AJ and FS are lost, trying to get home. Meanwhile Dash struggles to understand what FS means to her.
Applejack had long since taken the Hearth’s Warming Eve story for fact. When she and Fluttershy find themselves in an untamed wilderness, they’ll learn that not all history is preserved. In their struggle to find their way home, the two will unearth secrets unknown to any living being, pony or otherwise.
Half a world away, the others have problems of their own. As Rainbow Dash struggles to discover exactly what she is to her oldest friend, Twilight must face the stunning truth about her long-time mentor.
Fluttershy winced at the jolt of the chariot touching down, reluctantly letting go of the railing. At her side, Pinkie Pie giggled and hopped off their transport just as the other two chariots carrying the rest of their friends landed—with one exception. Rainbow Dash had beat the royal flight teams to Ponyville Plaza as a matter of course.
“Thank you ever so much,” Rarity’s voice chimed as they all dismounted. Fluttershy added her voice to the choir, dipping her head in thanks to the kind guards who had ferried them back home this afternoon. A moment later, following a clatter of hooves and a rush of air, the six ponies—and Spike—stood outside the library tree as they had so many times before.
“Well, I don’t know about you girls, but I’m beat,” Twilight said. “I’m just gonna head inside and see about some food—”
“You mean see about me making some food,” Spike grumbled, already halfway to the door.
“Yes, well,” Twilight continued with a weak chuckle. “Food. The after party wasn’t exactly heavy on the nutrients.”
Rainbow Dash grinned as she watched Spike slip inside the library. “Speaking of parties, I guess he’s still bummed out about the bachelor party thing.”
Pinkie giggled and hopped on the spot. “I’m so happy the wedding went so well! I mean, except for the whole invasion and the screaming and the explosions that weren’t caused by the bass when Vinyl and I found the extra speakers in the basement that they didn’t want us to use because, well,” she drew breath before breaking into a huge grin, “Explosions!”
Fluttershy cringed at the memory of that particular part of the wedding party, picking at her dress with a hoof. At her side, Applejack seemed to share the same sentiment, but expressed herself with a roll of her eyes instead.
“Yes, well, I’m sure both Cadance and Shining Armor are very thankful for that. Specifically, you reducing Luna’s wedding gift of a dozen rare crystal goblets to powder,” Rarity muttered. “At any rate, I, too, shall head home and see about getting things in order.”
“Yep, same here,” Applejack echoed. “I reckon’ we’re heading the same way then, Fluttershy?” she asked, tilting her head meaningfully in the general direction of the farm. Fluttershy nodded and smiled.
“That would be lovely,” she replied, offering a wave to all her other friends.
“Catch you later, party-pony-gators!” Pinkie chirped. “Don’t forget about tomorrow!”
With farewells exchanged, the path leading out of Ponyville proper and to the fields beyond stretched out before the two ponies who walked it. It was a path they had both trod so many times, the failing light was hardly a concern.
“Well, they sure do know how to party in Canterlot, I’ll give them that. But right now, all I want is my own bed,” Applejack said with a low chuckle.
Fluttershy giggled and nodded, eyes drifting to scan the sky out of habit. “It was very loud, wasn’t it?”
“Loud and more,” came the reply.
Their hoof-falls soon fell in synch as they walked, and a comfortable silence settled around them. At least, Fluttershy thought it might be a comfortable silence. It was hard to tell. She rarely spent time with Applejack alone, despite her cottage being closer to the farm than anything else. Even after they had both gotten to know each other better through Twilight Sparkle, they never had a common ground on which to meet.
No flight sessions, no spa Sundays; what they did have was a cozy evening walk, right now. Fluttershy glanced over at Applejack at that thought, just then realizing they had missed the crossroads that would take Applejack to her farm. They were already coming up on her cottage.
“Um, shouldn’t you—” Fluttershy began, her question dissolving into nothingness as Applejack shrugged.
“Figured I’d walk you to the door, ‘less you mind?”
“Oh, never!” Fluttershy said, shaking her head briskly. “Thank you.”
Fluttershy slowed down, coming to a halt by her mailbox. The last little stretch to the safety of her home was interrupted by a curious sight. She tilted her head and raised a brow, staring at the little flag that was raised in alarm.
“It means you got mail,” Applejack helpfully explained, grinning.
“Oh, I know,” Fluttershy said, adding a belated little smile once she realized it had probably been a joke. “I just don’t usually—I mean, I don’t get mail very often, only the letters from Doctor Stable and, well, that’s on Thursdays.”
Applejack shrugged, and indeed, what more was there to say? Fluttershy had mail. She just also had a sneaking, dreadful suspicion she knew who it was from. Even so, Applejack was giving her an odd look. A wordless question. What are you waiting for?
Not wanting to be thought crazy, Fluttershy reluctantly reached inside to fish out a single letter in a simple envelope. She caught a glimpse of the return address before she flipped it around. Of course she recognized the address and the writing both. Fluttershy licked her lips. She could feel the smile slipping from her face as she read on, her entire body sagging by the time she reached the signature at the end. Swallowing, she crumpled the letter up and tucked it under a wing.
“You okay, sugarcube?”
Fluttershy’s eyes widened. For a moment, she had forgotten Applejack was there. She stood frozen for a good few seconds before she could even begin to think how to react—what to do. She felt Applejack’s hoof on her withers.
“I’m fine,” she heard herself say. Applejack frowned, brightly illuminating the obvious lie.
“You, uh, wanna talk about it?” Applejack asked, tilting her head. “I mean, whatever it is.”
“Sorry. I should probably go. Make food, I mean,” she managed. Applejack was giving her a look. The look she expected. Sympathy. She fought to smile again, but it came out as a frown of her own.
“Right,” Applejack said, even as Fluttershy left her by the mailbox and headed for her cottage door. “If you change your mind, I’m here anytime, sugar,” she added, a little louder. Fluttershy couldn’t think of what to do except turn and nod at her as before she slipped inside.
“Hey, you’re late!” Rainbow Dash called as Fluttershy ducked her head inside the main room of the Luxury Lotus Spa. The usually brash pegasus was frowning at a rather nervous looking unicorn who was gently massaging her hind-hooves.
“Oh, sorry,” Fluttershy said, her ears flat against her head as she offered an apologetic smile. Most of her friends had already arrived, and seeing them made her feel a little more at ease right away. She let her eyes linger on where Rainbow Dash lay. Feeling better by the second, in fact.
“I, um, sort of lost track of time,” she added in a mutter. Twilight waved at her from over by the massage benches next to Dash, and both Rarity and Pinkie Pie were soaking their hooves. After a moment’s deliberation, she made for the hoof-bath next to Pinkie Pie.
“Lost track of time?” Rarity asked, looking over at her with sightless eyes. Dual cucumber slices were trained straight at her. “You’re usually never late for our spa dates, much less when it’s all of us.”
“Yes, well,” Fluttershy said, gingerly stepping into the hot water of the hoof-bath. It was impossible to hold back a sigh of relief as the near scalding water sent a tingle up each of her legs.
“Are you feeling okay? I bet you are!” Pinkie said, somehow managing to make it sound like an accusation. “You shouldn’t be okay, you should be super-duper fantastic! What’s up?”
Fluttershy shook her head and blushed ever so faintly. Twilight stared at her in a wordless question, and Rainbow Dash followed suit, arching a brow. All eyes were on her. Had they been any other ponies, it would have been a short road to panic, but these were her best of friends. It was genuine concern. When Fluttershy didn’t deny it, even Pinkie Pie had gone quiet. Had she truly looked so out of sorts?
Except, it was nothing. It was a particular old nothing that was silly, stupid, and other things besides, deserving of no sympathy. Making her friends worry about exactly that—about nothing—was mean. Especially when they had all just gotten back from Canterlot with frightening fights and a wonderful wedding, too. They were here at the spa to relax, not to listen to Fluttershy complain.
“Oh, I just, um, got a letter,” she explained, bringing a hoof out of the water to inspect it. Anything was better than having to look at her friends. “It was just some bad news. Slightly bad news,” she quickly amended herself. “Somepony I invited to the wedding couldn’t make it after all.”
“R-r-right. E-except we just got b-back from the wedding,” Twilight commented, her voice distorted by the thundering of hooves across her back.
“Right,” Fluttershy swallowed, her smile widening. “That’s why I said it was only slightly bad, right?”
Rainbow Dash burst into laughter. “She got you good there, Twilight!” she cackled and pointed. The pony trying to attend the rear hooves of the unruly pegasus frowned mightily and steadied her grip a bit.
“Ooh, logic battle!” Pinkie Pie giggled. “This is gonna get good!”
“It’s not—” Twilight began, but Rainbow Dash’s peals of laughter drowned her out. The now-sullen unicorn rolled her eyes before closing them, resigning herself to her massage.
Fluttershy couldn’t quite decide whether or not she was glad that the attention had been diverted. There was still a lingering something, a weight in her chest from the half-truth of it all now that she had dared let it slip, but she told herself again that it was all very silly anyway. She had to believe it.
“Where is Applejack, anyway?” Rainbow Dash asked when she’d finally stopped laughing. Tears were still budding at the corners of her eyes. “I mean, she was supposed to be here. Is it no-earth-pony Sunday or something?”
“Oh, I’m an earth pony, I think!” Pinkie chirped.
“Yeah, no, you don’t count,” Rainbow Dash said.
Rarity gasped. “Oh, I forgot to mention! She sent Applebloom to say she simply couldn’t make it after all. She had a lot of work to do around the farm if she was to make it to the sleep-over tonight.”
“Aw, that’s no fun!” Pinkie complained with a pout. She bounced out of the shallow little hoof-bath with an almost disproportionate splash that nearly made Fluttershy lose her balance.
“Rather, half the time, she sounds like she does find it fun,” Rarity murmured, smiling. “But it’s a shame.”
“Well, I don’t know about you girls, but if we’re all here then, I think I’m going to hit the sauna,” Twilight announced, staggering to her hooves. Fluttershy nodded at that and gingerly stepped out of the water to follow the others, happy to leave her worries all behind.
Fluttershy nudged the door to her home open with a hoof. She felt delightfully relaxed and recharged, a warm glow suffusing her; the result of a morning spent at the spa in good company. She felt at peace.
It lasted until she passed by the rubbish bin by the door. Of course the letter wouldn’t have gone anywhere. It would be resting underneath the empty box of bird feed she’d put on top of it just so she wouldn’t have to look at it. All the same, she knew it was there, and that was enough to poison the moment.
What was there to do? She had spent the better part of yesterday contemplating exactly that. The letter wouldn’t go anywhere. It was just that for the first time in her life, what it represented didn’t scare her quite as much. She felt as if though she could do something, she just couldn’t think of what. That desire to act, that was what was truly scary, and it sent her straight back to square one.
Fluttershy swallowed and looked around the room for a distraction, desperate for something to busy herself with, but there was nothing to do. She’d taken care of feeding all the little animals before she left this morning, and she’d cleaned her entire cottage before she went to Canterlot for the wedding with her friends. Her earlier plans to relax with a good book seemed silly, now. Even Angel Bunny was out and about somewhere, leaving the cottage an empty and lonely place.
Resisting the urge to dig through the trash to read the letter one more time, Fluttershy turned on the spot and walked back out the door. Outside, the sun was nearing its zenith, the birds were singing, and a group of otters were playing in the small brook that passed by her home. She spread her wings and smiled, basking in the sunlight. At least the animals were happy. They knew exactly what they wanted.
Her eyes fell on the edge of Sweet Apple Acres. It was rather impossible not to look, of course—the huge orchards were practically across the road, but with them came a remembered promise. Anytime, sugarcube. It was so very tempting to pretend she thought it was an idle promise. To pretend they were words said because Applejack wanted to be polite, and then go back inside and not have to treat it as an option.
Fluttershy knew better. Applejack wasn’t the type of pony to say anything except exactly what she meant. Half unwilling, her wings lifted her up into the air and carried her over the treetops of the apple farm. Applejack hadn’t been there at the spa, so perhaps she could talk to her about it without feeling silly. It would be odd to raise the same issue to one of her friends for the second time.
It was a nice and bolstering thought, even if she knew it would never work. She’d entertained the notion of telling Rarity before. Every time the silence settled during Rarity and Fluttershy’s weekly pedicures, she knew she should ask her advice, just like she knew Twilight’s door was always open, and Pinkie Pie would Pinkie Promise to absolutely never ever tell.
Within minutes, the farmhouse, the barn, and all the other structures that made up the farmyard of Sweet Apple Acres came into view below, and Fluttershy started her descent. It was not before she spotted Applejack that she realized her mistake.
She was busy, of course. Applejack and her brother were both hard at work moving barrels off a cart and into the large red barn while Applebloom watered a small artichoke patch nearby. Fluttershy flapped her wings a little faster and made to turn; Applejack had missed out on the spa date because she had work to do. It would be so very rude to intrude.
“Howdy Fluffer’fy!” Applebloom called around a watering can securely gripped in her mouth before putting it down. “Hey sis! Fluttershy’s here!”
Fluttershy grimaced and slumped. There was nothing for it, then. Slowly she descended until she alighted in the middle of the farmyard, nervously steepling her hooves together. It would be even more rude to bolt off without another word.
“Oh, hi,” she said, offering Applebloom a smile. The energetic little filly nodded in greeting just as Applejack walked up to join them.
“Howdy,” Applejack said. She let the hefty barrel she was carrying slide off her back, steadying it with a hoof. “What brings you around here? Come to help?”
Fluttershy lit up. She took in the busy yard and all the chores that promised a sure, if laborious, way out. “Oh! Yes, that was what I was doing! I was, um, coming to help!” she said, straightening up a bit.
“Yeah, that was a joke,” Applejack chuckled, reaching out to nudge her sister on the flank. “Applebloom, those artichokes won’t water themselves. Get to it!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Applebloom responded with a salute before galloping back to the vegetable patch. Fluttershy watched her go, shaking her head at the fast-paced farm life. Everypony was always bustling to and fro every moment of the day.
Usually, anyway. Applejack was standing very still, frowning at her. It actually made her a little uncomfortable. Fluttershy rubbed a front leg with the other and cleared her throat. “I mean, I don’t mind. I could probably, um,” she glanced about. “I could tend the flowerbeds? I have plenty of herbs back home—”
“Uh-huh,” Applejack hummed. “This about last night then?”
“No,” Fluttershy said, though it was good as an admission given how quickly she spat the word out. “But you’re very busy, anyway!” she added. “I mean, you wouldn’t have missed out on the spa date with Rarity and the rest of the girls unless it was really important, and—”
“Yep, sure am busy,” Applejack interjected, trotting in a half-circle around Fluttershy to nudge her on the rump, setting her walking towards the farmhouse. “I got dozens of chores needing to be done before sundown, and not a single one of them can wait.”
“Exactly!” Fluttershy agreed, glancing over her shoulder even as she was being force-marched through the door and into the empty but spacious dining room of the farmhouse. “So—”
“But some things’re more important,” Applejack finished, disappearing into the kitchen. “Cider?”
“But—”
“That’s a yes,” came the reply, and that was apparently that. Fluttershy reluctantly took a seat by the table, hiding half her face behind her mane out of habit. Truth be told, she was thirsty after steaming away in the sauna.
Soon enough, Applejack trotted back in carrying on her back a tray laden with two bottles of the Acres’ own cider as well as two slices of apple pie. When she slid the tray onto the table and took a seat opposite of Fluttershy, it was with an expectant smile.
“So, out with it. How can I help?”
Fluttershy opened her mouth and closed it again. There were a lot of things she could say, and a lot of ways in which she could say them, but if she were to be thorough, it would begin with a simple truth: she couldn’t. Applejack couldn’t very well help.
“Fluttershy?” Applejack asked, tilting her head.
“It’s not... that kind of problem. I’m not sure there’s anything you can do, really,” Fluttershy began. What had she been meaning to do here anyway when Applejack couldn’t help? Burden her with her own problems?
“Well, I sure as sugar can’t do nothing if you don’t tell me what’s up, no,” Applejack agreed. “What’s in the letter then?”
“It’s—it’s nothing,” Fluttershy stammered. “I mean, it’s not really the letter, and you—I mean, you can’t really fix it. I, uh, threw it away, and like you say, you can’t really fix it if I can’t—”
“If you won’t tell me, no,” Applejack interjected. She leaned a little closer over the table with such a sympathetic and forgiving smile that it made Fluttershy’s failure all the worse. There it was again, the unconditional kindness that made her sick to her stomach.
“I think I should go. Um, thank you for the lunch,” she squeezed out, stealing a glance at the untouched pie and cider both before making for the door. “I’ll see you tonight!”
Applejack bit down on another corn stalk before throwing it into the cart. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the rapport of hooves on a tree trunk. She missed that solid thunk of applebucking every time she was annoyed.
Not that she was annoyed; she was puzzled. If there was such a thing as a distinction between the two, anyway. She bit down on another stalk and added it to the load she pulled. Of course she knew the source of her puzzlement; it was simple. Fluttershy had gotten some bad news, but she didn’t want to talk about it. It was hardly news that the timid pegasus would keep personal troubles to herself. What was new was that she seemed to want to talk about it.
Except she didn’t. Therefore, frustration. A certain trek up a mountain with a dragon on top sprung to mind. Back then, last year, she’d had a problem to work with. Fluttershy was afraid of going up the mountain, and she needed to go up the mountain. Simple. Apply force. Everypony wins. Applejack snapped another corn stalk off and snorted.
“You know, I think I like it better when you’re bucking apples,” Rainbow Dash’s voice called out from above. The rainbow-colored mare was hovering in the air, glancing about as her wings lazily flapped to keep her aloft. “What am I supposed to do here, nap on the ground?”
“Well, t’aint applebuck season just yet,” Applejack retorted, rolling her eyes. “How about not using the trees to sleep in at all?”
“Now that’s just crazy talk,” Rainbow Dash giggled as she swooped down to land at her side. “So, you’re coming tonight? Sleepover at Twi’s, remember.”
“Yup,” Applejack affirmed. Lean, bite, snap, flick. The cart was getting full.
“Cool. Just checking,” Dash called, making to take off. Applejack held up a hoof, her foreleg faster than her brain by a second. The pegasus paused mid-crouch and gave her a questioning glance.
“You’ve known Fluttershy for a long time, right?” Applejack asked, wiping her muzzle with a leg.
“Uh, yeah? Since we were little fillies. Why?” Dash tilted her head.
Applejack shrugged and wiggled out from under the yoke of the wagon before stretching every muscle of her aching body, leg by leg. Dash tapped the ground meaningfully with a hoof as she waited, but Applejack took her time, only now catching up to what the real question was.
“How do you get through to that pony?” she finally asked.
Rainbow Dash scratched herself behind an ear. “Right, you do know she’s your friend, too? What’s up? You fighting or something?” she suddenly narrowed her eyes and lowered her head. “Did you say something mean to her?”
“Whoa, R.D., don’t spit your bit there,” Applejack snorted. “Nothing of the sort. Just wondering. I don’t know if it’s my secret to tell, but yesterday—”
“Oh, the letter or whatever it was?” Dash asked, lighting up in understanding.
“She told you about that?” Applejack blinked.
“Yes? Well, sort of? Didn’t seem like a big deal,” came the reply with a shrug. “She’s not a foal, AJ. She’d tell me if it was big. She always does.”
Applejack nodded at that. It was of course true. It was probably insulting to insinuate that Fluttershy couldn’t handle herself. Yet even so, it was impossible to quell the urge to fix. When she was presented with a problem, it was only natural to want to fix it.
“Yeah, well, might be it’s different this time,” Applejack murmured. “I just don’t know how to make right something when I don’t rightly know what the problem is.”
“Exactly,” Dash agreed, splaying her hooves. “What can you do? I mean, that’s impossible without, I don’t know, magic.”
"Heh, magic," Applejack repeated.
“Well, yeah,” Rainbow Dash said, chewing her tongue as if she only now truly considered it. “I don’t know, Twilight has a spell for everything. I mean, that pony made a spell to make bean sprouts disappear!”
“And you reckon’ she has a spell for fixing up any problem. Yeah, uh-huh,” Applejack laughed. “Tell you what, I’ll check with Twi tonight, and I’ll make sure to let her know it was your idea.”
Rainbow Dash blushed and blew a stray lock of her mane out of her face. “I’m not saying—”
“Just did,” Applejack pressed, grinning. “Think she can fix Granny Smith’s hip while she’s at it?”
“Whatever,” the pegasus snapped, shooting off into the air and leaving Applejack with her corn cart.
“Go fish, please,” Fluttershy declared, drawing forth a groan from Rainbow Dash. Pinkie Pie thrust a hoof skywards.
“I win!” the pink pony declared, putting down her measly two cards.
“Yeah. Surprise,” Dash snarked, throwing her own playing cards back onto the middle of the floor. “I don’t know why we bother playing when we know you’re gonna win.”
“Oh come now, don’t be a sore loser,” Rarity chided.
“Nah, you’re right,” Rainbow Dash agreed, smirking and glancing over at Twilight who was still staring at the full two dozen cards she cupped in her hooves. “I only lost a little.”
“I can see you staring, Rainbow, and this is mathematically improbable in the extreme!” Twilight said. “This game is really quite simple!”
Fluttershy couldn’t quite hold back a giggle as the rest of the gang laughed, too. Twilight groaned and set about collecting all the playing cards while the others rose to stand. Outside, through the circular windows of the library, the sun was barely setting. Applejack and Pinkie Pie had supplied both snacks and proper food, too, and it was looking to be a lovely evening.
“Hey, what do you think we should do next?” Twilight asked.
Fluttershy looked about and found that she must’ve addressed her; the others were all over by the table gorging themselves on potato chips and the likes.
“Oh, well, I don’t know,” she admitted. “This is all ever so nice, though. We really need to do this more often.”
And they did. It was amazing how all the worries melted away when surrounded by her best friends. When she got home, she’d take out the trash and the letter with it, and then it would all be done. With luck, she could make herself forget about it for a long while; it wasn’t like she was unhappy. Nothing had changed for the worse. Fluttershy sighed and smiled.
“We do! But, if you don’t have any ideas, I’ll be happy to confer with my checklist,” Twilight declared, up on her hooves in an instant and happily trotting towards the desk where she’d left her vaunted scroll. Fluttershy watched her go and made her way over to the fireplace. Rainbow Dash was spearing marshmallows, and some roasted treats sounded just perfect.
Applejack pursed her lips as she watched Fluttershy take a seat next to Rainbow Dash. The latter of the two companionably wrapped a wing around the other as she spoke too low for her to hear. She certainly seemed okay. Even as she watched, Fluttershy traded words with Dash, blushing and looking away when more colorful mare burst into laughter over something one of them had said. Fluttershy was her regular self, laughing along with them, singing, dancing and talking when the others did. She had no reason to doubt that the pegasus was content.
Just like you couldn’t really tell what kind of pie you had in front of you without looking under the crust.
Applejack snorted at her own thought just then. She had half a mind to swat herself upside the head if she didn’t think she’d come off as more unhinged than the old barn door for doing so. She grabbed another sip of punch, took care to nod her thanks to Pinkie Pie who had made it, and trotted over to join Twilight on the other side of the room.
“What’cha doin’, Twilight?” she asked, peering over the unicorn’s shoulder. The studious mare was of course obsessing about the very same scroll she’d presented them with as they knocked on her door this afternoon.
“Well, we skipped ahead with the card games, so I’m trying to decide whether we should move on to the ghost stories, or if we should backtrack to the s'mores,” Twilight explained, indicating the neat rows of letters and checkboxes.
“Uh-huh,” Applejack nodded, chuckling. Twilight looked up at that, wearing a small frown that wasn’t entirely free of mirth.
“Organization is important,” she said, defending herself from the unspoken comment. “Besides, a tidy mind is very helpful when it comes to magic, too.”
“I’ll bet,” Applejack agreed, holding up a hoof. “Wasn’t going to say anything.”
“No, just thinking it,” Twilight muttered just as Rainbow Dash came to hover overhead, squinting down at Applejack.
“I bet you told her,” Dash accused, folding her forelegs.
Applejack blinked, a grin spreading across her face as she suddenly remembered what Rainbow Dash was referring to. “Actually, I hadn’t, but thanks for the reminder,” she said, smirking.
Twilight glanced between the two of them, from the grinning earth pony to the groaning pegasus, one brow neatly arched. “Excuse me?”
“R.D. here reckons you can fix just about anything with your fancy magic,” Applejack explained, fearing her face would fall off from the way she was smiling.
Rainbow Dash’s cheeks acquired a nice crimson tint of indignation. “I said ‘lots of things’ or something, whatever,” she shot, throwing her hooves up into the air. “I mean, she’s kinda smart, sometimes, that was my point! What, you don’t think Twilight’s smart?”
Applejack’s mouth hung open as she thought about that for a second, and now it was Dash who was grinning. Twilight was quietly blushing, almost forgotten at their side.
“Yeah,” Dash added, smug now. “I mean, I was just saying that Twilight’s cool and all, but if you think she’s as slow as, I don’t know, you—”
“Oh missy, you don’t wanna go there,” Applejack laughed, pointing a dire hoof at her. “All I’m saying is that there ain’t no spell that can fix a problem that’s all in the head!”
“Girls!” Twilight interrupted, face flushed with annoyance more than embarrassment now. “What’s all this about?”
Rainbow Dash landed to perch on the table, neatly avoiding the mess of inkwells and books. “Whoa, it was just a joke, jeez, calm down. And hey, you do know lots of magic. I can admit that, right? Doesn’t make me any less cool.” She stuck her tongue out at Applejack.
The silence stretched on for a little longer than was strictly comfortable. Applejack adjusted her hat and shrugged. “S’just what you heard. I was just thinking about Fluttershy.”
“You’re still on that?” Rainbow Dash groaned. “She’s fine! I asked her just now, five minutes ago, and she said she was fine!”
“I just don’t feel right knowing she might feel down about something,” Applejack admitted. She knew she should heed Rainbow Dash’s words, annoying as though she was being, but old friends or no, the pegasus hadn’t seen Fluttershy earlier in the day when she came knocking. “It’s different this time, I think. Just can’t shake it.”
She’d expected Rainbow Dash to laugh or blow it off again, but Dash seemed content to glower, with the occasional glance over towards the fireplace. Instead, it was Twilight who spoke.
“Magic that deals with the mind is very serious business,” Twilight said, puffing out her cheeks. After a moment, her eyes slid to the side, and Applejack thought she could practically hear the gears shifting inside her friend’s brain. “But—actually, I am compiling a report to Princess Celestia about some simple psychological phenomena. I had the idea after our spa visit. Don’t you always feel better after you’ve had a massage? I mean, not just physically, but you’re happier, too, right?”
“Sure,” Applejack and Rainbow Dash agreed in chorus, the latter with a shrug.
“Well, as I read up on some terms, I was reminded of the placebo effect. Have you ever heard of it?” Twilight asked, her words coming faster and faster, speed growing with her excitement.
“Uh, the sugar pill thing?” Rainbow Dash asked.
“Exactly! If you tell a pony something’s going to help—something that doesn’t necessarily do anything—they’ll often actually feel better just because they think they’re supposed to!” Twilight beamed.
“Okay,” Applejack shrugged. “That’s fine and dandy. What about it?”
“Well, uh, I’ve never had the chance to observe it in effect, and it obviously doesn’t work on an informed subject—”
“‘Subject’, is it? I ain’t too sure about this,” Applejack interrupted, frowning.
“Well, that’s my fault, then. It sounds scarier than it really is,” Twilight said. “There’s literally no room for harm because we’re not actually doing anything.”
“Hey, hang on!” Rainbow Dash interrupted with a hiss. “You are not going to experiment on Fluttershy, or whatever you’re saying!”
“It’s not—” Twilight began, but she caught herself, muzzle yawing before she smartly shut it again. “I just—no. Okay,” she sighed. “Sorry. That was a silly idea. I was just thinking of maybe trying to tell Fluttershy I was going to fix it with magic, and then cast some sparkly light spell or something.”
“Oh,” Applejack muttered. “Still don’t really like the idea. Doesn’t feel right, but you really reckon’ it could help?”
“How about ‘no way’? And give her some credit, jeez,” Rainbow Dash said, scowling. “We’ve been friends forever, she’d tell me if something bothered her! She probably just got a letter saying her favorite shampoo was out of stock or whatever.”
“Aw, but maybe Fluttershy just needs to be reminded that we really love her!” Pinkie Pie chirped, popping up in the middle of the three ponies. Applejack took an inadvertent step back.
“Gah!” Dash yelled. “Pinkie!”
“I mean, it doesn’t have to be an experiment, even. And it’s not a lie, is it? I mean, we totally do all love her. I love all of you guys, but if we all put on some silly hats and make a game of it, it could be fun, too!”
“What are you all talking about?” Rarity asked, taking up position at the edge of the group. Fearing they might’ve been overheard, Applejack turned around, only to find that Fluttershy was happily and obliviously roasting marshmallows over by the fireplace.
“If you figure it can’t do any harm—” Applejack muttered, but she was entirely overruled by the conversational freight train that was Pinkie Pie.
“Oh, oh, oh! And we could wear the pretty jewelry-thingies too! I know I feel super pretty when I wear mine, and Rarity does too!”
“I’m aware,” Twilight broke in. “And what you don’t seem to realize is that we’re not supposed to use them! Nopony is supposed to know I brought them with me from Canterlot! There’s a lot of not-supposed-to-know regarding the fact that Princess Celestia decided I should keep them here, and when you go walking around wearing them here in Ponyville—”
“Well, it’s hardly my fault my necklace goes so well with my mane,” Rarity scoffed. “Now what were you talking about?”
Fluttershy looked up at a noise. She must’ve dozed off by the soothing warmth of the fireplace. When she opened her eyes, she realized Rainbow Dash was missing. In fact, everypony was over by the other side of the room whispering excitedly, and her marshmallows had long since turned to ash. She winced at the poor treats’ fate and put down her roasting fork. Not wanting to be nosy, she walked over to the snack table diplomatically placed halfway to her friends.
“Nothing!” Rainbow Dash called.
“Um, excuse me?” Fluttershy asked, glancing about the room for somepony—anypony else.
“Uh. What we were doing?” Dash retorted, earning a giggle from Pinkie Pie and a glare from Twilight.
“I— I didn’t ask,” Fluttershy said. “Sorry. Um. I mean, what are you doing?”
“Ooh, ooh, I got this one!” Pinkie Pie called, frantically waving a hoof. “Nothing!” she cheered, throwing a hoof-ful of confetti into the air.
“Okay,” Fluttershy agreed, giggling as she filled half a glass of punch.
She still couldn’t quite believe she’d fallen asleep. She wasn’t tired in the least. It was just so very easy to feel at ease and get comfortable here and now. As she’d sat there next to Rainbow Dash, the safety and warmth was all too seductive. Even as she completed that thought, her friends broke off from their tight little cluster around the desk. Pinkie Pie bounced over to a book-case, retrieving a large volume with as much purpose and direction as Pinkie could ever appear to have. The others set about putting pillows in a circle in the middle of the room where they’d previously played cards.
“So, what are we playing? Or doing?” Fluttershy asked. Apparently, something had happened while she dozed. Pinkie hopped over to stand next to her, putting the large book on the ground with a conspicuous rattle rather than the more familiar thump of literature that Fluttershy would’ve expected.
“We’re casting a spell!” Pinkie explained. “A super-magical awesome feel-better spell that works for everypony, all the time, every time!”
Fluttershy blinked. “Okay?” she asked, looking about for help in interpreting Pinkie Pie.
“It’s, ah, technically more of a ritual, I think,” Twilight commented, levitating the final pillow in place. Six neat mounds in a circle. After a moment’s thought, she switched a purple pillow with a green one so that each pile of pillows had the same color makeup.
“A joint effort,” Rarity added airily, fluffing her mane with a hoof.
“A, ‘feel better’ spell?” Fluttershy asked, seeking the eyes of those of her friends who had yet to offer comment. Rainbow Dash shrugged and flew over to flip open the book, collecting her Element necklace from the inside. Fluttershy vaguely remembered Twilight telling her about the Elements being moved to stay in the library, but she had never given it much thought.
“Yeah, feel better,” Applejack echoed, her green eyes trained on Fluttershy. It looked as if though the farmpony was looking for something, but Fluttershy couldn’t imagine what, so she smiled back at her while she tried to understand exactly what was going on.
“I didn’t know you kept the Elements in the book,” Fluttershy said, giving Twilight a glance.
“Princess Celestia suggested we keep them in Ponyville. Her vaults have a terrible track record, I suppose,” Twilight admitted with a shrug and a frown. “They fit in the book, so why not? It’s not like anypony but us know they’re in there. Though, I’m beginning to wonder about that, too, considering somepony wasted no time taking their necklace for a walk earlier this evening,” she added with a glare at Rarity.
“Perfect match!” Rarity countered in a sing-song voice.
“Come on, Flutters, it’ll be fun!” Pinkie giggled, holding up the necklace that Fluttershy hadn’t worn for so very long now. It was an odd thing, that rose-adorned piece of golden jewelry. It always made her feel strong, sure, but the memories tied to it weren’t all positive. She reluctantly accepted it and put the strangely warm thing around her neck. Her friends were doing the same, necklaces proudly on display, and in Twilight’s case, the tiara resting on top of her head.
“Right,” Twilight said after clearing her throat. “Uh, circle,” she added with a glance over at Pinkie Pie. Rainbow Dash muttered something to Twilight as she flew past her to take a seat, but whatever it was, it was lost to Fluttershy. The yellow pegasus alighted on a set of pillows between Applejack and Pinkie Pie, trying to keep her quizzical looks to a polite minimum.
“Yes, great, that’s perfect. For the, ah, spell,” Twilight commented once they were all in place. If Rainbow Dash was lacking in enthusiasm, Pinkie Pie made up for it and more. Fluttershy had to wonder if this was all to make Rainbow Dash a little happier, perhaps? She exchanged another glance with Rainbow Dash; the other pegasus was outright frowning, now, though she hid it the second she noticed Fluttershy looking.
“Okay, so, the purpose of this spell—” Twilight began, nudging her tiara back on her head as she levitated over a scroll and a quill both.
“I thought we weren’t doing that whole experiment thinger,” Applejack muttered out of the corner of her mouth.
“The least I can do is log this,” Twilight protested. “But fine, here goes—”
“Wait!” Pinkie Pie blurted. “You can’t! It’s not right! It’s not fancy enough!”
Most of the ponies in the room glared at Pinkie Pie. Fluttershy blinked once, twice, and realized she had lost track of how many times she wondered what she was missing.
“Oh, right,” Twilight agreed, smiling a little too wide. “I forgot the, ah, catalyst,” she hissed, sounding none too pleased about it. “The thing that’ll make this work.”
“Sure!” Pinkie giggled-snorted. “I like it!”
“Yes, I’ll bet,” Twilight sighed. “Rainbow Dash, could you head into the basement and get the, uh, the glittercoal that’s on the table next to the the combi-spectrometer?”
Rainbow Dash stared at Twilight.
“Dark blue thing, table next to machine with lots of lights,” Twilight added, voice flat.
“Right,” Dash snorted, flying off and out of sight, leaving Fluttershy with a beaming Pinkie, a contemplative Rarity, a frowning Twilight and an Applejack who was apparently still looking straight at her.
“Um. Is everything okay with you?” Fluttershy whispered, pinning her ears flat against her head. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but—”
“I’m just fine. I just hope this mumbo-jumbo’s gonna work. Or, I mean, I’m sure it will,” Applejack said, a smile plastered onto her face.
“Oh, okay. That’s... good?” Fluttershy offered.
“There. Sparkle-lump thing. Great. Let’s get this over with so we can get to the ghost stories and have some fun,” Rainbow Dash called, throwing a flat object the size of a hoof towards Twilight. It was a curious name, Fluttershy thought, given that it didn’t really seem to sparkle all that much.
Pinkie Pie bounced up in the air and seized it in her mouth before gently depositing it in the exact middle of the circle. Twilight muttered something about pentagrams almost too low for Fluttershy to hear.
“Yay! Do it! Cast the spell!” Pinkie said, planting her rump back down on the pillows.
“Right, the spell,” Twilight said.
Twilight sighed inwardly, hardly even paying attention anymore. It was amazing how many silly things you got roped into when you had some magical talent. What was amazing, in fact, was that Pinkie Pie was only the source of half of those inane, half-baked plans. This particular little faux ritual was the brainchild of no less than four ponies. Five if she included herself—and she kind of had to, given that she couldn’t quite quell her curiosity.
Closing her eyes, Twilight lazily started rifling through all the spells at her disposal. She had to admit that the ‘catalyst’ was a nice touch. As much as it galled her every time Pinkie Pie supplied unintended and effortless genius, the choice of glittercoal had been her own idea. When touched by light, the blackish material would reflect it in a myriad of colors one wouldn’t expect from something so dark.
At an impatient little noise from her side, Twilight settled for the most basic of light spells; she still took some pride in how she could make the majority of it radiate from the coal instead of her own horn, though. Casting her mind inwards, she felt the magic well up within her, training it on the dark blue object that Pinkie had placed in the center of the circle. One of these days, she should really look into a stronger light spell that was more mutable.
Her magic was wrested from her grasp. In the space of a second, something wrenched the source of Twilight’s magic from her with a tremendous yank, like pulling a leg straight out of its socket.
Twilight opened her mouth to scream, to make a noise, anything, but the world was spinning and her voice was lost. Opening her eyes made no difference; there was nothing coherent to see, neither colour nor darkness. Before she even had a chance to try to interpret what she saw and what she didn’t, it was over. With a dull thud, she impacted on something, and vision returned to her along with a pain spreading through her entire body. Her horn, her magic, her very being throbbed like a sore muscle.
Just because her sight was back did not mean that sense was restored. All around her, the dying afternoon sunlight played across moss-covered walls, ancient pillars and broken stained-glass windows. Loose overgrowth swayed idly in the wind, and in the distance, the familiar yet alien sounds of the Everfree Forest. While she hadn’t the faintest clue as to how she had gotten here, she recognized the place easily enough from that one journey last year.
The chamber of the Elements.
Before her were the empty stone arms of the old construct that had once held the spheres they had thought were the Elements. Twilight shook her head slowly from side to side.
“Twilight, what did you do?” It took a moment before Twilight could connect the thin, shaky voice to Rarity. The white unicorn stood not far off, looking every bit as surprised and bewildered as Twilight felt.
“I—I didn’t do anything,” Twilight protested, her heart still racing. “At least, I didn’t mean to do anything.” The fashionista must have picked up the panic in her voice; Rarity nodded once and stepped closer to cross necks with Twilight.
“If you say so, dear. I believe you, of course,” Rarity said. “You have no idea how we got here?”
Twilight closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she thought. There was absolutely nothing in her experience or in the considerable mental library of spells and magical theory she wielded that explained this. At length, she drew back and shook her head, feeling cold to the bone.
“Right. We should see about finding the others,” Rarity suggested. “And then, a way home.”
“I can get us home with a simple teleportation spell,” Twilight said. “I still feel a little, uh, woozy, but I’m sure I can pull that off. We might have to jump to Zecora’s place first, then home, but I think I can manage. You don’t feel... dizzy?”
Rarity tilted her head. “No? A little, ah, unsettled, perhaps? More with every second I don’t know where the others are, mind you.”
“Right,” Twilight agreed. “Let just, er, not split up, okay?”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Rarity said as they set off towards the stairs that led down and out from the chamber. “Curious. The Elements seem to be missing, too.”
A glance and a questing hoof confirmed that the tiara was gone, just like Rarity’s necklace. Twilight upped her pace. This little detail did nothing to calm her.
Rainbow Dash rubbed her head. One second she was trying to hide a yawn behind a hoof while waiting for the others to finish their stupid little game, the next, she was sitting on top of a stack of magazines in what appeared to be the cider cellar of a cloud-home. All around her, the walls were dense cloud-stuff multiple layers thick; the kind you only really saw in homes in central Cloudsdale.
Dash lifted a hoof, inspecting the top magazine of the stack she inadvertently perched upon. “Playmare,” she read aloud, frowning. “Former Wonderbolt shows all. Center page fold-out.”
Rolling her eyes, Dash glanced about the remainder of the room. Stairs up, hole in the clouds to her side, and a small pink dot far below.
“Oh, horseapples!” Dash breathed, launching herself through the pony-shaped hole. She flapped her wings with all of her might and stretched her hooves out as she chased after the distant pink shape that grew by the second. A quick backwards glance confirmed her suspicions—the belly of Cloudsdale receded as the rainbow trail behind her grew in strength.
“Hiiii, Dashie!” Pinkie called as Rainbow Dash drew near, predictably enough neither screaming nor flailing. The pink earth pony was idly browsing a magazine. Dash drew up alongside her, her relief coming out as an exasperated groan.
“Next time you do that, let me know, okay? That could’ve been dangerous!” Dash chided.
“Sure! Next time I do what, though?” Pinkie giggled, throwing the magazine over her shoulder. The colorful pages scattered like so much confetti, the glossy paper pegasi given flight.
“I don’t know, whatever that was?” Dash asked, shrugging. “Or was it Twilight?”
“Oh I have no idea, but let’s do it again sometime,” Pinkie concluded, though her grin was short-lived. “Wait, where are all the other girls?”
Rainbow Dash traced Pinkie’s gaze as if either of them would spot more falling ponies any minute. All that was visible above was the vague shapes of Cloudsdale far in the distance and an otherwise clear blue sky. Dash licked her lips.
“I dunno.”
“They’re probably back at Twi’s eating all the candy, then. Wait, they could be eating all the candy! We gotta go back!” Pinkie cried, finally launching into something more like the flailing one would expect given the way the ground was closing on them.
“Right,” Rainbow Dash giggled, swooping in under Pinkie Pie. “Let’s go rescue the candy.”
Fluttershy reluctantly cracked one eye open, then the other. There had been a terribly confusing something, a lack of sound and color both. Now, in the wake of whatever had happened, there was nothing but a faint chill and terrible, near-complete darkness. She swallowed, the lump creeping down her throat with painful slowness. Somehow, she suspected that even panicking would be very, very futile.
The ground under her belly was cold and unyielding, and what little noise she made as she struggled to stand echoed. Not too far off, she could see a small sliver of fading daylight, but even that seemed a weak and meager thing.
“Uh, hello?”
Fluttershy cringed and hid behind her own tail. She hadn’t spoken, but there was something familiar about the twang of that oddly distorted voice.
“A-Applejack?” Fluttershy said, the words but a hoarse whisper. Even as she spoke her name, that very same earth pony stepped into view. In the darkness, her coat was grey and she was almost just a shadow, but there was something reassuring about the very casual way in which she brushed off her hat.
“Yep. Uh, don’t s’pose you’ve seen the others, huh?” Applejack asked. Her voice was perhaps a little more quiet than usual, too. Fluttershy shook her head and perked up her ears. Beyond their voices, nothing could be heard.
Belatedly realizing Applejack might’ve missed that she’d shaken her head by way of reply, Fluttershy added, “No, um, only you. Where are we?”
“Girls? Anypony else around?” Applejack yelled.
Fluttershy cringed at the sudden noise, and apparently, she wasn’t the only one. At Applejack’s call, a tremendous cacophony of flapping wings and sharp squawks responded from above and all around them. They were harsh sounds, belonging to no bird Fluttershy had ever heard before, but nothing they could see moved.
Applejack and Fluttershy exchanged glances in the darkness. If Fluttershy hadn’t been scared before, the way Applejack’s eyes slowly widened sealed the deal. Green pools reflected the sliver of light that let them see each other, and in them, Fluttershy saw her own thoughts mirrored.
“I don’t think we’re in Ponyville no more, at least,” Applejack muttered.
“Um, girls? Rainbow Dash?” Fluttershy called, but it was no use. If Applejack’s shout had done nothing to draw forth any of their friends from the dark corners of whatever place they found themselves in, her trembling voice would surely do even less. Her heartbeats came ever faster, and the chill of the place was suddenly felt twice as keen. She re-settled her wings and let her eyes roam the area again. Applejack was doing the same, but twice as boldly, moving in a small circle around where Fluttershy stood.
As her sight adjusted to the darkness, Fluttershy slowly began to make out details—or rather, the lack of them. Underneath her hooves was a bare and relatively smooth stone floor, and not far off, walls of stone. This was no cave, but a large building.
“Where are we?” Fluttershy repeated, instantly regretting saying it. It was stupid, but she couldn’t help herself.
Applejack stopped her pacing and turned towards her. Rather than repeat herself, stating what was obvious—that she didn’t know either—Applejack merely sighed and moved a little closer. Fluttershy was glad for the touch when Applejack crossed necks with her and brought up a foreleg to hug her.
“I ain’t got a clue, and I hope this is some great big prank, but standing around won’t change much. I’m gonna go see what’s outside.”
With those words, Applejack left her and made for the light that could be twenty paces or twenty thousand paces away. Fluttershy squeaked a wordless protest and instantly made to follow. Whatever lay out there, whatever the crack, portal or doorway held, it couldn’t be worse than being left alone in the darkness.
As it turned out, the faint light spilled forth from a wide crack in the foundation of the circular structure, and the building itself wasn’t nearly as large as Fluttershy had thought; the light was playing tricks on her. It couldn’t be much bigger than the library tree in Ponyville. When the two ponies stuck their heads through the door-sized gap, Fluttershy’s heart sank.
Beyond, ruins and fields stretched as far as the eye could see. Immediately outside, dilapidated stone buildings reeled with great wounds suffered in an ongoing battle with time. Every single ceiling and wall lay collapsed and overgrown by grass that looked to go past a pony’s shoulder, the whole area a mess of stone blocks reclaimed by nature. Bird droppings marred the outer walls of the tubular structure they peered out from, leaving a faint, acrid smell, and large nests perched atop the taller parts of the ruins. To the last nest, they were all silent and abandoned, the only sound being the rustle of wind shifting the grass.
Further out, there was little to see but fields of grass. Flat as the ground was, it was hard to see far, but it was enough. Fluttershy slowly sank down to sit in the gap between the darkness that had made her uneasy and the outside that left her terrified and lost at the same time.
“A silo,” Applejack said, nodding to herself. Fluttershy barely registered the words, looking up at her in confusion.
“A—a what?”
“This here. It’s a silo,” Applejack repeated, tapping the cracked masonry and craning her neck to look out and up. “I’ve got no idea how in all things good they actually got the grain or whatever in, but I bet it’s all topside.”
Fluttershy nodded once, then twice more, each movement as empty and pointless as the last. For lack of anything to do, she looked to her friend. Applejack was a little hunched over, as if she couldn’t quite get comfortable where she stood.
“Are you cold, too?” Fluttershy asked, realizing that even here out in the sun, or what was left of it, it was a lot colder than she had expected.
Applejack raised a brow as she opened her mouth, but hesitated. After a second, she deflated. “Yeah. A bit.”
There was of course a second question that none of them seemed to want to ask, but Applejack answered it all the same. What do we do?
“Right. Let’s see what’s what and all that stuff, then,” Applejack suggested, slipping out past Fluttershy. Fluttershy followed before she lost the blonde tail in the sea of pale yellow grass.
Sea was an apt enough word. Well outside, the cold evening wind tugged at their manes and set the endless expanse of dry late-summer grass rippling. Nearby, three more silos rose high into the air, a few scraps of yellow paint clinging to their otherwise bare exteriors. Beyond these giants, not a single collection of rock and mortar was even remotely complete. At a second glance, “structures” or even “ruins” was too generous for these piles of rock.
Without any further words, Applejack set course across what may have once in the past been a street, making for a low rectangle of stones, an outline of a structure. Fluttershy followed the silently bobbing hat, frowning as she cast a backwards glance. They were making a trail, and it felt a little mean to be trampling the grass—to be disturbing.
The feeling didn’t go away as she passed through what must’ve been a doorway in its time, now but a gap in the ancient stones. The grass grew freely inside except for a in a few spots where fallen stones lay, and a small pit marked a cellar that had been collapsed or filled. Applejack hopped atop a lonely stone and craned her neck, turning on the spot.
“Shoot, still can’t see anything,” Applejack muttered, inspecting a nearby, taller stack of stones. She tested her footing and looked as if though she was about to make a leap.
“I could always fly up,” Fluttershy suggested, scratching a knee with a hoof. Truth be told, she didn’t want to—not even a little bit. The sky above was irregularly dotted with untended clouds, and it was rapidly getting dark. While it would be the work of minutes to fly up and have a peek, every feather on her body told her the clouds would only darken further. You didn’t have to be a seasoned weatherpony to tell it was going to rain.
“Ah. Yeah, that would make things a bit easier,” Applejack admitted, leaping down from her perch. “Don’t suppose you could take me up as well?”
Fluttershy spread her wings and looked away. “Maybe? I mean, I think, maybe, if I—”
“A ‘no’ works fine,” Applejack said, shaking her head. She was smiling ever so faintly. “No sense in wearing yourself out unless we need to, right? Just head on up there’n tell me what you see. ‘Atta girl.”
Nodding briskly, Fluttershy took to the air. She’d never had Rainbow Dash’s raw strength—or indeed, much muscle at all—but with practiced and efficient wingbeats she described a large circle upwards. The ruins dropped away slowly but surely, swallowed by the vast expanse of grass. She didn’t dare fly too high, stopping well short of the low clouds, reluctant to lose sight of Applejack. Hovering at perhaps twice the height of the silos was quite enough to tell her what she feared. Nothing looked familiar.
Still, that wasn’t terribly useful information to bring back to Applejack. Fluttershy shook her head. Immediately below, the ruins were vast, easily twice the size of Ponyville. Beyond the faint geometric shapes that told the tale of a city lost, there was only one thing that stood out nearby. On the far side of the town, a far larger building loomed, one that seemed to have fared slightly better.
Outside of the town, the grass was even taller. Furrows that might once have been brooks or rivers criss-crossed the level plains. In one direction, opposite of the setting sun, a line the nature of which Fluttershy couldn’t quite ascertain stole off away from the city and towards the horizon.
The strange and new horizon. Fluttershy almost didn’t want to look at it again. Somepony had stolen away the frightening yet familiar border of the Everfree Forest, the mountains upon which Canterlot rested and the Whitetail Woods all, and in their stead given her landmarks that meant nothing to her.
The road, if that was what it was, disappeared behind rolling hills, and the hills themselves hid all but the tips of tall and foreboding mountains that disappeared into the clouds. Behind her—to the south, if they were still in a place where the sun set in the west—the plains terminated in an expanse of blue-green waters that glittered and exulted in the failing daylight. Still turning around in a slow circle, Fluttershy saw the last rays of the sun swallowed up by a vast and dark forest, and to the north, more trees and plains led up to more mountains.
Fluttershy dipped her head and let gravity take her back to the ground. The wind was picking up, buffeting her as she circled to land next Applejack. The orange mare herself stood where Fluttershy had left her, a hoof on her head to hold her hat in place.
“I think we should better get to cover,” Applejack called, even as Fluttershy landed in the tall grass with a rustle. “Find anything?”
“Maybe,” Fluttershy said, her voice all but lost on the wind. “I mean, I don’t know what, but there’s a big building. It might be safer to head to the silos.”
Applejack shook her head. “Can’t be much worse than these silos can it? Might be there’s something useful there, and I don’t want to waste a full day getting nowhere.”
They stood there for a second, Applejack with a brow raised while Fluttershy took in the words. Did Applejack want her to lead? Of course, she was the one who knew where they were going, so it only made sense, but at the same time, she rather felt like going back to where they knew they had a safe hiding place—
“Which way is it?” the farmpony added, tapping her hoof. Just like that, the world made sense again. She’d only wanted to know where to go; Applejack galloped off the moment Fluttershy pointed in the general direction of the large building. Fluttershy followed as quick as she could, her mane a mess as it blew into her face. She had no desire to take flight again with the harsh winds about, jumping to cross the very same hurdles Applejack did, leaping rubble and berm alike as they cut through the stone and grass maze.
The weather certainly didn’t get any better. While she had little experience with uncontrolled weather, Fluttershy couldn’t help but glance skywards as the clear but dark blue above was replaced with a sullen grey. She suspected she kept looking for pegasi that weren’t there. It was impossible to tell how long they’d spent galloping in silence, weaving between fallen stones, but when the building she’d earlier spotted came into view, the first raindrops began to fall.
“This it?” Applejack yelled, slowing down to a trot and indicating the ruin with a flick of her head. If there was disappointment in her voice, Fluttershy had to admit she shared it. A few stone columns stretched ten, maybe fifteen paces into the air in the centre of the hollowed-out building, but only two walls still stood, along with a portion of a staircase along one of those walls. Everything else was gone. It reminded Fluttershy of a doll-house that had taken a tumble down a set of stairs.
“I’m sorry,” Fluttershy replied as they came up on the worn, smoothed stone stairs that led onto the building—such as it were. At the very least, the floor was relatively intact, but there was little shelter to be found from the rain. Perhaps having come to the same conclusion, Applejack halted in the doorless portal.
“Maybe we can hunker down under the stairs,” she suggested, pointing towards a nook, a corner roofed by the decaying stone stairs. Neither of them moved.
“Um,” Fluttershy offered. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea. Part of the stair’s fallen down.”
“There’s that, I s’pose. A rock to the head wouldn’t improve on things none,” Applejack grumbled, pulling her hat further down on her head. Fluttershy brushed her now wet and clinging mane from her face; the rain was getting heavier every second, larger drops hammering down on the pair and the ruin they inspected whilst ever-stronger winds tore at them.
Fluttershy dug at the ground with a hoof as she spoke, straining to be heard over the howling gale. “I’m sorry. Maybe we should have stayed after all. Maybe—maybe we should head back to the place we came from? Back to the silos?” she quickly amended, wishing she hadn’t said that. More than anything, she wanted to go home, but she was trying to quell that very useless little thought, keep it as small as possible. She glanced over at Applejack, and indeed, the earth pony mare at her side looked like she was thinking the same thing.
“Yeah, but I don’t like the idea of bein’ stranded out there if this is gonna get any worse,” Applejack cautioned. “Let’s spread out. There might be somethin’ here. Anything.”
Applejack watched as Fluttershy nodded and dutifully trotted off into one of the rooms sketched by the threadbare stonework. Resolving to do her part just like her friend, Applejack picked her way between a set of columns and kept her eyes open. Much rather that than to mull over the why and how of things. Especially when most of the questions came back to point at her.
Giving a great big snort, Applejack spat, as if she could spit that line of thinking out along with it.
The building must’ve been some sort of village hall or gathering place. While that didn’t matter much, the fact that it had a solid stone floor did. No big cracks, no vegetation. She grinned as she finally spotted what she had been looking for over in a corner. “Fluttershy!” she called. “Get on over here, I found something!”
It didn’t take long before Fluttershy peered around a corner. The poor pegasus’ mane was plastered to her head and withers, and her long, pink tail dragged along the ground.
“Cellar,” Applejack explained, indicating the nearby hole. Even in the deepening darkness it was plain that a set of well-used but still functional stone stairs led down into the earth. Applejack slowly trod closer, peering down over the rim.
“It’s... very dark,” Fluttershy said.
“Very dark,” Applejack murmured, repeating the obvious. “Well. I’ll go first then, ‘less ya mind.”
Fluttershy shook her head, which was just as well because Applejack had already begun descending. One hoof in front of the other, she took another few steps before pausing to let her eyes adjust. It didn’t help much. After another set of steps she stopped again, tensing up when she felt something bump against her hindquarters.
“Sorry,” Fluttershy murmured, rubbing her snout. Applejack shrugged.
“It ain’t gonna get much better than this,” Applejack said, though her words were made a lie even as she spoke. Further down and ahead, she could see a glow, something so fragile and faint it would’ve been lost were there any other source of light.
“What’s that?” Fluttershy asked, evidently having noticed the very same thing.
“Beats me,” Applejack admitted, pushing ahead into the darkness until she hit the bottom of the stairs with a splash. She sighed, halting only for a second before she resumed questing for that elusive light. “Great. ‘Course the place is wet.”
“Well, at least it’s not raining in here, and the wind is gone, too,” Fluttershy suggested, the pegasus little more than a whisper of a shadow at her side, not half as real as the sound of her hooves sloshing through the water.
“Yeah, well—” Applejack began, but the frustration was short-lived. Of course Fluttershy was right. She snorted. “There’s that.”
The light seemed to grow stronger as they approached. At first, Applejack had thought it was just the two of them getting closer, but when they drew near the far wall of the room where it waited, it was plain that it wasn’t quite that simple. She hadn’t even been able to see the walls at all they entered the room, but now the simple stonework was on full display, and a small, pale blue crystal was embedded in the stone. Applejack reached out to touch it, ignoring the faint noise of protest Fluttershy made.
No sooner had she touched it when the crystal brightened further, and Applejack smiled appreciatively while she took a step back. Having proper light helped, but it would be a gross exaggeration to call the room cozy. The floor of the chamber was covered in an inch of water and one of the walls bulged inwards, masonry scattered across the floor. On closer inspection, it became obvious that the floor wasn’t quite even, further adding to the mess; the water was twice as deep by the stairs as it was over by the crystal. That was it. That was what they had. A wet stone room with shoddy lighting. Shelter, but not comfort.
“You know, if this is some prank or a joke or whatever, it stopped being funny just about now,” Applejack said.
“I really don’t think this was ever funny,” Fluttershy admitted, the bedraggled pegasus’ head hanging low. Crossing the short distance to the nearby debris she lay atop a large and flat stone by the ruined wall. It was the only dry surface in the room of any size. Applejack approached, resting her forelegs atop the very same stone, and her head atop her forelegs again.
“Well, I’m with you there, sugarcube. Given a choice, I’d prefer s'mores to this,” she muttered. “Looks like you went’n dropped your Element doohickey somewhere, too.”
“Actually, we didn’t have them when we came here,” Fluttershy said, glancing down at her own bare neck. “I don’t know why. I wonder what happened,” she mused. “Something must have gone very wrong with Twilight’s spell.”
“Mh, something like that,” Applejack murmured. She would’ve loved to say something more, to blame Twilight’s magic, but it dribbled out of her muzzle unspoken and stuck to her like a cloying film, weighing her down. She knew well enough that it was her fault as well as Twilight’s. “Hey, scoot over.”
“Oh, sorry,” Fluttershy replied, doing just that, letting Applejack atop the stone with her. It was uneven, cold and hard, and the surface barely fit the two of them, but it was dry. Sometimes you took what you could get. Sometimes what you got was a small appreciation for a cold stone under your belly.
“Are you still cold?” Fluttershy asked.
“A bit,” Applejack admitted, shrugging. “Ain’t nothing’ll hurt me.” The very second the words had left her lips, there was a rustle of feathers. A second later, she felt a light weight settle over her back as Fluttershy spread one of her damp wings to cover her. The pegasus glanced over at her, those big teal eyes shining in the pale light from the crystal as she smiled.
Sometimes, you got a little more, too. Applejack smiled back and reached up to nudge her hat off its perch, putting it atop Fluttershy’s head.
“Trade ya,” she whispered, leaning against Fluttershy and resting her own head against hers. “Guess it’s good night, though,” she muttered, closing her eyes.
“Good night,” Fluttershy replied, and they spoke no more. The steady dripping of water by the stairs, the drumming of rain outside, and the steady breathing of two ponies was all that was left.
Sleep was a fitful thing. Between the chill and the hard surface, Fluttershy had wondered if she would ever manage to fall asleep at all. The only comfort was the warmth of Applejack pressed close to her side. If she were to be honest with herself, she was the one doing the pressing herself, drawing her close with her wing until her muscles hurt. Idly, she wished that Applejack was the one who had the wings to offer, but it was a selfish thought, wishing for another’s wing to wrap around her body.
When Applejack began snoring softly, Fluttershy was glad for the almost laughably normal sound, and that was the last she remembered until her eyes snapped open again. She hardly felt rested at all, and it was still raining, albeit as little more than a drizzle now. While the wind was gone as far as she could hear, the water lapped at her hooves, threatening their little sanctuary.
She had hoped to wake up safe and snug in her bed, but of course this wasn’t a bad dream; it just had all the makings of one. Rather than sharp and warm sunlight streaming in through her bedroom window, the light that spilled from the top of the stairs was dull and muted.
“You awake yet?” Applejack whispered. Fluttershy brought a foreleg to rub at her own eyes as she nodded.
“Yes, sorry, did I oversleep?”
Applejack chuckled. It was a low and quiet sound, and indeed, it seemed as if neither of them were willing to break the tentative hush that had settled. “I don’t think that hardly matters today. Me being late for my farm chores ain’t exactly our biggest problem now.”
“Oh. I guess not,” Fluttershy admitted. She tried to laugh, but it never amounted to much more than a smile. Applejack slipped off the stone slab and into the chest-high water, tail held high.
“Wish it were, though,” she said, wading towards the stairs.
Fluttershy followed, leaping up into the air and sailing over to land on the lowest steps of the stairs that were still dry, ready to offer Applejack a hoof in getting out as she approached. Side by side, the two ponies ascended back up into the ruins and under the open sky, only to find that very little had changed.
It seemed that Applejack shared her disappointment, both of them pausing when they once more stood in the broken ruin of the large building. The wind was indeed gone, and the light drizzle was hardly an impediment. Perhaps it was a second bout with the ridiculous notion that they could somehow wake up. The question returned.
“What do we do?” Fluttershy asked, nibbling her lower lip.
“Well. First off,” Applejack said, reaching over to nab the hat off of Fluttershy’s head and back onto her own. “I always think better with my hat on, so there’s that.”
Fluttershy nodded. She’d almost forgotten she was wearing it. “Okay,” she said, stifling a little giggle. “It was very nice of you, though.”
“Sure,” Applejack affirmed with a lopsided grin, setting course through the main room of the crumbling village hall and back onto the grassy expanse that had swallowed the town up. A minute passed in silence as the two companions walked.
Underhoof here, it was evident that this had once been a main thoroughfare of some sort. They’d missed a lot in last night’s dash for shelter; the grass was uneven, growing between ever-widening cracks in the cobblestones that must’ve been laid hundreds or thousands of years in the past.
“Well, that’s different,” Applejack remarked. Fluttershy followed her eyes to a large circle of low stones nearby. It didn’t look much like the ravaged ruins that made up the majority of the area. Instead, it was a deliberate formation of flat slabs placed in a circle that remained unbroken, save for a few chipped corners. Applejack was already making her way through and into their midst, and Fluttershy hurried to catch up, wringing her hooves as she hovered overhead.
Upon the stone slabs, crude ponies and symbols were made nigh-eternal by chipping at the stone rather than covering it in something so fleeting as paint. Fluttershy touched down next to one of the small obelisks and brushed aside the wet grass, revealing more images going all the way down to the base of the stone.
“A storybook?” Applejack commented, her snout mere inches away from another one of the slabs. “Guess it was a bit much hoping for a map,” she added with a bark of laughter.
Fluttershy nodded. It was of course the truth. She didn’t want to think about it, but it was hard not to remember what she had seen yesterday. “Actually, about that,” she said, licking her lips. Applejack made a small noise, but kept inspecting the stones, not even looking up.
“There’s nothing—I mean, I didn’t see anything up there that made sense. I thought maybe I’d see the Dragonspike, or maybe even Mount Canterlot, but we don’t even know where we are, do we?” Fluttershy said.
“Sure we do. Look up, you see the sun,” Applejack murmured. “Well, we will once the clouds clear. That’s a start.”
“And then?” Fluttershy asked
Applejack finally looked up at her then, and when those green eyes trained on hers, they were unguarded for a fraction of a second. Before she put on her well-worn, casual smile, Fluttershy saw it. The same fear she felt. Applejack didn’t have any idea either, and she was probably just as scared as she was. A chill went down her spine and wormed its way all the way down to the bottoms of her hooves.
“Dunno,” Applejack said in that same disaffected, nonchalant manner, adjusting her hat while she peered up into the sky. “Don’t help much thinking about it, does it?”
Fluttershy drew breath and exhaled through her nose. She had long since made peace with the fact that she was, at times, perhaps a little more timid than most other ponies, and she didn’t expect she could just decide to change on the spot. A small shudder ran through her as she recalled how well that attempt had gone.
What she could do was square her shoulders and do her best. Even if she had problems believing in herself sometimes, that was what her friends always told her to do, and that would have to suffice. She needed to show Applejack that she could trust her to pull her weight and do her best. She closed her eyes as memories threatened at that thought. Wherever Rainbow Dash was, she knew that she, at least, believed in her. Maybe it was unfair to single her out among all her friends like that, but it helped. Fluttershy stretched her wings and wracked her brain.
“Actually, I think these can help us after all,” Fluttershy suggested. Buoyed by the thought of her oldest friend’s faith in her, it felt natural to take to the air. Lifting off, she spun in a slow circle as she hung in the air, briefly scanning the tablets all whilst thinking.
“You reckon?” Applejack asked, arching a brow. “How so?”
“Well, these two are empty,” she said, indicating two blank slabs of stone, side by side. “And the gap is larger between them and the rest. Maybe it is just a story, but they seem connected. Maybe it can tell us where we are? It seems to start here,” she suggested, indicating the one on the other side of the gap.
“Might be something familiar,” Applejack agreed, though she sounded rather more skeptical.
Fluttershy nodded, landing by that very slab and brushing the grass aside to reveal the full scene. Near the top, two very carefully etched symbols adorned the stone; an octagon and a rectangle with a degree of polish that seemed entirely at odds with the rest of the artwork. The two symbols had unmarred, polished edges, and sat in the company of cracked and crude stick-ponies. Below, a crowd of these simple ponies stood, facing the symbols.
“Maybe the lines below are the ocean?” Fluttershy murmured, recalling what she had seen far to the south. “Or are they just, um, earth?”
“No horns and no wings on them,” Applejack remarked, sidling up to her. “Suppose that means they’re all earth ponies. That, or whomever made this was feelin’ very lazy.”
Fluttershy nodded and moved on to the next stone. There, the stick-ponies toiled in fields, pulling ploughs and sowing crops. Above were markings that could only mean clouds bearing rain and jagged scars of lightning. A simple circle hid behind the clouds.
“Well, I guess it’s not a very happy story at least. This doesn’t look good at all,” Fluttershy muttered. She imagined that if the little ponies were detailed enough to have faces, they’d all be sad, weighed down by the cruel weather.
“Well, if that’s the sun behind the clouds, that means the thing back there,” Applejack pointed to the octagon on the previous slab. “Ain’t the sun at least. And what’s up with the square thinger? A box? Is the moon s’posed to be a square? They’ve got to be something else.”
Having no answer for that, Fluttershy made to move on, but Applejack was faster. The orange mare was already at the next slab, parting the still-moist grass curtains to reveal another slice of the story. There, the ponies still toiled in the fields, but amongst them, one pony stood out.
“Well, I’ll be,” the farmpony said, leaning closer to the pony with scratches that clearly marked her as having wings and a horn both. Around her stood a throng of earth ponies in a tight circle, but the scene was otherwise unchanged. The clouds still hung low.
“Huh, they’re bowing before her?” Applejack asked, tilting her head.
“Oh. Um, I just assumed that she was kind of... coming out of the circle, like a flower blooming,” Fluttershy admitted. “I’m sure you’re right, though.”
“Probably something like that, anyway. You reckon that’s one of the princesses?”
Fluttershy reached out to trace a rent of lightning with a hoof. “Maybe? I mean, who else could it be? Lots of stories have Princess Celestia or Princess Luna in them.” Despite her own words, despite how tempting it was to pretend there was something familiar about the images, the gulf between here and home only seemed to widen.
“Why didn’t they write? Didn’t these ponies have letters?” Fluttershy asked just as the thought hit her. “Why is it a picture book without words?”
“Haven’t got a clue, sugarcube, but you might wanna have a look at this. You know the Hearth’s Warming play?” Applejack called from over by the next stone. Fluttershy trotted over to stand side by side with her. A small gasp escaped her before she could cover her mouth with a hoof.
Indeed, the next scene seemed very familiar with that classic old play in mind. On the hard stone were etched a myriad of ponies, separated into three distinct groups. On the top left, winged ponies jealously hid behind them a small collection of clouds free of rain and lightning. To their right, an assembly of unicorns guarded sun and moon, and below these two groups stood the earth ponies, surrounded by symbols that indicated various foods.
Applejack and Fluttershy exchanged glances.
“How long ago was this all? This ain’t a story. This is history,” Applejack said, speaking very slowly, each word carefully enunciated.
“I didn’t take any history classes,” Fluttershy replied, her gaze slipping to find her own forehooves. “But Equestria is thousands of years old. If this was before then, back before its founding, before the princesses started raising the sun and the moon...”
“Then we got a heck of a long road ahead of us,” Applejack finished before Fluttershy could say any more. Idly chewing on her own cheek, she walked up to the next slab and bent the grass away, stepping on the stalks so they’d lie flat. She stared past the stone, sightless eyes no longer looking at the images, but beyond them. She could feel Fluttershy’s gaze on the back of her head, seeking her attention, but she refused to acknowledge it. They’d find a way out of this. A way home.
“There’s three of them,” Fluttershy said, at length.
“What’s that?”
“There are three alicorns, but, um, there aren’t three princesses,” Fluttershy said, brow knit in confusion. “This is all wrong. The princesses are special, aren’t they? But Cadance isn’t that much older than us, and none of the other alicorns I’ve ever seen were, either. And I know I’ve seen these symbols before.”
Applejack shook her head to clear it, squinting as she finally took in the images. The scene was the same as the previous slab, but with a few additions. Each group was headed by a winged and horned alicorn pony, and in the centre of the circle lay grains and clouds. Behind each of the groups were two symbols; the earth ponies still had their octagon and rectangle, the unicorns boasted a star and a diamond, and the pegasi guarded a rhombus and a triangle. It all seemed awfully familiar, but it took a moment before Applejack remembered where she’d seen them before.
“The Elements,” Applejack said. “There’s six of the shapes, right? I think they’re the same ones as we found on those old stones back in the castle, way back when. At least some of them are.”
Fluttershy nodded, but frowned still. “I don’t understand. Princess Celestia said she and Princess Luna found the elements back when they fought Discord. And, um, Princess Celestia used them again—”
“Against Nightmare Moon, yeah. Maybe these ain’t the princesses,” Applejack agreed. “Let’s just move on, I wanna know what happens next.”
The next slab showed the same circle of ponies, and a very similar scene yet again, except this time, each group had their heads turned away from each other. The alicorns now lay down in the centre, heads low to the ground. The geometrical symbols, whatever they were, were gone.
“I guess it didn’t go so well,” Fluttershy said, swallowing. “Maybe they’re just resting?”
Applejack had her doubts, but didn’t much feel like ruining Fluttershy’s hopes. As one, they made for the next slab. There, the other ponies were gone, and the earth ponies all lay down close together as the clouds returned. It didn’t take a lot of thinking to figure out exactly what the angry faces and the scary shapes in the clouds were meant to represent.
“Windigoes,” Fluttershy said, her voice low and hushed.
“And no more alicorns,” Applejack remarked, poking the stone. “Wonder what that’s all about.”
Fluttershy shook her head and hurried over to the the next stone, and Applejack followed. What had started as idle curiosity had become a mad dash through history. On the final stony page of the tale, the earth ponies walked in a long line, the sun hidden behind the roiling clouds at their backs. Above them, in the center of the slate, a narrow, broken rectangle was etched, but it was hard to say what the shape was meant to represent.
“Ain’t exactly how the tale goes, but it’s close enough,” Applejack said as she inspected the last two slates, confirming they were indeed completely blank. “Except for the whole deal with the princesses and all.”
“If it is them,” Fluttershy added. “The play didn’t mention them either, you know.”
“Well, sure. We best get moving anyways,” Applejack suggested, peering up at where the sun was poking through the dispersing clouds. She hadn’t even noticed when the light rain had stopped.
Fluttershy didn’t seem quite as convinced. The demure pegasus was licking her lips and glancing about, as if there was some hidden way out, an alternative. “You mean we’re going to follow the road?”
“Well, unless you were joking when you said there was a road?” Applejack asked, arching an eyebrow as she started walking in the general direction of the rising sun.
“Well, it might have been a road, yes,” Fluttershy agreed, taking wing to fly at her side. “But we don’t know—”
“We know it’s the road our—well, my ancestors walked,” Applejack corrected herself, chuckling. “And if it’s a road that’s survived this long, that’s gotta count for something. It’s right there in the stuff on the rocks. They migrated this way. What’re you thinkin’? Sitting around waiting for a magical way home?”
“No!” Fluttershy protested, her cheeks tinted red as she stammered. “It’s just, I mean—I don’t know. We don’t know. We don’t know anything!”
Applejack halted and watched as the pegasus fell silent. Of course she would be scared. She was scared witless herself, even if she’d never admit as much. It just wouldn’t get them anywhere.
“I got us into this mess, and I’ll get us out of it, too, you see if I don’t. We can head off into some random forest or some mountains we don’t know squat about, or we can follow the road. I vote for the road.”
Fluttershy sighed and nodded, slumping even as her wings held her aloft. When no further protests came, the two moved on, and with every step, every wingbeat, the sun shone brighter as the cloud-cover above broke and scattered. The grass glistened with dew in the sunlight, and Applejack’s coat was well and truly drenched an hour later when they finally stepped out of the ancient landscape of ruins, trading the soft earth and broken stones for what Fluttershy had pegged for a road.
They halted together. Outside the lost townscape, the earth was criss-crossed with barely-visible furrows—remnants of an old irrigation system, Applejack assumed. More than this, though, they were given pause by the road that shot off to the east, straight like an arrow.
“I’d have expected it to be more, uh, well, overgrown. Less road-y,” Applejack admitted, peering down at the slightly sunken dirt road. Neither cobbled nor paved, and no wider than two carts, it stretched on as if though it had been aimed for the sun itself. It was all too easy to imagine she could make out cart tracks if she squinted.
“It didn’t look like this when I saw it earlier,” Fluttershy said, landing gingerly at her side. The pegasus seemed almost fearful to touch it, reaching out with a single hoof to poke at the dirt from the roadside. Applejack shrugged and hopped down; the drop was less than half a stride.
“Well, stuff looks different from afar, don’t it?” Applejack asked. “Might be you got a bit of dirt in your eye or something, and they could’ve, I don’t know, salted it?”
“For thousands and thousands of years?” Fluttershy asked, finally falling into step next to Applejack.
“Special salts, sure, or magic,” Applejack suggested, breaking into a brisk canter. Fluttershy hurried to keep pace, her brow still knit in a frown.
“Magic? These were just earth ponies!”
Applejack couldn’t quite hold back her laughter. “Land sakes, Fluttershy, we’ve got a good road to walk, why’re you so eager to try to make it go away?”
Fluttershy smartly closed her mouth, fixing her eyes on the ground, but it didn’t take very long before she giggled, unable to hold it back. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess it’s nice.”
The road they followed took no offense. All through the morning they trotted, Fluttershy occasionally taking wing when the wind was favorable, but otherwise keeping up better than Applejack would’ve expected her to. She’d either be neck and neck with Applejack, or soaring a few paces above her head, never once falling behind.
“You okay?” Applejack asked, glancing over at her. Fluttershy merely nodded and kept her head down as she kept moving, but she she was obviously labouring hard. “We can slow down a bit if you want,” Applejack added a moment later, but all she got in reply was a resolute shake of Fluttershy’s head.
The two of them made good speed, hooves thundering along and kicking up earth all the while until the sun stood high in the sky. Fluttershy hadn’t said a single word, but when Applejack’s stomach rumbled ominously, she figured it was a good an excuse to take a break as any; it was obvious Fluttershy would work herself to death if they didn’t stop. Gradually, Applejack slowed down their pace until they came to a halt.
“Don’t know about you, but I need something to eat,” Applejack declared, trying to steady her breathing. Fluttershy, for her part, hung her head and breathed heavily. Her wings dragged along the ground and rivulets of sweat made their way down her face as she followed Applejack onto the side of the road.
“At least we won’t be starving,” Applejack remarked with a dry chuckle as she surveyed the grasses by the roadside. She nudged some of the taller stalks aside and bent low to the ground. “Ain’t no restaurant, but it’ll do. Rain should’ve filled up some of the ditches that’re around, too.”
“We’ve hardly moved,” Fluttershy said. Applejack poked her head up from her meal-to-be, finding Fluttershy hovering right above the road. “I mean, the hills. I—I thought...”
“We ain’t gonna get anywhere in a day, sugar,” Applejack sighed. “Stop thinkin’ bout it, okay? Eat, please. If you ain’t eaten since the party either, you must be starving, too.”
Fluttershy gave her a long look, and whatever went on behind those eyes, Applejack couldn’t tell. Eventually the pegasus gave her a resigned nod and soared over to land close by, the two ponies eating in silence far more pregnant than the last. When Fluttershy again spoke, she was sitting in the grass nearby, her mane and tail both splayed out on the ground.
“It’s not your fault, you know,” she said, barely audible.
Applejack chewed, swallowed and snorted, all in short order.
“I mean, you said that you had gotten us into this, but you haven’t done—” Fluttershy explained, but Applejack cut her off, holding up a hoof.
“I know what I said, and that’s because I meant it. You probably think this is all Twilight’s fault or something.”
Fluttershy paled. “No! I don’t, I mean, I don’t blame anypony! I just thought you might blame her—” her eyes went wide. “Not—not that I think you should, or that you’re somepony who would, but—”
Applejack rolled her eyes. “Just stop,” she barked, and to Fluttershy’s credit, she did.
“I’d love to blame Twi, and yeah, sure, I ain’t too fond of using magic for everything down to cleaning your snout,” she muttered. “But I ain’t trying my hardest to be unreasonable, and it ain’t her fault.”
Fluttershy didn’t look convinced, and Applejack couldn’t blame her. Still, she couldn’t make herself spell it out for her pegasus friend, either. It was ridiculous, but for once, the one thing that wouldn’t come was the truth. That she had been the one to start this whole hare-brained scheme. The spell might not have been her idea directly, but she’d caused all this. Without her, Fluttershy would be safe and sound back in her cottage.
She just couldn’t tell her. No matter how long the road before them stretched on, even the smallest lie was a burden, but she’d have to shoulder it. Carry it, and put all her efforts into making sure they got back home safe.
Applejack adjusted her hat and glanced over her shoulder while she waited for Fluttershy to say whatever it was she had to say to that. Fluttershy had been right, of course. They had hardly moved. With the land being as flat as it was, they could still see the very tops of the silos far behind them, and ahead, the hills seemed just as distant as they had been when they got on the road.
“Okay.”
“Okay what?” Applejack asked, poking at the grass.
“It’s not Twilight’s fault. That’s okay, but I still don’t blame you. I don’t blame anypony, really,” she said, smiling. “We just need to get home, right?”
Applejack sighed and nodded. She didn’t tell her why they’d gone along with her idea, Pinkie’s game, Twilight’s spell—whichever. She just nodded, deciding that she suddenly wasn’t hungry after all.
“Right. So what was in the letter, then?” she asked.
Fluttershy lay her ears flat and fidgeted, clearly taken aback by what she thought was a change of topic. “Um, it was from my parents. They couldn’t make it to the wedding after all,” she managed.
There was more to it, of course. Fluttershy’s gaze was flighty and she shifted her weight. You didn’t exactly have to be the Element of Honesty to notice these things. It was equally obvious that Fluttershy didn’t feel comfortable talking about it.
“Well, that’s stupid of them,” Applejack muttered noncommittally.
Fluttershy nodded and slumped. “I really hope the others are okay. I mean, I hope they’re home and safe, and not in some scary, far-away place, too. They must be so very, very worried.”
“I bet they’re fine,” Applejack said, gesturing to a nearly completely overgrown channel nearby. “Drink up, and we’ll get moving again. Worrying and blaming won’t get us anywhere. Think you can still run?”
Fluttershy pursed her lips, squared her jaw and nodded.
Rare were the moments when Ponyville received royal visits. Sure enough, those rare moments were a little less rare after Twilight had relocated to live in the library there, but such visits were still events to be meticulously planned for and around. With one notable exception, one that made Twilight cringe to this day, Celestia always arrived as princesses should; with ample warning, a team of guardponies and a royal host.
Two princesses landing on her porch in the early morning hours; that was decidedly not the norm. At the sound of hooves on wood, Twilight put aside the book that had held her attention and moved to admit them, sparing only a single glance and a wince at the state of her room.
Things were a mess. In the past ten or so hours, she must have gone through half her personal collection. Not knowing what she was looking for, it was a rather useless gesture, but she sincerely doubted she’d missed anything downstairs after her self-imposed exile; as well as her friends meant, none of them knew the least about metamagical theory. That, and when you’d been awake for a full day, being around Pinkie Pie quickly got frustrating.
“Twilight, my faithful student,” Celestia said, smiling in that pleasant and soothing manner nopony else could ever pull off. Backlit by the sunrise, she looked positively radiant as she ducked inside. “We received your letter and came as fast as we could. Are the others here?”
Twilight nodded and moved to give Celestia a brief hug. “Rarity, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie and Spike are all downstairs. I—no offense, and I’m glad, but you didn’t have to, uh—”
Her eyes had slipped to Luna, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed. The night princess closed the door behind her with a brief glimmer of magic and raised an eyebrow. Only now did Twilight notice that she carried several large books and tattered scrolls wedged under a wing.
“No offense taken, Twilight Sparkle, but we do believe this concerns us, as well. Where is the object? We much desire to see it,” Luna asked. Something about the way she said it made Twilight’s coat stand on end.
“One step at a time, Luna, please,” Celestia suggested, smiling still as she indicated the door leading to the ground floor. “Shall we?”
Twilight nodded dumbly and led the way with practiced steps. It was absurd, leading a royal procession down from her bedroom like this. She was racking her brain trying to find a scenario in which both of the princesses responding within the hour was a good thing, and she was failing.
When Rainbow and Pinkie had arrived at the library a few hours after Twilight and Rarity had gotten back, they’d hoped it was as simple as Fluttershy and Applejack being slower in getting back home from wherever they’d ended up. Given that Fluttershy wasn’t as proficient a flier as Rainbow Dash, and since the others had appeared in pairs nearby, it wasn’t much of a stretch. There was a tendency, and Twilight had been content with this. A pattern in the nonsense that had occurred, even if the sample size was small.
As dawn broke, Twilight had sent a detailed letter to Princess Celestia, hoping for some insights. None of the girls were strangers to adventure, but this was different altogether, and with every hour that passed, the worry grew.
Down on the main floor, Spike, Rarity and Pinkie Pie were all sleeping by the embers of the fireplace. Pinkie Pie had fallen asleep halfway atop Rarity, and Spike lay by their feet, all in a small pile. Rainbow Dash was pacing, looking up as Twilight and the princesses entered the room. When she saw Celestia and Luna both, she sketched a quick bow whilst glancing a query at Twilight. Twilight could only shrug.
“Hey, girls, Spike, wake up,” Dash called, before lowering her voice a little. “What’s going on, princess? Uh, princesses, I guess.”
Celestia shook her head gently as she moved to the center of the room, waiting for the others to wake. Once Dash poked her, Pinkie was up on her hooves and beaming brightly in a second. No doubt, she was thrilled to see so many princesses so soon again after the wedding. Rarity was furiously yet covertly straightening her mane, and Spike rushed to Twilight’s side.
“We’re still trying to figure out exactly what happened,” Celestia finally said. “And we are very glad you are safe.”
“Indeed, we are, Princess,” Rarity said. “But—”
“Is this it?” Luna interrupted. The princess of the night stood in front of a cooking pot upended in the middle of the circle of pillows.
“Yeah,” Spike confirmed, taking a few steps towards the ominous kitchenware. “I heard a noise, and when I came downstairs, everypony was gone. I saw that freaky glowing whatever-it-is, so I took care of it!”
Rainbow Dash snickered. “By covering it with a pot. What a hero.”
“I think he was super brave!” Pinkie said. “When you don’t have war-pies or battle bread, pots are a great defense!”
“I still don’t understand what could cause glittercoal to have such a violent reaction to a light spell,” Twilight said, desperately trying to steer the conversation back on track. “I thought I’d wait for you to check, but there are no properties of glittercoal that explains this!”
“This is no lump of coal, Twilight Sparkle,” Luna muttered, her voice crackling with barely restrained anger. Twilight made to warn her, to tell her to be careful—anything similarly useless—but the night princess flicked the pot clean into the kitchen with a burst of magic. A second later, she gripped the hidden object in her aura, hovering it before her snout.
“It—it isn’t?” Twilight finally managed. Luna paid her no mind, and Celestia closed her eyes. Desperately, she sought her friends. Rarity stared, Pinkie Pie tilted her head a solid ninety degrees, and Spike shrugged. Rainbow Dash’s mouth hung open as the pegasus glanced every which way.
“I told you to fetch—” Twilight began.
“Thingy on the table by the blinking whatever, yeah!” Dash snapped. “I did!”
“Two months hence, we released this from our study on your insistence because your student wished to research it,” Luna growled. “And now, this?”
In an instant, the blood in Twilight’s veins was replaced with ice. She stepped closer, but she already knew what the little object was. “The other table,” she hissed. “The other table, not the one by the magimeter, Rainbow.”
“How the hay was I supposed to know?” Dash protested, paling.
“Guys, what’s going on? Hi, hello? What’s with the angriness?” Pinkie asked, frantically waving a foreleg in the air.
“Anger,” Twilight automatically corrected her.
“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Rarity admitted.
“Sister, we are going to go confirm our theory. We shall be right back,” Luna said, locking eyes with Celestia for one brief moment while depositing her books onto a nearby table. Celestia nodded, and just like that, the princess of the night left. Before anypony could question her, Luna galloped out the door and took off with such force that the door rattled on its hinges.
The budding tension in the room was palpable. Eyes flitted between Twilight and Celestia both, four sets of eyes bearing varying degrees of confusion and frustration.
“The thing,” Twilight began, sitting down on her rump and facing her friends. “It wasn’t the coal I meant to use. It was a piece of Nightmare Moon’s armor. I asked Princess Celestia if I could study it, so she had it delivered. I’ve run a few tests, but nothing suggested—I mean, it’s never done that before.”
She knew why. Rather, she knew what was different from all the other times she’d cast spells on it and interacted with the armor shard. Without thinking, her eyes drifted to the six jewelry pieces, the Elements, where they still lay on the nearby pillows. As she watched, they were all enveloped in a golden light, floating over to hover in front of Princess Celestia. The alicorn was utterly expressionless as she deposited them on a nearby table.
Twilight had expected a comment. She feared that the princess would be angry with her, or even worse, disappointed. She scanned her mentor’s eyes for any signs of disapproval, but there was absolutely nothing there. Still, she couldn’t keep quiet after Luna’s reaction.
“We shouldn’t have brought them out,” Twilight blurted. “It was wrong, if that’s what caused this, and now Luna—”
“Luna is angry with herself,” Celestia interrupted. “And that is not something you should worry about. Nopony could have foreseen this. I don’t blame you. I don’t blame any of you,” she continued, seeking their eyes one by one. Twilight’s heart caught in her throat as she made herself nod. The silence held while Celestia led the ponies over to the fireplace, sitting down only after the others were all settled.
“Where are they?” Dash asked, voice hoarse. “If they were far away, like in Appaloosa or something, couldn’t they have sent a message?”
“Like I said, that is what we are still trying to figure out,” Celestia replied, levitating over the volumes and scrolls that Luna had brought. Twilight tilted her head and scanned the titles.
“History of Cloudsdale,” she read aloud. “‘Architectural trends and masonry topics of the early days’. How is this supposed to help?”
“I shared the letter with Luna the instant I got it. She has a theory and is seeking to confirm it right now. If you listen, I will explain.”
“Listen? Shouldn’t we be out there looking for them?” Dash protested. “They could be anywhere!”
“As fast as you are, Rainbow Dash, you cannot search all of Equestria alone,” Celestia said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And besides, that may not be enough.”
“Then stop speaking in riddles!” the pegasus cried.
Twilight glared at Dash, and Rarity look mortified, but if Celestia took offense, she showed none of it. The princess opened various books and lay them out in a semicircle around herself as she went on.
“In the letter, you say that you two—” Celestia indicated Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie, “Ended up in Cloudsdale. Cloudsdale is very old, but what very few ponies know is that the first clouds that went into its construction, the core clouds, are older still. Older by far,” she said, launching into that rhythm, that manner of speech that Twilight recognized from countless lectures.
“Stable clouds like those are rare, and some speculate that they were brought in from someplace else, gathered over hundreds or even thousands of years. Some speculate,” she repeated with a small smile. “Some know. At any rate, Luna had the idea of inspecting the stones at the old castle for something similar.”
“You think the stone was similarly... imported?” Rarity asked.
“That sounds rather inefficient,” Twilight remarked.
“Not quite, but a few cornerstones may have been brought along as a symbolic act, and such stones may be old as civilization itself, just like the clouds. I suspect they may be from the kingdoms that only thousands of years later became Equestria.”
The room became deathly quiet. When Rainbow Dash made another token protest, it was with far less conviction. “Yeah, well, okay. So where are they?” she asked, again.
Before Celestia had the chance to reply, the room darkened a smidgen. It was as if though somepony muted all the lights for a moment, and with a sound not unlike a small thunderclap, Luna appeared in the middle of the room. The alicorn entered mid-stride out of nowhere, throwing to the ground an unremarkable square stone with rounded edges. The rock cracked the woodwork where it landed, but the night princess paid it no heed.
“They are the same,” Luna declared. “It is as we suspected.”
“You’re being rather dramatic. You could have flown or used the door,” Celestia offered.
“You feel time is a luxury we have, sister?” came the reply, voice sharp. Celestia sighed and turned away from her sister to once again face the little fireplace assembly.
“We think that you were sent to these locations because they are keyed to you. The clouds of Cloudsdale are the same as those that have been the heart of pegasus society since its birth. The same is true of the forgotten castle. Before Nightmare Moon—” Celestia explained, and Twilight automatically glanced at Luna at the mention of the name. The night princess did not so much as flinch. “—the castle had significance to the unicorns. All ponies, really, but the unicorns had brought parts of their first home with them.”
Luna nodded at her sister’s words, once again levitating up the armor shard. It looked very different in the light of day, but it was easy to see how she could have made the mistake in her haste and in the darkness. The flat, bent piece rotated in Luna’s grip as she stared at it with thinly veiled loathing.
“This is not us anymore,” she muttered. “But it remembers. Hatred has seeped into this thing, and when it felt the Elements, it lashed out in fear. Sought to throw you as far away as possible. Distance and time, either or both. It’s not self-aware, but clearly it is potent.”
Pinkie Pie’s eyes were wide, and an unsettling grin spread across her face. “Oh wow, Dashie, you weren’t kidding when you said I’m not an earth pony. I’m totally a pegasus! You’re smart!”
Rainbow Dash only blinked, but Twilight caught on. While she remembered the joking comment from Rainbow to Pinkie back at the spa, there was something that didn’t add up with the theory the princesses proposed.
“Why Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie? Why Applejack and Fluttershy?” she asked. “Rarity and I, we ended up in the castle because we’re unicorns, but why them? Pinkie Pie isn’t a pegasus.”
Pinkie Pie deflated and pouted at Twilight.
“The Elements have a very long history,” Celestia explained, her eyes drifting to rest on the last of the glowing embers in the fireplace. With a flare of her horn, she re-lit it, flames burning brightly again with no fuel at all.
“When Equestria was founded, there were no bearers. What we found out then was that they are, or were tied to the different ponies, earth ponies, pegasi and unicorns all. When I, ah, found you six, recently, I was surprised. I had thought that connection was solid.”
“It seems I was wrong. Perhaps it is proof of how far Equestria has come, that the Elements and the virtues do not feel so confined to the tribes that birthed them.”
“Feel?” Spike remarked, squinting at the jewelry pieces where they lay on the table nearby. “The Elements are alive?”
“Not quite, Spike,” Celestia smiled. “But there may be a grain of truth to that. At any rate, as special as you all are, Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie are quite unique in this respect.”
Pinkie Pie giggled and grinned at what she no doubt saw as the highest compliment ever given, but Rainbow Dash was quick to jab a hoof in the princess’ general direction.
“What are you trying to say, huh? What do you mean ‘unique’?”
Luna sighed. “She means to say nothing except that Fluttershy is an amazingly kind pony who exemplifies a lot of virtues traditionally associated with earth ponies, thousands of years ago, before the pony tribes started mingling in earnest.”
Rainbow Dash stared at Luna, then over at Twilight.
“No, it’s not an insult, Rainbow,” Twilight said.
“I knew that,” Dash muttered.
“Oh, oh, and does this mean I can fly?” Pinkie asked, hopping on the spot. “I’ve tried, but it’s really hard like you wouldn’t believe without balloons or something!”
“I would say no, but I would not put it past you to surprise me, either,” Celestia chuckled, glancing down at the books splayed out in front of her. All the while as they talked, she kept turning the pages of multiple books, evidently reading snippets here and there.
“Don’t encourage her,” Dash groaned.
Rarity cleared her throat. “So. The symmetry may not be perfect, but this all seems very simple. We need to go get them from wherever the earth ponies made their landing here in Equestria, then.”
“That was the idea,” Celestia murmured, a rather unsettling frown crossing her face. “The problem is, we found very little in the royal library on the topic.”
“It is as we said. Earth ponies have always believed in giving back to nature, in a cyclical approach. It is likely they brought nothing,” Luna retorted. “We told you this.”
The ponies in the room exchanged a set of glances. Those who didn’t make the same mental connections Twilight did picked up on the tone of the voices of the royals in the room.
“So they could be anywhere?” Rarity asked, aghast.
“No,” Twilight interrupted, eyes on Celestia as she preempted her mentor’s response. She’d read more than one volume on the subject of pre-Equestrian history, and they all said the same. Rather, they all had topics on which they had precious little to say at all.
“Not anywhere. A specific somewhere, but a somewhere that nopony knows of, any more. They could be back in the cradle of earth pony civilization.”
Celestia chewed her tongue. It was a ridiculous, mundane gesture that seemed entirely out of place on her, but at length, she finally nodded, once. “That is one theory,” she admitted.
“Well, where is it?” Rainbow Dash asked. “Just point me in the right direction.”
“I couldn’t say for sure,” Celestia admitted, averting her eyes.
“You don’t remember?” Twilight asked, and before she knew what she was doing, she found herself frowning at Princess Celestia, her mentor and ruler. Something about this was very odd.
“We still need to go look for them!” Dash shot. Pinkie nodded vigorously.
“You don’t seem to understand the gravity or the scope,” Luna said. “We don’t even know where to start, whether we go east or west, north or south. The world beyond the borders has changed.”
“So we’ll need lots of ponies to help!” Pinkie said.
Luna rubbed a spot between her eyes with a hoof. “You are still missing the point—”
“Then you do something!” Dash suggested. “You’re princesses, you’re super-magical and awesome, right? Can’t you just cast a spell or whatever?”
Twilight sank further down between her cushions. Spike leaned a little closer and Rarity looked every bit as lost as she did as the little quarrel escalated. These were words Twilight herself wanted to say, but she knew the possible counterarguments, too.
“It’s not that simple,” Celestia said, confirming her fears. “There are politics to consider. The Griffin Kingdoms are still unstable after the last change in leadership, and many of our neighbours would take it as an act of aggression should Luna or I enact some great spell.”
“So you’re not gonna help us?” Pinkie Pie asked, blinking. “But—”
“There is nothing to help with, until we decide on matters,” Luna said. “You are not to leave Equestria’s borders.”
“Oh yeah? Says who?” Dash asked, puffing out her chest.
“I realize you’re trying to be sensible here, but you cannot expect us to sit idly by if you think Fluttershy and Applejack are stranded,” Rarity chimed.
It was all Twilight could do to hold her tongue and watch as it devolved. Before long, it looked as if though it would turn into a shouting match. Dash was alternating between challenging the princesses and sulking, Pinkie Pie was talking too fast for anypony to actually catch what she was saying, and Rarity was stuck trying to mediate between the other two and the princesses who didn’t quite represent a unified front themselves.
Twilight shook her head slowly and sighed, her ears drooping. At her side, Spike was looking up at her, seeking her attention. Perhaps he was hoping for answers or support, but she had none to give.
“Enough!”
Celestia rose to stand. It wasn’t quite a shout or a yell, but it did the trick; the sun princess scanned the room as they all, to the last pony, quieted down.
“I understand you are worried,” she said, her frown slowly melting and giving way to a gentle smile. “It is testament to the strength of your bonds, and that in itself is something wonderful. Still, we cannot act. Not yet. Trust in your friends, and take care of each other. Luna and I will do what we can. For now, we must return to Canterlot.”
Twilight tried to give Celestia a smile, but the corners of her mouth weren’t cooperating. The sun princess leaned down to nuzzle her and nodded to the others. “Take care, my little ponies. I am sure it will all be fine in the end.”
Luna looked less convinced. The younger of the two sisters nodded curtly and followed Celestia as the pair made for the door. Five pairs of eyes followed them as they barely cleared the threshold before taking wing. It was only once they were out of sight that the dam truly broke.
“So, they intend to do nothing, yet they’re convinced it will be ‘fine’?” Rarity asked, arching a brow as she turned to Twilight. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“I don’t know, you know as much as I do, you saw me send the letter,” Twilight retorted. While Rarity nodded and seemed placated, Rainbow Dash was still looking at her, and the pegasus did not look pleased. “Okay, what?” Twilight asked, some of the irritation, the fear and the helplessness creeping into her voice.
Rainbow Dash shook her head. “Nothing,” she muttered, looking away. “Okay, I’m just gonna go take a nap, and then I’ll start looking.”
“Look, Princess Celestia said they’re probably not even in Equestria,” Twilight said, sighing.
“I’ll help,” Pinkie said, perking up.
“I, as well,” Rarity added.
“You’ll just slow me down,” Dash snorted, completely ignoring Twilight. “I’ll begin with the mountains or something, I don’t know.”
“Aw, well, I can start looking in Ponyville, I guess?” Pinkie suggested, cupping her chin in a hoof. “You never know. Maybe they’re at Sugarcube Corner enjoying a snack?”
