> The Face of Magic
>  by Carapace
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> 1. Shadow of Deals Past
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The scent of rainfall had always served well to calm her troubled mind.

Perhaps most ponies might find it odd that she, Harbinger of the Dawn and Princess of the Sun, should find herself most at peace not when the skies were clear and blue and the land was bathed in her day’s warmth. Instead, Celestia favored either twilight—that precious time she and Luna could spend a few moments together while day ceded the land to night, and they joined one another for dinner—or moments like these. Moments where the pegasi graced their fair city with a good storm.

The scent of falling rain and ozone with each flash of lightning, the rumble of distant thunder, and that constant drumming on the rooftops and grounds below the balcony overlooking Canterlot’s eastern quarter never failed to put her ancient, worried mind at ease. It offered some small comfort as she considered her next actions and let it wander back to that fateful night.

Back to a night, just like this one, so many centuries ago. Back to those days following the Fall of Magic, the Shame of House Shimmer, and the deal. The deal which started it all.

Back to that night four centuries ago when she called in a favor to summon an old friend from her library, hidden deep in the Rolling Thunder Mountains to the south, nestled in the halls of Halla Eolais, and guarded jealously by her kin.

The night she made a deal with the Queen of the Seekers—they who thirsted for love and desire for knowledge above all else.

The night Magic found its home in their hooves.





The figure before her was quite fetching for a mare in her late twenties. Certainly one worthy of her stature and mind, her soft purple coat and pale pink mane, tied into a tight braid which wreathed her head like a crown, and enchanting amethyst eyes would have almost driven Celestia to inquire about dinner plans.

“I see you’re wearing a new face today, Queen Sireadh Firinn,” she greeted with a slight inclining of her head.

The mare smiled, her eyes shining with mischief, and perhaps just a touch of approval. “I like this one,” Sireadh mused as she gave her tail a merry swish. “It’s closer to my natural color, and it never fails to entice those adorable students and academics of yours to give their attention and engage when I approach for discussion.”

Celestia smiled. “Of course. And I wager Eolas approves wholeheartedly.”

“Oh, you’ve no idea,” she purred. “But I doubt you called for me so you might hear about my love life. May I?” The disguised Queen gestured to the plush purple cushion to Celestia’s right.

“Please.” With a wave of her gilded hoof, Celestia summoned her attendant. “Would you care for a drink? Anything you’d like, of course. My thanks for making the journey.”

“And mine for the offer. Brandy would be lovely, actually.” Sireadh smiled and nodded in greeting to the newcomer before the young stallion bowed and trotted off. Then, she took her seat, letting out a low, inequine purr as she got comfortable. “One day, I think I’ll convince you to part with the name of your cushion maker. You and Lulu always find the best, no matter how we try to imitate it.”

Celetia’s alabaster ears flicked, but she kept her expression neutral. “I might consider parting with such …” she trailed off, pretending to consider the notion, “valuable information. For a price.”

Her old friend leaned in, her eyes wide and unblinking. “You have my attention.”

“I have a bit of an … issue with one of our noble families.” She cringed inwardly even as she spoke. Why did it have to come to this?” “There has been a rather drastic change in their demeanor and attitude toward their fellow ponies, and it’s begun to cause problems we can ignore no longer.”

Sireadh tilted her head and fixed her with a puzzled look. “I mean no offense, old friend, but I fail to see how this is an issue to bring to me. Unless you’ve undergone a drastic change of heart toward teaching your subjects lessons and now favor other methods.” Idly, she began drumming her hooves upon the cushion. “Of course, I don’t mind lending a few hooves to do the job, and will guarantee your anonymity. But I do find this a rather odd request.”

Wincing, Celestia waved her off. “No, no, that won’t be necessary,” she replied hastily. “This is serious, yes, but I’d rather avoid that path. As for teaching, that would be rather difficult. This isn’t something so simple like refusing to treat others with respect or anything of the like that a word and lesson would solve. This has been going on for—” How long had it been, exactly? “—The better part of a generation.”

“Important then,” At Celetia’s nod, she hummed a low note. “Enough so that you would call upon not just the aid of the Seekers, but me, personally.” Sireadh chuckled and shook her head. “This is a rather troubling revelation.”

“I fear if things are are permitted to progress as they have, they will grow more troubling still.” Celestia drew close, lowering her voice so that it was little more than a murmur, “My sister’s dreams have been haunted of late.”

Sireadh stiffened, all trace of amusement gone. “You didn’t mention this in your letter!” she hissed.

The Princess of the Sun bowed her head. “My apologies. This is a rather sensitive issue—both personally and as head of state.”

“I gathered as much just a moment ago, but still.” Sighing, Sireadh leaned back in her cushion and closed her eyes, rubbing at her temples. After a moment, she opened them and spoke again, “Is Luna well, or were they like last time?”

Another wince. “I’ve had to brew a Draught of Dreamless Rest each night for a week so she might have some peace. I haven’t seen anything like this since Discord made his presence known.” A memory flashed before her eyes, drawing a shiver and rustle of wings. “If this continues, I fear for the state of her Dream Realm, and Harmony itself.”

Her old friend hummed in agreement. “This is quite serious then.” She sat in silence for a moment, again drumming her hooves upon the cushion. Her eyes, however, flitted away to look out over the city to take in the soothing sights of Canterlot in the midst of a storm. Eventually, she sighed and shook her head. “You’ve roused my curiosity. What is it that troubles her so?”

There it was. The moment she so dreaded.

Celestia turned her gaze away as well to look out over her precious city. The glowing lights in each window were always so lovely during these rainy nights.

Why had it come to this?

She closed her eyes and whispered softly, “Magic’s bearer has fallen from grace. The Element has lost its light, shrouded by her jealousy …” Say it. “And avarice.”

The words hung over them like a shining blade, the constant drum of rainfall the only sound between them.

Then, Celestia rose to step around the cushions and stand before Sireadh. “You know what I’m about to ask of you.”

“Unfortunately,” Sireadh replied evenly, she closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose. “I’m afraid your cushion maker’s name isn’t a fair price.”

“No. I figured not.” A rueful smile played upon her lips. “But I had to try.”

“Of course. I’d have likely done the same.”

“You’d have done worse, trickster Queen.”

Sireadh’s lips tugged into a sharklike grin. “Touché.” As quickly as it came, though, it vanished. “You realize what you’re asking of me?” she pressed. “You understand the power you’re putting in my hooves?”

Celesetia gave a solemn nod. “In multiple meanings, yes. I would have your word that you’ll come when called, like the others, and not hold this over our heads in that event. In exchange for the power you’ll hold.”

“An odd way to look at it, don’t you think?”

“How so?”

“Come now, don’t play games.” Sireadh raised a hoof. “I did not ask for this power. Now, I won’t say the offer isn’t … enticing.” A long, forked tongue ran over her lips. “Nor that it doesn’t present an opportunity to study an artifact we’ve longed for many years. But I’m more than aware of the burden, not to mention the danger it might bring to my kin should word get out.”

Her tail flicking, Celestia forced herself not to reveal any tells. “Of course.” She nodded once. “You will have my every assurance that none will ever know you hold M—”

The disguised Queen held up a hoof to silence her. “Don’t speak it aloud. Ever,” she said, her tone eerily reminiscent of Celestia’s long-lost teacher. “I expect you to follow the course of utmost silence in exchange for me stealing from House Shimmer alone.”

The sting of her words did draw a wince this time. “You have it.” She bowed her head. “Neither Luna nor I will ever speak of what your line will wield, and what you hold in Halla Eolais, I swear it. Should it ever come that it is revealed, it will be by you and yours, none other.” She paused, allowing Sireadh a moment to breathe a sigh of relief, then said, “What terms would you ask of me in exchange for acting on our behalf?”

Sireadh thought for a moment, her hooves again beat out a rhythm on the cushion. “I have a lot of kin in this city,” she mused.  “I have kin in many of your cities. They love it here. They love to teach yours and learn from them in kind.”

“I know.” A tiny smile played upon her lips. “They’re wonderful students, and loving teachers.”

“Yes. Yes, they are.” Sireadh’s amethyst eyes hardened. “I’ll not have them harmed by the ponies they sat and learned with should they be outed, or should our cousins’ actions turn our love into our folly.” Her jaw set, she fixed Celestia with a piercing gaze. “I want your word they will be protected should that ever come to pass. I want your word no law shall be written to allow them hunted and pulled from their homes.”

Lightning flashed. For an instant, Celestia saw her disguise falter, and a pair of gleaming fangs poked down from her upper lip.

Then, in a swift flash of arcane green fire, the disguise was in place once more.

Anger. Fear. Worry. All for the safety of her kin. How could she be faulted?

Celestia knew it all too well herself. It was her own fear for her ponies’ safety which drove her to call upon her old friend, for there were none better to wield it than she. Who else wielded such talent and shared it with those around her? For a small price, yes.

Protecting one another was hardly an unfair deal.

Her horn shimmered brilliant gold, Celestia removed her gilded shoe and offered Sireadh her naked hoof. “You have my word,” she said softly. “I’ll see to it personally. And should that day ever come, I’ll see to it they are returned to Halla Eolais unharmed.”

Sireadh nodded and clasped her hoof tight. “Then we have a deal. My line will wield it on your behalf, and you will protect my kin living within your borders on mine.”





Four hundred years.

That deal had stayed sound for four hundred years without incident, without any whisper of a problem. Sireadh had kept true to her word, and her kin found safety, security, and ponies who would love and share their desire for knowledge in those bastions of high education.

Celestia closed her eyes tight. How she hated this so.

But what other choice was there? That wretch had ruined so much—her niece’s wedding, her ponies’ sense of security, and worse.

Far worse.

Their sense of trust in friend, family, and neighbor alike had been shattered. Already there were rumblings in the noble houses, whispers in the streets as ponies’ eyes shifted this way and that, wondering who was real and who was but a mask.

Suspicion. Fear. Distrust.

They wanted to know who was pony and who wasn’t.

They wanted a full hunt. Once again, the delicate Harmony in her land was threatened.

Once again, she would have to call upon the bearers, all of them. Houses Apple, Belle, Pie, Shy, and Rainbow would answer readily, coming without question as they ever did. And so too, would another. But this time, she didn’t call upon that mysterious pony who came from their home in a land unknown in Equestria’s darkest hour, and vanished as soon as the storm had passed.

She sighed and looked at the bound scroll resting on her cushion, waiting to be sent. It was time. She’d delayed far too long as it was, and possibly made things worse as a result.

Celestia took a deep breath and cast the spell. Green fire devoured the scroll in seconds and sent a tendril of shimmering smoke slithering off into the night.

The Bearer of Magic was needed, but this time not as some mystery savior.

This time, she was needed to emerge from the halls of Halla Eolais as diplomat of the Seekers on the eleventh hour before chaos between races reigned. She was needed to put suspicion to rest, and ease Luna’s haunted dreams.

“And now,” Celestia whispered, quoting her long-lost teacher, “the die is cast.”
> 2. The Summons
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Deep within the mighty Rolling Thunder Mountains, nestled within the winding caves and endless labyrinth dug out by generations upon generations of Seekers from centuries long past, within the hive’s famed Library—the safeguard of knowledge thought long-lost, books stolen, bought, and won through trickery, and secrets which made even the Eternal Sisters speak in hushed whispers—a young changeling princess sat at her desk and sighed. 

Another failure. Hardly the first she’d ever seen, let alone the hive on this subject, but she’d been so sure this would be her breakthrough, her greatest achievement.

A testament to her status as heir to the Throne of Halla Eolais.

The warm glow of flickering candlelight bathed her mulberry carapace in its glow, caressing it like the loving embrace of a parent rocking their nymph. 

Her tail, brushed straight to perfection, not a lock of tricolored hair out of place as the light played along deep blue, soft purple, and striking pink stripe, flicked. The young changeling princess ran a hoof through her similarly styled mane and sighed as she let her slitted amethyst eyes scan over her methodology for the umpteenth time.

There were few things in the world which could ease Twilight Sparkle’s worries such as this. A visit from the Eternal Sisters, perhaps, or the lovely pony couple who named her after saving her life, or one from Cadence and Shining—

Twilight’s breath caught in her throat. The news, that accursed letter with its cold, block script was still fresh in her mind.

Shining and Cadence. Her dear friends. Her brother and sister in all but blood. Taken, tormented, charmed, and fed upon until their wedding day. Until a precocious young mare from an unfavored house just couldn’t keep her nose out of changeling business stumbled upon it all.

And her. 

The Princess of the Seekers’s heart sank into the pit of her stomach. She sighed again—as was habit since the news broke. But what more could she do?

She knew. They all knew.

It was no secret how that hive felt and viewed ponies, no secret how she saw them. But of all the foolish errands, all the gambits …

Twilight shook her head. “Breathe, hold, release,” she whispered that old cleansing routine Cadence taught her during one of her visits to the capitol. Under her favored disguise, of course. No sane changeling would think to walk into pony territory unhidden—or any, for that matter.

No sane changeling.

So why had they? Why had she?

With a hiss, she bared her fangs in frustration and forced herself to turn to the latest object of her obsession. Academic study, as her father always said, was the best medicine for a Seeker. And this, well, there was no better subject. There hadn’t been in the last four hundred years.

Not since Princess Celestia asked her mother to steal it right out from under House Shimmer’s noses.

Set upon a golden pendant backing upon a polished gold metal which curved elegantly to form a necklace, the perfect size to fit around her own, without any need for shapeshifting. A mercy, really. Though, come to think of it, her mother wore it in natural form for centuries as well, and she was full grown. Nearly a head and again taller, in fact.

A property of its magic, perhaps? Did the Element of Magic itself have a sort of awareness about its bearer? Was it a function of its nature to harmonize perfectly, both in terms of size and weight and how it rested around her neck whenever she was called upon to wear it?

She raised a chitinous hoof to touch her neck, just beneath her regalia. The first time she’d put it on, a young nymph’s curiosity coupled with her want to dream, to see herself big and powerful and wise, just like her mother, drove her to sneak into her mother’s room and remove it from the stand. It always stuck with her how the necklace seemed to resize itself to fit her tiny form the instant her eyes weren’t upon it. When her parents found her, they found themselves awestruck. A little nymph, their little nymph, beaming up at them with the Element of Magic around her neck.

And the Element accepted her.

It was the first time her mother had done more than merely hint that her time would soon come, both as bearer and researcher. When she found her voice, Sireadh Firinn solemnly stated that it would be she who answered the call when it came.

And after that …

Twilight gave an uneasy, chittering laugh. “Thinking too far ahead,” she muttered. “Mother’s still got plenty of years left in her. I’ll have a few centuries longer before I wear the crown.” 

Blowing a breath out through her nose, she returned her gaze to the top of her summary page and began to reread again. 



The Element of Magic, henceforth to be referred to as “the subject,” has shown minimal response to any outside influence other than the touch of its bearer. My first test, as detailed on page 73 paragraph C, was to determine whether there was a discernible melting point, as there is with most gemstones. In order to avoid actually destroying such a powerful artifact—and the possibility of untold damage to the entirety Halla Eolais with magical backlash—I attempted to collect a small sample by lightly scratching the surface with a scalpel. The same methodology used to collect stone samples.

It was here that I discovered this quite literally impossible. 

Upon first attempt, the subject yielded no samples. No, that is not a mistake in wording, I do not mean the subject yielded unusable samples—I mean not a single shard was dislodged, not even a scratch was shown upon its face. Just as had been for four hundred years, examination of the subject yielded nothing new. It remained undaunted.

Curious, I decided to see if there might be a change with a little more force added. My research assistant, For Suntasach, volunteered his services for the attempt. Regrettably, it would seem that the subject can be quite volatile when … provoked, shall we say.

Fortunately, his injuries weren’t extensive. A brief stay in the infirmary to help repair a bit of cracked carapace on his chest, as well as a sizable bruise upon his wing casing. We’re all quite relieved to note that he suffered no major injuries, nor did his passion or interest for this project take any blow.

If anything, my assistant’s interest is further invigorated. “We made it react!” he’s said to everyone, friend, family, and even my parents.

He’s only just an adult, but still a nymph at heart. For Suntasach will make a fine Seeker in his right. 

Returning to the subject at hoof …



Three sharp knocks upon the heavy wooden door to her study drew a flick of her ear. Twilight’s eyes flitted up, her lips pressed into as thin a line as her fangs would allow. “Come in,” she called.

With a rattle of the metal latch, the door pushed open to reveal a broad-chested guard with polished blue carapace and gleaming black armor. His slitted eyes met hers for an instant before he bowed low. “Your Highness,” he greeted. “The King and Queen have sent me to escort you to the Assembly Chambers.”

Her ears flicked. “What ever for?”

“Her Majesty received word from Canterlot by way of fire path,” he replied. “Her Majesty has called an assembly of the hive.” His eyes flitted away. “All nymphs, students, educators, librarians, guards, and Black Helmets currently in residence are required to attend.”

There it was. She knew it would come.

Twilight drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes tight. Again, all she could do was ask that question. One she felt she only knew half the answer to at this point. Why do you have to look at them as little more than food or entertainment? The princess released her breath in a sigh. Why can’t you just listen?

Slowly, she began to rise, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. “Well, no use crying over a cracked pod,” she said loftily. “We knew this day would come when we received word of the invasion.” With a sad smile, she nodded to him. “Lead on.”





Through winding tunnels lined with torches and paths branching off into different sections of Halla Eolais’s nigh endless library and classrooms, Twilight walked in the wake of her guard escort. Idly, she amused herself by letting her gaze flit about to seek out those hidden holes, those secret passages leading back to the guard barracks for ease of ambush and counterattack.

She knew them all by heart. Every Seeker did. But such thoughts helped distract her busy, ever-analytical mind from the plethora of questions buzzing about like bees in midsummer.

What was the situation in Canterlot? Why had Princess Celestia waited so long to call upon them? Were Cadence and Shining well? Night Light and Twilight Velvet? Princess Luna?

Above all others, though, that same, damnable question haunted her so.

Why, Chrysalis? Why them?

A pang shot through her chest. Twilight forced herself to swallow a discontented groan with a flick of her tail. There was little point for speculation, the logical side of her said in its cold, apathetic tone. What happened, happened. There was no changing the past. Only adapting to the future.

It did little to silence the cries of her other side. That raw, emotional side, the force within all changelings, Seeker or otherwise, which demanded she protect hers and avenge all slights.

Twilight found herself in an odd place, on that front. How could she protect and avenge at the same time?

She was saved from such puzzling musings by the sight of a great oaken door, made some centuries ago after a wild lightning storm struck down an old oak tree. The entrance to the assembly chambers stood wide open, with a pair of guards and a black helmet standing at the ready to admit them.

The black helmet turned to face her, the high fin on her crest designated her the Captain, the master of her shadowy craft. Her cherry redeyes met Twilight’s, softening just a touch. “Your Highness,” she greeted with just a hint of warmness.

“Good evening, Captain Labhrais,” Twilight replied, inclining her head.

“Just Silín, please, Your Highness.” Her cheeks colored a dusty pink beneath her gray carapace. “My rank doesn’t change the years we studied together.”

“And yet, you refuse my command to call me Twilight.” Feigning a sigh, she smiled, despite the dour mood hanging overhead. “Perhaps I should ask mother to assign you some menial work as reminder.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Her smile fell to a deep frown. Silín Labhrais’s eyes lost that playful gleam as she flicked her short, blue-white tail. “There have been whispers as the hive entered, Highness. Rumors spread like plague, I’ve heard no less than a hundred different, each concerning recent events. And why Princess Celestia would wait so long to call.”

Twilight sighed at her lost distraction. “I don’t know much,” she admitted. “Nothing more than she’s waited until now to call upon us regarding the invasion of Canterlot. If I were to guess, I’d presume she wishes to know what we knew and when, if anything.”

Silín grunted. “Mine as well. What was that idiot thinking?” she muttered the last part more to herself, but Twilight heard it  nonetheless. The Captain of the Black Helmets shook her head and stepped aside with a bow to admit them. “After you, Highness. The hive awaits.”

With a nod of thanks, Twilight stepped by her and let herself look out over the chambers. The assembly chambers was shaped like a giant pod, carved out by some of the finest builders the hive had ever produced. The ceiling climbed high, high until one could almost swear the tip of the conical, egg-like top just might end a mere hair beneath the peak of Halla Eolais’s central mountain. The walls themselves were as smooth as marble, with steps cut out of the stone leading up and fanning out wide to lead up to rows upon rows of benches upon which her hive mates sat and waited for the assembly to begin. The younger changelings, the students, were dressed in robes designating their age groups—the youngest in sky blue, the middle in yellow, the teens in slime green, the young adults in deep blue, and the research assistants and teaching assistants in purple.

Twilight offered a crooked smile at the bemused looks her lack of dress earned her. In her haste to make it to the assembly, she’d left her own cloak, purple with green trim to signify her royal blood, on the rack in her study.

At the center of the room, standing upon a stone dais adorned with a grand green carpet, stood her parents. Her father, Eolas ag Iarraidh, stood tall, his black carapace polished and shone with the flickering torchlight and messy blue mane sat beneath a shimmering crown wrought out of silver and decorated with sparkling gemstones. His face showed concern and careful consideration, yet when he took notice of her, he aimed that warm smile she knew so well. Then he brushed his hoof against his wife’s ankle.

Sireadh Firinn’s gaze was upon her in an instant. Her eyes the very same color as Twilight’s, shone with concern. The silver, twisting crown upon her head, the diamonds sparkling like the very stars in the sky, even more brilliant than her husband’s. Her lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, the only tell she gave before the hive.

Then her expression turned blank, a stately mask slipping effortlessly into place as she beckoned Twilight forth. 

Twilight could feel the gazes of thousands of changelings upon her as she trotted toward her parents with her head held high. She came to a halt a step before the dais, bowing her head in deference. “Mother, father,” she greeted formally.

“Twilight,” Sireadh replied, inclining her head just slightly. That tiny smile flitted across her face again, there for but an instant and gone once more. She and Eolas stepped apart to allow Twilight space, Sireadh gestured for her to take it and join them with a wave of her hoof. 

An invitation she took without further hesitation. Twilight exchanged an affectionate brush of shoulders with Eolas before turning to offer the same to her mother, then awaited her to speak. 

Never one to keep them waiting, Sireadh turned to look out over her hive and began pacing about the dais. “My fellow Seekers,” she greeted, her voice carrying throughout the chambers. “Thank you for joining me this evening, I do wish I called upon you under better circumstances, but—” the Queen of the Seekers allowed herself a sardonic smile “—if wishes were fishes, as the saying goes.”

A ripple of chittering mirth swept through the hive. Twilight, on the other hoof, had to hold back a grimace.

Opening with a joke. Not good. 

Sireadh continued her slow circuit around the dais, her smile melting off her face like ice on a hot stove. “As we shared with you once the Black Helmets sent word from Canterlot regarding the ill-fated invasion of our cousins from the far west.” She paused, allowing a few members to hiss or grumble obscenities in various tongues. The news had spread quite wide across the land, and made it difficult for those who liked to travel and teach to connect with their students, and Sireadh Firinn knew their plight well. “I confess, I do share your sentiments, but lingering on them too long would be quite counterproductive. Especially in the face of recent tidings from our longstanding allies.”

All grumblings of discontent died in an instant. Twilight perked her ears, her slitted eyes focused on her mother as she stopped her circuit where she began, and lit her horn a deep, verdant green. In a burst of light, a scroll bound in red ribbon and fastened with a golden seal popped into existence. 

Twilight’s keen eyes went to the emblem engraved into the metal. A sun and moon entwined together, signaling the endless cycle of day and night and the harmony it brought.

It was official, not just a letter between rulers. A cold lump settled in her throat. There were only two or three reasons Equestria, namely the princesses, sent such a letter in times of crisis.

Her mother undid the fasten and ribbon binding, and unrolled the scroll so she could relay Princess Celestia’s words as written. “To my old friends, Queen Sireadh Firinn and King Eolas ag Iarraidh,” she read aloud. “I write to you today under poorer tidings than I wish, as our land is clouded by the shadow of fear and suspicion due to your cousins’ recent actions, as you once worried. Ponies, uncertain of who is true friend or not, clamor for answers, some demand searches and laws. I ask that you and yours know that my sister and I have, and shall, hold our end of the bargain to protect your kin living within our borders. But with such fear, some quite justified, I worry this time a few soothing words from us won’t be enough.”

She paused to let the words sink in. Twilight felt the lump in her throat work itself into her chest, freezing her very heart. It was happening. They’d always known the day would come when she was called—she had always known, deep in her heart. 

But not like this. The little nymph in her wanted to drop down and beg for something else, anything. Not this.

Not because of her.

“It is with heavy heart that we ask this of you,” Sireadh continued, her tone betrayed nothing. “We have called forth the other five, each of whom were present at my niece’s wedding the day of the invasion. Now, we must ask that the sixth come forth from Halla Eolais to restore the damage done to the harmony between our races, and represent her hive as diplomat to our land. My friends, Luna and I sincerely apologize. We will continue to protect your kin, but we cannot protect our own from the fear lingering in their hearts.” In another flash of verdant green, she sent the letter away. Still, her face revealed nothing. “You’ve now heard the word of Princess Celestia,” she said, “you’ve heard what she asks of us, and know the bargain made the day I accepted Magic in exchange for the protection for our kin. It is my feeling, and my husband’s, that we are obligated to answer. However, I will not deny your voice, the word of all Seekers is welcome in my hive—let any who disagree rise and share their reason. Speak now, or let it be done.”

All around her, Twilight heard her hive mates discussing the matter in hushed tones, each holding their debates on the consequences of going or staying and ignoring the call. Changelings young and old whispered their points, gesturing wildly with their hooves between one another and her.

Of course they’d point her out.

She was the one who’d been called.

After several tense moments of intra-hive debate, one young nymph, barely out of his hatchling years stood and adjusted the yellow youngling’s robes so they sat more comfortably on his shoulders. Twilight recognized him from one of the classes she’d helped teach, Hipitéis, if she recalled.

“The hive will recognize Hipitéis,” Sireadh called, silencing all conversation in an instant. Her slitted eyes locked upon the youngling. “If you’d be so kind as to open the debate.”

Hipitéis bowed low. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Everyone.” The little nymph stood up straight, his head tall, like a proper Seeker presenting his case. “Fellow Seekers, I may be young, but I cannot stay silent when everything we’ve heard from Princess Celestia’s letter, her summons, rather, smells of trouble ahead. What happened to our friends, Shining Armor and Princess Cadence, at their wedding was tragic, and I’m sure I’m not the only one here who feels utmost relief for their safety now.” A round of nods and polite thudding of hooves brought a hint of a smile to his face. “However, I do worry this might bode ill for more than just our kin abroad. The ponies aren’t just asking for the bearer of Magic to step forth, save the day, and then recede into shadows and whispered stories as before. They’re asking for the bearer to stand in the light to answer for crimes our cousins committed against their kind. Perhaps it’s out of place, but I feel I must ask: how long until they put two and two together and realize the bearer is one of us?”

Silence greeted his question. Out of the corner of her eye, Twilight noticed her father giving a little tilt of his head in acknowledgement. The youngling had made a sound point.

But he wasn’t quite done. Hepitéis then turned his pale brown eyes upon her, offering a small bow before he spoke again, “How long before they realize we’re sending our Princess and those causing the Eternal Sisters grief try to put pressure on her? Or worse?”

