Life is like a tree: growing, stretching many directions. But the trunk remains the solid center it builds from. A branch may reach the sky, but stays anchored to and part of the tree. Twilight Sparkle isn't the only one to grow into a new role.
Life is like a tree: constantly growing, stretching many directions.
But the trunk remains the solid center it builds from. A branch may reach the sky, but stays anchored to and part of the tree.
Twilight Sparkle isn't the only one to grow into a new role.
[Death] tag is only for discussions and mentions thereof, nobody dies on-screen.
The Everfree welcomed Fluttershy into it - at least as much as it could welcome a pony. Even to her it was a grudging allowance, built up to from years of living beside it and caring for its denizens. That she kept to the narrow path worn by zebra hooves helped, steering her wide of more static threats and letting the mobile ones know her intentions.
Zecora's hut was occupied again, having been left unattended for months during her adventure to Farasi. But now the shaman was back, having returned the week before and passed through town with barely more than a hello. She had been as distant and as quiet as ever - up until yesterday, when she had sent a letter for Fluttershy to join her.
As she approached, Fluttershy's first instinct was that Applejack might have been the better choice. Zecora was obviously packing up, her hut surrounded by boxes carefully stacked and full of her possessions.
"Um, hello? Zecora?" Fluttershy craned her neck through the half-open door.
Inside, Zecora was carefully loading a straw-packed crate with glass bottles. The voice drew her attention away from the task with a smile. "Ah, dear Fluttershy! Thank you so much for stopping by." She waved the pegasus in, taking a few last moments to seal the crate up.
"Of course, Zecora. Thank you for inviting me." Fluttershy couldn't help but frown a little as she looked around the barren hut. "I… guess you're really leaving, then. Back to Farasi?"
"My newfound duties require me there," the zebra intoned before slightly blushing. "But I also seek my friends, to be fair."
Without hesitation, Fluttershy hugged Zecora. "No pony would hold that against you. But we will miss you after you're gone."
Smiling back, Zecora nodded. "And I, you."
Fluttershy immediately keyed in on the rhyme and lept to complete it. "Oh! I was going to say that too!"
They both descended briefly into laughter before Zecora broke away and motioned for Fluttershy to follow. The pair left the hut behind, following a barely-existent trail out into the wild Everfree. Each minute that passed pulled them further from what scant bits of civilization and safety sat within the woods, taking them deeper into the morass of trees. All around the Everfree watched them - it didn't interfere, didn't approach, but there was no mistaking that the forest itself was observing each hoofstep with the wary caution of both stalking predator and skittish prey.
In the small depression of a dried-up creekbed, Zecora stopped. She waited for Fluttershy to draw up beside her and then motioned vaguely forward. "Lead us," she solemnly said.
Fluttershy frowned in confusion. "I don't understand. I--I don't even know where we're going. I was just following you."
Zecora motioned again. "Your heart knows."
The pegasus closed her eyes and listened - both to the woods around her and to her heart. A trickle of water ran a few dozen yards to the left, where the creek had diverted to over decades of time. A bird's nest was being built overhead - no eggs yet, but there was the scratch of a nuthatch layering material in a bolthole to prepare. A cockatrice was sleeping in the bushes nearby, waiting out for the cooler night where its eyes would be sharper. A pull - west.
Fluttershy moved without speaking, following that pull. She didn't need to open her eyes as she walked - the sounds of the Everfree was enough to guide her hooves safely. Zecora followed behind, silent and placing each step in the print Fluttershy had made.
That pull guided her out of the creekbed, past a manticore's den, down a rise and--
Fluttershy opened her eyes when she felt a warmth that was in her heart rather than on her skin.
There was nothing there. At least, nothing visible that was different from the rest of the woods. The thick verdant canopy above blocked out all but a scant few rays of sunlight that dappled the forest floor. Mighty trees grew all around, both straight-backed elm and gnarled firs. Mushrooms sat in the shady parts, bedding down in mulch from a hundred autumns' worth of leaves.
But that stood secondary to Fluttershy's senses. No, she locked in immediately on what was missing.
"...Quiet," she whispered, as much to herself as it was to Zecora. But it was more than quiet: the air was unnaturally still, lacking wind or birdsong or the chittering of a thousand woodland critters that should have populated the place. It was dead silent. After a moment's panic - for silence so often meant a nearby predator - Fluttershy flicked her ears and listened harder. "This is…" She hesitated, unsure of her own evaluation. "It's like the forest is… respectful? This feels like we're inside a temple."
Beside her - to the left and slightly behind - Zecora nodded. "Reverence for a place bereft of tooth and claw. 'Tis here that every creature basks in awe."
Fluttershy wrinkled her brow. "So where are we?"
"The heart of the Everfree," Zecora solemnly intoned. "The place I knew where we must be."
"But the Tree of Harmony, it was--"
Zecora shook her head before Fluttershy could finish. "Placed by Starswirl, long ago. It was meant to impede the forest and disrupt its flow. A heart, it could never be - but to understand that, you don't need me."
Slowly, Fluttershy nodded. "Yes, I… I think Starswirl said something like that after we rescued the Pillars from Limbo." Her mind worked over that knowledge. "The Tree of Harmony was meant to contain and control the Everfree, so the heart…"
"Is the place where we must start," Zecora completed. She stepped away from Fluttershy's side, walking reverently to one of the trees in the grove. It looked no different than the rest - a twisted and bent evergreen that was likely tall when Celestia's mane was pink - but Zecora went to it with an unerring sureness. Reaching up, she snapped a small twig off with her hooves and offered it to Fluttershy. "Swallow, but do not chew," she advised, "It is essential to eat the entire yew."