“At the very least, let me, ah, knit you a scarf, perhaps?” Rarity asked, clearing her throat.
“Are you even listening?” Twilight cried. “It’s pointless!”
“So you’re gonna sit around and do nothing?” Rainbow Dash asked, crossing her forelegs. It was impossible to read her, to determine whether there was an accusation in there somewhere. Pinkie and Rarity were looking at her as well, but none of them said what Twilight thought they would say. What she wanted them to say.
None of them blamed her, even though she was the one who had cast the spell. None of them pointed out that it was her fault.
Twilight opened her mouth to reply, but what could she say? Princess Celestia and Luna both had admitted they had no real plan yet. Not long ago, she would have been content to let her mentor handle this, but now? It didn’t take long before she realized she couldn’t rest easy like that anymore.
At length, Twilight took a deep breath and let her eyes rove over the library’s different sections, her brain shifting into gear.
“No,” Twilight finally said. “I’m going to ask Luna to return the shard that caused this, and I am going to figure out how this happened. When I know that? I’m going to figure out how to bring our friends back.”
Fluttershy closed her eyes tighter. For just one moment she pretended that it was Angel Bunny poking her in the side, quietly yet forcefully berating her for sleeping in. She bit her lower lip and clung to the tatters of sleep. She’d been back in her bed, safe and sound under her blanket and somehow more content than ever before. There was something else to it, a soft weight over her side and something pressing against her neck. Whatever it was, it slipped away, elusive as only dreams could be.
It was futile. Angel didn’t sigh. At least, when he did, it wasn’t quite as audible as Applejack’s huffs. She knew it was her friend at her side trying to wake her up, and pretending to be asleep for any longer would be both rude and silly.
“I’m sorry,” Fluttershy muttered as she finally opened her eyes, earning a sympathetic look and a nod from Applejack. The earth pony wandered off to nibble on some grass nearby without a word. The sun hadn’t quite risen yet, so they were in no real rush.
Fluttershy hugged the ground close still, feeling so very tired. She’d try to rise soon. She just disliked the part where her muscles caught on to the fact that she was awake. They always set about aching right away, reminding her of what they thought of all this senseless running and flying.
Ever so slowly, Fluttershy stood. Her eyes automatically traced the road to the horizon. The line they had been following for a week and a half now was unchanged and uncaring, and it showed no signs of tiring unlike those who followed it. They were just entering the foothills that they had spotted in the distance upon their arrival in this strange place, and the road wound through the lightly forested rolling hills with a certain slow grace of its own.
At least it broke the monotony. For the first few days, while they were crossing the plains, time had almost ceased to make sense altogether; then, it seemed both forever and no time at all since they had been tentatively investigating the ruins of that lost town. Now, under the sparse canopy of beech and alder trees, Fluttershy was a little more comfortable.
Smoothed boulders and storm-fallen trees mixed with animal warrens and dens, and the forest teemed with animal life. While none of the little badgers and foxes had any idea where Fluttershy and Applejack’s homes were, they were very friendly. Despite never having so much as seen a pony before, some of them had even helped point the pair to streams and brooks, and one particularly nice greenjay had shared with them the location of a grove of delicious berries that neither pony knew the name of.
It was almost pleasant if you forgot about the whole “completely lost” part. And worrying about your friends. And your family. And all the little critters who made their home in your cottage. That was just skimming the top of the barrel of worries, too.
Fluttershy swallowed and focused on breathing steadily. She didn’t hear Applejack until the earth pony stood in front of her, the soft grass underhoof muting her approach.
“Ready to get movin’?” Applejack asked.
Fluttershy had no idea whether she ignored her state because she was being polite, or if she was tired of her complaints. It didn’t matter. Fluttershy puffed out her cheeks and nodded as she thought.
“Okay. If we’re getting closer to the mountains, we really should see about trying to make a basket or something. I mean, for food and water, in case we have to leave the forest. Twilight taught me how to do it when she was on that camping book spree.”
“That’s a mighty big if,” Applejack said as she trotted over to the road, away from the shadow of the trees that had been their home for the night. “Drum us up a bathtub with hot water while we're at it, or a nice pair a' raincoats, too? Sugarcube, we ain't got time to worry 'bout little things like that. Let’s just get moving.”
Fluttershy sighed. “I mean it,” she muttered, too low for Applejack to hear. It wouldn’t hurt to prepare, even if she still figured it would be days until they left the treeline.
If Applejack dismissed her concerns, though, there was probably no reason to worry. Fluttershy nodded to herself and picked her smile back up, letting the sting slide off her as she hurried to catch up to her friend and match her pace. Already her legs were aching, promising a day no better than the last; another Celestia-knew how many hours of moving as fast as their bodies allowed, stopping every hour or so to ask any birds about whether or not there was any water nearby.
There was precious little to talk about. Their hooves’ rapport was in synch as they forged ahead, copses of trees passing by on either side. Even if Fluttershy’d had the breath to spare, they had established early on that there was no point in worrying. Rather, those were Applejack’s words, and if Applejack didn’t worry at all—if her friend was resolved to neither think nor speak of their predicament—what could Fluttershy do about that? She was left alone with her thoughts, and had rapidly discovered that she didn’t like that one bit.
The sun had crawled high on the horizon when they crested a low, sloping hill that the road elected to climb rather than avoid. There, atop the gentle height, they slowed down as another village splayed out in front of them.
It wasn’t the first such village they had come across. Ever-smaller collections of hollowed-out shells like these dotted the road, and this was the fourth such they had come across so far. Fluttershy had to wonder if Applejack would even have bothered stopping if the village wasn’t built straddling a river, but it was too convenient to ignore. As they drew near the ancient bridge that dominated the center of the village, Applejack came to a halt; Fluttershy did the same, all too happy for a chance at catching her breath.
“Right,” Applejack said as she craned her neck to glance around. She offered the village and the surrounding woodlands only a cursory glance before trotting to the nearby riverbank. “Tank up, missy.”
Fluttershy sighed, but remained still. She really should take advantage of the little break; Applejack set a high pace. Still, she knew she’d obediently trot over there to have a drink and sit down, only to have the thoughts return. She’d ask Applejack how she was feeling, and the farmpony would say she was fine. If Fluttershy admitted she missed their friends, Applejack would make a noncommittal noise and move away. They’d even stopped sleeping close together, and Fluttershy couldn’t understand why.
Perhaps she’d done something wrong. Perhaps she’d said something. It had to be something like that, but if Applejack couldn’t tell her what was wrong, then it was best to just leave her alone for a little while. It was easy to sympathize with somepony needing a little alone time, and such moments were rare when they were travelling together.
Once she’d let that thought into her head, it ballooned, suddenly making more sense than anything. The orange mare was by the waterside, head low as she drank deeply, and all Fluttershy could think of was that if Applejack didn’t want her around, she should just leave. She could be gone before Applejack even noticed, leaving her alone.
Fluttershy froze, eyes wide. She cast the mean and stupid thought out, shaking her head. She would of course never do such a thing, she would’ve said it was unthinkable, but there it was—she’d thought it.
“Come on now, get drinkin’, Fluttershy. We should be off soon,” Applejack called, looking up at her from by the river.
“I, um. I think I just need to take a little walk,” Fluttershy said.
“We’re getting plenty of exercise,” Applejack said. “Gotta drink and eat when we can.”
And there it was again, that little burn of anger. There was no chair around for her to tie herself to, here. Fluttershy strained to not let her annoyance show as she shook her head. “I’m not thirsty. I’m going to take a little walk.”
Applejack tilted her head, and for the longest time, nothing happened. Water dripped from Applejack’s muzzle as she calmly regarded her, and finally gave an exaggerated, slow nod. “Right,” she said, her eyes never once leaving Fluttershy. “A walk, then.”
Fluttershy didn’t have any words to spare. She turned and walked, then trotted, then galloped between the buildings until she was out of sight. Only when she had a solid stone wall between herself and the Applejack did she stop.
“Get a hold of yourself, Fluttershy,” she whispered urgently to nopony at all, cupping her face in her hooves. “Oh my goodness, what are you doing? What’s gotten into you?”
Applejack was probably just worried about their friends, too. She must be missing her home, and that explained why she was being a little bossy. Fluttershy hadn’t been very nice to be around last bunny season with all the stress, she was sure. Even so, it wouldn’t do at all for Fluttershy to be mean to one of her best friends. Taking a shuddering breath and slowly getting back up on all fours, she forced her legs to move. The only thing scarier than exploring on her own right now was going back to Applejack and risk saying something she would regret. Ever so slowly, she picked her way deeper into the ruined village.
The village was different from the others. The second she managed to push her worries back in her mind, it was plain that something had changed here. The ruins they had passed by three days ago had been just like the first; the very stones were old and nothing remained. Here, many of the houses sported walls, and in one case, a particularly sturdy stone structure still had its roof intact.
If that had been all, it would’ve almost been a welcome sight. For a second, creeping around the corners of the abandoned houses, Fluttershy dared to think something was going right. It felt like she was taking a step in the right direction. Some things that were not stone had survived in this village, meaning it was far more recent. Here, a pile of wood mulch. There, a scrap of cloth. She’d crept a hoof-breadth towards something more familiar, towards her own time.
The tentative elation only lasted until she started seeing the other ways in which this place was different. Fluttershy’s step faltered as she started seeing the little signs. In the centre of the village stood a statue of an earth pony, and while the missing foreleg was probably due to the ravages of time and weather, no weather she knew could explain how it had been defaced. Scores had been cut into the pedestal and the flank of the pony both, and faint traces of paint in a myriad of colors that could hardly be the original criss-crossed the belly where the rain could not touch.
More than just this, the second she started truly looking, it was obvious that the scattered stonework that littered the overgrown streets in places was not something done by natural forces. At least, Fluttershy wouldn’t want to see the storm that could shatter stone. Barely moving any more, Fluttershy halted before a small pothole in the ground, the nature of which she couldn’t discern. Her heart nearly stopped when she heard the soft rustle of grass behind her, an unamused Applejack’s sidling up to her as she whirled around.
“This ain’t like the other villages, is it?” Applejack asked, evidently having come to the same conclusion. Fluttershy shook her head slowly, her frazzled mane shifting on her back.
“I don’t think—I think, maybe that these ponies didn’t leave,” Fluttershy whispered.
“How d’you mean?” Applejack asked, tilting her head.
Fluttershy hung her head. She’d never pretend to be as smart as Twilight. In fact, she suspected that nopony was quite as smart as Twilight, and she wished dearly that the clever mare was here to help them.
“What d’you think happened?” Applejack pressed.
“This wasn’t nearly as long ago,” Fluttershy said, licking her lips. “If—if the others migrated, it doesn’t make sense for this to look so different. It’s hard to say because the other places were so old, but this is a mess. Something very bad happened here, and it wasn’t long ago,” she concluded, the words far more tame than the images in her head.
“Doesn’t take a lot of thinking to see that ‘something happened’” Applejack snorted. “Question’s what, but it matters none. Let’s get moving, alright?”
“It’s all wrong,” Fluttershy murmured, but Applejack made no reply. Her companion was turning on the spot and walking away, though she knew she’d heard her.
It just wouldn’t do at all to let it slip again. To let Applejack close her eyes and ears to their predicament. “It’s all wrong, Applejack. Everything,” Fluttershy repeated, louder. Applejack didn’t turn, didn’t even look at her, but she stopped.
“I used to think it was just me,” Fluttershy said, emboldened by her own admission. “The grass, it—it doesn’t just taste different. It tastes wrong. It looks fine, just like the water is clear and fresh and everything, but it’s not. Ever since we got close to the hills, the sun doesn’t warm like it should, either. This isn’t normal!”
“It’s just nerves and stuff, sugar,” Applejack suggested, glancing over her shoulder to look at her with a single eye. For a second, a shadow passed over her face, but the farmpony was smiling so tenderly and gently, Fluttershy knew she should let it soothe her—except it didn’t. It annoyed her. Deep inside Fluttershy, a spark ignited.
“It’s not ‘nerves’!” she cried. “All these ponies left a long time ago, but in this village, it must have been thousands of years after that when they started fighting! This looks like, I don’t even know—a party out of control?”
“I just don’t see what we can do about it. We ain’t seen a single thing that looks dangerous, have we? Whatever did this is probably gone,” came the reply, again with an easy shrug. The farmpony took a few step towards her with a pleading look on her face. “We really should get moving.”
Just like that, the flickering fire was quenched again. Fluttershy’s reply had welled up inside her, but it died in her throat before she spoke. She felt the anger, she tasted the spiteful comment that part of her wanted to deliver, and instantly shut her mouth before it could escape.
“Sorry,” she whimpered, eyes wide as she took a step back, as if she could put distance between herself and her own thoughts.
“What’s that, sugarcube?” Applejack asked. She leaned a little closer, but Fluttershy said no more. The poor pegasus stood completely still now, looking scared out of her mind, eyes sightless and staring past her.
Applejack whipped her head around, muscles tensing up as she looked for the cause of this, scanning the ruins and the nearby woodlands for anything that moved. Unless Fluttershy found deep terror in a pair of foxes who regarded them from over by a bush, there was nothing to see. Empty homes, silent woods and clucking river nearby were all tranquil.
Not to say they were the particular brand of peaceful and unthreatening that Applejack preferred. The neckhairs of her coat still stood on end, and she was feeling more jittery than a cart on cobblestones.
Fluttershy had the right of it. The grass looked healthy but tasted sour, and the water was foul, too. The sun was like a fireplace that clung to its last embers, and looking upon all these empty towns was enough to drive a pony crazy. She couldn’t shake the thought of what Ponyville would look like if nopony tended to its gardens or buildings for a thousand years. An image came to her mind, and she couldn’t stop thinking of how the new barn had looked before they added the walls that summer; a mere skeleton of a building like these were skeletons of towns.
She was glad Fluttershy wasn’t looking at her right then. With a small sigh, she rubbed at her eyes with a foreleg, trying to keep as calm as possible and let nothing betray her thoughts.
If not for her hare-brained idea, they wouldn’t be here, and she couldn’t even bring herself to tell Fluttershy. For all her friend knew, the little spell, the catastrophe had nothing to do with either of them, and it was all an unfortunate mishap.
Fluttershy wouldn’t blame her. It simply wasn’t in the nature of that gentle mare to ever direct any anger or blame at anypony else, be they friend or foe. Yet still, she found herself unable to let up that secret. If she didn’t fear reprisal, why couldn’t she speak plain and admit it? Something held her back, and for every day that passed, it became harder to try to bring it up.
So she held her silence. If she couldn’t clear the air, if she had to carry that truth unspoken, then she could do the next best thing; she could bring Fluttershy home, no matter what it took. She would pave the path and do what she had to do to ensure that Fluttershy didn’t suffer. The journey had already begun to take its toll on the poor pegasus mare, that much was clear; once or twice, she’d caught Fluttershy scowling or frowning at her when she thought she wasn’t looking.
“So, you good?” she asked, casting a quick glance overhead. It was barely past noon.
“I think so,” Fluttershy replied, nodding. It was obvious she was everything but ‘good’, but Applejack was glad for her little lie. It felt foreign and odd to admit it to herself, but it was that or being forced to think about things that’d get them nowhere.
“Right. Grab a drink and let’s move,” she added, setting course for the river once more, happy to be on the move and one step closer to leaving this strange village. Once Fluttershy had drunk her fill, they crossed the aging, grey stone bridge that spanned the small river. As if by some unspoken agreement, they galloped the short distance that remained until they were safe in the forest’s embrace again, neither of them electing to look back so much as once.
It would have been a blessing had that been the last of it, but the days didn’t get easier, and Applejack’s sense of unease only grew. It seemed that with every morning, the cold cut deeper, hungry for her bones. As they followed that eerily unchanging dirt road through the increasingly craggy hills, she soon came to miss grass that merely tasted bitter. The paling stalks tasted of ash, and the nameless woods that had fed and housed them for so long soon had more dead trees than healthy ones.
Fluttershy, for her part, seemed reluctant to say much at all. It was pleasant with some silence, at first, but on the second day, it had passed straight into being unsettling. The bedraggled pegasus looked almost haunted and avoided meeting her eyes. While the greying landscape would have unsettled any pony Applejack knew, she had a creeping suspicion that the pegasus feared something else entirely.
When Applejack finally admitted that Fluttershy’s idea of trying to prepare better had been a good one, she didn’t even offer comment. The two ponies spent the better part of an evening in silence fashioning crude saddlebags in which to carry some grasses with them. Making something that would hold water was futile, and the best Applejack could come up with was some concave pieces of dried wood to gently balance atop their makeshift saddlebags. It was better than nothing, but only by the barest of margins.
On the afternoon some three days after they had left behind that last village, the road met an obstacle it could not circumvent. The forest had hid well the wall that met them, and as such, it came as a surprise when they met the cliff that towered over twenty strides above them. The near sheer cliff face shot up past the treetops, and the road zig-zagged up its side with numerous sharp turns.
Applejack craned her neck up as if she could throw her gaze past the edge and see what lay beyond, but it was a futile gesture. Doing was easier than thinking, anyway. Stepping on to the narrowing open path as it climbed the cliff, she noticed that yet again, Fluttershy was hesitating. She was a good ten paces up the punishing climb of the slope when she stopped and turned to look at her.
“Um, I think maybe we should wait here until tomorrow,” Fluttershy suggested.
Applejack shook her head resolutely. “And what in the hay would that do? We still have a good few hours of sunlight left.”
“But it’ll—” Fluttershy began, but she stopped herself, her mouth working itself into a thin line. The sheer wrongness of whatever passed through her usually demure friend was staggering, but she nodded once and trotted after Applejack, head down as she joined her on the climb.
“Not a lot of critters about,” Applejack suggested, trying to smile. She’d meant to ask Fluttershy what was up, but the words were harder to speak than the pleasant nonsense she instead found herself spouting. “Ain’t seen a single varmint all day, and no birds.”
“They don’t come here,” came the murmured reply. “They know it’s a bad place.”
Applejack made a small noise, but kept climbing, leading them past the first turn. The climb only steepened. “Really now? Why didn’ you say something?”
“Would you have turned around?” Fluttershy asked, flaring her wings before re-settling them on her back.
“Trek all the way back and head off in some random direction just ‘cause your little animal pals are scared?” Applejack asked, chuckling as she glanced off to the side and off the road. They were just climbing above the canopy now, and the vast expanse of the forest they’d crossed stretched out behind them, the plains beyond hidden by hills and dying trees.
“Exactly,” Fluttershy said, her eyes on the ground as she followed in Applejack’s wake.
It was the work of minutes to climb the cliff-face, but the angle made every step felt. The earth and rock that bridged the horizon stabbed so sharply up from the forest’s floor, it made Applejack a little uneasy, but there was no other way around the formation. Like a castle wall the cliff jutted forth.
When Fluttershy and Applejack took the final steps of the climb and stood upon the lip of the cliff, none of them were eager to move on, and Fluttershy even took half a step back. Applejack herself swallowed.
Mountains large and small described a huge valley ahead. Ahead and to the left—the north—tall, snow-capped mountains stood proud, but even they were dwarfed by the colossal peaks to the south. The sharp, jagged things pierced the sky until they were hidden by thick clouds. At the other end of the valley, smaller peaks capped off the valleyscape that was so shattered, it might as well be called a crater.
The ground was cracked and dry, the dustbowl studded with copses and small forests where every tree was a twisted, leafless husk. Great rents criss-crossed the ground in a patternless tapestry of destruction, and the only color was a smattering of green on the far edges. At the foot of the tallest mountains to the south, a single building stood out like a corn cob in a hill of beans. It should have been hard to pick out a single building at such a distance, but the blocky thing drew the eye due to the sheer lack of anything else in the entire valley.
The light changing was almost an afterthought at that point. Applejack cast a glance over her shoulder, and even as she watched from the threshold of this odd valley, the sinking sun itself seemed to pale. The orange glow that had refused to share its warmth was a sickly thing, and the sky that had been a light blue was now a dead gray.
“The road is gone,” Fluttershy said. Her voice was almost completely flat, given only the barest tremble. She was also completely correct.
Behind them, not three strides away from where they stood, the face of the cliff was almost completely sheer. The path hugging the stone was barely visible as a set of rents and jags no pony could possibly think to climb. Far below, the road below was barely visible; a washed-out stretch of dirt only saved from being overgrown by the lack of plant life where it met the cliff.
“This is wrong. This is wrong, this is so very, very wrong,” Fluttershy whimpered, backing away from the edge. “Why is the road gone? We just came from there!”
“Don’t know,” Applejack muttered. “But looks like we ain’t going back. We got some food, and long as I don’t trip over my own legs and drop my saddlebags like I did yesterday, we got a bit of water too,” she said, checking to make sure that the water she carried hadn’t sloshed too much. It seemed more important than any silly road. At least, it was easier to think about.
Fluttershy said nothing, her breath still coming fast. The pegasus tore her attention off the forest floor behind them, instead fixing her attention on the dark stone building that waited at least a full day’s journey ahead and below, at the bottom of the dead valley.
“I don’t like the look of that much either,” Applejack said, puffing out her cheeks. “But we can’t afford to ignore something like that. Let’s head down to that place, see if there’s anything that can help.”
It was very much an anything. The hope of anyone, or anypony, seemed slim at best.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Fluttershy protested, but when Applejack started picking her way across the broken, rocky ground, she followed. Despite the fact that every fiber in Applejack’s body suggested she was doing the wrong thing—despite how her instincts and those carefully honed little things that made up the voice in her head told her this was folly—there was precious little choice.
“Besides,” Applejack said, replying more to her own doubts than Fluttershy, “I figure that if the old play’s right, and if this road was used, well, this could well be the meeting grounds the tribes used.”
Fluttershy appeared to consider that, but made no reply.
“See, you don’t make a road for a one-way trip,” Applejack reasoned. “This place’s got to be at the center of it all, don’t it? I’ll bet you all the bits in my coffers back home this is where the leaders met.”
“Yes,” Fluttershy retorted, her eyes once again on that foreboding structure. “And whatever happened, happened there, and the play doesn’t say anything about what that was.”
“Windigoes don’t count, now?” Applejack said, raising a brow.
“I don’t see any snow,” Fluttershy answered.
“Guess it melted. Heavens to Betsy, Fluttershy,” Applejack snorted, and while Fluttershy gave up at that, lapsing into silence, part of her knew her friend was right. There was a darkness hanging over the building in the distance, and the desolation, the sheer lifeless here was decidedly unnatural. Her very blood told her what she needed to know as they slowly made their way across the treacherous ground; plants and animals would always find a way, in time, but here, nothing grew, and nothing made its home.
With little but a few scattered comments from either of them to the other, or to nopony at all, the final few hours of daylight brought them from the edge of the valley into an area rife with trees as dead as everything else. When the sun finally spat out the last of its light and moving any further was risking injury on the rocks that littered the place, they stood in a dried wasteland that pretended to be a forest. Applejack wasted no time in shedding her saddlebags and sitting down by one of the dried logs that scattered the area.
“Colder, here,” Applejack remarked, sighing and pushing her hat down on her head and closing her eyes. There wasn’t much wind to speak of, but what little there was, was decidedly unkind.
“We’re higher up and exposed, that’s why I wanted us to wait down there,” Fluttershy remarked. “I don’t mind. Pegasi don’t get cold as easily.”
Applejack shrugged and crossed her forelegs, trying her best to let sleep claim her before her thoughts did. With neither fire nor another’s warmth to shield her, it took a long time before she dozed off, and when she did, it was long before she awoke again.
She’d always been a sound sleeper, but then, sleep wasn’t what it used to be, and hadn’t been for weeks now. Applejack cracked an eye open. She’d woken to a soft but insistent noise.
Fluttershy was awake. The pegasus lay on the ground nearby, her once luxurious mane tangled and her coat tainted with dirt. Her gaze was distant and fixed on the horizon across the valley where the sun would rise hours from now. By moonlight, she was tracing the same sketch in the dirt over and over.
With mechanical repetition she drew a cloud and a jagged line leading out from it, caressing the shape with a hoof’s edge. It was easy to recognize as Dash’s cutie mark, but if it was because she missed her friends, Applejack wondered why she had not drawn the others’, too. Tears were budding in her eyes, and it was the first time Applejack noticed how her once clear teal eyes were clouded and muted.
It had to be a trick of the light. That’s what she told herself. It went to the back of her mind with the same impulse that urged her to admit she was the cause of this all. The same part of her that wanted her to ask what was wrong with Fluttershy—and herself. She had simply forgotten how to let it concern her, and found it so much easier to keep quiet. Instead, she closed her eyes again and slept through the chattering of her own teeth.
Usually, Rainbow Dash knew better than to fly tired. It was the mistake of a foal who had just learned how to fly on her own, risking an accident like this. Every now and then she’d come to again, eyes snapping open to confirm that yes, her wings were still flapping of their own accord. Had flight not been in her blood, she’d probably be upside-down in the forest below, tangled in the long scarf she wore.
Just as she’d completed the thought, she blinked again, and the forest was replaced with neater clumps of green speckled with red. She shook her head to try to clear the fog that had settled over her sleep-addled mind, stifling a yawn with the back of her hoof while Sweet Apple Acres passed by below. The sun was just now cresting the horizon, and Big Macintosh was already at work in the orchards.
Usually, she knew better, but usually she knew where her friends were, too. Big Mac had hired on two stallions to help out on the farm in Applejack’s absence, and it was a keen reminder of what was wrong with the world. Rainbow Dash grimaced and looked away, her eyes instead settling upon a lonely, abandoned cottage a small ways off.
It was a mistake. That indeterminable, untouchable feeling of subtle terror returned. She’d never admit to being afraid, of course, but this was different. Perhaps it was exactly that; the sensation of something being different? It didn’t at all explain why just looking at the darkened wood-and-soil home hurt. She wasn’t some foal to sit around crying because she missed her friends.
Curling her forelegs up, Dash redoubled her efforts and sped towards her home. The faster she got home, the faster she could take a quick nap before heading out again. She’d checked the Glittertops twice, but she hadn’t even thought to fly over the Swaybacks or the Unicorn Range. Rainbow Dash forced herself to smile at that, her eyes already slipping shut as she flew through her own bedroom window. She stubbed her wing on the window frame coming in, and it was hardly an elegant landing, but it wasn’t as if though anypony was around to see—
“Hey, Rainbow.”
Rainbow Dash yelped and shot into the air, startled into a hover. Twilight Sparkle was standing in the middle of her bedroom floor. Heart still hammering in her chest, Dash couldn’t even decide whether to be angry or happy to see her, but at the very least, she was awake now.
“Geez, Twilight!” Dash shot, gently easing herself back down.
“Sorry,” Twilight said, scratching her own withers. “I didn’t mean to scare you—”
“Wasn’t scared,” Dash muttered, rousing the fireflies of her nightstand lamp with a nudge.
“—but you weren’t here, so I let myself in. Well. Teleported in, I guess,” she corrected herself with a small smile, but it was a subdued affair. Even Rainbow Dash could tell something was wrong; she just couldn’t spare the energy for talk.
“Yeah, okay. Can I go to sleep now? I gotta get a nap in, and then I need to tell Cloud Kicker to take my shift clearing clouds tomorrow so I can go search—”
“You can’t go on like this,” Twi said, levelling an even gaze her way.
“Uh, yeah, I really can,” Dash said, shrugging. “If you just get out of my bedroom and let me have my nap, anyway.”
“No, I mean, ugh,” Twilight groaned, rubbing the spot between her eyes with a hoof. “Everypony’s worried about you.”
“Worried about me,” Dash repeated, taking great care to make the words flatter than an apple in a buffalo stampede. “Why in the hay are they worried about me? Maybe that’s the problem, huh? Maybe they should be worrying about Fluttershy and AJ, too, instead?”
Twilight’s frown only deepened. Rainbow Dash re-furled her wings and cleared her throat. As annoying as it was to have Twi in her room when she really just wanted to sleep, she got the impression she’d said something very, very wrong.
“Tell me, Rainbow. What do you think Rarity and Pinkie Pie are up to right now?” Twilight asked.
“Not trying to find Fluttershy and Applejack?” Dash suggested, glancing off to the side. Truth was, she hadn’t seen any of her friends for a few days now, but she was sure she’d spotted Pinkie Pie in town once. It might have been last week. It was getting hard to tell.
And Twilight was saying absolutely nothing. Dash looked back over at her, and the unicorn mare was giving her an outright glare. Dash’s ears went flat on pure reflex.
“Rarity,” Twilight hissed through clenched teeth. “Was on the verge of tears last time I spoke to her, because she can’t help more. Because she feels useless.”
“I don’t—” Dash tried to say, but Twilight stomped her hoof on the tiled floor, a loud clack silencing her.
“After she made you that scarf, after you turned down her offer of a vest or whatever it was, she’s been listless. She’s talking about closing shop for a while because she can’t get anything done. She hasn’t made anything new for two weeks,” Twilight said, leaning in uncomfortably close.
“And Pinkie Pie? She’s trying to stay busy. If you ever bothered to check your mail, you’d see invitations to parties and happenings—”
“She’s throwing parties now?” Dash asked, raising a brow, but Twilight didn’t seem inclined to answer. The unicorn stepped forward so their snouts touched, her voice almost a growl.
“No, she’s cancelled them. Have you ever heard of Pinkie Pie cancelling a party before? Rainbow, when I can tell that Pinkie is being miserable, something’s wrong!”
Rainbow Dash gingerly reached out to push Twilight back and retrieve her own personal space. “Yeah. Great, and you think this is my fault? What, just because I told them they can’t keep up, because they can’t fly? Well, newsflash: they can’t.” Dash swallowed, her mouth tasting bitter.
“You’re missing the point!” Twilight cried.
“Then what is the point? How the hay am I supposed to understand what you’re trying to say if you won’t say it?” Dash yelled back.
They stared at each other like that, both ponies breathing heavily. Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes and sat down facing the other way, crossing her forelegs and silently congratulating Twilight for managing to take her from tired to tired, annoyed and confused in less than two minutes.
“It’s not your fault, but this isn’t like you.”
Twilight’s voice was gentle now, but Dash sat very still, letting her talk. The soft clopping of hooves on hard tiles told her Twilight had began pacing.
“I understand you’re trying to do your best, but this is stupid. I thought we were a team, all of us. The Elements, right? No, actually, forget the Elements,” Twilight said, stopping somewhere close by behind her. “Friends. That’s supposed to mean something. Yeah sure, you’re amazing, but we’ve always faced things together as a team, haven’t we? We’ve gone up against a dragon, we’ve taken on Nightmare Moon and Discord and I don’t even remember what else. Do you think you could have done that by yourself? We all do our part. Even Fluttershy does some amazing things when she has to, but not alone.”
Rainbow Dash let her wings free until they hung dejectedly at her side and drew her forelegs closer to her chest. The annoyance—the fire and the hurt—had been doused in an instant with the mention of one of their missing friends. “I wasn’t trying to—” she said. “I mean, I can search faster on my own. You’d just slow me down and stuff.”
There was a flash and a muted pop, Twilight instantly appearing in front of her. The glow of her horn faded quickly, but the urgency of her gaze did not. “Yes, which is what you said two weeks ago, and you can see where that’s gotten us. Think, Rainbow. I don’t care if some ponies think you’re some kind of cool loner. You’re not!” she spat. “Ponies look up to you, and you’re great at leading and motivating, even if you don’t like organizing. You proved that earlier this summer. If all the pegasi in Ponyville look up to you, what do you think we, your friends, think? We need you!”
Dash waved a hoof. “So you want us all to search Whitetail Woods together or whatever? Maybe they’re in Sugarcube Corner this time?”
Twilight threw up her hooves and groaned. “No! And yes! If that’s what it takes! We know they’re probably not in Equestria at all, so if we’re going to do something that won’t lead anywhere, we might as well do it together! What the hay is up with you, Rainbow? Why are you acting like this?”
She probably had a point. Rainbow Dash had heard the princesses’ words, and she knew well that searching was a dumb thing to do, but that line of thinking brought another thought to the front of her mind.
“Yeah, okay, I get it,” Dash said, sticking her tongue out and deflating further until she wasn’t so much sitting on the floor as she was lying down in a vaguely pony-shaped puddle. “Sure. I can’t do anything. But you can. Why haven’t you talked to the princesses again? If I can’t fly past the border, why aren’t they doing anything?”
“Oh come on!” Twilight cried, closing her eyes and staring sightlessly up at the puffy cloud-ceiling for a second. “Their hooves are tied. You can’t blame them!”
Dash chuckled and scratched at the floor. “I just thought you trusted them or something, but yeah I can, I can blame them, just like I can blame you for casting that stupid spell—”
Twilight’s mouth hung open, a look of abject disbelief on her face. Without another word the unicorn’s horn flared, and she disappeared in a flash of brilliant energy.
“—and myself for getting that stupid armor thingy instead of the shiny whatever. Gee, thanks, Twi, see ya later,” Dash finished, unwrapping her scarf before sailing over to her bed with a single flap of her wings.
Only to find that sleep was apparently not in the cards. Rainbow Dash groaned, sighed, rolled, tossed, turned and buried her head under the pillows, but nothing happened. Even though she was tired enough to sleep for two days straight, her eyes no doubt rimmed with red, she couldn’t fall asleep. Her treacherous brain had decided to try to spend some time thinking, and trying to fight that was futile. With a final wordless cry of exasperation, she sat back up in her bed.
It wasn’t the whole argument with Twilight. Sure, she’d said some things she shouldn’t have, but it usually worked out. Thinking back to how the unicorn had looked at her before she disappeared, she swallowed.
“Yeah, okay, I’ll apologize, I guess,” Dash muttered to herself, going cross-eyed as if she could lock eyes with her own brain. “Fine. Apologizing. I was an idiot. It happens. Good night, Rainbow Dash.”
Head. Pillows. Eyes closed. Nothing. Rainbow Dash trembled where she lay, grinding her teeth against each other. Usually, it took all of three seconds to fall asleep even if she wasn’t tired. Simply being bored was enough to give her cause for a nap.
“What!?” she cried, bolting upright again. She wasn’t about to sit around and mope because two of her best friends ever were missing, nor would it do any good to feel bad for Rarity and Pinkie Pie either. Instead, a few useless words were lodged somewhere inside her skull. Twilight’s words. This isn’t like you.
Who was it like, then? Who or what was she acting like, and why? On a whim, Rainbow Dash slipped off her bed and gripped the handle of her nightstand drawer in her mouth. The drawer creaked and groaned as it resisted, not having been opened in years, but Dash knew she had to see, now. When the finicky furniture yielded, it was with a crack that left her with the entire front section of the drawer in her mouth. Dash scowled and flicked the front board away before peering inside.
She knew there was something she’d put there at one point, long ago. There was something missing amidst the forgotten and unimportant diplomas, a bare spot in between what may at one point have been a sandwich, and an empty picture frame. She just couldn’t remember what, and that left a gnawing feeling in the back of her mind.
With a sigh, Dash stood up, coming face to face with the picture she kept on her nightstand. It was the same picture of her little group of friends that they all had; there was nothing special about it except that it made her miss her friends all the more. She could admit that much, at least.
Her eyes locked with the yellow pegasus who peered back up at her through the glass, and it finally hit home. She felt incomplete. It was as if she’d performed an amazing routine of tricks, only to find that nopony was watching. The stupid thought was all too good an example; she hadn’t had any time to practice lately, but there wasn’t much point to it now anyway. Without her friends, the sky was a dull place. Without Fluttershy quietly cheering her on during the daily practice sessions, it didn’t feel nearly as tempting.
Dash closed her eyes and tried to stop her line of thinking there, but the smile she tried to pin on her face wouldn’t stick. It felt forced and weird, and all of a sudden, she was twice as curious about the missing object in her drawer.
Perhaps they all felt like that, then. If Twilight, Rarity and even Pinkie Pie felt something of the same, then everything made a lot more sense. She should probably make those annoying apologies now, rather than later.
On the other hoof, she was pretty sure that none of the others had lost a friend who had been with them since they’d been little fillies. All the same, she couldn’t stand to lose another friend right now, not even for one moment.
Rainbow Dash gently lay the picture face down, if only so she wouldn’t have to deal with their stares for now. Sure enough, Fluttershy and Applejack had only been gone for a few weeks, and they were both pretty awesome in their own right—they were her friends, after all, and thus, probably fine. She couldn’t imagine ever spending a single moment doing anything other than her best to find them; she’d just missed a tiny bit on what her best really was.
Taking a running start and bouncing via her bed, Dash spread her wings and angled herself sideways to slip outside the bedroom window on the opposite wall. For the first time in weeks, she felt truly awake and aware.
The sun was at its peak when Rainbow Dash landed in front of the library tree. In the space of a few hours, she’d drafted every single pegasus with whom she was on a first—or nick-name basis, and while the visit to Carousel Boutique had been a little awkward, her belly was full of muffins from Sugarcube Corner as proof of her and Pinkie being okay, and of Pinkie herself being a little more okay herself. Lots of stuff down, one thing to go.
Bringing a hoof up to both knock and push the library’s front door open, she ran a couple of sentences through her head, trying them out. “I’m sorry you didn’t let me finish?” Probably too, well, true. “I’m sorry that we were both idiots?” Maybe.
“Hey, Rainbow Dash,” Spike called, waving from over by a bookshelf he was carefully dusting. The baby dragon had his apron on, and was apparently engaged in a full round of library cleaning.
“Hey, Spike. Where’s Twilight?” Dash asked. “Sorry about whatever made you angry, but seriously Twilight, are you getting anything done with all those books?”
“Oh, didn’t she tell you? She took the morning train to Canterlot like, three hours ago. Sheesh, I thought you guys talked.”
Dash froze, staring straight at Spike, who, for his part, shrank back a little bit.
“Uh, okay, so she didn’t tell you,” Spike added.
“Yeah, no. She didn’t,” Dash snapped. Twilight of course knew that this whole search business was pointless. Despite the fact that nothing had come of it yet, Twilight’s talks about magical lay-limes and arcane whatevers was the only thing that sounded like it had a real chance of getting them somewhere.
Instead of working on that, Twilight had given her a pep-talk about being an example, and then—unless she was going to Canterlot to yell at Princess Celestia herself in person—she’d run off to take a vacation right after?
“I can’t believe this,” Dash growled, her wings flaring.
“Can’t believe what?” Spike asked, hopping off the stool he’d been perching on and tossing the feather-duster onto a nearby table. “What’s the big deal? Want me to take a message?”
“No. Just forget it,” Dash muttered, trotting past him and up the stairs that led to Spike and Twilight’s private chambers. “I’m just gonna get the latest graphic novel version of that Daring Do spin-off series. I can’t sleep. I know where she keeps them.”
“Rainbow, wait!” Spike called, his voice fading as she rounded the corner. “Where are you going? Even I’m not allowed in our room anymore! She said it’s off-limits and told me to sleep down here, wait—”
Dash ignored the little dragon’s protests. If Twilight didn’t want ponies in her room for whatever reason, then that just made it twice as satisfying to go there, now. She nudged the door open and kicked it shut once inside, muting Spike entirely.
She had to wonder if she was in the wrong place. The top floor of the library didn’t really leave a lot of room for error in that department, but the bedroom was entirely changed. Twilight’s bed was propped up against the far wall, and indeed, judging by the amount of empty tea- and coffee-cups scattered around every surface, it was hard to imagine the studious mare used it much these days anyway.
In the center of the room, on a floor stripped bare of carpet and other furniture, a clear crystal bowl rested over a piece of very familiar dark metal. Surrounding it, circles and other geometrical shapes, only half of which Dash knew the names of, were etched in the floorboards.
Vials and jars, potions and odd objects no doubt dredged up from the library’s cellar competed for space with more books than Rainbow Dash had ever thought the library housed, and that was to say nothing of the ridiculous wealth of loose sheets of paper and parchment that lay all around the room. Near the glass bowl, in the only area otherwise free from this mess, a stack of particularly fine sheaves of parchment rested, each unfurled side by side, and most of them bearing only a few words. Dash tentatively took a few steps closer, squinting.
“Dear Princess Celestia”
“Dear Princess”
“Princess Celestia,”
“Princess,”
They all carried the same words, the trail of ink invariably splotched after a few words. Only the very last scroll showed any variance, the quill still on the floor at its side.
“Dear Princess Celestia. Why aren’t you doing anything?”
Rainbow Dash swallowed and gingerly reached out to seize the quill in her mouth. Dipping it in one of the many inkwells nearby, she scrawled a quick “I’m sorry. -Dash” on one of the disused papers.
Some apologies couldn’t wait.
“The princess will see you in a moment,” Twilight repeated to herself as she ground her butt deeper into the cushions in the audience chamber’s waiting room. She knew that rationality, one of her oldest friends, would suggest she take this moment to reflect on exactly what this meant for all the other times Twilight had sought an audience with her mentor. The princess always made time for her. Princess Celestia was the co-ruler of an entire nation, and this was the first time in her entire life she had been made to wait.
It was also the first time she had barged through Castle Canterlot’s gates not soon after sunrise, arriving unannounced and demanding—well, requesting, really—to see the princess. For all her familiarity with the castle guard after having grown up here, she doubted she would’ve even gotten past the inner gate had her brother not seen her in passing. Shining Armor asked no questions and told them to let her pass, just like Silver Clip, Princess Celestia’s attendant, had hurried to schedule an appointment.
No, she should be grateful. Her mentor, the pony who had been like a second mother unto her, was quite possibly the most powerful pony in existence, and she should thank her for all that she gave.
It was this familiarity that also let Twilight be angry with her. For weeks she had done her best to keep her friends together through this. She couldn’t even remember the last time she slept. Even if Dash was being unreasonable, even if her words were nothing new, they had been spoken. Another pony who dared repeat the question that she herself had been trying not to ask. Why weren’t the princesses acting? What were they doing?
It had been two full weeks without so much as a word from the princess on the subject, other than the daily letter inquiring as to how she was holding up. Twilight had stopped responding to those sometime last week, their only use now being to keep track of days when her sleep pattern failed.
“Twilight Sparkle. We heard you had arrived and sought an audience with the day court.”
Twilight looked up, squinting at the dark shape that stepped closer. She hadn’t heard the door to the opulent little pillow-filled chamber open, but Princess Luna stood in front of her all the same. The princess of the night wore a bathrobe, her mane was hidden in a towel, and she hovered a teacup at her side. For all that she looked very little like royalty, she appeared perfectly at ease.
“I, uh. I’m sorry,” Twilight said, all her ire temporarily forgotten. “I would have asked for an audience with you both, but I thought you usually slept during the day—wait, ‘we’?”
“Oh please. Were we to be insulted by such things still, we’d have learned nothing. At any rate, yes, we usually do slumber the high noon away,” Luna acceded with a shrug, pausing to sip her tea. “But certain rituals must be observed first, amongst them, tea and a bath.”
Twilight merely stared back at her, licking her lips at the one question that remained ignored.
“And the royal ‘we’ is appropriate when we are in our own home, free to speak as we desire,” Luna added, frowning.
“Right, sorry,” Twilight muttered, sending them lapsing into silence. The larger alicorn frowned skeptically still as she leaned in a little closer.
“Are you sleeping alright? You do not appear well. Far be it from us to comment on the state of your mane, but your eyes are red.”
Doing the best to keep her expression neutral, Twilight gave the princess a small nod. “I’m fine.”
“Indeed,” Luna replied, her brow furrowed as she worked her lips soundlessly for a second. “Well. We have places to be, and our sister should be ready to receive you,” she announced, setting course for the door. Twilight dipped her head respectfully until she was gone, and sure enough, the second her tail disappeared from view, the ornate doors on the opposite walls parted. Four guards filed out, two taking up position along the walls on either side, and Silver Clip beckoned her.
“Princess Celestia will see you now,” the deep blue unicorn mare announced. “She would rather see you in her study instead of the reception room, if that’s okay?”
Twilight wobbled a little as she got up on all fours and nodded. It was a question by courtesy only, of course, and going through the whole waiting-and-requesting process had left her aching for something familiar. She was happy to follow the older mare through a small side door and down a simple, marble-tiled hallway until she stood before the door to Celestia’s inner sanctum—a place where she’d spent so many hours. A room with so many happy memories.
And then everything had changed. Twilight waited for the guard nearby to open the door, and when the gilded wood swung to reveal her mentor, a memory flashed before her eyes. Celestia on the ground, horn singed and crown lost. Her heart stopping, the rush of blood in her ears—
“My faithful student, please, come in,” Celestia said, looking up from a book over by the fireplace. She was smiling that tranquil yet confident smile of hers. The smile that said that everything would be okay; the smile that told her that she was safe when it all came down to it; the smile that made her dare everything and anything, because she knew that Celestia was always there.
The smile that was a lie.
Twilight forced her face into a rictus that played at being a smile and walked up to stand before her. While Celestia reclined on the pillows as she did, Twilight could see eye to eye with her while she stood. When Celestia patted the pillows next to her, Twilight made no move.
“Is something the matter?” Celestia asked, glancing about the room. It was one of those little exaggerated gestures that meant nothing. Twilight opened her mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.
What could she say? Should she yell her frustrations at the Princess, despite knowing that she would have a perfectly reasonable answer? Would it lead anywhere, were she to beg again for Celestia to somehow magically solve everything, even when she now knew some things were outside the grasp of even the princesses?
She had been led here by a foalish impulse that Celestia’s presence seemed to melt away. She just couldn’t decide whether this was because of the princess’ strength or weakness. As Twilight stared and worked her jaw, the princess in question frowned and put her book down. Before Twilight had time to even react, Celestia rose to stand, towering over her and leaning in close.
“Are you getting enough sleep?” she asked.
And just like that, the apparently one-sided tension in the room shattered into a million infinitesimal pieces. Twilight let go of the burden she had been carrying. Even if things were different, there was no denying the genuine warmth in the princess’ voice. She wouldn’t scoop her up and fuss about her like her mother would, but the frown upon her face spoke volumes. Now, more than ever, she needed that warmth.
“Sorry princess, I’m just a little worried, I guess,” Twilight said, craning her neck so she was almost mumbling into her own coat.
“Which is a sign of strength, not weakness,” Celestia replied, sitting back on her haunches once more. “What worries me is that I have not heard from you for a while. I understand you have much to do, and I meant it when I said I only expect to hear from you when you have something to report, but when you go quiet for weeks on end, well,” she smiled, a wordless chuckle playing at the edge of hearing. “Like I say, I worry, too.”
The gentle admonishment stung, and Twilight nodded glumly at that. At one point, she may’ve shrugged it off, believing that while disappointing the princess was a sad thing indeed, she couldn’t truly hurt her. She knew better now. Less than a month ago, the princess herself had all but admitted that Twilight been the one to teach her a lesson in the wake of the wedding attack. Thus, it was with ears well and truly pinned to the back of her head she replied.
“I’m sorry.”
“Think nothing of it,” Celestia replied, once again gesturing to the other end of the pillow mound upon which she sat. “Would you have tea with me?”
“No, I—uh, I should get going really,” Twilight blurted. “I mean, you’re probably busy with meetings, talking to dignitaries and dealing with—with matters of state and such.”
Celestia tilted her head ever so slightly and smiled. “I always have time for you, but if you are busy, I’m sure Steelhoof at the door will arrange for a chariot home. Please tell your friends I said ‘hello’.”
Twilight nodded as quickly as she could. She already began retracing her steps, edging away backwards while dipping her head. “I will, thank you, princess,” she said, suddenly very eager to get back to the safety of her library.
“She was clearly distressed. The polite thing to do would be to insist at least once.”
The door had barely closed behind Twilight’s trailing dark tail before Luna spoke up. A corner of the room visibly un-darkened, the minor spell dissipating even as Celestia gave her sister a reproachful glance.
“It would have been,” Celestia agreed, wincing at that as she picked up her book with a soft golden glow of magic, putting it safely away in a nearby bookshelf.
“And you did not,” Luna added. The night princess was sat on a pillow, wearing her bathrobes and a nightcap. On the table in front of her, an empty tea-cup and the morning edition of the Equestrian Inquirer. It was as innocent as it was annoying, and her words stung even if there was no intentional barb.
“I did not! Sun and Moon, Luna, I did not,” Celestia said, rubbing her face with the back of a foreleg. “I ignored her and sent her on her way knowing full well she would not dare force the point. While we’re on the topic of observation of details; you do realize that if she paused to think, she’d see straight through your little spell?”
“Of course. We know her strength better than you, sister,” Luna said, the barest hint of an edge upon her voice, but the strain disappeared an instant later as she sighed. “Forgive us. Eavesdropping is not very polite, but while it is plain she is distracted, so are you, and we would know why.”
Celestia rose to stand and crossed the short distance to the table, taking a seat on the opposite side before leaning over to briefly touch her snout to her sister’s.
“Because, my dear Luna, ever since the fiasco at the wedding, Twilight has had a lot to think about, and this whole crisis isn’t helping. The veil is lifting, and she is trying to understand who I am to her.” She pursed her lips and let her gaze drift out the nearby window, eyes roving over the ponies milling about the streets of Canterlot. The markets were already in full swing for the day.
“All children must learn that their mothers and fathers are not infallible,” she continued in a lower voice. “For all the adoration we receive, not all of our subjects ever think about the distinction between princess and deity, ruler and goddess, but it is much of the same. Few ponies take up philosophy and ever delve into this. Fewer still ever have cause to care.”
“A non-issue with most ponies,” Luna acquiesced. “Yet this is different. You would rather not discuss this with Twilight and her friends. You are reluctant to discuss the topic of us, of our royal selves, with the Elements.”
“And you were very quick to pick up on that and indulge me when we went to Ponyville right after the accident,” Celestia nodded, adding a grateful little smile. “But no, I have no problems discussing it with the Elements, in theory.”
“But Twilight Sparkle?”
Celestia swallowed and inclined her head ever so slightly. “She is different.”
The night-princess tilted her head and gave her a skeptical glance. Rare were the moments where Luna could not ascertain the truth of a matter at a glance, but some things were more complicated, and this was one such matter.
“You’ve had other protegés since I was banished,” Luna said.
“I have. Twilight is different,” Celestia reaffirmed. Luna took a moment to look at her, the slightly smaller princess’ eyes trained on hers for a few seconds before she nodded.
“If you say so. Twilight Sparkle is different. She is also not well, these days.”
“So I saw. I may have to send her a letter about coffee drinking habits,” Celestia agreed, daring a small chuckle. Luna did not seem similarly amused.
“She is employing a spell to keep herself awake, sister. In the long run, such a spell could be very harmful to her short-term memory and her psyche both. Why do you let her do this?” Luna asked.
“What am I to do?” Celestia asked, furrowing her brow. “Is it in my place?”
“You are unusually philosophical today,” Luna remarked. “If we are to continue this line of discussion, we shall have to find more tea.”
“No, don’t bother,” Celestia sighed. “If it goes too far, I will of course intervene. I will not let harm come to her, but if she wishes to engross herself in the past, then I will let her. She needs to do this in her own time. “
Celestia counted to three inside of her head while Luna nodded slowly at that. It seemed like a closed topic. Luna had asked her a question, and she had given an answer, but as all roads led to Canterlot, so would all topics invariably lead to the one they had been discussing every day for the past two weeks.
“You see, we had thought she was distressed on behalf of her friends,” Luna commented.
Celestia sighed inwardly. “She is. Very much so. That is why she wants to talk to me. It’s all related. She sees me in a new light, and then a catastrophe occurs, one we are powerless to act upon. It’s exceptionally bad timing.”
“But we are not powerless!” Luna retorted. The moon princess rose to stand, forelegs upon the table. “To give in to apathy like this is folly, and you seek to use your student as yet another excuse to delay?”
“I am aware of that fact that you disagree,” Celestia said, doing her best to deprive Luna of the pleasure of any reaction whatsoever. “And we will discuss this on a daily basis without getting anywhere for a while yet, I suspect.”
“Because of your reluctance to take risks,” Luna said, sinking down to sit again.
“Or because of your zeal and eagerness to do just that,” Celestia countered.
“It is no matter,” Luna snorted, her brow furrowed as she seemed to look past Celestia rather than at her. “We do not have to have to press this issue any more. Twilight Sparkle matters enough to you that we do not have to. She will be back, and you will have to face her. Will you still have supper with us tonight as per usual, or are we quarrelling?”
Celestia shook her head at her sister’s unusually cryptic words and chuckled. “We are not quarrelling as far as I can tell. Supper at ten?”
Her voice grated. Applejack started the day with words that were like any others. Good morning, sugar. Let’s get moving. There was nothing special about them, yet every time she heard them, they annoyed her more and more. Every time Applejack spoke, it became harder to keep from commenting, from telling her to just shut up.
And every time she realized what she had almost said or done, the realization stung twice as much as last time. Fluttershy clenched her eyes shut and tried to focus on eating, on rationing the tasteless grasses and the water that she carried. It was a poor and dangerous distraction. She’d barely taken three sips of water before she realized there was hardly any left.
“If we pick up the pace, we should make it there by the evening,” Applejack said, slipping into the simple saddlebags they’d made. “Guess it’s a castle of some sort,” she added, squinting at the blocky mass as the sun crept over the mountains on the far side of the valley and brought it into relief.
Fluttershy nodded and shrugged. Her wings dragged listlessly at her side as she followed Applejack’s tail across cracked ground and around jagged boulders. Applejack had apparently lost the hairband on her tail at some point, and she couldn’t give up on the small satisfaction she got from not letting her know.
And then there were the shadows. Not more than a few hours ago, as she lay awake in the night trying to think of nicer things, she’d seen them. In the corner of her vision, the darkness shifted with neither sun nor wind to pull the strings of their surroundings. It was terrifying, of course; it just didn’t matter so long as their path was set. Everything led them to the center of this madness, and questioning the logic made her head hurt.
“Careful,” Applejack warned as she climbed over the lip of a tear in the ground, another of the many smaller craters that dotted the landscape. It looked as if though a giant hoof had stomped down upon the ground in fury.
“Yeah, careful,” Fluttershy murmured, repeating the vapid comment. She wouldn’t have to watch where she trod if she simply flew, of course, except she didn’t. Her wings were heavy as lead today, even if she wasn't feeling particularly tired.
Time and distance both crawled, but inevitably and inexorably, the building in the distance gained in detail. The large, angular thing was made entirely of some dark stone or other, and seemed untouched by the passing of time. Either somepony or something was maintaining it, or it was just another thing that was wrong. Built upon a small cliff that looked like something the nearby mountains had spat out, it was more like a fortress than anything else. When they drew close, it loomed over them as surely as did the tall peaks to the south that threatened to swallow the sky.
“Well, ain’t that a cheery sight,” Applejack chuckled dryly as she forged ahead. Without pause she mounted the slope that led to to the entrance, trotting up the wide yet steep path. At the top, a small landing jutted forth; a plateau with a featureless entrance area. Large wooden doors stood ajar, and above, the sky was the color of ash. Again something moved in the corner of Fluttershy’s eye.
“Applejack?” Fluttershy asked, licking her dry and chapped lips. No response. The farmpony nudged the doors further apart, and they slid open with nary a sound. The walls on either side were solid, battlements loomed above, and what little space there was on the plateau that wasn’t tiled with simple dark stone was dry and featureless dust.
“Applejack,” she tried anew. She reached out to tug at her tail, but when her friend disappeared inside, she hurried after her. On the other side of the threshold, Applejack had paused, causing Fluttershy to bump into her, but her muffled apology went unnoticed.
A large stained glass dome above, smudged but miraculously still whole, admitted what little muted light the outside offered. In the center of the huge room a large and sturdy table stood, covered in dust yet otherwise in good repair. Surrounding this rather unceremonious centerpiece were rows upon rows of benches, and the walls were lined with galleries overlooking those again, all facing the table. It was as if one could smell the history of the room, the very essence of the untold stories mixing with the dust their entrance had whirled up.
At the edge of what she could see and hear, the shadows danced on. If she turned, she imagined she could see what they were, but it wasn’t important as the fire that grew within her.
“Applejack!” she called, again.
Applejack made a small, noncommittal noise and glanced back at her before she picked her way between the benches heading for a set of stairs that led down. Aside from that one odd look, the orange mare kept her gaze studiously on-track. Perhaps she noticed them, too.
“Let’s turn around,” Fluttershy pleaded, trying to focus on getting the words out of her mouth in the correct order. Did the door move? Was it closing behind them? “We—we need to go back.”
“Nothin’ doin’, sugar,” Applejack murmured. Yet again, Fluttershy followed. Whatever shrinking part of her mind that had just spoke tried to raise the alarm. She wasn’t just following; they were being herded.
And just like that, the frustration mattered twice as much as those minor concerns. The venom that seethed within her demanded her attention. She lowered her head and drew a hissing breath through her teeth as she made after Applejack, down the dark and dull stone hallway into the bowels of the fort.
“You’re always doing this,” she said, drawing up alongside Applejack and fixing her with a frown. “Did you ask me if I wanted to go this way? No.”
Doors passed by on either side. The only reason they didn’t stumble and fall was because the hallway was lit by some crystal or other, but it wasn’t nearly as important as the way her cheeks burned as Applejack rolled her eyes at her.
“Just let me handle this, sugar,” the farmpony retorted.
The tattered carpet they walked broke apart in places as they stepped on it. The lights flickered, and yet another set of grandiose stairs passed by.
“Yes, because that’s been going so well so far,” Fluttershy laughed. “If we had rested at the bottom of the cliff, maybe you wouldn’t have been so cold tonight, but that’s not my problem, is it?”
It was impossible to say which of the two had opened the next door, but like so many other obstacles, it parted before them. Through another great hall, again with the stairs down, and into a darkness that the crystals above could not quite hold at bay.
“I wasn’t cold at all,” Applejack said, her eyes flashing with thinly veiled anger. “And you ain’t much pulling your weight anyhow now are you?”
“Maybe I would if I thought you would listen,” Fluttershy hissed.
“Well, and if’n you feel I don’t, then maybe the problem’s with you, that’s what I’m thinking,” Applejack growled back, but there was no fight in her. The farmpony waved a hoof, almost as if dismissing her, and sat down on her rump.
“Maybe I should,” Fluttershy said, a wave of dizziness washing over her. She tried to steady herself, but she fell all the same. It was all she could do to make sure she was facing away from Applejack.
When had they stopped walking? How long ago was that? Fluttershy couldn’t even open her eyes fully. It took all of her energy to merely crack a lid and peer out from under her lashes to confirm that nothing was changing. They weren’t moving anymore, and her head hurt as she tried to think. She should be horrified, she knew, disgusted by the things she had said and thought. This wasn’t her. She wasn’t a spiteful and morose pony ready to give up on her friends. She was somepony else entirely, wasn’t she?
She was just couldn’t figure out who. In fact, she was beginning to doubt she was anypony at all, any more. Her head rested on the ground, yet her sight wouldn’t go beyond her own frazzled tail. Not two strides away, she knew something moved. Something dark and dangerous was closing in on her—on them, she forced herself to think—and she could do nothing. Just the motion from glancing over at Applejack was enough to make her feel sick, and another flash of anger coursed through her at the sight.
Applejack lay on her side. Her eyes were oddly muted as if though covered by a film, and her attention was fixed to the ground between them. She was the cause of this all. It was her fault, Fluttershy heard, but the voice was not hers. The apathy wasn’t hers, either, but she could no more fight it than she could fly without her wings.
The thing that was not her liked this, and encouraged that line of thinking. There was so much that she couldn’t do, and her failures were dredged up from the dark recesses of her mind, put on display.
Fluttershy whimpered as she saw the stares of the masses, once more forced to stand upon the catwalk in Canterlot. She tried to make a groove in the stone with her chin, pushed down into the ground by the burn of their attention.
Before the image had even faded, she was back in Ponyville where she was made a laughing stock when her wings failed her. The anemometer had stopped, and she wilted in the shame of giving something her best, only to find it woefully insufficient.
Except, it hadn’t ended like that.
Fluttershy put all her efforts into remembering that. She latched on to that one fact, reminded herself that she was more than just her own thoughts and feelings, whatever they were and weren’t. She struggled to move one of her legs, and finally it responded.
Even on a good day, she had her doubts. She had her fears, her worries and concerns, just like everypony else. And just like others, she had friends who did their best to quell those fears. She had friends who tried to help her be her best. She had friends who loved her and supported her.
The shadows moved faster, now. They railed against this, tried to silence her rebellious thoughts and douse them in lies, but it was too late. Even if they could have gotten their hooks into her mind again, there was one bond that the voices couldn’t poison. One thread that reached so far back, it was untouchable.
Her other foreleg answered her command, and she began hoisting herself up. The darkness closed in, but it was a bluff and she knew it. Her nose stung with an acrid smell and her skin crawled, but she could not be broken. Already, she was remembering.
“Um, it’s okay if you’d rather do something else,” Fluttershy said, her ears drooping. Rainbow Dash did not look pleased at all with the way the safari hat rested on her head.
“No,” Dash protested, her eyes narrowing as she adjusted her headpiece. “I said I’d watch the butterfly migration with you, so we’re doing this. Let’s go,” she snorted, flapping her wings to hover in front of Fluttershy with her forelegs crossed.
“But if you don’t want to...” Fluttershy suggested, trying very much not to think of how terribly lonely last year’s trip had been. As lovely as the annual butterfly migrations were, she didn’t want to spend the entire day by herself again.
“I’m sure, jeez. Stop worrying,” Rainbow Dash chuckled through a sudden, lopsided smile. “Let’s go watch some stupid butterflies.”
Finally, Fluttershy smiled back.
Falsehood. A favor by obligation only, the shadows suggested, but Fluttershy wasn’t worried in the least. Emboldened as she was by the other memories flocking to her, she managed to get her hindlegs in place, first one, then the other. Shakily, she stood.
Fluttershy quivered. The cold grip of fear was known to her, but rarely before had it ever been so real as it was in that moment. The creatures that blocked her path made frightening faces, and any second now, she would be in for a lot of pain. She clenched her eyes shut just as the blows rang out, the impact of hooves louder than the din of battle nearby.
Except nothing hurt. When the noises stopped, Fluttershy opened her eyes to look straight at Rainbow Dash. If she had any doubts as to whether it was a changeling or the real thing, they were shattered when Dash grinned at her. Without a word, strong legs reached out to help her up. Rainbow Dash was watching over her. As always.
Rainbow Dash had her back. She’d always known it, but it was a different thing entirely to manage to truly believe it. To be able to lean back. Perhaps more importantly, to be able to rely upon another without feeling like a burden.
“On it!” Dash called, reaching out for her. Their friends were in free fall, and Fluttershy’s blood had turned to ice, but there was no hesitation in Dash’s voice. There was no question of whether or not Fluttershy was the pony for the job. The confident pegasus barely spared her a glance, trusting in her to do her part as they set off towards Rarity and Spike where they fell.
It was so very different once you felt needed in turn. When you weren’t aimlessly following in another’s hoofsteps trying to be of use, but rather, pulling your own weight.
“Fluttershy!”
Dash’s voice rang out, but it didn’t come from any one memory. Rather, it was from all of them; Rainbow Dash spoke her name, and with it came the memory that had let her believe. Suddenly, the darkness did not seem so absolute.
“Number one flier, huh?” Fluttershy giggled as she glided through the air at Rainbow Dash’s side, still elated by her small part in bringing Cloudsdale their water supply for the year.
Dash raised a brow at that, glancing over at her with one eye. Moments ago she had been whooping with joy and pulling so many little stunts that she’d lost her goggles in the woods below, but the blue mare’s attention was fully on her now.
“What’s so funny about that?”
Fluttershy’s smile died on her face. She licked her lips and searched her mind for a reply, but there was nothing. Had it been anypony else, she would have shrunk before the question. As it was, the best she could manage was silence.
As per usual, Rainbow Dash didn’t let the quiet last for very long. She picked back up her casual, almost bored smile. She looked content. “I meant it. We couldn’t have done it without you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Fluttershy made to reply. She opened her mouth, but Rainbow Dash had turned away from her, staring straight ahead. The brash flier was grinning, now. “I knew you had it in you,” she added.
Had exactly what in her? Less wing power than she had hooves? The protests were weak now, easily brushed aside. If Rainbow Dash truly did believe in her, then perhaps she could make a difference once more. The muscles in her neck protested as she strained to raise her head, and her mane was made of lead. The circle around them was closing still, and she still couldn’t make herself face the darkness. When she had found will to move again, a lot of other unpleasant things had come with it. She remembered everything she had said. Every insult and mean-spirited comment to Applejack returned to her.
Her eyes stung, and her vision blurred, but she accepted the crushing weight of the sadness that bore down upon her. She couldn’t do this alone. Applejack lay entirely unmoving, eyes still unfocused.
“I’m sorry,” Fluttershy whispered, her voice as dry and cracked as the air she breathed. “I’m—I’m so sorry for everything I said, for—for everything.”
“I’m so scared. I don’t know if you can even hear me, and I’ve been having the most horrible thoughts. I—I wanted to hurt you,” she said. The admission made it seem so terribly real, it made her want to curl up and hide. She wanted to resign herself to the fate that she no doubt deserved, but the words also gave her strength. With painstaking slowness, she let her gaze rise. Her eyes quested upwards, past Applejack’s unseeing eyes, past the brim of her hat, and to the darkness that swirled around them.
Vague, indistinct shapes ran circles around them. Too many to count, too fast to make out clearly, the shadows were a billowing mass of blackness. They had no eyes, they were given neither beginning nor end, but they noticed. Under her attention they were forced to take shape. They recoiled, and a sharp hiss filled the air though there were no mouths to have voiced it.
Fluttershy had no idea what they were, but she knew what she needed to know. She saw them. There was something there, and the knowledge stole from their power. No longer could they make her believe otherwise.
“This isn’t us.” Her lips trembled as she forced herself to look upon the horrid things that changed even as she stared them down. They grew fangs and made faces, mocked her and threatened her without words.
“It’s not us,” she repeated, louder now, reaching out to rest a hoof on Applejack’s withers. The farmpony barely stirred. “We’re not like this. We’re friends, and we would never say these things.”
Her voice still shook, and the darkness pressed in again. It wasn’t the full truth. Things were never that simple, and the scariest thing of all had yet to be said. Fluttershy closed her eyes and drew a sharp breath that made her entire body shudder.
“But I, um, I did get a little annoyed, once, or twice, and I think maybe that was me,” she admitted, hanging her head. “I mean, I know you probably don’t mean anything with it, because, um, you’re probably j—just, I mean, you’re just doing what you think is best—”
The words spilled out of her far too fast, broken only by a sniffle, and she could feel fresh tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. “It’s just that at times, it feels like you don’t listen, and that’s okay sometimes, because I don’t like to be a bother, but it’s not the same at all. I—I have things to say that matter, and I’m not trying to be a burden, but you keep pushing ahead and saying you know best, and—and you’re probably right, usually, but sometimes, maybe, just maybe, I’m right, too?”
Fluttershy sighed and wiped her snout on the nook of a leg. The room was brighter and the air no longer tasted of ash, but it took all of her courage to open her eyes again. All she could think of was that Applejack would hate her for being angry with her. For being so petty and mean as to think these thoughts, and if not for that, for not telling her.
Applejack was looking up at her, and for whatever reason, the orange mare was smiling faintly. It was no scowl or frown, but a genuine smile tainted only by honest weariness.
“You’re right, sugar,” Applejack croaked, scratching at the ground. Fluttershy leaned down to help her up, but Applejack threw a leg around her withers instead and held her close. Only now did Fluttershy realize that the shadowy hiss that had surrounded them was gone.
“I just want you home and safe, on account of this is all my fault,” she murmured into Fluttershy’s mane.
“It’s not your fault,” Fluttershy said, but at that, Applejack let go and held her at a leg’s length, fixing her with a stare so intense it was all she could do to stay still.
“It is. Listen,” Applejack near-growled. “That whole spell malarky, that idea was mine. If it weren’t for me, none of this would’ve happened. I went and got it into my head that we could fix this all if we just made you think—aw hay, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” she asked. “I could’ve stopped it. Nipped it in the bud. I just wanted to help, but that ain’t much of an excuse is it?”
“Me? But—fix what?” Fluttershy asked, but the realization hit home in time for her to mouth the words even as Applejack spoke them.
“The letter. Sorry,” Applejack mumbled, lowering her head to the ground.
Fluttershy puffed out her cheeks and sighed, but when Applejack cast her eyes down, she realized how terrible she must make her friend feel by letting her think she was angry. Fluttershy spread her wings and reached out to lift Applejack’s head back up to face her.
“I don’t mind, please don’t think that! I mean, not that you tried to help, I know what it feels like to, um, well, to want to help,” Fluttershy said, letting go and planting the hoof back on the ground. “I just wish you would have told me. You can’t—it’s my problem. You can’t carry everypony elses’ problems on your back like this.”
Applejack snorted, sending dust whirling up from the stones underneath. She grinned even as she rose to sit. “That coming from you, Fluttershy, I suppose that either means nothing, or that it means a lot, since that’s all you do. Heck. It’s what friends are supposed to do, ain’t it?”
“Not when it ends up with somepony hurt,” Fluttershy retorted, her voice gentle as her smile.
“It still bothers you, don’t it?” Applejack asked. “Whatever’s in that letter, I mean.”
Fluttershy stared into those green eyes, looked upon that earnest face that wanted to know not only because of curiosity, but because she cared. Digging up those words and even thinking about that whole mess was more painful each and every time.
“It’s not really just about your parents, is it?”
And every time she buried it again, more and more of it stuck out of the ground for all to see. Every time, it became harder to hide it. Fluttershy felt her cheeks heat up, but it would be ridiculous to deny it. She would sooner hold her silence than speak a lie and betray her feelings in the most literal sense of the words.
“I ain’t blind,” Applejack said, shaking her head. “But sugar, you don’t need to say a thing right now. I’m sorry for, well,” she paused, the farmpony scratching at the ground with a hoof.
“Sorry fer just about everything, I reckon, from being a featherbrain right up ‘till getting us tangled up in this.”
“It’s not—” Fluttershy began, but Applejack held up a leg, forestalling any protest.
“Just leave it, better that I blame us being here on me than that you find some silly way to bring this back upon yourself,” Applejack said, her chest shaking with an unvoiced laugh. “I carried that around for so long, won’t matter if you think it wrong or right any more. It made me sick to my stomach, but I can deal with it so long as you don’t hate me for it.”
Her words were bold enough, but Applejack just sat there looking over at Fluttershy. It took a few seconds before Fluttershy realized there had been something of a question in there.
“Never,” she breathed. “I never would, I—I never could!” Fluttershy stammered. “If you can forgive—”
“Forgive what?” Applejack asked. Simple as that, she leaned forward to hug Fluttershy around her neck. It wasn’t until then Fluttershy realized how long she’d been cold, or exactly where the pervasive chill had resided. She hugged Applejack back with all of her might and wrapped her wings around her, wanting to never again feel so lonely and wretched as she had mere hours ago. The room, wherever they were, was brighter, and she barely took the time to register that nothing moved before she closed her eyes. They were safe.
“Fluttershy,” Applejack said, her voice rumbling pleasantly against the side of Fluttershy’s neck. She made a small noise in reply, but refused to give up her hold on Applejack. The farmpony’s voice held in it neither alarm nor panic, and that made it so much easier to ignore it.
“Uh, Fluttershy?” the voice repeated, but Fluttershy’s only reply was a shake of her head. As sleep claimed her, a most decidedly normal and safe fuzziness descended upon her mind. She was dreaming even before she was fully asleep, the pony who snorted and curled up around her rapidly becoming a pegasus instead.
Fluttershy awoke with a start. Her heart raced as a soft noise brought her out of the safety of her dreams and onto a hard stone floor. Whatever terror budded in her mind was dispelled the instant she peeked through the strands and snarls of her mane to find Applejack sitting on her haunches nearby. The farmpony was hunched over a book, licking her hoof before turning another page.
She knew she’d been dreaming of wonderful things. Rather than nightmares of shadows and ghosts, she’d dreamt of all her friends, but it wasn’t the worst of fates to wake up when the waking world was no longer a nightmare in itself. It was easy to smile as she rose to sit.
“Good morning?” Fluttershy asked as she glanced around. The room was large and windowless, lit up only by a cluster of crystals hanging from the roof by thin links of chain. Stone tables lined the walls with mortars, alembics and vials on some, crumbling stacks of books on others. On one of the walls, a narrow hallway led out and up. Nearby rested a thing that might once have been a door to fit in the gap, the metal twisted and covered in runes and symbols.
When she tore her eyes off that odd and ominous sight, Fluttershy finally realized Applejack must have spoken. The farmpony looked over at her with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile as she crossed the distance between them.
“I’m sorry, I think I missed that,” Fluttershy admitted as Applejack put her neck to hers and gave her a brief hug.
“I just asked how you’re feeling, sugar,” Applejack said, bright green eyes shining with mirth. It was impossible not to giggle back at her. Whatever had happened had been terrifying, but now that it was over, and the relief made itself known as an inappropriate, silly giggle, and an infectious one at that. The second Fluttershy had made a noise, bringing a hoof up to cover her mouth, Applejack chuckled as well.
They shared the laugh, and Fluttershy gave up trying to hold it back. She could feel the tears welling up, too, but she let them come. It was all she could do to wrap her hooves around Applejack again and bury her face in her mane until the giggles had turned into sobs, and the sobs into giggles again. When Applejack pulled back to look at her face, the tears were gone and Fluttershy was smiling so hard it hurt, her entire body shaking.
“I’m confused,” Fluttershy managed, shaking her head. “A little scared, very happy, glad that you’re here, and, um, very confused,” she repeated, wiping her snout and letting out a final giggle. There was no sign of the shadowy menace now, only a dusty old room no more threatening than her chicken coop.
“Well, might be I can help with that, for once,” Applejack offered, gesturing at the book she’d been reading before she walked over to sit in front of it. Fluttershy did the same, peering down at the neat rows of letters.
“Notice anything?” Applejack asked, glancing over at her with a budding smirk.
Fluttershy shrank back a little, put on the spot as she was, eyes roving over the words that by themselves told very little. All she could gather, skimming the text, was that it was an account of travel through a lush and beautiful valley, marvelling at the plant life—
Her eyes widened as she suddenly understood the gravity of the find. “It’s in Equestrian. It’s in—I can understand it!” she exclaimed, gently reaching down to close the book and see what the cover read - except it had no title. The cover was blank.
“They’re ‘fieldnotes’. Fancy talk for a diary, I reckon,” Applejack explained with a shake of her head. “I woke up a few hours ago. Guess that means the sun’s up, but I didn’t want to wake you. Didn’t want to go nowhere and leave you here, either.”
“Thank you,” Fluttershy murmured, but she wilted under the stare Applejack directed her way once she’d spoken.
“You saying you would’ve left me by myself if you’d gotten up first?” she asked, crossing her forelegs across her chest as she raised one brow.
“No! Never, but—”
“Exactly,” Applejack concluded with a nod, nudging the book back open though she was hardly even looking at it, focused on Fluttershy as she spoke. “Anyway, this here book was right outside the door, or whatever’s left of the door,” she said, gesturing to the warped sheet of metal that lay nearby.
“Turns out, it’s written by some unicorn feller called Brighthoof. He left it here as a warning of sorts. Last few pages tell about that.”
Fluttershy scratched a foreleg with the other and swallowed. She knew part of the answer, but it felt so distant, now. She glanced about the claustrophobic chamber again, but there was nothing, no shadows, no menaces, no fear and no anger. Only tables, books, dust and alchemy equipment. “A warning for who? Of what?”
“Malices,” Applejack responded, patting the innocent little book. “That’s what he called’em. He found this room, which was their prison, and thought it was about to break, so he shored it up with magic best as he could and left the book. Says he read tomes around the fort here and found out that some other unicorn, Starwhorl or whatever—”
“Starswirl the Bearded?” Fluttershy asked.
“Yeah, that one, the one Twi’ keeps going on about,” came the reply with a dismissive hoof-wave. “Apparently, Starswirl made these things and locked’em up long ago. He knew about the windigoes before they came, but nopony was listening, so instead he tried to make those things to try to fight’em. They were supposed to turn emotions back on them or something. Turns out, fighting fire with fire ain’t always such a great idea.” She offered Fluttershy a bemused smile.
“Anyway, he figured that there weren’t no ponies, hang on—” Applejack said, rapidly leafing through the pages. “Here it is. Ahem. ‘I doubt there are ponies so good or an act so pure as can banish the evil that Starswirl brought to life in his misguided attempt to warn or save the ancient tribes’, it says. ‘But in theory, an act that embodies all the virtues, elements, or whatever else one chooses to call those things that are good and pure, should undo the Malices as surely as water douses flame.’”
Fluttershy smiled and looked away, and when Applejack tilted her head, the yellow mare couldn’t hold back a giggle.
“Did I say something funny?” Applejack asked. “If so, I missed it.”
“You just made a funny voice,” Fluttershy replied, trying to wipe the smile from her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun of you.”
“I bet he spoke like that anyway,” Applejack grumped, her cheeks tinted with the faintest of reds. “I mean, come on, look at these words he’s using down here! This here’s some high-falootin’ fancy talk.”
“It’s just a little old,” Fluttershy said, stifling another giggle, but her own words raised a question. “Wait, this was written in dated Equestrian, but how old is it? What’s in the other books?” she asked, rising to stand and approaching the closest table. Some of the books lay open, but she reached the obvious conclusion even as Applejack explained.
“Those others don’t make sense to me, but I reckon this Brighthoof came from our Equestria. Maybe he could read’em, but I can’t. Still, we’re on the right track.” Applejack grinned.
“I suppose so,” Fluttershy agreed, her hooves feeling light as air as she trotted back to rejoin Applejack. When the farmpony said nothing, she leaned down to read again the very words that Applejack had read aloud. Ponies so good or an act so pure as can banish— she read. The Malices, if that was what they were called, seemed distant now. She couldn’t fear the creatures themselves. What gnawed at her was different.
“I didn’t feel very ‘pure’—” she began.
“No.”
Fluttershy blinked. Applejack didn’t look angry at all, but the word had been spoken with infinite weight. Her face was carefully neutral as she locked eyes with her.
“I figured you’d say something like that, but don’t. We both said our piece, I think, and you saved us both,” she said with a shrug. “If you want to talk about it, I won’t close my ears, but don’t you dare apologize. I’ll do better, you see if I don’t,” she added with a frown.
Fluttershy smiled and shook her head. “It wasn’t me, it was us,” she said. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay, but you don’t get to carry this on your back, too. Whatever it was we did exactly, it was both of us, it was our friendship that did it. I’m sure.”
That got a smile out of Applejack. The powerfully built mare rose to stand and grinned as she stretched. “I would say ‘try and stop me’, but how ‘bout we leave it with a ‘fair enough’ and get moving, huh?”
Applejack adjusted her hat as she led the pair towards the only way leading out of the chamber that the journal had called the malices’ prison. It was hard to decide which caused her the most joy; that Fluttershy was finally awake and that they could leave, or that she’d had her beloved hat with her when she awoke.
“So, d’you remember anything of how we got here?” she asked, carefully stepping over the wrecked door and into a hallway that led to a steep stair. More of the crystals dangled from the roof.
“No,” Fluttershy murmured. “I mean, not much, anyway. I remember coming inside a building, that’s all.”
“Yeah, things got a bit fuzzy towards the end,” Applejack agreed. “And I feel about as good as I look.”
Fluttershy seemed about to say something at that. No doubt some kind compliment or other, but Applejack just gave her what she hoped amounted to a gentle glare. The pegasus promptly shut her mouth and lifted a wing of her own, inspecting herself. Where Applejack had lost her mane- and tail-bands somewhere along the road, Fluttershy’s long and luxurious tail dragged, and her mane looked more like a pink bit of undergrowth than anything else. The twigs and dirt that speckled their hair and coats both was an afterthought. It was enough to make the decidedly rough-and-tumble earth mare think of the spa back home.
“You look really nice with your mane out,” Fluttershy said with a demure smile and a wave of a hoof forestalling any further discussion. “But yes, I’m a little hungry too, I guess,” she said by way of agreement.
“A little hungry?” Applejack replied with a sharp bark of laughter as they began ascending a set of stone stairs. “I could eat a hay bale, and I refuse to believe you ain’t ready to do the same.”
Fluttershy blushed and nodded, spreading and furling her wings a few times in rapid succession, as if they wouldn’t lie right. “I wonder where our saddlebags are.”
“Yup. We’ll need to find food and water soon. There was snow up in the mountains, so might be...” Applejack said, her voice trailing off as the stairs opened up into a chamber not much bigger than the first, but what it lacked in size, it made up for with content. The place was crowded with bookshelves. Every wall and every inch of space available was stacked with shelves full of tomes with the exception of two doors, a single desk, and barely enough space to walk on without having one’s flanks scrape the books.
“Well, that explains it,” Applejack muttered.
Fluttershy made an inquisitive noise at her side as she walked over to the crowded desk, upon which papers and tomes were stacked along with dried out inkwells.
“The journal thinger said that this unicorn feller of ours read Starswirl’s books, but it don’t make a lot of sense for him to have read the books inside the room he was tryin’ to keep shut, does it? Bet these belong to Starswirl too,” Applejack commented, straining her neck as she followed the closest bookshelf up to where it met with the ceiling. It was easy to imagine that the old and sagging wood was trying to pierce through the stone to make room for more books.
“Twilight would’ve liked it here,” Applejack added with a grin.
“What else did the book say?” Fluttershy asked. “And, um, for how long did I actually sleep?”
“Oh it weren’t much else. Said he’d read that Starswirl figured the windigoes were real, and that they roosted nearby, so when ponies started arguin’, when the whole attempt to work together went downhill faster’n a cornfield in a stampede, he tried to use some fancy new magic that the tribes were only just coming to understand. Brighthoof was headin’ up the mountain to try to learn more, find something called the ‘Sun Chamber’. Apparently the unicorns had their castles up there, and he was looking for something.”
“Oh,” Fluttershy said, her ears drooping.
“Yeah,” Applejack sighed. “Rest of it was just about this valley. Wasn’t his first journal, so it said nothin’ about where he came from. This valley used to be a nice place. Guess those shadow thingers fixed that right quick when they got out. That, and when he opened the outer door to the keep here, he broke some sort of spell that kept the place preserved somehow.”
“I don’t know a lot about magic, but I guess that’s why this place still stands,” Fluttershy said, gesturing to the room at large. “It could be worse. After so long, I mean.”
“Still don’t exactly expect we’ll find us any hayfries or daisyburgers anywhere ‘round here,” Applejack countered with a wan smile.
“Probably not,” Fluttershy giggled. “I wish we could bring a book or two with us.”
“Yeah. And maybe we’ll find something fancy for Rarity too,” Applejack said, the thought souring even as she spoke it. “Except we ain’t got a clue in the world where we’re going.”
“Nothing in the book at all?” Fluttershy asked, pawing at the ground, her hoof swinging listlessly like a dejected pendulum.
“You can go have a look if you like—” Applejack began.
“No, I trust you,” Fluttershy said. “Well, if Brighthoof went up the mountain, maybe he left other clues that’ll tell us where to go, right?”
“Up the mountain and towards the old unicorn tribe’s home, that’s the only place we know for sure is the wrong way,” Applejack said. “Likely, Equestria’s the other way. Look at it like this, sugar. One single unicorn managed to travel all the way here? That likely means we can get back, too. We’re doing good!”
Fluttershy nodded along with each and every one of her words, but seemed hesitant still. As she spoke, she walked over to a nearby wooden door, nudging it open with her head. “But there are so many other ways,” she cautioned. “We know one wrong way that could offer us clues, but there are so many ways out of this valley.”
“All I remember are the northern and the eastern passes, couldn’t see much more. Could be they meet up and head in the same direction anyway,” Applejack muttered. She was neither afraid of heights nor did she doubt Fluttershy’s words, but willfully going the wrong way rubbed her, well, the wrong way.
Fluttershy ducked back out from the doorway and furrowed her brow, licking her lips as she gave her a long look. “Well, um, okay, but they might not,” she tried. “And besides, we don’t know if the road that led us here got us closer at all.”
“And how d’you reckon that’s the case?” Applejack asked, sitting down on her rump.
“The road, um, it disappeared? And besides, if the ponies migrated after the snow started to fall, there’s no telling if they left tracks, so we might have gone the wrong way ever since we got here.”
Applejack drew breath and let it out slowly, puffing out her cheeks. Fluttershy was looking straight at her, those big blue eyes unwavering even if the pegasus’ body language spoke volumes. Her wings were half spread and she was drawn back a smidgen. She expected Applejack to insist, she realized. Fluttershy was expecting Applejack to overrule her, yet hoping she wouldn’t, and that realization hurt. Applejack knew that she could be a mite stubborn at times, but it was a buck to the gut all the same. She nodded and looked away.
“You’re right,” Applejack said, and the words were almost liberating, not nearly half as hard to say as she’d dreaded.
“I... am?” Fluttershy said, a question more than anything.
“We’d be wandering blind. Going the wrong way now’s better than going off in some random direction if it’ll gain us something, ain’t it?”
“Yes,” Fluttershy said, smiling softly.
“I have a hankering for getting home before my family forgets who I am,” Applejack added, regretting her choice of words right away. Suddenly, her hooves itched with the desire to be moving. “Enough about that. Let’s try one of the doors.”
Fluttershy poked yet another of the almost universally creaky doors open, the ornate woodwork reluctantly yielding to her hoof’s touch. After having poked their snouts inside countless similar rooms, her hopes weren’t particularly high.
“Anything?” Applejack called from further down the hall.
Fluttershy hung her head and wings all as the door swung open to reveal yet another of the simple rooms containing only a dilapidated and rotting bed, a desk, and precious little else. “No, sorry,” she replied. “I guess we should just head up the biggest hallway where the doors were open.”
“Wasn’t a complete loss, thanks to you,” Applejack said as she trotted down the stone hallway to rejoin her. The yellowing cloth of the makeshift cloak that Fluttershy had made for her rested over her flank, and the empty pouches the match of her own hung at the farmpony’s side.
“It isn’t very hard to make a saddlebag of a pillowcase, or a cloak of a bedsheet,” Fluttershy murmured and looked away.
“Sure ain’t, but it’s a great idea,” Applejack chuckled. “Ain’t much else for us to do here but get out. Book didn’t say, but I figure they didn’t do much except live here, save for that Starswirl pony. Seems more like a monastery or something than a proper fortress. It’s all bedrooms and empty halls.”
Nodding at that, Fluttershy eagerly followed Applejack down the hallway and through the labyrinthine depths of the keep. As they walked, Applejack kept glancing up at the crystals that hung overhead. Indeed, the only real feature of the windowless and dour stone halls was that every ten or fifteen paces, a cluster of the same blue-white crystals hung from the ceiling, light growing as they drew near, and dimming as they left.
“I wish we could bring one of those things with us,” Applejack said, and not for the first time. The very first thing she had suggested when they began exploring the hallways a while ago was to pry loose one of those crystals. When Fluttershy had finally flown up to try to knock a crystal free from the delicate chains that looped around the crystal shards, they had discovered that the second the crystals were loosened from their cages and perches, they became inert and lightless. Fluttershy spared the ceiling’s luminescent little inhabitants another mournful glance.
It didn’t take the two ponies long to find their way back to the central room that connected all the little habitat-filled hallways. They had found the core of the underground section of the keep quickly, though it was hardly a cheery chamber. Here, the architects of the underground area hadn’t even bothered covering up the fact that the place was essentially hewn straight from the rock.
From the large and featureless room led many equally anonymous tunnels, and they had visited most of them. All of them, in fact, except one. It was towards this one that Applejack now strode, a visible spring in her step as she mounted the stairs towards the large, open doors that led to yet another windowless tunnel.
“Well, this is a step up,” Applejack murmured, and Fluttershy herself slowed down as well as they entered the rather short tunnel. To either side of the wide and low hallway hung tapestries with still-legible motifs, and while there were more of the omnipresent crystals here, natural light streamed in from the other end. At the mouth of the tunnel, a soggy heap of grasses lay, doubtless the remains of their supplies.
“I guess we came through here,” Fluttershy said, stopping and touching a hoof to the frayed tapestries closest to them as the crystal overhead glowed brighter. The colors of the ancient clothwork were still vibrant, and as with the standing stones they had looked upon weeks ago, these too told a tale.
“Another history lesson, huh?” Applejack chuckled, but she was quick to take up position next to Fluttershy to look upon the first of the tapestries. Fluttershy, for her part, was reluctant to let go of the delicate fabric.
“This isn’t silk. I have no idea what this material even is, but this is amazing,” Fluttershy whispered. Applejack made a noncommittal noise at her side, leaning in closer.
“More of the alicorns,” Applejack said. “I don’t think there was just three of them like the stones showed.”
Fluttershy tilted her head and glanced over at her, but the farmpony’s reply was a gesture at the tapestry where two alicorns were stood on a stylized castle flying a blank flag. Below, an earth pony, a unicorn and a pegasus were facing each other, all rearing up on their hind legs, hooves raised to strike. At the bottom of the cloth, multiple lines of letters were sewed, but they made no sense to the pegasus.
“Um, how do you figure?” Fluttershy asked, tilting her head at the cloth that hung before the two of them. “I am not sure what this is supposed to mean, the alicorns turning away the other ponies?”
“If it was important that they were three, wouldn’ they have shown all three alicorns here?” Applejack asked, shrugging. “An’ it’s not like they’re trying to give them special colors, either. I wasn’t sure earlier, but look here, one’s white and the other blue, but on the next one down there—” she motioned to the next tapestry down the hall. “It’s a yellow and a red one. Probably wasn’t just five ponies when whatever happened, happened. The two here probably just means ‘many’.”
Fluttershy nodded, thought about that for a second, then nodded again. When Applejack put it like that, it of course made sense, and it was hard to imagine why she hadn’t thought of it herself. Fluttershy smiled as she flapped her wings to sail over to the next set of tapestries. The notion that some ponies thought her farmpony friend stupid or slow was almost laughable; she was the last pony who would ever miss the forest for the trees.
“So there are many alicorns,” Fluttershy said with a final glance at that first tapestry. “And they left the other ponies? I mean, since the tapestries hang here, maybe that means they took the fortress from them, but why?”
“Well, this don’t clear it up at least,” Applejack hummed as she sidled up to Fluttershy again.
“I don’t understand,” Fluttershy said, shaking her head. The alicorns in the next tapestry were huddled around a large candle circled by six symbols that they had seen before. Star, triangle and so forth; the Elements of Harmony. The light that filtered in from nearby seemed to make these six little symbols glimmer in what she hoped was reflected sunlight, and the dust danced in the air before her eyes.
“The Elements and the alicorns are connected, then,” Applejack muttered, stealing a glance down the hall. “Just two more of these curtains.”
“Tapestries,” Fluttershy corrected her, giggling despite herself, but it was a short-lived burst of mirth. The next scene was similar to the last, except the Elements were far above the heads of the alicorns, who, for their part, lay supine next to a weaker and smaller candle. In the air between the Elements and the alicorns were shapes that were different yet still familiar in the higher detail of the tapestry.
“The windigoes again,” Applejack growled. “I guess the play didn’t do their mischief justice at all.”
“The alicorns were weakening before the windigoes showed up, though,” Fluttershy said, feeling a little colder just for looking at the painstakingly woven menaces. The sapphire-blue eyes of the monsters seemed to be staring right back at her, and she wished she could go back to believing it was just a fairytale or a story that had been embellished upon in the years since its first telling. Instead, it felt like the opposite was true. Here was a truth far more grim than the old play.
Fluttershy turned to look at Applejack, the orange mare pensively quiet. “Um, or—or so I think,” she hastily amended.
“Hmh?” Applejack voiced, shaking her head briskly. “Oh, nothin’ like that, sugar, you’re probably right, I’m just wondering. Something’s missing, ain’t it. A lot is, matter of fact.”
“Well, um, I guess this is the story of the alicorns?” Fluttershy suggested as they walked side by side to the last of the tapestries. “Just like the stones showed the story of the earth ponies?”
“Except they weren’t their own tribe,” Applejack retorted, knocking her hat back on her head and shaking her mane. “Just one more thing that’s off about the story.”
Fluttershy nodded at that, biting her lower lip as she thought.
“We ain’t seen what the other tribes have to say on this yet,” Applejack grumbled. “Makes me wish I had that Brighthoof feller’s other journals, now. Bet he read these things and could make sense of it. Looks like this was the end of the road for them all the same.”
Part of Fluttershy didn’t want to look. At Applejack’s words, spoken with a glance at the last piece of this particular story, the stoic mare’s face fell. The scene depicted was of the fortress on the first tapestry, flag broken, windigoes flying high above and alicorns at rest with their eyes closed. Fluttershy swallowed, a lump travelling down her throat with painful slowness. She reached out with a hoof, but touch told her nothing that her eyes did not; this tapestry was far less detailed, sloppy, almost. It had been made in a hurry, and unlike the others, this one did not have a matching, mirrored companion on the other side of the hall.
“And here’s the rest.”
Fluttershy blinked to clear her eyes. Applejack stood close by, poking at a mass of rotting cloth in a corner by the doorless portal leading up and out of the tunnel.
“Other tapestries, but there ain’t much room for them here,” Applejack said, giving them another poke. She was rewarded with a brittle rustle and a puff of dust. “Might be they hung here long ago, and somepony took’em down. Ain’t no matter. Won’t get much out of them now.”
Before she could think of a reply, Fluttershy’s stomach answered for her and changed the topic by letting out a long, mournful rumble. The butter-colored mare hung her head and would have blushed, but there was precious little room for modesty these days.
“D’you hear that?” Applejack asked.
“Sorry,” Fluttershy muttered.
“No, not that. Come on, sugarcube!” Applejack chortled, neatly stepping over the ruined remains of their old supplies, the soggy and dusty grass hardly appetizing. The earth pony mare’s ears were perked up, and she moved with purpose.
Fluttershy trotted after her without hesitation, and it didn’t take more than a few seconds before they left behind the last of the underground tunnels to mount a semicircular, wide stair into a large room that Fluttershy finally did recognize. The stairs deposited them on the ground floor of a large chamber that made up the majority of the fortress’ surface area. Stone columns supported wooden galleries overhead, and just as she remembered it, benches covered every bit of space, all pointing to a central table. A thin layer of dust covered the entire scene before them, but the benches and table were all bare—it wasn’t what had drawn them out.
Overhead, the once dusty glass dome was coming alive, brilliant light all the colors of the rainbow streaming in as the sunlight filtered in through glass washed clean by what Applejack no doubt had heard; rain. The pitter-patter of light rainfall could be heard through the main doors nearby. The soft yet welcome sound intermingled with their hoofsteps as Fluttershy and Applejack tentatively picked their way through the benches and towards the wide doors that led out.
“Of course it ain’t no fortress,” Applejack muttered as they walked. “Glass? Doors like this? This ain’t a place built for fightin’.”
“I wouldn’t really know,” Fluttershy admitted, casting a backwards glance at the multicolored glass dome where it cast upon the room a full rainbow spectrum of colors. She swallowed, trying to distract her brain from what she associated with that sight.
“I mean, I guess the tribes met here, but we don’t know if the tribes ever fought, do we? I’ve never seen a real fortress,” she quickly added.
“I saw one of Equestria’s border forts, once. They’re nothin’ like this, is all,” Applejack said. “But it’s pointless thinking about that now. Not much else to find here. I say we eat.”
Those last words were spoken while Applejack stepped outside, her grin as wide as the outer doors she threw fully open. Outside, rain was falling, and the sun shone down through the light cloud layer upon a valley come to life. Where the place had been dry and dead the last time they looked upon it, water was pooling and plants were pushing through the soil even as they watched. Before their very eyes, the grey wasteland began turning brown and green.
Applejack quickly trotted out to stand outside on the small cliffy perch next to the descending path, while Fluttershy paused at the threshold. Her wings were flared and her ears flat to her head as she poked her snout outside.
“It ain’t dangerous,” Applejack laughed, putting a hoof to her hat as she peered skywards, her grin relentless.
“Did—did we do this?” Fluttershy whispered, eyes wide.
Applejack opened her mouth only to close it again without a single word spoken, frowning now. The silence held until her coat was well and truly soaked, and only when the rain ran off the brim of her hat like out of the gutter did she seem to find her voice again.
“Guess so. Book doesn’t go into detail, but if the Malices had done this all, I suppose we un-did it.”
“I never thought we could do anything like this,” Fluttershy said, slowly stepping outside. The rain felt good against her coat and mane, and it was impossible to resist the urge to open her mouth to catch a few raindrops. Being hungry was one thing, but standing in the rain with a dry and parched throat felt silly.
“Wasn’t just us, was it?” Applejack’s voice came from her side as Fluttershy took in the valley below. She could see plants emerge. Colors blooming. “Kept thinking of home. Of all our friends.”
Fluttershy nodded and swallowed. She knew where her own thoughts had wandered, and she wondered if Applejack had noticed. When she glanced over at the orange mare, Applejack’s smile was full of understanding. Of patience.
“We should probably see if we can eat any of this,” Fluttershy said, earning a nod from her friend. It was mean to ignore her like that, but she feared that if she took one more step without eating something, she’d fall over.
Whatever magic they had unleashed to make the valley bloom, the result was easier to appreciate than it was to understand. Grass and flowers both grew in ample amounts, with saplings poking up from suddenly fertile soil that ran wet with rain. Fluttershy noticed that the clouds were behaving weird; such bright and light little things probably shouldn’t be able to carry that much water, but she wasn’t much of a weatherpony anyway. The clouds did not seem to care either way.
Once they’d made it down to the shadow of the cliff upon which the fortress rested, they drank deep from the pools gathering there, and they filled their saddlebags and bellies both with the flora that seemed edible, having to remind each other to pace their eating more than once.
Hours later, the valley was barely recognizable. Suddenly, it wasn’t so hard to believe that this was the place Brighthoof had described. Trees, bushes, flowers and grass all carpeted the valley’s floor in green speckled with other colors. When the novelty of the rain had long since worn off, the two bedraggled ponies sought refuge under the boughs of a tree that was barely thrice their height. The branches were poor protection, but it was better than nothing. With the rampant growth continuing, they were rapidly losing sight of the winding paths past the fortress that led into the foothills of the impossibly steep white and grey mountains beyond.
