Foundation of Friendshipby kudzuhaikuChaptersThe light goes outA light in the cellarA light, shelteredIlluminating conversationEpilogueThe light goes outThe world outside the window was every bit as bleak and unappealing as what was found inside. A city cloaked in drab grey mist, blanketed in fog, and shrouded in a perpetual sense of hopelessness. Yet, for all the awfulness found outside her window, it was better than the misery found inside the house. With a turn of her head, she surveyed her room, but there was nothing to see. Just a tiny room with bare floors, no bed, no blankets, no anything, and a window with no glass. Not even shutters. And she was supposed to be grateful for all of this nothing. Again she had been lectured. Lamp had but one job—and that was to live up to her namesake. To stand in one spot when told and keep the darkness at bay, because the darkness was scary. The shadow of Nightmare Moon remained in the darkness and many claimed that they could still hear her maniacal peals of laughter coming from unlit corners. She had failed in her job—her one simple job—and the lady of the house made her feelings known. Lamp had no gratitude, it was said. No appreciation for all that she'd been given. But looking around her empty room, she wasn't sure what she had. The master and the lady of the house weren't particularly cruel, not like previous caretakers. But they had no real kindness. They loved and doted upon their own foals, but not Lamp. She was little more than furniture. A light. She could fill the room with a warm glow. Why, she could even change the colour of her light, something that she'd never seen another unicorn do. If that made her special, she certainly did not feel that way, given her circumstances. Did she really want to return to the world outside the window? A world of hunger and desperation? Canterlot was a city too busy growing to be much else. It was supposed to be a shining beacon upon a mountain, a light to cure darkness-plagued Equestria—but it hadn't quite lived up to its promise. Canterlot Castle was still under construction; she could see it from where she sat looking out her window. It was a place of mud, of filth, a hazardous maze of chamber pots carelessly emptied out of second-story windows, a place of danger in every shadow-shrouded alley. Canterlot was nothing at all like the Everfree. But the old capital was now little more than a ruin and a grave where a nation founded by two sisters lay buried. It was a place that Lamp could barely even remember. It was a fabled place, one of story and song, a place of beauty and light. Or was. Her parents were there, in the Everfree. In the city that now belonged to the dead. Just two among the many. She couldn't remember the cataclysmic events of that night, for she was far too young. What little she could remember was the darkness, the omnipresent inkiness that devoured everything. It was dark… and then it was not. Lamp could remember the light—her light—and the stygian terror could not exist where she shone so brightly. No one had brought her food and she wasn't supposed to leave her room. Her stomach growled like a caged beast. There was food outside the window—food that could be stolen. Taken. There were merchant stalls left unwatched by careless, unattentive vendors. Getting caught meant dealing with the Watch… and potentially ending up back here, in this place, or another one just like it. Lamp was, in the words of the Watch, a repeat offender. A feckless felonious filly, a frequent flippant free-spirited filcher of fruit. She only had so many years left to get sorted out because there was no leniency for adults. There were mines beneath Canterlot. An endless maze of crystal caverns filled with riches. Some called it the Underworld. The ponies sent there were never seen again, so it was said. Lamp suspected that she might end up there, in the Underworld, and if she did she wouldn't even have a window to look out of. The lady of the house liked to remind Lamp that she was bound for the Underworld if she didn't change her ways. Bad ponies lived in the darkness… exiled away from the glorious sun. There was no worse fate than to be cast into the darkness, though sentenced to servitude was a close second. The glassless window beckoned and the dirty, dingy city outside held promise. If nothing else, she could at least score a free meal. Afterwards, she might sneak back in, or she might not. Maybe she could leave Canterlot altogether. Find some other city, perhaps one free of the Watch. Anything was better than remaining in an empty room, with an equally empty stomach. With a weary-but-resigned shake of her head, she clambered for the window. It was a narrow thing, but she was a skinny filly, and would be for the immediate future if she didn't eat better. The skies promised rain and dense, soupy fog hid the peasant stables from view. Looking down at the walled garden below, she suffered a moment of intense dizziness as everything slid in and out of focus right before her eyes. This was quite a drop, but not the worst she had suffered. Wedged into the window, she had to wiggle-wiggle-wiggle until her fuzzy rump was free, and then she plummeted to the ground down below. It felt good to run amuck on the cobblestone streets once more. Lamp was hungry, but she was free. She walked with her head held high, deftly dodging all of the questionable bits of mud and not-mud that lay in steaming heaps in her immediate path. New towers grew like trees, with every bit of land staked out and ready for construction. Burly earth ponies hauled immense stone blocks while pegasus ponies hauled in chunks of ice—which unicorns would melt into water so that mortar could be mixed. There was a profound sense of hope in the construction, a feeling that, even if things weren't great now, they would be fine later. When? Probably when Lamp wasn't alive. New streets were being laid down. Not just any streets; there were promises and assurances that these very cobblestoned arteries that connected to the heart of the city would be here a thousand years from now. That was the big promise, the reason to strive, to struggle, and to continue. Everything accomplished now would one day give Equestria, a nation still in its infancy, the glorious future it deserved. Princess Luna's betrayal, Nightmare Moon's assault, it had wounded them, but it was not their end. While many of them were gone, Equestria itself survived. It was said that as long as there was a Princess Celestia, there would be an Equestria. While all of this sounded good, it was all just words for Lamp, who had more pressing concerns. She lived in the now. Equestria might be a wonderful, magical land later—but Lamp was hungry now. Lofty speeches and passionate promises did nothing to fill her belly. There were eye-catching bits of colour amongst the grey and filth. A red and white striped awning here. Flags fluttered atop brass and copper poles. Shops with inviting windows. There was so much to see and to do—but one had to be careful. The Watch was out in force, no doubt looking for troublemakers, miscreants, ne'er-do-wells, and pilfering pony plunderers purloining precious perveyed prizes. But those prizes were well guarded. Market Circle was packed with the Watch, some of which were on patrol, while others stood guard at every entrance. Going in meant getting pinched, because Lamp was a foal without parents, and unattended foals were not welcome in the marketplace. She had circled several times, patiently patrolling the protected perimeter, but found no means of entrance. Still, she enjoyed herself, being out in the open once more, being free. There were other markets, other places, but the pickings might not be quite as fine. The peasant quarter had dreadful food. Unsatisfied with what the situation had to offer, Lamp began to plan a heist. Overhead, the sun flickered briefly, then dimmed. Like all the other ponies around her, she tilted her head upward to peer at the subdued sun, but did not stare directly at it, because she knew better. The sun did this quite a bit; at this point it was a common occurrence. A daily event that always caused a pause. Weakened, the sun did not shine as bright, which meant that it was cooler, which in turn meant that things didn't grow quite as they should. Before Nightmare Moon, the sun was strong, powerful, green things grew, and it was warm. Alas, Lamp only knew this from stories told to her. A weak, shuddering sun was all she knew. Unlike the other ponies around her, Lamp understood the sun's condition. She could not say why, or how, but she had a profound understanding of how light worked, and the sun was just another light, albeit a rather powerful one. When she was sad, or moody, or sulking, her own light grew weak and did not shine as bright. She had to be happy for her light to shine—though anger also offered truly spectacular illumination. Lamp knew that the Princess of the Sun had to be unhappy. Hurt. Heartbroken. And so the sun suffered. So too, did the peasantry, from the looks of things. The peasant stables were communal. These buildings were not built with permanency in mind. Everything was ramshackle, crooked, and appeared ready to collapse with but a gentle breeze. Lamp had herself a better look around, because it had been awhile since she'd come to this part of Canterlot. The labour market was in full swing and a sizeable crowd of earth ponies performed feats of strength in hopes that they might get hired. Beyond the labour market was the peasant market. No sign of the Watch. Not here. Lamp might have been an orphan, but she was a unicorn. As bad as things might be right now, a better life was sure to come later—though she could not say how or why. It was just one of those things that was assumed. Even poor unicorns, the non-nobles, were well off. They weren't peasants. This didn't feel very fair, but this was the way of things. She had been told that earth ponies liked living communally, that this was their way, but she wasn't sure if she believed that. Her eyes roamed the crowd, glancing at different ponies gawping up at the sun, some with slack-jawed, wide-eyed expressions. Earth ponies, it was said, had no magic, only industry. Lamp wasn't sure if this was true either. She rather doubted a lot of things adults said, because adults lied. Adults lied and argued about everything. Like recently, she started hearing that Princess Luna and Nightmare Moon were two different ponies, and that Nightmare Moon murdered the Moon Princess. This wasn't true at all—Lamp knew this for certain—but the adults still bickered about it. The way Lamp saw it, the idea that Princess Luna turned to darkness was an unpopular notion, and so an alternative was offered for ponies to believe in. The trouble was, some adults did actually believe this. Foals might learn it from their parents, and, in time, it might become true—even if it wasn't. Perhaps the same could be said about earth ponies and communal stables. Squinting as the sun continued to flicker, the young filly wondered what else might be untrue. The pegasus ponies lived in the clouds; a city called Cloudsdale, in fact. As for the unicorns, they lived on the mountaintop, above the clouds, in the city of Canterlot. And the earth ponies… most of them lived below the clouds. Lamp—who knew very little—seemed to recall that this is how it used to be for the ponies who had ventured here during the Windigo Winter. Another event that adults argued over and about which the facts were hotly contested. If anything in those stories was true or not, she had no way of knowing—those events happened long before her birth—but what was actually true as far as she could see was that old ways were alive and well. It was but one of the many things she thought about when she roamed the streets. The air smelt of the ocean. At least, it smelled the way that Lamp imagined the ocean must smell like. Briny, nose-wrinkling, almost eye-watering, with the faint reek of sewage. She had never seen the ocean, but had heard stories. Endless water as far as the eye could see. All manner of stories were told about the ocean, and the faraway lands full of monsters. The deep water protectected Equestria, so it was said. This was one of those things that Lamp wasn't sure if she believed. During the Windigo Winter, when the world iced over, ponies crossed the frozen sea in search of a new home. So too, did the monsters. But the stories were vague and something the adults argued over. There was very little to be found in the peasant market. Mostly pickled vegetables, hard cheese rinds, and the lower crusts of bread. She hated the lower crusts, the parts of bread baked hard as a stone and almost burnt in the oven. The upper crust was golden blonde, light, fluffy, airy, and so much easier to chew. The cheese rinds were the least desirable parts of the cheese, something that no self-respecting unicorn would ever be seen eating. Yet, she had eaten them. Slim pickings. Half-empty barrels. Or maybe half-full. It was impossible to tell. There wasn't a lot of it, and alas, poor Lamp felt conflicted stealing away from those who had so little. And what little they did have wasn't particularly nice to begin with. She could not help but feel that they deserved better. Maybe she deserved worse. As bad as it was, she had a room with safe stone walls, a roof that did not leak, and secure stone floors. Though rain did come through the glassless window. Hunger made one desperate. But said desperation caused no small amount of conflict between her ears and there was a pain just above the hollow ache that was her stomach. She didn't mind filching fine food from her fellow unicorns… but after seeing the sad condition of the peasant market, this felt wrong. Perhaps it would be best if she just went home. The lady of the house would feed her eventually. After the evening meal, there were bound to be table scraps and unfinished, unwanted bits. She sighed; what was a filly to do? Again, she sighed—this time louder than her previous exhalation—and this time she leveled her gaze upon the stone-filled carts. These were curious carts, quite literally carts before the ponies. Stone was brought down from higher up on the peak as a shelf was carved out for the city on the side of the mountain. These overloaded carts were heavy, so long teams of earth ponies were hitched behind them, so the carts could be slowed as they rolled down the gentle incline. It was a dangerous process, one fraught with peril. Ropes broke. Chains snapped. Yet, the work went on day after day, and this had gone on for as long as Lamp could remember. For as long as she had lived in Canterlot. There was no stopping the carts; not until they rolled into their cradle, which halted them. Industry. The ponies had industry. Lamp watched as the very mountain she lived on was carved up, broken down, and turned into a city on the flat expanse left behind. If one squinted, one might almost see some signs of unity. Pegasus ponies organised things from overhead. Unicorns used beams of potent magic to cut away slabs of rock like slices of cake. Earth ponies lowered the stones down to the city proper and transported finished stones to where they needed to be. Stone blocks, cobblestones, pillars, slabs, arches, and floor tiles. What future awaited her? She did not know. She could not guess. All she had was her lamp—the magical brands of destiny on her sides that suggested her future purpose—which had appeared when her light pierced that fateful night of darkness, and her wits. The young filly doubted her wits, because her stomach rumbled while she was surrounded by food. What stopped her? She didn't know. Usually, it felt good to steal. It satisfied some deep itch that she could not explain. But not today. Not now. Heists were supposed to be fun. Exciting. Sometimes, there was a bit of sport and a long run. Making off with a load of moldy, rock-hard cheese rinds had no appeal whatsoever. Overhead, the sun decided that it could no longer be bothered to shine. The flickering ceased and the sun settled into a dull orange glow that offered little warmth and even less cheer. It shone because it had to, not because it wanted to. At least, that was how Lamp saw it. There were nights when she had trouble getting her own light to shine. But her caretakers didn't care about excuses. Failure to perform meant a lecture of some kind. Gratitude, laziness, a lack of appreciation for all the good things she had, which was the same as gratitude, really. It occured to Lamp that she and Princess Celestia had something in common. They both had to make their light shine, even if they didn't quite feel up to it. Even when they were sad. When the day was dreary and they were in need of respite, they had no choice but to keep the light on. There was a difference though, the little filly knew that. If she didn't keep her horn lit, the room got dark. But if Princess Celestia did not make the sun shine, terrible things, awful things beyond imagination would happen. The princess had to keep the lights on and she got to live in a castle. She probably had a nice room, with a soft bed, and all of the good food she could eat. Princess Celestia did not have to plan market heists. Lamp on the other hoof had a very different life in exchange for her services. A cold room with nothing in it. She ate scraps, whatever might be leftover after a meal. Her caretakers took her in not out of love, or even kindness, but because there was a belief that every unicorn life was precious. Even a unicorn with multiple arrests before their decade celebration. She would grow up and her magic would serve society in some great way, though nopony could explain how or why. It was just assumed. The lady of the house—in rare moments of what might charitably be called equinimity—told Lamp that being young was the hard part. When she was old enough, she could make her own future. Maturity brought freedom. But for now, she had to do as she was told, keep the light on, and for the love of all things good and green, keep her mouth shut. It was said after all, that things could be so much worse. One could be an orphan with no home. No care at all. Lamp had lived both ways, but could not determine which was worse. With her head angled towards the faded sun, Lamp dreamt of something more, something greater. As awful as life had been, her spirit was still every bit as bright as her namesake. She never had these hopeful moments in the house, in her room, staring out her narrow window. No, these moments only came when she was out and about, on the streets, while hunger gnawed at her belly. Moments like right now. For whatever reason, these instances mattered, these were the moments to live for, and these moments brought out the best in her. There was just so much potential in times like these. For a few seconds, she was completely lost to reverie, but the sound of shouting jolted her back to full awareness. At first she thought the shouting was about her, that she was about to be pinched. This had happened so many times now that it was reflex to react in such a way. But she was in no immediate danger. No members of the Watch stalked her. Wary, her eyes darted from place to place as every muscle in her lean, bony body prepared for action—whatever it took to respond, she would be ready. But she saw no threats. Ears pricked now, she listened to the shouting, to hear what was said. There on the cart road was a colt. He stood there, stupidly, perhaps dazed, and totally oblivious to the shouted cries of alarm. Why did he just stand there? His head was pointed the wrong way to see the danger just behind him, the overloaded cart filled with stone. Nopony moved to save him and the colt did nothing to save himself. Ponies were content to shout at him, but did nothing to remove him from harm's way. "Well, rotten eggs and princess legs!" Little Lamp felt that such swearing was warranted as she sprang into action. She was closest to the colt, practically sitting on the edge of the cart lane so she could watch the world go by. "Get out of the road, stupid! Move!" But the colt did not budge; in fact, he failed to respond at all and did not turn to look at her. When she was just a few yards away, she reached out with her magic, wrapped it around the colt's hind legs like a glittery, glowing lasso, and with a good, hard yank, she yoinked him away from the danger. An eyeblink or two later, the cart passed by where the colt had been standing, and it was at this moment that the colt realised the danger. Wide-eyed, he made a strange creaky cry, like a rusty door hinge. Furious, the filly femininely fumed. "You… you dummy! What're you thinking? You could've been crushed, you idiot!" Shaking now, shivering as if afflicted by some great and terrible chill, the colt watched as the carts went by, rolling over the very spot where he'd stood just seconds ago. The crowd went back to doing whatever it was that crowds did when things weren't exciting. Wanting some kind of response, Lamp let go of the colt's legs, grabbed him by his head instead, and with a gentle tug, she pulled him around to face her, fully intending to lecture him right into the ground. Why lecture? Because it very much felt like the right thing to do, that's why. "Hey, stupid!" she shouted. Then with a powerful inhale, she sucked in the necessary amount of wind for a good and proper lecture. But the colt had other plans. Making what could only be described as a bleating sound, he threw himself at Lamp. Legs all a-wobble, he crashed into her. Of the two, he was the smaller and she was the larger. He was younger, she was older. Still bleating, he clumsily flung his forelegs around her neck, and clung to her whilst sobbing like a stricken sheep. Then, eyes closed, he hung from her neck and did not let go. Assaulted in such a way, Lamp tried to remove him; she shoved and shouldered, but he was stronger than her. Even in his horrid condition, which she only started to recognise in confusing bursts, the little earth pony colt was far stronger than her. Why, he was nothing but bones and filthy fuzz. At some point—quite recently in fact—he'd taken a direct hit from a thundermug carelessly poured out of a window. To say that he smelled was an understatement. Colts were stinky, that was the way of things, but this colt… phew! The pummeling wallops to her senses caused her magic to fizzle completely, and her horn went dim. Now she was helpless and had no chance whatsoever of removing this horrid thing from around her neck. More carts went trundling past. "You could've been squished," she said in a much softer voice than she wanted. Now she had other problems. Complications had been introduced into her day, with the disgusting dummy hanging from her neck chief among them. A jumble of emotions tumbled around inside her mind all while she breathed in hot, stinky air. She could not recall a time in her life like this one and she decided that she did not like being hugged. Not at all. Not even in the slightest. Her parents had probably hugged her, but she could not remember them doing so. No, her earliest memory was pushing back the darkness when she was still but a yearling. Everything else was shadow. This… this was awful. Why did ponies do this? It was hot, with bad air, it was uncomfortable, and unpleasant. She squirmed, but was completely powerless. When she reached the point where she could bear it no longer, she hollered, "Hey, leggo!" But the colt did not let go. "Hey, stupid! Lemme go!" No response; the colt's forelegs remained locked around Lamp's neck. "Are you deaf?" she asked. "Leggo of me!" When he did not let go of her, it occurred to Lamp that the colt might actually be deaf. He did not hear the shouted warnings, nor did he respond to the danger. For whatever reason, he failed to turn around to check behind him. Other things circulated through Lamp's mind, such as the discovery that she did not like to be touched. This had never been a problem before. Her caretakers were not at all affectionate, which was a good thing. Yes, she concluded, the colt had to be deaf. And so began her other observations. While she was thin, he was starved. She'd never encountered a fuzzy skeleton before, and she didn't like it. He was incredibly filthy, and worse, he had horrible, absolutely abominable breath. The smell was so bad that some instinctual part of her mind suggested that he must be sick in some way—which was all the more reason why she wanted him gone from her neck and away from her. He was clearly diseased. But then she noticed other things, such as the way he shivered. She could feel the grind in his joints. There was a sensation of desperation, a feeling that she understood all too well, and so her revulsion began to turn to sympathy. He was injured, that much was obvious in the way that he did not put his weight down on his left rear leg. Mere moments ago, she had grabbed him by both of his hind legs. Was she the cause of his injury? It bothered her that she might be. He was so thin, so frail, she might have wrenched a joint when she yanked him clear of danger. Her skin grew cold everywhere the colt touched her, as if he leeched precious heat away from her. She felt the cold of the day, the damp oppression of the fog, and the cruel wind tried to burrow down beneath her shaggy, newly-filthied pelt. The creeping chill outside was no match for the growing cold within. Lamp—little street-smart Lamp—lept to the conclusion that there was no help to be had. The colt needed help—they needed help, because they were in this together. Yet she knew that she could not take him home. Her caretakers would do nothing; they already had one urchin in their home, a source of much consternation. The crowd would not help. Lamp began to look around her at all of the adults. Surely somepony had seen this colt go by. Surely they had to see his bones, his protruding ribs, the sharp sawteeth of his spine. Anypony with eyes could see that he was starving, perhaps to death—but none had offered to help. Lamp could feel herself being squeezed in some unknown sort of way, a physical sense as well as a metaphorical one. The deaf colt had been ignored and left to fend for himself. Rather than despair, Lamp grew angry, and what a righteous anger it was. She shivered once—though not from cold—then felt something within kindle. The tiny spark became a furnace, and her fury became an inferno. Her foalhood, such as it was, burned up in the blaze, and in its place was something else, something new, something born of fire. When her horn re-ignited, her brilliant incandescence offered not only illumination, but heat as well, and it was every bit as roasty-toasty as the sun on its brightest days. What could be done? What could she do? Suddenly, and quite without warning, Lamp found herself in a position of responsibility. This was strange and new to her, overwhelming and unpleasant. Whatever was done, she would have to do it herself, and this, more than anything else in her life, scared her. She'd already determined that the grownups had failed in some spectacular way. Because she was a unicorn, she'd been plucked off of the streets. She was given sustenance and shelter, however minimal it was. No such kindness was offered to this colt, no generous benevolence given. Why? She knew why. She knew why. And so it was that young Lamp—though now perhaps not quite as young, having suffered a moment of rapid maturity—had herself an epiphany. She had some great moment of sudden understanding that connected her to her marks, the brands of destiny that also served as her namesake. Lamps were only beneficial when they lit the way for others. A lamp that shone in empty darkness did nothing, nothing at all. It served no function, no practical purpose. But a lamp that pushed back the darkness so that others might go about the business of living, that was when a lamp truly became a light. She understood that the light relied upon observance for its existence. With all of this also came a great many thoughts about Princess Celestia. No one cared. Not a single pony intruded upon their moment. None of the multitude around them came over to check on the colt's wellbeing. Never in Lamp's life had she been so close to another pony—practically overlapping—yet felt so isolated. The way her eyeballs stung made her blink, but she did not cry. Like so many others orphaned after Nightmare Night, she had no tears left. The distance between her and the others around her became inconceivably vast, broader than oceans, wider than continents. She stood alone on a frontier of pococurante indifference. Not wanting to be like the others around her, Lamp slipped one foreleg around the colt's neck. He practically collapsed against her in response, going limp somewhat, and his bony rump fell to the ground. Unlike Lamp, the colt still had tears left, and they oozed from the craggy crusts found in the corners of his eyes. There would be no going back to her caretakers. Not now, not ever. She had a life to live, if not for herself, then for others. Her purpose had never been clearer, yet she was aware that there was little that she could do to provide for herself, much less others. The sting in her eyes grew unbearable. To so clearly understand one's purpose in life, to have such clarity about one's brands of destiny, and yet no clear path forward was a cruel fate indeed. Lamp knew what life expected from her—all of the clouds had parted and she had perfect clarity of vision—but she also knew that what life asked of her was impossible. And so, like so many before her, Lamp found herself living with a conundrum. An enigma. For destiny to have called at such an inopportune moment was a terrible, tragic fate, one that she did not deserve. Life continued to be unfair and there was nothing she could do about it. Author's Note Well, here we go. First chapter. There are more to come. How is everyone? A light in the cellarHis eyes were cold spring flecked with harsh autumn. Lamp had his attention now and so she studied his eyes so that she might find some way to reach him. To be so close and to stare into the eyes of another was uncomfortable, but it was the only means that Lamp had found to communicate. He was dirty. Filthy. Begrimed. Caked with befouled muck. Yet, he was something of immense worth. For the first time in her young existence, Lamp truly understood the value of life. Little did Lamp realise that for the second time in her life, she confronted the darkness. The first time happened when she was but a foal, and her magic strove to restore light to a world gone dark. What happened now, in the present, was a bit more metaphorical, but its impact was no less real. This was her purpose. Something resonated in her bones and her horn tingled as she stood looking into his eyes. How could she possibly explain this to others? She didn't understand it, not even a little, and so going forward seemed impossible. How would she feed him? For that matter, how would she feed herself? Her still-empty stomach growled to remind her that it remained unfilled despite her efforts to procure food. Without a word passing through his lips, he expressed his gratitude. Intelligence glittered in the deaf-mute's glassy eyes, and something else, something that Lamp could not quite make out. "We need food," she said, giving voice to her innermost thoughts. Though he could not hear her, she needed these words herself. Organising her thoughts aloud helped—though not as much as she might've hoped. "We can't get pinched. That'll be the end of us… together. I'll end up back with my caretakers, and I don't know what'll happen to you, but it won't be good. So I need to keep us together. That's job one. Keeping us together. Not sure how I'll do that." There was a thrill in filching a meal in the open, but the consequences for doing so seemed far too much to bear. She might try begging, but that seemed pointless. The old grab-n-go was out of the question, as she doubted the colt could run, injured as he was. For all of the difficulty, she was not without options. The game was the same, but the rules had changed. Which meant that she needed a new way to play. Market heists were off the table. With a turn of her head, she glanced at the residential neighborhoods of Canterlot. They were quiet places with mostly-empty streets. During the day, many of the towers and cottages were unoccupied, or almost so. Did she dare burgle a house? There might be a root cellar or a door left unlocked. That said, a locked door didn't pose much of a problem—but she needed quiet and concentration to pop the lock. Breaking in, after all, wasn't much different than escaping. It was merely a matter of direction. Escaping was getting out, while a bit of harmless burgling was getting in. The canny filly's eyes narrowed with resolve. After a few seconds of distracted thought, she returned her attention to the deaf-mute colt. His dingy hide was the colour of a wheel of cheese rolled through filth and was bespeckled with befouled brownness that she feared would never be washed away. She would have to deal with that later, somehow, just one more impossible task. Clean ponies were inconspicuous ponies, but dirty ponies got noticed. Getting noticed meant getting pinched—which was the worst thing that Lamp could think of right now. "We hafta go," she said, even though her companion could not hear her. What surprised her though was that he responded in some vague mute manner. He couldn't hear, but he must have seen her lips move. No light of comprehension shone in his eyes, and after a moment spent thinking about it, she concluded that he probably couldn't read lips. Communication would be important, because getting him to do exactly what needed to be done when she told him to do it might be quite necessary—because failure meant getting pinched. A gentle tug on his ear would get his attention, if need be. "I'm gonna get us some food," she said to him whilst she had his attention. "Stay close. I have a plan. We're gonna go where the Watch doesn't." When she started to go, she tugged on her companion's ear to compel him to follow. The First Quarter was not, as the name implied, one fourth of the city of Canterlot. It was, however, the oldest part of Canterlot, and was constructed when the city was just a fort. The castle—still under construction—was here, far off on the other side, and the entire quarter was walled off. This was the most settled part of the city and the location that Lamp's caretakers truly coveted. The streets were already cobblestoned here, with deep, narrow gutters in the middle so that sewage and rainwater could flow. There were gardens here, with food, and chicken coops, with eggs. However, there was no sign of the Watch. Wary without being able to explain why, Lamp studied her surroundings. She spied another pony, an earth pony mare burdened with a double basket slung across her back. This mare was well-groomed, immaculately clean, and her mane was styled in a fashion that no earth pony could hope to do on their own. She was probably a maid, or some sort of servant, and from the looks of things, she had it good. Being the clean, mindful mare that she was, she avoided the center of the road and the deep gutter full of filth. There