Prologue: The Best Intentions

The hammering continued.  The beating of a thousand hooves.  At first it was only against the door, but there were too many of them now, and they’d taken to assaulting the walls.  Books clattered from high shelves and spilled open haphazardly onto the floor.  A beaker full of a shimmering purple liquid shattered upon contact with a stool, its contents evaporating instantly in a puff of glittering smoke.

Far worse than that, were the sounds.  The cries of anguish and condemnation, calling for justice.  A mob mentality ruled them, rendering any hope of reasoning with them impossible.  They shouted for recompense.  They shouted for vengeance.

They shouted for Twilight Sparkle.

“This...this isn’t going to hold much longer, Twilight!  Do something!”  The usually plucky voice of Twilight’s assistant, the baby dragon known as Spike, was laden with nervous stuttering.  He had been boarding up windows and doors throughout the Ponyville library even before the mob had caught up with them, and he was now panting with the effort.  Whether or not dragons can perspire is a question for the ages, but the scent of fear radiated prominently enough from him that anypony could have easily detected it.  “M-make them stop!”  He begged.

“I can’t make them stop!” came an exasperated response.  Huddled in the center of the room under a table once meant for studying, the violet form of Twilight herself sought cover, her forehooves covering her head as if she expected the roof to come crashing down on her at any moment.  Several books lay open on top of the table, but the ominous, waving flicker of torchlight held aloft by angry ponies sent a chill down her spine, taunting her with its coming.

“O-of course you can!”  Spike rebutted, “you’re the greatest magician in all of Ponyville!  In all of Equestria!  You can make them go away!”

“Stop it, Spike!”  Twilight growled, ashamed of her own cowering posture.  “You…you just think too highly of me!  This has gone too far!”

“But they’ll listen to you if you’ll just explain—”

“I tried that already!  Nopony will listen anymore!  I tried…but it’s too late now!  I can’t put things back the way they were, I…”  Closing her eyes tightly to choke off a tear, she wailed her feelings aloud, “I can’t do it!  I’m not good enough!  I’m not strong enough, or smart enough, or clever enough to make this all go away!”

Spike paused.  For a moment, the sounds, the lights – they were all gone.  As he focused on his master, he noticed in her something he’d never seen before.  Twilight was often modest, and at times unsure of her own abilities.  But not like this.  There was something there, in the corner of the violet pony’s damp eyes.  Something black.  He bore his gaze into her, forcing her to look at him, but still she shied away.

Defeat.  Raw, true, real.  Not just insecurity that could be remedied by the warm words of a close friend, or the temporary loss of confidence in a pony’s self when a task went wrong.  Twilight was beaten.  Magic wasn’t a part of her vocabulary anymore.  Spike scowled, and a weak clanging noise rang out against the din of shouting and slamming as he threw his hammer to the floor.

“Then what are we supposed to do now?”

Twilight swallowed, the words slipping from her muzzle stabbing her like knives as they moved past.  “Maybe…maybe they’re right.  They want me, and they have good reasons for it.  What happened is all my fault.  I hurt them, you know?  I messed up their lives, and then I couldn’t fix it.  I don’t have the right to do anything else.”

Spike was still an infant.  It would take hundreds of years for him to mature into a great, mighty winged beast that could soar to the highest peaks, defend his friends, and strike fear into the hearts of his enemies with only a well-placed stare.  But even at his age, he could still feel it.  The burning in the pit of his stomach.  The desire to help when he could not.  The desire to make right what he could not correct.  Most of all, the need to protect the friends he cared about in ways that were still beyond him.  The burning churned in his stomach, rising up until he expelled it forcefully in a small gout of green flame.  Twilight looked up.

“A letter from Princess Celestia?”  She asked hopefully.

Spike shook his head.  In his hand he held the retrieved hammer.  It was upside down, and the butt of it was lit up like a torch.  On any other night, the dancing flame could have been a source of peace and comfort.  Twilight had seen one too many torches on this particular evening however, and as a result the presence of the little green fire provided her with nothing more than cause to shrink away a little more.

