The three of them lay still in their little beds. Whiskey lay curled up under her covers, like a corpse in a morgue, and had not moved for hours. Tango lay on his side with one of his books open on the bed beside him; he had been staring at the same page for almost ten minutes now. Foxie aimlessly traced a pattern on her quilt, feeling the stitchwork under her hoof as she stared blankly up at the ceiling, humming the same wordless tune over and over to herself.
They heard someone’s hooves clip-clop down the crystal hallway towards them, stopping in front of their door. The handle turned, and the door swung partway open, revealing Aunt Twilight standing in the hall.
“Hey guys,” she said, gently.
Tango lifted his head, and Foxie turned to look at her. Whiskey did not move.
Twilight nodded back over her shoulder. “Could you come here for a minute?” she said. “I’ve got something for you.” She glanced between the beds. “All three of you.” She spoke gently, but firmly, and all three of them knew that this was not an invitation.
Twilight turned and started back down the hall. Foxie gingerly climbed from her bed, and Tango reached over and shook Whiskey gently. “C’mon,” he said, “Time to go.”
Whiskey unfolded herself, then climbed mechanically out of bed, following Tango as he left the room. Twilight was only a few feet ahead down the darkened hallway, walking slowly enough for them to catch up. They fell into line beside her, and the four of them walked in silence for a moment.
“There’s a bathroom there, if you need to wash up,” she said with a nod. “Otherwise, we’ll be in the kitchen.”
She looked up, and the three of them followed her gaze. Though the sun had set a while ago, and most of the castle was in darkness, one of the spotlights over the island in the kitchen had been left on. Next to the island stood three tall barstools, and, in front of each was a bowl of ice cream, with two perfect, white scoops each, glistening under the lights. In a small cluster at one end stood bowls and bottles of toppings—nothing too fancy, but with all the basics (chocolate sauce, caramel, whipped cream, and so on) present and accounted for.
“Go on,” Twilight prompted.
Slowly, Tango took a hesitant step forward. He turned to look questioningly at Twilight, and she nodded encouragement. He trotted to one of the stools and climbed up into it; he was followed a moment later by Foxie, and, finally, by Whiskey.
Twilight was no Pinkie Pie—after all, Pinkie probably still had the ice cream preferences of every pony in Ponyville memorized from her party days—but she always found it interesting how ponies ate their ice cream. Tango made an artful swirl of chocolate, then caramel, and topped it off with a light dusting of peanuts. Foxie laid on the whipped cream thick, with a generous helping of colored sprinkles, and a single, aesthetically-perfect cherry on top. Whiskey did not decorate hers at all, and instead dug right in.
Twilight waited until everyone had begun eating before she spoke.
“I wanted to talk to you about this afternoon,” she said.
Whiskey turned sharply away, and Tango dropped his spoon. “Rory started it,” he blurted. “I mean, I kinda did too, but I was just playin’, and then she got mean—”
Twilight held up a hoof, and Tango fell silent. Everyone was quiet for a moment.
“I know she started it,” she said. “I’ve already talked to her.”
“Is she okay?” asked Foxie timidly, earning astonished glances from both Tango and Whiskey.
Twilight nodded. “Only thing that really got hurt was her pride,” she said. She smiled, then leaned in conspiratorially. “And, between you and me—she’s deserved a good thumping like that for a while now.”
Tango snorted into his ice cream, and Foxie giggled. Whiskey’s spoon paused halfway to her mouth, then resumed its motion.
“I know she started it,” she repeated, more serious now. “But I also know that you did too, Tango—and you escalated it, Whiskey.” She swallowed. “Some ponies like their space, and some don’t like to be teased. Rory is both of those.” She shrugged. “Maybe because she’s an only child…” so far, Twilight added mentally, “...but she’s never learned quite how to have fun the way you guys do.” She sighed. “I wish she took things a little easier, but…” She shrugged. “Well. There’s still time.”
Twilight was quiet for a moment, then looked up again. “Be that as it may,” she said, “that does not mean that hitting her was the right thing—”
Whiskey’s spoon clattered against the counter, and all three turned to look at her. She glared back at Twilight, fresh tears forming in her eyes, matching the tear tracks already on her cheeks. “She talked about Daddy,” she said, her voice trembling. “Said Mama didn’t love us because we didn’t have a Daddy. Said—”
Twilight held up a hoof again. “I know,” she said. “We’ll get to that in a moment.”
