Princess Twilight Sparkle And Her Number Two Assistant

by kudzuhaiku

Rating: everyone
Tags: Twilight Sparkle, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Drama, Original Character, Moondancer, Spike
Length: 13268

Sometimes, things feel worse even as they get better. But a good friend can help.

Spike the Dragon, Princess Twilight Sparkle's Number One Assistant, takes it upon himself to save a pony.

He has no idea what he's in for.

Twilight is buried beneath her duties as a princess, an administrator, and as the head of a school. Sometimes, things get lost in the hectic shuffle, small, tiny, important things in desperate need of reassurance and comfort.

This is an entry in the Weedverse, but it is rather self-contained. It exists on a small, focused scale, a character drama between just a few souls.

Published 2018-07-05 19:20:14 UTC
Last updated 2018-07-08 17:38:23 UTC

Arrival

Twilight Sparkle was in one of her frenzied states of being yet again and Spike suspected that in the hubbub and commotion, Twilight had no doubt forgotten that they had to go to the train station to make a very important pick-up. Somewhat frustrated, Spike sighed, uncertain of what Twilight would do without him to keep track of well, everything.

After clearing his throat a few times, Spike resorted to words to get Twilight’s attention. “Hey, Twilight—”

“Not now, Spike.”

“But Twilight—”

“Spike, I am inundated with school stuff. Please, whatever it is, it can wait.”

“No, it can’t.” Spike began tapping his foot against the floor and his tail bobbed behind him. “Tenth hour, train station. I told you last night. Your new library apprentice is arriving and she’ll need an escort—”

“Spike, I’m positive that she can find her way here. How can she work in a library if she can’t make her way here from the train station?”

“Twilight, she’s seven.”

For a moment, nothing happened, nothing at all, and with furious vigour, Twilight scribbled away with her quill. Then, after about eight long seconds, the quill ceased its scratching. Still primed with ink, the quill began to bleed out a blot upon the paper where it rested, and Twilight’s head lifted while her distant eyes focused in alarm.

“Holy guacamole, Spike! Don’t just stand there, get to the train station! You can’t leave a seven year old all alone at the depot! I’d come along, but as you can see, I’m kinda busy.” Twilight looked down at her paperwork and then made a face of angry disgust. “And now even busier, because the ink ran. Horseapples!”

Realising for the first time that he would be going to the train station alone, Spike let heave a smokey sigh while scratching his claws against his squamous palm pads. “Fine, I’ll go to the train station. Alone. So much for making a good first impression upon your new library apprentice, Twilight.”

“Spike, I’m sorry, but I’m swamped. Buy her some ice cream or something. Look, just find a way to get this done.” Horn glowing, Twilight now devoted all of her attention to removing the ink blot left upon her paperwork.

Shaking his head, Spike departed, his tail bobbing behind him.

While Spike power-waddled down the packed-dirt lane, his tail bouncing in time to music that didn’t exist, he thought about his last Carnivores Helping Other Magnificent Predators meeting. Sometimes, the response to something cute, helpless and fuzzy was the irrepressible desire to take a bite of it and this, this was a beastly thing to try and live with. Of course Spike and his fellow members of C.H.O.M.P. would never follow through with this driving desire, but living with said compulsion was distressing, hence the need for a support group.

Spike was self-aware and maybe even a teensy-weensy bit self-conscious of his footprints. In Ponyville, a village of ponies, his footprints in the road stood out among the hoofprints. Of these hoofprints there was a great deal of variation; some small, some large, but all of them were hoofprints no matter their size. Spike left behind the unmistakable mark of his passing; everywhere he went, to and fro in the village of ponies could be tracked—followed by those with a watchful, wary eye. Standing out equated to an utter lack of privacy, but Spike had made peace with that long ago.

Ahead and to the right, there was quite a commotion. Spike’s eyes sought out the clocktower and he saw that he had no time for gawking, because the big hand was almost on the tenth hour marker. Still, he might have himself a look if he kept moving. Nurse Redheart was on the scene and Twinkleshine was approaching. Sumac it seemed, had crashed again and the wreckage of his reckless flight experiment was scattered about everywhere.

Ponyville just wouldn’t be Ponyville if Sumac wasn’t crashing into it. Being a rather large village, it was a wide, easy target to hit. Spike shook his head and hurried away just as Twinkleshine began to unload upon her helpless colt. No doubt, she would say all of the usual things—at incredible volume for the whole town to hear no less—and this was a scene that had played out with such frequency that it was now part of the day-to-day routine of Ponyville. Sumac’s scoldings were routine, and as routine, they were interwoven as part of the comforting fabric of daily life.

Newcomers to Ponyville, such as Twilight’s brand new library apprentice, would have a lot to take in. Ponyville wasn’t like other towns in Equestria. Some called it Weirdsville, an apt moniker if ever there was one. Ponyville was some kind of strange-magnet and many claimed it had something to do with the close proximity to the Everfree Forest. Others said that Ponyville was built attop ancient buffalo burial grounds. Whatever the reason, Ponyville had more than its fair share of freaks, weirdos, and oddities.

Spike couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

The tenth hour train was a common departure time for Ponyville, which meant that the station was almost empty. There had been a few arrivals from elsewhere, including an officious-looking giraffe wearing a fine tweed suit jacket (with a well-tailored neck no less) and a dapper bowler hat. Fine brass spectacles glinted in the autumn sunlight and Spike allowed himself a moment to admire the impeccably dressed creature. It wasn’t every day that one saw a giraffe in Ponyville, no, just once a month when he came to do business with the local bank.

This distraction was forgotten when Spike saw the small dusky blue pegasus filly sitting atop a battered suitcase held together with patch-tape. She looked hopeful, maybe just a little bit scared, and something about her poofy mane reminded Spike of the clouds of cotton candy that Discord was so fond of creating. Moving with the confident assurance that only a princess’ most trusted assistant possessed, he waddled over to introduce himself.

“Hey, I’m Spike.”

Squirming in a shy way, the filly managed a strained smile. “I’m Talespin.”

What Spike heard was ‘Tailspin.’ Flexing his claws, he allowed himself a cautious smile. “That’s quite a name. Do you crash a lot?”

Laughing, the filly’s shyness vanished and she shifted atop her suitcase. “I do, yes. My mother, she named me Tailspin because I get dizzy in bright light but after I got my cutie mark, she changed my name to Talespin because of my love for stories and tall tales.”

“Oh,” Spike said, realising that her name had a double meaning. “You get dizzy in bright light?”

This caused a most curious reaction from the filly, who cast her eyes about in a squinty, shifty manner, looking around her at the mostly-empty train platform. After checking to see if the coast was clear, she said to Spike in a low whisper, “My mother and I, we’re not like normal pegasus ponies.”

“I’ve met Night Glider,” Spike interjected.

Again, the filly’s eyes darted about, to and fro, checking to see if somepony was listening. “We come from nocturnal pegasus stock. We don’t have the cool wings but we have the aversion to daylight and a powerful urge to go sleepy-sleep while the sun is up. Ponies are askeered of us because of this so Mom tries to keep it a secret.”

“Kid… this is Ponyville, the capital of weird.” Spike jerked his thumb-claw back over his shoulder to the village behind him. “If that’s as weird as you get, that won’t even get you noticed here.” He saw her bite her lip and make the sort of face that ponies make when challenged.

“But I’m strange and unusual,” Talespin said, blinking and squinting. “My life is all about the secret I have to hide and my struggle to be normal. It defines my existence. What we do in the night must never come into the light, my mother says—”

“Sheesh, no wonder your mother sent you here on a library apprenticeship.” Spike—utterly unaware of his own grin—leaned in closer to the bewildered filly, determined to make her feel welcomed. He understood being an outsider—he understood keeping aspects of one’s self hidden or out of sight from others. “Kid, welcome to Ponyville. The only way to be normal here is to embrace whatever weirdness you have. How would you like some ice cream?”

“Mom told me not to take sweets from strangers.”

“Well, I am Spike the Dragon, Hero of the Crystal Empire. There. Now we’re not strangers. So how about that ice cream?”