was nopony else. Just quiet streets, mostly deserted. Lamp did not hurry and tried to act as though she belonged here. She did not have a story, an explanation as to why she was here if she got stopped, and trying to think of one seemed too complicated. She followed the mindful mare's example and steered clear of the gutter—though the real danger came from windows up on high and privy holes that emptied out onto the streets. What she needed was a root cellar, or an unattended garden that had food, and not flowers. She was confident that she would find what she wanted here, in this place, the most established part of the city. Unsure of where to go and still exploring, she went left from the gate so that she might stay to the outer perimeter, closest to the wall. If one went near the middle, one was sure to find trouble, because in the middle of the First Quarter was the Magus' Circle, the place where the most powerful, most canny unicorns in all of Canterlot lived. The sort of unicorns that could turn her into a toad, or some small helpless furry rodent. Which, now that Lamp thought about it, was the reason why the Watch did not patrol here. Lamp only knew of the Magus' Circle because it was a fabled place for orphaned unicorns. If one had strong magic, if one showed promise, it was of no consequence at all to be an urchin. One would be whisked off to the Circle and never seen on the dirty streets again. A life of power and privilege awaited those taken in by the Circle, and they would never know of dire need or ache of want. Alas, Lamp was not that powerful, so she was carted off to common caretakers. She resented her lot in life, but could do nothing about it. The cluck and coo of chickens gave her pause, and she halted so that she might hear better. Her companion paused as well, and had himself a look around. She did not see the chickens, but there were walls and fences in the way. Imposing gates stood guard against intrepid intruders such as herself. Ponies were careless creatures, however. Surely a gate would be unlocked—or the lock could be sprung if she found a secluded gate tucked out of sight. With a soft tug upon her companion's ear, she continued. There was beauty here; climbing vines covered stone and brick walls. Delicate flowers bloomed. Beyond beauty, there was colour here, more than dull sky, sullen fog, black soot, and unremarkable grey stone. This place had been lived in longer and was more established. There was grass here, patches of vibrant, verdant green that stood out in sharp contrast to the bare rock of the mountain they called home. Rich brown soil was brought up at great expense from the plains down below and deposited in compact, economical gardens. She saw statues, mosaics, murals, and other types of art that she did not know the names of. The windows had stained glass along with embellished over-adorned shutters. After taking it all in, Lamp knew that these ponies would not miss a pilfered potato or two. These ponies probably paid no attention at all to their pickled vegetables or their potatoes—that was for the servants to keep track of. And if a potato did go missing—if a potato somehow grew legs as well as eyes—said servants would never report the taken tubers, for fear of appearing lax about their duties. Yes, plundering potatoes was a victimless crime. Fog thickened like gravy left to cool. The sun dimmed a bit as the clouds overhead soupified. A cold wind blew and brought the chill of winter to the summer day. It would be a cold, bitter night, which made Lamp worry about where she might sleep. With her companion limping along just behind her, she made her way down the narrow street of smoothed cobblestones, long since time-worn. Just ahead she saw opportunity. A wooden slat fence. There was a tower built into the corner of the walls, what appeared to be an old guard tower from when this part of the city had been a fort. A broad square mossy-stoned tower was built into the wall itself, and had two cube-shaped wings at its base, also constructed into the wall. It was ugly, but functional. The wooden fence was curved, going from one section of the wall to another. No grass could be seen in the fenced-off garden, but there were giant terracotta pots and plants that Lamp did not recognise. A tiny greenhouse sat atop the rightmost wing, and green things could be seen beyond the windows. More importantly, there was a root cellar. From where she stood, Lamp could see the ironbound wooden doors and the glistening greased iron hinges. There was no gate of any sort on the fence, just an open gap on both ends. Why, that was practically an invitation, if ever there was one. This was the place. There wasn't even a padlock on the cellar doors. For a moment, little Lamp imagined all the good things she might find down there. Potatoes, possibly. Apples. Rutabagas. Parsnips. Maybe cabbages. She considered for a time that it might be difficult to cook them, but that was just another bridge to cross when the time came. While making every effort to look as inconspicuous as possible, little Lamp cast a critical eye upon her target. Clearly, these ponies wouldn't mind if she borrowed a few vegetables, because they had put no effort whatsoever into security. She considered the fact that she might even be able to spend the night in the root cellar. While maybe not the warmest place, it was sheltered and would be better than spending the night out in the open, exposed to the frigid air. Perhaps staying in the cellar wasn't her best idea, but what choice did she have? Ever so cautious, the felonious filly crept forward, and her eyes darted in every conceivable direction. She peeped around corners, checked windows for concerned faces, and her pricked ears listened for the sound of hooves against cobblestones. Other than the colt just behind her, she was alone. This place was deserted and she had trouble believing in her good fortune. Tugging on her companion's ear to keep him close, she made her way to the wooden fence. Strange fern-like plants with thorny, knobby seed pods grew in the giant pots. The smell of laundry wafted out of a nearby window, the scent of soap and cleanliness. After stepping around the wooden fence, she paused. Half-in, half-out, she waited for the sounds of alarm. Long seconds stretched into longer moments, and she stood blinking whilst they passed. The cellar door sat in the corner where the two wings connected to the main body of the tower. Triangle shaped, and rather unusual. No rust on the hinges, which was good, because rusty hinges squeaked. What a curious garden she found herself in, with bare stone and gravel beneath her hooves. No effort had gone into turning the ground green, which was peculiar. Ponies like greenery and green things. After a few careful steps forward, she examined one of the strange plants that she did not recognise. It was hairy, covered in thin fibrous growths, and it smelt rather awful, like whey left too long in the sun. She backed away from the nose-crinkling stench and moved towards the cellar door. It was quiet. She remained unseen, unnoticed. No pony came sauntering down the street at an inopportune time. There were no interruptions to her delinquent dealings. The cellar doors were two triangles that made one big triangle. They looked solid, heavy, and she was somewhat worried that she might have trouble lifting them. At least the hinges were well-maintained and greased. Did she dare? Oh, dare she did. So indeed she dared as the daring are wont to do. This was almost too easy and so it gave Lamp reason to pause. She stood in the shadow of the tower now, a darkness made all the darker by the weakened sun and overhead clouds. Being out of the sun caused her to shiver—it certainly wasn't fear that did so—and she pulled her companion even closer to her. Reaching out with her mind, she opened the cellar doors. Thankfully, there was no squeak, nothing that disturbed the silence, and whatever reward that awaited them was down in the gloom. Root cellars had spiders, and cobwebs, and walking face-first into these things was always a hazard. There was nothing quite like a fat, hairy spider having a stroll through one's mane. As she lifted the door open, she was stricken with a truly morbid thought: what if she didn't find roots down in the root cellar, but dead foals? What if she found a cellar of would-be thieves all stacked up like cordwood? Little felonious fillies just like herself, victims of bad circumstance, all of whom met an untimely demise. Unable to help herself, she shivered. This always happened at the worst possible moments. When doing something that required concentration and focus, her brain would turn on her. The darkness could conceal all manner of horror. Squinting, she shone her light into the darkness and saw… nothing. Nothing at all. There were shelves, but they were empty. A few baskets, some bins, all empty. There were no cobwebs, no spiders, and no bodies of felonious fillies stacked up like cordwood. Not a single morsel of food to be had. Nothing. Protesting this awful state of affairs, Lamp's stomach let go a ferocious, feral growl that almost startled her. This time, merely swearing wasn't enough to satisfy, so she let go with the most dreaded of all the words that started with the eff-sound: "Fudge nuggets." When the awful thing she said sank in, her ears pinned back and she felt a sharp twinge of guilt. Such vulgarity pinged her conscience, but burgling a root cellar did not. "It's empty." "It does rather appear that way, doesn't it." Her companion was deaf-mute, which meant that he couldn't say what had just been said. Which meant that—"Oh, treacherous treacle tarts!" she swore as she willed her legs into action. It was long past time to skedaddle, so she made a hasty exit without a lot of thought. The skinny filly ran; she was quite speedy, being so slender and light. She bounded and boinked, half-pronked, and then using her legs like coiled springs, she lept over the wooden slat fence. Her landing? Most excellent. She hit the ground running while also sucking in a tremendous quantity of wind. With luck, she would reach the gate in mere moments, and make good her escape. If she could reach a crowd, she could blend in and vanish. But then she realised that her companion was not with her, and so she skidded to a halt. The deaf-mute colt's captors were two unicorns. One stallion, rather old, and somewhat greying. The other, a mare, held the earth pony colt in a bubble of shimmering magic. Lamp knew she could run. She could run and go back to her caretakers. This would all be over. But… could she live with herself if she did? No, she decided, she could not. She didn't know his name. Nothing at all was known about her companion. If she did not fight for him, who would? "Leggo of my friend," she demanded. "Your friend?" the old stallion asked. "Yeah. Now leggo before I blast ya." Teeth now bared, Lamp charged up her horn. She'd never fought back against adults before, because that was the sort of thing that got you sent to the mines below Canterlot. She had, however, had plenty of target practice against vicious rats, stray dogs, and one particularly mean alley cat with a foamy, sickly maw. Lamp understood all too well the basic mechanics of the application of violence. She allowed her horn to glow exceptionally bright, and changed its radiance to a fiery orange to be extra-scary. Her companion wiggled, he kicked his legs but to no avail. His magical prison held fast. Infuriated, she took careful aim and then took a moment to consider if this was worth a lifetime in the dark below. It didn't take her long to get sorted out. If she didn't take a stand for her new friend, she would spend the rest of her life regretting it, and that, that was worse than being banished to the crystal mines. "Last warning," she said to her companion's captors. "Don't make me do it." "Young lady, don't you dare!" the stern mare said. "Submit, and there'll be mercy, ye foul-mouthed filcher!" "You called him your friend—" The old stallion never got a chance to finish his sentence because a sizzling bolt of magic flew right past his fuzzy ear. It struck the stone wall just behind him and left behind a smouldering scorch mark. He seemed more than a little concerned by this, and for that matter, so did the mare. But no one was more surprised than Lamp, who had trouble believing what she had just done. "I didn't hafta miss," she said to them. She had missed because of poor aim—but they didn't have to know that. "That was yer one warning shot. Next one is going in yer eye!" "Young miss… I believe you. But before you blind me, might I inquire into your relationship with this colt? You called him your friend and I—" "Ye daft old coot!" the mare shouted. "This is no time for one of yer friendship studies!" "Now is an excellent time for said studies, Miss Combes. Did you fail to witness this act of impassioned defense?" "She tried to kill ye, ye old crank!" "We have her friend," he replied, patient and kind. "It's rather understandable. Let him go." "I'll do no such thing! And if she tries to blast ye again I'll burn 'er to the ground!" "Miss Combes, yo shall do no such thing! That would interfere with my studies. And leave ashes in the streets. What a mess! Civilised ponies and housekeepers do not make messes!" "She tried to turn yer 'ead into jam, ye dimwitted dumpling brain!" Confused beyond measure, Lamp wasn't sure what to do next. Talking this out would be good. She might be able to talk her way out of this mess. A thin ribbon of smoke curled up from the chipped wall behind the old stallion's head, a reminder for Lamp that if provoked, she could do awful things. If she had hit her target—he might very well be dead. This shocked her more than she would ever admit. She was grateful—thankful even that she had missed. An accident had saved her from a fate surely worse than death. All she had to do now was talk her way out of this. "You seem ready to talk," the old stallion said. "You called him your friend. Why? You could have run away, but you did not. More than anything else, he seems like dead weight for you. Why would a unicorn risk her neck for a sickly, half-starved earth pony colt? You are a survivor of the streets. I know your type. No loyalty to anypony but themselves. Anything goes. So why save him? Why put yourself at risk like you are doing right now?" "If I don't, who will?" she replied, and these words surprised her. They'd lept out of her mouth before she had a chance to think about them. The old stallion seemed surprised by this response, but the mare even more so. "My name is Ficklewick." A gentle smile appeared as if by magic when he bowed his head. "Would you like some supper? You and your companion?" "What're ye doin', ye cludge-minded coot? I'll not be fixing 'er supper!" Ignoring the frustrated mare, Ficklewick once again made an offer. "No tricks. Nothing mean. No nasty surprises. There is a free meal awaiting you if you tell me all about your friendship. If you want to feed him, and that does seem to be your intentions, young miss, you can earn it." He turned to mare beside him and added, "Miss Combes, would you please put him down as a sign of good faith? This presents a rare opportunity for me." "My name is Lamp," she said, introducing herself. Grumbling, the mare put the colt down on the ground, but didn't let him go. "This is my housekeeper, Miss Combes." Ficklewick gestured in the direction of the mare beside him. "She's actually quite kind, I assure you. We mean you no harm, and we would like to offer you some much-needed kindness." "No 'arm? No 'arm!" Rolling her eyes, the mare shook her head from side to side and then glowered at the old stallion. "Ye and yer Elements of 'Armony and yer friendship theories—" "Might one day save our world," the old stallion said. "She'll prolly lift the silverware!" "A small price to pay for knowledge. Though perhaps if we are kind to her, she'll be grateful. She seems quite reasonable, Miss Combes." "Reasonable? The wee cuss nearly took yer 'ead off." "Yes. She missed, for whatever reason. Perhaps you can instruct her so that she might improve her aim? You are, after all, the combat veteran. I am positive that you could greatly improve her odds of survival on the mean streets." This offended the housekeeper more than anything else said and she stood with her mouth agape. "Now, Miss Combes, if you could be so kind as to clean them up before supper—" "Get yer eyes checked, ye old coot! Do I look like a nanny?" In response, he examined the mare beside him for a moment, then replied, "Maybe a little—" "Ye old nutter, I'm yer 'ousekeeper!" "Yes, my housekeeper. One who is very well paid. Whose room and board is not subtracted from her pay. There is very little work involved because I am by nature a clean and fastidious creature. The housekeeper I keep around for her good company, her candor, and her ability to make the finest potato soup on the continent." Refusing to be mollified, the grumpy housekeeper cast her baleful glare upon Ficklewick. Meanwhile, Lamp smiled. 'Twas a rare thing, her smile, and it made her face shine as bright as her namesake-inspired light. Feeling courageous, and maybe motivated by hunger, she approached. She felt bad about what she had done—a rare thing, because she hardly ever felt bad about any of her actions. Ficklewick seemed like a truly nice pony, and she had nearly blasted his head right off his neck. "Why are you being so nice?" she asked as she drew near. "Why do you have an earth pony colt in your care?" he replied. "I really don't know." She didn't bother to think about it, because there was no point. It was something too big, too complicated to explain. "By helping him, you are making the world a better place. In return, I would like to help you, young miss. I think we would be better off if we all helped each other, as the Founders envisioned." His bushy overgrown eyebrows sagged low over his eyes. "I need to ruminate upon this. You must excuse me. I shall leave you in the care of my capable housekeeper. You just so happened to meet me on the one day I have off. I cannot help but wonder if fate is somehow involved. There is strange magic that I sense about you. Some peculiarity that I am unable to—" "Oh, 'ere we go. Fate and destiny. And ye wanna 'elp 'cause of course ye do." The longsuffering housekeeper rolled her eyes once, twice, thrice, and during the fourth time, she sighed. "Ye want to turn the wee cuss into a project, ye barmy bilbog. One of yer thinkism projects." "Perhaps." His eyes shifted, going from side to side, and something that was almost—but not quite—a smile tightened his deflated cheeks. "This strange magic must be discerned. I shall take my leave of you for now. Summon me when supper is ready." "Go on, take yer leave, ye crank. I'll get them presentable for the table. This colt needs a scrub. As for this filly… maybe I can teach 'er some manners." The kitchen was everything a unicorn needed and nothing more. It took up the entire bottom floor of the tower and in the center was a circular hearth that surrounded a pyramidal brick fireplace that was open on three sides. Lamp, though mostly uneducated, recognised it for what it was: a triangle within a circle, which was an ancient symbol believed to be a focal point for magic. Where she had learned this she could not remember; it was just one of the many things that existed inside of her head. Sometimes, unicorns knew stuff and there was no explanation. Lamp's companion followed Miss Combes without fear or reservation. He did not seem the least bit afraid of her. This bothered Lamp, though she could not say why. Though mute, he bleated like a sheep when he was lifted up and placed atop a broad wooden table. He stood there, mostly unmoving, while Miss Combes pulled down an enormous copper wash basin, the sort most commonly used for laundry. This was placed beneath the wrought iron pump handle, which began to bob up and down. Water trickled at first, and then a steady flow gushed forth into the copper basin. There was something comforting about the sound of running water striking metal and Lamp listened with her ears pricked tall. After a moment spent listening, she looked up at the ceiling so that she might check out everything above her. Bunches of herbs, bulbs of garlic, glass bottles filled with unknown liquids, and all manner of curious things could be seen up there. "He's hurt," Lamp said. "Can you help him?" "Sickly and 'urt, is 'e?" Lower lip protruding, Miss Combes cast a critical eye on the deaf-mute colt. "I bet it was the pale pox that robbed 'is 'earing. The kind that causes thick-neck and makes you strangle. Nasty disease, that. The 'igh fever kills yer ears while the swelling in the neck robs yer voice. All this 'its the earth ponies all 'ard like 'cause their communal living. Allows the miasmas and foulness to spread like wildfire." After a moment, she added, "Wood is unclean. Proper stone keeps the diseases away." "No one helped him. He was sick and wandering around the market." Scowling, Miss Combes appeared as though she'd just eaten a whole lemon, rind and all. Just as Lamp had done, she pulled on the colt's ear to get his attention, and then began to examine him. Evidently, she didn't like what she saw, because her nose crinkled in disgust. Beneath her hard expression there was a faint hint of kindness, and there was a gentleness to her actions. "So what's a filly like ye doing with a sickly colt anyhow? Did ye wrangle him for a bit of grift? No… no, ye didn't do that. Yer not the type. Not yet, anyhow. So why are ye with 'im?" "I don't know," Lamp replied as the basin continued to fill. "I was once like ye," the housekeeper said. "You were?" "I was," the mare sighed in response. After finding her courage, Lamp asked, "You lost your parents?" "Or my parents lost me. Don't know. Don't care. I survived." While speaking, she opened up a jar and then poured its contents into the copper wash basin. "Ficklewick is right though. Ye took on dead weight. And I don't think ye did it for grift. Ficklewick'ill want to know why for the sake of thinkism." Rather than reveal her ignorance on the subject of thinkism, Lamp refrained from asking what it was. She didn't know why, but she knew what she had felt. That meant something. This meant something, even if she didn't understand what was going on. She watched as the cranky housekeeper peered into the colt's ears, and then examined his eyes. "Ye took on dead weight and it made ye desperate. Ye came 'ere to 'ave yerself a bit of a burgle and now yer in over yer 'ead. Ye made yerself this 'ere colt's caretaker with no means to feed 'im or meet 'is needs. Yer not 'alf as starved as 'e is, so I know ye 'as caretakers. Ye don't look well-fed though, so they're not goodly caretakers, just selfish sots. Those sores around yer nostrils and the corners of yer mouth are symptoms of long-term malnutrition." In awe, Lamp maintained a respectful silence. A scent—medicinal and soapy—tickled Lamp's nostrils. Steam was already rising from the wash basin and a part of her worried that the bathwater might be too hot. It was just one of those fears that happened and if acted upon, might make her appear foolish—or worse. Miss Combes wore a frightful scowl now as she examined the colt, who did nothing to stop her. This scowl was the sort of scowl that might come from a worried mother—the sort of worried mother that Lamp wished she had. Who was this mare with a funny accent, a multitude of skills, and a deceptively gentle nature? "Favouring yer leg, are ye?" It didn't seem to matter that the deaf-mute colt couldn't hear these words, Miss Combes spoke them anyway. She lifted up his left rear hoof—the one he did not put weight on—and had herself a better look. After a moment, she nodded, clucked her tongue in some vaguely maternal way, and turned the colt's head away so he couldn't see what she was doing. Then, with a swift, sudden burst of movement, she yanked a sharp sliver of pottery out of the colt's frog. He bleated, his whole body trembled, and Lamp's heart somersaulted up into her too-small throat. Blood and something else dribbled from torn flesh, and with it came a foul, bitter unpleasantness that befouled the nose. Miss Combes might have been a kind pony, and she might have been a gentle pony—but apparently there was only so much to go around and then it was gone. Still, the sliver was out and with luck, the nasty wound would heal. "Well, that's a leg saved," the housekeeper said in deadpan. "Maybe. We'll 'afta see. Yer pretty far gone, ye are." "Will he die?" asked Lamp, whose heart currently lodged in her throat made it very difficult to say anything. "Will 'e die?" The housekeeper repeated these words. "Will 'e die. Well, 'e might." "That's horrible! Don't say that!" "That's 'orrible, ye say? That's 'onest. I'm no doctor… no barber. Not a surgeon. I'll not lie to ye to make ye feel better, ye invader of cellars. I can only make do with whats I gots. This'ere colt is sick. Infected. Running a fever. Starved. Wee guyo 'as the breath and e'erything." Her accent somehow thickened to the point that she became difficult to understand. "I dinnae unnerstan all the wrongs in the wee bairn. The best that I can 'ope for is tae do what I can and 'ope it turns out, ye ken. If I make ye a promise that 'e'll be fine and 'e goes all a-ghost in his sleep, that'll make me a liar. There's many things I am, but a liar isn't one of them. A 'ousekeeper lives and dies by honest reputation." Defeated, Lamp aimed a huff of frustration in the stern mare's direction. The wrought iron pump handle ceased its movement and went still. Faint ribbons of steam rose in question mark curls from the wash basin. Lamp—who desperately wanted a little reassurance—held tight to her vexation for the stroppy housekeeper. But she also felt grateful. She felt many things and right now she was too hungry to give them a good sorting out. Miss Combes' expression changed and her eyes saddened. "Things are s'posed to be better, not worse. But things are worse. Ficklewick can tell you why. Brilliant pony, Ficklewick. Princess Celestia's advisor for inter-tribal relations. If only she listened to 'im. But she doesn't'ave that luxury 'cause she's fighting to 'old it all together. Feels like everything we worked for is coming apart." "You talk funny." "Aye, I do," the housekeeper replied as she tossed the deaf-mute colt into the tub. He bleated a bit, squirmed, sat down, and settled in. "You didn't get the way you talk from your parents, so who does it come from?" "Yer a smart filly," Miss Combes said as a scrubbing brush materialised just over her head. She went to work, scrubbing the colt, who leaned into it. "Ye and I have much in common, so it seems. Still miffed at you for almost blasting Ficklewick." In response to the housekeeper's withering glare, Lamp tried to look as apologetic as possible. "I was raised by earth ponies and griffons…" A faraway look appeared in Miss Combes eyes as she scrubbed the colt in the wash basin. "Goodly sorts. Took me in. Was a bit odd, I s'pose. The earth ponies, they didn't want to be afraid of magic no more so 'aving somepony small and unicornish that they could boss around 'elped 'em get used to it. Griffons, too." She sighed, shook her head, and her ears sagged. "Those griffons 'ad enemies. Other griffons. The Royal Pony Sisters insisted that we 'elp our feathered friends… so when they came, there was a big fight. I was about yer age. The E'erfree was invaded. I fought. I fought for my 'ome. I fought for those I loved. I fought for those I didn't even know. Couldn't save them. Most of them died. I almost died. Those griffons were led by an evil manticore… Princess Luna took 'is 'ead off with 'is own axe. She did it after 'e surrendered and begged for mercy. I s'pose we all should've took it as a sign of things to come. The Night Princess was more than a little disturbed by this point." Bad things did indeed happen later, though Lamp did not remember the specifics. Just the crushing darkness, followed by her bright light. It was her earliest memory, maybe her first memory. In silence, she studied the housekeeper, and watched how she bathed her filthy companion. In some way, stories were more satisfying than food—though they did not fill the belly. There would be a meal soon enough though; she trusted the housekeeper enough for that to happen. "Now what do we 'ave 'ere?" Leaning in close, Miss Combes squinted so that she might examine the colt with a critical eye. Her horn glowed with a bright, steady light that did not waver, did not flicker. "Those are magical burns." Bothered, even angry about this, Lamp asked, "How can you tell?" "Well, 'cause I've done this to others." "Why would somepony do this to him?" asked Lamp. "To make 'im behave. Make 'im listen. To make 'im obey. Some ponies 'ave no patience." Once again, Lamp's eyes stung, but she had no tears left. "He's so trusting." "What do ye mean, filly?" "He's so trusting. Look at him, Miss Combes. He's let you do everything to him without a bit of fuss. He's been hurt. By unicorns. You picked him up and he didn't fight. I don't know if I'd be that trusting if I was him." "Aye…" The word stretched for far too long. "Aye. What a sweet little wee guyo." "I want to help him. How do I do that? I'm still so young. I can barely help myself. What do I do? This has to be made right somehow." Miss Combes resumed scrubbing with an expression so dour that it made Lamp turn away. Some ponies had a natural aptitude for crankiness, for grumpiness, and the housekeeper was one of them. She said nothing and her lips remained a tight, thin, crinkled line. While the grumpy mare gently removed the layers of caked on filth, Lamp wondered how she might do the impossible. "Do you have any foals of your own?" This question startled Miss Combes, and her head jerked backwards in a sudden manner. "Goodness no. Worst idea ever. That's 'ow mares die. It kills us. Saps us of our vitality. Makes us die young. Infections. Bad 'ealth. It's said that it's every mare's duty to foal, but that's 'orse apples. There's whole 'erds of unwanted foals in the streets. I'm not about to throw my life away out of some misbegotten sense of duty. If you 'ave a lick of common sense, ye'll listen to what I have to say." Ears fully erect, she added, "I plan to live to Ficklewick's age… or older. I want power, filly, and ye don't get that by dying young." "Power?" asked Lamp. "The root cellar is well-stocked, ye cuss… but did ye see anything?" Lamp blinked; then, for good measure, she did it again. Miss Combes laughed; it was a harsh braying sound that grated the ears. As for Lamp, she recalled just how empty the root cellar had appeared. She'd found nothing but empty shelves and old baskets. Which she now realised were probably overflowing with stored goods. Rather than be upset, or even put-out, young Lamp found that she both admired and respected the canny housekeeper. "Doing what I do is no real work at all, ye ken. Ficklewick is a clean sort. And for a unicorn such as meself, keeping of the 'ouse is no strenuous chore. Takes me moments to tidy the 'ouse and put things in order. All my free time is spent in study and experimentation. As for Ficklewick, 'e's a good sort. Don't do no untoward caddishness. Pays well. Which is why I'm still peeved that ye almost took 'is 'ead off. Ye nearly ruined the good thing I 'as 'ere for meself." "You had my friend!" Lamp blurted out. "Ye barely know 'im and ye—" "That doesn't matter!" Little Lamp stomped both of her front hooves to emphasise her words. "Something happened! I… I can't say what it is! But something happened and I hafta do right by him!" "Destiny put a tight 'obble 'round yer leg, didn't it, filly?" Lamp's response was barely a whisper: "I don't understand what happened. Only that it did." "That complicates things. Ficklewick believes that some friendships are so important that they're fated. Why, 'e's practically alone in that, and most of his peers think 'e's addled. Even soft-'eaded. Even Princess Celestia thinks the whole thing is rubbish. But I believe Ficklewick. I believe in 'is work. That stallion is brilliant. I s'pose I can forgive ye for what ye did, Lamp." "Thank you." "The world'll tear ye a-twain, ye ken." "I know," the filly whispered. "It was one of the first things I thought of. What do I do?" "Crivens, I wish I knew." After a sigh, she continued, "Doing right is never easy. After doing all the killing I did, and I did quite a lot, I 'ad to learn how to live with meself. 'Twas the right thing to do at the time, but living with it was 'ard, so it was. And then came the night when Princess Luna lost 'er mind. Why, I 'ad to do me a lot more killing… I 'ad to keep Ficklewick safe 'cause 'is work is just that important. 