightmare cut him off by dropping her haunches and letting him slide off. Turning on him, she nearly snarled, “You are caring for you sick wife, Scorpan. You can only make her better. If you are only going to doubt yourself, you have no place being near her.” Scorpan stood his ground, but knew she was right. Scowling, he hefted his drill over his shoulder again and stormed off to care for his wife. ** ** ** Nightmare was allowed to sleep in one of the guests rooms that night. Baugh’s insistence. Putting herself into a trance, she became the Phantom she used to Dream Walk. Doors, walls, even distance was no match for the Phantom. The Phantom glided out of her room effortlessly and stalked down the halls that did not limit her. The room of a husband and wife called out to her; a great deal of worry and fear plagued their dormant minds. Settling in her dream, the Phantom saw a redhead woman carrying a tray of food and a box of chalk for a man at a chalkboard. Numerical and magical equations covered not just this board, but dozens of others pushed to the side. He wore ragged clothes, walked with a limp,and his rolled-up sleeves were covered with dust. Setting her tray down on a nearby table, the woman didn’t speak, simply staring at the man longingly. The Phantom did what she could to give pleasant dreams, and this one could be so good. She felt the love between the two of them. All he needed to do was turn to face her. The Phantom pushed the other chalkboards and brought the man closer to his wife as he lowered his chalk piece. She did not step any closer, but put her arms around him and smiled. There was no pain on her face, no sorrow, just the smile of the content. Her husband’s dream was much more troubled. He was naked, scared, and in a room dominated by a single, dull cream color. He lifted a lamp from a table, only to have it snap in half when he moved it. Its handle was melting from his body temperature alone. He was already hyperventilating and reached for a window shutter. Half the curtain tumbled to his feet, melting as it contacted the floor. Leaping for the door, he left his shoes behind, stuck under the remains of the curtain and in the melting wax floor. The doorknob snapped off in his hands too, but the door remained shut. Pounding and slamming his shoulder against it covered him in the par-melted wax. The book congealed into a single mass, but his hands sank halfway through it before he managed to pull them to the floor and tip the shelf over. Watching him try to maneuver it to face the door and allow him to batter his way out hurt. The Phantom was about to banish everything and speak directly to him, when another voice caught his attention. A woman placed her hand on his shoulder and spoke his name. He turned around to embrace her, but his grip split her as well. She looked as solid as him, but cracked in half like any other piece of wax in this awful dream. The Phantom hesitated and watched the man’s grief continue. Everything he had accumulated on his hands, shoulder, and stocking-feet was stiffening, locking his fingers and toes in place and restricting his foot and shoulder movements. The Phantom could not watch anymore. With a single cry, she banished the dream and the man collapsed to his knees. She went to comfort him. She knew most ponies and people did not remember their dreams, but carried the emotions with them throughout the remainder of the night. She laid her hooves upon his shoulders and whispered softly into his ear, “It’s not real. But I am.” The man turned around and embraced her as he could not do to his wife. The Phantom put the man into a dreamless state, what she called “The Sweet Sleep of the Damned.” He would be anxious no more tonight, and would actually awaken refreshed and perhaps even hopeful. The Phantom’s work was done with these two. They would sleep easy tonight. The Phantom moved about the Castle, looking for other troubled dreams. A cook in the servant’s quarters was asleep, but still thought she was awake. She was worrying about getting enough sleep before she needed to be up to prepare breakfast. The Phantom changed her dream to one of her lying in her lover’s arms. With that, she relaxed and stopped fidgeting in her sleep. Beyond the walls of the Castle was the home of a tanner. His dreams filled with his work. She was disgusted with the smell and working with the skins of animals who could talk (at least Equestrian cows could), but she saw nothing to ease here. She moved on to the building next door, which she supposed was his workshop. A child imagined she was being eaten by a spider as punishment for an unmentioned act. She was caught by its claws and