“Yeah, okay, I guess, sure.”

Talespin yawned an awful lot, which, given her nature, seemed perfectly normal to Spike. She was a nervous, anxious sort, with all of the energy that came with that. Though seven, she was a young seven and not an older seven. What stood out about her though was her cutie mark, a pile of books with a rubber stamp beside it. Spike had seen many library-related cutie marks—living in a library castle exposed one to librarians—but he had never seen a mark like this one. It was the rubber stamp that stood out and Spike was curious about its meaning.

Even more intriguing to Spike was the fact that she was a pegasus. It wasn’t that pegasus ponies couldn’t be librarians—they most certainly could—it was just that such a mark was rare. In Spike’s own experience, most ponies with library-related marks were unicorns, because magic made it far, far easier to work with books. Talespin would have a rough go at it and she would have to work so much harder since the job would be physical for her, rather than a mental effort.

“So tell me about your mark,” Spike said between bites of maple-lavender ice cream.

“It showed up in the spring. My mom told me to clean my room and so I did and I put all of my books on the shelf and then I got annoyed that they weren’t organised so I arranged them just so and then I got my mark.” A dribble of ice cream ran down Talespin’s chin. “And that was the day that my life was ruined.”

“Ruined?” Spike’s spoon clattered into his bowl and both of his arms came to rest upon the cool edge of the table.

“After that, all my mother could talk about was that it was time for me to leave home and make my mark upon the world. She said it was the way of things. I didn’t want to leave home. It’s not like I had many friends or anything, but home is home, ya know?” She shook her head from side to side, let out a huff, and slumped down in her chair. “My mom, she hunted for a library program, but she didn’t feel that they were good enough for me. We’re poor, but she has really high standards, and she doesn’t want me being poor, so she wrote letters to Starlight Glimmer and Starlight talked with Princess Twilight I guess and somehow, I got accepted into the library program and I’m happy to be here I guess, but I didn’t want to leave home.”

Picking up his spoon once more, Spike tried to understand, to have some empathy for Talespin. This was the way of things. The younger one was when securing an apprenticeship, the better. More time spent in training and learning one’s future trade. Pinkie Pie had left home as a filly and was now considered a master baker, even at her relatively young age. If she started now, Talespin would be an accomplished librarian by the time she was a mare. A future could be secured, but at the cost of foalhood. Such was the way of things.

It left Spike a little sad.

Even worse, Spike understood. Night Glider was being a good mother. As hard as it was for Talespin to leave home, it was probably harder still on her mother. Whatever future awaited, it had a dreadful cost; Night Glider had given up her daughter and sent her away to learn a trade.

This was a good thing, with a good outcome, so why did it feel so bad?

“Mom says I’ll fit in here,” Talespin said around a mouthful of maple-lavender ice cream. “I almost didn’t graduate junior flight camp and my mom, she was so worried about stuff that she wouldn’t tell them about why I can’t fly so well in the daylight. Now my flight record shows I’m clumsy and uncoordinated and that’s just not true. But I’m stuck with it.” When she left out a huff, her nostrils flared. “Mom says its for the best. Just grit your teeth, she says, and try to make your way through the day.”

“I think that you’ll fit in here,” Spike said, trying to offer some much-needed reassurance.

“The foals of Our Town, they never stay long.” The filly sat back in her chair and rubbed her neck with her hoof. “But I didn’t think my mother would do this to me. She was always talking about how it was just us… just the two of us… and how nopony else would understand us because of what we are. She was always saying stuff about how we had to stick together… but she sent me away, just like all the others. There’s no point in making friends if you know that they’ll just be sent away.”

Spike wished that Twilight was here, because he had no idea of what to do or say. Twilight understood Our Town’s legacy and the problems it faced. If she was here, she might be able to say something that would make Talespin feel better—but Twilight was buried beneath an avalanche of paperwork. It was autumn, the time of school registries, and was the most difficult time of the year for Twilight, the time when she was most overworked and overstressed.

It was a bad situation for certain and Spike knew that Twilight couldn’t just drop everything to sort this out. Which meant that it fell upon him to make this right somehow. But how? Talespin showed signs of being a mess and Spike began to suspect that the real reason why the filly was sent here for the library program wasn’t to learn a trade, but to get sorted out. To be made better. This was more therapeutic than trade. Of course, Night Glider didn’t have the financial means to send Talespin to a good school, so an apprentice program was the best chance that Talespin had of getting out of Our Town…

And potentially having a normal life.

Squaring his shoulders, Spike prepared himself for a fight. He was a dragon, supernaturally tough, durable, and arguably, Twilight’s most capable assistant. At least, he thought so, and right now, facing such a challenge as he was, he wasn’t about to second-guess himself. No, he had a filly to save—to befriend. Sensing a challenge, Spike rose to the occasion.

He was Spike, Hero of the Crystal Empire. Surely he could get one filly settled in, sorted out, and situated. How hard could it be? What could possibly go wrong? Wringing his clawed hands together, he realised, a lot. A lot could go wrong. Spike’s heroic upswing downswung into powerful neurosis and he felt a terrified prickle in his brain. Left eyelid twitching, Spike steeled himself for what was sure to be his most important, most monumental task.

Spike was going to save a pony.

Author's Note

This will be short. It's been planned now for over a year. Now feels like the time to release it.

The next day

Mindful of his hard claws scraping or tapping against the floor, Spike crept through Twilight’s study with nary a sound made. Twilight had fallen asleep at her desk—again—and as her most trusted assistant, it was his duty to check on her. Her face was smudged with ink and the corners of her mouth were crusted over with what appeared to be peanut butter. Probably peanut butter. Twilight had whole lectures prepared about the effectiveness of peanut butter as a provider of quick, efficient energy.

The problem, as Spike saw it, was that Twilight expected too much of herself. Some jobs could be passed along to assistants—and many were out of necessity—but Twilight had such a high success rate because she personally dealt with so many of her tasks. Somehow, Twilight, through her endless correspondence and communications, convinced parents to allow their foals to attend an untried, untested school that had been attacked several times. Then there was the fact that one of its students had been foalnapped in a daring raid in the first year of the school’s existence. The fact that he wasn’t in school at the time didn’t matter, the mere fact that he was a student was the primary talking point that the media loved to seize upon.

Twilight alone navigated these many hurdles and pitfalls. Perhaps another could as well, but so far, Twilight hadn’t given anypony the chance. Though it frustrated him to no end, Spike understood. Twilight was constructing a future, a reputation, she was crafting an image and it was only through her vision that the school had lasted as long as it had. Though she was overworked, though Spike found her asleep at her desk so many mornings, there could be no denying that her efforts bore results.

Spike understood Twilight’s passion, and to some extent, shared Twilight’s vision of the future. Tail held high so it wouldn’t slap or flap against the floor, Spike waddled over to the filing cabinet in the corner, tugged open the well-oiled bottom drawer, and pulled out the somewhat musty smelling folded blanket found within. With one well-practiced motion, he unfurled the blanket—an action that he had done hundreds, if not thousands of times—and then went over to cover Twilight.

It was only fair, covering Twilight. To reciprocate. How many times had she covered him? During the most helpless years of his infancy, he had been downright narcoleptic, as dragons tended to be, and he would doze off at the most inopportune times. Twilight always got him into a bed—even if only a makeshift one—she ensured his comfort and saw to it that he was covered, because it was just something that ponies did. They covered one anothers sleeping forms with blankets, perhaps because it was a thoughtful act of kindness.

And so he did so now. Twisting his body about at his chubby waist, he flung the blanket over Twilight and scored a perfect toss. Using the handles of its drawers as a makeshift ladder, Spike clambered up onto the desk, grabbed the corners of the blanket, and tugged everything into its proper place. In response, Twilight slipped even deeper into slumber, her breathing deep, regular, and a bit rumbly.

Though a dragon, Spike was fond of blanket rituals.