Instantly Fluttershy's well-versed mind went into overdrive, grabbing from dozens of animals nursed to back to health. Yew: taxus baccata medium evergreen flat short needles red berries favorite of waxwings berries safe seeds poison leaves poison sap poison elastic softwood desirable for woodwork no known antidote purge immediately useful for repelling insect infestation highly allergenic during spring poison poisonpoison
Intellectually, Fluttershy knew that the amount required to put her in danger was a lot more - that little green twig would probably make her feel sick but it wouldn't permanently harm her. The fear was still there because she was being asked to willingly eat poison.
But Zecora was giving it to her.
It was her friend.
She trusted her.
Fluttershy closed her eyes, took the tiny sprig into her mouth and swallowed it whole.
Only one pony breathed in the solemn silence of the grove - Zecora patiently watched while Fluttershy clenched herself tight and awaited her death.
It didn't come.
After a minute or so, the pegasus' muscles started to untense and she opened an eye. Despite her fears, Fluttershy was indeed still alive.
"Feel," Zecora commanded gently.
Fluttershy tried to - tried to relax herself, eyes closed and reaching out to the Everfree around her. Nothing was any different than before: still the reverent silence, still the vague impression of something beyond pony keen.
But… no, wait. Fluttershy tilted her head slightly. There was a difference. When a whirl of breeze came by, it wafted through her coat rather than pushing against her. The distant feel of wary eyes sat differently - appraising rather than fearful.
She let it sit for a minute more, opening her senses up to the world around her and taking it all in before Fluttershy ventured a guess. "There was a cat once. She didn't have a good first owner and was mistreated before they brought her to me. For the first week, she hid in the corner of a closet and wouldn't leave. I had to push food and water into her with a stick. It took three weeks before she came out during daylight hours, and almost two months before she would let me near her. She was afraid of everything, but once she relaxed enough to let you close she was the sweetest, most loving kitty I've ever cared for." Fluttershy reached out, touching a hoof to the trunk of a nearby pine. "I feel like… like the forest is that cat. And it's just decided to trust me enough to take a piece of fish."
Zecora nodded, a slow smile coming to her face. "The forest's heart is something you now carry - and with it the Everfree, of you, is now less wary." She placed a hoof over Fluttershy's heart. "You, it recognizes as its own and bids you welcome. It…" The zebra stopped with a frown.
Instantly, Fluttershy broke out into wild giggles. "Nothing really rhymes with welcome, does it?"
Zecora laughed, too. "The Everfree needs a guardian and my time is at an end. It chose you for this solemn duty, my dear friend."
Fluttershy's eyes darted as she made the connections. "Now you're going away, so it needs another. It needs me."
"You already protect the fauna and you know the flora." Zecora smirked a little. "In the words of your friend Treehugger, you have the correct aura."
The pegasus hesitated. "But what does that mean? What would I do?"
It was a question Zecora was ready for. "As you have always. Care and kindness have ever been your creed, and you would not see the wild exploited by short-sighted pony greed. In you, I have great faith that I need not worry about protecting this place."
Fluttershy shuffled slightly, scuffing her hoof on the forest floor. "Before you go - you'll teach me more about the Everfree? What I'll need to know?" A nod was her unrhymed reply. "Then yes. I'll do it. I'll do my best to protect them all."
Her acceptance was answered by Zecora's kind smile. She motioned, and the pair slipped away as the Everfree opened up a path for them.
"Rainbow Redacted Dash," Spitfire recited from the file open on her desk.
Dash's expression immediately changed from her standard egocentric confidence to one of confusion. "Wait, my middle name's not Redacted." She craned her neck from where she stood, breaking her standing at attention to try and look at the file.
Tongue firmly in cheek, Spitfire tried to still play it straight and failed enough for a smirk to slip through. "You've told me so many versions of your middle name that I assumed it was a cover story. I had the name classified a few years ago. Captain and above only."
It took several seconds of mulling that over for Rainbow to come up with a response. "...Really?"
"No not really you idiot." Spitfire rolled her eyes. "You're so amazingly gullible, Crash."
Rainbow Dash glared petulantly at Spitfire, face screwed up in a borderline adorable pout.
"If you weren't so damn important to this team, I'd ask how you manage to survive getting out of bed every morning. Fortunately," Spitfire drawled, "You are important so I don't care. Just that you do and that you get to shows on time."
Dash snorted. "Gee, thanks boss. I can really feel the love here."
Spitfire slid her sunglasses down a hair and glowered at Dash over them. "Did I ask for your sarcasm, Crash?"
Rainbow's back instantly went straight. "No, m'am!"
The sunglasses slid back up.
Several seconds passed before Dash relaxed again. "So, uh, you wanted to see me for something? Other than my middle name?"
"What, I can't just have a chat?" Spitfire smirked, holding up the pretense for just a few moments more before letting her expression fall serious again. "Sit. We've got important issues to discuss."
Dash's carefree attitude evaporated as Spitfire went to business. She planted herself in the chair on the opposite side of the Captain's desk, back straight and gaze steely. "Yes m'am."
Quietly, Spitfire chuckled. "It's amazing how you've actually learned how to be serious. When we first met, I never thought you'd be able to buckle down." But she set that aside quickly. "What I'm about to tell you is top secret, Crash. It never leaves this room - nopony hears about it, ever. Not your family, not your friends, not even the Princess."
Rainbow Dash frowned sharply. "Not even the Princess, m'am?"
"Didn't I just say that?" Spitfire snorted. "Yes, not even her. This is above her clearance. And before you say it, yes, I know what I'm saying."
