//------------------------------// // XXX. A Song of Degrees // Story: The Night is Passing // by Cynewulf //------------------------------// XXX. A Song of Degrees THE VELDT They say the River Yaldive had another name once, but no pony or zebra living in the West remembers it. It has been the Yaldive for generations. Valon is the gateway, but the river does not belong to the red city on the cliffs. It is not ownable. That is the way the inhabitants of the West think. They are leery to attach too strong a claim to anything of land or water. There is no real noble sentiment behind this, for the cities of the plain will fight over anything given half the chance. Sometimes, from the steamship christened Dawn, sailed close enough to the road for it to be visible. Twilight had asked Abdiel questions about the lands beyond the cliff city. There were other cities, yes, but where? And were they on the coast? His own home was to the west, but what lay between there and Valon? Grass, mostly, he’d said with a shrug. When Twilight, ever needing to know, had pressed, Abdiel had laughed. The ponies onboard the Dawn were beginning to know and love that laugh. It was infectious. There are a few towns and settlements, Abdiel had explained. Here and there they dot the vast ocean of grass. Some lonely homesteads between villages. Along the Royal Way there are even the ruins of cities that you can find inhabited by ponies. The Ancient Ones built to last, after all. But the road is a longer way. Cities must be navigated through--which is daunting when none of you know the way through the jumbled heap of broken images--or they must be avoided, which lengthens the trip. The city dwellers often have no food surplus to share or trade, he added solemnly. They rely on the kindness and the sturdiness of strangers in caravans. But on the river, where the Royal Way is just something you see occasionally from far off, you are always moving straight towards your destination. And the little ports along the way, the fishing villages, always have food and supply for… pilgrims. Fishing had been a topic of discussion. Some of them hadn’t minded the idea. Twilight had been absolutely appalled. Applejack knew about necessity. Pinkie had asked if it could be fried, and if so, how long such things would take. Generally, the Veldt is silent aside from the noise of the steamship and the rustling of the wind. None of the pilgrim band is sure what to make of this. Some are dismayed, but only secretly. Some find the setting peaceful. Twilight Sparkle is both of these things--afraid and calmed. A few days on the boat have left her feeling strangely. She does not feel completely connected to the boat, her companions, the endless grass. Watching Crossbeam fashion a crude fishing hook and using it to her horror that brings the whole thing into focus. She feels like a hook is in her brain and its tugging while the rest of her stays still. She is already over there. She sleeps on the deck after lounging in the sun. TWILIGHT The sky was sickly. The clouds melted and fell apart like great sacks of refuse. It was Canterlot but it was not Canterlot. Twilight Sparkle was alone and not alone. She was aware she was dreaming, but she is also caught up in running as if it were real and her terror was justified. The whole city was warped. Everything was off-center. Sometimes it was a subtle difference. Sometimes the walls melted like butter left in the sun. There were no ponies here. But she felt that there was something here. The nameless thing, wherever it was, knew she was aware of it. And wasn’t it right behind her? But she dared not look. Twilight was in Jannah. Jannah looked like Canterlot in the hands of hell. The air was hot. Muggy. She was more swimming than running, and escape was impossible. The ground was becoming less firm, less real. Her hooves went right through stones half the time, and then all the time. Each step was a labor. She tried to call for Applejack. She screamed for Pinkie. No sound came. She cried, and her tears felt like little suns on her cheeks. They burned her, and in her hazy dream-mind she thought they should smoke as her coat was devoured. She screamed for Celestia. Celestia would save her. Celestia was here, somewhere. She would not let Twilight die this way. The world around her melted away. Her face was on cool stone and she lay there, not wanting to move. The coolness was relaxing. Silence. Twilight was aware she was dreaming, but in a distant sort of way. “Twilight, are you going to lie there all day?” Twilight jolted up, her eyes wide. The back of her head hit a hard stone surface and she went sprawling. She had been sitting in the corner of the library. She recognized Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorn’s library instantly. This was her third home. Her home away from her home away from home. Falling asleep in a mountain of books was something that happened to her at least once a month. As she rubbed the back of her head, Twilight noticed that a book had been propped up by her horn. Gazing down at it, Twilight read its cover. Thaumaturgical Phenomenology, An Introduction by Dr. Hussar. “Twilight? Oh dear, how hard did you hit your head?” Twilight looked up. It was Celestia, looking down at her with a concerned frown. Twilight scrambled to her hooves, narrowly avoiding a stack of books. Celestia was tall. She had always been much taller than Twilight, but now she seemed like a giant that radiated light. As Twilight dusted herself off and babbled a response--that yes, she was fine, no, nothing was wrong, how was her teacher today?--Celestia’s frown became a smile that could calm armies. Ruined cities would pick themselves back up and brick by brick rebuild for the privilege of seeing that smile. She seemed white in some light, in some the barest hint of pink like the first triumphal procession of dawn. To Twilight, looking up at her, she seemed perfect. Mostly, Celestia seemed pleased to find her student was not smarting overmuch. “I’m quite sorry, Twilight. I didn’t think you would startle so easily! How have your studies been going?” “Good, ma’am! I’ve been working very hard,” Twilight--her voice was so young!--stammered. “And I’ve made sure to keep ahead of the scheduled reading so I’m never surprised by anything.” Celestia chuckled softly. “Twilight, never being surprised by anything sounds very dull. You’re still a young pony, you know.” Celestia hummed. “And you slept here all night?” Twilight looked down at the ground. “Uh… yes. I think. I mean, I woke up here.” “Reading, I see.” Celestia picked up the book on Thaumaturgic Phenomenology Twilight had been reading. She raised her eyebrows. “Some light reading, my faithful student?” Twilight shuffled. “It looked interesting.” Celestia peeked over the top of the book. “It is interesting. I’ve read it a few times myself. Published seven hundred and eighty four years after the end of hostilities, in the Celestial Era, by a one Franz von Hussar, of Germane. That’s in the East. I met him twice. His work in magic was superb. His philosophic work was rather silly. He enjoyed tea.” Celestia smiled down at her. “But I think what you need more than a history lesson is breakfast. I was actually thinking of getting some myself. I was more busy than usual this morning, and so was delayed. But, happy accident, I heard somepony snoring and found myself a companion to break bread with.” Twilight could not possibly have a face more red with absolute shame. “I was snoring?” Celestia nodded gravely. “They could hear you in the