“I guess that’s where we’re heading next,” Applejack murmured, planting her rump on the ground as she gestured towards the wall-like mountains ahead. She let out a small belch as she patted her belly, and a small pardon followed soon after.
Fluttershy nodded quietly as she curled up. The mad rush, the prancing and the giggling was well and truly over by now, and while they had a direction—something like a purpose—her thoughts kept pulling her back rather than forwards. There was something left unsaid still, even after so many nibbles and pokes at the topic. She could see that Applejack knew and thought about it too, the farmpony shooting her these little glances. After a minute’s worth of silence, Applejack puffed out her cheeks.
“Maybe we should just wait here for daybreak. We ain’t gonna get anywhere fast, and I ain’t much feeling like moving on right now. I think—”
“The letter,” Fluttershy blurted, the words wrenched from her in a rude interruption that made her cover her mouth with a hoof. Applejack’s muzzle shut with a little clack before she shook her head and looked away.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” she said, simple as that.
Except it wasn’t at all simple. It was convoluted and terrible yet laughably silly, and for the second time in her life, Fluttershy wanted to make an attempt at sharing it with another. While she didn’t at all believe speaking of it would change anything, she’d be a poor friend indeed if she couldn’t speak of it to Applejack after they had been through so much. Especially not when it had all been because of exactly that one piece of paper, accidental as though it may all have been.
Of course, part of her already wished she’d never said anything, that she could have back the delicious sleepy haze that followed their eating frenzy instead of this dreadful melancholy that now settled upon her, but it was now or never.
“It was from my parents, I think I told you that,” Fluttershy began, rolling over on her side. Applejack gave her a small nod and moved to sit by her head, running her hooves through her mane. They’d let their grooming slip, and Applejack wasted no time in setting about to fix that, comb or no comb.
“That, an’ it’s related to Rainbow Dash somehow,” Applejack agreed with a nod.
“I don’t think I told you that,” Fluttershy said, her cheeks heating up.
“You said something like it,” Applejack said, matter-of-factly, between picking twigs and such out of her mane. “Saw you drawing her cutie mark in the dust one night, too, and you were whispering her name in your sleep last night. Mostly, though, you ain’t denying it.”
Fluttershy stared off into the blue sky of the horizon. The evening sun shone bright and pure, no longer tainted by the pall that had once covered the valley, but its light waned as it slowly descended towards the mountains. She gave an absent-minded nod as she collected her thoughts, but it was Applejack who spoke.
“Just start at the beginning if you want,” she said. “We got time, and I sure a hay ain’t gonna judge. You and Rainbow go way back, I know that much.”
Fluttershy nodded again. Comb or no comb, the way Applejack was tending to her with slow strokes of her hooves her felt ever so nice. Soon after, the earth mare leaned down to work her teeth through her mane, too. Fluttershy had never before been on the receiving end of a proper earth pony grooming, and she had half a mind to just let herself go, close her eyes and sleep; to take with her the memories that budded and go back a decade or more in her dreams. Instead, she opened her mouth and forced herself to speak them.
“We met at flight school, like I told you before,” she began, rolling over onto her back, relishing in the soft soil beneath. She looked past Applejack, past the little tree’s branches and to the light cloud layer above. The rain-bearing clouds became Cloudsdale, and she looked up at the grinning face of her very first friend.
“I didn’t know her at all, but she came out of the blue one day soon after I had started flight school. She didn’t even know me, but she rescued me from some bullies and taught them a lesson. It wasn’t the first time I got teased, and it wasn’t the last, either, but after that, it was different. There was a lot of chaos after the race, but once we found each other later, when everything went back to normal, we did everything together.”
“Never saw how the two of you got to be so close,” Applejack hummed. “I mean, no offense, and I know you’re great pals and all that, but—”
“No, I know,” Fluttershy replied, smiling as she lowered her eyes for a second. “We’re different, but she didn’t have a lot of friends either, I think, and she always looked out for me. I think she scared the other ponies.”
“Annoyed, more like,” Applejack chuckled, but Fluttershy elected not to comment. Perhaps there was a grain of truth to it. She’d never thought about it. Never had to think about it. After their first meeting, it had been the two of them, and though it was a bumpy ride, it was hard to imagine it ever being any different.
“Sorry. I’ll keep my trap shut,” Applejack murmured.
“It still wasn’t, um, well. I still didn’t have the best of times at flight school, but with a friend, it was okay. My parents didn’t really like her, and they wanted me to finish flight school because I wasn’t a very strong flier. Most pegasi finish, you know.”
“But not Rainbow Dash, huh?” Applejack asked, a grin tugging at her lips as she leaned forward to nip a twig out of Fluttershy’s mane.
“No,” Fluttershy muttered. “Flight school wasn’t for her. She quit at the beginning of the final year. She wanted more excitement, and some ponies in the Weather Service offered her a job in Ponyville.”
Applejack stopped her ministrations at that, those large and friendly green eyes marred by the faintest of frowns as she stared down at her, trapping Fluttershy there.
“Wait. You followed her, just like that? ‘Cause you fancied her?”
“Sort of, I think. I don’t know what I—I mean, we were both young, and all I knew was that I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her, of her leaving me,” Fluttershy managed. Even speaking the words felt like another stab in that same wound. “I always knew I wanted to live on the ground, ever since my first time down there, but we were very young.”
“Bet your parents didn’t like that one bit,” Applejack said. “It still don’t explain the letter, tho, I’m sorry to say.”
“It does, actually,” Fluttershy sighed. “And you’re right. They didn’t, um, like it, no. I told them I was going to be with Rainbow Dash no matter what they said, and we had a fight. I thought they hated me, but I left with Rainbow Dash to live in Ponyville.”
“Hating you?” Applejack snorted. “Ain’t no parent can hate their children.”
“And they didn’t,” Fluttershy said with a wan smile, peering up at the sky through the branches once again. It was getting harder and harder to find the white and blue amidst the green.
“They sent me a letter soon afterwards saying they hoped that I was happy with Rainbow Dash, and that they loved me no matter what choices I made, but that they were disappointed, too. Dad really wanted me to take a more, um, traditional job. They wanted me to come home, to finish flight school.”
“Except you never told Rainbow Dash how you feel.” Applejack puffed out her cheeks and lay down next to Fluttershy, shaking her head. It was impossible to know what went on in the mind of the famously straightforward element of honesty, but Fluttershy imagined she heard sympathy in her voice, not judgment.
“No,” Fluttershy whispered. “I don’t think I knew what I felt back then myself. I just knew I couldn’t lose her. She was the first friend I’ve made, but I have other friends now, too. After I made other friends, I realized she’s, um, different,” she continued, her voice trembling ever so slightly. Other memories flooded her mind, pulled her back; hours spent watching Rainbow Dash practice, reminiscing about their flight school days; every moment a partial lie.
“I don’t see my parents as often now. We still talk and send letters, I visit now and then, but they think we’re—” she said, the words clumping up in her throat.
“They think—” Fluttershy tried again, but nothing came. There was a rustle of movement at her side as Applejack glanced over at her before looking away again and sighing.
“Every time you hear from them,” Applejack murmured. “It makes you think of that, huh? Can’t imagine what it’s like living with that.”
It was all Fluttershy could do to nod. If she opened her mouth, it would be to cry, and that would get her nowhere. She shut her eyes and let out a shuddering breath through her nose.
“So your parents up in Cloudsdale think you’re together with Rainbow Dash, but they care for you all the same, right?”
Fluttershy nodded again. It was the simple truth, of course. If she couldn’t trust their words, the way they’d sent the bits to help set up her cottage had spoken volumes.
“And Rainbow Dash knows nothing about any of this?”
Fluttershy shook her head.
“So that’s what it all comes down to? You can’t look’em in the eye ‘cause you haven’t told her? Then why don’t you just tell Rainbow Dash?”
Fluttershy was up on all fours in an instant, her heart pounding. “I can’t!” she cried. “I mean, she doesn’t feel the same!”
Applejack raised a brow, slowly rolling over and sitting up. “You don’t know that. Hay, she doesn’t, I reckon. I don’t think Rainbow Dash thinks things through unless she has to, half the time. T’aint about her being stupid or nothing, it’s just how she works. You should know that better’n anypony.”
“Look, I know she talks to her mom once’n awhile, and they’re all chummy. Rainbow met your parents, but she never asked how they felt about you leaving?” Applejack asked.
“Well, um, no,” Fluttershy admitted, glancing about and scuffing the dirt with a hoof.
“Exactly, and you don’t hold that against her, do you?” Applejack pressed.
“No, never!” Fluttershy said. “I—because—” she sighed, already seeing where this was going. It was a little bit like uprooting a particularly nasty weed in her garden and realizing exactly how deep the roots went.
“Because you never told her, and you can’t blame somepony for what they don’t know,” Applejack finished for her, the weight of those words sending Fluttershy back to sit on the ground.
“It doesn’t matter,” Fluttershy muttered, hanging her head. Usually, that all too practiced little maneuver rewarded her with a curtain of hair to hide behind, but her drenched mane offered no such succor. “It doesn’t matter because I’m not strong enough.”
Applejack tilted her head and, in a rather demonstrative gesture, spat. “You don’t believe that even for a second, and I’ll thank you never to say it again. You’re stronger’n anypony I know.”
The stoic earth pony mare was staring at her in a way that brooked no argument, and whatever it was that Fluttershy wanted to reply with evaporated as surely as dew before the sun, leaving her brain all but empty. “Can—can we please talk about something else?” she asked, re-furling her wings.
For a second she feared Applejack would protest. Long seconds passed before her expression slowly melted and her ears were pinned to the back of her head, leaving a rather embarrassed farmpony.
“Sorry, sugar, I just don’t like—naw. Okay, let’s leave it, then,” she murmured.
Fluttershy moved over to give Applejack a brief hug, doing her very best to push the thoughts, questions and the conflicting answers to the back of her mind. At some point, she had traded hopes and dreams for recent memories of the moments she’d shared with Rainbow Dash. Perhaps this meant she was strong—or perhaps it meant it was too late. Either way, she couldn’t take much more of it right now; in fact, she caught herself almost hoping they didn’t find their way back home. If she had to face Rainbow Dash now, she had no idea what she would say.
“It ain’t much of a slumber party, but it’ll do,” Applejack announced. Fluttershy blinked, whisked away from her thoughts and back to the present where Applejack had gathered some grasses for makeshift beds and neatly folded their still-damp bedsheet cloaks as pillows. While the rain was still falling, she had felt none of it for a while now. The tree that was their refuge had kept growing, and only now seemed to be slowing a bit, the pine tree’s branches warding off the rain as surely as a proper roof.
“All we need is a fireplace,” Fluttershy said, and a smile followed.
“Just as well we don’t have one. I’m fresh outta marshmallows,” Applejack countered as she sat down on one of the little beds, Fluttershy following soon after.
“I don’t think I’d like marshmallows, s’mores or even a cupcake right now,” Fluttershy admitted, hoping very much Pinkie Pie would never learn she’d said such a terrible thing. “I would be really happy just for some nuts or an apple.”
Applejack let out a long sigh that seemed to echo from the deepest recesses of her being and lay down flat on her belly. “Yep. Sure could go for an apple right now,” she murmured, staring off into the distance. “Good night, Fluttershy.”
It hadn’t been a very long day for the pair. It was barely afternoon, yet it was strangely easy for Fluttershy to lay down and close her eyes. The soft rustling and dripping of the forest felt safe and snug, but more than that, it felt good to have her secret out in the open. It wasn’t much of a change; it felt more akin to setting a splint on one of her little animal friends and taking solace in the knowledge that things would be better.
She had her friend back. She had herself back, too, and in time, she would have to think on Applejack’s words. She didn’t know what she needed to say, do or even be to keep Applejack from being angry with her when it came to that topic, but first, she would sleep. Barely had she closed her eyes when she felt the rush of air under her wings. As she slipped into her dream, she smiled. The sky wasn’t hers. When she dreamt of that endless blue expanse, she knew she wouldn’t be alone.
Traversing the valley had taken longer than Applejack had expected. Her memory of the valley from before it had bloomed was hazy at best, but she distinctly remembered approaching the foot of the fortress thinking it looked like she could stretch out a leg and touch a hoof to the towering mountains to their south. It hadn’t been that easy, of course. Distance was deceptive given that the mountains were sharp and tall in the extreme; they ate sight and demanded attention. It had taken them two full days to even reach the foothills that took them out of the valley proper.
In part, this was because of the terrain. What life the valley had lost in the past years, decades or princesses-knew how long since it had wilted, it made up for overnight. Grasses and flowers lined the ground, trees stood tighter than the Everfree in places, and the remaining space was eaten up by ferns and bushes. Calling it slow going was like saying that cider season was a little stressful. With neither compass nor sight more than twenty paces ahead, Fluttershy had to pick her way up through the leafy canopy many times per day just to make sure they hadn’t been turned around.
Which led to the second part of why it had been slow. It hadn’t taken long for the valley to flood with fauna to go with the flora, and every single varmint they met had something or other to say to Fluttershy. It wasn’t all bad, though. Thanks to the critters, their saddlebags were full of nuts, roots and other food that wouldn’t spoil when they left the forest.
And then there was the foothills, where the going was slower still. The next days had been defined by steep climbs and numerous treacherous gorges they had to circle or have Fluttershy help Applejack across. With each morning under the open sky, there was less animal life and less vegetation to be found.
Yet now the staunch earth mare found herself thinking she’d happily go back to that, if she could.
“Are you okay?” Fluttershy asked. Applejack blinked to clear her eyes as she forced herself to attend. The yellow pegasus had taken point and was looking back at her as they both slowed to a halt. The path had narrowed so much that they couldn’t really walk side by side, and in fact, whether or not they were even on anything that could be called a ‘path’ was questionable.
“If you’re tired, we can take a break,” Fluttershy suggested.
“I ain’t tired,” Applejack grumbled. “Ain’t no pegasus going to wear me out.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Fluttershy said. “It’s just, it’s a very long way down, but I didn’t—”
“I know. I was joking. Well, half joking,” Applejack said, walking up to stand by Fluttershy. The pegasus, for her part, puffed a strand of her mane out of her face and rolled her eyes as she smiled. At their backs was a near sheer cliff face, and on the other side of the lip etched in the mountain, an equally vertical drop. Applejack almost had to lean forwards to be able to look down.
“Sorry,” she added. “Ain’t meaning to be sour, was just thinking. I ain’t none too fond of heights anyways. Don’t get me wrong, ain’t like I am afraid, but it’s not my cup of tea either.”
Fluttershy nodded at that, taking a few steps back to sit down on her haunches as far away from the edge as possible.
“But you are?” Applejack asked, arching a brow.
“Afraid of heights?” Fluttershy asked, her body shaking with a quiet giggle before she continued. “Not exactly, I just don’t want to take any chances.”
“And here I was thinking that if I ever fell, you’d catch me,” Applejack grinned.
“I will! I mean, I hope so? I’d try my best? Oh goodness, please don’t even joke about that!” Fluttershy said. “The cloak goes over my wings, and—”
“Fluttershy. It’s okay. I’ll try not to fall off,” Applejack cut her off, still smiling as she nudged open her saddlebags. They were holding together remarkably well, but the same couldn’t be said for the supplies within. Even this low on the mountain there was snow in places where the sun couldn’t reach, so water wasn’t a problem, but that was only half of the story.
“Reckon’ we got about four or five more days,” Applejack murmured from the depths of her saddlebags, nosing a large root aside to reveal some mush she couldn’t quite identify. “Make that three to four,” she sighed.
“Maybe we’ll find another cave,” Fluttershy supplied, and Applejack nodded at that. There was precious little shelter to be had in the rocky mountains, so they’d rested where they could, and at one point, that had left them to discover a cliffside cave that offered some mosses and lichen. Gambling like that had never been in Applejack’s nature though. Soon, they’d have to figure something out. They had sat there for less than a minute when Fluttershy spoke up again.
“It’s really pretty, though.”
Applejack didn’t even need to ask what she referred to. In the days since they had begun their ascent, the world had dropped away. They thought they had found a mountain road, but the millennia had not been kind, and they’d had to backtrack more than once. Still, there was progress of some sort, and this high up in the mountain, they were rewarded with a staggering view.
The fortress’ valley had nearly disappeared around the side of the mountain, but they could still see a dense and lush carpet of greens, and further, the forests nestled between the lower mountains and hills that surrounded it. Fluttershy’s eyes, however, were trained to the east, in the direction they were going. If the reports from her little scouting flights were correct, they would soon be going through a pass, deep into the high mountains, but from here they could catch a first—and last—glimpse of the lands east beyond the valley. Lowlands, rivers, and—
“Is that the ocean?” Applejack asked.
“I think so. I saw it when I flew up to look around right after we arrived, but I didn’t think too much about it then,” Fluttershy said, her eyes big as they sought the distant stretch of blue that melded with the horizon. “I’ve never seen it up close.”
“Yeah,” muttered Applejack. “Well, who knows, might be we’re headin’ there. Least we know we’re on a coast, if we find a map. Assuming this is the same ocean.”
Fluttershy’s reply was a wan smile. Even as they watched, the shadows around them were lengthening, a subtle yet potent reminder of their situation. It was cold enough during the day, the air stinging in Applejack’s nose as it was, but they’d freeze without cover come night-time.
“Right,” Applejack said, pointing along the narrow path. “So you said this here leads to the pass? How much longer?”
“It should be right around the bend here, actually,” Fluttershy said, rising to stand. “We would probably have made it there yesterday if I had noticed that the first path was out. Or if I could have carried you across.”
Applejack groaned and leaned forward to headbutt Fluttershy on the rump to set her moving. “We’ve been through this. It ain’t your fault any more’n it it's my fault that I weren’t born a pegasus.”
“No, I mean, I guess not,” Fluttershy sighed. “Sorry. I just know Rainbow Dash could’ve done it.”
Applejack grumbled as she leaped a particularly ominous looking crack in the path. Though she couldn’t very see her face, she saw Fluttershy’s wings and ears both drooping. It wasn’t the first time Fluttershy made comments to that effect, but whenever Applejack tried to pin her to the topic of Dash, she went quiet, leaving Applejack with the choice of talking about something else entirely or trudging on in stoic silence.
“Wonder how they got food up here,” Applejack hummed, opting for the former of the two. The whistling wind was poor company, anyway.
“I guess the roads were better?” Fluttershy suggested.
“No, I mean, I ain’t never met a single unicorn who could tend a garden proper. Before they got food from the earth pony tribe, how in the wide world did they make do?” Applejack said.
“Oh. Um. Maybe they used to sow crops, but they weren’t very good at it? It’s that, or magic, and I don’t think Twilight knows any spell that can make food out of nothing,” Fluttershy replied with a glance back at Applejack. “If they wanted a deal with the earth ponies, there must have been a reason for it.”
“Deal, huh?” Applejack chuckled. “Except they never say what the unicorns gave back. T’aint like the sunlight shines different on one side of the river from the other, is it? The pegasi, I get that. Having a weather pony or two is practically required for any farming nowadays, but sunlight?”
“You make it sound like the unicorns weren’t very nice ponies,” Fluttershy said, a mixture of reproach and curiosity in her voice.
“Just saying that we earth ponies have always had to do thing the hard way. Ain’t complaining, but here we are, stuck travellin’ by hoof just cause we ain’t got no fancy magic and all,” Applejack muttered.
Fluttershy actually frowned over her shoulder at that, and Applejack held up a warding hoof. “I ain’t about to apologize for having neither horn nor wing, Fluttershy, and goodness knows that if you get tired, I’ll pick you up and carry you, and then you can thank me,” she said, grinning.
“Oh that would be ever so nice,” Fluttershy giggled.
“Hop on!” Applejack offered, gesturing with a flick of her head, doubling Fluttershy’s laughter.
“Oh I don’t think I ever could, really,” Fluttershy replied, her mirth slowly ebbing until all that remained was a content smile.
Content. Despite the fact that she was obviously pining for Rainbow Dash, despite that she had just as many friends back in Ponyville as Applejack, Fluttershy seemed almost happy. With a deep breath through her nose, cold air stinging her snout as she did, Applejack lifted her head. If Fluttershy could take it all in stride, then so could she.
Before long, the pair reached a rather precarious little drop from their ledge back onto what they guessed had once been the main road, and it was a simple task to jump from ledge to ledge—or glide—to land them down on the wider path that kept hugging the mountainside. The fall was less intimidating from here, but Applejack didn’t particularly fancy a tumble off the side either way. If there had ever been any railing or some such, it was long gone, and the path was barely wide enough for a cart and a half anyway.
“It’s just around here,” Fluttershy suggested when it was clear they were coming up on something. Over the past few hours, the hills below had crept up on the mountainside, and as they turned a sharp corner, they were reminded of the fact that this was no single, lonely mountain. Ahead, the path widened and disappeared into the darkness of a tunnel that cut straight into another wall of grey rock. It was hard to get the measure of the mountains here. Straining her neck to peer skywards rewarded Applejack with little but masses of grey and white, any single peak always hiding two more.
“So where’s this go then,” Applejack murmured, casting a quick backwards glance. It looked as if though the main path might have once have gone straight down the hills, but some great rock slide took care of that. It put things into perspective when the mountains themselves had changed since last ponies walked this road, but then, it mattered not half as much as the darkness before them.
“Oh, I didn’t really go inside.”
“I know, I was just thinking aloud,” Applejack said. “I won’t have us splitting up for no reason. Still, would be nice to know that this actually exits somewhere,” she added, a little more quietly. “Sure is dark, and I have had just about enough of darkness.”
“Maybe there are more of the little crystals?” Fluttershy suggested. Despite her words, every step was slower than the last, and her wings were half spread as they approached the tunnel not twenty paces away now. Without a word, Applejack passed her by to take point. The path was smooth enough, a raised plateau of stone amidst uneven rock, and it led unerringly towards that crack that seemed more like a tear in the mountain wall than anything else.
“Well, there’s something in here,” Applejack muttered as she led the way past the ominous threshold, stepping over a scattering of small rocks. It seemed that once inside they traded the evening sky outside for the night sky, stars included. Applejack stood very still as she tried to understand exactly what she was looking at.
“Stars?” she asked, but she knew they weren’t. Even as she spoke, her eyes adjusted to to the darkness, and the multicolored twinkling lights above described a huge dome or a shaft. The next time she blinked, she could make out the path beneath her hooves; it was cobbled, and to either side of the cracked road, the darkness still reigned.
“Careful, please,” Fluttershy said from behind her. Applejack swallowed the little jibe she’d readied when she realized she could feel Fluttershy’s breath on her flank. She wasn’t entirely un-scared herself, truth be told. Creeping up on the edge of the road, she could see a few scattered lights down the side of the shaft. It was a sheer drop.
“Well, I don’t fancy my chances here, so you’ll pardon me if I stick to the middle of the road,” Applejack said, taking a few steps back. “D’you reckon they’re crystals, those things?” she asked, slowly advancing down the shadowed cave road.
“I would fly and look, but I’m afraid I’ll hit something and fall,” Fluttershy replied, hurrying to walk side by side, flank to flank with Applejack.
“Taking no risks sounds about right here,” Applejack agreed, squinting as she peered ahead to where some large stone construct loomed, shooting up into the air. It was the first and only feature of the massive cave other than the lights.
“I think it goes up,” Fluttershy suggested. Applejack could see her craning her neck to follow the spire at the center of the cave.
“Guess that’s what we want,” Applejack said. “Still don’t see why they couldn’t have done this in some other way. Any other way. Thousands of little colored lights and everything, this here’s too fancy by half. Guess that means we’re on the right track if we’re looking for the unicorns’ place, huh?” she chuckled.
“Not all unicorns are like that,” Fluttershy admonished. Applejack could hear her smile all the same.
“Maybe, but you know as well as I do that both Rarity and Twilight would have loved this place, just not for the same reason,” Applejack retorted. “And I sure could go for a bit of proper light right now, so I’d love to have them here.”
“Even if it’s magic?” Fluttershy asked, and Applejack automatically turned to look at her though the darkness made the gesture useless. It was hard to decide whether the demure pegasus was poking fun at her or if she was earnest.
“Yeah, even if it’s magic,” Applejack said, barely louder than the echoing clops of hooves on cobbles. “Ain’t nothing wrong with magic in and by itself.”
Carefully the two picked their way forward. Though the raised road was straight, there were cracks and rubble here and there, and small sections of the edge of the road had fallen away into the inky blackness below. The column at the road’s terminus slowly grew in size and definition, and before long, they stood before what reminded Applejack of a corkscrew, a spiral staircase in the shape of a road that stabbed up into the darkness, wide as two barns at the bottom, and narrowing with every turn.
“Don’t fancy myself pulling a cart of hay bales up that,” Applejack said. “Mighty steep.”
“I guess they used—”
“Magic,” Applejack finished for her. “Yeah, I can see a pattern here.”
“Right,” Fluttershy agreed. Applejack could hear the pegasus shifting and resettling her wings on her back. “Well, at least it should be easy to just walk up here, right?”
“Yup, and like I said, at least we’re on the right track!” Applejack agreed, nodding. “Let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later, their walk had slowed to a crawl. The tips of Fluttershy’s wings were dragging along the ground, and every time Applejack had to raise a leg, she silently cursed whomever had come up with the design for this ridiculous place.
“Easy,” Applejack growled, stopping to wipe sweat from her brow. “I don’t understand why you don’t just fly. Must be easier than this.”
It took a few seconds before Fluttershy replied, the pegasus still breathing heavily. “There’s a wind,” she said amidst gasps for breath. “Can’t you feel it? I don’t want take off when I can barely see.”
“I suppose that means there’s an exit up ahead at least,” Applejack murmured, and she’d barely taken ten more steps before she halted again. “And there it is,” she added, pointing up ahead. Muted light poured in from an opening not too far above, half hidden by a stone bridge that led off the spiral.
“I did think we were getting closer to the, um, ceiling, I guess,” Fluttershy agreed, but Applejack barely heard her. Finally getting her second wind, the farmpony galloped up the sharp incline, round and round until she finally reached a plateau. Above, the cave ceiling was almost close enough to touch, and the spiral column tapered off until it was barely wider than a hoof’s breadth where it met the rock above.
“Well don’t that beat all,” Applejack said, staring up at the glittering spectacle overhead as Fluttershy finally caught up, the pegasus practically dripping with sweat. “They’re gems after all. Rubies, emeralds and all the other fancy types only Rarity knows. Ain’t like they’re worth a lot, but I wonder what makes them sparkle.”
“Maybe they reflect the light from outside?” Fluttershy suggested.
“Might be, not that there’s much light at the moment though. The sun must be setting,” Applejack replied, pointing down the short bridge that led out of the cave. A soft orange glow was all the opening offered. Applejack made to go towards it, but Fluttershy didn’t follow. The pegasus slowly sank back to sit on her haunches.
“No, just go on, um,” she said, blinking heavily. “If you want to look. I just need a minute, sorry.”
Applejack turned and retraced her steps, sitting down next to her friend. Wrapping her forelegs around her neck, she drew her into a tight hug. “The world’ll keep, sugarcube. Let’s take a rest, okay? We’ll head out in the morning.”
The nuts and berries had helped. A good night’s sleep curled up together in a place that kept the chill wind out, even if it wasn’t exactly warm, that was something to be thankful for, too. It was good that Fluttershy had things to be thankful for, but for every pleasant memory of their morning breakfast in that frightening yet wonderful cave, she had two complaints about the present. Of course, she’d never voice those complaints, and they were all about snow, but there it was. Snow in her mane, snow underhoof and over her legs chilling her to the bone, snow in her ears—
“At least we got us a road to walk,” Applejack called from somewhere in front. Fluttershy had to squint to make out the snow-laced blond tail she’d followed for the past hours.
“I guess,” Fluttershy replied, and it was the truth. They walked what truly was a proper road, something that seemed almost absurd and magical in itself so high in the mountains, and not once had it split or failed. Snow fell in droves and covered everything; the road itself was covered in a layer so thick, it nearly reached their bellies. But it was there.
“What’s that?” Applejack called.
“I said, ‘I guess’,” Fluttershy repeated, a little louder. No sooner had the words left her than did she glance up the closest mountainside fearing an avalanche. Here, they walked in mountains crowded by mountains. Where the road hugged the stony edifice of a particular mountain one moment, it would find a way to cross over to another before the ponies could even blink.
Perhaps it was all just one mountain, really. The snow made it hard to tell, and now the path led them between two particularly tall peaks that disappeared into the permanent cloud layer, rock and snow rising to cover them on either side. At the very least, it brought a reprieve from the biting wind; Fluttershy’s ears hurt, and her wings were stiff as it was.
“So, how’re you holding up?” Applejack asked. If not for her words, Fluttershy would have walked straight into her on sheer automatics instead of merely bumping her snout into her tail. The farmpony was turning on the spot as she shook the snow out of her mane.
“Oh, um, I think we better find shelter soon, but I don’t think this is a good resting place,” Fluttershy offered. Part of her knew or suspected it wasn’t at all what Applejack had meant and that she was being rude. Their last conversation back in the valley had threatened to resurface every now and then, but if she told herself that it was too cold to think about anything else, that made it a little better. It was a good excuse. Applejack narrowed her eyes and let the silence hang there for a second longer before she nodded.
“Right,” she grunted. “I just—”
Applejack froze, eyes wide as she peered over Fluttershy’s shoulders. Fluttershy herself felt a very real chill down her spine as she saw her expression, a cold not borne of snow and wind.
“Sugar, be very quiet, and come over to me,” Applejack whispered. “Quickly now.”
Fluttershy swallowed and nodded, forcing her legs to move one by one as she took a few steps forward, taking up position by Applejack. When she saw what she had seen, she took an involuntary step back, and Applejack protectively slipped in front.
Resting on a small shelf not far behind them, a half-translucent shape lay. It didn’t look entirely unlike a pony, except it was larger, had a narrow head, and its body trailed off into the snowdrift behind it. If not for its eyes, it wouldn’t have been a very remarkable creature, but those clear blue orbs seemed to see straight through her. Fluttershy shivered and took another step away.
“I—I think it sees us,” Fluttershy stammered, but the creature made no move. It lay very still, and she thought she could see its chest moving with breath, but it did not so much as acknowledge their presence.
“I think you’re right,” Applejack muttered. “Why isn’t it doing anything? Tell me I ain’t crazy; that’s a windigo, right?”
“It certainly looks like one,” Fluttershy answered, but the fear was leaving her as quickly as it had come. Now that the shock was gone, it slid right off her. The windigo’s gaze was still unsettling, but it seemed more a wounded beast than anything. “It doesn’t look dangerous,” she added.
Applejack opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but evidently she thought better of it. The orange mare stared at the supine windigo and gave a great snort. “Don’t know about that, but it doesn’t seem the type of beast to eat ponies.”
“It doesn’t look like a carnivore, no,” Fluttershy agreed. “We know from the stories that they don’t actually eat any creatures.”
“Right,” Applejack said. “Maybe it doesn't care 'cause we ain’t fighting? Wonder if two ponies having a little argument would rile it up, or if it takes a bunch of ponies,” she mused.
“Let’s, um, not find out?” Fluttershy licked her lips. Rationally she knew it wasn’t a normal animal. She couldn’t and shouldn’t help it, and even if she wanted to, she didn’t know how. It was a sorry sight all the same. “Do you think it’s hurt? It’s probably just resting,” she hurried to answer her own question.
“Well, that, or—oh hold on,” Applejack groaned. “You’re actually feelin’ sorry for thing, ain’t you? You’re thinking to go help it?”
“No! I mean, um, well, yes and no?” Fluttershy tried, flushing. “I won’t, but I’d like to?”
“Anypony ever tell you you’re too kind by half, sugar?” Applejack asked, leaning over to touch her snout to hers. As she did, Fluttershy could see over her shoulder that the windigo shifted, looking away.
“I think it’s a bit of an, um, paradox anyway,” Fluttershy muttered, slowly setting them moving down the path, seeking to get through the pass and away from the creature.
“Impossible? How so?” Applejack asked, trotting up to her side and brushing the worst of the snow from her cloak with her snout.
“Well, if they feed on anger and unhappiness, and if being nice hurts them,” Fluttershy suggested. She let her voice trail off, not caring to think too much more about it.
“Then trying to help them in any usual sense of the word might just end up killin’ it, huh?”
Fluttershy winced and nodded as Applejack completed her thought.
The next few days were no kinder, and the snow continued unabated. Every day was harder than the last, every day the air got thinner and breathing was harder. Every morning, they awoke more tired. They saw another pair of similarly dormant windigoes, and more than one discussion passed on whether or not the windigoes caused the snow, or if the windigoes were here because of the snow. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant topic, but it beat out the alternatives. Applejack had finally stopped trying to talk more about Rainbow Dash.
Each and every time they found some meager shelter, a cave or a less-than-frozen scrap of cover from the wind, Applejack looked as if though she wanted to say something. Every time, Fluttershy was reminded.
They were trying to get home. It was hard to reconcile this frozen landscape with Ponyville, and that distance was almost precious to Fluttershy. In her fitful sleep, in what hours of rest she could grab before she had to move lest she froze, she let herself play in the warm summer skies with Rainbow Dash. Now that she’d dared admit to herself how she felt, she had that, at least—she had her dreams, but she feared when they got back to Ponyville, she wouldn’t have even that.
If they got home. If Rainbow Dash and the others were safe. For every moment she tried to take solace in her dreams, she betrayed them by thinking of her own selfish desires first. Fluttershy buried her snout under her cloak, in between Applejack and herself, and closed her eyes to try to grab another nap before it was time to press on again. This time, for the first time, she hoped she wouldn’t dream at all.
Sometimes, having your wish granted wasn’t very pleasant. Fluttershy awoke from a dreamless sleep, and it felt like no time had passed at all. Barely had she closed her eyes when Applejack roused her, her rime-coated hoof oddly enough seeming almost warmer than her own skin. Still, the sky didn’t lie. While it was hardly sunny, it was night no longer, and the day begun as did they all—with more snow.
“I’m cold,” Fluttershy murmured. It was an insipid, stupid thing to say, of course, and she didn’t even know why she said it. Perhaps to convince herself her throat hadn’t frozen solid. Applejack managed to muster a smile, though, somewhere below the frost that clung to her muzzle.
“So am I. For a few days running now. Up and at’em, sugar,” she said, extending a hoof to help Fluttershy up. They had taken shelter in a rocky outcropping that kept the worst of the snow and wind at bay, but with ‘the worst’ taken off the top, there was still plenty to go around. Fluttershy accepted the offered hoof and rose to stand.
“I guess you have it even worse,” Fluttershy admitted, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. “If it’s cold for a pegasus, I can’t imagine how you are feeling.”
“I try not to think about it,” Applejack replied with a shrug, her gaze forward. Side by side, they forced themselves to keep marching down that very same raised road. The earth mare did not protest when Fluttershy snuck her wing from under her cloak to cover Applejack’s side, but rather, leaned against her as they walked.
“Fluttershy?” Applejack asked, her voice raspy.
“Sorry?” Fluttershy replied, shaking her head. She’d nearly dozed off as she walked. Again. It wouldn’t be the first time Applejack’d tried to get her attention and had to repeat herself.
“If push comes to shove, you might have to fly us out of here. Do you think you can do that?”
Fluttershy felt a lump of ice form in her stomach as she glanced off the road to the side. There were mountains all around, now. There had been no green in sight for days.
“Glide down from here?” she asked. “I—I mean, my wings are stiff, and I haven’t really—” she began, but she stopped herself. It took effort, but she took a deep breath and cast the doubt from her mind. Pushed it to the side, at least.
“Maybe. I think so. But together, we’d lose height fast, and I can’t feel any updrafts,” she said, chewing on her lip as she tried to get a clear picture of the area. The heavy snowfall wasn’t making it easy at all. “And we don’t really know where to go or where the shortest way down is, but, um, yes. I think so.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, but I think we’re walking about due south right now, so my nose is telling me we should probably head east through the peaks, that way.” Applejack sighed and cast a mournful glance at where her saddlebags hung empty and slack against her sides. “‘I’m thinking we’re approaching the point where we have to do something. I don’t know about you, but I can’t take much more of this.”
Fluttershy nodded and shivered. “I don’t think I can, either.”
“Wait. D’you see that?” Applejack asked.
Fluttershy squinted. When the wind shifted she could see a faint glimmer of color through the otherwise monotonous white. If she was hesitant, Applejack showed no such restraint. A bit of frost cracked and fell off her face as the orange mare grinned and upped her pace.
“I think I might have spoke too soon,” Applejack whooped, and Fluttershy was helpless to do anything but follow in her wake as she ploughed through the snow. Suddenly, they were getting somewhere, no longer merely moving for the sake of moving. Stiff joints and biting chills were forgotten while she raced after Applejack, snow flying everywhere as they ran. The road climbed and turned before darting through a tunnel barely twenty strides long.
When they exited on the other side, their goal became apparent. Applejack was still leading the charge at a pace that made Fluttershy worry she’d trip and fall, but her own steps slowed of their own accord as the wind abated. It was very possible that the wind was simply less furious on this side of the tunnel, but it felt like the world itself quieted down so that she might watch. She stood on one bridge among many that led from different points along the edges of a cauldron of mountains; a circle of mountaintops so regular, they couldn’t be natural. Each of the bridges spanned the cauldron, disappearing into the middle.
Instantly, Fluttershy’s thoughts jumped to the shield that Twilight’s brother, Shining Armor, had erected around Canterlot weeks or months before—it was getting hard to tell how long ago that had been, but the resemblance was clear. A shimmering bubble dominated the centre of the cauldron, glittering in transparent blues and whites. The field shielded their bridge’s destination; a spire, a massive castle that blended the definitions of building and geography, the towering mass hard to make out in detail past the shield.
And amidst it all, Fluttershy had completely lost track of Applejack. It was a small task to continue following the furrow that the powerful earth pony had made in her haste; a straight line ran down the middle of the bridge, but her heart beat faster and faster as she ran all the same. She was barely aware that the bridge was becoming increasingly elaborate as she galloped in Applejack’s wake. Soon, her hooves impacted on metal, not stone, and columns decorated the sides. It might have been a marvellous sight, once, but any loving detail put into the bridge’s design had been worn away long ago, leaving only blank faces and smooth rock—and, to Fluttershy’s mixed relief, a very irate earth pony leaning on a shimmering wall of energy.
“It won’t let us through,” Applejack growled, holding on to her hat with one hoof and pushing against the bubble with the other.
“Oh. Um, I guess, if it’s anything like the shield Shining Armor made, you’d need—”
“Magic, yes,” Applejack said, the word not so much spoken as it was exhaled. She took a step back and looked through the bubble before them with eyes so full of obvious longing and despair, it was hard to watch. In a compromise, Fluttershy stepped over to stand side by side with Applejack, extending her wing under the frozen and tattered cloak to touch her.
It was so very near, yet so desperately far with the energy field in place. The bubble that encased the spire flowed with two colors, a deep blue and a milky white, but it was easy enough to peer through it up close. On the other side, no snow fell, and the bridge was very different. It was as if though time had failed to pass, elegant arches in delicate filigree and ornate stone carvings flanking the patterned bridge that shone like it had been made entirely of silver.
Even this was just an afterthought to what waited beyond. Past the short span that remained, a massive plateau awaited, a tiled courtyard without walls, defined by dried-up fountains and patches of garden that had grown out of control, leaving it a mess of ancient stone and greenery. It was hard to focus on anything else once Fluttershy realized she could see blotches of color amidst the trees. Fruit.
The courtyard garden was barely a speck of the full grandeur of the place. The spire was massive, a mountain turned into a building. It seemed a city unto itself, a massive tower of rock and colored bricks, countless grand porches, glimmering crystal lights and windows both empty and in glass colored and plain adorning its imperfectly cylindrical shape. The top of the shield and the true height of the spire were both obscured by the thick white clouds above, and it was frightening to think that the place was even larger. Fluttershy stole a quick glance over the side of the bridge, and sure enough, there were a few lights dotting the base of the spire where it disappeared in the snow-blasted bottom of the caldera below.
All in all, it was magnificent except for the small detail of the insubstantial yet absolute barrier in front of them. Fluttershy’s heart sank as she reached out to confirm what Applejack had said and shown. Her hoof impacted on the magic wall with a glassy clack. If the implications worried her, it was twice as disconcerting that Applejack hadn’t made a single sound yet. Twice as frightening as the idea of having to turn around, the farmpony stood completely still, snow piling up against her as she stared past the barrier.
“Are you okay?” Fluttershy asked, tentatively leaning a little closer until their snouts almost touched. Applejack didn’t even look at her, but after a moment, she drew back and pursed her lips.
“I know we both agreed to come here,” Applejack said, her voice low and quiet. It was the type of calm that Fluttershy thought wasn’t very calm at all. It was the rumble of thunder before the storm.
“I don’t blame you in the least. I don’t blame you, nor do I blame myself. It ain’t our fault. We couldn’t have known,” she continued, her teeth chattering as she paused for breath. “That don’t change that we’ve spent—oh sweet merciful Celestia, I don’t even remember how long,” she spat, raising her voice. “Weeks, maybe? We’ve spent a darn long time crawling up these here mountains, freezin’ our tails off and starving ‘cause we’re trying to make our food last, which won’t be a problem any more since we’re all out.”
“My legs are sore and I swear my thoughts are freezing solid!” Applejack yelled, finally turning to face her. The farmpony was livid, her eyes green fire now. “We’ve travelled longer’n I ever have before in my life, we’ve done all we could chasing some crazy unicorn, only to catch our deaths up here? No!” she snapped, glaring. “No, I am not okay!”
Fluttershy swallowed and nodded along with her words wishing very much Applejack could be a little more quiet, but despite her assurances to the contrary, Fluttershy couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Perhaps the anger wasn’t meant for her, but there wasn’t anypony else around to receive the blame.
“I know,” Fluttershy said, folding her ears. “It’s all very, very terrible, and I know we’re in danger, but we’ll find a way out of it. It—it’s not so bad,” she forced herself to lie. She wanted to agree, but Applejack was scaring her, and this time there was no explanation for it, no mysterious shadows or incomprehensible whispers. No, Applejack scared her, and she suspected it was because Applejack herself was scared.
“We won’t!” Applejack groaned, throwing back her head. “Look at this; we can’t get in, how can you even say that? I ain’t no glass half empty kind of pony, sugar, but even if we start back now, if the wind is as you say, getting back down ain’t a sure thing!”
Again, Fluttershy nodded as Applejack spoke, her own face set in a fake and frozen smile. “We’ll just have to—” was all she managed before Applejack cut her off.
“We’ll just have to what?” she asked, but the venom was quickly spent. Applejack sat down on her rump on the middle of the bridge, deflating until it seemed she would meld with the snow itself. When she spoke again, she sounded tired, her voice reduced to a croak.
“Do you even want to get home? Do you even miss our friends? Sometimes it seems you’re almost happy to be here. Well, that might be a stretch, but compared to how I feel, it sounds about right.”
“Of—of course I’m not!” Fluttershy stammered.
“‘Cause I don’t know about you, but I got a huge hole in my heart right now, knowing I might never see my family again. How do you do it? What kind of crazy source of strength are you hiding, Fluttershy?” Applejack asked, a sickly smile on her face as she shook her head and lay down. “I just don’t know if I can do this any more.”
Fluttershy sat very still. The words had stung. The suggestion that she didn’t miss her friends, it had been a terrible thing to say, but being hurt wouldn’t help. Applejack looked peaceful where she lay with her eyes closed. Her mane and tail were riddled with frost and both her cloak and the empty saddlebags were shifted to one side, but she didn’t look angry any more. Her mane half-covered her face, but there was a serenity to the resting pony. A dangerous calm. It was just another thing that scared Fluttershy, atop the cold, the futility, the loneliness, the idea of never getting home, the idea of actually getting home—there were plenty of reasons to panic.
Fluttershy didn’t panic. Instead, she crossed the short distance to Applejack and sat down in front of her, cradling the other mare’s head as she cleared her throat. A strange calm had settled over her, and she knew it wouldn’t last. It was a frail and brittle thing that existed only because it must and eroding quickly. Fluttershy very much wanted to get around to panicking soon. Softly, she raised her voice in song.
Rest well and rest swiftly, brave little pony, Make of these hours what you can, Dawn will be breaking, clouds will not last, All wings are needed to find our new land.
Her voice quavered. It was a far cry from the way she recalled it being sung to her, but somehow, she remembered every single word through all these years. Fluttershy licked her lips and closed her eyes.
Tomorrow the tribe will all fly together, All of us precious, just like the rest, Be you weak or strong, as long as you try, Your day is well spent if you did your best,
The commander, she shelters—
Fluttershy tried to keep singing. The words were harder and harder to find, but the song was the only thing keeping her sane. Finally she was interrupted by a wracking cough, then another, and when she was done, her teeth were chattering and she had lost it. She clung to Applejack but didn’t dare open her eyes. She hovered there in between hope and desperation, knowing that she would have to face the world again sooner or later. A world where they were hopelessly lost, and where Applejack may already be—
“Never heard that one before.”
Fluttershy drew a stinging breath and let it out again, shaking her head slightly as she looked down upon a smiling Applejack who was very much alive. She sounded as weary as before, but there was a trace of the playfulness that usually lurked beneath her hard demeanor.
“I don’t sing very often,” Fluttershy said with a little giggle. “I mean, not more than most ponies. I just remembered a song that mother and father used to sing to me if I was afraid of something when it was time for me to go to bed.”
Applejack slowly turned around in her lap and struggled to stand, shaking the worst of the snow off of herself before nodding, prompting Fluttershy to go on, but there was precious little more to say.
“I guess that was most nights, really,” Fluttershy admitted, her blush lending false heat for a second. “Well, until I got older. At least until...” she muttered.
“You miss them a lot,” Applejack gently intoned. “Your parents, I mean. You’ve missed them for years, I guess.”
“It’s my fault. I haven’t lost them, it’s just—just different,” Fluttershy tried, and suddenly the words were as ungainly and awkward as her wings during her first flight. These were private thoughts, things she didn’t speak of; they were thoughts, and certainly not a conversation topic for a frozen mountain top. Still, she spoke.
“I even went to visit them last year,” Fluttershy said, tugging on her cloak. “And, um, well, I left the same day because I was afraid they would ask about things, and I didn’t want to lie. Dinner was really quiet.”
Applejack nodded slowly and shuffled a little closer at that.
“I do miss them. I always have,” Fluttershy continued, her neck tingling oddly as she forced herself to speak. “I miss Rainbow Dash, too. I don’t know how, or why. I mean, of course I miss her, I miss everypony!” she blurted, her heart racing. “I miss them all so much, but Rainbow Dash—”
Rainbow Dash what? She had absolutely no idea. Her own words echoed in her mind. Not strong enough. A million variants of the same sentiment, of the hundreds of ways in which she couldn’t compare to Dash, and most of them words she rationally knew were silly.
“But you could have it back,” Applejack said. Her gaze was levelled at Fluttershy, and her voice was not unkind, but it lacked that intensity she had expected. No command. Perhaps no hope, either. “You could fix it all with the truth, either to R.D. or your parents,” she added, but Fluttershy saw that Applejack didn’t expect her words to do anything. And she was right.
“Maybe,” was all she could muster, and silence settled between the pair. Here, sheltered from the wind, there was a certain peace to the way the great white flakes of snow drifted down from the sky to settle. It was a quiet, beautiful danger, and Fluttershy had been staving off the desire to lay down and sleep for a long while. Applejack, on the other hoof, seemed far less inclined to do just that.
“It’s different for me,” Applejack grumbled. “My family means a lot to me, and I ain’t used to being apart from them. May be I lost track of things just then. Picked some bad words to say.”
Fluttershy nodded at that and dipped her head. Sometimes, more stubborn ponies struggled with the word itself, but she could tell the apology for what it was.
“Different but the same,” Applejack added, rolling her neck. “Far as I can tell, we both want to get home, and I don’t know about you, but I want me some of those fruits in there.”
On one hoof, Fluttershy was very glad to see Applejack regaining some of her usual strength and posture. On the other, she didn’t particularly like the way the powerfully built farmpony was grinning at the barrier in front of them.
“Um, Applejack?” she asked as Applejack took a few steps away from the dome.
“Sugar,” Applejack said, her eyes never leaving the shimmering colors of the magical wall. “I’m getting mighty tired of havin’ it rubbed in my face how I ain’t got any magic. Sure, there are the Elements, and I’ll pay you ten bits when we get back if you can name a better farm in Equestria than Sweet Apple Acres. Ain’t like it’s a problem back home, but so far in this apple-forsaken journey, it’s been getting on my nerves, I’ll say that.”
“That’s—I’m sorry?” Fluttershy tried, but that unsettling grin on Applejack’s face was hardening as she scratched the ground with a forehoof.
“Let me show you some real magic,” Applejack growled. “Earth pony magic that I have spent years makin’.”
“I’m not sure you should!” Fluttershy squeaked, but the earth pony mare was already moving. Applejack galloped forwards, picking up an awful lot of speed in a short distance before she spun on her forehooves. When she kicked out with her hindlegs, it was in a blur of orange that rang the magic force field like a bell, a deep reverberating thrum echoing off the mountains that circled them like rolling thunder. Fluttershy tried to speak, to protest, but her words were drowned out by a still-building crescendo. The roar shook the very bridge they stood upon and took long seconds to die.
Fluttershy gaped. Where Applejack had braced herself, she could see the metal of the bridge had a faint depression, testament to the strength of the blow. Applejack herself didn't rest for a second. The farmpony was already backing away for another run, no doubt eager to channel her weeks of frustrations into another buck.
“Let. Us. In,” she roared as she charged again. Fluttershy had watched Applejack at work before, but this was no gentle, practiced maneuver. On her second impact, the shield shook. While she ofcourse didn’t know how proper magic was supposed to work, preferring to leave all that scary business to Twilight, there was a profound absurdity to the way the colors shied away from the impacts. It looked like when Fluttershy would gently poke her hoof at a thin cover of ice over a puddle when fall was becoming winter.
“Applejack, please, stop!” she called. Applejack was breathing heavily and steadying herself for another charge, but halted at Fluttershy’s words.
“It’s working,” Applejack breathed.
“It could be dangerous!” Fluttershy cried. “You don’t know what the magic does!”
“Better’n nothing,” Applejack shrugged, lowering her head. Fluttershy hurried over to stand in her way.
“It really isn’t, it’s just making a lot of noise, but it won’t help,” Fluttershy tried again, holding out a leg to try to ward her off, but Applejack perked up, peering over Fluttershy’s shoulders with a triumphant smirk.
“Bet you three bits and an apple you’re wrong, sug’,” Applejack laughed.
Glancing over her own flank, Fluttershy could see amidst the swirls of color that somepony was approaching. Rather, something was approaching. Close by on the other side, something that bore the shape of a pony was walking towards them with no real hurry. The thing was translucent, a ghostly white unicorn. Fluttershy shrank back, not quite convinced this was a victory.
“Well, alright, make it two bits and half an apple,” Applejack murmured as she walked over to stand side by side with Fluttershy.
“Two Elements of Harmony approach.”
Fluttershy squeaked and whipped her head around trying to locate the speaker, nearly colliding with Applejack who was doing the exact same thing. The two ponies exchanged confused glances, and as one, finally looked back through the barrier to the spectral pony stood completely still on the opposite side.
“Did you hear that too?” Fluttershy asked. She suddenly realized why she couldn’t find whomever had spoken; the voice had come from inside her own head.
“Sure as sugar did,” Applejack murmured. “Reckon it’s this here feller who spoke?”
“The speaker was I, Castellan of Dreamspire.”
Applejack squinted and furrowed her brow, leaning forward until her snout touched the translucent dome. “Is that a yes?” she asked, but the creature made neither movement nor sound.
“But we don’t have the Elements with us,” Fluttershy protested, though she glanced at her neck just to make sure.
“I was not made to contradict, and so I will not,” the voice asserted. It was melodious but intangible, echoing strangely and sounding neither masculine nor feminine. It was all too easy to confuse the voice with her own thoughts—thoughts that were, at the moment, quietly chanting oh my goodness oh my goodness.
“Gotta be this one,” Applejack shrugged. “Fine, I’ll play. Who are you?”
“I am Castellan of Dreamspire,” the voice echoed, its words completely devoid of emotion.
“And you speak Equestrian,” Applejack suggested, scratching her head through her hat. “Didn’t ponies speak awful different way back when?”
“I speak in meanings. You understand them as you will.”
“Right, okay,” Applejack snorted. “Changed my mind. Fluttershy, you deal with this for a second, will you? I’m already building a right powerful headache. Ain’t got no patience for riddles.”
“Oh. Okay,” Fluttershy said, clearing her throat. “Um, may we please come in?”
“No.”
Fluttershy awkwardly scratched her cheek. At her side, Applejack rolled her eyes, and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. What she did know was that she was very, very cold, and that her legs had stopped being comfortingly numb and had started stinging sharply. Applejack was rubbing her forelegs together, and though she said not a single word of complaint, her face was a rather worrying shade of blue.
“It’s just, um, a pony called Brighthoof came here, we think,” she said trying her best to piece it all together. For a moment, she’d forgotten the real reason they were here, but that thought sparked the next question. “Was he here? Is he here now?”
“Must’ve been a lot of years ago,” Applejack said.
“I can give you that information freely. One did come.”
“Right,” Applejack snapped. “And I reckon you let him pass just fine.”
“He was kin.”
“But we’re all ponies!” Fluttershy squeaked. “And we’re very cold, tired and hungry. I—I mean, we don’t want to be a bother, but...”
“Sugar, I reckon that ain’t much of a real pony,” Applejack sighed, nosing Fluttershy’s neck. “Doubt we can reason with him. Her. It. Whatever.”
The ghostly pony did not object to those words, and Fluttershy’s heart sank further. “What do you do here if you don’t let travellers in? Are you protecting this place?”
“I protect nothing. I am Castellan of the Dreamspire. I am the Dreamspire.”
“So you just going to stand there and watch? Wait,” Fluttershy added, frowning.
“Uh, beg pardon, but mind bringin’ me up to speed here?” Applejack asked, and Fluttershy lay her ears flat as she nodded.
“Sorry, it’s just that, well, if, uh, Castellan—is it okay if I call you that?” Fluttershy asked, but she got no reply, of course. “I just had a thought.”
“Well, then spit it out,” Applejack said.
“If it’s the Dreamspire, if it—or he—is the castle, but he’s not here to let us in, that probably means he can’t do anything to us, or he doesn’t want to, but we’re... a threat.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Applejack admitted.
“Why would he be here if he doesn’t care, unless you were breaking through?” Fluttershy said, leaning close to the energy barrier. Sure enough, when she looked closely, she could see the tiniest crack where Applejack’s hooves had impacted. “It wants to stop us, but it can’t. I think he’s just trying to scare us away.”
She tried to wipe the rather unwholesome smile from her face, but she found that she couldn’t. It had to be the height or hypothermia, or perhaps she was simply losing it. “Um, Castellan? Let us in, please,” she repeated.
“With a side order of, ‘or we’ll bring this barrier of yours down, courtesy of Bucky McGillycuddy and Kicks McGee’,” Applejack added, catching on.
The barrier parted. After the slowest three seconds of Fluttershy’s life, during which she had plenty of time to envision a million ways in which her certainty was a gamble and her gamble could fail, an oval portal opened in the shimmering wall. Applejack leaped through with a loud whoop, and Fluttershy wasted no time in darting after her.
Once inside, she let out a shuddering breath she did not even know she had been holding; the wind was gone, and it was a little warmer, though by how much, she was too numb to tell. When she let into her mind the idea that she wouldn’t freeze to death, she realized exactly how cold she truly was, every joint stiff and brittle.
Fluttershy had barely completed the thought when she felt a set of strong forelegs wrap around her neck and hold her tight. She returned the hug in earnest, holding on to Applejack with aching limbs for all her worth. Flakes of snow and ice fell out of Applejack’s mane as Fluttershy peered out through the blonde, winter-speckled tresses to look upon the strange ghost-pony where it stared back at them. Castellan faced the pair with its eyeless sockets.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to force you,” Fluttershy said, slowly rubbing a hoof up and down the back of Applejack’s neck as her friend did the same. At least she still had feeling. That was a start.
“Apologies have no place. You forced my hoof. The situation has changed.”
“But you didn’t want to let us in,” Fluttershy protested, reluctantly letting go of Applejack who cast the nearby gardens a longing glance that Fluttershy didn’t miss.
“I do not have wants, I have directives and priorities,” the voice replied, and finally, the creature moved. At a sedate walk that left the air distorted in its wake for just a second, the apparition set course for the spire proper. After an exchanged glance, Applejack and Fluttershy followed.
“Cheery sort of fellow,” Applejack murmured, tossing her mane. “Ain’t as cold here as outside. Thought the unicorns fled ‘cause of the weather like the rest.”
“Well, the props at the play didn’t really look a lot like this place, and we know the play isn’t completely true,” Fluttershy hummed as she craned her neck to trace the spire that towered above them. This was no simple stone castle, reminding Fluttershy more than anything of an outsize Canterlot tower that had been added to for decades after its construction, a thousand magic-wielding masons and architects let loose upon the rock with no unified plan.
“A lot of things’re different, Applejack agreed, slowing as they left the bridge and stepped onto the large plateau; the skirt of the spire. While the ponies hesitated, Castellan continued onwards without a sound.
“Um, do you mind if we eat some of the fruit?” Fluttershy asked. No reply. She sought Applejack’s eyes, but her friend merely shrugged.
“Guess that’s a yes?” she asked, but the creature had said all it would say. Without a backwards glance, the ghostly unicorn passed straight through a set of large and ornate wooden doors set in the spire itself. Fluttershy’s coat stood on end, and she couldn’t quite decide which unsettled her the most—the uncanny resemblance to everything she had been told a ghost would be, or its mannerisms. Rather, its lack of mannerisms.
“It’s not a 'no',” Applejack concluded, scanning the garden with narrowed eyes as if though she wasn’t completely pleased with what she saw.
“I guess it would be a little silly to starve just because we didn’t get a yes, and I suppose nopony is going to get hurt,” Fluttershy muttered, agreeing even though it felt a little wrong. Wrong, and very delicious. Even the bark on the trees looked positively edible to her, her stomach clenching; now that the cold was less of an issue, the hunger made itself known. Gingerly she picked her way between some weeds that had grown out of control, helping herself to a few dandelions. Applejack still wasn’t moving.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Fluttershy asked.
“I swear I saw something red,” Applejack muttered. “Pears. Oranges. Don’t even know what the hay those blue things are—there we are!” she exclaimed, darting off with an unmistakable look of triumph. Fluttershy blinked and followed, climbing out of the overgrown little garden patch and onto the path. On the other side of a plaza adorned with benches and a central fountain, she saw Applejack sidle up to a tree. Fluttershy had to stifle a giggle; it looked like Applejack was ready to give the tree a hug. Instead, she turned and let out a gleeful whoop as she tapped its trunk with her hind-hooves, triggering a rain of red fruit.
“Finally,” Applejack called, knocking her hat back on her head as Fluttershy approached. Bending down, she grabbed a bite of one of the fallen fruits. “Apples.”
Applejack furrowed her brow as she dropped the last of the apples into the one of her saddlebags that had survived the trip so far. Fluttershy had filled hers with flowers and grasses. Her loss.
“We’ve talked ‘bout lots of things,” she replied. “Gonna have to be a little more specific’n that.”
“Oh. I mean, um, you just said something about your family.”
Applejack let out a sigh and shook her head, though she tried to smile at Fluttershy, to tell her it was okay. The pegasus wasn’t half as fragile as most thought, she knew that, but it didn’t hurt to prevent misunderstandings.
“It’s old stuff, sugarcube. It’ll keep. For now, how about we see about getting inside? Here’s hoping we won’t have to kick down the doors,” she said, though part of her wished for an excuse to make some noise. The place was too quiet. There wasn’t even any wind to rustle the leaves. As they’d eaten and gathered food, she’d hummed to herself just to keep that awful silence out. It was an unnatural thing, far removed from the tranquility of a well-earned bit of rest by a babbling brook.
“Well, there are probably doors at each side,” Fluttershy said, fidgeting. “I mean, maybe we can try them all before we start, um, kicking anything?”
Applejack laughed, setting off towards the closest door at a trot. “Sure.”
The doors were as ostentatious as the rest of the spire. Set in the polished and painted stone walls of what was the western face of the spire—if Applejack’s nose was right—a pair of wooden doors barred their entry only until they drew near. Before Applejack could decide whether to knock or call out, the ancient wood creaked, and the doors opened. Years’ worth of ornate swirly wood-carvings swung to meet them, revealing the grand hall beyond.
“Well. If Celestia and Luna ever lived here, they’ve sure turned it down a notch since,” Applejack murmured, glancing about as she stepped past the threshold. “Rarity’d have our hides if she saw us dragging our dripping hooves in here.”
“Oh goodness,” was all Fluttershy said, but Applejack could hear a second echoing set of clops as the pegasus followed close by.
Their steps were loud on the pristine marble floor, and Applejack could see hints of her own bedraggled reflection as they stepped into the largest hall she had ever seen in her life. The room dwarfed even Castle Canterlot’s throne room, its every surface gleaming white marble. Far above, crystal chandeliers glowed with an almost painfully bright light, but the room itself was rather bare. The center of the room was dominated by a large and still-functional fountain with more sculptures than Applejack could count, and benches were scattered about the floor.
What defined the room, however, was the doors and portals that led out from it. On the ground floor and interspersed in galleries lining the walls for six stories up, doors, windows, and doorless arches led out from the hall. Next to some were signs done in filigree of precious metals and gems, many of them with images clearly offering services. Here, a bathhouse, there a jeweler’s.
“This ain’t no castle, it’s a whole gol’darn city,” Applejack breathed. The closer they got to the center of the room, the dizzier she became trying to take it all in. Every inch of the stone railings of every single gallery was covered in carvings of unicorns in all manner of dresses, at work and at play, dancing and sleeping. The fountain alone sported no less than twelve layers and ten times as many small, detailed sculptures, like the world’s most elaborate wedding cake.
“Do you—do you think there are more rooms like this?” Fluttershy asked, eyes wide and voice full of awe as she slowed down and spun on the spot.
“There were no shortage of bridges, so if there’s a room like this for every bridge, and the place is much taller’n just this—” Applejack said, clutching her head. “If this entire thing is hollow, how in the wide world’re we gonna find out which way Brighthoof went? It’s like searching Manehatten for a plumber on a Sunday!”
“Oh. I didn’t think of that,” Fluttershy admitted, any joy she might have showed sapped from her in an instant.
“Well, no sense in thinking about that right now,” Applejack sighed. “How about we just wait with that until morning or whatever it’ll be after a good night’s sleep, huh?”
“I guess,” Fluttershy murmured. “Maybe we can borrow a bed somewhere? Do you think there are beds? It wouldn’t be rude, would it?”
Applejack rolled her jaw and scanned the nearest wall. “That’s what I was thinking. If it’s rude, who’s here to tell us? That spooky Castellan feller? He doesn’t seem to care about us much.”
Fluttershy shook her head at that, sharing with her a little smile as she indicated a nearby doorway that stood rather more alone than most. “Okay, how about that one? I think those are pillows painted on the sign.”
“Good enough for me. I don’t care if it’s a furniture shop or a flophouse,” Applejack grinned, motioning for her to lead the way.
If it was a furniture store of any kind, it was the strangest one Applejack had ever seen, but then, it didn’t look like an inn either. Fluttershy was quick to comment that if the unicorns had everything they needed in the spire, and if the city was closed back then too, then they wouldn’t have much use for a traveller’s tavern. Her words made a lot of sense, but they didn’t fully explain the strange place that was something between a bar and a giant living room.
Past the threshold, the ponies were greeted by an inviting warmth, and entirely too much time passed as they simply absorbed the entirety of the one large room. The ground floor sported a grand fireplace and many sitting areas plush with pillows, and a broad staircase described an elegant arc up to a gallery above where more pillows awaited along with a small bar. There were no other exits, neither rooms nor a proper kitchen offered by the place.
“I guess this was some sort of common meeting place? A café?” Applejack suggested, taking a few tentative steps forwards. “Why the hay is the fireplace burning?”
“It doesn’t look like it’s burning wood,” Fluttershy said, bolder than Applejack this once as she trotted closer with easy steps, leaving a trail of snowmelt as she went. At her suggestion, Applejack of course realized she had the right of it; the fireplace was wide and low but had no shaft, and there was no smoke.
“A magical fire, then,” Applejack said, too thankful by far to even pretend at contempt. “Didn’t think those were supposed to be hot.”
“Twilight can do it,” Fluttershy said, slipping between two rather too tall stacks of soft fluffy pillows to sit at the polished stone floor in front of the dancing flames. “She said it’s difficult and different, and usually takes a lot of magic.”
“Hate to think what it’d take to keep one burning forever, then,” Applejack replied, poking at a red silken pillow as she passed it by. “Ain’t even dust here. I half expect ponies to pop out of the stonework any moment.”
No sooner had she said it than did Applejack feel compelled to give the room a second look. The pristine condition of everything, the way things were perfect and neat, it was more than a little creepy, and she had to resist the urge to check up on the little balcony overhead. This didn’t feel like a city that had been abandoned due to some great crisis. It was as if everypony had simply decided to leave, or disappeared.
“Yep, ain’t gonna get used to this,” Applejack muttered.
“I wish they would,” Fluttershy said. The pegasus sat completely still staring into the incandescent oranges and yellows as she thawed, water running from her mane and pooling around the tail that lay flat behind her.
“Sorry, what’s that?” Applejack asked, edging closer to the flames and slipping out of her saddlebags to place her precious fruity cargo on a pillow. Fluttershy gave a little squeak and shook her head as if though she’d been startled awake, a faint blush on her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, I just mean I almost wish they would come, um, crawling out of the stonework, like you said.” Fluttershy puffed out her cheeks and sighed, wringing the worst of the wet out of her mane as she spoke. “It’s just all so big, and that just makes it even more lonely.”
That last word was spoken with an infinite weight, and Applejack could only nod as she saw the room in a new light. It must have been a very cozy place indeed when ponies filled the place, talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company.
“Wonder why time hasn’t touched this place. Doubt there’s magic strong enough for that,” Applejack mused.
“Maybe time forgot, too,” Fluttershy said, sounding unusually morose. Applejack snorted at the thought and shook her head. She couldn’t think of what to say to that, anyway. It was bordering on the philosophical, and she didn’t much want to go there. Not now. For a while, she merely sat there relishing feeling warm again.
“Not much tired either?” Applejack finally asked. She wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed in the unchanging light of the room’s single chandelier and the fireplace both. It was hard to tell. Their breathing and the steadily slowing drip of water from their manes was the only noise in the room. Though they had both eaten and drunk their fill, the idea of sleep didn’t feel quite right, and Fluttershy apparently shared that thought; her only reply was a wan smile, and she didn’t even look up to meet Applejack’s gaze.
“Didn’t mean what I said,” Applejack muttered.
“I know. It’s okay,” Fluttershy said, lying down to rest her head on her forelegs.
“About, well, you not wanting to get home and stuff,” Applejack added.
“I know. You already said so,” Fluttershy repeated, smiling up at Applejack. The warmth was seeping into her, the final piece to something that slowly approached contentedness. Gone were all the dangers, and the fear for Applejack’s life and her own, too.
She was still worried and scared. They didn’t know what they would find here in the Dreamspire. Worse than that, they didn’t know if they would find anything at all, but gone were the good excuses to put off the real questions, and the answers that weren’t.
“I could have told them,” Fluttershy said. The orange mare raised a brow and tilted her head, but a mere second later a look of dawning comprehension crossed her face.
“Your parents,” she replied. “About Dash.”
Fluttershy nodded grabbed a nearby pillow. She was dry enough by now that she wouldn’t ruin it, she figured, and dragged it over to sit on. “You’re right. I could have told them at any time. Admitted I had, um, well, not quite lied, but that it was a—a misunderstanding. No, not a misunderstanding. I don’t know what to call it, but not that,” she said staring a hole in the floor as she fumbled about for the right word, but there probably wasn’t one.
“I didn’t mean to say nothing,” Applejack murmured, her voice sympathetic though her next words were less sugar-coated. “But living a lie for years on end? I’d rather take the sting of admitting I got it wrong, personally.”
“But that’s just the thing,” Fluttershy said, leaning on her forelegs, a little closer to Applejack. “That would be an even bigger lie! The more I thought about it, the more I felt I didn’t get it wrong! I mean, I—”
And there it was again. That huge lump in her throat, heavy as lead and solid as steel. Fluttershy pressed against it with all her might until she thought she would burst, she could feel her face heating up, but nothing came of it.
“You could tell your folks, but that doesn’t change what you want if you reckon’ you fancy Rainbow Dash?” Applejack supplied, and Fluttershy nodded at that, slumping.
“I could, but I don’t know,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “It feels like giving up.”
Applejack smiled then. Fluttershy couldn’t imagine why, but her friend calmly smiled as she gathered a small pile of pillows for herself, covering up the puddle of water and adding a few more for good measure before she replied.
“Only one thing I know of that could make somepony as clever as you do something so silly as that. I reckon you really do love her, you strange and sweet little thing,” Applejack said, shaking her head from side to side. “It ain’t really all that weird. Love works like that, don’t it?”
Fluttershy sank down on the pillow until it would yield no more, curling so she could rest her head on her tail. Her eyes fell on small puddle of water in front of her where the mirrored flames danced on. Applejack spoke so frankly of what had consumed her for so long, something that had been slowly burning in the depths of her mind—what was today a roaring bonfire.
“She makes me feel safe. Everytime I see her, I feel a little better. Happier,” Fluttershy said, not quite sure if the words were for Applejack or herself. “She doesn’t hide her annoyance when I disappoint her, but she’s never looked down on me, I think. Not really. She just wants me to be the best I can be,” she murmured. She remembered well the sting of Dash’s words during that trek up the mountain to deal with the dragon all that time ago.
Applejack merely inclined her head at that. Fluttershy raised her head as she remembered something her friend had said. It was a little rude, perhaps, to drag up what had probably been meant as a compliment, but the words had stuck.
“You said I was strong.” It sounded strange, ridiculous even, but Applejack didn’t so much as smile. “I mean, that was just to make me feel better, right? I don’t—I don’t feel it. I don’t see it.”
“You wouldn’t,” Applejack said. In short order, she rose to stand, stretched, and trotted over to the nearby staircase.
“Um, where are you going?” Fluttershy called, the cold tendrils of fear brushing her heart by in that all too familiar manner. Had she said something wrong? From above came a creak followed by the soft clink of glass. Was she in the bar?
“Applejack?” Fluttershy tried anew, a little louder. There was a pop, a rather loud “Eugh, no,” then another pop. A second later, hoofsteps preceded Applejack’s return, the farmpony trotting down the stairs with a bottle in her mouth.
“Smells alright, this,” she said once she’d put the bottle between them and taken her seat again. “My nose ain’t never failed me before, and this here is good cider. Not the fermented stuff, though, but it’s bubbly.”
“Okay?” Fluttershy asked, more than a little bewildered.
“I remember talking to Applebloom about something like this earlier this summer. What is it now, early fall? I don’t even know any more,” she admitted with a shrug, leaning over to take a sip from the slim glass bottle. Fluttershy sat upright and made a noncommittal little noise.
“You’re already doin’ something silly. You’re trying to change who you are for somepony else. I don’t know about you, but to me that sounds like mighty bad business,” Applejack continued. She carefully put the bottle down on the hard floor and levelled an even harder look Fluttershy’s way. The pegasus shrank back, nodding without thinking.
“But she just wants me to be more assertive, just like you girls do,” Fluttershy protested, her wings sagging.
“Can’t speak for everypony,” Applejack said, poking her cheek with her tongue. “What I want, and what I think the others want, is for you to be happy being you. There’s a huge difference there. But Rainbow? Rainbow I can’t read. Maybe she’s always had your measure where I had to see it for myself. She knows how strong you are, she just wants you to act it, perhaps,” she hummed, and Fluttershy felt her cheeks light up while Applejack reached for the bottle again.
Again, Fluttershy thought back to that one ball of memories, to this year’s reservoir hurricane effort. She knew Rainbow Dash cared about her, but before that day, she could pretend she didn’t believe it, even if it made her feel wretched; there was an odd mixture of pain and relief in telling herself that she wasn’t as important to Dash as Dash was to her. That day, she’d lost that option.
“And strength?” Applejack asked, her drawl pulling her back to the present. “It’s just a word, but sure, I’ll play.”
“It’s okay,” Fluttershy muttered, looking away. “I’m really tired, we don’t have to—”
“Oh no you don’t,” Applejack snapped, reaching out to poke her on the snout. “You’re gonna sit very still and listen, and if you want to tell me how I got it all wrong, you do so afterwards, but right now, I’m talking.”
Fluttershy rubbed her snout and nodded.
“I ain’t no philosopher, sugar. Wouldn’t want to be. What I do know is that there are many types of strength, and I ain’t talking about what gets the apple out of the tree here. Some of us, we’re better touting what we can do like if it were market day,” she said.
“Rainbow Dash and me, might be we’re better at that’n most. Louder, anyway,” she added, chewing her tongue and dragging her foreleg across her snout. Fluttershy stifled a giggle, but Applejack merely inched closer until she could put a hoof to Fluttershy’s chest, resting it over her heart. Licking her lips, the pegasus perked her ears.
“You? You’ll be the first to tell everypony you’re weak. That you have limits. You still give it your best, but you freely admit you have your failings. Well, guess what? We all have weaknesses. Deep down, we’re all the same. You step up every time it truly matters. You ain’t weak. Might be you’re about the shyest pony I ever laid eyes on, yeah,” Applejack said taking a deep breath. “But sugar? That’s who you are. Nopony wants to change that. Maybe what you need to do ain’t to stop being shy, but to want to be yourself, ‘cause that’s what the rest of us want. We want Fluttershy.”
Fluttershy sniffled and nodded. She wasn’t quite sure why her nose was running, but she couldn’t seem to stop it. Closing the small gap between herself and Applejack, she pulled her into a hug, resting her head on her withers.
“I just don’t know if I can tell her,” Fluttershy whispered. “If I’m not weak, then why can’t I bear the thought of telling her?” Even saying just that was stretching her limits. Her throat tightened as she spoke. “I still don’t think she could like me, not like that.”
Applejack hrmphed, a wordless noise that shook her body. “Cart before the pony, sugar, and we’ve been through this before. You ain’t told her nothing. Don’t you dare worry about her part in this. First, we need to get home.”
“If we do get home,” Fluttershy murmured. She could feel Applejack slump and her grip on her slacken. They were the terrible words they both tried to neither think nor speak, their perpetual elephant companion, and she had given it voice. Reminded them.
Before long, the two ponies were curled up around each other. The place was warm enough even without blankets, and their much-abused cloaks were drying on the floor, but Applejack soon rested her head on Fluttershy’s flank, and the pegasus responded in kind.
It took a while before Fluttershy found sleep with all these big thoughts bouncing around in her head. Perhaps she was happier with who she was, now. It could be what had sparked all this. She just wished she’d come to that conclusion during a quiet evening in her own cottage rather than in an abandoned mountain city who-knew how far away from home.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Fluttershy asked. She knew she’d asked the question many times before, but each and every time they opened a door or passed through an arch into another of the rooms-become-shops or houses, she had to press the issue or else go mad.
“Sugar, we’d be out of here by now if you’d quit fussing. I don’t like taking what ain’t ours any more than you do, but we don’t have much choice,” Applejack sighed, ducking her head through another door. The sign was written in a script neither of them understood, as was most of them, and the vast majority sold—as Applejack had so nicely put it—”trinkets and all kinds’a useless little prettifying baubles”. When the farmpony pulled back from this one, however, her cheeks were flushed, and it seemed she couldn’t close the door quickly enough.
“Um, is something wrong?” Fluttershy asked.
“Well, let’s just say we won’t be needin’ anything from that store,” Applejack stammered. “Sweet Celestia, I didn’t know ponies were into that sort of thing. Creepy ancient unicorns,” she added in a mutter.
“Oh,” Fluttershy squeaked, giving the door a wide berth as she followed Applejack. “Okay. Uh. Anyway,” she said, casting a glance into the tattered white linens of the saddlebags that sorely needed replacing. “We have flint and tinder—”
“Found in a curiosity shop, I might add,” Applejack snorted.
“—a large blanket that seems warm and waterproof—”
“I’m keeping that one when we get home, but I'd still like a proper tarp, too.”
“—some jars of proper, packed food that didn’t seem spoiled, and some crystals that glow when touched. I still wonder how long those will last,” Fluttershy finished, frowning at the hoof-sized pale white gemstones. She’d been forced to leave behind most of her grasses and other easily perishable goods when it became apparent Applejack wasn’t about to give up on a single one of her precious apples.
“Which leaves us needing a proper map, possibly a compass, and a clue as to where the hay we’re going, and—oh, here we are!” Applejack called, halting in her tracks as she passed a large doorless portal by. Fluttershy nearly collided with the grinning earth pony, but she swiftly followed when she realized what they had come across.
“Now normally, I ain’t much for clothes, but a good cloak or cape or something, that’d be a treat right now,” Applejack said as she happily trotted, almost bounced between the rows of racks and mannequins displaying all manners of fanciful dresses and hats. Fluttershy giggled and flapped her wings, flying after her as she took in the mercifully high-ceilinged fashion boutique in its entirety.
It was impossible not to think of Rarity, and indeed, Fluttershy imagined that the unicorn would have loved to see all these wonderful creations. High necks with gemstone studs, gradient accordion pleats, multi-colored taffeta affairs—and that was to say nothing of the hats! She was just about to fly closer to inspect a hat with some amazingly large feathers when she noticed Applejack had stopped.
“So, uh, since you’re up there and all, can you tell me which way the ‘useful clothes’ part of this store is?” Applejack asked, looking up at her.
“Oh. Um,” Fluttershy hummed, gliding a few lanes over to the side. “I, um. It... seems like it’s mostly dresses, but I do see some very nice shawls over by the hats.”
“Okay, so I guess we ain’t gonna find saddlebags here,” Applejack grumbled, picking her way through fanciful displays and frowning even at the simpler dresses. “Wait. A-ha. A bit fancy, but these’ll do!”
Fluttershy landed next to her, furling her wings as she peered into the bin Applejack was rifling through. In any other store less fancy, Fluttershy would have been tempted to say it was a sort of bargain bin, but the word ‘bargain’ seemed ill-fitting for long, embroidered cloaks that came from a bin that itself was gilded.
“Here, try that one on,” Applejack said, tossing a long flowing cloak over her head. The silver-colored thing landed half on top of Fluttershy, and the pegasus quickly slipped out of her saddlebags and began fastening the chest clasp.
“I wonder why they left so suddenly,” Fluttershy said, biting her lip as she struggled with the clasp. It was clearly designed to be fastened using precision magic, not by hoof under one’s neck when you could hardly even see.
“Weren’t that sudden,” Applejack protested, holding up a coarse dark brown cloak and nodding appreciatively. “The apartments—houses, whatever—the living quarters up on the gallery above didn’t exactly have a lot of stuff lying about. They were all clean. I mean, they weren’t just cleaned, but tidy. Almost like they were going on vacation.”
“Like they thought they would come back? That, or maybe somepony else has been cleaning,” Fluttershy suggested, finally rewarded with a little click of the cloak’s clasp hitching. “Does this look good?”
Applejack walked in a small circle and shook her body to let the cloak fall right around her own body, the pristine fabric rippling. She gave Fluttershy a lopsided smile at the question. “Ain’t much about how it looks unless we run across a random gala or something, but for it’s worth, you look great. Does it feel okay? I think yours is a little thicker than mine.”
Fluttershy nodded. Experimentally unfolding her wings under the fabric, she re-furled them and let it settle again before putting her saddlebags back on. “It’s fine. I think yours is a different type of wool.”
“If you say so,” Applejack nodded. “Let’s put these in our bags, then we’ll head down the stairs to the ground floor and go through the center door, see where it leads? We could spend an eternity just going through this quarter of the place collecting doo-dads, but we’re racking up an awful lot of questions here, and thinking about it, I wouldn’t mind a chance to try talking to this Castellan thinger again.”
“I guess,” Fluttershy said, unwilling to pretend at more enthusiasm than that. “He knows about Brighthoof, but he doesn’t really seem to like us.”
“It’s trying to talk to him, or wandering around forever, sugar,” Applejack said, leading the way out of the store. “Still, would you rather we do something else? Don’t mean to lead you by the nose here.”
“No, I know, we really need to find him,” Fluttershy sighed. In the warmth of the indoor city, desolate as though it was, it had taken less than a day to forget that outside, the world was just as deserted, and infinitely bigger.
Down the spindly stairs that led off the first-floor gallery awaited the one door that differed from the rest. Every door and portal, every pointless indoor awning, they were all different and personalized. Here, wood studded with gems, there, thin metal with elaborate carvings, but they had left alone the one large door that stood on the short wall opposite of the entrance hundreds of paces away—until now. It stood alone by virtue of being relatively plain; blue-painted wood with metal bracings where the other occupants of the massive city-quarter-hall were engaged in a shouting match for attention.
Applejack didn’t even break stride. No pause to talk, no discussion, and Fluttershy was glad for it. There was no time to consider what they’d find. Instead, Applejack led on, halting only to rear up on her hindlegs and give the barn-door-sized things a mighty push. With nary a sound they yielded, opening up into a gently curved hallway that stretched out to either side.
“Well, that’s a downer,” Applejack murmured as they both stepped into the large hall. The floor was covered in clear white stone tiles, and the same was true of the walls and ceiling, both sporting crystal lights that reflected off the surfaces to bathe the area in light. In the distance, before the curvature hid the rest of the hall, Fluttershy could see doors scattered along the outer wall, but none on the inner wall opposite.
“It’s really big, but, um, where do we go?” Fluttershy said, her voice loud to her ears just like the echo of her hooves.
“I’m no architect, but d’you reckon’ this hall goes all the way round? What if there are no doors heading in? It’s like a donut, then, big waste of space when you could’ve baked something with a filling instead of a hole. Like an apple pie.”
“We’d have to go around before we could say for sure,” Fluttershy replied. “Let’s go left?”
“Good as any direction,” Applejack agreed.
“You are heading where?”
Applejack and Fluttershy yelped and squeaked, respectively, as they scrambled away from the apparition suddenly standing between them. Almost invisible in the bright white glare of the hallway, the spectral unicorn was unmoving and emotionless.
“Next time, give us a warning, why don’t you,” Applejack grumbled, picking her hat up and brushing it off before planting it back atop her head.
“Well, we were looking for him, and it is his home,” Fluttershy countered, sketching a large circle around the creature to rejoin Applejack. “Um. Its home, I mean. Castellan’s. It’s a really pretty name.”
“What would you like to know?” the creature voiced in their minds. Applejack raised an eyebrow at Fluttershy, who, for her part, scuffed at the floor.
“That was easy,” Fluttershy said.
“Hold up. Why’n the name of the heavenly orchards should we suddenly be trusting you, huh?” Applejack asked, frowning.
“But we were the ones looking for him,” Fluttershy said.
“Sure, but that don’t mean I trust him yet.”
“Then I will earn such trust,” Castellan responded. Devoid of gestures or any meaningful inflection, it was a statement of intent, not a hopeful promise.
“Right,” Applejack said, clearing her throat.
“Okay, that sounds nice,” Fluttershy added. While the ghostly thing didn’t appear to be looking at anything in particular, her full saddlebags suddenly felt quite painfully visible. “We, um, borrowed some things from the shops. I hope you don’t mind.”
Another awkward silence passed. Fluttershy lay her ears flat and glanced off to the side while Applejack scratched at her nose.
“Well. So, answers, right? Let’s start off easy,” Applejack said. “Where’s everypony gone off to?”
“The people have left to go in search of a new home,” Castellan responded on cue.
“Um, we know where they went,” Fluttershy added.
“Yup, but our buddy here didn’t know we knew, so that’s one point for you,” Applejack said, dipping her head at the flickering shade.
“Oh. That’s really clever,” Fluttershy admitted.
Applejack grinned. “Thank you kindly. So, where are we? If you want to get us on our way, that’d be a good next step. What else you got?”
“The Dreamspire is all that is and all that I am. Six hundred and fifty six thousand five hundred and eighty sunrises after the last of kin left, I slept.”
“Uh. So, you divide by days in a year,” Applejack muttered. “Why can’t you speak plain?”
“Nearly two thousand years,” Fluttershy murmured. “I think. Did we wake you? For how long did you sleep?”
“My slumber ended when kin arrived.”
“Brighthoof?” Applejack asked.
“That was what he called himself. He arrived seventy—”
“Can you do that in years?” the farmpony pressed, rolling her eyes.
“Two hundred and six years ago.”
“That’s quite a while ago,” Fluttershy muttered. “I mean, not that it means anything, I think, but, um. No, I don’t really know what I had expected.”
“Beats two thousand years or more,” Applejack said, but it sounded like an agreement more than anything. “Right, so, you want us out of here?”
“Yes,” the apparition replied.
“Well, we’ve got food and all manner of fancy stuff. Where do you keep your maps? What do you know of the area around here? Guess you wouldn’t know where Equestria is, huh?”
“Maps were purged, as was my knowledge of them.”
Fluttershy blinked, as did Applejack. The words were as cold as the tone, and it filled her with a dreadful unease.
“Um, purged?” Fluttershy asked, but her words fell on deaf, spectral ears. The ghostly unicorn stood still, and half a minute passed in complete silence. Applejack didn’t look very pleased.
“Well, lot of help you’re being,” she said. “How about you tell us what this place is all about, then? We’ll judge whether or not anything can get us out of here.”
“The doors are still open. You should leave,” replied Castellan, and part of Fluttershy very much wanted to heed his words, even though she knew they couldn’t.
“That ain’t happening,” Applejack growled. “We ain’t leaving ‘till we know where we’re going, and I don’t reckon you can do much about that. Do you know where everypony went? A direction? If you don’t, might as well give us the tour.”
For once, the creature responded, starting down the hall with soundless steps. After a quick exchange of glances, the two ponies followed.
“The six quarters circle the outer spire,” the emotionless voice began. “Quartz, amethyst, ruby, emerald, diamond and finally, sapphire quarter, which is where you intruded.”
Fluttershy blushed, but Applejack merely snorted and rolled her eyes at that.
“I’m almost thinking this here thing has a sense of humor. That, or it’s actually peeved,” Applejack muttered.
“This hall itself circles the core of the spire, the sun chamber, which also holds the great library and other communal services not present in the quarters,” their ghostly guide continued as they passed a smaller door by. “The doors on the outer wall that do not lead to the quarters lead to the Underspire.”
“What’s in the Underspire?” Fluttershy asked, noticing a slight draft coming from the simple door.
“Actually, never mind that,” Applejack said. “Sun Chamber. That’s where Brighthoof was heading. I reckon that’s where he went first. How do we get in?”
“Brighthoof went to the Underspire. I would recommend you head there if you wish to find him,” came the reply, Castellan halting by the door and pausing for a second before adding, “Brighthoof is in the Underspire.”
“Weren’t what I asked,” Applejack said. “How do we get in there?” she asked, indicating the inner wall with a flick of her head.
“The book said he was looking for the Sun Chamber, we’d really like to go there,” Fluttershy said. “Maybe we can go to the other place afterwards?”
“You should go to the Underspire. Everything you seek is in the Underspire,” the ethereal voice echoed in their head.
Fluttershy looked at the door again. It was rather innocent in and by itself except for the cold air that seeped from underneath the small gap, but something about the whole business made her coat-hairs stand on end. She twisted a hoof in the ground and looked to Applejack, who was staring at Castellan’s empty eye sockets with a faint frown adorning her face.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Applejack declared. “Come on, Fluttershy.”
Trotting up to join Applejack as they continued down the brightly illuminated hallway, Fluttershy cast a single backwards glance at where Castellan stood still and silent facing the door he’d been trying to lead them through.
“What do you think is down there?” Fluttershy asked, keeping as close to Applejack as she could. Brightly lit and glamorous or no, the entire place was getting creepier by the minute.
“Don’t matter. He wants us down there, and we don’t want to go there if he wants us down there,” Applejack shrugged and shook her mane. “Castellan ain’t a pony, it’s a thing. It’s acting all, I don’t know, predictable-like. Reckon it’ll say anything to get us gone, so best I can figure is we do the exact opposite of what it tells us.”
Fluttershy nodded, and following the gentle curve of the hall, the spectre was soon lost to them. Another large door adorned the outer wall, a steel-framed wooden door with a large red gem in a socket above. They’d barely passed that door by, marching in silence, when the inner wall revealed a large opening. The large portal cut through the thick inner walls, as tall as the hallway and twice as wide, making Fluttershy feel very, very small.
“Well, this doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, so I wonder what the hay this Brighthoof was after,” Applejack murmured as she turned and forged ahead, the core of the spire opening up to them.
The entire inside of the spire’s core was one single chamber. The cone-shaped room was so tall that Fluttershy couldn’t quite make out the top where it tapered off, the true height hidden by some form of fog. Stone and wood galleries jutted out from the walls all the way up, wider at the base and following the gentle slope of the inside. The few platforms she could see from the ground floor were filled with bookcases, magical lights, seating areas, strange apparatuses and an amazing variety of other things. Where the galleries were an absolute mess, something that could easily have fit inside Twilight’s library on a particularly busy Sunday research session, the ground floor was almost entirely bare.
The lights that dotted the hollow spire were poor illumination compared to the almost painful glow that suffused all the other rooms, further hiding the detail of the taller parts, but the center was dominated by a single item. From the floor, a massive, irregular and craggy crystal shot up into the air, a milky white thing gently tapering as it disappeared out of sight far above.
“Well, that sure is something,” Applejack muttered as they moved through the dusky half-darkness. Their steps did very little to bring them closer; the room was massive, as was the crystal. With every step, the crystal column grew and the air opened up above them as they left the shadow of the lowest galleries.
“I guess that’s important,” Fluttershy said by way of agreement, unable to quite tear her eyes off the thing. It reflected the lights that dotted the galleries, making it look like thousands of fireflies were trapped within the confines of the unpolished crystal.
“Ain’t what we came for though,” Applejack said. “Why’s this called the ‘sun’ chamber anyway? This ain’t getting us nowhere.”
Craning her neck, Fluttershy smiled. The crystal was jagged and irregular near the base, and when they drew near, she spotted something atop a horizontal little arm. Without a word, she took to the air and flew over to collect what she’d seen. Applejack gave her an odd look as Fluttershy sailed back to rejoin her, but once she realized what the pegasus carried in her mouth, she gave a loud whoop.
“But this is!” Applejack cheered, knocking her hat back on her head. “Must be another one of Brighthoof’s books! Nice catch, sugar. Guess he must’ve figured this is the most likely place anypony’d find something he left behind, on account of how huge this place is.”
Fluttershy nodded, gently depositing the small hard-cover book on the floor. “But it doesn’t explain why he would want somepony to find it. He left the first one as a warning, so whatever’s in this one must be important.”
Applejack’s furrowed her brow, reaching down to flip the book open with a slightly more tempered enthusiasm. “Guess you have a point there,” she agreed. “Just gives us twice the reason to read it. Keep an eye out for any mention of a map or whatever. Alright. D’you want to read?”
“It’s okay if you want to read,” Fluttershy replied.
“And you ain’t just saying that ‘cause you think you’ll catch me doing funny voices again?”
Fluttershy giggled. “No, please.”
“Alright. So,” Applejack cleared her throat and leaned over the book. “I suspect this will be my last entry. My quest is an enormous failure, and my theory was wrong. The Sun Chamber never had anything to do with the Elements, and I have found nothing here that will be of assistance, nothing that will aid Princess Celestia in bringing her sister back. The crystal that lies at the center of the Dreamspire hides no great secret. It simplified the process of raising sun and moon back when this was the charge of the unicorns as a tribe. It is a tool, and it has no inherent power. Perhaps Princess Celestia herself would have been able to use it to some effect, but she will not cross the border. I know this. The Princess did not approve of my leaving Equestria to seek alternatives, but prophecies are flimsy things, and her trust in her own convoluted plans is unfounded. Then again, I am the one who is about to meet his end far away from home.”
Applejack paused to turn the page, and Fluttershy re-settled her wings. They were still alone, but it was hard to shake the feeling that they were being watched. Applejack continued.
“I was about to call it a loss and leave when I began noticing little things. The spirit of the place was helpful enough, but my suspicions were aroused when I tried looking for some maps in the libraries of the spire. I had hoped to compare the maps of the area with my own for some historical insights to prevent this whole journey from being a complete waste, but there were none to be found. The spirit, Castellan, confirmed this, but offered no further comment, nor would it explain why every single library, private or public, was missing volumes that were in the indexes. I estimate one in twenty books are simply gone, along with all forms of contemporary news and similar articles that the unicorns of old used.”
Turning the page again, Applejack frowned. “Well, at least it ain’t just us he’s being difficult with,” she murmured.
“I wonder what he’s hiding,” Fluttershy added, eliciting a shrug from Applejack before the earth mare continued.
“Piecing together the nature of the true secret of this place was a matter of finding out exactly what was missing, an exercise in reading between the lines, but I think I understand where reality differs from accepted history. Ancient pre-Equestrian history has always been an inexact affair, and given that Equestria is a nation the result of a large migration, there are limits to what local archaeology can discover. Here, in hidden diaries and journals, in book titles and even architecture, patterns emerge.”
“Commander Hurricane, Chancellor Puddinghead and Princess Platinum were not always the rulers of the three tribes, and certainly not before the tribes had their first meeting,” she read. Where Applejack merely raised an eyebrow and drew breath to continue, Fluttershy placed a gentle hoof on hers to stop her.
“Do—do you think we should really read this?” Fluttershy asked, licking her lips.
Applejack raised a brow. “It’s ancient history, sug’. It don’t matter none, and we know Brighthoof had a map, so we gotta see where he went, right?”
“Right,” Fluttershy echoed, swallowing.
“The leader of the unicorns used to be called queen, or, in the case of a stallion, king. I had always wondered why these titles were common in other nations, but our leader had always held the title of ‘princess’. I now know why. Their names and titles were purged. Stripped. Everything pertaining to these three has been destroyed with ruthless care and precision. While the ruins of the pegasus society are long gone, and the earth ponies have let their cities decay, what I have found here in the Dreamspire confirms that this was a joint effort by exactly those three. Hurricane, Puddinghead and Platinum worked together to overthrow the old leaders.”
“What I learned at the meeting grounds weeks ago is key here. After the tribes opened communications and the fortress was erected, the alicorns surfaced shortly after, born to ponies of all tribes. Starswirl’s theory was that they were a direct result of the harmony budding between the tribes in those days.”
Applejack whistled and nudged Fluttershy in the side before licking her hoof and turning the page. “Reckon that means you were right, huh?”
“I, um, guess,” Fluttershy murmured, blushing a bit. “So they’re born when things are harmonious? The opposite of the windigoes, almost.”
“It’s inconsequentia, but this info was collateral damage, stricken from the records along with the fact that the leaders, as one, became jealous of the alicorns. The alicorns were considered a good sign, holy at best, lucky at worst. While they were not initially organized, they were all loved, and that caused the leaders to grow resentful. What’s more, the alicorns had an affinity for the Elements. They could never be bearers of the Elements as we understand it, but the Elements interact with harmony, and so, too, the Elements are linked as the alicorns are children of harmony.”
“I am not sure what the leaders did initially, but efforts to unify the tribes were by and large headed by the alicorns. I cannot decide whether or not this is because harmony is in the blood of the alicorns, but that may be because in modern Equestria, this is rather unremarkable. I am no student of social sciences, but we all seek to coexist because of how our society works. It is second nature to us, now. All the same, ultimately, these efforts failed. All the tales tell the same story here, and they seem to be right. The tribes were not mature enough, for lack of a better word, to cooperate, and that resulted in the windigoes. Starswirl foretold of their coming and tried to stop it, first with politics, then with his own creations, but it was too little too late. As a last ditch effort, he persuaded the current bearers of the Elements to cooperate with the alicorns to try to stave off wintry doom.”
“There were other bearers before us?” Fluttershy asked.
“Seems so,” Applejack said, puffing out her cheeks. “This is nice and all, but it still won’t get us home. Let’s see what else it says.”
“The leaders saw their chance to end what they saw as the ‘alicorn threat’ at this moment. As the bearers were ponies bound to the rule of their tribe, they obeyed their leaders’ commands when they were called home. With harmony between the tribes dying in conflict, and separated from the Elements—I believe the Elements of Harmony’s own unity sustained the alicorns for a while—the last of the alicorns perished.”
“Oh no,” Fluttershy whispered, covering her mouth with a hoof. Even Applejack seemed put off, pausing as she reached to flip the page.
“This here is vile stuff,” she growled.
“The next chain of events I found reported in a well-hidden and hastily scrawled diary, and as far as I can tell, it fits. As the six Elements of Harmony left the fortress, the Elements forsook their unworthy bearers. The seconds-in-command of the tribes met in secret soon after, and, feeling terrible about what had transpired, agreed that they would work together to seize control of their own tribes and depose their corrupt rulers. Following this, they would go their separate paths, never to meet again for fear of more tragedy. They succeeded, but it was too late. The winter had settled, and life was being choked from the area.”
“Except, the alicorns were not done. The last of them had one final card to play before she died. To each of the tribes, an alicorn by the name of Brokenhorn the Farsighted sent word. Each of the new leaders received a letter believing they alone had gotten this message telling them of a wonderful new place. Of Equestria. This is where the tale rejoins what we know. The tribes all migrated separately, and ended up in what is now our fair nation. Exactly how much of the resulting quarrel is accurate, I cannot say, but I have a theory of my own.”
“Brokenhorn,” Applejack murmured, tapping the side of her head.