Dash swallowed roughly. "That big, huh." And then she steeled herself again, giving a firm nod. "I understand, m'am. Whatever the mission is, I'll do it. You can count on me."
"Good." Spitfire closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath to steady herself before saying it. "I'm proud of you, Rainbow Dash."
The office was silent enough to hear a pinfeather drop.
"Uh…" Dash's brow wrinkled. "M'am, not that I don't totally appreciate it but--"
Spitfire cut her off. "This isn't about your flying. Sure, you're the best flier Equestria's seen since Hurricane but that's not what makes a Wonderbolt. Talent is what makes you a racer or a stunt flier. A Wonderbolt has to be more. And not only have you lived up to that, but you've also showed the rest of us what that more is on multiple occasions when we've lost our way. A teammate needs help, and you're there. We announce a charity event, and you're there. Equestria goes into crisis and when we arrive on scene you've been there for twenty minutes, already sporting bruises from saving the world." She pushed the folder across the desk at Rainbow. "When I met you, you were a self-righteous punk who was blinded by her own ego, cared more about winning than anything else and spend more time napping than an elderly dragon." Spitfire sneered. "And then you turned into possibly the best pony I've ever met and made me re-think everything."
Dash still kept frowning. "I'm… not sure that really is a compliment, boss."
"What I mean is that this is like Rainbow Falls. I made a call and it was a bad one." Spitfire shook her head. "I screwed up again when I brought you on board and trusted Lightning Dust over you. In each case, I underestimated your character and what our values should be. You've shown me time and time again how wrong I was - that you're dedicated, that your heart's in the right place and that you've got a moral compass that guides you better than the rest of us." She reached into a drawer, pulling out a thin black case and sliding it across the desk.
Still confused, Dash popped the case open - inside was a silver lightning bolt as well as a pair of gold and blue epaulettes. "Uh--"
She was interrupted again. "That's why you're vice-captain now."
Rainbow Dash startled, blinking at the case. "Uuuuh…"
"I know, I know." Spitfire waved her hoof to dismiss the concern she was expecting. "I made it a rank. Look, Crash. I've been Captain for six years now and a Wonderbolt for fourteen and a half. I'm not getting younger. It's about my time, so I want to make the transition smooth."
It hit Dash like one of Applejack's bucks. "Tr-transition. To…"
"To you," Spitfire completed. "Yeah. I'm retiring from active duty on my anniversary, which means you'll be captain." She reached over, tapping the folder with her hoof. "In here's the training schedule to get you up to speed. We've got five months to fill in your blanks and I expect you to be glued to my hip the whole time. Is that understood?"
"Yes?" A glare from Spitfire cut past Dash's still reeling mind and her instincts kicked in. "Yes m'am!"
"Good. I'd threaten you and say not to let me down, but let's face it Crash. I wouldn't be putting this on you if I thought you could let me down." Spitfire cracked a grin. "So congratulations. Captain."
And then it was Rainbow Dash's turn to smile wider and wider. "Thank you. M'am."
"If she was fine," Applejack drawled, "She wouldn't be in your hospital."
Dr. Horse adjusted his glasses. "She's going to be just fine," he corrected.
Applejack frowned sharply but held her tongue. Taking this fight further wouldn't actually help anything.
The doctor continued on, ignoring yet another irate family member in a career full of irate family members. "I'm keeping her here for a day just to observe, but she should be safe to go home tomorrow. Plenty of fluids and rest when she does, plus the cranberry pills - the UTI should clear in a week or so."
Frustrated but lacking a better plan, Applejack nodded. That small surrender was enough for him to leave her alone and continue with his rounds while Applejack went in.
Granny Smith's room was nice - for a hospital. Painted a gentle pastel green not that far off from her own coat, it was dressed up to seem closer to the bedroom of a quaint bed and breakfast rather than one step away from a surgical suite. The only thing that really gave it away - other than the panel of various readouts and doodads - was the smell of scorched earth antibacterials.
Granny was in the bed, of course. At her age getting out of it would take a little while, and Dr. Horse had only just left her. She was silent as Applejack approached, waiting to let her granddaughter get the first word.
"Hey, Granny." And those words were hesitant and fearful.
With an even gaze, Granny Smith looked into Applejack's eyes. "Did you bring the bottle?"
The younger mare's mind skittered to a halt. "...What?" She mentally went through her grandmother's medications rapid-fire, trying to figure out which bottle of pills she had forgotten to bring.
"The bottle," Granny reiterated. "You're always sayin' Ah'm full of piss and vinegar! Well Ah only got one right now and it ain't like you to leave a job half done - so where's the vinegar bottle?" The old mare broke out out guffaws of laughter.
Fury overwhelmed Applejack's concern for her grandmother's well-being. "Dang it, Granny, this ain't the time for jokes! This coulda been serious!"
And just like that, Granny's face went straight razor thin. "Want serious, do ya? Hm? Well then, sit."
"Granny, Ah--"
"Sit," Granny Smith restated, this time far more firmly.
Applejack sat down in the chair beside the bed.
"That's better." Granny adjusted herself in the bed, sitting half-up in it. Rather than speak immediately, she closed her eyes and took several long, deep breaths, almost as if in prayer. Just when Applejack was starting to wonder if she'd fallen asleep, Granny started. "It ain't fair, y'know. Had to do this sometime, but it never seemed right. You had to deal with a lotta grief far sooner than you should've - you an' Mac both. Guess it's kinda a blessin' that Bloom was too young to understand it." She snorted a quiet laugh. "Small mercies."