halls, my faithful student.” Twilight groaned. But Celestia simply placed the book down on one of the reading tables and then began to neatly place the rest of Twilight’s books around it, organized as Twilight had (arguably) organized them. “Truth is always worth the pain, I say. I’m pretty sure I have said that.” She paused, and then rolled her eyes. “When you remember as much as I do, Twilight, you find that at some point you’ve said almost everything.” “You really remember ponies that lived hundreds of years ago?” Twilight asked, feeling only a little of her embarrassment fade at the prospect of learning more about her teacher. “And more. I remember places and ponies that were a thousand years or more ago. Have you ever heard of… hm…” Celestia tapped her chin dramatically. “How about Zandikaar?” “Where?” Celestia made a playful sweeping gesture that a younger Twilight took at face value as sheer majesty. “Zandikaar, on the coast! It was a huge city. Famous for pirates and sailors and for having a thousand types of cheese.” Twilight was in awe. “A thousand?” “At least,” Celestia responded. Celestia led her away from the library and her mountain of books. FABLE ROWAN-OAK As Rainbow Rays held the ice pack on his eye, Fable fumed. “And if I hadn’t left I swear to you she would’ve thrown that spear,” he hissed. His eye hurt. It was swollen. There were other places that hurt. His mother was an angry woman, and she was a very… hoofs-on sort of mare. He was angry, but mostly he was just defeated. Someone had set fire to the warehouses. Apparently the stores for the ponies-at-arms were in there? He hadn’t known. It wasn’t his to know, and furthermore his mother didn’t seem to like him poking into things that weren’t his to know. What a day had sprung from that! The fire had raged and raged, and another of the warehouses had burned. Fable had been in a bucketline with his bondsponies, trying to help. His mother had screamed at him for doing that. He had only wanted to help. When something was on fire, he reasoned, you helped. Noble or common, you helped. It was his family’s property, to boot. But she had said he was not worth the things his blood was going to secure for him. He needed to learn how to carry himself as a member of the realm’s greatest House. “Thank you,” he said softly, still a bit roughly, to Rainbow Rays. Rays seemed flighty. Fable didn’t blame him. Rays had been in the room when Lady Rowan-Oak had hit him. For a moment, lying there in shock on the floor, Fable had been terrified that his lithe pegasus bondspony was going to do something. He hadn’t been a servant or even a pony-at-arms for very long. He wouldn’t know how to react. Rays had been about to say something. Fable had seen him step closer. He’d despaired. But instead, somehow, Rays had gotten him out of the room. “Your Lady mother did not, however, throw a spear at you,” Paradise said. His ears flicked. “Young Rays did a superb job protecting your person, all things considered.” “He has a black eye,” Rays murmured. “Yes, and the Lady of this house is untouchable. You were brave to place yourself between them. She could have killed you, you know. Framed everything as if you were some sort of rebel.” “Rebel?” Fable asked. “Yes. Have you not heard the rumors, my lord?” Fable had. “Vaguely.” “Well. If she claimed he wore white, then no pony in the world would dare question it. Ponies are afraid,” Paradise said flatly. “You made a good choice, it seems.” “This is so fucked up,” Rays said. “It’s life,” Fable responded quickly. “Noble life, maybe,” Rays said dully, as if not believing what he saw. “This isn’t… this isn’t how you do things. I’m sorry, my lord,” he added hesitantly. “This is just… I thought you were so much better off… I don’t know.” Fable looked at his hooves and knew exactly what Rays meant. What a disgrace. His house was a high-hoofed, arrogant mistake and so many ponies would be better off if they burned. But they were his house, his family. They were him. He was House Rowan-Oak. What do you do when you are the one that should be swept away, and not the enemy? Who do you hate when the only people worth hating around are your own? I guess you hate them, then. All the same. Not that any of them were better. House Iron was worse, with less poise. Everyone knew that House Epona was only behind Luna because they hated the houses that opposed her. The Major Houses were trading guns and secrets. The small houses were flitting between sides like sparrows. No, he decided as he leaned back against the couch in his study, not like sparrows. Like the street-mares, the “seamstresses” who had so much work to do. The commoners in the lowest tier drank themselves into a stupor and either horded money as if it would matter when the darkness came or spent it like a waterfall of gold. The merchants extorted whenever Luna didn’t stop them and the gentleponies were not gentle. He hated. Not anything in particular. In general. It was a very generalized, aimless, and yet altogether quite solid hatred. His Lady Mother had said in no uncertain terms that Epona had done it. Fable had no idea. “What will happen, Para?” he grumbled. “In general?” Paradise responded. His tone was flat. His face, also, was rather flat. He had served in the city’s night watch for thirty years, hadn’t he? The last lord of Rowan-Oak had hired him when Fable was born. He was the old guard. “My mother is going to start pointing her hoof at anypony who isn’t fast enough to dodge out of the way of her suspicion. She’ll start a witchhunt.” Paradise tilted his head. Fable knew this meant he agreed. “You know she’s more bile than sense,” Fable continued, fuming. It was the kind of talk a person talked after they’ve had their face beat in. It’s sort of like pre-fight bluster, or bragging before a duel, except more pathetic, and you have a black eye. “She’ll demand an investigation, just to make it look official, but you know she’ll start something.” “Your Lady Mother is her own mare,” Paradise said in the same voice as he said most things. Fable, who had known him all of his days, knew the tiny giveaways in every word. Paradise was not happy. Not many things broke through his omnipresent air of mild disapproval. There was something bubbling beneath those steely eyes. “Yeah, and I’m my…” He paused. “Fuck. Not really. I’m just her heir, her plaything. I’m a toy, or a pet to be kicked out of the way if I bark too loudly. Mother’s already gone to the safehouse. Damned if I know which one. She’ll be talking to that Iron bastard and whoever else shows up tonight. He’ll probably strongarm her into whatever he wants. She’s a river and he’s a canal builder and I’m just some scum in the current.” Paradise said nothing. Rays spoke for him. “My lord, you are your own pony. You can think what you want to think.” When Fable said nothing, the young bondspony continued. “I mean… I mean, you’re you. You aren’t just a part of her. I don’t know. I know that I think you’re a good pony, sir, and it’s not right to hit your children, and it’s not right to pick fights with ponies…” Fable chuckled. It sounded almost genuine. “Rays, my good polychromatic gentleman-bastard, we really, really have to start teaching you about what being a noble means.” LADY BRIGANTINE ROWAN-OAK Brigantine glared across the table. Not at Lord Iron. She didn’t particularly like the head of the Iron family, but she couldn’t say she disliked him either. No, she was glaring at Lord Blueblood. She glared at Lord Blueblood a lot, honestly. Every single time the Committee met, actually. She