“The last stone back in the earth pony ruins?” Fluttershy suggested, the images of each and every obelisk still burned into her mind. “Maybe that’s what the jagged thing was—a broken horn?”
“That adds up,” Applejack said, nodding. “Well, let’s hear his theory then.”
“If harmony alone is a separate force, I believe the events of the old story that’s simplified and played every Hearth’s Warming Eve may be correct down to the last detail except that it doesn’t touch upon the results of that one fateful night. It is the first true moment of acceptance, of friendship and unification. It brings me to think of our princess. She is not mentioned anywhere, and it is said that every single alicorn perished. I believe that Princess Celestia and her sister, the exiled Princess Luna, were born that night. The princess has, to my knowledge, never answered any question regarding her own birth—or creation, for those who believe she is indeed a goddess.”
“I believe the immense harmony at work that moment resulted in a union that birthed the most powerful ponies our world has ever seen. It follows that they are true children of harmony. Normal alicorns in Equestria these days are a rare enough sight; I know of only three, and they are all enormously affectionate individuals. In the case of Princess Celestia, and presumably her sister, they obey the rules of their kind more strictly. They are bound by harmony. The more I think about it, the more I believe her instincts were right.”
A good half minute passed in silence. They were the last words on that page, but Applejack made no move to read on.
“Not sure what to think about that,” Applejack finally said. “D’you suppose they’re hiding something, too? The princesses?”
“They haven’t lied, at least not that I’ve heard,” Fluttershy said, still trying to wrap her brain around all this. “It’s not lying if you don’t know, and maybe even Princess Celestia doesn’t know everything, after all.”
Applejack sighed and nodded. “Maybe it’s that simple, but I don’t like it much.”
Turning the page to the book’s final written page, a folded piece of cloth fell out from between the covers. Fluttershy reached over to carefully unfold it while Applejack read on. As the farmpony read, Fluttershy only half listened. The little piece of canvas was a map.
“I wish I had the chance to ask Princess Celestia about this, but as I left without her blessing, I do not have high hopes for anypony looking for me. Even if it was in a misguided attempt to aid her efforts to bring her sister back, I expect I will never return. What I have discovered here in the past week roaming the Dreamspire has damned me. It is becoming increasingly obvious that Castellan was a creation of Princess Platinum herself, and while I at first thought it a guardian to ward off those not of her tribe, I understand now that it guards the very secret I have discovered. That the windigoes are gone, that Starswirl the Bearded was experimenting on harmony, these are all inconsequential before this truth.”
Fluttershy spread her wings and beamed as she scanned the map, looking for something, anything familiar, but Applejack’s voice was wavering now. She looked over to find the farmpony visibly paling as she read on.
“I write this down because I am confident it does not know how to read Equestrian, but it will have figured out that I know. The knowledge of the old betrayals and of the three tribe leaders’ plans is lethal. In here, I am no match for the spirit. I have learned that the lower spire was where the tribe farmed mushrooms and crystals in ancient times, and I suspect that the spirit is weaker down there, away from the seat of power that is the Sun Chamber. Most likely, it is a deathtrap filled with all manner of beasts, now. My mission has failed, and I am doomed because of a secret that has no importance beyond the historical. I leave behind my journal here that others may learn without arousing suspicion, and will collect it if I overcome Castellan. Signed, Brighthoof, Former Captain of the Guard, loyal subject to her royal highness, Princess Celestia.”
Once Applejack finished, every single light in the room winked out as one. Fluttershy’s heart hammered in her chest. She reached out to touch Applejack, who did the same.
“Right, so, next time we both read it all quiet-like,” Applejack whispered.
“You cannot leave.”
The voice was as dispassionate as ever. With its usual and disconcerting lack of sound, the spectre of Castellan appeared in front of them. The smoky white shape was clearly visible in the near-complete darkness, yet it gave off no light.
“Just because we read something we shouldn’t?” Fluttershy asked, her breath coming faster and faster. “That’s not fair! You—you can’t—”
“The door was open, now it is closed. You cannot leave,” came the answer. Fluttershy felt Applejack’s hoof leave her as she stepped in front. There was no light beyond what little filtered in through the mysterious fog high above, but she could see the farmpony draw herself up.
“That’s a load of hooey. We don’t care nothing about what happened and what didn’t. It’s ancient history, and nopony gives a hoot. Far as I am concerned, Platinum and the others did good.”
“This is my task. It is my purpose. You do not leave,” Castellan retorted.
“Well then, good luck stopping us,” Applejack spat, stomping the ground. “Close the doors, I buck’em down!”
A faint rumble echoed down the thick stone hallways and into the inner chamber, bouncing off the very walls until the very stone growled and shook under their hooves. For long seconds, the galleries creaked, bookshelves groaned and glasswork clattered before silence once more settled in the darkness.
“That is within your power, but it is pointless when the bridges are gone,” Castellan countered.
“Right,” Applejack said. “And you didn’t do this when we were standing on the bridge, why? Just because we didn’t know, and now we do?”
“Applejack, we really need to move,” Fluttershy tried.
“It would have failed. Your natures, your capacities and limitations are now known to me. I have observed and seen into your minds, and this is your end. The secret will be kept,” the spirit replied.
“Oh that’s just dandy. You been listening in? You’re a really creepy little ghost, you know that? Ever heard of giving mares some privacy?” Applejack snapped.
“Applejack!” Fluttershy cried, giving her tail a tug. “We need to go!”
Finally, Applejack turned, shaking her head briskly. “Right. Right, okay,” she muttered. “Think you can fly across?”
“I don’t think so. It was very far,” Fluttershy admitted, casting a nervous glance at the spectral unicorn. Castellan didn’t appear to be doing anything, but his presence was hardly helping her nerves.
“Right, and the whole cellar door, Underspire, whatever it is, that sounds like a bad idea if Brighthoof never came back from there,” Applejack said, scratching her head through her hat and shifting on the spot.
“Do you feel that?” Fluttershy asked. It had been quiet and low, a groan and the faintest of shudders. Applejack’s eyes were big as dinner plates when the second tremor hit.
“The secret will be kept. This is the end of my service,” Castellan stated, the spirit simply winking out of existence as the floor beneath their hooves cracked.
“You’re serious,” Applejack breathed as the very foundation of the spire shook. “You’re ruining everything just to keep us from telling?”
“The secret—” the voice began, no doubt to repeat itself, but Applejack blocked it out. None of it made sense, and her legs wouldn’t move. Only when Fluttershy put a hoof on each of Applejack’s shoulders and leaned on her did she manage to focus.
“I know. Going,” Applejack said in response to the unvoiced words. “But where? We can’t go out, and we can’t go down!”
Fluttershy let go and chewed on her cheek for a moment. Somewhere above, glass shattered and shelves toppled.
“Up. We have to go up,” Fluttershy said. It was impossible to say what went on in the mare’s head and the darkness hid her face well, but she sounded resolved. Fluttershy bent low to pick up Brighthoof’s journal, putting it on top of the saddlebags.
“Right. Up. Can’t see nothing though, so that makes things harder,” Applejack said, raising her voice so she’d be heard over the growing din. No sooner had she said it than did a soft light surround them. Glowing crystal gripped in her mouth, Fluttershy motioned towards a nearby staircase that led up to the first gallery. In a race started by an unspoken signal, they both galloped towards it.
Their hooves thundered against the ancient woodwork, up the flight of stairs and barely pausing to find the next. Applejack followed as Fluttershy led the way between bookcases and tables all in search of the next set of stairs.
“Do you have a plan?” Applejack called.
“I hope pho’!” Fluttershy replied around the crystal in her mouth, casting her a glance.
A great thunderclap filled the air, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Applejack smacked her head against a table and lay flat on the floor dazed for a second. Head against the wooden floorboards, she was treated to a worm’s eye view of all her apples rolling out of her saddlebag-pouches to plunge off the gallery.
“Forget about the apples!” Fluttershy cried, scrabbling to stand. Applejack took her offered hoof and hurried back onto all fours, galloping after her. Only when they were two stories up did she realize what was going on, casting a quick glance over the railing. Despite the darkness below, she could see a huge rent in the floor below approaching the crystal at the chamber’s centre. The crystal itself was tilting slightly to one side.
“They rolled off,” Applejack said. “They rolled. The entire place is falling! Mountains shouldn’t fall!”
“I know!” was Fluttershy’s only reply, the pegasus dodging and weaving between fallen furniture as she ran. Up they went, past library floors where bookcases and shelves spilled their contents as if they were trying to bar their way and past open leisure floors with nothing but sofas and lounges. It was all a blur, a dreamlike dash in the darkness, a chase after a snip of pink tail carrying the only light in sight.
The floors were getting smaller. It was gradual and subtle at first, but where the lowest gallery had been a sweeping library, the circular and open room-like floors were now hard pressed to fit much more than a few token pieces of furniture. Soon, the only thing offered by the next floor up was shelves along the walls and a thin walkway to the next staircase. How many of these stairs had they mounted? Every so often, a deep and distant boom reminded them of their haste. Applejack’s heart was beating madly, and more than once did she and Fluttershy stumble. Finding purchase was getting harder and harder as the entire chamber impossibly and obscenely began to tilt. Applejack leapt a small sofa as it lurched past.
It was getting harder to see, as well. In the space of two flights of bare galleries adorned with nothing but tiny window-slits, they’d plunged into some sort of fog. The temperature suddenly dropped, but before Applejack could even start to think what was causing this, they were through. It wasn’t worth the breath to comment. The last flight of stairs landed them on a fully closed platform, the only feature of which, aside from a spiral staircase, was the tip of the crystal shooting through the wooden floor and past the stone ceiling overhead.
A crystal that even now moved, slowly but surely chewing through the wood and cracking the stone overhead. The white crystal rod, thin as though it was up here, was digging through stone and wood alike, and it was tilting in the exact direction of the next staircase.
“Keep running!” Applejack yelled, galloping for the stairs.
“I know!” Fluttershy sobbed as she ran. “I know!”
The cracking and grinding of stone from far below was growing still. Applejack couldn’t help but stare at the crystal that still tilted ominously towards the stairs they now climbed, and for a moment she feared they wouldn’t actually make it. She felt the wood crack and fall under her hooves and opened her mouth to scream, to make a noise, anything. Something latched on to her, and the world fell away beneath her.
Fluttershy had caught her. Applejack’s rear was dangling off an edge that hadn’t been there a moment ago. She stared, transfixed, at where the crystal column had tore a portion of the spire away. For a second she wondered why there was no noise, but only until she became aware of the faint whine that filled her head. She looked up at Fluttershy. The pegasus was gripping her forelegs with her own with all her might, and her muzzle was moving, but there were no words. Everything was eaten by that insistent yet quiet whining noise. Reaching up to tap her ears would probably be a bad idea.
The world was very small. She was clinging to Fluttershy, dangling off a broken little tower. All around them, the world was white. A permanent cloud-layer that ate the world, and the broken spire poked up past it, a small speck of masonry sandwiched between clear blue skies and puffy white clouds. In the distance, a few peaks mimicked the Spire’s feat, but they were far and few between.
“Applejack. Applejack!”
Applejack tried to both shake her head and nod at the same time as sounds returned. There was a terrible ruckus underneath, but Fluttershy broke through it, and finally, Applejack got a leg up on the lip of the tower, scrambling to safety and flopping onto her back.
The top of the tower was bare. Once, the crystal would’ve poked past, but it, and the stairs, were gone. It was grey stone with neither railing nor embellishments. Once Applejack was back on all fours, she had to struggle to remain standing. Even this little island of stone was no sanctuary, tilting to the side and into the cloud layer as if though a sullen foal had tired of its toys and were toppling them over.
“We’re not out of it yet!” Applejack called, trotting up to where Fluttershy was peering over the edge. “Sugar, you ready?”
“I don’t know if I can do it,” Fluttershy whimpered.
“You have to! It’s all we’ve got. We fly off of here, or we’re done!”
“I—I know,” came the reply. Fluttershy turned to look at her, and the fear was plain in her eyes. The pegasus’ wings were clamped tight to her body, and her pupils were pinpricks. Below, another roaring boom assaulted their ears. Applejack steadied herself as the spire shuddered, and Fluttershy’s legs trembled.
“It’s just so high, and with the extra weight and not knowing if we’ll crash into something—look at all the clouds! They could be hiding anything!” Fluttershy said, the words tumbling over one another while she struggled to spread her wings. “I’ll try, but—”
Applejack put a steadying hoof on Fluttershy’s withers. She tried to smile and pretend that they had time for this.
“I’d like to tell you to do it for yourself, but I don’t know if that’s what you need,” she said, leaning over to make sure Fluttershy’s saddlebags were closed as securely as the makeshift things allowed.
“Just hop on and hold tight,” Fluttershy said, taking a few deep breaths, furling her wings.
“Sugarcube, listen!” Applejack snapped. “I believe in you, you know that, right?”
Fluttershy cast another nervous glance over the edge. The tilt was getting obscene. Applejack ignored it, steadied her legs and put a hoof under Fluttershy’s snout, guiding her until she looked into her eyes. Reluctantly, Fluttershy nodded.
“That’s great,” Applejack nodded back. “But that don’t mean enough. Maybe I didn’t always think you had it in you. Maybe I was a right fool. Proving me wrong, that’s great, but I don’t want you to do that. Right now, we’re gonna fly on out of here because you’re gonna do it for Rainbow Dash.”
Fluttershy blinked at that. Another great shudder wracked the tower, but Applejack did not budge, holding herself and Fluttershy fast. For a moment Applejack feared she’d said exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time, but she leaned forwards until their snouts touched, her voice a hiss as she finished.
“The way I see it, she’s the one who’s always believed in you. She’s the one who’s always thought you could do it, whatever ‘it’ ever was. We’re gonna be okay because you’re gonna prove her right.”
A moment of silence passed, a blissful reprieve from the cacophony below during which nothing seemed to move. With painful slowness, Applejack waited and watched as Fluttershy stared back at her. The pegasus’ pupils dilated, her jaw going slack as she nodded once, then once more, and spread her wings in earnest.
Applejack swung herself atop Fluttershy with as much gentleness as haste allowed. Fluttershy sagged under her weight as the earth mare lay her belly atop her back and wrapped her forelegs around her neck. She could feel Fluttershy take a deep breath before she broke into a gallop, her run slowing as the tower tilted. Fluttershy leapt off the edge of the spire just as something below broke, the floor disappearing beneath her as she kicked off.
Applejack’s stomach lurched as they dropped, and Fluttershy changed the angle of their descent. It lurched a second time when they both cast a backwards glance and saw the spire upon which they had stood mere seconds ago crumble. Rock disintegrated, masonry dissolved along the seams, and the grey mass of stone scattered, falling through the puffy clouds. A second later, the sound of a dozen avalanches hit them all at once. Applejack lay her ears flat.
“Did you get a good look at the map?” Applejack yelled, clinging to Fluttershy. Though she was resting her head against her neck, it was hard to tell if she could be heard over the wind.
“A little,” Fluttershy replied. “We need to go east.”
“And we’re flying opposite of the sunset, so that’s all good,” Applejack replied with a sigh of relief. She cast another backwards glance, but there was nothing to see, now, and the clouds below were closing on them fast. “Can’t believe the whole place is gone,” she murmured.
“No,” Fluttershy agreed.
“You okay there sugar?” Applejack asked. “You’re being awfully short.”
“Yes,” Fluttershy squeaked. “Hold on!”
“Uh—” was all Applejack had time to say before they plunged into the clouds. Two seconds later, a huge dark shape materialized in front of them. With a wordless cry, Fluttershy banked hard to the right, and Applejack clung on for her dear life as more and more mountains and peaks rose up to meet them. Fluttershy banked and dove, twisted and turned, and Applejack couldn’t find the time or breath to even yell or scream. All was a white and senseless bright void filled with looming shapes that whisked by so fast, she refused to even think of what would happen if Fluttershy slipped up even once.
And she didn’t. The pegasus said nothing, expertly navigating everything the mountains threw at them. After the most terrifying half minute of Applejack’s life, a stretch that felt like a separate eternity in a very special hell, they were through the clouds. The cloud-layer loomed overhead now, but it was thinning rapidly towards the horizon. Though Fluttershy was still tense underneath her, major wing-muscles so taut that even Applejack noticed, the mountains weren’t half so scary when they could be seen.
Applejack could hear Fluttershy’s labored breathing even over the rush of air as they sailed for long minutes that stretched on and on. The cold bit on her coat, but she didn’t want to speak for fear of disturbing Fluttershy. The pegasus’ ears were flat and her eyes forward as they glided down and ever down, faster than Applejack would have liked. The clouds thinned above, the mountain peaks became low mountains, which again became hills. Out of the craggy mountains, the world opened up, a tapestry of colors, blotches that grew and gained definition. The endless blue to their south, the hills and mountains behind and to their north all was drowned out by the mass of green ahead.
What had once been another feature in the distance like any other, nothing but a shape and a color, rapidly became a forest. Far, far too rapidly at that. Applejack clenched her jaw as they picked up speed and Fluttershy’s wings began trembling. In the corner of her eye, she swore she could see a feather torn off, lost to the winds.
“Oh my goodness, oh my goodness,” Fluttershy whispered over and over.
“Look out!” Applejack called. As they brushed by a particularly tall tree, Fluttershy kicked out and tried flapping her wings to brake and stop their descent, but the crash was inevitable. Applejack shut her eyes just as the next tree rose to greet them.
It wasn’t unexpected that Rarity would be late, of course. When Rainbow Dash had asked to meet her, she’d known about the extra five, ten, twenty or sixty minutes the unicorn seemed to add to any date in the name of fashionable lateness. The sensible thing, and what Dash usually did, was simply ask to see her an hour earlier than she otherwise would, and then take an hour-long nap. It was a great way to annoy her, and worked like a charm for sleepovers, hanging out and whatever else.
Today, Rainbow Dash was on time. She’d waited by the desolate cottage for all of two minutes when she spotted Rarity coming down the road as well. Even the short time it took for her friend to walk the path that led from Ponyville to the cottage was too long to wait.
After Fluttershy and Applejack had disappeared, the animals had seemed to abandon the place entirely. It wasn’t just that those who had made their home here had relocated; it was quiet and abandoned in a way that seemed entirely unnatural.
Perhaps the critters and birds had left it alone out of respect, Dash mused, but whatever the reason, it was decidedly uncomfortable standing outside the deathly silent home where she’d usually have to wrestle with birds on her way through Fluttershy’s door or windows coming in.
“There you are,” Dash snapped when Rarity finally drew near, leaning on the wall by the door.
“Yes, well, I had to observe certain matters of etiquette. By which I mean that I had to tell Sweetie Belle I was heading out for a bit on short notice, thanks to your message,” Rarity replied. Her tone was harsh, but her expression showed nothing of the sort. Dash could see it in her eyes and in her faint frown; Rarity was carefully watching her, judging and waiting to see how she’d react, as if she were a bomb ready to go off. As if she was fragile.
“Yeah, well, thanks anyway.” Rainbow Dash puffed out her cheeks and shrugged. She couldn’t work up the energy to pick a fight about it.
“You’re still flying out every day?” Rarity asked, tilting her head ever so slightly.
“I guess,” Dash affirmed. “Flitter’s the only one who still makes time to help out, but she just flies around Ponyville and Whitetail. I was thinking of doing another pass over the Everfree tonight.”
“In addition to the weather duties? After all these weeks?” Rarity pressed. If she was making a point, Rainbow Dash didn’t care to see it. With another shrug, Dash pushed the door to Fluttershy’s cottage open. Like most Ponyville citizens, she’d never gotten into the habit of locking it.
“Rainbow Dash, what did you want me here for? Celestia already obliged you in sending those royal guards to investigate, and they found nothing here.”
“I know!” Dash barked. “It just, I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right to be sneaking around her house alone. Makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong.”
“Well, that certainly doesn’t stop you often,” Rarity remarked.
Dash re-furled her wings and stopped on the spot barely past the threshold. The orange glow of the afternoon sun filtered in through the curtains illuminating the dust that danced in the air, and the cottage was exactly how she remembered it. It was scary that she’d thought of it like that, on impulse; as if there was a chance she’d ever forget. It was a house full of life, frozen in time. Various types of dry bird feed stood over by the corner, an open book lay at rest in the couch, and from where she was standing she could barely spot the kitchen nook where Rarity had respectfully cleaned up ‘lest mould overtake it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that,” Rarity said from somewhere behind her.
“Huh? Eh, whatever,” Dash muttered, taking another few tentative steps forward. It was hard to decide where to start looking for something you didn’t know what was, exactly.
“Ah. Very well. Still, if you wanted me to come along because you’re uncomfortable being here alone,” Rarity continued, her voice softer by far. “I, ah. Well. I can sympathize, but it still doesn’t explain why we’re actually here.”
Rainbow Dash frowned. She knew that whatever it was that was missing from her nightstand, it was here. Fluttershy had knocked on her door some time last year, saying she really needed it. Dash had been half asleep and told her to take whatever she wanted, but now, she had to know. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that it was something that Fluttershy would keep in her bedroom, but the thought of invading upon that room was abhorrent for some reason. Best to eliminate all other possibilities. Rainbow Dash puffed out her cheeks and trotted over to throw open the nearest set of cupboards, revealing some writing supplies and dry feed of some sort.
“Rainbow Dash? What’s the matter?” Rarity asked, fidgeting over by the door. “You do realize I would help, if only you’d let me.”
“There’s something here,” Dash muttered. “Something that’s mine, I think. I don’t know.”
“Alright?” Rarity said. “What is it, then?”
“I don’t know,” Dash repeated.
“You’re here to collect something of yours, and you don’t know what it is?” Rarity deadpanned. Dash nodded and pulled open a set of drawers, but it was all wrong; linens and nothing but. As she reached for the next cupboard over, a soft glow surrounded the doors, and they wouldn’t budge no matter how hard she pulled.
“Come on, stop horsing around!” Dash groaned, turning around to glare at Rarity, but the unicorn wasn’t smiling. Nor was she looking particularly angry, for that matter. Horn still glowing, Rarity brushed the floor with her tail and sat down on her rump, all the while looking like she was trying to figure out where to put the next piece of a jigsaw puzzle.
In other words, she wanted to talk. Rainbow Dash narrowed her eyes and flapped her wings, sailing over to scan a nearby bookcase instead.
“Rainbow Dash.”
She knew she wasn’t looking for a book, of course. That was pretty much all she knew; aside from a few old weather control manuals, she herself had never owned any books up until recently.
“I know she’s your oldest friend,” Rarity said.
“First. My first friend,” Dash corrected her, craning her neck to see if there was anything behind the neatly arranged books. Fluttershy had a lot of books on animal care, and while it was a far cry from Twilight’s collections, she had a wealth of other books as well. Mostly romance novels and silly fairy tales.
“Okay. And she means a lot to you, I understand that. Applejack does, too. They both do, to all of us, but perhaps—”
“Princess Celestia said to keep hope and never give up and all that stuff,” Dash interrupted her. She knew what Rarity wanted to say. She knew what the unicorn was getting at, and she had no intention of letting her say it. Empty words filled the gap instead.
“Yes, well, about that,” Rarity muttered. She touched her mane as she followed Rainbow Dash with her eyes, the pegasus flitting over to uselessly check under the cushions of Fluttershy’s living room couch. “I wouldn’t dream of gainsaying the princess, you understand, but when Twilight herself seems to avoid even speaking of her, much less with her, as I understand...” she trailed off.
Rainbow Dash made no reply, lifting the couch and jamming her snout underneath. Her body was searching in the most ridiculous places while her mind was paying far too much attention to Rarity’s words. It was impossible to ignore her.
“In fact, I worry as much about her as I do about you,” Rarity added.
“Tried talking to her,” Dash grunted, letting the couch back down. “She’s not listening. Miss Magicpants isn’t even working on something to bring them back any more.”
“Yes, the one time I managed to have a proper conversation with her, she said it was a complete effect. There is no way to do anything with the armor shard, no simple way of un-doing it because the spell was ended,” Rarity agreed, lowering her eyes to the floorboards.
“Uh-huh. So she’s working on something else now, I don’t know what. Could be a magical cake. I don’t know. I don’t care. It’s not helping,” Dash snapped, sounding a little angrier than she’d intended as she stuck her head into the kitchen.
“It’s not right of you to belittle all those who aren’t running around like headless chickens!” Rarity snapped, but whatever fury was in her tone was gone in an instant, the fashionista rubbing a foreleg with the other. “You’re so busy focusing on your own efforts, you don’t even try to understand.”
Dash sighed and lay her ears flat as she hung her head.
“I’ve sent word as far as I can—” Rarity began, but Dash cut her off.
“I know. I know you’ve done super awesome stuff, and I know Pinkie is going nuts trying to ask all her friends, which pretty much amounts to everypony in all of Equestria, and those few who travel outside, I know,” Dash groaned, rubbing her face. “I know. I didn’t mean it like that. I thought we had talked about this. We’re cool, right? Everything’s awesome,” she concluded with a weak smile.
“No offense taken,” Rarity affably agreed, pausing to nibble her lower lip as Rainbow Dash opened an ornate chest over on the other side of the room. Scarves, a few hats, and a bag of bits. Probably what little she’d not given away to charity after her little modelling stint. Still not what she was looking for. In the corner of her eye, she could see Rarity watching her still, the room pregnant with words.
"Maybe it's time to consider that they might not come back. They've been gone for well over a month, almost two, and we've heard absolutely nothing."
Rainbow Dash tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. She closed her eyes and tried to make Rarity unsay those words, but it was futile. Like a marionette, her strings pulled by something much stronger and more immense than her, she snapped around to face Rarity.
"I'm not saying they won't," Rarity rushed to say. The white unicorn glanced nervously around. "I'm hardly about to say that they are lost, you know that, I just worry—"
"Take it back," Dash heard herself say.
Rarity's eyes were wide, but she didn't move a single inch. Rainbow Dash didn't wait for her to speak. Her eyes burning, her muscles aching with aimless strain, she leaned towards the frozen unicorn. "Take. It. Back!" she yelled as loud as she could. Her chest hurt.
"How can you say that? How can you even think like that?" Dash spat, her voice a low hiss. "If you don't want to run around, fine, let me be the headless chicken, I'm cool with that, but don't you dare try to convince me to give up!"
Rarity said nothing. She closed her eyes and sat very still as Dash railed at her.
"I don't. I don't have to consider anything!" Dash added, gritting her teeth. "I don't have to think anything except how to get them back. I don't have to think about where Fluttershy and Applejack are, I don't have to wonder about what we're all gonna do if they don't get back, I don't have to think about how I miss them, too, even if I don't have time to sit down and cry about it, okay?" Dash asked, desperately hoping there'd be no answer.
"I don't," she repeated, swallowing. Her fury all spent, she took a deep breath and drug her foreleg across her snout. It came away wet. "Because I have to—I have to find something, okay? So, can you help me look? It's probably upstairs. Fluttershy gave me something. Or I gave her something. I don't remember, and it's been driving me crazy."
Rarity remained still for another moment, eyes closed and snout down. Rainbow Dash could see her breathing slow, the fashionista exhaling before opening her eyes again. Sometimes, Rarity was cool like that. She merely nodded and put on a thin little smile.
"Of course," she said, motioning towards the stairs placed on the other side of the living room. "Let's go find it. I'm sure you'll recognize it when you see it."
Rainbow Dash nodded, waiting to walk side by side with Rarity as they mounted the stairs.
"I don't really think they are. And I wouldn't ever ask you to stop. If that's what you have to do, then you do it," Rarity said. Dash looked her way, but Rarity was carefully avoiding her eyes now.
"Yeah. Well, I won't stop," Dash shrugged. "And I know I'm not really gonna find them here."
"Then I haven't given you nearly enough credit. I'm sorry, Rainbow Dash," Rarity muttered.
"Mh," Dash voiced.
"Besides, you don't want to see the spare room back in the boutique. I think I've made enough scarves for you that I can sell them for three bits all through the coming winter."
Rainbow Dash couldn't quite suppress a little grin at that, nudging Fluttershy's bedroom door open. That terrible sense of intrusion returned. Where she'd usually have no problems soaring through Fluttershy's bedroom window unannounced, it was so very different now, and she couldn't help but think it wasn't just due to her absence.
"Okay, so, what do you think we're looking for?" Rarity asked. She trotted over to place herself dead center in the room, but Rainbow Dash shook her head.
"If I knew, I'd have found it, I think," she said, her eyes roving over mantelpiece, bedside chest, rafters, and finally her childhood friend's nightside work desk. The desk was tidy enough, even though Fluttershy had never really had a proper nightstand and thus used it as something the like. Books were neatly stacked, a brush and a small mirror rested on the far end, and closest to the bed, a small, colorful bracelet lay.
Rarity must've followed her eyes. As Rainbow Dash watched, the thin little bracelet was enveloped in the unicorn's aura and floated over to hover in front of Rarity's face.
"What is this?" Rarity asked, and Rainbow Dash couldn't decide whether to try to explain as she slowly began remembering, or tell her to put it down before she broke it. It was such a silly thing, but right now, the bracelet mattered more than all the rest of the world combined.
"It's just something me and Fluttershy made a long time ago," Dash said, licking her lips. "Can—can you put it down? Come on."
"Hair and down, is it?" Rarity suggested, arching a brow. Thankfully, she floated it over to Rainbow Dash, the pegasus catching it on a hoof. "I didn't expect one could make something so fine from such basic materiél."
"Yeah," Dash muttered. The half rainbow-colored, half pink bracelet was small, made for a foal's foreleg, and it was soft to the touch. She would probably have stood there staring at it all day if Rarity hadn't cleared her throat.
"Is this common? I've never seen anything like it," Rarity asked, walking over to stand by it. "It's Fluttershy's hoofwork?"
"No, and yeah. I used to think that everypony did this, or at least that most pegasi did it," Dash shrugged, sitting down on her haunches. "I guess not, huh? It was her idea. We made it in second year, I think. She wanted me to have it, but last year she popped by and asked if she could keep it with her. I didn't think about it, really. Just a silly little thing."
"Indeed," Rarity muttered, but she didn't look like she agreed at all. The silence lingered while Rarity sat there giving her some odd looks, but at length, the unicorn rose to stand. "Well. I’d say our little sortie was a success, then. Is that all? I should head back to the boutique, I suppose. I was, ah, thinking of trying to open for some sales on the coming Monday."
Dash frowned at the little bracelet. It took a while before she realized there'd been one of those questions that weren't really questions, there. She raised a brow at Rarity where she stood by the stairs down.
"In case you wanted to be warned. Or, well, if you object," Rarity added. "I wouldn't want to be disrespectful, but I do need to open the boutique again at some point."
"No, whatever," Dash muttered. "I'll just stay here for a bit I think, but thanks."
Rarity nodded, and with another long look at Rainbow Dash, left her alone. The pegasus stood immobile, waiting for the clop of her friend’s hooves to recede. Only after she heard the door shut downstairs did she let her mind roam.
Definitively second year. A year after the Sonic Rainboom. It had been a long day with a hard-earned lesson about the nature of fairweather friends. Details were hazy, but she knew there had been something of a fight. Ponies were claiming that Rainbow Dash had never actually done the rainboom herself, that it was a trick Word travelled fast in the flight school airspace, and her hang-arounds had shown their true colors. She barely remembered how it all had started, but she took the blame for it in the end. Blame and more than a few knocks to the head.
Perhaps the fight had been her fault, come to think of it. Often enough that was the case, but all Dash remembered was her and Fluttershy curled up in front of the fireplace in her parents' home. Just her and the one friend who stayed. Rarely the loudest support, she was always there, somewhere in the background. As long as she was in the crowd, flying felt worthwhile. How often hadn't she shrugged off Fluttershy's apologies those rare times she couldn't come watch her practice, only to decide she didn't feel like flying that very day anyway?
Dash rubbed her forehead. Days like these, being saddled with the Element of Loyalty felt like a hollow joke. It wasn't as if though she didn't miss Applejack too, but nothing would be gained by hitching on that. She was still missing something.
Dash groaned and clenched her eyes shut. Of course she was 'missing something'. She was missing Fluttershy, but that felt wrong, too. All this was making her head spin. With a little effort, she undid the clasp of the bracelet and put it the only place it would fit: around the base of one of her wings. That done with, she sailed downstairs and made for the door. She'd love to take a flight to clear her thoughts, but after so many days spent on her wings in a fruitless, limited search doomed to fail, she almost preferred to use her legs instead. If Applejack was here, she'd challenge her to a race or something just to burn some energy, but Applejack was gone, too.
Rolling her eyes at the whole situation, preferring exasperation to yet more moping, Rainbow Dash didn't notice the rubbish bin by Fluttershy's door before she smashed a foreleg into it.
"Gah!" Dash yelped, cradling her leg as the bin toppled over, spilling its contents all over the floor. With a groan, she started shoving back in all the stuff that had spilled. "Why the hay couldn't the stupid guards take out the trash while they were here?" she muttered, silently grateful that it had all been dry stuff; cardboard, boxes of different types of animal food and a single piece of paper.
A piece of paper with Rainbow Dash's name on it. She couldn't not peek. It was a thing of complete chance that she saw the word "Rainbow" on the creased paper, and it wasn't a decision to lay it flat against the floor, smoothing the wrinkles before she read it. It wasn't an invasion of privacy or curiosity—or maybe it was, but she had to know.
Dear Fluttershy,
I’m very sorry, but your mother and I can’t make the wedding you mention. We couldn’t clear the schedule in time due to it being such short notice, but as always, we appreciate the invitation. If you had told us a little sooner, we would have been delighted to attend.
We hope things are well with you and yourRainbow Dash. Is there another wedding on the horizon? Whatever you decide, we are proud of you, and we always will be. Your mother still feels you should come visit more often, and we hope you understand that you are both welcome in our home even if we've had our disagreements in the past.
Love, Mom and Dad.
Dash blinked, furrowed her brow and read it again. When she'd finished her second read, she automatically read it yet again, and then another time for good measure, but the strange letter refused to make sense. She left the letter on the floor, barely pausing to slam the door shut before shooting down the road at a speed that raised a furrow of dust in her wake. It still felt too slow. For all the time she'd spent trying to busy her mind for the past month—trying to make time pass waiting for her friends to get back home—everything was dilated, syrupy and soggy now. It was a matter of minutes to catch up to Rarity, but it may as well have been hours.
"Rainbow Dash!" cried Rarity as Dash skidded to a halt in front of her. The unicorn had nearly made it to the bridge that crossed into Ponyville proper, and once Rainbow Dash stopped, the fashionista broke into a cough brought on by the dust Dash drug in her wake.
"Whatever is the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost," Rarity added, futilely waving a leg to clear the air.
"You've talked to Fluttershy's parents, right?" Dash asked. There was a time for playing nice and explaining. This wasn't it.
"Well—"
"You took over sending them letters about how stuff is going, right?" Dash asked. Rarity drew back and nodded, her neck craned and her lips pursed.
"As I was about to confirm, yes," Rarity agreed with a huff, raising her snout skywards. "Twilight isn't doing the best of jobs keeping up with things, as we've both agreed, so I'm keeping dear Posey and Rising Star informed. They're very nice ponies both."
"Okay, yeah, great, amazing, where do they live?" Dash pressed.
"I've seen better manners from animals," Rarity muttered. "They live in Cloudsdale. Rising Star has a rather prominent position in a college of some sort, Posey got an enchantment done. She's an earth pony, you know. Not many earth ponies live in Cloudsdale, but you can imagine how many want the services of an earth pony gardener there."
"Address!" Dash cried.
"I am not telling you until you tell me why you want to know! What's gotten into you now?" Rarity snapped right back, sitting on her haunches and crossing her forelegs, a gesture that was as odd on her as it was annoying.
"And if you tell me something vague or if you say you 'don't know' one more time, I swear I will scream," Rarity added just as Dash opened her mouth to say those exact words. The pegasus groaned and flapped her wings pointlessly.
"I found something, okay? A letter. I want to ask Fluttershy's parents something—"
"Something," Rarity repeated, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
Rainbow Dash sighed and slumped. "It wasn't even important, I think. Something about the wedding. She said something about her parents not being able to come to the wedding, remember?"
"Then why so eager to talk to them?" Rarity asked, tilting her head. "Darling, I'm not trying to be difficult here. You've been running around half-crazed lately and if I can help, I will, but I don't know if barrelling into their life talking about their missing daughter is what they need right now."
Dash inspected one of her hooves and cleared her throat. "So, uh, did they ever talk about me?"
Rarity blinked.
"I mean, Poser and whomever-Star," Dash shrugged.
"I'll admit Fluttershy never talked much of them," Rarity said, each word measured. "I'd have thought you would know better than I, honestly. What's this about?"
"Why would they say 'your Rainbow Dash' in a letter to Fluttershy? And why would they think we would get married?"
Rarity raised a brow, mouth half open, and Dash waited. Better that Rarity put her brain to use than that Dash should draw the wrong conclusion and start panicking.
"Do they think you're an item?" Rarity gasped.
Or perhaps Rarity would draw the exact same conclusion as her. Rainbow Dash clenched her eyes shut and drew breath through her nose. Her voice shook ever so slightly. "Can I have that address now?"
Twilight flung another cupcake into her mouth and gobbled it down with ferocity she had previously not known could be applied to eating. When had she last eaten anyway? She knew Spike tried his best to make sure she ate, but sometimes when she realized she needed a break to eat and ensure she didn't keel over, it would be in the dead of night.
For this reason, Pinkie Pie dropping by with a full tray of assorted cupcakes, muffins and other pastry treats was a welcome diversion. Well, perhaps not diversion. That would imply she'd stopped going through her notes and books for even a second. Besides, if the sugar and the pitcher of lemonade was a helpful addition to her research, the pink pony herself was proving to be more of a distraction. Presently, Pinkie Pie was bouncing around her room, inspecting, poking at, and in some cases tasting everything she came across.
"I love your new room! So many fun little things, and some of them are super shiny!" Pinkie declared, gently tapping at the alchemical glass that held the remains of Twilight's last experiment. She herself couldn't even remember what she'd been working on. That'd been last week, probably.
"You really should look into maybe getting a bed, though. I mean, you have one, but it's all wrong. Usually, I have mine flat against the ground, not sideways," Pinkie went on, miming something in the corner of Twilight's vision.
"Mhm," Twilight offered, her eyes roving over the fruits of the past days' research.
"Oh, and maybe some light, too!" Pinkie added. "Sunlight, lamplight, any light at all! Ponies could trip and fall here."
"I don't have ponies in my room," Twilight muttered with a glance over at Pinkie. "Usually."
"Air, too! If you opened a window, maybe the room would smell of something other than dust and paper and boring?"
"I bet it would," Twilight agreed, not looking up as she levitated over Equestria's last remaining copy of 'Equestrian Borders: What Lies Beyond'.
"And you know, I don't usually bother with putting everything in neat little stacks like Rarity does because sometimes, messy can be fun, but you really should look into cleaning up a bit," Pinkie said, pausing for a moment. "Twilight, your room is terrible, and you look like you've eaten two full bowls of tired-puffs too."
"Probably." Twilight shrugged, then sighed, casting a quick glance across the battlescape that was her loft; magical devices, alchemical items and books, all covered in another layer of books and scrolls. Heavy drapes hung in front of the window, and a single firefly lamp provided the illumination she needed to read. Her optician would probably yell at her if she knew.
"Pinkie, I'm very grateful for the snacks, but if you don't think my room is a nice place to be, then you should probably just leave. I don't mean to be rude, but I'm not exactly in the mood to clean up right now." Her tongue felt odd and words were awkward. She hadn't spoken this much to anypony in weeks.
Pinkie Pie nodded along with her every word until she'd finished, at which point she shook her head and smiled brightly. "Nopey-dopey! I'm okay with a little mess. This is nothing compared to when me and the foals were trying to make dinner for Mr. Cake's birthday," she giggled.
Twilight shrugged. "Still, I'd really rather prefer to be alone for this if you don't mind."
"Oh, I don't," Pinkie agreed. "Well, a little, maybe, but not too much."
Twilight flashed something resembling a smile and shrugged. "No problem. Thanks for coming by," she said, eager to get back to the dull monotony of her reading.
Except Pinkie Pie wasn't moving at all. She sat completely still, smiling at Twilight from over by the door. Every now and then, she tilted her head a bit or hummed tunelessly to herself.
"Uh, good bye?" Twilight suggested.
"Oh no, I don't mind, but Princess Celestia said we should stick together, so I'm sticking together!" Pinkie declared. "I don't really mind that, either. I like together."
"Yes," Twilight said, staring a hole in the parchment she'd been trying and failing to read for minutes now. "Yes, I imagine Celestia said exactly that."
"You mean Princess Celestia," Pinkie said. The pink pony sat opposite of her now, and was squinting, a pink, curly-haired one-pony inquisition.
"Yeah," Twilight said, swallowing and reaching out to push Pinkie away so her mane didn't get in the way of her reading. Pinkie made a single menacing hop to sit back down on top of her scroll, snout grinding against Twilight's.
"You always say Princess," Pinkie said, frowning.
"Do I?" Twilight asked, pulling back and twisting her head to casually skim the words of a book conveniently placed at her side. She'd read it cover to cover yesterday, of course.
"Yes you do!" Pinkie insisted. "You call her Princess Celestia, but now you said Celestia!"
"I guess that means I should be arrested for insubordination," Twilight grumbled, reaching up to rub her tired and aching eyes. "In all seriousness, thank you for coming by, but I would rather be alone right now. I think I need a nap soon. Is it still Thursday?"
Pinkie drew back and nibbled her lower lip. Twilight put on her biggest smile and reached out to put a hoof on her friend's shoulder. "I appreciate it, but I'm fine alone."
"That's good," Pinkie said, the corners of her mouth sagging as her entire body seemed to droop. "I mean, even if I think you're lying a little, but you're not the only pony here, Twilight. I don't think I'm completely super-duper fine myself."
Pinkie Pie rose to stand and made for the door with heavy steps. Twilight closed her eyes and hung her head, wondering when, exactly, she had so completely lost sight of everything that mattered. Before Pinkie had taken more than two steps, she reached out and dragged her close, forelegs wrapped around her neck. Pinkie immediately returned the hug, and for long minutes they sat there in silence holding each other close.
Minutes. Time that could have been spent more efficiently. There was nothing saying she couldn't combine her research with being a good friend. Giving Pinkie a final, tight squeeze, she held the oddly mellow pink pony at a leg's length and smiled at her.
"I'm sorry, Pinkie Pie. Would you like to help me with my research?" she asked, instantly rewarded with a huge grin the likes of which only Pinkie Pie could put on.
"That sounds fun!" she beamed, scooting over to sit flank to flank with Twilight. "So, what are we researching? The nasty little piece of armor? Bogeyponies? New cooking recipes? Tell me!"
Fighting back the rather loud and insistent voice that suggested asking Pinkie Pie to aid her was a terrible idea, Twilight shook her head. "None of those. Uh, actually, we're researching the princesses. Or, I am."
"Oh. Okie-dokie! Why?" Pinkie asked.
Twilight drew breath and let it out slowly, trying to rearrange all the pieces in her mind. Perhaps something good may come of this yet. In answering Pinkie, she was forced to make herself look at this from afar, to distance herself and present an overview. Maybe she'd find something definitive.
"Well, my theory is that the princesses, meaning Luna and Celestia, aren't true goddesses as seems to be implied, and that their power is in fact limited," Twilight said, smiling inwardly at her brevity.
"Did they ever say they were or weren’t?" Pinkie asked, her head tilted horizontally.
Twilight's left ear twitched. "No. Not per se."
"Meaning nopey-dopey?"
"Yes, meaning no, but the point is," Twilight pressed. "Most ponies assume they are eternal, yet their role, or rather, their lack of a role in the oldest recorded historical text—the Heart's Warming Eve play—is never commented upon. It is the first of many little holes in oral history written down after Equestria’s founding."
Mercifully, Pinkie didn't deign to comment on that with another interruption. Twilight levitated up the master list of minor contradictions and missing info that she had compiled, a rather lengthy scroll as heavy with notes and annotations as it was with its main points.
"Princess Celestia made it sound like they were present back then, that they migrated here, but I've never heard her speak on the subject, and she was vague all evening," Twilight added. "I remember each and every word that they said that day, the morning after Fluttershy and Applejack went missing, and it just heightens my suspicions."
"Furthermore, the border forts register all those who cross the borders each way, and while diplomats have come and gone, the princesses have never been seen leaving. We’re talking about thousands of years here. That doesn’t strike you as a little odd?"
Pinkie stuck her tongue out of her muzzle and frowned. "So why don't you just ask her?"
Twilight sighed and lay the scroll back down. "She's cryptic and vague on the best of days, and I used to think this was just how she worked. Goddesses, immortal beings, they're allowed their share of eccentricities, right? Besides, she's been like—" she paused, swallowing a lump and looking away.
"She's been like a second mother to me. No, more. I don't know what's true anymore. Is she not helping find our friends because she can't, or because she won't?"
"Do you think she doesn't want to help Fluttershy and Applejack?" Pinkie asked, crossing her forelegs.
"No! I mean—I don't know what I think any more!" Twilight cried.
"But for some reason, it matters a lot whether Princess Celestia is really really old or super-forever-duper old? That's what this is all about? Whether she's some kind of awesome goddess, or just an equally awesome pony?"
Twilight closed her eyes and sank down onto the floor. Pinkie Pie had the right of it, of course. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she'd always known. The weeks she'd sunk into trying to find something tangible, to find proof of what Celestia and her sister really were, it was folly. It was an utterly pointless chase that would gain her nothing. Pointless except for that one little detail that stung.
"Kind of," Twilight admitted, lowering her voice a tad until she sounded like a sullen filly. "I just don't like the idea that she's lied to me."
Pinkie Pie poked Twilight's snout with her own. Cracking an eye open, Twilight could see Pinkie was smiling, but she wasn't laughing. No inappropriate mocking laughter, just a confident smile.
"You're being very silly. You just told me she never lied."
"A lie by omission is still a lie," Twilight muttered. "It’s not about telling a lie, it’s about living one, but I know. It's an overreaction. It doesn't really matter."
Pinkie sat up and nodded vigorously. Twilight followed suit, a little slower.
"It shouldn't, but it does. I mean it when I said she's meant a lot to me."
"Well duh," Pinkie giggled. "We know you and the princess are super important to each other!"
"When I wake up in the morning, I know I can do anything. I used to, anyway." Twilight snorted. "It's been routine ever since she took me in. I snooze for as long as I can get away with without impacting my schedule, I grab my morning tea, Spike and I have breakfast, and then, I could head out into the world knowing and believing I could do anything."
"If the princess needed me to climb a mountain, I would and I did. If I had a plan, if I believed there was something I needed to do, I would. If there was something dangerous that I wasn't sure if I could accomplish? If all of us had something terrifying but important that we had to do, why do you think I did it?"
Twilight shook her head. She wasn't quite so far gone as to lapse into pointless melancholy, but it was a different world now.
"I could do all these things because I knew she would always keep me safe, and that she cared. I knew she trusted me. If she's lied to me, and there are things she hasn't told me for whatever reason, then that all changes. I didn't just look up to her, I—" she choked on the words, breathing through her nose.
"I loved her, but it doesn't even matter. Ever since Chrysalis defeated her, I didn't know what to think, and now this? Applejack and Fluttershy are gone, and for the first time in my life, Princess Celestia outright admits she can't do anything? Everything is wrong!"
Pinkie Pie was staring at her, big blue eyes unblinking, and her usually chipper demeanor reduced to the shadow of a wan smile.
"I guess you're not just super important, but super-duper extra special important to each other, then," Pinkie said, scratching herself behind the ears. "Wow."
"At least she is, or was, to me. I have no idea what I am to her," Twilight admitted, but as soon as the words had left her mouth, Pinkie was up in her face again, another in a rapid series of invasions of personal space.
"That's two counts of silliness!" Pinkie declared. "Of course you're important to her!"
Twilight couldn't quite muster the energy to fight that statement. She was very aware that she was running on coffee- and tea-fumes mixed with a dash of magic, and her body was choosing trying to remind her of this fact now. She waved a hoof dismissively, but Pinkie grabbed Twilight’s leg with her own.
"If Princess Celestia could have saved Princess Luna alone, don’t you think she would have? She didn’t! She chose to trust you to help her! I mean, sheesh, even I thought that was a little funny,” she giggled. “The six of us stomping out there to fight Nightmare Moon.”
“Not me, all of us, but I still don’t see—”
“No, you don’t!” Pinkie interrupted, poking Twilight on the nose. “You closed your eyes the second Princess Celestia took a little tumble when Chrysalis was all super-powerful and cheating and stuff, but she trusts you. She trusts you just like I do, just like Dashie and Rarity,” she said, her smile wavering a bit. “Just like Fluttershy and Applejack.”
“I know,” Twilight huffed.
“You know?” Pinkie asked, pursing her lips. “Because if you know, why are you cooped up here with all your books instead of doing anything else? You’re looking for some way to prove that Princess Celestia is all wrongy-wrong? Why?”
Twilight reached out to poke at a stack of books close by, watching the pile of literature wobble as she thought. She had to begin with excising any attachment because of the time she’d put into this. She knew there was a real answer to Pinkie’s simple one-word question, a purpose beyond not wanting to have wasted so much time on something that seemed childish all of a sudden.
“Because,” Twilight said, licking her lips as she flitted from book to book in her mind, only to finally arrive at something that wasn’t in any book. More than any of these days spent in her room trying to dig through the past, she remembered the abortive meeting with the Princess weeks hence. The one time she’d tried to speak to her, and how she had failed. She knew now that she hadn’t been ready to talk to her then, but now it all made sense.
“Because I need it. I need an in. A question. Something to throw at her,” Twilight admitted. “I’m not afraid of her, but sometimes, I can’t think clearly around her. You know how it is, how everything else dims when she’s near, right? How it gets harder to think?”
Pinkie blinked and smiled. “Nope!”
Twilight blushed and shook her head. “Point is, I’ll never be able to just walk up there and accuse her of lying. You’re right. It’s a foal’s approach, a child’s logic. I don’t even have a question!”
“But you want to talk about her and Chrysalis and Fluttershy and Applejack?”
“Yes. I want to, I need to. It’s not just for me,” Twilight huffed, rolling her neck. “I refuse to believe there’s nothing she can do for Fluttershy and Applejack. That’s just ridiculous. Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of. What if she’s lying about that? Worse, what if she’s not?”
Pinkie Pie shrugged, her unshakable smile trained straight on Twilight, who, for her part, rubbed at one of her knees and tried to avoid her gaze.
“Or maybe she needs you to trust her, for a change? And it sounds like you do, to me. Maybe you can start by trusting her to give you honest answers if you can just ask her some really boring Twilight-y questions that you need answered?”
“Maybe,” Twilight muttered, rubbing one of her knees.
There was no way to win. When Rainbow Dash upped her speed and flapped her wings as hard as she could, Cloudsdale blurred in front of her as it grew, but she also started feeling the slow dread of anxiety. When she slowed down and resigned herself to glide upon the night winds, the answers hovered out of reach.
She’d met Fluttershy’s parents once or twice when she was a filly, she was sure, but nothing really stood out. Fluttershy would usually insist they play in the wild clouds or in the city, and if they absolutely had to go somewhere, it would always be Rainbow Dash’s place. After all those years, the terminally shy filly could hold something resembling a normal conversation even with Dash’s own mom.
And therein the clue. Except for some vague memory of Fluttershy’s dad glaring at her when she followed her home once, her pegasus friend’s parents had no reason to know who she was other than what Fluttershy told them.
Your Rainbow Dash.
Why her? Why not ‘your friends’? And then the nonsense about a wedding? The white arches, columns, and the silvery clouds of Cloudsdale still grew in the darkness, and her mouth went dry as she soared over the cloud-city, trying to pick out the residential quarters on the north side. Past the quiet Cloudiseum and over the gentle cloud-banks she flew, passing by the building that hid her favorite pizza place. Fluffy cumuli glittered with magical lights, and finally she could make out carefully sculpted roofs and elegant cloud-gardens.
The northern face of the city held some of the finest mansions in all of Cloudsdale, and it certainly didn’t help calm her nerves when she realized that the street address Rarity had given her pointed straight to one of the finer villas on the largest of the clouds. Fluttershy’s parents must’ve moved. It would’ve been hard to forget a visit here.
Being afraid was dumb, though. She had nothing to be afraid of. Dash soared over the lovingly crafted sculptures of the garden, past a peculiarly mundane and doubtless enchanted non-cloud garden of tulips and other flowers, and landed in front of the door with a solid thump. White walls of cloud-stuff towered over her, and even the door suddenly seemed to large. When she knocked on the door, her hoof barely made a sound.
It wasn’t like it was her fault Fluttershy was missing. Not any more than it was Twilight’s fault. Or Pinkie Pie’s. Or anypony else.
The door swung open all too soon. She could’ve stood there all night and it would still have been too soon. The tension was somewhat dispelled by the fact that the large yellow pegasus who opened the door wore a nightcap and had a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. Toothpaste was steadily dripping on to the large and friendly doormat under Dash’s hooves.
“Huh,” was all the stallion said, frowning. After a moment’s deliberation, he leaned back to grab his toothbrush in a wing, landing a rather wide streak of paste across his long brown mane.
“You’re Fluttershy’s dad?” Rainbow Dash asked, raising a brow.
“And you’re Rainbow Dash,” the stallion retorted with a shrug.
“Uh-huh,” Dash replied, shifting her weight a bit. He wasn’t that much taller than her. Just about twice as broad. The way he wore that faint scowl reminded her of Rarity more than anything else, but on a pony half again her size, it was a little unsettling. It was hard to decide whether the foam around his lips made it comical, or twice as freaky.
“So, yeah. I need to talk to you. Gonna let me in?” Dash asked. It was really very dark out.
“A month ago, maybe. If you asked nice. Now? Wasn’t planning on it, no,” the yellow pegasus replied, shrugging before he turned and walked down the hallway inside the house. He made to tug the door shut with his tail, but Dash jammed a hoof in the doorway on pure reflex. The rapidly receding pegasus gave no real indication that he cared, ignoring her like so much dust as he turned a corner.
Rainbow Dash opened her mouth to say—no, to shout something; to try to give voice to the sheer indignation and confusion she felt, but no sooner had she drawn breath than she was interrupted by a melodious voice from somewhere deeper inside the house.
“Who was it, dear?”
“Nopony,” the brusque stallion retorted.
Dash rolled her eyes and pulled the door fully open, demonstratively sitting down on the welcome mat.
“That didn’t sound like nopony~” the other voice sang.
“It’s me. Uh. I’m Rainbow Dash,” Dash chanced. The now rather more tired-looking and grumpy pegasus stallion poked his head out from a nearby room to frown at her before flicking his toothbrush over his shoulder. Rainbow Dash ran a hoof through her mane and cleared her throat as the silence stretched on for longer than was strictly comfortable.
“Then let her in,” the other voice finally said. Dash smirked the smirk of the victorious and flexed her wings while her opposition rolled his eyes and trotted down the hall. Expecting no second invitation, Dash trotted inside.
The blue smoothed walls passed by quickly, and the house, mansion—whatever one’d call it, was probably very nice, but Dash was much more interested in the set of whispers around the next corner. The urgent hisses and the airy replies were made a little less interesting when she knew she was expected. Eavesdropping wasn’t exactly in the cards.
The hallway opened into a large Cloudsdale style living room with seating pillows and clouds, a fireplace, and a small bar on the far wall. All about the room, in pots, vases and wall-mounted sconces were brightly colored flowers the names of which Dash didn’t know. The stallion she’d already taken a win from was standing over by a small couch upon which sat an earth pony mare.
The resemblance was stunning. If not for her mane, which was done in a loose ponytail, she could easily have been Fluttershy’s older sister. Where the stallion’s flank was adorned with a shooting star, the mare had three flowers. Fluttershy’s mom, then.
“I’m not saying I’m happy,” the mare said, clearly responding to something whispered. She glanced over at Rainbow Dash before she turned back to look at her husband with a smile. “I just don’t see the point in acting like a sullen foal.”
The stallion sighed and hung his head, and for a moment, Dash entertained the notion that she might actually get a chance to get some simple answers. She put on her best smile as she took a step forward, only to have that hope dashed to the ground when the mare turned over the rim of the couch to give her a glare so cold, Dash froze on the spot. The uncanny resemblance to Fluttershy had been a little painful, at first, but the similarities ended there.
“You best start talking, and quick. Why are you here, now?”
“If it’s really that big a deal that it’s late, I can come back tomorrow,” Dash shrugged.
“Are you trying to be funny?” the stallion snapped. Rainbow Dash glared right back at the both of them as they looked down their snouts at her.
“I don’t even know what you mean!” Dash said. “Are you both crazy or something? I came here because I—uh, I read something, and you’re treating me like I’ve bucked a hole in your ceiling or something!”
“I don’t know what game you’re playing here, but you come walking into our lives after all these years, months after our daughter goes missing, and you pretend like nothing?” the mare asked, gaping. At her side, the stallion’s wings flared. It’d have been scary had it not been so very, very frustrating.
“Playing? Games?” Dash asked, breaking into a hover. “Here’s what happens: one of my best friends disappear, and I find some letter you’ve written, something about me and Fluttershy being together or whatever. How confused to do you think I am, huh? What the hay is going on?”
The stallion was up in the air in an instant, his forehead pressed to hers with a subvocal growl. “How dare you? I may wish she’d have made some different choices, but don’t you dare turn your back on—”
“Don’t I dare what?” Dash yelled, pushing back. “Who the hay told you Fluttershy and I were anything more than friends? Who’s been lying about us?”
“You come into our house and call our Fluttershy a liar?” the stallion boomed.
“Don’t you call Fluttershy a liar!” Rainbow Dash shrieked, her voice cracking. Every single part of her body tensed up as she raised a hoof—
The room grew very silent, very quickly.
“Honey, I think she’s being sincere,” the flower-flanked mare said.
Rainbow Dash landed on the tiled floor with a thump, blinking. “You mean Fluttershy was the one who told you? I mean, wait, hang on.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” the stallion said, his voice steadily rising as he folded his wings. “Why would she do that, Posey? Why would our daughter lie like this?”
“Stop it!” Dash snapped. “Don’t say—don’t, I—” she sputtered, grasping for any words to fill the gap. “Just shut up! Don’t say that about Fluttershy or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what?” the stallion bristled. “Threaten me in my own home?”
“Quiet, both of you!” the mare called, glaring at her husband before her eyes settled on Dash. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. How about just start anew, okay?”
Dash shrugged and folded her forelegs. “Whatever. He doesn’t get to say those things.”
“Right,” the yellow mare agreed. “The big guy with the big mouth is Rising Star, and I am Posey. I’m sure you can understand why we are a little upset right now.”
“Oh, you’re upset,” Dash grumbled, but Posey silenced her with a look that was terrifyingly similar to something Fluttershy would show once in a blue moon.
“Yes. We are,” Posey said, patting the seat of the couch next to her. Dash ignored it. “We’re upset because we’ve just been told that something we’ve thought was true for many years was wrong.”
“Okay,” Dash allowed, sighing as she sat down on the cold tiled floor. “Fine. What did you think? Why?”
Rising Star snorted. “Fluttershy moved out, took wing on her own because she was going to be with you. You were apparently the greatest thing ever.”
For the first time in her life, Rainbow Dash wasn’t quite sure she wanted the words that, without the wrapping, would have been praise.
“We knew you were friends from the start, and we knew you were trouble for our daughter, but when she came back home one day with stars in her eyes saying she was going to Ponyville, what could we do?” he asked, sounding less angry and more tired by the minute. “She loved the ground. Animals and everything. I didn’t have to like you to understand it’s what she wanted.”
“I’m trouble, right,” Dash muttered. “There’s the problem.”
“Oh don’t you start again,” Rising Star growled.
Posey inched forwards to lean over the edge of the couch, an almost feline gesture, resting her head on her forelegs. “At first it was fine, but then she started visiting less and less. Letters became a rare thing, too, and I guess we blamed you. She loved her new calling, tending to the animals of all shapes and sizes, but there was one more thing she loved. She loved you, too.”
Rainbow Dash tilted her head back and stared up at the ceiling. There it was, plain as rain. She just had to figure out what to do with it.
“I just don’t see why she would lie to us,” Rising Star muttered.
“Then you’re stupid,” Dash replied, rolling her eyes. “Do you even know her?”
“She’s my daughter!” he snapped. “I know she’s a little reluctant, shy at times, yes, but we’re her parents!”
Dash shrugged at that and closed her eyes, shutting him out. She wanted to be angry with herself, to blame herself for never realizing during all these years, but if none of her friends had picked up on it either, Fluttershy had hid it well. She reached up to scratch her wing where the little bracelet rested. It itched.
It was easy to imagine Fluttershy wanting to say something, and then keeping it to herself instead because she didn’t want to be a bother. When things were truly important, she’d always come to Rainbow Dash with it at some point. Sometimes it was a little annoying, like when she kept worrying about whether or not Gilda was doing okay. Other times, Dash was glad to help. But what if something came up that she couldn’t speak to anypony about? Fluttershy had resigned herself to keep quiet about this for how long? Since they left flight school? Before?
The air tasted sour, now, and Rainbow Dash idly wondered how Fluttershy’s parents would react to her being sick in their living room. It didn’t look like she could sink much lower in their opinion anyway, and it was getting harder and harder to care. She glanced over at Posey, the world moving in a dreamlike haze. The older mare was giving her a worried frown and speaking her name.
“Rainbow Dash. Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Peachy,” Dash croaked. “Just tired, I guess.”
“I just wanted to ask you one more thing,” Posey said, clearing her throat. “I don’t expect you can answer, but I have to ask.”
Rainbow Dash licked her lips and glanced over her shoulder. Suddenly, she couldn’t be free fast enough, and the living room was oppressive. She nodded briskly. “Yeah. What?”
“We received a few letters from the Princess, and we’ve been in touch with some of Fluttershy’s other friends, and they’re all telling us to—to have faith. To hold on. It’s all very vague,” she trailed off.
“Tell us that they will find our daughter,” Rising Star finished for her, walking over to stand by the couch and draping a wing over his wife. Dash tried to find her voice once, twice, but faltered when faced with their hopeful and urgent gazes.
Less than twenty seconds later, Rainbow Dash was airborne again and making for Ponyville. The landscape below hurtled by, and she swore she could see the stars move as she sped through the air. All she could think of was Fluttershy being scared and alone, a yellow pegasus lost and calling her name. It was a ridiculous thought. Fluttershy was probably with Applejack, and Dash knew her measure. Fluttershy herself was more than capable of handling anything the world threw at her, even if she didn’t know it, but it was still so very wrong.
Rainbow Dash was supposed to be there for her. That was just how it worked. How it was supposed to work, rather; only when they were separated did she realize how important it was. Even if she hadn’t always seen it, she was slowly coming to understand that Fluttershy had always been there for her, too.
It just wasn’t working. For three hours she’d tried to ensure she could make good on her boast, and she’d gotten exactly nowhere. When Celestia had asked her to perform a Sonic Rainboom, stupid Rainbow Dash had insisted she could pull it off just like that—going up, rather than down.
It was impossible, of course. Just like the Sonic Rainboom itself was impossible, a feat of legends. Rainbow Dash thrived on performing the impossible, of giggling madly as she did what others said she could not.She wasn’t giggling now. Right now, she was lazily drifting in circles over the Canterlot castle grounds, not quite aware of what she was looking for until she saw her.
“Hey, Fluttershy!” Dash called, breaking into a dive. When she alighted near the small garden gazebo, Fluttershy glanced over at her to smile before she turned back to the birds that lined the ornate wood railings of her little platform.
“I think we’ll take a little break, if that’s okay,” Fluttershy suggested dipping her head at all the assembled avians who dispersed no sooner than she’d finished her sentence. Birds big and small scattered throughout the royal gardens, leaving Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash alone.
“Hi, Rainbow Dash.”
“Hey,” Dash said, again. “You’re done with all your bird singing stuff and everything, right?” Dash asked, carefully avoiding her eyes. She feigned interest in some flower or other. A red one.
“Um, actually,” Fluttershy began, her smile fading a big as she rubbed a leg with the other.
“Because, I mean, if you’re free, you can watch me practice for the whole rainboom thing and everything,” Dash suggested, poking at the flower. She stole a quick glance at Fluttershy. Her friend bit her lower lip and hesitated.
“Oh. I would really like to run through the song a few more times is all,” Fluttershy said, her ears drooping.
Rainbow Dash nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, that’s fine,” she lied. “I don’t—”
“But of course I’d love to come watch,” Fluttershy added, her quiet voice silencing Dash more surely than any other other noise ever could. She spread her wings and smiled. “Where are you practicing?”
Rainbow Dash pumped her wings ever harder, a rainbow-trailed rocket thundering across the night sky.
Twilight felt more than she heard Celestia as the princess approached. She had known Celestia would find her. She was counting on it, even. Perhaps the guards had reported that her student had entered the royal gardens in the darkness of pre-dawn. Perhaps Celestia simply knew. That happened a lot. At one point she’d thought the princess knew everything, but it was a silly notion. Just because she always seemed so safe and strong, so in control, she was supposed to be omniscient?
She knew better now, and she wished she didn’t. There were a lot of things she wished had never happened, right down to her decision to sit by the large sycamore tree in the walled garden at the center of the palace. Celestia came to her, not the other way around. Was there some deeper meaning to it? Some inexpertly hidden symbolism?
Twilight’s head hurt already. She looked over her shoulder to see Celestia standing nearby, as tall and regal as ever, but with a respectful distance between them. Behind the alicorn, in an open doorway on the far wall, a shadow trailing the stars of night disappeared out of sight.
“Twilight,” Celestia said by way of greeting. No “my faithful student.” At least Celestia knew how trite those words would feel.
“Princess,” Twilight responded, dropping her gaze. She’d stopped feeling cold long ago. At least there was no wind here in the center of the palace grounds.
“What brings you here at night?” Celestia asked, sliding closer with that untouchable grace. There was no trace of emotion on her face, not even her usual gentle and warm smile. The words pretended at normalcy, even if her expression did not. Just like last time, Twilight wanted nothing more than to hug her, to bury her face in her coat and apologize without knowing what she was apologizing for; to pretend all was well.
Then what? She’d go back home, and the slow dread would return, throwing her into another useless pastime until the doubt choked the life out of her and made her return for another bout, none of which would get her friends back.
“You lost,” Twilight said. The words tumbled out before she even planned to speak, snuck her brain by before she managed to give them proper shape.
“You lost to Chrysalis. You couldn’t stop her, and neither could we. Now Applejack and Fluttershy are gone and you can’t do anything,” Twilight continued, her voice trembling. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to think about that and that scares me. I know you aren’t immortal, that you’re not eternal. It doesn’t add up.”
“I don’t know what I’m more afraid of. That you might be lying to me now again, that maybe you can help, but just don’t want to, or that you’re telling the truth,” Twilight whispered, clutching her stinging eyes shut.
“I feel so stupid. I feel—I feel betrayed, but I have no right,” she said, sniffling. “I haven’t talked to you for weeks, and all you do is send the same letter over and over again, asking how I’m doing, but I don’t know.”
“So you do read them,” Celestia commented with an arched brow.
“How can you joke about this?” Twilight said, her voice a little louder than she had intended. “Would you even be here if Luna hadn’t put you up to this? I’d be sitting here for hours, wouldn’t I?”
Celestia winced as if struck, and Twilight’s stomach clenched at the sight. The gamble, the little guesswork-turned-stab had hit home. Never before had she so fervently wished she could take back words, but she couldn’t even make herself apologize. She merely stared as Celestia worked her jaw soundlessly.
“There is no place I would rather be, Twilight,” Celestia finally said. “Here, with you, in the garden? It is where I want to be, and definitively where I need to be, as my sister convinced me. But in this situation? No.”
“And what situation is that?” Twilight asked, her voice dead and ashen to her own ears.
Celestia smiled at that, of all things. With great care, the alicorn princess lay down next to Twilight, first on her haunches, then reclining in a half-circle around her, dry leaves rustling in the darkness. With the princess facing away from what little light there was to be had here, Twilight could barely make out her face.
“Of having to tell you what your brilliant mind already knows, but needs to hear from me. Having to admit to you, of all ponies, the thing that I would rather never have to say. That I am just a pony, with flaws and limits.”
Twilight nodded numbly. “I knew that.”
“And you also knew that when I gave the Elements to you for you to keep safe, it was because I trusted you,” Celestia added.
“That worked out well,” Twilight grumbled, but Celestia reached out with a wing to raise her muzzle back up, forcing Twilight to look at her.
“Yet I have never admitted to you that I need you, Twilight Sparkle, and that’s doing you grave injustice.”
Twilight swallowed. Perhaps it was meant as praise, but all it did was fill her with a sense of dread and unease. Despite this, the princess glowed with the same warmth and power she always had, and the touch of her wing did much to chase those worries away.
“That should be a good thing, I guess,” the unicorn said, trying once more to look away, but the princess held her fast.
“You’ve grown up, my faithful student,” Celestia said, her voice softer now by far. “A good teacher will always learn much from their students, but calling you an apprentice, a student or anything of the like is folly. It’s time you stop trying to make me something I am not. I am no goddess. I have thousands of years of experience, but even before my fight with Chrysalis, I’ve had battles I could not win. Not alone.”
Yet again, Twilight could only nod weakly. Celestia spoke nothing but logic and hard truths. There was precious little to disagree with. Nor could she think of anything to add.
“You’re being vague again, though,” Twilight said. “My friends—”
“Our friends, I like to think,” Celestia interjected, turning away from Twilight. “And yes, Luna and I are still not quite agreed on the topic of Fluttershy and Applejack.”
“Meaning you could do something, but you aren’t,” Twilight commented. Her fears verified, she suddenly felt hollow. The fatigue she’d been repressing for weeks made itself known and demanded payback with interest. She struggled to stand, but her legs had fallen asleep, and all she managed was to unbalance herself, nearly falling over on her side.
“Sit still, and listen,” Celestia said. With her eyes in shadow, it was hard to tell whether it was a command or a request, but Twilight slumped and did just that.
“Do you remember the day of your birth, Twilight Sparkle?” Celestia asked.
“I, uh. Excuse me?” Twilight replied, but before Celestia could reply she held up a hoof. “No, I mean, you’re obviously trying to make a point, and no, I don’t. I don’t think anypony does.”
“I do not, either. Nor do I—as is the case with you I suspect—remember in detail things that happened long ago. Can you tell me who was present at your sixth birthday?”
“No, but I can probably remember bits and pieces, and deduce much of it. Assume, guess, and narrow it down through logic,” Twilight retorted, curious despite herself. “How exactly is this relevant?”
“Because the same is true for me, again. I may be no goddess, but I am many thousands of years old. The oldest legible book in the royal archives is four and a half thousand years old. I’m older than that, but details are hazy. Washed out. If I were forced to recall with perfect clarity every moment of my life, I would probably lost to madness by now. I remember the big picture and major events. I remember standing side by side with Luna as we rejected King Darkheart’s demands on the steps of the old castle two thousand three—, maybe four hundred years ago. Things like that. All things considered, I believe Equestria does not suffer for it. The kingdom prospers.”
Twilight nodded, feeling a slight chill that had nothing to do with the cold autumn night. In obsessing over Celestia’s nature, busy to tear her from the throne of godhood, it was easy to forget how vast the gulf between them still was. Celestia peered skywards as she paused for breath.
“Details are lost, but certain things take the place not of memory, but of purpose. Some traits are intimately tied to who we are. Identity, I suppose. Some ponies feel this more strongly than others. You six, the Elements of Harmony, you are such ponies.”
“I shall speak not just for myself, but for me and my sister both, for we are the same. We may not remember, but we know what we are. Our earliest memories are of Equestria, because it is who we are. We are tied to the land, because it is all we’ve ever known. We are Equestria, and Equestria is us. I am sorry to disappoint you in that I can’t be more precise, but it is simply our nature.” When she finished speaking, Celestia was looking straight at Twilight, as if she expected a response.
“And you are telling me this,” Twilight said, piecing it together as she spoke. “You’re saying you’ve never been outside of Equestria. You’re saying—” she choked. “You’re saying you’re afraid? You think you could do something to help find Fluttershy and Applejack, but you’re not, because you’re afraid?”
Celestia frowned and lowered her muzzle, a half-nod frozen. “I am saying that I am reluctant to leave my seat of power because I do not know if I will survive it, be that on a metaphorical or a very physical level. The border of Equestria is all I know first-hoof. Much is at stake.”
“You—”
“Luna disagrees. Think less of me if you will, but not her.”
Twilight shook. Slowly, painfully, she stood, her voice reduced to a croak. “You’re afraid,” she repeated. “You could help, but you won’t, because you’re afraid. I don’t understand.”
Celestia lay quiet. If not for the subtle movement of her form moving with breath, she may as well have been a statue of an alicorn frozen in an expression of trepidation. Twilight backed away, one step, then another.
“Would you like to know why?” Celestia asked, her voice barely louder than the rustle of leaves and Twilight’s soil-muted hoofsteps.
Twilight closed her eyes and gave a shuddering sigh. “I’m not sure I can deal with any more revelations tonight. I should get some sleep, and if I’m not mistaken you should raise the sun about now.”
“The sun will keep. Would you like to know why?” the princess repeated, following her with her gaze as Twilight made for one of the many doors that led into the palace. Twilight would’ve ignored her, mumbled an apology and left, were it not for how thin and frail the princess’ voice sounded just then. The unicorn stopped on the spot and bit her lower lip, nodding once.
“I’ve never before been afraid.” Celestia rose to stand as she spoke, brushing leaves off her sides with her wings. “I’ve never had an issue with admitting my limits. That’s one thing. I’ve also never before in all my years been in a position where I could not accomplish from my throne in Canterlot what I needed to do, but nor would I have hesitated to cross the border if I truly needed to, either. Trust me when I say that Applejack and Fluttershy matter a lot to me, too. This is one such situation. Twenty years ago, I would have done what I must.”
Twilight’s heart hammered almost painfully in her chest. The unspoken question of “why not?” hung in the air. It took all of her restraint not to yell the words at her, and the only reason she was succeeding was because she knew it was unfair on so many levels. If the princess was afraid, if something stopped her from putting her everything on the line, it had to be big.
“Something changed,” Celestia said, closing the gap between them. The princess stood before her, neck craned as she looked down upon her. “Now I have you.”
Twilight’s expression slowly melted from tentative curiosity to something else entirely. Celestia stood and watched as her protegé’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened, The unicorn took a failing step back that only half her body followed through on. Not quite the reaction she had expected or hoped for.
“You mean—” Twilight stammered. “You mean it’s my fault?”
Celestia paused. She forced her breath steady, refused to do more than arch a brow as she thought.
“I already caused this,” Twilight added, a sickly grin spreading across her face as she lowered her eyes, shaking her head from side to side. “I’m the one who made this happen, and now you’re telling me that if not for me, you could have saved them already?”
“That is not at all what I said,” Celestia replied, taking a step towards Twilight, but the unicorn backed away twice as fast until the sun princess halted.
“No, you’re right,” Twilight agreed still shaking her head, her chest heaving with breath and her voice bordering on hysterical. “You’re right. You’re the one who suddenly decided to trust me with the Elements, you gave me what I needed to ruin everything, and now I’m stopping them from coming home, too. I’m a walking disaster!”
“Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia snapped, her voice booming across the small courtyard as she set her horn aglow. “Listen. It’s not that simple, and you are missing the point entirely. You are not at fault in preventing me from doing anything, nor could I magically whisk Fluttershy and Applejack back home!”
Celestia sighed and tossed aside the glamour. She forced herself to discard the minor spells she applied to her voice as habit more than anything else. Her student was looking at her like bunny frozen before a cart.
“What I am saying is that I care for you, Twilight. I was born to bear the Sun as Luna was born to bear the Moon, and I do not know to which degree I am or am not immortal. I love life far too much to put it to the test needlessly. What I do know is that I cannot be perfect. I have needed to be perfect for Equestria at times, and that is why I do not show weakness, but for you? For you, it is a desire, not a need.”
Twilight stood as frozen as before. Time itself might as well have stopped. With no wind to play the leaves, no sound in the isolated little patch of garden, absolutely nothing moved for seconds so long, Celestia would gladly have traded them for a thousand years of anything else. Finally, Twilight drew a sharp breath, her pupils dilating.
“I have to—to go,” she stuttered.
Hooves thudded against soft earth and then hard stone floors. Leaves kicked up in the darkness rustled and settled again, and Celestia remained standing in the center of the garden by its one large tree. She kept her mind carefully blank as she waited, and it took considerable work to curb her own tendency to plot and plan ahead while idle. It was one of those rare moments where she’d rather not think of consequences and such. It took no more than a minute before she heard hoofsteps from one of the side passages.
“You may as well drop the act. I know you have been listening in, and yes, that could have gone far better,” Celestia murmured as Luna stepped into the courtyard.
The night princess didn’t so much as bat an eyelash, but rather, shrugged. “It may be that she simply did not understand what you meant,” she offered. “You said you care for her. You care for all your subjects. Perhaps simpler, more modern words would have been better? Even we missed your full intent last time we talked about this.”
“Twilight is too clever to miss the meaning of my words,” Celestia murmured. “It would be ridiculous if I could not handle anything but abject approval and agreement when the entire point is that she needs to see me as an equal.”
“She needs to respect you as a person, and not as a princess, and you need to respect her as a pony, not a student,” Luna nodded, crossing the distance between them and giving her a brief hug, neck to neck.
“My first step towards exactly that is not flying after her right now, and you won’t believe how hard that is. I hope I get a chance to explain myself, and that she does not fear or loathe me now,” Celestia added, sitting down flat on her rump with a sigh. Luna nodded and scuffed at the ground, visibly hesitant.
“For how long have you had, ah, special interest in Twilight Sparkle? Are these amorous intentions something new?”
Celestia blushed ever so slightly in the darkness while rolling her eyes at her sister’s candour. “The last year or so. I never act rashly, you know that. There’s a strength to her, something of steel beyond her adoration. It is... remarkable,” she muttered. “I would have your thoughts.”
Luna tilted her head, her mane shifting and sending the star-trail brushing past her. “Our thoughts? We are in no position to object, and we find Twilight Sparkle to be thoroughly fascinating. We think you deserve each other, and that is the highest praise we can give her, for we love you, sister.”
“Thank you,” Celestia replied, but even as she spoke, Luna’s expression hardened.
“We wonder at your parting words, though. Is this why you hesitate? Is Twilight Sparkle and your attachment to her why you veto our desire to aid in the search for the missing Elements?”
“It isn’t that simple,” Celestia retorted.
“Is it not? Eleven hundred years ago, we would not have taken the neighbouring kingdoms and tribes into account if we had a cause in which we believed.”
“That was then, this is now. These are peaceful times, Luna.”
Luna snorted. “You are getting bogged down with consequences when you know what we should be doing!”
“And what exactly is that?” Celestia snapped, standing up in an instant. Luna matched her, muscle for muscle, as they spread their wings. “You speak of acting, of doing something, but you have no plan except wanting to throw us out there!”
“We speak of—” Luna began, indignant, but Celestia would not be quelled.
“The world has changed! The world always changes, sister, and these are times for peace and proxies, of diplomats and designates! Those few envoys who are willing to venture forth beyond the borders have been informed, they have been told that Equestria wishes for its two beloved subjects to find their way home, but you have no plan. Are we to take wing by ourselves and call out to them?”
Slowly, breath ragged, Celestia furled her wings and looked away. It was misplaced and unfair anger. Shame and regret warred with one another as her stomach clenched. The night princess made neither sound nor move.
“I’m sorry. You are frustrated,” Celestia said. She aimed for an even tone, but it came out a whisper.
“We believe that is an understatement,” Luna agreed.
“Because you feel you owe them?”
Luna nodded slowly, her eyes never once leaving Celestia. “Fluttershy and Applejack are two of the Elements of Harmony. They saved us, and they carry no grudge.”
The night princess’ eyes glinted in the darkness as a frown crossed her features. “Perhaps that is it, then. You forget what we owe them. Perhaps you are content and free to bank on them finding their way back home, but we are indebted.”
“Content?” Celestia repeated. “You forget that I owe them the same. I have my sister back, and you suggest that I am sitting here idle because I am content? You forget, perhaps, that I planned for your return from the very day you were banished. Apologies have been made, and it is done with, but if you doubt that I wish them returned, you doubt my love for you.”
Luna shifted. “Perhaps we misspoke, but we do not expect that we will be anything but restless until Applejack and Fluttershy are both safe and sound. If not content, you at least seem resigned.”
Celestia puffed out her cheeks, but there was no counter to be found, no reply to be had.
Mercifully, one of the windows in Ponyville’s Library were open. It shaved a good half second of Rainbow Dash’s not-quite-planned route as she slipped in and landed in the middle of the main floor. It was nearing noon already, and flying the Ponyville-Cloudsdale route twice in quick succession could wear down even the toughest of pegasi. Perhaps, under usual circumstances, Rainbow Dash herself would’ve felt the strain, too, but sleep and rest were easily the furthest things on her mind.
“Hello?” a voice called from the kitchen. A moment later, Spike stuck his head around the corner, giving the pegasus a quizzical look. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Hey Spike,” Dash said by way of greeting as she made for the stairs. “I need to talk to Twilight. Now.”
“Uh, sure. Except you’re going the wrong way. She’s down in the basement,” Spike explained as Dash put her forelegs on the stairs leading up to Twilight’s room. “She just came back from—” he continued, but whatever he was saying was lost to Dash as she flipped around and galloped through the open cellar door. If Twilight had broken out of her stupid reading binge, good. Better, at least.
Dash kicked off at the top of the stairs and pumped her wings, jetting down the narrow hallway and over the railing. Glancing about the deceptively large cellar area, it was a simple matter of following the noise and the telekinetically flung odds and ends to find Twilight herself. The unicorn stood amidst slanted bookcases and open crates, magically hovering dozens of objects around herself as she inspected them, occasionally flinging one over her shoulder and bringing out another one.
“Hey, Twilight,” Dash called, ducking under a large pocket watch that whizzed past her.
“No,” Twilight murmured.
“Uh, Twilight?” Dash repeated, hovering right behind the unicorn. The only reply she got was a musty old book bouncing off her forehead.
“This one’ll come in handy,” the unicorn muttered as she gently deposited another book by her feet. “Now where—”
“Hey, egghead!” Dash snapped. “Wake up!”
Every single item Twilight had been holding dropped to the ground with a terrible clatter, the purple mare spinning around and backing away all at once. Her eyes were wide with fright and she was heaving for breath, and it didn’t take a lot of detective work to realize something was wrong. There was always something wrong these days, but this was new. Twilight’s eyes were rimmed with red, and she didn’t even complain that Dash had frightened her. Even as she finished that thought, Twilight lit up her horn again and began sorting through the items again.
“Uh, hey. Sorry. Have you been crying?” Dash asked, trying her best not to make it sound like an accusation.
“I don’t know,” Twilight muttered, blinking heavily and looking away. “Have you seen a book called Wayfarer’s Guide here somewhere?”
“No? Listen, I came here because I need a map,” Dash said. “Like, one of the big ones with pictures and stuff. Not just Equestria. Bigger.”
“Map size doesn’t have anything to do with its scope,” Twilight replied, for one moment sounding almost like herself as she lifted the top off a crate and levitated out a stack of musty old books and lengths of cloth.
Dash sighed and blew a strand of her mane out of her face. “I don’t speak map-ese or whatever, I just need one, okay? I’m done waiting.”
Twilight paused at that, her cracked and abused eyes trained on Rainbow Dash in silence for so long that the pegasus began to fidget.
“You want to leave. To go search for them,” Twilight said.
“Yeah,” Dash replied, swallowing. “This is dumb. I’m not gonna sit around—”
“Me too.”
Rainbow Dash rolled her tongue around in her mouth. “Right. Cool. So why’ve you been crying?”
“What’s that around the base of your wing?” Twilight countered with a small smile.
Dash scratched at her nose and re-furled her wings. Every time she did that, she could feel the bracelet against her wing. Her cheeks heated up. “I’ll tell you over lunch or something. Point is, you should have told me. I’m in. I bet you Rarity and Pinkie Pie want to come along too.”
“I didn’t want to get you involved,” Twilight muttered.
“Hey, we’re a team, right?” Dash asked, grinning. “Now let’s get that lunch.”
Winter came slowly to the land, but the cold was already taking root. Where the lightly forested lowlands mixed with open grassy plains, dandelion seeds joined the leaves that filled the air. With no stampede or race to help them along, the forest’s leaves fell only after color had long since drained from them and they were dry and brittle things.
Fluttershy giggled as she leapt the small brook that crossed the forest floor to join Applejack on the other side. Together, they trotted onwards under the sparse canopy. “Okay, what about Rarity?”
“Rarity? Oh don’t get me started!” Applejack laughed, shaking her head. “Twi would be fine even if she couldn’t just whisk us back home, but Rarity?”
“Oh she’s much stronger than she looks,” Fluttershy admonished. “And you would be surprised how tenacious she can be when she really puts her mind to something.”
“I know, sugar,” Applejack allowed, still grinning. “I was just making a joke of it, honest. How about you and, say, Pinkie Pie?”
Fluttershy stifled another giggle. “Oh my, I doubt we’d get home at all.”
“Now there’s a load of hooey,” Applejack snorted. “You know she ain’t silly all the time, and I bet you could talk some sense into her if you had to. Point is, doubt there are any two of us who wouldn’t do fine together, and that’s why I reckon the others are safe.”
“I suppose,” Fluttershy nodded, craning her neck as she sought the sun through the trees, squinting against the sharp light where it filtered past their crowns. “Um, I think we might be off course again. Just a teensy bit. We should have checked after we went around that hill earlier today.”
“Right,” Applejack grunted as halted, sliding the saddlebags off her back. “You fly up and check, I’ll get the map. Reckon’ we should take a break while we’re at it? Might as well call it here, make camp.”
Fluttershy shed her saddlebags and took wing before Applejack had even finished her sentence. It had become routine by necessity. With a map and no compass but the sun and stars, and with no knowledge of the land, Fluttershy spent quite a bit of time in the air scouting for landmarks. It was odd, that, how her wings had suddenly become so important to the pair where before they had almost been a symbol of her inadequacy, at least to herself.
Now, Fluttershy flew in tight circles as she gained height, finding a measure of pride in her wings. Higher she climbed, up and up until the forest was a vast carpet of green below. She could barely see the ocean anymore, still a little sad that they were journeying further inland, but it was quickly forgotten now. Her gaze lingered a little longer than usual before she made her descent. Mere minutes after she started her climb she drifted back down through the canopy to find that Applejack was almost done setting camp.
The blanket they used as a tarp was draped over a low and sturdy branch, and their saddlebags were safely nestled in its shadow, their cloaks already prepared as bedding. The precious map was spread out on the ground under the orange mare’s hooves, as was the journal that had hid it.
“So, are we making any progress?” Applejack asked, flicking her hat on to the bedding and shaking out her mane.
“I think so. I think I see the lake that’s on the map,” Fluttershy replied, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. “I saw something big and flat past the forest, but it’s already getting dark. Maybe we’ll see it tomorrow, but I know I saw something.”
“Really?” Applejack asked, breaking into a huge grin. “Well, don’t that beat all.”
Fluttershy nodded, the thrill of discovery still surging through her body. “That might mean we’re heading in the right direction, perhaps there really is a village further north-east! Maybe somepony, or, um, well, someone knows how much further it is to Equestria. To home. If the village is still there, I mean.”
“Villages don’t disappear in a couple o’ hundred years, I’m sure it’s there. I just wish this darn thing made more sense,” Applejack grumbled, glaring at the map. The old and worn cloth had seen better days, and it was a small thing, barely twice the size of the journal with its pages opened. The center of the map was dominated by the mountains from where they’d come, where they had found the map itself, and the forest they journeyed through covered much of the rest. The valley with the fortress and the earth pony ruins were all marked with odd signs that meant nothing to them, and accurate distances and scale must have been a very secondary concern for the cartographer.
“Thing’s barely useful at all,” Applejack added, giving the map a poke. “Just glad if the lake’s up ahead and that you’re right. If that’s true, the little marker with the houses past it shouldn’t be far.”
“And after that,” Fluttershy continued, her eyes wandering past the little circle that had to be the lake, past the crude houses marked with illegible script to where an arrow pointed off the map. Below the arrow were more runes that neither of the two ponies could read, and in far less elegant scrawled ink beneath, an infinitely more readable “Equestria.”
“Yup,” Applejack agreed, gently folding the map. As she went to tuck it away amidst their other scavenged supplies, Fluttershy sat and parted the pages of the journal they had taken from the Dreamspire weeks ago. While Applejack made for lovely company, it was soothing to read the strange unicorn’s writing again just to remind herself that there were—or at least had been—other creatures out here beyond the weird and wonderful creatures of the great forest.
Fluttershy let her gaze wander at that. They had seen huge and loud birds with jagged beaks, critters who looked much like otters yet hunted mice, and other, stranger things besides, but not a single creature who spoke. Behind them, between the trees, she could still see the towering mountains that had hid the Dreamspire. It was hard to imagine the horizon without those immense peaks.
“What’re you thinking ‘bout then?” Applejack asked, tilting her head from over by their little tarp-become-tent.
“Oh. Well, nothing,” Fluttershy muttered, quickly averting her eyes.
“If you’re thinking about Castellan, he wasn’t a pony.” Applejack scratched at her nose. “Just something a pony made. It’s right sad that he had to go and destroy everything, but it ain’t like he could die. He—or it never lived.”
“I know. But Brighthoof did,” Fluttershy replied, walking over join her atop the cloaks that lined their bedding area. The wind was sharp now that the sun had set. “I wonder if he got away. Maybe he found a different way out?”
“Maybe,” Applejack muttered, laying down next to her. Side by side, they stared out at the darkening forest around them. Everything was a little off, even if it wasn’t exactly scary. The animals were different, some of the trees were new, and half of the plants and berries were unknown to Fluttershy. It was as if though she was in any of the little forests that surrounded Ponyville: they could have been in the Whitetail Woods or the Proudleaf forest, except that somepony else was telling the tale, not her, and they didn’t get it quite right.
Not scary, no, but unsettling. Different. And it never felt so keen as it did when the night fell. Birds sang strange songs when the darkness came, and they had an endless repertoire of new sounds.
“I just miss ponies. People,” Fluttershy said, leaning closer to Applejack until their sides touched. Only then could she close her eyes and let herself rest, once more wishing for a wing to cover her back, this time with neither shame nor hesitation.
They broke camp and set off through the woods again with a sunrise that was oddly late. Applejack’s long experience in rising with the sun suggested that the darkness lingered longer than it should, but she’d barely completed the thought when the first rays of dawn filtered through the forest.
She had stopped counting the days. In fact, she had stopped twice. First because she suspected she’d lost count, and the second time because there was no real point to it. Even with seasons that slowly changed of their own accord rather than in a matter of days like they ought to, it sufficed to say that autumn was giving way to winter.
“I reckon it won’t really snow much,” Applejack said on a whim as she leapt a fallen log. Fluttershy flapped her wings to clear the obstacle and tilted her head as she landed.
“Unless it’s all gonna fall at once, I mean,” Applejack added. “It’s warmer here’n back home, don’t you think?”
“I think so. It hasn’t really rained since the day after we landed,” Fluttershy agreed as they trotted on. Ahead, the woodland was becoming more and more sparse. Dry, even. Low grass and copses of trees dotted the lowlands, and there was precious little else to see.
“Sounds about right,” Applejack murmured. It was an easy, comfortable silence between the two as they walked. There were limits to how many times you could say the same things without it becoming trite, and they’d had none but each other for company for so long, the few things they hadn’t talked to death were the things they didn’t really want to talk about anyway. Still, they had their ongoing little topics and games.
“Okay, hit me. I’ll trade ya for an apple pie when we get back,” the farmpony said with the beginnings of a smile.
“Hm? Oh, goodness, I really shouldn’t,” Fluttershy replied.
“Sugar, if you and R.D. have known eachother for so many years, I refuse to believe you don’t have just one more little embarrasin’ thing about her that only you know about,” Applejack retorted, bumping into her as they trotted along. Fluttershy giggled and tossed her mane.
“Oh okay, but I think you owe me at least a dozen apple pies already.”
“Fourteen,” Applejack nodded.
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like something else.”
“Well, of course. Fritters? Crumblers? Caramel apples?” Applejack asked, though she could already tell she was on the wrong track. Fluttershy wasn’t looking at her, the pegasus biting her lower lip.
“I want to ask a question of my own,” she finally said.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Applejack admitted. “But fine. Come on already. Something I can tease Rainbow Dash with. I know you got something for me, sugar.”
Fluttershy nodded and glanced skywards at the grey clouds that marred the dark blue, as if looking for inspiration. “You won’t actually tell her or make fun of her for it, will you?”
Applejack sighed and let out a low chuckle. “Fourteen apple pies, and fourteen times you’ve said those words or something like it. ‘Course I won’t, it’s just all in good fun.”
Fluttershy nodded. “Well, um, she was afraid of geese, once. Does that count?”
“Geese,” Applejack repeated. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“No,” Fluttershy affirmed, giggling. “She had a little accident with a flock of geese in flight school, and it didn’t go very well. It ended with her needing a few stitches.”
Applejack gave a bark of laughter, grinning so wide her face hurt, but Fluttershy’s mirth was far more subdued, the pegasus actually wincing.
“I introduced her to Belle, a lovely little goose, soon after I moved to Ponyville, and I think she’s over it, but she still thinks they fly in, um ‘attack formation’ for a reason.”
“Doubt I’ll soon forget that.” Applejack shook her head. “Alright, fair’s fair. Your turn then.”
Fluttershy glanced over at her. “You said you needed to get home. It’s more than you just missing your family, isn’t it?”
Applejack puffed out her cheeks and kept her legs moving as she thought. She’d barely taken five more steps before Fluttershy went on.
“If you don’t want to talk about it that’s fine, you don’t have to answer that. I mean, you’re probably just worried about the harvest like I hope that somepony’s taking care of all the animals and—”
“It ain’t that,” Applejack said, jerking her head forwards so her hat would sit right. “It’s about mom and dad.”
“Oh,” Fluttershy voiced.
“Ain’t much to tell, sugar. They went out one day when I was so little I don’t even remember. Granny Smith said she thought they were heading by road to Clopenhagen like they would every spring before sowing the crops. Never came back.”
Fluttershy gave her another covert little glance, her eyes glistening in the sunlight. Applejack could feel a lump worming its way up her throat. She forced it back down as she drew to a halt.
“If I ain’t cryin’ over this, you don’t get get to,” Applejack muttered. “Was a long time ago and I don’t remember anything about them except that I miss them.”
Fluttershy nodded, blinking rapidly as she sniffled. “Sorry,” she whispered. It was all Applejack could do to draw her into a quick hug, the two ponies exchanging smiles before they kept moving towards a distant copse of trees they’d marked from the map earlier in the day, now at a slower walk.
“The stupid part is, Granny Smith never realized something was up until she noticed mom had left her hat.” Applejack shrugged. “She never went anywhere without it, but she left it in my crib.”
“Something was wrong?” Fluttershy repeated, shifting the weight of her saddlebags. The pegasus was frowning at her.
“Well, considerin’ as how even back then, the road to Clopenhagen was nice and well travelled, and nopony’s gone missing within Equestria for goodness knows how long, I’d say.”
Applejack arched her neck. “May be that I checked and found out that nopony ever saw them travel towards Clopenhagen that spring either. It don’t matter much now, does it? Well, except to make me want to get home. I don’t have a stallion or a mare in my life right now, but I have a family all the same, and I don’t want to do the same to them. Apples ain’t meant to wander this far from home.”
Fluttershy gave her a long look, her expression blank as they walked. It carried on for so long, Applejack finally looked away, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. “What now, then?”
“You want to get home for them, for your family, not yourself,” Fluttershy said, finally letting go of her with her gaze. “It’s very nice of you.”
“Nice, is it?” Applejack grumped, one of her the corners of her mouth tugging at her face.
“Sorry, I just—”
“I get it. Thanks,” the earth pony muttered, leaning over to nudge her in what she hoped was an affectionate manner. “It's just gildin' it, that's all. Not wanting them to be sad 'cause I don't want them to lose me, that's much the same as wanting our friends to be happy, to get to see us again. It's all the same. Can't say I don't want to get back home for the chance at an apple pie, too."
"You can have a slice of mine," Fluttershy suggested, smiling.
"Sorry, what?" Applejack asked, blinking.
"Since you owe me fourteen of them, you have a lot of apple pies to bake," she responded, giggling.
While it was clear there would be no snow, the forest thinned day by day still, giving less shelter from the only real weather they got; wind. As they trekked across valleys and hills that became ever flatter, always in the shadow of the mountains behind, vegetation became increasingly sparse and soil turned dry. The only notable discovery had been a clean slab of stone as the forest honestly stopped being just that and became dry plains. With no markings to give the stone meaning, it had been an easy decision to leave it and move on.
Fluttershy would fly up at least twice a day when there was a lull in the wind, but it took many days still before it came apparent that the expanse she had spotted long ago was no lake. When they finally drew near, they found that the large lake had dried up, leaving behind a huge, gaping pit they would have to go around. That disappointment had only lasted for the hours it had taken them to skirt around its edges.
The pair stood on the edge of the lake-turned-pit, the rocky depths to one side, and the wastes to the other. In following their map, seeking to get to the other side to resume their journey towards what they hoped was a village, they’d found another marker, something both ridiculously simple yet very promising. A wooden pole was embedded in the ground, at least ten paces tall and flying a solid colored red banner.
Fluttershy’s mane blew past her face and the wind whistled in her ears as she stared at the simple yet vivid strip of cloth. Yesterday, she’d been worrying about their supplies and about finding water, concerned that the heat during the day was quickly becoming almost as big a problem as the chill during the dark of night. All those concerns were evaporating under the glare of hope, now.
“And there’s another!” Applejack whooped. Fluttershy shook her head to clear it and followed Applejack’s gaze to where another strip of red was barely visible at the edge of vision. She glanced skywards before stealing a look over her shoulder, tracing their steps.
