Complicated Feelings Can Always be Soothed by Cookies
Taking the train was a lot longer than Tempest had expected.
Granted, it’s faster than hiking for days across Equestrian terrain—which was what she had been doing for almost a year now. It was also faster than the airships she had commanded when she had served the Storm King’s army. Still, at least she had things to do, like bossing around subordinates or spreading the message of the Storm King’s defeat.
Here? Sitting on a train she didn’t command? She’s got nothing.
To add to that, sitting on the train meant she was interacting with other ponies, whether she wanted to or not. Her alliance to the Storm King wasn’t forgotten by the rest of Equestria, and she wasn’t exactly easy to miss, even in a large crowd of ponies. Her scar, her darker coat, her…horn.
Tempest must’ve let her usual scowl slip into her expression because the pegasus sitting next to her had a look of pure, uncomfortable terror streaking across his face. She rolled her eyes, abruptly getting up from her seat and moving to another spot—this one empty of passengers and a window.
She watched the world rush past, the land turning from an autumn palette to deep greens and bright whites the closer she got to Ponyville. Her ears pinned, pointy ignoring whispers and suspicious eyes that graced her presents.
The outside world seemed unaffected by her presence.
The ponies, as it turned out, definitely were.
Celestia was already setting the sun by the time she arrived at Ponyville’s train station. Her hooves clacked as she stepped off the carpeted train, clicking against iced over wood. It was more crowded than she liked, but at least everypony was ignoring her here, rather than running away in fear.
Tempest sighed, her breath white in the cold air. She hadn’t brought anything for this trip other than herself. Her black cloak blew in the breeze, not keeping her as warm as she had hoped it would.
The unicorn passed through the small town, trotting towards the crystal tree castle. It was big and stuck out like a sore wing, so it wasn’t hard to spot. If anything, it was a dead giveaway. It’s a miracle that no one had gone for it during the Storm King’s invasion.
Ponies were looking at her. Maybe not in a fearful way, but definitely in a judgmental way.
(Okay, maybe it was just one judgmental gaze, but it was enough to spike a panic.)
Tempest averted her eyes. Watching the snow was easier than leveling her gaze with other ponies. The sky was gray, almost like smoke. She trotted forward, forcing white noise to fog her thoughts, leaving her body on autopilot as she tried to distract herself.
She didn’t know when she had arrived at the staired entrance. She didn’t remember going up those stairs either. She certainly did not recall bringing her hoof up to the door and knocking.
Tempest’s posture straightened and stiffened, locking into her stance she’d use when commanding the armies. She waited patiently, no evidence of her acting up nerves on the surface. Occasionally, her horn would spark. It is unclear if that was due to the weather or if it was a result of panicky flutters of her ribs.
She waited.
And waited.
…and waited.
Maybe she isn’t here? Tempest thought, beginning to turn away when—
“Tempest!” Twilight burst through the door, stumbling. Her fur and feathers were caked in white dust and she coughed. “Good to see you! Sorry about the mess,” she apologized, awkwardly gesturing vaguely at the mess.
“Princess Twilight,” she greeted with a stiff nod. The excited grin of the Princess was jarring. She had been forgiven by her, sure, but it didn’t mean she was going to get used to being smiled at any time soon. Though, she supposed she couldn’t complain. It was better than glares and wide, frightened eyes.
Twilight nudged the unicorn with her wing, smear some flour onto her cloak. “Twilight is just fine. Titles aren’t necessary between friends.”
That was the other thing that confused, even baffled, Tempest. How could Twilight consider them friends after everything? They had exchanged letters, but Tempest hadn’t seen the Princess in over a year. Even with the Storm King business behind them now, she couldn’t understand the generous offer.
Naive? Or stupid? Tempest weighed those two answers in her mind, before brushing them off and leaving them unanswered.
“Okay, Princess,” she said, ignoring Twilight’s comment. The alicorn sighed but didn’t continue.
“You made it just in time for the Hearth’s Warming Eve!” Tempest followed after the alicorn, who was flicking some of the flour off of her chest. “Though we decided to celebrate on actual Hearth’s Warming this year, so the girls can spend time with their families.”