loathed him. He had not a single redeemable quality. No martial prowess, no business sense. A complete lack of vision. He had been the most handsome and most eligible bachelor of the uppercrust when she’d been young, and that had faded quickly. She thanked the stars--mostly ironically--every single night that she hadn’t been quite pretty enough to be a target of his lusts as a young mare. She didn’t need him prattling. She needed him gone and she needed those bastards in Epona dead. Or dying. Or poor. Anything. She hated them too. “I’m simply saying that you can’t be so quick to demand restitution for what may be the fault of your own negligence. Of course, I wouldn’t dare suggest it was your negligence per se, but your overseers…? Hm?” “You’re right, I’m realizing something new as you speak,” Lady Rowan-Oak said. “Oh?” he smiled at her genialy. Always, always he reminded Brigantine of rancid butter. “I am realizing that you are brainless as well as ugly. Perhaps if you had more of your mane left, the sun wouldn’t have addled your sodding brains.” She resisted the urge to spit. Old habit. She had been doing so well. Lord Iron chuckled. He enjoyed this. “Ma’am… if I might be so bold…” The voice belonged to Lord Dawn. Candescent Dawn of House Dawn, who sat in the council of the Major Houses. Mealy-mouthed, he was. Yet, at least, there was some sort of spine in him. Maybe. He was less inbred than Blueblood, though, so Brigantine considered him much more of an actual pony and less of an embodied anathema. “You always seem to be ‘so bold’,” Lord Iron said and chuckled. His great rotundity shook slightly. “Yes, well. Madam--” “Lady.” She said. “Yes, of course, Lady Rowan-Oak, ah, it may be possible that it was not our mutual… acquaintances that did this. Now, I know, I know! You and Epona had no love lost. Or have ever had love lost. Your intense, ah, distaste for each other is nigh-legendary. But have you considered what they stand to gain from such a barbarous act?” “They strike out of the night like sodding assassins,” she growled. “That whole rustic, stoic act is a veneer for cravens and backstabbers and everypony knows it. It’s obvious. We had the most weapons and the best force of levies in the city--” “The biggest,” Lord Iron mumbled. She continued on. Storms are not stopped by words like those. “And they knew that the House war is coming. It’s obvious. Stop trying to complicate everything and use your sodding common sense for once. What do you do when you know someone is going to attack you inevitably? You try to keep them from doing it! They figured we would attack first, so they attacked first instead!” “But what do they have to gain?” repeated the little stallion with his stupid round eyeglasses. She rolled her eyes. “Victory, idiot. Victory. We saved much of our stores, but if we had saved less they would easily be in a position of power in the city. More of the smaller, undecided houses would swarm to them. They tried using the princess as a banner but it won’t work. She’s too smart for them and she’s ignoring us since we threw her out of the assembly months ago.” “We did not throw anypony out of anywhere,” huffed Lord Blueblood. “It was a vote of the peerage and as you recall, it was in everypony’s best interests that we make decisions without--” “Shut your stupid inbred… face. If you call it a face,” Brigantine said absentmindedly. “You’re all trying to pull out of our alliance and you reek of treachery.” Lord Dawn drew back. He studied her. Lord Iron coughed. “Nopony has said anything about abandoning you.” “Yet you have spent our whole meeting talking around the subject of doing just that,” Brigantine said. “Now, you misunderstand. My friends here, the right honorable peers, only suggest caution. We fear you are being led into a trap and as your friends and allies, we would hate to see you fall headfirst into it.” She said nothing. The fat Lord chuckled. He was always chuckling. His girth shook like an earthquake. It was almost mesmerizing. “Please, do not insult the honor of our houses. You are right. The war between houses is inevitable. But you are ignorant of history. We have always fought with assassins and paid thugs in the streets. Never with arson and soldiers.” “There were ninety-seven deaths last time,” Lord Dawn said, smiling widely. “I have read about all of them. The assassins of the past were true artists, you know.” “Celestia could stop us from doing more,” Rowan-Oak said, “but she isn’t here. Luna is different. Her time was not our time. The world is different now.” “The world never changes. It is… ah-ha, it is rather like iron. It bends and it is easily shaped, but it is always iron. You simply have to learn to control it, my dear Brigantine.” She scowled. “You will have the full support of my house, and your comments made in anger are quite understandable,” said Lord Blueblood, with a smile and a bow. “I do so understand how stressed and put-upon you have been. It has been a trying day, hm?” The worm smiled at her and she felt dirtier for it. “But come, let us, ah-ha, go through the details,” Lord Iron said. “Tell us everything. If you have been attacked, we must know how it was done. The art of war is understanding, don’t you know?” RAINBOW RAYS They had moved the young lord to the balcony overlooking the city, the one nearest his room. On the young lordlings orders, Rays had procured some red wine and a glass. Paradise had done the pouring, over Fable’s mild objections. Now the scion of Rowan-Oak sat slumped over the balcony drinking wine at an admirable pace--Rays considered any pace of wine drinking admirable, to be fair, as he loathed the stuff--and grumbling occasionally. Paradise stood beside him and said nothing. Rays sat against the doorway. Paradise had been firm, but not harsh. “You were brave. You were also rather foolish. I think with the chaos of the day, the Lady will say nothing of what happened. I hope so, because any pony who defends my charge is a worthy pony. But… it will be best if you were to not be seen on the balcony. In case her Ladyship were to be on the walls tonight.” That was all he had said. So Rainbow Rays sat just out of sight. The moon was up tonight. Waning, but not yet gone, and the light was nice. You could see an awful lot of stars like this, out of the bright streets, where the taverns burnt candles long into the night and the street lamps did their work like autonomous night watchmen. But up here, the city felt smaller. You could see all of it now. But when you were in the city, the whole world was five streets, and when you were a child and you left those five streets you discovered there were other worlds. They went on forever and ever. Rainbow Rays thought for the first time in his short, carefree and careless life, that he might not be such a good pony. The thought had never occurred to him. Of course he was a good pony. His teachers and his mother had always said he was a good colt. He never hurt others. He didn’t steal. He was friendly and usually happy and he helped Old Lady Nightly with her rickety old market cart on the weekends because she was practically blind and crazy and needed somepony to help her get there and back again without theft or injury. But did that make him a good pony? What did that mean? Two days ago, he had felt like a hero. He was a spy, a covert agent deep in enemy territory. This was his mission, to save the kingdom! To save the world, maybe, if he felt bold. He was serving the princess, and she was good, wasn’t she? But now--on his information, which had been