“Rebuttal!” an older changeling called from the opposite side of the chambers. She stood tall, her platinum silver mane long and flowing down to her shoulders. “Hipitéis, you raise valid concern and show promising insight. However, with age, comes understanding. With respect, youngling, what you ask us to do in ignoring our allies spits in their face just as much as if we’d been flying upon their city with our cousins!”

Beside her, a student in green robes stood and nodded. “I second Belladonna’s assessment,” he called. “I would add that there has always been risk with our hive holding Magic, lest we forget the return of Tirek last century!”

“All the more reason to be cautious,” a guard stepped forward and removed his deep green helm. “I won’t go as far as seconding young Hipitéis entirely, but I would agree that we cannot simply send Princess Twilight off to Equestria in such dire times.”

“What’s more,” Hipitéis added, “Queen Sireadh has been learned in magics forgotten by most since long before any of us were alive. I intend no disrespect, Your Highnesses—” he offered another bow to Twilight specifically “—but our Princess is young. And, though it pains me to say, her past health issues do bring great concern to her strength and endurance.”

It was at that point the calm broke. Changelings leapt from their seats, some hissing in outrage and shouting him down to demand apology for the offense, others rising to his side to note the objective truth and need for consideration. Others found way to play both sides, noting the validity of his concerns while pointing out the necessity to maintain the long-standing alliance with the House of the Eternal Sisters, and Equestria as a whole.

Twilight tried to maintain a stately mask, just like her mother and father. Even as she felt her father drift closer to touch his hoof against her wrist in comfort, stinging tears gathered at the corner of her eyes and threatened to well. She blinked them away and took a deep, soothing breath, and released just as Cadence taught her.

It wasn’t her fault she’d gotten sick when she’d hatched. It wasn’t her fault she was shorter than she should’ve been at her age. Nor was it her fault it took some years for her to gain her strength, and then some.

Just like it wasn’t her hive’s fault the ponies had reason to be afraid.

But that didn’t take away the sting each time a reminder came.

Through it all, she watched her mother. Queen Sireadh Firinn gave no hint as to which side of the debate she fell. Her ears swiveled and flicked, taking in each point as it was raised and countered. After what seemed a small eternity, she raised her hoof and struck down upon the dais with a thundering stomp. She was done hearing arguments.

Silence fell upon the assembled hive once more. All attention turned to their Queen as they sat in near-perfect unison.

“I have heard your arguments,” she began slowly. “Now, we shall raise ours.” Sireadh turned her gaze upon Hipitéis and regarded him in silence for several seconds, then spoke, “I appreciate each of you raising valid concerns, Hipitéis, though I would remind you to take care with your wording. My daughter was sick upon hatching, yes. And if not for the timely intervention of two outsiders, I might yet be grieving her loss.” Her eyes turned colder than ice. The youngling quailed beneath her gaze. “Two outsiders from Canterlot named Night Light and Twilight Velvet, sent to study in our halls upon request of our friends, Princesses Celestia and Luna. Two outsiders my husband and I embraced as our own and named kin in all but blood, and granted the privilege of choosing her name.”

The silence held fast. One could’ve heard a quill drop throughout the assembly chambers.

Eolas’s hoof left Twilight’s wrist. Her father stepped forward to stand at his wife’s side. “Furthermore,” he said, his tone level, “our daughter has quite surpassed expectations in terms of her prowess and fortitude since then. As counterpoint to yours, Hipitéis, I submit her campaign to defend Halla Eolais against the tatzelwurm as most recent evidence.”

Twilight took note of the way the youngling’s ears drooped and eyes fell to the floor, abashed. She bit her lip. He wasn’t wrong. Nor was he necessarily right, both in wording or in assessment, but his points weren’t to be ignored.

She thought carefully on her own words, wetting her lips with a lash of her forked tongue. “If I may,” she cut in, but remained in place. All eyes fell upon her once more. “I don’t take offense to what Hipitéis said, though I would ask that he take the time to think a little more on his wording in the future, so valid concerns are not lost in the midst of a heated argument.” 

Hipitéis’s ears perked back up, his eyes met hers, showing confusion and just a hint of relief. A low rumble of thudding hooves sounded out the hive’s agreement.

“Continuing on, yes, it is true. It’s no secret I was a sickly hatchling, as my mother said.” She nodded to Sireadh and received one in turn. “But as my father counters, I’ve grown into my own. Height excluding, if you’ll pardon my need for a stepladder to meet my parents’ eyes.” Her comment earned her a ripple of chittering mirth, drawing a small smile. Good. Tension removed.

Which meant now she could make her actual statement on the subject.

The hive was waiting. But Twilight found herself conflicted.

The burden of bearing Magic had never been kept secret. Her mother had been open on the dangers it posed, and scrutiny from ponies across the land—especially those who would try to coax her to remain and give details. But there was something else in Princess Celestia’s message. Or, something subtextual, rather. The bearer, Twilight, wasn’t being called forth, save the day, and recede into shadows, just as Hipitéis said. What was being asked was more … involved. And open.

And her answer was going to set off the hive again.

Twilight drew in a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. It’s my burden now. “While I don’t think I quite agree with Hipitéis on being so cautious or apprehensive on the matter of helping our longest standing allies, I would point out that he is absolutely correct on another matter—that being what is asked.” She turned to face her parents. “I don’t think it wrong to presume your interpretation matches, would it?”

“It would not,” Sireadh replied. To the hive, she said, “Princess Celestia, in essence, does not merely ask for the bearer. She asks for the bearer to act as our diplomat, just as my daughter and Hipitéis say.”

There was almost a chorus of sharp inhaling. Changeling eyes flitted about to one another in silent conversation. Then came call from somewhere near Hipitéis, “What about disguise? Princess Twilight could act as though she were a local representing our interests!”

“That would beg more questions than it answered,” another said with a scoff. “And if that happens, it could make things worse for our kin within their borders if we’re seen as lying.”

“It’s served well when Queen Sireadh goes to act as bearer!”

“In fairness,” Sireadh put in, “I’ve made certain to leave my home vague each time. And take on different guises each time.”

Twilight could only frown as the hive began to launch into open debate once more. They weren’t seeing it. Even her own parents were missing it. Or, perhaps not.

Perhaps it was more that her parents hoped it wouldn’t come to such an unprecedented notion. Her own mother hadn’t been so bold when she went to accept Magic on Princess Celestia’s behalf four hundred years prior.

But times had changed, and so must they. Thanks to their own cousins.

“Rebuttal,” Twilight said softly, her voice so low only Eolas could hear. “And counterpoint.”

Eolas blinked and fixed her with a quizzical look, but stomped his hoof to call for silence all the same.

Nodding her thanks, Twilight turned to properly address the hive. “In Princess Celestia’s letter she requests that we send the bearer, myself, as our representative. Now, as Teoirim noted—” she nodded to Hipitéis’s older brother “—in his counterpoint, disguising myself as a pony or one of our local friends might raise more questions than anything. In the event that things don’t work out well, it could also prove a problem.” A round of wincing came in reply. “Exactly. To that end, I believe our usual methods might work against us in this case.”

Her father frowned. “And how would you address that?” he pressed. His eyes, however, told another story. 

They showed a hint of warning. A look he wore so often when trying to silently counsel her away from a path he saw as foolhardy or ill-suited. Or dangerous.

Sadly, Twilight had never quite been one to back down when that look was in play.

“I would have us address this with proper representation, father. I’ll answer her call, as bearer and as diplomat. I’ll address them and represent our hive as Twilight Sparkle, Princess of the Seekers …” she trailed off and drew in a deep breath. It was time to flick a match onto the powder keg. “In my natural form.”

It took several seconds for her words to register. Several long, agonizing seconds of complete and utter silence. None dared to breathe.

Then every member of the hive, from the youngest students to the oldest teachers, to Silín Labhrais and her Black Helmets, to her parents themselves launched into a flurry of objections. The entire hive against Twilight in a debate. Oddly enough, a smile began to spread across her features.

A debate against the bulk of the Seekers. Now there was a worthy challenge.
> 3. From Halla Eolais
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Twilight returned to her private chambers, it was well after midnight. Her hooves dragged against the cold stone floor as it gave way to plush carpet, her eyelids felt heavy, and only practice granted her the aim with which to remove her regalia and silver-wrought crown and deposit them on the cushion set out by her attendants for polishing. All the same, a contented, almost self-satisfied smile played upon her lips.

After nearly six hours of intense debate, she’d managed to make them see her point of view. Oh, they’d found some dozen ways to try to wiggle out of it or sway her along another path; little Hipitéis had even tried his best to recant his previous points in hopes that it might entice her back to a more traditional means of answering the call. Her parents, cunning as they were, had latched right onto that and tried their best to steer the conversation down a path that would see her distracted and lose sight of her goal.

They’d taught her just a bit too well. She saw that fact reflected in their eyes, even as they nodded and adjourned the assembly with the results quite handily in her favor.

For a given value of “in her favor,” she would have to note, but despite the cold feeling and tightening in her throat, there was just something in her belly—apart from the squirming—that told her this was the path she needed to take. This was what was needed of her as the bearer of Magic.

Now, if only she could negotiate with her heart to return to its proper place in her chest so she could breathe. Saying it was one thing. Actually following through and enduring what might come was another matter entirely.

Going to Equestria in her natural form? Unthinkable! And yet, it was the best course of action she could see laid out before her.

Twilight gave herself a little smack across her cheek. “Don’t think like that, or you’ll end up backing out,” she scolded. Turning toward her vanity and closet, she lit her horn and summoned her travel bags from the top shelf. “Packing for the trip. That’ll keep my mind off things. Need to be ready for the trip tomorrow so this can be taken care of quickly, and I can return to my research.”

Happy thoughts. Cadence once told her happy thoughts were the perfect way to get out of a funk or tumble into anxiety.

As she began to pack her things, her thoughts began to wander to her dear friends. How would they react to her arrival so soon after the invasion? Both would have just as much reason to distrust changelings as any—more so, even.

How would the wedding weigh against years of friendship together?

A pair of gentle knocks against her door jolted her from her thoughts. Twilight turned sharply and found her mother standing in the open doorway, her face blank save for a glimmer of concern still in her ancient amethyst eyes.

“May I come in?” her mother asked.

Nodding, Twilight smiled back at her. “I’m hardly a nymph, I’m not going to lock you out of my room because you wouldn’t let me have sweets, mother.”

“True, though this time it seems you’ve won that argument.” There was a beat of silence, then she stepped in and nudged the door closed. A frown played upon her lips. “And so formal outside an official function? Can I not be ‘mom’ or ‘mommy’ again?”

“Sorry, mom.” Her cheeks colored. “Habit from the assembly.”

“I understand.” Sireadh Firinn forced a tiny smile, her eyes flitted toward the open travel bags and back to Twilight. “Eager to leave home,” she noted playfully. Slowly, she approached, her steps seemed almost laden with hesitation as she drew near Twilight. “I don’t think I’ve felt this way since you first visited Canterlot.”

With a little chitter of mirth, Twilight turned away from her packing and closed the distance so she could nuzzle her mother’s cheek. “Dad still tells me how you’d watch over the fire path like a hawk while waiting for our letters.”

“Yes, your father does love to tease. I’ll have to pretend I’m angry with him for that again. He does squirm so.”

Her mother’s hoof wrapped around her shoulders and tugged her close. For a moment, the pair were content to enjoy their embrace in silence. Their cheeks brushed together, Twilight could feel the tiniest of tremors in her mother’s hoof.

“I hate this deal, and I hate that I let her convince me to take it,” Sireadh muttered. Sighing heavily, she added, “And I can’t say I’m overly enthused you want to go waltzing through Canterlot’s gates in your natural form so soon after what that idiot did, either.”

“I know.” Twilight drew back to offer a pained smile. That idiot. And I can’t even defend what she’s done this time. Aloud, she replied, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a mess of nerves about this myself, but I don’t know if there’s a better way.”

Sireadh hummed. “I don’t know that there is. Unfortunately, this is a scenario I created the day Celestia asked our line to take Magic and wield it on their behalf.” With a heavy sigh, she regarded Twilight as if looking over her for the last time. “And now what I took up falls upon the shoulders of my beautiful little nymph.”

Twilight ducked her head to hide her flushed cheeks. “I wasn’t that beautiful when I was little. I was a sickly little thing.”

“Only for a short while. But you grew strong, and blossomed like the wonderful purple rose your father and I knew you’d become.” She leaned in and nosed against Twilight’s forehead. “And I have them to thank for the chance to hold you as I do now. How could I refuse to send my daughter to answer the call when Celestia’s students answered mine so many years ago?” Her eyes seemed to flicker. For an instant, Sireadh Firinn showed every one of her thousand-plus years. “I do have conditions.”

Of course. Why would she not during such times? “I understand.”

Sireadh released Twilight from her embrace and fixed her with a stern gaze, both parent and Queen of the Seekers all in one. “You will not go alone. You will travel with Silín Labhrais and three of her Black Helmets. She and I have already spoken on this, she’s making selections as we speak.”

A fair demand. Twilight nodded once. “I accept. It would put me a bit at ease to have another familiar face, and one who might help if needed,” she added.

“And ours.” Her mother flicked her tail. “Second, I’ve sent word back to Celestia. I expect you will remain in either her castle, Cadence’s apartment, or Night Light’s home.”

“I would add Shining Armor’s flat as substitute.” Before Sireadh could protest, she held up a hoof. “It’s close to the castle and barracks. You’ve not been there yet.”

Frowning, Sireadh sniffed. “Very well, but I prefer the three I know.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out in a slow sigh. “You’ll give them my regards, I hope.”

“Mom, please,” Twilight chided, a crooked smile spread across her features. She closed the distance again to catch her in a hug. “You know I will.” 

“I do.” That small, sad smile began to spread across her features. Sireadh looked her over for a moment longer, then lit her horn once more. “My last is something you’ve put upon yourself with this decision,” she said gravely. “But I suppose I knew this day would come, if not a bit sooner than I wished.”

Before Twilight could question her, there was a burst of green light a mere hoof’s length from her mother’s shoulder. There, floating in place, was a gold necklace gleaming in the flickering candlelight. Its deep purple gemstone shone with untold magic.

The young princess felt a heavy weight fall upon her shoulders. “Mom, I—”

Sireadh placed it around her neck and stepped back to appraise her. “It suits you well,” she whispered. “You’ll be the perfect bearer.” Again, she drew in close and placed her hooves upon Twilight’s shoulders, and planted a soft kiss upon her forehead. “Never doubt that your father and I are proud of you.”

Words failed her. Twilight’s hoof went to the Element, touching upon the cool gemstone. She closed her eyes and reared up to wrap her mother in a tight embrace.





As much as Sireadh might complain about her husband being a complete goof and a bit of a pain in the rear, especially in how he’d happily share stories about her acting anything less than the pillar of Seeker society to those closest, there was one area she simply couldn’t find fault.

Behind those sky blue eyes so many students—changeling or otherwise—called enchanting, haunting, or even piercing should the mood strike him, was a brilliant mind packed to the brim with knowledge and wisdom the likes of which no Seekers save his wife could ever compare. But one area he held the top spot, and had for longer than any could remember, was preparation.

Halla Eolais’s winding tunnels and secret passages had been his design—guards and Black Helmets used them constantly to better accomplish their duties.

Twilight felt the urge to fidget as he stood before her, idly tapping his hoof as he glanced between her and the suitcase laying open upon her bed. A hint of a grimace, one part consideration, another displeasure at the situation, played upon his lips.

Worst of all, he was quiet. Far too quiet for her taste.

Certainly, she’d heard tales of her parents’ demeanor in times of crisis long before she’d hatched—her mother always wore a visage of utmost fury before she unleashed her rage at whoever threatened her hive, while her father was more cool and calculating. Worlds apart from the warm, doting father Twilight knew. Eolais ag Iarraidh’s wrath was terrifying, even by changeling standards.

It had been his devotion to the hive during his time as the earliest form of the Black Helmets that earned Sireadh Firinn’s attention and affection.

That very same devotion he’d always held toward his duty as a father to his one and only daughter.

Twilight turned her gaze away, finding a patch of slime trailing down the main entry chamber. “Are you upset with me?” she asked. 

“I would try again to dissuade you from this path, but you would have cause to call my argument redundant,” he said, breaking his lengthy silence. “And I suppose I’d break our hive’s trust in the open forum debate—no armor? Not even mithril? Twilight, you can’t be serious.”

She winced, mumbling, “I wasn’t sure I should make my entrance wearing armor when I was meant to show that I came in peace. Also, wouldn’t Celestia and Luna take offense at an implication they couldn’t keep me safe?”

“Perhaps, but were it one of their daughters I wager they’d feel the same.”

“Cadence never came in armor or mithril,” Twilight retorted before she could stop herself.

Both royals flinched, Twilight at the thought of her oldest friends’ suffering—he under Chrysalis’s charms, her trapped in the caves beneath Canterlot and replaced at her own wedding. 

She licked her lips and turned to face him again, bowing her head. “I’m sorry.”

Her father drew in a sharp breath through his nose. “She did not,” he murmured. “Cadence and Shining Armor came to us without need for such protection, because your mother and I vowed it ourselves to her as a member of the Royal House of Equestria, and he as if he were our own hatchling.” A low, dissatisfied chitter rolled in the back of his throat. “You learned our lessons too well.”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight repeated. “This entire thing has me just …”

“Flustered?” he offered.

“To put it kindly, yes.” 

Despite himself, Eolas gave that crooked half-smirk which never failed to drive her mother insane. “You’ve chosen a path neither your kin, your mother, nor your father approve, knowing the risk it brings. Frankly, if you weren’t, I might think you insane or denying the gravity of the task at hoof.”

Twilight arched a brow. “I thought you weren’t going to try to dissuade me.” 

“I’m not.” That smirk grew into a cheeky smile. “You inherited far too much of my stubbornness and your mother’s talent to see through my word games for me to try that after the assembly. At this point, all I could do to change your mind would be charming you or having the guards cocoon you until we could think of a better option—oh, don’t give me that look! I’m just saying!”

Just saying. Twilight’s eyes flitted about, keenly searching out any sign of one of her kin hiding in the corners or behind the slime trailing down the walls. No changeling in the hive played tricks or hid their meaning like Eolas ag Iarraidh. 

How many times had the hive been protected without loss as a result of his trickery over the centuries?

Far more than even their history knew.

Perhaps it was no wonder, then, why when Twilight returned her attention to him, she was met with a familiar, proud smile. Eolas ag Iarraidh shook his head and said, “So much like your mother. Even if I tried, they couldn’t have hidden well enough no matter how distracted you were.”

“I have her wit,” Twilight reminded him, her lips tugging into a smile of her own. “And a loving father who taught me well.”

“Too well.” He trotted over and wrapped a hoof around her shoulders, laying his chin atop her head. “Far too well, the old fool. He never could resist that pouty lip and those eyes when they glistened with want and tears.”

Twilight made a sound the likes of which could never have come from a pony’s throat, sputtering as she pushed away to fix him with a playful glare. “I did not pout at you!” she huffed.

“So you always say, and yet …” His smile turned wicked. Eolas leaned down to peck her forehead. “Well, we’ll resume that debate upon your return. Though, could I not convince you to at least take—”

A flat stare cut him off. “I’m taking four Black Helmets,” she said, prodding his chest with her every word. “Silín among them. Anything else might actually offend Celestia.”

With another dissatisfied chitter, Eolas frowned. “True, I suppose.” Again, he wrapped her in a one-hoofed embrace and sighed. “I would prefer you take more than four, to be honest, but Silín felt that might be too conspicuous - even for this undertaking.”

Twilight hummed an affirmative. It was nice to know that despite her misgivings with the notion, Silín could put them aside and think the situation through.

“She’s selected three of her best,” Eolas continued. “They will stay with you at all times—if not openly by your side, they will follow unseen.” He glanced up, his smile returning. “Ah, and here they are now!”

Perking her ears, Twilight turned to greet Silín and three of her Black Helmets—all, thankfully, had traded their black armor out for the traditional green of the guards of Halla Eolais. 

The disguised Black Helmets stopped two paces from Twilight and Eolas. Silíin took one further and bowed. “Your Highnesses,” she greeted warmly, then rose to stand at full height. She gestured toward her fellows with a wave of her hoof. “My team is ready to escort Princess Twilight to Canterlot. By your leave, of course.”

Eolas nodded once. “If I don’t give it now, I never will.” He turned to plant another kiss on Twilight’s forehead, lingering a second longer as if he feared she might turn into smoke the instant he let go. Sighing, he drew away and released her from his embrace. “You have my leave, as well as that of Queen Sireadh Firinn, Captain Labhrais.”

At the mention of her mother’s name, Twilight’s ears twitched. She turned to glance about, checking the distant corridor and the hidden stairwell leading to the Paca Plains Observatory. A tiny frown marred her face as she looked to her father and asked, “Mom didn’t want to come and say goodbye?”

His smile fell. “It’s not that she doesn’t want to, honey,” Eolas said softly. “You know how hard it is for her to let you leave home.”

“Ah.” Twilight shifted in place. So much for avoiding that. With a rueful smile, she ducked her head. “She’s never not going to see me as her sickly hatchling, is she?”

Eolas cupped her chin with his hoof, gently guiding her to look him in the eye. “She sees you as  a brilliant young changeling, we both do,” he corrected. Leaning in close, he nuzzled her nose and added, “But to us, you’ll always be our hatchling. Sickly or not. We’ll always worry. Part of being a parent, I’m afraid.”

It took all her effort not to let the pang that shot through her chest show in her expression. Far be it from her to refuse their love and care, but Twilight was quite different from the rest of her kin. Even among the royals of other hives.

They hadn’t grown up stunted and sickly, constantly watched and guarded by the most capable changelings and a budding guard pony wherever she went. Not to mention the Eternal Sisters themselves.

So many had watched over her and worried for her health and safety all her life. Out of love, of course. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind of that.

But sometimes—just sometimes—Twilight wished she could go without their worry.

This could be her chance, she realized. Her battle with the tatzelwurm was certainly a boon to her, as proven in the assembly, but this?

This could be the chance to prove herself to the hive and put that image of the sickly hatchling behind her forever.

Turning her attention to Silín, Twilight nodded and cast a quick spell to shrink her suitcase and stow it in one of the pouches hidden in her old friend’s armor. After a moment to adjust the silver wrought crown upon her head, she turned to face the Gate of Eolais and motioned for the others to follow. Though, not after she reared up to kiss her father’s cheek.

“I’ll come back,” she whispered. “No matter what happens.”

“I know.” He leaned down to nuzzle into her mane and held her tight one last time. “Be well, Twilight.”

Once Eolas released his embrace, Twilight made her way to the gate, flanked by her guards. 

“Disguises on from here on out,” Silín commanded. “We’ll drop them once we’re far enough away from the mountains.”

Standard practice to keep Halla Eolais hidden. So natural to each Seeker was it that all five had begun to shapeshift into their preferred disguises before she’d even finished the order. In place of the undersized Princess of the Seekers stood a unicorn of modest height, her coat the same color as her carapace and the starburst emblem of the Element of Magic surrounded by five lesser stars emblazoned upon her flank.

Twilight allowed herself a smile and contented sigh as she stepped through the high arches of the Gate of Eolais and felt warm sunlight bathe her form. Its gentle kiss upon her false coat never failed to bring joy to her heart.

As if Celestia herself wished to send thanks for her decision and entice her to come with the promise of warm welcome and love.

“Let’s hurry along,” Silín called, trotting along at a brisk pace. “I’ve arranged a guide to lead us through Paca Plains until we reach the forest, let’s not keep our alpaca friends waiting too long.”

“Is it that overly peppy one again?” one of the guards whined.

Another sighed and brought a hoof to his face. “If she flaps her legs in greeting, I won’t be held responsible for what I do, Captain.”

Silín fixed the pair with a glare. “You’ll behave yourselves and return her favor with gratitude and your protection! Changelings honor their deals, and I’ve given my word!”

Twilight tried to stay focused on her task as she watched her old friend scold her guards. Her mother had protected Halla Eolais and Equestria from monsters, armies, plagues, and curses countless times over the course of centuries. It fell upon Twilight’s shoulders to take up the mantle and fulfill that old promise.

Halfway down the slope, Twilight felt it—a tingle down her spine, like someone was watching. She turned, her steps slowing as her eyes tracked up until she found a particular spot, nestled in what most would think nothing more than a fissure in the stone.

In her favorite spot in the Paca Plains Observatory, Sireadh Firinn stood in her favored disguise—a beautiful unicorn mare of soft purple coat and flowing, pale pink mane. She gazed down at Twilight, their eyes meeting for but a moment, long enough to see the pain and pride in those ancient eyes.

Twilight watched as Sireadh slowly brought a hoof to her forehead, then her chest, then her lips before holding it out as if offering her mind, heart, and love across the distance. An old Seeker gesture, meant to bid their kin farewell and fortune.

Even as she walked, Twilight smiled back and returned the gesture. She could have sworn for an instant, she saw a hint of tears welling in her mother’s eyes. Her mind wandered back to that hug they’d shared the night before, so warm and full of all the love and care and worry her father spoke of. 

Little did Twilight realize it would be the last they’d share in the world as it was.
> 4. The Paca Prime Minister
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

None could best a changeling in maintaining a mask.

It was a game they’d perfected, an art which had been crafted and honed over generations upon generations of changelings all the way back to the days their forefathers spent dancing in the faerie circles deep in the heart of Emerald Isle’s Eternal Forest. From birth, instinct and careful instruction by parents, teachers, and mentors helped them perfect the art long before they even began to take seriously their natural talent for shapeshifting.

When out in the world, the slightest tell in one’s expression could make adifference. Just a hint of something out of the norm could be the difference between a nice, leisurely day out to market amongst a crowd of unknowing pony friends, or a nightmarish hell where all those smiling pony faces twisted into disgust and hatred as their true faces were revealed.

So some of the senior mentors and researchers in their dusty purple robes might balk at how shamelessly Twilight Sparkle grinned and showed her teeth at the scene before her.

Or, more aptly, at the representative of their old friends, the alpacas, as she greeted Twilight and her entourage.

Eyes as bright blue as the sky and wide as dinner plates flitted about, shining with excitement and unbridled joy. Her sunny golden wool bristled with pent up energy, her entire body shaking as she grinned and gave voice to her delight in a little squee which built within her chest and grew into a shrill squeal. Rearing up, Paprika, Prime Minister of the Paca Plains Herd, flapped her forelegs with such vigor they became a blur and bounced in place. 

“Mis amigos, it has been so long! La Reina del Sol smiles upon my village once more!” she cried, bounding forward to catch Silín and one of her disguised Black Helmets in a carapace-cracking embrace as she babbled at a mile a minute.

Naturally, she’d managed to snag the Black Helmet most vehemently against her antics. 

“Hello again, Prime Minister Paprika,” Silín Labhrais greeted with a fond smile and bow of her head. “Good to see you as well.”

“Silly Silí, you never listen!” Paprika nosed and nuzzled her friend, giggling all the while. “How many times do I have to tell you silly, tricky-trick-tricksters not to call me Prime Minister?”

Silín, for her part, feigned innocence. Her eyes glinted with wicked delight. “I’m not sure I understand, Prime Minister Paprika. Could you explain more in depth?”

The three remaining Black Helmets’ smiles strained so much Twilight had to withhold a snicker as Paprika let out a gasp and launched into a rapid-fire, detailed history of their races’ friendship. 

