Chapters A pile of books lay on the table in the centre of a shelf lined room. One by one, a delicate claw reached down and grabbed a book. A pair of reptilian eyes would scan the code, and a dragon brain would recall the correct place for that book with the ease of repetition. A pair of purple legs would trot across the floor, and the library became one step closer to being clean.
It was, Spike mused as he continued on his task, ultimately a futile effort. In a few hours, Twilight would return from wherever she had gone and take down a completely different set of books. She would leave them out tomorrow, and he would be doing the same thing at the same time. He was pushing a boulder up a hill, and every day it would roll back down to the bottom.
Not that Spike minded. This was his duty, and he would do it day in and day out until the day (if it ever came) when Twilight no longer required him. Then, he would…
Spike paused, his claw reaching down towards another tome. What would he do without Twilight to take care of? What else was there for a young dragon in Equestria like him?
As if to answer his question, he felt the familiar swelling in his belly that foretold an incoming letter. However, it lacked the comforting roundness of the usual scrolls Twilight and Celestia passed back and forth. It was rougher, but not unknown by any means.
If Twilight had been around, he would have scurried to the washroom to disgorge the message in private. Since he was alone in the house, he let the feeling rise in his gullet until it forced its way out with a belch. Green sparkling smoke poured from beneath his teeth, spiraling into the air. As he had many time before, he snatched up the square of parchment before it hit the ground.
On it was written a word and a number, both in a carefully generic script. Fillydelphia was the word, and 10,000 was the number.
Spike stared at the paper for a few seconds, and then headed upstairs towards his bed. He pushed the cushion out of the way and stuck two claws between the floor boards underneath it. He pulled, and the board bent upwards and pivoted to the side. Underneath lay a plain brown sack, carefully tucked closed.
Spike reached into the hollow area and grabbed the bag by the lip. He pulled it up onto the ground next to him, and examined the contents.
The bag was partially full of golden bits, a fortune by nearly anypony’s standards. Spike, however, seemed dissatisfied. “Five… maybe six thousand” he muttered.
Spike did a few rough mental calculations, silently thanking Twilight for those hated arithmetic drills when he was younger. Five thousand was good for around 10 months, by his math. Of course, that was assuming his housemate didn’t do something foalish with it, which was by no means a guarantee.
Spike believed to his very core that Twilight was a genius, but it was undeniable that she was less than clever in some areas. Finances, for example, had always been a bit of a blind spot for her. She could do math that would make most pony's head spin, but for some reason, once you brought bits into the equation, she became completely clueless. She had no sense of financial responsibility, probably from being raised in the castle with everything she needed at her beck and call.
As such, it had fallen to Spike to watch over the finances. This proved to be difficult, however. Twilight’s pay as a librarian was modest at best, and she lived well beyond those means. Always going out for lunch with her friends, or buying a new dress from Rarity, or loaning Rainbow some money… it added up, and did so alarmingly fast.
So Spike was forced to supplement their income. He placed the bag back into its place and levered the floor boards back into place. He kicked his bed back over them, and grabbed a quill off the nightstand. Flipping the square of paper over, he scribbled “7 – tonight” on the back and incinerated it with his breath.
The deed was done, and he had a job.
The chariot landed outside the library at precisely seven o’clock, pulled by two royal guards. Twilight kissed Spike on the forehead before ushering him out the door. “Have fun in Canterlot!” she shouted at his retreating back. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”
Spike hopped through the carriage door and turned to wave at Twilight. She waved back, and headed into the house. Once she was inside, Spike placed the converted saddlebag he sometimes wore on the seat beside him and reached under the opposite bench. As always, a case around the size of a large book sat closed underneath.
He grabbed the box and pulled it onto his lap. He flicked the latches open with his thumbs and grabbed the file inside. A quick flip through told him all he needed to know. The stallion worked until 6, when he came home to his two story house. He lived alone, except for his housekeeper, and this was her day off. He was known to sit in his living room and read until bedtime.
Ten thousand was low for a job, but now Spike knew why. This was child’s play, he could do this with his eyes closed. Not that he would, of course. Cockiness only ever lead to mistakes, a lesson he had almost learned the hard way.
The file also named a hotel – “The Wayside” – and said that a reservation had been made there under the name “Scale”. Spike frowned at the cheesy name, but at least he had a place to sleep tonight.
He tossed the file aside and grabbed the metal object that had been concealed under it. It fit his claw perfectly, as if it had been made for it. That was probably because it had been. Celestia had them made specially for him. There was no point selling them in Equestria, since they couldn’t be operated with a hoof. A unicorn might be able to use one with magic, but Spike doubted the average unicorn had the strength or dexterity needed. Twilight could, of course, but she was a special case.