perfect--somepony’s warehouse had been burnt to the ground, a child had been abused, and ponies might die. No, they were almost certainly going to die. At least a few. Like it mattered how many. But the warehouse had been full of weapons. Weapons kill ponies. You don’t need a musket or a rifle to kill a pony. Don’t even need hoofblades. Song gave you two front hooves to stomp with and two hind ones to kick with. And wings to make them twice as powerful. His wings fidgeted. He felt disheveled. He was, in fact, disheveled. His mane was a mess. His coat was dirty from putting out fires. Showers had felt pointless, and when he had collapsed from exhaustion in the barracks, he had decided that it was probably for the best to be unclean. It wasn’t as if he wanted ponies to get hurt. He didn’t want Fable injured. He had thought Lordlings weren’t real ponies. They were just lordlings. But this lordling told ribald jokes and made up dumb nicknames and had a mother. He talked a big talk, but never cheated at cards. He enjoyed some things and thought others were boring. He liked reading, to a point. He liked coffee and thought tea was an excuse for those two weak for finer stuff. He was a surprisingly good hoof-wrestler. These facts coalesced together into a maelstrom in Ray’s head that looked an awful lot like a normal pony with fancy clothes. And he was going to destroy them. But Luna wouldn’t lead him astray, would she? She wouldn’t do bad things. Spike was a good pony… well. He was a good dragon. Spike could be trusted. Spike was a good dragon. Rays knew it was true. If everything in the world was set on its side, he knew Spike would set it aright. He was the sort that set askew pictures on walls right side up just to right them. At least, he had become that way. He would make a report tonight or the next night. Rainbow Rays kept his promises. Even when he was afraid they were very bad promises. But he knew they would be different. Just a bit. He had learned a lot in the last hour. He would learn more. He was not a good pony. Maybe. But he could try to be not so much of a bad one. LUNA Like a goddess from high clouds she descended into the tableau of light and sound that was the Dreaming. This time it was not the hillside, the one with the birch tree and the tall grass, that met her eyes. Rather she saw the capital of the Crystal Empire. Or, rather, she saw the aftermath of battle laid over it. Luna knew well the aftermath of war and struggle. None of these wounds were new wounds. She knew what could be found in this stage. But she had come for Rarity, not to walk through the despair of victory. Rarity she found on a balcony of the Crystal Palace, one overlooking the Imperial Way. The old Emperors had spoken from this very platform, Luna knew. It was a portentous place. Luna had no portents, but she did have tales. She expected this would be a long night. Rarity greeted her. “Luna, you are always quick to come when I call.” Luna touched lightly on the shining crystal. “It is as you say. I have watched over the dreams of many ponies.” “What does that usually entail?” Rarity asked lightly, looking at the city. Luna watched her, interested, but also not sure how to begin. Ponies were always looking at cities. It was, she had discovered, a universal reaction to the existence of city skylines. Ponies were always peering out at the display as if it held some magical secrets to the universe’s characteristic uncertainty. Cities never did, of course. But she supposed it was a harmless inclination. “Well, when I was younger--” “Don’t look a day over three thousand, your Grace,” Rarity mumured. “I walked in the Lunar Aether and observed dreams there as… well. It is hard to describe. Like apples, if they be made of light and music. Little islands. I would find one in nightmare, and enter it if I could. There I would try to bring the pony in question some peace of mind. Sometimes this meant that I let the nightmare be--sometimes our nightmares are instructive. But unnatural nightmares, things caused by magic or monstrosities… Those I banished posthaste.” “Monstrosities?” “Dark things walk the Earth,” Luna said mildly. “Ah.” “Regardless, many of them have died out. I was thorough and they do not trouble mortal ponies as they once were wont.” “I suppose we must thank you for that,” Rarity said. “You seem very ill at ease,” Luna said. “I am… I do not know what I am,” Rarity said, and Luna felt her honesty in the Dreaming. “I mean, you knew what I would find when I woke up.” “I was told. Or, well, I was told indirectly. I found Cadance in the Dreaming. I was surprised. Alicorns besides myself do not appear there often. Only if they wish to do they dream as other ponies do. I hesitated, having not seen her in some time, but eventually I entered her dream. An alicorn appearing in the Dreaming is an open invitation to me. It always has been.” She felt suddenly defensive. “At least, with the eldest of us. The children of Alicorns should know this…” “I wasn’t going to say it was rude,” Rarity said. “I’m sorry I didn’t use your name earlier.” “I was not going to say anything.” Rarity smiled. “I had figured. But I thought I should apologize regardless. It was rather petty of me. I know you prefer your name here, Luna,” she said. “Do you… wish to talk of it?” Luna asked, and felt suddenly as if she were not as old as she was. She had seen many wounds. She had known many warriors wounded such in battle. But the times were different. Did ponies change? She used to think they did not, but now she was unsure. And regardless, ponies were wily. One was offended and another laughed. One cried and another was unmoved. “I could talk about it, yes. I’m not sure what I would say. I am in shock,” she added, as if discovering the fact. “That’s a rather elegant word. It sums up so much in one syllable, don’t you think?” Luna nodded. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel. What I know for a fact that I do feel falls into two camps, generally.” Rarity seemed less composed than simply numb. Luna had seen this countenance before. Many times. “Some of them seem right. Others seem… undecorous? Frivilous? Stupid. Yes, stupid. Inelegant, in nice counterpoint, but also effective.” “What are these right feelings?” Luna asked. “I am beyond tears and laughter thankful for being alive. I survived. I should have died. I almost did! But I haven’t yet gone to my rest. So I’m deliriously happy about that. Secondly, I am very grateful that Fluttershy and… Rainbow Dash survived. I am glad Rainbow’s wings were fine. I was worried…” She sniffed. It surprised Luna. She felt the great wave of emotion only now. What strength could keep them from her, she knew well, for only a few had it and she remembered all of them. “You were worried your lover would not fly again,” Luna finished. “What, forgive me,” she wiped at her eyes. “What a strange word. Why do I cry normally here? Why do I cry at all? This place is silly, really.” She sniffled. “Goodness. I am rather melodramatic. Putting on a show, really.” “We would both feel your insincerity if that were true,” Luna said, though suddenly she wondered if it were so. Rarity smiled shakily and then sighed. “May we go somewhere else?” Luna nodded. The world around them melted away. Where there had once been spires and crystal--the shattered and the whole alike--there were now stones and good tiled floors. It was the inside of some building. Rarity did not recognize it, but Luna did. She had visited it only the other day. “What is this place?” Rarity asked, looking about. “Not