Applejack shifted uneasily. "Look, Ah can just go get--"
Her reply was a raised hoof signalling to stop. "This needs to be done, Applejack. Maybe it's better we do this while Ah still got my wits about me. You need this talk." Granny paused to make sure Applejack wasn't going to object again before she continued. "You know death - that's why you don't like facin' it. You're mighty familiar with that hurt and nopony'd blame you for avoiding it. Hit a dog and it'll flinch from your hoof, after all. Anypony that knows what you got put through would understand why you're eager to deny it's a thing. But simple fact is - no pony lives forever."
"'Cept Princesses," Applejack said reflexively.
Granny snorted. "There was a time before Princesses, so it stands to reason there's gonna be a time after, too. But Ah ain't no Princess either." A brief wistful look touched her wizened face. "Can't say Ah didn't have a long run anyway. Outlived every one of my generation and a lotta the next. ...Even some parts Ah didn't want to." Her eyes clenched closed. "With Goldie and Grand Pear gone, Ah figure there's not a soul left in Equestria from when I was a little 'un. So maybe my time ain't today - but it's not that far, either."
Uneasily, Applejack shifted in the chair. She wanted to respond, that much was obvious - but so was a lifelong knowledge that when Granny said be quiet, you'd best be quiet and let her talk. The consequences of just a glare from her would freeze an Apple's soul.
"When my time does come, the Apple clan's gonna have to make a choice about who's gonna lead it along the next generation. Way Ah figure it, there's two directions they can go: you can do it, or they can pick somepony who's gonna spend their whole life trying to live up to you." A small chuckle snuck out of Granny at the last part.
Applejack's snout wrinkled. "That don't make a lick of sense, Granny. Why would anypony do that? There's plenty of Apples out there who're proper capable. Braeburn or Fiddlesticks, for starters. Or Big Mac - he's--"
"Good at business and his family, but he ain't a social sort of pony," Granny pointed out. "They're all good ponies. Whole family's full of 'em. But not a one's you. Applejack, you keep forgettin' that you ain't some background pony. Haven't been for a long time, if ya ever were. Things you've done, places you've seen - you play it down, but most Apples sit on their land and farm it their whole life. You've literally gone past the ends of Equestria, fought gods an' hob-nobbed with enough ponies that you're on a first-name basis with kings and queens." A little smile played over Granny's face. "But you've kept your hooves on the ground, too. Never forgot your roots, never got your eyes stuck on the horizon instead of where your hooves were goin'. You're the best of us, Applejack. Best in generations. Everypony sees that. Ah figure you know it too, even if you don't like to admit it."
Her response was a lame shrug. "Ah guess there's been a few things--"
"Hush yourself," Granny snapped. "Ah ain't done." She paused to make sure she'd been obeyed before continuing. "Somepony's gonna have to lead the Apples after Ah'm gone. Maybe it's not formal, but every Apple knows who's in charge and who's lead they're followin'. But that's the problem, y'see. If somepony else steps up, they won't be really in charge - because it'll be your lead they're following. Don't think anypony could help but do that. Somethin' goes wrong and their eyes are gonna go straight to the one they trust best. So it's better to cut to the chase."
The room went chill as Granny Smith did something Applejack was wholly unprepared for: she reached up to her neck and undid the knot there. Each small movement of the cloth was done carefully, making sure her granddaughter's watchful eyes caught how to do it back up properly. Then she slowly pulled the orange kerchief from her neck, refolded it just as she had for a century, and held it out to Applejack.
Her words were simple. "It's yours now."
Applejack took it with reverence, feeling the weight of it in her hooves. Then she unfolded the scrap of cloth and - perfectly mimicking the process in reverse - retied the knot and put the kerchief around her neck.
Granny pursed her lips. "Orange on orange don't quite look right, but Ah figure that's more a complaint from your Rarity friend."
"Granny, Ah…" Applejack stumbled, grasping at what words would even work for a moment like this. For once, her grandmother was patient and let her take the time. "...Thank you," she finally decided on.
"Ya earned it," was her response. And Granny smiled. "Ah'd say make us proud, but you already did."
Irregardless of her grandmother's fragility, Applejack lunged forward to hug her for all she could muster.
Busy as Sugarcube Corner could be, even it had a closing time. The days were long - starting before dawn prepping bread, muffins and bagels for the morning rush - but they eventually ended. And with that time passed and the sign in the window turned to CLOSED, the Cakes slumped into two nearby chairs with a sigh of relief.
Pinkie Pie did not, because she was already preparing for another task on her list: a party the next day to celebrate Dinky Hooves' graduation. Technically Dinky's mother didn't know about it yet, but what she didn't know she couldn't try to pay for. So the moment she put aside her baking for the day, Pinkie started her baking for the night.
"Pinkie, I--" Mr. Cake frowned as Pinkie practically flew past him carrying a bag of flour into the kitchen. A few moments later she came back out again. "Pink--" For about six seconds, disappearing once more with a load of sprinkles. Then out front once more. "P--" And away again.
Mrs.Cake tried very hard not to laugh at her husband's growing frustration. "Dear. You know how she can get."
And with a wry smile, Mr. Cake shook his head. "Yeah. I do."
So they patiently waited, putting their hooves up to relax for a few minutes as Pinkie Pie did Pinkie Pie things at a Pinkie Pie pace. Until abruptly - but not unpredictably - Pinkie zoomed out of the kitchen and slid into one of the other chairs. "Sorry Mister and Missus Cake! I just had to strike while the oven was hot!"
"...You mean the iron was hot?" Mrs. Cake raised an eyebrow in question.
And Pinkie Pie blinked owlishly. "Why would I use an iron? I'm baking cupcakes."
The couple looked at each other again and laughed, mostly to themselves.
