Thick Scales

by Doxkid

Remember the Name

He awoke to the smell of rotting meat and a heavy scent that was not his own. Had something intruded upon his domain?

With meticulous, slow movements he stretched and twisted first his forelimbs, then his legs and finally his tail. He made sure there was no grand motion to the movements, nor was there the sound of scales sliding across scales. To a casual observer he probably still seemed asleep; curled into a comfortable ball upon his meager bed of gold coins and shining jewels his form would be a nondescript blob of green and purple and his slow, deep breaths suggested complete rest.

He did not need to move further to determine what species of prey – although specifying ‘prey’ did little to narrow down what variety of creature it was, habit still forced his thoughts to do so – produced the smell; though his cave was filled with reeking puddles of standing water he really should burn away, rancid bits of flesh from months ago he never got around to eating, and the musk of smoke, his powerful senses still allowed him to analyze the living morsel somewhere nearby.

It was a female pony. Healthy, strong and…magical?

Yes, quite magical. It could probably defend itself rather well, should he give it the chance to do so. Although it would require an unforgivable series of mistakes on his part, the small pony could potentially injure him; by sheer power she could almost be a fellow dragon, if not his own peer in the field of magical arts.

Still, it was a single pony deep within his territory: Free lunch. Breakfast and dinner too; he could rightfully sleep a week if he ate it all at once.

If he was to remain alert, though, he could only eat from the kill sparingly; sating his eternal hunger with, at most, a limb or two per sitting. This approach lacked the decadence he longed to indulge in but at least he would still be able to hunt and study the world at his leisure.

Yes, that would probably be best; ponies never travel alone when a dragon is lurking about. Why settle for one week of eating well, when a month’s worth of meat could easily be within his grasp?

The mare's hoofsteps grew audible. The edge of her magical presence passed over him, stifling only because of how acutely aware of it he was.

It -- she -- was actually walking towards him and this suited his purposes just fine. Thrill seekers and hoard thieves alike had done so in the past, thinking he qualified as a lethargic titan merely because he was two or three times their size. He allowed several to take sackful after sackful of his bedding, stealing from his hoard time and time again, while he feigned sleep. The scent of terror upon each each pony as he rolled over was always amusing and the pounding of their hearts whenever he deigned to scratch himself or twitch his tail always got a -- heavily stifled -- chuckle out of him; a few coins could not possibly buy better entertainment and he had little interest in the tasteless trinkets besides.

This little arrangement lasted until one raider forgot himself and whispered, among other things, "stupid beast". The fool neither finished his sentence, nor drew breath ever again.

The other ponies immediately scattered with each screaming adulations to their gods with hopes that they would be spared and their companions would not as he followed silently, snaking through his lush forest or swimming through his murky swamp when appropriate to monitor them leaving his lands. The screams quickly turned to quiet and thankful praise to their goddesses, every other word a promise that they would live out mundane and safe lives. Soon after their words shifted to secret whispers, “Next month we won’t bring a new guy. Just you and me and Sharphoof, if she makes it out of here.”

This intruder, however, did not smell of any pony that had ‘escaped’ him. In fact the thieves had not visited at all for quite some time. Perhaps they had finally learned that the cockiness they all eventually demonstrated would be there undoing and chose safer professions. Or that he did not wish to harm the creatures within his precious lands, so they would always come to find him when he was particularly hungry.

Mores the pity; meals coming to him was a pleasant change of pace and -- when he bothered to speak to his food before eating it -- they always had something amusing to say. Sometimes he would even let them go despite his hunger, assured a thousand times over they would never come again. They always seemed to forget to add "This week" to those assurances since he had caught and slain several repeat offenders, but at least their successful escapes gave others the courage to try anew.

No this pony was not one of the few he had visited his generosity upon. It smelt of old books and trees and…dragon fire? Interesting. If this pony did not have such powerful magic -- indeed if the pressure of its power was anything to judge by, its spells had a chance of actually leaving him ensorcelled -- he would have invited it to sit and chat.

“Spike?” Or it could invite itself. ‘Herself’, he corrected automatically. Respect for one’s food is respect for one’s self. Especially when you eat sentient beings. “I heard about them stealing from you. I heard about…about what you did to protect yourself. I understand that you did what you thought...that you did what you...I understand. It’s ok. Everything will be ok, Spike.”

The mare stopped roughly five meters away and sat, presumably waiting for him to answer or at least demonstrate that he was awake. It exuded no fear, by voice or scent.