that I mind it, of course! Plain, but not unlovely. In a sort of Applejack way.” The walls bloomed suddenly with tapestries. The small study had become a grand hall, with a high ceiling and strong pillars. A few suits of armor adorned the alcoves that candelabras and paintings did not fill. It was grand, and Rarity’s awe was palpable, even without the Dreaming. Luna smiled. Rarity gaped. “My… My, you simply must tell me where I am,” she said. For just a moment, she was carried away from her troubles. “Why, a king could live in such a place and not feel ashamed of his lodging!” “Many Lords and Ladies did once live here,” Luna said. “I will explain it in due time. Will you come and sit with me at the Lord’s tables?” These appeared with little ceremony or flash of magic. They simply were where they had not been. They took a seat at the sturdy oak. “For lords and ladies, they seem to have not minded the rustic.” “You will find that rustic trappings are always in fashion,” Luna said with a smile. “I suppose so. I wouldn’t know, really. My days of pretending to know about such things are, in truth, behind me.” “No more dreams of being a princess?” Luna asked, and realized that she had stepped on the wrong place as soon as Rarity’s face fell flat. “Well, I can hardly say such now, can I?” She looked down at her leg. “It’s whole here?” “This is you as you think of yourself,” Luna said. “Ah.” “You wish to speak of it. I can tell this.” “Yes, it’s really rather obvious. Especially here. I am grateful I survived. A part of me is dismayed--that is not a good word for the feeling, of course--at my scars. Are they also gone?” “Yes.” “What a wonderful place,” she said, and paused. “But as I grow older I become less attached to things like beauty. I treasure it highly but am slower and slower to be overly alarmed at losing it. I’m not an old mare,” she added hurriedly. “I know I sound like it. Bother. It does hurt me that I am scarred. I hate this. My beauty is a wreck.” “Hardly,” Luna said evenly. “And of course, my leg. My leg. It’s gone! Gone. Oh, stars, sometimes I think I’m going to go crazy. It should be there and it isn’t. But I can feel it! I think I can. I am a cobbled-together creature. I’m something from one of Twilight’s mother’s old horror and adventure tales! A monstrosity. A melange.” Luna pursed her lips. “I have known many mares with facial scars, Rarity, who were as lovely as the moon and as beautiful as any flower.” “Do not say things just to lighten my mood. Don’t lie, please don’t.” “I do not lie,” Luna responded quickly, with a bit too much heat. “I tell you the truth. Do you think I lied when I let such into my be--” She coughed. Loudly. Several times. In the Dreaming it was entirely fake. Luna was not used to concealing herself here. “I have… had several lovers in my life,” she began again, this time a bit slower. “And many of them--nay, most--were warriors. Many of them had scarring and wounds of old battles, and I thought that they were beyond compare. Every single mare among them.” Rarity seemed to absorb this. While she did not speak, Luna filled the gap. As she talked, she got up from the table and walked idly. Rarity got up behind her, and the table disappeared again. “In my days, the old days, there were no prosthetics as they have now. Not such wonders that walk and act like limbs. Wooden pegs were as good as one expected. I loved a mare once, before Celestia and I ruled, in the far West. She was a Batpony. Her name was Hyacinth. She hailed from Sarnath. Once, we aided a village in the mountains by slaying a dragon who had grown wicked and greedy for the flesh of ponies. We smote him upon the mountainside, but he tore my Hyacinth’s poor wing.” Luna tried to hold back some of her remembered sorrow, but she knew some leaked over. “And she said some of the things that you have said. I was… I was so bewildered. Because she was beautiful to me. She was a warrior to me. I could not see where she got this strange notion that she had become a lesser being. It took years. I thought she might leave us. But she came to live without flight, at least, she came to accept it.” “Years,” Rarity murmured. “Yes. But she was always so high-strung. My sweet Hyacinth.” “Do you remember all of the ponies you, ah, loved?” “Friends and lovers and even a few acquaintances,” Luna replied with a smile that Rarity could not see from behind her. “Yes, I remember them all. Time has healed my wounds of seperation, but it has not stole an ounce of my remembered love.” “I’m sorry,” Rarity said. “Do not be. I tell you this because I do not wish for you to suffer as she did. Unlike Hyacinth, you can still do magic. She could not fly. Your prosthetic will work marvelously. They tell me it will be stronger than your old leg was.” She paused. “Which means nothing to you now. But it may one day. I do not know the future. But you are no less than you were before you were maimed.” “Perhaps.” Rarity strode up to her shoulder. “What is this a depiction of?” “The Battle of Ghastly Gorge,” Luna said flatly. “All of the old tapestries were preserved. I presume upon Celestia’s order. It was a very strange thing, visiting this old hall. But I thought you should see it as it is, and not how I vaguely remember it from over a millenia ago.” She took a deep breath. “Ghastly Gorge was where my army was finally broken. Oh, we went for awhile longer, but until the Gorge I was unstoppable. My airships were built by the finest workponies and craftsponies of the North. I had the better half of the Navigator’s guild, you know. My canons broke many regiments with ease. My navy blocked out the sun!” She chuckled. “It was very dramatic. My cause and I were both equally wicked, but I have only pride in my heart for the Lunar Navy.” “This was from… when you were Nightmare Moon, then?” “Yes. Do you see that ship? That was the Selene. Not the one I have today, which is just a little yacht. This was the greatest airship ever built. A single broadside, with explosive ordinance, of course, could destroy some of the smaller towns of Equestria.” Had Rarity been watching her, she would have seen a dreamy look in Luna’s eyes as she continued. “Oh, even as we were cracked and broken and thrown into that gorge… before, when we were arrayed in lines to give battle… ah.” “The detail is amazing… I almost imagine I can see individual ponies…” “Here is an old destroyer. I did most of the work on that design. In the old time, I was something of a machinist. You need many hobbies when you live as long as we do! But I was a fine draughtsmare, I think. My destroyers were balanced, firepower and maneuverability in harmony.” “I had heard that the resurgence of air travel had something to do with your return,” Rarity said, and hummed. “And who is this, here in the center? They seem awfully brave, these… ponies…” Luna looked down. Rarity touched the tapestry as if it were holy. “You see, then.” “I… So this… This hall is…” “That is the ship of Clarion Belle, the son of Lord Belle. Both died at the Gorge. The father’s ship was broken upon the rocks after he commanded the defense of the Solar right flank, finally ramming his ruined battleship right into the heart of my formation and detonating its powder. The son led an overly ambitious charge into the center of my line after I had spread myself a bit thin. He got through. I killed him myself onboard the Selene. I knew him before the war. He was a fine stallion. You know, I suspected that he liked me when he was younger.” “I…” “I brought you here to talk about them, but also to