“It’s going the right way,” Fluttershy breathed, her wings spreading of their own accord. “It’s a road!”
“Well then. Would be rude not to follow it and see where it goes then,” Applejack said, grinning back at her.
Suddenly, the days were too short. There was a foal-like glee that came with passing each of the markers, and it became a game, trying to cover more ground every day. Without fail, just as they reached one of the high-flying red banners they would spot another far off in the distance. While they had still not seen any other ponies, having a direction and a vague sense of purpose was by far enough. Fluttershy found herself galloping alongside Applejack, running for the sake of it. There was no rush, no sense of urgency, yet still they ran.
The wasteland changed still. Vegetation became even more sparse, and where the ground underhoof wasn’t comprised of dried and cracking soil, it was rock. Though the wastes were otherwise relatively flat, the little markers led them on past jagged rock formations and down through gaping chasms. One day they trotted along the floor of a great rent in the wasteland where they could barely spot the sun and sky above, only to pick their way over a hill of stone the next day, where one misstep would send them tumbling down to the rocky ground below.
Despite the near-barren soil, there was life to be found here, too. Far from the dead lands of the valley, life wasn’t absent so much as that it just hid well. Lizards and other small creatures scurried about in the shadows, hiding from the ever-hotter sun, and while no rain fell, small oases dotted the land. Plants were dry in the harsh land, but they adapted. It wasn’t many days after they had started chasing the flag-trail when they realized they had to pace themselves. The days were simply getting too hot, just like the nights saw them under their cloaks rather than atop them.
“Weirdest winter I ever had,” Applejack muttered as they crested what wasn’t so much a hill as a small swelling. The highest point had yet another of the markers embedded in it, and they had stopped while looking for the next. Fluttershy squinted and leaned forward as she tried to make sense of what she saw in the distance.
“I mean, and this is just me thinkin’, but could it be that the seasons are going backwards here?” Applejack continued at Fluttershy’s side. After a moment, she began rummaging through her saddlebags. “Where’s that journal again?”
“Applejack?” Fluttershy said, bringing a hoof up to keep her mane away from her face. “I think I see something.”
“Well, good. Was wondering if they weren’t getting harder to... find,” Applejack replied, her voice trailing off as she, too, squinted. “Is that smoke?”
“And buildings,” Fluttershy affirmed, spreading her wings together with a smile. Where the faint haze of smoke rose into the air, the horizon was jagged and irregular, but they were no rocks. “Buildings and smoke. It’s not a ruin, it’s the village from the map.”
“Village nothing,” Applejack muttered breathlessly. “That’s a town or maybe even a city.”
“Maybe we can make it before nightfall?” Fluttershy suggested, and she had barely finished her sentence before Applejack cantered down the gentle slope.
“We will if you catch up!” Applejack called back to her. The pegasus giggled and took wing, soaring after the farmpony before she got too far ahead.
The remaining distance was eaten up quicker than a dandelion baguette after a full day in the garden. Applejack kicked up sandy dust as she ran, every once in awhile giving a loud whoop, and Fluttershy did her best to keep up. The heat made her work up quite a sweat, but it was impossible to stop when every wingbeat and every step gave detail to the buildings ahead. First, they could make out the tallest buildings. Some spires and towers were taller than even the Ponyville clocktower, but more than the occasional giant, the surprising thing was the spread.
After hours of speeding towards the townscape, it had eaten the horizon. Applejack finally slowed down, and Fluttershy alighted to fall in step at her side when they finally approached the outskirts. Hundreds, if not thousands of low sandstone buildings waited ahead, and in the spaces between them more abodes had been erected, as if though wasting space was a crime. Shapes moved between the houses, and the faint din of civilization reached their ears even as they watched from afar, still a good league or two away.
Applejack halted, and Fluttershy was glad of it. For the past few minutes, she’d been wanting to stop, too. It wasn’t out of some vague dread or supernatural wrongness, but rather, a simpler and more casual anticipation. Perhaps there was a little fear thrown in there for good measure, too. It was an awfully big city. If she flew up high as she dared, perhaps she’d find that it stretched on and on for as far as the eye could see.
“No guards. Why ain’t they comin’ to meet us?” Applejack asked, clearly asking nopony at all rather than Fluttershy. It was a good question, though.
The sun was already merging with the horizon to the west. The darkness was descending, and in response, the city ahead lit up with innumerable lights. For a little while, as the evening fell in earnest, Fluttershy said nothing, content to watch the soft glow of lanterns and other, stronger lights bloom upon the busy city.
“Um, do you think they’ll mind if we just come in?” Fluttershy finally asked. “If they don’t have any walls like Canterlot, maybe it’s because it’s okay to just enter? Nopony runs out to stop ponies from visiting Ponyville.”
“I suppose,” Applejack agreed, but the farmpony made no move.
Fluttershy scratched at the ground. “Are you a little scared too? Because it’s been so long since we’ve had anypony to talk to, I don’t know what I’ll say.”
“Just be honest,” Applejack replied, flashing a smile that slid off her face as quick as it had come. “And yeah. Fine. Me too,” she added with a dry laugh. “Let’s go, then.”
“I don’t think they are ponies,” Fluttershy whispered. The shapes that moved about the buildings grew, and as she spoke, the words became truth. The pair had barely passed some outlying, empty shacks by before they saw the first of the town’s inhabitants clearly. Along the flat rooftops walked a creature much like a pony except for its very long neck. Its features were fine and it wore a tie and a hat that Rarity would surely have approved of—in that it looked like nothing Fluttershy had ever seen before—but that strangeness paled in comparison to the sheer length of its neck.
Still forging ahead and craning her neck to try to follow it, Fluttershy had no sooner lost track of the odd creature in the darkness when she spotted another down on ground level. This one had a shorter, more sensible neck, but possessed an odd lump on its back, and its head reminded her more of the sheep back on Applejack’s farm than anything else. They were amidst the buildings and within the city proper before she could even protest, and here were dozens and hundreds more.
More of the long-necked spotted creatures walked among the cobbled streets with precise and slow steps, and the humped ones, some with two humps instead of one, wound their way through doorless portals and across the bustling city in the artificial light. Slight, prong-horned creatures that barely reached Fluttershy’s muzzle slipped between them and bounced through the streets, and smaller ones still were present, some of them without horns at all.
Fluttershy pressed herself close to Applejack as the inhabitants of the strange city washed around them like a tide, conversation spoken and whispered becoming a monotonous susurrus. Her throat tightened as she felt the tendrils of panic brush past, but it was kept at bay by two little things. One was Applejack’s presence, the farmpony walking on with her head low, pressing back against her. The other was the fact that very few of these creatures seemed to care about them in the least. They were almost completely ignored.
“Guess there ain’t much of a welcoming committee,” Applejack commented. She didn’t have to speak very loudly to be heard. None of the citizens seemed to be very noisy, giving the streets the air of a cafeteria on a lazy Sunday rather than the din of the ongoing shouting contest called Canterlot.
“I suppose. I think I heard somepo—um, someone say something in Equestrian,” Fluttershy replied, accidentally and briefly locking eyes with one of the humped creatures, who, for its part, raised an eyebrow and watched her curiously until she averted her eyes. “We could try asking where we are. And where to go, too.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Applejack replied, pointing ahead. “Seems there’s something of a market ahead. A mite bit more polite to ask somepony who’s not busy than accosting people in the street.”
“Oh. Of course,” Fluttershy agreed, hoping the relative dark would hide her blush. “Sorry.”
“For what? Oh come on!” Applejack laughed, a rich and full laughter that cut through the noise as she grinned over at her, making Fluttershy’s cheeks burn twice as hot. “Sugar, you’ve saved my flank twice already since we got in this here big ol’ mess, and once we meet people again, you’re going back to being... to—”
Fluttershy looked up from between the strands of her poor unbrushed mane. Applejack’s voice had petered out, and the farmpony was frowning as her eyes roamed the crowd. Now, they had their attention, numerous sets of eyes trained in their direction. Fluttershy drew closer to Applejack once more, but the earth mare wasn’t quite so easily cowed.
“What? Y’all ain’t seen ponies before?” Applejack asked, but those she glared at drew back or averted their gazes. A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd, and some shook their heads.
“What in the hay was that all about?” Applejack muttered.
“I really haven’t seen a single pony yet. Maybe they think we look odd,” Fluttershy suggested, but it was hard to believe that was all there was to it. They had gotten occasional curious glances as they stepped into the city, but there had been fear in their eyes just now.
“It’s that, or them bein’ deadly afraid of laughter,” Applejack replied with a snort, putting words to Fluttershy’s thoughts. The earth mare wore a mighty frown, and Fluttershy could have sworn those who walked near them sped up, hastening to get out of their way.
The street opened up onto a large open space circled by the glassless, doorless sandstone houses that defined the cityscape. Here, even as the night darkened, the city refused to sleep. Every corner was brightly illuminated, be it by firefly or oil lantern, and a mess of stalls and tents had been erected to fill it. This was no Ponyville market day, and it wasn’t just for the merchants’ lack of yelling at customers or each other, but rather, the sheer variety of what was being sold and done.
Here, a strange humped creature—a lady, Fluttershy thought for no reason she could discern—was performing card tricks for little nuggets of silver. There, one of the long-necked spotted ones fried pancakes on a flat oven with a deft hoof while his customers watched, and right next to him, three of the smaller horned ones sat in a circle upon a silken mat, horns glowing with magic but otherwise doing nothing Fluttershy could make sense of.
“That one?”
Fluttershy tore her eyes away from a small group of creatures who seemed to be having tea in the middle of the street, a prong-horned creature magically heating water while the others chatted in the lamplight. Applejack was giving her an odd look.
“Sorry, what?” Fluttershy asked.
“Figured we could ask that little critter over by that stall,” Applejack said in a voice suggesting that maybe she was repeating herself. Fluttershy cleared her throat and nodded trying to make her mane lie right as they made for the stall her friend had indicated. A two-horned creature not much smaller than they stood behind a well-decorated stall selling bolts of silk in every color imaginable—and a few more.
“Howdy,” Applejack said, dipping her head. Fluttershy put on her sweetest smile and took up position next to her, while the slender, brown-furred male on the other side perked up.
“Finest silk this end of town,” he replied. “Silver, gold or barter, all is fair, sir or madam.”
“Uh, madam, I’m quite sure,” Applejack retorted. Fluttershy stifled a giggle. “You don’t get many mares out here, I reckon, but you speak Equestrian just fine, huh?”
“I speak the common tongue, as well as kiang and general meso. I meant no offense, but I haven’t seen any of your kind, madam,” he allowed, bowing his head. His horns both lit up with a blue sheen, and a bolt of purpur silk obscured him from view as he unrolled it between them.
“Now, any ladies fine as you two would look twice as well and keep twice as cool at day, warm at night if you—”
“Uh. You’re speaking Equestrian right now,” Applejack interrupted.
The silk lifted to hover up above the stall, once more revealing the now subtly frowning creature. “Common,” he repeated.
“It really isn’t very important,” Fluttershy interjected. “We just have a few questions, if you’re free.”
“Why’n the hay would you call it ‘common’?” Applejack asked, but the brown-furred creature thankfully chose to focus on Fluttershy instead. Obviously sensing he wasn’t getting a sale, he gently put down the cloth.
“If this is to be a non-profitable chat, then introductions are in order. I am Jahalin,” he said with a very weak smile and a quieter sigh still. “Your first time in the Bazaar, perhaps?”
“Oh yes,” Fluttershy said, nodding. “Our first time in the entire city, actually. We’ve never been here before, and, um, if it’s not too rude, I at least haven’t seen anyone like you before—oh, goodness, and my name is Fluttershy,” she added.
“Applejack,” the farmpony grumped, drawing a concerned look from Jahalin. It might be that he was a rather gentle sort, or that he disliked it when ponies got upset, and it was easy to sympathize with that. Fluttershy cleared her throat.
“Oh. You are not jesting?” Jahalin asked, drawing back. “Surely—no, you do not seem like fools or jesters. I am one of the pronged folk, a gazelle. Most of us are from the Jandeeri plains. You are from very far abroad, then, but you look ill equipped to travel. What mystery is this?”
“We’re ponies,” Applejack shrugged. “From Equestria. Now that’s what we wanted to ask about—”
Jahalin raised a dainty hoof, cutting Applejack off. “And now I have made a fool out of myself in thinking you were anything but.”
“Um, excuse me?” Fluttershy asked.
“You are not ponies, obviously,” Jahalin retorted with a shrug, turning to smooth the silken bolts that lined his little stall. “If you have come to waste my time, I would bid you farewell.”
“What do you mean we ain’t ponies?” Applejack asked, scowling, but the gazelle made no indication he’d heard her other than a subtle roll of his eyes.
“Maybe we could ask somepony else?” Fluttershy suggested, shaking her head. “I don’t think he’s going to be very helpful.”
“Sugar, I can deal with ‘not helpful’. But being called a liar? That won’t stand!” Applejack said, raising her voice. “Now this here fellow’s gonna apologize before I take another step!”
“I don’t think he will,” Fluttershy sighed, but before she could think of how to get Applejack to move along or defuse the situation, she noticed again that subtle shift around them. A pair of gazelles playing dice on the cobblestones nearby were giving them nervous glances, and creatures shopping in nearby stalls were moving away. As Applejack went on, the area around them was becoming increasingly desolate.
“You’re saying you ain’t never seen a pony before, and we’re standing here in front of you!” Applejack spat, stomping a hoof. Jahalin’s eyes were wide, the slight creature backing away on the other side of the stall.
“Applejack, stop!” Fluttershy called, poking her in the side. The second Applejack turned to face her, Jahalin bolted off in an odd hopping gait, lost between the innumerable stalls and tents.
“What?” she snapped, her expression slowly mellowing as she looked around. They were almost completely alone, and those few creatures they could see—long-necks, humped ones or gazelles—were all leaving the market in a hurried walk, heads down.
“Hey, where’re y’all going?” Applejack called.
“I think you scared them,” Fluttershy replied.
“If I somehow cleared a marketplace by stomping my hoof and yelling a bit, there ain’t gonna be much competition in the market when I get back home,” Applejack suggested, licking her lips and laying her ears flat. “Seriously, what the hay is doing on?”
“I think they were upset when we laughed earlier, too,” Fluttershy said, stepping closer to Applejack. “I don’t like this.”
“We agree on that at least,” the orange mare mumbled. “Guess we ought to get going, ask someplace else. I’ll try to keep my trap shut, huh?”
“Come with me.”
Fluttershy jumped, startled into a hover, and Applejack rounded on the strange figure that had snuck up on them. A creature of familiar equine form stood not three paces behind them, garbed in a thin white hooded cloak. Despite his clothing, it was plain he looked very much like Zecora back home in Ponyville. The striped zebra gave them a severe look.
“I know you may not trust me, but I think you’ll be safer if you follow,” he said.
“And we’re expected to go along with that?” Applejack asked. Despite her words, the farmpony was glancing about and shifting her weight. She gave Fluttershy a questioning look, wordlessly asking her opinion.
“Please,” Fluttershy intoned. “I think it’s a good idea, and he doesn’t look dangerous.”
“Good,” the zebra retorted. “I thank you for the trust. Quickly now, follow me, but don’t run, and don’t make a fuss. Can I trust you to do that?”
“Can you trust us to walk—what in the hay is that kinda question meant to be?” Applejack snapped, rolling her eyes.
Fluttershy sighed.
“Ah. Right. Fair point. Let’s give it a try,” Applejack whispered, her ears pinned to the back of her head.
Wordlessly, their newfound guide led them on. They quickly left behind the deserted market, winding through narrow streets lined with brightly lit sandstone and granite houses and the occasional larger, ornate building. Before long they were once again a part of the throng that seemed to be one large whole, filling every street. While it was obvious that Applejack was doing her very best to keep still, it seemed almost more suspicious to make no noise at all.
“He doesn’t rhyme,” Fluttershy whispered.
“Who?” Applejack asked.
“Him,” Fluttershy added with a meaningful glance at the white cloak that they followed through the dusk.
“Oh. Guess he ain’t exactly like Zecora, huh. D’you figure they all usually rhyme then?”
“‘He’ is not hard of hearing,” their guide said without turning. Fluttershy blushed, and Applejack coughed, taking a sudden interest in a patio lined with curious little palm-like plants as they passed.
“Regardless, speaking in verse and rhyme, it is not something we do all the time. It is a game of sorts we zebra play, exercising the brain and minding what you say,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Who is Zecora, if I may ask?”
“She’s a friend of ours from back home. She always speaks in rhyme,” Fluttershy said. “I’m sorry, she’s the only zebra we know.”
“Always? That’s admirable. Works great until you hit upon certain words in common. Easier in our native language, by far,” he chuckled. “I love oranges far too much, even though they’re a rare treat here.”
“It’s called Equestrian, consarn it,” Applejack muttered. “An’ everypony knows oranges ain’t worth half an apple.”
“And here we are now,” the zebra announced, stepping off the street and slipping past some smaller, presumably younger, humped creatures. Applejack and Fluttershy exchanged glances before following, but none of the natives seemed to pay them much heed as they mounted a short wooden stair around the outside of a two-story sandstone house. The zebra’s abode had no door, but rather, a door frame with heavy cloth that blocked out most of the din. When he slipped past the curtains to step inside, Applejack strode after him, and Fluttershy followed before her friend’s tail disappeared between the folds.
The single room was spacious yet cramped all at the same time. The large windows and the small balcony door all let in the ambient light of the city night, but when the zebra roused the fireflies of a lamp by the door, shadows danced over a room more cluttered than Fluttershy’s garden shed. Here were all manner of odds and ends; precious few books, but small mechanical devices, maps, rocks, instruments and ornaments big and small.
“It’s a bit of a mess,” the zebra shrugged, pulling off his cloak. Like Zecora, he wore jewelry, his ears adorned with rings of silver, but his dark grey mane was cut very short, and his flank adorned with an odd set of slashes in lieu of a cutie mark that meant nothing to Fluttershy. Before the silence could settle, he broke into a sudden smile, entirely at odds with his earlier muted tone and behaviour.
“Right then. Introductions, then explanations, perhaps?” he asked, his voice given a lilt so strong, he was halfway to song.
“Applejack,” the mare so named said with a reluctant smile of her own before nudging Fluttershy in the side. The pegasus jumped, only now realizing she’d been staring, completely missing her cue. “And this here is my friend, Fluttershy. I reckon we might owe you, but that comes after the explainin’.”
“Most probably! I am Tadar, and this is where I sometimes live. You have walked into a bit of a mess, my friends.”
“Uh huh,” Applejack said. “Mind explaining that exactly? Why do I have the feelin’ I grew three horns overnight? Y’all are awfully dull colored here, is it me bein’ orange what’s making everyone spit their bits?” she asked.
“Sometimes live?” Fluttershy belatedly echoed.
Tadar looked at them each in turn, grinning. “That I only sometimes live here—” he said, nodding at Fluttershy with a clatter of the silver he wore before turning to Applejack again. “Is why I can answer you.”
“You have transgressed, broken the most sacred law of the Bazaar. You let your blood run. You showed emotion, and in public, of all things.”
“You’re pulling our legs,” Applejack said with a bark of laughter. “Getting a bit riled up is a crime here?”
“They did get scared when you were happy earlier, too, remember,” Fluttershy said.
“Indeed you are right, friend. It is not the anger that they fear, it is any display of emotion. It will get you shunned, and, lately, hunted,” Tadar agreed with a nod.
Applejack shook her head mutely on the spot, but all Tadar offered was an apologetic smile and a shrug. In the silence that followed, Fluttershy was drawn to the nearby windows. Now that she knew, it was obvious. Outside and down below, the entire city seemed covered in a blanket of polite, neutral murmurs. In Ponyville, even at night, there was always something making noise, be that an excited yell, foals playing or somepony singing in joy. Here, there was nothing that deviated from a light conversational tone.
“It is not just law, you must understand,” Tadar went on. “It is culture. Even in the privacy of their homes, those native to the Bazaar and the surrounding savannas and deserts will rarely if ever show emotion. As for me, I am a traveller. Regardless, it is enough for outsiders to understand and respect it. They do not have to agree with it. Transgressing risks the Prince becoming involved, and as of late, that is dire news indeed.”
“As of late?” Fluttershy asked.
“It wasn’t always so, that guards were this, hm, zealous in their pursuit. Last time I was here in the Bazaar, culture was the better word. Now, it has become law first, and it is enforced by guards rather than being a norm amongst the people,” he finished, looking particularly sour.
Applejack puffed out her cheeks and slowly exhaled, finally giving a single nod. “Alright. I guess the first question is whether or not we’re in trouble, and then—”
“It’s not really okay, is it?” Fluttershy asked. Applejack merely raised an eyebrow and motioned for her to go on with a dip of her head.
“You mean that everypony—um, I mean everyone in the entire city, they never fight?” she asked.
“Disputes are settled through rational debate and, where that fails, conflict is resolved through games or in court. It’s a rather complex affair, but it works,” Tadar said with a lopsided smile.
“But they don’t love? They’re never nice to each other? How can they live like that if they—I mean, a law that stops them from being happy?” she demanded, something deep inside of her protesting against the notion. It sounded all too familiar; to know you could at any one point reach out and be happy, but that there should be a risk attached. To have the possibility of happiness, yet never seize it. A full spectrum of colors clouded her vision, yet no matter how much she blinked, they wouldn’t go away.
“Ah, no,” the zebra retorted, forestalling any further words with a gesture. “You misunderstand. This is how it has been here for longer than recorded history. If they could not be happy, they would never have survived, yet the Dunefolk, scattered as though they are, have prospered.”
“I don’t understand,” Fluttershy said. “I’m sorry, but you said—”
“I said they do not show emotion. To feel them is different entirely. Out there, there are wonderful camels and giraffes all.” He gestured towards the balcony with a fond smile. “Loving couples, kind-hearted people and riotously funny comedians, they simply hide it inside.”
“Oh,” Fluttershy voiced, shrinking back. “I think it’s still a little hard to understand.”
“It still is for me to this day,” Tadar chuckled. “I never shared their convictions, but I do see how they work. I comprehend them, even if I do not sympathize. It took me a year or two.”
“Which means we gotta ask, why?” Applejack demanded. “Why do they do this, and why’re you different? Not that I mind, because I reckon both me and Fluttershy appreciate somepony normal to talk to, but I still wanna know.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said with a little bow. “And while it’s a good question, I think perhaps it would be best if I head right outside and buy us a platter of figs and dates to eat while I explain. Can I trust you to stay here for a short while?”
“Followed you here, didn’t we?” Applejack asked. This earned her a nod, Tadar quickly donning his cloak and disappearing outside, leaving the two ponies alone in the curious zebra’s home.
Applejack rubbed her chin as the cloth flaps shut in Tadar’s wake, once again muting the crowd right outside down to a faint murmur.
“I guess we can trust him, then,” Applejack said. “Question is what we tell him.”
“Oh. You mean we shouldn’t tell him everything? I think he wants to help,” Fluttershy suggested, scratching at one of her forelegs.
“We don’t know anyone here, he’s as close to a friend as we have, and we could use a friend, huh?” Applejack allowed with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Fluttershy nodded at that, and didn’t object when Applejack leaned into her, closing her eyes with a sigh.
“So. Talk to me, sugar. How’re you holding up?” she asked, nuzzling the pegasus.
“Oh. I’m fine, really,” Fluttershy insisted. Applejack pursed her lips and watched as her friend walked over to a table, leaning over to inspect some kind of scepter.
“I could almost believe that. We’ve walked through places cold and lonely as the moon, barely getting out of it all with our flanks intact, but here we are, whole and maybe finding a way home. Things are finally going our way. We’re in a fine house with a new friend.”
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Fluttershy agreed, but it was clear she knew it wasn’t Applejack’s point. She tilted her head ever so slightly.
“So you’ve told me that you fancy Rainbow Dash,” Applejack added, sitting down and crossing her forelegs. She was proven right when Fluttershy immediately glanced about, as if afraid someone had overheard them.
“I told you what I think m’self, and maybe some of it sunk in. What’s more, I know I said it don’t matter just yet,” the farmpony sighed. “I ain’t about to try to bully you here or change your mind, but here’s what I’m guessing. You’ve already decided you ain’t at all gonna tell Rainbow Dash when we get home.”
Fluttershy averting her eyes was as good as a full answer, but answer she did all the same.
“I don’t really think it’s a good idea,” she muttered. “How did you know?”
“‘Cause you haven’t hardly talked about her lately, and for all that you’re all honest about it, that you’ve told me, you still ain’t said it.”
“Said what?”
“That you love her. Hay, I don’t remember you even saying you’re in love with her, since,” Applejack snorted, holding up a hoof at Fluttershy’s beginning protests. “Don’t listen to me, sugar, I was just asking. It’s your thing, and I ain’t got no business criticizing.”
Fluttershy sat still. Her wings were limp and her ears drooped, the very image of dejection. Applejack scratched her forehead as she felt the beginnings of one of those delicious little headaches that always accompanied her flapping her gums about something when she should really shut up.
“I mean it. It’s not my—”
“But I do,” Fluttershy said, dropping her gaze to the floor. “I do, but what if she says no? What if she doesn’t think of me like that? I can’t—I don’t want to take that chance!”
“You’ve spent years hiding this, sugarcube. Years upon years, and you’re gonna keep on doing that? For what? What’s it all gotten you?” Applejack asked. Her pulse was up, now.
“A friend!” Fluttershy cried breathlessly. “A friend that I can’t bear the thought of losing!”
Applejack was halfway to a reply, or rather, halfway through trying to hold one back and let Fluttershy’s business be her own, when the curtains behind her parted. Both ponies turned as Tadar re-entered the room carrying a small glass platter in his mouth upon which were arranged many small, foreign fruits. Applejack didn’t recognize a single one of them, but the promise of something other than nuts, roots and berries was enough to set her mouth watering.
“First, I would ask that you keep your voices down. It is not a terribly private city,” Tadar said with a small smile after putting the platter down on a small, low table. Fluttershy didn’t even apologize or any such, the pegasus merely sighing and deflating while Applejack nodded.
“Second, there is a question of my own that I’d like to ask before we get to yours. You ask me if you are in trouble. I ask you, where are you from?”
Applejack blinked, pausing at the sudden severity in the zebra’s voice. Even as she tried to find words, Fluttershy was trotting over to the nearby window, peering outside. There was as much of a commotion as they had ever heard since entering the city; a swell of noise, protests and more chatter.
Hurrying to the window herself, and soon after joined by Tadar, Applejack could see a trio of red-caped creatures making their way through the crowd. Two of the humped ones and a gazelle were creating a furrow in the masses where they went, people shying away from them.
“Those would be the prince’s guards,” Tadar said, holding the curtains aside. “When I found you in the southern markets, I assumed you had come from that general direction. Though I suspect I know the answer, I have to ask. Where are you from?”
The platter of fruits proved to be a pleasant mix of sour and sweet treats, even if the conversation was not. Applejack seized the word and started with as much as seemed relevant, describing in brief detail the sleepover and as much as they knew; that something had gone wrong. She hurried onwards after that, feeling more than a little homesick just talking about what had happened. The library tree was a short gallop away from Sweet Apple Acres, and that was enough to leave a sour taste in her mouth.
Tadar’s brow was creased after that, and he stayed consternated all through the tale, with only small lapses into incredulous and amazed. Applejack wove the tale of their journey so far with as much practice as she’d had from campfire stories, letting Fluttershy take over when her memory was unclear. From the old ruins, along the road, past the terrible business with the malices and up the mountain the tale sent them until the lights outside dimmed and the city-people by and large went to bed and their food was long gone.
“And that’s just about it. We found the little flags or whatchamacallits and followed them here. Thought we’d get some form of welcoming committee, guards or whatever, but instead we get the stink-eye for bein’ happy or angry or whatever,” Applejack shrugged, leaning against Fluttershy. The pegasus shook her head and blinked heavily, halfway to sleep already.
“Well. That is... quite the tale,” Tadar said. “As I said, I am a traveller. I’ve seen more of the known world than most, visited the edges of the map, stood upon the horizon and looked upon the lands where cartographers give up and doodle little two-legged apes instead of crossing the next hill, but this? This is both remarkable and problematic.”
“It was very scary at times,” Fluttershy murmured through a tired smile. “I don’t think I’d have managed to fly off that tower if I was alone. It’s all thanks to Applejack.”
Applejack rolled her eyes and nosed into Fluttershy’s mane. “You’re bein’ silly. Without you, who knows what those weird creatures would’ve done to us before then?”
“Oh? Oh, no. I speak of your home, ponies,” Tadar said.
“Right. If you’re gonna tell us you don’t believe us, we’re gonna have a problem, because one joker tried that already—”
“Said the wise one to the fool, I believe that you believe, but you are no fool,” Tadar interrupted.
“Why is it so hard to believe?” Fluttershy asked, rolling her shoulders and stretching her wings one by one.
“Because ponies are so rare outside of Equestria, you may as well be creatures of legend. I thought you travellers like myself, perhaps members of one of the few tribes that live outside of Equestria,” Tadar explained.
“Legend,” Applejack repeated, a heavy sigh working its way through her body, her tail going limp. “And why the hay is that? You’re a zebra. We’ve seen your kind before. If there’re zebras back in Equestria, why ain’t there ponies around here?”
“I know Pinkie Pie has some friends who travel outside the border. Merchants have to do that to get rare fruits and vegetables,” Fluttershy pointed out.
“The only ponies here sit in front of me, friends. I have heard of your folk of course, and I once visited a village where it was said a pony sometimes came to visit to barter gems for coconuts. All the same, most of those who live here would swear you do not exist. Equestria is fabled to lie far to the north and east, but here you are as rare as the Wolmyr.”
“‘Fabled’?” Applejack groaned at the second such word. “How far are we talking, here? I ain’t planning on missing next applebuck season!”
“Why is it different?” Fluttershy asked. “I haven’t seen any cows or sheep here, either.”
“Simple,” Tadar shrugged. “Equestria is rumored to be the home of the sun and the moon, of the god-princess who shapes the world. It’s a place of great magic.”
“Sure, the princesses. They’re two. Princess Luna just came back,” Applejack said. “But you’ve got magic here too. The pronghorn folk or whatever—”
Applejack’s protest was cut off by a small shake of the head from their zebra host. “You do not need to tell me, I know a bit. Not nearly as much as I would like, and I would delight in it if you would tell me more later. The return of the Moon Princess is news to me.”
“Right. Just so we’re clear. We’re from Equestria. So why is that more problematic than if we’d come from the south, then?” Applejack grumbled, nudging her hat back on her head.
“None travel south past the markers. Even I have more sense than that, no offense,” Tadar said.
“We didn’t really have much choice,” Fluttershy said.
“Given your words, I understand that. From the tallest spires here in the Bazaar, you can see the mountains that lie in the heart of the lost lands of the south, and that is why none go there. A small expedition tried to travel south five years ago, and they never returned, and that only reinforced what people have always known.”
“Frightful tales have been passed down from parent to child for thousands of years, stories of creatures that prey upon those who fight and argue. Legend has it that a long time ago, the nights were longer and snow fell from the skies every day to choke the land, the weather punishing those who could not function together. Only in the wake of the migration of a whole people did it slowly change, and the sun returned.”
Applejack chewed on her tongue. “You’re telling us that people’re still afraid of the windigoes? That they still remember the migration?”
“That’s terrible!” Fluttershy said.
“I have never heard the word ‘windigo’ before, but it’s one possible truth of why things are as they are in the Bazaar. They may not be my people, but it’s as much my home as any place. They’re hardly unhappy about it. Culture, now, as I said, but it is still a bit of an oddity.” Tadar shrugged. “History is still not my strong point, nor my main interest.”
“And the guards?” Fluttershy asked with a backwards glance out the darkened windows.
“From what I heard while I was out just now, they are looking for two ponies. Not because of the minor, ah, altercation in the market, but it telegraphed your arrival all the same. The prince has heard of you, and wishes to see you.”
“Why’s that such a bad thing? I reckon maybe he can help,” Applejack suggested, exchanging smiles with Fluttershy. Tadar’s reaction was not comforting. The zebra’s face fell, and he shook his head.
“Last time I was here, I would be inclined to agree, yes, but the word ‘bounty’ is involved. Likely, he is not seeking to do you any favors. I heard a rumor that he’s acting because he’s heard word from neighboring cities that Equestria wishes for its subjects to return home. Princesses that most are convinced aren’t even real have sent word far and wide, and I understand now that it is a message meant for you.”
“What?” Fluttershy and Applejack asked in chorus, eyes wide. Applejack’s heart just about stopped for a second, and she perked her ears.
“You mean Celestia and Luna’re looking for us? They—” Applejack sputtered.
Tadar nodded and smiled briefly. “Yes, I think I have the right of it then, but it’s still hardly good news for you right now. The prince isn’t quite the same as he was before, and if you can avoid him, you should. He is as likely to throw you in the dungeon as he is to help.”
Fluttershy visibly paled, shrinking back down. “Why would he do that?”
“I do not know. There was a time when Prince Enjaryn was fair and just, but now it seems he has become one of those who, when given power, desires more of it. He no doubt sees you as pawns to be used to further his own agenda,” Tadar suggested with a shake of his head as if though he didn’t believe it himself. “Something is wrong, and I do not know what. I have been gone from the city for a very long time.”
“What in the heavens could he do with us?” Applejack asked, hooking a foreleg around Fluttershy to pull her closer. The pegasus gave a little squeak of protest. “We’re just trying to get home!”
“Yet as I’ve told you, many believe Equestria is special, and that has to mean, by association, that you are special. Perhaps it’s that. Perhaps it is something else. It was just a rumor I heard while picking up food. I could not guess as to his plans, but I do not trust him as of late.”
“Others believe that Equestria is special,” Fluttershy repeated, gently extracting herself from Applejack’s grasp before blowing her mane out of her face. “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you believe, if you’re not from here? You talk a lot about what the others say and believe, but what do think?”
“A habit, I suppose, due to having travelled a lot,” Tadar chuckled, but his laughter died when nopony said anything in the wake of Fluttershy’s question. Applejack merely shrugged, not feeling very sleepy anymore anyway.
“What do I believe? I generally don’t. I try not to,” he began, scratching at the bridge of his snout. “In Wolmyr, far to the north, they believe that the secrets to magic, that the roots to all things lie in their color.”
“In High Hathaa over Spindlybridge to the far west, they hold that the elements are what binds us all, that everything can be reduced to one of four or more elements that have birthed the world. Not too far south, past Sourchill Pass, though you’d have to go around the lost lands? There, they speak of the wind of magic. There is a fifth wind that blows across the world, they say, and this wind is the source of all that is not simple.”
Tadar looked torn for a second, a frown crossing his features as he rose to stand. Carrying the now-empty platter to another nearby table, he retrieved a rag with which to wipe the table, busying himself as he spoke.
“The frightening and wonderful thing, my friends, is that they are all correct. They all get results. Blue or green, fire, water or aether winds, it all lets them do magic. Magic the like of which rests in you wonderful winged little ponies,” he said with a nod at Fluttershy, then at Applejack. “Or in the hooves of earth ponies, and in your unicorn brethren too. I don’t speak of the simple magic that horned creatures use to do menial tasks. I speak of greater things, and they, too, have it. All beings have their own magic.”
Applejack and Fluttershy exchanged glances yet again. Fluttershy looked like she was about to make a comment, but Tadar was lost in his own words, eyes glossed over as he went about tidying the place up.
“There are many truths, or they are all lies. I do not meddle or judge. But at the same time? In the very centre of the world, there is said to be a small principality called Equestria. Your home. There, they hold that magic is the result of the ties that bind us. That the most wonderful things come from those moments where we share of ourselves with others, be it romantic love or any of a million other forms of friendship,” he said, tossing the rag over to a washtub on the other side of the room before giving a small snort.
“To a grand mage of Wolmyr, this will sound laughable, I should think. Indeed, the goat-mages of Wolmyr are notoriously proud, and why wouldn’t they be? I once saw a Wolmyrian coven, not two dozen in number, work together to lift a beached whale back into the sea! What care they?”
“Yet,” he said, lowering his voice as he turned his gaze over to the pair of ponies again. Even Applejack felt a little unsettled by the curious look the zebra levelled in their direction before he continued.
“Yet while the borders and the politics of the world at large ever shifts, Equestria has stood unchanged for hundreds, probably thousands of years. Longer than anyone has recorded or can remember. Longer than is ever relevant. It is with the ponies of Equestria that the stewardship of Sun and Moon rests. Maybe there’s something to that, then. I’d be a fool to try to say anything else. You ponies are different.”
At Applejack’s side, Fluttershy was swallowing excessively and trying to find somewhere to rest her eyes, and truth be told. The farmpony herself couldn’t quite determine what to make of the strange zebra’s words except that it explained less than she’d like.
“That still don’t say why this prince of yours wants us,” Applejack harrumphed.
“I ph’uppose it doesnph,” Tadar admitted around the blankets he was fishing out from a nearby cupboard, gently placing the soft load down by a bedding area made up of pillows in a corner of the room. “But if I know this new prince of ours right, that won’t stop him, so I’d think it best if you stay low for now. Tomorrow, we can discuss our options. I believe it is high time to go to bed now, though.”
“Right you are,” Applejack agreed, Fluttershy’s reply being a stifled yawn and a muttered apology.
The morning rolled around with painful slowness. While it was the first night in weeks Fluttershy had spent in anything resembling a proper bed, she’d hardly slept at all. The Bazaar never slept either, this strange and sprawling metropolis barely quieting down at all before the sun started rising again, bringing with it the noise of cartwheels and hooves on cobblestone. Strange smells snaked their way into the room, food and strange spices and aromas that she couldn’t even guess at.
Light streamed in through the windows, the morning here painfully bright, brighter than anything the pegasus had ever before seen. In the space of minutes, the blankets that had covered the three went from snug and comfy in the chill of night to stifling.
It would have been so very nice if they could have felt safe, here. If she could forget that she was still so very far away from home, it would be a wonderful place. If not for the fact that they were in danger. Fluttershy pushed the blanket down on her body and shifted, her heart skipping a beat when she came face to face with an awake and alert Applejack. Their zebra friend was still asleep, but Applejack lay with her eyes open, staring back at her.
“What do they do when they disagree?” the earth mare whispered. “What if two people just can’t get along no matter how much they try here?”
“He said ‘games’,” Fluttershy whispered back, rubbing her eyes.
“Like, play monopoly to decide who’s bein’ an unreasonable idiot? ‘You’re on Canterlot Avenue, I was right’?” Applejack asked with a low chuckle, eliciting a giggle from Fluttershy.
“I guess it’s not quite like that,” Fluttershy said, spreading her one free wing. The heat was already oppressive. “What do we do, though?”
“How do you mean?”
“The prince. He doesn’t sound like a very nice person,” Fluttershy said, trying her best to keep her voice down. “Do you think Tadar wants us to sneak out of the city?”
“Dunno, but I don’t like the sound of skulking about like that,” Applejack replied, flicking her tail. At their sides, sprawled out on the other side of the bed, the zebra stretched and yawned.
“And not for a second do you think to doubt me,” he said, tilting his head to each side until his neck made a little crack. “Most I’ve met in my journeys would question my motives, ask why I’m doing this, why I’m helping you. You don’t.”
Fluttershy licked her lips. It had sounded very much like a question despite the fact that it wasn’t. “I think we would have done the same? I’m sorry, we really should have said thank you before, if we didn’t. You’re being very nice to us.”
“Because you would’ve done the same, huh,” Tadar murmured as he rose to stand.
“And because you ain’t lying or trying to steer us wrong,” Applejack added, her piercing green eyes trained straight at the zebra as she sat up. “I can tell.”
Tadar stood there for a second, looking back at the orange mare, while Fluttershy was left glancing between the two. There was no hostility, no anger in the air between them, but there was something of a wordless challenge. At length, Tadar nodded.
“I am not trying to lead you astray, and I hope to be deserving of your trust, but the fact that you believe me so quickly, that you have such trusting hearts, that is why we need to get you out of the city. This is a place of intrigue and half-truths, ponies. You do not belong here, and while I bear the locals no ill will, that is practically a compliment,” he finished with a sour grin.
“Okay,” Fluttershy said with yet another automatic glance out the nearby windows. “But we really need a new map. The one we have doesn’t show where Equestria is except that it’s east or north, like you said.”
“Yes, and since that takes you across the Dune Sea, you’ll need a good map that shows the oases, as well as plenty of water. My means are limited, sadly,” Tadar sighed.
“So we have to hide, but we can’t,” Applejack concluded.
“I am not without ideas,” the zebra countered, trotting over to one of the many shelves that lined the walls. “I have a small pouch of silver dust somewhere here. If you take the road west through the savannah, you could go to the Bronze Marches by boat and go east from there—”
“Go around,” Applejack repeated, voice flat.
“Well, yes,” Tadar said, glancing back at them.
“Um, is this a big desert? It sounds like it is big. How long would it take?”
“Admittedly, quite a few weeks, perhaps months, but—”
“No.”
The sentiment had been echoed by both of the ponies. Sure enough, Fluttershy’s had been a little more quiet and preceded by an apology, but in the short silence that followed, Fluttershy looked over at Applejack, and Applejack looked right back at her.
“It’s just that we would really like to get home, I think,” Fluttershy said. “Sorry, but isn’t there another way? Or, um, well, not another way, I guess?”
“I ain’t never been in the habit of going around the fence when I can jump it,” Applejack added. “We got friends back home. Friends and family. If Equestria’s to the northeast, then that’s where we’re headed.”
If Fluttershy had feared that Tadar would be angry with them for rejecting his generous offer, that worry was quickly dispelled. The zebra pursed his lips and stared off into nothingness for a few seconds before his face split into a smile, nodding repeatedly, quicker and quicker.
“Yes. Yes, I think we can fix something. I have a few friends who owe me a favor or two. I’ve never had cause to call them in, but this is as noble a cause as any.”
“You don’t have to,” Fluttershy said, hoping very much he would insist.
“What she means to say is, you don’t owe us nothing,” Applejack added, the two ponies very much immobile as Tadar scurried about the room rooting around in cupboards and shelves.
“Ah, but you misunderstand. I am glad to help,” Tadar shot from over by a large chest, flinging two cloaks over his shoulder. They were similar to the one he wore; hooded and thin, made by an almost gauze-like fabric, and slightly too large for the two mares.
“It’s not my city, but I care about it. I would rather not fuel the prince’s fey mood, and getting to meet and help two ponies in the process is a bonus!” he exclaimed. “Now, put those on. They’re better than nothing as far as disguises go. I would suggest you stay here, but somehow I suspect you are not the kind to be content with waiting idly.”
Fluttershy nibbled her lower lip. She wanted to protest that assessment, but at the same time, having others risk themselves for her didn’t sit well with her, either. That, and she wasn’t very keen to be left alone.
“Darn tootin’,” Applejack affirmed, snapping one of the cloaks up in her mouth and wiggling herself underneath. With a small sigh, Fluttershy pinned her wings to her sides and did the same.
“It doesn’t bother your wings, friend?”
Fluttershy stuck her head out through the hole made for it and glanced around. There were no other pegasi about, and Tadar was looking straight at her. “Excuse me?”
“Covering them up like so. You carried a heavy load when you arrived, too. I would assume it’s uncomfortable with your wings,” he added with a gesture at their tattered saddlebags over by the bed.
“Oh, no, not at all. Not unless there are straps that go over the wings or if it’s heavy,” she replied with a smile, watching as Applejack struggled to get her garments on straight. “Um. That’s for the head, Applejack.”
“Why in all things good did you have to go give these darn things holes for the legs?” Applejack muttered. Tadar merely chuckled in reply with a glance over at the farmpony.
“You’ll forgive my curiosity. I’ve never before seen a winged sentient. Very rare. It must be quite special, to master the skies, and it is a great gift, to be sure,” Tadar said, dipping his head before making his way over to the door flap.
“I didn’t always like to fly, really,” Fluttershy admitted, following him outside with Applejack in tow, the latter finally properly dressed and pulling her hood over her head as Fluttershy had done, before putting her hat on top again.
“Is that common? It sounds rather tragic, almost,” their guide commented, drawing a frown from Applejack. Fluttershy merely smiled and cleared her throat.
“No, not really. I, um, I was helped by a—a friend, I suppose,” she said, the words suddenly a little harder to find. She heard Applejack sigh, but couldn’t meet her eyes.
Under the full glare of the sun, the city’s narrow streets were twice as cramped, but there was even less energy to it than last night. The sheer temperature had the populus down to the speed of molasses, and Fluttershy was happy that Tadar did not elect to rebel against the slow shuffle the crowd kept. They weren’t even out of sight of Tadar’s own house when she started sweating.
In the shade of the parasols and awnings, those who were not moving from one place to the other lounged or rested, many sleeping the hotter parts of day away. Some, as had been the case yesterday, were tossing dice, playing cards, or engaging in other games. Clearing her throat to get his attention, Fluttershy joined Tadar at the front with a pointed glance at a trio of long-necked creatures sat around a game board.
“Excuse me, you said that people play games when they disagree? Like that? Those three, um, the spotted ones?”
Tadar followed her gaze as they passed them by, the ponderous long-necks paying them no heed. At length, he shook his head. “No, those were probably playing a game to pass time. I realize I may have been lax in giving you the short run-down on things here, since it’s very rare someone wanders in on the Bazaar without knowing of it. Those are called giraffes. The humped ones are camels, and you’ve already met one of the pronghorns, gazelles. Many people make their homes here, but the majority are of those three.”
“Sure, caramels and what-nots. And the games?” Applejack asked.
“I may have overstated their importance,” Tadar chuckled. “Friends may decide to resolve disputes through games or, more likely, gambling. It is a trading town, this. The entire town is called the Bazaar for a reason. Some grow so addicted to games of chance or even battles of wit or skill that they lose everything, so mostly, it comes down to rational debate.”
“And if it’s serious, it goes to the court?” Fluttershy added.
“Indeed, the prince’s court, and as of late, it seems most want to avoid that option,” Tadar murmured. Aside from a brief visit to drink at a public well where all manners of people queued up, they walked on in silence through streets that all looked the same. At length, their zebra friend stopped in front of a sandstone building like most others, this one flying a cloth banner adorned with a set of glyphs.
“Sandy is a friend, and a local, so please try to—”
“Don’t make a fuss, we get it,” Applejack grumped.
With a shrug and small, brief smile, Tadar led the way under the awning of the low building and into what turned out to be a small curiosity shop. Every single shelf was crammed with little sandstone sculptures and puzzles made of wood and rope, and the store itself was packed tight with the shelves that carried them. The three had to walk single file through the empty store to stand before the tall palm-wood bench that hid its sole occupant.
“Sandy, wake up,” Tadar hissed to the giraffe slumped against the wall. Behind the archaic registry and the impeccably polished wooden surface of the bench, a vaguely effeminate long-neck was snoozing, oblivious to her customers.
“She’s, ah, well. There isn’t an awful lot of trade being done this early in the day,” Tadar explained with a small frown. “Sandy!”
At last, the giraffe was roused, her eyes slowly cracking open. She peered down upon them from her higher vantage point, her head nearly up among the rafters. When she spoke, it was in a slow, almost monotone voice.
“You bring guests, but not customers?” she asked, one brow raised. “It is good to see you again, Tadar. It has been many years, now. I did not know you were back. ”
“Came back two weeks ago. I’ve been busy,” Tadar replied with a nod. “It’s good to see you again. These are my friends, Applejack and Fluttershy.”
“Howdy,” Applejack intoned.
“Hello,” Fluttershy said, nodding. It was hard not to be a little nervous under the larger creature’s gaze, but her eyes wandered back to Tadar before long, letting Fluttershy breathe again.
“What do you need?” she asked
“A map, large amounts of pure water, dried foods and some form of shelter,” Tadar rattled off, ending with a little snort. “I don’t imagine a lot of people cross the Dune Sea any more after Summergleam started up that ferry service, but these two are in a hurry.”
Sandy hummed, walking over to the other side of the area behind the counter before sliding open a set of drawers. Apparently dismayed at what she found, she shut it and shook her head. “You ask much,” she finally rumbled. “And if I were to ask you for information, ask you who these were—”
“I would not tell you very much,” Tadar admitted. Fluttershy shrank back and pulled her hood further down over her face, and Applejack shifted at her side, no doubt silently protesting at the secrecy of it all again.
“Then again, you are clever, and if you’ve had an ear-stalk to the ground, you can probably guess. I come to you because you, I trust,” Tadar added, emphasizing that final word.
“That you do,” the giraffe nodded. “Even so, I am not sure I can help you.”
“I was hoping—” Tadar began, but Sandy’s monotonous drone cut him off.
“The prince seized the waterworks after there had been ‘flagrant displays of public emotion’ there. It’s not the first time this has happened.” She rolled her eyes. “Enika left town two weeks ago in protest. I’m sorry. I have little to offer.”
Not for the first time, Fluttershy and Applejack exchanged glances. Tadar sighed and nodded at that before the two exchanged farewells, and the trio made for the exit without another word.
“I don’t really understand what’s going on,” Fluttershy admitted, hoping Tadar would hear so she wouldn’t have to ask him directly.
“The whole mess with the prince is bigger’n you said?” Applejack shot.
“Bigger than I thought,” Tadar clarified. “Like I’m sure you heard, I’ve not been in town for long.”
“Because you travel a lot?” Fluttershy asked, but Tadar made no reply, craning his neck to look over the crowd through which they walked. A second later, he turned to the side, pushing his way through the press of bodies. The zebra shot the ponies a urgent glance and inclined his head towards a nearby alley just as Fluttershy spotted the red-cloaked camels and giraffes up ahead.
“Oh my goodness, quickly,” Fluttershy whispered, nudging Applejack towards the alley. The farmpony blinked, muttering the beginnings of a protest until she saw what Fluttershy saw. The two ponies kept their heads down as they forced their way through the softly protesting crowd, rejoining Tadar in the narrow side-street. There, they hid in an awning by a dilapidated door, empty crates and forgotten trash bags between them and the street proper.
“Because I travel a lot, yes,” Tadar whispered, repeating Applejack’s words. “I had heard that he was taking control of more and more of the city, I just didn’t expect it to be this bad. I should have taken the hint when I saw a couple hauled in last week for being affectionate. It wasn’t at all like this last time I was here.”
Fluttershy peered out from around the corner of a large wooden crate, catching the barest glimpse of red in the crowd before she squeaked and pulled back.
“Then why don’t y’all do something about it?” Applejack asked, frowning. “Well, you, them, whatever. They’re just letting this clown do whatever he wants? That ain’t right!”
“Consider again the people who live here,” Tadar sighed. “What would you have them do? Fight? Riot? How eager do you think they are to react with anger or outrage?”
Applejack’s jaw hung slack as her eyes widened. “You’re kiddin’. So he gets away with carting people off for bein’ a bit loud because everyone’s afraid of being angry? He must be happier’n the kitten in the cream, huh.”
“That’s terrible!” Fluttershy agreed, her very wings trembling. “They can’t do anything?”
“It’s not that simple. Nothing here ever is,” Tadar huffed. “From what I gather, he’s simply taking over certain businesses for ‘public safety’. Protecting people from themselves when they act up in any way. I had heard that a local café was shut down after something the guards had dubbed ‘a raucous party’, but I’m starting to think the reports may have been exaggerated.”
Tadar hummed. “Five years ago, a little noise in a café late one evening wouldn’t even have drawn comment except as gossip. Used to be that people minded themselves. Didn’t need to pull on old laws for it. Regardless, a friend of mine at the court said the prince seemed convinced he’s doing the right thing.”
“Does he now?” Applejack muttered.
“He changed some five years ago, just before I left,” Tadar said with a nod. “His daughter was lost to us, and he was taken with grief. Ever since, he’s not been himself. He used to be a kind person. His line has always been. The princes and princesses of the town never wielded great power, you must understand. They’re merely a rich family with their hooves in a lot of pies, a family that took upon itself the responsibility of governing roads, wells and other such things.”
“Five years ago?” Fluttershy asked. “You said nobody had travelled south of here for five years. Is—”
“Yes.” Tadar rubbed at his face with a hoof and slumped. “Rynna was dear to many, but she was neither a trader nor a governess. She had ideas that made ripples, and she was a wild soul.”
“So the prince’s daughter, she went south and got herself lost,” Applejack suggested, taking her turn to peek around the corner. “I think it’s clear. Let’s go.”
“Right,” Tadar agreed, slipping out from their little hiding place. “Let’s head back to my place for the time being. And yes, she went south, because she didn’t believe there was anything to be afraid of. Despite her upbringing, she could never keep her emotions in check. She set out to follow the ponies’ ancient migration back to its point of origin, to prove that we were all wrong.”
“She set out to prove an entire city wrong,” Applejack asked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, she certainly weren’t lacking for guts.”
“Well, um, except she was right,” Fluttershy added, earning a nod from Applejack and a shrug from Tadar.
“Be that as it may, it earned her no friends and little love from her father, and she never returned,” he said, throwing the three into a silence that stretched on. Fluttershy didn’t quite know where to rest her eyes, and Applejack seemed unusually thoughtful, so instead she busied herself with looking at their surroundings. Just as soon as she’d started wondering if she didn’t recognize the smells of certain spices and herbs—and maybe that one gazelle with his fruit stall—Tadar turned a corner and began mounting the stairs that led to his home.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, what do we do next?” Fluttershy said just as Tadar disappeared inside, past the door-flaps. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Applejack was alright. The farmpony was still frowning as if though something didn’t quite sit right with her.
“I think we’re going to see the prince,” came the zebra’s voice from inside.
“Oh? But you said—” Fluttershy began, ducking her head inside. She came face to face with four red-cloaked creatures and one gold-cloaked gazelle who managed to look rather imposing despite her smaller size.
“Oh,” she concluded.
“Wha—oh horseapples,” Applejack groaned, bumping into her as she entered.
“Hello, Captain Shadowtop. I see you didn’t up-end my entire apartment this time. That’s progress,” Tadar said, nodding almost pleasantly at the smaller gazelle as Applejack finally entered. Upon seeing the room crowded with guards, she slipped in front of Fluttershy with as much subtlety as the cramped space allowed.
The slight, twin-horned creature wore a golden cloak with ornate border-work, and her head was covered with a helmet that gleamed of pure silver. The other guards about the room loomed, presumably to try to impress or scare, but for her part, Shadowtop seemed rather disaffected.
“Hello, Tadar, and yes, this time you aren’t being suspected of smuggling local artifacts. That helps,” she replied, tilting her head to look at the two ponies. Behind Applejack, Fluttershy gave a little squeak, but the farmpony held the guard captain’s eyes for as long as she could, daring her to make a move.
“Is there a problem?” Tadar asked, clearing his throat.
“Oh do give up. Distinctive hat, low, squat equines and one of the only zebras in town. I wasn’t born yesterday,” Shadowtop retorted, rolling her eyes as she slipped past the zebra to stand before Applejack. She raised a hoof towards the earth mare’s hood, as if to push it back.
Applejack swatted it away.
The red-cloaked camels and giraffes who manned the room all jerked to, closing in, but Applejack paid them no heed, casually removing her hat while she pulled back her hood, Fluttershy doing the same. Thus revealed in full, Applejack put her hat back on her head where it ought to be and treated Fluttershy to a small smirk.
“See? All calm,” she murmured, catching a glimpse of Fluttershy’s own smile before the pegasus looked away.
“Right,” Shadowtop said, her mouth worked into a thin line. “I am awarding you every possible courtesy in letting you walk freely. If you would follow me, the prince has demanded your presence.”
Applejack raised an eyebrow at that. It was one thing that the folk here were a quiet and reserved bunch because of their beliefs, but Shadowtop seemed downright displeased about that last bit. One of the red-cloaked camels nudged her in the side, rousing her from her thoughts to set her moving.
“Do that again and see what happens,” Applejack murmured, following Fluttershy, Tadar and Shadowtop out and once more onto the streets.
Now, the crowd gave them a wide berth. Two ponies, a zebra, the captain of the guard and a contingent of redcloaks, that was sufficient to create a deep furrow in the populus. At the van of their little procession, Tadar and Shadowtop walked side by side, leading the way into the heart of the Bazaar. Applejack strained, perking her ears up. She could barely hear what they were saying.
“—nothing personal, I don’t like—” she heard Shadowtop murmur.
“—just worry. The prince—” Tadar’s words barely carried over the din of the town.
“—wrong place, keep your words to yourself,” Shadowtop hissed back. Whatever else they said was lost, in part because Applejack only now became aware that Fluttershy was speaking her name.
“Applejack?” Fluttershy repeated.
“Sorry sugar,” Applejack said, shaking her head. “What’s up?”
“You don’t seem very scared,” the pegasus commented, furrowing her brow.
“‘Cause I ain’t. Not yet, anyway. It ain’t exactly some deep and dark dungeon. We’ve had enough of those. Might be we’re in more trouble than ever, but I think I’ll hold off on the panic. You?”
“Um, me what?”
“What’s your excuse? You’re bein’ awfully calm for a self-proclaimed scaredypony,” Applejack grinned.
“Oh. Oh goodness, no. I’m terrified, but I figured they’d just get angry or scared if I started panicking too loud,” Fluttershy admitted with a sigh.
The city was vast. Innumerable low and pale yellow sandstone houses passed by, the majority flying colored cloth to cast shade on their awnings, and it was impossible to even guess how many made their home here. Marketplaces opened up and passed by at seemingly random intervals, and two gardens of dry grass and palm trees came and went. They could have walked from one end of Manehatten to the other in the time it took them to arrive at the tall walls that Tadar explained held the prince’s palace.
Without pomp or fanfare, they marched straight past the guards who flanked the rather unimpressive, aging walls. Dried and dying plants tried to climb their height and failed, and inside the small courtyard, a fountain stood at an angle. Applejack squinted against the sun’s glare as she traced the palace’s height to a cracked tower of stained brass.
“Um, Applejack?” Fluttershy whispered as they approached.
“Hm?”
“If the prince was, um, taking things and everything, why wouldn’t he at least make his garden look nicer?” Fluttershy asked.
“It ain’t much to look at is it,” Applejack agreed, frowning. “Guess he’s not in it for the bits at least.”
“Right. I think I can take it from here,” Shadowtop snapped. “The rest of you, head on over to the northwestern market and make sure all is well.”
At her command, the other guards broke off, sketched various unpracticed salutes, and headed back towards the gates. The palace proper loomed before them, a U-shape multiple stories tall enveloping the courtyard. Elegant yet worn arches and windows with decorative iron grates adorned its facades, and parapets ran the length of the building above.
“You’re taking a bit of a risk,” Tadar suggested. Shadowtop shrugged, the small gazelle glancing over her shoulder as she led them through a grand entrance adorned with flaking gold paint. Inside, plush carpets muted their hoofsteps while they walked down a long hallway lined with stone sculptures and ceramics.
“You couldn’t fight your way out of a pillow fortress, Tadar. You are no warrior, and neither are they,” Shadowtop said, the dismissal making Applejack’s hooves itch. “Even if you three tried to overpower me, where would you run? There are guards all around, and the walls only have one exit.”
“Us three? I reckon I could buck you into next week,” Applejack snorted, eyeing her flank for a likely target spot. “And besides, Fluttershy—”
Applejack promptly shut her jaw, eyes going wide as she realized what she’d almost said.
“I’d like to see you try. Idle boasts are cheap,” their escort retorted, but Applejack made no reply.
“Sorry, what about me?” Fluttershy asked, the pegasus’ ears firmly pinned to her skull in grim anticipation, but Applejack shook her head briskly.
“Right, the prince awaits,” Shadowtop said as they approached a large wooden door. The red-cloaked camels at its side pushed it open with a ominous creak that stung their ears, revealing a throne room not entirely different from Castle Canterlot’s own. Large columns supported a high roof, and a raised dais held a low throne upon which reclined an aging camel draped in silks of deep blues and gold.
All around the room, guards stood at attention, but the main difference beyond the smaller size was the fact that no part of the room had been left idle. One corner was evidently a reading nook with bookcases and plush pillows, and another held a table decked with food. It was hard not to appreciate the prince’s approach of wasting no space.
It was a little harder to appreciate the prince’s expression.
“Prince Enjaryn, the ponies, of Equestria,” Shadowtop called as she led their slightly smaller procession towards the throne. The prince made no reply even when she halted a small distance away, seemingly content to glare down upon them with a baleful stare so harsh, even Applejack felt a little put off.
“Do we bow or somethin’?” Applejack whispered, trying to catch Tadar’s eye. Fluttershy gave a start, already halfway to the carpeted floor with her snout when the prince’s voice boomed across the hall.
“‘Do we bow’, she asks,” the prince repeated, causing Fluttershy to blush. “I suppose that in Equestria, they beg and scrape before their ruler? Do you see a crown upon my head?”
“Or maybe we bow because we respect our princesses,” Applejack retorted, scratching her chin. “I ain’t exactly feelin’ much of that towards you when you drag us in here against our will. What’re you thinkin’ to do with us anyway?”
The prince smirked, a dangerous glint in his eye as the aging camel leaned back against his pillows. He waved a brown-furred leg, delicate silks billowing. “Against your will? Oh no. You are my guests until I decide exactly what to do with you. Of course, if you should decide to protest my generous offer, I have a very frightened citizen, a gazelle who will testify against you on a count of disturbing the peace yesterday.”
“I think we’ll be guests, if that’s okay,” Fluttershy suggested, her wings drooping beneath the thin cloak she wore. Applejack sidled over to stand side by side with her.
“I would lie and say it will be my pleasure, but I won’t sully my lips with that nonsense. Take them away. Place them in the old western quarters, and keep a close eye on them. I need to think,” the prince concluded, dismissing them with a wave before he turned away, lips curled up in thinly veiled disgust.
“Come along,” Shadowtop said, the gazelle captain having remained quiet and immobile for the whole exchange. With efficiency and speed, she circled around them and walked back from whence they’d came, Tadar following her close by, and the two ponies close by him again. Together they left behind the rather understated throne room and wound their way through a rapid series of narrow hallways and up two flights of stairs.
If the palace was less grand than Applejack had expected, it was certainly not dead. Once out of the main hallway, creatures of all species and ages were milling about, in and out of the building’s many rooms. A family of gazelles in a small closed courtyard, a pair of giraffes reclining on pillows and reading; here was life, every single door open, every room in use.
All but two. At the end of a hallway, two identical doors opposite of one another stood closed. Shadowtop angled straight for the one of the two guarded by a single giraffe. Barely stopping to open the door, she powered past him with a snapped “interrogating the prisoners on the prince’s order, let none disturb.” Mere seconds later, once Tadar and the ponies had entered, she kicked the doors shut and let out a deep sigh.
“Well, that was unpleasant,” Shadowtop muttered.
The room was as cramped and efficient as all the other parts of the palace, granted only the luxury of a small balcony overlooking the city; a sea of sandstone spattered with colors. The room itself was quite clearly an old bedchamber, a large bed by one of the walls, and otherwise offering only a table, pillows, some empty shelves and a vanity with a washbasin.
“This isn’t so bad,” Fluttershy said, licking her lips and peering about as if looking for the catch.
“No, which should only make you more worried, if you had any sense,” Shadowtop replied, supplying exactly that. “I have never seen him so angry before.”
“You call that angry?” Applejack asked.
“We’ve been over this,” Tadar commented from over by the balcony. “You may not see the signs as you’re not a local, but had his court been there to see that, it would cause ripples.”
“Yes, which is why he ordered us away so quickly, I assume,” Shadowtop hummed. “I doubt this is political. The prince is very, very vexed by your appearance. Why?”
“I don’t understand, are you helping us now? I thought you weren’t a friend,” Fluttershy said, tilting her head at the gazelle.
“This some fancy talking technique to get us to spill the beans?” Applejack asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Oh,” Tadar and Shadowtop said in chorus, looking to each other. “Maybe—ah,” Tadar added, holding up a hoof. “My apologies. I should have explained. Shadowtop and I are, hm, acquaintances?”
“That will do,” Shadowtop agreed with a lopsided smile that lasted all of a second. “You will also recall that the prince asked me to do no such thing as ‘interrogate’ you.”
“Uh, so, where do we stand?” Applejack asked, scratching her head through her hat.
“I guess that’s a different question entirely,” Tadar mused, staring at Shadowtop. “Is this one of those times where our goals align, or are you playing at something here? Do you mean to stay loyal to the prince in his mad ambition, or are you with the people?”
The gazelle rolled her shoulders and lifted her helmet off of her head. Only when she’d carefully placed it on the large low table that dominated the centre of the room did she reply.
“You are less ‘the people’ here than I, Tadar, and I still don’t think the prince has any ambition, per se. Of course I have noticed the change in him over the past years, and I’m neither happy with it, nor am I in a position to protest. I can’t even speak my mind around my own guards,” she said. Poking her helmet, she muttered under her breath. “Blasted thing is hot as the sun itself.”
Applejack couldn’t quite keep back a grin, sauntering over to join the captain by the table, Fluttershy and Tadar also converging on it. “So you’re with us?” she asked.
“Does it have to be that simple?” Shadowtop asked.
“Uh, yeah? It is. Either you’re trying to help, or you ain’t,” Applejack shrugged. At her side, Tadar chewed on his cheek, apparently far less convinced.
“What she is saying is that she cannot help us in any way that gets her indicted,” Tadar offered.
“But you will help,” Fluttershy pressed, beaming.
“Sandstorm, yes!” the gazelle swore, taking a deep breath and letting it out again. “I simply do not know how. All I do know is that the prince likely has a dark end planned for you. He wasn’t at all interested in your kind until he received a package, a book. He stayed up all night reading and re-reading the thing, wearing a hole in the ground with his pacing, and I swear I heard the sound of something breaking in his private quarters. Ever since, he’s been on the warpath, and you’re at the heart of it. Again, I ask, why? There must be some logic to his actions.”
“He knew we were coming here? The prince knew of us? I thought it was the letter from Celestia that told him of us,” Fluttershy said, but Shadowtop shook her head.
“He didn’t know of you before that, no. A travelling merchant arrived bearing a message he claimed came from the far-off land of Equestria. The guards heard of some noise in a market yesterday where two colorful ladies were involved, but it was all a curiosity, nothing more. If he cared beyond wanting to preserve the peace at that point, he never showed it, but he has been in a foul mood ever since he received that package tonight.”
“Then we really need to have a look at that book, don’t we?” Applejack concluded.
“Do you really think it will help?” Fluttershy asked. It was such a simple question, it gave Applejack pause. The demure pegasus, mane askew, was looking up at her with pure and obvious hope in her eyes. She couldn’t even make herself lie to her friend and say she was sure, but it forced her to think.
“Maybe,” Applejack finally said, all eyes on her. “You said it yourself. It’s got nothing to do with us until that book’s involved. There’s something off about this all, ain’t there?”
“That would be what Shadowtop and I have been saying. The prince has been acting odd, showing ambition where before he had none,” Tadar said, the zebra shrugging. Applejack stifled a small groan and rubbed the spot between her eyes.
“No, I mean, really off. You say he’s makin’ a bid for power? Fluttershy mentioned something about it earlier when we were just comin’ up on the palace. It’s not about the bits, or silver, or whatever you use. He’s expanding his orchards, but he ain’t raising a new barn. It don’t add up,” Applejack explained. Fluttershy nodded and sat down by the table. The zebra and the gazelle were obviously not following, so Applejack looked to her friend as she spoke.
“Sugar, I ain’t one to start making ‘theories’ or whatever like Twi’ does, but help me out here. What do we have to do with all this? If he had some plan, trying to use us for whatever he’s been doing for years, why wait until he got the book?”
“Well, um. If Tadar is right,” she said with a nod at the zebra. “Most here don’t know about the real history of the lost lands to the south. They don’t know we ponies came from there, long ago, but I think the prince would know that. Tadar knew about the migration.”
“He’s well read,” Shadowtop agreed with a nod.
Fluttershy licked her lips and lowered her eyes to the table, lost in thought for a moment. “He’s angry with us because we’re ponies, but why? We haven’t done anything, but if he’s trying to—oh my goodness. Does he blame us for something?”
“That’d make sense of the anger,” Applejack nodded. “But what for?”
“It could only really be one thing. His daughter went missing,” Fluttershy pointed out, swallowing. “That’s not good at all. Why would he blame us for that?”
Applejack poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “Ain’t got a clue, but it’s gotta be related to the book, then.”
“It’s a theory, but I still don’t see what this all adds up to,” Shadowtop commented, Tadar silent at his side. “Nor how it matters. I don’t understand what we can do with this if we don’t have hard logic and a clear path. Even if you are right, there was little love lost between the Prince and Rynna.”
“You don’t see because y’all spend your lives trying not to admit you have feelings. You’re looking, but you don’t see,” Applejack retorted. “Maybe it takes a pony to see it, but let me spell it out to you; the prince was a real stand-up feller before, trying to do what was right?”
“Well, yes. He used to do what he thought best, looking out for the people of the Bazaar. He changed when his daughter went missing, and I fail to understand why.” Shadowtop was wearing a faint frown upon her face now.
“I think what Applejack is trying to say is, what if he didn’t change? What if he’s still trying to look out for the people?” Fluttershy suggested, a small smile proving that she was catching on. Applejack grinned even as Shadowtop’s frown deepened, the strongest show of emotion they’d seen from the stoic guard captain yet.
“It’s the best shot we have,” Tadar added, the zebra offering an apologetic shrug.
“I will see what I can do, not because I understand you or know what you plan, but because I trust Tadar’s judgment, and wish the best for the Bazaar and the prince both.”
The slight gazelle collected her helmet and marched for the door, slipping outside without another word. Once the door closed behind her, Fluttershy shook her head.
“You didn’t have to be so rude to her, you know,” the pegasus admonished.
“If she’s not gonna play sides, more to the point, our side, I ain’t feeling too charitable,” Applejack muttered.
“I doubt she took offense, but she’s still a friend to me,” Tadar said, stretching and casting a glance out past the balcony where the sun was nearing the horizon. “Still, mind explaining what you two are on about?”
“Y’all are looking for something ‘logical’ and everything just ‘cause your prince is the one touting this whole show-no-emotion nonsense the loudest,” Applejack replied. “I figure that maybe he’s honestly doing what he thinks best all along. Ain’t sure how it all adds up, but there’s something here.”
“Then for all our sakes, I pray we find it,” he murmured, padding over to sit by the bed. A lazy silence settled over the room in the conversation’s wake, the very air hot and heavy with inactivity that made Applejack’s skin itch. Waiting was never pleasant. After a moment’s deliberation, the farmpony made her way out to the balcony where Fluttershy had wandered off to.
The balcony jutted out from the palace wall, and the low guardrail stonework did nothing to hide the full view of the Bazaar here. Smoke drifted lazily upwards from a hundred chimneys as the city folk took their dinners. For the first time since they had entered the city, Applejack could see its borders, stone and sand stretching off to the the north and east as far as the eye could see. Soon, the sun would set in the distance, but the heat still blurred their view. Fluttershy sighed and reached back with her teeth to grab a hold of her cloak, presumably to take it off.
“Don’t. Keep it on,” Applejack said, halting the pegasus, Fluttershy’s teeth clamped down on the fabric.
“Ph’orry?” she said, letting go.
“They don’t know you can fly,” Tadar called from well inside the room. He sounded almost bored, which gave Applejack’s mirth wings.
“I guess he does pay attention,” Applejack murmured, grinning. “He’s right. Let’s keep that to ourselves for now.”
Fluttershy nodded, shifting her wings under the soft fabric. The pegasus looked very ill at ease all of a sudden. “Sorry, I’m not very good at this. Thinking like this.”
“I ain’t much of a mare of mystery myself,” Applejack said, kicking off with her forelegs to lean them on the railing, resting her head against the cooler stone. “I fit into this about as well as a squirt of apple cider in a cup of black coffee. Just know it doesn’t add up, that’s all. There’s something driving the Prince.”
“I hope you’re right,” Fluttershy said, shuffling a little closer. Applejack nodded and leaned her head against hers.
“It’s a bit of a gamble, but hay, they said people like to gamble here, huh?” Applejack mused. Together, the two ponies stood there and watched as the heat-distorted sun merged with the horizon, melting and flattening like an egg before finally disappearing.
Twice the door opened before they fell asleep, once to admit a gruff guard-camel who dumped their saddlebags inside, and once to a giraffe who bore a tray of foods and a carafe of water. The food and water was made quick work of, Tadar capping off their meal with a half-muttered comment on what to think about those who could afford niceties for their enemies.
The bed was old and the covers musty, but both were a welcome ward against the chill of the night. The cold that settled every evening made Fluttershy wish for day, but she knew that would only last until the baking heat made her long for night again. That very same chill was what made it so terribly unpleasant to be awoken in the middle of the night.
A thin sliver of light from the hallway grew as someone opened the door. Fluttershy slowly sat up, taking care to keep her wings pinned to her back and out of view. Next to her, Applejack stirred, the farmpony reaching for her hat before she even had her eyes open. Tadar slept on by the bedside where he lay, having offered them the bed proper.
“The hay’s going on?” A bleary-eyed Applejack asked. No sooner had she spoke than Shadowtop slipped inside, closing the door behind her. In the pre-dawn, she was barely a whisper in the darkness as she approached. Fluttershy shrank back against the pillows, and Applejack tensed up at her side—until a hard object landed on the foot-end.
“The book,” Shadowtop whispered. “He seems not to care about it any more, but I will not risk bringing you before him myself. That, you will have to figure out on your own.”
“How?” Fluttershy asked. “Don’t we get to see him?”
The little pause was the worst. The way Shadowtop waited before elaborating, averting her eyes, it all set Fluttershy’s every alarm blaring, the fear that had been almost surmountable in a soft bed with friends now nearby returning in full.
“He has given very specific orders not to see you ever again. I do not know why he is acting like this, but after I took you before him, he has been sullen and moody. He’s having the dungeons prepared, and I think he wants you gone. Add two and two together. Act quickly.”
“That’s it?” Applejack hissed. “We need to see the prince!”
“We do?” Fluttershy asked, not feeling very sure of exactly that.
“Think, sugar. We ain’t got a way out of this except by talking, do we? If we can’t see the prince and ask him why the hay he’s doing this, get a proper answer, we may as well start fighting’ now and take our chances!”
“Don’t,” the gazelle replied with a sigh. “Don’t even joke about that. I’ll take you in the morning, then, if you promise not to make a fuss.”
Applejack puffed out her cheeks and nodded. “That’ll do. Thank you kindly.”
“Don’t thank me. Just don’t fail at whatever you’re planning,” Shadowtop retorted, the gazelle making her retreat as silent as her arrival. Applejack wasted no time in slipping out from under the covers and making for the moonlight of the balcony, Fluttershy helpless to do anything but follow. It was different from the other times they’d been forced to rely on books or journals; Applejack barely took the time to put the book down before she was parting its covers, her movements hurried.
“You’re sure we need to see the prince?” Fluttershy asked. She received no reply. Applejack was squinting and tilting the book against the moonlight.
If Celestia and Luna wanted for them to come home, perhaps they were looking down at them, then. Fluttershy smiled at that, turning her face towards the silvery orb. It was comforting to pretend that Princess Luna was with them, even here. Far from home, yes, but at least they knew it was the same moon.
“Well, don’t this beat all,” Applejack murmured. Fluttershy tilted her head and leaned closer, trying to see what she saw, but Applejack couldn’t be reading this fast; the orange mare was leafing through the pages with an ungentle hoof, her brow creased until she finally gave a low sigh and pushed the book away.
The book was mainly written in a strangely familiar yet unreadable scrawl. The elegant glyphs looked a lot like what they had found in the books of the libraries in the lost lands, but the old Equestrian was not half as familiar as the translation written between the lines in common, modern script.
-creations to combat what I perceive as the true threat/problem (word can mean both); the windigoes. I have began researching ways to create constructs to combat these-
Fluttershy blinked. “Wait, this is—”
“One of Starswirl’s journals, translated. It’s just sayin’ things we already know. Nothing much new in here except what we learned when we actually were there ourselves.”
“I thought the prince already knew this,” Fluttershy whispered. “This doesn’t make sense.”
“Actually, it sort of does,” Applejack grumbled. “Think about it, sugar. People around here have cause to hate us ponies if they’re out to hold a grudge. At least, if they think we’re the cause of the windigoes. Don’t know if the prince is about to hold a grudge for something that happened a hundred generations ago, but the book here’s about everything, including the malices. They were our fault, no matter how you shake it, and they were let loose recently.”
“He feels we ponies are responsible for his daughter being lost,” Fluttershy said, voice thin.
“Makes as much sense as anything. What the book doesn’t tell us is who sent it, who told the prince. We were all alone down there,” Applejack replied, staring at the tome.
Fluttershy bit her lower lip as she leaned closer to inspect the book again. In the margins, to the sides, above and below what had to be a translation, notes were scribbled. One of ours, dated experiment. Harmony resonance?
“I’ve seen this writing before,” Fluttershy whispered, a chill worming its way down her back as she turned and walked back inside the room, muttering to herself. “Oh goodness.”
“You know who did this?” Applejack asked, fetching the mystery tome and trotting up to her side, but Fluttershy couldn’t think of what to say in reply. Mute, she walked up to their saddlebags and opened them one by one until she found a certain small book. Nosing open Brighthoof’s journal, the exact same style of writing greeted them.
“Well I’ll be,” Applejack muttered. “Have we been followed? Don’t like this at all. How did somepony get a hold of this? The book looks just like the ones in Starswirl’s study, or the ones in the Dreamspire.” Applejack leafed through the larger book as she spoke, a fine spray of dust eliciting a sneeze from her.
“And why is it translated?” Fluttershy asked. “He didn’t do it with any of the other books we found. He could read the language, so he didn’t need to translate it for himself.”
“If someone were in either of those two places before us, we would’ve seen the signs,” Applejack retorted with a hum.
Fluttershy swallowed, shaking her head as she turned her back to the impossible tome that now filled her with dread. “Can—can we go back to bed now?”
For the longest time, Fluttershy lay in the darkness staring at Applejack’s back, the farmpony’s form rising and falling with her steady breaths. It had taken a while to stop thinking about the journal and the mysterious book both, but all that did was bring her mind back to the present, to the threat of the palace dungeons.
Fluttershy had to trust Applejack. She had to believe that she had a plan. Perhaps the stoic earth mare would share her plan in full if Fluttershy asked, but it was almost better not to know, to wait and believe. She’d certainly seemed content with what she found in the book, even if its sender was a mystery.
Wasn’t that how it went? Keep the peace and wait?
The thought didn’t mesh. Where she’d before been content to think thus, it no longer fit. Her words to Applejack two nights before could well be a lie; she’d told her she wouldn’t tell Rainbow Dash, but it was impossible to say what she would or wouldn’t do if they got back to Ponyville. Her wings itched and her eyes drifted out past the balcony to the night sky. She couldn’t force the truth back inside the box and pretend it had never been spoken.
And she had to know they would be free, she needed to know she would have a chance. Even if she didn’t know what she’d do, she knew she couldn’t bear to lose the option to tell her. Somewhere out there, she knew Rainbow Dash was flying this very moment, up in the air looking for her. An invisible string tugged at her heart and wanted her home, and she couldn’t ever take another breath without being keenly aware of that connection. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, but with every breath, she felt more alive, too. Her heart started racing, and she couldn’t say exactly why. Her wings twitched and spread of their own accord.
“Applejack,” she whispered out of desperation, trying to find distraction, or at the very least some confirmation that she herself was awake and hadn’t slipped into a dream.
“Yup?” came the reply, calm as ever. The earth mare rolled over on her back, squinting in the darkness. “Weren’t sleeping. Trying to figure out something.”
“But, um, sorry for asking, but you do have a plan, right? For all the things we’ve talked about?” Fluttershy asked.
“I intend to walk up to the prince and tell him he’s a liar. Whether or not you’d call that a plan, that’s up to you,” Applejack replied before stifling a yawn.
“Oh,” was all Fluttershy managed, her heart sinking as she hung her head. Applejack didn’t seem to share her doubt, slowly sitting up. After a moment’s deliberation, the earth pony started to work her hooves through Fluttershy’s mane.
“Can’t sleep ‘cause there’s just one thing that won’t add up,” Applejack continued.
Fluttershy made an inquisitive noise. She wasn’t feeling very sleepy anymore anyways. Impending doom had that effect on her, sometimes.
“His daughter. They’re family, and everything that’s in my bones says he should care about her,” Applejack replied, still with the soft strokes along Fluttershy’s mane. “It doesn’t add up if he doesn’t care about her.”
“I’m sorry?” Fluttershy asked.
“They said there was no love lost between’em, prince Enjaryn and his daughter, whatever her name was—”
“Rynna,” Fluttershy murmured.
“Right, Rynna. These people’re so different,” she sighed.
Fluttershy nodded, making the movement as small as she could. Applejack’s tender ministrations felt so good, it would be a shame to interrupt. “What about the room?” she mused.
“Beg pardon?”
“The room opposite of ours,” Fluttershy replied. “I think it may have belonged to her.”
Applejack’s hooves stopped moving for a second. “Alright, I don’t follow. Why in the wide world do you think that?”
“Well, um, the palace is symmetrical. I noticed when we were walking through the halls, but every room looks just like the room opposite. We’re in a large and nice bedroom, so I guess the room on the other side of the hall is another bedroom. The palace isn’t that, um—I mean, I’m sure they’re doing their best, but—”
“It ain’t much of anything. Say it like it is. As far as palaces go, it’s more like my barn than Castle Canterlot,” Applejack commented. Fluttershy made a little noise at that, not wanting to agree in full.
“It’s not quite that bad, but rooms like these are probably reserved for important things. Or important people. That he put us in one means he doesn’t want to hate us, I think. These two are the only rooms we’ve seen where the doors are closed, but there was no guard in front of the other one.”
Applejack grinned. “Bless your attention to detail, sugarcube. You think the other bedroom was hers then?”
Fluttershy deflated a bit at the praise, sinking into the pillows in the darkness. For a brief moment, as happened every so often, she was home again.
“It’s nothing special,” she muttered. Resting on her bedroom desk, she knew a certain little bracelet waited. “I just, um. Sometimes, ponies—and perhaps other people too—they like to have keepsakes around. A secret little way to remember things, reminders.”
“Got that right,” Applejack agreed, letting go of Fluttershy’s mane. In the faint outline given by the moonlight, she raised her foreleg to nudge her hat.
“I didn’t mean—” Fluttershy tried, the words forming a lump in her throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to remind you.”
Applejack gave a low chuckle and leaned over to gather Fluttershy in a tight hug, the farmpony’s legs firmly wrapped around her neck as she nosed the top of her head and mussed up her mane.
“Stop fussin’,” she rumbled. “Told you it ain’t a problem. It’s a done deal. I just want to get home, same as you. Don’t want my family to have to wonder about me, too. You’ve given me the last little piece I need tomorrow, I think. I couldn’t for the life of me understand how somepony could think so little of their own family, but you solved that. I don’t need to check or know for sure, I just need to know it adds up.”
“And we’re getting home by arguing with the prince?” Fluttershy asked, one of her wings questing under the cloak she wore even as she slept, finally coming to rest atop Applejack’s side. At last, sleep was calling.
“By telling him that he’s being thicker’n a hundred-year old oak,” Applejack said in a voice that sounded a lot like agreement.
Ten minutes, Shadowtop had said. The guard captain had stuck her head inside the room right before dawn saying she would return in ten minutes.
Applejack stretched and tried to focus on the way her neck protested. She’d fallen asleep holding Fluttershy close, and her neck had been hurting something fierce ever since she woke up. It was a nice distraction good for five or six seconds, just like putting on her tattered saddlebags had wasted half a minute, but there was no putting it off any longer. It was applebuck season, though she’d much prefer the literal version to the metaphorical one.
At the other end of the room, Fluttershy was adjusting her cloak. Despite her never saying so much as a single word of protest, smiling as sweetly as only Fluttershy could whenever the pegasus saw her looking, Applejack also saw the fear in her eyes. Perhaps even worse, Tadar said nothing. The zebra maintained a stoic silence, and that, too, spoke volumes. Perhaps he was repaying the ponies’ trust in him, then.
And just like that, the wait was over. Seconds after the light of dawn began spilling into the room through the balcony and its ornate windows, the door opened with an ominous creak. Shadowtop wasn’t wearing her helmet, and the guard at the door was nowhere in sight.
“The entire palace will be having breakfast now. Come along, and please don’t run away. This is all on my head,” she said, the lithe gazelle scratching at the ground in an obvious display of nervousness.
“Time to play, I suppose. High stakes,” Tadar muttered as he set for the door. Applejack swallowed and adjusted her hat, letting Fluttershy walk in front of her. The next moment, the four were walking single file through the palace, following the same path they had thread yesterday. This time, the halls were almost completely empty, but some of the rooms were host to camels, giraffes and gazelles chatting amicably around breakfast tables. Aside from the guards, not a soul was to be seen moving.
“Let me guess, eating breakfast all at once was the prince’s idea, and it wasn’t always like this?” Applejack asked.
“Yes, and no,” Shadowtop replied, glancing over her shoulder with an eyebrow raised. “How did you know?”
Applejack pursed her lips as she trotted on, mulling that over. It fit. When Shadowtop got no reply from her, she instead turned her attention to Fluttershy.
“Equestria must be a very hot place indeed if you wish to wear clothes inside during the day.”
“Oh. Um. Sorry,” Fluttershy mumbled. “Yes. Very hot. Equestria, I mean. Or I’m cold.”
Applejack couldn’t keep the grin from her face when their escort shook her head, apparently having had her fill of conversation for the moment, and Tadar was pointedly avoiding both of their eyes. It lasted for about as long as it took them to walk down the stone staircase that landed them in front of the large doors they’d passed through the day before. Now they stood open, and faint murmurs could be heard from inside, the sounds of quiet discussion that were brought to an abrupt halt when they entered.
The prince sat not upon his throne, but rather, at a small table off to the side along with a half-dozen others. Scattered around the room and on the long balcony that dominated one of the sides of the room, guards and other palace staff were having their morning meal together, and to a one, they looked up at the procession that entered. All were silent except for the prince.
“Shadowtop? What is the meaning of this? I specifically asked not to see these vermin again. Who ordered them here?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that easily carried across the room. If social norms forbade him to express himself too loudly, the way his eyes narrowed spoke volumes.
“No one did save they themselves and I,” Shadowtop replied, marching onwards until they stood before the prince’s breakfast table. Applejack widened her stance, bracing herself.
“You know we ain’t done nothing at all. You have no right keepin’ us here,” Applejack said, fixing the prince with a glare. For a moment, his eyes slipped over to meet hers, but he was quick to turn his attention back to Shadowtop. It was as if looking at Applejack hurt him.
“Then I suppose I am in need of a new captain of the guard,” Enjaryn replied. The camel pushed his plate away and smacked his lips trying to affect nonchalance, but Applejack could see his forelegs trembling with suppressed rage. None of the others in room seemed eager to take action. Guards stood tense, but didn’t move, and those who ate had paused mid-bite.
“It’s a shame, really. You’ve done a good job for these past what—eight years?” the prince added.
“Then perhaps my resignation will be a message,” Shadowtop replied with a shrug just as Applejack opened her mouth to speak again. Fluttershy and Tadar both cast glances her way.
“And what message is that?” Enjaryn asked. “That guard captains should be allowed to willfully ignore orders and bring these—” he sputtered. “These before me?”
“That you’ve changed,” Shadowtop retorted, craning her neck to undo the clasp that fastened her cloak to her back before letting it fall to the floor. “I don’t know—”
“That you’re scared,” Applejack spat, taking a step forward. That got a reaction. The guards all jerked to, the closest pair advancing to stand within reach, and all the palace staff made little noises that together became a collective gasp, loud in the otherwise quiet room. The prince could ignore her no longer, finally forced to look upon her, and in his eyes she saw she was right.
“We’ve seen the book,” Applejack went on, ignoring the glance Enjaryn shot the rather unapologetic guard captain at that. “And I know what you’re thinking. What you’re doing. You think you’re protectin’ your people by being’ up in everybody’s business, but it’s pointless. The windigoes and their ilk? They’re sleeping on the mountaintops or long gone. They couldn’t care less if you holler’n scream!”
“You would say that, of course,” the prince snorted. “You would say anything to try to save your hides using empty lies. I am starting to think the dungeons would be too good for you.”
Slowly, the prince rose to stand, and despite the distance, despite him standing behind something as mundane as a breakfast table, he seemed to loom over them. “I am protecting this city! We have always know the threat that looms, but I have seen the proof. I have suffered because of that which waits to the south!”
“So you ain’t disagreeing,” Applejack barked. “And save ourselves? You ain’t done your research. If we wanted, we could have left yesterday!”
In one swift move, Applejack leaned over to tear Fluttershy’s cloak off of her back, exposing the pegasus in full. Fluttershy squeaked and shrank back, her wings jammed tight to her sides. A murmur went across the room as Applejack placed herself between the guards and Fluttershy.
“Might be that she couldn’t have carried us all out of here, but there’s no way your guards can stop her from escaping. You may have me, but unlike you, I ain’t afraid. Fluttershy’ll fly out of here and tell the truth if you try anything fancy.”
“The truth,” the prince echoed with a grim smile on his face as he stared straight at Fluttershy, the pegasus shrinking further behind Applejack. “There is no truth to be had, but regardless, there is no sense in the common folk being subjected to your inanities. Leave us!” he snapped.
It took less than a minute for the room to clear out, only a few of the guards remaining after the prince’s court and staff vacated the premises. In the silence that settled, it was a rather sour-looking prince that settled atop the throne of pillows on the dais.
“Tell me then your ‘truth’,” The prince said, simple as that. “Tell me what could possibly justify your presence. Tell me why I shouldn’t have my guards seize you right now.”
Applejack drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Perhaps the prince was finally listening, but he looked none too happy all the same. “It’s like I said. You’re tryin’ to do something good, but you got it all wrong. The windigoes were gone long ago. They ain’t doing anything.”
The prince’s jaw went slack for a second before his expression hardened, voice tight with anger. “You serve me bold-faced lies?” he asked. “Your truth is to tell me that Rynna—that—that my suffering, that the threat—” he sputtered. As if reacting to some unspoken signal, the closest four red-cloaked guards began closing in on them, forcing them tighter together.
“They’re gone!” Applejack repeated, squaring her jaw. “They’re gone, and something else, something old and evil took their place, but we took care of that. If they’re what took your daughter? Ain’t nothing we can say that’ll fix it, but it weren’t us! I know you’ve lost someone, but hurting us won’t bring her back!”
The prince growled. His eyes were red as the silks he wore, and his face contorted in a mask of anger so pure and honest, it was almost a relief to see if not for the guards. “And what, exactly, do you young squirts know about loss?” he asked.
Applejack snorted and shook off a hoof that had grabbed her shoulder, but before she could make a reply, Fluttershy stepped up to next to her. Just as the fires of anger lit up, the pegasus’ right wing poked Applejack in the side to quiet her.
“We’re sorry, we really are, but if we can’t get home, then we have lost absolutely everything, prince,” Fluttershy said, her head hanging low. “You can do something good, here, and if you did this all for your people, then you’re a good pon—er, um, camel. Sorry.”
“You can keep this all up,” Applejack said. Her eyes on the closest guard, she slowly leaned back to fish out from her saddlebags both Starswirl’s journal and the larger book Shadowtop had brought. With two rapid flicks of her head, the books landed on the carpeted floor.
“Or you can look here. We have proof. Says somewhere in that book of ours that they’re gone. Same pony’s written it as the book you have. Windigoes are gone. It’s one book against another, but we came from down south. Don’t matter if you don’t like us, but we’re telling the honest truth about the things that took your daughter, too. How else would we have this book if we didn’t come from there ourselves?”
Prince Enjaryn was staring straight at Applejack, gaze unwavering and unblinking. Applejack gladly met it. The ire, the anger, the hurt and the fear in the old camel’s eyes were no threat to her so long as she had the truth, but the truth couldn’t always soothe by itself. Sometimes, it was not enough.
Just as Applejack was fumbling for words, Tadar cleared his throat, the zebra almost forgotten for a second. “If I may speak, it’s not too late. The Bazaar cannot change in a day, and perhaps it shouldn’t at all. Let its people be. Let them decide for themselves. If you did all this in response to a threat that does not exist, then you’re not doing anyone any favors.”
“Is this true? You’re running a regime of fear because you yourself are afraid?” Shadowtop asked. “My word may not matter to you if I am fired, and haul me down to the dungeons yourself if you wish, but this is not the way.”
“You think me weak,” the prince accused, leaning forwards from his plush throne. The guards still loomed, and the threat was not gone from his voice. Applejack closed her eyes for a moment to help her to breathe steady. For one brief instant she forced herself to remember that one day so long ago. The day Granny Smith had nudged open her bedroom door bearing the news she had so desperately feared, the words she’d wanted never to hear. That memory alone managed to keep her calm when all she wanted to do was shout. She knew how he felt.
“No,” Applejack breathed more than spoke. “I think you’re hurt. I think you got hurt bad ‘cause you lost someone you cared a great deal for, and that’s makin’ you do stuff you wouldn’t normally stand for. Ain’t weakness to get hurt. Weakness is when you can’t own up to it, when you can’t do right by yourself and others despite that.”
Slowly, the anger melted from the prince’s visage. Lowering his head, he held up a hoof to halt the guard. The red-cloaked camels and giraffes all looked to him, doubt in their eyes as the menace was replaced with weariness.
“I was trying to keep the Bazaar safe,” he muttered, his fire down to embers. “Yet you are saying I have failed my people.”
“No,” Applejack said, pushing past the press of guards to advance upon the throne. “But I think the strongest leaders are those who ain’t afraid of being afraid. Maybe you gotta do all that fancy stuff, keepin’ up appearances and whatever else I don’t usually have to worry about myself, but admittin’ your mistakes ain’t failure. It’s good sense.”
“If you cannot do it for these ponies, and if you cannot even do it for your people, do it for Rynna,” Tadar said.
“Don’t—” the prince snapped, his anger reignited for a brief instant but gone again as quickly as it had came. “Don’t speak her name.”
“This isn’t what she'd have wanted,” Tadar continued in a softer voice by far. The zebra lowered his gaze. “Prince, you know I cared a lot for her, and she for me. If she was right, then give her the pleasure of honoring her memory.”
Applejack cocked a brow and looked over at Tadar at that, but it was hardly the right moment for questions. Up on the throne, the prince nodded at that, sinking into a contemplative silence.
Fluttershy unfurled and refurled her wings, and even Tadar and Shadowtop shifted their weight from side to side and let their eyes roam before the prince finally nodded again and spoke.
“On her memory be it, but I will speak no more of this misstep, and I will make no apologies.”
Applejack let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, taking a step to the side to lean against Fluttershy. For her part, the pegasus hung her head and shook with relief.
“Captain Shadowtop? Would you take these two ponies to the storeroom and give them whatever they want? Get them out of my sight, and see it to it that they take the damnable book with them, too,” Enjaryn said.
“As you command,” Shadowtop affirmed, picking back up her discarded cloak without another word.
“I need to think. Tadar? Don’t leave town for a while. I need to talk to you,” the prince added, rubbing at his forehead.
Tadar dipped his head and smiled. “I will be happy to. You have done a good thing today.”
“If I didn’t think I had, I wouldn’t have done it, but don’t you go organizing any festivities just yet. You’re going to be leading the expedition south past the border to investigate,” the prince shot. “Now leave me be, before I change my mind.”
Once they were out of the throne room, Fluttershy spread her wings and arched her neck letting out a deep, shuddering sigh. They were free. Before she could stop herself, she trotted closer to Applejack and wrapped her forelegs around her neck, seizing her in a hug.
“Uh, hey there, sugar,” Applejack chuckled, returning the hug before gently disentangling herself. The farmpony was grinning, but tilted her head in question all the same. “You okay?”
“We both are, now,” Fluttershy replied.
“Quite a feat,” Shadowtop added by way of agreement as they made their way through the palace halls once more. “I don’t quite understand how you saw it. Perhaps it’s one of those things it takes an outsider to see.”
“Outsider?” Tadar echoed with smug grin of his own. “Such a gamble would shame most of those native to the Bazaar, especially that bluff.”
“Bluff?” Applejack asked.
“The threat to stay whilst Fluttershy escaped,” Tadar said.
Applejack shrugged. “What bluff?”
“Applejack! You know I’d never—I mean, I couldn’t!” Fluttershy stammered, her legs nearly failing her as she tried to keep pace with the still smiling earth pony.
“Which is why I didn’t tell you, ‘cause you’d get your mane in a tangle over it,” Applejack said. “Hardly matters now anyway.”
Fluttershy stopped on the spot, her wings touching the floor where they drooped at her sides. Tadar and Shadowtop didn’t seem to notice, but Applejack halted after a few paces.
“Sugar?” she intoned, her brow set in a worried frown. Fluttershy could barely hear her over the sound of her own heartbeat and the rush of blood in her ears. The whole town, new and exciting as it was, had also been scary. The vague, ephemeral threat of the dungeons, that had been even scarier. The truly terrifying part had always been the thought of never being able to get home; that they should fail here and never see Equestria again. To never see Rainbow Dash.
But the idea that she should return alone, that Applejack was ready to stay behind, that made her blood run cold. Separation. Fluttershy fixed Applejack with a glare.
“It matters,” she said, her voice tempered steel.
“It’s over,” Applejack said, raising a placating hoof. “There’s no sense in getting riled up—”
“It’s only over if you can promise you’ll never ever do that again!” Fluttershy protested. “You can’t ever even joke about that. I mean it. I would never ever leave you behind, you have to believe that,” she cried.
“Of course I know that, I never once doubted that!” Applejack retorted, pulling back.
“No you don’t! Not if you think I’d have gone on without you. If I’m going to trust you won’t leave me, I have to trust that you trust me, too,” Fluttershy implored, shaking her head and sitting down on the spot. No sooner had her rump hit the carpeted floor than was Applejack in front of her, nuzzling her.