Pinkie laughed too, even though she didn't get it. "You wanted to talk to me? I've got…" A tendril of hair grabbed the timer out of the ether and held it up. "Seventeen minutes, twenty seconds."
"We did. You see, Pinkie…" Mr. Cake's words faded off, though his mouth kept moving for a few seconds more. Then, blushing with embarrassment, he looked to his wife. "After that many false starts I've lost track of how I was going to say this."
Mrs. Cake patted him on the shoulder. "Let me, dear." And she turned to Pinkie. "Are you happy?"
And that question shocked Pinkie Pie to silence. "I… well, yeah, Mrs. Cake." And concern instantly overtook her expression. "Did I do something to make you think I wasn't?"
"No no," clarified the older mare. "It's just that we've been thinking. And talking. You started working for us almost ten years ago. I don't think you've ever asked for anything, either. Just a place to sleep, some spending money and the chance to use the kitchen." She laughed a little. "Last time we tried to give you a raise, you kept saying no until we just started paying it to you anyway."
Leaning forward on the table, Pinkie gleefully grinned. "Ooooh, I get it. Well don't worry! I already got the talk from Pa about having ambition. I pinkie promise that I'm happy!" She quickly mimed the required motions. "Really, it's all here! I get to make all my friends smile, I get to try new things in the kitchen and I get to enjoy every single day! What more could I want?"
Mrs. Cake smirked. "A lanky orange earth pony in a sombrero?"
And Pinkie Pie's cheeks went bright red. "Okay. Maybe one thing."
Leaning to the side, Mrs. Cake patted the lanky orange-ish earth pony she was married to on the thigh. "I completely understand that."
He blushed.
Pinkie looked back and forth between the two for a moment before she got it - and then broke out into wild giggling.
"His hat's not quite as impressive," Mrs. Cake noted, "But he makes up for it in other ways." Her hoof reached up to go over his heart. He put his hoof over hers and gave it a squeeze. The couple's eyes met for a moment as they shared a silent, meaningful smile. Then they broke apart and turned back to business. "But that's a lot of why we wanted to talk to you, Pinkie Pie."
Mr. Cake picked up. "It isn't that we're telling you to move out, but there's going to be a time soon when you will." He raised a hoof to stop her coming objection. "You'll decide you have to."
"A single bedroom and a secret party cave aren't enough to raise foals in," Mrs. Cake pointed out with a knowing wink.
Pinkie got it, her eyes going wide with realization of something she hadn't thought about before - but that was still undeniably true.
"Yes, it's that and has nothing to do with moonlit accordion serenades." Mr. Cake grunted as his wife elbowed him for the comment.
"Our point," Mrs. Cake continued on despite her husband's commentary, "Is that all of our lives are changing. The twins are growing up, too - they're going to be in Cheerilee's classroom this fall. But just because lives change doesn't mean it's for the worse."
Cheerfully, Pinkie bounced through the middle of the conversation. "I know! All kinds of things change all the time and it's usually good! Like birthdays are changes but they're--"
Mrs. Cake put a hoof over Pinkie's mouth. "Dear, I know you have a lot to say but there's only nine minutes before the cupcakes are done and we all know you could go for a lot longer than that without taking a breath."
Unapologetically, Pinkie Pie shrugged.
"We're getting a bit distracted." Mr. Cake took his wife's hoof and pulled it back away. "What we're trying to say, Pinkie, is that after all these years, you might not be blood related but we consider you part of our family. And no matter where you live or work, that isn't going to change."
Lunging across the table, Pinkie embraced the couple before they could say anything else. Both let out a squeak as Pinkie squeezed as hard as she was able. "Awww! I love you both too! You're like parents who aren't my parents because I have them, so maybe more like an aunt and uncle who aren't as grumpy as Aunt Micrite or as boring as Uncle Auger! And that's never ever ever gonna change!"
Mr. Cake let out a strangled croak.
Pinkie looked at him quizzically. "Huh?"
He croaked again.
"...Oh right! Breathing!"
Both the Cakes gasped for air as Pinkie released them from her crushing hug. They took a good minute to breathe regularly again - then Mrs. Cake looked to her husband. "Six minutes, thirty seconds," she noted.
"Twenty-four seconds!" Pinkie corrected without looking at the timer.
"Er, yes." Mr. Cake adjusted his collar. "Like I was saying, Pinkie, you're family to us. And we wanted to do something to show how you're a part of our lives."
Mrs. Cake picked up as he slid a piece of paper across the table. "We've decided to make you an equal owner in Sugarcube Corner. A third for each of us."
Of the great many things Pinkie had been expecting - several of them physically impossible and at least two of them inconsistent with the laws of reality - that had not been one of them. "But.. but Sugarcube Corner is yours."
"Ours," Mr. Cake corrected with a smile.
"But what about--"
Mrs. Cake cut Pinkie off. "If you're thinking about the twins, it's going to be a long time before they're ready to start working, let alone take over for us. And that's if they want to. Carrot and I want them to choose their own paths in life, even if that takes them away from what we find joy in."
"You find joy in it already. And Cup and I agreed - Sugarcube Corner wouldn't be the same if you weren't part of it." Mr. Cake tapped the paper again. "This makes it official. You don't work for us, we work with each other. No matter what else happens, you're part of this business. All you have to do is sign."
The shock had worn off only to be replaced by tears. Joyful ones, but still tears. Pinkie let loose a gut-wracking sob as she got up from her seat and hugged each of the Cakes in turn. She tried to speak - to thank them, to assure them she would live up to their hopes, to express just how much their gesture meant to her - but all that came out was blubbered half-syllables.
They still understood, patiently waiting for Pinkie Pie to get it out of her system.