half her body was trapped its mouth. “Are you going to be a good girl?” it asked before the Phantom warped the spider into a loving parent. The girl immediately noticed the difference, but still seemed paralyzed with fear. The Phantom could not see the parent’s, face but did hear the girl shriek and run away. The parent—she could not even tell if it was a mother or father—chased the young girl with a bullwhip. The Phantom saw that its end has bits of glass and iron stitched into it, not designed to frighten cattle but hurt whoever it struck. Banishing the pursuer, the Phantom flew over to the little girl, who collapsed and revealed herself to her. “I must apologize. I turned one monster into another. Please forgive me.” Though the Phantom spoke gently to the girl, she covered her face with her hands and shuddered. “Child, you have nothing more to fear. Stand. This is your world, to do with as you wish.” The girl looked to the Phantom and nearly cried. Opening her mouth to speak, she struggled with her words. “I… I don’t want to… see them again.” She sniffled and rubbed her eyes. “Did they hurt you as much as you fear?” “Yes… But they’re gone now. They’re back in Ur.” The Phantom wrapped the girl in her wing and pulled her close. “Do you live in a children’s home?” “Yes. I don’t like it, but they teach me, they feed me. No one scares me.” The Phantom let go of her. “That is good to hear. If you’ll excuse me, I must be off.” Swooping out of the girl’s dream, she looked around and saw that she was indeed in an orphanage. A soft, sweet melody from her past rang through her ears and came from her mouth. Singing to the children in their dreams, she calmed some and gave others even more peace. Moving on to the rest of the town, the Phantom explored and eased the dreams of other denizens, continuing to sing to herself. ** ** ** Nightmare snapped her eyes open with a start when a knock sounded on her door. Being an immortal alicorn meant she needed little sleep, but catching a few Z’s after a night of Dream Walking was relaxing. Snapping her head to attention, she heard the whistle voice of a baby dragon from behind the door. “Miss Nightmare, do you want breakfast?” Opening the door, a pale-purple dragon in a flower-printed apron backed his way into the room. He carried a veggie omelet. Nightmare supposed the cook had indeed gotten enough sleep last night. “Thank you, Spike.” “And Baugh wants you to join her in the study if you have time.” With that, he waddled out to the study himself. The flurry yesterday had picked up to a full-blown storm now. It was a miracle the howling wind didn’t wake her from her trance or sleep. The clear, thick glass kept the cold at bay, but the sight of snow always made her shiver in delight. The study was a floor up from her guest room. She entered to see Baugh sitting in the same chair she was yesterday, her hair down, and Scorpan brushing it. “Well, well, you certainly keep him on a short leash, Baugh.” “I was asking him if he brushed his teeth today. Several jokes late, this happened.” Baugh explained this as if it was a natural occurrence. She was bundled up in more clothing today as well. “I need to get back to work anyway. Taggart’s talking about a rail line all the way to Equestria. He and I have a lot to discuss.” Scorpan leaned down to kiss her forehead. Nightmare pulled a cushion off the couch and sat herself down. Scorpan said, “I suppose you two will be busy gossiping, braiding each other’s hair, talking about boys and everything else I know girls don’t do at slumber parties?” “Actually, I was hoping to get you behind Nightmare’s tail, so that will be a topic sure to come up,” Baugh said casually. Nightmare squeaked, blushed, and lowered her head while Scorpan laughed, opened a door in the wall, and ascended the spiral staircase behind it. Baugh turned to her guest. “Good morning, Nightmare. Did you sleep well?” “When I did get to sleep, it was restful, yes.” “How was your ice fishing trip?” Baugh asked somberly. “He didn’t say a word when you got home, not until this morning, and I’m worried.” Nightmare sighed. “Your husband is convinced you… aren’t going to recover from this illness. I’m not sure how long we were gone, but most of the time he was weeping. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone that broken up. He’s also worried about your people being sterile. I didn’t catch everything. He’s more concerned about you, but what’s happening?” Baugh slouched in her seat and closed her eyes. “Men can’t produce healthy sperm, and women can’t produce healthy eggs. Until both problems are solved, no one can have babies. Scorpan will work hard to solve it as soon as he’s done worrying about me. I sent him off yesterday hoping to distract him for a while, but I knew it wouldn’t work. Oh well.” Reaching under the cushion she sat on, Baugh pulled out a needlepoint stitch project she had been working on and threaded her needle. “Actually I’m glad you are here. I’m wondering… How long will you be able to stay at Midnight Castle?” “Actually, I was planning on going home soon. You don’t need me—“ “Could you stay longer? Until I feel healthy again? He’s… not going to be well either, and he needs a friend.” Nightmare shifted uncomfortably upon her cushion. “I couldn’t impose on you. And my sister is expecting me back—“ “Nonsense. You are our guest, or, more specifically, my guest. And tell your sister you’re taking a vacation. Nightmare, when was the last time you took a week off from work?” Nightmare Moon had not actually taken a vacation since her coronation. The idea of taking time away from work was silly to her. As a Princess, she had to protect the right of her citizens, and it was not a task she could put off. Obviously, she took nights and days off now and then, but she couldn’t tell her constituents she would be unavailable for a week. “I—I couldn’t do that, Baugh. I’m not sure how humans do things, but I simply can’t.” Nightmare was flustered and pawed at the floor. “I would like to spend more time here, but… will you get well soon?” Baugh grinned through her chattering teeth. “Soon enough, Nightmare. We’ll take good care of you.” Nightmare grinned. “This could be very good. I will write to my sister, asking her to take my court appointments. And I won’t even tell her how long I’m gone! Ha! Take that, Tia.” Summoning a sheet of paper and a pencil, she wrote out the situation to Celestia. Baugh stared at the unique writing style in confusion. “Is that Equestrian text?” “Yes it is. Writing is a rare skill. Scribes are some of the most valuable ponies in any endeavor.” She did not look up from her paper. “Why do you ask? Is it so different from your own?” Baugh let out an indignant sigh. “Yes! You’re using borderline hieroglyphs! What exactly are you saying? Word-for-word.” “I am writing key points and getting a message across to the reader. That is writing.” “No, Nightmare, that is not writing.” Baugh paused for a minute, then put away her needle point. “Finish your letter and I will show you how to write. Like a proper scribe.” Standing up, she carefully made her way to the desk and fished out more paper and additional pencils. Nightmare finished her letter, cast a spell on it, and tossed it in the fireplace. The paper curled on itself, caught fire, and turned into green, glittering smoke before dissipating. Baugh sat down on the floor in front of the coffee table and laid out her items before calling Nightmare to sit beside her. “We have an alphabet—twenty-six characters that each have a unique name, and each make a unique sound based on how they are used. These characters, or letters when combined in certain ways, make up every word of our spoken language.” She drew an “A” on the first sheet of paper. “This is the letter ‘A’. It makes the ‘ah’ sound…” Nightmare followed with utmost attention and fascination until their lesson ended at noon, by which time she had made considerable progress for her first four hours of study. ** ** ** Nightmare Moon had fallen into a pleasant routine over the next week. Scorpan would work during the morning while Baugh taught her Uran text. When Baugh napped during the afternoon, she would find something to distract Scorpan from his problems. He always sat down at the dinner table with a smile on his face, due in no small part to being flanked by his two favorite ladies. The snowstorm that started her first day in the Castle was the last one of the season, and they had fun playing like children. After packing up their ice fishing equipment, they went sledding, ice skating. Scorpan helped teach her to read. Her favorite book was a children’s book about the Boy King’s funeral. Kevin and his new girlfriend had stopped by often and cheered his mother up. But as the temperature went up, so did Baugh’s fever. Her condition steadily degenerated to being bed-ridden. Dr. Wheatley said of her illness, “Pneumonia: an infection in her lungs. It’s never pretty, and I’m starting to get worried.” Dr. Wheatley was not the only one. Scorpan ordered Spike to stay at Baugh’s side every moment of the day. During the afternoon, he would often nap next to her instead of spending time with Nightmare. She would find a soft place to sit and practice her new writing and reading, or walk around the city. The Sumarian streets were choked with sand. The