“You’re overthinking it, but for what it’s worth? I’m sorry,” Applejack murmured, her eyes downcast. “We’re getting through this together, and I am right sorry for tricking you if that’s what it feels like."
Fluttershy nodded and swallowed. “Okay. I didn’t really think you would. I mean, I just that I don’t want to have to do that, to leave you.”
“Don’t want to have to tough this one out alone? Yeah, me neither. Ain’t planning on it. For what it’s worth, next time I’ll tell you what I’m planning. Promise,” Applejack finished for her, nudging her chest to set her standing again. “Come on.”
Catching up to the other two was quick work. Tadar and Shadowtop had halted further down the hall and around a bend, engaged in hushed words that the ponies’ arrival scattered like straw before the wind. Once rejoined, they walked together to a large room set in the center of the palace, a tall chamber crammed with all manner of things from carpets and hourglasses to vases and chairs.
“Storeroom,” Shadowtop explained. “What we don’t find here, I’m sure I can find you the gold to purchase in the markets.”
“And what you can’t find in the Bazaar’s markets, well, odds are it doesn’t exist,” Tadar added. “I believe we had something of a list?”
“Map, water, food and shelter,” Applejack agreed with a nod.
“Maybe we could get some new saddlebags too?” Fluttershy asked. “If it’s not too much trouble. The ones we have are, well,” she trailed off, pointedly looking at the pair Applejack wore. A piece of Applejack’s heavier cloak was poking out from one of many holes. It was a miracle the hastily thrown together things had lasted so long.
“I’m sure we can find something suitable. Something made for a small camel or a large gazelle should fit you just fine,” Shadowtop nodded, the gazelle craning her neck to look down the different aisles lined with shelves and poking through bins of cloth as she spoke. “Map, though? I would have thought that was your area, Tadar.”
“This is as far east as I have ever been,” the zebra shrugged. “I am not one for challenging the Dune Sea, but I’ve been hundreds of leagues west and north both, you know.”
“Save your boasts,” the gazelle grunted. A moment later she lit up in a smile, darting over to grab a small, elegant bottle from a shelf. Gently, she put it down on the ground in front of the ponies. Fluttershy looked askance at her, and at a small nod, leaned forwards to inspect the curved glasswork. It looked like nothing special, though it was a very nice bottle.
“While I myself make no apologies, I believe this should be ample thanks for yelling at the prince and getting Tadar off my back by sending him south,” the gazelle explained with a glance at a particularly sour-looking zebra. Tadar held his mock look of hurt for all of three seconds before he brightened.
“Oh. Oh wait, this is the decanter the Rhiisian envoy gifted the prince?” Tadar asked.
“And in the six years since he got it, he’s not used it once.” Shadowtop nodded before turning to the ponies. “This decanter will hold anything, it is said. Well, practically anything. The envoy said it was once used to drain a small lake. We’re hardly, well, swimming in lakes here, so the prince wasn’t very impressed. It’s supposed to be very, very magical.”
“Cannot believe he’d let such an artifact gather dust,” Tadar interjected.
“Oh goodness,” Fluttershy said, taking a step back from it, suddenly afraid she’d accidentally step on it or ruin the doubtlessly very expensive thing. “Are you sure it’s okay?”
“He won’t miss it. If he does, I’ll tell the truth. If he’s not going to fire me over the worst breakfast interruption ever, he won’t fire me because I tossed out his trash. Now, let’s see about a map, shall we?”
It was awkward to find a good spot for farewells. The Bazaar didn’t have any city wall or real border, and its buildings gradually thinned out for almost a full league before the last of the outlying abodes were behind them, giving way to sand and stone alone.
At a small tower staffed by a pair of red-cloaked guards, the cobblestone road they had been following disappeared, swallowed up by the sands. Applejack was the first to stop and turn around, so Fluttershy did the same, lining up next to her friend to face Shadowtop and Tadar.
“You are absolutely sure you don’t want to stay a while?” Tadar asked. “It is no trouble at all, and if you have travelled as far as you say, another few nights of rest could do you good.”
Fluttershy shifted, working the new saddlebags they’d been provided with down her body a bit. It was a snug fit atop the thin and loose cloaks Tadar insisted they keep. When nopony spoke, she glanced over to find Applejack with her snout deep inside her own saddlebags.
Fluttershy smiled back at Tadar and shook her head. “It’s a very nice offer, but we talked about it a little, and we really want to get going. Sorry.”
“Hardly anything to apologize for,” Shadowtop commented with a low noise that might have been the beginnings of a chuckle.
“The map, compass, dried foods—”
“Well, um, maybe not, but I guess we won’t be seeing each other again. At least not soon,” Fluttershy said, her smile faltering at the thought. “I mean, when we get home—it’s so far away and everything.”
“Ah, don’t say that,” Tadar protested, taking a step forward to touch his forehead to hers. “Just because I’ve never journeyed further east doesn’t mean I won’t want to. There’s so much more of the world to see, and who knows? Maybe I’ll convince this here old relic to come with!” The zebra nudged Shadowtop in the side, making the gazelle jump, then roll her eyes.
“I think that’s rather unlikely, but I suppose odds are Tadar will get himself into some trouble that I need to help him out of,” she retorted.
“—fancy canteen thinger, Fluttershy has the shelter and her cloak, hm—”
“Or you’ll be working just as hard to get me into trouble,” Tadar replied. In the short silence that followed, the two shared grins that didn’t quite reach their eyes. Fluttershy brought a hoof to her mouth to stifle the budding giggle.
“Huh? Oh, hay, you’re comin’ to visit,” Applejack said, the earth mare apparently satisfied with her little inspection.
“Sorry?” Tadar intoned.
“We owe you. This stuff couldn’t have been cheap. Fancy saddlebags,” she said, poking them. “Clothes that’re supposed to make you feel colder at day—I still don’t understand that bit—and a magical flask thinger to boot? You gotta come by so we can repay you. Settle the debt.”
“Um,” was all Fluttershy managed, raising one leg half off the ground.
Shadowtop snorted, an impressively loud sound for such a slight creature. “I think we’re in disagreement of where the debt lies, here. You’ve done a lot—”
“See? Goes both ways, twice the reason to come visit,” Applejack interrupted, grinning.
With their farewells said, and their two friends walking back towards the heart of the bazaar, Fluttershy and Applejack stood before the Dune Sea so aptly named. Fluttershy’s lips felt dry just from looking at it. If she peered over her shoulder, she could see the living, breathing town of the Bazaar, the faint din of civilization still audible and smells drifting out all the way here. Ahead, there was only sand and a few rocky outcroppings to prevent total monotony. Fluttershy took a deep breath.
“Look at you, all ready to go,” Applejack commented, looking up from where she had the map unfurled on the single last cobblestone offered by the terminated road.
Fluttershy nodded. “I’m really sorry. If you really wanted to stay for a bit, I’m sure we could have.”
Applejack shook her head. “Figured spending the night would be good, that it wouldn’t make much difference, but I meant it when I said it was fine. No need to keep fussing and apologizing.”
“Right. Okay. Sorry,” Fluttershy said, taking the three steps needed to look upon the large sheaf of parchment with her friend. On the map taken straight from the prince’s own archives, the bazaar dominated the centre, with the Dune Sea occupying the east and the north. The desert made up a good portion of the map, annotated with various oases, and beyond, an equally vast area of hills and little trees marked something called “The emerald Frontier”.
If these two great swaths of land were frightening, there was one thing that gave Fluttershy hope. Past the desert and the forest, to the far top right of the parchment and beyond innumerable little symbols that made less sense than the last, a small area bordered on the edge of the map. An area simply called “The Badlands”.
“Do you really think it’s the same badlands?” Fluttershy asked, not for the first time.
Applejack didn’t seem to care that they’d discussed it twice before. She smiled as she rolled up the map, grabbed it in her mouth and stuffed it down one of her saddlebags. “Ain’t never heard of there being more than one. Got the same map of Equestria as you somewhere in the farmhouse. The Badlands’re south of Equestria proper. Wanna get going?”
Fluttershy nodded eagerly, and just like that, they were off. The first ten hoofsteps were odd, the sensation of hot sand against her legs where it crept past her hooves not entirely pleasant. After the next hundred steps, Fluttershy had decided that walking in the dry sand wasn’t at all something she was going to enjoy. A thousand steps later, it was obvious why Tadar and Shadowtop had both cautioned them against moving too much when the sun was at its zenith. They had barely crested the first dune that they’d seen from the edge of town when Fluttershy had to stop, her breath coming in gulps.
“Gotta pace yourself, sugar. All the same, let’s—let’s just stop for a second,” Applejack said, though despite her words, she was breathing hard, too. On top of the gentle slope of the sand-hill, they could see innumerable more such dunes stretching on in the direction they were going. Fluttershy’s heart sank. She knew it would be hard, but the enormity of their task was settling on her shoulders all the same.
Fluttershy sat down facing the town they’d just left, the sand uncomfortably hot against her rump. It couldn’t have been more than an hour, the sun still high in the sky, but her very eyes were dry. A nudge stirred her from her thoughts, Applejack poking her in the side with a hoof while she held the flask in her mouth. The pegasus nodded gratefully and took a few swigs of water before Applejack safely stowed it away again.
“It looks just the same,” Fluttershy murmured.
“Everything does. It’s just sand and rock,” Applejack replied, her eyes on the horizon.
“No, I mean, the town,” Fluttershy said, pointing in the direction from whence they’d came. “Everything changed. Twice. You just can’t tell. It barely changed at all when the prince went, um, well, I don’t want to say mad, but you know. And now that they know that they’re not in danger, they’re not celebrating or anything. It’s just the same.”
Applejack poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “It’s all up to the prince, I guess. We ain’t hardly trying to make footprints, anyway. We’re just trying to get home. Well, okay, so we might’ve ruined a mountain and some stuff along the road, but that doesn’t count,” she added with a bemused grin.
Fluttershy shook her head. “I just hope they’re all okay. If this was all because of something we did, us ponies...”
It had been a simple enough sentiment, a wish for well-being, but Fluttershy could see Applejack’s green eyes trained not on the city, but on something past it. The orange mare stood silent for so long, Fluttershy wondered if perhaps she’d said something wrong.
“Ain’t really about being okay or not,” Applejack said. “It’s about bein’ who they are, no matter what made them so. Just like I ain’t gonna apologize for being myself, even if I could stand to get a bit better at listening at times. And just like how you ain’t about to apologize for being you, either.”
Applejack sighed and scratched her head through her hat. “Well. Maybe you will, ‘cause that is you. I don’t know. Let’s just get moving.”
Fluttershy stifled a giggle and leaned over to nuzzle into Applejack’s neck-coat. “Maybe you’re right,” she offered with a wan smile, casting a final glance at the Bazaar before it passed out of sight, hidden behind the swells of sand.
The sun didn’t let up. There was not a single cloud to be had, and even if Fluttershy had dared to try her hoof at cloudcraft, there was no source of water from which to make one, either. The sky was clear for the first day, and the next, and every single one that followed. As Tadar had advised, they soon fell into a rhythm of moving in the hours or dusk and dawn rather than brave the crushing heat of full day or the deep chill of night. Fluttershy found herself as glad for the airy cover of her light cloak in day as she did of the heavier cloth and Applejack’s warmth at night.
Every night they set up the light metal rods and the open tent-like cover they’d been given, and every morning Applejack would pull out the map and compass to try to gauge their exact position based on the rocky outcroppings that dotted the desert. On the dawn of the second day, Fluttershy’s every muscle protested against the prospect of slogging through more sand, but on the dawn of the tenth, it wasn’t nearly so bad. At least, it wasn’t as bad as the way the heat worked its way into her brain.
All conversation not done around the water canteen before bed was inane and half-baked, and the oases marked on the map were hardly what she had expected, little more than muddy, soggy watering holes with sour grass.
The first real change wasn’t one Fluttershy would ever have asked for. They had barely broken camp for the day—was it the twelfth or the thirteenth?—when she sneezed.
“Bless you, sugar,” Applejack said with a glance and a chortle as they climbed the first major dune of the day. Where yesterday they had walked in the shadow of some sand-washed rocks, today it was all golden sand. “If you go and catch a cold here, I might just laugh,” she added.
“Sorry,” Fluttershy giggled. “I think I just got something in my nose. What do you want to do today? Maybe we could sing a little song before it gets too hot?”
“That sounds great to me,” Applejack replied, pausing for a second to rub at her face. Fluttershy was only now noticing the wind at their backs that set the fine-grained sand whirling up into the air.
“Alright, the sand on the ground is plenty, but it’s gonna be in our faces now too?” the earth mare growled, shaking her head. Fluttershy made to reply, but all she managed was a cough as she got a mouthful of the yellow stuff. Covering her snout, she glanced over their shoulders.
“Oh goodness,” she whimpered a second later.
“Oh. Uh, well,” Applejack agreed.
At their backs was a roiling darkness that fast closed in on them. Fluttershy’s eyes stung with sand as she stood there, paralysed, watching the sandstorm blot out the sun.
“Do—do we dig ourselves down?” she asked. “No, that’s for snowstorms, um, what do we do?”
Applejack chewed on her tongue and pulled her hat down on her head. “How about we tuck tail and run?”
“Sounds great,” Fluttershy agreed, having no problems being the first to do exactly that. A quarter second later, a second set of dull hoofbeats joined hers when Applejack pulled up to her side.
It was a matter of seconds before her muscles started protesting. Running uphill in loose sand was a terrible business, but it was never an option to stop and take her cloak off so that she could fly. Besides, the wind was picking up still, assailing them with sand. They were barely halfway up the next dune when they were blasted with a particularly nasty wind that sent Fluttershy straight into Applejack’s side.
“Easy there, sugar!” Applejack called over the howling gale, quickly followed by a loud series of coughs and sputters. The skies were getting darker and darker, but Fluttershy could see Applejack pull her cloak up to cover her mouth before she reached down to help her up. After a little fidgeting, the pegasus did the same. The sand still stung even through their clothes, far past being annoying and uncomfortable and well into the territory of being painful.
“This is terrible!” Fluttershy cried. “What do we do? We can’t set up our tent—” she coughed.
“Just keep walking!” Applejack called, and so, without much in the way of options, they did just that. All around, the world was a terrifying, howling mass of pale darkness, and every step was harder than the last. Galloping wasn’t an option any longer; Fluttershy was sure she would be blown away if she didn’t properly brace herself against the wind.
“I can’t feel my face,” Fluttershy murmured, closing her eyes and leaning against Applejack as she walked. Sand was trickling down her neck inside of her hood, and her friend made no reply. Together they walked on in as much silence as could ever be had. When Fluttershy stumbled, Applejack helped her up, and when Applejack fell, Fluttershy did what she could to get her back on her hooves.
It was impossible to tell how much time had passed, but finally they crested the dune and began their descent on the other side—only to find there was no relief to be had. The storm did not abate in the least. Rather, it seemed to pick up. Fluttershy was just about to suggest they do something or anything, be that sit down and give up or whatever else, when Applejack slowed down at her side.
“What is it?” Fluttershy asked, trying hard to be heard over the raging storm.
“That’s the question, ain’t it?” Applejack retorted, gesturing ahead. Fluttershy squinted against the whirling sand trying to see what it was she saw, but all she could make out was a large looming shadow ahead; something vast and darker than the sandstorm that plagued them.
“It certainly doesn’t look like much,” Rarity murmured in a low voice.
“Well duh, it’s not like it’s meant to look pretty. It’s a castle,” Rainbow Dash retorted, the prodigious flier barely looking her way as she hovered along. “They’re supposed to be all big and rock-y and stuff.”
“All I’m saying is that function and form are not mutually exclusive,” Rarity huffed.
“Yeah! Look at Sugarcube Corner,” Pinkie piped. “It’s super pretty and tasty. Oh, and it has room for stuff, like my room, too!”
“Uh. The Corner isn’t actually a gingerbread house. You can’t eat it,” Dash protested. “...Can you?”
“Not really,” Pinkie giggled, poking Dash in the side so hard the pegasus had to flap her wings to right herself. “But sometimes you’re just in the mood for some brick and mortar with custard, you know?”
“No?” Rainbow Dash asked.
“Girls, please,” Twilight Sparkle sighed, feeling her brain leak out from her ears. “We’ve been planning this for a over week. Add to that three days on the train to Nettlestead and the better part of today on hoof—”
She paused. All eyes were on her. Three pairs of eyes creased in various states of concern or curiosity. It was impossible to tell whether they were as frazzled as she.
“And what?” Rarity asked.
“And if I’m already going crazy before we’re even past Equestria’s borders, then this isn’t going to go well,” Twilight finished lamely, staring straight ahead. Once past Appaloosa, the train were the beginning and the end of signs of civilization, and the small village of Nettlestead was barely deserving of that title. The dirt road they followed was overgrown in places, covered in the dry grass of southern Equestria where the snow had yet to fall. Until they had spotted the fortress nestled between the red hills ahead, it was easy to believe they had left Equestria already; back in Ponyville, heavy snow was scheduled for three days a week at the least.
After Rainbow Dash had come to her, the decision to go after their friends had been an easy one. She wasn’t alone, and even Rarity and Pinkie Pie had been eager to throw in with them. Now that they closed on the border fortress nestled in the Macintosh Hills, she felt doubt and fear in equal measure with relief. No more worrying and wondering. No more asking herself whether or not she could have done something different.
No more staring at the unopened scrolls from Celestia wondering what the princess wanted to say to her.
“My apologies,” Rarity muttered. “But next time, maybe you can be the one to share a coach with Pinkie Pie. She keeps talking in her sleep, and I’m already suffering under having to limit my accessories for this journey.”
“Aw. You don’t need tons of brushes and silly things to look pretty,” Pinkie protested, drawing a smile from Rarity.
“Whatever,” Dash opined. “Are we there yet?”
Twilight rolled her eyes and kept walking. The traveller’s guide she’d found was very strict in suggesting that nopony carry more in their saddlebags than they truly needed, and limiting her friends to sensible travel wear and supplies had been as much work as the rest of her preparations put together. Onwards they marched, the dry and yellowed shrubland still opening up as they closed in on the border of the hillscape ahead.
In hindsight, packing had been the only real challenge. Ever since Twilight arranged for Cheerilee and Lyra to take turns checking up on the Library in her absence, she had been waiting for the problem. She’d been waiting for something to go wrong. It wasn’t as if though she considered herself particularly cynical, but aside from saying her goodbyes to Spike earlier this week, a memory that still stung a little, it had all worked out well enough.
Her stipend from Celestia would have allowed her the supplies they needed, but when word spread of what they were doing, it hadn’t been long before the first ponies started knocking on the library door. First Carrot Top had asked if there was anything she could do to help, then Junebug and Caramel offered their support. Before long, it seemed all of Ponyville was ready to help. Their saddlebags were filled to the brim with all they would need for weeks spent on the road. After she and Rainbow Dash had decided that they needed to head out there and do something, it had taken less than half the time Twilight had originally set aside to prepare.
Thus, one morning, they were suddenly ready to go. The Crystal Mountains were an unlikely barrier to cross, and the vague records Twilight had found—combined with a few hours of probability analyses—ruled out migration by sea. They had to go south. Four days ago, there had been no more excuses left. Four tickets, four days, and all too many complaints from Rainbow Dash about how slow they were going, and here they were. Nothing had gone horribly wrong.
Perhaps the world simply wanted to pay Twilight back for that one terrible mishap months ago, and they would leave without any events. The unicorn allowed herself a smile at that. She was hardly well travelled, and the journey so far had been one of cramped train cars and stress, but how bad could the open road be? Within the hour they would pass by the border, and then she could fully apply herself to their search.
“Well, that’s rather curious,” Rarity said, arching a brow as the four trotted along. The fashionista had her eyes trained on the light grey stone of the fortress further down the road.
“What is?” Twilight asked.
“Why would they fly the royal princesses’ private flag?”
And there it was again. That same trepidation Twilight had felt every time Spike belched up another scroll bearing up the royal seal, now returned with its entire extended family of fear, nausea, excitement, regret, and the most intense curiosity she had felt since she was a little filly who’d wished for nothing but a telescope for christmas.
“You think Princess Celestia is here? And Luna?” Rainbow Dash asked with an odd look in Twilight’s general direction. Perhaps it’d been expected that Twilight should have answered that. The residences hosting the royal pony sisters always flew that flag, a fact Twilight knew well. Studying heraldry and such had been one of her innumerable obsessions as a filly.
“Twilight?” Pinkie said.
“Sorry, what?” Twilight asked.
“You’re making funny faces!”
“I am not!” Twilight protested.
“Sure you are!” Pinkie said, twisting her face up in an exaggerated mask of concentration—or constipation. It was hard to tell. “Like this!”
“What’s up?” Dash added, and Rarity made an inquisitive noise as well.
“I don’t know,” Twilight groaned. “Listen, I just had a chat with the princess, and she’s not making any sense. It’s nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Clearly it’s not nothing. It must be a quite substantial something if it’s causing you distress,” Rarity huffed.
The most infuriating part was of course that she was right. For the first time in her life, pieces were swimming around in Twilight’s head that she had no hope making sense of through logic and research. Her friends were all giving her obviously curious looks, and pretending it was nothing wasn’t a viable option if she wanted to get any peace.
“Fine. I think Princess Celestia is in love with me,” Twilight said, the words far easier to speak than she would have thought. She felt detached from the concept. It was impossible to consider her own feelings about the mess simply due to its ridiculousness. Once she’d spoken those words, the buzz in her head died down, almost pleasantly quiet.
Very unlike the less pleasant quiet of their little entourage. The only sound aside from Twilight’s own hoofsteps was the steady proink of Pinkie Pie impacting on the ground with each of her little bounces as she followed along. Rarity and Rainbow Dash had stopped—or hovered, in the case of the pegasus—on the spot.
“You think Princess Celestia is in love with you,” Dash repeated through an incredulous grin and a bubbling snort.
“This is not a joke?” Rarity asked, nearly drowned out by the peals of Rainbow Dash’s laughter. The unicorn cast Dash an annoyed glare.
Twilight felt her cheeks heat up with a blush that she couldn’t quite figure out. They were of course right. What reaction had she expected? It was ridiculous, but the idea that they should think thus of the princess, that they were laughing at her, too, that bothered her far more than any joke at her own expense.
“I think it’s sweet!” Pinkie Pie said, the pink pony blessedly still for a second. “I’m not sure if it’s funny, too,” she added, tilting her head at Rainbow Dash. The pegasus was on her back and on the ground, her laughter slowly dying under the collective glances, glares and looks.
“Uh. Wait. You’re serious?” she asked. “But—but she’s a princess!”
“Well, technically, that doesn’t have to mean anything. I mean, there’s nothing inherent to, uh, interests and all that just because you’re a princess. Not that I’ve read anyway,” Twilight said, scratching the back of her neck. “Just forget I said anything.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive, darling,” Rarity hastened to say, smiling a little too wide. “It’s just...”
“A bit of a bombshell? You’re telling me,” Twilight muttered.
“Precisely! Ah, we should probably keep this to ourselves, no?” the fashionista asked, glancing about as if they weren’t in the absolute middle of nowhere.
“Is it a secret? Did she say it was a secret? Oh gosh, I don’t like secrets that sneak up on you, like sneakrets!”
“She was very frank about the whole thing,” Twilight sighed. “I, uh. I ran away.”
“Wow. Smooth,” Dash whistled.
“Oh hush, you,” Rarity sniped. “Why haven’t you said anything about this before?”
“Yeah, why haven’t I,” Twilight repeated with a frown at Dash and Rarity both. The pegasus had the grace to look away and clear her throat, but Twilight was quick to shake her head and continue. “No, I don’t know. How do I even begin to respond to that?”
There was a response somewhere, of course. Responses usually came down to one of two things, to yes or no. Twilight knew this, knew that it should be simple, but it wasn’t. Celestia had given her a lot to think about that night, a lot of things that needed research and thinking about, and instead of considering her words, she ran. Maybe that was why Twilight had felt compelled to stow away Celestia’s letters unread. She feared that she had disappointed Celestia again?
None of her friends had the answer, that much was clear. Rainbow Dash looked unusually thoughtful, perhaps even hurt. Rarity worked her jaw soundlessly, and Pinkie Pie was smiling with her head tilted ninety-degrees sideways as if she expected Twilight to say something clever.
“Let’s go,” Twilight tried. “Let’s go find Fluttershy and Applejack.” At that, Dash’s expression darkened, and the pegasus gave a short nod.
“If you’re sure,” Rarity said, her brow still creased in a frown and her clear blue eyes latched on to hers.
“Oh, oh, if the princesses are in the fortress ahead, maybe we can ask Princess Celestia herself,” Pinkie suggested. “If you like her too, maybe we can play some games? Wait, do you? Do you like her too, Twilight? Do you?”
“She’s a princess,” Twilight replied, taking a step forwards and inclining her head towards the road before repeating herself. “Let’s go.”
“Rainbow Dash?” Pinkie Pie asked.
“What?” Dash said, taking up position by the earth pony’s side at the rear of the ground.
“Did Twilight just give you an answer? I don’t think I got one. I mean, sometimes when I talk to ponies I get a little distracted if I think of something really clever like how to build a bed out of cotton candy or—”
“Ugh, no, she didn’t answer,” Dash groaned.
“Oh. Okay,” Pinkie said, bouncing merrily along for a good three seconds before she spoke up again. “Why?”
Twilight cringed and closed her eyes.
“Obviously she doesn’t want to talk about it, duh,” Dash shot.
“Oh!” Pinkie said. “Why?”
“Dunno, she’s probably gonna think about it and stuff. Why would I know? What would you do if Princess Luna had a crush on you?”
“Oh wow, that would be so super sweet!” Pinkie giggled, beaming and bouncing twice as high. “Do you really think she likes me?”
“No!” Dash snapped, dragging a hoof across her face. “It was an example or something, jeez.”
“Please, do try to be a little sensitive,” Rarity admonished, giving the two noisy ponies a dark look. Before Twilight had time to offer her thanks, the white unicorn’s face set in a hungry look.
“Okay, now I’m curious. What would you do, Pinkie?”
Twilight let out a deep sigh and kept her attention on the road and the slowly approaching fortress flying the royal banner.
Fort Macintosh was not an elegant affair. It had been decades since the last time Princess Celestia had visited any of the border fortresses, and she almost regretted it now. Here, the legion of border guards built for efficiency, not comfort. It wasn’t for lack of bits or humor, but out of habit and appreciation for function. The result of this was that the chambers kept for the princesses in the tallest spire were unpretentious and simple. For over a thousand years, the bedroom had waited to serve them, sporting little but basic amenities, small windows, a large bed, and larger quantities of rock.
Of course Celestia appreciated comfort. It was just impossible to get away from comfort to gain perspective when you were surrounded by so many servants intent on trying to make sure your teacup was ever full. Palace life never paused and never took a break. Now, so far removed from Canterlot, she felt calmer already, but with it came a sense of isolation she couldn’t quite decide if she liked.
“What are you thinking about, sister?” Luna asked. The princess of the night stood by one of the slits that served as windows, giving her a curious look. “You are staring at our bed with more focus than we would have expected.”
“Nothing much,” Celestia replied, frowning. “Other than that I may need to take vacations more often. A cheap hotel in Manehatten would be good.”
Luna blinked. “It’s hardly the most glorious of residences, this, but if that was a joke, then it is lost on us. Are you quite well?”
“Well enough,” Celestia replied, shifting. Perhaps Luna felt some of the same she did. The signs were subtle, little things only countless years of sisterhood would let her pick up on, but there it was. She rested her weight evenly on all fours, her muzzle tilted slightly upwards.
“When we said that it is our duty as princesses to act, we did not anticipate this. We do not need to be here, the both of us,” Luna said with a glance over her shoulder.
Celestia mulled that over not for the first time. “No, we do. You were right. You were always right. Is this the same Luna who spoke to me about throwing consequences into the sea, and caution to the wind?”
“Perhaps we were overzealous, but we do not regret our words,” Luna huffed, her attention still out the window. “Regardless, your prophecy comes true.”
“They are here?” Celestia asked. Had they an audience she’d remain standing by the bed and feign polite disinterest. As it was, she hurried over to join Luna by the northern-facing windows. It was all she could do to repress the urge to simply teleport over there, to ride the sunlight to save a second or two.
Outside, far away and far below, four specks were making their way down the dusty road that was Fort Macintosh’s only connection to Equestria at large. Now that she had seen them, she could feel them, too.
It was the most curious thing. Never before had Celestia so keenly felt the four strands that tied them to her. She half expected she would be able to see with her eyes what bound them together. Four heartbeats, and once she’d noticed those, she could feel the presence of all the ponies in the fortress below, too. Scores of ponies, all of them distinct individuals where on her throne in Canterlot the ponies were all a shapeless yet joyous chorus that never ended. For a moment, neither princess spoke.
“This is curious,” Luna remarked.
“I assume you felt that too,” Celestia agreed, frowning. “I suppose there are surprises even for ponies as old as we.”
“Any theories?”
“None,” Celestia replied. “It seems a great many things change these days. Shall we head downstairs to meet them?”
Of course, platitudes never worked on Luna. The princess of the night didn’t nod, nor did she respond in kind with the empty words that other ponies so often traded. When Celestia began descending the inner spiral staircase that took them down to the heart of the fort, she knew she was about to be pinned to the wall.
“We believe very little changes, comparatively,” Luna said, and Celestia could hear the concentrated frown in her voice. “In the wake of the changeling attack, things have by and large normalized, and the two Elements’ disappearance really is an anomaly.”
“You’re right,” Celestia murmured, a sour smile on her lips.
“Such a statement is unlike you. You refer to Twilight Sparkle, then.”
“I am. You know I am, and you know that I know you know I am,” Celestia retorted.
“Then you invited this topic. We are sorry if we are missing something, but it sounds to us as if you want to discuss it,” Luna said as they exited onto the main floor. Here, in the deep of the fortress, guardsponies were bustling about. The cramped interior and its myriad of rooms were all chock full of guards armored or not, each and every one of them pausing to salute the princesses as they passed.
Before they were even in sight of the portcullis that led out and into to the courtyard, the guard began filtering in from the hallways to form some sort of column. It took a dozen shakes of the head and half again as many murmured dismissals to get to leave the fortress without an escort, Luna’s gaze burning a hole in the side of Celestia’s head all the while. Only when they had cleared the walls and come to an awkward stop, side by side on the country road, did she answer.
“Suppose I did want to discuss it, or rather, her, but didn’t know what to say,” Celestia began. The wind whistled past them and tugged at her mane. It was cold for the south of Equestria, even for this time of year. Ahead, the four specks were slowly resolving themselves as very familiar shapes, to neither of the princesses’ surprise.
“You always know what to say, sister,” Luna countered, her annoyance gone in an instant to be replaced with a frown of doubt.
“I guess things change these days after all, then,” Celestia finished with a wan smile of triumph she hardly wanted.
“Is that why you are truly here? Not just to do our part, but because you desire to speak to her? Self-deception?” Luna shook her head. “You do not want to pressure her, so instead of leaving this to me—this is very cunning.”
“I am capable of doing simple things, Luna,” Celestia said. “I don’t scheme and plot all the time.”
“We will believe that when we see it,” the other princess said, though any humor in her voice was quickly drained as she turned her gaze down the road again. Three of the ponies were galloping in their direction full tilt through a plume of smoke, but none of them were moving at a fraction of the speed of the blur that streaked ahead.
“What is the meaning of—” was as much as Luna managed to say before the colorful bolt of lightning was upon them. Within seconds, Rainbow Dash skidded to a halt right in front of them, leaving deep furrows in the road. A second later, the dust of a hundred yards of dirt road washed over the three, followed by a dull thud of the sound barrier being broken in the far distance.
“You’re not gonna stop us!” Rainbow Dash yelled, her voice cracking as she scratched at the ground.
Princess Celestia blinked as the dust slowly settled, her coat now a light brown and her flowing pastel mane mussed. Rainbow Dash looked about ready to charge headfirst towards them.
“We’re leaving. We’re gonna find Fluttershy and Applejack,” Dash continued, her jaw set. “You can’t stop us. You won’t.”
Luna and Celestia exchanged glances.
“Rainbow Dash, I don’t understand—” Celestia tried, but she had no sooner spoken than her faithful student winked into existence at Rainbow Dash’s side with a muted pop of displaced air.
“Rainbow!” Twilight called, her attention entirely on the irate pegasus. “What in the wide world of Equestria are you doing? We need to talk about this! You can’t just charge off like that!”
“Why not? It’s gonna take forever if you’re gonna plan and stuff! Besides, you’re probably gonna try to talk about it or whatever, and then we’ll never get anywhere!” Dash retorted. As the two quarreled, Rarity and Pinkie Pie finally arrived, the last two of the group of four slowing down from their frantic dash.
“You could at least have given me a ride,” Pinkie whined, her lip set in a pout.
“I wasn’t even done talking!” Twilight hissed. She lowered her voice a little, still studiously avoiding meeting Celestia’s gaze. “All I’m saying is that there’s no law forbidding us from leaving, and that Celestia and Luna likely just want to try to talk us out of it.”
“Exactly! Talking!” Rainbow Dash protested.
“I have to agree with Twilight,” Rarity chimed in between breaths. “Honestly, hah—ah, this is the absolute worst way to go about this.”
“We would ask,” Luna interrupted. “This is the worst way to go about what, exactly?”
“Getting past you, duh!” Rainbow Dash said. “Why else would you be here? Twilight said you’re gonna try to stop us!”
“My dear, determined, brave little ponies,” Celestia said, smiling at them all as she took a step forward. “We’re not here to try to stop you. We are here to accompany you.”
With varying degrees of enthusiasm, the four ponies accepted the offer to spend the night at the fort. Within minutes, Rarity headed for the baths, and after a quick question of whether or not Twilight was okay, Pinkie Pie scurried off to the kitchen or mess hall or whatever the colossal stone building hid by way of food. When the surprise had settled, even Rainbow Dash seemed to have problems hanging on to her annoyance. The pegasus had been sullen and anxious in the extreme for their whole journey, and this was the closest Twilight had seen her to mollification.
That, or she’d given up objecting. Presently, Rainbow Dash stood at the top of the tallest point of the fortress with her wings spread like a weather vane, much to the patrolling guard-pegasi’s chagrin.
The venerable castle was backlit by the sun, and Twilight was caught in its shadow in the courtyard. Every now and then, a pair of armored guards would pass her by and ask if she needed assistance, at which she would invariably shake her head. She should get some food, she knew. Food, some form of hygiene-related upkeep, and then an early night before what would no doubt be an exhausting day tomorrow. Leaving Equestria, travelling on hoof with the princesses; she should be excited and nervous. Instead, she was worried.
It was a subtle shade different from nervous. A lifetime of high expectancies had taught Twilight the difference, and given her ample time to analyse and taste that difference. How long had she stood and watched Princess Celestia touring the outer courtyard walls, chatting with the guards? Minutes? Hours? Seconds?
The princess was watching her, now. Twilight was stood in the paved courtyard, the princess on the walls with a hundred paces or more between them, but there was no mistaking it. The princess had stopped and was looking in her direction. That was it, then.
Closing her eyes, Twilight pulled on her magic. With the little thrill, the flutter that always accompanied such things, Twilight crossed the space between them in an instant, quelling the vertigo and disorientation that always came with teleporting. Close eyes, pop, open eyes, find self right next to the princess. Nothing to it, so long as she could find her voice.
“Er,” she managed.
Celestia said nothing. The princess stood there, pristine and perfect as ever. They had the walls to themselves, now. Four paces wide with granite battlements, Twilight noted, busying herself with analysing the architecture. Fort Macintosh was almost one and a half thousand years old, but constant upkeep kept it at peak efficiency. It had never seen combat, and Twilight was glad for that. At its base, the wall was perhaps five and a half paces. The interior had four full stories of height—
“Hello, Twilight,” Celestia said, bringing Twilight’s train of thought to an abrupt stop before said train toppled over and rolled down the hill, exploding and then catching fire.
“Yeah,” Twilight agreed. “I mean, hi. Princess,” she added, swallowing again and again. It definitely wasn’t worry, then.
“How are you?” the princess asked, her tone light.
“Anger. I mean—I’m angry,” Twilight blurted, her cheeks igniting. “Sorry, I mean, I just thought that. I didn’t mean to say it. I don’t. I mean, I’m not. Not at you, I think.”
The princess looked at her for the longest time with the one eye not hidden by her flowing mane. “Because you do not want for us to come along?” she asked. “Speak freely, please. Ah, I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”
“No,” Twilight said, sitting down on the solid stone to look up at her mentor and teacher. Her princess. “Or, maybe. I’m just thinking about the things you said about yourself. It annoys me. Not that you—that you are—” she tried. “Not about me, but you. Not that you lied.”
Celestia arched a brow. “That’s a lot of explaining about what it is you aren’t annoyed by.”
“Sorry,” Twilight muttered. “Why are you here? Why did you come?”
“Because you are right. I was afraid when I shouldn’t be,” Celestia admitted with a shrug and her usual, patient smile. The twinge of annoyance returned in an instant, Twilight’s eye giving an involuntary twitch.
“That’s not right,” Twilight protested feebly, hanging her head.
“That you can be right, and that I can be wrong?” the princess asked, and when Twilight made no reply, it seemed that the sun princess found an answer in the silence. The unicorn’s breath almost left her as the princess shifted closer to her before taking a seat.
Without pomp or fanfare, Celestia half-extended one of her wings around Twilight. It was a gesture with infinite intimacy, but no pressure; Celestia took great care not to touch. Despite this, Twilight could feel the sheer power and warmth of the princess. The orb in the sky was bleeding out in the horizon, but the true sun wrapped around her and shared with her her warmth.
It made Celestia’s words so simple and so true. That was the exact truth of it. The idea that she could see something the princess could not was laughable. Reluctantly, Twilight Sparkle nodded.
“Why me?” Twilight whispered. “Why, of all ponies, would you l—I mean, like me? Everypony loves you, and I am not the same as you. I’m not your equal. Maybe there—”
“Equal?” Celestia replied, her eyes widening a smidgen. Had Twilight not known better, she would have thought it had been spoken in fear.
“I didn’t mean to imply I’m—” Twilight began, but for the second time, the princess cut her off.
“You misunderstand. That is a dangerous word. It has never been about finding an equal, nor have I ever looked for one. I would never place myself above anypony. You place too much import on my crown, or on my wings and horn both.”
“Then why me?” Twilight repeated, forcing herself to press the issue, to meet Celestia’s eyes.
“Because you are special to me, Twilight,” Celestia replied. “I don’t know if I can give you a better answer that won’t make you feel uncomfortable if you already struggle to believe you can teach me something, too. Nothing real separates us unless you want there to be distance.”
Twilight swallowed and nodded at that. Was it her imagination, or had Celestia moved her wing away a tiny bit just now? Either she had, or Twilight feared she would. “You’ve never asked me if I feel the same,” she muttered. “What am I supposed to do?”
“I cannot tell you what you should do, especially not if me being here feels wrong to you. You wanted my help, but being proven right is defeat. That could mean you still place me on a pedestal, if that makes sense,” Celestia shrugged. “What do you think?”
“Maybe you’re right,” Twilight admitted, a nervous laugh bubbling up. “I have tried to not think about it, and it’s scary. You’re not anxious to know what I feel?”
The words set her thinking, of course. She’d no sooner spoken of her success than she failed. The warmth and the giddiness returned, but now, every glance towards Celestia where she sat at her side made her wonder if she could love her. Finally, she considered it. She had half a mind to teleport to the nearest mountain top and stay there until she had control of her thoughts.
“I have gotten very good at maintaining my mask, at keeping up appearances, Twilight. You matter enough to me that I can wait a little longer if that makes you feel more comfortable.”
Celestia’s words were spoken frankly, but again the princess’ eyes were trained on the horizon, avoiding Twilight’s own. Twilight’s gut clenched. She could hurt the princess. She could hurt Celestia by doing nothing at all, and it was a power she desperately wished she never knew she had.
Celestia nodded slowly, not protesting the subject change. “One of us has to stay, of course, but we haven’t decided just yet. Being so far away from the heartlands is odd.”
“Oh?” Twilight asked.
“It is at once both liberating and curiously lonely,” Celestia explained. “And I find myself tired a lot of the time. I hardly sleep many hours a day, but now, it feels as if though I could sleep forever.”
The mundanity of their discussion was as odd as it was welcome. Twilight nodded, experimentally scooting a little closer to the princess. “That sounds normal, really. You haven’t had a vacation in as long as I can remember. You probably just need a little time to stress down,” she suggested with a smile.
Celestia pursed her lips at that, looking far less convinced. “Perhaps,” she murmured. “It could be something like that.”
None had laid claim to the Macintosh hills. Not a soul lived in the dry hillscape leading into the drier lands beyond, but despite this, their ancestors had seen fit to draw a line in the dust. What had began as a thought had been marked with a column of rocks to each side of the road, and at some point, some official had decided that the border of Equestria should be painted with a hoof-wide line of orange paint. Celestia tried to search her memory for the culprit, tried to remember when she had approved this. She shot her sister a glance, but Luna seemed lost in thought, staring at the same marker as she, that ominous orange two paces in front of them.
The princesses had an audience. It was shaping up to be an event to rival the summer sun celebration. The festive time’s somber, distant cousin, thrice removed. Commander Heartsong of Fort Macintosh had insisted on providing ‘security’ for their departure, and neither princess had the heart to turn them down. As a result, the four Elements of Harmony were accompanied by two hundred stallions armed for war, neatly arranged into unicorn divisions, pegasus flights and earth pony platoons. It was patently ridiculous, and only long years of training kept Celestia from giggling outright at the spectacle.
She was given help in that regard, though. Four ponies she wanted to call friends were watching her, one of which she hoped to one day call something more. In addition, Luna had not spoken to her since they had finally gone to bed last night. Not until now.
“We should be the one to go,” Luna murmured under her breath. “You have experience running Equestria by yourself.”
“Something I don’t like being reminded of, and something I don’t intend to repeat,” Celestia replied in an equally quiet whisper. She gave her sister a small grin. “You could stand to have an excuse to learn more about modern statecraft anyway.”
“You will forgive us if we do not break into dance out of unbridled joy,” Luna grumped. “We are not looking forward to it. Even if we agree and stay, are you certain you are doing this for the right reasons, sister?”
Celestia chewed her tongue as she thought, but for one precious fraction of a second, her gaze slipped. Behind them, the four Elements waited, each of the four ponies wearing bulging saddlebags and talking amongst themselves in polite whispers—mixed with less polite, loud giggles from Pinkie Pie. Among the four, Celestia’s eyes found Twilight. The purple unicorn immediately noticed her looking and smiled back.
One slip, one tiny moment, and it would be too much to ask that Luna should have missed it. The princesses regarded each other in silence.
“We understand, and will not change our mind. Between us, you are the eldest,” Luna finally said, the dark princess’ lips curling in a smile.
“Thank you,” Celestia replied with a sigh of relief she hoped no one would hear. “I think we better get to what we were here to do. Crossing the border.”
“May we admit something?” Luna asked.
“Unless you’ve replaced my coat shampoo with pink again, I don’t think there is much you could say that I would not want to hear.”
“We fear the border.”
“As do we—I. I mean I. Honestly, Luna, you need to get with the times and drop that royal ‘we’,” Celestia muttered.
“It was not one such. We are aware you fear it too. What we mean is, were it not an actual line on the ground, there would be nothing for us to fear, but as it is, we’ve stood here talking for nearly five minutes,” Luna shrugged.
“Yes. Because the line lets us focus our apprehension. Who commissioned this?” Celestia asked.
“We approved it last era, we think. It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Luna replied. “All the same, as you say, we best get to it.”
Neither of the two princesses moved.
“There is no reason anything should happen. It’s entirely symbolic,” Celestia said.
“It is a line that holds no meaning, except to make us bored and sleepy by staring at it,” Luna said by way of agreement.
“Do you feel tired these days, too? I almost slept in for the first time in fourteen hundred years,” Celestia hummed.
“It is curious,” Luna nodded. “And you are stalling.” Still, they remained standing, whispering to one another while the assembled guard and Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, Rarity and Twilight Sparkle all watched.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the brave and rash one?” Celestia shot, unable to keep a small smirk off her face.
“Ah, wait, we believe we heard a contemporary saying befitting of the situation. ‘Age before beauty’.” Luna countered.
There was a small murmur behind them now. The carefully ordered ranks were shifting, and perhaps more telling, the four friends had fallen silent. Resisting the urge to continue their little game for any longer, Celestia closed her eyes. Time stretched and froze as she pulled on that little tranquil font deep inside, a part of herself that she kept for such moments. When had she last felt so unsettled? When she faced down her sister a millenium ago?
It mattered not. The world stood still, and she hardened herself, excised the fear. When she again let herself breathe, she was at peace. Without pause, giving doubt no time to take root again, Celestia raised her head and strode on.
Among the two hundred and five who watched, two understood the importance of what transpired, and both Luna and Twilight Sparkle flinched as Celestia passed the border of the principality of Equestria for the first time in her life. Celestia’s nigh ageless heart skipped a single beat as her left forehoof passed over the line.
Absolutely nothing happened. Celestia stifled a sigh and turned to look over her shoulder, forcing a smile. Luna waved at her from the other side of the border, nearly close enough to touch. It was an entirely arbitrary and harmless line. Orange paint, and nothing more. The weariness that had settled over Celestia since she left Canterlot and Equestria’s heartland washed over her again and prompted a nervous burst of laughter.
“Take care of Equestria, sister,” Celestia said, something so unprincesslike as a grin spreading across her face. As an afterthought, her horn lit up, and the Princess of the Sun levitated over her golden crown, hovering it in front of Luna until she gripped it with her magic.
“Be safe, sister,” Luna murmured, slowly turning the amethyst-studded jewelry with her telekinesis. “We will have a hard time forgiving you if something happens. One mistake, one failure between the two of us is quite enough for two millennia, for two lifetimes.”
Celestia sighed and crossed the distance between them to give her sister a tight hug. Neck to neck, foreleg around her withers, she held her close. “Hush,” she whispered.
“Ponies are watching,” Luna said in a voice that might have been admonishment, but she hugged back all the same.
“Let them,” Celestia replied, finally letting go and turning to the assembled Elements. “You are all ready to go?”
Three of the four nodded, Twilight’s eyes still big from the moment the princess had relinquished her crown. The unicorn finally gave a jerky nod as well, and with that, Celestia set off. Behind her, she could hear Luna address the assembled guards, and three sets of hoof-beats followed in her wake, accompanied by steadily flapping wings.
Ahead, the red hills sketched a gentle ravine, the ground dry and cracked. What little grass and plant life grew was brittle and sparse, the influence of the San Palomino desert to the west clear. The road was barely worthy of being called that, only the faintest hint of a path maintained by the hooves of the few travellers who kept the southern road alive rather than arriving by way of sea to Baltimare or Manehatten. At long last, she would get to see the larger world with her own eyes. Celestia shook out her mane as she tried to remember how to trot, rather than move at a regal walk.
“Doesn’t giving up your crown mean you officially give up your rulership?” Twilight asked. The studious mare trotted at her side, easily keeping pace.
“Luna and I have never really cared about observing the rules that we wrote so long ago,” Celestia answered, smiling down at her. It was impossible not to wonder how Twilight saw her now, travelling the road like they did.
“Besides, she is technically the sole sovereign in my absence anyway. Managing everything by herself will be hard, but I wouldn’t be much use anyway,” she added.
Rarity gasped at their backs. “Why would you say that?”
Celestia chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. It is idle talk, no need to be alarmed,” she said, shaking her head. When the white unicorn did not protest further, Twilight lowered her voice.
“Are you still feeling tired, princess?” she asked.
Princess. The word still stuck, even without her crown. Celestia swallowed her disappointment and nodded. “I am, but I’m sure you are right. Fresh air, taking a break, all those things.”
“I don’t think I’m going to get used to hearing that,” Twilight murmured.
“Excuse me?”
“‘You are right’,” Twilight echoed with a faint smile. “I’m sorry. Every time you say that now, I—um. Actually, never mind. Sorry.”
“Of course,” Celestia agreed, training her gaze on the horizon. Red mountains, red soil, dry and twisted plants. Slowly the barely-a-path led them down, a gentle incline that aimed for the edge of the Badlands. Within days, they would pass near the mesascape that was visible from on high.
A single memory of the place came to her, then, a vague half-remembered moment of flying as high as she could, of the world opening beneath her. The air had been so thin she could barely breathe, and she’d seen the stunning landscape that lay to her south. She knew then where they would set Equestria’s new border, for there, nothing would grow.
“—princess!”
Celestia shook her head and looked up to find Rainbow Dash hovering in front of her, the pegasus flying backwards. Twilight was glaring at Dash. She would of course assume that Celestia found it inappropriate.
“Rainbow Dash, hello,” Celestia said, smiling and nodding at the apprehensive pegasus. Rainbow Dash twitched. Apprehensive and nervous, then.
“Hey, uh, so. Where are we going?” she asked.
“South. Why do you ask?”
Rainbow Dash very obviously stifled a groan. “I don’t know, maybe you can tell me where so I can fly ahead?”
Princess Celestia frowned. “I do not think that would be a very good idea.”
“I thought we discussed this,” Rarity murmured from the back line, earning an inquisitive noise from the pink pony at her side.
More distressing than any insistence, the rainbow-maned pegasus offered no protest, swallowing and nodding before twisting around in the air to hover ahead of them in silence.
“Is something the matter, Rainbow Dash?” Celestia asked.
“Yeah, no, Fl—two of my—our best friends are missing, things are fine!” Dash snapped without turning.
“Great, because I don’t. Forget it,” Dash muttered, looping back to fly over their heads and take up position in the rear with a rather concerned looking Pinkie Pie and a crestfallen Rarity.
Being a princess was not a free pass to omniscience. Celestia sighed and fixed her gaze ahead again.
“My plan was to head south past the Badlands towards the first crossroads. Tribal ponies dwell around the area, and with luck, we can ask them for information on the lay of the land,” Celestia explained with a backwards glance.
“Ooh, ponies?” Pinkie asked, perking up. In an instant, the earth mare’s easy trot had become a four-legged bounce. “What’re they like? I bet they’re super nice!”
“Actually,” Twilight said. “Considering they are the ponies who have willfully chosen to live outside of Equestria and rejected the princesses’ rule on principle, they’re probably very, um—”
“Stupid?” Dash offered.
“Uncouth?” Rarity suggested.
“Boring?” Pinkie asked, fear in her voice.
“Aggressive,” Celestia suggested. “But they should be no threat to us. They are scattered and disorganized, and they will likely fear me. Hopefully not so much that we can’t ask them some simple questions, though.”
“Hey, if they pick a fight, that’s their problem,” Dash said, raising her forelegs and jabbing at the air.
“Let’s try to not make that an option,” Celestia replied. The idea of conflict was never attractive. Worse, though it had been less than an hour since they left Equestria behind, Celestia felt compelled to flare her horn just to make sure her magic was still strong.
It wasn’t in preparation of a fight; she honestly assumed the tribes would be cooperative enough. It was a seed of doubt she couldn’t locate the source of. Perhaps she just needed a nap, despite it barely being past high noon.
The hours disappeared at an alarming rate. Each time they stopped for a break, the hills were more dry and desolate than the last time, and soil turned to rock. The ponies shared gamely with her of their supplies, Twilight pointing out that it would be the simplest thing for Celestia or Twilight to employ a spell to find water or something edible. In the case there was nothing to be found, Twilight had researched a few magical means to tide them over until their environment was more friendly. It was for this reason, Celestia gathered, Twilight had opted to emphasize tents and clothes over foodstuffs.
Twilight had done her prep-work, and it was humbling to see. Finally they settled down for the night, the five ponies sitting in an awkward circle around a small magical fire in the shadow of a small hill. Celestia was gratefully munching on a slightly stale sweetroll offered by Pinkie Pie, thinking about how she herself could run a small nation but not pack her own lunch, when she noticed Rainbow Dash was staring at her. She put out of her mind the question of where she would sleep and met her gaze.
“Rainbow, quit it,” Twilight hissed.
“How do you know they’re still alive?” the pegasus asked.
A collective sigh went over their little camp. Rarity rolled her eyes and looked away, evidently no longer hungry judging by the way she magically tossed the pear she was nibbling over her shoulder. Twilight clenched her jaw and closed her eyes, and even Pinkie Pie seemed put off, licking her lips nervously.
“That’s rather a distasteful topic,” Rarity said. “What I’ve been trying to say is that we can’t—”
“I know!” Dash snapped, the pegasus flexing her wings as she cast a glare towards the unicorn. “I know they’re okay because they have to be, and I don’t care what you say, I just—I need to really know. You’re here because you know they’re alive, right?” she asked. Those rose eyes stared straight at the princess, unwavering.
Celestia rolled her neck as she gathered her thoughts. When she spoke, it was in a careful and deliberate tone. “There is no way to know for sure, none that I know. You should have asked my sister, not me. She deals in dreams and prophecies. I am here because I have hope. For me, that is enough. I have no proof for you, Rainbow Dash, but I have left my throne and my nation both because of this. If that is not enough to comfort you, I don’t know what to say.”
“Hope,” Dash repeated, rolling her jaw before setting it in a sullen frown directed at Rarity. “Sure. I guess that’s better than thinking they’re already gone.”
The purple-maned unicorn drew herself up. It was an odd gesture coming from her, perhaps, but it certainly commanded attention.
“Just because I made that one comment, one time, does not mean I am ready to give up!” Rarity spat. She was glowering, her entire body shaking as she rose to stand. In the flickering light of the campfire, her eyes glistened with wet. “And it does not make me a lesser friend if it hurts so much sometimes—” she continued, her voice cracking. “—that I cannot stand the idea that I should wake up wondering where they are for the rest of my life!”
Rainbow Dash seemed content to make no reply, barely even reacting to the torrent of angry words. She looked almost bored, disaffected as she shrugged.
“Girls, please,” Twilight tried.
“Can we go back to being friends now?” Pinkie Pie asked, a simple question that received about as much attention as a whisper in a storm. Rainbow Dash rose to stand and turned away, and Rarity growled.
“Don’t you turn your back—”
“Ladies!” Celestia snapped.
It was an uncomfortable thing, to raise her voice to those she considered her friends. To be a princess rather than a pony, even if for a moment, but Rainbow Dash did sit down again, and Rarity shut up. Pinkie Pie nestled her own snout in the coat of her neck, and Celestia didn’t even dare to look at Twilight.
“Even if you all want your friends—our friends—back, everypony here has their own way of expressing that,” Celestia continued, trying her best to smile. “Do not let it get between you, please. If you truly believed them gone, none of you would be here,” she said, locking eyes with Rainbow Dash for a brief instant. “I don’t know what guides each of you, but hold on to that. Let it be strength, not weakness.”
“If we start quarreling and break apart, then we’ve nothing left,” Twilight added. “I don’t want to lose five friends instead of two, even for one night. Please.”
Rainbow Dash closed her eyes and hung her head. Though her tongue hung out in a childish display of petulance, the way her wings sagged told the tale well. “Sorry,” she muttered.
“That’s quite alright,” Rarity replied, her tone light and airy as she drug a foreleg over her eyes. “Water under the bridge, as it were,” she added, cut off when Pinkie Pie threw a foreleg around her withers and Dash’s both, joining them in a crushing hug.
Celestia chuckled as the minor spectacle that ensued. Her work done for the moment, she rose and walked a small ways off. Their campsite was well shielded from what little wind there was by a small cliff, but otherwise, the evening was clear and the landscape open to her as far as the eye could see. Far off back home, her sister had just raised the moon, and the crickets had taken up their song. It was rare and beautiful to get to see Luna’s night so pure and untainted by the city lights. Part of her wanted to see if she could think of a song for the occasion, but mostly, she just wanted to sleep.
It was an impulse that had been there all day. Sleep. Not just the sleep of the tired, but that of the weary. The more she considered Twilight’s theory, the less she believed it. She didn’t really need a break. As much as she enjoyed the first new impulses she’d had in a long time, and though she relished getting to spend some time with the Elements, she would have gone crazy centuries ago if she couldn’t manage matters of statecraft in a manner that gave her joy. If she ever needed a rest, she would’ve had to take it sometime before, in the past thousand years.
Yet, her eyelids and her ears undeniably drooped. She didn’t hear Twilight approach and take up position next to her so much as she felt it. Felt one of the very few ponies close by like candles in the dark.
“Thank you,” Twilight said. “And I’m sorry.”
Celestia blinked to clear her eyes before she looked down upon Twilight. “I am not sure what you are apologizing for, nor what you thank me for,” she said, a white little lie.
Twilight gave a little giggle. A year ago, she would never have made light of Celestia’s words. Perhaps there was hope, then. Celestia’s smile grew.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Twilight admitted. “Pinkie Pie is holding up okay, I think, and Rarity is, too. Well, kind of,” she amended.
“As well as can be expected?” Celestia offered with a sympathetic sigh.
“Yeah. But Rainbow Dash, I don’t know what she’s doing. I worry about her.”
“She is the Element of Loyalty. This must be especially hard on her,” Celestia suggested. “But then, you could make the case for each of you. I don’t know what to say, Twilight. Take care of each other.”
Twilight nodded glumly. Together they sat under the moon’s soft glow, in the shadow of the rocks on the arid soil of the low hills. Celestia liked to think it was a comfortable silence.
“Have you ever loved somepony before?” Twilight asked.
Celestia arched a brow rather than admit surprise. It was a fair question, of course. Twilight had her face set in a very specific frown, the creases intimately familiar to Celestia. She looked just like she did whenever Celestia had set a hard task in front of her, and the unicorn was employing her considerable mental faculties to solve it. Except now, Celestia herself was the problem. The princess poked her cheek with her tongue.
“I mean, if you think there could be an us,” Twilight explained, powering on despite the growing blush on her cheeks. “I think I deserve to know. Not that it really matters, and I guess you have since you’re so old—”
Twilight closed her eyes and swallowed. “Okay, that came out wrong.”
Celestia laughed, all the tension draining from her before it could even set. “Twilight, please. You don’t need to justify your questions. Curiosity alone is enough, and that’s just one of the things that make you special.”
The unicorn at her side swallowed, her cheeks still stained with red.
“The simple answer is no. I have had apprentices before, of course. I don’t know if that disappoints you?”
“No!” Twilight said. “I mean, of course you have, I just wondered if there had been somepony else, somepony special, because, well,” she paused, drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Celestia had half a mind to move a little closer, to try to comfort the clearly distressed pony, but it was hard to decide what would be too forward.
“I want to know who I’m going to be compared to. You’re a very important pony, and you mean a lot to me, you always have,” Twilight said.
It was clear Twilight was forcing herself not to look away. The last sentence lingered. Celestia nodded very carefully.
“I understand you’re trying not to, uh, pressure,” Twilight continued. “It’s just hard not to make a big deal of it.”
Celestia nodded once more. “And the fact that you are thinking this through speaks well of you, but please understand, I’m not asking you to do anything. Nothing specific. I just—”
“You want to know what I think,” Twilight blurted, interrupting her. “I know. I’m trying to figure that out. Sorry.”
Celestia sighed and slowly got up. In one smooth movement, she shifted over to sit right next to Twilight, leaning slightly against her. After a moment’s hesitation, Twilight leaned back, and they sat side to side. Somewhere, far off behind them, Celestia swore she heard a small gasp, but she ignored it.
“Don’t apologize. Please,” Celestia said, lowering her voice. “And to answer your first question? No, I’ve never felt this way before. Not quite like this.”
“Then how can you know?” Twilight asked. One simple question that might have nailed her to the wall had Celestia not been so sure of exactly what she felt. One day, perhaps, she could answer the question in full. How she’d felt this growing for so long. How, when her student had come into her own, a full grown mare with her own set of quirks and traits, she had known.
“Because when you have seen as many ponies as I have, you learn a lot about different types of love. You also know something unique when you see it. I could go on, but I think it would embarrass you,” she said with a little voiceless chuckle.
“And the ‘something’ that wasn’t quite like this?” Twilight asked after a moment’s pause.
“I’ve been loved. Again, many types of love, but one truly loved me,” Celestia said. She extended a wing and drew Twilight a little closer. It was either that or draw away. Some memories stuck more easily than others.
“What happened?” Twilight asked again. Any other pony, and Celestia would’ve considered not answering, but the purity of the question was absolute. Twilight looked up at her with big violet eyes, and she knew then that when she had fallen in love with the young unicorn, she also gave up any chance of ever denying her.
“I did not love him back,” Celestia replied. “He made a very bad decision, and I did not stop him.”
Before Twilight could press further, Celestia got up and furled her wings. The weariness had returned tenfold, a weight she had never felt before.
“Maybe I’ll tell you later,” Celestia sighed. “Please.”
Twilight said nothing. Rather, the unicorn stepped up to her and hugged her. Both forelegs securely wrapped around her neck, Twilight held on to her. They had hugged many times before, but this felt different. Ever since Celestia had admitted how she felt, Twilight had been distant, reluctant. The touch was a balm unlike anything else, and Celestia barely had the presence of mind to return the hug before it was over.
Making her way back to the camp proper seemed to take ages. Her body felt heavy, and her legs clumsy. She sat down by the campfire intending to take a breather before asking whether she should share somepony’s tent when the first wave of dizziness hit her. Suddenly, all she wanted was to lay down and rest, and so she did.
“Princess? Are you going to sleep there?”
The voice was disembodied. It was impossible to tell who had spoken. She meant to shift, to get more comfortable, but it was far, far too much effort. Celestia opened her mouth to say something, but it came out a murmur.
“Um, Twilight? Princess Celestia’s looking like she has an owie or two. Or ten. Twilight? Twilight!”
A second voice. A hoof gently touched her face, and then she was gone.
Sugarcube corner was the same as always. Colorful interior and wonderful smells that Rainbow Dash couldn’t care less about right now. She’d no sooner stepped inside the confectionary than had Mrs. Cake placed a tray of muffins on a table for her. Rainbow Dash hadn’t touched the treats, and she pretended not to notice the sympathetic looks Mrs. Cake gave her.
It had been going so well. They had been going somewhere. They had been getting progress, only to have it whisked away in one instant. Her wings twitched at the thought, and the bracelet around her wingbone itched.
She tried as hard as she could to focus on being angry, but it was impossible not to be a little afraid, too. Celestia had suddenly gone to sleep, and she wouldn’t wake up, the tall and strong princess resting in the dust. The rest was a blur. At Twilight’s request, Rainbow Dash had crossed the distance to Fort Macintosh in less than an hour, and from there on, it was all a mess of shouted orders and entirely too many serious, angry pegasi.
Luna had arrived before morning broke, and Twilight had gone with the princesses and the guard to Canterlot by air. There had been no time to protest, leaving Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie and Rarity to beg a train ride home without any bits to their name. The quiet that had tainted that train ride had lasted all the way to Ponyville station this morning, and Rainbow Dash couldn’t even tell why she’d followed Pinkie Pie and Rarity to Sugarcube Corner. It’s just how it all worked out.
Hope, Celestia had said, but the instant she—well, whatever she’d done, it was all in shambles. It was a subdued Pinkie Pie who walked rather than bounced down the stairs, though she hadn’t quite given up her usual smile.
“Sorry Dashie, just had to make sure Gummy was okay,” Pinkie explained, beelining for the muffin tray and burying her snout in one of the hapless baked goods without hesitation.
“Hey, where’s Rarity?” Pinkie added once she had decimated the muffin count. “We’re not playing hide and seek, are we?”
“No, we’re not,” Dash grumped, rolling her eyes. “She went to see if Twilight’s back at the library, and if she’s not, to see how Spike’s doing.”
“Okie-dokie,” Pinkie agreed with a nod, chewing and swallowing in blessed silence. Again, Dash questioned why she was even here. She glanced out the window where great snowflakes were falling to settle over town. Winter had come to Ponyville. She should be out soaring through the snow-laden clouds and creating furrows with daring, low-flying stunts. Except she still didn’t feel like it. She might as well be one wing down.
“Oh! I forgot, while you were visiting the little fillies’ room on the train, Rarity told me—” Pinkie started to say.
“I don’t know!” Dash blurted, throwing her hooves up in the air. “I just need to see her, to know if she really does, you know, like me and stuff!”
“—this really neat recipe for a tomato salad,” Pinkie finished, blinking. “Who?”
Dash groaned and smacked her forehead on the table, neatly upending the muffins over her head.
“Who likes you, Dashie? Besides everypony, I mean—oh, I bet it’s Thunderlane! He’s always looking at you like he thinks he should lie and say you have something on your cheek and then offer to brush it away with his hoof and then say something really sweet except he’d never do that because while he’s super sweet, he’s kind of not as smart some ponies like Twilight—”
“Fluttershy,” Dash muttered.
Pinkie Pie blinked, stared, and blinked again. Rainbow Dash felt a light weight lifted off of her head, and heard another muffin disappear down the bottomless pit that was Pinkie Pie’s gullet before she responded with a single word.
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” Dash offered in return.
“Do you love her back?” Pinkie Pie asked, her voice low and gentle. After a moment, Rainbow Dash could feel a presence at her side, and she didn’t protest when Pinkie Pie leaned her head against hers.
“Doesn’t matter.” Dash snorted.
“Um, silly, it totally does. I don’t pretend to know as much as Rarity pretends to know about love, but that’s like, the most important part! Except for Hearts and Hooves day chocolates, maybe. But wowsies, she likes you? That’s super neat, except for the part where she’s kind of lost,” Pinkie declared.
Rainbow Dash slumped and stuck out her tongue, staring ahead past the candy-themed columns, past the pastry-laden displays and out the snow-rimmed windows. Talking about this sort of touchy-feely stuff wasn’t helping at all.
“It doesn’t matter. She does. Matter, I mean. I don’t know,” Dash admitted. “Do you have somepony like that?”
“If I have a Fluttershy?” Pinkie asked, tilting her head before laying her ears flat. “No—”
“Oh for Pete’s sake,” Dash groaned. “Somepony different. You’re all great, and you know I would do anything for you, Pinks, but I mean, somepony who’s, I don’t know, always there? A friend you can rely on even if they’re not like you? Somepony who’s always right behind you no matter what you do, even if you’re too—too stupid to realize?”
Pinkie Pie swallowed. After a moment’s deliberation, she gave the tiniest of shakes of her head. Rainbow Dash lifted her head off the table.
“I used to think everypony did. It’s not important what I feel, exactly, because I—” she paused. The words would hurt to say out loud to another pony. They sounded like weakness, but she knew they were not. Even if they were, she would make them be something more.
“I need her,” Dash said, stretching her neck and wings both. “And I need to know if this is all just some dumb misunderstanding or if she’s been thinking about this for as long as I think.”
“You’re not upset she’s lied to you?” Pinkie Pie asked, tilting her head. Rainbow Dash frowned back, resisting to urge to snap at her, say something mean. Pinkie was wearing that innocent smile she sometimes used, and it was impossible to say if she was trying to rile her up on purpose.
“No, I’m not, because that would be stupid,” Dash said, simply. “And I’m not stupid.”
Sugarcube Corner’s bells jingled, announcing the arrival of another customer. Of course, business was hardly at its peak during near-blizzard conditions, so it was no big surprise when Rarity stepped inside, the unicorn wrapped in a prodigious amount of scarves, hats and other things Rainbow Dash didn’t know the names of. She shut the door behind her with a little difficulty, shoving back the small snowdrift she’d brought inside with her.
“Well, Twilight has not yet come back, and it seems she is unlikely to visit Ponyville any time soon,” Rarity announced as she slowly and deliberately unwrapped herself.
“That’s silly, because you can’t visit where you live anyway, that’d be cheating!” Pinkie said.
“Apparently,” Rarity said, looking particularly sour. “She’s sent Spike a letter detailing how she’ll be in Canterlot until further notice to deal with this ‘crisis’. She will be assisting Princess Luna.”
“How is Twilight going to help—wait, when was she going to tell us this?” Dash snapped. “What the hay is that egghead doing?”
“If I knew, I would tell you,” Rarity replied with a glower that for once, didn’t seem directed at her.
“Maybe we could go visit her?” Pinkie suggested, though her smile sagged. “I bet she would love a visit.”
“Perhaps,” Rarity muttered.
“Right. So where do we go from here?” Dash asked, glancing around the table. Usually, Twilight would be the one to call the shots, and her ideas weren’t always terrible. Failing that, as much as she hated to admit it, Applejack did a decent job of these things.
“That ‘we’ is becoming a bit strained, isn’t it, dear?” Rarity asked, echoing that exact line of thinking. Pinkie Pie said nothing. She reached out for the last of the muffins, but apparently decided against it, letting her hoof fall back to the ground.
“Yeah,” Dash muttered. A slow sort of dread was creeping up on her as her friends sunk into silence. Doors were closing all around her, options cut off. There was nothing to hold on to, except—
“Hey, what did Celestia say about Princess Luna?” Dash asked, furrowing her brow as she thought, tried to remember.
“Pardon?” Rarity said.
“Something about dreams and stuff,” Dash added, hopping off the floor and breaking into a hover. “She said that Princess Luna was all about dreams and fairytales, didn’t she?”
“Prophecy, I believe,” Rarity agreed. “Why?”
“I’ll tell Twilight you said hi,” Dash said, racing for the door before Pinkie Pie or Rarity could do more than fumble for words. In the space of seconds, she’d torn the door open and jetted out into the open. In a minute, she was above the clouds that the other weather ponies had set in place over Ponyville. If they had managed this far without her, they could do so for another day. She pulled a quick corkscrew to clear the snow off her wings, eyes on the distant mount Canterlot.
“She did this for you, Twilight Sparkle!”
The words echoed inside Twilight’s mind, bouncing off the walls inside her brain, amplified and repeated every time. The first words Princess Luna had spoken upon seeing Celestia’s supine form.
She’d taken it back. Or rather, she had tried. Once chariots and the escorts had landed on the castle grounds and Twilight was alone with the princesses in Celestia’s private bedchambers, she had apologized. Luna would not meet her eyes, but she had apologized, told Twilight she had said something terribly unfair, and that she did not blame her. Her sister was millenia old, and her decisions were her own, Luna had said before leaving them alone.
At least she trusted Twilight to be alone with Celestia. Still, the words stayed with her. The implications were staggering.
On her great bed, in the large and airy chambers, the princess lay. Crownless and no longer gold-shod, she was as beautiful as ever where she rested, splayed out with her mane still billowing on a wind nopony else ever felt. Beautiful, and, for the first time, just a pony. It was the second time Twilight had seen her fall, and this time, it stuck.
Fallible and flawed. Had the princess decided that she would accompany the Elements just because she wanted to be close to Twilight? She could reconcile the concept with any other pony. It was stupid and perhaps romantic, but to think that Celestia would do something like that?
It would have been funny had she been awake. Twilight wanted nothing more than to ask Celestia if this was the case, and odds were, Celestia would laugh with her. She missed that laughter.
The court physician was dumbstruck. At Twilight’s insistence, they had sent for Zecora from Ponyville, but she already knew that it was a shot in the dark. All signs were good, they had said. She was weak, but she was alive. Merely resting, but she would not wake. Alicorn physiology wasn’t different from that of other ponies, but the princesses were different, the physician had said. How it was different, he could not tell. None of the princesses had ever had so much as a common cold.
On a whim, Twilight jumped onto the bed, laying down at the princess’ side. After a moment’s hesitation, she leaned against her. Her body was as warm as ever, like a furnace or a miniature sun.
“Sorry, princess,” Twilight muttered. She’d meant to apologize for touching her if the princess was uncomfortable, but the word was greater than the intent. She was sorry. For absolutely everything. Twilight clenched her eyes shut and hoped sleep would claim her before the tears.
Twilight awoke again with a start. Bewildered, she scanned the room looking for whatever had disturbed her. It took a few moments before she realized where she was. Bed. Princess. Plush carpets and impossibly expensive furniture. Large windows and a mild Canterlot winter—
And Rainbow Dash knocking on the glass of the sliding doors that led to the twelfth-floor balcony. Her ungentle knocks shook the glass, and Twilight could hear the blare of a siren far off in the distance. The unicorn’s heart was in her throat, and she nearly fell in her haste to get off the bed and gallop over to admit her.
Once the door opened, the siren was louder by far. On reflex, Twilight glanced over her shoulder to make sure the princess didn’t stir. It was a remarkably stupid impulse.
“Rainbow! What are you doing?” Twilight hissed. The pegasus slipped inside and shut the door behind her. A second later, a blur the white and gold of the pegasus guards whisked past the balcony. Dash nonchalantly shook the snow off her wings and head.
“Hey Twilight, how’s the princess?” Rainbow Dash asked.
“Asleep, and, uh, she’s stable—are those guards after you?” Twilight asked.
“Yeah. Don’t care. Didn’t have time to go through the gate. Listen, where’s Princess Luna?”
Twilight gaped. “You can’t just barge in here like that! You’ll be in trouble!”
On cue, Twilight heard a soft set of hoofsteps approach the grand golden doors that led to the opulent bedchamber. She flailed, spun on the spot, and eventually settled for standing in front of Rainbow, forelegs splayed as if though she could hide the crazed pegasus with sheer willpower. Belatedly, she realized that magic might have done the trick, but the door slid open just as the thought crossed her mind.
“The alarm is going off. We doubt there is any threat, but—” Luna said, the princess pausing right past the threshold with her mouth open and wings spread.
“Oh, there she is, awesome,” Dash said, wiping her hooves on the carpet. “Sorry about the mess. Uh, and about your sister,” she added, dipping her head. Twilight could feel her heart and brain both complain at their suddenly shortened half-life.
“We usually prefer our guests use the front door,” Luna suggested with a wry smile. Twilight didn’t quite dare breathe a sigh of relief until she knew whether or not this was the kind of humor Luna employed before she banished somepony.
“Yeah, so, you’re all about dreams and things like that?” Dash asked.
Princess Luna drew back, craning her neck. “We—hum. Well, we will allow that, it is one way to say it. To what end?”
“Princess Celestia said something before she, uh, took a nap,” Dash continued, her eyes flitting to the bed. Twilight winced at her candor, and Luna’s smile tightened. “You can tell if they’re okay, right? I need to know.”
Twilight sighed. “Rainbow Dash, we would all like to know, but if it was that simple—”
“It is everything but simple, yet we can,” Luna affirmed.
Twilight blinked. “What? if you know that, why haven’t you done so before? Why—I don’t understand?”
“Because, as we said, it is not simple. Trying to create a link like this, it draws on the ties that bind ponies. For all that your connection is special, potent, even, you have been friends for years, not decades,” Luna explained. “I doubt it will work.”
“That’s stupid,” Dash said, crossing her forelegs as she took to the air.
“Will you stop insulting princesses when I’m around, please?” Twilight groaned.
“I’ve known Fluttershy since I was a little filly,” Dash continued, outright ignoring Twilight. The pegasus’ eyes intense. “If you can do something, anything? Do it.”
“You would command us?” Luna asked, a brow arched. “Do not misunderstand, we are grateful for all you have done for us, but without a focus, there is really nothing we can do.”
“‘Focus’? Why can’t you speak normal?” Dash cried, closing her eyes and hanging her head. Her wings went limp. Twilight sighed and leaned against the pegasus.
“We need something intimate to the subject,” the princess continued, sympathy plain on her face. “In our experience, ponies do not maintain keepsakes of the same emotional quality as they did before. Last time we performed this spell, we used a silver brooch handed down through four generations.”
“I don’t think Fluttershy has anything like that,” Twilight answered. “I know she really loves her little animal friends, but she’s not very close with her family, I think, so—um, Rainbow, what are you doing?”
At her side, Rainbow Dash had lifted one of her wings, and was struggling with something. She had her snout buried under the base of her wing, and gave a little grunt before she righted herself. In her mouth she held the multicolored bracelet Twilight had seen only once before.
“This’ll do,” Dash said, stepping forward to hold the bracelet up to Luna, who gently seized a hold of it with the light blue of her magic.
“If you believe so,” Luna hummed.
“Yeah. I’m sure. So, how does this work?” Dash asked, scratching the back of her head.
“You are ready to do this without even knowing what it is?” Luna said, and it didn’t sound like much of a question. Indeed, there was little doubt in Dash’s eyes. “Very well. What we do, is let you share a dream. We are sure we can find a chamber where you can spend the night. Assuming that Fluttershy is well and also sleeping, you should find each other. You will not know it is a dream, but you will remember it.”
“Dream,” Dash repeated. “Is it real? I need to know if she—” she paused, her voice cracking. “I need to know how she is. I need to talk to her.”
Luna pursed her lips. At length, she shrugged, turning to lead the way out of the royal bedchamber. “Most would say it is what you make of it.”
Before Luna could lead her friend out and away, Twilight called out. “What would you say?” she asked, already heading for the bed where Celestia lay.
Again the open sky greeted Fluttershy. She knew it wasn’t real, and that was more than she usually knew. Or so she thought. It was all very confusing, and even trying to think about it hurt.
The butter-colored pegasus hovered in the air with wings that would not tire. This was also new. A streak of color danced at the edge of her vision, but she could not pin it down. A lot of things were different, but then, what were they different from? Below, an unending expanse of green and deeper blue, so far away that the colors were washed and blurry. The ground. Why did this matter?
All around, the vast blue sky stretched on, dotted with puffy white clouds. It was dark. Had it always been dark? It was supposed to be sunny, wasn’t it? Curiously, the sun was absent. It was day, she knew, but the moon was up.
What if she fell?
The slow-building terror announced itself, starting at her wing-tips and crawling towards her heart. She wished she’d never thought that thought. She had been here before, she remembered. Sometimes, she would be happy. She wouldn’t be alone like she was now. Other times, it was like this. Fluttershy trembled. Any moment now, her wings would seize up and she would fall.
“Hey. What’s up?”
The voice was both so intimately familiar and so desperately welcome, Fluttershy nearly spun out of control as she whipped around. A blue pegasus was effortlessly hanging mid-air, her colorful mane and tail bobbing with movement. She wore a playful smile that was so very much her. More Rainbow Dash than anything. Fluttershy knew, again, that this was different. It was wrong. Not how it usually went. Her thoughts would go no further down that road, steered away by an invisible hoof.
Wrong, but at the same time, so incredibly right.
“Nothing, sorry,” Fluttershy replied. “I was just thinking.”
“Wanna go for a flight?” Dash asked, flapping her wings a few times to gain speed. The agile pegasus sketched a quick loop around Fluttershy that made her giggle.
“That sounds lovely,” Fluttershy admitted. “But we’re very high up. Maybe we can fly a little closer to the ground?”
Rainbow Dash peered down between her own forelegs and frowned. After a moment’s deliberation, she flipped around, hovering upside-down at Fluttershy’s side. “Actually, I was thinking about going up.”
“Up,” Fluttershy echoed, shrinking back. Above, the skies were darker still. “Um, usually—I mean. I guess?”
“Just wanted to talk to you,” Rainbow Dash muttered, her attention suddenly all on a small cumulus that drifted by on a wind Fluttershy couldn’t feel at all.
“Oh. Okay,” Fluttershy said, swallowing. “Sure. Let’s go up.”
Rainbow Dash led the way. With a grunt and a nod, the powerful flier set her wings to work sketching an upwards spiral. For a moment, Fluttershy feared that Rainbow Dash would pull ahead, but she refused to let that happen.
It wasn’t that she feared Rainbow Dash would leave her. The thought stuck out as absurd. Even here, wherever it was, she laughed out loud at the notion, earning an odd look from Rainbow Dash. No, it was the idea that Dash would have to wait that was wrong. To think that she should have to pause and look back at Fluttershy.
She’d be nice about it. She’d sigh or roll her eyes before pacing herself. Perhaps she wouldn’t even do that. Rainbow Dash had been ever so nice to her. It just wouldn’t be worth anything if Fluttershy didn’t give it her all.
When Rainbow Dash soared up into the third turn of their ascent, she turned and found Fluttershy right at her tail, working her wings to the bone to keep up. There was no time to ask if she could keep pace with Rainbow Dash. She simply did it. Together, the two pegasi flew ever upwards, until the sky turned from dark blue to near black. The clouds hid most of the ground below now, and what little they could see was a shapeless mess.
Neither of them tired. Fluttershy found herself thinking she could do this forever. It was not a mad chase any more. Rainbow Dash wasn’t even leading. At some point, they had slowed down, and they ascended side by side at a comfortable pace. They climbed higher and higher with no goal except to see if they could.
The air was thin when Rainbow Dash suddenly stopped. She was smiling, but it wasn’t at all the huge grin Fluttershy had expected. She herself was bursting with pride—how far they had flown! But there, on Dash’s face, was a sad smile Fluttershy had seen only once before. It reminded her of when Rainbow Dash had said she was leaving Cloudsdale, before Fluttershy rushed to say she was going with her.
“Come home,” Rainbow Dash said, her ears flat.
“I’m trying,” Fluttershy whispered. Those two words drained all the elation from her in a second.
“Do you think you can make it?” Dash asked, licking her lips. The pegasus lowered her gaze and chewed her tongue as she inspected a forehoof. “It’s been so long.”
Fluttershy opened her mouth to reply, but in the blink of an eye, Rainbow Dash was in front of her, a hoof pressed to her muzzle.
“Actually, don’t answer that. I know you will,” Dash said. She was glaring at her, daring her to disagree. “You’re coming home.”
Fluttershy nodded as slowly as she could, afraid to dislodge Dash’s hoof. Her eyes stung as she swallowed before speaking around her touch.
“Rainbow Dash? There’s one more thing—”
“Yeah. I know,” Rainbow Dash cut her off. Those rose orbs burned through her, burned the budding tears away as their eyes met. “I think I do, now.”
Dash slipped her forelegs around her and held her tight. A second later, her feathers joined in the hug, blue wings wrapping around Fluttershy and enveloping her. She held her close, yet they didn’t fall. Impossibly suspended mid-air, the world was blue, downy warmth. Dash’s presence was all around her.
“Fluttershy?”
Fluttershy opened her eyes and found that they were wet. She lay on her thin blanket atop the hard stone floor of their refuge, and the storm raged ever on outside. Curiously, the dream didn’t fade, as such things usually did. Unlike most days, she didn’t have to try to grab the details, cling to them and try to remember scraps of her dreams. It sat there patiently and waited for her, as clear as her memories of yesterday.
She wasn’t quite sure if she liked remembering it. It was at once both a wonderful dream, and a terrible reminder of what she missed. All the same, she had promised. Or rather, Rainbow Dash had promised that she would make it home. That, if nothing else, she would latch on to.
“Sugarcube, if you lay there staring at nothin’ for much longer, I’m gonna get right worried,” Applejack said. Fluttershy shook her head and blinked. Applejack was frowning at her, the farmpony sat on her own bedroll right next to her.
“I’m sorry,” Fluttershy muttered. “I just had the most wonderful dream. I think.”
“Just don’t scare me like that,” Applejack huffed, leaning over to nuzzle her. “You ain’t missed much anyhow. Storm’s still going.”
“I don’t think it’s going to stop,” Fluttershy sighed. It had been many days, but it was impossible to know exactly how long. When they had stumbled upon the old watchtower in the middle of the sandstorm, they had thought they were saved. The simple structure had no real features; rock and mortar formed a circular tower, and aside from some dilapidated weapon racks, there was little to be found in here. The rusty hatch at the top of the stone stairs that went along the tower’s inner wall had holes in it, and the iron gate that had admitted them wouldn’t close fully. Sand was still trickling in and piling up, and the sandstorm outside was continuing unabated. Without the crystals they had brought all the way from the Dreamspire, they would be in almost complete darkness.
It had been all they could do to get comfortable and wait in the soft blue-white light.
“So, any bright ideas?” Applejack asked, as she did every morning, evening, or whatever it was when they woke up.
Fluttershy spread her wings and twisted her neck around to eye their feathers critically. The vivid dream had reminded her that she hadn’t seen so much as a minute of flight for far too long. While she was usually happy enough on the ground, her wings were a mess. Yesterday it had hardly been worth thinking about, but today it was a crime.
“I think I need a good preening,” Fluttershy said.
“Well, I was thinkin’ about getting out of here and such, but that works.” Applejack snarked. “Need any help?”
“Huh? Oh. Well, actually, I guess it is a little hard to reach all of the feathers,” Fluttershy admitted. “Um, it’s probably a little weird for you though.”
“Sugar, if Lotus an’ her sister over at the spa can file horns, I should be able to handle myself around a pair of wings unless you’re afraid I’ll muck it up.”
“Not at all,” Fluttershy assured her, trying to relax her wings as Applejack walked around to sit at her back. “Some feathers aren’t, well, aligned, I guess. Just need to make sure they’re all straight and everything, but—” she winced as she felt Applejack tug at one of her pinions. “—gently, please.”
“Right, sorry,” Applejack muttered. The pressure abated, and a moment later, the earth pony buried her muzzle in between the feathers again, her teeth gently gripping the feathers one by one. Fluttershy sighed and closed her eyes.
“If you want me to work those tangles out of your tail sometime, I’d be happy to,” she murmured. “This is really nice.”
“Think nothin’ of it, sugar.”
And the dream still stuck. Every detail still there in perfect clarity for her to pick at and dissect. Why did a promise given in a dream mean so much? A command, a desperate request—whatever it was? It had felt so very, very real.
“I’ll tell her when we get back.”
The second Fluttershy had said, it, she knew it had been the right thing to say. The thought didn’t fill her with dread any more. Her heartbeats and her breath both came faster, but it was excitement, not fear.
“I know.” The words echoed in her mind, and she was only distantly aware that Applejack had stopped attending her wings.
“Sugar,” she said, pausing to sigh. “I feel right terrible for pressuring you. It ain’t my business at all. You don’t have to say that.”
“I want to,” Fluttershy said, smiling and lowering her eyes to the ground. “It’s not because of you.”
“Well, let’s get right on that then,” Applejack retorted. “Oh. Right. Sandstorm. Nope.”
Fluttershy stole another glance at the tower’s door while Applejack nipped at another feather, tilting her wing a bit. “How long has it been, anyway?”
Applejack groaned. “It’s me poking at your feathers, or it’s talking. Y’can’t have both.”
Fluttershy folded her wings, wincing at the displaced feathers before she stood. Turning around, she shook her head at the slightly annoyed farmpony. “I don’t know a lot about weather here, but the sandstorm was moving, wasn’t it? It caught up to us, but it’s been going on here now for days.”
“Three, four, maybe five days. I reckon’ we sleep a bit more when there’s nothing to do,” Applejack agreed with a shrug. “Besides, it’s awful dark. Still, we got food left, and we ain’t like to run out of water soon.”
Fluttershy’s eyes drifted up to the metal hatch far above.
“I ain’t liking the idea of heading outside,” Applejack murmured. “You thinkin’ to try the hatch? I’ll come with.”
“I just want to have a look,” Fluttershy agreed.
Applejack made for the narrow, unprotected stairs. She mounted the steps easily, giving Fluttershy a look as the pegasus flew at her side.
“You’re chompin’ at the bit today, sug’. What’s up?” she asked.
“Nothing. I just—”
“Want to get home, huh. Yeah,” Applejack finished for her with a wry grin. “Let’s get this here thing open.”
At the top of the stairs, Applejack braced herself against the stone steps, tongue between her teeth as she tried to work through the awkward angle. After a minor adjustment, she gestured for Fluttershy to stand back, her powerful hind legs winding up for a kick.
The groan of metal was deafening, a screeching wail and a loud clang as the hatch swung open and hammered against the stone. A small trickle of sand poured in, but it was far less than Fluttershy had feared. The two ponies exchanged glances, and Applejack slipped outside with Fluttershy in tow. For a moment, Fluttershy wondered if she should head downstairs to collect her cloak, not wanting sand in her mouth and nose, but it quickly became apparent she needn’t worry.
The top of the tower was flat stone, and here, there was no wind. Fluttershy spread her wings to confirm just that, but even the most sensitive of her feathers found nothing. Around them, just off the edge of the tower’s roof, the sandstorm howled and raged, a whirling vortex that darkened the sky going on for as far as the eye could see.
“When you say you don’t know much about sandstorms,” Applejack broached through a frown.
“Wind doesn’t behave like this,” Fluttershy replied. “I’m not very good at wind theory and all that, but this, this is wrong.”
“Yeah. I think Applebloom could say the same without spendin’ five years at weather college or whatever, no offense,” Applejack agreed. “Question is, what is this, then?”
“I don’t understand. Why does this happen to us?” Fluttershy asked. Sitting down and crying on the spot was becoming a better and better option.
“It does, don’t it?” Applejack mused.
“Sorry?”
“Well, we still don’t know the first thing about who gave the prince that book, and we know he wouldn’t have minded us passin’ through if he didn’t have that book,” Applejack said, scratching her snout.
“You think somepony is doing this to us on purpose?” Fluttershy asked, taking a step back.
“Just thinking. Told you, I ain’t a glass half empty kind of mare, but this all stinks,” Applejack grumped, turning her eyes skywards. “Don’t suppose you think you can fly us over this?”
Fluttershy puffed her cheeks out and shook her head. “We don’t know how big the storm is. If it’s very big, and I start losing height, being in the air with all our equipment—”
“And my big flank,” Applejack supplied, grinning. “Just checking our options. Doubt even Rainbow could pull this one off.”
“Maybe,” Fluttershy agreed, feeling for the first time like she wanted to try anyway. It was reckless and dangerous, and she would never suggest such a thing, but part of her wondered if she could do it. It lasted only for a few seconds, until the storm around them seemed to press closer.
“Right. Let’s head back down. Get the hatch, will you?” Applejack asked, the clops of her hooves receding down the stairs, and Fluttershy did exactly that, closing the protesting metal hatch. Once safely inside once again, she glided off the stairs down to land on the main floor of the little tower with a thud.
A hollow thud.
Applejack had heard it too, judging by the odd look she was casting in her direction. Fluttershy stood on a large stone like any other, a large flat tile by the tower wall. Experimentally, she raised a leg and stomped down on it again, rewarded with another, loud thud.
“You best let me have a look at that, sugarcube,” Applejack suggested, and Fluttershy gladly stepped off the curious stone tile. She tapped another nearby rock, but there, her hoof yielded nothing but a dull clack of hoof on stone.
Applejack wasted no time digging her rear hooves in at the edge of the stone. Bracing herself against the nearby wall, she grunted and shoved with the tips of her hooves. The earth mare lowered her head and gritted her teeth, and Fluttershy was just about to ask her to stop for fear that she would hurt herself when the stone yielded. With one final burst of strength and a wordless cry, Applejack heaved the flat stone tile over, toppling it onto the side where it landed with an impact that shook the tower.
Applejack slumped to the ground, breathing heavily but grinning all the same. “Almost half as fun as uprootin’ dead trees,” she laughed.
Fluttershy shook her head at her friend, trotting over to collect one of the three light-crystals they’d scattered about the room. It was hard to see much with it in her mouth, but when she put it down on the edge of the hole, both she and Applejack gasped. An earthen staircase led down and further into the darkness, barely wide enough for the two of them abreast.
“Not afraid of the dark, you said?” Applejack asked. “Hope you weren’t crackin’ a joke.”
There was no need to even discuss whether or not to explore the dark and mysterious hole. After Fluttershy had dipped down and returned reporting a tunnel rather than a cellar, Applejack had their stuff packed up within the minute. The staunch earth mare gave the half-closed iron door and the storm outside one final glance and stretched.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Applejack asked.
“Of course,” Fluttershy affirmed. The pegasus was over by the hole in the floor, busy trying to pin the last of the three light-giving crystals in a fold of her light cloak. Applejack wore one herself, tucked between the straps of her saddlebags.
“Right then,” Applejack hummed. “Just thinking, there’s barely enough space to turn down there.”
“I tried. I could turn around just fine, and you really aren’t that much bigger than me,” Fluttershy countered. “I can almost spread my wings, too. Do you want me to go first?”
Applejack swiftly shook her head and trotted up to the hole, peering down into the darkness. “I’ll go first ‘lest you mind. Scoot over.”
When Fluttershy did just that, Applejack took one last, deep breath, and hopped down to land on the first step. It wasn’t much of a drop, but immediately the faint roar of the storm was replaced with that odd muted lack of sound, the throb that filled her ears whenever she was trotting down the staircase to her apple cellar. A second later, a gust of air announced Fluttershy taking up position behind her, and then, there was little to do but move.
After a long descent down the staircase, the tunnel evened out, and here the walls were earthen and the ceiling rounded. If not for the hard-packed floor, Applejack would be tempted to think that this was the work of some colossal earthworm rather than ponies. Or zebras. Or giraffes. Perhaps the latter, then? The ceiling was a mite tall, even if it was all a bit too narrow for her tastes.
“Let’s hope this here exits somewhere sensible, huh?” Applejack said. “I mean, who makes a tunnel without an end?”
“Oh, lots of creatures,” Fluttershy replied. “Let’s see, moles tend to have many exits, but if this was the den of a badger, they’d probably like it snug and cozy with just one way out, just like hedgehogs, porcupines—”
“Sugar?”
“Yes?”
“Not helping.”
“Right. Sorry,” Fluttershy said, promptly shutting up. After a second she gave a little giggle, and Applejack just shook her head and sighed. For how long had they walked now? Two minutes? Three? Aside from some gentle curves that always seemed to right themselves afterwards, as if weaving around some small obstacle, the tunnel led straight on. Their own shadows played across the dry earth walls, and occasionally a rock or two would poke out at them. Applejack took great care not to touch them, in case they supported the whole mess.
“Now I ain’t no geologician or whatnot, but why ain’t this sand?” she asked.
“Oh. I guess we’re deep down? I don’t know. I’ve never been to a desert before. If it was sand, it would be ever so hard to make a tunnel though, so we should be happy,” Fluttershy suggested, the pegasus trotting easily along behind her, pale pink mane framing a smile in the dark.
“Yeah, happy,” Applejack murmured.
“Did you really mean you think someone is doing this to us?”
Applejack sighed and mulled that over, forced herself to really think. At length, she shook her head from side to side. “I don’t rightly know, sugar. Do you remember the applebuck season four years ago?”
“I, um. I didn’t know you all that well, back then,” Fluttershy admitted. “But I remember.”
“Yeah. First applebuck season where Granny Smith wasn’t feeling up to helpin’ out with the bucking on account of her hip and all, and then I went and hurt myself.”
The empathic pegasus winced and nodded as Applejack went on.
“Nurse Redheart was threatenin’ to restrain me in my own bed,” she said, grinning at the memory. “Had to lie there in bed with my legs up in the air, staring out the window at Big Mac and the hired help working their flanks off. Ain’t proud of some of the things I said and did back then, but it had me wondering what I’d done to deserve it.”
“You were angry because you couldn’t do your part,” Fluttershy said. “I think that’s really nice of you, in a way.”
“Anyway,” Applejack shrugged. “It was just bad luck, was all. Weren’t no gods or ghosts or what have you. I was stupid and had a bad fall when I should be taking care of myself. Lookin’ back it all adds up.”
“But this doesn’t,” Fluttershy agreed, stretching her wings.
“I ain’t got no clue as to why what happened, happened. As long as our friends are okay—”
“I know they are,” Fluttershy interrupted. It wasn’t desperate need in her voice, but rather, certainty. Applejack paused and gave her a long look from which Fluttershy did not shy away.
“Right. Long as they’re okay, I don’t care why we woke up in the flank-end of nowhere. The business with the malices and up in the mountain, I haven’t a clue. But everything since then? We got this here book,” she tilted her head towards her saddlebag. “And we got us a sandstorm that won’t move. That’s not bad luck. You don’t send some prince a book like that at random, and I sure didn’t see any pegasi out there playing with the storm.”
“Someone wants to hurt us,” Fluttershy said, her ears drooping.
Applejack didn’t have the heart to agree, so sad did the pegasus look once she’d said it. The realization, the very idea seemed to hurt her.
“Let’s just hope that whomever or whatever it is can’t find us down here,” Applejack muttered.
“Down here”, as it turned out, was more than just a basket’s worth of apples. The tunnel stretched on and on, here taking a dive only to climb back up, now twisting in an S-shape around things they never saw. When Applejack had to pull out their compass and make sure for the third time that they were still going in the same east-ish direction, she was starting to get tired. A small yawn from behind betrayed Fluttershy’s fatigue as well.
“Do you think maybe we could take a little rest?” Fluttershy asked.
“Ain’t too fond of the idea of sleeping here,” Applejack responded, resolutely keeping her legs moving.
“It’s cozy, isn’t it? Well, okay, not exactly, but it seems safe,” Fluttershy suggested, her head held high as she scanned the walls. “Not a lot of burrowing animals here in the desert, I guess, but I’ve never heard of any burrowing predators that are dangerous to ponies.”
“Don’t need anything nibbling at your flanks for this to be bad,” Applejack retorted. “Roof could come down on us.”
“If it hasn’t collapsed in all these years, I doubt it will fall now.”
“Right, right, nap it is,” Applejack grumped, ignoring Fluttershy’s questioning look. The tunnel had looked narrower than it was, though not by much. When she stopped, there was enough room to turn and shed her saddlebags without much trouble. It wasn’t comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, but the soil floor was better than the stones that had been their last home. Soon enough the two ponies lay side by side under thin covers in the quiet darkness of the tunnel that seemed to go on forever.
Whatever it was that ponies reached out to to find sleep, Applejack couldn’t find it. With Fluttershy facing away from her, it was hard to tell if the pegasus was awake or not, but her sides rose and fell slowly.
“Alright, shoot,” Applejack whispered.
Fluttershy stretched one wing and rolled her shoulder before she turned over, blearily rubbing at her eyes. “Hm? Sorry?”
“How do you know they’re fine?”
Fluttershy tilted her head and blinked heavily.
“How do you know this all ain’t in vain? That Twi and the others are back home? You seemed awfully sure of yourself, is all,” Applejack asked. It was hard to keep the need from her voice. She was sure she sounded like some foal eager for reassurance, but ever since Fluttershy had spoken, she’d been wondering. Only now that they were getting somewhere, now did she herself start to wonder if there was something to come home to. How long had they been gone, again?