As he checked the weapon for irregularities, he idly wondered who had invented it. Couldn’t have been a pony; what was the point of creating something you couldn’t use? Celestia had been very evasive when he’d asked, saying only that they came from far away. Spike suspected the griffins; they had the right kind of claws to use one, and they weren’t on great terms with ponies, which would explain why it was completely unknown in Equestria.
Pushing the unproductive thoughts from his head, Spike checked the safety was on before shoving it in his bag. File read and weapon secured, he settled down for a nap.
The little dragon was jerked awake by the sudden landing of the carriage. Rubbing at sleepy eyes, he stepped down into the shadows streets of Fillydelphia. “See you tomorrow” one of the guards said in a friendly tone, prompting a grunt from Spike.
The carriage took off, leaving him standing alone in a pool of lantern light. He stepped out of the light to hurry along his night vision. With a squinting look at the nearest street sign, he discovered he was only a few blocks from his destination.
As he walked briskly through the dark streets, he slipped a claw into his bag and wrapped it around the comforting metal grip of his weapon. Not many ponies would try anything on a creature they didn’t recognize, but he was still small, and some ponies didn’t have a lot of common sense.
He arrived at the given address without incident, however. He glanced around before approaching the door, making sure he was unwatched. That was where a pony would have had the advantage on him – his silhouette was very distinct. A pony might not be able to identify him as a baby dragon, bit they’d know he was bipedal, and that might be enough for the police ponies to track him down.
He reached up and tried the knob. It was locked, and he cursed under his breath. He grabbed one of Twilights hair clips he had pilfered out of his bag and pushed it into the lock. He had taught himself to pick locks from one of Twilight’s books when he was very young, a skill that had ended up being extremely useful. He had just learned it so he could sneak out while Twilight was asleep sometimes.
He glanced around nervously as he fiddled with the lock. This was greatly increasing the chance of somepony seeing him. Celestia had made it very clear long ago that if he got caught on a job, she could not help him. Spike would be on his own. He hadn’t been caught yet, but he had had a few close calls.
The lock clicked and the dragon let out a sigh of relief before easing the door open. He stepped on silent claws into the foyer. The flickering light of a burning fire poured out of an adjacent room, and he peeked inside.
The back of a ponies head was just visible over an armchair facing light source. The mane and fur color matched the description, and Spike eased the weapon out of his bag. He leveled it at the back of the pony’s head, and readied his thumb over the safety.
The click of the safety and the roar of the shot came nearly simultaneously. A red spot appeared on the back of the pony’s head, and it rocked forwards from the force. Spike stuck the weapon back into his bag and walked briskly out the door.
He was two blocks away when the screaming started.
Spike sat on the patio of the Wayside and sipped a glass of orange juice. The headline of the newspaper he had bought read, rather predictably, ‘Pony Murdered in Own Home!’ in large, eye-catching font. He thought the subtitle (‘are any of us safe?’) was a nice touch. Disguise the fear mongering as a question, very clever.
The article painted him as a monster, as they always did. He was used to that, and it didn’t bother him. Celestia had explained to him long ago why what he did was right. Sometimes a pony would speak out against her, or against Equestria. It wasn’t about her, or even about the pony, it was about Equestria. Even if they pony didn’t know it, he or she was endangering Equestria by spreading doubt, and that had to be stopped by any means necessary. He was those means.
The means of death had been hoof-waved as a unicorn spell. That was generally the answer the police ponies reached; anything strange was generally explained away as magic.
He finished off his orange juice and jumped down from his chair, grabbing his bag on the way. He walked two blocks from the hotel and leaned against a building to wait, flipping through the newspaper.
A few minutes later, a pair of royal guards descended from the sky, carriage behind them. Spike headed to the back, but was stopped by a gold-clad hoof. “Job done?” the guard asked.
“When has it not been?” Spike asked rhetorically, showing the pony the newspaper’s headline. The guard searched the article for a name, found it, and nodded.
“Money’s in the back” he grunted. “Good job.”
Spike hopped into the carriage and pulled a case out from underneath a seat. He flipped it open, revealing the small fortune inside. He filtered through it – not that the princess would stiff him, of course, but better safe than sorry – and found the amount to his liking. He poured the gold into his bag, placed the weapon in the case, and shoved it back under the seat.
With a sigh of relief, he flipped the paper open to the sports section.
When he returned home, the door was closed, but not locked. A note was pinned to the door in Twilight’s looping script.
Spike
Went out to lunch with Rarity. Be back later.
There is a new box of books by my bed. Please label them, put them away, and pay the bill.
Thank you!
Twilight
Spike let out a noise of frustration and pushed the door open. Twilight may not be good with money, but if there was one area where she was horrible with it, it was when it came to books. As soon as she saw an old tome she wanted, all concept of price left her mind.
