• Published 23rd Dec 2011
  • 26,565 Views, 1,765 Comments

A Bluebird's Song - Ardensfax



Rainbow Dash is struggling against her own past. Is it time for her rising star to fall?

  • ...
58
 1,765
 26,565

If Fortune Favours the Brave

A Bluebird’s Song

~~~
All sparks will burn out
In the end
~~~

If Fortune Favours the Brave

The evening was wearing slowly on into night.

Rarity had not once left Fluttershy’s side, holding her hoof as her dressings were changed, and ointments were applied to her injuries. She felt every wince as if the pain were her own. A patch on the pegasus’s foreleg was red and shiny, the fur either burned away or scorched beyond repair. Right now, it was wrapped in a tight, protective dressing. The final instruction of the doctor’s had been to get some rest, and she should be sufficiently recovered to leave by the next day, provided she promised to keep a rigorous eye on taking care of the injury.

Sleep, however, was not coming easily. Fluttershy’s room was small and westerly-facing, the final glowing lances of the setting sun casting dancing, dusky shadows on the wall above her head. Her alabaster companion was still seated on a chair beside the bed. Rarity had asked a few times if Fluttershy was comfortable with her presence, if she might rather be left alone, but to her relief the pegasus had wanted Rarity by her side at all times.

Neither of them spoke about what had passed between them in Cloudsdale; with Dash’s life hanging in the balance, it seemed almost crass to discuss such personal matters. Besides, Rarity was content enough with Fluttershy’s mere company at that moment.

Now that the last of the tranquilizer had worn off, Fluttershy seemed torn between guilt at her assault on Ignis, and a lasting anger at the way he had ordered the dragon to be killed in such cold blood. Occasionally, her eyes would glaze over, and she would give a small shudder. Rarity could tell she was reliving the moment when the spear had entered the creature’s eye. Of course, her main concern was for Dash’s welfare, but the immediacy and brutality of the dragon’s death had left her equally disturbed.

After her experience in the forest, the canary mare seemed to crave physical contact; reassurance from a pony she trusted. She would hold Rarity’s hoof between her own for long periods of time, clutching it to her chest or cheek. It was during these times that she seemed the most at peace.

Presently, Rarity turned to see Fluttershy gazing at her, her expression fearful. “Do you think she’s going to make it?” The tone of voice demanded honesty, not blind reassurance.

Rarity sighed. “I don’t know, Fluttershy,” she replied. “I’ve got every faith in her, but she’s been through so much.” She smiled, weakly at the pegasus. “Mind you, if there’s one pony I’d expect to have the nerve to pull through something like this, it’d be her. It’d be just like her, wouldn’t it?”

Fluttershy smiled back, but her eyes were sad. “I suppose it would.”

Silence descended between them for another few minutes. Fluttershy’s eyes were closed, but she was fitful and restless. Sleep was not coming easily to her. Eventually she let out a low groan.

Immediately, Rarity was standing by her side. “Are you alright, Darling? Are you in pain?”

The canary mare shook her head, opening her eyes again, and balefully eyeing the neatly-dressed burn. “No, it just… itches. All the time.”

“It’s stopping you from sleeping?”

“Mhm,” Fluttershy nodded, looking up plaintively at the unicorn. She gestured to the bed beside her. “Would… would you…?”

Rarity realized what Fluttershy wanted, and smiled gently down at her. “Of course, dear.” It was probably breaking every hospital rule in the book, but the pegasus needed sleep, and for that she needed reassurance. Slowly, taking utmost care not to knock Fluttershy’s injured leg, the pearly unicorn climbed beneath the duvet beside her… could Fluttershy be called her marefriend? Her love? She supposed that time would tell.

The sun had truly set now, and the occupied bed was pleasantly warm after the cold of the tiled floor. Rarity wondered if her mere presence would be enough to soothe Fluttershy to sleep, but the moment she was settled, the primrose-yellow pegasus embraced her beneath the covers, holding her close. The unicorn reciprocated the motion, wrapping her forelegs around Fluttershy’s neck and nuzzling her luxuriant mane, breathing in the scent and basking in the soft, sensual proximity of the mare she loved.

Fluttershy snuggled into Rarity’s neck, her breathing already easing. “Thank you, Rarity,” she whispered in contentment, her breath playing down the unicorn’s chest.