speak of you. The present is what is important. The House of Belle is responsible for much good in the world. They broke my navy at the Gorge. Their daughters--Silver and Glass-- destroyed my Iron Legion at Whitetail. One Belle actually slapped my sister when she almost surrendered to me in a fit of despair. She told me after I returned that he was all that kept her from losing all hope of life in those darkest days. Their charity and sacrifice helped many of the cities of the plain to prosper.” “It is in the past. My father didn’t like to speak of it. We all knew, of course. But after such a long time! Years!” “Hundreds.” “It’s just… what are you planning to do?” “I would reinstate the House of Belle and it would sit in the Houses Major. Restore to it its keep in Canterlot, used by my sister as a Guard garrison and kept in flawless condition as a memorial to the family she felt indebted to for so long. Promise it a portion of its old lands, as per Celestia’s wishes, all of what the crown still owned of the original Belle fiefdom transferred.” “But… Luna! Luna, please, slow down. This is insane. Pointless. I cannot be there to do anything, and the houses would never, never accept the formation of a new house and its immediate appointment to the highest tier of prestige. I am not whole. I am damaged! This is…” “Stupid.” “It is! This is foolishness. Don’t wave my old dream so confidently in my face… please. I cannot handle this. Not now.” Luna sighed and rubbed her temples. “Celestia had it signed into law that she retained the right to reinstate your house whenever the need was great or one of you had the influence to do it yourself.” She looked down to see Rarity staring. “My… my father never told me that.” “The Belles either forgot or wanted to leave it behind.” “But they still won’t accept it.” “They might just have to, and you aren’t a threat to them right now. If they defy Celestia, then the whole situation turns ugly. The public still loves my sister, and if they didn’t start to protest, then the Supernalists might actually burn some thing over it. You know how enthusiastic they are about her.” “And you.” “Yes, well. Me. I do not care for them. In fact, after what they did in old times to my batponies, I find them horrific and troublesome even when they do good. You can realize why I was dismayed when I thought you were one of their number.” “My mother was a Celestialist. Stars,” Rarity said quickly, as if distracted. Her bright eyes seemed to be planning. Luna considered this and found it promising. “So… if they were to have that pressure, and if they’re still glaring at each other--” Luna snorted at that. “Then yes, they might accept it. But to what end? Why?” “Partially? Justice. I killed two of the old Belles. In fact, the house’s decline is entirely on my shoulder. I may right at least one of my wrongs yet. And… I need another House Major who approves of me in even the smallest way,” Luna said, cringing. “It is not the most honorable of courses. But the world is darkening.” “Yes. Yes, I see what you mean. But somepony must… no. No, absolutely not.” “You see the snag.” “I see the absolute preposterousness of it! You cannot! She’s a child.” Luna sighed and turned away. “When I was young, mares her age were married.” “And ponies had slaves sometimes, then, too!” Rarity shouted. “No! She’s in danger. I won’t allow it.” “You won’t allow it,” Luna repeated quietly. She turned and looked down at Rarity. Rarity did not budge. She did not falter, even before Luna’s sternest gaze. She was a Belle as sure as any. Luna had felt a bit of Clarion in her that day that the Elements left Canterlot for regions unknown. She felt it now. It did not whisper at her. It screamed its defiance in her ears. It stabbed at her eyes with light. Clarion had been reborn. “I won’t back down because you are royalty,” Rarity said. “I cannot afford to do that. My sister is precious to me. I will not let her be hurt for your political games.” “These are not games, and you know that, Rarity. Rarity of House Belle. You have a duty to Equestria the same as mine and your family always has. She is needed. She can sit the chair.” “And be stabbed in it too!” hissed Rarity. “Or not be. In fact, House Belle will be harmless and they may try to win over your sister in an attempt to paint the sedition in a better light. House Belle has statues in Canterlot dedicated to its fallen, you know this. You’ve seen them. Everypony has. The name will speak to ponies.” Rarity shook. “But she’s a child.” “She’s a mare. She hasn’t been a filly in a few years. Have you considered asking her what it is she would choose?” “She’ll be overawed and flattered and--” “She isn’t you, Rarity,” Luna said firmly. “Her dreams are different. If anything, I think the opposite is true. I think she will be much harder to convince than you would be.” Rarity looked down at her hooves. Luna said nothing. The Dreaming was quiet. Which was, Luna supposed, normal. The natural state of the Aether was silence. But while she enjoyed the usual silence there, here it was simply stifling. Luna considered her options. She had perhaps been a bit too brash. Perhaps. Celestia had always been the player of chess. Luna had made plans too, of course, but they were rudimentary things. She had been so sure that Rarity’s old dream of nobility would be enough to push her into acceptance. Dangle the prize and win her aid. It was an easy and simple plan. It had also not worked very well. I have misjudged her, I think. “How dangerous is Canterlot, really? Be honest with me, Luna.” Luna looked down. “It is perilous. The Houses will be fighting soon, I think. They may yet avoid it, for they have not always been as predictable as my sister and I have hoped.” She almost mentioned Spike, but swerved out of the way just in time. “The bandits and raiders are organized, as I’ve told you. We won at Morningvale, but… only technically. There are new soldiers coming from the East and South that I do not know anything of at present. I fear they mean to do my city harm--” “I know most of that. The last part, no, but I’m not talking about that.” Rarity put her hooves over her eyes. “Is Sweetie Belle already in danger as it is? That’s what I’m wondering now. Could having access to a keep and maybe guards make her safer, or just make her a target?” “Safety is not the only concern,” Luna said, grimacing. “Yes, safety is desirable. But safety in any time is mostly an illusion. Sweetie Belle is safe. My Dusk Watch--ah, you remember them, yes?” “I… I don’t know. Truthfully, I’m not sure if I have heard that name before or not.” “I will explain some other time. But they are beyond capable. The Nightshades also watch. Both of my greatest cadres of warriors keep a steady vigil over the families and loved ones of the Element bearers, including yourself.” Rarity seemed to wilt. “Really.” “Yes. Of course. Is this so strange? You cannot be here to watch over them, and I considered it my duty as your friend,” she said, hesitating only slightly. “But with or without the House of Belle, that safety is only insured to those who have seen very little strife. I know enough of it to say that the more we fear danger, the more we shy from it, the more we present our necks to be ripped asunder. You cannot quake.” “But... “ Rarity groaned. “Luna, this was cruel of you, to tell me this only now. When I am ruined physically, my sister is so far away, and… and…” Luna could not look at her anymore. “I thought you would be pleased. I confess my plans oft go awry.” “I think you’re right. About