He trotted upstairs and kicked his bed aside. The floor boards creaked up, and gold poured from one bag to another. The bed slid back into place, and Spike headed over to the nearby crate of books.
He plucked the scrap of paper from its top, and groaned at the amount. A quarter of his night’s work, gone in one swoop. She must have found something really old and famous.
With a frown and a head full of fiscal calculations, he levered the top off the crate and set to work sorting the books inside.
"You sure have been going up to Canterlot a lot lately," Twilight said happily, placing one piece of bread on top of another to create a sandwich. She slid the snack towards Spike for wrapping and stowing. "Is everything alright?" she asked as she left the counter to go fetch Spike's bag.
"Everything's fine," Spike said, prying open the sticky sandwich to reveal a variety of vegetables. He quickly began to pluck out the cucumbers. "The Princess just wants to make sure I'm prepared for my first growth spurt." The circular vegetable slices, un-digestible by his reptilian system, were swept into the garbage. He just managed to close the sandwich back up before Twilight entered the room.
"Oh, right." Twilight placed the bag next to Spike as the baby dragon slipped the sandwich into it. "Does she know how big you'll get? How much longer are you going to be my little baby dragon?" She giggled and picked up Spike by the tail using her magic. She lifted him until his eyes were even with hers, albeit upside down.
"She says it varies from dragon to dragon," Spike said vaguely. "Don't worry though, even if I get bigger than this house, I'm not going anywhere," he said with a smile, grabbing the counter edge. With a little effort, he managed to escape from the telekinetic grip and end up sitting on the counter, right side up. "After all, if I leave, who's going to take care of you?" He flashed the mare a cocky grin.
Twilight opened her mouth to respond, but a voice from outside indicated that the cart had arrived. "Alright, get out of here you," she said instead, pushing him off the counter and towards the door. "And for your information, I'd be fine without you," she called after his retreating back.
Spike turned in the doorway. "You wouldn't last a week," he said with a laugh, and ducked a hurled cushion easily.
Spike's expression hardened as the cart took off. The jocular attitude he had with Twilight was replaced with a business-like one too old for his few years. The case was secured from under his seat, and the file slipped from the wooden box.
He scanned the information held within. Fairly simple. Young pony, unmarried. He had a roommate, but it had been arranged that she'd be out for the evening. The file didn't say how, but Spike wasn't that concerned. If Celestia was willing to have her hurt too, she wouldn't have arranged for her to be out.
He tossed the file aside, but noticed something strange scrawled on the back. In dark blue ink, somepony with a graceful looping script had written something.
Ask him what he did.
Spike read the strange instruction three times, and then flipped the paper over to see the front. Nothing else was out of place. This was completely unprecedented. He had never been told to talk to the target, Celestia never wrote anything in the folders by horn, and even if she had, this wasn't her writing. Spike had read it enough times to recognize her particular script, and although this was similar, it wasn't hers.
He thought about asking the guards, but shrugged. They wouldn't know anything, and besides, he wasn't being payed to ask questions. Well, this time he was, but not to ask the guards.
The weapon was in its place as always. Spike took it out and replaced the file, and then nearly had a heart attack when he noticed that the safety was off.
"Crazy guards..." he muttered as he flicked the small switch into its safe position. "Somepony could have been killed..."
Spike left the dark street behind him as he entered the apartment building. Dark, but far from silent. He hated doing jobs in Manehatten. Too busy, too many ponies that could notice him. This time he'd managed to find a side door into the building from a small alley. Hopefully that would stop the questioning police ponies from hearing about a baby dragon sneaking into the building. As a bonus, the alley contained a rusty fire escape that should be able to provide him with a quick escape.
He passed the elevators and headed for the stairs. He never took the elevator. It was lazy and dangerous, and he was only going to the third floor anyway.
He cracked the third floor door open and peeked up and down the hallway. It was empty, and he attempted to filter out the muffled sounds from the street and concentrate on the muffled sounds from the doors. He could hear a few ponies talking, but nothing unusual. Stepping out into the hall, he searched for apartment 303.
It was a few doors down. The handle was gingerly tried, but it was of course locked. Manehatten, after all. The hairpins in his bag made quick work of the cheap lock, and Spike managed to ease the door open without a sound.
He could see the target from the front hall, sitting facing away from him, hunched over a clicking typewriter. He eased out the weapon, leveled it at the head, and then remembered his secondary objective. The carpeted floor provided a wonderful sneaking surface, and he managed to step up behind the author without him noticing.
His options were a little tricky. His small mass meant he couldn't physically restrain the pony, and the chance that he would recognize the gun as a weapon was minimal. Luckily, he had weapons the pony would recognize.
Lucky, hunched over his typewriter, felt an appendage wrap around his neck. "Clover, have you been-" he started, and then was cut off by a unfamilar voice behind his left ear.