'Cause of what I did when I was younger, I found the killing part all too easy, ye ken. Things 'appen for a reason. I guess. Though those words seem like so much rancid treacle." "I feel really bad for what I did and I—" "You tell Ficklewick that during supper. I've no doubts ye'll spend the rest of yer life a-worrying 'bout what might've been 'ad you 'it yer mark. If I was ye, and in yer place, I might've done the same. We're not so different, ye and me. This colt is yer Ficklewick." Consumed by stupefied silence, Lamp didn't know what to say. "If yer smart, filly, as smart as I think ye be, you'll make Ficklewick yer Ficklewick and find some way into 'is good graces. If 'e offers, let 'im 'elp ye. Don't be prideful. Be agreeable. Now, come closer and make yerself useful, ye cuss. I want ye to peel potatoes and chop some celery. Got it? Ye'll earn yer supper this even, and if yer lucky, maybe a place to sleep." Author's Note I've hidden a lot of important stuff in plain sight. There might be a blog post later showing various connection points. Or not. We'll see. Is everyone surviving our windigo winter? Stay warm, folks. Stay safe. A light, shelteredThere was a liquid library and Lamp was in awe of it. As a pot of potato soup simmered steadily on the hob, she studied the jars filled with mysterious liquids. In some jars were spells, suspended in spellbinding solutions. In other jars, there were extracted memories, held secure in an alchemical jelly made from forget-me-not ferns, the mysterious plants she had seen outside. The very idea of memories being stored in a liquid library left her in a stunned state, and she wondered just what else Miss Combes might be capable of. The memories, of course, were invaluable to Ficklewick for his studies. "So you could pull all the stuff that happened today out of my head so it could be studied?" asked Lamp. Miss Combes did not respond; she was far too busy brushing the deaf-mute colt, who rather seemed to be enjoying the experience. Lamp turned away from the liquid library so that she might watch. Not content with merely studying magic, Miss Combes was an alchemist. It seemed that her studies were wide and varied. Though she did not say it, Lamp felt a certain attraction to this sort of power—but it took dedication and discipline, something that the young filly knew she did not have in abundance. "Would I forget it?" "No," the busy housekeeper replied. "Think of it being more like a copy." She continued brushing, her face contorted in a stern frown as her eyes went from one scabby place on the colt's pelt to another. "Ye did well on the soup, Lamp. I told ye, 'twasn't no real work at all. Ye seem to 'ave a knack for it." "Thank you." Then, after a bit of almost bashful beaming, she added, "It was fun." "Yer more than a lamp, Lamp. Yer caretakers are fools with brains like o'erboiled puddings." There was so much that Lamp wanted to say in response, but words failed her. Tongue tied, she stood there, rubbing one foreleg against the other. All of her emotions threatened to overwhelm her; so much had happened this day. She'd connected with her mark in some meaningful way and it had changed her profoundly. At some point, without realising it, she'd made a new friend; the cantankerous housekeeper wasn't so terrible, if you didn't mind the grumpiness. "Poor colt is so scabby," Miss Combes muttered beneath her breath. "Infection is bad. I 'as 'igh 'opes that Ficklewick will try to 'elp you. At least, I 'ope 'e does. I'm almost certain the old coot will. Will ye stay if 'e offers, Lamp?" "I dunno," she replied, but she already knew the answer. "I could use a 'elper." The housekeeper sighed, put down her brush, and shook her head. "Ficklewick will want to study yer friendship, no doubt. Why, 'e's greedy like that. That old nutter is obsessed with 'earthfire. That's a story and nothing more. A tale told by old mares sitting by the fire. A myth. A folktale. But if ye know what's good for ye, Lamp, ye'll 'ang on 'is e'ery word, ye ken. Ficklewick wants evidence of what 'e calls the magic of friendship… which might exist… might not." Her expression soured into something magnificent. "Ficklewick believes it exists. The old fart knew the Founders. Clover the Clever was 'is teacher, for a time. Not magic, like ye might think, but thinkism. Ficklewick is old and wise… which is a power unto itself that I covet a great deal. I want to live long enough to be wise, ye ken. To know. For nopony but myself. Ne'er much cared for what others think. When the Maguses came to court me I told them to sod off and get stuffed. Old Ficklewick almost split 'is sides laughing. Couldn't remember a time that somepony told the stuffy old boffins right off." "But… the Magus' Circle—" "Is a place where free thinking and free thought go to die," the grumpy mare said before Lamp could finish. "The power they 'ave to offer comes at a price. They'll let ye know what yer opinions are, what ye'll feel about any given subject, and what magic is acceptable for ye to study. Them and all their restrictions will wrap tight 'round yer neck and choke out anything they themselves do not agree with." Standing very still, Lamp bowed her head low, took in everything said, then nodded. "Buncha spods. What they did to Ficklewick… I cannae e'en talk about it. Time to change the subject." Lamp fairly gleamed; her coppery pelt was shiny and sleek, while her burnished brassy mane and tail bobbed and bounced. She couldn't recall ever looking this good—or even feeling this good for that matter. Never before had her dull coppery hide had such a shine, nor such a shimmer. Why, she practically glowed and she almost didn't recognise herself. She admired the filly in the silvered glass mirror, incredulous that the resplendent reflection was her. She was now a well-polished Lamp, and she was ready for her light to shine. Her new friend—the rescued colt—sat on a cushion near the fire, wrapped up in a somewhat scratchy grey wool blanket. He seemed happy, pleased even. Miss Combes had fed him a small portion of boiled oats and apple mash just to see if his stomach could keep anything down. So far, so good. No doubt, the hot soup would do him good. It was nice seeing him clean now, with a colour other than crud-caked filth. He was a pale yellow, the colour of moonlight in fog. What was left of his mane and tail was almost—though not quite—purple, though neither was it blue. His eyes, bright, were glassy with feverish illness. Still, he seemed comfortable and happy enough at the moment. Lamp dared to dream that somehow everything would be alright. "There are others like ye, Lamp," Miss Combes said whilst she pulled her mane up and tucked it beneath a knitted cap. "I don't mean urchins, either." Intrigued, Lamp gave the housekeeper her full attention. "Some call yer lot Princess Celestia's Little Lights. There's stories… most of them are fanciful rubbish. The Waking Nightmare and the malignant darkness caused a great many foals to develop a knack for excessive illumination. I've met a few." "There are stories?" asked Lamp. "This is the first I've heard of this." "Oh, there's stories a-plenty." Heaving a sigh, the housekeeper rolled her eyes while the most embittered scowl contorted her face into something most unpleasant. "The most common theme of the stories is that Princess Celestia was losing the fight to 'er sister, so she divvied up 'er essence, 'er spirit, 'er very soul… and then sent it forth into the most capable receptacles. The idea is that there would be an army to fight Nightmare Moon, but this is all a bunch of painful idiocy." "Why is it stupid?" "Well, to start," Miss Combes began, "something like that takes effort. Concentration. If it could even be done, it isn't something ye could do mid-battle. Beyond that"—she inhaled—"doing so would weaken 'er something fierce, practically guaranteeing a loss. Princess Luna would sense what was going on and do something to stop 'er. If Princess Celestia's essence went out into a bunch of colts and fillies, Princess Celestia's Little Lights as they are called, Nightmare Moon would've 'unted them down and destroyed them, because a foal poses no threat to a monster like that, ye ken." This made a painful amount of sense, Lamp decided. "Ponies tell stories to make sense of things. The 'eart of the matter, near as I can tell, is that a whole bunch of wee bairns got a-frightened of the sudden monstrous darkness. Out of this multitude, quite a few got blessed with a mark and the means to make powerful light. And make no mistake, Lamp, yer light spell is powerful. I can't make a light 'alf as bright. And neither can the Magus' Circle. This… this upsets those in power, 'cause it don't seem right that a foal could have stronger magic than one of the mighty, mighty maguses. "So stories are made to explain these things away, so they make sense. Ye ken?" "Stories help the world make sense when it doesn't," replied Lamp, who nodded her head. "It's easier for a pony to believe that Princess Celestia tore her soul a-twain and put part of 'erself into a foal than to believe that a foal might be powerful by their own merits." Eyes narrowed, a shrewd scowl on her muzzle, Miss Combes became the very epitome of mischievous grumpiness. "Weakness is abhorrent to unicorns, Lamp. When we appear weak, we do our utmost to explain it away… to find means of explanation so we can dismiss it. We're beings made to seek out power, Lamp. Ne'er forget that. It's our strength… and our weakness." "Something happened today with my light spell," Lamp said to the housekeeper. "I don't know what it was. But when I let my light shine, there was heat. It got hot. That's never happened before, and I felt… strange. I got angry… I was mad. He was shivering"—she pointed at her deaf-mute companion—"and there was a cold sensation that was eating at me. All I could think about was how nopony would help him… nopony would help us, and I got… I got… is there something beyond mad?" Miss Combes' knitted cap went askew as her ears moved beneath it. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, widened again, and then one eye went squinty while the other went into an over-open stare. "Ficklewick will want to 'ear 'bout that. That's…" her words trailed off. After a few failed starts, Miss Combes was able to recover and she said, "I can make 'eat, and I can make light, but the two are separate things. My light spell has no 'eat. But the magic I use to make things 'otter, well, there's some light but it's just the magic from my 'orn, ye ken. What yer saying… Lamp, I know precious few ponies that can do what yer saying. 'Tis a rare thing… a rare gift. Princess Celestia can turn a winter's day into a sweltering summer in the area just around 'er. Ye need to tell Ficklewick 'bout this. Especially since it 'appened today." In a moment of intense understanding, Lamp had a flash of insight: her magic, both light and heat, would allow her to live in a world where the sun did not rise. It made a certain amount of sense. Her magic was an adaptation for a future narrowly avoided. A preparation for what might have been—but thankfully was not. Now, more than ever, magic did not make sense, but as a unicorn, magic was the very core of everything she was. If she had power… she could use it to help herself so that she might help others. Unwittingly, Miss Combes had set an example for Lamp, a lasting impression that would no-doubt forever change the course of her life. Whatever it took, young Lamp would take charge of her life, she would use whatever she had to gain more power, and then she would be free. She noted Miss Combes' rigid posture, the way the housekeeper stood, and the young filly did her best to emulate it. When one wanted to be powerful, one had to look the part—and something about the cantankerous mare suggested a nonchalant, insouciant authority. Not arrogance, but command. Her deaf-mute companion needed a caretaker, and Lamp was determined to play the part. No more excuses. No more waiting for something to happen. No longer would she stare out the window and wait for whatever it was that would set her free. She no longer had that luxury. In a moment of an illuminating epiphany, she understood that if she waited at her window, the day would come, it would go, and the opportunity—whatever it might be—would pass her by. The waiting would be her undoing. She would settle in, she would succumb to her fate, and she would become her namesake—little more than living furniture. A pony content to do as she was told, one content to live on scraps—a pony who took solace in staring out the window and mourned the opportunity she never took. Lamp knew that supper was important; it was the turning point of her life. She had to shine. Not just for her own sake, but for her companion. "How do I make Ficklewick like me?" asked Lamp. "Well, not shooting 'im in the 'ead is a good start, Lamp." She took this with as much grace as she could muster. It was something she would have to live with. The mistake she'd almost made. While it needled her a bit, it was all part of today, and this day was special. She nodded, because it seemed like the right thing to do, then she forced herself to accept what she'd done. After a bit of time lost in thought, she decided it was something she could atone for. In the stories she'd heard, good ponies needed something to atone for; that was part of what made them good, and Lamp would be a good pony. There was a creak up above, and the sound of hooves on the stairs. "Suppertime," Miss Combes said. "Prepare yerself, Lamp." Author's Note Several concepts have been introduced up to this point that bring home the impact with the end. I do hope everybody is fine. It sure is quiet... Illuminating conversationFicklewick's eyebrows made the treacherous ascent up his wrinkly forehead, got tired, stopped to take a brief rest, continued up a little farther, succumbed to fatigue once more, crept up just a bit more, and then took a tumble down his grizzled face to rest just over his eyes. He stood at the bottom of the narrow stairs and his shallow breathing could be heard whistling through his fuzzy nostrils. For reasons unknown, Lamp was absolutely frozen with terror. "Where did our guest go?" he asked of nopony in particular. "The little dirty waif and the even dirtier colt…" "She cleans up well, she does," Miss Combes replied. "Did ye have a nice nap?" "I was meditating—" "Is that what yer calling it now?" "Confound it, I was meditating, not napping!" After his brief outburst—followed by an eyeroll aimed right at his housekeeper—Ficklewick made his way over to the deaf-mute colt. He drew near, lowered his head, and then looked the frail colt right in the eye. "Having a nice bit of meditation, colt?" Miss Combes sniggered; meanwhile, Lamp was at a total loss for how to respond or react. Lifting his head up high, Ficklewick glanced around, sniffed once, twice, and then turned his full attention on Lamp. He came to her, moving with startling grace and smoothness for his age. Up close, he was a bit taller than Lamp realised, and she had no choice but to crane her neck to look up at him whilst he stared down at her. He smelt of thunder and liniment, but there was also the subtle fragrance of old dandelion tea. "When I took leave of you," he began, "you were but a young absconder that attempted to raid my storage cellar. Now you appear to have grown into a young mare. What has Miss Combes done to you?" Tongue tied in unfathomable, unconquerable ways, Lamp failed to respond. "I suppose that is incorrect, in a sense. An absconder is one who escapes… which you failed to do. You came back for your friend. Which, I suppose, is the reason why we are here and this conversation is happening. Also, I seem to recall that you tried to—" "I'm sorry," Lamp blurted out. Then, realising she'd interrupted, she silenced herself before more harm could be done. "My interest in you is because of your impassioned defense of your friend," he said in a voice of cool temperament. "You showed loyalty… and perhaps a bit of magic. Tell me, my dear… do you understand the importance of loyalty?" Once again, she found herself tongue tied. "Princess Luna was once the Bearer of Loyalty. Once." His bushy eyebrows drooping, he seemed profoundly saddened by what he had said. "You… you showed remarkable loyalty, returning for your friend. Do not be ashamed, young one. Take heart, young miss. Young miss? Ah, yes, you missed. Are you hungry? Because I am." "That young miss made the soup, more or less," Miss Combes said. "You trusted her with a sharp cleaver, Miss Combes?" he asked with deadpan seriousness. "I did." "Remarkable. Remarkable. No heads were lost. No limbs taken. Not an ear missing." "She showed a little skill, so there was something of a lesson. After she cut the potatoes, she also sliced a few carrots, some celery, and some leeks." "Oh, remarkable." He inhaled, backed away from Lamp, and nodded his head. "Remarkable." "If ye'll 'ave a seat, I'll serve up supper," Miss Combes said. "I… am Ficklewick. But you already knew that. I am Princess Celestia's advisor on inter-tribal relations, second-chair of the Prosperity League, and among my many accomplishments, some consider me to be the first and foremost expert of the unicorn science known as thinkism." He cleared his throat, his eyebrows pushed closer together—but did not quite meet—and he offered up a gentle shake of his head. "But I myself find this claim rather dubious. Every day I discover more of what I do not know and there is much I fail to comprehend." "Ficklewick is one of the three ponies in Canterlot who studies thinkism, and the other two are slack-jawed simpletons that 'ave more boogers than brains,'' Miss Combes said as she cut the cheese into four even quarters. "Don't let 'is false modesty fool ye, Lamp." "Being one of the few ponies that studies this new science does not make me an expert… it just makes me… available?" Once more, he cleared his throat. "It is not the same thing." "Ye studied with Clover the Clever—" "I am not half as clever as Clover." A wedge of soft, gooey, somewhat bluish cheese on a pottery plate was set down in front of Lamp and she could not believe her good fortune. This was not table scraps, or a bit of cheese rind that nopony wished to chew on for hours so it could be swallowed. She watched as it oozed a bit of runny goo and deformed into something not entirely a cheese wedge. It was stinky, but in a good way, and her mouth watered in anticipation of what was sure to be a delectable treat. "My job, in its most simple form, is to figure out how to make ponies be nice to one another." He started to say more, but Miss Combes plunked a plate with a wedge of cheese down in front of him. Once again, his eyebrows made the perilous ascent up his wrinkled forehead, and just as before, they became worn-out about halfway up. "Miss Combes, I think this one has gone bad, because—" "It's gone good, Ficklewick." "But the smell is rather offensive and—" "Criticise my cheese and there'll be words." His fuzzy ears angled forwards for a brief moment, then retreated and splayed out sideways. The corners of his mouth twitched briefly as his housekeeper placed a plate of cheese in front of the deaf-mute colt, and then, when she wasn't looking and was preparing her own plate, he shot a secretive half-smile in Lamp's general direction. The kind act made Lamp feel welcome, and a little less tense. Beneath his breath, Ficklewick said to Lamp, "Blessed are the cheesemakers, whose success is measured in stench." Miss Combes chortled a bit, put forth a great effort to recover herself, and failed. Her sides rose and fell, and as they did so, Ficklewick seemed to take great satisfaction in the fact that she could not recuperate. Was this friendship? It had to be. But what a strange friendship it was, to the point where Lamp could not make sense of it. Still, she was grateful for it, and beyond that, she wanted desperately to be a part of it. There was a warmth here that made the crackling fire seem weak and cold. "It has been so long," Ficklewick said, mostly beneath his breath. "So, so long." Even though he smiled—as much as his wrinkled, sagging face would allow—his eyes were sorrowful when he looked at Lamp. "What're ye going on about, Fickle?" asked Miss Combes as she armed herself with an enormous metal ladle. "How soon ponies forget," was his somewhat cryptic response. "Forget what?" asked Lamp. "I suppose it is a sign of things getting better," he said as his housekeeper submerged the ladle into the crockery full of soup. "Or maybe our collective memories are getting worse. Either way…" His sentence went unfinished as he shook his head from side to side. Eyes sorrowful, but still bright, he stared Lamp right in the eye until she began to squirm a bit. "There used to be tribes within tribes," he began as if he were a teacher getting ready to recite a lesson. "With the Unicorn Tribe, there were variations. Distinct versions. But in particular, what is relevant with this conversation, were two specific types. Unicorns such as myself and Miss Combes, we're just common unicorns. A standard type. But you, Lamp"—his sides heaved as he inhaled—"you are a chromatic unicorn. And it has been a while since I have seen your type." Ladling soup into crockery bowls, Miss Combes seemed sad, and had nothing to say. "Princess Platinum was a chromatic unicorn, which she believed gave her the right to rule. After all, there was no pony quite so resplendent as her, quite so beautiful. She appeared to be a creature made of living metal, like some types of dragons. Her platinum pelt shone like a second sun and her mane was like wires made of precious much-coveted metals. She ruled, because beauty was her birthright. Not another creature could match her splendour, until Princess Celestia came along. But… the chromatic unicorns believed strongly in their right to rule. They were few, uncommon… a tribe that grew more precious with each generation as their numbers dwindled." Brows furrowed, Ficklewick pressed his front hooves together whilst he leaned over the table just a bit. "This is not a story about one pony secure in their superiourity, no. Princess Platinum had a change of heart and with help from her new friends, her fellow Founders, she knew that greatness was measured by one's deeds. And so it came to pass that Princess Platinum gathered up her fellow chromatic unicorns… powerful unicorns they were. Beings of immense power…" His sentence dried up on his tongue and he seemed incredibly inconsolable now. But he was not silent for long. "Princess Platinum gathered up the strongest unicorns she could… of all types… and she gathered up powerful pegasus ponies and earth ponies… she formed a mighty army, the likes of which had not been seen on this continent. This was an army created for but one single purpose: to rescue another tribe of ponies, the Crystal Ponies of the Crystal Empire. They went north, passing through the treacherous wilderness, having to fight for every step taken. They would not be deterred as they made their northward journey, trampling any foe foolish enough to delay them along the way. Princess Platinum was determined to be great, to live in service of another. "I am unsure of what happened when she reached the Crystal Empire. From what little that there is known, there was a battle. King Sombra's stygian darkness pitted against Princess Platinum's resplendent light—but nopony knows the outcome because the Crystal Empire just disappeared. And everypony there vanished with it. So it came to pass that the chromatic unicorns faded into obscurity. Seeing you reawakens so many memories, Lamp." "Ficklewick remembers when things were better," Miss Combes said as she continued to serve their meal. "There was a time when it felt as though… when it felt as though…" The ladle fell into the soup crockery with a splash and a plop, and then the housekeeper just stood there, her eyes misty and distant. Fearing she might upset her kindly benefactors, Lamp still dared to ask: "So why are things so bad? If things were getting better, what made them worse?" "Well, the loss of Princess Platinum was quite a blow," replied Ficklewick. "One by one, we lost the Founders, and their message about hearthfire and friendship—" "Phahgh! 'Earthfire! A fanciful old mare's tale!" "Hearthfire is very real, I assure you, Miss Combes—" "It showed up once and ain't never returned since." The housekeeper was practically spitting. "That's our trouble, we let ourselves believe in myth. We make up stories and lie to ourselves. Now that the 'earthfire is gone, so is all our reason for unity with it. And that's the trouble with fanciful stories!" "Miss Combes…" Ficklewick's voice was stern now, resolute, and his eyes gleamed with fierce determination. "The story of our Founding is not a myth. Hearthfire… the magic of friendship… the magic of unity, I believe it to be real. While I do my best to only believe in what I can see and measure, some things remain outside of our understanding." "Ficklewick… what if the Circle was right? I know this is a sore spot for ye, but let us entertain the notion. What if the Founders just made up a story to bring everypony together? Would that be so bad?" "Well, yes," he replied without hesitation. "Because then our unity would be built upon a foundation of lies, rather than a foundation of friendship." Sighing, Miss Combes shook her head and just stood there. "You know, Miss Combes… one day, ponies will forget the Waking Nightmare—" "Ye crank! How could anypony forget that? We lived through it! The dream realm came spilling out into the world of the wake! Nightmares walked amongst us!" "They will forget that Princess Celestia even had a sister—" "Impossible! We all know this to be true!" "Princess Luna will be forgotten. The Waking Nightmare will pass into myth, if it is even remembered at all. The Mare in the Moon will become a story told to scare foals into behaving at bedtime—if the story is even remembered at all. What we know to be true will fade into myth, and then maybe into obscurity. Just like hearthfire, Miss Combes." The housekeeper savagely bit down upon her bottom lip, but did not respond. "Ponies are already fighting over what actually happened." His words soft, almost a whisper, Ficklewick continued with a distant forlorn expression. "Because so much of it was actually a dream for so many, there is much debate about the very nature of the Waking Nightmare. And if it was even real. Like hearthfire, it cannot be measured, or tested, or studied. It happened once, and then it was gone. What knowledge there is about it is contained in the living. And once those living pass… so too, will that knowledge. As for the Circle, they cannot even agree as to what it was… just like hearthfire." He turned to face Lamp, his bushy, grizzled eyebrows down low over his fervent eyes. "This… this is why things are so bad, Lamp. There are many factors, but what I feel is the primary source… what I believe to be the root cause for our troubles… the fall of Princess Luna. Would you like for me to explain? Would you like for this lesson to continue? If you wish to be my guest, I shall spare you… but if you wish to be my student, there is a cost. "What say you, Lamp?" A bowl of soup was slid over the wooden table and came to rest before the filly. She looked at it, thoughtful, and then, ever so slowly, she raised her head. Whatever wisdom that might be found in the depths of her soup would remain there. This was no simple decision, no simple yes or no. Whatever she said next would not just affect her life—but the life of her companion as well. This was destiny, whatever that might mean, and she'd met it halfway. Now, with but a simple answer, she would either become Lamp, a pony that shone brightly, or a lamp, a pony that was little more than furniture. "If you tell me, I'll listen. I don't wanna be a lamp." "Good. Good. Remarkable. I am pleased to hear you say that. Remarkable." "This is remarkably complicated in the telling. Good thing we have plenty of time. Where do I begin? What do I explain? That's the real trick with these lessons, getting started. I suppose we should begin with a question. Tell me, Lamp… do you understand what the Waking Nightmare is? Was? Has anypony sat you down and explained to you what happened?" Eyes low, Lamp squirmed on her cushion. Adults talked about the Waking Nightmare, but none of them really spoke about what it was. It was something that happened, something she was a part of, but nopony went into detail about what took place. The few times she had asked about it, ponies got quiet for a time, and then spoke of other things—anything but the Waking Nightmare. What was said was that it was for the best if everypony just forgot about it. Before Lamp could respond however… "Crivens! Nae! Nae! It's 'ot! Blow! Blow! Blow!" Miss Combes had her face down almost nose to nose with the deaf-mute colt—who, from the looks of things, had almost plunged his muzzle right into the bowl of hot soup. She got his attention by gently tugging upon his ear, which Lamp saw when she looked over. What she saw next surprised her a great deal; creeping realisation, a slow-but-steady understanding of what just took place. The housekeeper was huffing and puffing into the colt's soup and his eyes lit up with gratitude. Extending his scrawny neck, the colt nuzzled Miss Combes' muzzle. The housekeeper's ears twitched in such a way that her knitted cap slipped right off and fell down to the table—but thankfully not into the bowl of soup. Her sides heaved as she huffed one final time, and then she just stood there. Little by little, her mane tumbled down around her face. As for the colt, he kept his muzzle close to hers and just sort of smiled with his eyes half-closed. "Yer such a sweet little guyo," Miss Combes muttered. "So trusting. How are ye so trusting? Somepony clearly 'urt ye… but ye dinnae seem at all skittish. Ye can't 'ear a word I'm saying to ye, but I think you like it that I'm talking to ye. Mind yer soup, colt. It's 'ot." "My housekeeper seems a little—" "One more word ye gasgape and I'll give yer neck a right-good wringing." She sat down near the colt, scooted closer, and then armed herself with a spoon. "I'm still a mare, Ficklewick. Ne'er forget that. Foaling may 'old no appeal, it doesn't mean I 'ate them or don't want them around, ye ken. Though… most of them are coddled brats and I can't stand them." "I like seeing this side of you, Miss Combes." Somewhat mollified—perhaps even a bit embarrassed—she replied, "Well, thank ye." "Now… where was I? The prosperity problem? No… no, that does not seem right. Oh, right. Right. The Waking Nightmare. We shall get to the prosperity problem. Now where do I begin?" The old stallion lifted his spoon, gazed at his own reflection in the curved surface, and then seemed to recoil from what he saw. Meanwhile, Lamp inhaled the curls of savoury steam rising from her bowl, and she rather enjoyed her stomach's visceral, savage response. Across the table, Miss Combes fed the deaf-mute colt with a spoon—which clearly confused him. It was obvious that he'd never eaten from a spoon before—much less had somepony try to feed him—and he cast a confused, cross-eyed stare on the loaded spoon held before his fuzzy lip. Rather than bite, he blew on the spoon. For Lamp, this was new, novel, she could not remember a time like this in her life. Was this what family was like? There was a warmth here that did not come from the fire, or the soup for that matter. Canterlot's cold chill had no power within these walls. The awareness of it made her eyes sting tremendously, but she somehow held herself together. Quite by accident, she had led herself and her companion here—but this was the right place to be. Fate? Destiny? Serendipitous happenstance? Something greater? The room blurred as the pain in her eyeballs became a searing heat. "Miss Combes, I must protest—" "What'd I do?" she demanded whilst the colt blew on the spoon held before him. "I do believe there is too much onion or garlic in the soup. It's eye-watering—" "Stuff a neep in yer soup spout, ye crank! Don't tease!" Somehow, even though it felt as though her heart and face were breaking, Lamp smiled. "I was attempting to protect the young mare's dignity. 'Tis better to blame the soup." Then, to Lamp he said, "Dear, do you need a moment?" "I'm fine," she somehow managed to say, though she did not recognise the sound of her own voice, which was rather like a rusty hinge of a door left to swing in the wind. "The Waking Nightmare," Ficklewick began as he crumbled up his wedge of cheese and plopped the pieces into his soup. "Wait… before we discuss the Waking Nightmare, do you know of collective channeling, young miss?" Lamp did not; she feared saying so however, because it would certainly make her appear uneducated, or worse, ignorant. Nervous, she mimicked Ficklewick and started to crumble pieces of her cheese into her soup. From what little she knew about him, she knew that he valued honesty. After working up her courage, and swallowing her pride, she had her answer. "I know nothing." "Ah, honesty over pride. Remarkable. Remarkable indeed." The sage old senior equine nodded his approval. "Collective channeling is how unicorns would move the sun and moon, or cast complex spells. It is a great strength… and a terrible weakness. One that Nightmare Moon would exploit. The ability for our minds to link together to form a single stream of focused magic. The Waking Nightmare is the primary reason why the Magus' Circle wishes to outlaw collective channeling. Oh my… this is rapidly becoming remarkably complicated. There is just so much that has to be understood before one can truly comprehend the Waking Nightmare." "There's a lot to understand just to be a unicorn," Miss Combes said as she slipped the spoon into the colt's mouth. When she pulled it out, soup dribbled down his chin and she frowned while she made every effort to scrape it clean with the spoon. "I just scrubbed yer face. At least make an effort to be clean, wee guyo." The deaf-mute colt blinked once, licked his lips, smeared the mess everywhere, and then waited patiently for another spoonful. Ficklewick watched all of this, evidently distracted by the whole affair, and after being completely absorbed by it for a considerable length of time, he returned his attention to Lamp. Lifting his spoon, he opened up his mouth, and then said absolutely nothing, nothing at all. "The Waking Nightmare, ye scatterbrained old goat." "Oh… right. I was about to explain collective channeling. I think. Was I?" When the last bit of cheese fell into her soup, Lamp armed herself with a spoon—which she had never used before. Never once. Determined to not make a fool of herself, she waited, and she watched. When the others ate, she would observe them, and then do whatever it was that they did. It seemed simple enough. This meal wasn't scraps, and it wasn't stolen, so she was going to enjoy it. Brows furrowed, ears down, his face sagging as if pulled down by some great weight, Ficklewick appeared much older. After a sigh and a prolonged inhalation, he began: "Princess Luna could go into the minds of others as they lay dreaming. The realm of dreams is abstract and mysterious, but that is a topic for another time. What is important for our discussion is that she had access to the minds of so many, and with these minds, she created the Waking Nightmare. "Princess Luna became Nightmare Moon by harnessing the magic of so many… at least this is believed to be the case. Nopony knows for certain, and Princess Luna is no longer around so that she might be made to explain herself. But she harnessed the minds of a great many unicorns so that she could overpower her sister and be rid of the sun. These dreaming minds, vulnerable, were open to all manner of exploitation. "The weakest, those with little magic, became generators for the creeping darkness. Nightmare Moon used them to subsume the light. Those who had a little strength, they projected the dreamscape into the waking world, so that the two realms began to overlap with one another. This caused a sort of delirium, even in those still awake, and the weak-minded fell prey to illusion. The nightmare became a reality, in a manner of speaking. "As for the strongest unicorns however, they became… well, gates, for lack of a better description. Conduits. They allowed the nightmarish monsters of the dream realm to escape into our world. Nightmare Moon's shrieking host. Once free, they began to kill… to devour. Inadvertently, unicorns did great harm, though it wasn't their fault. The other ponies… the earth ponies and the pegasus ponies, they had no choice but to defend themselves. "And so they did. Left with no other choice, they began to kill slumbering unicorns in an effort to break Nightmare Moon's horrific spell. It was an awful thing to have happened, but necessary, I suppose. What choice did they have?" He shook his head, closed his eyes, sighed, then opened his eyes so that he might look at Lamp. "Of course, there were also unicorns such as yourself. Princess Celestia's Little Lights. Though the ways and means are not fully understood, somehow the light that you and your kind cast banished the darkness and broke the spell. The Waking Nightmare had no power in the islands of illumination created by you and your kind. I do believe that Miss Combes has made you somewhat aware of your nature, Lamp." It was too much to take in and Lamp was left flummoxed. "There is much distrust now. The other ponies just sort of expect more nightmares to leap out of sleeping unicorns. And naturally, understandably, sleeping