vendors sold furs and hot meats. Both still disgusted Nightmare Moon. Spike often went with her on such outings, pointing out points of interest and telling short anecdotes and jokes. “And then the editor says, ‘Read it? I already ruined it!’” She nearly collapsed to the ground and gasped through guffaws, “That is absolutely disgusting, Spike. Why would you tell me that?” “I knew you would like that one.” He paused. Spike, despite being older than Scorpan and Baugh’s son, still acted childish, but was mature enough to be reliable. “Nightmare, how bad is she?” “Baugh? You take care of her. You must overhear the doctor. You tell me.” “No. I mean… your sister, Celestia. Is she really as bad as Scorpan thinks?” “Bad? She’s a difficult mare to please and Scorpan humiliated her when they first met. She’s not too bad if you know her.” Nightmare knew of the terrible things her sister did out of necessity, but she was no different. She doubted any ruler was. “I don’t know. Scorpan and her shout a lot. Sometimes, I get scared they’re going to hurt each other.” Stopping dead in her tracks in a city park, Nightmare turned to the drake on her back. “Since when do they talk to each other? Anything they have to say, I could do in my sister’s place!” “Celestia doesn’t like anyone knowing she’s here sometimes. She shows up unannounced and they start yelling. She first started showing up a little after the Witches were killed. She called him a lot of names, and he called her a lot, too.” Spike seemed to have no idea of how to keep a secret. “What else do they argue about?” Both her sister and friend had kept a secret from her. Though she didn’t like it, maybe it was simply their issue. “She says he is a ‘loose cannon who could disrupt the balance of power.’ He says she ’coddles her little ponies to death’. Baugh says Scorpan bottles up too much pressure. I think he lets it out on your sister. I was wondering if she really is that bad. Bad enough to make Scorpan say he wants to spit on her grave?” Nightmare didn’t answer him. ** ** ** “Scorpan, my sister has been speaking with you privately, and I want to know why.” It was after dinner that night. Spike had gone to bed, Baugh was taking a warm bath, and it was just the two of them in the study as usual. A skeptical look growing on his face, Scorpan put down the papers he was rereading, trying to find something he liked about the Bashaw of Aan’s foreign policy. “Nightmare, if it was an issue of State, you would know, but your sister hates me, and the feeling is mutual. There is little more to it than that.” “Then why does she meet with you? What do you discuss? Or shout about as… a source tells me.” “I trust Spike. He wouldn’t tell anyone besides you or Baugh. And we just take our anger out on each other. She first wanted to know exactly what happened with the Witches of the Volcano of Gloom. I told her what I did, and she bragged she would have been swifter, more thorough. Then I reminded her that I had killed them and not her. “Nightmare, I do hate your sister. I say some terrible things to her, but she and I need each other.” Nightmare held her gaze. “Spike said you wanted to spit on her grave. Should I take that as a threat to her life?” “Well,” he answered casually, “there is a certain satisfaction in outliving your enemies. Do I truly want her dead? Nah. She and I did have a pleasant conversation once. She told me I was the only reasonable, trustworthy, competent—I believe she also used the word honorable—ruler she has met in my lifetime. She has been more than eager to do business with Sumaria, and I can deal with her.” Nightmare shifted uncomfortably on her cushion. “You said she coddled her ponies…” “I was referring to Cutie Marks before I understood them entirely. I admit I still do not, but I understand now she has no control over the Marks. I admit that was unfair for me to say.” Nightmare held her tongue for thirty seconds before asking, “Scorpan, have you mentioned me?” He thought carefully before he spoke. “She does not approve of our friendship. And I she approved of your stay here. But she cares for you, in a rather… Big Brother way. Orwell. He’s an author. Give it some time and you’ll be reading his books," he added hastily, seeing the questioning look upon her face. Nightmare lay down on the couch and thought until she simply teleported herself into bed. ** ** ** Her wheezing was the first thing Nightmare recalled about that day every time she remembered it later. Baugh had been coughing all night. Nightmare ate breakfast in her room alone. She only calmed down after being drawn a hot bath and breathing in the steam. Scorpan had come out of their bedroom and