asking her. About safety… well, after the last month, I think maybe you’re right about that too. Can you do that? Can I talk to her? I don’t know how this all works.” “I have already prepared for that, my friend,” Luna said, and turned towards the hall’s great oak doors. They opened, letting in an immense light, and from the illumination a shadow appeared. It coalesced, but Luna knew that it was Sweetie before Rarity’s eyes could catch up. Sweetie gazed around herself in completely undisguised wonder. Rarity seemed frozen beside Luna, and so the princess gave her a light touch on the shoulder. Startled, Rarity jumped, and finally her little sister noticed the two standing off by the side. Rarity’s composure broke--Luna had long ago discovered it was not so uncrackable as Rarity liked to imagine--and she ran to Sweetie, wrapping her up in an embrace and saying her name over and over. Sweetie blinked over her sister’s shoulder, puzzled by this strange, vivid dream she was having. But she hugged back. It was a good dream if Rarity was here, wasn’t it? Luna felt her happiness in the Aether. It was infectious. Luna even smiled. These sisters had some catching up to do. TWILIGHT Running. The city. The dream changed and did not change. The buildings did not melt, but now great hulking ponies in armor stalked her through the streets. They wore armor, and on their shoulders she saw lances and harness-mounted rifles. If she was too slow to dodge, sometimes they fire at her. She alway heard the shot crashing through some window or breaking the cobblestone. Her hooves ached. Her head was on fire. She turned right, coming out into a plaza, and knew she’d made a bad turn immediately. Two of the monstrous hunters charged right at her across the fountain’s plaza, jumping right through the climbing jets of water. The two behind her were catching up. She was surrounded. Every exit was blocked. And, as must happen, She appeared. Twilight thought that She was Celestia. Of course she was. Had Celestia not saved her again and again in this tortured city? Was Celestia not her shield and her hope? But with startling swiftness she saw that it was not Celestia. This pony was an alicorn, true, but as she descended from the sky on a beam of light--as time seemed to stretch and slow--Twilight saw her coat was a pure white. Celestia’s was pink in the same way that the horizon is pink. Her hair was blue as a starry night. She was taller, and unlike Celestia Twilight felt no peace in her but only a sort of crushing sorrow. She cowered. The newcomer let out a bloodcurdling scream and the city was distorted. What happened to her pursuers, Twilight could not guess. And then they were alone. The Alicorn--the Goddess--stared down at her. Twilight barely managed to look up. Why do you cower before us? “Who are you?” Twilight squeaked. Her voice sounded wretched. I will tell you by and by. “You… you looked like--” I look like what I look like. I am that which I have been since I was born in Song. Rise, Twilight. “How… how do you know me?” Twilight looked around her. There was only blank whiteness. Was she good? The thought came unlooked for and only half-considered. Was she evil? Was she beyond both, and was there some space for her there beyond them? “I’m dreaming. I’m in the Dreaming. This is like when I’m with Luna, isn’t it?” Yes. “Then she knows I’m here. Or does she? Why hasn’t she helped me?” Twilight suddenly felt angry. “I’ve been having nightmares on nightmares all this time, for days! She hasn’t once helped me. Aren’t we friends?” You tell me. Twilight faltered. “We are… we are. But why not help me?” You cannot help those who hide. Twilight felt a chill run over her body. It felt real. Solid. Not like the Dreaming at all. “What did you do? Who are you?” But the alicorn was already gone. Ahead of her, out across the nothing, she saw a speck of… something. It grew larger--no, she saw that she was hurtling towards it, or it towards her. She braced herself against the oncoming color. The light shone through her closed eyelids and through her hooves which shielded her eyes. She looked out. She was in the Golden Oaks. Twilight sank to the ground, blinking. Her library. It was pristine. If anything, it was more organized and spotless than it had ever been in her real life. Before her, standing next to the table where she’d kept that strange pony bust, was Luna. Luna looked at her like a pony who had seen a ghost. “Twilight! Are you injured? Are you alright? Did it… did it touch you?” “What?” “I was in the Aether and suddenly you were there for just a brief second, screaming and I heard you… Oh, Song, oh light…” Luna was fretting over her, checking for… damage, allegedly. Twilight numbly wondered why physical damage would show up in this world. She also wondered why she felt so numb. “I’m fine,” Twilight said softly. “It… appears so.” Luna let out a ragged sight and sat back on her haunches, much as Twilight realized she was doing. Funny. She hadn’t remembered doing that. “I was overcome by worry. Forgive me. When I heard you, I thought for a moment that the shadow had fallen over you. But surely it wouldn’t. Surely you are immune.” “The shadow?” “Yes. We spoke of it briefly before, didn’t we? Do you… do you not remember?” “I do. Yeah, give me a moment.” Twilight rubbed her temples. She felt as if she was forgetting something. “What was I just doing? Where was I? Do you know what that dream was?” Luna shook her head. Twilight looked up to catch this, and saw something strange in Luna’s eyes. She felt something strange in the Aether around her. “The infection of dreams is the infection of the mind,” Luna went on. Twilight categorized this speech as nervous, and filed the impression away. “Whatever tugs at these strings… oh, damn it all. Twilight, I am tired of riddles. I liked playing at them, but it was my sister who loved thinking in them.” “What do you mean?” “I keep hinting at what is Jannah or what I believe to be happening in our world. I cannot seem to simply tell anypony the truth. I fear the whole truth, that’s plain enough.But I am afraid that if I don’t withold what I know, not a soul will keep on going. I fear they will all give up.” Twilight stirred. “What… what do you mean?” “I misjudged your friend Rarity earlier. Severely. I tried to manipulate her, use her greed to achieve my careful ends, and before I could even lay out my stratagems, she had already shamed me for a craven. She did not say such, not exactly, but she thought it. She is quite right.” “What was your plan? Tell me.” The numbness had worn off. Twilight frowned with concern. “You can tell me, Luna. I won’t be made or anything. Honest. You realized your mistake.” “I am revitalizing the House of Belle.” Twilight blinked. “Come again?” “You knew your friend was the scion of the House of Belle, did you not?” Twilight blinked again. She was an avid reader of history, of course. She knew the Belles. Every pony historian worth an ounce of salt knew the Belles. She had studied three dozen battles in which they had personally shown extraordinary valor. She had read about Three Belle’s library building scheme. She even remembered the exact wording of the preamble of the Fourth Resolute Assembly of the Center Province’s Address, written by a one Copper Belle. But… Rarity? And suddenly she felt like an idiot. The family trees didn’t go that far, but she had never even bothered to ask. Why would she? Everypony figured the family had died off or the descendants were nobodies. “No,” she answered, breathless. “How could I? Oh, Celestia, how