Or: In the Lair of Tiamat
Spike hated walking through the castle at night. When Celestia moved the sun out of the way and the moon into place, the change was harsh and immediate. The castle felt so different, looked so much more menacing at night, even though the bright moonlight made it easy to see.
Spike walked through the hallways slowly, cautiously. It was silly. He was a big boy, there was no reason he should be afraid of—
He froze. A window had clinked. A curtain had shifted.
He walked faster. It was silly, really. It couldn’t hurt to be safe, though. He glanced over his shoulder and immediately regretted it.
Finally, he arrived at Celestia’s chambers. Nearly the entire castle separated his room near the library and Celestia’s bedroom in the high towers. Her door loomed over him, even though it was not much bigger than any other door. The picture of her cutie mark embossed in the wood alone dwarfed him. The door handles seemed so far out of his reach.
Spike knocked on the door.
Celestia opened without delay. Even at night, her coat shimmered slightly. Without her royal barding, she didn't look any less regal. Spike had trouble making eye contact with her.
“Spike? What are you doing up so late?”
“Uhm, well...” Spike poked his fingers together. He had taken a while to work up the nerve to cross the castle, chosen exactly what to say. Now that he was here, the words didn't want to come out. “Well, Princess, I couldn’t really sleep.”
Celestia knelt down. Even on her stomach, with her neck bent down, the baby dragon only reached a fraction of her height. “So you walked all the way over here? I’m sure Twilight could have helped you.”
“Well, uhm. I thought I’d ask you about it first.”
Celestia smiled. “Very well. Why don’t you come inside. This hallway is rather dark and drafty.”
She swept Spike into her room with a wing. Celestia’s bed occupied one corner, and a desk the opposite. In between stood a massive window, as tall as the ceiling and covered in thin curtains; moonlight flooded through them. The walls were littered with bookshelves, packed with books and rocks and metal instruments and ten thousand other things Spike couldn’t recognize. All the details blurred together. Even with Celestia's lamps on and the moonlight, the room felt so spacious as to be cavernous.
Celestia lifted Spike with her wing and carried him over to her bed. “Now, what question could have kept you up so late at night?” She settled him on the bed, withdrew her wing, and knelt back down. The extra height from the mattress just barely brought him to her eye level.
Spike gulped. “Well, I guess I wanted to know why I’m the only dragon in Canterlot.”
Celestia’s smile didn’t waver. “And what brought up such a question?”
“I dunno. Twilight brought me to the market today, and, well, everyone kept noticing me. I didn’t see any other dragons at all.” Spike shifted his legs. The bed felt much squishier than his.
Celestia sighed, then climbed slowly onto the bed. “I suppose a smart young dragon like you would have noticed eventually. Perhaps it was misplaced optimism, but I didn’t want to tell you right away.”
“Tell me what?”
Celestia wrapped a wing around Spike. “You see, Spike, you are the only dragon in all of Equestria.”
Spike jerked back. “What? Why?”
Celestia looked towards the window. “Dragons and ponies do not get along,” she said softly. “They have not for a very long time.”
“Why not? Couldn’t they just apologize to each other?”
Celestia sighed again. “Well, if you really want to know, I can tell you. But it is a bit of a long story.”
Spike nodded. “I don’t mind.”
“Very well.” Celestia rubbed her chin with a hoof, pushed her wing tighter around Spike. “Let me tell you a tale. It all began a very long time ago...”
Ages ago, Equestria was still tiny. A powerful creature had tried to hurt the ponies, and he had caused immeasurable damage. There were two sisters, an older one and a younger one, one white and one blue. They had defeated the powerful creature, just barely, and every pony showered them with praise and admiration.
The two sisters knew that it was not that simple, though. They had stopped the creature, but his influence was still felt. Castles had fallen, towns had vanished, and it all needed rebuilding and expanding. Equestria needed to recover. The two sisters decided that, to truly defeat him, they must help repair all the damage he had caused.
They thanked the ponies for all the praise, but they said, “We have not defeated the creature yet; his influence is still felt in the damage he has done. We must go and help repair it, for him to be truly gone. Once we have, we shall return, and you may thank us then.”
The ponies gave them a map of all their settlements from before the creature had shown up. The two sisters gathered what supplies they could and set off to check on them all.
Now, the sisters visited many towns and cities and castles and settlements on this journey. This story is about one of the farthest and smallest villages on the map, at the very edge of Equestria.