Whiskey glared at Twilight, then picked up her spoon, and took another big, angry bite of her ice cream.
Twilight took a deep breath, then continued. “There are some times where you have to fight,” she said quietly. “And sometimes where maybe you should.” She sighed again. “And, believe me—I know how much words can hurt.” She glanced up at the three of them, a faint smile on her lips. “I mean, I had to deal with my fair share of bullies back in my day, too.”
Foxie stared back at her, eyes wide. “You mean—bullies used to pick on you? You, Princess Twilight?”
Twilight shook her head. “I wasn’t a princess back then,” she said. “But I was smart, and I liked to read. And that made some ponies jealous.” She chuckled. “In fact, I might have deserved a little of it—I was a bit of a stinker, back in the day…” Her smile faded. “But that didn’t make it any easier, sitting by myself with my books at lunch… In fact, I… I almost gave up on friendship, back then...”
Tango swallowed another bite, watching her carefully. For just a moment, Twilight’s gaze turned inward, and Tango thought he saw, just for a second, a glimpse of the little, awkward schoolfilly she once had been. Some ponies might have been scared by such an experience. But not Tango—in that moment, Tango realized that he loved his aunt.
Another moment of silence, and Twilight looked back up at them and smiled. The spell was broken.
“I know it’s hard,” she said. “But violence isn’t always the answer. There are times where you need to fight—but not all the times. When you get mad like that, you might end up doing something you’re going to regret.” She sighed. “And, though it might feel good in the moment, it’s not worth the heartache.” She looked at each of them in turn. “So: I know there’s some times where you can’t avoid it, and other times you can—but please. Think before you use your hooves. Okay?”
Foxie nodded immediately, Tango after Twilight turned to look at him, and Whiskey only after a long pause.
Twilight returned the nod, then sighed. And now the hard part.
“Rory, she…” she swallowed. “She told me a little of what she said. And, um…” she fluffed her wings nervously. “It sounded bad.”
The three of them nodded slowly.
“For what it’s worth,” Twilight said, “I’m sorry she said that. She shouldn’t have. And she said she’s sorry, too, though I expect you’d like an apology from her directly.”
More hesitant nods.
Twilight returned the nod herself. “I’ll see what I can do. I think she’s scared of you three now,” she said with a slight smile, “so I don’t know how willing she’ll be.” She shook her head a little. “In any case,” she said. “I wanted to ask…” She hesitated, then proceeded gingerly. “Um… you guys… you…” She swallowed. “You really miss not having a daddy, don’t you?”
Foxie looked away. Whiskey hung her head, making her mane fall in front of her face. Tango looked between the two, sighed, then put down his spoon. “I, uh…” He trailed off uncertainly.
Twilight nodded at him. “Go on,” she encouraged.
Tango swallowed, then looked up at her. “I don’t know what they’ll say, but…” He looked down again and started poking at his ice cream. “I don’t miss my daddy,” he said. “I don’t know who he is, or what he wanted, or why he didn’t stick around.” He shrugged. “How can you miss something you never had?” Whiskey slowly turned to look at him from under his mane, but he continued. “What I miss is what a daddy means,” he said.
Twilight waited for him to continue, but he had apparently said his piece. “What do you mean?” she prompted, after a moment.
Tango sighed. “All the books I read,” he said slowly, “all of ‘em talk about having a daddy. They talk about going hiking, and fishing, and wrestling with your dad. Of getting dirty and going hunting for bugs and talking about fillies and swearing. And even the other colts do it,” he said, looking away. “Their daddies teach ‘em how to fight and throw balls, and take ‘em to Colt Ranger meetings and all that.” He shrugged. “I mean, a whole lot of that doesn’t sound fun… bugs are kinda gross…”
Foxie nodded sagely. Whiskey pushed her mane out of the way and stared at them.
Tango swallowed. “But everywhere I go,” he said, quieter now, “Everyone says that’s how it should be: a mama, a daddy, and a buncha kids.” He closed his eyes. “Even in some of my stories, when someone’s daddy gets space-plague, or killed by robots, or lost in an asteroid field or something, it’s just an accident. He didn’t want to go. He always meant to come back. But our daddy...” He took a deep, shaking breath. “...I don’t even know his name.”