Exiting through the door, Spike saw Constance Kerning coming right for him. She was something of a severe mare, with a hard reputation, a frosty demeanour, and a downright ruthless sense of efficiency—more barbarian than librarian, as some might say. Miss Kerning was a career librarian and the head of the library program in the castle. She had many skills, this mare, and she could do everything from run a library to print new books. Having served in the Royal Guard, she could also deal with troublemakers.

Spike pulled the door shut behind him and then stood in front of it, determined to keep Miss Kerning away from it. Twilight needed her sleep and he felt a vague sense of irritation at the thought of somepony disturbing it. Still, there was no point in being hostile, so he put on his best smile and intercepted Miss Kerning.

“Can I help you?” he asked. “Twilight is unavailable. Anything that you might ask of her, you can also ask of me.”

“It is almost noon, soon to be lunch,” Miss Kerning said to Spike in a matter-of-fact sort of way.

“Huh,” he replied, nodding, “so it is. But I get the feeling that you came here with a purpose other than telling Twilight what time it is. So how about we get to the point so I can help you and—”

“The newest apprentice never showed up for orientation this morning.” Miss Kerning’s face was an impassive mask, perhaps because her mane was drawn so tightly back into a bun, leaving her skin stretched tight as a drum. “This does not bode well for her professional future.”

Spike was quick to jump to Talespin’s defense. “She’s seven. There’s still time to ensure that she turns out okay. It’s her first day and she—”

“And she what?” Miss Kerning demanded.

“She might have overslept,” Spike blurted out, thinking of the first thing that came to mind. This might very well be true, he realised, due to the filly’s nocturnal nature. “She just had a long trip by train and she might be worn out.”

“That’s no excuse.” Miss Kerning’s lips pressed into a hard, thin line and her ears angled forwards over her face, touching one another, presenting a united, aggressive front. “If she was tired, then perhaps she should have gone to bed at an earlier hour. Does she have no self discipline? If so, this does not bode well for her—”

“Professional future,” Spike finished, nodding. “Yeah, I get it.” Though it was awful, he knew of only one way to appease Constance Kerning and get this determined mare away from Twilight’s door. “As Twilight’s dutiful administrator, I’ll see to it that young Miss Talespin is punished for this infraction. She’ll organise the east wing repository and uh, it’ll be done by tomorrow morning.”

“That”—Miss Kerning’s voice was hard, flinty, and could strike sparks on steel—“is downright overbearing as far as punishments go. That’s a bit of a draconian response, don’t you think? No offense to your kind meant. I believe you were just mentioning that she was seven.”

He had overshot perhaps, but he was committed to this course of action. Somehow, he had to be tougher and harsher than Miss Kerning so that she could be and would be appeased. She only respected strength and domineering authority and something about how she had done a turnabout was satisfying to Spike, even as it alarmed him.

“I’ll even see to her punishment myself to ensure that she stays on task and that no corners are cut,” he added, doubling down. A plan was already forming in the back of his mind, but he would have to think on it a bit more before jumping into action. “I’ll make her pull an all-nighter so she can understand how we do things in this castle.”

“Ruthless,” Miss Kerning deadpanned. “Clearly, Spike, you have your sense of professionalism sorted out. I admire that. Very well, I shall inspect and grade Miss Talespin’s work on the morrow, at say, the seventh hour?”

“Why wait so long?” he asked. “I plan to make sure she’s done by six. Do you show up for work at six? I don’t recall.”

“Have you no mercy?” And then, as an afterthought, she added, “I arrive at the fifth hour to ensure that everything is perfect before the library opens for the day.”

Spike began to wring his squamous hands together and his scales scraped against one another in a pleasing, soothing sort of way. “Do your inspection at six.”

“Very well, Mister the Dragon.” Bowing her head, Miss Kerning turned about in prim, fastidious manner, snorted once, and walked away muttering about the cold-blooded ruthless efficacy of dragons.

Holding his breath, he watched her go. She was right up there in his pantheon of fussy mares, every bit as persnickety as Miss Harshwhinny or Rarity. When she rounded the corner and vanished from view, he let out the breath he was holding with a drawn out smokey huff. Now alone, a fervent sense of panic gripped his guts and he knew that he needed to go and check upon Talespin, who was probably asleep in her room. Or so he hoped.

Talespin’s room wasn’t much of a room, but it was a room that she had to herself. Night Glider had insisted upon it as part of the agreed terms. It was down in the depths of the administration wing, a cramped place of offices, file storage, and sleeping quarters for staff that lived on site. Yesterday, when he had shown her to her room, she had been downright delighted, but Spike wasn’t sure why anypony would be overjoyed to live in this dark, sunless place that some called the dungeon.

Adopting a Rainbow Dash level of stealth, he crept through the darkened corridor. Nopony was here right now, none of the offices were occupied. The ponies had no doubt collected their work for the day and had gone elsewhere, someplace bright and cheerful. A broken roller copier stood in the hallway, reeking and stained with ink. At the end of the hallway, he came to what had once been a janitorial supply closet.

Opening the door, he peered around, squinting while his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Only the hallway illuminated the room, and he didn’t want to turn on the lights because that would be rude. Against the far wall was a cot, but it was empty and without blankets. This alarmed Spike a great deal and if Talespin wasn’t in her bed, then where could she have gone?

Eyes darting about, panic slithering through his guts like wriggling serpents, Spike clawed at the scales of his stomach trying to figure out what to do next. He most certainly didn’t want to announce that there was a missing apprentice. Had she run away? Gone back home somehow? How did one lose an apprentice anyhow? This did not bode well for his professional future.

Ugh!

Spike felt like swearing, but a ‘gosh’ or a ‘golly’ wouldn’t cut it. He was immune to having his mouth washed out with soap, because soap was delicious. Gripping his tail, he gave it a hard squeeze and began to plan his own funeral. He stared at the cot for a time in stunned disbelief, then at the bookshelf, then the battered, busted up suitcase tucked beneath the cot, and finally, his gaze came to rest upon the tall, narrow wooden wardrobe that Twilight had insisted be put into the room so that the filly would have a place to store her stuff.

It was at that moment that Spike remembered that pegasus ponies liked birdhouses. No, no, that was tribalist to call them birdhouses. But pegasus ponies had sleeping boxes—well, some of them anyhow—they had these wardrobe-cupboard-closet things that they slept inside. It was rude to call them birdhouses though, because it was a pony and not a bird that could be found inside. Pegasus ponies could also be found in birdbaths and one might even find them eyeballing your birdseed feeder, but you weren’t supposed to say anything because it was rude. One had to be tolerant of pegasus ponies in your birdbath out of a sense of cultural respect.

It was one of the many important things that Twilight taught in her school.

Hustling across the room as fast as his stubby legs would carry him, Spike approached the wooden chifforobe, hopeful that he would find the missing filly before she was actually missing and that this crisis could be averted. He hesitated, his breathing heavy and hard, with his heart pounding against his ribs in a funky rumba beat that was in dire need of castanets for accompaniment.

Chic-chic-ky-boom!

Chic-chic-ky-boom!

Gnawing on his lip, Spike opened the door with as much care and stealth as he could muster. What he saw inside almost caused his heart to stop. Tucked within the chifforobe, in a nest made from pillows and blankets, was Talespin, and she was all curled up into a fetal ball. She clung to a stuffed ursa minor that had glowing, twinkling stars, teeny, tiny celestial bodies that cast a pale, faint light, leaving her face freckled with motes of silver.

Spike was forced to take a step back or have his heart stop completely.

Steeling himself, fighting back the dreadful urge to take a bite, he closed the chifforobe door. Stupid no good dragon instincts, wanting to chomp cute, cuddly, innocent things. This, this was why Spike tried to respect pegasus ponies and their birdhouses. He understood having powerful instincts that drove one to do odd things, like sleep in a box. With a stuffed ursa that was enchanted with glowing stars, which only heightened the cuteness factor. It was a sight so insufferably cute that he wanted to bite it to make it go away.

Turning about, he hurried away, relieved that Talespin was safe, sound, and secure.

“Smell that, Spike?”

