//------------------------------// // Day 43: The Iron Crescent Railway // Story: Around the World in 81 Days (And Other Problems Caused by Leap Years) // by GaPJaxie //------------------------------// The train’s wheels clicked and clacked on the rails. The engine rumbled ahead of them, a steady, pleasant noise just quiet enough that it seemed more like a purr than any mechanical sound. From the car ahead came a steady babble of pleasant conversation, muted by the walls until no words could be made out and there was just a general impression of good spirits. A mare laughed. Outside the window, the Saddle Arabian desert slowly drifted past, its villages and towns visible only as spots of light beneath the starry sky, lit with the glow of oil lamps, magic, or, rarer still, electricity. Spike gently cracked open the door to Twilight’s suite. The lights inside were out, and after barely a moment, he started to pull the door shut again. Then the shadow on her bed stirred. “I’m awake, Spike,” she says, her voice clear and alert. “I just turned the lights off so I could see the stars. Come on in.” Light spilled in from the hall as Spike nudged the door open with his shoulder, both of his hands occupied holding a large metal tray. The room’s many decorations glittered in the pale electrical glow, white light playing odd patterns across golden decorations. The whole room was done up in the proper Saddle Arabian style: the walls brightly painted, the bed and other furniture lovingly carved from hardwood, and everything capped in polished gold. Pillows were piled everywhere, and Twilight was laying out on a pile of them on the bed, her head turned to stare out the window. “You have letters that you’ll probably want to hear right away. And I brought you some juice.” Spike moved quickly, laying out his tray on Twilight’s spare table. It held a pile of letters, a pitcher of orange juice and a glass, scissors and a hairbrush, a collection of jewelry and a bottle of perfume, and a pack of long wooden matches. He picked up the matches first, pulling one out and lightning it with a puff of his dragon fire. The long wooden shaft proved ideal for reaching down into the room's thin-necked oil lamps, and soon, Twilight’s suite was bathed in a comfortable orange glow. The whole process had gone so efficiently, Twilight had barely even sat up in bed. She was still rubbing at her eyes, when Spike shut the door to the hallway to keep out the harsher white light. “Thank you, Spike,” she said softly, watching him with tired eyes as he poured a glass of the orange juice. “Um…” She took the glass from him, levitating it with her horn. She stared down into the liquid. “So what do the letters say?” Spike plucked the pile of letters from the tray, reading through them one at a time. “Princess Luna reports that the situation in Aero-Lipizzia is continuing to decay. There are race riots in the capital, and several unicorn and earth pony settlements on the Griffonian border have declared their independence. Emperor Iron Cross has mobilized the army and announced a draft of five-hundred thousand ponies to ‘suppress the rebellion and defend the realm.’ She says she’s pleading for calm but isn’t sure it’s making a difference. Prince Chain Link was one of the calmest and most moderate voices in court, and without him, the atmosphere has changed.” Twilight swallowed, then nodded. She put the glass of orange juice to one side, her eyes still downcast. “Send a reply… um.” She bit her lip for a moment. “Acknowledge we received her message.” Spike nodded and wrote quickly. “That’s it?” “Yeah, that’s it. Next, please.” Spike plucked the next message from the pile. “Princess Silver Dove writes from Tersk. She says she wanted to give you advance notice that two days from now her father will be mobilizing the army and announcing a draft of two million ponies. She says she and her father have no designs on Aero-Lipizzia’s territory, don’t want a conflict, and acknowledge Aero-Lipizzia’s right to suppress internal disorder. But then she adds that if Emperor Iron Cross attempts to use his pegasus air power to retaliate against the ‘innocent orlov civilians’ in his realm she will ‘render him incapable of such actions in the future.’” Twilight drew a deep breath, and forcefully nodded. “Thank her for letting me know in advance.  