Canterbury sat in the shadow of a gigantic mountain. The two sisters walked into town, and they quickly noticed something wrong. Everything, from the buildings to the ponies to the grass, was draped in a thin film of soot and ash.
“What has happened here?” the two sisters asked. “We are here to help.”
The mayor came to them, and said between coughs and wheezes, “A giant dragon has chosen that mountain as her castle. Every time she snores, sneezes or sniffs, smoke pours out of it.”
“Why not just move?” the two sisters asked.
“It took us years to create a living here,” coughed the mayor. “We have been weakened by the soot, and we couldn’t move if we wanted to.”
“We understand,” said the two sisters. “We will go talk to this dragon for you.”
The town thanked them, gave them what meager supplies they could, and the two sisters ventured into the forest surrounding the mountain.
No path cut through the forest, but the two sisters pressed on. They had traveled through many types of terrain in their journey, and a forest offered little challenge.
After a while, they heard a voice.
“If you two to the mountain walk, then of your plans I would take stock.”
The sisters turned. They saw a cloaked quadruped in the shadow of a tree. A bird rested on the stranger’s shoulders, and it had a beak of bronze and feathers of metal. The soot littering the forest dulled both of them, and with each step or motion a little cloud puffed off their cloak and feathers.
“Yes, we are going to see the dragon,” the younger sister said.
“Is there a reason we should not?” the older sister asked.
“That dragon is not standard or plain,” the stranger said. “That is their mother, Tiamat the Vain.”
You see, the dragons don’t have a queen or a princess or anything like that. They have a matriarch and a patriarch: a mother and father of every single dragon. The father of dragons was slain a long time ago, and their mother has ruled over them alone ever since.
The two sisters turned to each other. The mother of dragons had a reputation for being stubborn. Like mother, like children, after all.
“Well, that does change things,” the younger sister admitted.
“I don’t think we are eloquent enough to convince the mother of dragons to move,” the older sister agreed.
The stranger nodded. “I live in these old woods, I want her gone indeed; I’ve some advice for you, if counsel you will heed. While Tiamat is full of pride, by her word she will abide. If in contest she is beat, then your quest may yet complete.”
The two sisters nodded. “Thank you for the advice, stranger.”
The stranger turned. “Farewell to you, I wish you the best. You will need it to overcome this test.” And with that, the stranger took their leave.
The sisters continued walking, deeper into the forest, closer to the lair of Tiamat. Along the way, they discussed what sort of challenge they might best something as old and as powerful as Tiamat in. They could try a game of words, but Tiamat was known for speaking elegantly. They could try a game of strength, but even with their powers a dragon might best them. They could try a game of luck, but it would be foolish to trust such an important task to chance.
They kept thinking, and kept walking. As they approached the dragon’s lair, the soot thickened, the sky darkened, and the air grew denser and hotter.
Finally, the sisters arrived at the mountain. It looked like a wound in the sky, the edges sharp against the clouds, smoke leaking from it like blood. The sisters hesitated, but they had braved worse places.
They stepped inside. The mountain seemed hollow, though the top was so high up that it was hard to tell. Claw marks streaked the walls where it had been dug away. It reminded the sisters of a shell whose animal had been torn out.
In the center of the giant room lay Tiamat. She was enormous, like a castle parapet that had fallen onto its side and gone to sleep. Her silver scales glittered even in the darkness. She was not roughly cut or jagged like other dragons were; she was sleek and thin and elegant. To compare her to a regular dragon would be like comparing a silver vase to a cast-iron chamberpot. Every time she snored, fire leaked from her nostrils and cast an orange tint on her body and the walls.
Her hoard littered the cave. Coins of every possible metal and shape formed a mattress, rusted armor and dented barding formed her pillow. Cups and vases and furniture lined the walls, and gems and jewels and crystals were piled in the corners. Weapons of every make and type cluttered the space in between. Some pieces looked fresh from the smith, others looked like they were from before the invention of the forge. The lives of entire civilizations was represented in the ages of the art and equipment, and ash and soot reflected the death of countless warriors and guards.
Her eyes snapped open, and she rose, slowly, ponderously. Coins flaked off her body. The pile of armor and barding crinkled and shifted. Her only adornment was a silver necklace, bigger than a dozen ponies, set with emeralds and onyx the size of house windows. The green and black of the gems matched her eyes. It swung and dragged as she pulled her body up, knocking gauntlets and chestplates off her bed. Her wings flared, her tail flicked, she turned to the ponies and her eyes shone dangerously.