walked right into Nightmare Moon. “Oof. Oh, I’m sorry. I—I—I—” His eyes were red and already filled with tears when he turned back toward his bed. Laying down, he didn’t protest when she opened the door and sat next to him, draping a wing over his shoulder again. She heard him crying again. “I can’t do this.” He sobbed. “I can’t lose her.” He didn’t lift his face from the unmade bed, not even to point Dr. Wheatley to the bathroom door, where Baugh was enjoying normal breaths. He nearly choked on his sobs while he explained the situation. “She was coughing up blood. She was so weak I had to take her bedclothes off before carrying her to the tub, and she was burning up in my hands.” He threw his arms around her and cried out harder than ever. Nightmare lifted her hooves and dropped them to his shoulders, doing her best to return his embrace. His tears weighed down her fur, and his ears registered her strong heartbeat for the first time. “I was scared before, but now… Nightmare, I can’t lose her.” He looked her in the eye. “Please, do something. Anything. Let me take her place. I can’t go on without her…” Nightmare could only shake her head and hold him closer to her. They stayed where they were for a while until he decided they should climb off the floor. His and Baugh’s bedroom had few furnishings, so they climbed onto the bed and refused to move. Scorpan was scratching behind Nightmare’s ears when Wheatley emerged from the bathroom. “Sir, she would like to speak to Miss Nightmare Moon, and I doubt you want her to hear the diagnosis.” “Doctor, she has been by us for a while. She can hear you,” Scorpan said. “No. Besides, she wants to talk. I’ll… leave you two alone.” Climbing off the bed, Nightmare stepped into the bathroom and saw Baugh in the bathtub, nude. She could not understand the human obsession with clothing; that was perhaps for the best right now. Nightmare had been swimming with Scorpan and Baugh last summer, and she had lost significant weight since then, probably all of it since she came down with her illness. “Nightmare Moon, please, have a seat.” Obliging, she put a hoof on the tub’s lip and sighed. “Nightmare, I am no fool. I won’t last much longer. This disease will kill me soon, but I’m not afraid. Do you feel fear?” Nightmare nodded. “Yes, I do. I am afraid of failure. Your husband just asked me to heal you, almost as if I would not have done it. And now I am afraid for him. He has said some things…” Baugh smiled. “I thought he would. He’s stronger than he gives himself credit for. I know the great things he has done will not end with me. Nightmare, Scorpan has always had trouble making friends, believe or not, and I think you are the best friend he has ever had. You have been here for him all this time, and you will need to stay next to him after my passing. Can you do that?” Pursing her lips, she stared at the clawed leg of the tub. “Yes. I can. Baugh, your husband is one of the greatest people I have ever known, even knowing him is… And… I don’t have many friends.” She sniffed back the tears threatening to fall. “I can do that.” “Thank you, Nightmare.” Baugh pulled her on for a hug, dripping water down Nightmare’s wings and back. Her skin was so warm to the touch. “You take good care of him, and keep him happy after I’m gone. Okay?” “I will.” Stepping up, Nightmare let the water linger on her back and wings. She turned around and slowly walked out to the bedroom where Scorpan was still sitting on the bed, staring at the wall. She sat on her haunches next to him and let his hands pet her head. ** ** ** Nightmare spent most of that day in her guest room, struggling to write a letter to her sister in Uran. She could go into so much more detail and convey emotion with this writing. So what if Celestia couldn’t read it? Shortly after raising the moon for the night, a knock came at her door. “Come in,” she called. Scorpan stepped in and closed the door quietly behind him, keeping his head low, Nightmare thought she knew what he was going to say. He did not say anything at all. He just stood there, searching for the words, allowing her to suggest it did not happen. “Scorpan? What’s wrong?” He tensed up and sighed. “Baugh… passed away minutes ago. She’s gone.” He bowed his head and hissed for breath through his gritted teeth. Gasping for breath, he felt Nightmare’s head fall upon his shoulder. Shuddering to keep his tears at bay, he pulled away from her comfort and stormed out into the hallway. Nightmare heard a familiar voice before Kevin poked his head in her room. “What was that about?” When she didn’t immediately answer, he became desperate. “Nightmare Moon, what happened?” he asked, worry