“I had a dream,” Fluttershy said, lowering her eyes to where she clopped her hooves together.
“A dream,” Applejack repeated with a sigh, arching her neck back to stare at the wall behind her head.
It wasn’t the nicest of places to sleep, but it was better than the desert by far. Fluttershy awoke to Applejack gently nosing her in the side, and for the first time she found that she wouldn’t mind another five minutes. Whether that was just because there was no glaring sun, or if it was in hopes of sneaking back into her dreams—normal ones or not—she wasn’t quite sure. Whatever the case was, gathering their things and trotting onwards proved simple as pie.
Applejack was still a little short. Skittish, even, but whenever Fluttershy asked, she claimed it was nothing. It was still easy enough going, they agreed. Easy, until the light fell short.
At first, Fluttershy feared that their crystals might be giving out. They had no idea how the things worked, content with the way they lit up when touched, but it quickly became evident that there was nothing wrong with the little gems. Ahead, the tunnel closed in, and Applejack sped up in response.
“You’re kidding,” she spat seconds later. Right in front of the earth mare’s hooves, the soil piled up. The tunnel had almost completely collapsed, one of the walls spilling in and leaving only a small hole along the ceiling on one side.
“Hang on, excuse me,” Fluttershy said, slipping past the still-cursing mare. Scrabbling up the loose soil, using her wings for balance, the pegasus scurried up to peer along the gap near the ceiling. After a moment, she bent back and seized one of the light-crystals in her mouth and stuck her head in, coming back with dirt in her mane and a smile on her face.
“It’s just a little bit,” she announced, hopping back down to stand at Applejack’s side. “Just a few strides through, and the tunnel is fine on the other side. If we really want to, I think we can get past.”
“The hole looks big enough,” Applejack suggested, blowing her mane out of her face. She kept glancing at the walls around them, as she did every time they paused. Taking a deep breath, she bent low to let her saddlebags slip off of her, setting to work on her cloak soon after.
“I don’t know if we can squeeze through,” Fluttershy said, giving the gap a skeptical glance. “I think we have to dig a little, but the soil is loose. Maybe we could use the bottle?”
“And ruin our drinking water? Sugar, I swear I saw that thing swallow a fish when we tried filling it in that oasis way back. We hardly even know how it works. Let’s just get this done with. Just toss my saddlebags through,” Applejack grumbled, already free of her burdens and climbing the little slope with practiced and steady steps.
“Um, no, really,” Fluttershy tried anew. “I think I’d hurt my wings even if I tried. It won’t take long at all.”
“Well I hardly have wings now, do I?” Applejack snapped, making Fluttershy recoil from her tone. “Besides, you’re a mite bit smaller. We’ll be fine. The sooner we’re through the better.”
Fluttershy sighed and shook her head as Applejack took a final, deep breath and slipped her forelegs and neck through the gap. The earth mare’s mane disappeared soon after with a grunt and a wriggle, and it looked like she was making good progress—all the way until Fluttershy saw very little happening except her hindlegs wiggling. After a pause and no movement, Applejack’s legs spun twice as hard, first finding no purchase, and then uselessly scuffling loose dirt away.
“Right, this’d be the part where you get pushing,” Applejack said, her voice muffled.
Obediently, Fluttershy wound her way up to Applejack’s hindquarters, put her hooves to her flank, and pushed. With little to brace against, it was a pitiful effort, and more than once did she almost receive a hoof in her face for her efforts.
“It’s not working!” Fluttershy cried.
“Just push harder, it ain’t getting us anywhere,” Applejack retorted. “It’s gotta work!”
“Even if we get you through, you can’t really push me through afterwards. Can we—can we just try getting you back? I really think we should have widened the hole first,” Fluttershy suggested.
“Well, then do it fast!” Applejack shot, writhing uselessly.
It was equally useless. Fluttershy shed her cargo and her cloak, wrapped her forelegs around Applejack’s rump and kicked off to no avail. Again and again she pulled, gaining not a single hoofbreadth’s worth of purchase. Applejack was well and truly stuck. When she let go, the pegasus was panting, sweating, and covered in dirt. She sat there trying to catch her breath, the only noise her own breath and Applejack’s labored breathing.
It was odd, though. She wouldn’t have expected Applejack to be short of breath, but at her side, the farmpony’s flanks were heaving. She sat listening for a few seconds before Applejack’s voice sounded again through what little gap there was.
“Fluttershy? Sugar?”
Fluttershy frowned. “I’m here. You need to stop moving,” she said. “It’s not helping. I’ll try digging you out slowly and carefully. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
“Right,” Applejack retorted. A second later, she squirmed again, still breathing loudly.
“Applejack? Are you okay?” Fluttershy asked, slowly getting up on all fours. It was so very hard not to be a little nervous herself when it was obvious that something was making Applejack afraid. Perhaps the staunch earth mare hadn’t wanted her to notice, but there it was.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” Applejack snapped. A moment later, she sighed so loudly that even Fluttershy could hear it, adding in a lower voice, “Just stay where I can hear you. Okay?”
Fluttershy reached over to rest a hoof on Applejack’s flank. “I’m here,” she murmured. “I’m going to start widening the hole a little bit, okay? Please try to relax.”
“Relax,” Applejack repeated with a mirthless bark of laughter. “Can you hurry up?”
Fluttershy sighed. “It’s going to take a while, and I haven’t even started,” she said, her eyes roving over the area. She dearly hoped that it was safe to move the already-fallen soil. Ever so carefully she put her hooves to task, shuffling the earth away from Applejack to free her. It would be the work of hours, not minutes, and Applejack was quite clearly still struggling.
“Can you hear me?” Fluttershy asked.
“Yeah, just fine, what? Why?” Applejack asked.
“I just thought maybe you’d like to hear a story,” Fluttershy suggested, frowning as she tried to figure out exactly how to proceed. After a moment, she moved closer to Applejack, sitting leaned against her as she shuffled the soil around.
“A story? I ain’t some foal needing a bedtime story,” Applejack grumped.
Fluttershy winced, thinking she might have insulted one of her best friends. Swallowing, she tried to think of something else to say, but her ears had barely drooped before Applejack did relax a little, continuing in a lower voice.
“Sorry, sugar. Didn’t mean—just, yeah. Sorry. Story would be good. What’ve you got?”
Fluttershy cleared her throat. “Well, um, I just meant to say, I was actually afraid of big, open places, before. Not that I mean you are afraid now, but—”
“You can say it,” Applejack interrupted with a nervous laugh. “I just ain’t too happy with this, okay? Don’t need to make a big deal of it, but afraid of open spaces? How the hay does that work?”
“I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. It’s especially bad if you’re a pegasus, I suppose,” Fluttershy agreed, giggling. “I’m not really afraid any more, but it’s still a little scary when you’re high up and everything’s so, um. Well. Big. Don’t you ever get that?”
“Well, on account of not being high up much, I guess not,” Applejack replied with another weak twitch of her legs. “The sky’s the sky, and big’s big. Won’t find me complaining about the size of our orchards, if you know what I mean.”
“Many pegasi have claustrophobia. I think there’s a word for something specific to pegasi, fear of small spaces and hard surfaces, walls that you can’t buck a hole in,” Fluttershy mused. “I don’t really know. I never had that.”
“So how’d you fix it?” Applejack asked.
“Hum?” Fluttershy intoned, shoving the earth she’d shifted further down the little mound.
“If you were afraid but you ain’t?”
“Oh.”
“Rainbow Dash, huh?” Applejack asked with a grin that Fluttershy could hear even if she couldn’t see it.
“No,” Fluttershy replied, her cheeks heating up. “Or, well, yes, but I don’t think she knows. I’m sure I told her, but ever since we were fillies, she just didn’t see the problem.”
“Because she never had the problem herself? Well ain’t she a gentlemare,” Applejack barked.
“She just kept asking me to come fly with her, to watch her practice, or to come with her to Whitepuff Cloud Centre to play with her,” Fluttershy explained. “She wouldn’t let me say no. I—I don’t think that’s a very clever way to do things. Doctor Horse would probably be very very angry if I said that, but it turned out okay. Maybe because it was her,” she added with a private little smile of her own.
Applejack laughed. It was good to hear her sound a little more like herself, her body—or what Fluttershy could see, anyway—was resting easier.
“Ain’t looking for advice, sugar, and you won’t see me locking myself in a closet to try to fix nothin’ when I can fetch stuff just fine from my cellar already. Just ain’t too fond of this here tunnel, is all.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Fluttershy agreed.
“And I don’t care if you and Dash share everything from horse shoe size down to whatever else, you ain’t tellin’ her about this,” Applejack added.
“Cross my heart,” Fluttershy giggled, putting all her efforts into digging.
Freeing Applejack and getting back on track had taken longer than either of them would have liked, but in the end, the spirits were high for the two dirt-covered ponies. The tunnel showed no signs of collapsing on their heads. What it did, was go on, and on, and on. At length, the ponies were forced to spend a second night in the darkness, and then a third. Applejack was still eyeing the walls uncomfortably, but by and large, the cooler tunnel was a better deal than the desert, and the magical bottle made water a non-issue.
“Stairs,” Applejack said.
“Sorry?” Fluttershy asked. She’d hardly noticed that she had lapsed into walking on autopilot, as happened every so often with the monotony of the tunnel.
“There are stairs ahead,” Applejack repeated, upping her pace. “Think we’re finally getting out of here!”
“Oh! That’s wonderful, I think,” Fluttershy replied.
“Well, ain’t like I’m keen to walk this tunnel twice, and this is lookin’ good!” Applejack replied. Large stone steps were ahead, soon flanked by stone tiles not unlike the ones that had led them down into the tunnel in the first place. Applejack had apparently found her usual energy again, the orange mare bouncing up the steps and halfway to prying aside the fake stone-tile hatch before Fluttershy had even caught up. With a grunt, she shoved aside the cover, adding pale moonlight to their crystal-given luminescence.
“These places just keep getting more and more cheerful, don’t they,” Applejack called from above. Fluttershy spread her wings, awkwardly hovering up the narrow shaft to land at her side on solid ground.
“Oh,” was all Fluttershy could think to say. Again they stood in ruins, though these were more reminiscent of the abandoned desert tower than the time-lost shells of the nameless earth pony town. Presently, the two ponies found themselves in the courtyard of a small fortress or a large tower. The night was upon them in full, but they could clearly see the moonlit outline of the low wall that surrounded a square and squat structure. Up a short staircase, the inside of the building was in shadow, and the flagpole far above flew no flag.
Outside the small courtyard, the land was barren, but it was no desert. The air bit at them with a nasty chill, and while there was no snow here, rime loomed. With a quick glance at Applejack for reassurance, Fluttershy took to the air again. Saddlebags heavy with what was left of their supplies, it was tough going to gain height, but before long she hovered above the towering structure. At their backs, what little of the ground she could see in the relative darkness was dry and cracked. Opposite, however—
Fluttershy was a bolt of lightning as she zipped down to the ground, impacting so hard her knees hurt.
“Sugar?” Applejack asked, brow raised.
“The forest!” Fluttershy said, pointing. “I think I see treetops in the distance. That’s east, right?”
“North-eastish,” Applejack affirmed with a nod, smiling back at her. “Well, ain’t that just the best news all day, yesterday, and the last week all combined. You tired?”
“Not really,” Fluttershy said. “But if you want to stop—”
“Afraid of the dark?”
“Not more than usual,” Fluttershy giggled. “And the moon’s full.”
“Cold bothering you?” she pressed.
“Not at all.”
“Then what are we waiting for, huh?” Applejack retorted, trotting on with her head held high. Fluttershy was happy to follow her friend, the two of them soon making their way across the flat landscape towards where the tall and jagged shapes of trees waited in the distance. Luna must have brought all the stars out this night, and it seemed that the moon glowed brighter than ever before in the cold.
“I think Twilight once told me something about the princesses,” Fluttershy said, knitting her brow as she peered up at the sky above. There was not a single cloud in sight.
“And what’s that?” Applejack asked, the earth mare awkwardly digging around in her saddlebags as they moved. More than once did she almost stumble on a rock or crack in the earth before she finally fished the compass out.
“Well, it wasn’t something she had read—” Fluttershy continued, but Applejack was giving her an odd look. “Um, sorry?”
“Give me your wing, would you?” Applejack asked. A little confused, Fluttershy extended her left wing, only for Applejack to put the compass down on top of it, soon after grabbing the map and splaying it out on top. Applejack mumbled her thanks.
“We could always stop if you want to look at the map,” Fluttershy suggested, but Applejack’s eyes never left their map as she trotted on at her side.
“Naw. Keep talking, what was that about Twilight?”
“Oh. Right, well, she just told me she sometimes thought she could tell what the princess was feeling just from the way the sun behaved,” Fluttershy said.
Applejack did look up at that. “Behave? The sun doesn’t behave, sugar. Er, does it?”
“She seemed to think so,” Fluttershy said, shaking her head and smiling at that. “I think she was a little embarrassed after she told me, to be honest. It was late one night, and she’d had three cups of tea with sugar. She kept talking about how the sun always seemed to shine brighter when the princess was happy or stressed, and she could tell when the princess was having a bad day, too.”
“Twi sure does like to overthink stuff, leastwise when it comes to the princess,” Applejack retorted, grinning.
“She cares a lot.” Fluttershy squinted ahead. There was still a ways to go, but even in the minutes since they’d left the tunnel behind, the ground had been getting softer.
“And I wouldn’t have her change for the world, weren’t my point. Why, though?” Applejack asked.
“Why what?” Fluttershy countered.
“Why bring this up? Ain’t like I mind a little chatter, but it’s a bit of an odd thing to say, ain’t it?”
Fluttershy said nothing at first, once more casting her gaze skywards, and this time Applejack’s eyes followed. When Applejack slowed, so did Fluttershy, the two of them staring up at the starry skies together.
“What’re those pink and green streaks?” Applejack asked. “That don’t look much like regular northern lights or whatever Twi calls it.”
“I don’t know. Do you think maybe something nice happened? Luna could be happy. That would be wonderful,” Fluttershy suggested.
“That, or she’s mourning,” Applejack murmured, carefully folding the map and compass both before slipping them back inside her saddlebags. “Lotsa different things that make ponies break out the good cider, if you know what I mean.”
“I guess,” Fluttershy agreed, much preferring her own version. “Did you find out where we are?”
“Map ain’t to scale, or that tunnel makes no sense. All the same, not much in the way of landmarks here except one.”
Fluttershy made an inquisitive noise at that, at which Applejack shrugged.
“The fortress or whatever it was where the tunnel ended. It was on the map. We’re at the edge of the desert. Just have to head east by north-east through the forest, and we should be getting to the Badlands.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful news!” Fluttershy said, furling her wings.
“Well yes, except this whole not to scale business meaning it could be a day’s worth of travel or ten. Or a hundred,” the orange mare said, frowning. “And there’re all these little settlement markers, but they ain’t connected to the only road going through here.”
“Did Tadar say anything about it?”
“He ain’t been this far east, remember? Ain’t much in the way of cities here like he spoke of further to the west. Could be anything.”
A moment passed in silence, the tree-tops ahead still growing and the frosty ground crunching under their hooves. Here and there, small piles of snow rested in spots that hid from the mid-day sun. When Fluttershy made no reply, Applejack continued.
“I say we steer clear of them anyway. We got some dates and other fruits left, and we’re getting good at this whole eating roots and berries thing. Think you’ll be able to talk with your little varmint friends here and get us some help?”
“Oh, I’m sure. I don’t think there are more, um, dialects of fox,” Fluttershy replied. “But many of them will be hibernating.”
“On account of it being winter and all, right,” Applejack agreed as they passed by a withered bush flecked with snow. They could finally start to make out bits of frost-tipped grass here and there. “Easy to forget. Guess it’s warmer in the south, then,” she added.
The night never darkened further. The moon, stars, and the strange lights above all lit their path as the two companions trotted on. The desert released its hold on them, the dry climate slowly giving up, league by league, until winter-frosted grass became the norm. The occasional bushes soon became copses, and when the horizon started bleeding the bright colors of the sun, they walked among great and tall pine trees covered in snow.
The sunlight burned their eyes, used to the darkness by now as they were, but it offered little warmth. Under the great branches of a particularly massive tree they brushed the worst of the snow off the ground. With a tarp overhead to ward off snow and rain and proper bedding beneath where they lay, their camp was the envy of all their previous campsites, and Fluttershy’s heavy silver cloak was ample protection from the cold. All they were lacking was a cozy campfire. After they had shared much of what was left of their food, Applejack wormed her way into her own brown cloak and rubbed at her eyes with a foreleg.
“After that whole disaster up on the mountain, this ain’t so bad far as winter goes. Just need the cocoa now,” she said when the both lay side by side looking out at the dawn breaking through the forest.
“It’s nice,” Fluttershy agreed, lowering her head to the ground. “Do you think it’s Hearth’s Warming Eve soon? It should be winter back home, too.”
“Didn’t think about that,” Applejack hummed. “Should be a while yet, I think. Ain’t much been in the habit of keeping track of days. You’ll pardon me if I don’t have a gift for you just yet if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” she added with a grin.
“Oh, no,” Fluttershy giggled. “It’s just what I think about when it’s winter, I guess. A lot of animals come to live in my cottage during winter, and that’s always nice, but Hearth’s Warming is the best. Or, well, the day after. Last year was especially nice, all of us spending the night at your farm and everything.”
“Yeah. We should do that again sometime. Was fun to see Pinkie able to treat it as something like a quiet night in rather’n some big party for once. Good food and some games.” Applejack nodded, her easy smile growing into something of an impish grin as she stared at Fluttershy.
“What is it?” Fluttershy asked, glancing every which way. Experimentally, she dabbed at her cheeks with a hoof to see if she had some food stuck to her face.
“Just wondering, you weren’t at all thinkin’ about Hearth’s Warming on account of mistletoes and everything?” she asked, still grinning ear to ear. “Thinking of a certain other mare?”
“Goodness, no!” Fluttershy cried, leaning over to nudge Applejack in the side even as her cheeks practically caught fire. Applejack was laughing so hard, she hardly even seemed to care, and Fluttershy lay there glowering until the earth mare’s mirth petered out, her green eyes glistening with tears.
“I’m sorry sugar,” Applejack finally said, still chuckling. “Ain’t trying to give you a hard time about this all. Just ain’t much else to talk about out here on the road. Well, forest, I guess. We could go back to discussin’ my plans for our new chicken coops if we get our permit, if you’d like.”
“No, it’s okay,” Fluttershy said, puffing out her cheeks and slowly deflating.
“Uh, no really. Did I go and say something wrong?” Applejack asked, sitting up. Concern was plain on her face, and Fluttershy couldn’t shake her head fast enough.
“It’s not that, not at all,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth as she rolled over on her side, facing her. “I just don’t know how to say it, how to tell her, and I don’t want to do it wrong, so it’s a little scary.”
“Aw, sugar, it’s Rainbow Dash. Love her or not, that mare ain’t got a bone of subtlety in her,” Applejack said, leaning forwards to nuzzle the top of Fluttershy’s head. “Doubt you can do much wrong, unless you’re like Rarity and need it to be just perfect or what-have-you.”
“Maybe I’m a little too good at being, um, subtle,” Fluttershy suggested. “I just hope I can say it at all. I mean, I want to, but—”
“No buts,” Applejack cut her off, shrugging her cloak off. “No excuses. You just wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“What? Applejack?!” Fluttershy cried, but the blonde tail had already disappeared out of view. The tarp hid her, but Fluttershy could hear the earth mare rooting around nearby.
“Just hang on,” Applejack called before giving a great grunt, followed by a rustle of branches. Not ten seconds later, she stuck her head back inside and made off with her saddlebags. More noises followed.
“Um, what are you doing?” Fluttershy tried anew, but she received no answer. A squish, a squelch and a muttered curse all preceded an appreciative noise from the other side of the canvas before Applejack strode back into view.
Pinned under the straps of Applejack’s saddlebags, two bushy branches poked out, one to each side. In the soft tinted glow of the crystals the ponies had for light, Fluttershy could see her hair had been dyed, the bangs of her mane streaked with what juice she could squeeze out of their dried foods, giving her a three-tone blonde, brown, and darker brown mane. A dried plum was stuck behind her ear still.
“There’s your Rainbow Dash,” Applejack announced, grinning hugely. Her ‘wings’ wobbled precariously. “Now, was there something ‘awesome’ you had to tell me, sug—er, Fluttershy?”
Fluttershy’s heart caught in her throat, as did her breath. She opened her mouth, but found no words; only a laugh that bubbled out and came out a snerk. It was that—to laugh, or else she’d cry.
It was an utterly sweet gesture, and a terrible impression that couldn’t fool anypony for a second, but she so desperately wanted to be fooled. Fluttershy hung her head and closed her eyes to see if she could pretend, but it was impossible. All it did was bring into sharp relief how real that dream of a few days hence had felt.
Strong forelegs wrapped around her neck, and Applejack leaned against her, drawing her into a hug. “Sorry. I think I did that thing where I do something ‘afore I think, again.”
“No,” Fluttershy whispered, sniffling. As gently as she could, she pushed Applejack away so she could look upon her again, forcing herself to smile. A nervous giggle slipped out. “I mean, you did get the wings right,” she added, poking at one of the pine tree branches. The branch, for its part, responded by falling off.
“Just as well. If you were gonna ask me to practice kissing, we might have a problem,” Applejack retorted, tossing her sticky mane and nudging the other branch off her back.
“You think about it a lot,” Fluttershy said, snug under her cloak while she watched Applejack clean off all her little effects. The earth mare paused with her head low to the ground where she was trying to scrub the fruits out of her mane.
“Pardon?”
"I don’t mind, but we talk a lot about Rainbow Dash and me, that’s all,” Fluttershy added, staring at her own hooves.
Applejack pursed her lips, dragging her hooves through her mane one final time before she hopped back onto her bedroll and got comfortable. “You’re both my friends. I want y’all to be happy, and I figure you’re good for each other. I ain’t ready to find me a stallion or a mare just yet, but I know a good thing when I see it.”
“That,” she added. “And it’s better than thinking about the less pleasant things. We ain’t hardly even home yet. Maybe Big Mac went crazy and sold the farm. Maybe the princesses packed up and moved to Las Pegasus and don’t care about Equestria no more. Maybe Ponyville is deserted ‘cause they didn’t get any cider this season.”
Fluttershy gasped, but Applejack forestalled any protests with a hoof. “We know most of it ain’t so. Princesses told us to come home, didn’t they? So they’re okay at least. Sun still rises, too.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” Applejack said. “Worrying won’t help. Which is why I’m tryin’ my hardest to focus on getting back home. If it stretches thin at times, just thinking I want to get home for my own reasons—because I want to make sure my family’s alright—well, then I can count on me wanting to get you home safe too. Keeps me moving.”
Fluttershy sighed and leaned against Applejack. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“Thank me nothing,” Applejack snorted. “Without you I’d be stuck in a hole a bit back, wouldn’t I? Reckon’ we need each other.”
Fluttershy frowned, watching the bushy-tailed fox bounce away through the thin layer of snow that coated the forest. It had been almost an entire week, and the forest grew darker still. Thick and tall trees admitted little light, leaving some of the ground bare, but it was undeniably deep winter. As she had predicted, many of the forest’s denizens were asleep, but one little fox in particular kept returning to see them every day. First simply to say hello, of course. Fluttershy had no idea why, but it had always been like that. All the creatures big and small were happy to greet her, and it was ever so precious to her.
The next day, he’d shared with them of a trove of nuts. Rather, he’d offered, but when Fluttershy asked if they were his nuts to share, the fox had admitted that maybe, just maybe they belonged to some particularly spiteful squirrels with whom he’d quarreled in the past.
“What did he want now, then?” Applejack asked, arching a brow.
But today, the little vulpine had returned with far more alarming news. Still Fluttershy craned her neck to watch as the white-tipped tail disappeared around a tree.
“There’s somepony else here. We’re being followed, he thinks,” Fluttershy finally explained.
Applejack’s stride almost faltered, but she quickly picked herself up again as the two trotted on. “Well, okay, maybe it ain’t that odd, really. We did find the road,” she suggested, gesturing at the path beneath their hooves. It was barely wide enough for a cart, and hardly worthy of being called a road, but Applejack insisted it fit with the map.
“Maybe,” Fluttershy said.
“Are they far behind? Could be they know exactly where we are, and I sure wouldn’t mind some company for the road.”
“Um, that’s the thing. He couldn’t find him again, and they didn’t leave any tracks,” Fluttershy said, shaking her head. “It sounds weird, but foxes are very clever, and while they like to play tricks, I don’t think this is a joke.”
“The bad kind of ‘bein’ followed’ then,” Applejack said, rolling her jaw. “Don’t like that one bit. Guess we better start looking out at night, huh?”
“If we meet any owls or other creatures who are awake at night, I can ask if they mind sitting watch for us. If we ask really nicely, I bet they would be happy to help,” Fluttershy suggested, shifting the weight of her saddlebags. “They don’t eat nuts or berries like the ones we carry, but that’s okay. We don’t have a lot of food to spare anyway.”
Applejack’s stomach rumbled as if on queue, the farmpony giving her a strained grin. “Yeah, I’ve had about my fill of frozen grass and I’m sick of spending half my time digging for roots and whatever,” she agreed. “I’m just a mite worried. Were you awake when I checked the map yesternight?”
“No? Sorry?” Fluttershy tilted her head.
“The road passes close by some sort of settlement up ahead. Ain’t got the faintest clue as to why the road don’t go to meet it if it’s a town, but there’s some place called Longhall.”
“Maybe the map is old,” Fluttershy suggested.
“Might be. Just want to get to where the road turns north without any creepy stalker ponies or whatever else is in this here forest,” Applejack said, tilting her neck to the side until it gave a pop. “Can you fly?”
“Um, well,” Fluttershy began, spreading her wings until she could see the wingtips under the cloak. There was still dirt on some of the feathers that wouldn’t go away even after their last bath in a stream a few days ago, and the feathers themselves were in a sorry state. “I can always fly, but there hasn’t been much time to take care of my wings. Why?”
“Just in case we need to make a quick escape, s’all,” Applejack shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter, I think,” Fluttershy said, craning her neck to look up. The forest was as dense as ever, and it was hard to spot the sun through the dense foliage. Even during the day, the forest path was dark.
“Besides,” she added with a nervous glance at Applejack. “We’re not splitting up. You promised you wouldn’t even joke about that.”
“And I ain’t. Just checking,” Applejack reassured her.
They had started counting the days again, and it brought Applejack a sense of stability she hadn’t known she was looking for until she found it. It had been Fluttershy’s idea; the pegasus had latched on to the idea of Hearth’s Warming Eve, and suggested that if Applejack thought it was maybe a month and a bit away, then they could count the days, even if there wasn’t much room for celebration. Thus, it had been fifteen days since they had started counting, and twenty, maybe twenty-one days until they’d celebrate Hearth’s Warming. It probably wasn’t the actual date, but it was something to look forward to.
Fluttershy had already started hoarding the few nuts they found for the occasion. That was plenty of heart-warming right there, Applejack figured, even if there was some added stress in trying to find a gift for Fluttershy while she wasn’t looking.
The forest wasn’t letting up much. A week back, there had been some rough terrain that let Applejack have a better view as they crested a hill, but it only confirmed what Fluttershy had suggested the one time she braved the canopy. The Emerald Expanse was aptly named. Dark trees covered the land, now shrouded in winter’s coating. In the far distance, low mountains were overgrown and snow-capped both, but it seemed they never reached them.
So they trotted. Occasionally, they cantered, and once in awhile, Applejack managed to persuade Fluttershy to gallop for a bit to burn off some steam. When they made camp in the evening, Fluttershy would ask her animal friends to please tell them if somepony approached, and in time, Applejack had learned to trust them and rest easy. Nopony ever came, and whomever or whatever had been following them was never seen again.
The time was passed with stories, and more than once did Applejack let Fluttershy go on even if she’d heard that one particular anecdote before. She’d probably repeated herself a few times, anyway.
“—which is why she really doesn’t like to have her hooves touched,” Fluttershy finished with a little giggle. The pegasus was hovering above and behind her, giving her wings a little exercise. “I guess it’s not cool to be ticklish.”
“Yer kidding,” Applejack barked, leaping the small brook that crossed their path. They had spent a good few minutes refilling their magical bottle yesterday anyway.
“Not at all, but it is very silly. She did let me give her a hoof massage once though, when she’d taken a particularly hard landing,” the pegasus admitted.
“Just the two of you, huh,” Applejack commented. Just as soon as she’d spoke, she saw a shadow in the corner of her eye. Twisting around to try to follow it, she heard a yelp behind her.
The earth mare spun around just in time to see Fluttershy crash to the ground with a sharp cry of pain. Her heart froze solid, and she hoped very much that she would never ever have to hear that sound again. The pegasus’ wings were tangled in some sort of rope with two small balls attached to the ends, and even as the pegasus tried to stand, another set whisked in from out of sight to wrap around her forelegs, sending her down again.
From all around, ponies emerged from the shadows of the forest. Males and females of all colors, pegasi, earth ponies and unicorns all, every one of them garbed in heavy layers of dark-dyed cloth. Most of them had shaggy, unkempt manes, and some were twirling more odd ball-ended ropes in their mouth. Applejack let out a low growl, moving to stand over Fluttershy.
“Just run!” Fluttershy said, grimacing in pain. She lay completely still and unmoving, big teal eyes pleading with her, warring with her words and begging her to stay. It wasn’t as if Applejack herself wasn’t scared out of her mind too, but it mattered none. She didn’t make promises in jest.
“Told you we ain’t splitting up,” Applejack whispered out of the corner of her mouth, keeping her eyes on the approaching ponies.
Two dozen in number, they all halted a respectful distance away save for one. A deep blue earth pony mare of her own size stepped forward, a cruel grin on a weather-worn face framed by a short messy mane of grey. Layers of heavy clothing weighed her down, but she held her head high regardless.
“You’ll be coming with us,” she announced in a coarse voice obviously used to shouting. The surrounding ponies all nodded and grinned, as if though she had said something terribly funny.
“Why don’t you just come on over here and say that again,” Applejack snapped.
“I could. If I were stupid,” she retorted. “Or I could have you trussed up before you even took a single step.”
At her words, two of the ponies wielding the throw-ropes stepped forward, one a unicorn who spun his rope over his head with magic. Behind her, a particularly swarthy earth pony unfurled a net.
Applejack bit back the first reply that sprung to mind, as well as the second and the third. After a moment, she bent low to nuzzle Fluttershy. “You okay, sugar?”
“It hurts a bit,” Fluttershy admitted, swallowing. The pegasus twitched feebly and winced. “I think I’m okay. Please don’t do something silly. Let’s just go with them for now? Please?”
It took some work. Every fiber of Applejack’s being wanted to charge at the stupid blue mare and give her a good thrashing. Only after she’d taken a deep breath, and then another, did she manage to nod without the tension in her muscles causing her pain.
“Right. We’ll come along, then,” she said, the words stinging twice as much as any fight ever could.
That they spoke common—Equestrian, rather—was one thing. That they looked, walked and talked like ponies was another, even if they had manners that wouldn’t be appreciated even at an Apple family reunion at half past midnight, after the cider had come out to play. Despite it all, they certainly weren’t ponies if Applejack had anything to say on that matter. At least, they weren’t very good ponies.
Ponies didn’t abduct other ponies. Ponies didn’t force-march other ponies when it was obvious they were in pain, either. Walking through the deepening dusk of the forest, their captors joked and laughed in low voices whilst their leader walked right in front with her eyes ahead. They didn’t seem to be following any path Applejack could see, but they certainly seemed to know where they were going.
And with every step they took, it was painfully obvious that Fluttershy was avoiding putting weight on her right hindleg. They had bound her wings to her body, but every time she put the leg down, they tried to spread, and she hurried on to the next leg with a little wince.
“Quiet back there!” the leader of the pack snapped. “I won’t warn you again.”
“She’s hurt!” Applejack spat back. “I ain’t expecting you to care, but you can’t be thinkin’—”
“You’re right, I don’t,” the blue mare retorted, setting the others laughing and chuckling all around them. Applejack once again bit back her reply, but her hindlegs itched something fierce. Fluttershy said nothing, the pegasus mare unusually calm even for her as she moved a little closer to lean against Applejack. Their escort didn’t protest this, at least, though the laughter redoubled.
“Then at least tell us who the hay you folk are,” Applejack demanded. Rather than make good on her earlier threat, the blue mare grinned back at her, smug as a cat. They were finally leaving the forest’s grip, entering a large clearing. Here was part of the answer.
On the top of a gently sloping hill, a small village rested, smack dab in the middle of a huge patch of de-forested woodland layered in snow. Rather than hide behind a wall, the low wooden houses were surrounded by a great ring of sharpened wooden stakes, entire trees felled and pointing out at a low angle to deter interlopers. Smoke rose from many of the chimneys, and already Applejack could spot more ponies bustling about up ahead.
“I am Keen Eye, and we are the Split Tree ponies,” the leader of the band said, bringing attention back to herself. The mare had leapt up to stand on top of a tree stump, taking far too much pleasure in this. “And this is Longhall, our home.”
Applejack shrugged and grunted as she shifted her weight a bit to better support Fluttershy. “Great. If you’re waiting for some prize or something, you’ll be waiting for a while yet. Why’re you doin’ all this?”
“We don’t need a reason,” Keen Eye laughed. “Those who travel this road so poorly prepared are practically asking to donate to our cause.”
“Except for the part where you ain’t touched our saddlebags,” Applejack countered, again glancing at Fluttershy. The pegasus smiled back at her, but seemed reluctant to draw attention to herself.
“Well, aren’t you the sharp one,” came the reply with a raised brow.
“First time I’ve heard that one,” Applejack muttered.
“Might be that we were tipped off, little mare—” the blue earth pony continued, and Applejack decided not to interrupt her to comment that that made two firsts in one conversation. “—and you two are to be our salvation. You should feel honored that you get the chance to do so much for Longhall!”
At that, the ragged band of ponies burst into a huge round of cheers. Half of them chanted “Longhall!” while the other half made “Split Tree!” their cry. Applejack was sure she heard one or two “Keen Eye!” in there somewhere, but what they lacked in coordination, they made up for in zeal. Surrounded by dozens of loud, strangely garbed ponies, Applejack and Fluttershy were led past the wooden gates of Longhall.
The cheers redoubled when they entered the streets, a deafening cacophony of rowdy mares and stallions. Unicorns and earth ponies stomped the ground and pegasi criss-crossed the winter sky above them as they were paraded through the town. If Applejack had any hopes of getting any more words out their leader, they were quickly dashed to the ground. Keen Eye left their procession, leaving some other pony to lead them after a few words traded under the cover of the noise.
Large and flat one-story wooden buildings dotted the village, few of them small enough to be simple houses. When they strayed near to one of the other edges, Applejack could see a few small farms through the gaps in the stakes that surrounded them, but other than that and some chickens that ran loose in the streets, it didn’t seem like the type of town to supply itself. Bandits, then.
Finally, the noise died down. By the time they reached the opposite edge of the village, a scant dozen ponies were with them, still with nets and cruel glares at the ready. The new leader of their escort was a yellow pegasus stallion with an eyepatch, and at length he stopped outside of a small wooden building by the town’s edge, a shed-like structure barely bigger than Applejack’s bedroom.
“In!” he grunted, throwing the door open. “Leave your stuff here, and don’t try anything funny. I’ll leave one of my best outside. You make a fuss, and it’s no food for you.”
Fluttershy was already slipping out of her saddlebags and making for the door, the pegasus’ head held low. Quelling a surge of anger, leaving off with a glare at the swarthy pony’s demand, Applejack did the same and followed her inside. She cast their supplies and saddlebags one last glance only to see two earth ponies snatch the bags out of the snow and march off. A second later, the door closed, leaving them in the relative darkness of a room whose only features were a pile of dirty blankets and a single glassless window barely the width of Applejack’s hoof.
“What have we gotten ourselves into?” Fluttershy asked, limping over to lie down on top of the blankets.
“We’ll get through this, but we ain’t gotten ourselves ‘into’ anything. That makes it sound like it’s our fault,” Applejack countered, sinking down atop the coarse fabric next to Fluttershy. “At least they let me keep my hat.”
Fluttershy leaned back against Applejack and tried to close her eyes, tried to sleep. When her leg wouldn’t stop throbbing, she finally rolled over onto her side, only to find that this left her staring out the one thin window of the shack. It was more of a missing piece of wood, really. Now, more than ever, she wanted to spread her wings and fly.
They had been so close. It was absurd to think like that, of course, but perspective was a powerful thing. She still remembered when she had stubbed one of her wings while helping some badgers deep inside Whitetail Woods; it had been a journey of hours to get back home. Then, it had felt like a terribly long time, and when she got back to Ponyville, she’d nearly cried with joy.
Now, they were somewhere inside a forest that might be bigger than Equestria itself, only given a vague promise that they were maybe somewhere nearby to their homeland. Yet for all that they had no guarantees, it had felt like a sure thing, like any hill could hide Ponyville’s village hall and all their friends. Like they were close.
Instead, they got a mockery of everything familiar. The ponies who had captured them were mean and wicked, and in an instant, hope had been replaced with smelly blankets and a twisted leg. Even as she tried to rest for lack of anything better to do, Fluttershy could hear the sounds of ponies walking and talking, laughing and shouting all around them. Among all the things they had seen and heard so far, this was surely the most alien.
“Sugar, please go to sleep,” Applejack said. Fluttershy craned her neck to look up at her, the earth mare sitting with forelegs folded at her side.
“Sorry?” she asked.
“You’re hurt, and there’s no telling what’ll happen next. The way you’re staring a hole in the wall is making me anxious,” Applejack said, leaning down to nuzzle her between the ears. “We ain’t down and out just yet. I’ll keep an eye out. You sleep.”
“I’m not tired,” Fluttershy admitted with a sigh.
“Your wings hurt?” Applejack asked.
“No. Just the leg.”
“Alright. Just lay still and move this here wing outta the way,” she commanded. After a moment’s hesitation, Fluttershy complied, spreading her one free wing. The moment she’d done so, Applejack slipped a gentle hoof underneath to hold it back, her other forehoof going to work on her side. Fluttershy let out another sigh, this one of contentment, as Applejack worked her free hoof in circles.
“I can hold the wing myself,” Fluttershy murmured.
Without comment, Applejack let go and put both her hooves to work, kneading muscles Fluttershy didn’t even know she had. Under her ministrations, the pegasus’ eyes soon slipped shut, and when she opened them again, the light outside had waned and Applejack had moved on to her neck. The ever-sleepier pegasus opened her mouth to say her thanks, but it came out an unintelligible mutter even to herself.
She had the vague sense that she had dreamt. It had been nonsense, neither the nightmares and terrible things that sometimes plagued her when things had been at their worst, nor the decidedly less terrible warmth and familiarity of the more pleasant dreams she sometimes had. All she remembered was something about a clock and a dragon wearing pajamas, and even that was fading rapidly. Why had she awoken again?
Outside, all was dark, and their little jail didn’t have the luxury of any light source. That, and it was cold. Part of it was because she lay atop of the blankets rather than snugly wrapped inside them, but something was missing.
Applejack, of course. Fluttershy was cold because Applejack was missing. She rubbed her bleary eyes with a foreleg and squinted, only now aware of a soft murmur. Applejack was standing by the now-open door talking to somepony else.
“Well, all I’m saying is that I can tell a good operation when I see one, and you’re sure as sugar pulling your weight,” Applejack said. Beyond the door, a thin voice replied, but whatever he said was lost to Fluttershy.
What was Applejack doing? For a brief moment, Fluttershy wondered if she’d gotten it all wrong, if she’d missed something. Was she trying to make nice with them? Why? Fluttershy struggled to stand, and at once regretted it; her leg gave out and she fell back down with a yelp.
Applejack glanced over at her, eyes widening in the sparse moonlight. She tossed a quick smile out the door, which shut quickly thereafter. A second later, Applejack was by her side.
“Oh for the sake of—are you okay? Sugar, talk to me!” she said. Fluttershy swallowed and groaned.
“Sorry, I just forgot about the leg,” she admitted, hanging her head.
“You need to keep off that leg. Can’t you just fly instead? Granted, ain’t much to see in here, so might as well just lay still,” she added with a bemused grin. Fluttershy nodded glumly, repeating herself, twice as earnest.
“Sorry.”
“Well, good news is, they’re haybrained as can be,” Applejack said. She got up, bit down on one of the blankets, and draped it over Fluttershy. Though Fluttershy made an inquisitive noise and looked over at Applejack hoping very much she’d explain, the earth mare took her time in walking around to lie down by her back before continuing.
“They know who we are. Elements and everything. Funny how everypony else seems to care a bunch more about that than we do. I ain’t exactly thinking about that when I’m out bucking apples, and the apples don’t care much either.”
“Oh. Oh goodness. That’s probably, um, not good. I think? What do they even want with us?” Fluttershy asked, half-turning her head so she could see Applejack. She felt a little silly for even wondering what Applejack had been doing, for almost doubting her for a second. Now she could see the plates of food on the floor by the door, clearly the reason why Applejack had been talking with the guard.
“That’s the funny part, if you think stupid is funny,” Applejack said, her mouth worked into a thin line. “Talked to the feller who’s standing guard this night, and he’s about as clever as rock that’s been dropped on its head. Was very keen on telling me all about their great plan to get one-up on the other forest pony tribes and clans.”
“How could we help?” Fluttershy asked, blinking. “They have plenty of pegasi and earth ponies here, and if they wanted us for something, couldn’t they just have asked nicely?”
“Oh it ain’t about help. They’re gonna ‘extort’ Equestria. Get weapons and supplies, they reckon, except they’re never gonna give us up,” she said. “There’s a bunch of tribes around here, and they want to set themselves up as the biggest of the big. Sounds to me like they’re about ready to invade Equestria, too.”
Fluttershy’s eyes widened, her jaw going slack, but the fear was nipped in the bud quite efficiently when Applejack rolled her eyes.
“The town, not all of them. Sug’, they’re a couple’a hundred ponies with nets and whatever. They get close to any of the border forts, they’ll get nothin’ but a clout on the ear and a hoof to the flank. If it weren’t for the whole ‘not gonna give us back’ bit, I’d be happy to sit here and wait and see what happens.”
Slowly finding her breath again, Fluttershy nodded. “Okay, um, I guess that’s good, but this means two things, then.”
“Alright? Shoot.”
“We really are close to Equestria,” Fluttershy said, her heart giving a little leap at that.
“Hadn’t thought of that, but true,” Applejack agreed, giving the door a foul look, as if though she wanted nothing more than to buck it down on the spot. “That’s worth something.”
“And someone told them about us, wanted them to do this,” Fluttershy added.
“She did say they were tipped off. Figure that’s our creepy stalker? Books, sandstorms, and now this?” Applejack puffed out her cheeks and exhaled, making one of Fluttershy’s ears twitch. “Ain’t that just grand. Since these jokers can’t really do much to harm to Equestria, it’s either some silly trick to hurt these forest ponies—”
“—or it’s all just to hurt us,” Fluttershy finished for her, curling up into a tighter ball. “What did we do?”
“Can’t think like that,” Applejack said, resting a foreleg atop her. “I’ll play nice with the guards, see what else I can learn. You just mind your leg and keep your head down unless you’re feeling up to it.”
“I just don’t think we’re going to talk our way out of this one,” Fluttershy admitted.
“Probably not. If’n I thought we could brawl our way through the whole village, I’d be happy to do just that, but there’re so many things we don’t know. Besides, talk might get us something else that’s useful. Maybe something for your leg?”
“I’m fine,” Fluttershy said, one amongst a hundred white little lies that Applejack saw straight through, the farmpony’s jaw set.
“Right. Anyway, like I said, the colt standing guard right now is green as summer grass, so I’ll see what we can get,” she concluded. “If they’re wanting to keep us here, ain’t no sense in treatin’ is so terribly we up and die on the spot, so.”
Fluttershy smiled and shook her head, her mane shifting atop her back.
“What?” Applejack demanded.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to sound—”
“Words without the garnish, sugar.”
Fluttershy came to a dead stop with her mouth hanging open. Applejack was staring back at her, dead serious for a few seconds before one corner of her mouth twitched. Fluttershy giggled, and Applejack joined in, her muted little chortles mixing with hers.
“I’m sorry!” Fluttershy said, lightly poking Applejack in the side. “I just meant to say that it’s a little strange to see you, um—”
“Planning?” Applejack hazarded with a wry grin. “Not barrelling ahead?”
“That’s not what I meant!” Fluttershy poking her again.
“I know, I know,” Applejack retorted with a placating shake of her head. “Don’t get me wrong sugar, I want nothing more’n to just make a fuss, but you need to plan how you’re gonna sow before you go buy the seeds, you know? I know we’re in some wooden shack close to the edge of town, but that’s it.”
“Just let me know what I can do to help,” Fluttershy nodded.
“Of course.”
The lay in silence, Fluttershy staring out the window, and Applejack’s gaze roaming their prison, occasionally leaning out to touch one of the nearby walls. Though it was deep night, and all was quiet except for the pacing of a single pony right outside, sleep came to neither of them. Fluttershy had slumbered the day away, anyway.
“I wonder what Rainbow Dash would have done,” Fluttershy mused.
“Y’mean like, how she’d get out of this mess? Got any ideas?”
“I’m just thinking out loud. I sometimes wonder what she would have done, that’s all,” Fluttershy admitted.
“Sugar, that ain’t news,” Applejack countered. “You thinking about R.D. won’t ever surprise me anymore.”
Fluttershy’s blush was thankfully lost in the darkness. “I guess she would just try to slip out the door first chance she got, if they caught her in the first place.”
Applejack guffawed. “If she was alone, maybe. If she was here with us, or with you anyway, they’d never get that far.”
“Sorry?”
“Second they got within five strides a’ you, she’d go ballistic on them, and you know it,” Applejack said, staring up at the ceiling. “Almost makes me wonder if we shouldn’t have just run for it. Maybe fought’em. Two dozen on two? We can do that.”
“Um,” Fluttershy intoned, having lost track of what exactly she was protesting, but her cheeks stung still, and her heart was fluttering.
“You ain’t noticed?” Applejack asked. “Back before the spell and everything, I was talking to Rainbow Dash about you, and she thought I’d said something that made you sad or whatever. She looked about to fly in my face in half a second.”
“Oh,” was all Fluttershy could say to that. “I guess she’s being a good friend. She would never abandon any of her friends.”
“Sugar, I ain’t talkin’ about no loyalty nonsense. Us six, we’re close and we’d do anything for each other, but she’s downright protective of you.” The farmpony looked almost surprised at that herself, frowning. “Huh. That makes a bunch of sense just thinking about it.”
Fluttershy’s heart made another little leap, and she was just about to reply when they were interrupted by a hammering on the door from outside. “Keep it down in there!” a stallion’s voice snapped.
Applejack and Fluttershy exchanged glances in the darkness, and the smile died on the pegasus’ lips.
Fluttershy had been the first one to wake, mostly because it was hard to find sleep with her leg constantly throbbing. If anything, it was getting worse. The second the light had begun spilling in through the cracked boards, she’d given up. She lay still for the painfully long minutes until her friend awoke, and when the door opened once more, sunlight streaming in, it was all Fluttershy could do to try to remember to lay still and not hurt her leg any worse. Applejack was up and in front of her moments later when a purple pegasus stuck his head inside and glanced skeptically at their untouched food.
“What’s the matter, pea paste and corn not good enough for you soft ponies?” he asked. Fluttershy was halfway to a protest, her stomach rumbling ominously.
“We’ll eat whenever we want,” Applejack countered with a scowl. “Maybe you’re gonna offer to brush our manes next?”
The large stallion shrugged. “Not like I care. Got told to make sure you were alive and not trying something funny.” With that, he made to close the door, but Applejack was faster, jamming a hoof in there to stop him. A rather terrible and pregnant silence ensued, only the snout and one eye of the guard-stallion visible through the crack in the door.
“Should I be raising the alarm?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
“Fluttershy’s hurt. You idiots hurt her leg, and if you’re aiming to keep us here for a long while, you’d best fetch your doctor,” Applejack said, turning to look over her shoulders at Fluttershy, who smiled back.
“We don’t have any ‘doctors’,” the stallion retorted. “We take care of ourselves.”
“Then what in the hay do you do when you’re hurt?” Applejack replied. Their guard sighed and relaxed his grip on the door a bit.
“You let your body take care of itself, but if you soft city ponies can’t handle that, I’ll get you some trifleleaf if it’ll shut you up,” he said. “We give it to our foals. Now be quiet and don’t make a fuss.”
Once the door had closed, the farmpony let out a long sigh. “I hope it’s just sprained. I ain’t gonna much trust their idea of dealing with injuries when I already saw at least two stallions with eyepatches and a three-legged mare,” she grumbled. “You know of this leaf?”
“Um, maybe they have another name for it? I’ve never heard of a herb by that name, but it could be slumberleaf. It’s just a stronger chamomile. I grow it in my garden, and Granny Smith once asked me for some when her hip was acting up.”
“I saw some slumberleaf bushes a few days ago,” she continued. “It’s one of the few plants that survive the winter. The only other one I’ve seen here is wrackweed, and all that will do is make you very sick. Unless you’re a bunny. They like the pretty red and yellow stems, and it doesn’t hurt them.”
Applejack raised a brow, causing Fluttershy to flush. “I got a little carried away. Sorry.”
“Don’t know much about weeds that aren’t the kind I don’t want in my orchard,” Applejack admitted. “But if it’ll help you sleep, that’s good.”
They had barely the time to eat what little food they’d been given the last day before the door opened again. Without comment, the same purple pegasus flung a small pouch past the threshold and closed the door before the pouch had even landed. With expert precision, the burlap container landed atop Fluttershy’s plate, crushing what little of the corn paste she hadn’t yet eaten.
“Thanks a lot,” Applejack grumbled with a glare at the door.
“I’ll be very sleepy once I eat them,” Fluttershy said, grabbing the pouch in her mouth before hobbling over to the blankets. “Um, are you sure this is a good idea? Will you be okay alone? Usually I crush them and mix them with something to make them weaker, but all we have are the leaves.”
“Don’t like it too much, having you down and out,” Applejack said. “But if your leg is bad anyway, we’re stuck here for the time being, and if you’re hurting, I’ll manage. I’ll do some thinking instead. Go to bed, sugarcube.”
Fluttershy fished a few of the leaves out of the bag with her tongue and swallowed. She knew the leaves would dull the pain and her mind both, but so long as Applejack kept watch, she would be safe. In a village full of ponies, she had only a single friend, but that was enough. Within a minute, she felt a weight settle down over her. She closed her eyes and pretended sky blue feathers were resting atop her, and that thought more than anything brought her peace as she fell asleep again.
The world was as thick and heavy as the vegetable paste she must have eaten at some point. With one eye open, Fluttershy could see two empty plates next to the bed of blankets, and she very much doubted Applejack would have eaten her food. She giggled at the thought. Applejack was the most dependable of ponies, she just had no recollection of ever eating. She tried to move her head, but it was far, far too much effort.
Applejack hadn’t noticed her stirring. She should wake, she knew, but there was precious little point. Her leg still hurt, a dull ache, now, but that wasn’t why she reached out and chewed down another few of the sleep-inducing leaves. When she slept, she dreamt, and that, none could take away from her. No walls could steal away the freedom that came with sleep.
Time lost meaning. The leaves in the bag dwindled, and the belief that they’d find a way out shrunk with it. She drank, she ate, and she slept. When she awoke it was by necessity, and she would find Applejack either by the door, or watching her in silence. The sun rose and set, and entire days disappeared where absolutely nothing happened. Every now and then she was lucid enough to trade words with Applejack, but they were gone the second she fell asleep again.
Again she’d awoken to a noise. Applejack stood by the door talking to somebody Fluttershy couldn’t see about something she couldn’t hear. She had barely entertained the thought of going back to sleep before she was gone. When her eyes fluttered open again, it was day. Her mouth was dry, and there was a bowl of water nearby. Applejack was pacing, looking particularly grim.
“Um, Applejack?” she said, her voice hoarse. “May I have some water, please?”
“Oh. Mornin’,” Applejack said, stopping on the spot. “Right, just lie still and I’ll fix. How’re you feeling?”
Fluttershy experimentally shifted her right hindleg, immediately regretting it. Applejack needed no further answer, shaking her head as she nudged the water bowl closer. Fluttershy drank deep whilst the earth mare spoke.
“Think you can sleep without the leaves?” she asked. “All the times I’ve tried talking to you, you ain’t really been there. It’s like trying to wake up Rainbow Dash early in the morning.”
“I’m sure it’s not broken. It’s a little better, honest, and it won’t hurt if I don’t put weight on it,” Fluttershy said. “Still, um, I don’t mind the leaves.”
Applejack squinted, and Fluttershy shrank back on reflex. “You sure these things are good for you?” she asked.
Fluttershy sighed and ground her head into the blankets. Her eyes had been almost painfully dry a minute ago, but that was no longer a problem. She swallowed and tried to calm herself to little effect.
“It’s not the leaves,” she said with the smallest of trembles in her voice. “I just don’t like this at all.”
“I ain’t exactly too happy with being stuck here either,” Applejack shrugged.
“No, I—I mean, being awake. Everything. We were so close, but we really don’t have a plan, do we?”
“Aw sugar,” Applejack muttered, moving closer. “We’ll get through this—”
“No!” Fluttershy cried, halting the earth mare in her tracks. “I don’t see how you can even say that! We don’t have a plan. We’re going to be stuck here forever, and we’ll never get home. I’ll never get to see anypony ever again. I’ll never get to see Rainbow Dash and—” she puffed out her cheeks and exhaled slowly, lowering her voice to a mutter. “I’m really sorry. I know you probably feel the same. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to take another nap. I don’t feel so good.”
Applejack stood still in the middle of the room, staring at her. Unwavering, she rolled her jaw and nodded. It was impossible to tell what went on behind those green eyes, but something passed over her face before she mouthed a quiet “okay”.
Fluttershy turned away and shut her eyes tight, wishing she could take back her childish little outburst, but she didn’t even know where to begin. Applejack didn’t make a single sound. Even without any of the green leaves, Fluttershy was fast asleep within minutes.
“—much of a favor.”
Fluttershy perked an ear. It was dark out, and once more, Applejack stood in the doorway. She hadn’t noticed that she was awake, that much was obvious, but Fluttershy recognized the thin voice of the night guard Applejack had mentioned before.
“Don’t know if I trust you. I mean, why should I?” the voice said.
“Listen, I talked to one of your friends, and they said you don’t have any doctors here. I don’t know if that’s because you’re just plain silly or if there’s a reason for it, but I’m a doctor. And I need some, uh, healing weeds. Next time you’re out in the forest, see if you can find some plants with red and yellow stems for me, okay? Don’t have to tell the others about it, it’s just to help my friend’s leg, alright?”
What would Applejack need wrackweed for? When the door closed and the earth mare approached, Fluttershy shook off the dregs of sleep and hoisted herself up to sit.
“Um, you do know that wrackweed isn’t a healing herb?” Fluttershy asked. “It’s quite painful.”
Applejack made no reply until she’d sat down in front of her, resting a hoof on her flank and lowering her voice. “I know, sugar. But if he didn’t protest, it’s because he doesn’t know.”
“What are you going to do with it? The only thing I can think of is if somepony’s eaten something they shouldn’t. It’s very useful for, um,” Fluttershy paused to rub at her eyes. “It’ll make you throw up.”
“I figured. I’m gonna eat’em.”
Fluttershy blinked. “Applejack? I don’t think you’re listening to me.”
“Here’s what I’m thinking, sugar. They’re watching this shed well, and the reason they’re not stowing us away in some cellar or other is because there are a lot of ponies around. That, or they don’t have cellars here, heck if I know. I could buck a hole in this wall in less than a minute, but it’d be pointless.”
“Okay?” Fluttershy said.
“So we need to make sure we’re alone. I can’t think of no other reason that they’d leave this place unguarded than if something big was up. Like one of us being sick or something. They need us, remember?”
“But you won’t be able to kick a hole in the wall if you’ve eaten wrackweed,” Fluttershy protested. “It leaves you weak, just like being sick does.”
“You got a better plan?” Applejack asked.
Fluttershy slumped and shook her head. Plans. Hope. It was hard to hold on to those words. “I don’t,” she admitted as she lay down again.
“You want to get out of here, we gotta take some chances,” Applejack grumbled, and while the words were true enough, the tone stung. She was exasperated with her. Tired of her. It was just another reason to go back to sleep.
“Fluttershy?”
She pinched her eyes shut and willed the world to drop away, and a moment later, she heard the rustle of blankets as Applejack lay down and got comfortable next to her. The seconds seemed to stretch on forever, and she imagined that she could see the stars themselves give up and move out of sheer restlessness before the soft sounds of Applejack’s tell-tale snoring filled the room. It was almost too easy to snake a hoof over her sleeping form and snag the bag of leaves.
Two, maybe three leaves would be good to give a pony rest from her pains. She wasn’t quite sure how many was needed to make a pony stop being silly and quell her fears, so she didn’t even bother counting.
Applejack voice echoed, and the world swam, refusing to come into focus. The waking haze wouldn’t end, leaving Fluttershy stuck in the confusion of the first second of morning. The orange mare was speaking to her, but where some words were syrupy, others were greased lightning speeding past her. Fluttershy’s eyelids were reluctant to give up more than a crack, but she saw a bundle of plants over by the door. Where the rest of the world was indistinct and hazy, the red and yellow stems were clear. Something made of glass, something Fluttershy knew she should recognize lay next to them.
“Consarn it, Fluttershy,” Applejack sighed. That got through, at least.
“Sorry,” Fluttershy mumbled. “I just need to rest a bit.” A long blink stretched on forever, but her friend hadn’t moved an inch.
“—need you to be ready. They’re having some sort of party tonight.” Applejack groaned. “Are you even awake?”
Fluttershy nodded, just like Applejack had asked her to. That seemed to satisfy her, and the pegasus took that as an incentive to go back to sleep. Back to Ponyville. A moment ago, Rainbow Dash had defended her from a rogue corn cob monster, but it didn’t sit right with her. Shaking her head the tiniest of fractions to rearrange her thoughts, she soon stood shoulder to shoulder with Dash as they prepared to save Ponyville from an army of peas.
The peas fought back tooth and claw. It was rather impressive given that they possessed neither, but the giant green balls marched on the two pegasi nevertheless. Fluttershy felt Dash’s wing brush against hers. They glanced over at each other, and while Fluttershy had no idea what her own face showed, Dash was grinning. Those sparkling eyes told her all would be well, that everything would work out.
Until the peas started dancing. Heavy thumps shook the ground as the spherical menaces bounced in tune to an unheard beat. Fluttershy’s entire body shook, and it took far, far too long for her to realize it had nothing to do with peas or any other monstrous vegetable. Somepony was jostling her.
“The party’s well and truly underway now,” Rainbow Dash said with Applejack’s voice. The vague pony-shape above was still prodding her, urging her to wake. Fluttershy didn’t bother fully opening her eyes to dispel the illusion. Through half-lidded eyes, the fruit juice the earth mare hadn’t quite gotten out of her mane became a full spectrum of colors. In the darkness, her back hid wings. She could pretend for a moment that she was with Rainbow Dash. The brash flier was trying to wake her for whatever reason.
Maybe she’d overslept? She was late for Rainbow Dash’s weekly flight practice? No, of course not. She usually had her practice after she woke up, and that was late in the day by Fluttershy’s standards. She knew this. Rather, she should know, but it had been so long, now.
And it would be longer still if they didn’t do something. Rainbow Dash leaned down over her and squinted, her breath hot on her face.
It would be forever, in fact, unless they got out of here. She’d never see her again.
“I’ll do it,” Fluttershy murmured, rubbing her eyes to send the mist packing. She could hear what had given her such odd dreams, now. Drums. Cheers. Song. It was late afternoon outside, and the ponies of the village were having a party. It was the perfect opportunity.
Applejack raised a brow. “Pardon?”
“I’ll eat the wrackweed. They know I’m weak, and it makes more sense. Do you think you can carry me?”
“No way, no how,” Applejack said. “I ain’t watching you do that. You said the stuff’s painful.”
“So you’re going to make me watch you do it? I also said that you won’t be able to kick down a wall, much less run, if you eat it,” Fluttershy said, sitting up. She stared straight at Applejack, unblinking and unwavering. “If we have to make it absolutely convincing, it has to be me. It’s not very dangerous. Just uncomfortable.”
Applejack’s jaw hung slack. For the longest while, the drums and songs in the far distance were the only sounds in the room.
“If you’re—”
“I’m sure,” Fluttershy affirmed with a glare.
Applejack sighed and nodded, trotting over to the other corner of the room to pick the brightly colored roots up with her lips, careful—and rightly so—not to bite down on the stems. She hesitated only for the barest of moments before giving them over to Fluttershy, but the pegasus mare wasted no time in biting down on the bittersweet roots. Her wings twitched involuntarily as she forced herself to chew and swallow them with a grimace born not of their taste, but from knowing what they’d bring on.
Her stomach clenched even as she swallowed. Applejack gave a sympathetic wince to go along with hers. Ten seconds later, she couldn’t stop swallowing spittle.
“Should’ve been me,” Applejack muttered. “Alright. Let’s hope that they’re all over and enjoying the party or whatever’s going on.”
Applejack trotted over to the door and knocked. When she got no reply, she hammered twice as hard with both her forehooves.
“Quiet down in there! Bad enough I’m stuck here today”, came the rather grumpy reply.
Fluttershy swallowed again. Her mouth was beginning to fill up with spit.
“No, you oaf, it’s my friend! She’s hurt bad!” Applejack snapped, casting a quick glance over at Fluttershy that the pegasus barely caught. In the corner of her eye, she saw Applejack stash something in her tail.
“Well, fortunate that we got a doctor then,” the stallion on the other side of the door retorted. “Oh. That’s you. No, I’ve got strict orders to keep the door shut. Keen Eye didn’t like hearing that I’ve been talking to—”
Fluttershy threw up. She lay completely still trying to keep her noise to a minimum, trying her very best not to get sick on all the blankets—the only thing they had in here. The talk stopped, and for a second, absolutely nothing happened, followed by the frantic jangling of keys. Fluttershy shivered in the draft that followed the door’s opening. The purple pegasus outside stuck his head inside and stared with wide eyes at the mess.
“Well don’t just stand there like a lemon!” Applejack snapped. “Get somepony, anypony!”
“I—I have orders—”
“And a lot of good they’ll do if she ain’t gonna last the night! Get. Help!” Applejack bellowed.
Suddenly, the pegasus guard couldn’t close the door fast enough. A clatter of metal and a resounding click of the door’s lock preceded a rapid but receding sound of hooves that quickly became drowned out by the distant drums. Fluttershy coughed and shook. It was a blessed few seconds of silence before one of the walls exploded.
Splinters flew everywhere as Applejack braced herself against the floor and threw her hindlegs against the far wall of their prison, each and every time knocking more and more of the wood away. In a scant dozen rapid slams of her hooves, the short wall opposite of their sleeping nook was all but gone. A second later, Applejack was lowering herself down by her side.
“Alright then. Hold on,” she said, working herself in under Fluttershy so she’d lay atop. “You grab on to my neck and you hold on like you ain’t never held on before, sugar.”
And so Fluttershy did. Still tired and with her tummy aching terribly, she wrapped her forelegs around Applejack’s neck and rested her head atop hers. Applejack gingerly stepped out through the hole she’d made, taking great care to not scrape Fluttershy up against the splintered wood. The second they were clear, Applejack cast a quick glance about, and Fluttershy did the same. With nopony in sight, the last of the tenderness the earth pony had to spare left her. Fluttershy yelped as Applejack lowered her head and ran.
She put all her efforts into keeping from being sick again, and it was barely enough. While she’d certainly done her share of galloping over the years, never had Fluttershy moved like this. Applejack ran like a mare possessed, her hoofbeats a low constant rumble of thunder as she raced between the few large buildings that separated them from the edge of the village. She jumped a low fence, and then another, and it was all Fluttershy could do to hold her silence and keep from crying out.
The world around her was a blur. They rounded a corner, and Fluttershy’s brain kept going straight ahead. She tried closing her eyes, but it only made things worse. Just as they came into view of the the felled, sharpened trees that warded the town, the alarm was raised. The faint sounds of music stopped abruptly, and gruff voices pierced the night.
Applejack wasn’t stopping. If anything, she was speeding up. Fluttershy’s breath caught, helpless as a passenger while Applejack ran up the stakes, treating them like a bridge with no end, a ramp. Her hooves made loud impacts against the wood and her breathing was laboured as she climbed their steep angle. Fluttershy hazarded a peek over her friend’s side; the ground was falling away rapidly, the hill upon which the village was built dropping off while the stakes went up and up. The drop was ten paces, then twenty and rising.
“Spread your wings!” Applejack yelled.
Fluttershy wanted to cry that she couldn’t. She hadn’t taken to the air in over a week. Her wings were tattered shadows of their usual selves, a neglected and pitiful sight. She was weak, as was her grip. It would never work, and the fear had her wings pinned to her side so tight, it was hard to even breathe. There were a million ways in which this would fail, but she refused to admit it.
Applejack didn’t slow down for a second. She sprang from the tallest tip of the fortifications with all her might, launching herself into the air. No doubt, no question. She was waiting for Fluttershy to do her part, just like Rainbow Dash was waiting for her to come back home—something she knew despite not knowing why. Fluttershy spread her wings.
And cried out in pain when the air hungrily tore at them.
“We’re too heavy!” Fluttershy called. Below, the ground was rapidly closing in on them, a snowy field of tree stumps closing in on them with frightening speed. Fluttershy stole a quick glance behind and above, and already she could see the shapes of pegasi taking to the air looking for them. One nearby pegasus mare was already in pursuit.
Applejack said nothing, but Fluttershy could feel her every muscle tense below her as the pegasus’ grip threatened to slip. With a wordless cry, Fluttershy held on to Applejack for dear life and gave her wings a sharper angle. It was all she could think of, letting them pick up a little speed before levelling their descent. The ground loomed closer still, the rush of air a roar in her ears, and Applejack yelped when she had to pull her legs to avoid having them smashed against a tree stump. With the last of her strength, Fluttershy gritted her teeth and held her wings steady, ignoring the way her muscles complained—and just like that, it was over. The pegasus slumped as Applejack’s legs took over again.
They barely lost any speed when Fluttershy folded her aching wings. Applejack kicked up snow as she dodged stumps, racing across the deforested field with her sweat-streaked face set in a snarl. The treeline loomed ahead, the relative safety of the dense forest closing rapidly.
“Hold on sugar,” she growled, gritting her teeth. Fluttershy didn’t even dare look behind them, but she could hear the distant flap of wings too numerous to be counted. The trees towered above them now, and the moon was swallowed up by dark treetops. A hundred paces, perhaps. A net whizzed past. Halfway there, one of the rope-and-balls clipped one of Fluttershy’s ears. She closed her eyes and clung to Applejack’s neck so hard she could feel her heartbeat.
The sounds dropped away. The world beneath her eyelids darkened further, and all of a sudden, the sounds of pursuit were muted and distant. Applejack neither rested nor slowed, her breathing loud but steady. When Fluttershy dared peek from underneath the veil of her own mane, she thought for a second she had gone blind. It took far, far too long for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.
Under the canopy of the dense forest, even the moon’s light was scarce. Frozen ground passed by almost too quick for her to see, thick pine trunks zooming by by the dozen. Still Applejack ran. Once, she nearly stumbled on a fallen log hiding in the dark, but she righted herself and ran on without a care. Fluttershy thought she spotted shapes between the branches that hid them, but eventually, it had been a very long time since last she’d seen or even heard anything of their pursuers.
“Applejack,” Fluttershy said. She was almost amazed that was able to speak at all. Her voice was hoarse, and her forelegs ached.
“Just hold on,” Applejack grunted amidst ragged breaths.
“I can’t! I think they’re gone,” she protested. “I’m going to fall off.”
Applejack did not stop. What she did was slow down until she was moving at an easier trot. Fluttershy didn’t have it in her to complain any more, letting herself go limp atop her friend and finally easing her grip. She lay there listening to Applejack take huge gulps of air, trying to think of something to say while her friend caught her breath.
Finally, Applejack slumped to the ground. She didn’t lie down so much as she fell on purpose, coming to half-lean against a particularly large tree. Fluttershy barely had the time to lift off, numb wings saving her from going with down Applejack. Instead, she landed gingerly at her side, hopping over on three legs to nuzzle her mane.
“Well, that’ll do for a workout,” Applejack said, bursting into laughter. “First thing I’m gonna do when we get back is challenge Rainbow Dash to another race. She can use her wings for all I care.”
Fluttershy opened her mouth, shut it again, and repeated this at least three more times before she finally found a little giggle of her own.
“Sorry about that,” Applejack added. She fixed Fluttershy with one of her eyes, looking none too pleased. “Didn’t really know what to expect once we were out. How’re your wings?”
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” Fluttershy admitted, sighing and once more burying her face in Applejack’s mane. She’d half a mind to go to sleep right like this. “I should have taken better care of myself. That shouldn’t have been a problem.”
Applejack shrugged. “Don’t matter now then. I’ll say this; lying and pretending to be friends with those no-good ponies, that was easier’n you’d think, but I don’t ever want to have to see you hurting yourself like that again.”
“It’s okay. I mean, I think I’m okay. My tummy is, anyway,” Fluttershy answered, pulling back to let Applejack have some space. Ever so carefully, she touched down with her bad leg. “The leg doesn’t hurt as much, either, unless I lean on it. I think I can walk.”
“Alright, but we really should move on,” Applejack said, a grin slowly spreading across her face. “But hey, I told you I’d carry you if I had to, didn’t I? Sure I said something like that way back.” While Fluttershy giggled at that, Applejack craned her neck back to retrieve something from her tail. Fluttershy hadn’t noticed she’d had her tail twisted around something all the while as they ran, but now Applejack fished an ornate bottle from the blonde ponytail.
“The bottle!” Fluttershy gasped. “How did you get that? I thought they had taken all our things for sure.”
“Oh, guess you were asleep. Told’em it was medicine or whatever, I forget exactly what. They wouldn’t give us any of the other stuff, and certainly not the crystals on account of them being all magical and shiny, but a bottle? Where’s the harm in that, right?” Applejack asked, grinning as she pulled off the stopper and drank deeply. When she’d had her fill, she passed it over to Fluttershy, who gratefully accepted it.
“Figured if it’s all fancy and can hold whatever, it might come in handy. Wish we had the map, though. We’re back to wandering blind, even if we’re close,” she added.
“Hm?” Fluttershy intoned, gently putting the bottle down on the ground and wiping her muzzle. “Oh, no. I mean, we can still see the sun. We know we’re north of the path, and we were heading for a crossroads, so we just have to head east until we hit the path that goes to the Badlands.”
“Oh. Huh, guess you’re right,” Applejack agreed. “Alright, then we just need to keep ahead of Keen Eye and her merry band of bandit ponies, I suppose. Promise you one thing, sugar. If you can’t keep up, I’ll carry you.”
It had been an offer and a promise given with a smile. All the same, Fluttershy took one more swig of water before passing the bottle back to Applejack. She tested her leg again, re-furled her wings while ignoring how they ached, and nodded, all before giving her head a toss so her mane’d lie right.
“You won’t have to,” she promised, smiling back. “We’re almost home.”
Their pursuers did not give up quite so easily. The first few days were the hardest. Fluttershy asked every animal that crossed their path to help them out, begged favors of every critter that had not yet flown south or gone into hibernation. Help us, she said, and help they did. Clever foxes and swift snow leopards shadowed their eastwards run while the few birds who wintered here kept watch from the sky. Every so often, one of her little friends would dart to their side and change their course. A fox showed them a path through a mass of briars, and a little owl eagerly showed them where to cross a river much wide for Fluttershy to carry them across in her state.
Every night, they slept with one eye open, and every day, they moved from before sunrise to well past sunset.
“Remember when a day’s worth of moving at a brisk canter used to be hard?” Applejack asked, and Fluttershy had to admit it was a distant memory. Even after their imprisonment, her weakest was still enough in spades. Perhaps it was the promise of home, that iron resolve that fed them most of their strength, but she knew she hadn’t always been so toned, either, and she was grateful for it. Soon, the days melted away at a steady pace that ate ground.
They counted ten days, and then another set of ten. Three weeks passed by, and they saw no more of Keen Eye and her band. Fluttershy once joked that they were almost forest ponies themselves by now. Her leg had healed, and though they hardly ate well, they were used to the Emerald Expanse’s meager winter fare by now. They talked and they laughed during the days, and shared stories at night as they always had. Sure, Fluttershy had nights where she was beset by doubt, and Applejack sometimes decided she didn’t really want to tell a story from Sweet Apple Acres after all, but in those moments, they had one another.
And every night when she closed her eyes, Fluttershy wondered if she still had Rainbow Dash. Her worries had been quelled one by one, and on those nights where she curled up next to Applejack to try to ward off the night’s chill, she had to wonder if Rainbow Dash would even remember her. She couldn’t tell if she herself had changed like she once had wanted to, but she desperately hoped that Dash hadn’t. She wanted nothing more than to fly back into Ponyville and ask Rainbow Dash if she’d done her daily practice routine yet, and if she minded if Fluttershy watched as she always had.
It was a day like any other, one that began with melted snow-water and a trot that gave way to a canter across the forest’s floor, when the forest ended.
It was a rather short end, granted. The trees ended abruptly to give way to a road crossing their path. It was neither cobbled nor paved, more of a forest path given generous width, and twenty strides opposite of where they stood, the forest continued on as if though it had never been broken. The road cut through, going north and south, giving the ponies the first clear view of the sky they’d had in a long while.
“Think this is it?” Applejack asked, but Fluttershy didn’t need to answer. The earth mare was grinning broadly. The forest ponies didn’t use roads, and they had beelined straight east. Of course this was it. What was more, Fluttershy could see a faint red far to their north.
“I don’t think the Badlands are far off,” she said, her wings spreading of their own accord. “The map was right!” she cried, yelping right after as Applejack tackled her in a fierce hug. She giggled madly and hugged back as hard as she dared. “We did it!” she said, her heart aflutter. Applejack just laughed, tears in her eyes.
“Enough of that,” a voice commented in a low hiss.
“Your case is just, and your worries not inconsequential,” Luna declared. “We hope that you will accept the court’s sympathies, and rest assured knowing that we shall see to it that you have all you need for your new barn.”
“Thank you, princess, thank you,” the earth pony stallion said, bowing as he retreated. It looked as if though he’d keep repeating himself all the way down the long throne room hall, but he was interrupted by the loud brass blare of trumpets.
“It is six o’ clock, and the Day Court is concluded!” one of the many guardponies about the room called, much to the disappointment of the pegasi, unicorns and earth ponies about the room. Twilight had seen it dozens of times before. From her spot near the royal throne upon which Luna sat, the same scene played itself out again, nobleponies, sales clerks and farmers all muttering amongst themselves. Twilight counted the seconds until the guard raised his voice again.
“The Night Court will open in four hours! Cases to be brought before the Princess Luna, Ruler of the Night, may be presented then!”
“Meaning four hours to take a bath, have supper and grab a short nap,” Luna muttered as they together watched the ponies file out of the room. In a matter of minutes, the din died down, and soon they were the room’s only occupants save for a token pair of white-coated guards. The throne room, as with every other room in the castle, was infinitely too large in Celestia’s absence. With their audience gone, Luna stretched and yawned.
“We do appreciate your assistance, Twilight Sparkle. Your work in keeping matters of law and trade organized has been very useful,” the princess said. Twilight’s ear twitched. The princess usually needed a few minute to re-adjust to normal conversational volumes.
“But?” she replied. There was a follow-up. Luna may be hard to read, but the words were not. She’d lived in the palace at Luna’s grace for weeks now, snow covering Canterlot’s every street and roof. “If you want me to leave, I understand,” she said, lowering her gaze to the floor.
“That was not at all our point,” Luna said. “We are glad for the company, and our sister sleeps better when you are around.”
“You don’t have to say that,” Twilight muttered, swallowing.
“It’s not flattery, it’s truth. Last time you fell asleep by her side—”
“I’m really, really sorry about that,” Twilight interrupted, her cheeks flushing. Luna frowned, apparently more annoyed at the interruption than that very embarrassing fact.
“As we were saying, last time, we noticed a difference. Maybe politeness or decorum prevents you from observing or agreeing, but it’s true.”
Twilight said nothing. She’d had her own quarters assigned ever since she asked if she could stay, but she spent the majority of her time in the royal bedchambers with Celestia, be it reading, thinking, penning several letters a day to her friends back in Ponyville—or sleeping.
Luna rose to stand, and without further comment, walked towards one of the side doors of the throne room, one of the myriad of doors that led to hallways primarily used by servants to move about the castle unseen.
“But?” Twilight repeated, trotting after her. “You were going to say something.”
“We intended to, at that,” Luna acquiesced, giving her a long look before opening the door ahead of them with a brief glimmer of magic. “You treat this as penance.”
“Sorry?” Twilight asked. “Penance?”
“You are here in Canterlot because of guilt. You seek to atone when you have done no wrong, and your friends need you,” the princess said.
“I didn’t mean to do anything wrong,” Twilight said. “It wasn’t on purpose, but it was because of me.”
“Which still does not place you in a situation where you are at fault,” Luna countered, halting in the narrow halfway and turning around on the plush carpet to face her.
Twilight tried her hardest to let that logic rule her, to agree and mean it, but it was no use. All the lessons she had learned about friendship worked against her. On matters of feelings, friendships, all the things that dealt with relationships, logic failed. Cold words didn’t matter when she still remembered Celestia’s every word that night, when she could still feel her warmth upon her coat when she closed her eyes—only to have it freeze when she saw the princess in her unending slumber.
“Have you—” Twilight tried, pausing to clear her throat. Her voice threatened to crack, and she couldn’t peel her eyes off the ground. “Have you ever heard that something isn’t your fault, but failed to believe them? Rationally, you know they’re right, but it just doesn’t work?”
Luna laughed. It was a short burst, a bark of a chuckle filled with disbelief and not a little pain.
“Twilight Sparkle, you forget who you are talking to. Yes, we have. We live with the biggest single regret of all ponies in Equestria, we should think, and every morning after we were freed from the nightmare, our sister greeted us with forgiveness is in her eyes.”
“Sorry,” Twilight sighed.
“Think nothing of it. We have spent the better part of a year thinking about it, and we are stronger for it. All we wish is for you to understand that you do not have to be here.”
“But if I want to?”
“Then you are welcome to stay for as long as you would like,” Luna concluded, walking onwards. Twilight followed still. It seemed Luna had the same destination in mind as her. In silence they walked through the twists and turns of the palace until finally, Luna opened an anonymous door, depositing them in the middle of a wide and lavishly decorated marble hallway. As one, they made for a large set of golden doors emblazoned with a shining sun.
Little had changed inside Celestia’s bedchambers. A bowl of fresh fruit paste and water stood by her bedside, but the pastel-maned alicorn lay exactly as she had for weeks on end, wings folded and chest barely moving with breath. Luna halted by the bedside, but did not protest when Twilight leapt onto the soft mattress to sit by Celestia’s side.
“If you wish, I very much doubt sister would mind should you move all your effects and stay here,” Luna commented, reaching out to rest a hoof on the slumbering princess’ flank.
“I don’t have a lot of things except my toothbrush and the books Rarity brought from the library last time she came to visit,” Twilight replied. “I’ve read them before, anyway.”
“Yet still you prefer to keep to your own chambers? Or rather, try?” Luna asked with a wry smile.
“It wouldn’t be proper! I thought you cared about those things more than I did,” Twilight said, shaking her head.
“Us maintaining a dignified front doesn’t mean we should mind this. You care about her, and you know she cares about you too.”
“Of course I do,” Twilight said, leaning against Celestia. Even in her sleep, she felt twice as alive as any other pony, but she had to wonder if she wasn’t a little more quiet, if her breath wasn’t a little more shallow than last week. The clump in her throat only grew.
“And do you love her?”
Twilight closed her eyes and rested her head on Celestia’s body, looking up at Princess Luna. “They’re just words. I know I’m sorry I didn’t talk to her more that night. I’d like to try what she suggested, to see. Does that count? Does it matter?” she asked.
Twilight rubbed at her face. “You said she cares. Present tense. You’re not half as scared as I am,” she muttered. “Do you think she will be okay?”
“We have lived for thousands of years, and the two of us have seen much. If we were to panic blindly every time something happened, we would have lost all the hairs in our mane by now,” Luna said with a snort, but her stoic expression melted away soon after. “But of course we worry.”
The silence held while Twilight listened to the sounds of Celestia’s breath, her own head moving with the soft rises and falls of her chest.
“Has she really never loved somepony before?” she asked.
“She spoke of this to you?” Luna replied, raising a brow.
“A little. She was being vague,” Twilight admitted with a small smile. “Like usual.”
“In the time before our banishment, she took apprentices from time to time. When somepony showed great talent. It was not often. Romantic interest, however, we do not think she ever showed. Still, she has spoken of one pony who courted her, decades or centuries ago.”
“There was somepony?” Twilight asked, breathless. “Did she lie?”
“We said she was courted. It was not mutual,” Luna said, her tone making Twilight’s ears droop. “Our sister is many things, but she is not a liar.”
“Catching up on a thousand years of gossip is slow, if pleasant work,” Luna added, climbing atop the bed and settling down by Celestia’s other side, opposite of Twilight. “Sister would not mind us telling, we think. She spoke of this to us after she showed interest in you.”
“His name was Brighthoof, her last apprentice. He was a unicorn like you, and his love for her was limitless. All our subjects with any sense love our sister, of course, but it ran deeper than that. Sister cherished their bond, and it is not for us to say whether or not it could ever have gone different, but there was one problem, to sister’s eyes. He loved her unconditionally.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Twilight said, tilting her head.
“Absolute, and, more problematically, without question,” Luna clarified.
“I know what the word means,” Twilight grumped.
“And we just gave you the context. He could not find flaws with her. His love for her was for a princess who did not exist, a perfect being that my sister is not. Worse, she could do no wrong in his eyes.”
Twilight shifted. Were she to be honest, it sounded a lot like her up until that one fateful day. Until the wedding. It was easy enough to see in hindsight, but she knew that before she had seen the princess fall, that was her.
Luna rolled her neck, stretching. “We spoke to her about this before we left for the border, and her words made a lot of sense. How can somepony truly love another when they are not ready to see their full being, limitations and all? She could not make him understand this. This is where you are different, she feels. She teaches you, but you teach her as well. That you dare speak up against her is important to her.”
“I don’t, really,” Twilight muttered.
“Then you of course accepted her affection on the spot, as would all sane ponies in your situation?” Luna asked. Twilight opened her mouth, but no sound came out to deny the rhetorical question.
“You rejected her, or rather, told her to wait. It is quite the paradox, but we believe she knew you would, and that it is why she loves you. We are not even entirely convinced she herself was sure until you did not return her love. She is quite complicated, but there is a logic to it.”
Twilight sighed, deflating until she lay over the sleeping princess like a purple mat. “I’m sorry, princess, but this really doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“Nor was it meant to,” Luna shrugged. “You asked a question, and you have your answer.”
“Right,” Twilight said. “So what happened to Brighthoof anyway?”
“Our sister has far too soft a heart, but eventually, she managed to make him understand. Rather, she told the truth, but he failed to accept it. As this was during the eighth or ninth century of our banishment, the prophecy about Nightmare Moon’s return was nearing its conclusion and she was growing desperate. He tried to help.”
“Brighthoof heard that sister had been looking into understanding the Elements better, and that she sought the cradle of the Elements, their birthplace. While our sister has always been a prodigy in all things related to magic, our understanding of the Elements is limited, and it was weaker still before she used them in our banishment.”
“What did he do?” Twilight asked.
“He left Equestria behind. After spending months in the royal archives, he left. Original books and maps were missing, and none of the border crossing posts saw him pass. Sister found a letter where he said he would try to win her love by fulfilling her greatest wish; freeing us from the Nightmare. He vowed to return and win her heart, but he never did.”
The small glade that lay in the nook between the Ponyville brook and the very edge of Whitetail Woods was packed with ponies. On a small, temporary podium, Mayor Mare stood addressing the crowd. If somepony said that every single pony in all of Ponyville attended, none would be surprised to hear it. As if that wasn’t enough, the Apple family members numbered in the dozens, and in the front of the crowd stood a couple—a pegasus and an earth pony who none in Ponyville recognized.
The clouds had been scattered for the occasion, but a thin layer of snow was unavoidable. The ground, the trees and the podium all rested underneath an inch of puffy white snow, as did the two stone markers by the pond at the edge of the clearing. The two inconspicuous rocks stood side by side, simple square stones polished to a mirror sheen bearing neither words nor image.
“We are gathered here today to honor and remember two of Ponyville’s finest citizens,” the mayor began. “Two ponies who have always served as examples for all—”
Rainbow Dash wished she would shut up. She folded her ears and looked away, knowing that if Mayor Mare spoke either of their names, she’d be hard pressed to avoid the impulse to fly up and bite her on the snout. It would be oh so easy, what with she herself being on the front row, shoulder to shoulder with Pinkie Pie, Rarity and Twilight.
“This is stupid,” she muttered.
“Darling, do have some respect,” Rarity hissed.
“Yeah, I bet you’re happy,” she replied. “You wanted this. Or something like this.”
Rarity made no reply, her eyes glistening as they fixed on the air in front of her. It was almost enough to make Rainbow Dash regret her words. Rarity had abandoned her plans for her little memorial moment long ago, but any desire to apologize was drowned in the distraction of Pinkie Pie’s little glances and less-than-subtle pokes.
“What?” Dash whispered.
“You’re being silly. You can say goodbye even if somepony’s coming back, you know,” Pinkie said. Her smile widened, from the subdued little things she wore these days to something a little more—or was that less?—normal. “I say goodbye almost every day!”
“It’s not a funeral, Rainbow,” Twilight added in a murmur.
“Yeah. Sure. It feels like one, that’s all,” Dash admitted, resettling her wings and letting her ears droop. A small sigh worked its way through her body, and she felt the others drawing a little closer the very next second. She didn’t bother pretending she didn’t want that closeness, nor could she find the energy to say her thanks when her friends all leaned against her.
“Besides, maybe we could have a little party for them afterwards?” Pinkie asked. “A teensy-weensy little we-hope-you’re-okay party?”
“Something low-key, perhaps,” Rarity agreed.
“I have to be back in Canterlot by evening, but a little get-together would be nice. Some relief,” Twilight agreed. She sounded weary, tired beyond belief.
Resigned.
Rainbow Dash shrugged the others off. Pinkie squeaked as she fell from her half-hug of Dash, and Rarity and Twilight both backed away with muttered protests. Mayor Mare shot them a harsh glare from the podium even as she kept talking, extolling the virtues of the two ponies who were suddenly her favorite citizens of all time.
“So it is a goodbye. You don’t think they’re coming back,” Dash accused.
“I never said that! I’m just tired, okay? We just have to consider every possibility,” Twilight hissed, glancing about. They were drawing attention now, but Rainbow Dash didn’t care.
“Parties are supposed to be fun,” Pinkie complained. “It’s not a goodbye party!”
“We’ve already discussed this,” Rarity said. “Honestly, why are you being so cross?”
Because it hurt. Because she knew they were coming back, but she couldn’t make them understand. Because everypony in Ponyville knew and loved Fluttershy and Applejack both, and the way they were stood here moping in front of two stupid stones like they were dead already made Rainbow Dash want to scream. And perhaps, just the tiniest bit, because Fluttershy wasn’t theirs to mourn. She was hers to wait for.
“Forget it,” Dash growled, spreading her wings.
“You can’t just—” Rarity began.
Rainbow Dash did. With a takeoff that send the snow whirling, Rainbow Dash left the stupid pretend burial behind, blocking out the surprised and offended gasps and shouts.
Rainbow Dash managed to hold on to her anger for a few hours. It helped that most of that time had been spent sleeping, curled up on a lonely cloud set adrift over Ponyville. She’d already said her piece on the Mayor’s order to keep the skies clear for her stupid little speech thing, so while the other pegasi drafted to help fix the weather in her stead grumbled, none dared disturb the cagey pegasus’ nap.
Which was precisely why she awoke to the soft sounds of music drifting out from Sugarcube Corner below. The sun had began seeking the horizon and the ponies of Ponyville were back in the streets, no longer a ghost town like it’d been when she fell asleep. Foals were playing in the snow, and their laughter mixed with the tunes from the confectionery. Rainbow Dash tried to ignore it all, but the heady scents of sugar, cider and sarsaparilla were too much.
Band-aids were best ripped off quickly anyway. Dash kicked off the cloud and swooped down to land on the stairs, trotting inside before she changed her mind.
“Hi, Dashie!” Pinkie called, meeting her before she’d even crossed the threshold. Of course she would know the second another guest arrived. Sometimes, one had to wonder if she could smell ponies when they drew close.
“Hey guys,” Dash replied, making for the snack table while she looked around. Twilight and Rarity were stood over by two strange ponies—no, those were Fluttershy’s parents. Posey and Surprising Bar or whatever his name was. The Apples were here in force, too. The fact that the snack table was where Pinkie always set it up was the only thing that made this look remotely like a normal party. The music was too quiet. Either that, or Dash just wanted it to be loud enough to blast her thoughts out of her mind.
“I tried something different this time,” Pinkie declared as Rainbow Dash nabbed one of the almost conspicuously normal treats. She gave the yellowish muffin a glare. It couldn’t be that bad if the others were eating them. The tray was nearly empty, and she could see Apple Bloom and Big Mac both eating one each over by the other side of the room.
“They’re vanilla!” Pinkie said.
Dash swallowed the thing in one bite, chewing noisily before swallowing, frowning and nodding, all in short order.
“Huh, they really are. Uh, Pinks? Sorry to break it to you, but that’s not even a little ‘different’. You’ve baked chocolate blueberry pineapple cider muffins.”
“Uh-huh, but I never made vanilla muffins before!” she beamed. “Good, huh? I bet they’d be even better with a dash of hot sauce, or maybe with a caramel filling, or with star fruit, or—”
“Vanilla’s great,” Dash muttered absent-mindedly. Their other two friends were doing a very bad job of trying to hide the fact that they were talking about her, and more than once did she catch Posey and her husband looking her way.
“So, do I have egg on my face or something?” Dash asked.
“—or cheese, or, huh? Nuh-uh!” Pinkie said, licking a hoof before rubbing at Dash’s muzzle. “But you have muffin on your muzzle!”
“Augh, get off me!” Dash groaned, batting her away, flushing as some Apple mare or other passed them by, giggling to herself. “I just wanna know what Twilight and Rarity are up to!”
“Oh, that? That’s probably because Posey and Rising Star told them that they think it’s very sad that Fluttershy gone, and then they started talking about how you might be sweet on her, and a bunch of other things! Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t like to eavesdrop. You never know what’s secret, but some things aren’t really secret not because somepony said something they shouldn’t, but because everypony can see it and then they start talking, and when they ask Pinkie Pie—that’s me—or Rarity about it, then the way they don’t answer is kind of almost a teensy weensy bit of an answer, too.”
Rainbow Dash tested her wings while Pinkie Pie recharged, drawing breath again. It was one of those stupid little reflexes she’d never been able to lose. A split second of a desire to take off. When she’d furled her wings, she shrugged. “Okay.”
“That’s a really silly word,” Pinkie said. “You’re not angry, are you?”
“Nah,” Dash admitted.
“Because I’m really sorry if maybe Rarity and Twilight and I told without telling, I didn’t mean—” Pinkie began, her ears drooping and her entire body sagging. Dash casually plugged her mouth with a hoof and shook her head.
“And I was a hay-brain earlier today, so let’s call it even. Can you turn up the music a bit? This place is too quiet.”
To each side, the dirt road was flanked by the forest that had been the ponies’ home and sustenance for many weeks. All around them, the dark pine trees were speckled with bits of snow, and the greying clouds hung low giving the road the appearance of a tunnel. Far in the distance to the north, Fluttershy could barely make out a change of color. The light at the end of the tunnel was a faint but noticeable tint of red.
And the road was blocked.
It was no real tunnel. They could easily have moved around the pony who stood in their path. He bore a torch for a cutie mark, the pale green unicorn thin—gaunt, even—and he hardly looked the type to run or give chase. His features were sunken, and his brown hair was in tatters, mane frayed and tail drooping listlessly. Fluttershy wanted nothing more than to excuse them, nod politely, and move around him. Maybe she should be thrilled to see another pony on the road. Perhaps he came from Equestria? It would be ever so rude not to greet him, but his eyes frightened her.
Deep-set white eyes with blank irises and a tiny black pupil regarded her. They held her fast, and would not let her move. It took effort just to turn her head and look upon Applejack. The staunch farmpony stood entirely still at her side, a bead of sweat on her brow.
“Um, hello,” Fluttershy said.
“Quite,” the unicorn replied in a voice both tired and weak, halfway between a sigh and a hiss. “This meeting has been a long time coming.”
Fluttershy spread her wings and leaned back an inch, while Applejack gave an outright growl.
“You’re the one that’s been following us and mucking stuff up!” Applejack said.
“I am he.”
“Why? You’re a pony just like us,” Fluttershy said, trying to keep the question out of that second part. He looked so very odd despite the familiar form, and every so often, she could swear he flickered like a candle.
“It’s deeply ironic if you seek pity points because of our mutual heritage. I sought to hurt her through you. I wanted to make her suffer, because it is obvious she is connected to you. By my hoof, an old tome with older ideas found their way to a perfect tool. If she learned you were languishing in a prison so far away, yes, that would hurt her.”
“It was the hardest part by far. A bit of magic to cause a storm, that was an afterthought, and manipulating these simple tribesponies was foal’s play. Three times now, I have underestimated you, but why go through all this when I can go straight to the source?” With painfully slow steps, he began advancing on the pair, sunken eyes locked with theirs, now Fluttershy, now Applejack.
“Who the hay do you think you’re hurtin’? We haven’t done anything to you!” Applejack snapped, lowering her head. Her posturing didn’t cost the unicorn a single step, though his pace was barely a crawl to begin with.
“You? I never cared about you. I think of my beloved Princess Celestia, of course,” he drawled in a sinister whisper. “I gave my life for her, and she repaid me by forgetting about me. Everything, I offered her. Nothing she accepted. I was lost trying to solve her biggest riddle, and my dues are to never know the sun’s kiss again.”
Fluttershy’s jaw fell slack. “You can’t be. You’re—”
“Brighthoof’s been gone for two hundred years,” Applejack said, but the words were tainted by desperation. It was spoken in denial, in futile hope, but the pony that could not be kept advancing. Fluttershy tried to step back, to get away, but just as she sought to move, the unicorn’s horn glowed with a sickly green.
With a groan and a rumble, the very earth itself cracked and moved, grabbing at their hooves and rooting the the two ponies to the ground. Fluttershy tugged and tugged at her legs, but they yielded nothing. Applejack grunted and shifted violently, but not even she could break free.
“I have watched you for so very long,” Brighthoof said, a smile spreading across his face. Soon, it was a grin that stretched his face until his mouth looked ready to devour the rest of his head, an unnatural and maddened thing. “So very long. I sensed your passing when you disturbed my rest beneath the spire, and I have followed, watched and waited. At first I thought you only good for letting Celestia know you were lost as I once was. Perhaps she would remember me if you shared my fate.”
Fluttershy spread her wings and flapped with all her might, but it availed her nothing. Applejack’s breath came ragged whilst she gathered her strength for another pull, but it looked like all she’d do was hurt herself. Exhausted, the pegasus leaned over to nuzzle Applejack’s withers while keeping one eye trained on the inexorably approaching unicorn. He was less than half a dozen strides away now, and for every step he took, the world around them darkened.
“What’re you gonna do, huh?” Applejack asked, sweat dropping from her brow.
“What I will do,” he replied. “Is have my revenge. To watch you succeed where I have failed, to see you reach home where I could not, that will not stand! I will set things right! I am weak, and this form is expiring, but I can take yours. You, I think. She will not see it coming from a simple pony such as yourself. What delicious irony, Element of Honesty.”
Fluttershy shivered. She was light-headed and short of breath, all the tell-tale signs of pure terror threatening to make her entire body lock up. Brighthoof’s eyes were on Applejack now, but the earth mare could not budge. She leaned as far away from him as she could, halfway to sitting on her haunches, but the maddened unicorn drew closer still, picking up speed. The sky was blotted out by his shadow, everything disappearing in the face of that broad grin.
“It is enough to make a dead heart sing,” he exulted, his pearly white teeth the only thing that shone through the darkness. “Thank you.”
She was powerless. She had learned by now she wasn’t weak, and never again would she doubt herself, but right now it wasn’t enough. Fluttershy swallowed her fear, time stretching as she watched the shadow close in on Applejack, and there was nothing she could do. She had no great revelation, her love for her friend couldn’t save her—they were up against simple, directed malice. Simple magic, and she had nothing.
Two strides away, he opened his jaws and let out a foul laugh that went on without end. Before their very eyes, the unicorn dissolved into a grin-bearing mist that launched itself at Applejack. The earth mare cried out as a smoky tendril reached for her mouth, a sound that lanced straight through Fluttershy’s heart.
Simple magic. Fluttershy gasped, a painfully slow thing and a waste of breath. Her neck ached as she twisted around to reach behind Applejack. She spotted a bit of glass peeking out from her tail, uncorking and grabbing the slim flask in her mouth in one swift motion. With all of her remaining strength, she stretched out, nudging Applejack to the side. She gave herself no time to think, leaning in front of her friend with the bottle in her mouth. The bottle set to shaking, rattling against her teeth; the mist tried to veer away, but its course was set.