unicorns worry a great deal about not waking up. Nopony wants to talk about it, and rather wishes the whole thing could just be forgotten. If hearthfire was the blessing of our age, the Waking Nightmare is… well, whatever is the opposite of a blessing. But this is only part of our troubles, and I've dedicated my life to understanding all of it." For the first time in her life, Lamp understood just how valuable her light was to her caretakers. Not just to keep the darkness away, as she had grown up believing—but perhaps to protect others around them. They were powerful enough to be dangerous, she figured. They had just enough magical oomph to be problematic. Was she a means of peace of mind for them? Maybe they weren't the most awful of sorts as she believed. If they were to become a wellspring of nightmares, would her light keep others safe? For the first time, she saw what she believed might be both sides of the issue, and an entirely new horizon opened up before her. Lamp—a foal that had been shown little empathy in her short life—now had a keen awareness of it for others. Such as her companion. For Miss Combes, who doted upon the colt, spoon feeding him and wiping his chin. The awareness of this new thing, this newfound state of being, it was overwhelming—but it was also empowering. Something stirred within the edges of her consciousness, and she understood that this was a part of her nature. To illuminate. To shine light on all things, both physical and metaphorical. Light and enlightenment. A means to banish darkness of all types. Her young body responded to this sudden influx of power and understanding in the only manner which it could: she hiccuped rather violently. Covering her mouth with her hoof, she sat there and just allowed everything to sink in. This morning, she was a filly that had escaped through the window and now… now she wanted to make windows to let the light in. The spoon held aloft in her magical aura trembled, but did not fall. "This is not an insurmountable problem, so take heart. This can be overcome. I have a plan. I know how to fix this. Friendship is the answer… but for that to happen, a few things must change first. If friendship is a flower, then fertile fields are needed. These fields have been sown with salt, but I am confident that things can be set right. Before she passed, Clover showed me the way. She told me what must be done… and surely there is no pony more clever than Clover. She went into one of her fugue states and spoke prophecy." "Oh, 'ere we go—" "Miss Combes, please, hold your tongue on this matter." Then, to Lamp, he said, "Clover spoke of many things. I understand none of them, because, as I have stated, I am not as clever as Clover. She predicted that the Windigos would come, that the sea would freeze over to form a bridge, and that the three tribes would become as one. Her prognostications are… well, rather cryptic and I suppose you could say that they are open to interpretation. Some of them are downright baffling, while others seem somewhat straightforward, at least upon first inspection." "Yer the best friend that Clover could've 'oped for, I s'pose. Her work was just too great to finish in one lifetime… and the same can be said for ye, Ficklewick. Ye'll never see the end result. Just 'ow do ye live with it? Would drive me barmy. I mean, I'm trying to make my life as long as possible just so I can get my work done and see it to completion." "We must trust in friendship, Miss Combes," was Ficklewick's patient response. It occurred to Lamp that a spoon was just a tiny bowl on a stick. "Clover stated that when the twitterlight hour comes 'round at last, two sisters torn asunder will become as one." After fishing a lump of potato out of his soup, Ficklewick sat squinting down at it. "Mind you, this was before Nightmare Moon and the Waking Nightmare." Peering out from beneath his overhanging brows, he carefully nibbled on the spoonborne spud with his lips peeled back from his broad teeth. "But… how could Clover possibly know this?" asked Miss Combes, who wore a sour expression of intense doubt. "Clover died, Miss Combes. Consumed by the ice. The Ice of Apathy, the very opposite of the Fires of Friendship. It stopped her heart. She was dead, make no mistake about that. Hearthfire revived her. Gave her life. She was touched by it and it changed her. Profoundly. I suspect that it is also the source of her visions. Though she already had the gift of foresight, of prognostication, what she endured transmuted it in ways I cannot comprehend. Clover was a vessel. Perhaps a messenger. Death changes a pony, for better or worse. There's no coming back… not without consequences. The price for Clover's restoration was her fugue states and her cryptic utterances." "Nopony took them seriously… 'cept for ye." "What sort of friend would I be if I did not believe her?" "Some ponies go sick in the mind, Ficklewick. Do ye believe them?" In response, Ficklewick said nothing, but slurped his soup. Lamp made her first attempt and somehow managed to get the spoon and most of its contents into her mouth, with only a little that trickled down her chin. As for the soup itself, Lamp didn't know what to think of it—there was too much to taste all at once and her senses were overloaded. It warmed her belly, soothed her throat, and made her feel rather sleepy. "While my question has merit, I'm glad that ye did believe her, Ficklewick. Yer the only pony I know that is actually doing something—anything to make things better. Everypony else is arguing 'bout this and that. The Circle… one day the Circle will make talking about the problem a crime, ye mark my words." She sighed, her ears fell backwards into her mane, and she shook her head in some vague resigned way. "Even if it be a fool's errand, I'm glad yer the fool. I might question, but I am behind ye on this journey, no matter where it takes us." Saying nothing, the old stallion nodded in his housekeeper's direction. "I was still young and stupid when ye took me in," Miss Combes continued. "Thought I 'ad life figured out. Thought I 'ad ye figured out. I was scared, let me tell ye. I'd 'eard all kinds of stories on how lords dealt with the 'elp. You've been nothing but good to me. Ye've shown me extraordinary kindness at a time when there's been little kindness to spare. And I s'pose I'm saying this 'cause Lamp needs to 'ear it. I've known ye long enough to know that ye'll not let her slip away." The housekeeper turned to Lamp, and added, "Tell'im what ye told me, Lamp. About yer magic. Tell'im what 'appened. If 'e believed Clover, then trust that 'e'll believe ye." "Magic?" Suddenly, the full weight of Ficklewick's intense scrutiny pinned Lamp in place. "Did something happen?" he asked, and he was no longer an absent-minded old dotard. The dramatic shift showed that he was commanding and in full control of himself. "Tell me. Do not be shy or scared. I will not doubt you, young one. You have too much to lose if you lie to me." It was true and Lamp knew it, not that she had any intentions of lying. "When I saved him—" "Saved him? Saved him from what?" Unsure of what to say, or where to even begin her tale, Lamp decided that she would just plow ahead. After all, more details could be given in time. Miss Combes could pull out everything that happened so Ficklewick could study it. With this in mind, she chose the direct, straightforward approach when she started over. "When I saved him, something happened. It was cold. I was cold. The cold was different. He was cold and it was like all the heat was getting sucked out of my body. Nopony helped us. Nopony helped him. Nopony did anything to save him. And there was this cold on the inside… inside my body." She sucked in a deep breath. "Then I got mad. I got mad and it got hot. And my horn lit up and my light spell happened and it was hot. My light was hot. Then I had a buncha thoughts about alotta things like what light means and the cold went away." "I see," said Ficklewick, who now seemed pensive. "I decided that I couldn't go home. I had to grow up and do right. Somehow I knew everything I had to do but I had no idea how to do it. It felt very unfair but I knew what needed to be done and so I came here to the First Quarter for a bit of a burgle." "Light and heat." Head tilted off to the right, Ficklewick seemed lost in thought. "She and I discussed this," Miss Combes said to Ficklewick. "I knew that ye'd want to know." Intrigued, Lamp slurped up a spoonful of soup and only made a minor mess of things. "It sounds as if she had some sort of re-affirmation of her talent… and possibly an alteration as well." Nostrils flaring wide with every breath, Ficklewick appeared somewhat strained by the heavy cogitation he engaged in. "Friendship is a magic all its own and it… it changes things. The fires of friendship function like a forge. It remakes a creature anew. Or it awakens what is already there. I am not entirely sure. I shall need to examine the memory if I am to make sense of it. That is, if you will permit me, my dear. I would be indebted to you. Such a thing would be of utmost importance to my research. This might very well be the closest thing to proof that I have found." Lamp made another attempt upon her soup's life and this time, she got more of it into her mouth than on her chin. The soup, being soup, steamed in protest but could do nothing, for such was the way of soup. When she stabbed it with her spoon, piercing the congealed soup skin, she could not help but notice just how gooey it had become because of the cheese. "Light and heat together. I can only think of one other pony that can do that." "Princess Celestia," Miss Combes said as she got another spoonful of hot soup into the deaf-mute colt. "If Nightmare Moon had won," Lamp said around a mouthful of soft potato, "and the world was forever-dark, I would've needed a way to keep warm. It might've been there all along and just woke up today." "Remarkable," Ficklewick remarked in a deadpan manner most unremarkable. "We need to study the other Little Lights. Feels like I'm repeating meself." "Miss Combes, that would most certainly get the attention of the Circle. Which we do not want." Annoyed, the acerbic housekeeper frowned so hard that the colt recoiled. Immediately, her face softened, and she began cooing to console Lamp's startled companion. He was quick to recover though, mostly because Miss Combes had the spoon. Across the table, Lamp watched the pair and even as her heart warmed, she worried about the Circle. Just this morning the Circle was a fabled place, a pleasant daydream—but was now something dangerous and worrisome. "So how do we make things better?" asked Lamp. "How do we fix this? How do I help?" "A filly in need of aid herself eager to help others." Long neck somewhat bent, Ficklewick plopped his spoon into his bowl of soup and then just sat there studying Lamp. For a moment, it appeared as though he might say something, but before the words could escape he began to chew his bottom lip. Then, after a bit of chewing, he asked, "So you really wish to help?" "For a light to shine," she replied, "it must be seen." "Oh my. Remarkable. So if a light shines and nopony is there to see it, is it darkness?" "I dunno," Lamp replied. "This got stuck in my noggin earlier, along with a buncha other stuffs." "Meditation upon your talent and magic in general will reveal much," said Ficklewick. "The problems we face now are not just Nightmare Moon's aftermath. Though, it is quite easy to blame our misfortunes upon her and the tragedy that she caused. If only it were so simple." He paused long enough to offer up a sad shake of his head. "No… the real trouble, the source problem lies with us. Our natures. What we think and what we do. Our behaviours. For this problem, there is but one solution: friendship." Lamp waited patiently for him to explain and she watched with pricked ears as he had himself a spoonful of still-steaming soup. She too had a careful bite and as she chewed up a mouthful of soft root vegetables, she attempted to make sense of what he'd said. Her life up to this point was not one of meaningful conversation and this experience—the whole of it—let her know what she was missing. "Desperation is a disease," Ficklewick began. "Nightmare Night left behind a plague of desperation. There are many symptoms of desperation, such as poverty and disparity. An overabundance of need but a critical shortage of provision. These conditions breed apathy, which I suppose are the very conditions that brought about the Windigo Winter. When faced with these conditions, ponies behave in a manner most predictable. "Life becomes every pony for themselves. Compassion withers. Ponies steadfastly stick with what they know—and what they know looks an awful lot like themselves. What I mean by that is that tribalism flourishes in this environment, these circumstances. If ponies deign to help others at all, they will likely only help those most like themselves. This goes beyond tribe and applies to social stratification as well. The wealthy remain blissfully unaware of the impoverished, though almsgiving has become something of a fad as of late." He paused, glanced around, his brows deeply furrowed, and then said, "There's no bread." "I didn't bake any today," Miss Combes replied. "What am I supposed to dunk into my soup?" "Well, 'ow's 'bout yer head?" "You there!" Ficklewick's head swiveled about in a vaguely disturbing way so that he could peer out from beneath his eyebrows at Lamp. "Can you bake bread?" "I could learn," she offered. "I think I'd like that." "I'll keep that in mind." With his response, he cast a scathing bit of side-eye in his housekeeper's direction. "Bread exists so that it might be dunked into soup and soup exists to have bread dunked into it. This is the natural order of things and we upset this order at our own peril." "I was busy with guests," Miss Combes said as she returned some side-eye. "This colt needed a bath." "It occurs to me that bathing and soup are remarkably similar with the difference being how long you allow something to simmer in hot water and—" "Are ye suggesting I almost turned yon colt into soup, ye crank?" "I am suggesting that you could. Just prolong the bath time and season with soap." "Fickle, 'ave ye taken leave of yer senses?" "If you sit in a hot bath for too long you come out looking rather stewed—" "You were trying to explain something important to Lamp! Focus, ye daft dotard!" "I was?" He blinked. "Oh, right. I was. Where was I? Right. In the middle of explaining my theory about how bathing and soup are related—" "Ficklewick!" "What?" "Yer a right mess, ye crackpot." "Should bread be dunked into bathwater?" asked Lamp. "Dinnae encourage 'im, Lamp! Oh, woe is me, this'll end badly if it ends at all!" "That's an excellent question. One for rumination. Such a smart filly, asking the right questions." Now, more than ever, Ficklewick seemed distracted and he studied Lamp with a critical eye. "Like relates to like. You and I can relate to one another through my budding theory about the interconnected relation between bathwater and soup. Other ponies have trouble connecting to one another because they have so little in common. That's our problem as ponies. I work to fix that. Thinkism offers a solution." Sides heaving, a long sigh of resignation wheezed out of Miss Combes. "A happy pony is an open-minded pony," said Ficklewick, who ignored the fierce scowl aimed at him from his grouchy housekeeper. "A pony with a full belly and a safe place to sleep at night is a brave pony. A pony more likely to try new things. So if we want to become one tribe, we must eliminate what separates us, be rid of the sources of division, and ponies must be prosperous and happy. We must all become as equals, and therein lies the impossible problem. The insurmountable issue that I do not know how to overcome." "And that is?" asked Lamp. "Ponies do not want to be equals," Ficklewick replied. "Leaving tribe out of this, we shall focus on factors other than wings, a horn, or the lack thereof. The wealthy need the poor to feel wealthy. The poorer and more impoverished the lower classes are, the wealthy are better off by comparison. Making the destitute better off poses a real threat to the wealthy… and my efforts have been thwarted at every turn." "I don't understand," said Lamp, who could not make sense of anything. "If we help the poor, then somehow we take away from the rich. We take from them what makes them feel special, the very thing that gives them a sense of purpose in their lives and—" "Take it anyway." Struggling to comprehend, Lamp dropped her spoon into her soup with a splash. "Take it all." "So says the burglar." "Miss Combes, if you please." He cleared his throat. "If we are to have unity, then all must be happy and none must feel slighted. This includes ponies who have everything as well as those who have nothing. We must come together somehow for a common cause." "I've gots nothing but I still helped him," Lamp said whilst she pointed at her companion with her extended hoof. "That makes you an extraordinary exception, my dear. Which is why you are here, in my home, supping upon the bathwater of potatoes. And I suppose that brings us to my intentions. I wish to study you and your interactions with your friend. There's a curious whiff of destiny to all of this. I would very much like to have some insight into its whims." Lamp knew it was coming, but was still surprised by it. Her ears fell back and the weight of the entire world threatened to bend her neck. She'd escaped through a window earlier, and now, another window opened, another means of escape. The back of her mind quietly suggested that light enters through open windows, and she had to fight so she wouldn't be distracted by the brain tickle brought about by this realisation. "You want me to stay?" "You and your companion," was his response. It was now difficult to draw breath, but somehow, Lamp managed. "I will ask little of you. Just that you stay and allow me to study you. A bit of conversation at supper. I wish to know how your friendship changes you. Challenges you. If you allow me this opportunity, I will allow you to stay. Nothing else will be expected of you. However, should you choose to help Miss Combes keep house, you will be compensated with a bit of coin." "If ye 'elp me ye'll be more than compensated,'' Miss Combes said to Lamp. "I'll teach ye magic. Ye'll get a proper education. Ficklewick needs more than a test subject, ye ken. The importance of his work cannae be put into words." She gestured at the liquid library, then to the deaf-mute colt, and then her foreleg came to rest upon the edge of the table. "There's too much work for any one pony." All of the words she wanted to say backed up in her throat and nothing came out. She swallowed, but the metaphorical lump remained stuck. Up to this point in her life, she had functioned as a lamp in exchange for the bare minimum required for her continued existence. This was considerably more; this was work traded for a life. Not just her own life, but the life of her companion as well. He would be provided for; beyond that, he might even be loved, if Miss Combes' affections were any indication. This was more than she could have ever hoped for. More than she had dreamed of. Growing up had always been a hazy concept. One day, she would be an adult, and she would be free. She had daydreams about what that meant, but no real understanding of how it would happen. A simple act of kindness and compassion had changed the outcome of her life—and the life of her companion as well. "Friendship is a stone thrown into a pond. I believe that it is chaotic harmony. Destiny might very well mean predetermined rolls of the dice, a pre-established outcome. When we are born, the events of our life are arranged in such a way that leads us down a predestined series of events. But friendship… I believe that friendship allows for a fresh roll of the dice. Circumstances and events change because we are not alone. Had you come alone today, there might have been a very different outcome. If you had come at all. Without him, you might not have had reason to do so. Mind you, this is what I believe, and I have absolutely nothing to back up my assertions. What I have… are hunches, and nothing more." Still in need of an answer—even though she knew what she would say—Lamp turned to look at the colt. He had no voice. No means to say yes or no. It was unfair to him, but that was just the way that life was. Somepony had to be his voice and speak for him. She had been in the right place at the right time. Had she not climbed out the window, he might very well be a splat smeared along the cart track. Perhaps Ficklewick was right; friendship changed the outcome of things. Maybe, just maybe, it had been the colt's fate to die this day. By changing the outcome of events—by allowing him to live—her own life had been changed profoundly. Or maybe not. Still, the thoughts persisted and her mind struggled to grasp them. Saying yes would change everything in ways that she could not even conceive. Not just her life, but his life. There were quite a number of deaf-mutes around and none of them had good lives—though deaf-mute unicorns still had magic. The potion seller that sold curatives was deaf and dumb, a condition much bemoaned by the lady of the house. Whenever there was a cough, an earache, or a weepy, snotty eye in the household, the lady of the house had to go and barter with a pony that could neither hear nor speak. Lamp had barely ever made decisions for herself; now she lived for two. Answering wasn't as easy as she thought—though it seemed like such a simple thing to do. It lingered on her tongue, just a word or two and this dilemma would be solved. But getting to her tongue was the problem, because her response was stuck in her mind, like a crust of bread too stale, too dry, too tough to swallow. "What if my caretakers come to claim me?" she asked. "What becomes of him?" Ficklewick and Miss Combes exchanged a glance, a silent exchange made with the eyes. While Ficklewick seemed thoughtful, Miss Combes was visibly angry, as if offended by the very notion. She leaned in closer to the colt, grimaced gratuitously, and jammed a spoonful of soup into his muzzle. At that moment, Miss Combes was at her grumpiest, and she was downright scary. As Lamp shivered in fear, she heard Ficklewick say, "You would be gainfully employed. Your caretakers would have no claim. Gainful employment of any form breaks the juvenile bond system we have created for dealing with felonious wastrel waifs." "I get into trouble," Lamp said as some embarrassment warmed her cheeks. "Arrested. More than once. More than a few times. I'm not wanted on the streets or in the market 'cause I'm good at what I do and I make the Watch chase me." While she did feel just a little shame, she felt far more pride at this moment. "I laugh at them when they stop to wheeze." "Well, imagine that," Ficklewick said in a dry deadpan. "If I asked you to misappropriate something for me—" "Fickle!" "Yeah, prolly." "Lamp!" Both ponies turned to look at Miss Combes, but it was Ficklewick that said, "I was testing her." Then, he turned his deadpan eyebrows upon the filly. "Naughty girl." She couldn't tell if he was serious—his expression and tone of voice made it impossible. "I have in my employ a pony that is both a magician and a soldier in her own right. A burglar might also be useful—" "Ficklewick!" "I am thinking aloud, mare!" His nostrils flared, he inhaled, and then his eyebrows lifted just a little. "Stealing from the citizens of Canterlot shall not be tolerated. However"—he reached up and rubbed his chin with his hoof—"there are monster dens on the mountain. Vile creatures that steal and rob. I would feel bad sending Miss Combes alone… but with a burglar…" "Ficklewick, what're ye getting at?" "There is wealth to be had and it seems like a shame to leave it. Irresponsible, even. Think of it as an errand, like going out to pick up a peck of potatoes. But it might be a bit more harrowing than going beyond the wall to the market. It just so happens to be a dangerous business going out your door." "Ficklew—" "Just imagine the bonds of friendship forged by sharing in what is sure to be such a catastrophe." "There it is!" Miss Combes crowed. "Ye've gone and revealed yerself." "You do not get along with other ponies, Miss Combes. I spent more than a little time dropping the eaves whilst upstairs. But you seemed to form a bond with Lamp right away." "Other ponies are a buncha suet-brains and I cannae stand to breathe the same air as them." "I'd like to stay," Lamp said before the conversation drifted off to some faraway place from whence there was no return. "Lamp's not coddled or entitled," Miss Combes said to Ficklewick, seemingly oblivious to Lamp's quiet interjection. "She's taken her lumps. Just like I did. She's no shirker and she doesn't shy away." "Suet-brains… is that not… organ fat, Miss Combes?" "Fickle, I was weaned 'round griffons." "Right. Right." Then, without skipping a beat, he said to Lamp, "Lovely, dear. There is a room upstairs. A spare room. It is rather small, I fear, but it is warm and pleasant enough I suppose. Miss Combes uses it as a workshop and a sewing room. There is no bed, but I will procure one as soon as possible. In the meantime, you can sleep here, in the common room. There are cushions and the fire is—" "No!" Miss Combes bonked her hoof against the table. "Miss Combes seems to have an objection," Ficklewick remarked. "I 'ave a 'uge bed." A dry swallow could be heard from Miss Combes. "When you bought that bed, Ficklewick, I was terrified by my own imagined implications." She quieted for a moment, her eyes turned somewhat glassy, and her scowl became a straight line—which was distinctly different than a smile, it should be noted. "The colt and Lamp can sleep with me. I dinnae mind." Nodding, Ficklewick seemed pleased. "Well, that's settled then." "Lamp, do ye burgle blankets?" "I've never had blankets," she replied. "Or a bed." "Crivens! Och! Feck!" "Miss Combes! That vulgar vernacular! That profane provincialism! Cease your outburst!" "The colt is deaf, Ficklewick, and Lamp 'as surely 'eard worse." "But what of my ears?" he demanded. "With all that earwax, 'tis a miracle you can 'ear at all," the housekeeper replied. "Can you live with this madness?" asked Ficklewick. "Miss Combes and I… we are not like other ponies. But I suppose you figured that out for yourself when we invited you in for supper. I for one think it will be delightful to have you here, my dear." "Thank you… for everything." She wanted to say more, but what? How could she possibly put it all into words? This kindness, this generous behaviour was unlike anything else she had experienced in her life and at a loss for words, a single tear somehow managed to escape the burning confines of her eyes. As it meandered down her cheek, Ficklewick said, "Eat your soup, dear. Welcome home." Author's Note So... the explanation of the Waking Nightmare certainly gives Miss Combes' mention as a combat veteran a whole new perspective. All that is left now is the epilogue. If people want me to post it sooner, rather than later, I can be convinced. Maybe. Epilogue"—And this, Twilight Sparkle, was your predecessor." Serene, calm, collected, cool, Celestia stepped back and allowed her tale a moment to sink in. The wings had changed her student profoundly, but Twilight was still Twilight in all the parts it mattered most. Her heart and soul remained unchanged. At the moment, the young mare was a wide-eyed filly once more, completely lost and overcome. She would recover, of course. The young mare wore her emotions so openly, and with such warmth. There could be no doubt that she was worthy. "Ficklewick was—" Words completely failed Twilight, and the young mare began to sniffle. Head high, Celestia cast her warm gaze upon the bronze bust of Ficklewick. One of the many points of interest in the hedge maze, the plaque merely mentioned that he was the father of modern psychology. But that was a lie of omission. Celestia knew him as so much more. He had laid down the foundation of friendship, and all of his hard work culminated with Twilight. If Ficklewick had laid the foundations, then Twilight was the capstone of a great work, finally finished. As for Celestia, she considered herself the custodian of this great work. "The story can't be over!" "Twilight, you—" "No!" Stomping her hoof, Twilight's stubbornness manifested in the form of a squinty stare and a protruding lower lip. "You only told the story's start! You can't do that! There's rules! You can't tell a story without an end. You just can't. There's so many unanswered questions! You told me how it started, and how it ends with me, but there's so much more to be told! What happened to Lamp? What about Miss Combes? And the colt… what of him? I need to know!" With a sigh, Celestia understood. Of course Twilight needed to know. This was a tale of friendship after all, a friendship that had changed the very fortunes of Equestria. A friendship that had influenced one-thousand years of history. This was the friendship that would eventually return and restore Luna, all because of what it represented. Slowly, with all of the gradual, unhurried majesty of the rising sun, it occurred to Celestia that Twilight was not the end of this story—but merely another chapter. The last time Celestia had seen her student this distraught, this disturbed, was when it was bedtime, and a story had to be put on hold. If Twilight had a failing… this had to be it. A flood of memories flowed over Celestia like a raging torrent but her face showed no sign of the inner turmoil. No emotion marred the alabaster perfection of her visage. The sunny optimism found within her rose-hued eyes did not diminish. Yet, her mood worsened when she thought of her own failings, of which there were many. "I was a fool." "Princess Celestia?" Still the most faithful of students, Twilight looked upwards with warm, sincere concern. Where to begin? Celestia wondered how she might teach this lesson. How did one plan for this? Twilight was as worshipful as ever, which somehow made it worse. Ficklewick, too, was every bit as worshipful. Always patient. Attentive. She'd taken him for granted. It wasn't until after he was interred in his tomb that she'd understood his vital importance, and what he had offered not just to her, but Equestria—and the world as well. "Ficklewick was the wellspring of Equestria's most valuable, most precious resource. Friendship. I squandered everything. My failures are many. There were many failures in those dark days after I lost my beloved sister." She swallowed, but the lump stuck in her throat did not go away, it only grew larger. "He had all the answers. He knew. He knew. And I failed to listen. I try to tell myself that the circumstances were impossible. We were a fledgling nation with many enemies. With my sister gone, we were seen as weak. So weak. "Our enemies came like vultures to a carcass. While I was trying to deal with all these different crises, Ficklewick would come to me with these ideas, these notions, these things he admitted were hunches, and I barely paid him any mind. I had chosen him to be my advisor, and then I completely ignored his advice. I made so many excuses. But he had all of the answers, even then. I like to tell myself that I was blinded and deafened by grief." "Princess Celestia…" "He knew, Twilight. How he knew I'll never know. But he knew how to revive and restore the Elements of Harmony. Ficklewick knew how to bring back the lost Element of Magic. With friendship. He tried to tell me. Over and over, he would try to bend my ear, and I was always too busy with some calamity that was sure to be the end of Equestria. Ficklewick was my friend, Twilight, a good and dear friend… and I ignored him just like I did Luna. It was only after he died that what he had to say was finally heard, but he was no longer around to answer questions. I wish things had been different." "Princess Celestia… I'm so sorry." Twilight wouldn't say it unless it was true. After taking a deep breath, Celestia somehow managed to calm herself just a little, though her heart still raced and blood pounded in the depths of her delicate, slender ears. Twilight's sincerity and earnestness reminded Celestia of so many others that came before, other students… other friends. Mere moments ago, Twilight had been upset because she wanted to know more of the story, but now, all of her attention was focused on Celestia's well-being. "Ficklewick only found the barest hint of proof," she began, and her heart warmed when her student's ears pricked in the ever-so-familiar way. "The cold that Lamp felt that day… it was… it was something but Ficklewick never ascertained what it was, only that it was something malevolent. Lamp felt it and just as her light spell had once driven off the supernatural darkness that threatened to consume her, it adapted to fend off the supernatural cold. How and why it adapted, Ficklewick never fully found out." Her eyes grew distant, as they often did when she had to see a thousand years into the past. "Perhaps it was some leftover residual magic from the Windigo Winter. I don't think we'll ever know. Ficklewick found witnesses and he spoke with them. He tried to find out why they did nothing. They too, felt the cold, and none of them could quite say why they just stood there, frozen in place. This wasn't much proof, but for Ficklewick, it was confirmation of everything he believed in. He buried himself into his work and spent the rest of his days seeking answers to some unknown question. Ficklewick lived for a very long time. I don't know what kept him going. The Circle accused him of lichery." "Lichery?" asked Twilight. "There were awful accusations, Twilight. Terrible things were said. The Circle was very influential. They accused Ficklewick of prolonging his life through unnatural methods. They said that Ficklewick consumed the memories of others so that he might cheat death. Memory magic was outlawed because of these accusations, and liquid libraries were sought out so that they might be destroyed. A lot of knowledge was lost forever." "That's… horrible!" Wide-eyed, Twilight lapsed into speechlessness. Closing her eyes for but a moment, Celestia allowed her mind to drift back to those chaotic times. So much was lost. Ficklewick was still remembered—but the Circle was practically lost to obscurantism, a victim to their own practices of censorship and omission. Good riddance. When she opened her eyes, she looked down at the bust of Ficklewick, and somehow, she was able to smile. It was like the sun parting obnoxious clouds and spearing the earth with crepuscular rays. "I am still alive," she said to her student, "and I still remember." Somewhere, lost within the leafy walls of the hedge maze, a group of foals giggled. Celestia rapidly recovered her sense of self, her sunny optimism, and her belief that things turned out the way that they did for a reason, even if she herself did not understand those reasons. With this came the return of her humility, and with humility came serenity. These were the things that