A Good Bad, Bad Good Dream
He dreamed about flying again. When he was awake that was impossible: like his sister Applejack and the rest of his family, he was an Earth pony, pulled solidly down by mundane gravity. Being larger and heavier than they, he felt even more mundane. But in his dreams, he could fly.
He remembered the day he had first put his head through the farm’s old horse-collar; had felt the solid weight of it settle onto his shoulders and thought he smelled the faint memory of his father’s sweat on the leather. He had been larger than the rest of his family even then, an oversized red colt with too-big hooves, and he had felt proud to take on the role of stallion of the house: the hauler, the muscle, the solid shoulder to cry on and the non-judgmental ear they could rely on. He did not share his thoughts or dreams with his family; indeed, these days he rarely spoke at all. This was not because he felt stifled; it was simply easier to wish and dream in the privacy of his own mind. No one laughed at him there.
In his dreams, his wings were enormous—larger even than those of the princesses—and why shouldn’t they be? He was big, after all, and he didn’t have magic like they did. His gilded dream-collar shone with jewels, and his hooves too glittered with golden shoes that bore no trace of mud. Flight was hard and joyful work, but he liked work. He swooped and soared, diving like an eagle toward the tops of the orchard and snatching an apple on the wing. He crunched, droplets of juice falling in his wake.
Ahead and below, he caught a glimpse of pale yellow and petal pink on a path and swooped down, landing at a canter behind Fluttershy and laughing as he swerved to miss her. She lit the air around her with her smile of greeting, although it turned shy immediately. “I like when you have your wings, Big Mac,” she said to her knees. “Because now we can fly together. It can’t happen when you’re awake. I can walk with you, but it’s not the same.”
“Eeyup,” he agreed. Ruffling his wings, he invited her skyward, and when she would not fly fast, he swooped above and around her, teasing her until she put on a burst of speed.
When he was awake he never dared approach Fluttershy and invite her for a stroll alone. He wasn’t sure why except that, raised among mares and fillies in the Apple gang—none of whom ever seemed to find a nice stallion to settle down with—he hated the thought that they might tease. Oh, they’d say it was all in good fun, but it wouldn’t be fun for him, especially if Fluttershy turned him down for any reason! Anyway, she wasn’t the sort to want to live at Sweet Apple Acres. It was a lot of hard work, and the orchard got very dark at night. Hadn’t she been turned into a fruitbat there once? His skin shuddered at the thought. Not that she needed his protection, and he wouldn’t insult her by offering it, but she probably wouldn’t like to be so near it all the time. And maybe she just didn’t think of him except as Applejack’s stolid brother. And so, of course, he never said anything.
They flew together to the edge of Cloudsdale and then beyond, and the wind and exercise got her talking. He just listened. He didn’t know where they were going, and he didn’t care: he was just enjoying himself, when abruptly the light changed, and glancing up to see what had become of the sun, he saw a form stooping upon them like a hawk, falling like a rock. There was no time to be frightened. One moment the thing was above them, and the next it had swept away. Fluttershy was only a small yellow shape in its massive forepaws, her terrified screams growing faint in the distance. He knew about dragons—he didn’t really think Spike counted—and he knew Applejack and her friends had dealt with them in the past, but he’d never seen that big. He’d never heard of one that hunted ponies, either. And he was alone in the sky except for its swiftly receding bulk, a few scales fluttering earthward in its wake, and a sudden rising surge of gibbering panic as realization struck. What should he do? What could he do? Should he turn back and try to find someone? Anyone? Shouldn’t there be a Pegasus around somewhere? They were always somewhere he could see them, any time during the day! But if he took his eyes off the diminishing speck in the distance—if he turned around to try to find help—he’d lose sight of that dragon, and by the time he found it again, it could be too late!!
So that was it. He’d have to do this alone. Stretching out his neck and flinging himself into a windswept gallop, he flew as hard and fast as he could knew how, chasing the tiny dot in the sky that was his friend’s captor.
No one had challenged him to a race in a long time, mostly because he tended to win with his longer-legged stride. This dragon had challenged him whether it knew it or not. Sweat darkened his shoulders. His nostrils flared. He threw himself into pursuit as he would throw himself into his collar to pull a heavy load. Ahead, he saw the dragon bank left and begin to spiral down. It didn’t seem to have noticed him. And bit by bit, he closed the distance.
He was not a violent pony by nature. He watched Applejack and her mare friends have arguments with each other¬—not to mention fights with assorted threats that came their way—and he tended to stay out of it. They had proven themselves more than equals to whatever came. But this was different. He felt as though anger were making him expand, every stroke of his wings swelling him until he was the size of that dragon. If he had to squash it into jelly to save Fluttershy, he would! Coming to the place where it had descended, he scanned below. But dragons are too big to hide, and he found it.