“Disgraceful ponies, dare you wake us up?” she said in a whisper that shook the mountain. “What makes you brave the wrath of waking us? The Dragon’s Mother hates to be disturbed.”
The two sisters bowed. It is wise to be polite to powerful beings, after all. “Greeting, Your Highness. We are emissaries from the nearby town of Canterbury, come to you with a request. I am—”
“Be silent, whelps, I care not who you are. What business have you ponies here with us?”
“The soot from your mighty breaths is scattering all over the town and forest. We had hoped you would leave, so that the ponies and animals can live more healthily,” the two sisters explained.
“I shan’t remove myself for puny pests! Do ponies not know sense from folly yet? To beg a dragon is to waste thy breath!”
“Perhaps, then, would you be interested in a wager?” the sisters asked.
The Mother of Dragons laughed at that. It rumbled through the hollow mountain, like the sound of a landslide echoing through an empty valley. “A pair of dainty little ponies dare to come and challenge us to a game? And what reward could you ever bestow, were I to win this paltry bet of yours?”
“If you can best us in the challenge we have chosen, then the ponies will bring you a tithe of gems and treasure every year, for as long as their village stands.”
Tiamat’s brow rose at that. Dragons are always on the lookout for more treasure, no matter the risk or detriment, and Tiamat was no exception.
“Perhaps my interest yet enticed may be. And yet, what challenge could you ponies give?”
“A challenge of knowledge,” the younger sister said.
“We take turns asking each other questions, and the first to miss one loses,” the older sister explained.
Tiamat laughed again, louder and more mocking than before. “A pair of little ponies challenge me, to games of knowledge, lore and history? I am more ancient than this mountain whole. My tail is like a vein of silver ore, my breath is sulfur and my blood is fire. My mind is crystal, sharp and bright from time. I’ve seen the dawn of days, the seasons’ start. There are more names to me than to the ground. I own more wealth than heaven carries stars! And ponies want to play a game of lore?”
“So is that a yes or no?” the older sister asked.
“If you are so wise, it should be an easy victory,” the younger sister added.
Tiamat smiled. The orange light from her breath fell on the points of her teeth. “'Tis done; you’ll face me in a question game. The first to fail an answer will have lost. Were you to win, I would depart away. When I do win, that tiny town shall bring to me for ever hence a heavy tithe.”
Tiamat reclined, her pile of treasure crinkling and tinkling as she relaxed. “In fair play’s name I’ll let you ask the first.”
The sisters turned to each other, whispered a few words. It was good manners to start with easier questions, but that was a hard thing to judge with dragons.
“How old is our planet?” the younger sister asked.
“'Tis just about five aeons and a half, by dear beloved Hemera’s own account, who saw this world be born anew herself.
“'Tis now my turn; of drake or sun, do tell me which does burn the hottest of the two?”
“The sun burns hotter, but the dragon is usually closer to its targets,” the older sister replied. “Both can create deserts, but the sun takes a longer time to do it. I should know, since it is my duty to watch the sun.”
“We start with ease. And now’s your turn to ask…”
“What was the first name ever given?” the two sisters asked.
“I gave myself that name, and more besides! I’m Ladon, Vlitra, Bullar, Nidhogg, Tam! The gods, who simply were, did not need names.” Tiamat replied.
Tiamat stretched, the coins under her crinkling and tinkling as she reclined further. Her yawns and puffs fooled nopony, but she was obligated to try. “How many stars are counted in the skies?”
“Two myriads,” the younger sister replied. “I should know, since it is my duty to watch them.”
Now the sisters had started to run out of ideas. They turned to each other again, whispered and planned. “If this mountain were ground to dust, how many grains of sand would there be?” they asked.
“Under this mountain's feet a river lies; some silt it would produce, not simple sand.” Tiamat laughed. She shifted positions, rolled onto her stomach, the air of vulnerability replaced with shimmers of malice. “Perhaps the little ones are losing heart? How dare they try to trick my august self? I may then just retaliate in kind! How old’s the oldest tree of oldest woods?”
The sisters turned to each other again. The Whitetail Woods were certainly old, and the Everfree Forest was even older. Neither of them knew the exact ages of its trees, though. “Perhaps she doesn’t either,” the younger sister said.
“But what other forest could be old enough?” the older sister replied.
“What’s wrong, my dears? Already you concede?”
Then the sisters realized something. “The oldest tree is Yggdrasil, from the mythical forest at the center of the nine worlds,” the older one said.
