• Published 11th Aug 2018
  • 1,594 Views, 136 Comments

Virga - Dave Bryant



Canterlot is burning. Within days—even hours—enemy troops may sack Twilight’s tower. What if they discover the portal and, even worse, how to use it? Sunset Shimmer, Cookie Pusher, and Rose Brass can’t let that happen. • A Twin Canterlots story

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Epilogue • The ambassador

“Hey, Twilight?” Starlight Glimmer’s expression—and voice—were ambivalent as she spoke over the muffled sawing, hammering, hollering, spell-chimes, and general mayhem emanating from somewhere outside the crystalline tower. “Mister Cook’s here.”

“Cook!” Her Highness Princess Twilight Sparkle blinked as she looked up from the writing table in her endearingly cluttered study. “Now? But—uh, please have him come in, Starlight.”

Starlight sidled over and gestured in token civility toward the doorway. As the other unicorn stepped past her, she faded back into the corridor and disappeared with indecent haste.

Cook rolled his eyes as he entered the cozy chamber. “I don’t think she’ll ever warm up to me.”

“Well, you did kind of yell at her, Sunset, and the rest of the Rainbooms the first time she met you,” Twilight reminded him with an edge of the snarky tone that, truth to tell, was one of the traits he enjoyed most about her.

“I did apologize,” he pointed out with an air of wounded dignity. “More than once. I did this time, too.”

“I guess not everypony can be won over by a diplomat, then.” This time the edge bit a little deeper; Cook winced, and Twilight sighed. “I’m sorry, Cook. All of us have gone through a lot, and maybe I haven’t found my balance again yet. I meant it as a joke, but I can see how it might not come across that way.” She straightened and set down the fountain pen floating in her purple aura. “Anyway, have a seat! What brings you here today?”

“Business, of course.” He shrugged as he came to a halt and casually plunked down just before her table. “I need to head up to Canterlot for an audience with Their Highnesses. There’ve been some changes—good ones, I promise.”

“Um . . . you know, they’re really busy up there,” Twilight cautioned. “They may not have much time to see you, especially with no notice.”

“I do know, and I don’t need a lot of time,” Cook assured her. “But while a chargé d’affaires normally presents his credentials to a foreign minister, it’s customary for an ambassador to present them to a head of state. Since I’m already accredited chief of mission, it’s a formality, but an important one—to show respect for Equestria as much as anything.”

Twilight took only a moment to realize what he meant. Her face lit with a broad smile. “Congratulations, Cook—or should I say, Your Excellency! I always thought it was more of an insult to you than to us that you were just a chargé. And I’m glad you didn’t get fired, like you were afraid would happen.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” The newly minted ambassador bobbed a not wholly ironic bow. “It was touch and go for a while there. Those closed-door hearings were—let’s put it this way: I have an idea for a punishment to mete out in Tartarus. Don’t quote me on that.”

The young royal emitted a surprised giggle, then asked in an arch tone, “So did this help or hurt?” She reached across the table to flick the simple but handsome chivalric badge Cook wore on a midnight-blue ribbon around his neck. On a ground—or sky, really—of matching deep blue bordered in bright silver, the circle of enameled metal bore two fanciful crescent moons of pearlescent white side by side, waxing and waning.

“I think it was a wash,” Cook said judiciously. “Polarizing, actually. Everyone could find a way to argue it supported whatever side he or she was on. What carried the day, I suspect, was the knowledge it expressed in no uncertain terms Equestria’s opinion on the subject, even if it is just honorary.”

“I’ll bet they figured all four of us would send protests if they treated you badly.” Twilight’s smile twisted. “And they’d have been right. You’ve done a good job, Cook—for your country and for ours. We won’t forget that.”

The diplomat smiled back and thanked the princess with a formal nod. “Speaking of, how are the others? I suppose I should know that before tripping off to the palace.” In a quieter tone he added, “Besides, I really do care about them too.”