Which, inevitably, would lead to that between Silín and Paprika themselves.

It was like she knew, like there was some supernatural sense that tickled the back of her fluffy, alpaca head to latch on and smile brightest at those most stubborn.

Actually, the Princess of the Seekers wouldn’t doubt it for a second. The Paca Plains Herd had always had that sort of inexplicable sense for the world around them.

With a sound somewhere between a squeal and a hum, Paprika opened those bright blue eyes to beam at the rest of Twilight’s entourage. But then, her gaze fell upon Twilight herself.

That energy vibrating seemingly at the end of her wool spread to the entirety of her body. Paprika released Silín and the grumbling Black Helmet so she could look Twilight up and down as if to take in even the slightest changes, disguise or not. Though it had been some time since Paprika had seen Silín Labhrais, It had been twice as long since Twilight had the chance to see her old friend.

In the company of the Paca Plains Herd, safety and friendship were certain. Letting them see the true face of a Seeker was as a gesture as old as that of an alpaca’s flapping limbs.

Twilight Sparkle stepped forward and let her disguise fall, washed away by changeling fire to let her lovely carapace be bared beneath the sun’s warmth once again. Both a gesture of faith and friendship and signal for her guards to follow her example.

This time, Paprika didn’t flap. Instead, she drew in a sharp breath and filled her cheeks until they looked fit to burst. With a little fwomp!, her wool billowed and expanded until she looked like a little yellow cloud with legs. Such a gesture was reserved for the closest friends and loved ones of the Paca Plains Herd. Thus, they and those so fortunate to hold that place in their hearts called it …

“Pelusa de amistad!” she cried as she leapt upon Twilight and caught her in a tight embrace, nuzzling and nosing all the while.

Friendship fluff.

Twilight could only chitter her mirth and wrap her hooves around her friend’s waist. “Hello, Paprika.” With a fond smile, she returned the nuzzles. “How’ve you been?”

“Well, but even better now!” Paprika drew back to hold her at foreleg’s length, her broad grin utterly infectious. “Papa was sick in the spring, because he was silly and decided to try to talk a walk around the plains in midwinter—at his age!”

“I recall hearing in your letter. Did the medicine dad sent help?”

“Almost as soon as he took it! He was bouncing and flapping like he was thirty years younger! Even if mama scolded him and told him to take it easy or his coat would lose its fluff!”

Good. If Jalapeño passed, Eolas would’ve been distraught. That old alpaca was one of the few remaining friends her father had aside from those in the hive and the Sisters. The fact that Habanera was still healthy and hardy enough to keep him in line would certainly bring a smile to her mother’s face as well.

Twilight gave her friend an affectionate lick to her nose, then released her embrace so she could set all four hooves upon the ground. She bowed her head and said, “Thank you again for accompanying us through the plains on our way to the border. The hive is a bit uneasy with this whole idea.”

“I heard.” Paprika’s smile faded. Fixing Twilight with a piercing gaze, she cocked her head to one side. “You’re taking a very big risk, mi amiga. Mama and papa both asked that I at least tell you we think you might want to reconsider.”

Of course they would. But Twilight had already made up her mind. “I can’t. Celestia and Luna called, you know the deal mom made.”

“To help when called, sí.” Her friend’s grip tightened. “But you do not live as close to their borders as we, Twilight. The whispers coming from the ponies, even some in the town guard, are worrying.”

The Princess of the Seekers drew in a deep breath through her nose and closed her eyes as she held it in her chest. She’d known, deep down, this was coming.

But that didn’t do away with the shot of pain it sent through her chest.

“I know, Paprika,” she said softly. “But this is the best thing I could come up with that wouldn’t make them fear us more.” This way, hopefully, we can get past the initial fear more quickly than if I show up in disguise and reveal myself midway through talks.

Paprika offered a rueful smile. “Sí, yo sé. But you know I had to try, at least a little. Either way, I am happy to guide you to the Hi-ho Hills.”

“Of course. I understand.” Another affectionate lick chased away any discomfort and spurred a smattering of giggles from the alpaca’s fluffy chest. Giving a small smile, Twilight decided to let the conversation steer toward its natural destination. “Would you like to get moving now, or do you want—”

“Quesadillas!” Quick as a flash, the alpaca reached into her voluminous fluff and retrieved several plates, cheeses, corn, red beans, and flour tortillas. Her grin nearly split her face.

Twilight glanced over her shoulder. A hopeful smile tugged at her lips. “Silín?”

“We have time,” the Captain of the Black Helmets replied, her fond smile spread into a grin of her own. “I accounted for it.”

A high-pitched squeal of delight was all the warning Twilight had before she was caught in another embrace and tugged over to where Paprika had set up a makeshift fire pit.





Truth be told, Twilight wasn’t so sure any in her party would’ve put much insistence against dining with Paprika had it been an impromptu addition to their little journey. Even the most grumbly of her guards was happy to sit and enjoy alpacan delicacies.

Though not so much that he’d join her for a song.

“Prime Minister, please!” he groaned as he tried to escape her embrace. “There is a line! I draw it at song routines!”

Naturally, Paprika was happy to sing with extra gusto to make up for the lack of participation from the frowning, disguised guard under her foreleg as they walked. Any such attempt he made to slip away or meet his fellows’ eyes to send a pleading look for relief was returned with a wicked grin and mocking waggle of false pony ears.

Poor Conium should’ve known better, Twilight mused, quickly turning away before she could be caught and expected to help, and hid a smile. He signed himself away the moment he complained about Paprika’s flapping.

From there, it was onward through the vast Paca Plains with the Hi-ho Hills looming in the distance. Through that tall grass which waved and swayed lazily in the breeze, a sedate journey, if one could ignore the need for the Paca Plains Herd’s incomprehensible sense for danger to avoid that lurking in the weeds.

“Silí, step left!” Paprika cried suddenly. “There’s a rattlesnake taking his afternoon nap that way!”

Silín and her guards dutifully took a big step to her left. “Thanks.” She glanced down the path she’d been ready to take with a little chuckle. “Probably be about ready to bite someone who stepped on me in the middle of a nap, myself.”

“I’d prefer fluffing at them!” The alpaca beamed and skipped on ahead, still humming and tugging her unfortunate companion along. “Much nicer than biting!”

“Paprika, please.” 

Twilight was careful to keep in line with her alpaca friend all the way. Any jumps or skips away from a slithering snake or hidden mole tunnel Paprika took, she was sure to follow—the Princess of the Seekers knew there was no better guide around.

Still, there was a sense of trepidation that only grew with each step they took, each closer to Equestria. A feeling, Twilight had to admit, filled her heart with a sense of sadness.

Such nerves at visiting her home away from Halla Eolais hadn’t afflicted her since that first trip with Cadence and Shining Armor.

A pang shot through her chest. Being unsure at how ponies might respond to her face and how her friends might receive her after Chrysalis’s attempt on their lives, what a blade to hang over her head. 

One Twilight didn’t want to face without at least knowing what Paprika had heard.

As soon as they were out of the tall grass, she quickened her pace and sidled up to Paprika. “Do you mind if I bother you about something that’s been on my mind?” Twilight asked softly. “I’d like to kind of pick your brain a bit.”

Paprika turned to fix her with a quizzical look. “Amiga, please. Why would you want to pick my brain? You already have a pretty big one!” She paused a beat, adding, “Also, you shouldn’t keep things on your mind. Those are fragile.”

“I walked right into that,” Twilight deadpanned. 

“You did!” The alpaca beamed. “But jokes aside, what did you have to ask?”

Her hidden gossamer wings itched to buzz a nervous trill. “You mentioned earlier that you’ve been hearing things from ponies near the border.” At Paprika’s nod, she continued, “What sort of—ah—things have you heard? I’ve heard a couple summations from Princess Celestia’s letter, but since you and your herd are around the average traveler a bit more …”

Comprehension flitted across Paprika’s features. “You’re hoping what La Reina said is not as bleak as that felt by common ponies?”

Twilight nodded once.

To her dismay, there was no bubbling laugh or wave of a cloven hoof to allay her worry. Instead, sunny yellow ears drooped as Paprika’s wool lost its fluff. “I’m sorry, Twilight,” she whispered. Her gaze fell to the trodden path. “I would love to tell you otherwise, but I hear some of the guards at the border towns talking about … well, what they think should be done. Their ideas are … muy duro. I heard some want there to be a forced registry. Others, well, a common theme was round you all up and either stick you in prison or drop you off outside the border. Never mind where.”

The princess winced. The registry alone would be enough to send any of her kin abroad into a panic, not to mention those from other hives. Rounding them all up and just shipping them out of the country without a care from where they came and in which hive’s territory they were left?

It wouldn’t be long before a few might start to get ideas on how to try and dissuade ponies from that line of thinking, only worsening the problem in the long term.

Fantastic work, Chrysalis. When I said I loved your flair for the dramatic, I didn’t mean it quite like this. 

All in all, not good. If anything, walking without care could take them down a path which led straight to catastrophe. 

A sobering thought which haunted her until they finally reached the Hi-ho Hills and said their goodbyes. The tight, tearful embrace Paprika held her in only served a stark reminder at the gravity of her mission and unprecedented choice she’d made.

Twilight let her disguise melt away in a flash of changeling fire as she crossed over the border and whispered those old words Celestia so playfully intoned whenever they played their late night games: 

“And now, the die is cast.”
> 5. Through the Streets of Canterlot
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was supposed to be a normal, boring shift at the gate—stand at his post with his spear at the ready and his heavy golden armor gleaming in the unyielding light of Princess Celestia’s sun, check over anypony entering, and double check any carts or bags. 

Or, at least, it would’ve been before the wedding. Now everypony and their grandmother was on high alert, and there could be no lazy checks. Everypony would be double and triple-checked, no exceptions.

A heavy sigh escaped Crosswind’s lips. He shifted about at his post, his pale gray eyes lingering on an elderly couple fretting as a pair of his fellow guards checked through their bags. Everything he knew told him they couldn’t possibly cause trouble. A couple that old, that close to one another? Just look at how he held her hoof and patted her wrist, whispering such sweet words to sooth her worries.

But those damnable bugs had ruined everything. Who could tell who was pony or not anymore?

“Clear,” his partner, Chinook, called. The smaller pegasus stepped back and took up his spear again, nodding to the couple. “Apologies for the trouble, but recent events have forced us to take extra precautions for the safety of everypony in Canterlot.”

Crosswind could do little more than sigh and shake his head as they passed him by, offering a half-hearted salute as his own apology. How long did the princesses plan to let this go on? Wasn’t there some spell to take care of this? Or better yet, what of the bearers? 

It was hardly a secret that the call had gone out days ago. The bearers of Generosity and Laughter had already returned to the city after taking care of a little personal business of their own, the former calmly smiling as she bore her element while the latter opted to pretend she’d lost it before pulling it out from behind Chinook’s ear, of all places. Those of Honesty and Loyalty had followed shortly thereafter, with Kindness in tow. Well, really, they were coaxing her back through the gates. The poor thing.

Despite the dark cloud hovering overhead, Crosswind had to chuckle. They almost hadn’t needed to verify the elements’ glow around their necks. Chinook had looked like he wanted to drop on one knee and throw a wing over her shoulders, right up until the other two shot him warning looks.

A little bright spot to bring a sliver of happiness.

Crosswind turned his gaze forward so he could gaze down the long, winding path up Mount Canterhorn, his vision blocked about a hundred lengths out by a little drop in elevation, a hill most travelers complained jovially about as they arrived. For the guards, it gave a little bit of anticipation. Who would be next? Sometimes, when bored enough, they guards on shift would put a betting pool together on what sort of pony it would be—double if there was a pegasus in a group, walking or flying. To lighten the dour mood, they even added a stipulation for finding a changeling:

Triple the pot.

Thus far, none had been found. And, privately, Crosswind was both grateful of such and doubtful they ever would. “I’ll eat my spear if we find one of those bugs!” he once scoffed during a late night drinking session. “Ridiculous!”

So when he saw five figures crest the top of that hill, he paid them little mind save for checking to see who won the pool this time. His eyes found their horns, and his heart began to sink into his stomach. He’d bet earth pony.

Then he noticed something else. Something quite different. It wasn’t the forest green armor adorning four of their number, or the gleaming necklace and headpiece around the tallest of their group, or the coloration. Not at all. Rather, it was how the light shone off of them.

The sunlight did play upon their bodies, but with a strange gleam, as though it were reflecting off a surface as smooth as glass or marble. 

Blinking, Crosswind squinted, his ears splaying as he took note of the gossamer wings upon their backs, beetle-like casing, curved horns, and gleaming fangs poking down from their lips. And their eyes …

Slitted pupils ringed by colors as dazzling and enchanting as gemstones.

“What in Celestia’s name?” Chinook breathed.

Crosswind could only nod dumbly. His very breath left him. Changelings. Actual changelings walking up to the Gates of Canterlot. In natural form, no less! 

The five changelings continued onward, unfazed by the gaping guards even as they drew close and came to a stop before them. One of the changelings in black armor stepped forward and reached into her breastplate, breaking the spell.

Everypony took a step back and readied their weapons. Crosswind affixed his most dangerous snarl in warning.

The changeling didn’t so much as blink. If anything, her pale slitted eyes shone with a hint of amusement and respect. From within her breastplate, she pulled out a folded scroll. “By request of Her Royal Highnesses, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna,” she announced gravely, “Princess Twilight Sparkle of Halla Eolais comes to answer their call as diplomat from the Seekers and bearer of Magic.”

Silence fell over the gate. Crosswind felt his heart fall deep into his hooves.

“That’s not possible,” he heard himself whisper, earning a look from the lead changeling.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked. 

He shook his head. “Apologies, I said that’s not possible.”

She held the parchment out for him to view. “I think you’ll find it all right here, sir. Our Princess was summoned by yours, and answers the call as requested.” Inclining her head, she offered a winning smile full of gleaming sharp teeth and wicked fangs, which only grew at the shudder he gave. “As her mother, Queen Sireadh Firinn, has for four hundred years.”

Crosswind froze in place. A changeling bore Magic on their behalf? A Queen, like the last, no less?

Four hundred years?

“Silín,” the tallest of the changelings chided. “Too much.”

The changeling he’d been speaking to, Silín, turned and bowed to her. “My apologies, Highness. I only meant to inform that we’d been invited.”

Only as they spoke did Crosswind turn to fully take note of her. More specifically, only then did he notice the glimmering headpiece of twisted silver around the crown of her head. And then his eyes found the shining gold necklace and pink gemstone in the shape of a starburst around her neck. A gemstone shining with light greater than the sun itself could provide.

Magic.

His spear fell to the ground with a clatter. Crosswind stepped back, his eyes as wide as dinner plates and blood colder than ice. “That’s … that’s …” He shook himself. “That can’t be!”

Twilight Sparkle’s slitted amethyst eyes met his, her lips tugged into a small, knowing smile. “It is,” she said, touching the gemstone with her hoof. “I am the bearer of the element of Magic.”

She stepped closer, ignoring the unease and raising of spears, and bared her neck as if to let him better inspect.

They both knew he needn’t. There were no gemstones which shone and dazzled like the elements, and none with a greater spark than Magic itself.

A changeling princess held Magic and came to Canterlot.

Her smile grew even as realization dawned upon him. “You’re welcome to tell them that I’ve come,” she said softly. “Send word that Princess Twilight Sparkle, bearer of Magic, has come to represent her hive.”

The changeling Princess took one last step closer, the difference in height plain as day as she looked down on him with amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Tell my mother’s old friends I’ve come to answer their call.”





If there was one thing about ponies that never failed to amuse Twilight, it was their strange relationship with gossip. 

Oh, certainly, the academics she and her kin so adored and loved to cozy up to were more given to opening a book than engaging in idle conversation, but it was something of a private fascination she had of a group habit. A habit she found quite foolish, yet rather amusing to watch at times.

Now, especially.

She smiled and let her eyes wander over the crowd gathered on either side of the street, standing in doorways, poking their heads out of windows, leaning over the edges of balconies, even a few pegasi stopped to stand on rooftops. All so they could stare, mouths agape, at the procession of Royal Guards in their gleaming gold armor leading four changelings in black and their princess, garbed in her polished purple regalia and silver crown—and the piece which stole the breath from every pony watching.

What else but the element of Magic?

There was a small part of her that took a bit of morbid amusement in the situation—it certainly helped to take away from the little sting. Why shouldn’t they stare or gape? Why shouldn’t they worry that a changeling held such a powerful artifact, and had for centuries?

Twilight aimed a glare at the back of Silín’s green helmed head at the thought—their change in armor one of the few concessions she could cajole out of her stubborn friend. For one who could slip in and out of any building in the world, no matter how large or small or protected, she certainly didn’t fail to open her mouth at the least opportune moment. Thank the First Mother Twilight had managed to salvage that little slip and turn it into something remotely kind. Unfortunately, that little slip had consequences.

Consequences which made her ears burn.

“Did you hear? One of them said a changeling Queen held Magic for four hundred years?”

“Four centuries? No way! What about all those stories of ponies coming to help when called?”

“What do you think a changeling would do, dummy? They’d just change shape and blend in!”

“My word! For that long? Why would they help us? The rest of their kind certainly wasn’t here for that!”

Twilight tried to block out the commentary. A thousand and one denials and even a full-length lecture of her own begged to leap to the tip of her tongue, but she bit down and kept herself quiet. It wasn’t their fault.

Chrysalis had done plenty to stir up their anxieties and fears. 

For the thousandth time since the news broke, Twilight could only sigh and wonder what she’d been thinking. And, more importantly, why she followed through. 

But it didn’t diminish her want to give them a much-needed jolt with a few words, then some carefully-crafted education on the matter.

Only the discipline her mother instilled over twenty years kept that aloof, stately expression with tiny smile upon her face. Better to smile and let them see her as warm and caring as their own princesses than fall to such questions and let her dour mood tinge their view.

Or would smiling too much make them think she was happy to be in the place her cousins had tried to take?

These thoughts stayed with her, taunting her all the way through the city until they finally passed through the outer gates of Canterlot Castle and strode along the brick pathway leading to the front door. A path she’d taken so many times before, but with a different face. One, now, she rather wished she’d chosen to wear. But all those thoughts, all that evaporated when she saw who waited to receive her.

Two ponies. A pair of sisters, one just slightly taller, who could have looked no more like opposite sides of the same coin—one with alabaster coat and flowing rainbow mane and regalia and tiara the same color as her sun, the other midnight blue with a mane of stars and obsidian regalia and tiara crafted out of the night sky.

Princess Celestia moved first, stepping toward her just as their precession came to a stop and greeting her with a bow. “Welcome to Canterlot, Princess Twilight Sparkle,” she said, her smiling as bright and warm as a summer day.

“We thank you for making this journey on such short notice,” Princess Luna added with a bow of her own. Her teal eyes flitted toward the element around Twilight’s neck, she chuckled. “And seeing your true face outside of Halla Eolais is quite a welcome change indeed. We only wish it came under happier tidings.”

Twilight bowed her head, both out of respect and to hide the toothy smile threatening to bloom across her face. They’d always been in her life, always ready to teach and listen, whenever they visited Halla Eolais or hosted her here.

Her mother never held it against her when she dropped that stately mask and caught them in a hug the moment she laid eyes on them back home.

So, it came quite naturally to cast it all aside and do the same in theirs. Despite the startled gasps from the ponies and fond chittering of her guards.

“Thank you for calling and giving us the chance,” Twilight whispered. “I’m sorry for what my cousins did.”

A pair of gentle hooves pushed her back. The sisters fixed her with looks that spoke of pity and a hint of sternness. 

“We didn’t call you to apologize for them, Twilight,” Celestia said softly. “We know you had no part in that. We know your mother would never think to allow any Seekers to take action against us, or Cadence and Shining.” Her gilded hoof cupped Twilight’s cheek, the cold metal teasing her carapace. “More importantly, they know. They’ve been looking forward to seeing you since the moment I told them I sent a letter.”

Luna, on the other hoof, favored a firm hoof upon her shoulder. “Take upon your shoulders no burden of your cousins, young friend. Their actions were their own. We wish only to ensure our ponies and your changelings may keep the peace together, and request your help.” She gave Twilight a little squeeze. “And aid any you can offer is much appreciated, even if it’s as simple as speaking to them.”

Her head bowed, Twilight offered a sad smile and leaned in to hug them again, burying her face in their shoulders. “I know,” she replied. “I know.” Her memories flashed back to those nights spent hearing Chrysalis’s words. Words which, in hindsight, which should’ve been a hint; a warning of what was to come.

But she brushed them aside as the dreams of a changeling still holding onto a few nymphish fancies whispered by her wretched mother.

She’d been wrong.

“I know,” she repeated again. “But that won’t stop me from trying.” Twilight drew back and released her embrace, a crooked smile made its way across her face. “So, about this gala … they’ll be there tonight right?”

Luna laughed. “Cadence miss a party and Shining leave his new wife’s side?” she quipped. “And either miss a chance to see you? Dear nymph, I fear if you keep up such silliness, your old aunts may just have to tickle you as we once did so many years ago.” She cast a glance at Celestia. “For diplomatic purposes, of course.”

Her brow arching, Celestia shook her head and laughed. “I would almost love to hear you try to twist yourself into making sense of that. But perhaps later.” The Princess of Day unfurled her wing and laid it across Twilight’s back. “Come along, Princess,” she said loud enough for onlookers to hear. “Allow us to give you the tour. I think you and yours will find the accommodations quite agreeable—oh! Is that little Silín Labhrais I see? My you’ve grown! I remember a time I could carry you and your dear Princess upon my back …”

Seeing her friend’s face flush out of the corner of her eye, Twilight was proud she managed to hold her mirth until after they’d closed the doors. Welcoming her like she’d never been here before—and to think some ponies thought they didn’t have a sense of humor.
> 6. Unsteady Ground
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

If there was one good thing about this whole “revealing true faces” ploy, it was that Twilight got the rare opportunity to enjoy a bit of changeling irony. In no other circumstances would she have the chance to pretend to the palace staff that she’d literally known since nymphhood that they were correct in their assumption that this was the first time they’d met while showing her real form. 

They were all polite enough to withhold any show of fear, though its poisonous flavor was quite clear to her senses. Perhaps Celestia and Luna had specifically picked those with a decent poker face. Though not quite perfectly, as she couldn’t help but notice the little tremble in Raspberry Quartz’s lip as she came by to deliver tea.

An old friend, working in Canterlot Castle just as her family had for generations.

Twilight couldn’t help herself. She turned and bared her teeth in a wide, fanged grin, and accepted her cup by hoof.

The startled unicorn let out a squeak and tried to hide behind her tea cart.

“Twilight,” Celestia scolded gently, arching a brow.  

The Princess of the Seekers held up her free hoof. “Sorry. I saw a chance, and you know how we are.” Turning back to Raspberry, she leaned around to try to meet the poor mare’s eye. “Raspberry, please don’t hide. I’m still Twilight Sparkle. We’ve known each other since we were fillies. We used to play in the gardens while your mother worked and Cadence was at lessons.”

Behind her cart, Raspberry Quartz peeked out, only her deep red eyes visible over the edge. Twilight needn’t taste the air to know the sheer terror that struck her old playmate.

But she did. The rotting taste wiped the smile from her features and made her draw back in order to survey the little mare. “B-Berry?” she stuttered. “It’s really me. You used to call me Sparkles because when I messed up a spell I’d shoot a shower of sparks from my horn.”

Raspberry looked as though she were torn between inching her way out from behind that cart or fainting outright. Instead, she tore her terrified gaze away from the changeling royal and looked to her princesses. “Y-Your Highness,” she whimpered.

“I understand,” Celestia said with a patient smile. “I’m proud of you for trying, Berry. Go home for the day and rest, please.”

The little mare needed no further prompting. She bowed and shot out from behind the cart like she’d been jabbed in the rear with a fire poker, moving faster than Twilight had ever seen her move before. Raspberry Quartz was out of the room and down the hall in half a second at most, the fading echo of her hooves ringing off the walls.

Twilight’s gaze stayed fixed upon the door her friend had fled through in such terror for a moment longer, the taste of fear still thick in the air. Slowly, she turned to face her old teachers and surrogate aunts, a question caught in her throat.

“She was taken,” Luna answered the unspoken question with a sad shake of her head. “We found her hanging in one of their cocoons in Cadence’s home after their Queen was revealed and expelled. They’d been fed upon for days.”

Silín cursed from her place standing beside Twilight. “Days? By her? How has that mare recovered so?”

“Cadence,” Twilight muttered. “Her love magic is tied to emotion and life.” She brought a hoof to touch her forehead in order to hide her growing horror. “She fed on Berry and Shining. And I wasn’t here to stop it—”

“You were tending to your hive,” Luna cut her off. “But yes. They and several of Cadence’s friends were taken, fed upon, and replaced.”

“We can’t confirm why Shining was kept under a spell and allowed to walk around, but I’d wager it was the strength of his love.” Celestia lit her horn and set about preparing tea for everyone, her eyes downcast. “I don’t suppose you might know?”

Twilight squeezed her eyes shut and grit her teeth. Her blood boiled and screamed.

Whether it was urging her to defend one friend or avenge the others, she couldn’t say. She certainly wasn’t in a position to do the former.

“It was either that or she wanted a bodyguard if things went poorly before she was strong enough,” Silín answered in her stead. “I read the reports from our kin—with respect, Highness, Chrysalis is nowhere near powerful enough to beat you on her own. Not without powerful love.”

The Princess of Day nodded. “I thought as much. Thank you.” Her feathers twitched in a subtle little show of lingering discontent as she passed a teacup to the others. With a heavy sigh, she took a deep sip, then said, “I hope you won’t hold it against Raspberry. She did want to try to see you, but the circumstances surrounding her kidnapping made it rather hard on her.”

Twilight’s tongue felt as dry as sandpaper. She looked down and stared into her tea, idly turning the cup in her hoof. “How did it happen?”

Celestia simply shook her head. “It’s not our place to say, I’m afraid. Just … be patient with her, please.”

A treacherous part of Twilight’s mind began to play insidious games with what facts she knew. Raspberry Quartz was trying, as Celestia said. And Cadence and Shining Armor knew the Seekers would never hurt them or move to take action against them as Chrysalis had—nor aid them.

But wouldn’t Celestia and Luna have assured Raspberry of that already?

Of course they would have, she scolded herself. Twilight tried to beat back her anxieties, that pesky voice that so refused to leave her be. Her aunts wouldn’t be so cold to ignore a subject’s fears and force them into a situation that worsened them so.

There was something deeper at play within her friend. Something that had taken hold, even though Raspberry had tried to move past them.

“I’ll give her as much space and time as she needs,” Twilight said at last, a pained smile spread across her features. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Luna offered a sad smile. “Of course.” As quickly as it came, her smile was gone. In its place, a solemn frown. “To business, though, my dear. There are certain things that must be addressed before the gala this evening.” With a sniff, she added, “And before we allow the general assembly a chance to speak with you.”

Her chitinous, mulberry ears twitching, Twilight set her cup down on the saucer Celestia had so kindly slid into place on the coffee table. “What might those be?”

“You speak as if you know their Queen, little one,” Luna replied. Her face, typically so alight with mischief, took on a more calculative expression. It was one Twilight knew was reserved for dignitaries and troublesome politicians. “Celestia and I have known the Seekers as long as your parents have ruled. Not once have we heard of our attacker beyond your mother’s terms for wielding Magic.”