The unicorn hummed in acknowledgment. The castle glistened in the bright lighting, and Tempest squinted. Leafy decor lined the walls, ornaments hanging off of them by a string and begging to be shattered. She frowned. Twilight continued to talk, but Tempest was too determined to mentally shred the decorations’ by their safety hazards that she wasn’t paying attention anymore.
Which is why she immediately stumbled over someone.
Tempest caught herself, regaining her balance and turning to glare at whoever she had tripped over. It ended up being blue griffon, who was frozen like a deer in headlights. His feathers were ruffled, but they tilted in a way that said ‘yeah I’m doing something I’m not supposed to.’
“Gallus!” Twilight smiled first. Then frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing, Headmare Twilight,” Gallus answered with a complete lie. His wing shifted, and Tempest could tell he was hiding something.
She sniffed, tilting her head. “Smells like chocolate,” Tempest commented, and the griffon gasped in betrayal—which is odd since she didn’t know him at all.
“W…Gallus!” Twilight exclaimed as the griffon escaped down the corridor. “Those were for tomorrow!“
Stifled laughter from multiple sources answered, and the alicorn shook her head. She had an exasperated smile on her face. “Well, there goes the one batch of cookies,” she murmured. “Guess I got to make another one.”
She shook, dusting herself of flour and turning a corner. She looked back at Tempest. “You want to help?”
Tempest wasn’t sure why she nodded, but she did.
Nodding was a mistake.
Not because Twilight was annoying or because the alicorn was too talkative (though she won’t say that it didn’t factor into it), but because she had absolutely no idea how to bake.
“You really shouldn’t use a whisk,” the Princess comments, gentle pulling to tool out of Tempest’s hooves. Chocolate dough clung to the wire and refused to release its grip, despite Twilight’s efforts to remove it. “There should be a spatula in the sink.”
“Okay,” is all Tempest could say because she really didn’t know what she was doing.
She grabbed the spatula and began mixing again. The dough was stiff and hard and generally being a pain, but she kept at it, cursing.
Being a commander was easier than this, she groaned internally. The troops did as they were told.
“Scrap down the sides.” Twilight peered over your shoulder, which was funny because the alicorn was a whole head shorter than the unicorn. “Try folding that dough instead.”
“Uh-huh…” Tempest tried. It was still difficult to get the cookie dough to behave, but it was more successful than her previous attempts were.
This went on for another minute before Twilight declared them done. She watched from the sidelines as the alicorn rolled, squished, and shape the dough into cookie disks. Opening the oven’s door leaked the hot air into the room, and she levitated the tray onto the racks.
“There,” Twilight said, satisfied. “Backup cookies are in!” She turned the Tempest, smiling. Then she looked across the room, tilting her head. “Want to help clean up?”
“Am I allowed to say no?” Tempest’s eyebrow rose.
Twilight’s grin was not reassuring.
Tempest was relegated to countertop clean-up. Twilight was on dishwasher duty.
“I forget that you aren’t a traditional princess,” Tempest comments, swiping the rag across the table.
Twilight rose her head from the sink. “How so?”
“Well,” she started, her horn sparking involuntarily, “You don’t have servants, royal guards, you don’t even have staff in your castle!” Tempest thought a little harder. “Unless that griffon was a staff, but I don’t think so.”
“I like doing things on my own,” the Princess admitted. “Spike and Starlight take some of the load sometimes. Usually Spike would be cleaning—he likes the job—but he said he was doing some last-minute shopping. Starlight…” Twilight paused. Then, “Starlight does a lot. I told her to take a break today.”
Tempest huffed a “huh,” returning to her cleaning. She wrinkled her nose as the flour became wet and sticky. Baking was a messy hobby, and she did not want to do it ever again.
“So how are you?” Twilight asked, catching her off guard. Tempest furrowed her brows. The alicorn cleared her throat. “How have been? Traveling Equestria and all,” she clarified.
“It’s been fine,” Tempest said, not enthused about this conversation (though, when has she ever been enthusiastic? She couldn’t remember the last time she felt excited.) “The usual.” She looked over to Twilight, who gestures her to go on. “Y’know, show up, ponies scream or cry…or both. Give them the defeat message. Leave. Pretty standard stuff.”