'How strange…'

Did she truly believe him unworthy of her respect? That her magic --which even now he was subtly grasping and entwining his own with -- could best his, or even overcome the great flames which now stirred in his breast?

This was the breed of confidence that guided him to slaughter ponies that stole from him.

This was the type of insult he could not allow.

“Please Spike. Please still be yourself. I just...please, just remember me…” No. He would not abide by this affront to his power any longer.

Every muscle of his body slackened or shifted or drew taut, each preparing for his attack in their own way. He did not move, the many actions of his body hidden behind an armor of dark-green scales.

Even so an abjuration spell twisted reality between him and the pony. Directly in front of the mare a shield formed, primed with the weakest of cantrips and minor wardings; it was currently ethereal, but it still sat ready to defend the pony at but a moment’s notice...but from what? What could possibly fail to penetrate to such a pitiful defense? Did she...did she truly believe him that weak?

He flexed his tail, drawing the spike on its end across the ground in warning. The mare flinched at the sound this made but did not move otherwise.

He growled a warning and the mare was crying before the sound even left his throat. The pony knew what was going to happen. It was regretting its insolence.

Yet it still sat before him speaking.

“Please don’t Spike! Please, just...just... It’s me! Just please remember me...” Something about it -- her -- voice filled him with a unique sense of déjà vu.

Had it come here before? Had he allowed this little pony to sit before him since he claimed this land? This territory was new to him, conquered only five years ago when he had first set out on his own; could he have met and forgotten this pony since then?

No. Absolutely not. This was merely minor confusion; spontaneous, unfounded nostalgia; his mind was still drugged by sleep.

But the caress of the pony’s magic was so familiar...

Fire rolled up his throat, ready to destroy the world at his whim. Limbs heavy with muscle visibly shifted, the final warning she would ever ignore. His magic unraveled the the magical barrier separating him form her, tearing the shield apart; from there his magic nullified hers precisely and then it sank into her flesh so deeply the mare would probably never cast again even if she did escape his wrath. Surprisingly, she did not resist.

“I…I love you Spike. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you forget me. I'm sorry I let this happen. I-I'm so s...” Whirling to align his head with her he let loose a great gout of dragon fire upon the purple mare that lay before him crying. She didn't have time to scream before being silenced eternally, the scent of burnt flesh filling his nostrils before she even hit the ground.

Chuckling, he let the flame die just as the purple mare professing her love for him had. Even for a pony that was-

Wait. Purple mare? That loved him?

'Oh Celestia, no. NO!'

“TWILIGHT!” Howling her name, Spike wretch himself free of his blanket and ran towards her heavy scent. Or he tried to, at least.

His basket bound him in place, much more snug against his sides than usual; his strength and claws made quick work of it.

An endless array of piled tomes, each taller than him twice over, stood in his path. With one powerful lunge after another he was over them, sailing through the air with all the power of a Pegasus and none of its grace.

From somewhere up above an owl hooted at him. A snarl and a blast of fire, more pyrotechnic than thermal, shot its way and the owl fell silent reminded of its place in the great order of things.

Somewhere. She was somewhere here. He had to protect her from…protect her from…

Twilight's musk, which flowed through the whole library, grew stronger and he pursued it almost mindlessly. He didn't need to know what he was protecting her from. He just needed to find her.

Navigating stairs was much easier in his excited state. A single leap cleared them all bringing him into a freshly grown forest of books. He didn’t even need her scent to direct him anymore; he knew where she would be just as he knew that he had claws, or that the moon was in the sky.

Twisting through each stack, dashing over each pile, he made a beeline for her -- obeying in equal parts the definition of the word and the winding path a bee might normally travel -- at the epicenter of this cleaning disaster, at the eye of this storm of knowledge.

And there she lay, content and asleep, with a closed book acting as her pillow and open books, each propped up against pillars of their peers, guarded her every side. A soft, purple cushion made her rest comfortable, a precaution he was thankful she had taken since he knew she could just as easily sleep on the hard stone of a castle's floor, or upon grass in an open field, or even in a bathtub. Anywhere was fine so long as she had her books with her.

Silently Spike sidled up next to her, inspecting her closely. She is safe. Unharmed. This is good. She will remain so; he could make sure of that now.

Just slowly and carefully enough not to wake her and just quickly enough to satisfy his urge to be beside her, he nudged a book or three away from Twilight and took his place at her side.