“Upon some reflection, her terms implied some foreknowledge of her intent,” Celestia added. “We both hoped you might shed some light on the subject.”

Ah.

Twilight’s tongue felt dry all over again. She let her eyes fall to the floor as she considered her next words. Her friend, or her surrogate family?

Why couldn’t this be more like the other challenges she’d faced? Things were so much simpler when she was the one sowing confusion as she escaped with some pilfered tomes. The tatzelwurm infestation would’ve been preferable, or dealing with that gryphon warlord when he realized she’d tricked him out of some old curse books.

She sighed heavily and murmured, “Her name is Chrysalis. She’s been the queen of her hive for the last century or so, and is an admitted changeling supremacist.” Slowly, the young princess began to massage the bridge of her snout. “We’ve been friends since I was little.”

Celestia gave a low hum. “Not just a predator, but a supremacist, you say?”

Twilight nodded, grimacing as she looked up to meet their eyes. “She … her ideals go back to the time before the Founders unified the tribes and you imprisoned Discord. Survival of the fittest, the top of the food chain are superior to those below. Ponies serving changeling masters as food and, well, slaves.” At the dark looks which crossed her aunts’ faces, she held up a hoof. “Among the Queens, she’s a radical. They’ve managed to steer her away from going after larger prey, as she’d call it, before, but she made it no secret she found the state of things—” her eyes flitted to Silín’s.

“She tried convincing Princess Twilight to champion her cause in an assembly of the royals,” Silín supplied in her blunt manner. “That was four years ago. Queen Sireadh Firinn was apoplectic, as were Queens Miriam and Morrigan. She was told that her hive would be cast out if she moved forward with her ambitions. The intent, if I had to guess, was to call her bluff and give her time to mull being cut off from the rest of our kind before the next gathering.”

“That was the last time I saw her,” Twilight added. “When she left, I thought she might take her hive across the sea to Oceania to feed on the roos and just be alone for a time …”

It was all she could do not to turn away at the memory playing through her mind. That scene was too visible, even today. 

An exchange she’d hoped to bury and take to her grave. 

But now, she lived in a time where that exchange had been more than just an angry, prideful Queen scorned by her fellows venting to a dear friend. It was one one where her friend’s designs had failed and in doing so had sent ripples throughout the changeling communities.

Celestia’s hoof traced a circle in her cushion, her frown still in place. “Her zealotry is something we cannot hold against all changelings, Luna.”

“Indeed.” Luna closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly through her nose. “And I suppose we were not warned explicitly due to some sense of unity, little one.”

Wincing, Twilight nodded. “The hives try to stay out of fighting one another. Moving overtly against one is a slight against all. We did act in some unison to warn you when we heard whispers. We just hoped it would prove to be a false report.” She wished she had something a bit stronger to drink. “Obviously, our hope was misplaced.”

The comment earned a snort from Luna and a ghost of a wry smile from Celestia. The sisters fixed her with pitying looks.

“As every ruler has said when embroiled in a conflict they so longed to avoid,” Luna replied, warmth returning to her voice. “Thank you for answering as best you could. The information offers some insight, and a bit of comfort knowing this is indeed an outlier.”

“And that the other Queens stand against her in some capacity.” Celestia took up her teacup once more and drained it. She gave a little nod toward Twilight’s. “Let’s move onto something more pleasant, for now. Then I believe that some rest  will serve you well before we let you loose into the herd.”

Though her carapace itched at the thought and instinct demanded that she assume her favored pony guise, Twilight managed a smile.

The tea, at least, gave her some solace with its warmth.
> 7. The Princess's Debut
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Twilight Sparkle wasn’t so new to splendorous parties and galas that she should have those pre-appearance jitters. There had been so many over the years—whether it was a visit during the Summer Sun Celebration or the Winter Solstice Gala, an invitation to Cadence’s annual Hearts and Hooves Day Soirée d’Amour, or even the Grand Galloping Gala, she had appeared in dress and danced and mingled and weaved her way through Equestria’s upper crust many times in her twenty years. 

But never naked. Or, rather, never in this form. With this face.

Slitted purple pupils in the mirror stared back at her. Her mulberry carapace had been cleaned and polished so light shone off her body, her mane had been brushed to perfection, free of any tangles and staying locks until Silín nodded, satisfied with her work. Then, lighting her horn with a verdant glow, she gathered Twilight’s shimmering locks in her magic and weaved them into tight braided circlets around the crown of her head, like she were making a seat for the crown to rest.

Changeling culture older than memory.

“I can’t remember the last time we sat like this,” Silín said softly, breaking the heavy silence at last. “Not since before I chose to join the Black Helmets, at least. Before you became a Researcher and Teacher.”

Twilight smiled. “Five years, at least,” she replied, bowing her head. “I remember that night well. It was the last time we were all together before you joined—” she caught herself, her eyes flitting about as if she expected a pony to jump out of a crack in the wall, then cleared her throat. “We were all there.”

“Princess Cadence and Captain Armor as well—Lieutenant, at the time,” her old friend noted. “How time does fly.”

“Yes.” Sighing, Twilight shook her head. “I wish we could go back to those days. Simpler times. Less stress, still able to walk around like normal.”

“Hidden behind your usual guise, you mean.”

“Yes.”

Silín hummed a low note in reply. “Why didn’t you, then?”

Another sigh escaped her lips. Twilight stayed silent another moment, her eyes flitting around the lavish guest room Celestia and Luna always kept waiting for her. A permanent room, open whenever she should like to visit.

Plush purple pillows, soft blue walls and drapes, a high window which let sunlight and moonlight bathe the room, and a bed softer than cloud fluff, or so Celestia swore. And yet, she never would name their maker, no matter what deals Twilight or her parents might try to offer.

“If I told you,” Celestia never failed to say, those ancient eyes twinkling with mirth, “I might see less of you, my dear.”

And, in her disguise, the little nymph princess would puff her cheeks and flick her tail, then try to pretend she wasn’t devising her next attempt to glean the information from those pesky Eternal Sisters with her trusty sidekicks, Cadence and Shining Armor—magnanimously forgiving the pair’s poorly hidden snickering.

Oh, how she missed those days. And how she hated the feeling in her chest, that cold, icy claw clutching her heart and filling her to the brim with anxiety.

Would they still look at her the same way?

Twilight banished those thoughts to the back of her mind. “I told you back in Halla Eolais,” she replied. “Chrysalis didn’t leave us a choice.”

“No. I suppose she didn’t.” Sighing, Silín paused a moment in thought. Twilight could see a tiny smile playing upon her lips in the mirror. “You look lovely with your mane braided.”

“Only because you have the patience I lack to do them properly,” Twilight retorted.

“Yes, well, I take it upon myself to speak for all Seekers in saying that I think wearing your mane in the more traditional style would be most welcome. Innovation with respect to our history, just like the changeling herself.”

The Princess of the Seekers couldn’t help but smile despite her nerves. “My mother would be right there with you, arguing along,” she said softly. Then, with a sigh, she added, “And I think if you said so in front of our hosts, they’d agree. Especially Ca—” She stopped just short, unable to finish the name. That cold claw tightened its grip upon her heart.

Hearing Celestia and Luna assure her no ill-will or grudge was held against herself or the hive was one thing. More importantly, though, was how she was received. Would things be the same?

The claw gripping her heart had a voice. It whispered in her ear and wove a nightmarish scene—Cadence recoiling in terror, Shining freezing up, his eyes wide and chest heaving as Celestia and Luna struggled to try to bring them out of it, then had to gently ask the Princess of the Seekers if she would mind excusing herself from the festivities.

A gentle, chitinous hoof touched her shoulder. “Breathe, Princess,” Silín murmured soothingly. “You taste of nerves and fear. Breathe, let it wash off you like the rolling tides.”

Like the rolling tides. The left corner of  her mouth twitched. “Cadence used to say that when I was little,” Twilight whispered.

“Yes. I remember as well.” Silín’s hoof squeezed as the other wrapped around in a loose embrace. She could feel her faithful guard and friend lean in to nuzzle her cheek. “Be strong, Twilight. For all of us, and them. And yourself, most of all. Don’t let fear stay your hooves before you can speak with them.”

That drew a snort. “You sound like your mother.”

“It’s similar to what she said to me the day I began my training.” Smiling, Silín levitated Twilight’s silver-wrought crown and purple regalia into view, along with the golden necklace and blazing amethyst gemstone. “And what she wished me to pass along to our beautiful, wise Princess Twilight before she made her grand debut this evening.”

Twilight couldn’t help but laugh and tilt her head back to lay against her shoulder. “And you waited until now to tell me,” she whispered. “I can’t decide if you’re the worst or best changeling I know.”

“I prefer to think of it as waiting for the opportune moment. Now, hold still, Princess.” She felt the static buzz of magic tease her carapace as Silín hovered her polished purple necklace near. “Tonight is your big night, and I won’t allow you to look anything less than resplendent.”

The smile spread across her face. Twilight gave a low, approving purr and sat up straight, closing her eyes while she allowed her fellow changeling to finish her work.

Yes, tonight was a big night indeed. But not just for her.

She drew in a deep breath and held it in her chest. Tonight could very well be the most important night since her mother stole Magic from under House Shimmer’s noses.

Slowly, she let it out in a heavy sigh. No turning back now, Twilight mused. Let’s see how the die comes up this time.





Her hooves had trodden the corridors of Canterlot Castle countless times before, and likely would countless thereafter. Still, no matter how many times Twilight walked through those hallowed halls, she found her eyes flitting about, trying to take it all in at once like a greedy nymph sneaking into a sweets shop for the first time.

And truly, who could blame her? While the Seekers might boast the finest library in any land—enough to draw even Star Swirl the Bearded and two young mares, future princesses of Equestria, to seek out Twilight’s grandmother and bow their heads as they asked permission to study in their sanctuary of learning—it was the changelings who bowed to the Eternal Sisters and the ponies they so lovingly guided when it came to the arts.

From the magnificent stained glass windows, glittering in the flickering torchlight to the polished stone busts and the paintings lining the corridors, there was enough to make any changeling new to Canterlot want to stop and stare for hours on end. Even her own parents confessed their marvel each time they made the trip.

It was all a welcome distraction from the stares of every pony present—guest, guard, and palace staffspony alike—as she came down the grand staircase from the dignitaries’ apartments, flanked by her four changeling guards, and set hoof on the soft, red carpet rolled out for the occasion. 

Twilight took but a single step toward them.

The line of ponies in their fancy dresses and suit jackets scampered back, their eyes wide and ears splayed as they took in the sight of the changeling princess garbed in a soft blue dress which stopped just above her ankles. Silence reigned over the foyer, yet Twilight found herself choking as the foul taste of rotting fish filled her mouth with an unpleasant, running sensation like bad slime. Fear.

Which meant the hushed whispers and gossip would resume just as soon as she turned the corner to stride toward the herald, then passed through the doors into the Grand Ballroom.

It had already begun. Some more cruel, more unkind than the shock from those lining the streets and rooftops upon her arrival.  A bevy of emotions swirled and mixed together like a whirlpool trying to draw her deep and drown her in an ocean of disgust, distrust, revulsion, and, yes, still that sense of fear. 

But through it all, she kept her small smile in place. She was the Princess of the Seekers, the Bearer of Magic, and diplomat of her hive to Equestria. Twilight could bear their stares, their fear, and hate. All for her kin.

And while several whispered such insidious, terrible slights which made her blood boil and scream for her to stop and speak up, to match their venom with her own, she beat back the urge. There would be time to teach lessons. There always was. A Seeker’s lessons didn’t just stay in the classroom, after all.

With a winning smile full of fangs and sharpened incisors, Twilight turned to stride toward the herald and a pair of guards in gleaming gold and obsidian armor, stopping just before them. Then, without looking back, she waved her hoof to prompt Silín.

“Her Royal Highness, Twilight Sparkle, Princess of the Seekers of Knowledge hive of changelings,” Silín announced, presenting the herald with the summons letter. “Attending on personal invitation from Princesses Celestia and Luna. You’ll find the details there.”

The herald, to his credit, didn’t stare. Perhaps he’d seen stranger guests appear on such a stage. His brows did raise and nearly disappear beneath his silver bangs as his old eyes flitted about and scanned Princess Celestia’s immaculate, elegant cursive across the page, but were then quickly schooled into place. He bowed low, then turned on his hooves and strode into the ballroom full of ponies milling and mingling about in clusters. 

Like their own little hive.

Without a hint of hesitation or scorn in tone or posture, he brought a hoof to his chest and called out, “Presenting Twilight Sparkle, Princess of the Seekers of Knowledge hive of changelings, Royal Diplomat to Equestria, and Bearer of Magic!”

The dull roar of conversation died a swift death as Twilight stepped through the doorway with her guards, her head held high and glittering regalia shimmering in the light. She could feel their eyes upon her, taking in everything as if to be sure that, yes, she was indeed a changeling walking so brazenly into their midst. 

Then their ears twitched, their brains catching up to that all-important last bit of his introduction. And so a sea of bright, colorful pony eyes did trail from her face, to her fangs, to the glimmering amethyst around her neck, and then came the huddling and whispering.

This time, Twilight was well prepared to keep appearances. Her stately smile in place, she tossed her tricolored tresses over her shoulder  and continued her walk with her head high, nodding her thanks to the herald as she passed. She strode forth, her tail swishing despite how  her heart hammered in her chest, and made her way toward the center of the ballroom, where the gala’s hosts awaited her with welcoming smiles.

All around her, ponies took a step or two back to grant her a wide berth—certainly wider than dictated by any sense of manners or propriety. The usual hiss of whispering filled the air, tickling her ears. She caught little snippets here and there, each more disconcerting or hurtful than the last.

Monster, some said. Disgusting creatures, thinking they can walk in here after what their kind did!

Here to boast, said others. Why else would she come bearing Magic, claiming to be the one who wields it? Why would a changeling be chosen to protect ponies? Changelings feed upon ponies. They don’t protect or help!

That one in particular nearly drew a scowl. It was a lie. In part, at least. The Seekers and Equestria had long enjoyed an alliance, one which served to protect both races, kept the peace of the southern border to any pony who wished to travel, and afforded her kin the right to enter and act in symbiosis with the ponies.

But she couldn’t blame them. The pact had been made in secret ages ago. And after Chrysalis, they had every right to wonder.

Insulting, on the other hoof …

“Ugh! What a travesty!” Her ears flicked at the sound of a new voice. Musical, cultured, with a hint of a Canterlot accent, as if one were trying a bit too hard to imitate its dulcet lit. “Just dreadful! Why in Equestria would the princesses invite one of those things after what happened at the wedding?”

Her blood boiled. Things? Twilight’s smile took on a deadly edge, enough that a group of nearby mares squeaked and took a few more steps back as she let her slitted eyes flit about to find the charmer who insulted her kin so brazenly. Not even the decency to keep it to a cowardly little whisper, open incredulity and scorn!

Clearly, a precocious young mare with confidence, a new player to Canterlot’s gossip circuit.

Through the crowd, Twilight found a mare with regal purple mane and tail styled into magnificent, flawless curls which bounced with each motion, each little shift in posture even as she turned her nose up and away like she smelled something foul. Her snow white coat was pristine and captured the light, accentuated by a blue dress which matched the glittering sapphire stone around her neck—a sapphire in the shape of a diamond, set upon a golden necklace.

One of the other bearers. Generosity, if she recalled her mother’s tales. A mare of House Belle.

The corner of Twilight’s mouth twitched. Well, she’s certainly generous with her opinion, the Princess of the Seekers mused. Then, she noticed the six mares surrounding the one she’d been observing, all but one of them bearing similar necklaces, with gems matching those she’d heard her mother speak of so many times before.

They were all here. All of the other bearers, plus one tagalong. A mare of orange yellow coat and yellow-red mane, garbed in a dress the color of a raging fire, her teal eyes flashing with ire as they met Twilight’s own.

Could that be …

Twilight averted her gaze. It wasn’t her place to wonder such things. If that mare was a member of House Shimmer, she could take up the issue with Celestia and Luna. It had been by their will that her mother relieved the house of their burden, and the mare’s own family whose actions led to Magic losing its spark.

And it wasn’t as though her mother had taken it up without risk to the hive.

At last, she came to a stop before the princesses and bowed her head, then exchanged warm hugs with each, much to the onlookers’ surprise. 

No doubt, to those mares’ as well.

Luna chuckled and patted her shoulder. “Quite a figure you cut for your first appearance at one of our galas,” she mused. “Rather, your first with this face, and in such a lovely dress, might I add.” Her eyes flitted to Twilight’s mane, she gave an approving hum. “And traditional braids? I think they suit you well.”

“Agreed,” Celestia put in. “In fact, I may just have to suggest we exercise aunthood privilege to insist upon seeing more of this Twilight. She glows like the very element she bears!”

“Thank you.” Beaming and cheeks flushing beneath their praise, she gestured to Silín. “But I think I have to credit my old friend for that.”

The Princess of Day inclined her head. “Then you have our thanks, Captain Labhrais. And might I offer my compliments to you and your companions’ choice in attire as well. That shade of red suits you well.” 

Her praise was met with a smile and slight bow of Silín’s, her flowing red tresses styled into a braided circlet of her own. “Many thanks, Princess,” came her smooth reply. “My kin and I are honored to join our Princess and yourselves on this eve. We certainly hope tonight is enjoyable for all.”

“The feeling is quite mutual,” Luna said with a little fluffing of her feathers. “I don’t know about you, sister, but I’m not sure which I’m looking forward to more—the meal or the dance.”

“Careful now, or you’ll rouse their curiosity with such tone! Teasing knowledge in front of Seekers, you should know better!”

Unabashed, the Princess of Night grinned. “Oh, hush!” She cast a wink at the changelings. “I’m sure they’ll be able to live with the unknown for a little while longer.”

A statement which drew a grin from Silín and her comrades as they encircled and began interrogating her, much to Luna’s delight. 

Twilight chuckled and shook her head. Luna did so love to join her hive’s games. There was a rather interesting debate as to whose were more cunning—Queen Sireadh and the Seekers or Luna and her Night Guard.

A friendly competition still undecided.

Such happy thoughts were brought to a halt, though, when the herald’s voice cut through the air once more, “Presenting Mi Amore Cadenza, Princess of Love, and her husband and Prince-Consort, Captain Shining Armor!”

Her heart leapt into her throat. Slowly, Twilight turned, her eyes wide and ears erect. She watched them enter—Cadence in a flowing cream dress with golden trim and pale pink hearts imprinted upon it, and Shining in that handsome red uniform with tassels and blue sash forming a cross shape over his chest, and several medals pinned on the right side. Both just a hair shorter than she.

With each step closer, she could feel that claw tighten its grip upon her chest. Her very breath seemed short, unable to fill her lungs  no matter how deeply she tried to draw in. The ballroom fell away, leaving nothing in Twilight’s world save her surrogate aunts and them—her dear old friends.

But were they still?

Cadence’s deep purple eyes found hers in short order, transfixing her in place. They lit up, dazzling like gemstones, and Cadence gave Shining a subtle little tug forward, one which drew a smile and nod. No resistance, no hesitation.

When they reached the group, they each bowed and greeted Celestia and Luna with a warm embrace. Then, at last, they turned to face Twilight. 

She froze.

All the things she so wanted to say, all the ways she’d hoped to hug them close and tell them how she worried over them and longed to see them again so she could be sure, all of it died and stuck in the back of her throat. Her tongue felt dry and twisted, as if tangled in knots. 

Shining made the first move. He stepped closer, one of his forelegs paused just off the ground, waiting. “Are you going to give me a hug?” he asked softly, a small smile playing upon his lips. “Or am I going to have to bearhug you like a silly nymph for trying to hide her smile in front of all these ponies?”

Her ears twitched. Blinking, Twilight opened her mouth, then closed it with a click. The words still fell short. Tears welling and stinging the corners of her eyes, all she could think to say was, “I’m not a silly nymph!”

“Yes, you are.” He closed the distance between them and caught her in a tight, one-legged embrace. Shining pressed his cheek against hers, moving so he could whisper in her ear, “You’re a silly nymph with her nose in too many books, and if you ever think I’d blame you for something someone else did to us, I’ll come to Halla Eolais and mix up every last one of your shelves.”

Another set of hooves wrapped around her. Cadence nuzzled her and whispered, her voice strained and thick with emotion, “Don’t listen to him. The big softie was just as jittery, afraid you might try to run as soon as you saw us. He’ll be crying with us in a few seconds.” Her grip tightening, she planted a soft kiss on Twilight’s cheek. “I’m so glad to see you, Ladybug.”

Ladybug.

The mere word snapped everything back into place like it shattered a spell. With shaking hooves, she wrapped the pair in a hug, squeezing them as tight as she could manage and buried her nose in their shoulders. Hot tears rolled freely down her cheeks, staining that lovely dress and handsome uniform jacket.

She didn’t feel too guilty about it, though.

Her shoulders were just as damp when they finally let go.
> 8. Dance Among the Herd
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pins and needles played treacherous games upon the back of her neck as hundreds of eyes bored into her. What pony would think to let a changeling out of their sight in present time, after all? 

Of all the things Twilight could say or complain about—and if those ponies in their fancy dress kept going on about what a nasty bug creature she was when they thought she couldn’t hear, there would be plenty of that—she couldn’t, in good conscience, fault them for keeping a weather eye on her.

In fact, she would offer a mental nod of grudging respect. Her parents would certainly approve of such caution toward a guest of a rival race in Halla Eolais, albeit not so blatant to spit in another’s face after such an invitation and understanding of the bonds of good host and guest had been exchanged.

And yet, Twilight simply couldn’t find it in her to care either way.

Why should she? Why, when she had the chance to sit in the company of her favorite ponies, should she be bothered with the gossip or poison in their words? Those were troubles for another time.

A time, for instance, when she didn’t have good company around her and good food and drink set before her.

The changeling princess’s mouth watered, her eyes flitted greedily about the spread a clean-cut stallion dressed in a black tuxedo set down, and slowly ran her forked tongue along her lips. “Seasoned rice and herring,” she purred. Her amethyst eyes sparkled with delight, Twilight turned to aim a playful sideways smirk at Celestia and Luna in turn. “I didn’t think you’d get your chefs to cook a meal like this.”

“Well, in fairness, they’ve not cooked for Twilight Sparkle, Princess of the Seekers, before,” Luna replied. She gestured to Twilight, adding, “Instead, they’ve always played host to a young mare from a far off land, who just so happened to share your name, all these years. A happy coincidence, of course.”

Of course. Twilight hummed a contented note as she took up her fork and cut off a nice bite-sized portion to be swiftly guided to her lips. Her eyes lit up, another purr rolled within her chest, this time one of delight.

A sound which brought bright smiles to the sisters’ lips. “You know well we’ve hosted the gryphons in this very castle,” Celestia noted. “A little alteration with some feigned guessing to ingredients were all it really took.”

“Oh, hush, Aunties!” Cadence said with a roll of her eyes. She cast a quick wink at Twilight, brushing her primaries over the changeling princess’s shoulder. “You really think they’d let your stay be anything less than perfect, Ladybug?”

To her left, Shining gave a solemn nod. “If you hadn’t purred, I’d wager poor Al Dente would’ve been sacked before you swallowed.”

“Shiny, be nice!”

“Okay, fine.” He waited all of three seconds before he leaned in to stage whisper, “They’d have given you maybe a second after you swallowed, tops.”

Twilight had to quickly hide her grin behind her hoof and bite the inside of her cheek to stifle a bout of chittering mirth at the flat stares his commentary earned. A trial shared, she noted, with Silín and her guards.

Around them, however, the ponies seated at their tables or mingling around the dance floor showed quite a different picture. They seemed to stare, stunned by the sight of her calmly enjoying a meal and mild banter with their Royal Family—her friends. It was like they’d half expected her to demand Celestia grant her a sacrificial pony to serve as volunteer for a love feast.

Not that she wouldn’t have appreciated a good drink, but hardly in this setting. Besides, she had a volunteer sitting on either side should she wish for something more satisfying for her appetite.

A tap of a gilded horseshoe on the table brought her back to the conversation at hoof. It was Celestia who voiced her opinion first on her meal, leveling the lone stallion at the table with an arched brow and critical gaze over the brim of her glass. “Why, thank you for that assessment of our nature as hosts, dear Captain,” she drawled. “How did your preparations for your dear surrogate sister go again?”

“Told my guards that if they embarrassed the Crown, they’d be better off resigning before I got ahold of them,” he replied without missing a beat. Propping his elbow on the table, Shining laid his chin upon his hoof and waggled his ears. “I felt it important to let them know after Crosswind and Chinook showed up at debriefing halfway to a heart attack after they greeted Twily at the—oh, that reminds me.” 

Confused, Twilight tilted her head as he returned his attention to her once more, and then began to rise.

Shining Armor bowed his head and bend his knee before her, drawing surprised gasps and a fresh wave of gossip. An Equestrian Prince and Captain of the Guard appearing submissive before a changeling! Not to mention the very same stallion who had been previously enthralled!

“On behalf of my guards, I would like to apologize for the reception today, Princess Twilight,” he said, loud enough for those nearest to hear. “I failed to alert them to your arrival due to some last minute preparations for tonight’s festivities. Their surprise and disbelief when your Captain presented the summons falls at my hooves.”

“Er …” Twilight’s eyes flitted about. She could feel a tingle running down the back of her neck at the stares, some fearful and full of question of her power over him, others heated and angry at the sight. “Shining—Captain Armor, really, that’s unnecessary,” she said, biting back a curse as she stumbled over his title.

He shook his head. “Hardly.” The stallion raised his gaze so their eyes met. Sky blue eyes entrancing her with his warmth and love, mixing with a hint of severity. “As their Captain, it’s my failing. As your friend, I’m sorry for the trouble and I hope you’ll forgive me. To that end—” he cast a wink “—please consider me at your service for the evening.”

Ears twitching, Twilight cocked her head to one side and fixed him with a bemused smile. So that was his game, was it?

Cute.

“Oh, Shining, you pest!” Cadence scolded without heat. A tiny smile played upon her lips. Her wings ruffling, she bumped shoulders with Twilight. “You’d best accept it, you know he’ll stand there all night waiting if you don’t.”

“I’m very tempted to see,” Twilight mused. “His stubbornness against a changeling’s nature. I believe we’re even in that regard.”

“So far, yes. But don’t pretend it doesn’t entice you.”

Humming, Twilight turned to meet her old friend with a smirk. “Careful. It almost sounds like you hope to see me steal your husband away for the evening—and so soon after the wedding.”

“If not his sister, what other mare could I trust to keep him out of trouble.” With another ruffling of her feathers, Cadence added, “Besides, you could use the chance to let us both see him try to keep up with us again.”

Again, her ears twitched. A fanged smirk played Twilight’s features. “As a matter of fact,” she drawled, turning to eye her surrogate brother as his smile began to falter beneath uncertainty. “I would.”

And as was tradition in their little trio, it was Shining who was left confused and glancing between them in search of answers. “Wait, what?”

“I believe Miss Melody and her group will begin their song soon, right Auntie?” Cadence turned her smile upon Luna. “I don’t suppose we could convince them to forgo the usual, sedate pace and make things a bit more up-tempo for a change?”

“Wait what—hang on!” Shining scooted himself back in his seat, eyes wide. His little act betrayed by a slight uptick at the right corner of his mouth. “Come on! My knees still ache from last time!”