"I'm not your roommate," the voice said, and Lucky felt a piece of metal press against his back. More distressingly, the limb tightened, and the stallion could feel razor sharp claws pressed against the side of his neck. "Now I'd rather not get blood all over the typewriter, so you're going to answer a question or two, alright?"
Lucky started to nod, but stopped himself. "Y-y-yes," he stammered. "What are you?" he asked, fear in his voice.
The voice was silent for a moment, as if considering whether to tell him, and then finally said "Dragon. What did you do?"
"Dra- what?" Lucky asked. "What do you mean? I didn't do anything!"
The voice was silent again for a moment. "What do you do, Lucky? For a living."
"I-I'm a writer. Non-fiction," he added, an instinctual clarification from years of being called a novelist.
"And what are you working on?" the voice asked quietly.
"It's a news story. About..." Lucky paused to gather his thoughts. "There's been a string of strange deaths. All in the same way, all over Equestria. Some sort of spell that puts a hole through a pony."
The voice was silent, which Lucky took as tacit approval.
"And the weird thing is they'd all been talking out against Celestia, or about the way Equestria is run. So I think there's some sort of assa-" The stallion cut himself off. His article didn't exactly paint Celestia in glowing terms.
"Some sort of what?" the voice asked.
"It's you," Lucky whispered. "Oh Luna, it's you," he said in terror, and then attempted to buck forwards.
Instinctively, Spike pulled the trigger, but realized just too late that the safety was still on. The trigger resisted the pressure of his claw, and the moment of distraction allowed Lucky to free himself.
As Spike flipped off the safety, the pony galloped towards the door, screaming for help. Spike brought up the weapon and took a hurried shot. He had to stop him before he reached the hall.
For the first time in a long time however, he missed. The bullet just clipped Lucky's ear, splattering a speck of blood against the wall. The momentary stumble that the pain introduced into the stallion's step allowed Spike time to line up a second shot, one that found its mark. Lucky tumbled to the ground, abruptly silenced.
"Lucky, are you alright?" a new voice asked from the hall. "I heard yelling."
Spike glanced back at the window. He'd never make it, so instead he flung himself towards the front door. He reached it just as the knob turned and the door began to open, and he threw all his weight into the wood to slam it shut. He reached up and put the security chain across the door to stop it from opening fully.
"Lucky, was that you? Is something wrong?" the voice asked, worried. "Say something."
Spike momentarily contemplated imitating the stallion's voice, but dismissed the notion as ridiculous. Instead, he bolted for the window under which he knew the fire escape lay. He had just about reached the halfway point when he realized that the chain would allow the door to open just enough to reveal what was left of Lucky's face.
The mare in the hall began to scream. Other doors could be heard opening, with new accompanying voices. The door wouldn't hold for long. Spike clicked the safety back on, shoved the weapon in his bag, pulled the satchel close, and leaped for the window.
Glass shattered around him, but with his eyes closed the hard scales on his body protected him from the edges that would have sliced a pony open. He rolled onto his feet, claws catching on the grate underneath himself, and bolted for the stairs.
He had gone down one floor, now around twenty feet from the ground, when he heard the wood of the door splinter above him. The yelling voices became abruptly more clear, and Spike paused in his flight. There was no way he could run down these stairs fast enough to escape without being seen.
He could, however, fall fast enough.
With only a moment of hesitation, he threw himself from the metal escape, aiming to land on his shoulder. He hit the concrete hard, and the blow knocked the air from his lungs even with his roll absorbing some of the force. However, the bag was fine, and his scales and iron-hard bones protected him from any serious injury.
The baby dragon staggered to his feet as best he could and ran down the alley, only slowing to a walk once he was out of view of the fire escape. Nopony had seen him. There was nothing to connect him to Lucky's death. He had escaped, if only barely.
He walked through the busy streets, squinting his eyes against the overly bright streetlights and neon signs. His shoulder was bruised, but the pain was forgotten, overpowered by the spinning of his mind.
The stallion had been writing about him. About what he did for Celestia. Everything he'd been writing... it had been the truth. And he'd died for it. No, more than that. Spike had killed him for it.
The dragon shook his head, clearing the treasonous thoughts away. Necessary evil. If ponies started doubting Celestia, there would be chaos. Riots and anarchy; Celestia had explained it all, so long ago. So many more would die. It had to happen. He had to believe that.
Still, that little bit of nagging doubt wouldn't leave the back of his skull. Before this, he had known he was doing the right thing. Now, he wasn't so sure.
There was one thing he was sure of. Celestia hadn't written that strange instruction. That was somepony else, somepony close to the Princess. Probably a guard. Somepony wanted him to think about what he was doing. Somepony wanted to instill this doubt in him.
The question was, why? Was it to help him? Harm him? Whose side were they on? Whose side was Spike on? Was it the right one? Did he even have a choice?