Her warm fur calmed him, as it always had. His cool scales were a comfort to her, as they always would be.

It did not take long for his alertness to fade into satisfaction with the situation and life itself. This was how it was meant to be. She was his. These books were his. Everything within this domain was his. No thing and no dragon would take any of it away.

Sleep did not come as it would for most creatures though. For hours he lay at her side listening to the owl that dared not come closer, to the near silent shifting of a small bird inside his home, to other birds going about their lives outside, to the wars of insects upon his tree, to her regular heartbeat, to her soft snores. Eventually she drew him in her forelegs and shifted to make him her new pillow, her previous one drool soaked and abandoned.

Finally he relaxed, the last of his nightmare fading back into the depths of his tired mind. Sleep quickly became impossible to resist as Spike and his pony snuggled in the wee hours of the night. As he lost consciousness again, one last word slipped free from him; a warning to any who dared approach in the night.

“Mine.”

A few hours later Spike stirred from his sleep again, peacefully this time. With a yawn he tried to scratch his back, only to meet the soft coat of his pony blanket.

“Good morning Spike!” It was unnatural how cheery Twilight could be some mornings, especially ones where she was doing research or, even better, judging someone else’s research. It wouldn't last though.

Grumbling, Spike wormed his way out from under her legs and looked around. And he saw books. Books everywhere. Books lay in piles and pillars -- and, in one case, a perfect hollow octagon from his perspective next to Twilight -- as far as his eyes could see, each tome thankfully closed this time. The times where Twilight dropped books mid-sentence to pursue another were always the worst for her health and his sanity since he had to carefully and quickly record the book's name and then re-shelf each they became damaged, all while making sure Twilight didn’t stop breathing or eating because it was ‘inefficient’.

“What’s the damage?” Spike asked, fearing her answer.

Muzzle still buried in a thin, coverless book bound loosely by twine, Twilight waved a hoof dismissively. “I only emptied a few of our bookcases; I needed some light reading to make peer reviewing this utter foal’s research tolerable. Honestly, it’s like he doesn’t even care about the duplicability of his results!”

“A few bookcases. Light reading. Right.” There were enough books on the library floor to drown a pony. Rainbow Dash or Applejack might literally overdose on words if they came too close. The library didn’t even have this many books on display; most of these had to be from the sub-basement where they kept research and the books they cycled from display to temporarily storage, ensuring the library maintained proper variety in its display. This system let browsing ponies walk in and find something new every week...or it would if anypony actually came by to browse. Or check out a book for that matter.

Twilight didn’t pick up on his annoyance or sarcasm. “Exactly. Listen to this: ‘Five, measured to the seventh decimal place, units of Mercury were heated to one hundred degrees. This Mercury acted as the focus for my casting of Mord’s AR’ Excusing the casual contraction of Mordekainen's Alchemical Repose, 'Five units' of what unit? Which type of degree? And who still uses Mordenkainen’s Alchemical Repose anyway? He doesn’t even say what he used to heat the mercury; a normal flame, a fire-conjuring spell, a heating spell, Arcane Fire or Dragonfire,-- I can only hope he knows that it would be extremely wasteful to use either of these unless the experiment specifically called for their special properties --, a warmth transference spell, an energy displacement field focused onto a single point, an energy displacement field tuned to redirect energy into a general area…for all we know he got Celestia to sneeze on it!”

Right on schedule she made the standard transition from happy to upset with just the slightest dash of crazy. He’d seen this enough times to know where she was going to go with this rant. “Were units listed further on in the experiment? Look, maybe you should send this draft back before…–" Twilight cut him off, building steam.

"What if this is some kind of snide, subtle joke about the Princess that only I can see? I bet he’s laughing it up somewhere, purposefully miswriting experimental procedures and frivolously using non standardized units of measurement all at poor, sweet Princess Celestia’s expense!” Yup. It was going to be one of those days.

“Well you better finish up and send it back so the review board can make sure he’s punished,” Spike said hoping to sooth her. Luckily she grumbled something to the tune of 'I agree', somewhat placated. Twilight would be finished with her work and back to normal within the week…assuming, of course, the other research she had to review was written properly.

Spike looked around again; once she finished that, all of this clean would be a full day’s worth of work. 'Once she finished' being the most important bit. This mess was Future Spike’s problem, not his, and Twilight would probably recreate it if he finished cleaning before she sent the papers back, so he may as well leave it for later.

