Twilight the Tyrant

by Logarithmicon

Chapter IV

A hearty breakfast had started Twilight’s day, but even so, by the time the shining peaks of the Crystal Empire first loomed on the horizon, hours on wing had left a deep, bone-weary exhaustion in her bones and emptiness in her belly.

Not that she was permitted to show it.

The downside of such a public arrival - and knowing where she would soon be going, that the arrival would be public seemed a certainty - was that it was, in fact, public and therefore subject to all appropriate ritual: The hosting rulers would emerge out into the open and greet them, deliver the Appropriate Royal Welcome Nuzzle, publicly be seen receiving a gift from the visiting party, take a low stroll through the welcoming square while surrounded by wave upon wave of cheering ponies, glittering and gleaming like a box of gemstones…

And then flee, as if pursued by a pack of vicious spirits snapping at their heels, into the Crystal Palace’s rooms before they vanished again.

Twilight, who had felt herself slumping with each trudging step, found the nearest spot to rest - a pillowed rug in the Equestrian style, rather than the long benches the Crystal Ponies favored - and unceremoniously allowed herself to fall into it with a mighty sigh. Cadence, watching from the doorway in, ruffled her wings in amusement.

“What, not going to do the dance? Is that any way to greet your sister-in-law?” she asked, smirking, as she strutted into the room.

Twilight flicked an ear at her and let out a decidedly un-princess-like snort; when Cadance moved into her vision, mirth had retreated from her expression to be replaced with concern. “Really that bad, Twilight?”

“Mostly just tired,” Twilight grumbled, her eyes already falling half-shut. “Did I mention enough times that I flew here straight from Canterlot? I must’ve been on the wing for seven hours. If I didn’t have an Earth Pony’s resilience in my blood…”

Both laughed, then, and felt the tone lighten in the room as if a heavy, dark blanket had been drawn back. “Is it really so bad in Canterlot, Twilight, that you had to flee out here so suddenly?”

“Yes,” Twilight muttered as she rolled herself onto her belly. She snorted, nostrils flaring, and slapped her tail against the floor. “And no. I actually needed to speak to Spike too.”

“And you could have just sent him a letter.”

“This isn’t the kind of thing you send letters about, Cadance,” Twilight huffed.

“Well, can you tell me about it?”

Twilight did.

Cadance listened.

Partway through, she lit her horn to drag another pillowed rug and bolster over and dropped to her belly in front of Twilight, ears forward and attentive.

When it was done, both sat in silence a while before Cadance spoke again. Her voice was gentle, and Twilight was reminded of foalhood days long since remanded to misty memory.

“Do any of them know? Your council? Your friends, the Elements? Starlight?”

“I’m going to guess you don’t mean if they know about this whole fiasco,” Twilight grumbled ruefully.

“No. I mean-” Cadance stretched her neck out, nose brushing Twilight’s chest just above the golden peytral still resting there. “-I mean you. About what you’re-”

“No. Not - Not them. You, Shining, my doctors of course, Trixie - long story, don’t ask - Discord-”

“Spike?”

“Yes,” Twilight muttered.

Cadance tilted her head. “Is that why you want to talk to him?”

“That, and - he knows what it’s like. Being - separated from others, by who he is. Being stuck between two nations, feeling like you’re not entirely sure if you’re fitting where you’re supposed to be.”

Something inscrutable flickered across Cadance;s expression. “Will you go to see him tonight?”

“No. I’m honestly far too exhausted-” Far too scared. “-to go right into that now. If it’s okay with you, I might set out tomorrow morning?”

“You know my home will always be open to you, Twilight.”

Heaving her head up again, Twilight nuzzled her again. “Thank you, Cady. This is why I know I can always rely on you.” More than I can even rely on myself. “Will you go down there with me?”

“I-” Pain flickered on her face, closely trailed by a note of nostril-flaring fear. “I don’t go down there often.”

“Cadance?” Twilight said softly.

She was rewarded with a shake of her sister-in-law’s head - a shake that was perhaps a bit too sudden, too sharp, too violent. “It’s okay, Twi. Let’s focus on your problem?”