He had been reserved a room at a nearby hotel, but when the pegasus cart showed up the next morning, the bed hadn't been used. He'd sat in an armchair the entire night, unable to even try to sleep. He had tried to read, but that had proved to be a futile exercise.
"Job done?" the guard in front of the carriage asked.
"Yeah, it's done," Spike grumbled, brandishing a fresh newspaper at him.
The guard checked the paper, and then looked past it as Spike. "You all right? You look... tired."
"I'm fine," Spike answered curtly, taking the paper with him into the carriage.
The money was under the seat, as always, but this time Spike didn't count it. He didn't even want to open the bag. It felt different now. Gross. It didn't matter, Celestia wouldn't cheat him.
Not as long as he was on her side, at least. Or as long as she thought he was.
It had been several months since Lucky had been found dead in his apartment, and Celestia hadn't sent Spike any square scraps of paper since. That wasn't unprecedented; sometimes he just wasn't needed. However, after the way his last mission had turned out, he couldn't help but worry a little that she was displeased with him.
The break had actually been somewhat welcome after the way the last mission had turned out. The doubts he had experienced left him unable to sleep soundly, but the sheer physical and mental stress of such a narrow escape also took their toll. His recovery had been slow, partially due to his fitful sleep, but he was finally feeling back to his old self.
It was during one of these fitful bouts of sleep when he was roused from his dreams by the pressure rising in his gullet. He sat up from his place at the foot of Twilight's bed, but the time that it took the feeling to wake him left him unable to reach the bathroom. He bent over and burped into his hands, hoping that he could muffle the sound enough that Twilight wouldn't wake up.
He managed to secure the scrap of paper, but Twilight stirred against her sheets. "Spike, are you alright?" she asked sleepily. "Did you get a letter?"
"No," Spike lied, tucking the paper between him and his bed. "Just gas."
Twilight chuckled, still clearly half-asleep. "Gross," she murmured. "You alright now?"
"Y-" Spike started, but changed his mind. "Actually, I think I'll step into the bathroom for a sec."
The mare didn't really respond, just made a low noise into her pillow before passing out again.
Spike shook his head as he walked to the bathroom. A short puff of breath lit the candle, his green flame melting into orange as the wick caught. He checked the door to make sure it was closed, and then spread the paper out in the pool of light shed by the small flame.
The number was large. Very large. Larger than any number he had ever received. But it wasn't the number than concerned him, it was the place. Scrawled on the piece of paper in that carefully unrecognizable script was the word Ponyville.
Now that Spike thought about it, this day had to come eventually, but it had never occurred to him. Everyone in Ponyville was so... nice. So innocent. He thought about somepony in the small town needing his attention, but he couldn't quite make the concept fit in his head.
Whatever the reason, he couldn't go into this blind. Without even really thinking about what he was doing, he grabbed a quill from the counter (Twilight liked to have them in every room in the house) and brought it down to the paper. "Who?" he wrote underneath the town's name, and incinerated the parchment.
His stomach began to do backflips as soon as the paper was gone, but luckily he didn't have to wait long. The reply came as the original message arrived, a rising in his gullet. A burp and a catch later, Spike was reading the answer, written in the same style as the rest of the note.
His eyes widened as he read the response, and he flipped it over again. "We need to talk," he wrote angrily. "Cart here in an hour." He sent the message.
"Yes," was the response, just as careful and composed as every other part. It made the anger in his hurried writing apparent by comparison. Spike held the corner of the sheet to the candle, burning it to destroy it rather than transmit it. It smouldered and caught, much slower than his own flames. The paper burned and turned to ash between his fingers, the heat unfelt through scales that could withstand lava.
As if the paper was mocking him, the last thing to burn was the name "Rainbow Dash."
The pegasus in front of the cart yawned, clearly woken from his sleep judging by the state of his mane. "Evening," he told Spike, and then glanced up at the moon. "Or rather, morning."
Spike stormed past him silently, lacking the bag he usually brought. He had nothing to carry, and besides, it wasn't in its usual place beside the door.
If all went well, he'd be back before Twilight awoke. If he wasn't... well, he'd left two notes. One, pinned to the door, told her that he'd gone out for a walk. He'd stuck the other in the bottom of the icebox. When she cleaned it out next - which she did at the end of every month, like clockwork - she'd find a longer note apologizing for his absence and saying he'd gone to live with other dragons.
The first was in case he was delayed. The second was in case he... Well, it was just in case. He didn't want to think about the situation that would necessitate that note, but he couldn't leave her wondering.
As he sat on the bench in the back of the wagon, his feet knocked against something wooden under the seat. Curious, he reached down and pulled out a familiar wooden case. He raised an eyebrow, confused, before flipping the latches and opening it.