Distracted, Spike had no idea what Moondancer was talking about, nor did he have any idea that she was scrutinising him whilst he stared off into space. He was going to have a long day and even longer night, which would be followed by a day whose length would stretch into infinity. His brilliant plan left no time for sleep and he wondered how he was going to pull this off.

“The smell of panic, Spike—”

To which he blurted out, “I’m not panicked!”

Moondancer gave him a cool stare through her chunky, unfashionable glasses and her eyebrow crinkled like a cramped, constipated inchworm forced to do sit-ups. Spike was panicked and Moondancer only made it worse, what, with her piercing stare and her aggressive, expressive martial eyebrow.

“Soon, these halls will be overrun with students,” Moondancer said with monotone melodrama. “The first of them have already arrived. You can smell the panic, Spike. You can smell the fear and panic rising from the teachers like a ruinous, reek. I bumped into Lemon Hearts—just a gentle bump, mind you, and she squealed like a changeling held over a fire.”

Spike gulped.

“All of the teachers are whispering, Spike, they talk in hushed voices, sharing their concerns. What dreadful disaster awaits us this year? Another harpy attack? An invading army? A team of changeling infiltrators disguised as students? Will we be seized upon by bureaucrats and be regulated within an inch of our lives?”

One of those things was not like the others.

“It’s my job to keep us secure, Spike. Me. The pony that got taken and replaced by changelings. Twilight seems to think that I’m the most qualified, because I’ve had experience.” Moondancer laughed, a harsh, grating sound that to Spike, was like claws dragged down a chalkboard. “She says that my newfound hyper-paranoia is a boon to us all and now she is trying to put it to good use.”

“Are you feeling well, Moondancer?”

“Just fine, why do you ask?”

“Well, uh…” The words got lost in Spike’s throat and failed to find the exit.

“Spike, you’re going to be my security assistant,” said Moondancer in a hard to hear whisper. “These herd animals are easy prey and I can’t rely on them. I was a herd animal once… but since then, I’ve evolved. Adapted. I’ve become a wolf in a frumpy sweater since I got taken… you know, maybe Twilight is right. Perhaps I am the right pony for the job. Thanks for helping me get my head sorted out, Spike. Good chat, Number One Security Assistant. I’ll put in a good word for you, ‘cause you’ve helped me see clearly. You’re a dragon in need of a promotion.”

“Right.” Spike nodded even as his spine went stiff and he wondered if perhaps he should salute or something.

“Eyes peeled, Spike. Eyes peeled. The fate of many rests upon us both.” Humming to herself, Moondancer tromped off, her hooves striking a heavy rhythm against the floor.

The list of things that he needed to worry about grew just a little bit longer…

Author's Note

So, for those unaware, I've had Twilight running a school long before the show did. I merely mention this as a helpful frame of reference.

Also, pegasus ponies in birdbaths will never stop being funny. That is all.

That night

A harried day followed Twilight’s impromptu nap at her desk and now Twilight was showing signs of strain while she ate a hayburger loaded down with extra-extra-extra fried pickles and kumquat chutney, a taste sensation picked up from none other than Pinkie Pie. This was Twilight’s seventh such burger, and Spike had no doubt that she would eat the remaining five before there was even a hint of cold upon them.

“Fried Pickle-Burger Kumquat!” as Pinkie Pie was fond of saying.

“I spoke with Constance,” Twilight said, speaking with her mouth full in a most unprincessly manner. Kumquat chutney dribbled down from the corners of her mouth and left dark stains upon her chin.

Spike tensed, wondering what Constance had said and if anything had been said about his chosen solution earlier. What had he been thinking? The east wing, a city administration repository, was enormous and it was an absolute mess at the moment because the summer records had been delivered, but not sorted and put away.

“I like Constance,” Twilight continued, her lips smacking while she chewed. “I was a little bit worried at first when Raven suggested her, because of her background in the guard. I really don’t want a militaristic environment in my castle. But Constance has really surprised me.”

“Yeah,” was Spike’s weak, faltering reply. “She’s great.”

“Spike…”

“Yeah, Twilight?” He felt the growing tension and feared whatever might have been said.

“She didn’t give me specifics, or say anything bad… but she did suggest that she’s concerned for you. I was told that you came up with a brilliant solution, she actually said ‘brilliant’ and this mare, she calls everything stupid, you know how she is… but she also said it was… harsh. She mentioned that I should have a chat with you to see how you’re holding up under pressure.”

“If we’re ever attacked again, she’ll be great at defending the students,” Spike said.

In response, Twilight crammed the remaining half of her hayburger into her mouth and began chewing all while unwrapping waxed paper wrapper from her next victim. Looking at her, Spike couldn’t help but think that Twilight looked a bit like some mutant squirrel, with her bulging cheeks and bright, alert eyes. Yes, she had a squirrelly look about her, Twilight did.

After swallowing, Twilight said, “Applejack would be proud of that misdirection, Spike.”

“You think so?” He glanced down at his own food, most of which was uneaten.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Then, before Spike could answer, Twilight assaulted her next victim and bit off almost a good third of it. It bled kumquat chutney and its fried pickle innards spilled out onto the waxed paper strategically placed on the desk below Twilight’s chin.

Spike knew that Twilight would spare none of them.

Waddling through the halls, Spike felt bad about not telling Twilight what was going on. He had reasons—many reasons—and when he said them in his head they even sounded like pretty good reasons. Twilight was already overworked and had enough on her mind. She didn’t need to deal with his mistakes. And he had made a mistake, no doubt. In an attempt to please Constance, he had used dragonbreath to kill a fly, when a flyswatter would do.

It was now the second fifth hour and much of the castle had quieted as the evening hours took hold. Thirteen hours from now, Constance would be ready to do her inspection. It didn’t feel like enough time, and he was tired already. Rounding a corner, he wondered if Talespin was still asleep. She might be. A few hours ago, when he had taken a moment out of his busy day to check on her, she was still sound asleep, secure in her chifforobe nest.

When Spike entered, he found a bleary-eyed Talespin sitting on her cot. She had been reading a comic book by the looks of it, but had put it down when he’d entered. He stood in the doorway, uncomfortable, uncertain, wondering if he should have knocked, but knocking would have meant waking her up and he hadn’t knocked earlier.

“You missed orientation,” he said to the filly.

“I’m sorry… I was so sleepy. I had a really long trip with a long layover and I…” Talespin’s excuse trailed off into nothingness and then, after a moment of silence, she yawned. Looking a bit embarrassed, a bit guilty, she offered up an apologetic smile and asked, “Is somepony going to feed me?”

“There’s a kitchenette down the hall and to the left.”

“And somepony will get me breakfast?”

A creeping feeling of concern caused Spike’s shoulders to go tense. “You have to get your own breakfast… but I’m guessing that you don’t know how.” Squeezing his eyes shut, Spike tried to contain his growing stress. “Apprentices are responsible for feeding themselves, but I don’t think that anypony took into account the fact that you are seven and not a unicorn.”

“What’s a unicorn got to do with it?” Talespin now wore a perplexed look.

“Uh…” Spike, besieged by stress, fought to collect his thoughts. “Magic. Nevermind. Look, I’ve done something terrible to you that you don’t know about yet. I was trying to protect you from Miss Kerning, but I think I goofed. It might have been better for you if I’d just kept my mouth shut. So… uh… um… I’m going to feed you and then we have a long night ahead of us sorting books.”

“I can sort books,” Talespin said in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Good, because there’s a few thousand books that need sorting.”

“Oh.” Talespin’s jaw fell open and sat there on her cot, mouth agape.

“Miss Kerning was kinda steamed that you missed the orientation and she was going to lecture you about how this does not bode well for your professional future and she’s a really stern mare and I sort of said the first thing that came to my mind to try and save you, but I’m pretty sure I made things worse and I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine… I slept all day.” Talespin took a deep breath and plucky determination blazed in her eyes. Too much plucky determination was bad for pegasus ponies though, for obvious reasons. “Will you at least keep me company? I miss my mama and I’m in a strange place. Please?”