“Cady…”

Ears laying flat, Cadence turned her head away. “It’s…”

Twilight sat up. Tilting her head, she peered in closely at Cadance. The smaller alicorn was aging gracefully, to be sure - the streaks of gray that had begun to color her mane only seeming to highlight its elegant, tricolored flow. Her back sank a little further beneath the fluff of her folded wings than it once had, and perhaps she’d grown slightly thinner - but overall, there was no sign of illness.

So why was it that Cadance now looked so - so -

Hollow. She looks hollowed.

What do I look like then?

“I think,” Twilight said slowly, “that we’ve both got things weighing on our withers. Maybe you’re just better at hiding it than me.”

Cadance simply dipped her head gently, ears still flattened, but only nodded.

“Come on. Tell me, Cady. It can’t be anywhere near as bad as mine. The Crystals return every spark of love you show them; they’d never reject your rulership.”

“There’s more than one side of that relationship, though,” Cadance whispered.

Twilight waited for an explanation, and when none came gave a low and gentle nicker of encouragement.

“Sometimes I feel like, like I’m betraying my Talent,” Cadance murmured. “My destiny! I’m the Princess of Love. ‘I spread happiness and love wherever I go’. But when I’m down there in the hive… when they’re not disguised, nothing’s in my head but dampness, caves, darkness, little chittering sounds in the darkness and scuffling noises as they move around, and I’m alone and-”

A fresh note of desperation swelled, raw and fresh, like a river flooding its banks after being held back for far too long: “It’s not them, Twilight, I swear it’s not. I don’t hate them. I’m fine if I’m out here or they’re transformed, but I see them in there and I just have to keep an eye on them just in case and if there’s too many I get - get -”

Twilight’s nose stopped her, pressing gently to Cadance’s chest. The smaller alicorn leaned forward, the jumbled flow of words spilling from her lips coming to a halt, and soon Twilight found her chin resting against Cadance’s withers in a mirror of Cadance’s own position.

“It’s been decades! How can I be the Princess of Love if I can’t stop fearing them?” Cadance murmured.

“Does Shining Armor know?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“You know he used to have nightmares about it, too? Nowadays he doesn’t feel it as strongly. I think because Chrysalis mostly had his mind; I was - awake the whole time.” Cadance paused, then added, “I think he hates it. Not being able to help me. He tried giving me some things to read from the Guard. For ponies who’ve seen fighting and can’t stop seeing it.”

“Have they helped at all?”

“A bit. With the nightmares and the breathing. But not for everything. And he hates it because his destiny is to protect, and I hate it because mine is to love, and neither of us can be who we’re meant to.”

“You feel like you’re lying. Every day, every second that you’re awake.”

Cadance looked up, fresh understanding in her expression. Her neck stretched out, muzzle brushing Twilight’s cheek, and nodded.

“Yes. Lying. Wrong. And alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Twilight said softly, “because I’m here. And so is Shining.”

“But you need to go talk to Spike.”

“I can wait.”

“No, Twilight.” Cadance lifted her head from Twilight’s withers, pulling back to look her in the eye. “You came here for a reason. An important reason. Don’t let me distract you. I’ll… manage.”

“Yes, Cadance,” Twilight said with a roll of her eyes. “And should I eat my alfalfa sprouts and go to bed on time too?”

“Absolutely!” Cadance said, with a firmness that was somewhat ruined by her having to look up at Twilight’s muzzle instead. Both mares were suddenly struck by a fit of intense, nonstop giggles.

And for a moment, the world didn’t seem as heavy.

---

Hive Heterocera had no proper hive-structure to live in.

If not for the shiny-carapaced, multi-hued bodies flowing around her - flowing, as even Hive Heterocera could not entirely divest of their past and trot about as normal ponies would but seemed to travel in a single, sinuous current of beings - Twilight could have believed she was walking the streets of Canterlot, Hornoveria, or even just a different district of the Crystal Empire’s shining streets. The homes were well-decorated with pony motifs, a camouflage of hearts, flowers, and energetic colors that stood out even in the eye-straining gleam of the Crystal Empire.