Instead of the folder he usually saw, a single sheet of paper lay before him. In the exact center, written in the same looping script as the note he had seen all those months ago, was written "From a friend."
He moved the paper aside and found the gun sitting underneath, lying on a bed of folded fabric. He lifted it and checked the safety, purely out of habit. The weight of the weapon felt comforting in his claw.
With his other claw, he pulled out the folded fabric. A chill ran down his spine as he recognized his satchel. Whoever had left him this had been in his house. Spike couldn't shake the feeling that the bag's presence was meant as a subtle threat.
But why enclose a weapon with a threat?
Spike was jerked from his thoughts with the feeling of the carriage setting down. "We're here. Palace," one of the guards said. "Get out so I can go back to bed."
Spike's claws clicked against the marble floors of the palace, bouncing between the pillars echoing back at him. With each click, his heart beat a little faster. The guards that usually stood at every doorway and corner were conspicuous in their absence, an absence that became only more obvious when he arrived at the throne room.
To Spike's relief, Celestia sat in her usual place on the throne. She stepped down upon seeing him, a gentle smile on her face. "Hello Spike," she said in her usual soft tones. "What seems to be the problem?"
Spike, still standing in the doorway, glanced up and down the hallway. It was empty, but he still spoke in hushed tones. "Rainbow Dash doesn't need to... she doesn't need my services," he said, shying away from the terminal word in favor of a euphemism. "She's never said anything bad about Equestria."
"I'm afraid that that's not the problem," Celestia said, stopping her approach about ten feet from Spike. "You are familiar with Dash's particular talent? An ability previously assumed to be mythical."
"The Sonic Rainboom," Spike replied impatiently. "So?"
"So although it is quite a beautiful sight, it is also a tool of horrendous destruction when used properly," Celestia said, her voice hardening slightly. "Or rather, when used improperly," she amended. "I'm afraid that such a thing cannot be left in the hooves of a resident of Equestria."
"But, but..." Spike stammered. He couldn't believe what Celestia was saying, and suddenly this all felt like a test. "But she's the Element of Loyalty!"
The smile was slowly but surely falling off of Celestia's face. "The Element will find a new bearer," she said simply.
Spike paused momentarily. "That's not what I meant! She's the Element of Loyalty. If anypony can be trusted with this power-"
"That is the point Spike, nopony can." All the warmth had fled from Celestia's voice. "Besides, a source of mine - a source I trust very much - has informed me that Rainbow Dash is planning to use her power against Equestria and against me."
"Who!?" Spike asked, not realizing he had begun to yell.
"Inside voice, Spike," Celestia said, the matronly tones returning to her voice for a moment. "I promised I would not reveal that. However, I believe him or her. He or she is in a privileged position to know."
Spike's face twisted in mental anguish as he tried in vain to rebut the Princess's argument. No words came to him, and he found tears pooling in the bottom of his eyes.
"Can you do this Spike?" Celestia asked, kindly again. Her voice reminded Spike of his very early childhood.
"I- I-" Spike choked on emotion, and then stopped. He swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat. "No. No, I can't."
Celestia nodded. "I understand. The bonds of friendship are a powerful thing. Now, Spike, this is very important. If I told you I was going to hire somepony else, would you be able to allow it to happen?" Her voice remained kind, but there was a hint of steel under the last few words.
Spike pressed his lips together into a tight line, and allowed his hand to sink into his satchel as casually as he could. He blinked away the tears and cleared his vision. "No, Princess," he answered in a dry whisper. "I don't think I could allow that."
The dragon and the mare shared a long, hard look. Celestia's eyes flickered to the claw resting in the satchel. Spike flicked the safety off. Celestia's ear twitched, and her eyes made contact with Spike's. Afterwards, neither could have said who reacted first. It seemed they both moved at the same time.
Celestia's horn burst into light, shielding her behind a globe of incandescent power. At the same time, she released a blast of concentrated sunlight, the blazing heat lighting the wood of the doors on fire without even touching them.
Meanwhile, Spike threw himself to the side, diving for the momentary safety of the wall. His hand came flying out of his satchel, pistol gripped in shaking claws, and a single shot rang out. The bullet ricocheted off Celestia's shield, and he dived out of the path of her bolt. The beam came within a few inches of his side, and he knew that if he had been a pony, the right half of his body would have been vaporized. As it was, he felt the pain of a burn for the first time, and knew he couldn't withstand a direct hit from such a spell.
As he rolled out of the doorway, he kicked the large wooden doors shut. The moment of safety it bought was enough to get to the shadows behind a pillar. A moment later, the door burst into splinters with an explosive roar.
"Spike, come back here," Celestia said in a cold, emotionless voice. "You're just prolonging it. Do you really think you can hide from me in my own castle?" she started to step in the direction Spike had gone.