“I think I’m gonna go out for a while. What do you want to eat today? I’ll do your breakfast and lunch, then get dinner started when I come home.” Twilight answered with another dismissive wave of her hoof. “Come on, don’t be like that. You have to eat.”

“There are many disciplines of meditation that allow a pony to go weeks without eating. I could last at least another two days before my lack of practical training comes into play,” Twilight answered from within the article.

“It’s not healthy though. You know how Princess Celestia feels about you not eating; you wouldn’t want to worry her, right? Or disappoint her?” For billionth time, Spike asked these two exact questions and like every single other time Twilight snapped to attention. Ever since Celestia expressed her disapproval of poor dietary habits, this had been his best trick to force Twilight to eat. Of course Twilight had still been a little filly back when Celestia first said it and Celestia had been speaking to him, but...

“Oatmeal. A sandwich. Happy?” Just like that, she was back to work and Spike was planning her meals for the day.

‘Oatmeal with some diced apple, banana and pear and toast for breakfast. A Daisy and Radish-leaf sandwich, alongside a small salad drenched in lemon juice for lunch; make sure the salad is further out of reach than the sandwich so she’ll eat the sandwich first. Apple juice to drink with both.’ “I’ll have your breakfast ready in a bit. Promise me you’ll actually open the cooler to eat your lunch today.” When Spike first asked she didn’t respond, so he nudged her side and asked tried again. “Please? Promise me you’ll eat it.”

She either mumbled “Sure” at him or agreed with herself on some viewpoint in between cursing at the idiot scientist. It would have to do though.

Looking around for a path to their kitchen, Spike was suddenly struck with how odd the situation was; he didn’t sleep next to Twilight often anymore. He was too old for that.

Looking over at one of his favorite ponies he felt somewhat…sad. It was like he kind of missed her, even though she was right there next to him. It was pretty foreboding: like a ghost had walked right up to him and told him whatever they had wouldn’t last very long.

At least it explained why he woke up beside her, despite going to sleep in his basket though. Sleepwalking made for a much more reasonable explanation than him somehow teleporting himself at some point over the night -- and a much less weird explanation than her sleep-teleporting him --. For a moment he felt the need to quash the feeling down by expressing what he felt for her.

“Twilight I lov…uh…never mind.” It would be uncool to finish that, even though he had already said basically everything. Besides what could some stupid ghost know about the future? It could just keep on walking and take it’s prophecies of doom with it, because he would be having none of that nonsense. Wait, don’t ghosts float? Does what type of ghost it is matter? If it was a Pegasus ghost would it still fly normally or would it float just like any other pony’s ghost? Eh, whatever.

Pushing his way into a narrow corridor of books Twilight really couldn’t be crazy enough to think either of them would fit through, Spike was suddenly swept into a very warm embrace.

“I love you too Spike and I always will. Never forget that, ok? No matter what, never forget I love you.” She murmured against his head. It was mushy and corny and exactly the type of comfort he didn’t even know he had desperately needed. He stood there wrapped in her forelegs for a minute basking in the feeling of love before his masculinity got the better of him.

“Ok, ok I get it! Enough with the sappy stuff, alright? Can I go feed Peewee and make your food now?” He asked, extremely happy that dragons were physically incapable of crying; not that he was about to, mind you. If he were still a baby dragon -- or maybe even if he were a little colt -- there might have been some temptation to do so but he was well on his way to being a full fledged teenage dragon; he was even going to shed again soon.

Twilight let him go, giving his forehead a kiss as she released him. “Of course, my Number One Assistant. Thank you for taking such good care of me. I might forget to say it sometimes, but thank you for everything you do around here.” Nuzzling his head one last time, Twilight returned reading and he made his way to the kitchen to prepare food for her, Peewee and himself. Being sentimental definitely works up your appetite.

Thirty seconds of fighting with the books yielded poor results, but he still made some headway. Looking over his shoulder, Spike smiled as Twilight finally disappeared from his field of view: If he couldn’t see her then she couldn’t see him, right? This meant he would be relatively safe if he actually spoke his mind about something he noticed when she hugged him.

“Hey, Twilight! I can smell you from here! You really stink!” Her head peaked over a stack of books. She only had to look around for a second before she spotted him. ‘Oh. Right. She’s taller than me.’

Bellowing playfully, a path of books opened before her and Twilight charged at him with her work temporarily forgotten.