“The princess stopped responding to your letters days ago.  You know that.”  The torchlight reflected in Spike’s eyes, giving even his diminutive form a nigh-menacing look.  “I’m surprised at you, Twilight.  I don’t care what you say – at the very least, you’re the greatest magician in Ponyville.  Probably more than that.  And you know it.  No matter what you say, you know it.  You saved the town from an ursa minor with your magic.  You believed in Nightmare Moon’s prophecy, even when nopony else did, and your magic became the focal point for the Elements of Harmony that set Princess Luna free.  You defeated Discord, even when everypony else fell under the power of his chaos magic.  Of course your friends helped.  But without you, none of that would have ever happened.  You achieved all that, only to give up now?”  Gruffly, Spike turned to one of the boarded up windows.  Light produced by the angry mob was still showing through the cracks in his quick, messy handiwork.  “Well, maybe you’ve given up, but I haven’t.  I won’t let this happen to you.  I…I’ll…” he swallowed.  Hard.  “I’ll make them stop.  S-somehow.  E-even if you won’t try.”

With that, Spike took to waving his little green torch at the boarded-up window.  As if anypony on the other side could see him through the boards or hear him over the cacophony of shouting, he yelled ridiculous things at them.  He told them to go away, made threats he couldn’t possibly deliver on, and even went so far as to try to explain the situation, for all the good it would do.

The shame Twilight felt intensified, and began to gnaw panfully at her insides.  She’d tried all she knew, but she was out of ideas.  Maybe if she gave herself up now, the mob would spare Spike, and not torch the library.  Would they really go that far?  She knew Spike could never understand it, but she was considering giving up to save him.  To save all the beautiful books and their priceless knowledge, all around her.  Was it noble?  Was it cowardly?  She couldn’t say.  But despite all that, with all the fear she knew Spike held in his heart, he stood his ground against those blank boards, shouting defiantly at them in her defense.

All at once, a shock of pain reverberated through Twilight’s head.  She winced and nearly bit her tongue, but didn’t cry out.  She was used to this by now, and it could mean only one thing.  “S-spike,” she called out weakly, “…Spike?”

“Huh?”  Spike’s countenance reversed instantly back into her faithful servant.  It was just like him.

“Spike…the pain is back.  Where is he?”

Spike looked around the room.  An instant later he perked up, “oh!  He went into the back, remember?  To board up the windows and doors there.  When the shaking first started I thought it was just him bucking at nails, but I guess—” he cut himself off when he noticed the obvious pain his master was in.  “Is he too far away?  But, wouldn’t he come right back, then?  U-unless…”  Spike’s already cold-blood ran like ice through his veins.  Unless, he thought, they’ve broken in and…they got him.  He eyed the passageway to the back of the library for a moment, knowing the only alternative was to brave the dark corners back there, on a mission that might already be impossible.

A figure appeared in the hallway.  The darkened silhouette of a tall pony was unmistakable.

“Wh-who are you!?”  Spike shouted, “g-go away!  Go away or I’ll…I’ll…”  He’d what?  With no other ideas, Spike brandished his torch at the figure, vainly hoping that it might somehow drive the assailant away.

In the dour green glow, the pony’s identity became known.  Before Spike stood a tall, lithe stallion with a purple coat.  His jaw was square, and in his mouth he weakly held a hammer of his own, that seconds later dropped from his grasp.  “It’s done,” the pony heaved through deep breaths.  “They won’t get in that way.  They can buck those doors and windows back there all night long.

“Don’t go too far away from Twilight!”  Spike barked, “you know she gets those splitting headaches whenever you’re too far away from her!”

The pony frowned, “I know, Spike.  I get them too.  The same way she does.  But it was either that or run the risk that one nail out of place could compromise the security of the whole building.”  The purple stallion sighed and shook his head from side to side a few times, as the throbbing in his own brain subsided.  His dark mane, a bit shorter than Twilight’s, had a shock of pink and purple running through it.  It parted only at his brow, to allow room for the single horn protruding from the crown of his head.  “Is she okay?”

“Ask her yourself,” Spike wandered back towards the front of the room, as if to stand guard.  He’d never cared much for the stallion sharing his master’s colors, who had come so abruptly a week ago to interfere in their peaceful lives.  What was worse, whenever he got a certain distance away from Twilight, she experienced debilitating headaches such that she could barely stand up.  The Stallion complained of the same symptoms, but Spike wasn’t sure he believed him.  As far as the young dragon was concerned, it was some sort of sorcery.  They had no choice but to let him stay at the library along with them.  He ate when they did.  Went where they went.  Thankfully the distance was at least enough that he could go into another room when Spike’s master was sleeping or otherwise indisposed.  That was something, but to Spike it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Twilight,” the stallion trotted into the room with no small amount of exhaustion, approaching the table.  “Hey.  Are you alright?”