The question almost knocked the wind out of Spike. Wringing his clawed hands together, he stood in the doorway and felt bad. He had planned to stay with her, but after hearing her say how she missed her mother, the importance of staying with her was, well, all the more important. Because he hadn’t answered yet, Talespin was slipping into sad-filly mode and he could see that her protruding lower lip was starting to get a familiar quiver.

In the close quarters of her room, the full effect of it would be devastating to behold.

“Well get it done together,” Spike blurted out before the filly’s face-magic could get any worse or gain intensity. “Right after I feed you. Come on, we have a lot to do. So much to do.” There was a muffled whump when his tail hit the floor and he realised that he was already tired. “Let’s go, Talespin.”

About an hour later…

The east wing was quiet, deserted. For good reason too, because the rhomboid-shaped room was a disaster. Two wagons were parked in the center of the room, each of them filled to the brim with books, ledgers, and the like. Minutes from the town hall meetings, accounting ledgers, various filing ledgers for things like marriages, births, and deaths, these were the summer records—just the summer. From the looks of things, this summer had been an eventful one.

Spike reckoned that in a year or two, this room would be completely packed with records and that there would be no more room for storage. These were important things that the public needed access to, for all kinds of reasons, and Twilight was a stickler about the care and preservation of the Ponyville archives.

“It’s too bright in here,” Talespin said, squinting and shielding her eyes with one raised foreleg.

Spike didn’t think it was particularly bright, but what did he know? He stood akimbo, his clawed hands resting upon his hips, and tried to think about what to do to remedy the situation. This was going to be a miserable night, so anything to make it better would be nice. Candles, he realised, would work, and he knew where to get some.

“Hang on, I know just what to do. I’ll be right back.”

Talespin whistled while she worked, but it was unlike any song that Spike had ever heard. She warbled, which was normal enough, but she also made strange clicking and popping noises. He couldn’t help but watch her as she flitted about, swooping down to collect a few books and then zooming away to shelve them. Talespin… was a weird filly and a freaky flier. Her wings made hardly a sound at all in flight and something about her reminded Spike of Owlowiscious, who was also a stealthy, spooky flier.

Spike organised the books into stacks and piles, sorting them by whatever means required. Some ledgers followed a series of dates, and so he sorted them by date, while others were alphabetical. Once the books were sorted, Talespin shelved them, maintaining their proper order. More than that, the filly knew how to shelve books, and Spike noted that she kept all of the spines aligned, a detail that was sure to please Miss Kerning. The books presented a regimental front, a unified flat, even surface. They were soldiers in formation.

Even Twilight would be impressed.

This wasn’t bad at all, Spike felt. Why, it was almost pleasant. It was work that he didn’t mind, and Talespin seemed to be enjoying herself while flapping around in the darkened heights of the east wing. For somepony who was supposed to be a clumsy flier, she hadn’t crashed once, or even bumped into anything. Somehow, she avoided the hanging lights, which were all turned off. Nothing was disturbed. How was she doing this? Spike had no idea, but he was impressed, because it was dark up there where the candlelight could not reach.

If Spike was to ever admit the truth, he liked jobs like this. It felt like hoarding. Every dragon wanted to amass whatever they could and then spend endless hours organising their collection. But he had to be careful with these feelings, because they could get away from him, they could run rampant and cause all manner of problems. But he secretly liked to believe that the books were his hoard, and moments like these when he was organising them could be satisfying, if a bit tedious. Every book was a bit of treasure, something to secure and put on display.

It was approaching the second tenth and one wagon was almost completely emptied of its contents. Spike was starting to think that he and Talespin might pull this off, though he was feeling mighty tired. By midnight, two hours from now, he would be a draggin’ dragon, but he was determined to see this through.

“What is going on here?”

The sudden unexpected sound of Moondancer’s voice almost caused Spike to knock over the fortress walls of books stacked all around him. He cringed—hard—and now that his heart was thumping, he felt wide awake. Even with his newfound awareness, he had no idea what to say or how to begin explaining this.

“I heard whistling,” said Moondancer while tapping one hoof against the floor. “So I go to find the source and I find you sorting books with a filly… by candlelight no less. Spike, is there something you want to tell me?”

Spike wanted to say a lot of things at the moment, but his tongue was tied.

“He fixed me breakfast too,” Talespin said, and her words no doubt sealed Spike’s fate.

“This morning?” Moondancer asked while cocking her head to look up at the filly hovering just above her.

There was a squeak from Talespin and Spike could see the panic settling over her face.

When there was no answer, the mental gymnastics began. “What sort of filly calls an evening meal breakfast?” Moondancer’s eyes narrowed in a dangerous way. “Unaware of social rituals, are you? I know what to do with your kind! Prepare to be—”

“Moondancer! No! She’s not a changeling!” Now, Spike found himself the target of the paranoid unicorn’s baleful gaze and he suspected that she was suspicious of him, because she was a paranoid hot mess. Why, she might even think he was a changeling. “There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this if you’ll just give me a chance to tell you!”

“So supper and sorting books by candlelight with a filly that calls supper breakfast—”

“You shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Spike said, his claws flexing. “I have no idea how you jumped to that conclusion but I swear, I can make everything make sense.”

“Well, you’re clearly on some kind of date, Spike, I get that… but with who? She seems… off somehow.” With a swivel of her head, Moondancer leveled her fierce, piercing stare upon Talespin. “What have you done with Spike? Why is he doing your bidding? If you really are a filly, a fact that we have yet to determine, what are you and Spike both doing up past your bedtimes?”

“It’s not a date,” Spike said, his voice weak and lacking any sort of meaningful volume. His eyes darted around from candle to candle while he tried to understand how Moondancer had arrived at the conclusion that this was a date. Then again, Moondancer and Twilight both might consider sorting books a worthwhile date, a thought that troubled him a great deal, though he could not think of why at the moment.

“It could be date,” Talespin said while shielding her face with her forelegs, trying to block out the eye-searing glow coming from Moondancer’s horn. “But it isn’t because colts are grody.”

“Spike is a dragon.” Moondancer’s irrefutable logic swung into the conversation like a wrecking ball.

“So he is, so he is. But if you’re going to jump to conclusions, you need to think like a seven-year-old, lady, otherwise, you’re just embarrassing yourself.” Squinting, Talespin continued to shield her eyes.

“Who are you?” Moondancer demanded.

“A filly whose mama told me not to talk to strangers, strange lady. Who are you?”

This seemed to disarm Moondancer, who visibly relaxed and her horn went dim. “Your mother is a smart pony. That’s how they collect your voice, by hearing it. And once they steal your voice, the trouble starts. My name is Moondancer”—here, she turned and gave Spike a hard, meaningful glare—“and I am Twilight Sparkle’s Number Two Assistant.”

Spike did not contest this hotly debated fact, as Twilight had quite a few number twos. He could, but at the moment, he wasn’t in the mood to be transmogrified into something, something small, furry, and helpless, like a gerbil, or worse. Moondancer could most certainly do worse.

“Look, Talespin, you need to tell Moondancer the truth about how you are. It’s the only way to sort this out. And I think Moondancer will understand, because she’s an insomniac who stays up all night. In fact, she doesn’t sleep much at all, which worries all of us.”

“Good distraction, Spike, but that doesn’t draw away attention from the fact that you were sorting books by candlelight with a filly. And what’s up with the whistling? It’s a weird sound. It’s not natural.”

“Whistling helps me see stuff—”

“What?” Moondancer took a moment to adjust her glasses, and then repeated herself. “What?”

“I don’t know how it works, but whistling helps me see in the dark.”

“You’re echolocating?”

“What?” Talespin uncovered her face and her eyes flashed red in the faint light.

“Whoa, freaky!” Moondancer began backing away and the hair on her exposed haunches now stood on end.

Spike waited, not knowing how this ended, and he was more than a little freaked out by the sudden red flash in Talespin’s eyes.

“I can’t tell her my secret—”

“You told me your secret,” Spike said, interrupting.

“There’s a secret?” Moondancer demanded while recovering her composure. “Secrets are bad, changelings feed on secrets.”