That illusion was utterly dispensed with by the chittering, clicking mass surrounding her.

Idly, Twilight wondered how much of Heterocera’s decision to do away with their species’ typical, hivelike housing in favor of the gleaming, angular architecture of the Crystal Empire had to do with rejecting their past by any means possible.

They could have gone with wood. That’d have been better than crystal - it’s hard and rocky like their hive was, but a whole lot more colorful.

Maybe, she thought, as a platter of honey-glazed flowers was presented to her by a beaming nymph, maybe it’s not about rejection.

Maybe they just so desperately want to belong.

“You aren’t Equestria’s real ruler.”

Extending a wing, Twilight carefully drew through the mass - a ship, sailing through an adulating sea of chirruping voices and buzzing wings.

I don’t deserve this - affection.

Not after how many of them we buried.

“Thank you, everyone - thank you.” One wing extended as Twilight spoke, silencing the crowd and parting it for her. “But, if I could, would anyone here be able to point me towards Spike? I’m looking to speak to him, and-”

“Hey, Twi.”

It was funny how voices changed.

Spike’s had grown to match him: The once-scratchy voice expanding into something low, resonant, and imposing. The sound of a claw scratching noisily, transforming into a plow that spread the air before it.

He seemed to plow through the sea of iridescent bodies too, like one of the great ships of the far north splitting a field of ice before it. But while they were all gentle and graceful curves, Spike was now a field of increasingly sharp ridges and angular spines; his youthful, babyish roundedness had begun to fade away in favor of the aggressive visage of a competitive adolescent.

But his nose, as it brushed Twilight’s cheek in greeting, was still as gentle as ever. Twilight’s throat rumbled in a low, friendly nicker and Spike answered it with a reverberating laugh. “It’s good to see you too, Twi.”

Twilight opened her mouth, but found the formal and proper greeting she had prepared vanished at some point since she had entered the hive. Instead, she smiled, a weight lifted from her withers at last. “You too, Spike. And you really have no idea how much.”

Scaled forelegs, steel-cord muscle shifting just beneath his skin, circled her; in spite of her own celestial stature, Twilight never ceased to find it shocking how quickly Spike had found himself expanding. A low and gentle murmur of affection rose from the crowd, and Twilight could feel the soft tugging at the edges of her consciousness as they drank down the affection sparking between dragon and mare.

She let them feed.

It’s the least I can do now.

A real princess wouldn’t need to atone for-

“Is there somewhere we can go? To talk? Privately?” she asked.

“‘Course, Twi. C’mon.”

The small apartment, compared to the vibrantly (perhaps even excessively) decorated changeling homes, was almost austere in its lack of decoration; walls shone with the mottled iridescence typical of architecture Sung into existence by the Crystals, but was otherwise almost undecorated but for a mere scattering of portraits and a vast, well-heated bed suited for a growing drake.

Spike smiled apologetically as he directed Twilight to one of the very few pony-suitable cushions there. “It’s not much, I know, but - it’s mine, when I stay in the Empire.”

His, but not much. Something owned, but - not filled with the fruits of greed.

Spike knows what he is.

And what he will not let himself be.

“How is it here? Is your work going well?” she asked instead.

“It’s good,” Spike said as he folded himself into the bed, curling his wickedly-barbed tail around until it almost touched his nose. “The changelings, they’re - enthusiastic. I’m sure you saw. It’s almost too much for little old me now.”

“Little old-” Twilight couldn’t help but choke out a flowing, but slightly bitter laugh. “‘Little’, Spike. Really?”

Spike, too, snorted - twin wafts of smoke dancing up from his nostrils to fill the room with an oddly earthy smell. “What can I say?”

“A lot of things,” sighed Twilight.

Amusement faded to concern, and with a low rumble Spike rolled back onto his belly, stretching out a neck to bring his head closer to the mare who’d once been his sister.

“Why’d you come all the way out here, Twi? Wasn’t nearly enough fanfare for an official visit, so it had to be sudden.”