“Cadance is back home, and glad to be there. So are her family and her subjects.” Her sister-in-law smiled wryly. “And like I said, Celestia and Luna are awfully busy—what’s that terrible expression you used?”

“‘Busier than a one-armed paper-hanger’,” Cook quoted. “It is terrible, isn’t it? But expressive.”

The princess nodded agreement. “Equestria wasn’t devastated, but still, getting it back to normal is taking a lot of work.”

Cook’s brows went up. “I was under the impression you were able to undo a lot of the damage with the staff before it went poof.

“I was able to undo the damage the staff did,” Twilight replied uncomfortably, “but that doesn’t include the poor ponies, or Storm Minions, who were killed—not even the staff could return life where it was lost. And any physical damage the staff didn’t do has to be repaired or replaced using ordinary means. The last I heard there were some Storm Minion airships and troops still running around causing trouble, too.”

She gestured with a forehoof. “And that doesn’t count all the disruptions to ponies’ lives. The EUPG and the Royal Guard are having a terrible time. I don’t think there’ve been so many boards of inquiry and courts-martial in the whole history of either one, and a lot of other organizations are going through their own troubles like that.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about some of that from Rose.” Cook shook his head. “At least I only had to go through one grilling.”

“She’ll be fine, I’m sure.” Twilight sounded mostly confident. A booming crash from outside interrupted, and both ponies started.

“What in the world is going on out there, anyway?” Cook asked in bemusement.

“Um, well—it’s a big construction project.” The admission was distinctly sheepish. “Celestia and Luna were determined to deal with all the emergency stuff themselves, out of guilt, I think. At first I thought they were trying to protect me or something, but they said they wanted me to be more free to deal with anything else that came up—things like you showing up, I guess. So I decided to follow up an idea that would keep me busy, and be a benefit to Equestria, but wouldn’t tie me down completely.”

“It’s never fun to be a spare wheel, even when it’s necessary,” Cook commiserated. “But they also serve who only stand and wait. You still haven’t told me what it is, though.”

“Oh, didn’t I?” The scholarly young mare blinked, and Cook stifled an urge to laugh out loud. “Most of the time we were gone we spent galloping from pillar to post, but once in a while I had time to think. Some of that was . . . pretty bad. But sometimes—sometimes I’d remember a lesson or piece of advice I learned from my family, or Cadance, or Celestia, or my friends, or even you. By the time it was all over, I knew what I wanted to do and how I wanted to do it.”

Her voice became more animated as she warmed to her subject. “I’m the Princess of Friendship. It’s my job to find ways to spread friendship, to find ways to get along with others—other ponies, other creatures, other nations. So I came up with a school of friendship. A way to teach any creature who wants to learn how to find common ground, how to understand where others are coming from, how to ask for help when they need it or to give help when they can.”

The princess tapped the toe of a forehoof on the edge of her writing table. “If we had better connections with other realms like Mount Aris, the Storm King might not have taken us as much by surprise. We might have been able to help the hippogriffs, and we might have been able to stop the Storm King before he got as powerful as he did.”

“If you’re thinking it’s any easier in a digital world, well, I’m afraid I have to be the bearer of bad news.” Cook’s tone was gently humorous.

Twilight’s answering smile was brief but genuine. “I suppose I did wonder, with all those amazing ways to communicate or travel long distances.”

Cook cocked his head. “Just because avenues of communication exist doesn’t mean they’ll be used—or used properly, at least.”

“Do you think a school won’t work, then?” The question was sober.

“I don’t have any idea, Twilight. I honestly don’t,” Cook told her. “It’s worth a try, though. The answer for almost any social problem always seems to boil down to ‘better education’. Of course, improving communication and transportation can help, even if they aren’t complete solutions in themselves.”

Twilight’s smile this time was a little less tentative. “The crown’s already called for bids to drive a rail line, and a telegraph line, to Mount Aris, so I’m sure Celestia and Luna would agree with you there.”

Cook’s brow furrowed. “Yes, bids—and architects, and finding crews and materials during a construction crisis, and . . . you must have started this project of yours the day you got back to Ponyville.”