Remind her that in the eyes of Equestria, all pony races are equal, and that we have never condoned racial oppression. Inform her that Equestria is open to a negotiated solution that grants independence to those ponies who desire it, but that such a solution will regrettably be totally impossible if she attacks Aero-Lipizzia. Send Celestia a copy of the original message and my reply.” Spike wrote quickly, checking once with Twilight to make sure the exact wording was to her liking. Then, he moved to the next letter. “Princess Celestia urges you to come home immediately. She’s concerned for your safety and—” “Absolutely not,” Twilight snapped, her tone picking up an edge as her eyes narrowed. “Write to her that…” Twilight held a hoof to her chest, running through a breathing exercise. “Tell her that it’s more important than ever that I’m out here now, while we can still stop this thing. Saddle Arabia and Zansikar are close allies. If Zansikar says they won’t support a war, Saddle Arabia may bow out, and that means the zebra will probably bow out too.” Spike’s quill paused, and he looked over the paper. “Do you uh… think you can make Zansikar see it that way?” “They’re a democracy, Spike.” She shook her head. “How many ponies do you think will vote to go fight and risk death because of a foreign prince four thousand miles away?” She let out a sharp snort. “Tell Celestia we are on schedule and I’ll see her exactly thirty-eight days from now.” Spike said nothing, and finished writing the letter. He reached for the next one in the pile. “Sorry,” Twilight blurted out, abruptly. When Spike looked back to her, her ears had folded back, and her tail was tucked in behind her. “Sorry. I know I was kind of… stern. There. It’s not your fault.” “I know,” Spike said gently. “It’s okay, Twilight. You’re under a lot of stress.” He looked back at the tray. “The rest of the letters are mostly just well-wisher letters and war intelligence. You can read through them later. I uh…” He cleared his throat. “There’s a party going on two cars up. I thought you might want to go join them. Get out of your suite a bit.” “I don’t think so.” “It would be good for you.” He gestured back at the tray. “At least let me cut your hair. It’s been over a month since we left. You’re starting to look a little overgrown for a head of state.” Twilight looked at the tray, and the many accoutrements there. She swallowed. Laughed a little. “Spike, would you come sit over here, please? I’d like to talk to you.” “Uh…” Spike touched the tips of his claws together, and it was only slowly that he sat down on the bed beside Twilight. “Did I do something wrong?” “No. I did.” Twilight fell silent after that, her tension so palpable she was almost squirming where she sat. She seemed to want to look anywhere but Spike: out the window, at the floor, up at the ceiling of the train car. “I haven’t treated you well.” “Twilight, if this is about what happened on the Great Western, you’ve already apologized for that like a million times.” He waved the thought away with a claw, his tone at ease. “It’s okay.” “No, it’s not. ‘Sorry’ only counts when you understand why what you did was wrong. And… I’ve been thinking.” She went through another of her breathing exercises, holding her hoof tight to her chest and slowly letting it out. It took her a moment to go on. “Everypony thinks they’re the good guy in their own story,” she began, her gaze resolutely on the floor. She spoke slowly, and quietly, taking her time with every word. “We always do what seems right at the time, so of course, we feel we’re doing the right thing. But sometimes, we lose our sense of perspective, and… it makes us do things. Like, when we first met Zecora. Applejack thought she was protecting her town and her family, and she is good pony. But, in Zecora’s story, Applejack is the villain. Or, a villain. We were all wrong. But we didn’t know that at the time.” She fiddled with the sheets with a hoof, twisting the point down into the covers. “And…” She laughed again. “It’s a cliche, you know? How ponies turn out just like the ponies who raised them, even if they don’t want to? It’s a joke, almost. The mare who wakes up one morning and goes ‘Oh my gosh, I’ve become my mother.’ But it’s true. The whole reason I set out on this mission in the first place is I don’t want to be Celestia. I don’t want to play ponies like a centuries-long game of chess. I want to do the right thing now. I want to help the ponies… uh.” She cleared her throat. “The people who exist. I want to do right by them. But Celestia mentored me, and honestly raised me for a lot of my life. I looked up to her. I still look up to her. And…” She lifted her head to look at Spike, her eyes searching and worried. “It never even occurred to me to wonder if it was okay to give a child as a gift, or to raise that child to be a servant. And I didn’t realize what I did until…” Her voice cracked. “I mean, yes, I was upset. But I dismissed you. And it’s not okay, Spike. You’re not my servant. You’re my little brother. And I haven’t treated you right.” Spike sat there with his hands folded in his lap, staring up at Twilight with a wide, blank expression. He bit his lip, and looked down as well, wringing his claws together. It wasn’t until Twilight sniffled that he managed to assemble a reply, resting a claw over her hoof. “Twilight, Celestia didn’t give me as a gift, she put me in your care. And you did a good job raising me. And yeah, maybe the whole Number One Assistant thing is a little different, but Celestia knows what she’s doing. I don’t think it’s just a lucky coincidence that we work really well together.” “No, of course it’s not, but…” She sniffled again, shaking her head. “But it’s still not right. I’m sure she did think it over. I’m sure she somehow knew we’d work well together, and I can see the reasoning. You’re going to be a full adult dragon one day, and having a full grown dragon who cares for the ponies of Equestria would be really beneficial.” Twilight’s voice strained, and for a moment she struggled for words. “I’m sure Celestia is doing what’s best for the long run,” she eventually said, but her tone was less than friendly, the strain around its edges spreading inwards, “just like when she told me that the story of Nightmare Moon was ‘silly old books’ she was telling me what she thought I needed to hear.  But she still lied to me, and she still took away your choice about who you’re going to be and tried to make you into my lackey! And I let myself be a part of that.” Spike sat there in silence for a moment, before forcing out a rigid: “It’s okay, Twilight.” “No,” she insisted, her voice scratchy as her eyes misted up. She pulled her hoof away, but he extended his claw after it, and after a moment she relented. She rested her hoof where he guided, and he grasped her ankle with his off hand, both hands cradling her hoof in his lap. “It’s really not.” He squeezed her hoof, and despite herself, she smiled down at him. “You know I’m not unhappy, right, Twilight? I like being a servant. I’m good at it. And you’re an important pony.” “You don’t know what happy and unhappy are. You haven’t had the chance to learn.” She sniffled, and reached up with her other hoof, gently stroking back his spines. “Spike, if you were a pony, you’d be a young stallion now. We’d be looking for your cutie mark. This is the time in your life when you should be trying to discover your destiny. What makes you really satisfied in life.” “But…” Spike hesitated, his posture turning stiff. “Being your assistant is my destiny.” He quickly added. “Twilight, I’m good at this. I’m really good at this, okay? I like it.” “I know. I know. Shhh.” Twilight cooed, reaching out to pull him in a hug. He hugged her back tighter than he should have, his grip uncomfortable and his eyes wide. “I know. You’re an amazing assistant. And don’t think I haven’t noticed everything you’ve done to keep us on schedule and to cheer me up. A hundred little adjustments. But do you know why you’re a good assistant, Spike?” He shook his head, and she gently pushed him back, holding him about the shoulders with a hoof as she looked down into his eyes. “Because you’re sharp. And hard working. And a good listener. And because you’ve grown up into a mature and patient young drake. You’re talented, Spike. You’re really talented.” “A princess's Number One Assistant should be talented,” he insisted, a pleading edge to his tone. “I do more than just fold your laundry.” “You’re right,” Twilight agreed gently. “I couldn't ask for a better helper. But just because you being my servant would be best for me, that doesn’t mean it would be best. Maybe you’d be happy as my servant. But you know, Spike? I think you’ll be happy whatever you do. You find the best in life, and you find the best in ponies. But there’s something out there that’s meant for you. Maybe it is being a servant. But maybe it’s dragon magic. Or maybe it’s traveling the world. Or maybe you’ll become an Artificer like those books you keep reading. I don’t know what it is. But you’ll never find it if you’re living in my shadow.” “I have found it, Twilight.” Spike gripped her hoof tighter, leaning forward as he spoke. His voice picked up, words coming quickly and urgently. “I’m not… I don’t enjoy being a servant because l really love folding towels. It’s