“My mama told me not to tell other ponies, stupid. You’re a dragon, which is why I made an exception for you.” Talespin landed upon the edge of the wagon bed and stood atop the narrow wooden rail. “And that was a mistake because now my secret is about to get out and that’s bad.”

“What’s going on?” Moondancer returned to being fierce and something dangerous glittered within her eyes. “What sort of filly uses echolocation?”

“Just tell her,” Spike begged. “Maybe Moondancer can help you.”

Talespin blinked and once again, her eyes flashed red in the light, then returned to their normal brilliant blue. Spike could see the struggle on her face, the pain, some shame, and a lot of fear. It must have been awful, having to hide this for seven years of her life, only to have it exposed now. Also, the Talespin that Spike saw now was a completely different pony, and not at all how she was in the day. He heard a strange clicky-warbling, which seemed like a nervous, fearful sound, and was nothing like the cheerful song he had heard earlier.

“You… you just echolated,” Moondancer said, her voice firm and commanding.

“I did what?” Talespin’s eyes darted to and fro, sheepish and alarmed.

“What are you?” Moondancer took a step forward and her eyebrow was now a dangerous ‘V’ over her eyes.

“I am the night!” Talespin responded while she took off, flapping, and within seconds she had retreated into the dark shadows that lurked about the ceiling.

“Young lady, just how many comic books do you read?” Moondancer was squinting again, trying to see into the darkness overhead, but she hadn’t ignited her horn.

“My mama says too many,” the filly replied, her voice eerie in the darkness.

Spike longed for the tension to end, because he couldn’t take the hammer-blows of his heart smashing against his ribs any longer. Moondancer was taking this well, she took it in the way that only Moondancer could, and now that the mare’s all-consuming inquisitiveness had been triggered, it was only a matter of time before she knew everything, because that is what Moondancer did.

“You look like a diurnal pegasus, but I don’t think you are.” Moondancer adjusted her glasses and continued to squint, looking for some sign of the hiding filly. “The fact that I can’t hear you flying suggests a great deal and I’m guessing that you have a unique wing structure. Come out!”

“No! You sound like a creepy mad scientist that wants to cut me open and study me!”

“I do not!” Moondancer stomped one hoof against the floor and shook her backside in annoyance. “You read too many comic books! I am a scientist, but I’m not a mad one!”

That was debatable, but fearing for his draconic form, Spike said nothing.

“I have candy—”

“My mama told me not to take sweets from strangers! Especially creepy mad scientist strangers that want to study me!”

Without realising that he was doing so, Spike chewed on his claws, all of them.

“Spike, you have a weird fillyfriend. Wait till Twilight hears about this. You’ve found a nocturnal bookworm pegasus.”

For Spike, this proved to be entirely too much. Inside of him, something broke free and rebelled against the tension. Every muscle tensed, his scales scraped against one another, his spines and frills all stood out, quivering with aggression. Claws flexing, eyelids twitching, he felt his internal inferno blazing.

Every withheld emotion came out as a mighty roar, accompanied by gout of green flames.

Author's Note

:trollestia: - What a mess! Moondancer everywhere! That's never coming out of the carpet!

Quite some time later

Once her questions had been answered, Moondancer was rather cordial about the whole affair, which Spike found reassuring. That was the thing with Moondancer; once her paranoia was assuaged, she returned to being the pony that Spike remembered going back to his earliest, most formative years. Like Twilight, Moondancer was only all too happy to answer all of his ‘why’ questions and she had been patient with him during his most inquisitive phases. In her own way, Moondancer was responsible for the dragon that Spike had become and he felt a faint, but nonetheless painful twinge of regret about the years that they had drifted apart.

She was watching now, studying Talespin with marvellous, Moondancer-esque intensity while the filly continued with her task of organising and shelving the books. While Moondancer watched the filly, Spike sort of watched her, in between bouts of sorting books so that Talespin could swoop in to pick them up. As quickly as things had fallen apart, they had come back together, which was the way of things, he supposed.

Spike felt bad for almost setting her on fire, but Moondancer, as always, had been prepared. In the blink of an eye, she had raised a shield and then had extinguished the flames before any real harm could be done. She wasn’t even angry, annoyed, or the slightest bit ruffled. Mere moments after it had happened, she had hugged him and comforted him—a reminder of what sort pony Moondancer truly was—the pony she had always been and the part of her that remained after her troubling ordeal.

As he calmed down though, his powerful sleepiness returned, bit by bit, little by little. Sorting through the books was becoming far more taxing. Realising that Moondancer was a unicorn, and not just any unicorn but a unicorn whom possessed powerful magic, Spike had an idea. Setting a book down, he gave voice to his thoughts.

“Any chance of you helping us?” he asked, hopeful that this might be over in the next few seconds.

“Not a chance,” Moondancer replied without skipping a beat. “You got yourselves into this mess, it is good for you to get yourselves out of it. I am here as an observer, nothing more.”

The response was just a teensy-weensy bit frustrating, but Spike accepted it. He was too tired to be angry, or to have an emotional response. Plus, he didn’t feel like resenting Moondancer after she had soothed and comforted him after his explosive outburst. In general, dragons didn’t have protective maternal figures for the most part, so angry dragons tended to stay angry, and become jerks. Spike knew that he was who he was because of ponies like Twilight and Moondancer, as well as so many others. His anger never lasted long and any time he got his scales bent out of shape somepony would help smooth them out.

He was not a wild creature trapped in a perpetual state of temper tantrum.

“You’ve made a fascinating friend, Spike,” said Moondancer in a low whisper. “I know Night Glider. Starlight introduced us. Night Glider is a fierce warrior of a mare… but I had no clue that she was keeping a secret. Which is, perhaps, the point of keeping a secret. What I am trying to say is, I would have never expected any sort of abnormalities. She never showed any signs of being different.”

“The ponies that stayed in Starlight’s town did so for a reason,” Spike replied.

“So they did, Spike. So they did.” Moondancer’s face went slack while her eyes turned thoughtful. “You know, with things as they are right now, I too might’ve tried to find solace in a place like that. Nopony trusts me, Spike. I hear the whispers behind my back. I hear the ponies second-guessing Twilight’s good judgment. It’s so bad that even I second-guess her judgment, because I failed so hard. I got duped, Spike, and then I was taken. You… you’re one of the few that still treats me the same. I mean to say, you haven’t changed, even though I have.” She shook her head while huffing out a sad sigh. “I don’t know what I’m saying or the point I’m trying to make. But I can talk to you, like I’m doing right now.”

“There’s Sumac—”

“Yeah, but that’s super weird for me. Sumac was friends with the infiltrator who replaced me. I don’t know what I’d do without his friendship… I can’t even make sense of his friendship. That poor kid, he has it rough. He’s got the sorcerer’s curse.”

“She’s got it rough too,” said Spike whilst gesturing at Talespin. “Getting her to open up and be trusting is going to be hard. You won’t help me with the books, and I’m fine with that, but do you think you can help me with her? She can keep you company on the nights you don’t sleep. She needs to know that she can be herself while she’s here.”

Moondancer turned away, her ears splayed out sideways in a relaxed position, and she sighed, a soft, weary sound that was a match for Spike’s own exhaustion. He realised that his friend was feeling sorry for herself and he agonised over his awareness. A stray glance at the clock told him that it was just a little past the second hour, which meant that there was only about four hours left before dawn.

“Moondancer…”

Her ears pricked, though they did not stand, an indicator that she was listening.

“You’re good at making others feel like they belong—”

“Me? The recluse that lived alone, cut off from my friends? Me? The pariah that I am right now? Me… the pony that nopony trusts because they all think the changelings did something to my mind? I don’t belong at all, Spike.”

“You never made me feel shut out,” he said, struggling to overcome her harsh, self-condemning words. “I’m a dragon… lots of ponies made me feel like I didn’t belong. It… it… it was you that got Twilight’s other friends… our friends, to accept me. You… you shamed them into it. You made them feel guilty for shutting me out. You helped Twilight too, by helping me, because when I was shut out, Twilight felt the same. She never felt accepted unless I was accepted and that’s true even today. And… and… and maybe Sumac needs you, because he’s an outcast too… in his own way. You don’t treat him like a sorcerer, Moondancer. To you, he’s just another pony.”