As he fell silent, Twilight felt her eyes fill with tears. She bit her lip and shook her head a little. No. She was the adult here—it was her job to be the emotionally stable one.
Finally, Tango looked up at Twilight. “So that’s what I mean,” he said. “Mama’s the best mama ever—but she’s not a daddy. And that makes us different. Makes us weird.” He snarled. “And I hate being weird.”
Everyone was quiet for a moment. Twilight looked between the three of them, then lowered her head and sighed. “Thank you,” she breathed.
The three of them looked up at her, wonderingly. After a moment, Twilight lifted her head and showed a weak little smile.
“That can’t have been easy, to say that,” she said. “But, if it makes you feel any better, I appreciate it.” She sighed and looked away. “And,” she said, slowly, “for what it’s worth—I’m sorry. I… I can’t imagine what it’s like… and I don’t think anypony deserves to feel that way.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tango bow his head, and heard him let out a long, low, shaking breath. It sounded as if he was on the verge of tears.
And then, Twilight chuckled a little. “Actually,” she said carefully, “I think that you and Rory might have more in common than you might think.”
Tango opened his eyes again, then stared up at her.
“You see…” Twilight chuckled to herself. “She has a mom and a dad… but, I’m so busy all the time, with all the princess things I have to do, she doesn’t get to see me a lot. And she’s just getting to that age where she needs a mom. Things are gonna start happening to her soon, and…” She hesitated, then swallowed. “Anyway. I think, maybe, she might be a little jealous of you. You don’t have a daddy, but she doesn’t have a mommy. Or, she doesn’t think she does.” She glanced at them, then smiled. “I mean, I’m trying to do better, but…” She swallowed. “Go easy on her, okay? If you can?”
The three of them stared at her blankly. Twilight smiled, then lit her horn.
“Now,” she said, “I know it’s a little late, and I know that you’re supposed to eat dessert after you have dinner, but how do you guys feel about grilled cheese sandwiches? And then we’ll go play some card games with Uncle Flash?”
Foxie swallowed. “Won’t that make Princess Aurora mad?”
Twilight chuckled. “Please,” she said, “don’t call her that. She already has a big enough head as it is. ‘Aurora’ is fine, or ‘Rory,’ if she’ll let you. And,” she added, “she’ll be fine. We already had ice cream and a talk earlier. And she actually wanted to spend time in her room. Like I said—I think she’s a little scared of you now.” She sighed a little. “We’ll make it up to her later. So,” she said brightly, “who wants to help with the sandwiches?”
Foxie climbed down from her stool almost immediately, and helped Aunt Twilight get out the ingredients. Tango joined her in short order, and helped Foxie butter the bread while Twilight dug out the frying pan. And, by the time the pan was almost ready, Whiskey climbed down from her stool, tied back her mane with a tie Aunt Twilight offered her, and helped to grate the cheese. She even smiled a little when Aunt Twilight cracked a dumb joke.
They were halfway through eating their sandwiches when Tango swallowed a bite, then turned to watch Aunt Twilight nervously. “Are you gonna tell Mama about this?” he asked.
Twilight chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then swallowed. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. Then, she grinned. “I think it depends on how good you guys are.”
Tango rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Auntie,” he replied.
Twilight smirked. “That’s what grownups are for, isn’t it?” she replied.
Foxie giggled, Tango laughed, and even Whiskey smiled.
* * *
Late Sunday evening, a knock came at the castle door. Pinkie cracked the door open and poked her head inside just as Twilight, trailed by Whiskey, Tango, and Foxtrot,, bags already slung over their shoulders, entered the foyer.
When she saw her, Foxie’s eyes went wide. “Mama!” she cried, and broke into a run, followed close by the others. Pinkie crouched and swept them into an enormous hug, then gave each of them a kiss on the head.
“Oh, you little boogers,” she said, tears starting to form in her eyes, “I missed you so much.”
Whiskey squirmed a little. “It was only three days,” she muttered.
“I know,” Pinkie responded, kissing her again, making her squirm even more. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.” She set each of them down, then smiled. “You ready to go?”
“Almost,” Tango piped up. He set his bags down, and, before Pinkie or Twilight could say anything, he grabbed something out of them, and, holding it in his teeth, trotted off down the hall.
Twilight turned back to Pinkie and pulled her in for a hug. “Welcome back,” she said. “How was Canterlot?”