mattered, the truly important things that defined her as a pony. "What became of Lamp?" asked Twilight, who unceremoniously plopped her backside down onto the grass so that she might have a good sit. It was an exceptionally Twilight thing to do—the very epitome of Twilightisms—and stood out in sharp contrast to Princess Celestia's poise and posture. She looked up at her teacher, eager, still concerned, but most of the severe worry was gone from her face. "I miss Lamp," Celestia blurted out before she realised what she was saying. A deep breath. Then another. Thinking this far back took effort. "Eventually, she became Street Lamp, and she was a welcome sight on the streets of Canterlot. Her light and warmth helped others to feel safe and secure. She became the Night Captain of the Watch." Another deep breath and this time, a fuzzy image of the mare materialised, enough so the mind's eye could see. "Nopony else wanted the job. It was a demanding position… one that placed a pony in the dark. Street Lamp excelled in the Watch. She knew the streets, she knew the hustles, she knew all of the shakedowns. Ever Ficklewick's student, she used her power, position, and influence in the Watch. She became the chief orphan wrangler, and she had the Watch raise unwanted foals. "This changed everything. The foals raised by the Watch… little earth ponies, little pegasus ponies, and little unicorns… they saw the Watch as their family. As their tribe. It changed them in some great fundamental way and Ficklewick studied them. He kept detailed notes. But they grew up in the Watch and it was their tribe. Lamp didn't know it, but she was the pony most directly responsible for one of Equestria's greatest assets. Eventually, those foals grew up and they would become the EUP. The Watch became the Guard, an example of unity in action." "And that's how we got the Wonderbolts!" "Correct, my most faithful student. That is how we were graced with the Wonderbolts." For a second, Twilight was a foal again, a tiny filly bursting with energy and eager to please. Celestia saw her quite clearly, but with the blink of an eye, the illusion vanished and Twilight was an adult mare once more—one that sat in the grass with her hind legs kicked out in a manner most unprincessly. It was Celestia's most sincere hope that Twilight would not change, because right now, at this moment, she was the best possible version of herself. "Street Lamp did amazing things with the precious few years she had—" "She died?" A sad smile threatened to ruin Celestia's solemn expression. "All ponies die, Twilight. But yes, she died rather young, at least by our modern standards." "How old was she?" "About late twenties. Maybe thirty at the most." "That's awful." Barrel hitching, Twilight began to sniffle. "Did she… did she go down fighting?" Seeing her student's distressed state and recalling these memories caused an ache in Celestia's heart, and she allowed herself to be distracted for but a moment by the sounds of life in the hedge maze around her. Students and teachers roamed these leafy corridors, no doubt doing what she and Twilight were doing. A great many lessons were taught among these topiaries. "She died foaling, Twilight. Which caused no end of upset to Miss Combes. Ficklewick's housekeeper was left embittered by the experience. I guess, in a sense, she did go down fighting, because she held on long enough to foal a wonderful little pegasus into the world. His name was Rescue Robin, and I… well, I still don't know how I feel about him. He was my most trusted associate and my nemesis." "Nemesis? How can somepony be a trusted associate and a nemesis?" "Rescue Robin found a way," Celestia was quick to reply. "He was raised in a household of ponies who practiced brutal honesty and regularly spoke their minds… in an era when ponies in general did not do this. Those ponies turned casual insults into an artform. They had tongues like axes and the ponies around them were but firewood for the block. He had no fear of me whatsoever. No qualms about telling me that my ideas were terrible, or that if I did this, or that, I would bring Equestria to ruin. He was a member of my exclusive retinue and one of my most trusted advisors. Mostly because he told me the truth, no matter how awful it was, or how little I wanted to hear it." Wide-eyed, Twilight squirmed and waited. "Once upon a time, there was a dragon, and his name was—" "No," Twilight said, somewhat testily. "No, you'd better not switch stories on me." So bold, her most faithful student. "Once upon a time," she began again. "There was a dragon and his name was Icefang the Unruly. He was a great and terrible dragon, and every now and then, when he got bored, he would stop by to collect tribute. It was a small price to pay to keep the peace and all things considered, we had a rather cordial relationship. "So one day, Icefang was spotted. These were lean times, and there wasn't much to offer as tribute. I was a bit worried about this. But my worries were greatly compounded when Rescue Robin flew off to meet with Icefang. With the fate of Equestria's future hanging in the balance, Rescue Robin challenged Icefang to a contest. A simple contest, but not a contest suited for dragons. You see, Rescue Robin challenged the great wyrm to see who could make the most friends, and naturally, with his draconic pride thoroughly pricked, Icefang agreed. Because, surely, anything a pony could do a dragon could do better." Twilight sat in rapt wonderment. "Almost right away, Icefang runs into problems. His first attempts to make friends turn out to be a spectacular series of embarrassing catastrophes. As it turns out, you cannot just snatch up a pony and command them to be friends. Icefang was truly baffled by social intricacies. Rescue Robin offered to help him… he offered to help the dragon win. A strange and curious friendship formed, one that Ficklewick zealously studied, because such friendships might very well be the key to Equestria's survival. "Rescue Robin teaches Icefang how to be helpful. Beyond that, he teaches Icefang how to be kind, honest, loyal, generous, and funny. Icefang, motivated to win, accomplishes a great deal. He helps farmers build irrigation ditches. Tremendous stones are removed. Icefang helps to build castles. Cities are constructed, because even the most massive of stones are just building blocks for a dragon of that size. Ponies stopped calling him 'Icefang the Unruly' and he became just 'Icefang'. "Eventually, Rescue Robin's clever ruse was revealed. A pony's life is so much shorter than a dragon's life… there is a magnitude of difference. And as Rescue Robin lay dying, Icefang realised that the pegasus never had a chance of winning. He also realised that he'd been duped. Outsmarted by a pony." She paused, overcome by the urge to shudder, and she had to draw a long, soothing breath to steady herself. "Icefang understood just how precious his friends were, because all of them would die. They had short lives. It crushed him… after Rescue Robin's death, Icefang was never quite the same. He mourned his friend and he told me that he might very well be the first dragon who has ever grieved. We became friends, he and I, because I saw that he'd endured a true change of heart. I hope he wakes up soon, because I would like for you to meet him, Twilight." "I think I'd like that," Twilight replied. "And I bet Spike would as well." "That one friendship changed everything. Icefang acted as a diplomat of sorts, and somehow managed to convince his fellow dragons to stop sacking and pillaging Equestria. It was a turning point for us. A major threat had been mostly nullified. Friendship changed everything for the better. Rescue Robin somehow accomplished what centuries of conflict failed to bring about: a lasting peace." "So Lamp's son took after his mother." "Yes, Twilight. Eventually, I saw the series of events for what they truly were. A sort of ripple-effect that moved ever-forward. The magic of friendship made itself known. It started off small. A filly saved a deaf-mute colt from certain death and decides that she is responsible for him. From that friendship, an endless chain of friendships are formed, all of which made Equestria what it is today. A whole sequence of events that led to you and what you accomplished with your friends." Nostrils aquiver, Twilight's moistened eyes became highly reflective. "Miss Combes had her long life. She lived for a century, or thereabouts. As she aged, she only became more and more abrasive. She raised Rescue Robin and she never let him forget his mother. He got to study his mother's memories and the experience changed him profoundly. Naturally, he was best friends with his mother's dearest friend. Lamp named her friend Warmheart, due to his genial good nature. Miss Combes raised two fine sons. "Warmheart was like a brother or an uncle for Rescue Robin. Sadly, he never fully recovered. He never stopped being frail. A draft would cause him to cough and he was in a constant state of sickness. Still, Miss Combes kept him alive. He lived for… at least two decades after Lamp's light was extinguished. I was with him when he passed…" When her throat closed unexpectedly, Celestia found herself robbed of speech. Lifting one foreleg, Twilight swiped at her eyes. Thinking back, Celestia could not remember a better listener than the deaf-mute earth pony. "It's all yours, Twilight," she managed to say, but she could not hide the strain in her voice. When her voice failed her again, she could not continue. It left a gap in the conversation and Twilight asked, "I'm sorry, but what is?" "All of Ficklewick's notes, all of his writings, copies will be made available to you. This is, arguably, one of Equestria's most valuable treasures. He spent a lot of time lost in memories and wrote down everything in agonising detail. All of his friendship studies. His unique view of the events that took place in his lifetime. All of his observations. Everything will be made available to you. As the Princess of Friendship, this knowledge shall be your stewardship. Do great things, Twilight." The young mare seemed to be at a loss for words. Her mouth opened—briefly—but closed without a sound. She tried several times to say something—anything—and each time she met with failure. When her barrel began hitching, rapidly rising and falling with each laboured breath, she gave up. Averting her gaze, she looked down at the grass where she sat and in silence, she struggled to compose herself. "Would you like some ice cream, Twilight Sparkle?" "Would I?" The response came out as little more than a squeak. "Yeah, that sounds nice." She sniffled, coughed, and then succumbed to even more barrel hitching. "Twilight Sparkle… you have exceeded my every expectation. Long may you reign as the Princess of Friendship. Remember those who have come before you, and inspire those who come after, just as I have done my utmost to inspire you. Now come… let us have ice cream and I shall tell you how the Circle met its end and how I opened up my school for gifted unicorns." Author's Note And so it ends. Thank you for your readership. May your own friendships ripple forwards.
The light goes outThe world outside the window was every bit as bleak and unappealing as what was found inside. A city cloaked in drab grey mist, blanketed in fog, and shrouded in a perpetual sense of hopelessness. Yet, for all the awfulness found outside her window, it was better than the misery found inside the house. With a turn of her head, she surveyed her room, but there was nothing to see. Just a tiny room with bare floors, no bed, no blankets, no anything, and a window with no glass. Not even shutters. And she was supposed to be grateful for all of this nothing. Again she had been lectured. Lamp had but one job—and that was to live up to her namesake. To stand in one spot when told and keep the darkness at bay, because the darkness was scary. The shadow of Nightmare Moon remained in the darkness and many claimed that they could still hear her maniacal peals of laughter coming from unlit corners. She had failed in her job—her one simple job—and the lady of the house made her feelings known. Lamp had no gratitude, it was said. No appreciation for all that she'd been given. But looking around her empty room, she wasn't sure what she had. The master and the lady of the house weren't particularly cruel, not like previous caretakers. But they had no real kindness. They loved and doted upon their own foals, but not Lamp. She was little more than furniture. A light. She could fill the room with a warm glow. Why, she could even change the colour of her light, something that she'd never seen another unicorn do. If that made her special, she certainly did not feel that way, given her circumstances. Did she really want to return to the world outside the window? A world of hunger and desperation? Canterlot was a city too busy growing to be much else. It was supposed to be a shining beacon upon a mountain, a light to cure darkness-plagued Equestria—but it hadn't quite lived up to its promise. Canterlot Castle was still under construction; she could see it from where she sat looking out her window. It was a place of mud, of filth, a hazardous maze of chamber pots carelessly emptied out of second-story windows, a place of danger in every shadow-shrouded alley. Canterlot was nothing at all like the Everfree. But the old capital was now little more than a ruin and a grave where a nation founded by two sisters lay buried. It was a place that Lamp could barely even remember. It was a fabled place, one of story and song, a place of beauty and light. Or was. Her parents were there, in the Everfree. In the city that now belonged to the dead. Just two among the many. She couldn't remember the cataclysmic events of that night, for she was far too young. What little she could remember was the darkness, the omnipresent inkiness that devoured everything. It was dark… and then it was not. Lamp could remember the light—her light—and the stygian terror could not exist where she shone so brightly. No one had brought her food and she wasn't supposed to leave her room. Her stomach growled like a caged beast. There was food outside the window—food that could be stolen. Taken. There were merchant stalls left unwatched by careless, unattentive vendors. Getting caught meant dealing with the Watch… and potentially ending up back here, in this place, or another one just like it. Lamp was, in the words of the Watch, a repeat offender. A feckless felonious filly, a frequent flippant free-spirited filcher of fruit. She only had so many years left to get sorted out because there was no leniency for adults. There were mines beneath Canterlot. An endless maze of crystal caverns filled with riches. Some called it the Underworld. The ponies sent there were never seen again, so it was said. Lamp suspected that she might end up there, in the Underworld, and if she did she wouldn't even have a window to look out of. The lady of the house liked to remind Lamp that she was bound for the Underworld if she didn't change her ways. Bad ponies lived in the darkness… exiled away from the glorious sun. There was no worse fate than to be cast into the darkness, though sentenced to servitude was a close second. The glassless window beckoned and the dirty, dingy city outside held promise. If nothing else, she could at least score a free meal. Afterwards, she might sneak back in, or she might not. Maybe she could leave Canterlot altogether. Find some other city, perhaps one free of the Watch. Anything was better than remaining in an empty room, with an equally empty stomach. With a weary-but-resigned shake of her head, she clambered for the window. It was a narrow thing, but she was a skinny filly, and would be for the immediate future if she didn't eat better. The skies promised rain and dense, soupy fog hid the peasant stables from view. Looking down at the walled garden below, she suffered a moment of intense dizziness as everything slid in and out of focus right before her eyes. This was quite a drop, but not the worst she had suffered. Wedged into the window, she had to wiggle-wiggle-wiggle until her fuzzy rump was free, and then she plummeted to the ground down below. It felt good to run amuck on the cobblestone streets once more. Lamp was hungry, but she was free. She walked with her head held high, deftly dodging all of the questionable bits of mud and not-mud that lay in steaming heaps in her immediate path. New towers grew like trees, with every bit of land staked out and ready for construction. Burly earth ponies hauled immense stone blocks while pegasus ponies hauled in chunks of ice—which unicorns would melt into water so that mortar could be mixed. There was a profound sense of hope in the construction, a feeling that, even if things weren't great now, they would be fine later. When? Probably when Lamp wasn't alive. New streets were being laid down. Not just any streets; there were promises and assurances that these very cobblestoned arteries that connected to the heart of the city would be here a thousand years from now. That was the big promise, the reason to strive, to struggle, and to continue. Everything accomplished now would one day give Equestria, a nation still in its infancy, the glorious future it deserved. Princess Luna's betrayal, Nightmare Moon's assault, it had wounded them, but it was not their end. While many of them were gone, Equestria itself survived. It was said that as long as there was a Princess Celestia, there would be an Equestria. While all of this sounded good, it was all just words for Lamp, who had more pressing concerns. She lived in the now. Equestria might be a wonderful, magical land later—but Lamp was hungry now. Lofty speeches and passionate promises did nothing to fill her belly. There were eye-catching bits of colour amongst the grey and filth. A red and white striped awning here. Flags fluttered atop brass and copper poles. Shops with inviting windows. There was so much to see and to do—but one had to be careful. The Watch was out in force, no doubt looking for troublemakers, miscreants, ne'er-do-wells, and pilfering pony plunderers purloining precious perveyed prizes. But those prizes were well guarded. Market Circle was packed with the Watch, some of which were on patrol, while others stood guard at every entrance. Going in meant getting pinched, because Lamp was a foal without parents, and unattended foals were not welcome in the marketplace. She had circled several times, patiently patrolling the protected perimeter, but found no means of entrance. Still, she enjoyed herself, being out in the open once more, being free. There were other markets, other places, but the pickings might not be quite as fine. The peasant quarter had dreadful food. Unsatisfied with what the situation had to offer, Lamp began to plan a heist. Overhead, the sun flickered briefly, then dimmed. Like all the other ponies around her, she tilted her head upward to peer at the subdued sun, but did not stare directly at it, because she knew better. The sun did this quite a bit; at this point it was a common occurrence. A daily event that always caused a pause. Weakened, the sun did not shine as bright, which meant that it was cooler, which in turn meant that things didn't grow quite as they should. Before Nightmare Moon, the sun was strong, powerful, green things grew, and it was warm. Alas, Lamp only knew this from stories told to her. A weak, shuddering sun was all she knew. Unlike the other ponies around her, Lamp understood the sun's condition. She could not say why, or how, but she had a profound understanding of how light worked, and the sun was just another light, albeit a rather powerful one. When she was sad, or moody, or sulking, her own light grew weak and did not shine as bright. She had to be happy for her light to shine—though anger also offered truly spectacular illumination. Lamp knew that the Princess of the Sun had to be unhappy. Hurt. Heartbroken. And so the sun suffered. So too, did the peasantry, from the looks of things. The peasant stables were communal. These buildings were not built with permanency in mind. Everything was ramshackle, crooked, and appeared ready to collapse with but a gentle breeze. Lamp had herself a better look around, because it had been awhile since she'd come to this part of Canterlot. The labour market was in full swing and a sizeable crowd of earth ponies performed feats of strength in hopes that they might get hired. Beyond the labour market was the peasant market. No sign of the Watch. Not here. Lamp might have been an orphan, but she was a unicorn. As bad as things might be right now, a better life was sure to come later—though she could not say how or why. It was just one of those things that was assumed. Even poor unicorns, the non-nobles, were well off. They weren't peasants. This didn't feel very fair, but this was the way of things. She had been told that earth ponies liked living communally, that this was their way, but she wasn't sure if she believed that. Her eyes roamed the crowd, glancing at different ponies gawping up at the sun, some with slack-jawed, wide-eyed expressions. Earth ponies, it was said, had no magic, only industry. Lamp wasn't sure if this was true either. She rather doubted a lot of things adults said, because adults lied. Adults lied and argued about everything. Like recently, she started hearing that Princess Luna and Nightmare Moon were two different ponies, and that Nightmare Moon murdered the Moon Princess. This wasn't true at all—Lamp knew this for certain—but the adults still bickered about it. The way Lamp saw it, the idea that Princess Luna turned to darkness was an unpopular notion, and so an alternative was offered for ponies to believe in. The trouble was, some adults did actually believe this. Foals might learn it from their parents, and, in time, it might become true—even if it wasn't. Perhaps the same could be said about earth ponies and communal stables. Squinting as the sun continued to flicker, the young filly wondered what else might be untrue. The pegasus ponies lived in the clouds; a city called Cloudsdale, in fact. As for the unicorns, they lived on the mountaintop, above the clouds, in the city of Canterlot. And the earth ponies… most of them lived below the clouds. Lamp—who knew very little—seemed to recall that this is how it used to be for the ponies who had ventured here during the Windigo Winter. Another event that adults argued over and about which the facts were hotly contested. If anything in those stories was true or not, she had no way of knowing—those events happened long before her birth—but what was actually true as far as she could see was that old ways were alive and well. It was but one of the many things she thought about when she roamed the streets. The air smelt of the ocean. At least, it smelled the way that Lamp imagined the ocean must smell like. Briny, nose-wrinkling, almost eye-watering, with the faint reek of sewage. She had never seen the ocean, but had heard stories. Endless water as far as the eye could see. All manner of stories were told about the ocean, and the faraway lands full of monsters. The deep water protectected Equestria, so it was said. This was one of those things that Lamp wasn't sure if she believed. During the Windigo Winter, when the world iced over, ponies crossed the frozen sea in search of a new home. So too, did the monsters. But the stories were vague and something the adults argued over. There was very little to be found in the peasant market. Mostly pickled vegetables, hard cheese rinds, and the lower crusts of bread. She hated the lower crusts, the parts of bread baked hard as a stone and almost burnt in the oven. The upper crust was golden blonde, light, fluffy, airy, and so much easier to chew. The cheese rinds were the least desirable parts of the cheese, something that no self-respecting unicorn would ever be seen eating. Yet, she had eaten them. Slim pickings. Half-empty barrels. Or maybe half-full. It was impossible to tell. There wasn't a lot of it, and alas, poor Lamp felt conflicted stealing away from those who had so little. And what little they did have wasn't particularly nice to begin with. She could not help but feel that they deserved better. Maybe she deserved worse. As bad as it was, she had a room with safe stone walls, a roof that did not leak, and secure stone floors. Though rain did come through the glassless window. Hunger made one desperate. But said desperation caused no small amount of conflict between her ears and there was a pain just above the hollow ache that was her stomach. She didn't mind filching fine food from her fellow unicorns… but after seeing the sad condition of the peasant market, this felt wrong. Perhaps it would be best if she just went home. The lady of the house would feed her eventually. After the evening meal, there were bound to be table scraps and unfinished, unwanted bits. She sighed; what was a filly to do? Again, she sighed—this time louder than her previous exhalation—and this time she leveled her gaze upon the stone-filled carts. These were curious carts, quite literally carts before the ponies. Stone was brought down from higher up on the peak as a shelf was carved out for the city on the side of the mountain. These overloaded carts were heavy, so long teams of earth ponies were hitched behind them, so the carts could be slowed as they rolled down the gentle incline. It was a dangerous process, one fraught with peril. Ropes broke. Chains snapped. Yet, the work went on day after day, and this had gone on for as long as Lamp could remember. For as long as she had lived in Canterlot. There was no stopping the carts; not until they rolled into their cradle, which halted them. Industry. The ponies had industry. Lamp watched as the very mountain she lived on was carved up, broken down, and turned into a city on the flat expanse left behind. If one squinted, one might almost see some signs of unity. Pegasus ponies organised things from overhead. Unicorns used beams of potent magic to cut away slabs of rock like slices of cake. Earth ponies lowered the stones down to the city proper and transported finished stones to where they needed to be. Stone blocks, cobblestones, pillars, slabs, arches, and floor tiles. What future awaited her? She did not know. She could not guess. All she had was her lamp—the magical brands of destiny on her sides that suggested her future purpose—which had appeared when her light pierced that fateful night of darkness, and her wits. The young filly doubted her wits, because her stomach rumbled while she was surrounded by food. What stopped her? She didn't know. Usually, it felt good to steal. It satisfied some deep itch that she could not explain. But not today. Not now. Heists were supposed to be fun. Exciting. Sometimes, there was a bit of sport and a long run. Making off with a load of moldy, rock-hard cheese rinds had no appeal whatsoever. Overhead, the sun decided that it could no longer be bothered to shine. The flickering ceased and the sun settled into a dull orange glow that offered little warmth and even less cheer. It shone because it had to, not because it wanted to. At least, that was how Lamp saw it. There were nights when she had trouble getting her own light to shine. But her caretakers didn't care about excuses. Failure to perform meant a lecture of some kind. Gratitude, laziness, a lack of appreciation for all the good things she had, which was the same as gratitude, really. It occured to Lamp that she and Princess Celestia had something in common. They both had to make their light shine, even if they didn't quite feel up to it. Even when they were sad. When the day was dreary and they were in need of respite, they had no choice but to keep the light on. There was a difference though, the little filly knew that. If she didn't keep her horn lit, the room got dark. But if Princess Celestia did not make the sun shine, terrible things, awful things beyond imagination would happen. The princess had to keep the lights on and she got to live in a castle. She probably had a nice room, with a soft bed, and all of the good food she could eat. Princess Celestia did not have to plan market heists. Lamp on the other hoof had a very different life in exchange for her services. A cold room with nothing in it. She ate scraps, whatever might be leftover after a meal. Her caretakers took her in not out of love, or even kindness, but because there was a belief that every unicorn life was precious. Even a unicorn with multiple arrests before their decade celebration. She would grow up and her magic would serve society in some great way, though nopony could explain how or why. It was just assumed. The lady of the house—in rare moments of what might charitably be called equinimity—told Lamp that being young was the hard part. When she was old enough, she could make her own future. Maturity brought freedom. But for now, she had to do as she was told, keep the light on, and for the love of all things good and green, keep her mouth shut. It was said after all, that things could be so much worse. One could be an orphan with no home. No care at all. Lamp had lived both ways, but could not determine which was worse. With her head angled towards the faded sun, Lamp dreamt of something more, something greater. As awful as life had been, her spirit was still every bit as bright as her namesake. She never had these hopeful moments in the house, in her room, staring out her narrow window. No, these moments only came when she was out and about, on the streets, while hunger gnawed at her belly. Moments like right now. For whatever reason, these instances mattered, these were the moments to live for, and these moments brought out the best in her. There was just so much potential in times like these. For a few seconds, she was completely lost to reverie, but the sound of shouting jolted her back to full awareness. At first she thought the shouting was about her, that she was about to be pinched. This had happened so many times now that it was reflex to react in such a way. But she was in no immediate danger. No members of the Watch stalked her. Wary, her eyes darted from place to place as every muscle in her lean, bony body prepared for action—whatever it took to respond, she would be ready. But she saw no threats. Ears pricked now, she listened to the shouting, to hear what was said. There on the cart road was a colt. He stood there, stupidly, perhaps dazed, and totally oblivious to the shouted cries of alarm. Why did he just stand there? His head was pointed the wrong way to see the danger just behind him, the overloaded cart filled with stone. Nopony moved to save him and the colt did nothing to save himself. Ponies were content to shout at him, but did nothing to remove him from harm's way. "Well, rotten eggs and princess legs!" Little Lamp felt that such swearing was warranted as she sprang into action. She was closest to the colt, practically sitting on the edge of the cart lane so she could watch the world go by. "Get out of the road, stupid! Move!" But the colt did not budge; in fact, he failed to respond at all and did not turn to look at her. When she was just a few yards away, she reached out with her magic, wrapped it around the colt's hind legs like a glittery, glowing lasso, and with a good, hard yank, she yoinked him away from the danger. An eyeblink or two later, the cart passed by where the colt had been standing, and it was at this moment that the colt realised the danger. Wide-eyed, he made a strange creaky cry, like a rusty door hinge. Furious, the filly femininely fumed. "You… you dummy! What're you thinking? You could've been crushed, you idiot!" Shaking now, shivering as if afflicted by some great and terrible chill, the colt watched as the carts went by, rolling over the very spot where he'd stood just seconds ago. The crowd went back to doing whatever it was that crowds did when things weren't exciting. Wanting some kind of response, Lamp let go of the colt's legs, grabbed him by his head instead, and with a gentle tug, she pulled him around to face her, fully intending to lecture him right into the ground. Why lecture? Because it very much felt like the right thing to do, that's why. "Hey, stupid!" she shouted. Then with a powerful inhale, she sucked in the necessary amount of wind for a good and proper lecture. But the colt had other plans. Making what could only be described as a bleating sound, he threw himself at Lamp. Legs all a-wobble, he crashed into her. Of the two, he was the smaller and she was the larger. He was younger, she was older. Still bleating, he clumsily flung his forelegs around her neck, and clung to her whilst sobbing like a stricken sheep. Then, eyes closed, he hung from her neck and did not let go. Assaulted in such a way, Lamp tried to remove him; she shoved and shouldered, but he was stronger than her. Even in his horrid condition, which she only started to recognise in confusing bursts, the little earth pony colt was far stronger than her. Why, he was nothing but bones and filthy fuzz. At some point—quite recently in fact—he'd taken a direct hit from a thundermug carelessly poured out of a window. To say that he smelled was an understatement. Colts were stinky, that was the way of things, but this colt… phew! The pummeling wallops to her senses caused her magic to fizzle completely, and her horn went dim. Now she was helpless and had no chance whatsoever of removing this horrid thing from around her neck. More carts went trundling past. "You could've been squished," she said in a much softer voice than she wanted. Now she had other problems. Complications had been introduced into her day, with the disgusting dummy hanging from her neck chief among them. A jumble of emotions tumbled around inside her mind all while she breathed in hot, stinky air. She could not recall a time in her life like this one and she decided that she did not like being hugged. Not at all. Not even in the slightest. Her parents had probably hugged her, but she could not remember them doing so. No, her earliest memory was pushing back the darkness when she was still but a yearling. Everything else was shadow. This… this was awful. Why did ponies do this? It was hot, with bad air, it was uncomfortable, and unpleasant. She squirmed, but was completely powerless. When she reached the point where she could bear it no longer, she hollered, "Hey, leggo!" But the colt did not let go. "Hey, stupid! Lemme go!" No response; the colt's forelegs remained locked around Lamp's neck. "Are you deaf?" she asked. "Leggo of me!" When he did not let go of her, it occurred to Lamp that the colt might actually be deaf. He did not hear the shouted warnings, nor did he respond to the danger. For whatever reason, he failed to turn around to check behind him. Other things circulated through Lamp's mind, such as the discovery that she did not like to be touched. This had never been a problem before. Her caretakers were not at all affectionate, which was a good thing. Yes, she concluded, the colt had to be deaf. And so began her other observations. While she was thin, he was starved. She'd never encountered a fuzzy skeleton before, and she