Purple eyes broke from his, and Spike’s frown deepened.

“Twi-”

“Spike - do you think I still deserve to be a Princess?”

Outside, the sounds of a curious hive had begun to fade back into something approaching normalcy.

“I think,” Spike said slowly, “that I have not had nearly enough rubies to deal with a question like that.”

“Really, Spike.”

“Really what, Twilight? You want an answer? This sounds like you’re on the very edge of one of your classic panic attacks, but you aren’t telling me what’s really causing it.”

One great claw uncurled, its razor-sharp talon extending at first to point at, but then gently brush Twilight’s face. “So c’mon. You don’t need me for therapy, Twilight. There are ponies with actual talents for that.”

“If I was having a panic attack, I’d have teleported straight here and landed in your room a confused, sweaty heap. Or worse, intersected and ended up with something broken.”

The claw gently poked her nose. “Changing the subject, Twi.”

“Fine,” she huffed, though there was no actual anger in it and a gentle grin managed a brief appearance on her lips. “I’ll tell you. But you have to answer the original question.”

“Deal.”

She told him.

Much as Cadance had, Spike listened.

“So?” Twilight asked at last.

“First of all, I think you look a whole lot better for having finally gotten that off your withers, Twi. You couldn’t tell Rockhoof or Rarity, and it shows.”

“And I think you still aren’t answering the question,” she said pointedly.

Rows of pointed, daggerlike teeth were revealed as Spike’s lips drew back in a grin. “So let me. Yeah. I think you should still be a Princess. I think just tossing the crown at the hooves of the High or Common Houses would be utter chaos, but more importantly I think you’re still a good pony trying to do your best, and that’s important.”

“My best,” Twilight grumbled softly, her head falling to rest on crossed forehooves, “doesn’t feel like enough. What if they’re right? What if I do turn into a tyrant who lies to all th- all my ponies to stay in power?”

“What did Rarity say? She’s a smart mare.”

“That I should ‘give’, and everypony will stand behind me. But she doesn’t understand-”

“Hmmm,” Spike hummed, a low and resonant sound that almost seemed to vibrate through the room’s very foundations. “Y’know, Twilight, the changelings are kind of interesting as a culture. A lot of places in the hive are open; individuals don’t have a lot of space to themselves. If they overhear something important, or embarrassing, or upsetting, they’ll pretend not to. So the choice to tell or not is still there, you know?”

“What are you saying?” Twilight said slowly.

“They deceive, Twilight. It’s what they do. And after so long around them… I’m not so sure it’s that wrong. Hey-” A claw was raised to halt the torrent of words threatening to erupt from Twilight. “-I’m not saying honesty isn’t important - especially for pony friendships. But they’re not ponies. They are still friends with each other. And maybe, maybe you need to stop trying to be friends with these ponies who’re giving you trouble.”

“That’s not right, though. Honesty is one of the principles of friendship, of our society, and-”

“Are they your friends, Twilight, or your subjects?” Spike asked quietly.

“They’re-”

Twilight paused. Spike nodded slowly.

“You’ve been trying to treat them like you treat us. I’ve seen it almost every day since you took that throne. And being honest to everypony is still good, I think. That’s why it works, most of the time. But sometimes… let me ask you, Twilight. Was Celestia honest when she sent us to Ponyville?”

Twilight opened her mouth, but no words could be found to give the answer she wanted. No truthful words, anyhow. Instead, she snorted bitterly.

“Maybe I should just become a tyrant.”

One scaled eyebrow arched, rising in question.

“Twilight the Unyielding,” she chuckled, “Commander of the Legions of the Educational. Bearer of the Terrible Factoids. All shall be schooled and despair.”

A puff of smoke smelling faintly of pumice rose from Spike’s nostrils. “You’d face a rebellion among the younger ones, you know. Sending colts and fillies to school forever-”

“I could manage. As long as I can send these absolute geldings I deal with in court back to magical kindergarten.” She adopted an imperious tone, drawing herself up: “For the crime of being an absolute pain-in-my-rump, I do sentence you to - school!”