Spike held his breath in panic, pressing his back into the marble pillar as if trying to meld his flesh into the stone. If he could hide here until she passed, maybe he could get out of the castle. Go back home, and... what? Tell Twilight? She'd never believe him. Protect Rainbow? He couldn't even get to her house without Twilight's help. Maybe he could just run away. Go to Manehatten, disappear in the-
Abruptly, some back part of Spike's brain jerked him out of his hurried train of thought. The way Celestia was walking, in a few seconds the light blazing off her would strip away the shadows and reveal him. That would be it. Her shield had receded, but their first confrontation showed that she could bring it up in time to block his shot. And then she'd kill him, turn him into a wisp of dragon vapor.
"I'm still willing to give you another chance," Celestia said, talking as she slowly stalked the hall. "Throw down the gun, come out with your claws up, and you can still go home tonight."
Every part of Spike's brain screamed at him to do what she said, but he knew he couldn't. Even if Celestia did let him go (and he couldn't imagine why she would), he still couldn't allow Rainbow to die. Better to die here. That might not be part of the Dragon's code as written, but it certainly seemed like it should be.
The light crept across the floor, getting closer and closer, and Spike pressed even closer against the pillar. Once he couldn't move any more, he watched the edge of the light slide towards his foot. The light hit the outer claw, and he could feel the heat on the side of his face. He turned his head to see Celestia staring directly at him, stopped in her tracks. They made eye contact.
And then she kept walking.
Spike had to stop himself from gasping in shock. Somehow she hadn't seen him. Somehow he was luckier than he ever thought possible. The light had been on him, he had looked her in the eyes, and she had kept walking.
Not that his problems were over. He was still trapped in this hallway with her, and there was no way he would get that lucky twice. He couldn't sneak out; the sound of his claws on the marble would betray him in a second. He edged around the pillar until he could see the back of her retreating head. The weight of the pistol made itself known in his hand, and without thinking about it, he leveled it with the back of her head.
The decision had been made for him. He knew what had to be done. He had flicked the safety off in preparation for his first shot, so even that last obstacle wasn't an issue. All he had to do was pull the trigger.
Too late, he realized that his training had taken over and he was exhaling out his nose. The noise was subtle and quiet, but Celestia's hearing was unparalleled. The world slipped into slow-motion as Celestia's ear twitched and Spike pulled the trigger.
Celestia began to turn and her horn lit up. The gun kicked in Spike's hand and the bullet left the muzzle, speeding towards the back of Celestia's head. It would reach her before she turned, but that wasn't the issue.
Out of the alicorn's horn burst the beginnings of her shield, spreading out from the ivory spike and wrapping around to cover the rest of her body. Spike could see the blazing shell arc through the air, moving to block the bullet's path. If it reached the back of her head before the bullet did, this would be the end for Spike.
It didn't.
For all of Celestia's power, for all of her posturing and royal blood, despite being a physical demigod that could cause the sun to dance at a whim, she died very much any other pony. A red hole appeared in the back of her head, and it kicked forwards. The shield collapsed instantly, and a red spray appeared on the pillar opposite. She fell to the ground, the tumbling movement the only non-graceful thing Spike had ever seen her do.
The world snapped back into focus, and Spike felt the nervous tension flow out of his body. He was alive, and she was not. The moment of relief was not long, as he realized what exactly he'd just done.
"Oh no," he said, arms collapsing to his side, limp as noodles. If it weren't for the claw caught in the trigger guard, he would have dropped the gun. He stepped back from the corpse, breathing heavily. "Oh no oh no oh no."
"No need to panic," a low, quiet voice said behind him.
Spike screamed and turned to the voice, shoving the gun behind his back in a vain attempt to hide it. Too late, he realized that a better course would have been to aim it at the dark blue mare he found standing in front of him.
"Hello Spike," Princess Luna said, a small smile on her face.
"I- I-" Spike looked back at the corpse to make sure it was actually there, and then back at Luna. "I had to! I'm so sorry!"
"It's fine Spike," Luna reassured him. "I saw the entire thing, you had no choice. Now, if you'll excuse me," she stepped past Spike, the dragon swiveling to face her as she walked. "I've arranged for all the guards to be gone at the moment, but they won't be for long." She concentrated momentarily, and strands of darkness erupted from her horn and wrapped the older sister in black ribbons. Strip after strip of the white coat disappeared, and when she was fully covered, the lumpy form soaked into the ground and was gone. The hallway was left squeaky clean, as if nothing had ever happened.
"But that won't fix it!" Spike objected. "The Princess is gone! Ponies are going to ask questions, and the guard will tell them he flew me here, and they'll all realize what happened and..." Spike bent over and leaned on his knees, staring at the floor as he hyperventilated.
"Spike, look at me," Princess Celestia said.