Twilight furrowed her eyebrows, pausing. The sponge she levitated hung limply in the air, dripping soapy water into the sink. Tempest could practically see the gears turning in her brain.
“Oh,” she says after a while. “Sorry.”
Tempest shrugged. “Don’t be,” she said, her voice bored. “I’m pretty used to it.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“It’s fine. I understand that my actions were awful. Ponies will probably hate me until the day I die.” Tempest’s horn sparked again and the weird flutters returned, this time in her belly. She was used to the hate and judgment. She was.
(Hate was easier to accept than forgiveness.)
Twilight went quiet again. Her wings fluttered and stretched, shifting the apron that tied over her shoulders and around her waist. Flour dusted wings flapped as they receded into their resting position. “Remember Starlight?” she finally asked.
“You mentioned her,” a few minutes ago, Tempest silently added. The unicorn turned her gaze to look at the Princess, failing to see where this conversation was heading. “What about her?”
“Starlight didn’t exactly have a clean past,” Twilight put, her wings making a so-so gesture. Just by a tone of voice Tempest could tell she was underplaying things.
She frowned. “Okay?”
“She used to run a town where she would take away ponies’ cutie marks,” Twilight went on, facing towards Tempest now. “She then did it to me and the girls and tried to indoctrinate us into her group. We managed to beat her that time, but she got away before we could talk.”
Tempest was really good at humming a response than actually using words. The noise was noncommittal and bored, but she kept her ears perked and attentive.
Twilight continued. “Starlight is a very talented unicorn, and really strong, too.” She gave a nervous laugh. “She found an old time travel spell and manipulated it to travel back into time and tried to stop the girls and me from ever meeting. It was her way of revenge, though she didn’t know the consequences of messing with time.” Her voice was tight, a tone of trust-me-I-have-experience, which made it all the more curious.
“I managed to talk her out of it and I offered to teach her about friendship.” The alicorn smiled. “Starlight’s made a lot of progress, she’s even a Guidance Counselor at the school! If she can be forgiven, I’m sure you can, too.”
“Ah. So that was the point of the conversation,” Tempest said, dropping the dirty rag into the sink. She dusted the flour and sugar off of her fur. “It’s a lovely story, Princess. Starlight sounds like a wonderful student. But, unfortunately, I don’t think everyone in Equestria was actively fleeing from her anytime she showed up,” she said, voice dry and tight.
Twilight placed a hoof on Tempest’s shoulder. “Everyone starts from somewhere, Tempest. Starlight found friends in ponies and creatures who had similar experiences as her. You’ll be surprised how many ponies can relate to you.”
“Yeah, like most ponies lead an army against Equestria,” Tempest sneered.
The alicorn smiled teasingly. “Okay, maybe not that, but ponies feel cast out or lonely all the time. Trust me, once they meet you, they’ll be ready to give you a chance.”
Tempest rolled her eyes and saw that Twilight’s hoof was still on her shoulder. She brushed both the alicorn and the flutters in her stomach, huffing. “Okay, sure. Who’s going to be willing to give me a chance?” she asked.
That was supposed to be a rhetorical question.
Apparently Princess Twilight didn’t catch onto that.
“Well—“ the timer for the oven rang, loud and obnoxious, “—I have one idea.”
Tempest did not like the smile on the alicorn’s face.
“I don’t want to.”
Twilight nudged her with one wing, her smile annoyingly bright. “Aw, c’mon Tempest. It’ll be fine.”
Tempest held a plate of cookies in one hoof. She was back in the comfort of her black cloak, but it didn’t exactly make anything easier because Princess of Friendship here decided to make her socialize.
I complain because I complain, I didn’t want a solution, the unicorn muttered internally. She complied with Twilight’s plan, though she really didn’t want to. Her legs worked just fine, she could easily walk the other way.
She didn’t, for reasons beyond her.
Tempest perked her ears. Quiet chatter and laughter got louder as they approached one of the main rooms. Sounded echoed off the crystallized walls—and this castle was an eyesore, she couldn’t understand why anypony would ever willingly choose to live here. Half the time Tempest was squinting from the harsh light, which was funny she produced lightning sparks almost ninety-percent of the time—
Twilight nudged her again teasingly, bringing Tempest back to the conversation. The alicorn rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll do most of the talking. They do ask a lot of questions though, so be warned.”