“You never said it had to be a real forest,” the younger added.
“You’ll save your pride for when the contest ends.” Tiamat huffed, and soot spewed from her nostrils. “Don’t test my patience; ask your question now.”
The sisters paused. The Mother of Dragons had answered all their questions without delay, and they had no ideas left.
“What’s wrong, my tiny emissaries? Will you put forth a question yet, or quit?”
The younger sister's brow furrowed. Being talked down to was not something she was used to. She leaned forward menacingly, teeth clenched and manners forgotten. “What are our names?” she barked.
Tiamat’s body stiffened. Her tail flicked, scattering coins and gems across the room. “What silly nonsense are you asking now? I’ll only answer proper questions, whelp!”
“That is a real question. Surely the Mother of Dragons knows the identities of her guests?”
Tiamat rose, much faster than she had before. Her wings flared, her mouth opened, orange light leaked out of her throat. “You tiny ponies dare to try to cheat? If you can’t ask a valid question now, this game is done, and our prior wager null!” Fire spewed out of her mouth, smoke filled the cavern. A gout of flame swept across the room and onto the sisters. The fountain continued for seconds and minutes, and its color gradually shifted from orange to blue and then white.
Finally she relented, and the smoke cleared. The white sparks mingled with gold and dark-blue light around the sisters. The scorch marks and melted coins on the floor stopped just short of the sisters, both completely unharmed. “We are the princesses of Equestria,” the older one said.
“And it seems you have lost,” the younger sister added.
Tiamat opened her mouth, perhaps to say something or perhaps to breathe more fire. Whichever it was, she thought better of it. “You’ve won; my word henceforward I will keep. But know you’ve made a mighty foe today; of ponies dragons never friends shall be, with cheats and grifters we shall ne’er consort!” she said, fire licking at the edges of her mouth.
And so the Mother of Dragons left the mountain. It took hundreds of her children weeks and months to move her hoard to a different cavern. The town had been saved, but the sisters had made an enemy of the dragon’s matriarch, and by extension every other dragon as well. The sisters eventually finished their quest and returned to the ponies, and they built a castle and helped ruled over the land. But the Mother of Dragons never forgets a grudge, and to this day she sits in her new home far away, telling all her children of how the ponies cheated her.
Celestia smiled. “And that is the story. What did you think?”
Spike rubbed his chin. “It seems a little silly. Why did Tiamat get so offended by the question?”
Celestia glanced at the window. “Some creatures are unwilling to examine their mistakes. Nothing is ever their fault, they are never to blame. Sadly, a lot of dragons are that way.”
“I don’t want to be like that,” Spike said. “Losing a bunch of friends just because you were annoyed doesn’t seem nice.”
Celestia leaned down and nuzzled Spike’s cheek. Her face was almost as big as him. “And that is why you are the only dragon in Canterlot, my little Spike. You are the only one who realizes that stubbornness and pride are unhealthy in large doses. Perhaps someday, when you are old and powerful, you can go tell the other dragons what you learned with all of us ponies.”
Spike yawned. “You think so?”
Celestia nodded. “But for now, you should get back to sleep. Come, I will walk you back to your room. I imagine Twilight would be quite worried if she woke up and you were absent.”
Twilight pulled a book off the shelf. “This should be it. An indexed collection of folk tales, should have a section about dragons.” She turned to Spike. “Why do you want to read this, though? I was reading some anthropological texts about dragon social structure. They would probably be much more informative than some silly fairy tales.”
Spike took the book. “I dunno. I guess I wanted to check something.”
Twilight rolled her eyes. “Fairy tales aren’t terribly informative. They’re too idealized and silly and biased. You’d be better off using a textbook for fact checking.”
“Princess Celestia told me it might be a good idea.”
“She did?” Twilight coughed into a hoof. “Well, I mean, obviously I wouldn’t disagree with the Princess, I’m sure she knows best. Just take anything there with a grain of salt, is what I meant.”
“Right, thanks Twilight.”
Twilight nodded. “I’ll let you read then,” she said as she walked off.
Spike sat down on one of the pillows. The book nearly dwarfed him, but he managed to force it into a comfortable position. He opened the cover, scanned the table of contents. The Honorable Dragon and the Fair Maiden. That sounded interesting.
Author's Note
Trivia; the dragon version of this fairy tale is called "The Matriarch and the Charlatans". It's a lesson about how one should always set clear terms and conditions, because non-dragons have no problem exploiting a dragon's honorable nature.