It took some time for a reply to come.  When it did, it was little more than, “I’m fine.”

The stallion stuck his head unceremoniously under the table, prying on purpose, “then get up.  You’re making this harder on our assistant.”

“Her assistant!”  Spike corrected, “I’m Twilight’s assistant, not yours!”

With a rustling of discarded papers, Twilight finally brought herself up from under the table.  She shook her head in exactly the same manner as the stallion.  The movement was uncannily similar to the way he had done it, to the point that Spike lost his train of thought.  They were the same color, moved nearly the same way, and thought in a very similar way.  If not for the fact that the stallion was a bit taller, had a deeper voice, and lacked feminine features like longer eyelashes, even Spike would have had to admit it would have been hard to tell them apart.

“Spike, stop it,” Twilight scolded for the second time that evening.  “Twilight is Twilight, and so am I.”  She turned and glanced at the other pony in the room, “and how are you, Twilight?”

“Holding up,” the stallion nodded.  He looked away, “but…I suppose I’m feeling the same things you are.  That seems to always be the way, doesn’t it, Twilight?”

“Oh for—!”  Spike sighed, “can’t we give him a different name or something?  I can’t keep this all apart in my head.  You’re Twilight, he's Twilight…can’t he be like, Guylight or something?  Or Twiboy?  Or purple homewrecker guy?”

“Spike!”  The two Twilights shouted together.  The dragon huffed, but fell silent.

“Don’t mind him,” Twilight sighed, “he’s confused.  You can’t really blame him.”

The stallion nodded, “I know.  Honestly I’m confused too.  I mean, I see you standing there and I don’t mean to be rude, but…” he looked the mare over in the dim torchlight, “but it’s like you stole my body or something.  I’m Twilight Sparkle.  I’ve always been me.  I remember everything about my life that I knew before last week even happened.  But now I’m…I mean…this is so confusing.  And it feels funny.”

Twilight couldn’t blame the stallion for his words.  If they were both Twilight Sparkle, she had to wonder what it would feel like to suddenly be a stallion, and be looking at herself from across a room.  The cutie mark on his haunches was exactly the same as hers.  It had gotten to the point that they were finishing each other’s sentences.  On some magical level she couldn’t consciously understand, she knew the bond with him was strong.  They couldn’t even stand to be away from one another without feeling physical pain.  They weren’t friends.  They weren’t associates, family, or even lovers.  They were the same pony.  Cantering too far away from him made her feel as though she was removing one of her own pasterns or hocks, and leaving it behind.

Unlike Spike, Twilight was inclined to believe her counterpart.  If not for the uncanny resemblance and the sensations she experienced in his presence, then for the manner in which he appeared.  It was only a week prior, but with all that had happened, it felt like an ancient, dusky memory.  She’d rather have forgotten her original intentions when she’d cast that first spell, the one that set everything in motion.  He wasn’t the first unexpected effect, but he came soon after.  As much Twilight Sparkle as she was.  For a time, he even insisted he was the “real” Twilight, to the point that he took offense whenever Spike suggested renaming him to keep things clear.  He’d even suggested they rename her, but she of course felt the same way about the idea that he did.  They were left at an impasse, and had no alternative but to just go on calling each other by the same name.  They eventually had to conclude that there was no “real” Twilight Sparkle between them.  Each of them felt the same magic power, on a level so intimate it could only be the power produced by the horn of one and the same unicorn.

How to undo the curious situation remained as much a frustrating mystery as how to deal with all the damage that followed.  The damage that resulted in this night, where an angry mob of Ponyville residents bucked relentlessly at the town library, calling out for Twilight Sparkle to surrender herself.  Both of them.