In time, she did. Though her eyes were still full of tears, Pinkie pulled herself together enough to sign and make it official. And there was still one minute, seven seconds on her cupcakes.
Only the best would do for Blueblood's mansion. The best tapestries, the best carpets, the best silver, the best servants, the best tea. Too bad it was all let down by the pony in the center of it, who was most certainly not the best.
At least, that was Rarity's opinion. It had been for years, and the fact that he was three minutes late to his own meeting simply reinforced that fact.
Still Rarity waited, if for no other reason than to show she was better than he. He had gone to the trouble of having her summoned; she had come out of morbid curiosity to find out what Canterlot's Worst Prince (as voted by Hoofbeats Magazine six years running) wanted. And damned if she was going to leave without telling him off.
Almost on cue, the door to the drawing room opened. Blueblood entered, pausing for a brief mane-flip in a carefully curated sunbeam before flashing Rarity a glittering smile. "Hello."
"Goodbye," Rarity replied, rising in the same breath. "I merely came for the satisfaction of telling you to your face to eat dragon droppings."
"Sit," the Prince commanded.
Rarity laughed in his face and high-stepped her way to the door.
As her magic grabbed the handle, Blueblood launched his next barb. "Twilight Sparkle's future depends on it."
Rarity froze. She didn't look back at him, but her voice was as razor-thin as her frown. "Was that a threat, darling?"
Settling into his favorite overstuffed chair, Blueblood kept his voice painfully bored. "Not from me, so you may stop grasping that decorative spear on the wall. Now sit - we have important matters to discuss."
After a moment's consideration, Rarity did indeed release the spear from her magic and retake her seat. "Explain yourself."
Instead, Blueblood laughed. "Oh, delightful. You have no idea how often I hear that demand." With a smile and a twinkle in his eye, he winked at Rarity. "In your case, for once I am inclined to answer it." He paused just long enough for Rarity to grind her teeth in frustration. "Tell me - are you familiar with the phrase 'Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition'?"
Confused and off-balance by the question, Rarity took the time to respond carefully - and cautiously. "It's a parliamentary term for the strongest non-ruling political party. But what does that--"
He cut her off with his typical casual disdain. "Yes yes, that's the modern usage of it. But were you aware of the original?" He paused just long enough for Rarity to open her mouth and start to respond before cutting her off again. "Long ago, it was a name for the Princess' Privy Council." Picking up a bottle of brandy from across the room, Blueblood poured out two glasses. "What did you think happened to the Founders and their descendants, hm? Equestria newly born, the tribes only just barely unified, and then two sisters who are part of no tribe arrive practically from the ether to take thrones that hadn't existed before. History often glosses over what happened to the Founders after the Founding, after all."
Hesitantly - this time because she wasn't sure if Blueblood was going to interrupt her again - Rarity ventured out her response. "Well, I do know that you are of the House of Platinum, so obviously they survived in some form."
"They did," Blueblood confirmed. "The first of those forms was as the Princess' Council - and as the Loyal Opposition." He floated the glasses of brandy across the room - one for himself and one for Rarity.
Taking the glass in her magic, Rarity swirled the liquor around almost by instinct. Blueblood frowned sharply at her for it, but she forged on. "Opposition to what?"
"To the Princesses," he confirmed. "In those early days there was quite a lot of disagreement and precious little trust. A key role of the Founders was to oppose the Princesses on behalf of the nation - to tell them when they were wrong and to steer them away from poor judgements. They were still young and inexperienced, after all. But they were also loyal to the Princesses - acting as a cushion against the various swarms of nobles, generals, warlords, merchants and sycophants who sought alicorn ears and power."
Rarity sipped her brandy, once more proving that only the best would do here. "I see. So what happened?"
Blueblood shrugged. "Time. Clover never had children. The lines of Hurricane and Pansy snuffed one another out on the field of the Nightmare's revolt. Puddinghead's descendants faded from history, the bloodline diluted beyond recognition. And Smart Cookie's chose to walk away, losing their taste for politics after a handful of generations." He sipped his drink. "I know the location of that line's heirs, but they have little interest in matters of court and I am content to leave them to their mundane lives."
"Which left the House of Platinum," Rarity finished.
Blueblood nodded. "Quite. We have stood where the others faltered, acting as the Loyal Opposition across the centuries."
Frowning, Rarity mulled that over. "So… that role is why you're a flankhole?"
For half a second, there was dead silence. Then Blueblood broke out in outrageous laughter. "Oh, from the mouth of babes!" Shaking his head, he wiped a tear from his eye. "Hardly. I am a flankhole because it is one of the privileges of my station. Outside of the alicorns and one or two particularly influential public servants, I am the most powerful pony in Equestria. What reason do I have to be nice to those whom I don't wish to be? Including," he added pointedly, "Gold-diggers seeking ill earned fame."
To her credit, Rarity looked at the incredibly luxurious carpet and blushed. "Well, yes, I shall admit that was not my most virtuous moment. But you acted little better!"
The corner of Blueblood's lips twitched to a smug smirk - he didn't try to hide or deny it. "And I don't care one bit, nor do I have any reason to regret it." He winked at her again - the sort of infuriating wink that is usually followed by a punch to the offending eye. Blueblood moved past quickly so as to not give Rarity the opening. "To return to our business, the House of Platinum has served for generations as Princess Celestia's Loyal Opposition. We act as a filter between her and the nobility and, thanks to our status, can speak hard truth where others would demure. But now Auntie is stepping down from the throne and leaving it to the librarian."
Rarity's eyes narrowed dangerously and the spear on the wall glowed cornflower blue again.