“Almost,” she admitted. “I want to finish and open for classes as soon as possible. It’s already past the Running of the Leaves. The weather crews are trying to steer the rain away from the site, but there’s only so much they can do, and nopony’s going to want to work during the winter. That puts it on a short time limit.”

“Before I just thought it was going to be expensive.” Cook looked troubled. “Now I think it’s going to be exorbitant. How are you paying for it?”

The princess drew herself up. “I’m plowing most of my royal stipend into it, and I’ve offered subscriptions. I don’t need the money, and the school does. Thanks to the Tree of Harmony, I have a place to live. It even repairs itself, at least minor scuffs and dings—and, uh, dragon bites. My household expenses aren’t that big, really.”

Cook opened his mouth, then paused. “Okay, you’ve thought this through. All I can say is ‘good fortune’, and I really mean that.”

“Thanks, Cook.” Twilight looked genuinely touched. “I don’t suppose you’d consider—”

“Maybe I can give an occasional seminar for the advanced students,” Cook interposed hastily. “I don’t think I’d be available for regular classes.”

“Oh. I guess I can understand that.” The young mare’s disappointment was palpable.

Cook steeled himself against Twilight’s hurt-puppy expression and cleared his throat. “I should get over to the train station. It’s open again, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “I’ll walk you downstairs, at least. Maybe I’ll go see how the work on the school is going.”


When they reached the vast, echoing main hallway on the ground floor, Cook glanced around. “I would swear this place is bigger on the inside.” Twilight’s only reply was a snort.

His gaze flicked to the grand double doors at the interior end of the hall. “Oh. I should apologize for messing around with the mirror. Well, Sunset and Rose helped.”

“That was you?” Scandalized didn’t begin to describe Twilight’s tone.

“Nopony told you?” Cook didn’t seem fazed. “Anyway, I’m sorry we had to do that, but we didn’t want the Storm King’s forces—only we didn’t know who they were yet—to get access to the portal.” He forbore to mention Rose’s original suggestion, not wanting to commit regicide by inducing an aneurysm.

“Ah . . . no, I guess that would’ve been a bad thing.” She gave him a glare, though she couldn’t seem to put much voltage into it. “You know, I had to move it back and reconstruct the whole mechanism from memory. And use the new journal to connect it.”

Cook shrugged. “That’s why I apologized. It was weird, though. After we were done, the map table lit up.”

Twilight stopped dead. “It what?”

Cook paused and looked back. “It put up the map and showed the Storm King’s forces—well, where they were, at least.”

“It’s never done anything like that before.” Her voice sounded stunned. “Especially when none of my friends or I are anywhere around.”

“Good thing it did. That was the only warning we got that we needed to hustle.”

“Yeah, good thing.” Twilight said nothing more until, out on the stoop, she bade him a preoccupied farewell, sending him on his way to the train station and Canterlot, before turning toward the raw, open foundations and basins that, someday soon, would grow into a new school.

Author's Note:

Being a substitute custodian wasn’t exactly steady work, but it would give him a leg up when a full-time position opened. The day before he’d gotten the call to head over to Canterlot High for the first time—apparently the regular custodian there was reliable as rain. He felt a mild stir of curiosity, wondering what had caused the highly unusual absence. Oh well, he’d been hired only three or four months ago; no doubt he’d pick up all the school district’s ins and outs as time went on.
  This early in the morning, only a few students and teachers were visible on the grounds. He looked over the imposing, and impressive, main building as he approached it from the street. After a moment, though, his brow wrinkled and he turned to glance at the oddly bare plinth in the middle of the front setback, surrounded by a concrete plaza. It stuck out like a sore thumb, and he wondered why it hadn’t been removed. Likely the job would be more work and expense than it was worth.
  His glance was arrested by a row of brightly colored chalk marks running across the plinth near its top. He made a mental note to break out the power washer after the end of the school day, just before he locked up. There shouldn’t be anyone around by then, right?