//------------------------------// // Chapter 12 // Story: With Good Intentions // by Hustlin Tom //------------------------------// The afternoon was overcast as the airship charted its final stretch of the journey back to Canterlot. By the time they would arrive at dock it would be nightfall. In preparation for the departure of the waning light one of the ship’s crew was lighting the onboard lanterns one by one. Bunsen and Pundett were near the bow on the starboard side, gazing out towards the northwest and the rolling green hills below. Tonight would mark approximately ten weeks since their journey had begun, and though they were happy that their adventure was already finished they were anxious to be home, and the both of them for many reasons. Of course they wished to see their mares both big and small; there was no doubt of that. They were, however, most especially eager to see their monarch. Time and time again they had each gone over what the Archsorceress had said in their own private thoughts, but it was on this night that thought spilled into words. “Could it really be true,” Punnett asked, almost to the thin air surrounding the both of them, “Could it really be that the Princess has held my daughter’s cure all along?” Bunsen continued to stare into the horizon, his forelegs fidgeting as they rested on the ship’s wooden rail. “I don’t know,” he replied at long last. “She never gave any indication that her healing powers were real?” “I never saw her sick or injured if that’s what you mean,” he declared softly, “but I just thought that was because she lived a healthy life; a cautious one.” There was silence between the stallions for a good span. The clouds slowly drifted by below them, puffy and purest white. A struggle raged inside Bunsen, and his doubt came to life as a gnashing creature, gnawing at the back of his mind and the center of his heart, working its way out of his mouth. Finally he caved, and as he did he turned away from the rail with a push and a grunt. “Why would she keep this from the world,” he blurted, and then he turned back to his friend, “Why would she keep this from me? Did she not trust me? This ability could have saved so many lost cases that science or our magic didn’t know how to cure.” “If anypony could have been close enough to guessing the mind of the Princess I would have thought it’d have been you,” Punnett said wistfully, “She’s had this for as long as she’s been alive; she must have a reason to keep this a secret, letting it pass into myth.” “She’d better have a good one,” Bunsen replied with a very obvious sense of betrayal icing up his voice, “The first lesson she taught me was that those who have much have much to share, to give back to others, whether it’s one being or an entire kingdom. To have a power like this and keep it locked away?” He stopped as if he meant to say more, perhaps something harsh, but he stopped himself and stamped his right hoof to the deck. “I don’t know what to think,” he exclaimed hoarsely. There was a pause before Punnett also spoke, “I don’t know either. All I can hope for is that she will take pity on Cadence.” He put his hoof to his chest unconsciously, and his eyes fell a little, “She has a good heart; I have to believe. For my daughter’s sake I must believe she can be healed.” There wasn’t much said between the two after that, but the airship continued on into the growing twilight, and silence followed after them. It was around half past ten when they arrived at the sky dock, and the ramp was put down to allow them to disembark. They wasted no time: gathering their bags they rushed as quickly as they could to the nearest entrance into Canterlot Castle. As they galloped toward the south facing door the Royal Guard became alert to their presence, calling out to the earth pony as he came closer, “Bunsen Burner! It’s a pleasure to see you m’lord! Was your trip to the East successful?” “I need immediate audience with the Princess,” he declared breathlessly as he stopped before them, Punnett not far behind. The senior guard nodded and gestured to his junior, “Witherwings, escort them to her Majesty’s chambers.” “Right away, sir!” the enthusiastic youth replied as he opened the door for the two stallions. It wasn’t long after that that the three arrived at the Princess’ quarters. Punnett couldn’t help but look up at the large wooden doors carved in the shape of a sun in awe. It wasn’t common at all that a civilian could see something like this. There was a spark in Bunsen’s eyes as they approached, and a frown was on his face to accompany it. Witherwings saluted the two guards at their post outside the private chambers, “Prince Bunsen Burner requests her Majesty’s presence with all due haste.” The senior guard gave a slight bow before he spoke, “I’m sorry m’lord, but I must inform you that the Princess is away on a diplomatic mission.” “Where to,” he asked without pause. “The Griffon Confederacy. There appears to have been a major breakthrough in peace talks between the North and South. The Princess