Twilight was quick to catch his hooves before he could pull away. She rose, her smirk growing into a vulpine grin. “You did say you were at my service, Shiny!” she drawled. A little tug had him stumbling away from the table, closer to her. “And you know better than to renege on me or my kin!”

With a musical laugh, Cadence sidled up and wrapped her hooves around his shoulders to cut off any chance of slipping free. She waggled her ears and dotted his cheek with a quick kiss. “Come on! Out to the dance floor! You knew you weren’t getting through tonight without a dance with us, you big-mouthed dork!”

Shining kept up the act just long enough to groan and feign shooting a long-suffering look in the sisters’ direction, to their delight and amusement. Then he turned to follow the giggling mares, submitting to his terrible fate even as Celestia turned to beckon the aforementioned cellist to change things up a bit.

As the trio made their way to the dance floor, Twilight couldn’t help but notice the wide berth every pony present gave her. Again.

But, this time, she found she didn’t mind as much. Oh, it did nibble at the back of her mind like a little duck trying to nip her hind hooves, but she could at least turn to find two familiar faces smiling back at her.

Two faces she’d known almost since the day she’d hatched.

They came to a stop at the very center of the dance floor. Only then did Twilight release Shining’s hooves and Cadence his shoulders. Chittering and giggling, they took places on either side of him, pressing shoulders against him in case he tried that old chat-and-bolt trick he so loved.

He feigned another groan. “Okay, okay,” he intoned with a smile and wave of his hoof. “I’m out on the dance floor, thoroughly caught between my wife and favorite little changeling. No running off.”

“Not that little anymore,” Twilight shot back with a playful glare. 

Shining’s smile sharpened. “So very little.” To add to his point, he laid a heavy hoof upon her head and tussled her mane. “So tiny. So small I could pick you up and tickle you silly like I did when you were a nymph.”

Shrieking, she batted the offending limb away. “E-Excuse you!” Twilight cried. “Cadence! I thought you taught him not to mess with a mare’s mane!”

“So did I.” Cadence leaned up to kiss his cheek. Her purple eyes twinkling, she nuzzled his cheek and murmured, “I think he definitely owes us another after such misbehaving.”

“Worth it,” he said with a swish of his tail. His smile faltered as the music began to change, the slow, soothing waltz gone in favor of a short, quicker paced affair with nimble violins filling the space between a rising crescendo of an expert cellist. Shining took a deep breath, his magic working to undo the top buttons of his jacket to allow him a little more freedom. “Just do me a favor and go easy on me this time?”

“Not a chance,” they replied in unison.

“I thought not.”

Grinning, Twilight stepped away to allow him space, and turned to offer a little bow of her head to both ponies. Upon receiving their bows in turn, she took the lead, guiding them to follow her in a fluid like motion, her entire body, every muscle, working in perfect harmony as she let herself feel the music and magic around her and just … let herself set her own magic free. 

Her magic washed over her form as naturally as each step, creating that bedazzling little shimmer her ancestors had been known for so long ago. The same which enchanted and bewitched ponies to stop and long to join their dancing circles, albeit with just a little restraint.

The crowd was already bewildered enough by the sight before them. 

Such dancing had always been her forte, though Cadence had learned enough to impress several in the hive. Together, they moved like the ebb and flow of the tides, in synch with each other as they joined hooves and spun, or as Cadence deigned to spread a wing for Twilight to duck under and catch Shining around his shoulders.

Shining caught her with a bit of a stutter in his step, his brows furrowed and sweat beading down his face. His hooves had never been nimble or his magic quite as elegant, but he did hold his own with the steps so long as he didn’t think too much. He held her close, tipping her back and quickly throwing his hoof out to send her into a spin just in time to rear up and catch his wife in mid-leap. And, despite the grumbling and groaning and pleas for an easy dance, he smiled.

They all smiled together as they had for ages.

On and on they danced. Twilight felt her heart soar, she threw her head back and chittered gaily as she let her worries and anxieties, all that stress at how she’d been looked at since her arrival, all of it seemed to just wash away for a moment.

She was with her friends. The same friends another had hurt and tried to turn into food stock for their race.

Who could fault her for walking on sunshine?

The song came to an end all too soon for Twilight’s tastes, she came to a rest with a final, decisive clop of a chitinous hoof against the tile floor. Her chest heaving, she beamed and turned to hug and nuzzle them softly, her fangs tickling their coats. Shining, to her amusement, was positively gasping for breath while Cadence patted his chest.

“Dear Celestia, even though I know it’s coming your dances are exhausting,” he wheezed. 

“Maybe that’ll get you off your duff and moving around more,” Cadence teased. She leaned up to peck his nose, wrinkling her snout. “And maybe you won’t sweat so much when dancing at Halla Eolais next time!”

“Har har, I have duties that require me to sit on my duff quite a bit.” 

With another chitter, Twilight leaned up to nose against Shining’s cheek. “Oh, let him recover, Cadence. He’s a lovely dancer.” Her eyes glittering, she kissed his nose and added, “For a big, burly guard.”

Despite himself, he smiled and nodded at something just over Twilight’s shoulder. An approving hum rolled in the back of his throat. “Well, don’t look now, little princess,” he murmured. “But it looks like our little dance has drawn an interesting shift in attention there.”

Twilight perked her ears. Had it?

Her fangs tingling in curiosity, the Princess of the Seekers turned to look around, her slitted amethyst eyes wide.

All around her, ponies did stare so, just as they’d done since her arrival, and the fear was certainly still there. But with it, something else. Something familiar to Twilight.

They almost looked like nymphs the first time they were taken to see the outside world—frightened, awestruck, and intrigued.

“Oh, Fancy Pants!” Cadence’s voice jolted Twilight out of her surveying just in time to spin around and find Cadence clasping hooves with a rather stately looking stallion with alabaster coat and golden mane, dressed in a rather smart black suit and tie. His mustache actually waggled with his smile. 

At his side stood a gorgeous, svelte mare with a matching coat and powder-pink mane. Twilight knew this mare from magazines and pictures Cadence had shown her during visits or trips to Manehattan—the acclaimed Queen of the Runway, Fleur de Lis.

By love, she was more stunning face to face!

Fancy Pants’s smile was as pristine as his suit. “Your Highness, you look radiant as ever,” he greeted, placing a soft kiss on the back of Cadence’s hoof. As he made eye contact with Shining, he inclined his brows. “Ah! Our dear Prince-Captain has recovered fully, I see. Is he treating you well?”

“Far better than I deserve, sometimes,” Cadence replied. Her feathers fluffing, she cast a look of utmost adoration toward Shining. “Even if he sometimes goes back to being that troublesome little colt I fell in love with some days.”

“Excuse me?” Shining raised a brow. “You were the troublemaker, I just went along for the ride. I alwaystook the fall because you were a princess and you fluttered your eyes at the teachers.” Turning  to Fleur, he bowed his head and took her right hoof in his. “Pardon me, Madame de Lis.”

“No apology necessary. I know how our loves can be.” Then, Fleur turned her eyes upon Twilight, her brows raising. “I must say, you certainly know how to liven up a dance floor, Your Highness. Might I ask what manner of dance that was?”

Twilight blinked. “Er, ah. We call it ceílí—traditional changeling dances, passed down from one generation to the next.”

“Ceílí,” the Prenchmare repeated, testing the word on her tongue as if sampling wine. Her eyes shone with delight. “Well, I confess, I’ve never seen anything quite like it. It’s beautiful enough to make my Fancy and I forget our manners, it seems.”

The stallion winced. “Ah! Yes, yes! Apologies, Your Highness.” With another quick kiss to Cadence’s hoof, Fancy stepped toward her and bowed low. “Please pardon my neglect. My name is Fancy Pants, and you’ve met my wife, Fleur.”

Twilight gave a little nod and smile to Fleur, before offering a hoof to Fancy. “I’ve seen both of your names around quite a lot, Mister Pants. Cadence used to take me to the shows when I was  little—I was quite the fan.”

“Then I must apologize twice over for disappointing a fan. And such a lovely dancer, at that! I would happily give my left hoof to—”

“Careful,” Twilight warned. Her blood sang to hear that offer, that tantalizing deal that leapt to his lips. But she behaved. She was, after all, in her dear Aunties’ castle. With a wink, she said, “I might just take that offer.”

Fancy started. He glanced at Cadence and Shining in turn. “Is she being serious?”

“She is,” Shining replied. “Twily’s being rather sporting and taking it easy on you, though. Changelings take deals very seriously, you see. They always fulfill their end to the letter, and will receive yours one way or another.” He gestured to Twilight. “Though if you were to offer her your company for a dance, she might just be willing to offer you instruction. A Seeker loves knowledge exchange as much as they do a good deal, no?”

“That we do,” she drawled, an idea already blooming in her mind. A lesson, both in dancing and not to ignore her. Oh yes. Twilight smiled, trailing a hoof along the floor as she slowly tilted her head at Fancy. “In exchange for a dance with one of my favorite fashion moguls, I’ll happily teach you how to dance like us, Mister Pants.” She made a show of appraising him with a critical eye, then winked at Fleur. “I’ll even take it nice and slow.”

Just as she’d planned, her comment drew an indignant sputtering and ramble about how he could certainly keep up even as she gently tugged him away from the groupand out to a nice empty spot on the dance floor.

Once there, Twilight drew Fancy in close and laid her free hoof upon his shoulder. “Just relax and follow the flow of the music and me,” she said softly. “A ceílí is about letting go of thought and letting emotion and feeling take over.”

“I see.” His mustache twitched again, Fancy let his eyes flit away in a brief show of nerves. “Er, bluster aside, Your Highness,” he murmured. “If it’s all the same to you, would it be too much to ask that you did take it a bit slow on my behalf?”

Her eyes sparkled like diamonds. “I only promise I won’t do anything a stallion your age can’t handle, Mister Fancy.”

The poor stallion’s grin reflected just how uneasy her non-answer left him. And his eyes? Well, they showed realization of the same thought that sparked her response:

He really should’ve been more attentive.





By the time their third dance ended, Twilight was practically holding the exhausted stallion up by his hoof and shoulder. His breath came in needy gasps; she had to stifle a mischievous grin as he met her eyes.

“Ready for another?” she teased, fluttering her lashes at him.

A shiver ran through his body. “I think not, Your Highness,” he replied with rather admirable politeness and respect for one so tired. More to the point, one who’d just been tricked into a deal and knew it full well the entire time. 
Indeed, to his credit, Fancy Pants did maintain that smile. Even if his chest heaved with each breath and his silvery mane was matted with sweat, he kept up that stately look, and had just enough energy to bow his head slightly.

“Thank you for the lesson,” Fancy murmured gravely. “But I think I’ll need to sit down to rest my old knees, Your Highness. If I might have your leave.”

Twilight had to smile at him. How could she not give respect to one who took a deal and honored it so? “Of course.” She released his hoof and bowed low. “Thank you for accompanying me, sir. You’re quite the dancer, once you find your legs.”

“I believe my wife will tell me otherwise once I’m within earshot.” He grinned. “Though you may find yourself with a few curious partners tonight, if you’re taking volunteers. That little show earlier as well as ours drew quite a crowd.”

True to his word, Twilight found those same ponies who regarded her with fear and no shortage of revulsion no more than an hour or so prior regarding her with more curiosity than anything. Yes, there was still that fear—she could taste it in the air—but with it, came a few ponies lining the innermost edges of the crowd encircling the dance floor, each tinged with just a hint of that and curiosity. And intrigue.

But she couldn’t simply go over and take somepony out of the crowd as she’d done with Fancy or Shining. To those still afraid, she might as well be grabbing them away to make them captive to her wiles and prey to her hunger for love. And, well, love for knowledge.

Though, to be fair, there were two or three she just might consider enticing off to the side for a nice, private conversation about Star Swirl’s theorems of magic tosee just how their desire for knowledge tasted. Perhaps she might find one worth bringing back to Halla Eolais.

Twilight shook herself. She wasn’t here to search out prospective students, research partners, or mates. This was official business, diplomatic business with her kin’s safety and security on the line. 

Still. None in her hive would fault her for drawing ponies in for a dance. They would think of it as a little bit of changeling trickery—improving relations through sharing a cultural dance, as well as a show of goodwill from changeling to pony.

Yes, that would work quite nicely. First, however, she had to offer a carrot if she wanted to entice those interested to come up and take a nibble.

Thus, when the music resumed, Twilight set about the portrayal of a dancer in search of a partner, though not so much that she seemed desperate for company. 

Half the battle was seeming enticing, desirable. Desperate wasn’t desirable at all. An alien beauty dancing in some strange, alluring style only she and a select few knew?

She might as well have placed sweets near an anthill.

That cautious curiosity was like a lit fuse, quickly fizzling down to the end and eating away at that desireto maintain separation and merely observe. A few stallions, a couple mares; each began to drift onto the dance floor. Some came with their own partners, others without.

Twilight did well to keep her smile as toothless as possible when a rather handsome stallion approached her with a fluffing of feathers and bowed low before offering his hoof. She accepted the gesture with a nod of her head, clasping his hoof in hers so he could dot a kiss upon the back of her wrist and begin a slower, more traditionally pony dance.

Quite clever of him, choosing home field where he could take the lead. But her aunties and Cadence had hardly left her untaught, which granted her just a bit of glee seeing her partner’s eyes widen a fraction before he resumed a calmer expression and continued to lead her in a slow waltz around the dance floor.

With the end of the song came a change in partner, this one a stallion nearly her height—impressive, for a pony—who was bold enough to let her lead. The next was tiny little mare with a nervous titter that matched her smile. She favored a nice slow waltz like the first stallion, and used the chance to ask a few questions here and there.

Questions Twilight answered as faithfully as she could, though not without a bit of playful evasiveness. “I can’t go giving away all our secrets,” she teased with a wink. “No more than you can give yours.”

And once they finished and the mare scampered off to gossip and giggle with her friends, their big, colorful eyes never leaving Twilight even as she turned away to chuckle and shake her head. She’d forgotten what a delight ponies were, especially the mares. 

When they weren’t gaping in open terror, that was.

Twilight stepped back from the center of the floor to allow the new dancers a bit more room, then bumped into something rather solid and warm, with a texture quite like another pony’s chest.

The little gasp certainly lent credence to that theory.

She turned, an apology fresh on the tips of her forked tongue, but Twilight found it tied in knots the instant she found herself met with a flash of turquoise.

Her breath caught in her throat. Twilight didn’t speak, she could scarcely dare to blink lest she miss out on the chance to drink in the sight of those beautiful turquoise eyes, wide and unblinking as her own, and the flavor of surprise and perhaps just a tad of nerves dancing upon her tongue. Reluctantly, she let her eyes drift away from this new mare’s to survey her features. 

The mare’s coat was almost sunny yellow, perhaps just a touch or two darker, and accented by a lovely dress the very color of her eyes. Her feathers, ruffling and fluffing nervously, looked softer than a cloud and just as inviting. Her long, flowing mane was powder pink, the kind that made Twilight wonder if she nuzzled it softly and drank in a breath that she might be able to savor the scent of sugar and sweetness. And as for the rosy blush upon her cheeks? Well, Twilight would have to confess to Silín that this might be the first time she truly felt the urge to nip and tease them until the color bloomed and spread to the nape of her neck.

The nape of her neck, where a band of gold came together to hold a glimmering pink gemstone in the shape of a butterfly—Kindness.

This mare was a fellow bearer. One of House Shy.

The little mare only came up to Twilight’s chest, her eyes wide with shock and just a hint of something else. Fright, but not necessarily at her race.

The sort that came with a poor little mare who’d just wandered onto the dance floor and bumped into foreign royalty in front of an entire gala full of ponies, including the Royal Family of Equestria.

“I-I-I’m so—excuse m-me!” the little mare stammered, her beautiful eyes darting about in search of either an escape route or somepony to come to her aid.

None came. Everypony had stopped, frozen in place, to watch and see what might happen.

Something in the back of Twilight’s mind wondered if some might think her about to swoop down upon their precious little bearer and gobble up all her love in front of them. If not for tensions between their kinds, she might have been tempted to playact a little.

Instead, Twilight smiled and nodded her head in a little bow. “It’s no more your fault than mine, Lady of House Shy,” she replied. “I wasn’t looking where I was walking, myself. So I’ll happily forgive you if you’ll forgive me.” Pausing just a moment, she let out a low purr. “And if you’ll allow me to know your name.”

That rosy blush deepened to color her face a bright red. “Um, well. M-My name is Fluttershy. You can call me that instead of Lady Shy or anything, if you’d like,” came her reply, her voice as soft as a mouse’s step, but in this heavy silence, it carried throughout the chamber with the cellist’s melody. Again, she bowed her head, that pretty mane shifting to cover her eyes like a veil. “Nice to meet you, Your Highness.”

“The pleasure is mine, Fluttershy.” The name flowed off Twilight’s tongue and tasted of sweet honey. What a lovely name, and so fitting! In turn, Twilight bowed her head and brought a hoof to her chest. “I am—“

“Twilight Sparkle, Princess of the Seekers. And, apparently, bearer of Magic,” Fluttershy interrupted. Then, her hoof leapt to cover her lips. “I’m so sorry! I just heard the herald and—”

Chittering with mirth, Twilight shook her head again. “Not a problem. I suppose the usual formalities are rather silly when one is introduced upon entry, no?” 

To her delight, Fluttershy didn’t flinch. No. Rather, she ducked and covered her lovely smile with a hoof, a musical little giggle floated through to her conical ear and made her chest fill with fluff and sweetness.

“Well, since we know each other already.” Twilight held out a hoof in offer. “Would you care to join me in a dance?”

“Me? With you?” Fluttershy’s mirth evaporated. She seemed to shrink in on herself again. “I-I don’t know how to dance like that! Like you, or like any of the things they were doing! I’ll mess up! I’ll trip or step on your hoof and make you trip!” Her pupils shrunk to pinpricks, a tiny whimper built in her chest and gave itself voice, her own came out in little more than a hushed, shrill whisper, “I’ll make a fool out of both of us!”

“You can’t possibly be any worse than Shiny was when he first came to my home.”

“Shiny?”

Twilight grinned. “I’ve known Shining Armor since I was a little hatchling. His parents saved my life.” She took a step closer, offering her hoof again. “For what it’s worth,  I’ve never really found myself one to care if my dance partners are experts or new, my teachers certainly didn’t. And I’d never complain if any were as lovely as yourself.”

Away went that skittish look and need to run and hide, returning was that rosy coloring of her cheeks and a hint of a wobbly smile. Fluttershy accepted her offered hoof with a trembling limb and a little fluff of her feathers, that powder pink tail swishing as she allowed Twilight to lead her a couple steps further out onto the dance floor.

Twilight decided upon a more sedate dance when the music started again. Something a bit more familiar for the shy little mare to cut her teeth on. She reared up, guiding Fluttershy to imitate her as she drew her in close, clasping one hoof in hers while she guided the other to rest upon her waist.

At the little squeak of surprise such placement drew, Twilight opted to shift Fluttershy’s hoof a bit higher up her side, toward her ribs. “Just like this,” she said. “A nice, slow waltz, just like the rest of the ponies’ll do. You’ve seen one of those, right?”

“A few times, yes. But I’ve never tried it myself.”

“Then we’ll take it slow. Together?” Twilight squeezed her hoof in comfort. Then she took the first step, her grin showing teeth as Fluttershy followed, albeit hesitantly.

And away they went together. A slow waltz about their little section of the floor. No spins, no little dips, just the basic steps and two mares held close, their eyes locked.

Locked, that is, save for those fleeting moments when Fluttershy allowed her nerves to take hold and her eyes flitted to check her hooves.

Each time she faltered, Twilight was there to lean in and murmur in her ear, “You’re doing fine. Eyes up here, I’ll lead you along.” 

Repetitive, yes. Frightfully so. Yet, Twilight found herself met with a warm look from those beautiful turquoise eyes and a tiny smile, a rare one that spoke of trust and comfort, that made it all worthwhile.

Their dance ended all too soon for her tastes. Unable to resist, the changeling princess dipped the little mare back, the last notes of the cello and violins trailing off into the air while they stayed together, eyes locked and breathing in short, needing gasps.

That rosy hue coloring her partner’s cheeks was shared this time, a heavy heat bleeding into her carapace and made her heart flutter like a flurry of butterflies.

Twilight made to speak, but stopped just short. Slowly, she leaned back and guided Fluttershy to stand upright once more.

Her mouth felt dry as though someone had placed a cotton ball upon her tongue. She tried to lick her lips and think of something to say, the only words that came to mind a hushed, “You’re as lovely a dancer as you look. Far better than you think.”

“Th-Thank you,” Fluttershy whispered in reply. Her gaze flitted to the floor once more, for but a split second before she looked up shyly and met Twilight’s without prompting. “And you’re a far nicer changeling than I would’ve thought, and I wouldn’t mind dancing with you again.”

The Princess of the Seekers couldn’t help but give her dragonfly-like wings a happy buzzing trill right in the middle of the dance floor. Why should she not? Her little scheme had worked better than imagined, and in more ways than she even intended! 

And why shouldn’t they have another dance? The night was young, and the Sisters had never been the sort to end such an event before midnight.

A feigned cough, like some interloper trying to steal attention away, made Twilight’s ears flick and swivel to her left. With the tiniest of frowns marring her face, she turned to fix their intruder with a questioning look.

There, standing before her, was a troupe of mares she’d known only by reputation before ever seeing the gleaming gemstones worn around their neck. A pegasus with a challenging look, a pair of earth ponies, one stern and steepled in traditional values while the other looked torn between jubilation and boundless exuberance, and that sunny gold unicorn from before, still aiming that heated glare at Twilight from the rear of the pack.

But at the lead, the dazzling diamond shaped sapphire of Generosity shining against her opulent white coat and flowing blue dress, was a mare whose beauty and radiance should’ve made any sane creature, pony or not, pause to appreciate like a work of art. By love, her perfect smile and soulful blue eyes should’ve made Twilight’s heart stop for the second time that evening.

“Apologies for the interruption, Your Highness,” the mare said. She gave the slightest bow of her head, practiced precision displaying neither subservience nor an assumption of higher status. “But we thought we might cut in and introduce ourselves as our dear Fluttershy has.”

All Twilight could do was return that smile with the same dangerous, tight-lipped one she wore as the mare’s melodious voice sent venomous words through the air to burn her ears. Her blood sang a throaty purr in her ears, even as she withdrew her hoof from her former partner’s side and stood on three. With her fourth, she maintained a gentle grip on Fluttershy’s wrist, a silent promise for another dance once pleasantries had been exchanged.

Pleasantries, she mused. This lesson will be anything but pleasant, I wager.

Aloud, she greeted them with the same false warmth this new mare afforded her, “Quite so.” Twilight inclined her head and looked down upon the remaining four bearers. “After four centuries, all six bearers together with no false faces. This is an auspicious evening indeed.”
> 9.  Bearers and Sinners
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the long history of the Elements of Harmony and their chosen Bearers, never once had they come together under such circumstances.

Tales of old would speak of how six ponies who couldn’t have been more different were chosen by the Elements through their former Bearers, Celestia and Luna, and came together despite them to find some common ground. They would speak of the history of the Elements repeating this process through the ages, from parents to their heirs, the Bearers and their families would come together and grow in power, wealth, and bond. 

Up until one fell out of favor and had their Element stolen in the dead of night, out from under their very noses. Now, the thief’s heir stood before them, holding one Bearer’s hoof as she gazed into the eyes of those whose family’s her mother tricked for so long.

And the one she’d deprived of her destiny and heritage.

Spectacular. No potential for awkwardness there, right?

Though Twilight’s face revealed nothing save for that smile and a glimpse of her teeth, her heart hammered in her chest and blood boiled. On one hoof, her mother had spoken highly of their families. Even through their faults, no matter how their irrational pony-ness served to drive her mother spare, Sireadh Firinn spoke fondly of each Bearer she’d ever had the privilege to stand beside when she was called.

On the other, no changeling took kindly to being called a thing. Right about now, Twilight Sparkle could honestly say that, save perhaps for Fluttershy, this generation of Bearers didn’t measure up to any of her mother’s tales.

And that only served to stoke the flames of anger in her breast.

Still, Twilight Sparkle was the Princess of the Seekers, changeling royalty. Being outwardly hostile in response to something so juvenile would be quite out of the question.

But in voicing her opinions, this heiress of House Belle had shown a hint of insecurity. Twilight knew gossip well enough. Years spent slipping in and out of pony society at will had given her quite the crash course in its intricasies. 

Gossips rarely enjoyed being heard by the subject of their insidious words. It left too much of a chance for confrontation.

And cowards so hated any hint of such a chance.

This one, however, was putting on a show. She was a gossip who wanted to appeal to the rest of the crowd, a new player to the scene, if Twilight had to guess.

Oh, yes. There were many lessons to be taught. How delightful that fate gave her this chance.

Unless, of course, she could find some way to equal Sireadh Firinn’s tales of Cookie Crumble. That, Twilight felt, was a mercy, given she didn’t demand at least the character of Glittering Gown, may she rest in providence.

“Four hundred years,” she mused once more. “I shan’t pretend I didn’t dream of this prospect since I was but a nymph. My mother’s stories of her allies, your parents, even, were the lifeblood of my daydreams for years.”

Their expressions tightened, especially the mares from Houses Dash and Apple. Each stared  back at her a moment, their eyes flitting between one another and she as if they were at a loss. The only one who didn’t …

Well. The only one whose gaze didn’t leave hers was exactly the mare Twilight expected.

Teal eyes bored into her own, as if the mare from House Shimmer intended to use the very flames from the red and yellow sun emblazoned upon her goldenrod flanks to incinerate Twilight on the spot. Her bangs were a long, flowing twist of vibrant reds and yellows which spilled to her shoulders.

A flick of Twilight’s forked tongue was hardly necessary. She could feel the searing heat of the mare’s animosity for her—for her mother—upon her very carapace. 

Not nearly as fun as one might think. And this awkward silence just wouldn’t do. Not with so many eyes upon them.

Upon her. Waiting to see how she might respond.

Which meant it was the perfect opportunity to take the lead and demonstrate just what qualified her to bear Magic, the most mysterious of the Elements. 

Twilight assumed a small, stately smile—the very sort Celestia or Luna might wear while mingling at such a function—and turned to Fluttershy. “Your friends seem to have me at a bit of a disadvantage, no?” she joked. “Would you mind introducing us?”

She felt a little tremor run through the mare’s hoof. Fluttershy ducked her head, her mane shifting forward to cover her face like the curtains being drawn to a close at the end of a play.

Perhaps it was a little mean to ask such a shy mare to take the role, but since no other wished, Twilight had to try something.

And though her nerves did grip her chest, Fluttershy did try. She licked her lips and gave a little flick of her tail, then replied in a small voice, “Tw—Princess, these are Applejack, Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, Rarity, and Sunset Shimmer.” She gestured to each as she spoke their names in  turn, a friendly little gesture most met with a nod. Some stiff, like Applejack and Rainbow Dash, and others cordial—perhaps a bit too much in Pinkie’s case, and far too fake in Rarity’s.

Sunset Shimmer, on the other hoof, did not. Her glare only intensified.

Perhaps she sought to cook Twilight in her shell, like that shrimp dish the gryphons so loved.

Sunset Shimmer, the heir of House Shimmer. The fallen house. Well, sometimes Twilight truly did hate being right. 

Her slime glands threatened to fill her mouth with their payload, ready for the fight. The Princess of the Seekers swallowed, smiling still. Don’t show nerves, she reminded herself. This role had been mine and mother’s since Celestia asked and Luna foresaw their fall.