Laughter filled the room for but a moment before fading again.

“It’d be better than admitting I’m not a real princess,” Twilight eventually said in a low voice. “They’d tear me apart. More importantly, they’d tear Equestria apart. Everything we’ve put struggled to hold together-”

“It’d be best if they re-swore allegiance to you,” Spike countered.

“They won’t. This is their opportunity. Their chance. For centuries Celestia kept them in-line, limiting how much any could grab. Now they’d be free, and as long as one of them has something to gain, none of the others will miss out on seizing a bite too.”

“Not unless you can offer them something to make it worth their time.”

Twilight gave him a flat look, and Spike gave a massive, rolling shrug of his barbed shoulders. “Everyone wants something, Twilight. Trust me,” his head tilted, one claw dragging a line along the gleaming, crystalline floor, “I would know.”

“But what? I don’t have anything to give them that will be worth it. I don’t hold secrets like Celestia did, Spike. They only one is-”

Words came to an abrupt, stumbling halt.

Spike nodded.

“It wouldn’t be right,” she whispered.

“No. And it’s not what a Princess of Friendship would do,” he replied, “but if you ask me, I think it’s what a ruler would do.”

What a ruler would do.

Those words stuck in Twilight’s head as she made her way back to the Crystal Palace. They stirred, congealed, and percolated again through her thoughts even as she spoke warm, pleasant nothings to the Heteroceran changelings that crowded around her.

By the time she strode into the palace’s cavernous entrance hall, they had begun to take the shape of an idea.

“Cadance,” she said once she was again alone with her sister-in-law, “you’ve met most of the various leaders I mentioned. And you can feel their hearts. Do you think - is there ever a chance they’d agree on anything? All of them?”

“All of them? Not a chance. Not together. I think. But many of them like me just as little. I think the Thestrals disdain me only slightly less than you. The Earthkin Chancellory are annoyed I took over a city with almost no Pegasi or Earth Ponies.”

“But that’s not the Crystals’ fault!” Twilight interjected. “It’s because-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cadance said with a shake of her head. “To them, I’m trodding on their tails. Drawing members off ‘their’ herd. And Blueblood…”

“...is Blueblood,” Twilight concluded.

“Yes. He can’t stop thinking about how the Crystal Throne’s colors would make his coat look fabulous if he sat upon it.”

A desperately needed respite of giggles broke out between the two mares, once again seeming little more than filly and foalsitter.

“What about… two thirds of them?” Twilight tentatively asked.

“Maybe?” Cadance tilted her head like a bird pondering whether to fly. “That’s a lot to ask, though. Some of them… they’ll sabotage each other, Twilight. They’ll step on another pony’s tail, even if they trip themselves, just to keep that other pony from taking a step forward.”

“Half of them, then?”

“...maybe. With effort. It’d be an extraordinarily dangerous pony who could bring that many together. I’m not a great political strategist, either. What are you even planning to do, Twilight?”

“To get all of them together behind me.. But I’m going to need your help, Cadance,” Twilight said grimly.

Then she began to talk, and Cadance’s eyebrows did not stop rising for two minutes straight.

Comments

[Stahlseele]

*cough cough* AHEM!

Everything we’ve put struggled to hold together

[adamsafran]

Twilight is handling this far too maturely and rationally. Good for her.

Also the primary method of herding politicians are threats, blackmail, bribery, and patronage.

Pity that she can't go down the 'all shall love me AND DESPAIR' route.

[FanOfMostEverything]

The fact that Cadence is visibly aging is a curious choice... but I imagine she wouldn't have it any other way. Not unless she could make Shining immortal.

Quite a bit told through implication here on whatever tragedy swept through the changelings. And then there's the matter of the question that truly lies at the heart of this conflict, one that neither Twilight nor I had thought to ask aloud until now: What's more important for her reign, friendship or being a princess? Celestia didn't rule by sending all her paperwork to the sun, after all (no matterh ow tempting it might have been at times.)

In any case, with the counsel of two siblings in tow, Twilight has something resembling a plan. Here's looking forward to seeing what it entails.