Rarity planted a gentle kiss on the pegasus’s forehead; the moment’s innate calmness was making her feel sleepy herself. In a few minutes, Fluttershy’s breathing had the even, deep regularity of a peacefully sleeping mare. Rarity closed her eyes too, feeling herself drifting, melting in the embrace of this mare who was so effortlessly graceful even in sleep.

It seemed fitting that their first night together should be an oasis; an antithesis to such a tempestuous, painful day. Fluttershy was hurt, and not just physically. Twilight must be infinitely more so, and as for Dash… Right then, however, she felt optimistic, even if she had no right to. Somehow, she knew. They were going to be alright.

*

Twilight had wept. She had denied, bargained, railed in fury against her own guilt. When she finally felt able to walk she had forced the doctor to remove her drips, and had made her tottering, unsteady way into Dash’s room.

The pegasus was a mess, that much was undeniable. Her wings were elevated by pulleys and wires, and were both in casts, unlike the simple bandaged splints which had been enough to repair her wings the last time she had injured herself. The solid chunks of unforgiving white plaster spoke of much more serious damage. The lower half of her body was swathed in bandages. Several intravenous tubes wormed their way into her pallid limbs like invasive tendrils. An oxygen tube fed into her nose. Her chest was moving up and down, but whether this was natural or the product of some mechanical intervention, Twilight could not tell. The doctors had mentioned significant internal bleeding, but nothing that would not heal naturally given time.

Time did not seem to be in any abundance, however.

After a fashion, the others had left her alone.

Twilight had stood by the unmoving form for hours, sometimes pacing up and down the room until lightheadedness forced her back into a seat. She had spoken in a gentle, monotonous tone, sometimes holding one-sided conversations, sometimes talking to herself or the room at large. She ignited her horn, only to extinguish it once again for fear of her own medical inexpertise. In desperation, she had kissed the unresponsive lips again and again, praying that Dash may somehow sense her presence, or be revitalized. She had come away with nothing but a sense of violation, as if she had forced herself upon the defenceless pegasus. She took a drink, if only to wash her mouth out, to cleanse herself of guilt. Surely, this was how catharsis tasted.

In the end, she fell asleep in her chair, defeated.

*

“Wake up, my student.”

Twilight’s crusty eyes cracked open. She was back in her own bed; somepony must have carried her while she slept. The physical and mental exhaustion were catching up with her, and even now the patch of her forehead around her horn felt unpleasantly tender. From the light, she guessed that sleep had carried her through to the early afternoon.

Gazing down at her sleep-curled form were the saddened eyes of Princess Celestia. The monarch bowed her head. “Twilight, once again you surpass any of my expectations.”

The unicorn gazed blearily up at the princes. “What… what do you mean, Princess? I failed. I didn’t bring her home.”

Celestia sighed. “Somehow, I knew you would find a way to blame yourself. It’s not perfect, but you gave her a chance; a chance she wouldn’t otherwise have had. You nearly gave your life for her, and from what they told me you had every intention of doing so. Isn’t that enough?”

The answer was obvious from Twilight’s silence. In truth, she had a plan; a backup. She always had a plan B, and this situation was no different. She had woken up with the idea fully formed in her head, as if she had been deliberating it overnight.

The difficulty, of course, was telling the princess of her intention. “Have the doctors spoken to you?” she asked, quietly.

Celestia nodded. “Yes.”

“And?”

The princess could see that Twilight was in no mood for euphemisms. “Her chances aren’t good. They’ve sewn up her cuts, but the combination of blood loss and trauma were too much. It’s not a physical thing anymore; it’s a mental one. If she slips away, it’s because her brain’s just given up the struggle.”

At the words ‘slips away’, Twilight winced, and gritted her teeth, steeling herself for what needed to be said. Celestia would probably take this badly, but she had to at least try. It might be Dash’s last chance.

“Princess?”

“Yes, Twilight?”

“There’s… there’s a spell.” She gulped, but pressed on. “I read about it once, back in Canterlot. The book’s not in Ponyville Library, as best I can tell.”

“Which spell do you mean?” Celestia looked a little concerned, and pressed on, hoping to disabuse Twilight of any impossible hopes. “Awakening Rainbow Dash from her coma by magical means is beyond even my abilities, Twilight. You have to understand that some things cannot simply be healed.”