And who better to make such a decision than than they who first wielded the Elements?

Twilight decided to forgo the usual proprieties and bow rather than incline her head. “A pleasure,” she said gravely. “And an honor I confess I long awaited, though did not expect so early in my years.”

“Your honor, indeed,” Sunset Shimmer growled.

And we’re off. Twilight let out a breath, counting backward from ten as that boiling temper her race was so famed for tried to rise to the surface. Well, so much for flattery easing the tension.

Applejack shot her friend a stern look. “Apologies, Princess,” she said, keeping her voice even as she tried to shoulder the unicorn aside and redirect focus. “‘Fraid there’s a bit of an old grudge ‘bout your Element an’ it ain’t never set well with Sunset’s family.”

“I can speak for myself just fine.”

“That’s what I’m worried ‘bout.”

Sunset Shimmer drew in a sharp breath, her nostrils flaring. She turned to level her indignant gaze at Applejack, the none-too-subtle flicking of her tail and tensing of shoulders told of prior argument and temper on the subject. 

But the heiress to Equestria’s most renowned farming family simply towered over her, looking down upon the smaller unicorn and slowly raising a single brow as if to ask “do you really want to start this again here of all places?”

Twilight glanced between the pair, feeling quite a bit more out of place than her entrance, oddly enough. Like she was spectating a tennis match meant to be private.

And the discontented groan given voice in the back of Fluttershy’s throat only served to emphasize it. On the other hoof, she couldn’t very well just ignore them and occupy herself by getting lost in the beautiful little—well, beside her, anyway—pegasus’s eyes without seeming disinterested or rude, could she?

At last, the scorned mare surrendered and broke the staring contest with a sharp exhale and grumbling of obscenities.

Applejack nodded solemnly, then turned an uneasy smile upon Twilight. “Sorry. Like I said, bit o’ history there.” She raised her hoof and offered a little tip of her hat. How she pulled that off with the dress, Twilight couldn’t say. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet the new Bearer of Magic, I guess. This is kinda … er … well, it’s kinda—”

“Weird,” Rainbow Dash huffed, her eyes hard. “This is weird. And the fact that our parents, our grandparents, all of our families put their trust in a lie is weird.”

Twilight felt Fluttershy tense, she could see the alarm in the others’ eyes. Even Sunset’s.

Well, there it was. Frankly? Such candor was welcome at this point.

“Rainbow,” Rarity hissed. She glanced between the Princess of the Seekers and the pegasus, her smile faltering. “That is—you can’t—Princess I’m terribly sorry! This is—”

“Refreshing,” Twilight cut her off. Her amethyst eyes shone with amusement, she looked to Rainbow Dash and nodded her head in a fencer’s salute. “I’ve seen plenty of your kin who lack the fortitude to try to meet someone new and those who would whisper behind one’s back rather than voice their opinion face to face.” Here, she was pleased to note just a hint of a wince in those around who paused to eavesdrop on their conversation, and turned to offer a warm smile to Fluttershy. “That one so wracked with nerves would allow me the chance to show myself to her was nothing short of a delight, and Miss Dash—”

“Ranger,” the pegasus interrupted. This one definitely didn’t care for proprieties! “Everfree Ranger First Class.”

Oh! And there was quite a reason to be! 

Twilight met her with a wide-eyed stare, a measure of newfound respect filling her chest. “An Everfree Ranger?” she repeated. At Rainbow’s nod, she beamed. “My apologies. Shiny speaks highly of your fellow Rangers. I had no idea one stood before me.”

“Er, three, actually.” Applejack raised a hoof.

Then, the other mare with cotton candy pink coat and fluff fuchsia mane let out a happy squeal and began prancing in place. “And me!” Pinkie Pie all but sang. “Best hide-and-seek player in all Equestria!”

“And best lost foal finder,” her fellow earth pony drawled. “More importantly.”

“That too!” Her eyes wide as dinner plates and shining with glee matched only by Paprika, Pinkie Pie dashed over until she was but a hair from touching Twilight’s fanged snout and bounced thrice in place. “I could find a changeling in a haystack!”

An interesting notion. And quite the boast to boot. Twilight chittered, Pinkie must have gotten along quite well with Luna and her bat ponies with such claims. 

“Well!” Twilight replied. “I’ll be sure to tell my guards not to bother hiding themselves in haystacks while you’re around.” Turning her gaze upon Rainbow once more, she stood a little straighter, looking down upon the mares just slightly. “I would reply to that point you made on your families putting their trust in a lie for all these years. If you would be willing to hear it.”

The proud Everfree Ranger perked her ears, a hint of intrigue shone in her eyes. “You can’t justify four hundred years of lying,” Rainbow replied, wrinkling her snout. “I can’t imagine how my father feels, knowing he was fighting with a changeling queen at his side who could’ve taken him from us.”

Again, Rarity tried to interject. “Rainbow, honestly!” she hissed. “Let’s just … this is hardly the place for such conversation, I would think!”

“Bow Hothoof, yes.” The changeling ignored the Bearer of Generosity’s pleas. Rainbow Dash, she could respect. Her father always made her laugh in Sireadh’s stories. “My mother spoke quite highly of both he and your mother. She was there when they married.”

“Not exactly making me feel better,” the pegasus noted with a sniff. 

Twilight released Fluttershy’s wrist so she could hold up a hoof. “Forgive me, I get very wrapped up in things like that. A habit a lot of my hive has.” Seeing no sign of amusement in her audience, she gave a little cough. “Right. Anyway, you say it’s ‘weird’ for me to be a Bearer because your family was led to believe a lie. I’m curious, which part do you see as my mother lying?”

“The hay do you mean ‘which part’?”

“Well, I feel like there’s a bit of a gap in understanding. You imply the bond of camaraderie my mother shared with your families was a lie after centuries of her fighting to protect Equestria at their side.”

For the first time since their meeting, Rainbow Dash seemed a bit uneasy. Perhaps she realized the unstable ground upon which she stood? 

Her sky blue feathers twitched, a little tell Twilight recognized from years spent with Cadence. “Just … look, I don’t know, it’s just sketchy on both fronts.”

This time, Fluttershy stepped forward, a frown marring her lovely face. “Th-That’s not fair to say!” she protested. “Changeling or not, my mother told me about Tranquil Dusk! She even wrote to me about her again when the news got to Cloudsdale last night!”

“Is Tranquil Dusk even her real name?” Rainbow challenged.

Fluttershy started. Biting her lip, she turned a questioning look upon Twilight.

The Princess of the Seekers shook her head. “One of her favorite disguises,” she admitted. “My mother’s name is Sireadh Firinn, Queen of the Seekers. She chose Tranquil Dusk because it reminded her of Celestia and Luna, her oldest and dearest friends.”

To her surprise, they didn’t cry out denials or demand some explanation like some clichéd story a grumpy foal or nymph might write in the darkness in a fit of temper. Rather, it was one of surprise and that crippling, sinking sensation when one realized they’d just insulted someone to their face.

Chuckling to herself, she waved a hoof. “Don’t worry about it. Their friendship has been kept secret to most. But they’ve known one another for some time, given they each have walked this world since the last days of your tribes’ battles. It was she who lobbied my grandmother to allow Celestia and Luna into our Library when Star Swirl the Bearded gave his recommendation.” She paused, turning to look to a stunned Sunset Shimmer. “I presume by your expression you’ve spent enough time with them to know what I refer to, yes?”

“The Secret Library of They Who Seek,” Sunset confirmed, her voice soft and eyes wide. “The Seekers. You’re one of They Who Seek.”

Chitinous mulberry ears twitched. “Ah, you know the more classical name for my hive.” Twilight inclined her head. “Yes, indeed. I suppose you would call me the Princess of They Who Seek, then.”

The more scholarly ponies ringing them drew in deep breaths and quickly hissed explanations to those not in the know. Twilight had to bite the insides of her cheeks to hide a smile. Tried and true veterans of gossip, each of them, even the scholars. That They Who Seek had just been revealed or confirmed—she just couldn’t keep track of which, sometimes—as changelings had probably made or broken someone’s thesis.

Siín isn’t going to let me hear the end of that once she finds out.

Oh well.

“To answer, I ask whether my mother’s actions to help defend ponies over the course of four centuries might ease your concerns,” Twilight continued, facing Rainbow once more. “As you know, possessing an Element of Harmony can be as much a blessing as a curse, especially when one wishes to remain hidden.”

The poor mare looked lost. She would make as though to reply, then stop and think. Then repeat, sputtering now and again. “Look, I … ugh!” Rainbow Dash stomped her hoof. “Okay, fine! It pisses me off! It pisses me off like you wouldn’t believe that mares my dad and grandma would tell me about were nothing a lie for some changeling to hide behind! It’s—ugh!—how can you call that loyal or trustworthy to your friends?”

And there it was.

Twilight thought to step close and lay a hoof upon her shoulder, but decided that wasn’t her best play.

Not to mention, a lot of this no doubt stemmed from recent events.

She bowed her head again. “I understand why you see it that way, but I would hope you might be willing to consider how it might be for us as well. That, however, I won’t push on you tonight.” Casting a glance at their audience, she closed her eyes and added, “Not when so many linger in hope for some morsel of gossip.”

Twilight could sense the sheepish smiles, hear the awkward shuffling of hooves upon the floor, and taste that hint of shame. For but a moment, she was satisfied. A lesson had been taught.

Then, before she could so much as take a deep breath and bid them—and more specifically, Fluttershy—a cordial good evening and take her leave to return to her aunts’ sides, she decided to speak up and deny her exit.

“I couldn’t agree more, Princess,” Rarity chimed in a voice so melodious and saccharine it made Twilight’s ears ache. Something in its tone just made her carapace crawl, a hint of some insidious game.

Only, Twilight wasn’t one of the players.

She opened her eyes and stole a look at the crowd. Some seemed cowed, others affronted. Humming, she took note, confirming her suspicion. “I’m thrilled,” Twilight intoned, her expression flat and cold as winter frost. 

Rarity paid her little barb no mind. “I, for one, would be quite intrigued by this …” she trailed off, rolling a hoof through the air in a forward circle. “Discussion of past escapades. Given you have the lone living source for some, I imagine you might have greater detail of some of those stories.” As if she could sense the intrigue Twilight tasted from the crowd, she smiled and added, “Privately, of course. Who knows what might come of gossip and lacking context, no?”

Angling.

Normally, Twilight could appreciate the effort. She would applaud a pony for managing to angle like a nymph asking for seconds or the key to a level restricted section of the Library.

Tonight, she felt far less charitable. Her blood already sang sweet songs in her ears, demanding she return the terrible slights this mare had visited upon her—that of disdain for her kin and this.

Using her to posture.

With a hum, Twilight turned to Rainbow Dash again. “You mentioned your dissatisfaction with my mother’s use of false faces to hide herself. I wonder, does that extend to all who would? Or is it more for my kin and I?”

“Uh.” The pegasus took a step back, those rosy eyes flitting between Twilight and Rarity, confused. “I mean … yeah? I don’t really appreciate it when somepony comes at me with a smile and then pulls a fast one or something like that.”

Something like that indeed.

Her father would no doubt find Rainbow Dash an interesting mare. Rarity? He might let her off with a minor trick to teach her to mind her tongue.

Twilight gave a thin smile. “I see.” She turned her gaze upon Rarity once more and allowed her smile to show a glimpse of sharpened teeth, spurring a little shiver in more than a few ponies. “Tell me, Rainbow Dash of the Everfree Rangers,” she continued. “If you were faced with such a pony, one who comes to you wearing a winsome smile, looking like a sparkling gem with manners and voice as sweet as she looks, but when you’re thought to be out of earshot, expresses not mere disdain for your presence, but disgust—and loud enough that a crowd can hear …”

She allowed her thinly-veiled reference to hang in the air, watching, waiting for their reactions. They didn’t disappoint.

All around her, the same ponies who uttered such poisonous things, the very prim and proper mares and stallions of Canterlot’s upper crust who would let insidious whispers pass their lips as she passed them by and offered plastic smiles and nervous glances in her presence looked down or away, their ears splaying.

Though none so spectacularly as the mare quailing beneath her gaze.

“I-I …” Rarity sputtered, her cheeks turning a shade normally reserved for ripe red galas. The mare swallowed a lump. She looked lost, adrift in  “Princess, I don’t quite …”

“You speak of my kin and I as though we are beneath you when we are not in earshot, or so you think,” Twilight said cooly. “Yet, to my face, you’re all smiles and flattery and titles. But not just you, of course, I could hardly ignore the rest. All so worried that I might bring any who meet my eye under my thrall or sink my fangs into a pretty little mare’s neck and let them taste my venom.” She shook her head. “Honestly, yours? Well, you’ll have to excuse me, but I just find you, Rarity, to be silly by comparison.”

“Silly?” The mare goggled. “I-I’m sorry? Silly?”

“Why, yes. You most of all. Them?” The Princess of the Seekers let her eyes flicker to the crowd, her smile sharpening as they tugged their collars and failed to meet her gaze. “They so delight in the poison dribbling from their fangs. And theirs are far sharper than mine will ever grow. You, though? Your entire demeanor gives away how new you are to this show, you don’t even mean it. Not yet. So, yes. Silly.”

Satisfaction filling her chest, Twilight returned her attention to Rainbow and gestured to the stunned Bearer. “What do you think would be your best play in this situation? Stay and make a bigger scene arguing to make a point, or excuse yourself from their presence?”

Rainbow Dash looked as though she’d been hit in the face with something rotten. “Uh.” She looked around. “Um. You kinda made your point. A lot.”

“Ahhh.” Twilight inclined her head. “Thank you. I appreciate your input.” 

Her piece said, she turned away from them, her eyes reserved for the one they’d been robbed of during this ordeal.

The unease and hurt in those soulful blue eyes gave her pause. Fluttershy looked smaller, like she had been when they’d first bumped into one another, and her expression spoke not of fear or scorn or even temper.

Rather, it spoke of worry. 

Satisfaction died a swift death. 

Twilight offered a small smile, one that hid all but the tips of her fangs. “Thank you for dancing with me,” she said softly. “I hope we might have the chance to meet again. Without the crowd, perhaps.”

She didn’t stick around to hear any rejection or half-hearted affirmation. Twilight knew enough to realize when it was time to walk away.

With a bow of her head, the Princess of the Seekers turned sharply and exited the dance floor. The cold weight in her chest still drowning any remnant of satisfaction she might have garnered teaching her lesson.

That her blood no longer sang for balance was of little solace.
> 10. Failings of the Fey
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The look in those beautiful, sky blue eyes haunted the Princess of the Seekers. 

Every time she closed her eyes, Twilight could see them. She found herself in that moment all over again, everything, down to the way that smile which brightened her eyes slowly turned to fretting as she bantered with her friends, and ultimately worry and just a hint of something else.

Something Twilight feared.

She could taste it on her tongue, even now. No matter how she tried not to catch a hint as she walked away—disappointment.

By the stars and moon and sun, how she hated that taste.

From her nymph hood days, Twilight knew it well. The same taste her fellow Seekers all but radiated when looking upon her sickly form, whispering to one another when they thought she was out of earshot, worried that she might never grow up or find the strength to one day take the throne. And their points, all backed up with statistics and studies on changeling growth dating back to Sireadh Firinn’s youth.

Other hives included, of course. Because diverse sample sizes were must in any proper research project.

Even those that might hurt a little nymph who so wanted to grow up and be strong like her parents.

Twilight rolled over onto her back, twisting her covers around her body, and pressed one of her plush pillows into her face. Why did that face, those eyes, bother her so? All she did was balance the scales by repaying a slight against her kin! It wasn’t like she ruined the mare’s reputation or business like the classical tales.

Though, really, if Twilight wanted to get technical about it, Rarity could have done quite a bit to ruin her efforts to bridge the gaps between their races. Just think, if she spoke so loudly—a Bearer of the Elements of Harmony—perhaps one of those whispering ponies whose lips dribbled sweet, poisonous words might find themselves emboldened to spread similar notions around the city? Or the country, perhaps? And right in front of Twilight!

Worse. Love forbid, imagine if such things were uttered in front of one of her kin with less grip on their temper?

Alas, none of those thoughts served to banish that visage of Fluttershy’s face.

With a frustrated sigh, Twilight whipped her pillow across the room with a little flick of her wrist, snorting at the satisfying thud when it hit the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut, thumping her head softly against the mattress. “Why,” she ventured aloud, “does one mare’s face haunt me so?”

She barely knew the mare, after all. It wasn’t like she’d upset Cadence or Shining Armor’s friends with her words. So why should she feel such guilt?

Rarity slighted her first. And, frankly, Rainbow was only marginally better. Applejack and Pinkie, she could at least see as a bit causiously curious, though the latter trended more toward being as bubbly and happy as Paprika if she were perfectly honest.

As for Sunset Shimmer, well, if looks could kill, Twilight would be dead several times over.

Twilight Sparkle forced herself to throw off the covers and roll out of bed, landing nimbly on her hooves. Heaving another sigh, she shuffled off to the washroom to make her preparations for the day. 

Her first full day after effectively kneecapping her fellow Bearers.

She did not look forward to whatever consequences came of that.

Three firm knocks against her bedroom door made her ear flick. From within the washroom, she heard her faithful friend and guard call out, “Your Highness?”

“In the washroom, Silin,” Twilight replied. 

Silín’s hoofsteps sounded out in a short cadence until she poked her head around the door. “Good morning, Your Highness. How was your rest?”

She had to ask.

Twilight shook her head. “If I could even call it rest,” she murmured. “I kept thinking of what I said to them and how it upset that mare. Fluttershy.”

“The one you danced with,” Silín supplied, a knowing smile playing upon her lips. “You seemed quite taken with her.” A heated glare over Twilight’s shoulder earned only a waggle of the ears. “Cadence noticed as well,” her guard supplied.

“Oh, of course she did.” Things just got better and better. She clicked her tongue. “I should expect her to demand a full scale discussion on the matter.”

“She seemed to consider it last night, but I think your mood after your exchange with the other Bearers drove her to give you some time to yourself.”

Twilight felt her heart sink into her stomach. Everyone had seen. That entire exchange had played out in the middle of the dance floor, regardless of whether or not someone overheard, they could see and read plenty from posture and expression alone.

Now how might that tinge the meeting in the public eye?

The young Princess of the Seekers could almost hear those doubting whispers of her kin just over her shoulder. Sireadh Firinn would never have made such a misstep, no matter how slighted she might have felt. Only a sickly little nymph would think herself so bold to make such a scene out in the open.

A proper Seeker, a proper changeling, would make their point with subtlety and cunning, in ways that none could confirm but all would know.

“What do we have planned today?” Twilight asked softly.

“Not much.” Silín turned her gaze up, thinking a moment. “She’s expecting you for breakfast, of course. I believe she was hoping to have you meet with some of the military personnel in the city later in the afternoon, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“No parliamentary address or speech?”

Silín shook her head. “Not yet, I think. Though, I do believe she spoke of such an address after you had the chance to meet with individual leaders or committees. That said—“ the leader of the Black Helmets flicked an ear “—she did wish to speak with you privately this morning.”

Suddenly, Twilight felt a chill down her spine. 

Celestia didn’t exactly call private meetings after someone made a scene without purpose.

Well, I did make my bedpod. It’s only fitting that I now lay in it. Nodding, Twilight turned the faucets with an almost absentminded work of magic. “Breakfast at sunrise it is, then,” she mused, noting the slow crawl of purples and pinks creeping across Luna’s night sky. “Would you mind polishing my regalia?”

Silín Labrais bowed and stepped back out of the room. “Of course, Your Highness,” she demurred. “Call me if you need anything.”

As her friend pulled the washroom door closed, Twilight let her shoulders sag. What a day.

A single day.

She stepped into the water, shivering at the sudden rush of heat. Maybe they were right to question me back in the Assembly Hall.





It came as some solace that Twilight could share a quiet moment or two with her eldest surrogate aunt. Even if it meant an inevitable lecture on her behavior.

Such time was precious, rarely afforded due to their distance and, well, the fact that slipping away to go visit a young changeling princess wasn’t exactly something Celestia could just do on a lark without raising a cargo ship worth off questions. And traveling to Canterlot? While disguises certainly didn’t diminish the value of their walks, it didn’t quite hold the same feeling as those Twilight could enjoy in Halla Eolaís. So, this, while tinged by the subject, was quite a novelty.

And who knew when she might enjoy such an opportunity again?

It was Celestia who broke their silence first. “You seemed to enjoy your dancing last night,” she said, her eyes lingering on a nearby bust of some unicorn scholar of old. 

“I was pleased to find so many willing partners,” Twilight replied in much the same tone. “Though none bold enough to try changeling dances.”

“Not everypony has such exotic tastes as my niece or Shining Armor,” came her teasing reply. “You looked radiant.”

Her cheeks coloring, Twilight glanced up at her surrogate aunt. “I wasn’t sure how they would think of me in a dress after the wedding.”

Celestia arched a delicate brow. “I didn’t mean your dress, you silly nymph. I meant you. And your partners, for that matter.” A smile playing upon her lips, she wished her tail, adding, “I feared you might dance alone all night unless Cadence dragged Shining back to the floor.”

“I thought the same.” Grinning, Twilight gave a merry chitter. “I might have grabbed him myself.”

They shared matching smiles and continued on their walk, that momentary escape from the oncoming lecture a welcome one to be certain. Twilight let her eyes flit away from Celestia. Instead, she found solace in the a bare spot on the wall a bit up the hallway. Right between a pair of paintings of Celestia and Luna, far younger by the gleam in their eyes and the pre unification style clothing they wore.

Oh. And the fact that they wielded three Elements each.

A few nigh impossible, by the hive’s estimates.

“Yes,” Celestia’s voice brought her back to present. “You were quite radiant. Though, I daresay, a bit more so with those lovely mares who caught your eye. And perhaps that young pegasus stallion.”

Her cheeks coloring, Twilight ducked her head. “Are you planning to tease me before Cadence even has a chance?” she muttered.

A prickling sensation on the back of her neck, like needles poking her carapace, told Twilight of the little smirk the elder princess wore. “Now, honey, would I rob one surrogate niece of the right to tease the other?” A gentle hoof tussled her mane, she glanced up and was met with a hint of slyness in those eyes. “Especially when her Ladybug had so many ponies agape at how well she danced.”

Twilight waited for the other horseshoe to drop. It surely would. Any second.

“Part of the plan, as it were,” she replied. “Dancing with Cadence and Shiny was just a thrill, but the rest was more trying to get the crowd to stop shying away.” And stop that horrid gossiping. “Though, I think I might have them and Mr. Pants and Mrs. De Lis for that. Their asking to join me for a ceilí did more than my aimless shuffling, I’m sure.”

Here, Celestia committed an act so brazen, so improper those hoity-toity ponies with too many riches and noses in the low stratosphere would have almost certainly had a heart attack:

She snorted.

“You call that aimless shuffling?” she asked, her expression one of utmost incredulity.

The young princess squirmed beneath her gaze. “Kinda? For us.”

Celestia’s expression held a second longer, then she turned her eyes skyward and shook her head. “As long as I’ve known your mother and father and your grandparents before them, you and your kin never cease to amaze me with your ways, I swear.” She stopped her teasing just long enough to resume that kindly smile and say, “You had them enraptured, you silly nymph. I daresay you might have been on your way to achieving your goal.”

Her chitinous ears flicked. There was the angle.

Might have been on her way.

Might, indeed.

Twilight blew a deep breath through her nose and found an interesting speck on the marble floor to occupy herself. “Yeah,” she murmured.

“Oh, come now, Twilight. I may call you a nymph, but we’re both adults. Surely you can look me in the eye when we talk.”

She felt the little jolt within her veins. Celestia knew just which button to push to coax that old pride forth, and just enough to get what she wanted. 

Damn.

Slowly, the young princess lifted her chin so she could look her surrogate aunt in the eye. “You saw,” she said softly.

Celestia gave a solemn nod. “The results, yes. But I’ve not heard your side of the tale. I would like to, if you don’t mind sharing.”

Twilight gave voice to her discontent with a low, guttural sound the likes of which could have never come from a pony’s throat. But her respect for Celestia and all she’d done for Sireadh Firinn and Eolas overrode even the most nymphish desire to bite her tongue and refuse to speak purely out of shame and worry.

There would already be fallout for her choices. What more could a recounting to Celestia do but make her feel like an utter fool for her antics?

More so than currently, anyway.

Resignation weighing heavy upon her shoulders, Twilight recounted everything she could think of about the evening. From the time she and Silín left her suite, to the frightened stares and horrified whispered comments about her mother, Magic, her fangs, her race, everything she ever stood for since the day she’d hatched. From how those horrified whispers turned into poisonous hissing slander upon her as she stepped hoof into the ballroom, to the burn that filled her chest and how her blood demanded repayment for Rarity’s contribution, all the way through her dances with friends, partygoers, and Fluttershy and that confrontation.

And through it all, Celestia stayed silent, simply content to listen while they walked. Every so often, she would either flick an ear at something she deemed important or tilt her head to one side as if considering herself in a similar situation.

Perhaps she was.

By the time Twilight finished, they had come to private portion of the East Wing, where one who Celestia deemed favorable could join her for more private conversations. A familiar place for the young princess, though certainly not in this form.

It was all familiar, really. So many times she’d spent wandering these very halls with Celestia and Luna, complaining about how the other Seekers looked at her, while they listened patiently and offered advice. 

At least this time she didn’t need to come up with any clever euphemisms for her hive or changeling issues in general.

And, just as familiar as the scene, was the way in which Celestia smiled and laid a hoof upon her shoulder before beginning to speak.

“Oh, my dear, sweet little nymph,” she said as she had so many times before. “You remind me so much of Luna, your mother, and myself in our younger years.”

Twilight blinked. “I do?”

The Princess of Day laughed. “Young, driven by ambition and emotion, and impulsive in your own right. Some stories, you’ve not heard, but the three of us weren’t always the wise, nurturing figures most see.” Her smile as bright as the noontime sun, she added, “You, my dear, fall into the rather perplexing position of being neither wrong, nor right.”

“That makes …” her voice trailed off, Twilight wrinkled her snout. “Incredibly little sense.”

“Does it?” Those purple eyes danced. “Come now, what about our lessons? How many times did I give you some logic or moral question that you found so maddeningly complicated until you realized there were several ways to address the issue? And how many times did you find one even I hadn’t considered?”

Twilight bit her lip, her ears splaying. That she had. And, indeed, the little nymph she’d been would have relished such a notion of many right ways rather than one.

Before she could offer an answer, Celestia turned toward a portrait of Luna and herself standing alongside a pair of unnamed unicorns—unnamed to all save Twilight and the Seekers.

“I remember when your parents favored these faces,” Celestia mused. “We were all so young. Your mother and I used to bicker over philosophy while Luna and your father laughed behind our backs. But she taught me quite a lot in those days. Among them, the notion that there is always something we could do differently if we took just a moment or two extra to think.”

That certainly sounded like the wisdom of Sireadh Firinn. Though, not in the usual manner.

“I was expecting you would be upset with me,” Twilight admitted. “That I’d let our penchant for balancing scales and answering slights damage relations further.”