didn't like it. He was incredibly filthy, and worse, he had horrible, absolutely abominable breath. The smell was so bad that some instinctual part of her mind suggested that he must be sick in some way—which was all the more reason why she wanted him gone from her neck and away from her. He was clearly diseased. But then she noticed other things, such as the way he shivered. She could feel the grind in his joints. There was a sensation of desperation, a feeling that she understood all too well, and so her revulsion began to turn to sympathy. He was injured, that much was obvious in the way that he did not put his weight down on his left rear leg. Mere moments ago, she had grabbed him by both of his hind legs. Was she the cause of his injury? It bothered her that she might be. He was so thin, so frail, she might have wrenched a joint when she yanked him clear of danger. Her skin grew cold everywhere the colt touched her, as if he leeched precious heat away from her. She felt the cold of the day, the damp oppression of the fog, and the cruel wind tried to burrow down beneath her shaggy, newly-filthied pelt. The creeping chill outside was no match for the growing cold within. Lamp—little street-smart Lamp—lept to the conclusion that there was no help to be had. The colt needed help—they needed help, because they were in this together. Yet she knew that she could not take him home. Her caretakers would do nothing; they already had one urchin in their home, a source of much consternation. The crowd would not help. Lamp began to look around her at all of the adults. Surely somepony had seen this colt go by. Surely they had to see his bones, his protruding ribs, the sharp sawteeth of his spine. Anypony with eyes could see that he was starving, perhaps to death—but none had offered to help. Lamp could feel herself being squeezed in some unknown sort of way, a physical sense as well as a metaphorical one. The deaf colt had been ignored and left to fend for himself. Rather than despair, Lamp grew angry, and what a righteous anger it was. She shivered once—though not from cold—then felt something within kindle. The tiny spark became a furnace, and her fury became an inferno. Her foalhood, such as it was, burned up in the blaze, and in its place was something else, something new, something born of fire. When her horn re-ignited, her brilliant incandescence offered not only illumination, but heat as well, and it was every bit as roasty-toasty as the sun on its brightest days. What could be done? What could she do? Suddenly, and quite without warning, Lamp found herself in a position of responsibility. This was strange and new to her, overwhelming and unpleasant. Whatever was done, she would have to do it herself, and this, more than anything else in her life, scared her. She'd already determined that the grownups had failed in some spectacular way. Because she was a unicorn, she'd been plucked off of the streets. She was given sustenance and shelter, however minimal it was. No such kindness was offered to this colt, no generous benevolence given. Why? She knew why. She knew why. And so it was that young Lamp—though now perhaps not quite as young, having suffered a moment of rapid maturity—had herself an epiphany. She had some great moment of sudden understanding that connected her to her marks, the brands of destiny that also served as her namesake. Lamps were only beneficial when they lit the way for others. A lamp that shone in empty darkness did nothing, nothing at all. It served no function, no practical purpose. But a lamp that pushed back the darkness so that others might go about the business of living, that was when a lamp truly became a light. She understood that the light relied upon observance for its existence. With all of this also came a great many thoughts about Princess Celestia. No one cared. Not a single pony intruded upon their moment. None of the multitude around them came over to check on the colt's wellbeing. Never in Lamp's life had she been so close to another pony—practically overlapping—yet felt so isolated. The way her eyeballs stung made her blink, but she did not cry. Like so many others orphaned after Nightmare Night, she had no tears left. The distance between her and the others around her became inconceivably vast, broader than oceans, wider than continents. She stood alone on a frontier of pococurante indifference. Not wanting to be like the others around her, Lamp slipped one foreleg around the colt's neck. He practically collapsed against her in response, going limp somewhat, and his bony rump fell to the ground. Unlike Lamp, the colt still had tears left, and they oozed from the craggy crusts found in the corners of his eyes. There would be no going back to her caretakers. Not now, not ever. She had a life to live, if not for herself, then for others. Her purpose had never been clearer, yet she was aware that there was little that she could do to provide for herself, much less others. The sting in her eyes grew unbearable. To so clearly understand one's purpose in life, to have such clarity about one's brands of destiny, and yet no clear path forward was a cruel fate indeed. Lamp knew what life expected from her—all of the clouds had parted and she had perfect clarity of vision—but she also knew that what life asked of her was impossible. And so, like so many before her, Lamp found herself living with a conundrum. An enigma. For destiny to have called at such an inopportune moment was a terrible, tragic fate, one that she did not deserve. Life continued to be unfair and there was nothing she could do about it. Author's Note Well, here we go. First chapter. There are more to come. How is everyone?
A light in the cellarHis eyes were cold spring flecked with harsh autumn. Lamp had his attention now and so she studied his eyes so that she might find some way to reach him. To be so close and to stare into the eyes of another was uncomfortable, but it was the only means that Lamp had found to communicate. He was dirty. Filthy. Begrimed. Caked with befouled muck. Yet, he was something of immense worth. For the first time in her young existence, Lamp truly understood the value of life. Little did Lamp realise that for the second time in her life, she confronted the darkness. The first time happened when she was but a foal, and her magic strove to restore light to a world gone dark. What happened now, in the present, was a bit more metaphorical, but its impact was no less real. This was her purpose. Something resonated in her bones and her horn tingled as she stood looking into his eyes. How could she possibly explain this to others? She didn't understand it, not even a little, and so going forward seemed impossible. How would she feed him? For that matter, how would she feed herself? Her still-empty stomach growled to remind her that it remained unfilled despite her efforts to procure food. Without a word passing through his lips, he expressed his gratitude. Intelligence glittered in the deaf-mute's glassy eyes, and something else, something that Lamp could not quite make out. "We need food," she said, giving voice to her innermost thoughts. Though he could not hear her, she needed these words herself. Organising her thoughts aloud helped—though not as much as she might've hoped. "We can't get pinched. That'll be the end of us… together. I'll end up back with my caretakers, and I don't know what'll happen to you, but it won't be good. So I need to keep us together. That's job one. Keeping us together. Not sure how I'll do that." There was a thrill in filching a meal in the open, but the consequences for doing so seemed far too much to bear. She might try begging, but that seemed pointless. The old grab-n-go was out of the question, as she doubted the colt could run, injured as he was. For all of the difficulty, she was not without options. The game was the same, but the rules had changed. Which meant that she needed a new way to play. Market heists were off the table. With a turn of her head, she glanced at the residential neighborhoods of Canterlot. They were quiet places with mostly-empty streets. During the day, many of the towers and cottages were unoccupied, or almost so. Did she dare burgle a house? There might be a root cellar or a door left unlocked. That said, a locked door didn't pose much of a problem—but she needed quiet and concentration to pop the lock. Breaking in, after all, wasn't much different than escaping. It was merely a matter of direction. Escaping was getting out, while a bit of harmless burgling was getting in. The canny filly's eyes narrowed with resolve. After a few seconds of distracted thought, she returned her attention to the deaf-mute colt. His dingy hide was the colour of a wheel of cheese rolled through filth and was bespeckled with befouled brownness that she feared would never be washed away. She would have to deal with that later, somehow, just one more impossible task. Clean ponies were inconspicuous ponies, but dirty ponies got noticed. Getting noticed meant getting pinched—which was the worst thing that Lamp could think of right now. "We hafta go," she said, even though her companion could not hear her. What surprised her though was that he responded in some vague mute manner. He couldn't hear, but he must have seen her lips move. No light of comprehension shone in his eyes, and after a moment spent thinking about it, she concluded that he probably couldn't read lips. Communication would be important, because getting him to do exactly what needed to be done when she told him to do it might be quite necessary—because failure meant getting pinched. A gentle tug on his ear would get his attention, if need be. "I'm gonna get us some food," she said to him whilst she had his attention. "Stay close. I have a plan. We're gonna go where the Watch doesn't." When she started to go, she tugged on her companion's ear to compel him to follow. The First Quarter was not, as the name implied, one fourth of the city of Canterlot. It was, however, the oldest part of Canterlot, and was constructed when the city was just a fort. The castle—still under construction—was here, far off on the other side, and the entire quarter was walled off. This was the most settled part of the city and the location that Lamp's caretakers truly coveted. The streets were already cobblestoned here, with deep, narrow gutters in the middle so that sewage and rainwater could flow. There were gardens here, with food, and chicken coops, with eggs. However, there was no sign of the Watch. Wary without being able to explain why, Lamp studied her surroundings. She spied another pony, an earth pony mare burdened with a double basket slung across her back. This mare was well-groomed, immaculately clean, and her mane was styled in a fashion that no earth pony could hope to do on their own. She was probably a maid, or some sort of servant, and from the looks of things, she had it good. Being the clean, mindful mare that she was, she avoided the center of the road and the deep gutter full of filth. There was nopony else. Just quiet streets, mostly deserted. Lamp did not hurry and tried to act as though she belonged here. She did not have a story, an explanation as to why she was here if she got stopped, and trying to think of one seemed too complicated. She followed the mindful mare's example and steered clear of the gutter—though the real danger came from windows up on high and privy holes that emptied out onto the streets. What she needed was a root cellar, or an unattended garden that had food, and not flowers. She was confident that she would find what she wanted here, in this place, the most established part of the city. Unsure of where to go and still exploring, she went left from the gate so that she might stay to the outer perimeter, closest to the wall. If one went near the middle, one was sure to find trouble, because in the middle of the First Quarter was the Magus' Circle, the place where the most powerful, most canny unicorns in all of Canterlot lived. The sort of unicorns that could turn her into a toad, or some small helpless furry rodent. Which, now that Lamp thought about it, was the reason why the Watch did not patrol here. Lamp only knew of the Magus' Circle because it was a fabled place for orphaned unicorns. If one had strong magic, if one showed promise, it was of no consequence at all to be an urchin. One would be whisked off to the Circle and never seen on the dirty streets again. A life of power and privilege awaited those taken in by the Circle, and they would never know of dire need or ache of want. Alas, Lamp was not that powerful, so she was carted off to common caretakers. She resented her lot in life, but could do nothing about it. The cluck and coo of chickens gave her pause, and she halted so that she might hear better. Her companion paused as well, and had himself a look around. She did not see the chickens, but there were walls and fences in the way. Imposing gates stood guard against intrepid intruders such as herself. Ponies were careless creatures, however. Surely a gate would be unlocked—or the lock could be sprung if she found a secluded gate tucked out of sight. With a soft tug upon her companion's ear, she continued. There was beauty here; climbing vines covered stone and brick walls. Delicate flowers bloomed. Beyond beauty, there was colour here, more than dull sky, sullen fog, black soot, and unremarkable grey stone. This place had been lived in longer and was more established. There was grass here, patches of vibrant, verdant green that stood out in sharp contrast to the bare rock of the mountain they called home. Rich brown soil was brought up at great expense from the plains down below and deposited in compact, economical gardens. She saw statues, mosaics, murals, and other types of art that she did not know the names of. The windows had stained glass along with embellished over-adorned shutters. After taking it all in, Lamp knew that these ponies would not miss a pilfered potato or two. These ponies probably paid no attention at all to their pickled vegetables or their potatoes—that was for the servants to keep track of. And if a potato did go missing—if a potato somehow grew legs as well as eyes—said servants would never report the taken tubers, for fear of appearing lax about their duties. Yes, plundering potatoes was a victimless crime. Fog thickened like gravy left to cool. The sun dimmed a bit as the clouds overhead soupified. A cold wind blew and brought the chill of winter to the summer day. It would be a cold, bitter night, which made Lamp worry about where she might sleep. With her companion limping along just behind her, she made her way down the narrow street of smoothed cobblestones, long since time-worn. Just ahead she saw opportunity. A wooden slat fence. There was a tower built into the corner of the walls, what appeared to be an old guard tower from when this part of the city had been a fort. A broad square mossy-stoned tower was built into the wall itself, and had two cube-shaped wings at its base, also constructed into the wall. It was ugly, but functional. The wooden fence was curved, going from one section of the wall to another. No grass could be seen in the fenced-off garden, but there were giant terracotta pots and plants that Lamp did not recognise. A tiny greenhouse sat atop the rightmost wing, and green things could be seen beyond the windows. More importantly, there was a root cellar. From where she stood, Lamp could see the ironbound wooden doors and the glistening greased iron hinges. There was no gate of any sort on the fence, just an open gap on both ends. Why, that was practically an invitation, if ever there was one. This was the place. There wasn't even a padlock on the cellar doors. For a moment, little Lamp imagined all the good things she might find down there. Potatoes, possibly. Apples. Rutabagas. Parsnips. Maybe cabbages. She considered for a time that it might be difficult to cook them, but that was just another bridge to cross when the time came. While making every effort to look as inconspicuous as possible, little Lamp cast a critical eye upon her target. Clearly, these ponies wouldn't mind if she borrowed a few vegetables, because they had put no effort whatsoever into security. She considered the fact that she might even be able to spend the night in the root cellar. While maybe not the warmest place, it was sheltered and would be better than spending the night out in the open, exposed to the frigid air. Perhaps staying in the cellar wasn't her best idea, but what choice did she have? Ever so cautious, the felonious filly crept forward, and her eyes darted in every conceivable direction. She peeped around corners, checked windows for concerned faces, and her pricked ears listened for the sound of hooves against cobblestones. Other than the colt just behind her, she was alone. This place was deserted and she had trouble believing in her good fortune. Tugging on her companion's ear to keep him close, she made her way to the wooden fence. Strange fern-like plants with thorny, knobby seed pods grew in the giant pots. The smell of laundry wafted out of a nearby window, the scent of soap and cleanliness. After stepping around the wooden fence, she paused. Half-in, half-out, she waited for the sounds of alarm. Long seconds stretched into longer moments, and she stood blinking whilst they passed. The cellar door sat in the corner where the two wings connected to the main body of the tower. Triangle shaped, and rather unusual. No rust on the hinges, which was good, because rusty hinges squeaked. What a curious garden she found herself in, with bare stone and gravel beneath her hooves. No effort had gone into turning the ground green, which was peculiar. Ponies like greenery and green things. After a few careful steps forward, she examined one of the strange plants that she did not recognise. It was hairy, covered in thin fibrous growths, and it smelt rather awful, like whey left too long in the sun. She backed away from the nose-crinkling stench and moved towards the cellar door. It was quiet. She remained unseen, unnoticed. No pony came sauntering down the street at an inopportune time. There were no interruptions to her delinquent dealings. The cellar doors were two triangles that made one big triangle. They looked solid, heavy, and she was somewhat worried that she might have trouble lifting them. At least the hinges were well-maintained and greased. Did she dare? Oh, dare she did. So indeed she dared as the daring are wont to do. This was almost too easy and so it gave Lamp reason to pause. She stood in the shadow of the tower now, a darkness made all the darker by the weakened sun and overhead clouds. Being out of the sun caused her to shiver—it certainly wasn't fear that did so—and she pulled her companion even closer to her. Reaching out with her mind, she opened the cellar doors. Thankfully, there was no squeak, nothing that disturbed the silence, and whatever reward that awaited them was down in the gloom. Root cellars had spiders, and cobwebs, and walking face-first into these things was always a hazard. There was nothing quite like a fat, hairy spider having a stroll through one's mane. As she lifted the door open, she was stricken with a truly morbid thought: what if she didn't find roots down in the root cellar, but dead foals? What if she found a cellar of would-be thieves all stacked up like cordwood? Little felonious fillies just like herself, victims of bad circumstance, all of whom met an untimely demise. Unable to help herself, she shivered. This always happened at the worst possible moments. When doing something that required concentration and focus, her brain would turn on her. The darkness could conceal all manner of horror. Squinting, she shone her light into the darkness and saw… nothing. Nothing at all. There were shelves, but they were empty. A few baskets, some bins, all empty. There were no cobwebs, no spiders, and no bodies of felonious fillies stacked up like cordwood. Not a single morsel of food to be had. Nothing. Protesting this awful state of affairs, Lamp's stomach let go a ferocious, feral growl that almost startled her. This time, merely swearing wasn't enough to satisfy, so she let go with the most dreaded of all the words that started with the eff-sound: "Fudge nuggets." When the awful thing she said sank in, her ears pinned back and she felt a sharp twinge of guilt. Such vulgarity pinged her conscience, but burgling a root cellar did not. "It's empty." "It does rather appear that way, doesn't it." Her companion was deaf-mute, which meant that he couldn't say what had just been said. Which meant that—"Oh, treacherous treacle tarts!" she swore as she willed her legs into action. It was long past time to skedaddle, so she made a hasty exit without a lot of thought. The skinny filly ran; she was quite speedy, being so slender and light. She bounded and boinked, half-pronked, and then using her legs like coiled springs, she lept over the wooden slat fence. Her landing? Most excellent. She hit the ground running while also sucking in a tremendous quantity of wind. With luck, she would reach the gate in mere moments, and make good her escape. If she could reach a crowd, she could blend in and vanish. But then she realised that her companion was not with her, and so she skidded to a halt. The deaf-mute colt's captors were two unicorns. One stallion, rather old, and somewhat greying. The other, a mare, held the earth pony colt in a bubble of shimmering magic. Lamp knew she could run. She could run and go back to her caretakers. This would all be over. But… could she live with herself if she did? No, she decided, she could not. She didn't know his name. Nothing at all was known about her companion. If she did not fight for him, who would? "Leggo of my friend," she demanded. "Your friend?" the old stallion asked. "Yeah. Now leggo before I blast ya." Teeth now bared, Lamp charged up her horn. She'd never fought back against adults before, because that was the sort of thing that got you sent to the mines below Canterlot. She had, however, had plenty of target practice against vicious rats, stray dogs, and one particularly mean alley cat with a foamy, sickly maw. Lamp understood all too well the basic mechanics of the application of violence. She allowed her horn to glow exceptionally bright, and changed its radiance to a fiery orange to be extra-scary. Her companion wiggled, he kicked his legs but to no avail. His magical prison held fast. Infuriated, she took careful aim and then took a moment to consider if this was worth a lifetime in the dark below. It didn't take her long to get sorted out. If she didn't take a stand for her new friend, she would spend the rest of her life regretting it, and that, that was worse than being banished to the crystal mines. "Last warning," she said to her companion's captors. "Don't make me do it." "Young lady, don't you dare!" the stern mare said. "Submit, and there'll be mercy, ye foul-mouthed filcher!" "You called him your friend—" The old stallion never got a chance to finish his sentence because a sizzling bolt of magic flew right past his fuzzy ear. It struck the stone wall just behind him and left behind a smouldering scorch mark. He seemed more than a little concerned by this, and for that matter, so did the mare. But no one was more surprised than Lamp, who had trouble believing what she had just done. "I didn't hafta miss," she said to them. She had missed because of poor aim—but they didn't have to know that. "That was yer one warning shot. Next one is going in yer eye!" "Young miss… I believe you. But before you blind me, might I inquire into your relationship with this colt? You called him your friend and I—" "Ye daft old coot!" the mare shouted. "This is no time for one of yer friendship studies!" "Now is an excellent time for said studies, Miss Combes. Did you fail to witness this act of impassioned defense?" "She tried to kill ye, ye old crank!" "We have her friend," he replied, patient and kind. "It's rather understandable. Let him go." "I'll do no such thing! And if she tries to blast ye again I'll burn 'er to the ground!" "Miss Combes, yo shall do no such thing! That would interfere with my studies. And leave ashes in the streets. What a mess! Civilised ponies and housekeepers do not make messes!" "She tried to turn yer 'ead into jam, ye dimwitted dumpling brain!" Confused beyond measure, Lamp wasn't sure what to do next. Talking this out would be good. She might be able to talk her way out of this mess. A thin ribbon of smoke curled up from the chipped wall behind the old stallion's head, a reminder for Lamp that if provoked, she could do awful things. If she had hit her target—he might very well be dead. This shocked her more than she would ever admit. She was grateful—thankful even that she had missed. An accident had saved her from a fate surely worse than death. All she had to do now was talk her way out of this. "You seem ready to talk," the old stallion said. "You called him your friend. Why? You could have run away, but you did not. More than anything else, he seems like dead weight for you. Why would a unicorn risk her neck for a sickly, half-starved earth pony colt? You are a survivor of the streets. I know your type. No loyalty to anypony but themselves. Anything goes. So why save him? Why put yourself at risk like you are doing right now?" "If I don't, who will?" she replied, and these words surprised her. They'd lept out of her mouth before she had a chance to think about them. The old stallion seemed surprised by this response, but the mare even more so. "My name is Ficklewick." A gentle smile appeared as if by magic when he bowed his head. "Would you like some supper? You and your companion?" "What're ye doin', ye cludge-minded coot? I'll not be fixing 'er supper!" Ignoring the frustrated mare, Ficklewick once again made an offer. "No tricks. Nothing mean. No nasty surprises. There is a free meal awaiting you if you tell me all about your friendship. If you want to feed him, and that does seem to be your intentions, young miss, you can earn it." He turned to mare beside him and added, "Miss Combes, would you please put him down as a sign of good faith? This presents a rare opportunity for me." "My name is Lamp," she said, introducing herself. Grumbling, the mare put the colt down on the ground, but didn't let him go. "This is my housekeeper, Miss Combes." Ficklewick gestured in the direction of the mare beside him. "She's actually quite kind, I assure you. We mean you no harm, and we would like to offer you some much-needed kindness." "No 'arm? No 'arm!" Rolling her eyes, the mare shook her head from side to side and then glowered at the old stallion. "Ye and yer Elements of 'Armony and yer friendship theories—" "Might one day save our world," the old stallion said. "She'll prolly lift the silverware!" "A small price to pay for knowledge. Though perhaps if we are kind to her, she'll be grateful. She seems quite reasonable, Miss Combes." "Reasonable? The wee cuss nearly took yer 'ead off." "Yes. She missed, for whatever reason. Perhaps you can instruct her so that she might improve her aim? You are, after all, the combat veteran. I am positive that you could greatly improve her odds of survival on the mean streets." This offended the housekeeper more than anything else said and she stood with her mouth agape. "Now, Miss Combes, if you could be so kind as to clean them up before supper—" "Get yer eyes checked, ye old coot! Do I look like a nanny?" In response, he examined the mare beside him for a moment, then replied, "Maybe a little—" "Ye old nutter, I'm yer 'ousekeeper!" "Yes, my housekeeper. One who is very well paid. Whose room and board is not subtracted from her pay. There is very little work involved because I am by nature a clean and fastidious creature. The housekeeper I keep around for her good company, her candor, and her ability to make the finest potato soup on the continent." Refusing to be mollified, the grumpy housekeeper cast her baleful glare upon Ficklewick. Meanwhile, Lamp smiled. 'Twas a rare thing, her smile, and it made her face shine as bright as her namesake-inspired light. Feeling courageous, and maybe motivated by hunger, she approached. She felt bad about what she had done—a rare thing, because she hardly ever felt bad about any of her actions. Ficklewick seemed like a truly nice pony, and she had nearly blasted his head right off his neck. "Why are you being so nice?" she asked as she drew near. "Why do you have an earth pony colt in your care?" he replied. "I really don't know." She didn't bother to think about it, because there was no point. It was something too big, too complicated to explain. "By helping him, you are making the world a better place. In return, I would like to help you, young miss. I think we would be better off if we all helped each other, as the Founders envisioned." His bushy overgrown eyebrows sagged low over his eyes. "I need to ruminate upon this. You must excuse me. I shall leave you in the care of my capable housekeeper. You just so happened to meet me on the one day I have off. I cannot help but wonder if fate is somehow involved. There is strange magic that I sense about you. Some peculiarity that I am unable to—" "Oh, 'ere we go. Fate and destiny. And ye wanna 'elp 'cause of course ye do." The longsuffering housekeeper rolled her eyes once, twice, thrice, and during the fourth time, she sighed. "Ye want to turn the wee cuss into a project, ye barmy bilbog. One of yer thinkism projects." "Perhaps." His eyes shifted, going from side to side, and something that was almost—but not quite—a smile tightened his deflated cheeks. "This strange magic must be discerned. I shall take my leave of you for now. Summon me when supper is ready." "Go on, take yer leave, ye crank. I'll get them presentable for the table. This colt needs a scrub. As for this filly… maybe I can teach 'er some manners." The kitchen was everything a unicorn needed and nothing more. It took up the entire bottom floor of the tower and in the center was a circular hearth that surrounded a pyramidal brick fireplace that was open on three sides. Lamp, though mostly uneducated, recognised it for what it was: a triangle within a circle, which was an ancient symbol believed to be a focal point for magic. Where she had learned this she could not remember; it was just one of the many things that existed inside of her head. Sometimes, unicorns knew stuff and there was no explanation. Lamp's companion followed Miss Combes without fear or reservation. He did not seem the least bit afraid of her. This bothered Lamp, though she could not say why. Though mute, he bleated like a sheep when he was lifted up and placed atop a broad wooden table. He stood there, mostly unmoving, while Miss Combes pulled down an enormous copper wash basin, the sort most commonly used for laundry. This was placed beneath the wrought iron pump handle, which began to bob up and down. Water trickled at first, and then a steady flow gushed forth into the copper basin. There was something comforting about the sound of running water striking metal and Lamp listened with her ears pricked tall. After a moment spent listening, she looked up at the ceiling so that she might check out everything above her. Bunches of herbs, bulbs of garlic, glass bottles filled with unknown liquids, and all manner of curious things could be seen up there. "He's hurt," Lamp said. "Can you help him?" "Sickly and 'urt, is 'e?" Lower lip protruding, Miss Combes cast a critical eye on the deaf-mute colt. "I bet it was the pale pox that robbed 'is 'earing. The kind that causes thick-neck and makes you strangle. Nasty disease, that. The 'igh fever kills yer ears while the swelling in the neck robs yer voice. All this 'its the earth ponies all 'ard like 'cause their communal living. Allows the miasmas and foulness to spread like wildfire." After a moment, she added, "Wood is unclean. Proper stone keeps the diseases away." "No one helped him. He was sick and wandering around the market." Scowling, Miss Combes appeared as though she'd just eaten a whole lemon, rind and all. Just as Lamp had done, she pulled on the colt's ear to get his attention, and then began to examine him. Evidently, she didn't like what she saw, because her nose crinkled in disgust. Beneath her hard expression there was a faint hint of kindness, and there was a gentleness to her actions. "So what's a filly like ye doing with a sickly colt anyhow? Did ye wrangle him for a bit of grift? No… no, ye didn't do that. Yer not the type. Not yet, anyhow. So why are ye with 'im?" "I don't know," Lamp replied as the basin continued to fill. "I was once like ye," the housekeeper said. "You were?" "I was," the mare sighed in response. After finding her courage, Lamp asked, "You lost your parents?" "Or my parents lost me. Don't know. Don't care. I survived." While speaking, she opened up a jar and then poured its contents into the copper wash basin. "Ficklewick is right though. Ye took on dead weight. And I don't think ye did it for grift. Ficklewick'ill want to know why for the sake of thinkism." Rather than reveal her ignorance on the subject of thinkism, Lamp refrained from asking what it was. She didn't know why, but she knew what she had felt. That meant something. This meant something, even if she didn't understand what was going on. She watched as the cranky housekeeper peered into the colt's ears, and then examined his eyes. "Ye took on dead weight and it made ye desperate. Ye came 'ere to 'ave yerself a bit of a burgle and now yer in over yer 'ead. Ye made yerself this 'ere colt's caretaker with no means to feed 'im or meet 'is needs. Yer not 'alf as starved as 'e is, so I know ye 'as caretakers. Ye don't look well-fed though, so they're not goodly caretakers, just selfish sots. Those sores around yer nostrils and the corners of yer mouth are symptoms of long-term malnutrition." In awe, Lamp maintained a respectful silence. A scent—medicinal and soapy—tickled Lamp's nostrils. Steam was already rising from the wash basin and a part of her worried that the bathwater might be too hot. It was just one of those fears that happened and if acted upon, might make her appear foolish—or worse. Miss Combes wore a frightful scowl now as she examined the colt, who did nothing to stop her. This scowl was the sort of scowl that might come from a worried mother—the sort of worried mother that Lamp wished she had. Who was this mare with a funny accent, a multitude of skills, and a deceptively gentle nature? "Favouring yer leg, are ye?" It didn't seem to matter that the deaf-mute colt couldn't hear these words, Miss Combes spoke them anyway. She lifted up his left rear hoof—the one he did not put weight on—and had herself a better look. After a moment, she nodded, clucked her tongue in some vaguely maternal way, and turned the colt's head away so he couldn't see what she was doing. Then, with a swift, sudden burst of movement, she yanked a sharp sliver of pottery out of the colt's frog. He bleated, his whole body trembled, and Lamp's heart somersaulted up into her too-small throat. Blood and something else dribbled from torn flesh, and with it came a foul, bitter unpleasantness