“Tiring,” she said, “but good—managed to meet a bunch of my old contacts, not to mention some new ones.” Pinkie grinned. “How were the kids?” she asked. “Didn’t give you too much trouble, did they?”
Tango, in the hallway, froze. He could almost hear Whiskey and Foxie holding their breaths.
“Oh,” Twilight said nonchalantly, “they had a little trouble adjusting at first, but they settled in pretty quick.”
Tango let out a long, nervous sigh.
“That’s good,” Pinkie said. “I was a little worried—”
Tango started trotting again, and rounded a corner as their conversation faded into a mumble. He glanced nervously at all the identical doors and started counting. Fifth door on the left, he paused. He took the object he held in his mouth in his hooves. He stared at it for a moment, then swallowed hard, reached up, and knocked on the door.
After a moment, he heard somepony approach the door from the other side, fumble with the doorknob, turn it, then start to pull the door open. Tango squeezed his eyes shut, then thrust out his arms.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Tango opened one eye gingerly.
The door had only been opened a few inches. In the crack stood Aurora, staring at him, an ugly bruise over her eye. Behind her were the pink pastel shades of her bedroom.
“What’s this?” she asked, glancing at the object he held in front of him.
“A peace offering,” he said nervously.
Aurora narrowed her eyes, then examined the book he held out to her. “The Lunar Chronicles,” she read off the cover. She looked back up into his face. “Isn’t Broad Berry above your grade level?”
“A little,” he said defensively.
Aurora stared at him for another moment, then suddenly took a step back and closed the door.
Tango let out the breath he was holding. He lowered the book, and stared again at the old, familiar cover, printed on cheap cardstock, worn white where he had held it, caressed it, over the years. He opened the cover and looked, once more, at the title page. In the top corner, was an old, worn, ink stamp (“PR-PERTY OF THE G-L-EN OAK LIB--RY”), and, underneath that, a red-and-white sticker (“The Grania A. ‘Granny’ Smith Memorial Library”), a line of black marker through its barcode. And, underneath that, someone had written, in the shaky pencil script of a child, the words TaNGo P. He closed the book again and held it up to his nose, breathing in its old, familiar scent one more time—a mix of age, of dust, of old glue, and the faintest whiff of woodsmoke. The smell of history. The smell of a life well-lived. He held it there for a moment longer, then slowly lowered it.
As he stared at the book, a soft, sky-blue glow enveloped it and lifted it gently from his hooves—and replaced it with an equally well-worn volume. He glanced up to see Aurora watching him through the crack in the door, then glanced back down at the cover and examined it carefully.
“Ivanhoof?” he read uncertainly.
Aurora nodded, then opened the door a little wider. “I prefer the classics, myself,” she said with the slightest smile.
Tango stared at the book for a moment longer, then pulled it close to his chest. “Thanks,” he said with a smile.
“You’re welcome,” she said. She hesitated, then took a deep breath. “...I’m sorry I said those things,” she said hesitantly. “About your dad, I mean.” She looked down. “I… I didn’t mean it, if you’ll believe me. I just…” she shook her head. “When I get mad, I tend to just… say things. Without really thinking about it. Y’know?”
Tango nodded carefully. “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry I teased you. It’s, uh...” he chuckled. “It’s what I do when I get mad.” He thought for a moment, then held out his hoof. “Truce?”
Aurora smiled, and opened the door a little wider. She reached out her own hoof and clicked it against his. “Truce,” she said. She smirked, then tilted back her head. “Your princess has received your offer to resume diplomatic relations,” she said, with an airy tone of mock-haughtiness, “and she is pleased to accept.”
Tango grinned, then made a sweeping bow. “And your humble servant is glad to hear it, Your Highness.”
Aurora and Tango shared a giggle, before Tango glanced nervously back down the hall. “Sorry,” he said, “but I gotta go. Mama’s waiting for me.”
Aurora nodded. “Enjoy the book,” she said.
Tango smiled and nodded. “You too,” he said.
Aurora watched him go, then closed the door. She walked to the bed, sat down on it, then opened the book and began to read:
One minute, it was the dead of winter, icicles hanging off the trees, and ponies wrapped up tight in their coats.
Aurora snuggled deeper into her covers.
And then, a wave of summer warmth washed over the little town…