Celestia shook her head. “Oh, no matter how the years pass or how much time I spend with your parents, your kin, and even you, my dear, the oddities of changeling logic and mores amaze me to this day.” She turned quickly and tapped Twilight on the forehead with the tip of her golden-shoed hoof. “And let’s be honest, visiting royalty voicing her offense at those around her speaking rudely about her might sting some ponies’ sensibilities, but I hardly think a moment of temper could do near as much as another Queen trying to usurp the throne.”

Though she no doubt meant to reassure, Twilight couldn’t help but wince at the mention of Chrysalis. 

“That said,” Celestia continued, “while I don’t necessarily agree or approve of how you chose to voice your displeasure in such a public, formal setting, I can’t pretend that you had no reason to feel slighted in that setting.” Sighing, she turned her eyes skyward. “Nor that Rarity doesn’t need a reminder that her penchant for gossip might lead to problems in the future.”

Snorting, Twilight glared down at the marble. “It’ll get her on the wrong side of someone who will do more than just make a point in front of a crowd,” she grumbled.

Another tap on her forehead earned another inequine rumble, but Celestia didn’t so much as blink. “True, and it’s a lesson she may very well have learned at your hooves last night. However—” she turned toward that picture once more, rustling her feathers “—it is one of many lessons she could have learned, as your mother would say. Decided by your own thought process.”

“I’m not entirely sure I follow.”

“Then, perhaps we’ll return to a happier time. Your nymphhood, I think, dictates that the best way to teach you lessons like this, is through a story. And I have just the story in mind. Come, this is one more suited for privacy.”

The Princess of Day unfurled and draped a wing across Twilight’s shoulders, steering her down the corridor toward a lone side door Twilight knew to lead straight out into the Royal Gardens. A hidden entrance, one of three her surrogate aunts had shown her.

“For ease of slipping out for a breath of air unabated,” as Luna once said with a meaningful wink.

Celestia pushed the door open with a little nudge of magic and led Twilight out into the warm sunlight. Before them, a verdant garden awash with carnations, roses of red, white, violet, and pink, daisies, moonflowers, and more. Certainly more than Twilight could name, no matter how often she visited. A pair of blue jays flitted about among the branches of a star oak while a grumpy squirrel emerged from its hole to chatter angrily at them for disturbing his rest.

A little slice of nature Celestia and Luna had kept pristine among the marble they’d forged their city.

Twilight drank in the sweet scents wafting through the air and felt the muscles in her neck and shoulders relax. But not so much she lost track of herself.

“So,” she said, glancing up at her aunt out of the corner of her eye. “What’s this story about mom you mentioned?”

“One of my favorites,” Celestia answered. “Has Sireadh ever told you of Tecton the Earthshaker?”

The Princess of the Seekers nodded once. “He was a smith and an earth pony warrior famed for his part in the campaigns against gryphons raiding farming towns in the northeast,” she recited. “There were legends that he could split ledges off the side of rock formations with a single stomp.”

Chuckling, Celestia shook her head, her prismatic mane flowing in the breeze. “Tecton would be flattered to hear his praise endured, as he most certainly loved hearing it in life. He was strong, brave, brash, and stubborn, like so many heroes in that time. But unlike some, he didn’t much care to recall his humble roots before the gryphons came to his town.” Her lips twitched. “You might guess how your mother liked a burly stallion who boasted and posed for his adoring public.”

“Not in the slightest, I’d guess.”

“You’d be very wrong. We were all rather close friends of his.”

Blanching, Twilight turned and regarded her through narrow eyes. “Are you having me on? My mother hates braggarts almost as much as you hate coffee.”

“Now, now, don’t exaggerate. Your mother can’t possibly match my disdain for coffee.” Winking, Celestia turned to nibble at the petals of a pink rose. One of her favorite snacks. “Yes, Tecton did grate on our nerves with his cavorting. Oh, especially your mother’s.” She wiped the smile off her face and adopted a colder, more regal expression. Sireadh Firinn’s patented stern ruler face. “Tecton,” she said in a rather fair imitation of the changeling Queen, “I promise your reflection looks the same as it did five minutes ago, but if you don’t stop posing for yourself, I can’t promise the same five minutes from now.”

Twilight’s brows disappeared beneath her bangs. “Now that sounds more like her. Though … maybe not so overt on the threat.”

Celestia held up a hoof and said, “Ah, but I did mention that we were much younger. And, also, Tecton … well, let’s just say he had a lot in common with the stones he could crush beneath his hooves.”

“Thick?”

“Quite. Luna’s crush lasted little more than a minute before she realized he’d never be one for a more educated conversation, but she did enjoy his humor.” She shrugged. “But I digress. One day, Tecton started arguing back with your mother. I think it was because he had a bunch of mares fawning over him while he lifted the bench they were sitting on.” Chuckling, she swished her tail. “Your mother tolerated it for a while, but when the shrieking laughter got to a point where the four of us had to keep raising our voices to be heard, she got out of her chair and stomped over to them and got right in Tecton’s face.”

The young princess could just picture it. Her mother, disguised as that unicorn in the picture, maybe just taller than Twilight, glaring up at a mountain of a stallion, barely restraining the urge to let out a hiss and let her eyes glow.

She couldn’t help but smile. “I’m guessing she ripped into him.”

“Worse.” Celestia giggled. “She encouraged him.”

“C-Come again?”

To her surprise, Celestia nodded gravely. “Your mother looked him in the eye and told him she was unimpressed, and that he should stop wasting the mares’ time with foolish games. Tecton was stunned, but he put the bench down and asked her what would impress her.” Rolling her eyes, she said, “Your mother could so play up the altiloquent mare when she wished, especially with her vocabulary. She turned away and turned up her nose, and told him that he’d have to do more than lift a bench with a few mares on it if he wanted to really impress somepony. Naturally, he took the bait, and promptly harnessed himself to a cart meant to be pulled by four and took it twice around the town. Your mother yawned when he returned.”

Twilight found her smile spreading, a chitter of mirth bubbling forth from within her chest. “Let me guess, he kept running off to do bigger, more challenging things and she’d just keep acting like she couldn’t possibly care less.”

“Right in one.” The Princess of Day breathed a fond sigh. “I thought they’d keep going all day, but he finally collapsed in a heap after some cockamamie bet, your mother still unimpressed and challenging him to do something worth her attention. This time, at last, he refused.”

“Did he?” Her ears perking, Twilight tilted her head. “That doesn’t sound like the stallion in the stories at all.”

“It doesn’t, no. But this was where he started to mature. Tecton refused and simply told her nothing he did would impress her.” Here, her smile was not so much bright, but warm. As warm as the first touch of dawn’s light. “Your mother placed a jug of water in front of him and told him that he just had. The look on his face that moment has lasted me over a thousand years.”

The words hung in the air a moment, a deliberate move meant to allow Twilight ample time to imaging the scene herself.

It took little time at all for both she and Celestia to burst into laughter and merry chittering, a gentle wing slid up to wrap around her shoulders and pulled her in close. The Princess of the Seekers leaned against her side, content. Happy.

Like she was years ago. Before the wedding. Before her temper overrode logic and drove a deeper wedge between herself and the other Bearers.

Her good humor evaporated in an instant. The story was lovely, of course, as all stories of her parents’ younger years with her surrogate aunts tended to be. But how exactly did that relate to her actions at the party?

“So, mom taught him a lesson rather than yelling at him,” Twilight surmised aloud. “But I just made a scene.”

“You returned an offense tit for tat, as your nature demanded,” Celestia corrected. “Not inherently wrong, but perhaps a missed opportunity. Easy to miss without an extra second’s thought.”

She withdrew her wing and folded it against her side, and walked a few slow steps ahead. Humming, Celestia turned her eyes skyward and said, “I suppose it’s more that I see a route that you might have taken if you’d thought to consider the longterm rather than pursuing a short term resolution to a very valid offense against your kin. And yourself, for that matter.”

Twilight cocked an ear to one side, her mouth open as if to speak. 

There was a point to considering longterm goals over the short term. That much, her parents had taught her. Especially in research.

But also in trickery. Planning for goals in the future yielded more profitable results than a quick con or a deal made in haste.

Or in anger.

She let her shoulders sag, a hoof came up to rub at her forehead. “What would the longterm planner in my mother have done, then?” she asked, her voice betraying her tired frustration.

“One can never be sure what she might do, but I can tell you what time given for thought during our walk has allowed me to see as your alternative. Similar to Tecton’s story.” She held up a hoof as if offering a plate of food. “On one hoof, yes, the instant satisfaction in putting somepony in their place and teaching them that their offenses were noticed and unappreciated is understandable and does get the point across. But—” she set her hoof down, raising the other “—alternatively, what if you’d instead returned her smile with one of your own and held her close, and just allowed her to see not a changeling walking among her potential source of food, but yourself. Let her watch Twilight Sparkle interact with family, friends, everyday ponies on the street, and have it fly in the face of her views until she herself recognizes the mistake and reconsiders her view. And, perhaps …”

She approached Twilight and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “She might feel just the tiniest hint of shame at having thought such unkind things about a visitor trying to help two nations mend ties.”

Twilight stood stock still, her jaw tightening and nostrils flaring as she let the notion register.

Then, she closed her eyes and let out a low utterance of curses in Old Changeling.

“It would have accomplished everything I wanted in that moment,” she admitted. “And mom would’ve done it herself, and wouldn’t have made a mess of everything because of it.”

Celestia drew back and laughed. “Oh, Twilight, you’ve not done anything to make a mess of relations that any other dignitary hasn’t. Far less, in fact.” She patted Twilight’s shoulder, drawing her in for a warm embrace. “Now, about breakfast.”

“Oh.” Twilight’s ears perked up. “That’s right. Silín mentioned you wanted to have breakfast together.”

“Oh, did she?” A familiar, knowing smile played upon her lips. The sort Celestia always seemed to wear when she had some sort of surprise waiting. “Good. Very good. Then let’s head back inside, shall we?”

There were few ponies who could send shivers down a changeling’s spine by tone alone.

Celestia was at the top of the list.
> 11. The Wisdom of Laughter
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Let it not be said that Twilight Sparkle, Princess of the Seekers, did not love her aunts dearly. Of the two, however, she’d always found her bond with Celestia had been just a little deeper.

Something about the warmth, the unconditional love evident in her smile and eyes, how she favored a sort of play and trickery more subtle than even Luna’s machinations—games the likes of which her mother would even join to play—all of it like she held some base understanding of changelings, despite all claims they never ceased to amaze her. That sort of magnetism which always earned she and Luna a crowd of eager changelings young and old around them, like a pair of magi bringing gifts and stories.

All that said, Twilight found herself experiencing a rather new feeling as she stood in the middle of the dining hall and stared flatly, her eyes locked on the table and fine breakfast spread.

And, more importantly, the pony occupying one of the seats.

“Heya, Princess Celestia!” Pinkie Pie beamed and waved her hoof so fast it must’ve spawned hurricanes in Oceana. “Morning, Princess Twilight!”

Twilight felt Celestia’s wing lay across her shoulders, out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Princess of Day smiling that knowing smile. “Good morning, Pinkie Pie,” she greeted with a nod of her head. “How was your evening?”

“Pretty good! Though, I got a bone to pick with you about the beds in your guest rooms!”

“Oh? Pray tell, what might be the problem?”

The Bearer of Laughter’s face took on an air of absolute gravity. Ruined, just slightly, but the little tick at the corner of her mouth. “They’re not nearly bouncy enough! The top curls of my mane barely even brushed the ceiling!”

“A most grave problem indeed!” Princess Celestia nodded with utmost solemnity. “I shall speak with Silken Sheet and Feather Duster immediately. Such an oversight will not go uncorrected in my castle, I assure you.”

Blinking, Twilight furrowed her brows. “W-What?” she asked.

Her aunt’s ancient purple eyes sparkled like diamonds. “Come now, Twilight. You know well how important the softness and springiness of our mattresses are. Your mother has labored for centuries to pry the secret of their origin from my or Luna’s lips.” 

Pinkie Pie gave a gasp that might have sucked the air out of a small room, then stuffed her hooves in her mouths as if she thought that might hide her mirth.

Worse, Twilight felt intrigued. She knew something.

She had to.

“Pinkie,” Celestia said sternly.

“I know, I know!” the mare chirped through her giggles. She made a little motion like she was running a zipper along her lips, then twisted as if to turn the key and lock a latch. With a happy hum, she flung it away into the aether.

Much to Celestia’s pleasure. 

And Twilight’s consternation. She turned slowly, leveling her aunt with a flat glare. She loved Celestia dearly, but right about now?

Biting seemed like a viable option.

“My mother and hive have been searching for that secret for centuries,” Twilight said slowly, keeping her voice low so that humming, bouncing mare wouldn’t hear. Was she humming show tunes to herself? Yes. Yes she was. “And this mare knows it?”

“And she even has a name!” Celestia replied with a smile as bright as the morning sun.

Her hint was just as plain.

Twilight drew in a slow breath. “You didn’t bring me here to tempt me with that secret after we spoke about last night,” she said after a moment. 

“No,” her aunt replied, her smile spreading, “I did not.”

“So, why?”

That accursed smile became a full, toothy grin. “Last night, you made some headway with fostering relations, before unfortunate choice of commentary and reprisal did some damage to efforts. Damage,” she repeated with a meaningful raise of her brows, “but not so grave that those around you were unwilling to extend a hoof to offer a second chance and ask one in turn when I awoke this morning to raise the sun.”

Blinking, Twilight let her slitted eyes flit between Pinkie and her aunt. “She did?”

“I believe the others might have,” Celestia replied. “Pinkie, however, was the first and asked that she be given a chance to speak with you one on one. To that end, I sent Silin to fetch you.”

Twilight’s ears ticked. “You lied to my guard to get me to have breakfast with her?”

“Yes. How very changeling of me, no?” With a little chuckle, Celestia leaned in close and nosed against her cheek. “Consider this a chance to make amends for last night, my dear. Talk to her, get to know her and how she thinks of you, her friends, and learn from her. Teach her how you think and reason. In turn, I think you’ll find that this generation of Bearers is quite like those your mother speaks of with such fondness.”

Unease crept into Twilight’s chest. True, she had done damage at the gala, an event put on specifically to grant her the opportunity to foster relations and show that, despite her fangs, Twilight came with good tidings and intent to affirm their alliance. A mission dented, perhaps, by a moment of temper and need to see a slight balanced.

How would you handle this? she wondered, wishing so that Celestia would just give her the answers for once. How would mother handle such a failing?

The answer to that, of course, was quite obvious. Sireadh Firinn didn’t make such mistakes. Not anymore, at least.

But had she, Sireadh Firinn would not leave a mistake or offense committed without offering some restitution.

“You won’t be dining with us, I assume?” Twilight asked.

Celestia shook her head. “I’m afraid not.” With a glance skyward, she turned toward the door once more. “I think I’ll find a rather interesting conversation if I visit with a certain mare who committed another offense last night. Oh, Pinkie, dear?” 

At her call, Pinkie sat up straight. Her bouncing ceased. “Mmph?” 

The Princess of Day chuckled. “You’re free to unzip your lips, Pinkie. But do keep that, aha, valuable piece of information to yourself until …” she trailed off, her eyes dancing with mischievous glee the likes of which would make Sireadh Firinn herself raise a brow. “Oh, until you think she’s ready to hear it.”

That Pinkie Pie beamed and chirped out an affirmative only served to draw a low rumble of disapproval from deep within Twilight’s chest. “Dangling that in front of me now?” she muttered out of the side of her mouth. “I thought this was about friendship, not deals.”

“It is. Consider it my own way of putting a little charm on things to entice you to try.” With a wink, Celestia trotted off, though not without one last call over her shoulder, “Enjoy your meal, ladies.”

Thus, Twilight Sparkle, Princess of the Seekers, was duped into dining with a mare she’d met only a few hours prior. A mare whose friend Twilight had turned into a spectacle and singled out as one with a false face before some of the most important ponies in the land, no less.

Mom would never have made that mistake. But she wouldn’t shy away from facing consequences if she had, either. Twilight set her jaw and stepped around the table so she could stride along the opposite side of the mare awaiting her with that bright, sunny smile. 

Smiling at her, Twilight noted, as though the confrontation at the gala hadn’t happened.

The changeling took her seat across from Pinkie Pie, her posture stiff, but proper. “Good morning,” she greeted neutrally.

“We already said that, silly!” Pinkie giggled, her eyes brimming with mirth. Then, her smile vanished. “Or, wait! Is that a changelingy thing? Do changelings say things twice so it’s like making sure somepony has twice as good a morning?”

Twilight couldn’t help but snort. She’s almost like Paprika. “No, we don’t. And, actually,” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching, “I never said good morning myself. So, I suppose I must ask if in your culture, you say good morning to wish me twice as good a morning as I would have had.”

Pinkie’s gasp could have sucked the air from the dining room and Twilight wouldn’t have been surprised. 

Then, the mare leveled her with a narrow-eyed gaze. “I see,” she said slowly. “Well played.” Before Twilight could question exactly what game she’d played, Pinkie perked right back up and bounced in place. “Sooooooo, how’s it going?”

“It’s going, I suppose.” Twilight summoned a pitcher of apple juice and poured herself a glass. A quick sip afforded her the familiar sweet taste, a small comfort. “As well as one can this early.” After last night, it’s stellar.

Pinkie thought otherwise. She blew a raspberry as she stacked her place high with pancakes and began what Twilight could only describe as trying to drown them in maple syrup.  “That’s boring!” she said, reaching for the whipped cream and strawberries next. “Talking with Princess Celestia had to be fun though, right? She’s got some killer jokes! Like the one where Philomena pretends it’s her burning day!”

Twilight glanced down at her own plate, barren of food. “Er, you could say it was something.” Fun? Not in the slightest. Informative and insightful, though. Then, her ears twitched. “Wait a minute. Philomena tricked you into thinking she was having a burning day? When was this?”

With another smattering of giggles, Pinkie shook her head. “Not me! But she sure got Fluttershy when the princesses came to visit Ponyville last year. Poor thing had no idea.”

Again, Twilight’s ears twitched. Philomena’s burning day prank was something of a legend in Halla Eolais—many a nymph had fallen prey to her tricks, and those old enough to remember her first always took to it with a raucous chittering while they explained to horrified little ones that, no, they hadn’t just killed the pet of one of Sireadh Firinn’s closest and dearest friends.

Her mind flitted to Fluttershy, how nervous the mare had been when their eyes met in the middle of the dance floor. Just how might she have taken it, watching that blasted phoenix burst into flames and burn to naught but ashes and a couple glimmering feathers while her princesses visited?

A vision of that poor mare who’d nearly had a heart attack when they’d bumped into one another on the dance floor flashed before her eyes. Surely, Fluttershy must have felt herself horrible. 

Twilight shook her head. “No,” she said. “Celestia didn’t pull any jokes on me.” The Princess of the Seekers selected two pancakes from the top of the stack and slathered them in maple syrup, ignoring her instinctive want to dive straight in. “She imparted a bit of knowledge upon me, and I find myself … well, mulling it quite a bit. And wishing I weren’t such an impulsive brat of a changeling.”

Across the table, Pinkie stopped with her fork, laden with pancake and whipped cream, halfway to her mouth. Her brows furrowing, she frowned. “I don’t think you’re a brat, even a changeling one,” she said softly.

“You’re too kind.”

“No. Flutters is kind. I’m giggly and make ponies laugh. And changelings, maybe. Someday.” Pinkie chomped down on her first bite and swallowed it in one gulp. “But you’re not a brat. There’s a little filly back home—she’s a bit of a brat, but she has a good heart deep down. Like you, I think.”

Twilight couldn’t help but snort as she took a bite of pancake. Fluffy and sweet, as always. “You say that I have a good heart and I’m not a brat, even after the scene I made last night.” She swallowed. “Or what I said to your friends.”

The mare’s frown deepened. Pinkie Pie glanced at her plate, as if searching out the answer. Or how to phrase her response.

Not the conversation she had in mind this morning, Twilight could guess.

She continued, “For what it’s worth, I am sorry that I let my temper get the better of me last night.”

“Everypony gets mad at some point,” Pinkie replied, barely above a whisper. She sighed. “And that’s exactly why we had said something to Rarity and Sunset before we came over to talk after you danced with Flutters.”

Twilight stiffened. “Er, what?”

Chuckling, Pinkie took another bite. “Applejack was angry that Rarity said what she did, and so loudly at a gala for you. She’s … Rarity is a nice pony, Princess. But she does put on a face around Canterlot sometimes.” Her smile showed sadness and pain. “Almost like a changeling in tat way.”

The Princess of the Seekers winced. That point, she couldn’t refute. Though she and her parents wore false faces and showed the truth of who they were in action, some of their kin, even in the hive, created guises. Characters. 

“I still didn’t have a right to do what I did,” Twilight said, her shoulders slumping. “Not like that.”

“Be angry or say those things to Rarity and Dashie?”

“The latter, I suppose.”

Pinkie laughed. “You confused Dashie a lot. I don’t think I’ve seen her so frazzled since the first time we played tag together. Rarity …” Her mirth faded. Again, she sighed. “I wish you hadn’t, but I understand. I could hear what a lot of them were saying too, and hearing her say it right after you’d been announced … I think I’d have been more hurt than angry, but I understand.”

Twilight dared to let a sliver of hope trickle into her heart. “Do you?”

“What she said was rude,” Pinkie replied simply. “Even if she didn’t really mean it as much, but that just makes it worse. Gossip hurts, and she knows that. But when she gets around some of the ponies here she kinda slips.” The mare downed a glass of apple juice in one shot. “I didn’t like what you said or how you did it, none of us did. But considering how she said things … well, I wish you would’ve said it more gently.”

“Changelings are different.” With a tired growl, Twilight set her fork down. Pancakes were too sweet. An apple would be better for her mood. “We and all our fey cousins don’t just get over slights or offenses, we balance them. Like—”

“The stories Grandpa Slate told me about your mother when she was Tranquil Dusk,” Pinkie finished for her with a fond smile. “He used to tell me about her humor and tricks.” 

“And she loved his love of laughter and the strength of his resolve.” That trickle grew. “Does he know?”

Pinkie let out a snort, her sky blue eyes dancing with mirth. “Oh, you should see the letter he sent me after I told him about you! It’s classic Grampy Slate!” She reached into her mane and—by some means of sorcery unknown to any Seeker—retrieved the aforementioned letter and slid it across the table. Bouncing on her hooves, she chirped, “Read it! Read it!”

Curious, Twilight took the letter in hoof and unfolded it, her brow arching high enough that it disappeared beneath her mane.



My dear Pinkamena,

Congratulations! You are the Pie who witnessed the punchline of our greatest joke firsthoof. I truly wish Prism Flare was around so I could see his face.

Tell your new friend that your grandfather remembers Tranquil Dusk well. And that her mother shan’t understand the secrets of the family magic, but our friendship and laughter will always remain.

With love,

Slate Pie



By the time she finished reading, Twilight’s jaw had dropped. If she had her father’s sense of humor, she might have shifted so it could hit the table. “He … he knew? Wait, no!” She read it again. “Your family knew my mother’s secret and didn’t tell?”

“Not exactly what her secret was, silly!” The mare giggled, her tail swishing gleefully. “Just that there was something different about their friend and that she was hiding it for a reason and thought it’d be funnier to let it play out. And it was! You should’ve seen Dashie’s face!”

The image her words conjured drew a twitching at the corner of Twilight’s mouth. She shook her head, her voice failing her as she tried to wrap her head around it. “Your grandfather didn’t care that she’s a changeling? After all the time they spent together?”

Pinkie shrugged. “She always came to help when needed and decided whether she liked ponies or not based on action.” That bright smile broadened into a toothy grin. “Grandpa always told me that actions were more important than looks anyway.”

The changeling princess’s hoof leapt to her mouth. One who understood.

In her own odd way.

Perhaps Twilight could find a happy medium between herself and these ponies, those who hadn’t grown up with changelings all their lives. With a little bit of careful application of culture.

“Do you know how changelings show trust to outsiders?” Twilight asked.

To her amusement, Pinkie scrunched her nose in thought. “Uh … I dunno. Play hide and seek? Show off your rock collection?”

Chittering, Twilight shook her head. “No, though you might earn friends in the geologists club in my hive.” Her eyes dancing, she replied, “The first is this, showing my face before you as I did upon entering your city. The second is telling you about their actual family.”

Pinkie Pie’s eyes lit up. “I grew up on stories of Tranquil Dusk,” she whispered. 

“And I, on stories of your family and your friends’.” Twilight smiled, warm and affectionate, as though she were talking to Cadence and Shining. She even resisted the urge to correct her new friend’s use of one of her mother’s aliases. “To start off, my mother isn’t quite a peer of Celestia and Luna’s in terms of age, nor is my father, Eolas ag Iarraidh. They just so happen to be close enough that it doesn’t really matter, and friends for long enough that they’ve picked up some rather entertaining stories about one another …”

Her family would just have to forgive her sharing stories. But, perhaps they’d let her slide when they understood her reasoning.

Just this once.
> 12. Family By Bond
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh, love, no more, please!” Twilight clutched at her aching belly, her cheeks aching so she thought her faceplate might develop cracks and tears streaming freely down her cheeks. She wheezed and squeezed her eyes shut. “You can’t be serious!”

“But I am!” Pinkie leapt upon the table and kicked over an empty plate, brandishing a butter knife like an old heroine of Equestria drawing her rapier. She had even fashioned herself a napkin hat. “The Dread Pirate Pie had captured Princess Pumpkin Cake! Everything was going according to plan, for only her brother, the noble Prince Pound Cake, could possibly save her! He came striding into the kitchen—I mean! Onto the deck of my galley! Yes! That!”

Of course the galley. Twilight bit the inside of her cheek, her molars safe enough not to puncture the skin. Watching Pinkie Pie tell a story was a production, to say the least.

The mare should have been born a changeling. The only way this performance could be perfected was if she could actually become the subjects of her tale—how she leapt from portraying one character to the next with such seamless ease, how she imitated each voice, each cadence and style of speech, and did it with such fluidity that Twilight’s hive would give a nod of approval all screamed “somewhere way back, I have changeling heritage!”

Could she?

Likely not. But there was far too much showmareship in her for Twilight not to at least entertain the notion.

“And onto the galley deck did he stride!” Pinkie continued. Whether unaware of how her efforts so tormented the Princess of the Seekers with endless mirth or simply eager to see her suffer more, Twilight could only wonder. “Armed not with his trusty paper towel tube—Mrs. Cake wouldn’t let us make him a toy sword because he and Pumpkin accidentally poked each other ini the eye once—but instead …”

She held that pause for a long moment.

Long enough that Twilight felt just the slightest flicker of that fey blood in her, burning to know. “Oh, please!” she gasped. “Either end my pain or just put me out of my misery!”

Pinkie tossed her makeshift rapier aside and flailed her hooves wildly. “He came in with a piece of paper with a bunch of numbers scrawled on it!” she cried. “And when I asked what in the name of red velvet cupcakes he brought a list with numbers for, he looked at me like—” the mare tilted her head and gaped “—and just went ‘oh! I thought you said you wanted the dread pie rates, like bad pie prices. This makes way more sense.’”

It was that image, of a little foal of  buttermilk coat and caramel mane looking between his caretaker and a slip of paper with figures scrawled upon it, which broke her.

Twilight fell back against her cushion, chittering uncontrollably, her shoulders shaking and fangs aquiver with mirth. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak. The poor changeling kicked her hind legs, hugging her barrel tight as if it might offer some relief to her aching ribs.