has been recognized and approved as a neutral arbitrator, and is overseeing a deal that could unite all the Griffon states as one nation at last! I’m very sorry, sir, but she left about a fortnight ago. She’s in their old capitol by now.” Punnett visibly deflated, and he looked to Bunsen, “What can we do?” Bunsen looked back at him, and a small smirk came to him, along with an inaudible scoff, “Something I haven’t done in a long time. Guard, may I step inside? I have a message I wish to write.” “Of course m’lord,” he replied, and he opened the large door with a grunt, “Would you like a fire prepared for the both of you?” “No, just a big enough light to write by; I’ll also need your fastest courier. Have them here as soon as you can.” “At once,” he replied, and he stepped in with them to prepare a scroll and quill for them, while Witherwings flew off to fetch the courier they needed. A candle was lit, an ink well was found, and everything was made ready. “I’d like your help writing this, if you’re up for it,” Bunsen declared as he put the quill into the well, then dabbed it against the side to rid it of excess ink, “Perhaps with the both of us we can be more persuasive.” Punnett eyes went wide, but then a smile crept onto his face, “It would be an absolute privilege.” Bunsen smiled back softly, and then put his ink to parchment, writing that oh so familiar greeting: Dear Princess Celestia… It was some days later that this very important letter made it into the recipient’s hooves. The lone pegasus delivering it spied the town where the political summit was taking place, and knew that her journey was over. Griffonstone, seat to a once unified Griffon kingdom, was now a broken pedestal, only of note among its populace at large for nostalgic reasons. This shared spirit was what helped the Northern and Southern States cement it as neutral ground. The town’s meeting hall served as the seat of diplomacy, while each representative’s bed was no more than a cot made in cordoned off corners of the medium sized hut. For a meeting of griffon affairs things were going relatively peacefully, the Princess mused as she settled into her humble straw bed: she could keep count of the number of obscenities said that day, and things had almost devolved into a fight only once. This was the most civilized she had seen the ambassadors of each side in any given decade she could think of! There might yet be a chance for unification at last, she thought to herself. The letter was then delivered to her, and recognizing the Seal of Urgency adorning it she opened it hastily. At first she had a warm smile as she recognized her most recently graduated student’s writing, but it quickly changed to a blank expression as she continued reading. I write to you this late night at the urging of my conscience and for the plight of a friend. It is best perhaps if he were to explain his own case first. The style of writing beneath it was most definitely unfamiliar to her, and because of the unusual but dire tone she continued on. Your Majesty, My name is Punnett Square. I’m a researcher like Bunsen in the Royal Science Division. Though we’ve never met in person, I trust Bunsen’s account of your character, as well as my own observations, and I know you to be mare with a compassionate heart. I’d ask that you’d take pity, not for myself, but for my daughter. My one and only daughter, Cadence, is dying, a result of a cancer in her bones. Her time grows shorter every day. I’ve searched the known world for any conceivable cure, with the patience and strength of your student and my greatest friend, and our quest has brought us back to you. We’ve heard that you have a miraculous power, to heal those you touch. I realize you must have your reasons for keeping this a secret, but by my own bold nature and my desperation I implore you: please help my daughter. Save her. Please. –Punnett Square The writing once again returned to Bunsen’s as the letter finished. You taught me that those who have much have much to give, Princess. Cadence has never had a chance to live a normal life; has never known a normal filly’s life. I don’t know if the stories we’ve heard are true, but I know you. If this is within your power you would not let an injustice of nature like this stand. Prove the character we know you have. We urgently await your reply. B.B. The Princess set the letter down, her face still blank, but even she could not hide the surprise or conflict behind her eyes. How could they have found out? It was hundreds of years since she had- Her thoughts stopped in their tracks. She recited the reasons she had never continued to practice that power over and over in her mind, but each time her own mental voice responded, It was easy enough to heal a knight, a killer all those centuries ago. A child’s life is at stake. Is she not more deserving than even Gawain had been? Then she thought about where she was lying down, and the consequences that had brought her there. She called for a roll of parchment and ink. She tried to put