because you’re important. Making sure you can do your job, get around on time, all the little things. That matters. This is how I contribute. And it’s more important than whatever else I could do. Equestria needs its princess running on full steam more than it needs another magical scholar or a tinker.” “Maybe that’s what Equestria needs, but I don’t think that’s what you need.” Twilight leaned down and nuzzled Spike’s forehead, smiling as she leaned back. “I’m not sending you away, okay? I promise. Goodness knows I’d starve if you weren’t around to remind me to eat. But when we get back to Ponyville, I want you to try other things. I want you to take some time to explore, or maybe take an apprenticeship with—” “No.” The word came louder than Spike had meant it, and Twilight pulled her head back, a frown on her face. “No, I mean,” Spike added quickly, softening his words. “Maybe. But, right now, what Equestria needs is more important than what I need. What you need is more important. You’re the Princess. It’s your world, I’m just here to help.” Twilight’s frown only deepened. “I don’t want to be some commanding better-than-thou aristocrat.” “I know!” Spike pleaded, his eyes wide as he tightened his grip on Twilight’s hoof. “I know that’s not what you want to be, but that’s what you are. And that’s what Equestria needs you to be right now. That’s what the world needs you to be or it’s gonna explode. A princess is what you are, and a servant is what I am, and that’s okay. And that works. And I love you, Twilight, and I know you love me and…” He swallowed, and his voice cracked. “Please don’t break it.” Twilight’s ears folded back as she looked at him, tears forming in her eyes. She pulled him into another tight hug, sniffling as she blinked the tears away. “No, Spike, a Princess isn’t what I am, and a servant isn’t what you are. Serving is a thing you do. What you are is a person. A clever, hard working, kind young dragon, who I know is going to go on to do great things.” She leaned back, resting a hoof under his chin so he had to look her in the eye. “And I need you to do something for me now, okay? Promise me.” Despite her hoof, he managed a nod, his eyes wide as he stared up at her. “I can see how much this is upsetting you. I know, being my Number One Assistant is a big deal to you, and I need you to keep doing that. This trip would already be a disaster without you. And I need you to promise me we’ll get back to Equestria on time.” Again, Spike nodded, his chin pressing down into Twilight’s hoof. Despite the tears, she smiled a little, and went on: “But I also need you to promise me that you’ll really look at other things you might want to do. Not just give them a cursory glance so you can say you did and they weren’t interesting. Really open your heart to the idea.  And if you do that, and you still want to be my assistant, the spot will always be yours. Can you promise that, Spike?” For the third time, he nodded, this time adding: “I promise, Twilight.” “I love you, Spike,” she said, giving him one more squeeze as she rubbed away the tears. “I know, Twilight. And…” He swallowed. “You’re not like Celestia. You’re your own pony. And you’re going to be an amazing Princess.” After a moment, he added: “Can I sleep here tonight? Beside the bed like I used too? I’ve been…” He drew an unsteady breath. “Having nightmares ever since Akhal-Teke.” “Of course!” Twilight levitated a pillow up into Spike’s grip, then packed three or four more in around him for good measure. “Come on. How about we read together for a bit like we used to and then call it a night?” “I, uh…” Spike turned the pillow over in his hands. “I should send your letters first. To Silver Dove and Celestia.” “That can wait. You’re more important.” “It can, but uh…” He straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. “It shouldn't. I’ll be right back, okay?” “Okay. If you’re sure.” Twilight pulled one of the pillows away so he could more easily hop down. “Come right back though, okay? You’re done with work for tonight.” “Yes, Twilight,” Spike said, hurrying off. He grabbed the papers and scrolls he needed, pushed open the door to the hall, stepped out, and shut it behind him. Then he hurried down the hallway, around the bend to the conductor’s station. Once he was out of sight and earshot of Twilight’s door, he leaned on the wall and lowered his head. The scrolls he was holding fell to the floor as he clutched his face with his other hand, struggling and failing to keep his breathing under control as air came in short, quick gasps.