“That’s not what I mean,” replied Twilight. “I’d like to ask you to do something for me. Something for if Rainbow doesn’t make it. The spell… given the proper ritual, it allows you to trade one pony’s life for another’s. The tally spell, it’s called.”

“Death’s tally may only increase, but bargains may be struck,” murmured Celestia, casting back in her near-eternal memory, recalling the particular passage from that book. She sighed. “I feared this.”

“Princess, if Dash slips away, I’d like for you to use that spell on me. Bring her back.” Twilight’s voice was perfectly steady; she was decided. “This is all my fault; it was my research that put Sunset on our tails. I was the one who played with fire, if anypony deserves to be burned, it’s me.”

For a long moment, there was a billowing, awful silence. Then Celestia shook her head, slowly. “I’m sorry, Twilight. I can’t do that.”

Twilight met her gaze with an intense, questioning stare. “Why not?”

“Because as ruler of this land, sometimes I am forced to make difficult decisions.” Celestia’s voice was flat, the voice of a pony whose mind could not be changed or swayed. “You are the Element of Magic. You are the nexus that binds the others together, and without you the Elements cannot function at all. You’ve saved Equestria twice, and I will not willfully leave my subjects undefended. I know how cold it sounds, but I’m afraid that given the choice of two lives, I must choose yours.”

“What about Rainbow? What about Loyalty?”

“Twilight, I doubt there’s another unicorn alive with your magical ability. You are the Element of Magic, and nopony can take your place.” Celestia looked at the floor, her expression almost shameful. “Without Loyalty, you will admittedly be weakened, but the Elements will seek out a replacement.”

“A replacement?” spat Twilight. “Oh no, if you think anypony could possibly take Rainbow’s place, then clearly you don’t know her.”

“You are the only irreplaceable component, Twilight. The Elements have already drawn six perfectly compatible ponies together,” Celestia said, gently. “I understand that the idea of a new Element of Loyalty seems repugnant and disgusting to you, but to the Elements it is entirely possible.”

“So that’s what we are?” Twilight demanded, incredulously. “We’re just a machine to you? We’re just some magic wand that you can wave and make problems go away?” She sat bolt up right, her eyes furious. “How am I supposed to live? Knowing that I’ve lost Dash, and that it’s all my fault. Knowing that I could have saved her?”

For the first time, a note of anger crept into Celestia’s voice. “And what of me?” she exclaimed. “My second Protégé, Elixir, died in battle because I could not reach him in time. I crossed half of Canterlot to reach him, in time to see him fall from the battlements. I failed him, and he died because of my failure. I’m sorry, Twilight, but I refuse to strike the death blow on the one pony I care about the most. I couldn’t do it. You’re like a daughter to me, Twilight.” Tears were forming in the monarch’s eyes. “Is it too much to ask for there to be one pony who doesn’t add to my guilt? Is it too much to ask for one less face haunting me when I try to sleep?”

The princess turned away to hide her face, and Twilight hung her head, the anger draining from her expression.

Selfish. The rational side of Twilight brain began to berate her.

Just think, Twilight. How would Dash feel? How would she feel to know that she’s alive because you’re not? It’d hurt her for the rest of her life. You’re just afraid, you’re afraid of the pain. Do you really want to transfer that pain to the mare you claim to love? And what about Spike? Would you really abandon him.

Love is a selfish, horrible thing. I’d do it. Even now, given the chance, I’d do it.

And you’d pretend to the last that you were doing it for her sake. You’re disgusting.

“I… I’m sorry, Princess.”

Celestia turned to face Twilight, a little more composed. Her expression laid no blame. With her great accumulation of years and her equally broad experience of emotional connection, she understood all too well the conflict and desperation that love could lead ponies to. “Don’t apologize, Twilight,” she said, gently. “Remember, she still has a chance. Her mental fortitude is incredible; I would not be at all surprised if she pulls through.”

Twilight felt sleep creeping up on her again. Her mind was active, but her body was still fatigued. “I hope so…” she mumbled, closing her eyes.

Celestia walked to the door, leaving her student to her rest.