“Just another pony… who just so happens to be a sorcerer.”

Spike felt the tension return to his shoulders and he wished it would go away.

“Thanks, Spike.”

“For what?” Puzzled, he tried to read his friend’s face—but to no avail.

“For making me feel better. For helping me to see some value that I wasn’t even remotely aware of. For being my friend. Take your pick, Spike.”

“Oh.” Spike held a book in his claws, but try as he might, he couldn’t seem to read anything and his current state of distraction proved impossible to overcome. There was a warm prickle beneath his scales and he found himself possessed with a strange desire to hug Moondancer, a physical, intimate reminder of their friendship.

Dropping his book with a heavy thump, he rushed to end the emptiness between his arms…

Later… an unknown period of time later…

Spike awoke from troubling dreams about moths banging against the window and pleading to be let in so that they too, could enjoy the warmth and light. Dizzy, disoriented, he could not remember going to sleep. There was no memory of getting into his bed, or of finishing his task in the east wing for that matter. No memory of being covered in a blanket, and yet, here he was, in his bed, tucked in beneath a blanket.

His body was sluggish, uncooperative, and more than just a little hungry. He had missed Miss Kerning’s inspection. After all that fretting, fear, and worry, he had met with failure. A part of him wanted to go back to sleep, because he didn’t want to face the consequences—not now, maybe not ever. As a dragon, he could sleep for a long, long time. Why, he could sleep out his problems with ponies if he so desired, and when he woke up again, they would be dottering about with old age.

But no, sleep was the enemy. Laziness and lethargy would rob him of meaningful, wonderful experiences, moments that he would miss, the times that he would treasure. Ponies only lived for the blink of an eye, their lives were short, so short, and ended all too quickly. To be like them, to be with them, he had to sleep like them, which meant following a schedule, which he had broken.

Dragging himself out of bed, he agonised over his failure.

He found Twilight in a rare moment of downtime, sipping a cup of tea that had no steam because its residual warmth had long since departed. She was looking up at a life-sized portrait of Princess Celestia and there was a serene calm about her face. Still freaking out, Spike rushed to her side and came to a skidding halt, his claws dragging sparks from the floor.

“Constance couldn’t quite recall ever seeing the shelves in such a state of perfection,” Twilight remarked while Spike began to wring his clawed hands together. “Not one book was out of place. Spine-alignment was perfect. I daresay that mare was impressed, Spike.”

Try as he might, he could not remember finishing the job. He remembered hugging Moondancer, and not wanting to let go, and she had said things to him, kind things, reassuring things, and… she had held him. What had happened beyond that was anypony’s guess, but he needed to know. He had to know if Talespin was okay, because he had taken it upon himself to save her.

“Moondancer told me some mighty peculiar things about Talespin, Spike. I had a chance to meet her just a little while ago. The legacy of Our Town troubles me.”

“I would imagine so,” was his weak reply. “Where is she now, Twilight?”

“Miss Kerning pulled her into her office for a chit-chat—”

“NO!” Every nerve in Spike’s body jolted to life and before he realised what he was doing, he was sprinting for the door, waddling as fast as his stubby legs would carry him. His own tail worked against him, swinging from side to side in a wild way that threatened to destroy his balance. “I gotta save Talespin!”

Spike hit the door running and very nearly tore it from its hinges.

A short run later…

Spike cannonballed though Constance Kerning’s door, which banged open on impact. Heaving smoke, he froze in the doorway while his eyes tried to take in everything. Talespin was in a chair, looking a bit sleepy, as if she had just woken up. Constance’s desk now served as a makeshift table for tea and the horrible lecture that Spike had dreaded… did not seem to be happening.

Smirking, Moondancer waved while Miss Kerning took a deep, steadying breath.

“Hello, Spike. Would you like to join us for tea?” Miss Kerning asked while the ghost of a smile haunted her stern features. “I was just getting to know young Miss Talespin, getting to know her strengths and weaknesses so that we could tailor the program to be a better fit for her.”

“I will be…”—Talespin raised her teacup during her dramatic pause—“the Librarian of the Night! I will strike down evil in the form of unsorted, unorganised books! Mild-mannered sleepy filly by day, book-sorting maniac by night!”

It was at this moment that Spike suffered an emotional crash. His limbs turned leaden, his brain mostly shut down, and he stared at Miss Kerning with a dullard’s dimwitted stare. He… he had put so much time, effort, and energy into saving Talespin—such a big deal had been made about saving her—and she… she was saving herself. His brain simply could not process this information and he stood in the door, stupefied.

“Poor Spike… he just woke up, Miss Kerning. He was up way past his bedtime last night. Talespin is nocturnal, Spike… not so much. Please, forgive him.”

“Indubitably.” Miss Kerning gestured at the table. “Please, join us. Have a seat, Spike.”

As the words were spoken, Spike felt himself dragged to the table by an irresistible force, and then he was plopped into a chair beside Talespin. His mind was desperately trying to make sense of the situation and his body could do nothing until his mind had finished its task. Had Moondancer saved him and Talespin? Had she finished the books? He had to know. He needed to know, so he could be grateful.

“Miss Talespin here was just taking her first steps towards a glorious professional future by telling me more about her special needs. Her specialised assets, as I like to think of them. Libraries are busy places by day, but deserted by night, and night time is the best time to get work done. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Spike gave Miss Kerning a slack-jawed stare while the stern mare set a cup down in front of him and began pouring tea.

“Being Twilight’s most trusted, most valued assistant, you saw Talespin’s potential right away, because of course you did, and you made a valiant effort to create a circumstance where she might shine. Quite impressive, Spike.”

“Yeah?” Having recovered enough to speak, he watched as Miss Kerning drizzled a bit of honey into his tea. “Yeah… I did… I did that.”

“It presents a bit of a challenge, it does. The library education program happens by day, but I am confident that a workaround solution can be reached somehow. You’ve already taken steps towards that end, Spike, again, showing remarkable foresight and leadership.”

In silence, he watched as a few teacakes were set down before him.

“Moondancer is an accredited Master Librarian, among her many outstanding qualifications, and one of her many degrees is in the library sciences. I do believe that Moondancer would appreciate having a student to help while away the long hours of the night.”

When Spike turned to look at Moondancer, she was grinning at him in the most disturbing way. The sight of her made him shiver, because she looked just a little too pleased, and something about her face reminded him a great deal of Twilight during one of her neurotic victories, when she seized upon something and could not let go.

Sometimes, it was better to let go.

Could a pony be saved by accident? The idea settled into Spike’s brain and made itself at home. Talespin was giggling about something and he turned to look at her, to study her, to understand her. No… no. She had saved herself—but had done so because he had inspired her trust. For a moment, he started to feel disappointed that he hadn’t saved her, as if he had failed in some unknowable way, but he dismissed that. She had saved herself and he felt… he felt proud about it.

Talespin was free to be herself and she had found others that she could trust.

It had started off with him trying to be her friend and had turned into this… whatever this was.

“After you went to sleep last night, Moondancer and I—”

“Hush, Talespin. We Librarians of the Night must keep our secrets.”

“Oh, right.” The filly’s eyes darted about in a sneaky, furtive way. “The Superhero Code of Silence.”

While clutching his teacup in his claws, Spike stared at Moondancer, demanding to know what had happened. She was smiling, Moondancer, and he could not recall the last time he had seen her this happy. It had been a while… happy moments for Moondancer had become elusive after her capture, but to see her now reminded Spike of the filly he once knew. Dragons had long, perfect memories and he retreated into these now while a warm prickle played beneath his scales.

“Miss Talespin, we need to do something with that unruly mane of yours. It is not professional. Have you thought about wearing a bun?” Constance sat down in her chair and did so with perfect, rigid posture.