that befouled the nose. Miss Combes might have been a kind pony, and she might have been a gentle pony—but apparently there was only so much to go around and then it was gone. Still, the sliver was out and with luck, the nasty wound would heal. "Well, that's a leg saved," the housekeeper said in deadpan. "Maybe. We'll 'afta see. Yer pretty far gone, ye are." "Will he die?" asked Lamp, whose heart currently lodged in her throat made it very difficult to say anything. "Will 'e die?" The housekeeper repeated these words. "Will 'e die. Well, 'e might." "That's horrible! Don't say that!" "That's 'orrible, ye say? That's 'onest. I'm no doctor… no barber. Not a surgeon. I'll not lie to ye to make ye feel better, ye invader of cellars. I can only make do with whats I gots. This'ere colt is sick. Infected. Running a fever. Starved. Wee guyo 'as the breath and e'erything." Her accent somehow thickened to the point that she became difficult to understand. "I dinnae unnerstan all the wrongs in the wee bairn. The best that I can 'ope for is tae do what I can and 'ope it turns out, ye ken. If I make ye a promise that 'e'll be fine and 'e goes all a-ghost in his sleep, that'll make me a liar. There's many things I am, but a liar isn't one of them. A 'ousekeeper lives and dies by honest reputation." Defeated, Lamp aimed a huff of frustration in the stern mare's direction. The wrought iron pump handle ceased its movement and went still. Faint ribbons of steam rose in question mark curls from the wash basin. Lamp—who desperately wanted a little reassurance—held tight to her vexation for the stroppy housekeeper. But she also felt grateful. She felt many things and right now she was too hungry to give them a good sorting out. Miss Combes' expression changed and her eyes saddened. "Things are s'posed to be better, not worse. But things are worse. Ficklewick can tell you why. Brilliant pony, Ficklewick. Princess Celestia's advisor for inter-tribal relations. If only she listened to 'im. But she doesn't'ave that luxury 'cause she's fighting to 'old it all together. Feels like everything we worked for is coming apart." "You talk funny." "Aye, I do," the housekeeper replied as she tossed the deaf-mute colt into the tub. He bleated a bit, squirmed, sat down, and settled in. "You didn't get the way you talk from your parents, so who does it come from?" "Yer a smart filly," Miss Combes said as a scrubbing brush materialised just over her head. She went to work, scrubbing the colt, who leaned into it. "Ye and I have much in common, so it seems. Still miffed at you for almost blasting Ficklewick." In response to the housekeeper's withering glare, Lamp tried to look as apologetic as possible. "I was raised by earth ponies and griffons…" A faraway look appeared in Miss Combes eyes as she scrubbed the colt in the wash basin. "Goodly sorts. Took me in. Was a bit odd, I s'pose. The earth ponies, they didn't want to be afraid of magic no more so 'aving somepony small and unicornish that they could boss around 'elped 'em get used to it. Griffons, too." She sighed, shook her head, and her ears sagged. "Those griffons 'ad enemies. Other griffons. The Royal Pony Sisters insisted that we 'elp our feathered friends… so when they came, there was a big fight. I was about yer age. The E'erfree was invaded. I fought. I fought for my 'ome. I fought for those I loved. I fought for those I didn't even know. Couldn't save them. Most of them died. I almost died. Those griffons were led by an evil manticore… Princess Luna took 'is 'ead off with 'is own axe. She did it after 'e surrendered and begged for mercy. I s'pose we all should've took it as a sign of things to come. The Night Princess was more than a little disturbed by this point." Bad things did indeed happen later, though Lamp did not remember the specifics. Just the crushing darkness, followed by her bright light. It was her earliest memory, maybe her first memory. In silence, she studied the housekeeper, and watched how she bathed her filthy companion. In some way, stories were more satisfying than food—though they did not fill the belly. There would be a meal soon enough though; she trusted the housekeeper enough for that to happen. "Now what do we 'ave 'ere?" Leaning in close, Miss Combes squinted so that she might examine the colt with a critical eye. Her horn glowed with a bright, steady light that did not waver, did not flicker. "Those are magical burns." Bothered, even angry about this, Lamp asked, "How can you tell?" "Well, 'cause I've done this to others." "Why would somepony do this to him?" asked Lamp. "To make 'im behave. Make 'im listen. To make 'im obey. Some ponies 'ave no patience." Once again, Lamp's eyes stung, but she had no tears left. "He's so trusting." "What do ye mean, filly?" "He's so trusting. Look at him, Miss Combes. He's let you do everything to him without a bit of fuss. He's been hurt. By unicorns. You picked him up and he didn't fight. I don't know if I'd be that trusting if I was him." "Aye…" The word stretched for far too long. "Aye. What a sweet little wee guyo." "I want to help him. How do I do that? I'm still so young. I can barely help myself. What do I do? This has to be made right somehow." Miss Combes resumed scrubbing with an expression so dour that it made Lamp turn away. Some ponies had a natural aptitude for crankiness, for grumpiness, and the housekeeper was one of them. She said nothing and her lips remained a tight, thin, crinkled line. While the grumpy mare gently removed the layers of caked on filth, Lamp wondered how she might do the impossible. "Do you have any foals of your own?" This question startled Miss Combes, and her head jerked backwards in a sudden manner. "Goodness no. Worst idea ever. That's 'ow mares die. It kills us. Saps us of our vitality. Makes us die young. Infections. Bad 'ealth. It's said that it's every mare's duty to foal, but that's 'orse apples. There's whole 'erds of unwanted foals in the streets. I'm not about to throw my life away out of some misbegotten sense of duty. If you 'ave a lick of common sense, ye'll listen to what I have to say." Ears fully erect, she added, "I plan to live to Ficklewick's age… or older. I want power, filly, and ye don't get that by dying young." "Power?" asked Lamp. "The root cellar is well-stocked, ye cuss… but did ye see anything?" Lamp blinked; then, for good measure, she did it again. Miss Combes laughed; it was a harsh braying sound that grated the ears. As for Lamp, she recalled just how empty the root cellar had appeared. She'd found nothing but empty shelves and old baskets. Which she now realised were probably overflowing with stored goods. Rather than be upset, or even put-out, young Lamp found that she both admired and respected the canny housekeeper. "Doing what I do is no real work at all, ye ken. Ficklewick is a clean sort. And for a unicorn such as meself, keeping of the 'ouse is no strenuous chore. Takes me moments to tidy the 'ouse and put things in order. All my free time is spent in study and experimentation. As for Ficklewick, 'e's a good sort. Don't do no untoward caddishness. Pays well. Which is why I'm still peeved that ye almost took 'is 'ead off. Ye nearly ruined the good thing I 'as 'ere for meself." "You had my friend!" Lamp blurted out. "Ye barely know 'im and ye—" "That doesn't matter!" Little Lamp stomped both of her front hooves to emphasise her words. "Something happened! I… I can't say what it is! But something happened and I hafta do right by him!" "Destiny put a tight 'obble 'round yer leg, didn't it, filly?" Lamp's response was barely a whisper: "I don't understand what happened. Only that it did." "That complicates things. Ficklewick believes that some friendships are so important that they're fated. Why, 'e's practically alone in that, and most of his peers think 'e's addled. Even soft-'eaded. Even Princess Celestia thinks the whole thing is rubbish. But I believe Ficklewick. I believe in 'is work. That stallion is brilliant. I s'pose I can forgive ye for what ye did, Lamp." "Thank you." "The world'll tear ye a-twain, ye ken." "I know," the filly whispered. "It was one of the first things I thought of. What do I do?" "Crivens, I wish I knew." After a sigh, she continued, "Doing right is never easy. After doing all the killing I did, and I did quite a lot, I 'ad to learn how to live with meself. 'Twas the right thing to do at the time, but living with it was 'ard, so it was. And then came the night when Princess Luna lost 'er mind. Why, I 'ad to do me a lot more killing… I 'ad to keep Ficklewick safe 'cause 'is work is just that important. 'Cause of what I did when I was younger, I found the killing part all too easy, ye ken. Things 'appen for a reason. I guess. Though those words seem like so much rancid treacle." "I feel really bad for what I did and I—" "You tell Ficklewick that during supper. I've no doubts ye'll spend the rest of yer life a-worrying 'bout what might've been 'ad you 'it yer mark. If I was ye, and in yer place, I might've done the same. We're not so different, ye and me. This colt is yer Ficklewick." Consumed by stupefied silence, Lamp didn't know what to say. "If yer smart, filly, as smart as I think ye be, you'll make Ficklewick yer Ficklewick and find some way into 'is good graces. If 'e offers, let 'im 'elp ye. Don't be prideful. Be agreeable. Now, come closer and make yerself useful, ye cuss. I want ye to peel potatoes and chop some celery. Got it? Ye'll earn yer supper this even, and if yer lucky, maybe a place to sleep." Author's Note I've hidden a lot of important stuff in plain sight. There might be a blog post later showing various connection points. Or not. We'll see. Is everyone surviving our windigo winter? Stay warm, folks. Stay safe.
A light, shelteredThere was a liquid library and Lamp was in awe of it. As a pot of potato soup simmered steadily on the hob, she studied the jars filled with mysterious liquids. In some jars were spells, suspended in spellbinding solutions. In other jars, there were extracted memories, held secure in an alchemical jelly made from forget-me-not ferns, the mysterious plants she had seen outside. The very idea of memories being stored in a liquid library left her in a stunned state, and she wondered just what else Miss Combes might be capable of. The memories, of course, were invaluable to Ficklewick for his studies. "So you could pull all the stuff that happened today out of my head so it could be studied?" asked Lamp. Miss Combes did not respond; she was far too busy brushing the deaf-mute colt, who rather seemed to be enjoying the experience. Lamp turned away from the liquid library so that she might watch. Not content with merely studying magic, Miss Combes was an alchemist. It seemed that her studies were wide and varied. Though she did not say it, Lamp felt a certain attraction to this sort of power—but it took dedication and discipline, something that the young filly knew she did not have in abundance. "Would I forget it?" "No," the busy housekeeper replied. "Think of it being more like a copy." She continued brushing, her face contorted in a stern frown as her eyes went from one scabby place on the colt's pelt to another. "Ye did well on the soup, Lamp. I told ye, 'twasn't no real work at all. Ye seem to 'ave a knack for it." "Thank you." Then, after a bit of almost bashful beaming, she added, "It was fun." "Yer more than a lamp, Lamp. Yer caretakers are fools with brains like o'erboiled puddings." There was so much that Lamp wanted to say in response, but words failed her. Tongue tied, she stood there, rubbing one foreleg against the other. All of her emotions threatened to overwhelm her; so much had happened this day. She'd connected with her mark in some meaningful way and it had changed her profoundly. At some point, without realising it, she'd made a new friend; the cantankerous housekeeper wasn't so terrible, if you didn't mind the grumpiness. "Poor colt is so scabby," Miss Combes muttered beneath her breath. "Infection is bad. I 'as 'igh 'opes that Ficklewick will try to 'elp you. At least, I 'ope 'e does. I'm almost certain the old coot will. Will ye stay if 'e offers, Lamp?" "I dunno," she replied, but she already knew the answer. "I could use a 'elper." The housekeeper sighed, put down her brush, and shook her head. "Ficklewick will want to study yer friendship, no doubt. Why, 'e's greedy like that. That old nutter is obsessed with 'earthfire. That's a story and nothing more. A tale told by old mares sitting by the fire. A myth. A folktale. But if ye know what's good for ye, Lamp, ye'll 'ang on 'is e'ery word, ye ken. Ficklewick wants evidence of what 'e calls the magic of friendship… which might exist… might not." Her expression soured into something magnificent. "Ficklewick believes it exists. The old fart knew the Founders. Clover the Clever was 'is teacher, for a time. Not magic, like ye might think, but thinkism. Ficklewick is old and wise… which is a power unto itself that I covet a great deal. I want to live long enough to be wise, ye ken. To know. For nopony but myself. Ne'er much cared for what others think. When the Maguses came to court me I told them to sod off and get stuffed. Old Ficklewick almost split 'is sides laughing. Couldn't remember a time that somepony told the stuffy old boffins right off." "But… the Magus' Circle—" "Is a place where free thinking and free thought go to die," the grumpy mare said before Lamp could finish. "The power they 'ave to offer comes at a price. They'll let ye know what yer opinions are, what ye'll feel about any given subject, and what magic is acceptable for ye to study. Them and all their restrictions will wrap tight 'round yer neck and choke out anything they themselves do not agree with." Standing very still, Lamp bowed her head low, took in everything said, then nodded. "Buncha spods. What they did to Ficklewick… I cannae e'en talk about it. Time to change the subject." Lamp fairly gleamed; her coppery pelt was shiny and sleek, while her burnished brassy mane and tail bobbed and bounced. She couldn't recall ever looking this good—or even feeling this good for that matter. Never before had her dull coppery hide had such a shine, nor such a shimmer. Why, she practically glowed and she almost didn't recognise herself. She admired the filly in the silvered glass mirror, incredulous that the resplendent reflection was her. She was now a well-polished Lamp, and she was ready for her light to shine. Her new friend—the rescued colt—sat on a cushion near the fire, wrapped up in a somewhat scratchy grey wool blanket. He seemed happy, pleased even. Miss Combes had fed him a small portion of boiled oats and apple mash just to see if his stomach could keep anything down. So far, so good. No doubt, the hot soup would do him good. It was nice seeing him clean now, with a colour other than crud-caked filth. He was a pale yellow, the colour of moonlight in fog. What was left of his mane and tail was almost—though not quite—purple, though neither was it blue. His eyes, bright, were glassy with feverish illness. Still, he seemed comfortable and happy enough at the moment. Lamp dared to dream that somehow everything would be alright. "There are others like ye, Lamp," Miss Combes said whilst she pulled her mane up and tucked it beneath a knitted cap. "I don't mean urchins, either." Intrigued, Lamp gave the housekeeper her full attention. "Some call yer lot Princess Celestia's Little Lights. There's stories… most of them are fanciful rubbish. The Waking Nightmare and the malignant darkness caused a great many foals to develop a knack for excessive illumination. I've met a few." "There are stories?" asked Lamp. "This is the first I've heard of this." "Oh, there's stories a-plenty." Heaving a sigh, the housekeeper rolled her eyes while the most embittered scowl contorted her face into something most unpleasant. "The most common theme of the stories is that Princess Celestia was losing the fight to 'er sister, so she divvied up 'er essence, 'er spirit, 'er very soul… and then sent it forth into the most capable receptacles. The idea is that there would be an army to fight Nightmare Moon, but this is all a bunch of painful idiocy." "Why is it stupid?" "Well, to start," Miss Combes began, "something like that takes effort. Concentration. If it could even be done, it isn't something ye could do mid-battle. Beyond that"—she inhaled—"doing so would weaken 'er something fierce, practically guaranteeing a loss. Princess Luna would sense what was going on and do something to stop 'er. If Princess Celestia's essence went out into a bunch of colts and fillies, Princess Celestia's Little Lights as they are called, Nightmare Moon would've 'unted them down and destroyed them, because a foal poses no threat to a monster like that, ye ken." This made a painful amount of sense, Lamp decided. "Ponies tell stories to make sense of things. The 'eart of the matter, near as I can tell, is that a whole bunch of wee bairns got a-frightened of the sudden monstrous darkness. Out of this multitude, quite a few got blessed with a mark and the means to make powerful light. And make no mistake, Lamp, yer light spell is powerful. I can't make a light 'alf as bright. And neither can the Magus' Circle. This… this upsets those in power, 'cause it don't seem right that a foal could have stronger magic than one of the mighty, mighty maguses. "So stories are made to explain these things away, so they make sense. Ye ken?" "Stories help the world make sense when it doesn't," replied Lamp, who nodded her head. "It's easier for a pony to believe that Princess Celestia tore her soul a-twain and put part of 'erself into a foal than to believe that a foal might be powerful by their own merits." Eyes narrowed, a shrewd scowl on her muzzle, Miss Combes became the very epitome of mischievous grumpiness. "Weakness is abhorrent to unicorns, Lamp. When we appear weak, we do our utmost to explain it away… to find means of explanation so we can dismiss it. We're beings made to seek out power, Lamp. Ne'er forget that. It's our strength… and our weakness." "Something happened today with my light spell," Lamp said to the housekeeper. "I don't know what it was. But when I let my light shine, there was heat. It got hot. That's never happened before, and I felt… strange. I got angry… I was mad. He was shivering"—she pointed at her deaf-mute companion—"and there was a cold sensation that was eating at me. All I could think about was how nopony would help him… nopony would help us, and I got… I got… is there something beyond mad?" Miss Combes' knitted cap went askew as her ears moved beneath it. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, widened again, and then one eye went squinty while the other went into an over-open stare. "Ficklewick will want to 'ear 'bout that. That's…" her words trailed off. After a few failed starts, Miss Combes was able to recover and she said, "I can make 'eat, and I can make light, but the two are separate things. My light spell has no 'eat. But the magic I use to make things 'otter, well, there's some light but it's just the magic from my 'orn, ye ken. What yer saying… Lamp, I know precious few ponies that can do what yer saying. 'Tis a rare thing… a rare gift. Princess Celestia can turn a winter's day into a sweltering summer in the area just around 'er. Ye need to tell Ficklewick 'bout this. Especially since it 'appened today." In a moment of intense understanding, Lamp had a flash of insight: her magic, both light and heat, would allow her to live in a world where the sun did not rise. It made a certain amount of sense. Her magic was an adaptation for a future narrowly avoided. A preparation for what might have been—but thankfully was not. Now, more than ever, magic did not make sense, but as a unicorn, magic was the very core of everything she was. If she had power… she could use it to help herself so that she might help others. Unwittingly, Miss Combes had set an example for Lamp, a lasting impression that would no-doubt forever change the course of her life. Whatever it took, young Lamp would take charge of her life, she would use whatever she had to gain more power, and then she would be free. She noted Miss Combes' rigid posture, the way the housekeeper stood, and the young filly did her best to emulate it. When one wanted to be powerful, one had to look the part—and something about the cantankerous mare suggested a nonchalant, insouciant authority. Not arrogance, but command. Her deaf-mute companion needed a caretaker, and Lamp was determined to play the part. No more excuses. No more waiting for something to happen. No longer would she stare out the window and wait for whatever it was that would set her free. She no longer had that luxury. In a moment of an illuminating epiphany, she understood that if she waited at her window, the day would come, it would go, and the opportunity—whatever it might be—would pass her by. The waiting would be her undoing. She would settle in, she would succumb to her fate, and she would become her namesake—little more than living furniture. A pony content to do as she was told, one content to live on scraps—a pony who took solace in staring out the window and mourned the opportunity she never took. Lamp knew that supper was important; it was the turning point of her life. She had to shine. Not just for her own sake, but for her companion. "How do I make Ficklewick like me?" asked Lamp. "Well, not shooting 'im in the 'ead is a good start, Lamp." She took this with as much grace as she could muster. It was something she would have to live with. The mistake she'd almost made. While it needled her a bit, it was all part of today, and this day was special. She nodded, because it seemed like the right thing to do, then she forced herself to accept what she'd done. After a bit of time lost in thought, she decided it was something she could atone for. In the stories she'd heard, good ponies needed something to atone for; that was part of what made them good, and Lamp would be a good pony. There was a creak up above, and the sound of hooves on the stairs. "Suppertime," Miss Combes said. "Prepare yerself, Lamp." Author's Note Several concepts have been introduced up to this point that bring home the impact with the end. I do hope everybody is fine. It sure is quiet...
Illuminating conversationFicklewick's eyebrows made the treacherous ascent up his wrinkly forehead, got tired, stopped to take a brief rest, continued up a little farther, succumbed to fatigue once more, crept up just a bit more, and then took a tumble down his grizzled face to rest just over his eyes. He stood at the bottom of the narrow stairs and his shallow breathing could be heard whistling through his fuzzy nostrils. For reasons unknown, Lamp was absolutely frozen with terror. "Where did our guest go?" he asked of nopony in particular. "The little dirty waif and the even dirtier colt…" "She cleans up well, she does," Miss Combes replied. "Did ye have a nice nap?" "I was meditating—" "Is that what yer calling it now?" "Confound it, I was meditating, not napping!" After his brief outburst—followed by an eyeroll aimed right at his housekeeper—Ficklewick made his way over to the deaf-mute colt. He drew near, lowered his head, and then looked the frail colt right in the eye. "Having a nice bit of meditation, colt?" Miss Combes sniggered; meanwhile, Lamp was at a total loss for how to respond or react. Lifting his head up high, Ficklewick glanced around, sniffed once, twice, and then turned his full attention on Lamp. He came to her, moving with startling grace and smoothness for his age. Up close, he was a bit taller than Lamp realised, and she had no choice but to crane her neck to look up at him whilst he stared down at her. He smelt of thunder and liniment, but there was also the subtle fragrance of old dandelion tea. "When I took leave of you," he began, "you were but a young absconder that attempted to raid my storage cellar. Now you appear to have grown into a young mare. What has Miss Combes done to you?" Tongue tied in unfathomable, unconquerable ways, Lamp failed to respond. "I suppose that is incorrect, in a sense. An absconder is one who escapes… which you failed to do. You came back for your friend. Which, I suppose, is the reason why we are here and this conversation is happening. Also, I seem to recall that you tried to—" "I'm sorry," Lamp blurted out. Then, realising she'd interrupted, she silenced herself before more harm could be done. "My interest in you is because of your impassioned defense of your friend," he said in a voice of cool temperament. "You showed loyalty… and perhaps a bit of magic. Tell me, my dear… do you understand the importance of loyalty?" Once again, she found herself tongue tied. "Princess Luna was once the Bearer of Loyalty. Once." His bushy eyebrows drooping, he seemed profoundly saddened by what he had said. "You… you showed remarkable loyalty, returning for your friend. Do not be ashamed, young one. Take heart, young miss. Young miss? Ah, yes, you missed. Are you hungry? Because I am." "That young miss made the soup, more or less," Miss Combes said. "You trusted her with a sharp cleaver, Miss Combes?" he asked with deadpan seriousness. "I did." "Remarkable. Remarkable. No heads were lost. No limbs taken. Not an ear missing." "She showed a little skill, so there was something of a lesson. After she cut the potatoes, she also sliced a few carrots, some celery, and some leeks." "Oh, remarkable." He inhaled, backed away from Lamp, and nodded his head. "Remarkable." "If ye'll 'ave a seat, I'll serve up supper," Miss Combes said. "I… am Ficklewick. But you already knew that. I am Princess Celestia's advisor on inter-tribal relations, second-chair of the Prosperity League, and among my many accomplishments, some consider me to be the first and foremost expert of the unicorn science known as thinkism." He cleared his throat, his eyebrows pushed closer together—but did not quite meet—and he offered up a gentle shake of his head. "But I myself find this claim rather dubious. Every day I discover more of what I do not know and there is much I fail to comprehend." "Ficklewick is one of the three ponies in Canterlot who studies thinkism, and the other two are slack-jawed simpletons that 'ave more boogers than brains,'' Miss Combes said as she cut the cheese into four even quarters. "Don't let 'is false modesty fool ye, Lamp." "Being one of the few ponies that studies this new science does not make me an expert… it just makes me… available?" Once more, he cleared his throat. "It is not the same thing." "Ye studied with Clover the Clever—" "I am not half as clever as Clover." A wedge of soft, gooey, somewhat bluish cheese on a pottery plate was set down in front of Lamp and she could not believe her good fortune. This was not table scraps, or a bit of cheese rind that nopony wished to chew on for hours so it could be swallowed. She watched as it oozed a bit of runny goo and deformed into something not entirely a cheese wedge. It was stinky, but in a good way, and her mouth watered in anticipation of what was sure to be a delectable treat. "My job, in its most simple form, is to figure out how to make ponies be nice to one another." He started to say more, but Miss Combes plunked a plate with a wedge of cheese down in front of him. Once again, his eyebrows made the perilous ascent up his wrinkled forehead, and just as before, they became worn-out about halfway up. "Miss Combes, I think this one has gone bad, because—" "It's gone good, Ficklewick." "But the smell is rather offensive and—" "Criticise my cheese and there'll be words." His fuzzy ears angled forwards for a brief moment, then retreated and splayed out sideways. The corners of his mouth twitched briefly as his housekeeper placed a plate of cheese in front of the deaf-mute colt, and then, when she wasn't looking and was preparing her own plate, he shot a secretive half-smile in Lamp's general direction. The kind act made Lamp feel welcome, and a little less tense. Beneath his breath, Ficklewick said to Lamp, "Blessed are the cheesemakers, whose success is measured in stench." Miss Combes chortled a bit, put forth a great effort to recover herself, and failed. Her sides rose and fell, and as they did so, Ficklewick seemed to take great satisfaction in the fact that she could not recuperate. Was this friendship? It had to be. But what a strange friendship it was, to the point where Lamp could not make sense of it. Still, she was grateful for it, and beyond that, she wanted desperately to be a part of it. There was a warmth here that made the crackling fire seem weak and cold. "It has been so long," Ficklewick said, mostly beneath his breath. "So, so long." Even though he smiled—as much as his wrinkled, sagging face would allow—his eyes were sorrowful when he looked at Lamp. "What're ye going on about, Fickle?" asked Miss Combes as she armed herself with an enormous metal ladle. "How soon ponies forget," was his somewhat cryptic response. "Forget what?" asked Lamp. "I suppose it is a sign of things getting better," he said as his housekeeper submerged the ladle into the crockery full of soup. "Or maybe our collective memories are getting worse. Either way…" His sentence went unfinished as he shook his head from side to side. Eyes sorrowful, but still bright, he stared Lamp right in the eye until she began to squirm a bit. "There used to be tribes within tribes," he began as if he were a teacher getting ready to recite a lesson. "With the Unicorn Tribe, there were variations. Distinct versions. But in particular, what is relevant with this conversation, were two specific types. Unicorns such as myself and Miss Combes, we're just common unicorns. A standard type. But you, Lamp"—his sides heaved as he inhaled—"you are a chromatic unicorn. And it has been a while since I have seen your type." Ladling soup into crockery bowls, Miss Combes seemed sad, and had nothing to say. "Princess Platinum was a chromatic unicorn, which she believed gave her the right to rule. After all, there was no pony quite so resplendent as her, quite so beautiful. She appeared to be a creature made of living metal, like some types of dragons. Her platinum pelt shone like a second sun and her mane was like wires made of precious much-coveted metals. She ruled, because beauty was her birthright. Not another creature could match her splendour, until Princess Celestia came along. But… the chromatic unicorns believed strongly in their right to rule. They were few, uncommon… a tribe that grew more precious with each generation as their numbers dwindled." Brows furrowed, Ficklewick pressed his front hooves together whilst he leaned over the table just a bit. "This is not a story about one pony secure in their superiourity, no. Princess Platinum had a change of heart and with help from her new friends, her fellow Founders, she knew that greatness was measured by one's deeds. And so it came to pass that Princess Platinum gathered up her fellow chromatic unicorns… powerful unicorns they were. Beings of immense power…" His sentence dried up on his tongue and he seemed incredibly inconsolable now. But he was not silent for long. "Princess Platinum gathered up the strongest unicorns she could… of all types… and she gathered up powerful pegasus ponies and earth ponies… she formed a mighty army, the likes of which had not been seen on this continent. This was an army created for but one single purpose: to rescue another tribe of ponies, the Crystal Ponies of the Crystal Empire. They went north, passing through the treacherous wilderness, having to fight for every step taken. They would not be deterred as they made their northward journey, trampling any foe foolish enough to delay them along the way. Princess Platinum was determined to be great, to live in service of another. "I am unsure of what happened when she reached the Crystal Empire. From what little that there is known, there was a battle. King Sombra's stygian darkness pitted against Princess Platinum's resplendent light—but nopony knows the outcome because the Crystal Empire just disappeared. And everypony there vanished with it. So it came to pass that the chromatic unicorns faded into obscurity. Seeing you reawakens so many memories, Lamp." "Ficklewick remembers when things were better," Miss Combes said as she continued to serve their meal. "There was a time when it felt as though… when it felt as though…" The ladle fell into the soup crockery with a splash and a plop, and then the housekeeper just stood there, her eyes misty and distant. Fearing she might upset her kindly benefactors, Lamp still dared to ask: "So why are things so bad? If things were getting better, what made them worse?" "Well, the loss of Princess Platinum was quite a blow," replied Ficklewick. "One by one, we lost the Founders, and their message about hearthfire and friendship—" "Phahgh! 