As she drifted, Twilight’s determination was in no way lessened. She hated herself, she knew that plotting to abandon her friends in this way was callous and completely, utterly wrong. Even so, she could not help but plot, the wheels of her brain turning incessantly, against her will.

I’ll find a way.

*

“Are… are you sure you heard right?”

Applejack, Pinkie Pie and Rarity were sitting together in the hospital’s waiting room. At this time in the afternoon it was quiet, and the three ponies sat bunched up together on adjacent chairs. In reality, they need not have concerned themselves with being quiet. A pained-looking auburn pegasus who kept glancing distractedly at the clock, and an ochre unicorn mare with a tightly-wrapped headscarf were the room’s only other occupants, and they were keeping well to themselves.

Rarity and Pinkie were staring open-mouthed at Applejack’s revelation. The orange earth pony nodded, gravely. “Sure as oats is oats. I was walkin’ past the door, ya understand? I didn’t mean ta overhear or nothin’.” her expression was guilty, as if she were a young filly caught stealing sweets.

Rarity’s expression was one of shock. Fluttershy was still snoozing, so she had reluctantly disentangled herself from the peaceful pegasus in order to catch up with the others. She had left the sleeping mare with a tender nuzzle and a short note explaining where she had gone, just in case she awoke. “She asked… She wanted the princess to…?” She stopped, unable to complete the sentence.

“That’s the way it sounded,” affirmed Applejack. For once, she was not wearing her hat. The perpetually tattered accessory lay limply on the chair beside her. “Best I could tell, the princess shot her down pretty bad; she just plain refused to even consider it. Once she had time to think about the consequences, I guess Twilight got the picture. Even so…” The orange pony seemed not only shocked by Twilight’s apparent disregard for her own life, but also deeply betrayed.

Pinkie sighed. “I never even knew unicorns could do something like that,” she exclaimed, settling back on the plush seat in frustration.

Applejack shook her head. “Nor me, Pinkie.”

For a few moments, there was silence.

“…I did,” piped up Rarity, in a small voice. All eyes turned on her. “I heard about it a few years ago,” she clarified, hastily. “It was in the news. A mare passed away in childbirth, but the foal survived. Apparently, the husband wanted his child to have a mother. He thought it was more important, and he had the money, so he… he paid a ex-professor from the Canterlot Institute. Celestia only knows what possessed him to agree to do it.” Rarity sighed. “Anyway, they went through with it, and it worked. They tried to keep it quiet, but the professor was arrested, they called it ‘assisting suicide’. The professor must have been subtle though; in the end, the whole thing was quashed over lack of evidence. The point is, I don’t think it’s even that difficult a spell. There’s only one prerequisite, actually.”

“What’s that?” asked Pinkie, her eyes wide, leaning in closer.

Rarity smiled, humourlessly. “It’s what keeps the spell safe. It’s what prevents ponies from going out and kidnapping some random pony to use them as the ‘trade’. It takes love, simply put. It only works if the pony sacrificing themselves has sufficiently strong feelings about the one they hope to bring back.”

For a few moments, there was an uncomfortable silence. Just like the others, Rarity felt hurt and a little betrayed by Twilight’s lack of thought for her friends. Somehow, though, she felt unjustified in feeling that way. A thought sprang unbidden across her mind: You’d be just as willing to give up your life for Fluttershy. You wouldn’t think of the consequences either. It’s hardly fair of you to judge Twilight.

The general atmosphere was heavy and morose. Two of their number had nearly been killed, and one of those was by no means safe. As the three ponies sat in silence together, kicking their hooves on the stained tile floor, that knowledge weighed heavily upon them. None of them felt inclined to make conversation. At times like this, even the strongest of friendships were loose-weave at best. Unity in times of conflict was one thing, but waiting in this way was soul-destroying, hanging on whatever judgment time decided to throw their way. Utterly powerless.

In spite of their inactivity, none of them quite wanted to visit Twilight. Although it was not voiced aloud, her room had become, for the moment, almost taboo. They traded vagaries in undertones, talking of ‘letting her get some rest’. In truth, they had no idea what they would say to her. Would Twilight pretend that nothing had passed between her and Celestia? Would they be able to pretend the same, if she did?

At that moment, the door to Fluttershy’s room opened, some distance to their left. The bleary-eyed but visibly relieved mare exited, tailed by a short, rotund doctor, who bid her a friendly goodbye and vanished swiftly up one of the hospital’s many anonymous corridors.