“No, I’ve never thought about transforming my secret identity into a grandma before.”

Moondancer snickered.

“Buns are very professional,” Constance said, her twitching cheeks tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“I wouldn’t know,” Talespin said, “because I sit on my buns. I am not a bun-head.”

“Perhaps a braid.” There was a never before seen twinkle in Constance Kerning’s eyes now. “Anyhow, if you are to be a librarian, you must look the part. It is done to reassure the public, dear. The librarian is a reflection of how they keep their books.”

Talespin’s head made a slow swivel, turning in Moondancer’s direction. Though not a word was said, Spike understood the intention; in his struggle to contain his laughter, he almost dropped his teacup. Moondancer scowled, but it was a good natured scowl, and Talespin had a mischievous gleam in her eyes. At some point while he slept, a new friendship had formed and he was witnessing it now.

The strangest things happened while one slept.

At long last, Spike relaxed, and did so without realising it. All of the tension melted away, his shoulders slumped down a bit, and a contented sigh escaped him while he settled into his chair. This felt good. Maybe he had overreacted just a teensy-weensy bit, but things had turned out okay. Everything had sorted itself out, as things tended to do. He had, in his own way, contributed to the stability of Twilight’s castle.

A filly had been given purpose, trust had been established, Moondancer had a companion to ease the long hours of the night, a new side of Constance had been revealed, and Spike knew it was all because he had made a choice to save a pony. No, Spike realised, it wasn’t about saving a pony, it was about choosing to care. Talespin could very well be just another face, another filly, one of the many who frequented these halls. He could have brought her back to the castle and left her to her fate, but because he cared, because he had shown compassion, something better, something greater had been achieved.

For Spike, it was a confirmation of the values that he and Twilight shared.

Author's Note

The epilogue is coming.

Epilogue

Tilting his head skyward, Spike looked up to the stars. They were the impossible hoard and every dragon dreamed of collecting them, but they were difficult and out of reach. He sat on the floor of the balcony, thoughtful of the events that had taken place over the last day or so. Somehow, while making a new friend, he had cemented his relationship with Moondancer and gained another friend in the process. Constance Kerning wasn’t a bad sort when she wasn’t wearing her professional guise and was a completely different pony in private than she was in public.

Down below, the lights of Ponyville created islands of illumination that drove away the gathering darkness. Warm, inviting yellow light spilled from windows and formed intricate patterns upon the streets. It was most certainly autumn and the diamond dog days of summer were gone. A faint chill lingered in the air and Spike knew from experience that whatever crops not yet harvested would soon be lost to frost if the farmers did not hurry.

This was, perhaps, his favourite time of the year. With summer over and Nightmare Night on the way, there was a giddy sense of anticipation, the torturous pleasure of waiting. Then came winter, and with winter, Hearth’s Warming. Yes, this was the best time of year just because of the holidays.

He heard a soft rustle, the sound of feathers against a fine, silken hide, and knew who it was without having to turn to look. With her hooves making soft clip-clops against the stone floor, Twilight approached, whinnied once, and sat down with a rumbling wicker. When Spike turned his head, he saw Twilight gazing upwards from out of the edges of vision.

“I’m proud of you, Spike.”

He allowed the stars to steal his gaze away from Twilight. “You are?”

“More than you know, Spike. I had a long, long talk with Talespin while you were asleep, and she told me everything that happened. Even your fiery hiccup with Moondancer. The more she told me, the more impressed I was, and the more proud I felt. Because of you, Talespin was able to come out of the closet, if I can borrow that phrase, and now she’s itching to live life. Keeping that secret and holding everything inside was wrecking her life.”

Eyes on the stars, his thoughts scattered and adrift, Spike had no response.

“Spike, everything we do begins and ends with the friends we make. That’s a friendship lesson I learned the hard way. In fact, with the hardest lesson that I can recall, it was you that saved me. I completely succumbed to my anxiety and my neurosis. That was a tough lesson… that… incident we agreed to never speak of again.”

A smile spread across Spike’s face as he thought of a certain doll, his once hated rival.

“You have a knack for saving ponies, Spike. It shows that you care.”

This got his attention and with a turn of his head, he looked up at Twilight. Their relationship was impossible to define, too complex to be put into words. They were so different—different species in fact—and she had grown older while he had hardly aged at all. She was soft, fuzzy; he was hard, scaly. Yet, they had more in common than there were differences. Learning how to live with and accept one another’s differences had changed them profoundly; Twilight had become the Princess of Friendship, while he was becoming… something.

Spike wasn’t sure what he was becoming, but that was okay. Twilight was aging rapidly so she had arrived at what she was meant to be first. He knew that whatever he was meant to be would happen in time—perhaps even after Twilight was long gone. That was the scary part, the part that never sat well with him. He would be forced to watch Twilight grow old and he feared the pain it would cause. However painful it might be, it was better and far less painful than the alternative, and that was not having Twilight at all. Every minute mattered, especially minutes just like this one, staring up at the stars together.

Spike feared what few dragons did, and that was time itself.

Twilight slipped a foreleg around him, pulled him closer, and he leaned against her whilst heaving a contented sigh. A curious static existed between them, with the electric charge built up by her pelt and feathers reacting with his scales. He didn’t possess much sensation in his scales, so a soft touch did very little, but electricity was a sensate experience that thrilled him and left him wanting more.

“Sometimes… sometimes I don’t know where I end and you begin, Spike. I trust you with so much… everything really. I would not be the pony I am without you. When I’m buried beneath work like I’ve been, it feels good to know that I can trust you to deal with pretty much anything. Spike, what I am trying to say is, I want you to know that you are appreciated.”

Fearing that he might ruin the moment somehow, he said nothing, but continued to lean against Twilight. With his ear frills pressed against her ribs, he could hear her heart and her breathing, a reassuring, comforting sound. How many times had he fallen asleep listening to these sounds? Too many times to count.

“So much depends upon our successes and our failures, Spike.” There was a vulnerable tremour in Twilight’s words and when she said them, her foreleg tightened around Spike. “So much more is expected of me now as a princess. Maybe even too much. I have to delegate responsibilities to others and I hate doing that. They do things their way… not our way. It’s getting harder, Spike. I’m afraid that I’ll have to ask even more of you. Because you and I are so successful, more and more is expected of us. Us, Spike. I couldn’t do this alone.”

“I wanted to save her,” he said, thinking about his feelings for Talespin. “Twilight, I wanted to save her but she saved herself. I got pretty worked up about it, and I even felt bad about it… that I wasn’t the one that saved her, I mean. But then I felt proud about it. She did a pretty good job of saving herself, Twilight.” He paused for a time while searching for just the right words, but they eluded him and whatever he was about to say next escaped only as a sigh.

“That’s the hardest lesson to learn, Spike. Letting others save themselves. I have a pretty hard time with that myself. I suppose it’s not so different than wanting to do everything myself, because I want to make sure the job is done a certain way. I struggle with that every day. Maybe it is time to let go of a few things and let others have a crack at it.”

Somehow, Twilight understood what he was getting at without him saying it.

“Spike… I need for you to be my eyes and ears among the students. Look, I understand that it is asking a lot of you, but I need to know what is going on. I’m a grown up and an alicorn. I’m the authority figure in their lives, so they behave differently around me. Act differently. Talk differently. This experience taught me something, Spike, and that is why Talespin trusted you. More importantly, you were worthy of that trust. Going into this second year, the school faces a lot of challenges. We need to stay on top of things if we’re going to face them.”

“I can do that,” he replied, and he was confident that he could. He wondered if the meeting at the train station might have gone differently if Twilight had come along. Perhaps Talespin might not have been so open, so trusting. The what-might-have-beens gave him a lot to think about.

“Spike, I have to get back to work.”

“Just five minutes longer?”

“There’s a lot that needs done—”

“I’ll help,” he offered. “I slept all day so I’ll be up all night. Just five minutes more of this… of us, Twilight. Looking up at the stars. It’s just five minutes, surely you can spare that.”

“Very well, Spike… just five minutes more.”

Author's Note

It's done.