“That won’t hold forever,” stallion Twilight indicated at the main entrance.  The comment wasn’t intended as an insult, but Spike huffed again and folded his arms, taking it that way.  The stallion let out a helpless, dry chuckle.  “I guess the game’s up, huh?  It’s not like we didn’t try.  But…even Princess Celestia abandoned us…”

“She did not abandon us!”  Twilight snapped.  “She…she’s…she’s a busy pony.  I’m sure she’s just tied up with something more important, like…I dunno…maybe…”  she trailed off when she thought about how lonely it felt for the princess to suddenly stop communicating with her.  What could possibly be so important?  Was she angry?  Twilight would have preferred Princess Celestia’s anger, over the maddening silent treatment.  Maybe then she could at least atone for whatever trespass the princess had perceived from her.

“She wouldn’t do that,” the stallion replied.  “You and I both know her the same way.  She wouldn’t just stop talking to us, not at a time like this.  She’s a just and kind ruler.  I have total faith and devotion in her, the same way you do.  There has to be another explanation.”

“There is,” Twilight swallowed, “the explanation that what we’ve done is so bad, she’s decided we deserve the punishment we’re going to get for it.”

Another heavy book smacked heavily down from a high shelf.  Both ponies were too lost in the implications of that last statement to pay it any heed.

Stallion Twilight began, “then we don’t have a choice.  We should…”

“…open the door and fess up,” Twilight finished the thought.

Spike looked down.  He wanted so badly to come up with an answer, but as much as he pushed back against inevitability, it never let up.  He knew what was coming too, he just couldn’t bring himself to say it.

All at once, the noises ceased.

No more banging.  No more shouting.  The flickering lights were still there, but they were now stationary.  It was like waking from a bad dream.

“What happened?”  Stallion Twilight spoke up.

“I don’t know,” his counterpart added.  “Are they tired?  Maybe they’re going to take a break, or wait us out?  I don’t really have much food in here…”

Spike lit up like a lightbulb, “tired?  That’s perfect!  Now’s our chance!  Twilight, if they’re calming down, maybe this is our chance to explain things to them!  If you go out on the balcony now and address them, maybe—”

WHAM!!

With a single sound rivaling all the earlier bucking noises put together, the thick planks nailed to the front door exploded forth from their places, banging up against the back wall with enough force to shatter them into splinters.  The door itself followed suit, and everypony took cover to avoid the resulting shower of debris.  Whatever power had caused the blow, it was far greater than the force any resident of Ponyville was capable of.

Before the dust settled, several large, stocky stallions marched into the library.  They all bore coats of white; adorned identically in resplendent golden armor, plumed helms, and shoes that gleamed even with the lateness of the hour.  Two by two they came, marching in line until they made a perfect barrier between the center of the room and the door.  On a single barked order from their captain, they moved as one – coming to right face and standing stoically at attention.  They were an impenetrable equine wall, and their majestic wings suggested they could deploy effectively against any pony that sought to circumvent them.

Neither Twilight dared oppose them.  The presence of Canterlot's own royal guard could only mean one thing, and without speaking to one another, their hearts both skipped a beat as they each drew the same conclusion.  The door could be replaced.  Destroying it was doubtless nothing more than a show of powerful magic, designed to calm the angry mob in one fell swoop.  Instinctively, each Twilight took a knee before the figure who entered a moment later.  Spike did the same.

The humble library was graced by the regal presence of Celestia herself, Crown Princess of Equestria.  For a time, she stood before her palace guards and merely viewed the scene before her.  None, not even the unruly mob, dared utter a word.

Twilight kept her eyes closed and her muzzle submissively diverted downwards, but she could not help but smile.  Finally, it was over.  Fear, anguish, frustration, and despair – they all congealed into a dark morass before the princess, whose very presence was enough to expel them from Twilight's mind in a gentle wave of peace.  Her teacher; her mentor.  Princess Celestia.  When the princess spoke, ponies listened.  When the princess decreed, ponies obeyed.  Twilight still felt shame for not being able to handle the situation by herself, but with the princess finally in Ponyville, everything would turn out okay.  She would make them understand that what had happened was not intentional.  Of course, Twilight knew she would be made to work to undo the chaos she had wrought, but she was more than eager to make amends.  She just needed them to listen to her long enough to allow her to work.  The princess would see to that.

“Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia finally pronounced, “my student.  Come forward.”

Instinctively, both Twilights cantered to within a few hoof-lengths from their sovereign and returned to kowtowing before her.  They spared but a single, flashing glance at each other – both wondering who among them the princess would consider to be the “real thing”.