Fluttershy trotted into the waiting room, noticing the other three bunched up close together, at a very obvious loose end. She took a seat beside Rarity, flashing her a grateful smile which the unicorn could not help but return. “The doctor says I can go,” she said, quietly. “I need to change my own dressing twice a day for the next few days, and apply this ointment each time,” she gestured to the functional, white saddlebag which had been leant to her by the hospital in lieu of her own, in which nestled a roll of gauze and a tube of paste.

Applejack nodded. “I gotta say, sugarcube,” she said, sincerely, “I’m mighty glad nothin’ worse happened to ya down there. We’ve got you to thank for bringin’ them home.” Pinkie and Rarity nodded in grateful agreement.

Fluttershy blushed at the praise, breaking eye contact with the farm pony and looking around the waiting room, half-hiding behind her mane. She had never been one to take compliments easily, and tended to clam up if her achievements were lauded.

Her eyes lingered for a few moments on one of the half-dead pot plants that dotted the waiting room tables, sitting in their islands of well-hoofed and out-of-date magazines. She was about to turn back to face the others, when she seemed to spot something on the other side of the room.

Suddenly, her eyes widened, and the colour drained from her face. Even her blush vanished with the shock. Her eyes had alighted on the ochre unicorn mare, sitting in the corner, gazing idly at her hooves. She was middle-aged and her face was lined and tired-looking, her head and neck swathed in a silken headscarf which had done the fashion rounds in Manehattan a few years ago.

“What’s the matter, darling?” asked Rarity, resting a hoof on Fluttershy’s withers, her voice one of concern.

Fluttershy turned to her, and blinked once, the initial surprise fading. She hoisted a very fake smile onto her face, and tilted her head towards the corridor. “I’ve just realized,” she said in a falsely bright voice. “They’ve given me the wrong ointment! Would you girls mind coming with me? I don’t like wandering around here on my own.”

“What, all of us?” asked Pinkie in confusion, the obvious subtext whistling directly over her head and impacting uselessly with the whitewashed wall.

“Yes, Pinkie,” replied Fluttershy, her teeth slightly gritted. “I’d be ever so grateful.”

Rarity gave the pink earth pony a stiffening nudge, and she appeared to cotton on after a moment’s deliberation. “Oh. Oh! Okie-dokey then, Flutters.”

The three of them stood, and began to make their nonchalant way up the corridor. As soon as they rounded the corner, Fluttershy looked urgently up and down the deserted passage, and spotted an obviously unoccupied room about halfway along. She darted inside, gesturing for the others to follow suit, and shut the door with a snap.

As it turned out, they found themselves sequestered in a space little larger than a cupboard, filled with mops and bottles of disinfectant. The only light shone through the circular glass panel in the door.

Pinkie looked around at the place, one eyebrow raised, then turned to Fluttershy. “I don’t think they’ve got any ointment here,” she finally declared, with the air of one making a solemn and deliberated pronouncement.

The canary pegasus was breathing hard. She ignored Pinkie, and gestured towards the waiting room in which they had been sitting. “That mare,” she gasped, speaking uncharacteristically rapidly, “the one with the headscarf. I… I know her.”

Rarity looked surprised. “You know her? She doesn’t look like she’s from Ponyville, not with that bizarre headgear… do you mean you knew her before you moved here?”

Fluttershy nodded. “When I was a filly in Cloudsdale. Well, I never knew her personally... It’s a long story. She’s changed since then, but I’d recognize her anywhere.”

A snide, ironic voice in her head piped up: Of course you recognize her. You once broke a filly’s jaw over a locket carrying her picture.

That’s irrelevant, she chided herself. The question is, what’s she doing here? What’s she doing here after all these years?

Her best guess, she hated to admit to herself, was not optimistic. The mare had lived with a militant anti-pegasus activist for years. Who knew how much those beliefs had infected her? Who knew now what she was planning?

There's only one reason she'd be wearing that headscarf; if she doesn't want to be recognized. With a mane as distinctive as hers, it'd be all too easy to make the connection.

Fluttershy looked up, meeting the expectant gazes of the other two ponies. “Her name’s Rainbow Shine,” she continued, at length. "She’s Dash’s mother.”