creeping into his voice. “Kevin, I shouldn’t be the one to tell you this. But… your mother… is no longer with us. She’s gone.” She tried to look him in the eye, but she did not want to see his heart break. He did not break down, but sat on the bed and stared at the floor. Climbing onto the bed on her belly, she lay her head in his lap and let him scratch behind her ears. He seemed to be in shock. “She was peaceful. And with her husband. It was a… It was pleasant.” Her words didn’t seem to comfort him. “I should have been here sooner,” he said miserably. “You were here every other day since she fell ill. You have your own life to worry about, and she loved you. You did nothing wrong.” “But… I still should have been.” The two of them sat quietly until she stood to lower the moon. Scorpan chose that moment to and embraced his son. “Should I be leaving your home, Scorpan? I know you will need time to mourn.” “No! Please, Nightmare, don’t leave us.” Surprisingly, it was Kevin’s voice. “We… we need someone close. Don’t go.” “Scorpan?” she asked. He did not answer her, but went to his office, presumably to bury himself in work. “Come on, Kevin. He needs his space, and we should be nearby when he decides to talk.” ** ** ** That had been two days ago. Scorpan threw together a funeral in twenty-four hours. He said she never wanted a fancy burial—make sure she was dead, get a pine box, and a dig hole in the ground with a modest marker. Nightmare attended many funerals before, usually heads of foreign states. There was always a long procession, a parade through the streets to their final resting place, and a long, long service. She asked Kevin about human funerals the night before and was keen to see how different this one was. She teleported herself back to Everfree to grab her best black dress and now scrutinized it from every angle in the mirror she conjured, forgoing her armor for the first time since she arrived two weeks ago. Heavy bootfalls behind her did not allow her to take her eyes off the wing sockets on her barrel. “You look beautiful, Nightmare.” “Thank you, Scorpan. Should I… style and dress my mane, or let it flow?” “Let it flow. You look beautiful, I said.” He stood in the doorway of the study, staring at the floor beneath her hooves, an empty look in his eye. He was dressed in his typical winter boots, grey trousers, and matching jacket. “I’m surprised you wore a dress at all. Your coat is the perfect color.” “Thank you.” She banished the mirror and looked out through the balcony window. The streets were coated with a film of sand and water. The denizens of Sumaria up and about their day already. Nightmare could not understand. Their Princess was dead, but it seemed that no one cared. Her confusion must have shown on her muzzle, since Scorpan stepped next to her and spoke softly. “They have their own lives. They can’t grieve for a private citizen they didn’t even know. That’s why it’s special; these are people she did know. Like you.” She said nothing. “She never mentioned who she wanted to be pawl bearers. Obviously, my son and I… Daniel said he would pitch in… Spike’s too small, so would you care to help us carry the casket?” Turning from the balcony, they made their way into the corridor and headed for the Great Hall. “I thought men typically did that?” “Men usually have an easier time lifting it, yes, but you have magic. If you pitch in, we won’t need to have to ask other men for help.” “That seems reasonable. Do we have to carry her all the way to the cemetery?” “No. There is a cart to take her most of the way. We are going to load her onto it and open the viewing lid for a last glance. When we get to the cemetery, we will close and lock the lid for good before… lowering her… into the ground.” The first emotion of the day crept into his speech as his voice cracked. Nightmare stopped before the door to the Hall and turned to him. “Scorpan?” He leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, his jacket folding up behind his neck. Letting out a heavy sigh, he hung his head. “She won’t be the last, either. What I’ve done is…” “She won’t be the last what?” Nightmare worried there had been more to Baugh’s death than met the eye. “She had pneumonia, Nightmare, but that’s not what killed her. She died when she heard the whole damn city’s sterile. If it’s the magic of the land, it’s my fault. I led us all here, and we have it because of me.” He wiped his tears away before continuing, “How many other people are going to… Even if no one else dies from hearing this, we’re going to be the only generation in Sumaria! It’s a death sentence by the slowest, most painful way possible.” She wiped