“I would hear your words,” Celestia stated flatly.  The statement was not a request.  Twilight spoke first.

“Princess Celestia,” she began, “you grace us with your presence.  I've attempted to inform you of the circumstances surrounding recent events in Ponyville, but I'm uncertain if my messages were received.”  Realizing how that statement could be taken, Twilight recovered, “th-that is, I'm certain my messages were received with due diligence, and am equally convinced that your highness has had important matters of state to attend to elsewhere.  As a result, I've taken it upon myself to deal with the situation at hand, but—”

“Thank you, my student.”  Celestia turned her elegant muzzle in the direction of Twilight's counterpart.  “Now, I would hear the words of this Twilight Sparkle.”  The look in the princess's eye was inconclusive.  The evenness of her tone was unsettling, but not unknown, especially in the presence of so many of her subjects.  From outside, ponies crowded in the doorway, each trying to get a glimpse of the proceedings.  Twilight gave her counterpart another sidelong glance.  The princess had gone as far as to use Twilight’s own name when referring to him.  Celestia always knew more than she let on, but never before had Twilight felt such a strong desire to brush decorum aside and confront her about it.

Twilight’s counterpart cleared his throat.  It was a guttural noise, and the voice that followed sounded like a recording of Twilight’s voice, played back an octave lower.  Female in diction and word choice, but male in tonality.  “Your Highness,” stallion Twilight began, “it is very much as my counterpart stated.  I—we—encountered difficulties resulting from complications of a magical spell.  We made attempts to contact the palace to request assistance, but we were not successful in obtaining a response…” stallion Twilight faltered, falling into the same potential miscommunication trap that Twilight had a moment before, “th-that is, I mean to say that we took the silence as an affirmation of Your Highness’s faith in our abilities to handle the situation ourselves.”

Celestia nodded.  “Go on.”

“Y-yes well,” the violet pony cleared his throat again and flattened his ears against his head, looking for the right words.  He glanced at Twilight as if to ask her permission for what he was about to admit.  She could only stare back at him, but he knew she was thinking the same thing.  He touched his muzzle to the floor, “my princess, we…we regret to inform you of our failure.  We’ve pushed ourselves to the limit of our understanding of the arcane, but to no avail.  As your students, we beg your forgiveness for our shortcomings and ask for your intervention, to correct our grievous error.  As it stands—”

Celestia held up one hoof.  The room immediately became quiet.  For a full minute, the Ponyville library was without even the sounds of tired breaths from either side of the main entrance.  The litany of silence was broken only by a long, deflated sigh from the princess herself.  It was not a sound anypony assembled was used to hearing from their sovereign.

“Your grievous error,” Celestia repeated the words.  Her gaze moved back and forth between both incarnations of Twilight Sparkle.  They both knew her well enough to pick up on the minute, barely noticeable change in her expression from steadfast to troubled.  “Then I must ask you formally, my student.”  She nodded to a guard, who stepped forward and retrieved a particularly large, heavy book that was laying spine-up on the floor.  He closed it, placed it face up before her, and returned to his place in line.  Celestia tapped the book sharply with one of her perfectly groomed hooves.  “Do you know what this is?”

The Twilights looked at the book, then at one another.  Again, Twilight herself spoke first.  “A book of magic, princess?”

Celestia’s normally patient, knowing smile was nowhere to be found.  “Not just any book of magic.  A book of discordian magic.”

Murmurs rose from the crowd.  The name ‘Discord’ traveled throughout the crowd like a cancer, infecting minds and turning them towards immediate fear.  Again, Celestia rose one hoof to silence them.

“Be not afraid, residents of Ponyville.  Discordian magic is an ancient art from the time of the three tribes that make up our history.  The being called ‘Discord’ was named for it because of his nature, not the other way around.  They are unrelated to one another.  However,” Celestia paused, her words seeming to come to her with difficulty, “discordian magic has no other purpose than to cause havoc.  It was used as a weapon during the times in which our forbearers fought against one another.  Its practice has been firmly outlawed in all of Equestria since the time of our nation’s founding.”

Twilight’s eyes went wide, and she found that she could no longer remain silent.  “B-but, how can that be?  I’ve been studying pony history all my life…how can I never have heard of this before?  A-and that book,” she indicated it with a rude dipping of her horn, “it’s full of all sorts of magic spells, from every discipline I can think of.  Some of them are for minor pranks, but most of them are helpful spells, like making crops flourish or even healing the sick!  How can it be outlawed?”