the quill to paper immediately, but she found it wavering in her field of golden magic. Taking a shuddering breath, then a second, she steeled her nerves, and wrote her reply. “My most loyal student,” Bunsen read aloud to Punnett, “I must first clarify one important fact: I can’t imagine from whom or where you heard it, but it is true: I do have the power to heal.” The both of them looked up at each other in wonder. Punnett haggardly exhaled, and a grin began to spread across his face. Bunsen looked back to the letter and continued to read in a rush, “I discovered this power during a period long ago, when I helped to bring a Griffon knight, Sir Gawain, back from the brink. He, with the help of his armies, drove off Ailsa VI’s Old Blood supporters from pillaging Cloudsdale. It was only after many years that I discovered the true consequences of this gift.” Punnett’s face began to creep back to a neutral expression as Bunsen read on, “I sit in what amounts to a thatched barn as I write this to you, spending my day moderating two politicians as their speech ranges from honeyed words to death threats, and I realized that this is in part my own making. In my younger years I spent less time thinking out my actions than I do now and I fear that in pursuit of an immediate good I’ve brought about a long term evil. Though I had the best of intentions for my ponies when I healed one being, I changed the world irrevocably by doing so, enabling a whole race of beings into the pursuit of conflict, hatred, and death.” The study the two sat in Punnett’s home rang with a silence like none either stallion had ever felt. Bunsen continued reading, almost regretting that he had to do so, “In my later years I also came to realize another potential malicious outcome from my attempts at benevolence: If there always was a solution at hoof for every illness, every outbreak and contagion, what reason would there be to seek another form of cure? Such an investment of time would be foolish, and I would cripple the very art of medicine by my secret being made known. Even if I could spend my life, however long that remains to me, as a cure for other’s ailments, and I left the country’s leadership to other’s shoulders, I am not all present. No matter how much I may want to I cannot save everypony, and I don’t believe it is my right to determine who should live and who should die. I can search for the best physicians in the world for you, Punnett Square, and I will put them towards the service of saving your daughter. As for my personal intervention, my answer, with my most solemn regrets, is no. Princess Celestia, Guardian of all Equinity, Ruler of Equestria.” Bunsen didn’t want to even look up from the letter. He’d have much preferred to continue mindlessly reading the words, ignoring comprehension of them, for all the rest of time. They sat there wordlessly, as if caught in a stupor, for fifteen minutes, then a half hour. Punnett had his hooves to his eyes Bunsen saw as he finally looked up. Eventually he took them away from his face. Still watering, the stallion sniffed a little, before he wiped his tears away and stood from his seat. “I need to be with my wife and daughter,” the broken unicorn declared as he opened the study door, leaning against it with almost a sense of comfort in its stability. “Punnett,” Bunsen weakly tried to say. His friend replied sharply, “PLEASE! I’ve wasted two and a half precious months’ of Cadence’s life. I will never waste another day she has left.” There was a silence as Punnett continuing leaning on the door frame for a moment, before he finally said, “I need to be alone with my family for a while.” Delicately, wordlessly, Bunsen stood up as he watched his friend leave the room, and he in kind left his friend’s house for the day. The earth pony made his way back to his home up above in Canterlot. Emotions he could barely control began to boil to the surface as he trotted up the winding mountain path. The Princess had said no. She had done worse than failed; she hadn’t bothered to even try altogether. How could she, after everything she had taught? How could this be her answer? He only noticed he had arrived home when he found himself in his work studio. The anger and betrayal he had been trying to suppress finally burst forth, and he snapped. He threw his beakers to the left, their contents staining the wallpaper, eating it away slowly. His mechanisms flew to the right, clattering across the varnished, wooden floor. Finally, the object he had been working on before his departure nearly three months ago, a personal teleportation beacon, only half constructed at best, he threw to the ground, cracking its exterior, breaking the Arcanium circuits inside. Hearing the commotion, Lily came to the studio as quickly as she could. She was now far along into her pregnancy, so it took her a bit of effort to get anywhere. When she came to the doorway she found her husband, his back to his workbench and chin to his chest. Teleporter in hoof, he now weakly banged it against the