Immediately, Blueblood raised a hoof. "I do not claim she hasn't earned it. Any pony with even a passing knowledge of recent history either admits it or is a fool. But do not deny that Princess Twilight is still an academic at heart." He waited, giving Rarity a chance to disagree with him. She did not. "Princess Celestia is stepping down. And perhaps it is time the Founding Families did as well. The others are long vanished and I am the last scion of Platinum, after all. Our line ends with me and there is something graceful about the timing."
Rarity sipped her brandy, now half gone. "So what is your point, hm? You wish to pass some knowledge on to me? A nugget of ancient Unicornian wisdom that has eluded all but Platinum's descendants?" She tried not to drip too much sarcasm - failed, but tried.
Yet he responded with an agreeable nod. "Your Council will take the place that the Families once served, and will fill the spaces we have lost to time. While I expect that you have your own ideas of what your duties shall be, I am going to tell you the truth of it. You shall be her bodyguard - not from knife and spear, but from politics. You shall be her anchor - reminding her where the ground is when she flies too high. You shall be the wall to rest against and the nettle under her saddle - each as needed."
"You say that as if we weren't already," Rarity said with a snorted laugh.
He shook his head. "No, you have been her friend. What I speak of is duty, including that of being her enemy when Equestria requires it. The throne demands much, both of those on it and those around its base. You must do what is good for the realm, not what is good for your friend."
The weight of that drove Rarity to contemplative silence again. "Must the two be opposed?" She squirmed a little at the idea of fighting against Twilight, even merely politically.
"That is the nature of the Loyal Opposition," intoned Blueblood. "You must be what is needed, even if it costs you dearly. You understand why that is, don't you."
She hesitated. But Rarity knew the truth - she nodded. "I do. And I believe Twilight would want it that way."
A rare warmth crept into Blueblood's smile. "She should. Auntie taught her well."
"But why me?" Rarity deflected the subject slightly. "Rainbow Dash is Loyalty, after all. And you and I are practically mortal enemies. Why approach me about this?"
Blueblood's horn lit again, grabbing a scroll from his desk. "Because you are Generosity. You give even when it hurts you. And," he chuckled, "Because you're a unicorn."
Rarity's eyebrow spiked. "Really? Tribalism now, of all times?"
"Some traditions do not bend so easily." Blueblood passed the scroll to Rarity, continuing on as she unrolled it to read. "The House of Platinum is a purely unicorn House, after all."
Rarity's eyes bulged. "I-- I--"
"Have been adopted," Blueblood clarified, just in case she'd misread. "Technically by my late uncle Bloodstone. As of now, the House of Belle is officially a cadet branch of the House of Platinum. Our historical task belongs to you now - don't mess it up, cousin."
Shock overtook Rarity, her jaw working uselessly as she tried to bring it all into focus and sense.
Blueblood sipped his brandy.
Taking several deep breaths steadied Rarity's heart to the point where she could eventually respond. "Well. I suppose I have little choice now, don't I."
"You're her friend," Blueblood pointed out. "You never did."
"The yak delegation's request for a meeting with Princess Twilight has been moved back until Thursday," Spike related without even needing to glance at the itinerary. "I distracted them by getting them tickets to My Farrier Lady, which meant they needed to reschedule. Prince Rutherford has a soft spot for musicals, it turns out. Plus I tipped the scales a little bit because he's going with Autumn Blaze, and the idea of getting to see a show and initiating diplomatic contact with a new nation was too much for him to pass up."
Raven Inkwell nodded, unable to keep from smiling. "And I take it that Autumn Blaze was happy to also make contact?"
Spike's own grin widened. "Are you kidding? She's already planning her first trip to Yakyakistan and wants yovidaphone lessons. I already drafted an official apology for that to Lady Rain Shine."
The mare solemnly made a checkmark on her own paper. "I'm not sure the yaks and the kirin will have much to offer each other, but greater contact between Equestrian allies is always valuable and you managed to defuse six different national leaders wanting to meet with Princess Twilight all at the same time. All without offending any of them and in under two hours."
Spike buffed his claws on his chest. "Yup. I'm kinda good at this."
She leaned back in her chair - technically not her chair, but Raven had been the first one in the room when they had set up the Office of the Royal Transition Committee and as yet nopony (or dragon) had contested her claim on the chair she'd chosen. They certainly weren't now, deep after hours. Only she and Spike were in the paper-packed office, cleaning up the last dregs of the day's problems. "Hm." Of course, that didn't mean she wasn't being challenged in other ways. "What about the EEA's budget proposal to set up satellite Friendship School consultant offices in major Equestrian cities?"
"Fact-checked and summarized for the Princess' review. But between you and me," Spike confided in a stage-whisper, "It's going to be denied. Neighsay's trying to make up for past mistakes and that's good, but it's too soon to spread the School wider. The first class hasn't even graduated yet and there's been a lot of staff turnover. Everything works in principle but she's not going to commit the EEA's resources until it's proven in practice."
Raven nodded before lackadaisically moving on to her next point. "And preparations for the upcoming Festival of Poultrycide?"
Spike snorted loudly. "Trick question, that's not real. Princess Celestia tried to have it made an official holiday before the Banishment, but Luna blocked the move by saying that it was unbecoming of a princess to put her fears on display." He smirked at Raven. "Come on, it's not like Twilight didn't write multiple papers on Early Diarchial Politics. You're gonna have to find a harder one than that to get me."
His smirk met a warm smile from Raven and an approving nod. "I didn't think I'd catch you with that one, but you know I had to try."
A pause. Spike raised his eyeridge. "No, actually, I don't. Why would you have to?"