Celestia didn’t skip a beat, “though unicorns are the magic-users of Equestria, at one time all of the tribes had some understanding of the arcane arts, at least so far as to recognize the nature of spells they came upon.  Discordian magic was literally the practice of adding very subtle alterations to otherwise benign spells, to pervert their effects into something abominable.  It became a finely-honed technique, prized by many of its day as a sort of artform.  Any literate pony, no matter their ability with magic, could make use of it.  Due to its obscurity as a result of long standing disuse, and the fact that its subtle role kept it from being recorded in the lay versions of our histories, it is expected that most ponies alive today would not be aware of its existence.”  Her eyes again fell upon the two ponies kneeling before her, “be that as it may, I remain surprised and dismayed that my student, with her impressive knowledge of the histories of all of our peoples, would not be aware of these facts.

Twilight was shocked.  It made no difference to her what other ponies knew.  She was an expert historian.  Other than perfecting her own skill with magic, it had been her life’s work to commit to memory as much of pony history as possible, in hopes of someday using what she knew to educate others.  A pony who does not learn from history is doomed to repeat it.  Equestria was founded on a multitude of important life lessons in friendship, caring, and mutual trust.  Most everypony knew that already, but Twilight had hoped she might one day take it to an even higher level.  How then, could she not be aware of such a significant challenge ponies of the past had overcome?  And what was worse, how could she have let herself be fooled by what was basically trickery?

“Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia continued, “you have stated before the residents of Ponyville this night that you have committed a ‘grievous error’.  I must ask you – have you made use of discordian magic?”

“I…we…” Twilight whimpered, “…we didn’t know…”

“Answer me.”  It was not in Celestia’s nature to shout, but her words came with an implosive force sufficient to siphon all other sound from the room.

Both Twilights looked away.  In unison, they spoke.  “Yes, Your Highness.”

The cries of condemnation began anew from the crowd outside, though none of them dared to test the guards blocking the main entrance.  Phrases such as “what about my foals” and “how could you” ran rampant.  Before silencing the crowd again, Celestia let out another deep, disillusioned sigh.  Though she already knew the answer, she had hoped against hope that somehow, her student would have an ironclad alibi proving her innocence.  It was not to be.  When the noise died down, she forced her next words out, making a significant effort to keep from mixing them with emotion.

“Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia announced, “discordian magic is an ancient art, and all of its practitioners have long since passed away.  As a result, even I do not possess the knowledge to dispel it.  Those who have suffered from its effects in Ponyville may very well be stuck that way for the rest of their lives, as a result.  Given the severity of the crime, I cannot accept ignorance of the law, even an archaic law that is not well known, as a defense.  You leave me no alternative.  By the power vested in me as Crown Princess of Equestria and ruler of this land, I hereby find you guilty of the crime of practicing outlawed magic.  You are now under arrest, and will be extradited immediately to Canterlot.  Guards…” Celestia paused before turning abruptly away and moving towards the door, “…take them into custody.”

Twilight’s counterpart straightened suddenly and moved as if in his own defense, but he was quickly surrounded by half a dozen well-armored royal guards.  Twilight herself gave them no trouble, as her fore and hind legs were respectively clasped into two pairs of iron shackles.  The mare and the stallion, aspects of the same pony, were put into line and marched from the library.  Spike was not taken, but he followed along anyway.  It was more than owing at least that much to the master that hatched him.  It was out of fear and concern for his closest friend.

A dull rain had begun to fall.  Most of the torches had been snuffed out, but the moon was still high, and the luminescence of Celestia’s mane brought all eyes to her.  When Twilight appeared, the cries commenced.  A rotten apple hit her in the side of the head, but she didn’t even flinch.  Were her friends out there, in the crowd?  She was afraid to look.  After what she’d done to them, it was possible they might be, and she didn’t think she could cope with visual proof.

The apple didn’t matter.  The mud getting on her hooves didn’t matter.  Nothing mattered anymore.  Failure was a bitter taste, but far less so than the overwhelming emotion that she had detected in every word, and every movement, of the princess.

Princess Celestia had been let down.