floor as he stared down into the floor. “How could she do this,” he murmured, “How could she let this happen?” It was in this moment that Lily began to put the pieces together, and she realized what it was Bunsen meant. Sympathetic tears for Punnett, Bolera, and Cadence came to her eyes as well, and she sat down beside her stallion gently, wrapping her hooves around him as she began to weep. In time he wrapped his foreleg, teleporter still in hoof, around her. They sat in that room, full of broken things and broken dreams, asking themselves why she had refused their friends’ request. After all they had hoped for, struggled for, and given up, why couldn’t one little girl be healed? Bunsen hadn’t slept peacefully in years, but any night without stress induced nightmares and bad memories was as good as any sleep he could get. It was on this night, in the middle of August, when his sleep had felt relatively serene, that Lily shook him awake violently. “Bunsen,” she said at a normal level of speech, but given the quietness of the night it felt like she had yelled it to him, “Bunsen, wake up! There’s something wrong: I think the baby’s coming.” His eyes sprang open, and he was frozen for a second as he gazed into her eyes; this was happening. This wasn’t a dream. He sprang out of bed, and galloped to her side, helping her up gently. “This is too early,” Lily exclaimed, fear and sweat billowing off her like heat, “What’s going on? What’s happening?” “I don’t know,” was all Bunsen could sputter as he helped her out of the bedroom and slowly led her down the stairs to the main floor of their house, “Just stay calm, honey! We’ll get to the hospital. Just make sure to breathe!” By the time they had arrived at Canterlot Medical the contractions had picked up. Lily’s eyes were watering, and even as she tried to breathe evenly the contractions would interrupt her, sending a new wave of pain over her body. The waves were sporadic, she couldn’t find a place to harmonize and breathe in and out correctly. Doctors and nurses placed her into a wheelchair gently, rushing her into the maternity wing. “Please, let me be with-“ “I’m sorry sir, but you’re going to have to stay out here for now,” one of the doctor’s declared firmly as she stood in his way, forcing him to stay before a set of swing doors into which the other medical practitioners had taken his wife. “I am a Prince of Equestria,” he blurted out of anger and desperation, “Let me see my wife!” “Sir, it wouldn’t matter if you were Celestia or the Primeval Mother; you will wait out here. We will let you see her when we are finished!” The doctor then disappeared behind the double doors, leaving a aid to walk him to the waiting room. He didn’t know or understand what was happening, or why. He had never felt so powerless in his life. Everything was out of his hooves as he sat waiting. He couldn’t sit still for long. Frantically he looked for the nearest piece of paper he could find, anything blank at all. At one of the floor stations he found a clipboard with paper. A mostly used up fountain pen was also nearby that only seemed to drop ink every other swirl. He didn’t care: it had to work. He furiously wrote, cursing himself when he poked through or ripped the paper as he tried to force ink out of the blasted pen. Princess, Wife in hospital. Miscarrying? If you care, please help. –B.B. When he was done he burst out of the waiting room and the hospital, galloping for his wife’s life to the nearest pegasus guardspony. The unlucky guard barely saw him coming before he bowled him over. “M’lord,” he exclaimed, before the half-crazed stallion rammed the hayburger letter into his face. “Get me the courier now! Life and death!” “At once m’lord,” the lad said before he bolted off into the sky. Bunsen screamed out after him, not caring that the few ponies around him looked on in fear, “Hurry! Save her!” The courier, realizing her message was of the highest urgency, gave her everything, pushing every last ounce of strength she had into her wings, she covered a great deal of ground, but it was not enough. Lighting an emergency flare, she barreled into the nearest outpost, half dead from exhaustion, where a fresh pony took up her message, and he too gave his everything. A chain of ponies stretched to their limit helped to get the message to Griffonstone in a matter of hours. When the message was delivered, the Princess immediately called recess. The note was simple and dreadful. Time was short. For all her reasons, for all her premeditated arguments, she felt her conscience weigh down on her like a ton, screaming for her to leave, to help. Her violet eyes sparked, and she let the note fall to the floor as she returned to the table with the two Griffons. “Ambassadors, a matter of greatest urgency has been delivered to me,” she declared, “I must return to Equestria immediately.” “You cannot leave,” the Southern statesgriffon sputtered, “We have yet to solidify any informal agreement, let alone a treaty!” “If you leave it is an insult to the