Generations

by ambion

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, Twilight Sparkle, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Flurry Heart
Length: 1301

It's Grampa Neb's birthday. For Twilight, it's a chance at perspective.

Time moves eternal. Those who were young become old, those who are children, become parents and in the fullness of time, parents of parents.

It's Grampa Neb's birthday and all the family will be there. For Twilight Sparkle, it's a chance to put things in perspective.

Published 2017-07-20 22:40:06 UTC
Last updated 2017-07-20 22:40:06 UTC

Generations

Sparkle, Sparkle, my Twilight

How softly you light up the night

Now close your eyes, lay your head

Another book, you have read

Sparkle, Sparkle, my Twilight

How softly you light up the night.

Perhaps as many as a dozen times in Twilight Sparkle’s earliest life she was given into the care of her grandparents, before babysitter Cadence, before wise Celestia, before destiny in all these guises gathered to her side, cultivating her for something larger.

Her grandparents were unremarkable in every way. Perhaps they were modestly more talented with magic than their unicorn peers, perhaps they had simply been more attentive and less distracted students of it throughout their lives. They were certainly kind. And prosperous. Twilight’s memories were fractious, colourful, as the memories of early childhood are. What she held in her memory was a perfect little house; a yard of grass stretching to a veritable horizon; glittering sunshine in glasses of ice water, set on a veranda’s bench so tall it was the journey of a mountaineering explorer to reach it; the flight of hummingbirds; muffins fresh-baked from the oven, made with near a score of spices, a dozen nuts and fruits, and chocolate chips — molten mysteries, dark and delicious gems to be discovered hidden within — each muffin a meal in its own right, a week’s feasting provisions to a one so little as she.

And on those infrequent occasions where Twilight Sparkle, Bearer to the Element of Magic, Princess of Friendship, Faithful Student to Celestia the Sun, Aiding Star to Luna the Moon, Patron to Starlight Glimmer the Protége, Bound of Spike the Hero, Sister-in-Law to Cadence the Lovely and born sister to Shining Armour the Defender; those occasions where she had cause to reflect on simpler times would bring such memories to her mind, and a smile to her lips. One of nostalgia, of love, of simplicity and wonderment.

Because titles were big, unwieldy things.

Those visits had been ordinary. And they were wondrous.

But it was not the perfect little house, nor the grass, nor glass-bound glaciers overhead, nor hummingbirds in their manic flight, nor even the great, all-nourishing muffins that resided deep in her memories that place.

That treasured place belonged to something else. Something Twilight Sparkle had never once brought to conscious thought, not once in all these years. But it was not forgotten, not even buried, not truly... buried only as a seed is buried. As a root is, deep in the nourishing earth. Equal — inverse — to the branches and leaves in the light of consciousness.

“Happy birthday, Grampa Neb!

The family was gathered, small and cheerful around the big comfy chair. On the side table were framed photos of his family, while its lower level held a neat stack of Equestrian Geographic. Candles were on the cake and, though far fewer than the seventy necessary to accurately denote the stallion’s age, those that were there were meaningful all the same.

“Ah,” intoned he, his voice soft and low, his ears like two gray clouds atop his head. The light of eighteen candles shone in his pale eyes, “The Entwined Dragons. Very good. A guiding constellation in ancient times.”

Twilights Velvet and Sparkle chuckled. “We did set the cake, you know.”

“Ah. Yes. And well done, my girls.” With some effort, Nebulae pulled himself higher in his seat. “It’s almost a shame to blow them out.”

“Do you want to have your cake or eat it?” Twilight jr. asked in genuine earnest. Then she blushed. Her ears pushed back. Her wings tensed into her sides in a display of acquired instinct. “That was bad.”

“You’re stealing my dad jokes,” Shining Armour chuckled. “Ah, Flurry, come here.” He pulled up the bundle of joy from her place on the carpet, playing as she had been with toys spanning now three generations and in turn, reached out her hooves to the pretty firelights.

“No, Flurry, these are Grampa Neb’s.”

“It’s alright.” Nebulae shifted himself, again with mindful, ache-nursing care. His horn lit up and so did Flurry Heart in a blue-green aura; soon the little alicorn was deposited on his knee. “Oof. You’re a heavy filly, so you are.”

Nebulae took a raspy breath, but it made him cough. Twilight Sparkle, abashed, now went alert. “Grampa! Let me-”

But he waved her off, groping for a glass of water. “No, no. I’m okay. How about it, precious little one? Will we do it together?”

Flurry’s eyes were wide and bright. She nodded. Nebulae made a token effort, and with Flurry’s enthusiasm — spreading acceptably low amounts of spittle — the Entwined Dragons winked out.

“Oh, we’ll take those ones,” Cadence said, gesturing the Flurry-sided and most affected pieces, of the cake. “What did you wish for?”

“Oh, nonsense. There’s nothing I need to be wishing for. Maybe a brandy..?”

“I’ll get it!” Twilight Sparkle called eagerly, taken by a need to be helpful and giving.

The kitchen had not changed in fifteen years. It likely hadn’t changed in twenty, or thirty. Forty and...no, her own father would have been a child, then. The span of her whole life, though; that was not insignificant. And now she was reaching for a shelf she never would have known in her youngest days. The words and laughter of quiet contentment reached her; It seemed Flurry Heart had to be subdued against simply grabbing at the cake, her enthusiasm much the delight of Nebulae.

“Here, Grampa,” said Twilight as she brought his drink to him. She put a hoof around and put herself closer to him.

And that’s how she stayed for the next quarter hour.

Parents talked, parents of parents talked, Twilight Sparkle smiled and felt slightly lost in their conversation, all her broad experience and scholasticism letting her down here. But soon afternoon came to dusk and the stars of the sky. The dragons of the cake were reborn their true selves in the night.

Family tradition would have them move to the veranda and wish upon falling stars. “I will be right there,” Nebulae said, dismissing children and grandchildren. Magic cradled Flurry Heart and up she came, her toys scattered around her save the plush snail she clung to, even as her eyelids drooped and fell.

“I’m sure Cadance and Shining-”

“Now now, Twilight. Don’t steal a moment from your grandfather.” Nebulae flashed her a grin, before the stricken alicorn could make sense of it. “You too, come, come.”

The hallway was not so very long nor the room they turned into so very dark, but memories rose for Twilight Sparkle, her own half-lidded eyes, her own barely perceived deliverance to the cradle. In grampa’s hold, Flurry Heart was a yawning, dozing lantern as the magic that ferried her also lit the way.

Great grampa’s hold, Twilight realized. That’s how it was — would be — to Flurry’s perspective. When she was older.

“Hey,” Twilight murmured, nuzzling the little one. For a moment Flurry woke a little more; maybe she would remember this moment just that little bit more clearly; the calm security of it, the gentle assurance a grandfather’s... great-grandfather’s loving hold meant.

It was only an instant, her eyelids proved too heavy and dozed again did little Flurry Heart. Nebulae laid her head on the pillow, pulled up the blanket, and gave her a kiss.

Silently, but loud and resolved in the privacy of her own mind, Twilight Sparkle promised she would remember, too.

And then, something she had not heard — had not remembered — for two decades and more.

A grandfather’s lullaby.

Flurry, Flurry, my Flurry Heart

Perfect little work of art

Under blanket, in your bed

Look forward to the day ahead.

Flurry, Flurry, my Flurry Heart

Perfect little work of art.