his tears with her mane. “We… we can’t live like this. I… I need to find a way… I need to do something.” “Scorpan,” Nightmare cooed, “don’t think about that. Not today. Today is about her. You want me to stay for you, well do this for me. Relax…” She lay both her hooves on his shoulders and held his gaze. “You’re going to burn yourself out. Chill, man. You trippin’ and gonna fall into a hoe house.” Chuckling at her new language, Scorpan asked, “Did Kevin tell you all that?” She blushed. “His girlfriend showed up late last night and we stayed up telling jokes until one in the morning. Thinking about something besides today,” she added with a glance telling him not to get off subject. “Okay.” Standing and dusting his jacket off, he said, “Let’s go.” ** ** ** Scorpan hooked a gramophone to the cart. It played a piano piece Nightmare Moon had never heard before, playing on a loop for the two kilometers from the castle to the grave site. Nightmare Moon, Scorpan, Kevin, and Daniel hefted the casket to the muddy ground. The four of them stood back while the small procession of people wanting to pay their last respects passed by and took one last look. Scorpan took his final look, closed, locked, and kissed the viewing lid before stepping back and letting Nightmare lower the casket into the grave. Nightmare saw everyone grab a handful of soil and drop it into the hole. She did the same with her hoof. Daniel had led the service himself. Scorpan and Kevin were silent as stone the whole time. She stood silently, trying to look like she fit in. All three of them passed on their opportunity to say something when they had the chance. Nightmare was still unsure as to what she could do. Before she knew it, the attendees started walking away, Kevin and his girl were among the first to leave. Scorpan also left before long, but went to the other side of the small burial ground, hopped the fence, and went into the woods. Nightmare followed him at a distance until he sat on a fallen log and hung his head, the back of his trousers getting soiled from the wet, rotten timber. She did not see or hear him cry too much earlier. Perhaps he let it all out in the days leading up to now. When she sat down next to him, he asked her a question. “What happens when ponies die?” “We give them a funeral, similar to this. No gramophones or—“ “No. I mean, where do they go when they die?” He sat up straighter and looked to a bird nest from last summer that somehow survived the winter. “Do their… ghosts haunt where they lived? Do they go off to an endless grassland, where the hay grows tall and the sweetest water you’ve ever tasted flows? Or do they close their eyes and know no more? What happens?” Nightmare Moon had never put much thought into such things. “I’m sure some ponies think that. If you’re asking for certainty, I can’t answer you. I could ask my mother. She might know. Why do you ask?” “Because I have no idea what happens to humans.” He sounded bitter and hurt. “I don’t know if I will ever see my wife again. I don’t know if she can see me now. Nightmare, what happens when a human dies here? I mean, we weren’t born here. This isn’t where we were raised. Can our Creator even know where we are?” “Well, who IS your Creator?” Nightmare asked. Scorpan had asked of the Creation of this world but never mentioned his own. “If you know, now would be a good time to tell me. Because I sure as hell don’t know.” He stood, walked to the tree supporting the bird’s nest, and banged his head against the trunk with a soft thunk. “How would I know of your Creator?” “Your mother made this world. Why not mine? The world of Ur is… too perfect, too beautiful, too peaceful to be born of an unspeakably violent accident. Someone made my world with a purpose and a plan, but damned if I know who.” Turning his back to the tree trunk, he sighed. “I always wanted to meet them. To talk with them. To ask ‘how’ and ‘why.’ I’ve not gotten the chance yet. And if I do ever meet them, I now have another question.” Nightmare said nothing for a while. “I do like the idea of an Endless Grassland with sweet waters.” He stayed where he was, pouting. “Scorpan, I want you to come to Everfree Castle tonight,” she blurted.. “I’m sorry?” he inquired. “I told my sister I would return to the Castle tonight, and I don’t want to see you wake up alone in the morning. You can stay in MY guest room. Maybe you can keep showing me how to write, take your mind off such heavy thoughts. You need it.” “No. I can’t, Nightmare. I have work to do…” “Nonsense. You’ll enjoy it.” She enveloped him in her magic and pulled him close while lighting up her horn to teleport them both to the Everfree Valley.