North,” the Ambassador said as he slammed a balled claw down on the table, “and we do not take any affront lightly, Princess.” The Princess snorted angrily as she stared at him, “Would you care to make your words plainer?” “I would,” he declared as he stood on his back paws, leaning over the table towards, “If anyone leaves this dungheap we used to call a capital before we come to an agreeable treaty, I will personally see to us going to open war: North, South, and Equestria.” The Northern Ambassador’s eyes flashed, and he managed a big, predatory smile with his beak, “How many lives are you willing to bet that I’m bluffing, Princess?” The Princess’ skillful practice in concealing her emotions helped her hide the seething rage inside behind a small, frustrated frown. It was now the Princess who felt powerless in the face of circumstance, and the cruelest part was that it was of her own making, whichever way she looked at it. If one of the North’s damned envoys even saw her leave for one second they would use that as grounds to start the civil war all over again, and this peace, or she more cynically considered a momentary cessation of hostility, would be destroyed. She wished that the consequences only fell on her, so that she could declare a one mare war on the Northern states, but the lives of the Southern Griffons and her ponies relied on her playing the part she was now forced into. Silently she fought back against the urge to even cry, but she simply sat down and continued to listen to the futile arguments, all the while repeating in her head, I’m sorry Bunsen, I’m so sorry. It was now sixteen hours after Lily had been wheeled into the maternity ward. Bunsen was at his wits’ end. The courier should have arrived by now. She could have appeared at any time, teleported in on a wave of golden light. It would only take five minutes, and everything would be alright. Where was she? Was she already here and just hadn’t appeared before him? Where was she? He’d started writing on every sheet of paper available to him. Just writing to the Princess gave him some measure of comfort. Still his worries lingered close at hand. Where was she? How was Lily? By the stars where was his Lily? Was she alright? What about the child? The doctor came in. Couldn’t look at him. Why? “…Didn’t make it…” High pitched whining. Can’t hear but for few words. “…lost her too…” Deafening. Deny. Not possible. “...couldn’t stop the bleeding…” White noise collapsing in. Giggling. Can’t stop laughing. Why laughing? Crying. Rage. Laughter. Dead. Dying. Inside out. Why? Why weren’t you there? Teacher, why have you forsaken me? Can’t believe. Impossible. Fact. True. No more. No more anything. Screaming. Can’t stop. Can’t stop. Can’t stop. Bunsen Burner stood in the gathering snow. He hadn’t moved in several minutes. The wind and snow had built up around his legs. He barely noticed. He didn’t feel it. He simply gazed on at two tombstones, one much larger than the other. Lily Cloverhoof Burner Beloved wife and friend YOL 953 – 978 The smaller tombstone was only half exposed to the open air now: the snow was covering up the rest. He knew what it said. Beloved Foal YOL 978 The wind was picking up he noticed. He could swear he was hallucinating, but he thought he heard his name being called. Then he realized that it was, in a voice he didn’t expect to hear in this place. He turned, stepping out of his hoofprints, and saw Ms. Lulamoon walking towards him, a white cloak and hat on her head, braced against the wind with her magic. “Bunsen,” she called out as she approached again. Her expression was one of deep sadness and also a small pang of guilt. “There’s a storm coming in,” she said. Unsure of how to approach him after that she added awkwardly, “Let’s go back to the house.” He gave a sideways glance back to the graves in front of him. “Give me one minute,” he declared, just loud enough to be heard. Trixie, a look of turmoil and empathic sorrow on her face, walked up beside him. She tossed a corner of her newly made cape over his barrel, blocking the wind from hitting him. Now that it was absent, he realized how cold the burning cut of the wind was, and he shivered a little. “Let’s go,” he said. Taking his signal, Trixie turned with him and walked in step back towards the cemetery entrance, continuing to shield them both from the wind and snow with her cape. Once they had made it back to the manor, and the young mare had dusted off her cape, she started to speak, “Bunsen-“ “I don’t want to talk about it,” he replied flatly as he cut her off. Realizing that that was a bit harsh, he turned to her. “Keep them,” he said a little more gently as he gestured to her new hat and cape. She subconsciously touched her hat as he pointed to it. Eventually he simply walked back towards what she assumed was his quarters, saying softly over his shoulder, “Happy Hearth’s Warming Eve.” She wanted to go after him, but she stopped, once again standing in the hallway all alone. “Happy Hearth’s Warming Eve,” she said weakly after him.