Immediately, the laugh was replaced with a wail, and the bottle was ripped from her grasp. Fluttershy tried to cover her ears with her hooves, but when that option was denied, she buried her head in Applejack’s mane and pinched her eyes shut. The screeching became an unearthly roar building up to a painful crescendo, and Fluttershy thought her ears would explode—until suddenly, it was over. The darkness lifted and the noise died down in a single instant punctuated by a dull clatter. The earthen grip on her hooves slackened, and when she peered out from around the other side of Applejack’s neck, there was no trace of Brighthoof.
In the middle of the road, the magical bottle lay. Before, no matter how much water they filled it with, it had always remained clear, but now the glass was shadowed and filled with dark smoke. Without a single word, Applejack turned around on the spot, picked up the cork, and stoppered the bottle. Only then did she throw her forelegs around Fluttershy, hugging her tight.
“Thank you, sugar,” Applejack murmured hoarsely into her pink tresses. “Thank you. That looked awful grim for a second. Bless you and your quick thinking.”
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Fluttershy asked, wrapping her legs around Applejack’s neck.
“I’m fine. Thanks to you, again,” Applejack said, letting go of her. Her smile was painted on her face as she glanced at the glass bottle that lay before them, but ever so slowly, the tension drained from the earth mare. “You?”
Fluttershy shuddered. “I’m fine. Just a little scared. How can he be alive after so long?”
“I’m not rightly sure he is,” Applejack countered, giving the bottle a very gentle poke. “And now he’s pickled. I’m starting to like this bottle.”
“Do you think we should bring him?” Fluttershy asked, hesitant to even look at the clouded glass.
“It’s that or bury the thing and forget about him. Gotta say, that’s sounding mighty tempting,” Applejack grumbled, rolling her jaw. “Naw. Maybe let Celestia herself decide on it? What do you think, sug’? You’re mighty quick to let me decide on things.”
“Um. Well, if he can’t get out, and if it’s safe, maybe we should bring the bottle, yes. Besides, he might hurt somepony else if he ever gets out because we left him here.”
“Right, that’s settled then,” Applejack said, giving the bottle’s stopper one extra little push before she curled her tail around it. “Let’s hope this thing holds and bring him back home like he wanted. Speaking of home, though,” she trailed off.
Together, they both turned their eyes northwards. Without further words, Applejack set off at a trot, and when Fluttershy matched her pace, the earth mare upped their speed bit by bit until they galloped full tilt down the road. They’d of course not reach the hills within the day, and if they even made it to the edge of the Badlands before a week had passed, Fluttershy would be amazed.
In the face of all they had conquered so far, it was nothing.
It had been a blessed few days. When the forest released them from its grip, the snow that had been growing increasingly scarce fully faded with it, and they had a clear path to follow into drier and drier lands. The scare of their meeting with Brighthoof combined with all the other unpleasantness that had happened in the forest pushed them on, just like the promise of home pulled, leading to early mornings under a sun that became warmer without ever being comfortably warm, and camps being made late in the night.
Not that they were ‘camps’ any more, and it was felt. Even without snow, the Badlands were still touched by winter. As the days went by, they climbed up, then down, up and down again, the road winding over and around red hills and mountains just shy of frost. With neither blankets nor tents or even a tarp to block the wind, they made camp wherever and whenever they could.
“Makes you miss the forest, don’t it?” Applejack muttered as she spat out a particularly inedible bit of bush. She scraped the roof of her mouth with her tongue, but the taste wouldn’t let off.
“A little, but I don’t think I’m going to go for any long walks in the Whitetail Woods anytime soon, either,” Fluttershy admitted, smiling back at her. They’d hunkered down for the night in the cover of some rocks that warded off the worst of the chill, but neither of them said so much as a word about discomfort. After the high mountains, Applejack figured she could use a blanket made of ice and eat rock if it came down to it, anyway. In fact, the mesas barely visible to their far east looked particularly delectable at sunset.
“Do all ponies become bitter after being alone for so long?” Fluttershy asked. She lay on her back, staring up at the stars.
“What brought this on, huh?” Applejack retorted, walking over to sit at her side, back turned. “Think I got my mane tangled again. Could you fix it? The hair band you made from branches ain’t doing much good.”
“Sorry,” Fluttershy murmured, sitting up on her haunches and beginning to run her hooves through her mane. “I just wonder how I would have felt if I loved somepony, but couldn’t see them for two hundred years.”
“I’ll tell you what you wouldn’t feel; you wouldn’t want to hurt them just because you’re lonely. Something went wrong up in his head, I don’t know when. When he got lost, maybe. Who knows what happened to him down under the spire?”
“I don’t know if I want to know,” Fluttershy replied, and Applejack could feel her shiver.
“Just so long as you don’t go thinking about this and yourself in the same breath, then I’m happy,” Applejack nodded, closing her eyes and leaning back into Fluttershy. “Think you can do my tail afters?”
“Of course.”
“So. What’re you doing?”
“Um. I thought I’d start with your mane, you got some snarls and tangles still—”
“When we get back home, sugar,” Applejack laughed. “You gonna sweep her off her hooves? Invite her to dinner?”
Applejack waited for an answer. She’d hoped for a giggle, for Fluttershy to take it in the spirit it had been meant, but the silence stretched on. She licked her lips and cleared her throat. Fluttershy was still working her mane.
“Uh, if you’re still worrying about what she’ll say, I didn’t mean to rub at it,” she added.
“Oh, no. I’m thinking,” Fluttershy said, nosing the top of Applejack’s head. “I don’t know. I just hope she remembers me, and if she just wants to be friends, then that’s fine.”
“That’s it?” Applejack asked, turning around. Fluttershy gave a little squeak as the mane was yanked from her hooves.
“Well, um, if she wants to be more, then that’s fine too,” Fluttershy admitted, and finally, there was the blush Applejack had expected. The pegasus wrung her hooves and squirmed under her gaze. “But even if she likes me, too, I don’t know how to tell her. Ask her, I mean. I just really want to see her.”
Applejack nodded at that, relieved to finally see that there was no pain in her eyes with that admission. She smiled at her friend and leaned forward to give her a hug, but just as she extended a foreleg, something played at the edge of her vision. A flicker of color.
“What is that?” Fluttershy asked, her ears perked up as she homed in on the same thing. A speck of orange that lit up as if in response to the sun finally disappearing and shrouding the land in shadow.
“Fire,” Applejack breathed. “It’s fire.”
“Fire?” Fluttershy repeated, her wings half spread.
“I’m sure,” Applejack said. They sat staring down the road at the tiny smudge of light in a sea of darkness for who knew how long, neither pony saying a single word. It was unwavering, neither spreading nor changing, and it could be so many things. Every time they had happened upon others, misfortune had followed them, but neither pony so much as blinked.
“I’m not really tired,” Fluttershy said.
“I could run for another few hours,” Applejack agreed.
“Yes, blindly run to your doom,” a gravelly voice from Applejack’s tail chimed.
“Oh, quiet you,” Applejack snapped, leaning back to retrieve the bottle and jam the stopper on a little tighter. “I swear, if he doesn’t quit yapping, we’re going with the digging a hole idea.”
Fluttershy frowned. “I really wish the cork would stay on.”
“As long as he keeps it to stupid comments twice a day,” Applejack muttered. “Enough of that, though. Wanna go see what this is all about?”
It hadn’t been fire. Or rather, what they had seen wasn’t one singular flame, but many smaller lights joined by distance.
“It can’t be,” Applejack muttered. Despite her words, she kept moving at the same steady trot the two friends had maintained for hours now. The terrain was treacherous enough, and it was hard to make out the road beneath their hooves, but once they’d started questing towards the distant light in the dead of night, stopping was no longer an option.
“If we’ve passed through the Badlands,” Fluttershy said, but she couldn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t dare speak it, but with all her heart she hoped. They were still climbing a gentle slope, and with every minute that passed, the orange and yellow dots ahead separated. They were leaving the hills behind, and the land grew flat, giving way to a prairie in the grip of a mild winter.
“It’s a building,” Applejack said. “They’re torches and bonfires and lamps.”
They sped up in unison, legs in synch like a two-pony army. Fluttershy didn’t have to look at Applejack to know that she was smiling just like herself. She didn’t need to touch a hoof to her chest to know that her friend’s heart was racing just like hers. The road was gaining definition, and when they finally crested the slope proper, Applejack gave a loud whoop. At the top of the tallest tower gracing the walled fortress up ahead, a flag basked in the illumination of several large lamps. Two alicorns circling sun and moon. The Equestrian flag.
Fluttershy took to the air, pulling into an imperfect little loop before landing again, laughter spilling forth as she joined Applejack in her mad dash down the road. The thin noise of a single trumpet sounded in the distance, and at its call, three winged shapes darted out from the lowest reaches of the fortress, heading in their direction.
“Reckon they think we’re invading or something?” Applejack laughed.
“Oh goodness, I hope not,” Fluttershy replied, folding her ears. The next moment, three white pegasi zoomed overhead in perfect formation, pulling into a large turn to circle around and land on the road in front of them. Three imposing pegasus stallions blocked the road, one of them carrying in his mouth a small Equestrian banner, and another one pulling a glowing firefly-torch from his armor. Behind them, galloping down the road, four earth ponies were rapidly approaching.
“Halt!” the center stallion declared, bringing the two mares to a stop. “You approach Equestria. State your business honestly, and you will be granted passage. From where do you hail?”
“We’re from Equestria,” Applejack said, grinning. “Just coming home.”
“Hardly look like travellers,” one of the stallions flanking the speaker murmured around the small flag he carried.
“Maybe they’re hill ponies?” the one opposite whispered back.
“Um, no,” Fluttershy explained, biting her lower lip. “We’re really not. We’ve been in an accident and it’s a bit of a long story. Do you know if Rarity and Rainbow Dash and—”
The center stallion shrugged, his armor rattling with the motion. “I am not here to bar passage, nor to play judge, and Equestria is free to all those who have peace in their hearts, but perhaps you’d best come with me to see the captain.”
“Horncall!”
The pegasus sighed and glanced over his flank. One of the approaching earth ponies broke off from the group and was galloping full tilt towards them whilst hollering at the top of his lungs. Applejack and Fluttershy exchanged glances.
“D’you think it’s this much of a mess every time they get company?” Applejack asked. The leader of the three white-coated pegasi had turned on the spot and was impatiently awaiting the earth ponies’ arrival.
“I don’t think they get a lot of visitors, honestly,” Fluttershy whispered back, trying to keep from smiling too much. The stallion carrying the banner was scratching his withers, and the torch-bearer was awkwardly shifting his weight from side to side.
“That’s Sergeant Horncall, Corporal Ploughshod,” Horncall snapped as the newest arrival finally drew near, his golden armor shining in the scant light.
“Right, right, Sergeant,” he agreed, pausing for breath before snapping an inexpert salute. “They’re the missing ponies!”
Sergeant Horncall peered over at Fluttershy and Applejack, then back to Ploughshod. He looked about to speak, but turned to look at the two mares again, his jaw hanging open.
“The two ladies the princesses spoke about in the end of summer report?” he finally asked, lowering his voice.
“Guessing that’s us, yes,” Applejack interjected. “Don’t much feel like a ‘lady’ ‘till I get me a proper bath, mind.”
“I know them,” Ploughshod said, reaching up to remove his helmet. At once, the enchantment on the armor let off, and his eyes changed to dull yellow, his coat a brilliant orange. Applejack’s face lit up in a grin.
“You’re Carrot Top’s cousin!” she called. “I remember now. Thought the name sounded familiar.”
“Guilty as charged. Carrot Top’s always talking about you and your family, about how you keep helping her out and all.” Ploughshod laughed, stepping forward and extending a hoof. Applejack shook it vigorously, and Fluttershy did the same in turn.
“Nice to meet you,” the pegasus said with a little bow.
“If you’re well and truly done killing professionalism here, corporal, I’ll leave this whole event in your hooves,” Horncall snapped. Without waiting for a reply, the white pegasus took off, the other winged guards following suit just as the three remaining earth ponies arrived.
“He’s a bit too puffed up for his own good,” Ploughshod chuckled, plopping the helmet back atop his head, his comment drawing a few grins and mutters from the newly arrived guards. “Let’s get you quartered for the night, shall we? I’d offer you a chariot, but our skyrider teams are out west until next week.”
Applejack hesitated, as did Fluttershy.
“Maybe—”
“Actually—”
The two mares stopped, looked at each other, and laughed.
“Go on sugar,” Applejack said.
“No, I insist,” Fluttershy said.
“Alright. Well, Ploughshod. If I’m right, Nettlestead ain’t too far away, and much as we appreciate your offer, I think we’d just like to get home. We’ve been running all day long, but this here’s a walk in the park by now. We’ll just head there right now, unless you were about to say something else, sugar?”
Fluttershy smiled and shook her head. “No, I agree. There’s a train station in Nettlestead, isn’t there? I’m sure we can find something to eat on the train. I just want to go home.”
Ploughshod nodded along with their words, chewing his tongue. When Fluttershy was just about to dip her head and excuse them, very eager to move, Ploughshod tossed his helmet over to one of the other three guards.
“It’d be bad form to let you go alone. Private Stormhoof?”
“Yes sir?” a rather confused stallion replied.
“Until I get back, you’re Corporal Stormhoof. If anyone complains, tell them to take it up with me when I return. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Let’s get you gals home, then.”
Despite reassurances that they had faced far worse over the course of the past however-long-it-bad-been and that they didn’t need help, Ploughshod would hear none of it; not that the two mares minded the company. Rather, it soon seemed that Ploughshod himself was the one who almost regretted his choice. The pace Applejack and Fluttershy set was high, and more than once did Applejack ask if they needed to slow down. Each time, without fail, the heavier stallion slogged on and resolutely shook his head.
The sun had already risen across the wintery prairie when they finally reached Nettlestead. Despite the fact that it was a very small village built on flat and dry land, Fluttershy could see only the similarities. Applejack hardly paused at all, beelining for the train station, but even what little they saw in their race through town was enough to bring a smile to Fluttershy’s face. Ponies were waking up and just starting their day, foals playing in the streets, carts being rolled out to market, and somewhere, off in the distance, a mare raised her voice in song for no other reason than the joy of singing.
“I’ll get tickets,” Ploughshod said amidst gulps for air. A train already stood at rest on the only track visible. “I’ll be right with you.”
Finally, they slowed and stopped after having been on the move for almost a full day. Fluttershy paused to stretch her body, legs and wings all, while Applejack did the same, taking a deep breath before she followed her friend inside one of the train’s wagons. The ponies in the first sleeper car gave them odd looks as they passed by, glancing over the rims of their books and papers, pausing their conversations before going back to their business. When they entered a second, empty car, Applejack gave a snort and a bark of laughter.
“Reckon we ain’t exactly ready for a gala,” she said. “Haven’t seen a brush for months. When was the last time we had a bath?”
“Um, there was that brook before we left the forest?” Fluttershy asked, shrinking back. “Oh goodness, we probably stink.”
“Nah. It’s honest sweat and grime, sugar,” Applejack grinned, reaching out to touch a hoof to the pegasus’ face. Fluttershy critically inspected her own coat in proper lamplight for the first time in goodness knew how long, and she had a vague feeling she was supposed to be a brighter yellow than this. Applejack mane and tail were nearly as long as hers. They had failed to find any decent replacement for her hairbands, and the makeshift things they’d tried never lasted.
“Well, um. I’d still like a bath. I still think you look really nice with your mane out,” Fluttershy offered.
“So you keep saying. T’aint about looks. It’s about practicality,” Applejack huffed, but she smiled still. “Anyhow, won’t find me objecting to soap either. Reckon you’ve gained a bit of muscle too,” she added, tapping Fluttershy’s chest.
“I suppose,” Fluttershy muttered. She wasn’t quite sure what to say, glad of the interruption when Ploughshod entered, gently easing himself through the narrow door. His large frame and larger armor was a tight fit. He spat three tickets out on one of the free beds and craned his neck to undo one of the straps of his golden accoutrements.
“Right,” he said. “This train goes through Appaloosa to Vanhoover via Ponyville, and it’s a proper earth pony train, none of that steam nonsense. Should be two nights. Still can’t believe you two girls are here and alright.”
“The princesses were looking for us?” Applejack asked. “Heard something about that out and about way down south, too.”
“Um, actually, sorry to interrupt, but our friends—” Fluttershy said, raising a hoof.
“Oh horseapples, they’re alright, aren’t they?” Applejack asked, her eyes growing wide. “He’d have told us, I mean, you’d have told us if they weren’t okay, right? You’ve been to Ponyville—”
“Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Rarity and Twilight Sparkle—” Fluttershy added.
“Whoa, whoa, calm down,” Ploughshod said, taking a few steps back. Fluttershy clopped a hoof to her mouth and blushed, but Applejack did not budge an inch.
“They’re fine as far as I know,” he explained, looking back and forth between the two ponies. “The princess told us to look for you, and she’s repeated that message every so often. If more of you were missing, she’d have told us, I’m sure, and I know Twilight Sparkle is okay at least. One of the messages sent from the princess was written by her, on the princess’ behalf.”
Fluttershy closed her eyes and took deep steady breaths until she trusted her voice not to crack. “Okay. Thank you,” she managed.
“I’m happy to hear that, but why’s Twilight sending letters for Princess Celestia?” Applejack asked.
“For Princess Luna,” Ploughshod corrected her. “She’s acting princess for the moment. You’ve been gone, so you wouldn’t know of course, sorry.”
“What?” Fluttershy asked. “Is—is Princess Celestia taking a break?”
Ploughshod scratched his cheek and glanced to the side. “Uh. I don’t suppose you two are hungry? You’ve been gone for months, so, uh.”
“What happened?” Applejack asked, furrowing her brow. The stallion sighed and hopped on to a free bed, the entire construction shaking from the weight of a fully armored pony as he sat and faced them.
“We don’t know exactly. I wasn’t there. Princess Celestia, Twilight Sparkle and the three other Elements of Harmony—I guess those’re the ones you asked about—they left Equestria, a search party.”
“Thought you said they were back home,” Applejack interrupted, giving voice to the sinking feeling in Fluttershy’s stomach.
“And they probably are. They returned the next day. Night, really. Celestia’s fallen under some sort of spell or other. At least, they say it’s a spell, because the best physicians in Equestria are stumped. She just fell asleep, and she won’t wake up. They say she’s not doing well,” he finished, his gaze downcast. “The guard’s not taking it too well. The captain’s blaming it on himself for letting her head out without an escort.”
“Nevermind the guard,” Applejack snapped. “She ‘fell asleep’?”
“That’s what it looks like,” Ploughshod said, nodding briskly. “Saw them bringing her past the fortress and hurrying back to Canterlot. She just looked like she was having a nap, but that was early last month.”
Fluttershy swallowed. Already she was back in the old valley fortress they had happened upon so long ago. The ancient tapestries flew past her eyes, along with the words that Brighthoof had written in his second journal. The secret that had led to Brighthoof’s demise, the knowledge that had seemed so infinitely pointless and disconnected at the time now brought to the fore again. Alicorns lay at rest by a dying flame, the Elements out of reach. In Applejack’s eyes, she saw recognition, and she knew that she was thinking the same.
“What do we do?” Fluttershy asked, her voice thin.
“You know something about this?” Ploughshod chimed, perking up. The guard in him shone through as he narrowed his eyes. “If you have knowledge about what happened—”
“The Elements,” Fluttershy said, fumbling for words. “I—we don’t know exactly, but—”
“Forget the trinkets,” a dark voice commented. “They are foci, nothing more.”
“I swear I’m gonna glue the darn bottle shut,” Applejack growled, letting the bottle fall out from her tail. Ploughshod was up on all fours in an instant so fast, he banged his head against the stacked bed above him.
“You fools, let me speak!” the voice hissed, and Applejack paused with her hoof on the cork, the very image of skepticism.
“It’s a bit of a long story,” Fluttershy said with a weak smile at their stallion friend. “He’s a very bad pony, but maybe we should hear him out?”
“I wanted revenge, yes, but for her to fall and be lost?” Brighthoof said, a thin tendril of smoke snaking its way out from the bottle to sway in tune with his voice. “Is it not enough that one of us has died? I never wanted this. Not like this. Listen.”
“We’re listening,” Applejack said, her hoof still resting on the bottle in silent threat. “Just say something worthwhile, why don’t you.”
“You’ve obviously paid some attention, you know that the alicorns are creatures of harmony, and the princesses more so. If she’s weakening, it’s related to the ties that bind her.”
“But what do we do?” Applejack asked, rubbing her face. “Half an hour ago, I was thinking about what to have for dinner when I got back home and all, and now this? I can’t believe it! Is she in danger?”
“Maybe we just need to gather the Elements, um, or us, the bearers?” Fluttershy suggested.
“It is not an exact science,” the bottled unicorn commented, for once sounding almost contemplative. It was a welcome relief from the angry growl that usually accompanied his words. “For ponies such as they, harmony is in their blood. I cannot say what caused this based on what little information this oaf has given me—”
“Hey!” Ploughshod called, momentarily breaking out of his shocked stupor.
“—but I presume it is the result of some internal conflict combined with trying to leave her home. Celestia was right, but so was I. I refuse to believe she’d fall over just from leaving her peoples’ embrace alike this, but if she was already struggling with something, it’s possible.”
“And we fix it how?” Applejack repeated, a little louder.
“I do not have a clear answer, foal!” the bottle snapped, the smoky tendril thrashing about. “Gathering the bearers is a natural first step, but forget the jewelry. I’ve never seen them, but i have read about them. If you’ve recovered them since my leaving, brilliant, you’re not entirely worthless, but unless you intend to bring harm to her, they’re pointless. They are for putting the Elements to use as weapons. The bearers are what matters. You. And if she’s already in decline, every second counts!”
“I think he’s telling the truth,” Fluttershy suggested. “It makes sense.”
“As much sense as anything does right now,” Applejack half-agreed, motioning to the bottle and looking askance at Fluttershy, who gave a small nod.
“We’ll let you know if we have any further questions. Thankee mister ghost pony,” Applejack concluded, jamming the cork back on properly.
Ploughshod cleared his throat. “Okay, so...”
“He’s a ghost of a pony. Or, maybe more than a ghost, but his name is Brighthoof,” Fluttershy explained, crawling atop the bed where Applejack sat, opposite from the guard pony. Just as she sat down at her friend’s side, a whistle could be heard from somewhere outside, and the train soon started moving.
“He tried to do a lot of mean things to us,” the pegasus continued. “He didn’t want us to get home, and he’s very very angry. He used to be, anyway.”
“So Fluttershy here bottled him,” Applejack finished for her, grinning as she leaned against her.
“Um. And that. The bottle is magical,” Fluttershy affirmed with a blush.
Ploughshod puffed out his cheeks at let out a low whistle,running a hoof through his short mane. “Alright. Right. This is way above my pay grade. You and those friends of yours who passed by the fortress earlier, the loud one, the pretty one and the pink thing, you’re the Elements?”
“Honestly, why does everypony but us obsess over that again?” Applejack muttered.
“We were informed by the princesses, national security and all that,” Ploughshod shrugged. “So if it’s you six, you’re thinking you need to gather up?”
“I think so,” Fluttershy said, glancing over at Applejack before continuing. “The others will be in Ponyville unless—unless that’s all changed too,” she added, folding her ears.
“And then we better high-tail it on over to wherever the princess is,” Applejack agreed. “Which, if everything’s upside down now, is probably down in my apple cellar.”
“She’ll be in Canterlot,” Ploughshod said, not so much as smiling at that remark, slipping off the bed.
“Where are you going?” Fluttershy asked.
“To talk to the ponies up ahead, send a message to those who drive the train. I’m gonna tell them that we’re not stopping before Ponyville, and then we’re heading straight for Canterlot. I’ll pick up something edible from the food car on my way back,” he said, trotting the length of the car and heading up the train without waiting for a reply.
“He’s nice,” Fluttershy commented, laying down on top of the blanket, all too aware that she was smudging the clean white sheets. She really wanted that bath, now. Her hooves weren’t so much dirty as the soil, dust and mud had become part of her.
“It’s nice to meet somepony who’s on our side again,” Applejack agreed, resting her head atop Fluttershy’s withers. “Thought things would get simpler for it, with us being back, but this ain’t over, is it? Princess Celestia, of all things,” she muttered.
“I hope she’s okay,” Fluttershy sighed. “This is terrible.”
“Me not getting me an apple pie right as I step off the train on to Ponyville station, that’s sad. Bet you’re missing all the little critters you left behind too, and that’s saying nothing of wanting to see all our friends and family,” she said, pausing there for a moment. “Just want to give them all a hug and go to sleep for a week.”
Fluttershy nodded along with this. She closed her eyes briefly and thought about it, about what she wanted to do first of all. There was so much she needed to do, so many things to say to so many ponies.
She would tell Rainbow Dash, and accept whatever came of it. She knew she wouldn’t lose her as a friend. At worst, all that would be lost was a terrible weight she’d carried with her for so very long. She would need to talk to her parents, too. They loved her, and she loved them back; the rest mattered so very little next to this.
“No,” Applejack said, rolling over so she lay with her hooves in the air, resting against Fluttershy who was glad for the contact. “Terrible? Terrible is what it’d been if we didn’t find our way back, sugar. The rest’s bad, but we’ll fix this yet.”
Fluttershy nodded without hesitation, turning around to look at Applejack where she lay smiling a tired but honest smile.
“And then we’ll both have some apple pie,” Fluttershy said. “If you’d like to share.”
Applejack laughed. “I’ll bake you your very own pie with extra cinnamon and twice as many apples.”
“I would like that very much,” Fluttershy admitted, giggling. “And perhaps some cider, too? Then you can visit me sometime and I’ll bring out the tea I bought in Canterlot years ago. I haven’t tried it yet, but I think it’s about time.”
Applejack’s laughter slowly petered out, leaving the two mares smiling contentedly until the earth mare again broke the silence.
“Sugar?”
“Yes?”
“I mean it. Please don’t go off and be a stranger again, y’hear? We’ve lived next door to one another for the longest time, but I can count on my legs the amount of times I’ve popped by other than when Winona’s sick. That just ain’t right.”
Fluttershy leaned back to touch snouts with her and nodded, the only noise being the steady clickety-clack of the train itself. When Ploughshod stepped back into the wagon a few minutes later, Fluttershy was halfway to asleep.
“Alright, this train is now officially under Royal Guard command,” he announced.
Fluttershy rubbed at her eyes and yawned. “Oh. Um. That’s good, I think?”
“It means there’ll be one heck of a lot of explaining for me to do sometime later,” the stallion countered with a shrug. A second later, the train car jerked, and he swiftly spread his hooves to steady himself while the two mares yelped and rolled over in the bed.
“What in the hay was that?” Applejack demanded.
“That was the earth pony team pulling this train accepting my challenge to do the Nettlestead-Ponyville run in half the usual time,” he said with a grin. “You Apples ain’t the only family with ties around Equestria. One of them’s a cousin of mine.”
“Also, found a guard who’s off duty. Shrike Star. He’s a pegasus scout, and he’s agreed to fly across Lake Mirth when we approach the last stretch. If he’s half as fast as he says, he’ll get word to Ponyville half an hour early. See if we can get your friends to wait at the station.”
Fluttershy’s heart leapt at the thought. She was tired beyond belief still, but it was impossible to think of her friends without feeling a little giddy.
“Well, that’s mighty useful,” Applejack said, nodding. “Thank you kindly.”
Ploughshod scratched at his muzzle and shrugged. “You’d be surprised to hear how eager ponies are to help when the princesses are mentioned. Just don’t fail, huh? I’ll go get that food I forgot about.”
The train platform was neither crowded nor empty. It was a staggeringly normal Wednesday late afternoon in Ponyville, the darkness just setting in around the snow-covered village. All around, ponies went about their business in an incredibly boring and normal manner. Here, a pair of ponies discussed the weather as if though the heavy snowfall was a surprise despite being in the newspaper this very morning. There, a pony hummed to herself.
And in the distance, around the bend and past Overlook Hill, a small plume of snowspray signalled the train’s approach. Again, nothing out of the ordinary.
Less than ten minutes ago, Rainbow Dash had been napping. She’d fallen asleep trying to figure out whether she should go home and celebrate Hearth’s Warming Eve with her parents this year. At least she had the option. She just kept thinking about a certain pair of parents who didn’t have the luxury of such a visit.
It was all a giant headache. When she’d managed to convince herself she would decide on that later, she instead busied herself trying to work up the energy to get excited over the prospect of finding a gift for Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Twilight and all of her friends. She would probably still be doing exactly that if not for the fact that a burly pegasus had knocked on her door.
“And you saw her? You saw them?” Rainbow Dash asked the pegasus stallion again. She was rocking back and forth on her hooves, and though she was trying her best to stand still by Pinkie Pie’s side, her wings had a life of their own, spreading and furling at random.
“Silly, you asked that a minute ago!” Pinkie Pie said, nudging her in the side while the messenger pegasus failed to hide a small sigh.
“Yes, miss. Once. I’m acting on orders, so it’s not relevant, but I saw them when I passed through to the food car. A yellow pegasus mare with a long pink mane and an orange earth pony mare with a long blond mane,” he confirmed, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue before making for the ticket office. “Excuse me a moment. I was told to inform the staff here that it’s not the Baltimare express that’s coming in next.”
“Are you okay?” Pinkie Pie asked, tilting her head.
“I’m fine!” Dash snapped. “I’m—of course I’m fine,” she said, shifting her weight from her left hooves to the right. “Why? Don’t I look fine?” she asked, bringing a hoof to her mane.
Pinkie Pie giggled and nosed into her withers. “Silly. Of course you do, even if you don’t have a hat. Maybe Rarity will bring a few hats?”
“Of course. That’s what’s wrong with the picture. Hats,” Rainbow Dash said, rolling her eyes.
“I just thought you’d be extra super-happy, like, even happier than I am, and I’m really really happy even if I didn’t have time to bring even a banner or any treats beyond the cupcakes I’ve stashed around here somewhere—I forget where.”
“I am happy,” Dash said, swallowing and kicking at the snow.
“Because you always said they’d come back,” Pinkie continued, a little more quietly. She pulled back and let her eyes slip to the ground. “Even when some of us maybe thought that there was a teensy-weensy chance that something had gone very wrong,” she added.
Rainbow Dash had no answer for that. She cleared her throat, glanced around, then shrugged, all in short order before throwing a foreleg around Pinkie’s neck and giving her a brief hug.
“Stop being stupid,” she said. “You’re making me sad. It’s just weird. I won’t believe it until I see it.”
“Ah, hello my dears!” Rarity chimed. The unicorn had snuck up on them, slipping between a pair of pegasi to take up position at their sides.
“You’re way late,” Dash complained. “This is kind of important, didn’t Shrike or whatever tell you to not pack?”
“That he did,” Rarity said with a huff. “And you’ll observe I’m not wearing anything, and I’ve not packed. I stopped by the library to have Spike send a message. He’s at the library sometimes when he’s not in Canterlot, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to warn Twilight that we’re coming.”
“Aw, isn’t Spikey coming along?” Pinkie asked.
“I, ah, considered that,” Rarity admitted. “But I am not sure he should be there for this if it’s serious. He is just a baby dragon, after all.”
Rainbow Dash blew her mane out of her face and sighed. “You really think it’s that bad?”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m in regular contact with Twilight, and the princess has been getting worse with each passing day lately,” Rarity replied, shaking her head.
“And the pegasus guard pony was really serious and boring and angry-faced!” Pinkie Pie agreed, bouncing on the spot. “Princess crisiseses are the worst!”
“Crises, dear,” Rarity suggested.
The train came into view soon after. A pony wearing a red jacket stepped out of the train station proper and called out the change in schedule, leading to a lot of confused ponies stepping away from the platform when it became obvious that it wasn’t the Baltimare train being early. Three ponies stood together waiting with bated breath in an increasingly tense silence as the train approached, the lead team of eight earth ponies only now beginning to slow down.
“It’s just weird that it’s a train and all,” Rainbow Dash finally admitted.
“Sorry?” Rarity asked, but Pinkie just smiled, right back on track with their earlier conversation.
“They’ve been gone for so long, and I’m supposed to believe that they’re going to arrive on a train, just like that?” Rainbow Dash asked, willing herself to do just that. Trying to make it sound like something that could happen. For all her time spent telling others and herself that they weren’t gone, it was impossible to allow it in her mind.
That, or she was nervous. She almost laughed at the thought, but the smile died quickly on her lips. It was a ruse that lasted all of two seconds. A moment later, Rarity leaned against her.
“I suppose there is some irony to that,” Rarity agreed.
“I bet they’re hungry,” Pinkie said by way of nothing. Every second, the train drew nearer. Rainbow Dash’s wings quivered and her hooves itched. She was half tempted to fly to meet the train, to part the curtains early and see if this was just some cruel joke. A minute later, the large stallions at the fore of the train trotted past the station at an easy pace, slowing down to a walk as they watched, the plough and the first cars sailing by at a crawl. Rainbow Dash shook the snow off of her mane.
“Express train to Canterlot, royal business!” a unicorn mare shouted, stepping out from the leading car. She briefly scanned the platform and locked eyes with the trio just as they were joined by Shrike Star, the pegasus who had met them. “You four, get on. We’re leaving as soon as we’ve switched pulling team.”
Shrike needed no further invitation, and Rarity and Pinkie Pie made for the closest car. Only when she was convinced she saw nopony familiar in any of the windows could Dash make herself follow them inside. The pegasus guard led the three through the length of the train, past a quiet food car and numerous cars with regular seating where annoyance seemed the general theme of the ponies’ moods. Likely, they were bothered by the change in plans, but Rainbow Dash hardly saw them at all. The quartet barely slowed down as they worked their way through the sleeper cars, earning more than a few glares. Of those who looked up, some were pegasi. A few were yellow pegasi. None were yellow pegasus mares with pink manes.
And then Shrike stopped.
“Corporal, we’re ready to move,” he declared, his big flank filling the doorway almost completely as he addressed an orange stallion of some description, a monumentally uninteresting earth pony in golden armor.
“Um, did you find—” a soft voice chimed.
Rainbow Dash’s every muscle tensed. Pinkie squeaked as Dash pushed her aside and barreled past her, Rarity toppling over with a shriek. She leapt through the air pushing Shrike or whatever-his-name-was to the ground, hitting the floor with a thud once she was past the door frame. Stacked beds lined the walls, and the armored stallion stepped back while she scrambled to stand.
Upon the closest bed, next to Applejack, Fluttershy sat at rest, and when Dash entered, Applejack offered her a smile and scooched off to the other side of the bed.
Time didn’t have the decency to stop like Rainbow Dash’s heart did, but the rest of the world might as well not have existed. The yellow pegasus sat just as still as she, frozen with her wings half spread. She was covered in layers of dust and dirt, and her mane was longer than it had ever been, both frayed and frazzled. The usually soft mare was sleek and toned, and it would have been easy to think she had the wrong pony, but there was no mistaking it. It was Fluttershy. It was her Fluttershy, and despite the layers of grime, her clear teal eyes shone.
Past the windows, Ponyville station began drifting away. Other ponies were talking somewhere; a thousand paces away, right next to her ears; it didn’t matter. She sat still and stared until Fluttershy’s open-mouthed stare turned into a blush and she buried her snout in her own neck.
“Your wings!” Dash blurted. Her mind was everywhere and nowhere all at once, and she latched on to one thing she knew for sure. Fluttershy’s wings were a mess, her feathers in disarray. The chatter around them stopped for a moment, and she was vaguely aware that her friends were looking at them, but she didn’t care.
“You’re a mess,” Dash added, snorting. She leapt onto the bed, circling around to sit behind Fluttershy. “I mean, your wings. You’re fine. I guess,” she muttered, swallowing.
“Um, Rainbow Dash—” Fluttershy began, but she cut herself off with a squeak when Dash reached out to grab her left wing and began nosing the feathers back in place. It was a deliciously mindless task.
“Like a mother hen,” Applejack chuckled from off to the side. Dash shot her a half-hearted glare. There would be time for greetings and hellos later. A time to hang out. Right now, she was busy piecing her life back together, one feather at a time. The vacuum was rapidly filling. Dash closed her eyes and buried her snout in Fluttershy’s wings, hoping that she would not notice the tears that she rubbed into her feathers.
“Rainbow Dash,” Fluttershy repeated. Her voice cracked and trembled, punctuated with a sniff, but Dash would have none of it. She reached out to touch her side. It was so achingly, wonderfully awesome to hear her say her name.
“Fluttershy, could you do me a favor?” Dash asked.
“Okay,” Fluttershy breathed.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Dash sighed, leaning around to touch their foreheads together. “Just don’t leave. Don’t do anything stupid for a while. Forever would be good.”
“Okay,” Fluttershy repeated, her wings quivering the slightest bit. Dash let go and let her fold her wings properly, inching forward to sit at her side. As an afterthought, she wrapped one of her own blue wings around her, pulling her close. Finally, everything was alright again. As if a signal had been given, Pinkie Pie reached out to poke Rainbow Dash.
“You’re back! And you’re okay!” the pink pony proclaimed. She beamed as brightly as only Pinkie could, wrapped around Rarity and Applejack both, but Rainbow Dash could see tears glistening in her eyes. Rarity was quietly holding on to Applejack for dear life, for once not complaining about getting her pristine white coat smudged.
For a brief moment, Dash met the farmpony’s eyes. She’d seen better days for sure, but the grin the orange mare gave her was the same as always. “Howdy,” Applejack said to Dash, giving Rarity and Pinkie Pie a squeeze.
“Yeah. Hi. Welcome back and stuff,” Dash grinned, finally looking about the room. The two stallions had left at some point, and all five ponies were bunched up on the same all-too-small bed. Rainbow Dash held Fluttershy close still, the other pegasus’ eyes shut as she leaned into her. There were so many things unsaid still, but there was time. Applejack and Rarity sat by the other side of the bed, and Pinkie Pie lay between them as if she was trying to touch, snuggle and hug as many of them as possible, all at once. It was nearly perfect. Nearly.
“I don’t wish to ruin the moment,” Rarity said, clearing her throat. “But this dreadful business with the princess, is what you said true? You think we can help her?”
“We have to,” Fluttershy said. “If not, she might, um. She might never wake up.”
Rarity gasped, and Pinkie Pie gaped, a hush falling over the room before Fluttershy continued. “It’s kind of a long story, but the Elements might be able to help.”
“Uh, we kind of didn’t bring them,” Dash said, furrowing her brow.
“No, I mean, us, the bearers,” Fluttershy said, meeting her eyes for just one moment before looking away. “We don’t know. Is Twilight with her?”
“Yeps! She’s been in Canterlot all winter,” Pinkie chirped. “Ever since the princess told her that she really liked Twilight, and Twilight said she wasn’t sure, and Celestia fell asleep—”
“Wait. Like her?” Applejack asked, scratching her head through her hat. “Like her—”
“Yes. ‘Like her’ like her,” Dash interrupted. “Stuff’s happened back here too.”
“Do you reckon that’s why she fell asleep?” Applejack asked, looking over at Fluttershy.
“Um, I don’t know if love and harmony are related like that—It could be? Maybe? We could ask Brighthoof?”
“Uh,” Dash said. “Who’s that?”
“Oh wowsie, I thought I was the only one who had little bonus friends only I can see who I never tell anypony about,” Pinkie said, scrunching up her face. “Oh. Shoot. I just did. Who is Brighthoof?”
“Sorry—” was as far as Fluttershy got before the conversation was rudely and efficiently interrupted by a bright flash, a purple streak whisking past them, a yelp and a loud crash from the other end of the train car. The ponies, as one, blinked and leaned out from the built-in bed.
“Egh, take a note. Teleporting onto moving trains is a terrible idea,” Twilight groaned. The purple unicorn lay upside-down against the door at the far end of the car, rubbing her head.
“Twilight!” Applejack called, grinning. “Well, that’s one way to make an entrance.
Twilight’s eyes went wide and she broke into a smile as she rose to stand. She shook her head briskly before galloping over to the bed, launching herself into the air and throwing a foreleg around Fluttershy and Applejack each, hugging them close.
“You’re okay! I feared the letter was fake, or a joke, but I’m so glad!” she said. Dash reluctantly let go of Fluttershy and poked Twilight in the side until she gave her pegasus back. The smiles, laughter and giggles were quickly spent, a few muttered comments at the two long-lost ponies’ appearance being all Twilight offered before sobering up, jaw set.
“Celestia,” Twilight finally breathed more than she said. “You know how to help her? Her breathing’s getting shallower and shallower. Do you know what’s going on?”
“And who the hay is Brighthoof?” Rainbow Dash asked.
“If y’all just sit down, Fluttershy and I can explain,” Applejack said, scooting over to make room for Twilight, but the unicorn shook her head.
“If you can help, then please do,” Twilight said, speaking so quickly it was hard to catch her every word. “I’m very glad you’re back, I really am,” she added, a smile flashing past her. “But she’s getting worse with every passing moment. I don’t care what you do so long as we can do something.” Rainbow Dash snuck her wing back around Fluttershy, who offered no protest beyond shrinking back a tiny bit, away from the increasingly desperate unicorn.
“Way I see it, we’re stuck on the train for another hour or two, is all,” Applejack shrugged, brow creased. “Why don’t you sit down and we’ll take it from the start?”
Twilight shook her head, her horn taking on a bright glow whilst she spoke. “No! No time. Luna called in the court physicians again, but I know it’s not gonna help. I’d love to hear your story, just later.”
“We don’t know we can help for sure,” Fluttershy admitted, steepling her hooves. “It’s just something we saw. We think—”
Twilight’s horn glowed ever brighter, her eyes clenched shut while her chest heaved. The air around them began to vibrate and thrum with unspent energy accompanied by a whine that grew louder and louder until it suddenly was gone. A loud clack of wood on stone concluded the spell.
“—but we don’t know for sure if, oh. Um. Goodness,” Fluttershy finished. The six ponies sat in the bed still, but there was one notable difference; the bed itself stood in a palace hallway outside of a large sun-emblazoned door.
“Twi? With all due respect, don’t you ever do that again,” Applejack growled, and though she held her silence, Fluttershy gave a very small nod of agreement. “It’s been a mighty long time since that last spell of yours, but I ain’t likely to be comfy with any teleportation magic for a while.”
Twilight made no reply to that, and Applejack rolled her jaw. “Speaking of, what in the hay happened? I plain forgot to ask since it’s been so long—”
“Easier to grab one object and everything with it,” Twilight snapped, sweat streaking from her brow as she stepped off the bed.
“No. Way back when,” Applejack said, rolling her eyes. “At the slumber party.”
“It’s not important!” Twilight spat. “Can we please just—if you can help, if you have any idea, please,” she repeated with a pleading look. “Please help her.”
Fluttershy swallowed. Things had changed in their absence indeed. For all the warmth that she felt from Dash’s presence, for all that she wanted nothing more than to stop and make sense of all that was happening, she saw in Twilight’s eyes the same desperation that had become so intimately familiar during the loneliest of nights.
A minute ago, it had been an alien notion that Celestia, princess and co-ruler of Equestria, sought something more with their Twilight. If that was hard to believe still, even if it was wonderful, but she knew that Twilight was in very real pain, and if she was scared, then so was Fluttershy. She took a deep breath and nodded. She could repeat herself, say she wasn’t sure, that she didn’t know; or she could do her best. She rose to stand, offered Rainbow Dash a weak smile, and hopped off the bed. Applejack followed, as did they all.
The gravity of the situation was truly felt the second Twilight’s horn glittered and threw open the doors to the opulent bedchambers that lay beyond. It had been a story of maybes and hopefully-nots, of sleep but not true danger, but when Fluttershy first lay eyes upon the alicorn, she knew she wasn’t resting. She was dying. Perhaps the others saw in her a sleep that would not break, but to her, to a pony who had seen the tapestries wherein the fate of the first of alicorns had been woven, the sight was far more dire. The larger pony lay on her side, chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. Stood by the bedside, Princess Luna waited, but she barely looked up when they entered.
They were the light, the candle that would keep her alive. Fluttershy led the ponies past the threshold to stand before the bed, earning a weak smile from the Princess of the Night. When the group of friends moved together, it became obvious how tightly woven their bonds still were. Without word or direction, they spread out in a loose semi-circle around the large, soft bed. Twilight hopped onto the bed itself and leaned down to nuzzle into Princess Celestia’s mane. All eyes were on her. Something made a muted clatter somewhere behind them, but nopony turned to look, everypony holding their breath.
“I don’t understand,” Twilight said, breathless. Her eyes flitted from Applejack to Fluttershy and back again. “Is something supposed to happen? What do we do?”
“She does seem to rest a little easier,” Luna murmured, looking to the others. “What is the plan? Should we leave you?”
“I am not quite sure, Princess,” Rarity admitted. “Applejack?”
It was all they had. Fluttershy had seen first-hoof the magic that lay in affection, in love and in harmony, but they had no such cards to play. For all that they loved Celestia, and whatever Twilight felt, she had no idea what they were to do if their presence was not enough. The others muttered among themselves and spoke quietly, Applejack starting to explain in simple terms what they had learned from the old tapestries and journals.
A faint hiss played at the edge of Fluttershy’s hearing. She flicked an ear and turned to look over her shoulder while the others talked.
Brighthoof stood not far behind her. Even as she watched, the shadow was seeping out of the bottle, coalescing to give him form. Shocked into silence, she stared open-mouthed as the ghostly pony gained solid form. He seemed even more clearly defined now than he had been before, and when he finished taking shape, he looked just like a real pony, a deeper green in his coat and his mane a healthier brown.
She meant to make a noise, to get Rainbow Dash’s attention. Dash stood next to her with a wing extended to touch, just so she knew she was there, but her eyes were on Applejack. She needed only to move an inch to the left to get her attention, but she was brought short by one singular fact.
Brighthoof held a hoof up to his mouth, hushing her. There was no magic in it. She knew she should call for help, but there was none of the old malice or anger in his eyes. That alone saved him. The unicorn’s expression was one of unfathomable sadness as he looked past Fluttershy to the fallen ruler.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” he whispered to her, and none of the others seemed to hear him. “I never wanted this to happen. I just wanted her to remember. To know I existed. That I died. But I can still make a difference. You will have to forgive me for having eavesdropped again, but if Celestia loves her, and if she loves her back, I can be the catalyst for something good. The knowledge that killed me can yet serve a purpose. Everything comes full circle.”
Fluttershy glanced over at the others where they were still talking, then back to Brighthoof. She tried to wrap her head around what he was saying, and ever so slowly, realization dawned on her. “Wait,” she whispered back. “No, wait. Please don’t—” she tried, but it was too late. Brighthoof raised his voice, bringing all attention to himself.
“And that’s it?” Twilight asked, hysteria tinging her voice. “The tapestries just showed the Elements around the princesses—”
“Alicorns. Weren’t the princesses, far as we know,” Applejack interjected.
“—but no way to fix it? No cure?” she finished.
“I’m sorry, Twi’,” Applejack muttered.
“I’m starting to think we should have brought the Element necklaces after all,” Rarity suggested.
“We would suggest researching other alternatives, but knowing of the attachment to the Elements in general does little. It was Celestia’s field, not ours,” Luna admitted, shaking her head.
“But the magical bottle-pony said they wouldn’t help, and genies never lie unless you feed them cinnamon!” Pinkie countered.
“Alright, alright, just let me think!” Twilight cried, clutching her eyes shut. She tried to do exactly that, to think, but all that greeted her behind her eyelids was a world without Celestia. Without her princess. A world where she had failed to reach out and seize what could be. She knew it was a pointless, destructive mental exercise, but in her mind’s eye she saw what could have been if she had dared. What would it be like if she let herself stand shoulder to shoulder with Celestia? What would it be like to touch her with the respect she gave a friend—and maybe something more—rather than that of a subject?
“Finally,” a deep, grating voice announced. Twilight sprung up to stand on all fours, nearly tripping over Celestia in the process, and every pony in the room whipped around to face the odd, green unicorn who stood in the center of the room; all except Fluttershy. Twilight’s most timid of friends stood with her head hanging low, obviously frightened out of her mind.
“What is the purpose of this?” Luna asked, narrowing her eyes at the stranger. “You are neither servant nor guard.”
“That’s our buddy, Brighthoof,” Applejack said, the name coming out a snarl. At the gaunt unicorn’s feet, a curious bottle lay, an exact match to the one Applejack had just told them about. Rainbow Dash slipped in front of Fluttershy, crouched low and wings spread, but the yellow mare did not so much as move.
“Precisely, and at last, my plan is coming to fruition,” Brighthoof said with a nod and a feral grin. “You have left yourself unguarded, and now I shall have my revenge.”
“Revenge?” Pinkie asked. “That’s silly, there’s nopony here who wants to be revenged on, sorry! Maybe you can try next door?”
“Oh but there is,” Brighthoof said. At his words, bright green barriers flared to life across the room, magic the color of his horn’s glow separating the ponies. Luna, Pinkie and Rarity to one side, Applejack, Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash to the other. A simple tunnel between himself and the bed upon which the princess rested, and Twilight with it.
“Celestia has had this coming for over two hundred years, little pony,” he snarled. “For so very long have I waited to finish this, and now, my hour is come.”
“Idiot,” Luna snapped. “It is the work of seconds to undo—”
Twilight leapt down from the bed, neatly putting herself in his path. Her hooves echoed loudly on the clean marble floors, a neat set of clops that silenced the room.
“And what do you think you can do, little filly? Who are you to her?” Brighthoof asked, arching a brow. He didn’t look the least bit surprised. Still his horn glowed, the air warping around a bright sheen of magic so potent, Twilight could feel a chill down her spine. She just couldn’t sit and watch. She had seen this before.
“I watched her fall once already,” Twilight said, widening her stance. “I can’t get that memory out of my head. Celestia falling to Chrysalis’ corrupted strength.”
“Twilight Sparkle, stand back and let us handle this,” Luna said, raising her voice in command, but Twilight shut her out like she did with her friends’ worried cries.
“It’s been so easy to forget that I didn’t just watch. I was part of it. When she failed, she trusted in all of us to make things right. She trusted in me. She shouldn’t have to ask. I should have acted sooner, but most of all? It doesn’t matter!”
”It doesn’t matter if she’s a goddess or a pony with all the flaws that come with it, because I’m here for her, just like she’s been here for me all my life. Not just because I should, but because I can. Because I want to. I can make a difference. I know that now. She doesn’t trust in me for my benefit. She does so because she wants to and because she has to.”
“Words that mean nothing to me. Weak. You will both fall,” Brighthoof concluded. A bright green lance of energy surged forth from his horn, only for Twilight to swat it aside with a flash of purple light. She’d feared him moments before, but it was the easiest thing in the world to disperse his attack, to turn lethal intent into nothingness.
“Words? I don’t care about the words! If you try to touch Celestia, I’ll fling you clean off Mount Canterlot!” Twilight yelled, stomping the ground.
“Better,” Brighthoof allowed before his horn flared up again. The walls of the room shone with reflected light as he sent another burst towards Twilight. Again, she dissipated it on pure reflex. Her ears rung with the sharp sounds of the magical blows; she knew rationally that there was more magic at work than she had ever used before, but it took no effort. There was no bottom to the well she drew from.
“Better,” he repeated, his horn growing brighter and brighter with every word. He made a dismissive gesture, all traces of humor giving way to a mask of pure rage. “But weak! I will have my revenge, and I will not be denied! Stand aside or be rent asunder, little pony. You do not know what forces are at work!”
“I don’t care!” Twilight spat back. “I don’t care for how long you’ve been nursing this grudge!” she said. Magic welled up inside of her, and she stood not between Celestia and Brighthoof, but she faced down Chrysalis, too. She stood side by side with Celestia, ready to act with her, not for her. Months of pent up impotence and regret budded in her horn, and one final element triggered it all.
“I don’t care. I love her, and you can’t have her!” Twilight screamed, letting loose all she could find to throw at him. She did not realize she had been holding back until that final barrier was breached. The world was bathed in light, a single keening wail preceding a thunderous roar before all was white, then black.
Slowly, the world returned. The high-pitched whine never quite died away, but other sounds sprang forth from the void. The void, as it turned out, was much helped by Twilight opening her own eyes while she rose to stand. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d ended up on her back.
The room was covered in a fine layer of rock dust. The green barriers were gone, but in their place, translucent sky-blue magic covered most of the room. Strong, sparkling magical barriers layered over every nook and cranny, woven tight around her friends and the bed. Luna stood at her side, horn aglow. Her magic was near absolute, but one part was missing. Specifically, a wall was missing. Luna’s barriers were tattered and frayed where a great section of the far wall had been destroyed so violently, there was no rubble to speak of.
Half-way through the next room, crumpled up against one of the royal bath chambers’ hot tubs, Brighthoof lay. His hooves gave off a low hiss, the unicorn spirit slowly beginning to evaporate before their eyes.
Twilight swallowed and stared through the hole in the wall. It wasn’t his fault, and he was no longer a threat. She was only vaguely aware that her friends were talking, trying to get her attention. Still words bubbled to the fore, and she did not know where to aim them except at the stranger who had questioned her love for Celestia.
“She’s fallible. She’s still the best of us, but she’s not perfect,” Twilight said, coughing as she drew breath. Steam from the bathroom was mixing with the pulverized rock. “That’s the point. I understand now what she meant. She had to fail to show me there is room for another. At least, there was, but now she’s lost to us,” she said, fighting back the urge to lay down on the spot. “Because I never told her—”
“Twilight? Luna?”
Twilight froze. There was no mistaking that voice. Celestia sounded tired and worn, but though her ears were still ringing, she knew it was her. Twilight’s head whipped around so fast her neck hurt.
“Sister!” Luna gasped. Fluttershy gasped, Pinkie Pie bounced on the spot and grinned, and all her friends crowded the bed. On pure reflex, unthinking, Twilight teleported onto the bed.
She had slept, but she hadn’t dreamt. She woke up, but she felt tired still. It was rather odd, but then, one did not live thousands of years without having a few dozen weird experiences. Memories flooded back to her, but they simply ended that one night. Still, she could deduce fairly easily that their journey to find the two missing ponies hadn’t ended quite as planned. The fact that her balcony was covered in snow, that was new too. As was the missing wall and the wounded unicorn beyond it.
Despite this, for all that had gone terribly wrong, something must have gone very right, too. Smiling, gaping and confused faces surrounded her, and Fluttershy and Applejack were among them.
Fluttershy stood side by side with Rainbow Dash, one of her forelegs thrown around the other pegasus’ withers, oblivious to Dash’s confusion and slight blush. Applejack was grinning widely, standing by Pinkie Pie and Rarity, the former of the two bouncing on the spot, and the latter dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Luna stood with her jaw hanging open, what she herself would consider a breach in etiquette true testament to her shock.
And standing above her, Twilight Sparkle. The studious unicorn was staring at her, eyes wide and dripping with wet, scarcely daring to breathe.
“Twilight,” Celestia repeated, clearing her throat and turning her head so that she could look upon her in full.
“What just happened?” Rainbow Dash asked, off to the side. She was very quickly silenced by a murderous glare from Rarity.
“I’m sorry,” Twilight said, her voice shuddering. For a moment, Celestia feared her pupil would simply collapse on the spot, but the biggest movement she made was to swallow.
Celestia raised a brow. “For blowing a hole in my room, or for standing on my flank?” she asked, instantly regretting the little joke.
Twilight blinked and gingerly stepped off the princess, her confusion giving way to a deep-seated frown right after. “No! I mean, none of those! For making you leave Equestria and get hurt, for this all happening! You could have—”
“That was my choice entirely,” Celestia interrupted her. “Luna and I spent weeks discussing how to proceed, and if she feels no guilt over what was ultimately my decision, then neither should you. We live and we learn.” She glanced over at her sister, and Luna offered her a weak smile in return.
“Apologies have no place. After our return, we have used that word until it ceased to have meaning altogether, but we are glad you are back,” she said.
“It was still my fault,” Twilight claimed, rebelling against Celestia’s calming words. She stomped a hoof, but the effect was somewhat ruined by her standing on the softest bed in Equestria.
“You have done nothing. I would love to know exactly what has happened though, in time,” Celestia suggested, clinging to the first things she had heard when she awoke, to a voice that belonged to a different time. “But first—”
She tried to move her legs, but they were stiff and ungainly. She had obviously been asleep for a very long time, and it showed. Celestia felt as weak as a newborn foal, all her strength gone. What little progress she made was quickly arrested when Twilight placed a hoof to either side of her neck, locking her in place and eliciting gasps from the others who had until now stood mute. The unicorn shook.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t know,” Twilight whispered.
“You do not have to do this. In your own time,” Celestia said, locking eyes with the pony who meant so very much to her. The pony who stood apart from the others in so many ways. The pony who dared.
More than anything, she wanted this, and she thought she saw in the unicorn’s eyes the fire she desired. There was no doubt. Why did she herself hesitate? Why did she try to bar Twilight’s path with doubts when it was clear that she did not share them? Why did she try to stall her when she was happy that she did not stop?
Twilight leaned closer, and Celestia was keenly aware of her heart beating madly in her own chest. When the other mare draped over her body, she could feel her heartbeat too.
Fear, of course.
For the second time, Twilight had made her feel fear, and this time, it was thrilling. Twilight Sparkle tilted her head and kissed the Sun Princess in full view of her sister and all their friends. It was a clumsy, stiff and awkward thing, and when Twilight drew back a second later, she was blushing brightly. She glanced left, then right, as if only now realizing they had an audience.
Rarity gaped, her jaw making a desperate push for the floor. At her side, Applejack stood completely still aside from the occasional blink as the only suggestion that she was still alive, and Pinkie Pie was grinning widely as she scribbled on a notepad she’d procured from somewhere, muttering names of ponies and cakes. Fluttershy was beaming, and Rainbow Dash had her head tilted and one brow raised. The only one even remotely competent at masking her expression was Luna, but even her own sister was smiling faintly.
“Am I going to the moon for this?” Twilight asked in a whisper. Whatever courage had possessed Twilight a second ago was obviously taking a break.
“I would rather you went nowhere at all,” Celestia responded, reaching up to touch Twilight’s face. “Sister? Could you take our friends outside for a moment? I am very glad to see you all, and especially glad you two are safe,” she said, smiling at Applejack and Fluttershy, “but there are some things Twilight and I must discuss.”
“That sounds like an invitation to plan a party!” Pinkie cheered as the ponies made for the door. “You’re both invited, of course, and especially Twilight since we’re gonna have the party at the library since we can’t have it at Sugarcube Corner now that the foals are—”
“Uh, actually, the library needs some, um, cleaning,” Twilight suggested, her ears down. “Maybe we could celebrate somewhere else?”
“Weren’t gonna say nothing, but if I don’t get to see my family soon, I might just have a heart attack. Farmhouse’s big enough, so if we make it back before evening,” Applejack said, trailing off as the others left them, Fluttershy saying something about pies. Luna lingered in the doorway for a second to smile at the two, and then the doors shut behind her, leaving them alone. Or rather, close to.
Celestia eased herself out from underneath Twilight and rose to stand. Her legs shook and nearly buckled out from under her when she stepped off the bed, and at once, Twilight was at her side.
It was a gesture, nothing more. Twilight couldn’t effectively support the larger alicorn, but it was such a supremely sweet thought, Celestia leaned on her a little; enough that it was felt. Neither of the two so much as smiled, much less laughed at the spectacle. Not a living soul was there to see, anyway. On sleep-addled legs, Celestia made for the shattered wall.
“Don’t you want to know what happened?” Twilight asked. “You haven’t asked, but I assume you want to know, and even I don’t know all of it, yet—”
“Applejack and Fluttershy are safe and sound,” Celestia said. “They looked tired, but they are safe. That is the most important part. All of my subjects and friends are well. The rest can wait.”
“Well, yes,” Twilight agreed, giving a sigh of relief at that. “And I’m really looking forward to just sitting down and just talking to them again.” Her rant blunted, Twilight shook her head. “It must be confusing for you, this.”
“Not as much as you would think. I assume I fell asleep because my hunch was correct. As I said, details can wait. I, ah, caught your last words just now, so I suspect I know what woke me up, too,” Celestia added, ducking as she stepped into the royal bath chambers. She pursed her lips and made a note to explore the options of having a door just here. It would be very convenient.
“Oh,” Twilight said, her cheeks once again lighting up with a deep red. Celestia’s gut tightened. Another of those little things she could count on one hoof how often she’d felt in as long as she could remember.
“Nothing?” Celestia asked, halting in the middle of the room, in front of a crumpled up, half-translucent shape.
“Nothing what?” Twilight retorted. “I’m not sure what more to say. I’m not going to take it back.”
The tension left. She had feared exactly that, but Twilight did not regret it. Celestia nodded, once. “I love you, too,” she commented, smiling at the smaller unicorn. Twilight took a deep breath and let it out again, shaking her head.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say or feel now. The words sound a little odd, but I kind of want to say ‘I know’,” Twilight said.
“Perhaps you don’t fully believe me yet,” Celestia suggested, leaning down to nuzzle Twilight’s neck. “I hope you will, in time.”
Twilight closed her eyes and rubbed her snout against the top of Celestia’s head, sighing contentedly. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Not you alone,” Celestia said, shaking her head and drawing herself up. She stared intently at the supine pony in front of them. The exact shade of green and the torch cutie mark was known to her despite the passing of centuries, and she remembered the voice well, too.
“Brighthoof. Show yourself,” she commanded. “I know you are not yet departed.”
“Departed? Dead? Oh—isn’t he, I thought he was a ghost—did I—” Twilight stammered.
“Relax. I have been dead for longer than you have been alive ten times over, little filly,” a voice hissed. The body in front of them was nearly completely gone, but from it stepped forth an indistinct spectre made from the very mist that filled the air.
“You’re still here!” Twilight gasped. Her horn was aglow in an instant, the unicorn lowering her head and scratching at the ground. She tried to put herself between the spectre and the princess. Celestia put a hoof on her head to still her, gaining a confused look from Twilight, but it was Brighthoof who spoke.
“Hello, Princess. It seems she truly loves you,” the spectre murmured, his head-shape trailing white fog as he turned to face Twilight with empty eyes. “She makes me wonder if I ever did. My star is pale by comparison.”
“If you have any love for me at all, you will explain yourself,” Celestia suggested.
“My love for you is why I did what I did,” he countered. “This would never have worked if her resolve was weak. That she defended you from me is only part of it. Think with me, here. She’s clearly clever: You’ve always chosen the brightest as your pupils, so she must have considered all the implications. That, or she’s never cared.”
The spectre snorted, a whirl of mist rolling over them. “You are practically immortal. She is not.”
Celestia rolled her jaw. She had of course considered it. She had spent far too long ruminating the facts, wondering if she was doing something terribly unfair. In the end, she had decided that she would go mad if she did not act upon it, if she let Twilight pass her life by.
Twilight didn’t seem to think the same. At her side, the unicorn stood at rapt attention, listening, but there was no doubt in her. The facts passed her by and she did not flinch. Part of Celestia wanted to pick her up and shake her, to ask her if she truly understood.
“Except if she has peeked into my notes, of course, which she has not,” Brighthoof continued. “I wish there was time for me to tell all I know, but suffice it to say that you know even less of the Elements than you thought you did. Think on it, Princess. Harmony, you and your sister, alicorns, the Elements, it is all connected.”
“You wanted to test me? Why?” Twilight demanded, wrenching the conversation to what she no doubt considered back on track. Brighthoof turned to regard her for a fraction of a second, but his reply was for Celestia.
“You were comatose. Harmony and love are so strongly intertwined, what else could wake you but a strong display of pure, untainted love?” he asked, shrugging. “My life was forfeit long ago, and no amount of tears shed on your bed would bring you back, including my own.”
Twilight looked back and forth between the two, princess and ghost, eyes wide but with no further words.
“There is a chance I could bring you back,” Celestia said, lowering her voice as she reached out to touch Brighthoof’s face. The mist curled around her hooves. “The more we understand, the stronger we grow, and with Twilight’s help, maybe—”
“No. You love me, but not the way I wanted,” Brighthoof said, pulling away. “And even if I could get past that, I have done terrible things. I have hurt your subjects, and I have become something I can no longer stand for. I wanted revenge. Even if you could revive me, you could not redeem me. All I ask is that you remember me.”
“I did, and I will,” Celestia sighed. “Some ponies go astray, but each and every one, I strive to remember. You went missing, but were not lost. Thank you. Rest well.”
Bowing his head in one final gesture of supplication, the mist that had been Brighthoof dissolved into nothingness, scattered to join the air. Already, Celestia’s brain was shifting into gear. There was a lot she needed to know, a million details about what had transpired in her absence, the vast majority of those things were eclipsed by the purple shape to her side that occupied all of her mind merely by her presence.
“So,” Twilight said, clearing her throat. “What do you want to do?”
“The Elements are the key, but immortality is complicated. Ethics,” Celestia hummed. “I’m sure I could fund a research division.”
“Oh. Uh, I’m sure that can wait,” Twilight laughed. “I meant now. Do you want to come to Sweet Apple Acres with us and celebrate?”
“I, ah,” Celestia said, a smile spreading across her face as she slowed down to match Twilight. She closed her eyes for a moment and refused to think about the grander scheme of things. When she opened them again, she was in the present first, stepping out of the millennia to join her student-no-more, to be with her love in the present, today.
“I would love to,” she finally said. “You and the others go ahead. Tell whatever servant you see first that you’re to take any chariots we have, and any bits or food you want from the kitchens.”
“But?” Twilight asked.
“No buts. I just need to make sure my sister is alright. I will join you a little later, if that is okay?”
“Was that a question?” Twilight asked, blinking.
“I don’t feel I have the power to order you to do anything much, Twilight. It was a question,” Celestia affirmed with a smile, but Twilight’s own expression slowly sagged.
“How are we going to make this work?” she asked. “There are so many things we need to figure out, and you’re still a Princess—”
“And you still have studies on friendship that will make for a very good book, one day. I won’t give up my crown any more than I would have you give up your position in the library,” Celestia retorted.
“No?” Twilight asked, biting her lower lip. “That makes sense. Perhaps I could make some special reports on how we do this?”
“That would be excellent, and if we can save Spike some work, I think it is only right we do so. He’s been overworked lately, so perhaps you should take it upon yourself to deliver some reports to me in person. Also, I am sure I can stand to get out of the palace more. With Luna able to assist me in matters of state, I should be able to visit Ponyville to hear some of these reports myself,” she concluded, finally earning a smile from Twilight in return.
“Aw, but I don’t wanna go to bed, it’s still early!” Apple Bloom complained, two legs on the stairs that led to the second floor of the farmhouse.
“You say that all the time! It’s well past midnight, that ain’t early by any measure,” Applejack retorted, though she couldn’t keep from smiling. All around the room, the others laughed and waved, wishing the little filly a good night. Finally, helped by a nudge on the flank, Apple Bloom started moving.
“I’ll be right back down again, just gonna tell her a goodnight story since Granny Smith’s asleep herself,” Applejack said, smiling at the ponies who filled the main room of her home. It would have been crowded enough if it was just her family and a few others, but in addition to Big Mac, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, Twilight, Spike, Rainbow Dash and Rarity, Princess Celestia herself had arrived a few hours earlier. The sheer size of the pile of winter-wear by the door shed by her guests spoke volumes, and having a princess in the living room hadn’t made the job of getting her little sister to bed any easier.
“D’you wanna read a book?” Apple Bloom asked, trotting down the second floor hallway and slipping inside her own room. She had her hooves braced against her little bookshelf when Applejack entered.
“A book? You’ve read the ones you have, haven’t you? I may not be Granny Smith, but I’m sure I can think of a story or two,” Applejack said, hopping atop the little filly’s bed and patting the pillow next to her.
“As long as it’s not the story of how you got your cutie mark, again. You’ve told me that story three times now,” Apple Bloom commented, bouncing over to sit next to her before slipping in under the covers.
Applejack cleared her throat. “Er, ‘course not,” she retorted.
“Or the one about the time you locked yerself in the apple cellar,” the filly shot, squinting with grave suspicion.
“When the hay’d you get so picky?” Applejack sighed, flicking her head so she could re-adjust her hair band for the tenth time that evening. Now that she’d been able to get to her spares, she’d found that she could barely even remember how she used to wear her mane anyway.
“Uh, sweetie?” Applejack asked. Apple Bloom had made no reply, the little filly looking up at her with unblinking eyes.
“You ain’t going anywhere, right?” Apple Bloom asked. “You’re gonna be here when I wake up this time?”
Applejack swallowed and closed her eyes, leaning back until she could rest against the headboard. The sincerity of the question stung, but it only lasted until she reached out and pulled her sister closer.
“Yeah. I ain’t going anywhere except to market. ‘Least, not before the Manehatten Apple Con next year, and I was thinking maybe you’d want to come along.”
“You really mean it?” Apple Bloom asked, the filly’s eyes lighting up.
“Sure, why not? And thinking on it, I may just have one story you ain’t heard before,” Applejack suggested, grinning. “Not sure if it’s all appropriate for little ponies like you, though.”
“Aw, no fair! If I’m going to Manehatten, I can’t be a little filly any more. I’m a big pony!” Apple Bloom cried.
“Alright, alright,” Applejack laughed. “It’s a little scary, is all, and I don’t think it’s all told in one evening. It begins with two ponies lost in the middle of nowhere, back when the sun was warm and the farm wasn’t covered in snow like now. It gets awful dark in places, but there’s a happy ending, trust me.”
When Apple Bloom finally fell asleep, it was because her eyes protested her desire to stay awake until the two brave ponies of the story were safe back home. Twice she nodded off only to wake up a moment later, begging her sister to continue, but in the end she lay curled up and snoozing quietly. Applejack slipped outside with nary a sound, and she’d no sooner shut the door behind her when Big Macintosh came up the stairs.
“Heading to bed?” Applejack whispered.
“Yup,” Big Mac intoned, pausing before her.
“Really wish there was more to do ‘round the farm,” Applejack muttered, casting a glance over her brother’s shoulder. Great snowflakes were drifting down from the sky, locking down the business other than what little they could do inside. “I’ve a hankering to get some real work done, but now there’s no excuse to get up early.”
“Yup,” he responded, following her eyes. The silence held while he shifted the straw he perpetually chewed on from one side of his mouth to the other.
“Reckon maybe you’ve earned a day or two off. It’s good to have you back, AJ,” he added.
Applejack grinned and leaned close, gripping him in a tight but brief hug. “And it’s good to be back,” she affirmed, trotting past him. “See you tomorrow. We need to discuss expanding the northern orchards if Mayor Mare wants to sell the lands past the brook.”
Downstairs, little had changed, and that was hardly worthy of complaint. Perhaps Pinkie Pie had held off on the majority of the balloons and banners out of respect for Applejack’s home, or perhaps there were limits to what even she could do on such short notice. Whatever the case, the main floor of the farmhouse was as it had always been except for the gramophone Pinkie’d brought and a few colorful streamers. That, and downright dangerous quantities of snacks. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, turning down the volume of the music a tad, noting she’d have to dig into the apple pie soon or miss her chance.
It had been so very long since last she’d gotten to spend time back home where she belonged, and it was an immense relief—even if some things had changed on her absence. Her companion for the past months sat over by the small stove that kept the house warm during winter; Fluttershy looked every bit as content as Applejack herself felt as she traded quiet words with Rainbow Dash. The colorful pegasus, for her part, only seemed to be half listening, now on her second round of attending Fluttershy’s wings with hoof and mouth both. It was hard to tell exactly what was going on there, but it brought a smile to Applejack’s face regardless.
Even more unfamiliar, Princess Celestia sat with Twilight, Rarity, Pinkie Pie and a softly slumbering Spike not far off. Pinkie had moved the snack table closer to the window, and somepony had dug out the Apple family’s blankets. Applejack re-adjusted her hat and made for the group, slipping in between Rarity and Pinkie Pie to catch the tail-end of one of Pinkie Pie’s jokes, Celestia laughing hardest of them all except for Pinkie Pie, of course.
It had been the work of hours to get used to the larger alicorn’s presence, but she belonged. At least, Twilight seemed to feel that way, leaning against her.
“So what’re you guys on about?” Applejack asked, accepting a proffered sweet roll from Pinkie Pie.
“Pinkie Pie was just telling us about the Cakes’ reaction to her telling them about the, ah, new situation with Twilight and Princess Celestia,” Rarity explained with something half-way between a frown and a smile.
“Just ‘Celestia’, please,” Celestia commented. “And I will admit I did not expect word to get out so quickly,” she added with a shake of her head.
“Oh no, did I do it all wrongy-wrong?” Pinkie asked, gasping. “I just thought that because you were happy and Twilight was happy and everypony was happy that I could make more ponies happy!”
Twilight looked up at Celestia at that, trepidation plain on her face. “Um. Is it a problem? I won’t be offended if you’d prefer to keep it quiet for a little while,” she said, though her tone suggested otherwise to Applejack.
The momentary hush carried all the way to the other end of the small room. Rainbow Dash looked up with one of Fluttershy’s feathers still in her mouth, and for once, the usually unflappable princess paused. The princess who faced crowds of thousands of ponies on a weekly basis looked from Rainbow Dash to Pinkie Pie, between all of them until her eyes finally came to rest on Twilight.
“You fear I’m ashamed?” she asked. Applejack raised a brow, and at her side, Rarity gasped.
“No, not at all,” Twilight said, rubbing her forelegs together and shrinking under her gaze.
“Good, because I am not. When I asked that you stay here in Ponyville, it is because I don’t want you to be anypony but yourself, and the same is true for me. I will still have to be Princess Celestia,” she said.
Twilight nodded and swallowed at the words that sounded grim even to Applejack’s ears. Celestia begged to differ, a gentle smile spreading across her muzzle.
“And what I mean by that is that I did not court you in secret as somepony else. If ponies want to talk, then let them talk. They’ll have to decide for themselves what it means if I arrive unannounced here in Ponyville because I would like to have tea with you,” she concluded with a shrug. Twilight nodded and sighed, leaning against the larger princess.
“I can live with that. Maybe I won’t have to beg favors of my brother to get to see you on a short notice, either,” Twilight suggested, giggling as she turned to Applejack. “Now, we were just asking if you had any games, because Celestia said she’d like to play us all in a game of Battleclouds.”
The night stretched on until Celestia excused herself on account of royal bedtimes needing to be kept, as she put it, and Twilight left with her to get Spike to bed. Shortly after Twilight returned, pillows were brought down from the loft, and the question of sleeping arrangements was simply never raised.
With the game pieces, the sarsaparilla bottles and the snack bowls put away, Applejack pulled the blanket up until it rested against her neck. With her head against Pinkie’s flank for a pillow and her legs over Rarity who offered no complaint, she murmured her goodnights, home in every sense that mattered.
Soft sounds of sleep filled the room. Rarity’s quiet breathing, Applejack’s unapologetic snores, Twilight’s mutterings and Pinkie Pie’s whatever she was doing in her sleep; composing songs, possibly. Fluttershy smiled. Where the others were eager to welcome them back, Rarity especially prone to dramatics, Pinkie Pie merely partied on as if though they’d never left. Fluttershy saw the pink pony’s smile wobble a bit when she thought nopony was looking, but she was always beaming when talking to Fluttershy and Applejack.
She would have to visit her more often. Just like how she fully intended to make good on her mutual promise to Applejack. If things were to have changed, then she resolved to make them be changes for the better.
The thought was oddly empowering. Fluttershy shook her head at herself, marvelling at the strength of the thought. It wasn’t a hope; it was a decision. That power was in her hooves.
Well, mostly. Almost everything was her decision to make. Fluttershy winced and furled her wings as something stung.
“I told you to hold still,” Rainbow Dash hissed.
They sat awake together amidst all their friends. The very second sleepy silence had settled over the pile of ponies, Rainbow Dash had wasted no time in setting to work preening Fluttershy’s wings again. It was enough to drive them both to distraction, and so it had.
“It’s okay,” Fluttershy said, keeping her wings folded to deny Dash her busywork. “Um, if it’s okay with you, I think we really need to talk.”
“What we need to do,” Dash whispered back. “Is to get your wings fixed.”
“They’re fine. It’s really not that big of a deal, I’m sure I can—”
“Uh, it’s totally a huge deal. How else are you going to fly with me?”
Fluttershy blinked.
“I dunno, I like flying. I’d like to fly with you sometime,” Dash said, shrugging and crossing her forelegs.
“I’d like that too, I think, but we really need to talk anyway,” she said for what must’ve been the fifteenth time that evening. If it had been a little scary how she’d always find a way to busy herself when Fluttershy said words to that effect, the fact that Dash had never left her side spoke volumes, too.
“Talk, yeah,” Dash sighed, sticking out her tongue and flexing her wings. “I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime since you and Applejack disappeared,” she murmured, her ears twitching as she turned to look at their sleeping friends. With her wings thus spread, Fluttershy saw something odd around one of her friend’s wing bones. On instinct, she reached out to touch, and Rainbow Dash squealed in surprise, jumping when Fluttershy’s hoof touched the base of her wing.
“Whatever are you two doing?” Rarity asked as the only one to stir, lifting her sleep mask to peer at the pair with bleary eyes.
“Nothing, sorry,” Dash muttered.
“Sorry,” Fluttershy whispered, splaying her ears. Rarity merely raised a brow and went back to sleep, but Rainbow Dash took the opportunity to slip out from the pillow pile to make for the door.
“C’mon Fluttershy,” Dash said, pushing the door open. Fluttershy didn’t have the time to ask any of the hundreds of questions she wanted to ask before Rainbow Dash slipped outside. With a second whispered apology to Rarity, Fluttershy hurried out the farmhouse’s front door, closing the door after her before she disturbed them further with the draft.
Outside, everything was quiet. The moon was but a sliver, and the snow still drifted down to cover the darkened farmyard in a dense white blanket. A single set of hoofprints ended in a small blast zone where all the snow had been scoured away by a powerful takeoff, leaving Fluttershy guessing.
“Up here!” Dash called. Fluttershy craned her neck to find Rainbow Dash peering down at her from atop the farmhouse. Evidently, she wasn’t planning on a long trip. Fluttershy sighed in relief, quite done with those for a while. She spread her wings, relishing the way the currents responded to her when she took to the air, flying up to join Dash on the roof.
Rainbow Dash had already found a little nook by the chimney and lay down in the snow looking up at the starry sky. As Fluttershy watched, she reached over to unclasp something from her wing, soon holding up a colorful band on one hoof.
“It’s just that stupid little thing we made back in flight school,” Dash said, shrugging. Fluttershy recognized it now as she sat down by Dash’s side.
“It’s not really stupid,” Dash added in a mutter, looking away. “Want it back?”
Fluttershy shook her head. Before her lay Rainbow Dash. Though it had been many hours since they were rejoined, and though they’d barely left each others’ side since—as if by some unspoken agreement—it was a little hard to believe she was real. She suppressed a tremble at that thought. For the longest time, she had been afraid she would never see her again. The bracelet was the past, infinitely less important than Dash herself.
“It’s fine,” Fluttershy said, scooting a little closer. She extended a wing, if only so she could touch Dash and make sure, yet again, that she was truly there. Rainbow Dash made no comment, still staring at the multicolored little bracelet cupped in her hooves. She didn’t protest, nor did she ask why Fluttershy sat so close. While she’d hardly ever been shy, there was something different to her every move now.
“You know, don’t you?” Fluttershy asked. It took all her courage, but still her voice came out nothing but a whisper.
Dash didn’t play dumb. She didn’t joke around or ask her what she meant. The unusually pensive pegasus trained her eyes skywards once more and frowned.
“Yeah. We’ve been talking about the spell, about the armor pieces and your trip all night, but I never told you what I did. You’ve been gone since summer, so a lot of stuff has happened. I went to see your parents,” she said.
“Oh,” Fluttershy said, hanging her head.
“Your dad’s kinda dumb, by the way,” Dash tacked on.
“That’s not at all how I wanted you to find out,” Fluttershy sighed. “Not that I meant for you to, um, well, yes. I’m sorry,” she said.
“Yeah, that was kind of lame of you,” Dash said, a grin passing her face by as she gave a burst of laughter. “Seriously, that was the most awkward thing ever, and I’m sure they pretty much hate my guts now.”
“I’m sure they don’t,” Fluttershy offered, shifting to lean back against the chimney herself, studiously avoiding looking at Rainbow Dash. She was beginning to feel numb, but the snow was hardly an issue. All the time she’d been striving to get to this exact place, to this exact conversation, she’d always worked her best to suppress the notion that Rainbow Dash might not feel the same; and she’d succeeded. She’d almost forgotten it was a possibility. Past snow-covered trees, her cottage waited, still dark.
Rainbow Dash’s face appeared in front of her, the other pegasus leaning around until their snouts touched. Fluttershy shrank back, but the hard brick of the farmhouse chimney was almost as hard as Dash’s eyes.
“Why? Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded.
Fluttershy swallowed. “Because I didn’t think you felt the same, because I was afraid, because I didn’t want to lose you, because I didn’t know what I felt!” she said, the words spilling forth. “I didn’t, not exactly. I do now.”
She wanted to add another apology. To say she was sorry, that she didn’t want to put her friend in this situation, but she couldn’t lie to her like that. Now, at the end of everything, the one thing she wasn’t was sorry. Rainbow Dash pulled back and tilted her head as Fluttershy went on, a small cascade of snow falling off her head.
“I wanted to be stronger,” she said, a wan smile across her lips as she stared out into the snowfall. The silent white flakes fell so rapidly now, she could barely see past the farmyard. “First for you, because you’ve always wanted what’s best for me. At least, what you thought was best for me,” she amended, shaking her head. Rainbow Dash said nothing.
“I wanted to be stronger for myself, too. I don’t know how, but it started after the reservoir draft this year,” she added. “Not just my wings and all that, I don’t know. Just stronger. It was stupid.”
Rainbow Dash lay down at her side, what little distance Fluttershy had put between them ignored.
“Why is that stupid?” Dash quietly asked.
“Because you’re what makes me feel strong. It’s that simple,” Fluttershy said. She couldn’t hold on to that numbness any longer, instead bringing a leg up to cover her snout as she sniffled.
“That’s the least stupid thing I’ve ever heard,” Dash muttered. “I meant it when I said you can’t go anywhere. I haven’t gotten anything done since you left.”
Fluttershy hazarded a glance over at Dash. The blue mare was staring straight up, licking her lips. At the silence dragged on, she stuck out her tongue to catch one of the large snowflakes that drifted down to cover them.
“I-I’m confused,” Fluttershy stammered.
“So am I!” Dash groaned, flipping over to stand on all fours and shattering the budding tranquility. “This is why I don’t like talking. It takes forever!”
“I’m sorry?” Fluttershy asked, scrabbling to stand on the slanted roof.
“You’re in love with me, or you love me, right?” Dash asked. “I don’t know if those are different.”
Fluttershy’s jaw hung open while Dash wielded the words and the truth like a mallet, but she could not deny it. Would not. After a moment, she nodded, eyes locked on Dash’s. Again, an apology lurked but refused to show.
“Right, cool. I don’t want to lose you. I need you,” Dash growled, as if the words themselves were an enemy to be fought. She spread her wings as she spoke.
“I’ve been feeling like the world’s biggest jerk here, because I go crazy when you’re not around. I don’t know what that means. It has nothing to do with you being ‘weak’. Who cares how fast you can fly or whatever? If I wanted somepony as amazing as me—” she began, rolling her eyes as she paused. “I mean, you’re you. You’re awesome the way you are. You don’t need to change.”
Fluttershy nodded weakly, but Dash pinned her with another look the like of which made her doubt her own vaunted stares.
“No. I mean it. Don’t you dare change,” Dash snapped, teeth gritted and leaning forwards until their foreheads touched. “You’re one hundred percent cool the way you are. Got that?”
“Okay,” Fluttershy managed. She didn’t wilt under her attention or freeze up at the praise that she already knew she would never forget. Instead, she stood up straighter. “What about us?”
“I don’t know,” Dash said. “I guess there is an us, huh? I never thought too much about this kind of stuff,” she admitted, kicking at the snow. “I like hugs and all that as much as the next pony, I just can’t lose you. Maybe it’s a bit like that, being together? If you want to be, uh, mine or something.”
“I don’t want you to say that just because you don’t want me to go away,” Fluttershy said, pressing through the way her stomach tightened and her eyes burned. “We’re still friends. Unless you don’t want to be. You don’t have to—”
“I’m not saying this because I have to, jeez. I’m saying it because I want to,” Rainbow Dash interrupted her, a hoof on her snout. Where she touched, warmth blossomed. “Sorry. It sounded a lot cooler in my head. Can we just not make this all complicated again? I’m saying yes. You’re cool. I like you. I don’t care how stupid it sounds, but I need you, and if that’s not enough, I want you.”
A thousand butterflies milled around in Fluttershy’s heart, and her entire body set to itching in the funniest way, redoubled when she noticed Dash cheeks brightening the tiniest bit too.
“Yeah, that sounds totally weird. Just don’t expect any silly expensive dinners or anything just yet, that’s all I’m saying,” Dash said with a shrug and a grin. “Don’t you dare tell anypony else I said this, but for once, I don’t mind if we take it slow. I need to get back into the air. Practice some stunts. That sort of stuff. You could, uh, watch if you want to. Cheering would be nice, too. If you’re not too cool for that now.”
Her words barely reached Fluttershy’s ears before the yellow mare slipped a hoof under Dash’s muzzle. Before she could stop or ask what possessed her, Fluttershy leaned forward, Rainbow Dash’s breath hot on her face before their muzzles met.
Dash’s eyes were wide as dinner plates while Fluttershy kissed her, frozen in silence in the wake of the words Fluttershy had waited years to hear. When Fluttershy broke the kiss, her heart was pounding. Long seconds passed before Rainbow Dash licked her lips and closed her mouth, breaking into a grin.
Spring had finally come. Flying in winter was fine, too, of course. Flying anywhere, anytime was fine, but absolutely nothing could compare to corkscrews under the springtime sun. Nothing was quite like a well-executed triple loop into a fast dive, air roaring in your ears as you dove towards your breathless audience only to pull up at the last second.
Rainbow Dash’s mane shifted a bit as Fluttershy soared by at a safe distance above their heads.
“Awesome!” Dash called, reaching over to grab another slice of apple pie, spraying crumbs everywhere as she continued. “Think you can pull a hammerhead next? Do it!”
“You go girl!” Pinkie cheered, bouncing up and down on the spot.
“Bravo!” Rarity added, lowering her voice as she glowered at Rainbow Dash, brushing bits of pie out of her mane. “Do mind where you make a mess, dear.”
“They’re just crumbs,” Applejack interjected, reaching into the picnic basket for another bottle of sarsaparilla which she promptly put down at the unicorn’s side. “Here. You help yourself to another bottle too, Pinkie Pie.”
“Well, at least somepony’s a gentlemare,” Rarity murmured with a bemused smile that Dash barely registered. It went to the back of her mind like the rest of the ponies in the little clearing outside of Ponyville proper. In the air above them, Fluttershy briefly paused for breath before rocketing off to try her hoof at another trick. Rainbow Dash sent a leg questing for more pie, but her hoof scratched against an empty pie plate.
“Sorry!” Pinkie called around a prodigious mouthful of apple pie.
“Don’t blame her for being short,” Applejack suggested, grinning. “She’s busy cheering Fluttershy on whenever she so much as flaps her wings.”
Dash’s cheeks flushed. She turned around to fix her three friends with an angry glare. “Hey, you have no idea how long it’s taken me to convince Fluttershy to give stunt flying a try. You don’t like it, you can leave.”
“She was quite clearly joking, dear,” Rarity said, uncorking the sarsaparilla bottle before taking a dainty sip. Pinkie Pie was pouting at her, the full force of a Pinkie frown brought to bear in her direction.
“That I was,” Applejack nodded. “This is all good, ain’t meaning to complain.”
“Right,” Dash said, her ears drooping while she turned her eyes back to the sky.
“Besides, I can’t leave just yet. I owe Fluttershy some ten or twelve pies yet,” Applejack added, smirking and nudging her hat back on her head.
“Why do you owe her pies?” Pinkie asked tilting her head. “Did you lose a bet? Did you win a bet?”
“This isn’t the first time you’ve alluded to some debt or other,” Rarity agreed, lowering her sunglasses.
“It’s nothin’,” Applejack said. “Hey, R.D., is that a flock of geese?”
“What, where?” Dash snapped, whirling around.
The sun was still high in the sky, but Fluttershy had nothing more to give. Even after the small break for pie and apple juice, she’d only been able to go on for another few minutes before she was tired again. Her head still spun from all the twists and turns, and Applejack, Pinkie Pie and Rarity waved their goodbyes after helping Applejack pack up all she had brought for the picnic. Soon the two pegasi stood together watching their friends make their way through the tall grassy field, heading for Ponyville.
“So, how’d I do?” Fluttershy asked, leaning against Rainbow Dash. Truth be told, it didn’t matter a whole lot if she’d botched the hammerhead or if her loops were off. The question was a formality, nothing more. She’d spent the afternoon with Rainbow Dash; she’d already won.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Dash said, stretching her wings and casually draping one of them over Fluttershy’s back, the warmth soothing her aching wings. “I’d say maybe a seven out of ten. You did good, but you could do better.”
Fluttershy giggled. “You always say that. Exactly that.”
“Well yeah, because it’s always true,” Dash shrugged, touching snouts with her. “Hey, you wanna hang out tonight? Do something fun?”
“Oh. Um, I think I need a bath first,” Fluttershy admitted, ducking under Rainbow Dash. She lifted a wing experimentally and touched a hoof to her forehead. “I’m all sweaty.”
“I dunno, I like it,” Dash retorted, grinning as she nosed in under her wing, setting Fluttershy giggling.
“Oh, ew!” the yellow mare giggled.
“Seriously, nopony cares,” Dash claimed, pulling back and breaking into a hover. “Come on!”
Fluttershy forgot she was tired. The baking sun, the ache of a long practice session, it all disappeared when she took off to fly side by side with Rainbow Dash in the general direction of Ponyville proper.
“What do you want to do?” Fluttershy asked.
“Uh, whatever is fine as long as we’re not going to your place. Angel’s still mad, isn’t he?”
Fluttershy sighed and shook her head. “I’ll talk to him. You really should try to get along, but for tonight, well, the Ponyville theater is staging a new play called ‘Who We Are’. It’s supposed to be very nice.”
“Ugh. A play? Seriously?” Dash asked, flipping over to fly with her belly up, short wingstrokes keeping her at an even pace. “Any action?”
“Um, no, sorry. It’s a drama,” Fluttershy admitted, her ears drooping.
“Right,” Dash said.
“We could go to your place, if that’s—”
“Hey, I didn’t say no. Let’s go see the play,” Dash interrupted, grinning. She angled herself a little closer, giving Fluttershy’s flank a nudge. “It’s indoors, right? And it’s gonna be dark?”
“Okay, I don’t mean to sound like a foal here, but, uh, are we there yet?” Twilight asked.
Celestia laughed. “We are, in fact, almost there.”
The couple had spent the past ten minutes following a narrow mountain path that started in the royal gardens, only to climb up the face of Mount Canterlot itself. Ten minutes that were spent in relative silence following her royal highness’ multi-colored tail up a path that most certainly did not reach the Canterlot Security Council’s safety minimums, despite the guardrail.
“I just don’t want to be late for our dinner with the gang. Getting back to Ponyville takes at least an hour even by chariot,” Twilight added.
“That’s why a very clever unicorn discovered the secret to teleportation, long ago,” Celestia suggested, smiling back at her as they followed the winding path through another turn. Up ahead, the mountain turned green with plantlife.
“Maybe, if we aim for the library or something. I don’t want to use any teleportation magic near Applejack for a while yet, even though I’m pretty sure she was joking the last time she threatened to, well. It involved a lot more apple-related curses than I’m comfortable with,” she trailed off, swishing her tail.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to inconvenience us, but there was something I wanted to show you,” Celestia said. In the past months, Twilight had gotten almost too good at reading her pose and her voice both, and now her ears perked up. The small smile that always lurked in the princess, in her princess’ every word, was missing. She said nothing as she followed Celestia onto a small mountain shelf covered in obviously-enchanted soil. Here grew trees large and small, a garden the size of her bedroom packed with bushes, flowers, grass—and a lonely stone engraved with a torch.
Princess Celestia kept the silence as she crossed the distance to the granite marker, slowly easing herself down to sit in front of it. It took a while before Twilight worked up the courage to cross the threshold to the garden; to convince herself that she wasn’t trespassing.
“I think he would appreciate this little gesture,” Celestia said, her gaze distant. “He would probably analyze it to death, though. Try to see it in light of affection, harmony, and ultimately, magic. Then again, he could be right. Perhaps there is magic in these little moments and places, too.”
Despite her words, there was no sadness in Celestia’s voice. Even so, Twilight sat down at her side and leaned against her, joining their warmth and closing her eyes while she nuzzled into the coat of Celestia neck.
“He said that the Elements and harmony could be used for more,” Twilight said.
“And he would not have lied, even if his understanding was imperfect like ours,” Celestia agreed.
Twilight pulled away for a moment, chewing her bottom lip as she stared at the ground. Every time she let herself consider all that had come of the past year’s events, it was all she could do to keep her brain in check. The possibilities were endless. “I guess the question is what you do with that knowledge. He spoke of immortality and other things. If harmony is tied to life itself, imagine...”
“What we do with it,” the princess corrected her, leaning down to rub her jaw against the top of Twilight’s head. It drew a smile from the smaller unicorn despite the gravity of their discussion. “If what Fluttershy and Applejack have told us is correct, the cave of harmony in the play may not be a metaphor. It is a place. Quite possibly the birthplace of me and my sister.”
“Are you sure it’s safe for you to travel?” Twilight asked, craning her neck to nuzzle Celestia.
“I am not, but I feel at peace. Perhaps that matters. Maybe we should see about having someone return to the old lands and learn more, be that all of us, you, I and the Elements, or somepony else. I am sure of only one thing.”
Twilight waited in silence, scarcely daring to breathe, but Celestia’s smile only widened as she tilted her head and met her lips in a brief kiss.
“Today, we are going to have dinner with our friends.”
I started writing this thing in late April, and I began planning long before that. It would be an exaggeration to say this thing has consumed my life for half a year, but not by much. Suggesting that it's been at the forefront of my mind for the last three to four months is dead accurate.
So, hi! Thank you for reading. I hope Lost and Found was to your liking. Like every damn one of the stories I plan and write, it started as something different. It began with an idea of Applejack and Pinkie Pie lost in the middle of nowhere, and I started laying plans for two bedraggled ponies walking along the road, coming home to a Ponyville that had almost forgotten them.
I imagined Applejack and Pinkie Pie walking side by side towards four ponies who most certainly had not forgotten them. I had an intense desire to write a teary reunion and the buildup to that. To have Fluttershy take what turned out to be Rarity's role, of saying that the pain of loss was too great, that she almost just wanted to forget. To have Rainbow Dash's legs give out under her as she saw friends she had thought lost, return; failing to cope in the most delicious of ways.
Yeah, so that didn't happen.
It went from adventure to adventure-ship, from ApplePie to AppleShy ship to FlutterDash nonship to AppleShy with AppleShy ship or ApplePie or FlutterDash as the ship. Even after I started writing, things still changed. The TwiLestia bits weren't a sure thing until I was writing the second segment back home in Ponyville and Twilight and Celly both convinced me they were a thing, forcing me to go back and edit yet again.
I went from the adventure perspective alone to two and then to two and a half arenas. The fic moved from one point of view to two to three to... five? Brighthoof moved from a convenient guiding line, a link to the past, to drawing a loop through history, and all the other villains-that-aren't-really sprung up to fill a gap that was meant to belong to icy wastes and dead lands. Funny how that all works out, really.
This is the second time I've tried to write a certain fic. This is the second time I've "failed" to achieve my goal of writing a fic about isolation because I keep expanding on ideas with additional threads. I love both this fic and my previous adventure fic, Within and Without (which, if you at all enjoyed Lost and Found, you might want to check out) - but I also know I have to do this again.
Because the only thing more sane than writing two novel-length pony fics is writing three. Right? Here's to another of these damn fics after next season's end. I'll be over here, planning.
Now, if you're reading this, you are already my favorite person, so thank you for that. Most people will skip this "chapter", and many will leave off when they don't see any snacks down here. Let's talk shop, dear invested person for whom I feel a great deal of affection. If you would like to leave a comment, I would be very grateful. I also try to reply to all the mails I get at cloudyskieswrites@gmail.com; be it praise or critique, I answer them all. I won't lie. Feedback is part of why I write.
Okay, sorry. If we're going to be honest here, I have to confess I may have lied a little bit. You're almost my favorite. You'll have to compete with these:
Kits is a great fellow writer who's spent more time helping me with this fic than %insert_humorous_metaphor. Kits, I owe you an apple for every paragraph you've read, a bushel of apples for every hour spent discussing this story, and an apple tree for every time I've come to you with fears, worries or whines.
Sadly, this means that the rest of the world will have to do without apples. Without you, this story wouldn't be. And since most of you reading this are not Kits, you should click the blue name up there and go read his stories, because Kits writes stories that are worth reading.
And hey, Kits, if you want to read your own stories, that's fine too. Sometimes I think you should do that to remind yourself that you're awesome.
Cormacolindor.
Corma is a great non-writer who doesn't write stories that I can link to and endorse like I do with Kits. This may in part be because he spends all his time corresponding with me in mails assuaging my fears, providing excellent feedback that I need to hear even when some of it hurts, and generally being awesome.
Awesome is a full-time job, I'm coming to believe. Thank you for all your hard work, for all your reads and your re-reads. Thanks for helping make the iffy bits in doc 2 good. Not better, but from bad to good. Thank you for alerting me to the issues in doc 3. Thank you for everything between "once upon a time" and "happily ever after", really.
Just like Kits, the story would not be without this here pony.
Everypony Else.
There are so many other ponies who've been awesome. Aymee helped me conceptualize the cover. Volmise finished it. Couch Crusader was an immense help with the initial chapters, reading through with such care to detail, it greatly deproblematicized getting on to EqD. TAW and Tcher have cheered me on; I am sure that I can't single out everyone, so I don't want to try. Thank you.