Spike's head flew up, and he saw the living, breathing form of the Princess of the Day standing in front of him. Her smile was gentle and calm.
He screamed again and brought the gun to bear, but the mare's face dissolved in a swirl of shadow.
"No, Spike, it's me!" Luna cried, her face revealed underneath her older sister's. "As the Princess of the Night, illusions are my forté. I can rule as my sister, at least until Equestria is ready for a new leader. Nopony will ever know what happened."
Spike stared at her, face blank. This was all moving too quickly for the young dragon. "But... aren't you mad I killed your sister?" he asked, just one of a thousand questions swirling in his head.
Luna frowned back at him, the illusion around her dissolving completely. "I am upset, of course. I love my sister. But she has... changed, over the thousand years I was gone. She has become more and more controlling, less and less tolerant of dissenting opinion. Something you are in a special position to know," she added.
Spike nodded slowly, thinking of Lucky, and her plans for Rainbow Dash.
"I've known I had to remove her for a year now, but I couldn't move against her directly. I didn't have the power, after my imprisonment. So thank you Spike. For doing what I couldn't," she gave him a warm smile.
Spike forced himself to smile back at her. It wasn't easy, but he did begin to feel a little better.
Luna somehow produced a piece of parchment and a quill, and scribbled out a quick note. She handed it to Spike, who took it with one claw while shoving the gun back in her bag with the other. "Take this to the guard outside," she said. "He'll organize a carriage to take you home."
Spike looked down at the note and its soft looping script. His heart froze.
The notes had been from Luna. That writing was unmistakable. She had introduced that doubt into his heart, and given him the weapon. He looked up at her, and the warm smile she was still wearing now contrasted with a coldness in her eyes.
Luna had been the source on Rainbow Dash too. It was the only thing that made sense. She could see into pony's dreams, know what they were thinking. Celestia would trust her if she said a pony had plans to harm Equestria. You can't lie to your dreams.
Luna was no better than Celestia. If anything, she was worse. The claw in his bag tightened around the gun, finger slipping into the trigger guard.
He felt the safety click on under his thumb. Luna's horn hadn't lit up, but Spike was sure he hadn't done that himself. He knew, then and there, that he couldn't defeat the younger sister. He had only managed to defeat the older with Luna's help - it was obvious now that she had hidden him from Celestia's sight - and although she may have lacked Celestia's sheer power, she certainly had enough to take him apart.
"On second thought, I'll walk you," Luna said, nodding in the direction of the door.
Spike swallowed with a dry throat, unable to talk. He walked in the direction she indicated, and the mare walked beside him.
"Do you know anything about bee's, Spike?" Luna asked, her voice calm and friendly.
"No Princess," Spike said quietly.
"No need for such formality," Luna said with a smile. "I think we're a little beyond that, don't you?"
"Of course Luna."
"That's better," she said. "Anyway, I'm told a hive can only have one queen. If there is ever more than one queen in a hive - either because one arrives from somewhere else, or a new one is born - and neither queen will leave, the two queens will fight to the death."
Spike walked on in silence as the mare lectured on.
"The fight in plain view of their subjects, but none of them interfere. Finally, whichever wins kills the other and takes over the hive. If the new queen is the winner, most bees will begin to serve her immediately. However, inevitably, a few will remain loyal to the old queen."
"What happens to them?" Spike asked quietly.
"She kills them of course," Luna said cheerfully.
"...Can I ask what your point is?"
Luna looked down at him, appearing confused. "No point Spike. I was merely speaking with the royal beekeeper earlier, and I thought it was interesting." She smiled happily. "I thought you might want to share it with Twilight."
Spike felt a shiver go down his spine at the mention of Twilight. There was nothing strange about the sentence, but something about the way the mare said it made it feel like a threat.
Luna nodded in the direction of a nearby guard, who saluted her. "Now off you go."
Spike walked towards the guard, body and mind numb from the adrenaline crash.
"Oh, and Spike?" Luna called after him.
Spike slowly turned to face her.
"I may have some work for you in the future. I trust I can rely on you?" she asked, voice innocent of any wrongdoing.
Spike nodded, once. "That's what I'm here for."
"Wonderful," she replied. "I'll be in touch."
Spike stepped into the carriage the guard led him too, and again felt his heel hit something wooden. He reached under and found the case. This was the same carriage he'd arrived in.
He flicked it open and found the From a friend note sitting inside, in what he now recognized as Luna's writing, He reached into his bag and retrieved the pistol and placed it in the case. It looked oddly solid, black metal contrasted against the light tan of the parchment.
He was about to close the case and place it back under the seat, when he reconsidered. He wrapped a claw around the barrel, checked the safety, and placed it gently back into his bag. He didn't know what Luna's reign would bring, but he did know he'd feel safer with this under his pillow.