Then it was Raven's turn to hesitate. Not out of thinking about her words, but to fix Spike with an appraising look and consider him. "Tell me, Spike. Is this what you want?'
"You to answer my question? Uh, yeah. That's why I asked it."
She rolled her eyes. "No, I mean this job. Doing all of this. I know it's something you've spent your whole life doing for Princess Twilight, but, well…" Raven trailed off, stumbling at the finish line as she realized her next words could be horrible.
"Because I was hatched into it?" Spike took it up without any hesitation. "Relax, you're not the first pony to ask that. I actually got foalnapped once because a well-meaning diamond dog thought I was a slave and wanted to rescue me." Spike laughed at that old memory - and made a mental note to touch base with his canine friend again. "But it's okay. Maybe in the beginning it might have been a question, but I'm no baby dragon anymore!" He flexed his wings out, still proud. "I do want to do this - all of it. Twi needs me, too."
Raven shook her head. "The Princess always needs somepony - but it doesn't have to be you."
A little smile came to Spike's lips. "It does. Who else could I trust to take care of my sister?"
"So you're content," Raven challenged, "You're fine spending the rest of your life juggling the Princess' schedule, proof-reading memos and summarizing proposals for her."
Spike laughed quietly. "And solving diplomatic debacles before she knows they happened." He shrugged. "Hey, it's what I've done my whole life. Easier, actually! I don't have to cook anymore to make sure she's eating properly and there's actual librarians to help her when she wants to do a 3am shelf reorganization!"
Raven pursed her lips tightly. "So you don't think there's anything that could tempt you? No amount of gold or--"
Raven's reaction was just what any pony's would be when a dragon scowled at her - she recoiled momentarily. "Are you implying something about me, Raven Inkwell? Is this because I've got scales instead of fur?"
But after that instant of reactionary fear, Raven didn't budge further backwards. Instead she fixed her gaze with Spike's, challenging him in a way few ponies could. "No. It's because you're pony in your heart. Look, Spike," she sighed, "Outside of the alicorns and one or two particularly influential nobles, I am the most powerful pony in Equestria. I control access to the Princesses. They listen to my council, I have the leeway to decide what requests they hear and which ones they don't, and I schedule where they appear. Nobles, businessponies and foreign dignitaries of all races practically kiss my hooves because they know that I can nod my head and have them locked out of the Palace for the rest of their lives or have them meeting an alicorn in half an hour." Leaning forward slightly, Raven loomed over the small dragon. "Do you realize how dangerous that makes me?" But that tremble in her voice wasn't a steel-backed threat. It was fear. "Do you realize just how much damage I could do if I was allowed to be compromised?"
Spike swallowed, a touch of bile in his mouth. "I… I'm getting the idea."
"And you're worse. Because I'm just a mortal pony. You're a dragon. You're going to be at Princess Twilight's side for centuries and you're her brother." Raven shivered a little. "I'm more powerful than nearly any other pony in Equestria, and you're going to be more powerful than me for a hundred times longer." Something inside Raven popped and she deflated back into her chair. "Over the past few weeks, I've been watching you. Trying to figure you out - to understand who you are, Spike. Because my last duty to the Princesses is to ensure my successor will be what Equestria needs."
That hung in the air for a long moment before Spike found the right words. "And am I good enough?"
"In spades." Raven turned slightly to the side, reaching into a nearby desk drawer. Two glasses came out - and a bottle of fine brandy. She continued as she poured. "Everything I've seen from you isn't just that you're a good dragon - it's that you might be the best. You embody all of the highest virtues of ponydom without even being a pony. You're dedicated to the Princess with an intensity that would make zealots flinch but you're still able to see her as a real pony rather than a mythical figurehead. You're stunningly intelligent because you can keep up with her at all, you're tough enough to be basically immune to any threat and you've got a heart so pure it could power a second Crystal Empire." She passed one of the glasses to Spike before knocking back a quarter of her own in one gulp. "You're almost literally too good to be true, Spike."
Across the table, Spike shifted uneasily and stared at his glass nervously. "I, uh, I'm not that good."
"You are," Raven assured him. Then paused. "Not going to drink that?" He nodded. "Too young?"
"Dragon," Spike corrected her. "The alcohol more or less instantly boils away once it hits my system."
Raven frowned. "Well that's going to be a problem - most government employees drink like fish." But she shrugged it off. "You'll manage."
Spike still shuffled the glass in his claws, eyes cast down. "I guess I'll have to."
Reaching over, Raven nudged his chin up. "Don't look so sad, Spike. It's yet another leg up on the rest of us you've got."
It didn't encourage him more - even when forced to look up, Spike was still pensive. "...I never really thought about what this job meant before. How powerful it is and how important it is. I just… just wanted to take care of Twilight." He took a long, slow breath. "Do you really think I'm ready?"
"I think," Raven confided, "That if it were possible to be, you were born ready to play this part. And Princess Twilight is fortunate to have you by her side." She smiled softly. "You'll be just fine. And so will she."
It was time for dawn. Princess Twilight Sparkle - the Lone Crown - looked out over the lands of Equestria from her balcony.
Her lands.
Her ponies.
She'd raised the sun before, but this was different. She wasn't filling in for a day or two - this was the dawn not just of a new day but of her day.
Hoofsteps - golden shoes on marble - echoed as Celestia came up beside her. A Princess no longer, but always so much more. Teacher, mentor, second mother, idol and confidante. Princess was merely a small portion of what she always had been to Twilight.
Together, they looked towards the horizon as the minutes ticked down.
They both knew when the time arrived.
Without taking her eyes away from the edge of the world, Celestia asked one word in question. "Ready?"
In return, Twilight smiled and said one word back. "Yes."