could I have not?” She scrambled up on her hooves. “But… but this is--” “If you say ‘historically significant’, Twilight Sparkle, I will groan and be rather unimpressed.” “Well.” Twilight paused. “Wait, how did that make you manipulative? I’m missing some of the story, I think.” “I had hoped to appeal to her greed. I know that when she was younger she dreamed of nobility, of marrying into some house or another.” Twilight found herself grinning widely. “Yes, the gala cured her of some of that.” “My sister filled me in on that after the fact,” replied Luna, mirroring her smile, if with a bit more reserve. “But her concern with not with her own gain but with her sister. I was asking her to do what I had felt like Celestia had done to me. It is not a nice thing to realize. I should never have been so flippant about putting her sister in harm’s way.” “I--wait, no, I think I can piece this together. You’ll need somepony to be the face of the House in Canterlot. I’m sure they won’t be a House Major, but... “ She searched Luna’s face. “Oh. Wait, how?” “Celestia left us all her decree in law. She could, at her leisure ‘draft’ the House back into service of the Kingdom in dire circumstances. At the time it seemed an idle whim, and so nopony really bothered with questioning it. The Belles themselves had been in decline for generations at that point.” “I had no idea. Apparently absolutely nopony cared.” “And Celestia did not go out of her way to broadcast such news.” “No, of course not… Wow. So, what happens now?” Luna smiled again, this time more easily. “I shall relate that. But first, might we walk? The sun might do you well, even in a dream.” Sweetie Belle Rarity left but before she did she hugged me probably a million times. I didn’t want her to go but she needed to, and you and I needed to talk, didn’t we? I know she’s worried. I think having me there, talking about it, made her feel better. For the record, I think this is crazy and I’ll wake up and it’ll just be a really weird dream. A nice one though! So that’s cool. And, real or not, I saw Rarity. I miss my sister. I bet you miss yours too, huh? I mean, duh, of course you do. When she left, it was a little awkward. You kind of shuffled around. I was surprised. I assumed nobility and royalty and ponies like that were just graceful by default. Rarity always made them seem that way--so did her books. The ones I wasn’t supposed to read until I was older that of course I read anyway. I learned quite a bit about the world from those books. So I decided to get you on a safe topic. I asked you about House Belle. Well, what did I want to know? Good question. See how easy it is to talk? Let’s start with the basics, I said. I don’t know that much. I never cared like my sister did. A major house. Did they have land and big houses, I guess? Where? Did they live off of farmers paying rent, or did they sell or make things or what did they do? Tell me about what they were like. That’s what I asked, and that’s what you did. You told me about how the first Belles you knew of popped up a little before Discord. They weren’t nobles then. They were in charge of a village. Basically, the first ancestor I have that you knew was kind of a bully, but a nice one. If thats a thing, which I am not sure it is? But that’s how you described it to me. The world was big, and frightening, and he decided that he had to protect everypony, and he did it mostly by bossing them around and building a big wall around his village and posting a watch. You thought he was a bit silly, but you liked that he was at least prepared. Then they entered the service of the King of Equestria. He gave them land, and they were good. More or less. A bit greedy here, a bit lazy there. Indolence, pettiness. But they didn’t hurt anyone or anything. But then Discord came, and you told me everything changed. You told me how a pony named Yule Belle led a great revolt against King Discord, and even though he was beaten easily, he sacrificed himself so the rebels could scatter and live. His daughter was named Sweet Belle--almsot like me! How about that?--you told me that she was one of the first ponies you ever met in Equestria who you considered your friend, and that she was the one that convinced you it was your destiny to help defeat Discord… and then be Princesses. You told me my family had so many heroes that ponies had lost track of half of them at least and still had volumes to fill with exploits. Explorers, poets, artists, warriors, strategists. Builders and destroyers, but always generous… and always ready to be a little indolent on the side. You told me less changed than ponies usually thought. But you painted such a picture. The Belles weathered every storm. They were the walls that could never be taken. They were the lance that was never broken. In their wake was left light and they were Lightbringers--in their wake they left the darkness broken, and they were a bane to every lie. They uplifted the weary and fed the hungry. A pony would see a few foolish dandies who enjoyed wine and poetry a bit too much, but in a moment’s notice they became like lions. They defended the honor of the low and the high alike. They cared for a pony’s merit and not his power. They spat in the faces of robbers and stared down Lords. Their songs mystified the ones who sought power and uplifted the hearts of the virtuous. You remembered through me so many lives. I think that we are not what you and your sister remember. I’m sorry. I’m just one mare. My sister is probably the most impressive pony in our family on both sides going back a few dozen generations, and none of us are what you’re describing My parents are a bit absentminded--I am too!--but they are good. My sister is good. But we aren’t heroes. We’re just ponies. We just do the good we can do right in front of us. We make friends with the ponies we have around us, and we help as we can, but we don’t go on quests or route foreign invasions or discover lost ruins. We just… live, I guess. And you told me that I underestimated myself, and I told you that I think you did the opposite. I said that whatever we were, we weren’t that anymore. I think we’re still good. I believe with all my heart that my sister and parents are good ponies. Good with a capital letter in there, even, official and everything. But what can normal ponies do? You told me that the Belles used to be fond of grand boasts, but sometimes--you said when they were honest--that they said what I said. Just do the job in front of you. Just help your neighbor. For Star’s sake you have to be kind. If you think that sitting in that chair can do that, I’ll do it. I’m not like Rarity. I’m a singer! I’m a musician. I can sing a mean solo, but I don’t know the first thing about leading ponies. I can work a crowd, but not like this. But it’s the job in front of me, I guess. Show business gets you used to thinking on your hooves. I guess I can handle change. Maybe? I just want ponies to be happy again. I want them not to fear each other. I want the nobles to be good, to stop trying to kill each other or hurt each other or burn each others stupid buildings and just be friends. I wish that the sun would be normal and that I was back home and that Applebloom and Scoots and I could just… you know, do nothing. All the time. Just wander around being kids again. Or maybe do something, I don’t know. If you think that me sitting on that chair until my sister gets back will help that happen, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything. I’ll do the job that’s in front of me.