Author's Note

This was oddly emotional, and I really did not plan for that to happen initially. Well, stories have a mind of their own I guess.

Enjoy!

Baby Steps

Blueblood blinked at hearing the nickname. He hadn’t been called such a thing since before his mother had died. His mother, rest her soul, had died when he was four of a small bleed in her brain that had not been detected in time. His memories of her were scant and few, but he could remember her calling him that as a child. His mouth dried up at the thought of her voice.

Mesma had learned of this from Celestia. The Prince’s aunt had been forthcoming to her about things he had enjoyed as a foal and as a colt at Mesma’s request. She had shared with her favorite toy selections, books, and specifically, that nickname. It had been Celestia’s idea for her to call him that, in the hope that hearing it would stir awake the child inside of him. Mesma had been very hesitant at first, feeling that that had been overstepping the line between Blueblood and his deceased mother, but Celestia had felt it important, a good step in the right direction, to have him called that. She hoped, she had told Mesma, it would make him think about how she would want him to behave. Mesma had reluctantly agreed. In this space it was easier to come to terms with, but she still did not feel completely comfortable with it.

Mesma had gone over to the changing table in that interim, pulling out a pacifier for her charge. When she looked over at Blueblood, Bluey Bear now, He was over at the playpen, staring at some of the toys inside. Mesma went over to him.

“See anything you like?” She asked.

He pulled a dingy stuffed dog toy from the playpen with his magic. “Is this…?”

Mesma nodded. “Your dog, Brownie. He was the first stuffed animal your mother ever gave you, correct?”

Blueblood managed a nod. “I remember now. She said she gave him to me a few days after I was born, and said that I wouldn’t sleep without him as a foal. She used to tuck me into bed to sleep with him every night before…” He couldn’t finish that sentence. “What is he doing here?”

“According to your aunt your father removed most of your toys after your mother passed away, but your aunt managed to save some of them, and this was one of the ones she saved. She said you gave him to her one night to sleep with when you were younger because you were afraid your Daddy would make him leave. So you hid him in your room until you saw your aunt. She kept him for you this whole time.”

Blueblood looked over to her. “She… Kept him?” He unconsciously pulled the dog to his chest.

“She did. She knew how much he meant to you, and she never forgot that. I think she never gave him to you before because she knew your father would get rid of him and because you never asked about him after a time. According to her, that is.”

“And he’s here?”

“Well of course. You never leave a foal without their favorite toys to play with. I asked her to find any toys of yours she still had. I have copies of books you liked as a foal, and snacks to suit your taste. You don’t take care of any child without knowing what they like. That would be cruel.”

That gave Blueblood much to ponder. If this was a punishment, as he had once thought it to be considering all the rules and structure that seemed designed to humiliate him, why give him this? A life ring in raging waters. It made him think.

Mesma gentled her tone as she spoke again, not wanting to startle him. “You can play with him, you know. I think he would like that. He’s probably missed you quite a bit.”

Blueblood stared down at the stuffed dog, his chocolate brown eyes that held so many memories. He could still remember what he imagined the dog sounding like when he spoke to the young prince. “I… missed him.” He said.

“If you don’t want to play right now, he could always accompany you while I read you a story.” Mesma suggested.

Blueblood looked up at her. “A… Story?”

Mesma nodded. “Yes. Like I said, I have copies of your favorite books from your foalhood in here.”

Blueblood weighed his options. He could play, but that would be humiliating. He could be read a story, but that would be odd. The latter seemed like a better option. He could have time to think.

“Can you read to me?” He asked.

She nodded and smiled. “Of course.”

When he tried to walk forward to the shelf, though, he waddled as the diaper pushed his legs apart. It took some getting used to, but he managed. He looked through the shelf at the colorful books and picked out one that looked familiar. The three bears. When he turned to Mesma, she was sitting in the rocking chair, and she beckoned him over with a wave of the hoof. He looked at her, uncertain.

“Foals sit in laps for story time.” She explained. He nodded, and awkwardly climbed into her lap. He made himself comfortable, and she began rubbing his back soothingly, handing him a pacifier before she started to read. This too plucked a string in his memory. His mother used to do this for him when she read to him before bed. He thought idly that he hadn’t thought of her this much in such a long time. He focused on the story, for the most part. Occasionally he would cuddle his stuffed companion, but mostly he listened. He looked down at the pacifier in his hoof. He knew at this point he was expected to use it. Much as he wanted to fight that, he didn’t see what good it would do. His aunt had made her orders clear, and Mesma had shown him surprising compassion since he was in here. Besides, he was already in a nursery, cuddling a stuffed animal in another pony’s lap. What dignity was there left to lose? So, he popped in the soother and took a few tentative suckles.

It tasted and felt odd, but it was soothing in it’s own way. A steady rhythm of suckling gave him something to focus on. He was listening to the story still, but now he had something to occupy him instead of sitting idly, something he did not particularly enjoy when it came to a situation like this. Suddenly though, he was hit with a wave of exhaustion. The downside of being still was that that meant your exhaustion could catch up with you when you weren’t actively outrunning it. He had spent many nights that week up late, studying diplomacy and discourse between kingdoms. Unconsciously, he leaned his head against her shoulder, mostly because it was blocking the chair backing. She wasn’t unaware of this and smiled. When she said something to him, he didn’t hear right away.

“What?” He asked after pulling the pacifier from his mouth and blushing a shade of puce.

“I said do you want to take a nap?”

“I haven’t done that since I was a colt.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present.” She said.

“I can… nap here?” He asked.

“Well of course. Foals take naps, you know.”

“I… Oh. Right. Okay.” He was unsure of how to process all of this, and he needed to think straight. He couldn’t do that while tired.

He got off of her lap, and went to the crib, and she did too. She let down the side and he got in. It was very comfortable, he decided. A soft mattress, nice blankets, nothing scratchy or itchy. She tucked him in, putting his pacifier near him and looking at him with a tenderness he couldn’t understand or fathom. She gave his face a gentle stroke and it surprised him enough to momentarily wake him.

“Sleep tight, Bluey Bear.” She whispered.

“G-Goodnight.” He stammered. She posted herself in the rocking chair and he pulled Brownie close to him as he tried to process what had just happened. But before he could do such a thing, he was asleep.