Clacking hoofsteps stopped at one of the large gate-doors. The cheerful sounds were at their loudest now, and Tempest could make out six distinct voices talking among themselves. They all sounded…young.
“Uh.” Tempest did not know who they were going to meet. That might have been a problem she failed to address. “Who—“
Twilight lit her horn and flung open the door, grinning as all the creatures turned to look at her. It’s strange array of creatures: a dragon, hippogriff, earth pony, yak, changeling, and—oh, there was the griffon she saw earlier.
“Hi, Headmare Twilight,” they all said in unison, though their tone had a wild variety. Some were curt greetings, while others (looking at you, hippogriff) were hyperactive and ecstatic.
“I hope you guys enjoyed those cookies you snatched,” Twilight gave a pointed grin at the griffon. The griffon smiled back, not looking the slightest bit guilty.
“You win some, you lose a few dozen,” he answer breezily, slipping off of the cushioned chair he sat in. His gaze ran straight over Tempest. He saw her—just decided to not take notice of her.
In contrast, the hippogriff shot into the air and landed with a thud in front of Tempest, letting her know just how many survival instincts she had. “Ohh, I’ve never seen you around here!” Her eyes were a bright and obnoxious as her voice, but it held some childlike wonder that Tempest did not envy in the slightest—
“Yeah. I just got here,” she replied, deadpanning.
“What happened to your horn?”
That question wasn’t uncommon. Didn’t stop it from making Tempest internally die inside. Twilight’s wing brushed against her shoulder, an offer of comfort that Tempest decided to not take.
“Ursa Minor attack.” She tried to play it off as not-a-big-deal despite it being quite-the-big-deal.
The changeling piped up from her seat on the couch. “Really?” Her wings buzzed. “Aren’t Ursa Minors really big? How did you survive with an injury?”
“I didn’t,” she deadpanned. “Your talking to a ghost. There was nothing left of me after that day.”
Silence. Tempest liked the silence.
The dragon elbowed Twilight. “I like this pony. She’s fun. Can we keep her?”
“Yona thinks pony is cool, would like to keep her for holidays as well,” the yak—Yona? Tempest wasn’t sure of any of their names—declared. Everyone but Tempest stifled their laughter.
“Well, Tempest will be staying for Hearth’s Warming,” Twilight smiled. Her wing pushed the unicorn forward, and sparks jumped from Tempest’s horn. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate being included.”
“Sweet.” The earth pony lounged back in his chair. “The more the merrier.”
The griffon sniffed. “I dunno guys.” He pointed one claw at Tempest. “She snitched on me while I was sneaking cookies for you lot. Snitches get stitches,” he says, crossing his arms and being really immature.
They are children, Tempest reminded herself. At least they don’t scream.
She looked down, realizing that she was still holding the tray of cookies awkwardly in her hoof. “I got extra,” she offered on a whim. Her hoof stretched towards the griffon, who eyed her suspiciously. He took one cookie off the tray and bit into it, giving her a thumbs up.
“Okay, you are forgiven,” he said.
Quick turn around.
He spread his wings and hopped back onto his chair. “Sandbar was just telling us how he almost ruined Hearth’s Warming by over baking the spaghetti. You could join us, but I don’t recommend his stories.”
“Hey!” The earth pony huffed as the griffon smirked. Tempest stood frozen on the ground, unsure of how to proceed. No one was this accepting whenever she was around.
She swallowed her butterflies, taking a step forward. Then another. Behind her, Twilight clapped her hooves together before clicking the door closed. Tempest listened as the children shared stories. They weren’t great—really needed to work on their storytelling skills—but she found herself enjoying them nonetheless.
When it was her turn to tell stories, she found herself participating, despite how silly it was.
The cookies were gone within the first minute of her story. They had to get Twilight to bake more. The Princess was more than happy to oblige while Tempest was ushered by the children to continue with her tale.
Snow piled on in mountains outside the window, yet Tempest felt warmed.
She could get used to this.