Folding his wings, he arrowed down, fore-hooves poised like a battering ram. On a jutting shelf of rock below, he saw a huge circle of what looked like branches, and in the circle hulked the dragon, head bowed over…something. He couldn’t see Fluttershy anywhere, and he didn’t hear her screaming, either. Rage built in him like a head of steam. Adjusting his angle of flight, he aimed right for the back of the dragon’s head, gritting his teeth because he knew it was going to hurt him almost as much as it was going to hurt that dragon…but just as he was about to strike, a pale yellow head with cotton-candy-pink mane poked out around the dragon’s massive shoulder. Fluttershy’s eyes opened saucer-wide in shock. “Big Mac! Oh, no, Big Mac! Stop!”
He tried. Throwing up his head and making a Herculean effort, he flailed at the air, bobbled, bounced off the dragon’s shoulder as it reacted to his sudden proximity, and careened off into a tumbled heap on the ground, sliding until he hit branches.
Fluttershy came running. “Big Mac! Oh, my goodness, are you hurt?”
He wasn’t sure. He knew he ought to be, but when he looked himself over, things seemed to be okay. Wings worked, check. Legs worked, check. His neck, tail and head didn’t seem to be broken either. He lurched to his feet. “What happened?”
“Oh, thank Celestia! Oh, oh! It’s okay, though. I was so, so very scared, and now—come see!” Fluttershy waited while he tested his trembling legs and settled his wings to his back. “Over here.”
He looked ‘over there’. The dragon still looked like a looming threat, but Fluttershy headed toward it fearlessly, so the least he could do was follow.
“Big Mac, this is Grumble. Grumble, this is my good friend Big Mac. You scared both of us when you—well you have to admit, it would have been better if you’d talked to us, but—oh, Big Mac, come see!”
The pile of branches that surrounded them, on closer examination, was really architecture, an organized barrier. And in its center, wrestling each other with miniature growls and squeaks, were—
“Three!” Fluttershy gushed, with adoration in her eyes. “And they just hatched! Grumble brought me here to be their friend!”
Big Mac sat down. “Wow,” he said.
“Grumble, is it okay if Big Mac meets them?”
The dragon looked a little doubtful, but nudged the infants toward the two ponies. Fluttershy began to coo with the greatest delight.
Big Mac got up and moved over, extending his muzzle toward the nearest baby, which was only as tall as his knees. Noticing him, it tumbled his direction, tiny useless wings fluttering on its shoulders. It touched noses with him, hiccupped, and sneezed. A wisp of smoke drifted away.
Then the other two came over, and they played at his feet while Grumble watched intently and Fluttershy, enraptured, lay down to scoop whichever came nearest into the curves of her forelegs before letting it go.
In all his life, Big Mac had never seen anything so adorable, and that included when Apple Bloom had been born. It was even sweeter than the once-enchanted Smarty Pants doll (which he still played with when no one was looking). Fluttershy playing with the baby dragonets shot right past both of those things, and it made his chest physically ache. He pushed the babies toward her, nudging them back again and again just so he could watch her. They seemed to like him, though, and eventually he gave up trying to move them, and let Fluttershy come to them so that he had all four—Fluttershy and the three sprawling, tumbling dragonets, playing around his forefeet. He felt like a proud papa. That was new. He liked it very much.
Grumble tolerated this situation for a dragon’s age, but eventually, about the time the sky began to fade toward pink and orange at the western edge, she rumbled.
Fluttershy lifted her head. “Oh! Oh it’s almost dusk! Big Mac, we better head for home now. Everypony is going to get so worried!”
“Nope,” he said. But he knew she was right.
Fluttershy turned to Grumble. “I can come back again, if you want me to. Only please don’t grab me again, okay? I like invitations better.”
Grumble grumbled a reply.
Fluttershy nodded. “Come on, Big Mac,” she said. Then she jumped into the air, and he followed. They flew together back toward Equestria; the return trip seemed to take no time at all.
Before she took her leave, she said, “Thank you. I never saw you be so brave before!” and reached up to give him a fleeting kiss on the cheek. Then, blushing, she spun and trotted away toward town.
He closed his eyes to savor the memory of that kiss.
When he opened them, it was warm afternoon and he was standing in the dappled shade of the apple trees, with the smell of ripening apples all around. He shook his mane and turned to look at his shoulders, which were simple, ordinary, and red. He sighed. But as he headed toward his house, he saw a familiar yellow and pink form approaching on the road from town.
“Fluttershy,” he said, and then paused.
She looked up into his face, her expression as sweet and honest as always.
What was he supposed to say? ‘I had a nightmare about you, and I had a really good dream about you, and they were the same dream?’ Or maybe, ‘I really like you?’ He chewed a stem of grass thoughtfully, and at last said, “Like to walk?”
“I’d like that,” she said, and she blushed a little.
He moved off under the dappled shade of the orchard, ambling slowly so she didn’t have to trot to stay at his side. He was perfectly happy. Even without baby dragons—and wings.
Author's Note
Chotii, aka Angela Beegle, usually writes werewolf stories, completely bereft of dragons or ponies.