“And you laugh!” Pinkie cried, the glint in her eyes betraying mischief and amusement rather than any offense she might have wished. “All that setup I went through for their game, and you laugh! Fine then—laugh!”

The words had scarcely left her lips before Twilight found herself pounced upon and beset by that dastardly mare’s merciless assault, those cotton candy pink hooves expertly searching out the most vulnerable spots in her carapace to coax forth her laughter. 

She said something, something about having never heard changeling laughter that wasn’t glee at hurting, but Twilight just couldn’t make it out. Her lone weakness had been found—not her frail, sickly body as her hive mates suspected, but a few soft spots on the underside of her belly and along her ribs.

Weaknesses known only to her family and a certain perpetually perky paca. Until now.

Her torture wouldn’t see an end until Pinkie herself succumbed to mirth and fell back upon the floor, kicking her hooves in the air moments later. At last, she could slump against her cushion and suck in deep, desperate gulps of sweet oxygen.

“You,” Twilight managed to wheeze, “are evil.”

Pinkie stopped giggling just long enough to blow a raspberry. “Evil is subjective. Sometimes.” She bounced up to her hooves and skipped over to flop across Twilight’s belly. “And this kind of evil is fun!”

That much, Twilight couldn’t deny. Even pinned beneath her new friend as she was.

She smiled at the thought and let her head fall against the cushion. “I have another friend like you,” she murmured. “Excitable, boundless energy, and eager to laugh and play.”

Pinkie let out a gasp, rolling over so she could press her snout against Twilight’s and look her in the eye. “Does she love parties too?” came her demand.

“They’re called fiestas in her language, but yes. Though I’m not sure how they might differ.”

“Parties are parties! As long as they’re fun, it doesn’t matter!” Pinkie hummed in thought. “Wait. Is she a pony? Did you have pony friends before?” 

The smile ran away from Twilight’s face, her heart sank into the pit of her stomach. Raspberry Quartz’s face, twisted in fear and angst floated to view. A contrast to that shy little smile, how she would laugh when they were younger. 

Before the invasion, before she’d been taken.

Before Twilight appeared in her true form.

“She’s not a pony,” Twilight replied at last. “She’s an alpaca, the prime minister of the Paca Plains Herd, actually. As for having pony friends …” She turned and looked toward the open door, as if she might hope to catch a glimpse of Raspberry tip-hoofing by or peeking in to see how she might interact with another pony.

She did not.

Sighing, Twilight closed her eyes. “Besides the princesses and Shining, I had one. I don’t know if I still have her or not.”

The changeling princess could almost feel Pinkie Pie deflate atop her. “Do you want to have her still?” she asked in a voice bereft of its usual levity.

A sad smile spread across her features. “Based on what Celestia’s told me, that’s out of my control,” Twilight whispered. “If she would have me still, knowing what I am and that I …” It clicked. Ah. So that’s what Rainbow Dash meant. “Knowing that I’ve effectively lied to her about what I am since we were fillies, I can only wonder how she might feel.”

Pinkie booped her gently. “I may not know what’s happened between the two of you, but if she was really your friend, I think you have more of a chance than you think.”

Twilight let out a single laugh. “I hope so. I really do.” She opened her eyes so she could meet her new friend’s gaze, a thought slowly taking root.

They’d both shared stories near and dear to one another. Together, it was like a meeting of the hearts, trust between pony and changeling.

Sharing names, exchanging tales of families, in what culture didn’t that mean there was a bond between them?

The Princess of the Seekers felt her smile return. “I think there is something I would like to share with you. A bit of, well …” She rolled a hoof in a circle as if to snatch the word from thin air. “I’ve made mention of a few things. I’d like to kind of share them, fully. If you don’t mind meeting a couple ponies.”

Pinkie Pie sat bolt up right and grinned. “I love meeting new ponies!” She bounced off the cushion and landed nimbly on her hooves. “Ponies important to you?”

“More than even the oldest text.” Seeing how the mare tilted her head, Twilight coughed. “That means yes. Very important, in my culture.”

A glint shone in those sky blue eyes. “Then, I think,” Pinkie said, her voice tinged with excitement, “I might have an amazing idea.”

Twilight found an addition to her list of ponies who could make changelings shudder by look and tone alone. Pinkie Pie had just slotted herself beneath three alicorns and a smirking shield mage.





Pride. Dedication to a craft. Culture. Everything that made a changeling a changeling. 

Each of those things, everything she’d had drilled into her head over the course of twenty years, worked in combination to keep Twilight’s brow from twitching. They could not, however, prevent her from giving voice to her thoughts. “When you said you had an amazing idea,” she murmured to Pinkie out of the side of her mouth, “this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

The love-damned mare had the audacity to beam. “I know, right?” she chirped as she bounced in place between a stoic Applejack and uneasy Rainbow Dash, a hoof wrapped tight around either mare. “It’ll be great! We were just talking about it last night too! You talked alllllll about how you knew Princess Celestia and Princess Luna and Princess Cadence and Shining Armor, and—”

Mercifully, Applejack covered the mare’s mouth before she could get a full head of steam. Her ear twitched. “Ain’t gonna say she’s wrong, Princess,” she said rather tersely. The farm mare let out a sigh and added, “’n when she mentioned it a bit ago, well … ain’t gonna deny I’m more ’n a mite curious to see what sorta ponies might hold value to a changeling. Other than the ones ya mentioned last night.”

“Ah.” Twilight inclined her head. Well, at least they hadn’t been dragged along for the ride. Not entirely. “I hope this isn’t taking up time intended for other plans,” she said.

The farm mare shrugged. “Nothin’ much, to be honest. Princess Celestia stopped by to talk with Rarity ‘bout … a couple things,” she replied diplomatically. “Sunset’s gone off somewhere on her own to read.”

“And Fluttershy stayed with Rarity,” Rainbow added, her brows furrowing. “For support.”

Twilight winced. The barb was, well, less a barb, more akin to the pegasus jabbing the pommel of a sword straight into her muzzle and shattering her fangs. No amount of chitin could dull that pain, nor did healing with stored love dull it during the process.

Tit for tat, as it were. Just as Twilight had made it at the gala.

And neither Applejack nor Pinkie approved, if the stern looks Rainbow quailed beneath were any indication.

“Dash,” Applejack ground through gritted teeth.

“Please,” Twilight cut her off, raising a hoof to forestall her. “I don’t take offense. I understand. I’ve had some time to consider things, and time to have my own discussion with Celestia about a—aha—couple things, as you say.”

Rainbow Dash flicked her tail. “Yeah? And how’d ‘considering’ make you see what you pulled last night?”

“As beneficial to my goal, I’m sure, as your friend likely found speaking of my kin and I in such a manner as I entered the gala.” At her grimace, Twilight smiled thinly. “I’ll not pretend that I am without fault, but I’ll also not pretend that I felt the same call all fey races do when a slight is visited upon them by another without reason. That much, I should hope, we might agree upon.”

The little grunt the mare gave was a small victory in and of itself. Still, not what she needed.

Twilight set her hoof upon the cobblestone path and sighed. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I let my temper get the better of me,” she offered. “And that I didn’t take your feelings into account, Rainbow Dash. All of you, really.”

Rainbow huffed. “Thought you were all about this whole ‘what’s real, what’s a lie’ thing you were on about last night. Or does that change too?”

A retort leapt to the forefront of her mind, but Twilight caught it. “My temper isn’t quite that easy to set off.” She smiled and trotted by the mare, pausing just as she brushed against her shoulder. “And no, it doesn’t. Changeling logic, fey reason is quite different from yours. To us, it is the action and the intent behind it that holds the most value. For you, the words, the surface, everything fits into that bond of trust, no?”

“Yeah. It does.” The proud Everfree Ranger blew a frustrated breath through her nose, and then looked away, abashed. Softly, she repeated, “It does, but it doesn’t mean help can’t come from strange places. Like Zecora would say.”

Her chitinous ears twitching, Twilight tilted her head. “That … is not a pony name?”

“A zebra.” Applejack laid a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder, adding, “One who taught us the same lesson you wanted, I suspect.”

“Possibly.” A zebra? In Ponyville? Twilight had to think quickly. If this Zecora was one of the shamans, she might know how to make a certain mixture that would reveal changelings. “I might like to meet this mare someday. If you’ll permit a changeling visitor in your home.”

“I’d rather welcome friend,” Pinkie corrected. “And yes. If you want to visit—oh! I can ask the Cakes! Changelings like sweet things, right?”

“Like?” Twilight ran the full length of her tongue along both sides of her muzzle. “You’ll find only Celestia herself can match a changeling’s appetite for sweet things.” She cast a grin at applejack and Rainbow. “Something I hear our kin have in common.”

Pinkie’s glee, she expected. Something that just seemed right between them.

She did not, however, think Applejack would snort and shake her head. “Land sakes, why do I feel like you could give this one a run for her money,” she mused, flicking an ear toward Pinkie. Turning, she nodded toward a nearby coach, where Silín Labrais and her Black Helmets awaited. “So, we goin’ there by coach, I take it?”

Twilight thought a moment, that discussion with Celestia still fresh in her mind. “No.”

“No?”

“No?” Silín parroted, her hawkish eyes narrowing. “Princess—”

“I would like to show who we are, Silín. I appreciate and understand the risk, but seeing me through the window of a coach or hearing gossip from galas and dignitary meetings will hardly serve our purposes.” She drew closer to her faithful guard and friend, murmuring, “We are changelings, Silín, even out of disguise. Let us at least act as such and let there be some subtlety to our methods.”

The changeling guard snorted. “I see. Clever, Princess.” She eyes Twilight flatly, still. “In the future, though, I would appreciate it if you would consider informing me. So that I might actually plan and protect you properly.”

“Of course. How about, for now, we just assume that I’m going to travel by hoof, then? And you all nearby in disguise?”

“Trying to take this all upon yourself, are you?” 

Twilight aimed a sheepish grin her way. “Am I so transparent?”

Silín smiled. “I’ve known you since we hatched, and I spent my first assignment escorting you.” She turned and hissed a quick order to the others, in four simultaneous flashes of green changeling fire, they donned the guises of Princess Celestia’s guard.

Behind her, Twilight heard Rainbow give a discontented groan. “See? I just can’t get used to that.”

“Eh, it helps if you think of it like a party cannon going off.”

Twilight turned to gawk at Pinkie. Thankfully, she wasn’t alone. “A—”

“—party what?” Silín finished.

Rainbow Dash gave a tired sigh. “A cannon. It shoots party things, and somehow everything is decorated. Don’t ask me how it works,” she added, hastily stuffing a hoof into Pinkie’s mouth when she tried to supply an answer. “I don’t know. I’ll never know, I don’t want to know.”

Twilight took that as hint not to press further. She shared a weak smile with Silín, then said, “Well, with that in mind, why don’t we head out? Their home isn’t terribly far, but it is a bit of a hike.”

Together with wary mares and disguised guards in tow, Twilight walked side by side with an excitable, skipping Pinkie Pie down the path and into the city proper. She kept her ears perked, listening to her new friend’s aimless chatter—and it truly was aimless, given how quickly it bounced from one topic to the next within the same clause, let alone the same sentence.

And all the while, she allowed her slitted eyes to take in the sights of ponies all throughout the city, lining the paths and roads, even as they gave her a berth like a shark through a reef. 

An image, she realized, wasn’t entirely inaccurate in their minds. Not to mention, when it came to changelings, there was never just one.

Never.

Fortunately, Twilight found her resolve reinvigorated following Celestia’s advice. To those who would meet her gaze, she offered a small smile, careful not to show too much of her teeth lest she seem to be baring them. A few returned it with shaky nods and stiff bows, respectful of a visiting dignitary. Others …

Well, Twilight couldn’t pretend it didn’t sadden her to see them quickly step between she and their loved ones, the unspoken message quite clear.

She made sure to quicken her pace, leaving her pony companions to hurry after in a brisk trot thanks to her longer legs. Silín and her Black Helmets, she noticed, had no such issue.

They simply acted as Royal Guards patrolling along the paths, conveniently drifting just near enough that they might appear protecting should anypony take that gossip and sentiment against changelings as invitation to take action.

We might hear from Celestia on that, Twilight realized. Although there had never been a stipulation that her guards remain in their natural form, something told her she would still receive  a light scolding for allowing them to pretend they were Royal Guards.

Always something she could’ve done better. Some angle she should’ve considered. But if she walked with them in force, might it not just stir up that same sentiment as when they’d first arrived?

Those worries left Twilight the instant her slitted eyes found the familiar mailbox standing out against the others—a yellow moon with clustered stars interwoven with three of pink and white above Shining Armor’s blue shield and pink starburst. She could smell Night Light’s garden in bloom, the iron bite of Twilight Velvet’s ink wafting from her study, and sweet, delicious love. Love she’d happily consumed and savored since she was a nymph.

Home away from home.

Family.

Her second mother and father.

Those ponies fortunate enough to reside in the neighborhood or work in those shops opposite the old bleach marble home were treated to the sight of a grown changeling princess purring like a kitten who’d just been given a ball of yarn. But Twilight couldn’t have cared less if she tried.

She must have moved like her ancestors in the days of the old hunts, for the Princess of the Seekers was gone from Pinkie Pie’s side in one instant and eagerly rapping her chitinous hoof against the door in the next. 

No matter what terrible, terrible lies her guards would speak upon their return to Halla Eolais, Twilight Sparkle most certainly did not stare wide-eyed at the door and growl at it as she listened to the steady, thumpity-thump-tump cadence of Night Light’s hooves upon the wooden floor.

Twilight heard him give that short, barking laugh of his as a cobalt glow engulfed the doorhandle and pulled it open to reveal a grinning stallion.

Night Light’s smile faltered when he laid eyes upon her. For a bare moment, Twilight worried, just as she had with Shining and Cadence. Then, he took a deep breath and leaned against the doorframe. “Oh, Celestia! I forgot Shining warned me you weren’t disguised this time,” he groaned. “I almost had a heart attack, Twilight! I thought you’d lost your mind—I’m not sure you haven’t coming here like—ack!”

While Shining Armor had size, muscle, and a natural, stocky build, his father, comparatively, was a stallion who’d stopped growing just below average height and had looked more like a twig since Shining’s fifteenth birthday.

Granted, Twilight didn’t have Shining’s build, but with her size and strength, she could still pick Night Light up and squeeze him for all he was worth whenever she so pleased.

And so she did. The Princess of the Seekers pressed her cheek against his, that happy purr rolling within her chest once more.

Night Light gasped and patted her shoulder. “Twilight!” he wheezed. “I’m happy to—oof!—see you too! But I still need to breathe!”

“Breathing is overrated,” Twilight murmured. She sniffled and buried her muzzle in the crook of his neck. “And you weren’t there at the gala.”

“You know I don’t do parties well!” Her surrogate father squirmed, unable to free himself. “Vel!” he called. “Save me! Sparkbug is trying to kill me with hugs again!”

“And you expect me to save you? I feel like that’s contrary to my interests,” Twilight Velvet deadpanned from near the top of the stairs. Twilight could hear the smile in her voice as she descended slowly, no doubt expecting to be swept up herself. 

Smaller still than her husband, Twilight Velvet was a lovely little mare of gray coat and straight purple and white mane, matching the stars upon her flanks. She took one look at Twilight and Night Light, and snorted. Her eyes glinted. “If I let you squeeze him extra, does that mean I’m off the hook?”

“Hey!”

“Honey, hush, the mares are talking.”

Twilight set Night Light down gently so he could get his hooves under him, then approached her namesake slowly. Memories of both flashed through her mind, vivid as the days they’d shared together.

Though none so vivid as the way she remembered Twilight Velvet and Sireadh Firinn watching, awaiting her as she learned to fly from once precipice to the next. That feeling of triumph when she, that sickly little late bloomer of a nymph, finally flew into their waiting hooves.

And the smiles upon their faces.

Twilight Velvet was quite a bit more than just a namesake or surrogate, though. She was, after all, Twilight’s namegiver.

A sacred right.

She wrapped the little mare in a tight embrace, careful not to hurt her. “Hi, mom,” Twilight whispered.

Despite her size, Twilight Velvet could hug just as tight as her son. “Welcome home, Sparkbug.”

The general sentiment of most ponies watching could be summed up in one, flat utterance, courtesy of the proud Everfree Ranger, Rainbow Dash:

“What?”





It took a little coaxing and prodding, especially to jolt Rainbow Dash from her momentary stupor, but eventually, they managed to corral the three stunned bearers off Night Light and Twilight Velvet’s porch and into their sitting room. The promise of an Eerie Island coffee went a long way to convince Applejack to take a seat and listen for a spell.

Though Night Light did frown at the four guards who trooped straight into his home, seemingly uninvited. “Er.” He arched a brow. “Gentlestallions, unless you’re escorting her highness or carrying some sort of search notice, my son is not going to be pleased.”

In her guise as a burly unicorn, Silín chuckled sheepishly and dropped her disguise in a flash of green fire. 

“Ah.” To his credit, Night Light didn’t even raise a brow. “Silín? My, how you’ve grown!”

“Sorry, Mr. Light. Didn’t want to reveal ourselves like this outside in case we scared somepony.” Her slitted eyes flitted toward Rainbow Dash, then she added, “Or gave the wrong impression.”

Rainbow growled. “You got something to say? Then say it.”

“I say exactly what I mean,” Silín replied evenly. “Your sentiment is neither unjust, nor is it unique to your fellow ponies. You and I, in fact, are both protectors. I praise your dedication, even though it runs contrary to our intent, and that of our queen.”

The pegasus looked as though she might offer some retort, but hesitated, glancing at Twilight. Her ears splaying, she slumped in her seat and folded her hooves across her chest. “So,” she huffed, “mind explaining why the hay you’re calling a pony ‘mom’? Or is there some truth to those—”

“No.” Twilight set her jaw. “There is absolutely no truth to the rumor that changelings take and convert ponies, and yes I am aware of the novelization and fanaticization of those old stories. I am pure changeling, and every offspring sired or borne by a changeling will be so unless very specific potions are taken or spells performed to alter dominant genes.”

“Okay, got it.” Rainbow held up her hooves in surrender, quailing beneath the changelings’ gazes. “Didn’t realize that’d touch such a nerve.”

“About as much as reminders about old Pegasopolis spouse stealing might touch yours, I’m sure,” one guard drawled.

Silín was quick to bite and twist his ear, but not so much that she prevented a bout of uncomfortable squirming from Rainbow.

“Point taken,” Applejack cut in before their sparing could progress. She accepted a mug of Eerie Island coffee from Night Light with a smile and tip of her hat. “If ya don’t mind, though, I’m a mite curious myself. I kinda figured there’d be somethin’ with how cozy ya were with Captain Armor and Princess Cadence, Princess, but not quite that.”

Twilight bit her lip. Among her kin, the tale was hardly a secret. Anything but, really. 

She looked up at Twilight Velvet and Night Light in askance. It was, after all, their story.

Even if it was her life.

Night Light pressed his lips together in a thin smile and continued to pass out drinks. “I find myself in an odd position of wanting to say it wasn’t a big deal, but knowing I’ll offend every Seeker living for it.” He held up a hoof to forestall any objections. “Our relationship with Twilight and her hive came through Princess Celestia and Princess Luna—at the time, I was still employed at the castle as a magical researcher, Vel was the lead researcher in magical malady remedies and had a budding career as an author going.”

“The former led more to the opportunity than the latter.” Twilight Velvet’s cheeks flushed. “In any case, we were called before the princesses one day and given the opportunity to travel and study at a place most thought a myth—Halla Eolais.”

“Er, what now?” Rainbow tilted her head.

“It has a few different names, depending on the culture,” the mare continued, “most prevalent among them is The Secret Library of They Who Seek. Thus, the name of the hive.” She held out a hoof.

Pinkie gasped. “Golly! That’s what Sunny called it too!” She bounced in place and beamed at Twilight. “And she said you were one of They Who Seek! She went scampering off to that dusty old library in the castle almost as soon as we all woke up!”

The changeling princess hummed and made sure to take note. Whatever Sunset Shimmer knew of her kin, Twilight could only imagine what interest a mare holding such a grudge might have for them. 

Academic? Possibly.

For now, at least, it could wait.

“Halla Eolais itself is the greatest and most extensive library in the world,” Twilight Velvet said, with a nod of praise toward the Seekers present. “So, naturally, you can guess how eager two researchers might be upon learning their invitations had been secured on their princesses recommendation. We couldn’t say yes fast enough.”

“There was, however, a catch.” Night Light sat down on the couch across from Twilight, shifting so his wife could join him. “Princess Celestia called us into her study that night, where she and Princess Luna awaited. They dismissed their guards and threw up more privacy wards than I ever knew to exist, and explained to us the details of our hosts—changelings.”

Twilight Velvet raised a hoof. “Old friends of theirs,” she added, “who had agreed to allow us into their domain and offered assurance that we would be welcome as their guests, so long as we respected their laws and didn’t attempt to force entry into any areas we’d not been expressly granted access.”

Snorting, Night Light rolled his eyes. “As if that would’ve mattered. Navigating Halla Eolais requires a Seeker present at all times.”

“Why’s that?” Applejack frowned. “Ain’t the respect and permission thing enough?”

“Halla Eolais isn’t just a library,” Twilight spoke up. “It’s a library, a fortress, and a labyrinth, all in one.”

“Winding caves, dug out over the course of thousands of years.” Night Light furrowed his brows. “I recall battle scars etched into some of the walls near the entryway, but none much deeper.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Rainbow held up her hooves. “Battle scars? Labyrinths? Sunset made it sound like this place was supposed to be a lost library, not something out of my ancient history class. What next? You had monsters you all have to fight?”

Silín Labrais smiled. “Have you ever seen a tatzelwurm? Or heard of one, even?” At Rainbow’s nod, she gestured toward Twilight. “Behold, the slayer of tatzelwurms. A beast who would happily invade our caves and devour us all, but cannot face the might of a royal changeling.”

Twilight gave a discontented rumble. She could feel their eyes, even as she averted her gaze downward. “Halla Eolais is a labyrinth,” she murmured, “to protect both our treasure and ourselves. Neither invaders nor guests are able to fully grasp its depth or the vast network of our caves, so our home can very well become the tomb of any monster, thief, or warring army who comes to call.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Pinkie’s smile had faltered. 

Talk of war and death, perhaps?

To that end, she turned and smiled, adding, “But it makes for a wonderful place to celebrate. And the best games of hide and seek any can find.”

Pinkie Pie’s eyes lit up. “You are so on!”

Five sets of changeling eyes flashed green, each Seeker smirking. A challenge had been lain and accepted.

“In any case,” Night Light said with a cough. “Yes, Halla Eolais is a labyrinth, and that was part of the reason I find it silly in hindsight. But at the time, we had been afforded their trust, and we did our best to act as good guests in their home. Along the way, yes, we found friendship with Queen Sireadh Firinn and King Eolas ag Iarraidh.”

Rainbow raised a brow. “Gezundheit.”

Chuckling, he shrugged. “I just called him Eolas for the longest time.”

“Linguistics were always my forum.” Twilight Velvet smiled. “We remained in Halla Eolais for … I believe four years? Honey?”

“Three in total, not concurrent,” he corrected. “We returned home when Shining was born, then came back once we thought him old enough to understand not to tell everypony about our friends. Around that time …” Night Light trailed off, smiling at Twilight. “Well, we were lucky enough to see Twilight’s egg after she was laid.”

Applejack furrowed her brows. “That like bein’ invited to a foal’s birth?”

“Something like that.”

“Ah.” She relaxed. “So y’all are that close?”

“Well, yes. We were.” His smile fell. “Then, when she hatched, Twilight was …” Night Light’s eyes met Twilight’s, she could see the pain behind them. “Sick. She was small, and sick, and dying.”

The mares gasped, even Rainbow shot Twilight a look as though she thought she might vanish.

The changeling princess offered a wan smile. “I got better,” she said, glancing at Twilight Velvet. “Thanks to her.”

Her second mother squirmed. “Twilight,” she muttered, one part whining, one part scolding.

“You did.”

A heavy silence hung over their heads, like a blanket smothering the very breath from their lungs.

It was Rainbow Dash, oddly enough, who found the words to break it, “Er, I’m gonna guess that’s just as important to repay as, er, slights?”

All five Seekers nodded once, resolute.

Comprehension dawned upon her. “So why weren’t you—”

“Tatzelwurm,” Twilight whispered, her eyes found the floor once more. “Or I would’ve been here for them.”

I would’ve known the instant she tried to replace Cadence.

A shimmering purple glow guided her chin upward until she met Twilight Velvet’s eyes. “We understand. Halla Eolais must be defended.”

Of course they did.

That didn’t change it, though.

Still, Twilight Velvet continued, “Yes. I did perform the spell that saved Twilight’s life, but I had help. Thank the stars for that.” She took Night Light’s hoof and squeezed it tight. “While Sireadh and Eolas tried every changeling remedy to save their nymph, we gave them space.”

“But not without purpose,” the stallion added. “Three days and nights to craft a spell with her symptoms as reference, girls. By the time we came to her nursery, Sireadh and Eolas were …” He swallowed. “As any parents would be. As we felt, seeing it unfold. So, when we informed them of our efforts and offered to guide them through the spell—”

”—Sireadh looked to me,” Twilight Velvet said. “She told me Princess Celestia’s endorsement meant more than gold. Since her efforts and those of her best physicians had failed, she asked that I try in her stead.” Licking her lips, she sagged in her place. Exhausted.

The memories must have taxed her so, even twenty years later.

“But you did it,” Pinkie marveled. “You did it and she’s here, so what do you mean you were close?” She flailed and pointed at Twilight. “She’s still all happy and friendly with all of you!”

Smiling, Night Light hugged his wife tight. “I never said we weren’t close at all,” he corrected. “But after that night, after everyone had just collapsed and gone to bed relieved, we were summoned to her nursery again, with Shining this time. But not by guard—by Eolas.” 

“For a big thank you party?”

He laughed. “No. But, in a way, something better.”

“Better than a party?” Pinkie gave a look which all but screamed impossible.

Twilight turned to face them, and drew in a deep breath. “My name,” she said, “is not a changeling name. Not by any means—Silín Labrais, Eolas ag Iarraidh, Sireadh Firinn. Those are changeling names. Twilight Sparkle is a pony name.”

Rainbow blinked. “I … don’t get it?”

The changeling princess smiled. “Why would a changeling princess have a pony name?” she asked, turning slowly to gaze at Twilight Velvet. “And why would she share part of it with the mare who saved her life?”

It took only a half second.

“Oh.” Rainbow Dash sank into her cushion. “Oh.”

Twilight Velvet rubbed at her leg, that old nervous tell of hers. “Naming rights belong to the family alone,” she muttered. “Sireadh wouldn’t budge, neither would Eolas. They insisted she be given a pony name, that she would share one with me and that I should choose the second.” 

Silence, once again, reigned supreme as she drew in a breath. Her audience as captivated as those who so adored her stories.

And this, a story given true life each time Twilight Sparkle drew breath.

“I chose Sparkle because of her eyes,” the mare said at last. “Shining had wandered over to the little pod she laid in, he was always so curious. And when she opened her eyes for the first time, he started babbling about stars sparkling. So …” She ducked her head. “Twilight Sparkle. I was granted a right reserved only for family, and, well …”

It didn’t need saying.

Though Applejack did whisper, “Y’all ain’t like family, y’all are her family.” She threw herself back against her cushion and covered her eyes with her hat. “Consarnit, Rarity.”