'Earthfire! A fanciful old mare's tale!" "Hearthfire is very real, I assure you, Miss Combes—" "It showed up once and ain't never returned since." The housekeeper was practically spitting. "That's our trouble, we let ourselves believe in myth. We make up stories and lie to ourselves. Now that the 'earthfire is gone, so is all our reason for unity with it. And that's the trouble with fanciful stories!" "Miss Combes…" Ficklewick's voice was stern now, resolute, and his eyes gleamed with fierce determination. "The story of our Founding is not a myth. Hearthfire… the magic of friendship… the magic of unity, I believe it to be real. While I do my best to only believe in what I can see and measure, some things remain outside of our understanding." "Ficklewick… what if the Circle was right? I know this is a sore spot for ye, but let us entertain the notion. What if the Founders just made up a story to bring everypony together? Would that be so bad?" "Well, yes," he replied without hesitation. "Because then our unity would be built upon a foundation of lies, rather than a foundation of friendship." Sighing, Miss Combes shook her head and just stood there. "You know, Miss Combes… one day, ponies will forget the Waking Nightmare—" "Ye crank! How could anypony forget that? We lived through it! The dream realm came spilling out into the world of the wake! Nightmares walked amongst us!" "They will forget that Princess Celestia even had a sister—" "Impossible! We all know this to be true!" "Princess Luna will be forgotten. The Waking Nightmare will pass into myth, if it is even remembered at all. The Mare in the Moon will become a story told to scare foals into behaving at bedtime—if the story is even remembered at all. What we know to be true will fade into myth, and then maybe into obscurity. Just like hearthfire, Miss Combes." The housekeeper savagely bit down upon her bottom lip, but did not respond. "Ponies are already fighting over what actually happened." His words soft, almost a whisper, Ficklewick continued with a distant forlorn expression. "Because so much of it was actually a dream for so many, there is much debate about the very nature of the Waking Nightmare. And if it was even real. Like hearthfire, it cannot be measured, or tested, or studied. It happened once, and then it was gone. What knowledge there is about it is contained in the living. And once those living pass… so too, will that knowledge. As for the Circle, they cannot even agree as to what it was… just like hearthfire." He turned to face Lamp, his bushy, grizzled eyebrows down low over his fervent eyes. "This… this is why things are so bad, Lamp. There are many factors, but what I feel is the primary source… what I believe to be the root cause for our troubles… the fall of Princess Luna. Would you like for me to explain? Would you like for this lesson to continue? If you wish to be my guest, I shall spare you… but if you wish to be my student, there is a cost. "What say you, Lamp?" A bowl of soup was slid over the wooden table and came to rest before the filly. She looked at it, thoughtful, and then, ever so slowly, she raised her head. Whatever wisdom that might be found in the depths of her soup would remain there. This was no simple decision, no simple yes or no. Whatever she said next would not just affect her life—but the life of her companion as well. This was destiny, whatever that might mean, and she'd met it halfway. Now, with but a simple answer, she would either become Lamp, a pony that shone brightly, or a lamp, a pony that was little more than furniture. "If you tell me, I'll listen. I don't wanna be a lamp." "Good. Good. Remarkable. I am pleased to hear you say that. Remarkable." "This is remarkably complicated in the telling. Good thing we have plenty of time. Where do I begin? What do I explain? That's the real trick with these lessons, getting started. I suppose we should begin with a question. Tell me, Lamp… do you understand what the Waking Nightmare is? Was? Has anypony sat you down and explained to you what happened?" Eyes low, Lamp squirmed on her cushion. Adults talked about the Waking Nightmare, but none of them really spoke about what it was. It was something that happened, something she was a part of, but nopony went into detail about what took place. The few times she had asked about it, ponies got quiet for a time, and then spoke of other things—anything but the Waking Nightmare. What was said was that it was for the best if everypony just forgot about it. Before Lamp could respond however… "Crivens! Nae! Nae! It's 'ot! Blow! Blow! Blow!" Miss Combes had her face down almost nose to nose with the deaf-mute colt—who, from the looks of things, had almost plunged his muzzle right into the bowl of hot soup. She got his attention by gently tugging upon his ear, which Lamp saw when she looked over. What she saw next surprised her a great deal; creeping realisation, a slow-but-steady understanding of what just took place. The housekeeper was huffing and puffing into the colt's soup and his eyes lit up with gratitude. Extending his scrawny neck, the colt nuzzled Miss Combes' muzzle. The housekeeper's ears twitched in such a way that her knitted cap slipped right off and fell down to the table—but thankfully not into the bowl of soup. Her sides heaved as she huffed one final time, and then she just stood there. Little by little, her mane tumbled down around her face. As for the colt, he kept his muzzle close to hers and just sort of smiled with his eyes half-closed. "Yer such a sweet little guyo," Miss Combes muttered. "So trusting. How are ye so trusting? Somepony clearly 'urt ye… but ye dinnae seem at all skittish. Ye can't 'ear a word I'm saying to ye, but I think you like it that I'm talking to ye. Mind yer soup, colt. It's 'ot." "My housekeeper seems a little—" "One more word ye gasgape and I'll give yer neck a right-good wringing." She sat down near the colt, scooted closer, and then armed herself with a spoon. "I'm still a mare, Ficklewick. Ne'er forget that. Foaling may 'old no appeal, it doesn't mean I 'ate them or don't want them around, ye ken. Though… most of them are coddled brats and I can't stand them." "I like seeing this side of you, Miss Combes." Somewhat mollified—perhaps even a bit embarrassed—she replied, "Well, thank ye." "Now… where was I? The prosperity problem? No… no, that does not seem right. Oh, right. Right. The Waking Nightmare. We shall get to the prosperity problem. Now where do I begin?" The old stallion lifted his spoon, gazed at his own reflection in the curved surface, and then seemed to recoil from what he saw. Meanwhile, Lamp inhaled the curls of savoury steam rising from her bowl, and she rather enjoyed her stomach's visceral, savage response. Across the table, Miss Combes fed the deaf-mute colt with a spoon—which clearly confused him. It was obvious that he'd never eaten from a spoon before—much less had somepony try to feed him—and he cast a confused, cross-eyed stare on the loaded spoon held before his fuzzy lip. Rather than bite, he blew on the spoon. For Lamp, this was new, novel, she could not remember a time like this in her life. Was this what family was like? There was a warmth here that did not come from the fire, or the soup for that matter. Canterlot's cold chill had no power within these walls. The awareness of it made her eyes sting tremendously, but she somehow held herself together. Quite by accident, she had led herself and her companion here—but this was the right place to be. Fate? Destiny? Serendipitous happenstance? Something greater? The room blurred as the pain in her eyeballs became a searing heat. "Miss Combes, I must protest—" "What'd I do?" she demanded whilst the colt blew on the spoon held before him. "I do believe there is too much onion or garlic in the soup. It's eye-watering—" "Stuff a neep in yer soup spout, ye crank! Don't tease!" Somehow, even though it felt as though her heart and face were breaking, Lamp smiled. "I was attempting to protect the young mare's dignity. 'Tis better to blame the soup." Then, to Lamp he said, "Dear, do you need a moment?" "I'm fine," she somehow managed to say, though she did not recognise the sound of her own voice, which was rather like a rusty hinge of a door left to swing in the wind. "The Waking Nightmare," Ficklewick began as he crumbled up his wedge of cheese and plopped the pieces into his soup. "Wait… before we discuss the Waking Nightmare, do you know of collective channeling, young miss?" Lamp did not; she feared saying so however, because it would certainly make her appear uneducated, or worse, ignorant. Nervous, she mimicked Ficklewick and started to crumble pieces of her cheese into her soup. From what little she knew about him, she knew that he valued honesty. After working up her courage, and swallowing her pride, she had her answer. "I know nothing." "Ah, honesty over pride. Remarkable. Remarkable indeed." The sage old senior equine nodded his approval. "Collective channeling is how unicorns would move the sun and moon, or cast complex spells. It is a great strength… and a terrible weakness. One that Nightmare Moon would exploit. The ability for our minds to link together to form a single stream of focused magic. The Waking Nightmare is the primary reason why the Magus' Circle wishes to outlaw collective channeling. Oh my… this is rapidly becoming remarkably complicated. There is just so much that has to be understood before one can truly comprehend the Waking Nightmare." "There's a lot to understand just to be a unicorn," Miss Combes said as she slipped the spoon into the colt's mouth. When she pulled it out, soup dribbled down his chin and she frowned while she made every effort to scrape it clean with the spoon. "I just scrubbed yer face. At least make an effort to be clean, wee guyo." The deaf-mute colt blinked once, licked his lips, smeared the mess everywhere, and then waited patiently for another spoonful. Ficklewick watched all of this, evidently distracted by the whole affair, and after being completely absorbed by it for a considerable length of time, he returned his attention to Lamp. Lifting his spoon, he opened up his mouth, and then said absolutely nothing, nothing at all. "The Waking Nightmare, ye scatterbrained old goat." "Oh… right. I was about to explain collective channeling. I think. Was I?" When the last bit of cheese fell into her soup, Lamp armed herself with a spoon—which she had never used before. Never once. Determined to not make a fool of herself, she waited, and she watched. When the others ate, she would observe them, and then do whatever it was that they did. It seemed simple enough. This meal wasn't scraps, and it wasn't stolen, so she was going to enjoy it. Brows furrowed, ears down, his face sagging as if pulled down by some great weight, Ficklewick appeared much older. After a sigh and a prolonged inhalation, he began: "Princess Luna could go into the minds of others as they lay dreaming. The realm of dreams is abstract and mysterious, but that is a topic for another time. What is important for our discussion is that she had access to the minds of so many, and with these minds, she created the Waking Nightmare. "Princess Luna became Nightmare Moon by harnessing the magic of so many… at least this is believed to be the case. Nopony knows for certain, and Princess Luna is no longer around so that she might be made to explain herself. But she harnessed the minds of a great many unicorns so that she could overpower her sister and be rid of the sun. These dreaming minds, vulnerable, were open to all manner of exploitation. "The weakest, those with little magic, became generators for the creeping darkness. Nightmare Moon used them to subsume the light. Those who had a little strength, they projected the dreamscape into the waking world, so that the two realms began to overlap with one another. This caused a sort of delirium, even in those still awake, and the weak-minded fell prey to illusion. The nightmare became a reality, in a manner of speaking. "As for the strongest unicorns however, they became… well, gates, for lack of a better description. Conduits. They allowed the nightmarish monsters of the dream realm to escape into our world. Nightmare Moon's shrieking host. Once free, they began to kill… to devour. Inadvertently, unicorns did great harm, though it wasn't their fault. The other ponies… the earth ponies and the pegasus ponies, they had no choice but to defend themselves. "And so they did. Left with no other choice, they began to kill slumbering unicorns in an effort to break Nightmare Moon's horrific spell. It was an awful thing to have happened, but necessary, I suppose. What choice did they have?" He shook his head, closed his eyes, sighed, then opened his eyes so that he might look at Lamp. "Of course, there were also unicorns such as yourself. Princess Celestia's Little Lights. Though the ways and means are not fully understood, somehow the light that you and your kind cast banished the darkness and broke the spell. The Waking Nightmare had no power in the islands of illumination created by you and your kind. I do believe that Miss Combes has made you somewhat aware of your nature, Lamp." It was too much to take in and Lamp was left flummoxed. "There is much distrust now. The other ponies just sort of expect more nightmares to leap out of sleeping unicorns. And naturally, understandably, sleeping unicorns worry a great deal about not waking up. Nopony wants to talk about it, and rather wishes the whole thing could just be forgotten. If hearthfire was the blessing of our age, the Waking Nightmare is… well, whatever is the opposite of a blessing. But this is only part of our troubles, and I've dedicated my life to understanding all of it." For the first time in her life, Lamp understood just how valuable her light was to her caretakers. Not just to keep the darkness away, as she had grown up believing—but perhaps to protect others around them. They were powerful enough to be dangerous, she figured. They had just enough magical oomph to be problematic. Was she a means of peace of mind for them? Maybe they weren't the most awful of sorts as she believed. If they were to become a wellspring of nightmares, would her light keep others safe? For the first time, she saw what she believed might be both sides of the issue, and an entirely new horizon opened up before her. Lamp—a foal that had been shown little empathy in her short life—now had a keen awareness of it for others. Such as her companion. For Miss Combes, who doted upon the colt, spoon feeding him and wiping his chin. The awareness of this new thing, this newfound state of being, it was overwhelming—but it was also empowering. Something stirred within the edges of her consciousness, and she understood that this was a part of her nature. To illuminate. To shine light on all things, both physical and metaphorical. Light and enlightenment. A means to banish darkness of all types. Her young body responded to this sudden influx of power and understanding in the only manner which it could: she hiccuped rather violently. Covering her mouth with her hoof, she sat there and just allowed everything to sink in. This morning, she was a filly that had escaped through the window and now… now she wanted to make windows to let the light in. The spoon held aloft in her magical aura trembled, but did not fall. "This is not an insurmountable problem, so take heart. This can be overcome. I have a plan. I know how to fix this. Friendship is the answer… but for that to happen, a few things must change first. If friendship is a flower, then fertile fields are needed. These fields have been sown with salt, but I am confident that things can be set right. Before she passed, Clover showed me the way. She told me what must be done… and surely there is no pony more clever than Clover. She went into one of her fugue states and spoke prophecy." "Oh, 'ere we go—" "Miss Combes, please, hold your tongue on this matter." Then, to Lamp, he said, "Clover spoke of many things. I understand none of them, because, as I have stated, I am not as clever as Clover. She predicted that the Windigos would come, that the sea would freeze over to form a bridge, and that the three tribes would become as one. Her prognostications are… well, rather cryptic and I suppose you could say that they are open to interpretation. Some of them are downright baffling, while others seem somewhat straightforward, at least upon first inspection." "Yer the best friend that Clover could've 'oped for, I s'pose. Her work was just too great to finish in one lifetime… and the same can be said for ye, Ficklewick. Ye'll never see the end result. Just 'ow do ye live with it? Would drive me barmy. I mean, I'm trying to make my life as long as possible just so I can get my work done and see it to completion." "We must trust in friendship, Miss Combes," was Ficklewick's patient response. It occurred to Lamp that a spoon was just a tiny bowl on a stick. "Clover stated that when the twitterlight hour comes 'round at last, two sisters torn asunder will become as one." After fishing a lump of potato out of his soup, Ficklewick sat squinting down at it. "Mind you, this was before Nightmare Moon and the Waking Nightmare." Peering out from beneath his overhanging brows, he carefully nibbled on the spoonborne spud with his lips peeled back from his broad teeth. "But… how could Clover possibly know this?" asked Miss Combes, who wore a sour expression of intense doubt. "Clover died, Miss Combes. Consumed by the ice. The Ice of Apathy, the very opposite of the Fires of Friendship. It stopped her heart. She was dead, make no mistake about that. Hearthfire revived her. Gave her life. She was touched by it and it changed her. Profoundly. I suspect that it is also the source of her visions. Though she already had the gift of foresight, of prognostication, what she endured transmuted it in ways I cannot comprehend. Clover was a vessel. Perhaps a messenger. Death changes a pony, for better or worse. There's no coming back… not without consequences. The price for Clover's restoration was her fugue states and her cryptic utterances." "Nopony took them seriously… 'cept for ye." "What sort of friend would I be if I did not believe her?" "Some ponies go sick in the mind, Ficklewick. Do ye believe them?" In response, Ficklewick said nothing, but slurped his soup. Lamp made her first attempt and somehow managed to get the spoon and most of its contents into her mouth, with only a little that trickled down her chin. As for the soup itself, Lamp didn't know what to think of it—there was too much to taste all at once and her senses were overloaded. It warmed her belly, soothed her throat, and made her feel rather sleepy. "While my question has merit, I'm glad that ye did believe her, Ficklewick. Yer the only pony I know that is actually doing something—anything to make things better. Everypony else is arguing 'bout this and that. The Circle… one day the Circle will make talking about the problem a crime, ye mark my words." She sighed, her ears fell backwards into her mane, and she shook her head in some vague resigned way. "Even if it be a fool's errand, I'm glad yer the fool. I might question, but I am behind ye on this journey, no matter where it takes us." Saying nothing, the old stallion nodded in his housekeeper's direction. "I was still young and stupid when ye took me in," Miss Combes continued. "Thought I 'ad life figured out. Thought I 'ad ye figured out. I was scared, let me tell ye. I'd 'eard all kinds of stories on how lords dealt with the 'elp. You've been nothing but good to me. Ye've shown me extraordinary kindness at a time when there's been little kindness to spare. And I s'pose I'm saying this 'cause Lamp needs to 'ear it. I've known ye long enough to know that ye'll not let her slip away." The housekeeper turned to Lamp, and added, "Tell'im what ye told me, Lamp. About yer magic. Tell'im what 'appened. If 'e believed Clover, then trust that 'e'll believe ye." "Magic?" Suddenly, the full weight of Ficklewick's intense scrutiny pinned Lamp in place. "Did something happen?" he asked, and he was no longer an absent-minded old dotard. The dramatic shift showed that he was commanding and in full control of himself. "Tell me. Do not be shy or scared. I will not doubt you, young one. You have too much to lose if you lie to me." It was true and Lamp knew it, not that she had any intentions of lying. "When I saved him—" "Saved him? Saved him from what?" Unsure of what to say, or where to even begin her tale, Lamp decided that she would just plow ahead. After all, more details could be given in time. Miss Combes could pull out everything that happened so Ficklewick could study it. With this in mind, she chose the direct, straightforward approach when she started over. "When I saved him, something happened. It was cold. I was cold. The cold was different. He was cold and it was like all the heat was getting sucked out of my body. Nopony helped us. Nopony helped him. Nopony did anything to save him. And there was this cold on the inside… inside my body." She sucked in a deep breath. "Then I got mad. I got mad and it got hot. And my horn lit up and my light spell happened and it was hot. My light was hot. Then I had a buncha thoughts about alotta things like what light means and the cold went away." "I see," said Ficklewick, who now seemed pensive. "I decided that I couldn't go home. I had to grow up and do right. Somehow I knew everything I had to do but I had no idea how to do it. It felt very unfair but I knew what needed to be done and so I came here to the First Quarter for a bit of a burgle." "Light and heat." Head tilted off to the right, Ficklewick seemed lost in thought. "She and I discussed this," Miss Combes said to Ficklewick. "I knew that ye'd want to know." Intrigued, Lamp slurped up a spoonful of soup and only made a minor mess of things. "It sounds as if she had some sort of re-affirmation of her talent… and possibly an alteration as well." Nostrils flaring wide with every breath, Ficklewick appeared somewhat strained by the heavy cogitation he engaged in. "Friendship is a magic all its own and it… it changes things. The fires of friendship function like a forge. It remakes a creature anew. Or it awakens what is already there. I am not entirely sure. I shall need to examine the memory if I am to make sense of it. That is, if you will permit me, my dear. I would be indebted to you. Such a thing would be of utmost importance to my research. This might very well be the closest thing to proof that I have found." Lamp made another attempt upon her soup's life and this time, she got more of it into her mouth than on her chin. The soup, being soup, steamed in protest but could do nothing, for such was the way of soup. When she stabbed it with her spoon, piercing the congealed soup skin, she could not help but notice just how gooey it had become because of the cheese. "Light and heat together. I can only think of one other pony that can do that." "Princess Celestia," Miss Combes said as she got another spoonful of hot soup into the deaf-mute colt. "If Nightmare Moon had won," Lamp said around a mouthful of soft potato, "and the world was forever-dark, I would've needed a way to keep warm. It might've been there all along and just woke up today." "Remarkable," Ficklewick remarked in a deadpan manner most unremarkable. "We need to study the other Little Lights. Feels like I'm repeating meself." "Miss Combes, that would most certainly get the attention of the Circle. Which we do not want." Annoyed, the acerbic housekeeper frowned so hard that the colt recoiled. Immediately, her face softened, and she began cooing to console Lamp's startled companion. He was quick to recover though, mostly because Miss Combes had the spoon. Across the table, Lamp watched the pair and even as her heart warmed, she worried about the Circle. Just this morning the Circle was a fabled place, a pleasant daydream—but was now something dangerous and worrisome. "So how do we make things better?" asked Lamp. "How do we fix this? How do I help?" "A filly in need of aid herself eager to help others." Long neck somewhat bent, Ficklewick plopped his spoon into his bowl of soup and then just sat there studying Lamp. For a moment, it appeared as though he might say something, but before the words could escape he began to chew his bottom lip. Then, after a bit of chewing, he asked, "So you really wish to help?" "For a light to shine," she replied, "it must be seen." "Oh my. Remarkable. So if a light shines and nopony is there to see it, is it darkness?" "I dunno," Lamp replied. "This got stuck in my noggin earlier, along with a buncha other stuffs." "Meditation upon your talent and magic in general will reveal much," said Ficklewick. "The problems we face now are not just Nightmare Moon's aftermath. Though, it is quite easy to blame our misfortunes upon her and the tragedy that she caused. If only it were so simple." He paused long enough to offer up a sad shake of his head. "No… the real trouble, the source problem lies with us. Our natures. What we think and what we do. Our behaviours. For this problem, there is but one solution: friendship." Lamp waited patiently for him to explain and she watched with pricked ears as he had himself a spoonful of still-steaming soup. She too had a careful bite and as she chewed up a mouthful of soft root vegetables, she attempted to make sense of what he'd said. Her life up to this point was not one of meaningful conversation and this experience—the whole of it—let her know what she was missing. "Desperation is a disease," Ficklewick began. "Nightmare Night left behind a plague of desperation. There are many symptoms of desperation, such as poverty and disparity. An overabundance of need but a critical shortage of provision. These conditions breed apathy, which I suppose are the very conditions that brought about the Windigo Winter. When faced with these conditions, ponies behave in a manner most predictable. "Life becomes every pony for themselves. Compassion withers. Ponies steadfastly stick with what they know—and what they know looks an awful lot like themselves. What I mean by that is that tribalism flourishes in this environment, these circumstances. If ponies deign to help others at all, they will likely only help those most like themselves. This goes beyond tribe and applies to social stratification as well. The wealthy remain blissfully unaware of the impoverished, though almsgiving has become something of a fad as of late." He paused, glanced around, his brows deeply furrowed, and then said, "There's no bread." "I didn't bake any today," Miss Combes replied. "What am I supposed to dunk into my soup?" "Well, 'ow's 'bout yer head?" "You there!" Ficklewick's head swiveled about in a vaguely disturbing way so that he could peer out from beneath his eyebrows at Lamp. "Can you bake bread?" "I could learn," she offered. "I think I'd like that." "I'll keep that in mind." With his response, he cast a scathing bit of side-eye in his housekeeper's direction. "Bread exists so that it might be dunked into soup and soup exists to have bread dunked into it. This is the natural order of things and we upset this order at our own peril." "I was busy with guests," Miss Combes said as she returned some side-eye. "This colt needed a bath." "It occurs to me that bathing and soup are remarkably similar with the difference being how long you allow something to simmer in hot water and—" "Are ye suggesting I almost turned yon colt into soup, ye crank?" "I am suggesting that you could. Just prolong the bath time and season with soap." "Fickle, 'ave ye taken leave of yer senses?" "If you sit in a hot bath for too long you come out looking rather stewed—" "You were trying to explain something important to Lamp! Focus, ye daft dotard!" "I was?" He blinked. "Oh, right. I was. Where was I? Right. In the middle of explaining my theory about how bathing and soup are related—" "Ficklewick!" "What?" "Yer a right mess, ye crackpot." "Should bread be dunked into bathwater?" asked Lamp. "Dinnae encourage 'im, Lamp! Oh, woe is me, this'll end badly if it ends at all!" "That's an excellent question. One for rumination. Such a smart filly, asking the right questions." Now, more than ever, Ficklewick seemed distracted and he studied Lamp with a critical eye. "Like relates to like. You and I can relate to one another through my budding theory about the interconnected relation between bathwater and soup. Other ponies have trouble connecting to one another because they have so little in common. That's our problem as ponies. I work to fix that. Thinkism offers a solution." Sides heaving, a long sigh of resignation wheezed out of Miss Combes. "A happy pony is an open-minded pony," said Ficklewick, who ignored the fierce scowl aimed at him from his grouchy housekeeper. "A pony with a full belly and a safe place to sleep at night is a brave pony. A pony more likely to try new things. So if we want to become one tribe, we must eliminate what separates us, be rid of the sources of division, and ponies must be prosperous and happy. We must all become as equals, and therein lies the impossible problem. The insurmountable issue that I do not know how to overcome." "And that is?" asked Lamp. "Ponies do not want to be equals," Ficklewick replied. "Leaving tribe out of this, we shall focus on factors other than wings, a horn, or the lack thereof. The wealthy need the poor to feel wealthy. The poorer and more impoverished the lower classes are, the wealthy are better off by comparison. Making the destitute better off poses a real threat to the wealthy… and my efforts have been thwarted at every turn." "I don't understand," said Lamp, who could not make sense of anything. "If we help the poor, then somehow we take away from the rich. We take from them what makes them feel special, the very thing that gives them a sense of purpose in their lives and—" "Take it anyway." Struggling to comprehend, Lamp dropped her spoon into her soup with a splash. "Take it all." "So says the burglar." "Miss Combes, if you please." He cleared his throat. "If we are to have unity, then all must be happy and none must feel slighted. This includes ponies who have everything as well as those who have nothing. We must come together somehow for a common cause." "I've gots nothing but I still helped him," Lamp said whilst she pointed at her companion with her extended hoof. "That makes you an extraordinary exception, my dear. Which is why you are here, in my home, supping upon the bathwater of potatoes. And I suppose that brings us to my intentions. I wish to study you and your interactions with your friend. There's a curious whiff of destiny to all of this. I would very much like to have some insight into its whims." Lamp knew it was coming, but was still surprised by it. Her ears fell back and the weight of the entire world threatened to bend her neck. She'd escaped through a window earlier, and now, another window opened, another means of escape. The back of her mind quietly suggested that light enters through open windows, and she had to fight so she wouldn't be distracted by the brain tickle brought about by this realisation. "You want me to stay?" "You and your companion," was his response. It was now difficult to draw breath, but somehow, Lamp managed. "I will ask little of you. Just that you stay and allow me to study you. A bit of conversation at supper. I wish to know how your friendship changes you. Challenges you. If you allow me this opportunity, I will allow you to stay. Nothing else will be expected of you. However, should you choose to help Miss Combes keep house, you will be compensated with a bit of coin." "If ye 'elp me ye'll be more than compensated,'' Miss Combes said to Lamp. "I'll teach ye magic. Ye'll get a proper education. Ficklewick needs more than a test subject, ye ken. The importance of his work cannae be put into words." She gestured at the liquid library, then to the deaf-mute colt, and then her foreleg came to rest upon the edge of the table. "There's too much work for any one pony." All of the words she wanted to say backed up in her throat and nothing came out. She swallowed, but the metaphorical lump remained stuck. Up to this point in her life, she had functioned as a lamp in exchange for the bare minimum required for her continued existence. This was considerably more; this was work traded for a life. Not just her own life, but the life of her companion as well. He would be provided for; beyond that, he might even be loved, if Miss Combes' affections were any indication. This was more than she could have ever hoped for. More than she had dreamed of. Growing up had always been a hazy concept. One day, she would be an adult, and she would be free. She had daydreams about what that meant, but no real understanding of how it would happen. A simple act of kindness and compassion had changed the outcome of her life—and the life of her companion as well. "Friendship is a stone thrown into a pond. I believe that it is chaotic harmony. Destiny might very well mean predetermined rolls of the dice, a pre-established outcome. When we are born, the events of our life are arranged in such a way that leads us down a predestined series of events. But friendship… I believe that friendship allows for a fresh roll of the dice. Circumstances and events change because we are not alone. Had you come alone today, there might have been a very different outcome. If you had come at all. Without him, you might not have had reason to do so. Mind you, this is what I believe, and I have absolutely nothing to back up my assertions. What I have… are hunches, and nothing more." Still in need of an answer—even though she knew what she would say—Lamp turned to look at the colt. He had no voice. No means to say yes or no. It was unfair to him, but that was just the way that life was. Somepony had to be his voice and speak for him. She had been in the right place at the right time. Had she not climbed out the window, he might very well be a splat smeared along the cart track. Perhaps Ficklewick was right; friendship changed the outcome of things. Maybe, just maybe, it had been the colt's fate to die this day. By changing the outcome of events—by allowing him to live—her own life had been changed profoundly. Or maybe not. Still, the thoughts persisted and her mind struggled to grasp them. Saying yes would change everything in ways that she could not even conceive. Not just her life, but his life. There were quite a number of deaf-mutes around and none of them had good lives—though deaf-mute unicorns still had magic. The potion seller that sold curatives was deaf and dumb, a condition much bemoaned by the lady of the house. Whenever there was a cough, an earache, or a weepy, snotty eye in the household, the lady of the house had to go and barter with a pony that could neither hear nor speak. Lamp had barely ever made decisions for herself; now she lived for two. Answering wasn't as easy as she thought—though it seemed like such a simple thing to do. It lingered on her tongue, just a word or two and this dilemma would be solved. But getting to her tongue was the problem, because her response was stuck in her mind, like a crust of bread too stale, too dry, too tough to swallow. "What if my caretakers come to claim me?" she asked. "What becomes of him?" Ficklewick and Miss Combes exchanged a glance, a silent exchange made with the eyes. While Ficklewick seemed thoughtful, Miss Combes was visibly angry, as if offended by the very notion. She leaned in closer to the colt, grimaced gratuitously, and jammed a spoonful of soup into his muzzle. At that moment, Miss Combes was at her grumpiest, and she was downright scary. As Lamp shivered in fear, she heard Ficklewick say, "You would be gainfully employed. Your caretakers would have no claim. Gainful employment of any form breaks the juvenile bond system we have created for dealing with felonious wastrel waifs." "I get into trouble," Lamp said as some embarrassment warmed her cheeks. "Arrested. More than once. More than a few times. I'm not wanted on the streets or in the market 'cause I'm good at what I do and I make the Watch chase me." While she did feel just a little shame, she felt far more pride at this moment. "I laugh at them when they stop to wheeze." "Well, imagine that," Ficklewick said in a dry deadpan. "If I asked you to misappropriate something for me—" "Fickle!" "Yeah, prolly." "Lamp!" Both ponies turned to look at Miss Combes, but it was Ficklewick that said, "I was testing her." Then, he turned his deadpan eyebrows upon the filly. "Naughty girl." She couldn't tell if he was serious—his expression and tone of voice made it impossible. "I have in my employ a pony that is both a magician and a soldier in her own right. A burglar might also be useful—" "Ficklewick!" "I am thinking aloud, mare!" His nostrils flared, he inhaled, and then his eyebrows lifted just a little. "Stealing from the citizens of Canterlot shall not be tolerated. However"—he reached up and rubbed his chin with his hoof—"there are monster dens on the mountain. Vile creatures that steal and rob. I would feel bad sending Miss Combes alone… but with a burglar…" "Ficklewick, what're ye getting at?" "There is wealth to be had and it seems like a shame to leave it. Irresponsible, even. Think of it as an errand, like going out to pick up a peck of potatoes. But it might be a bit more harrowing than going beyond the wall to the market. It just so happens to be a dangerous business going out your door." "Ficklew—" "Just imagine the bonds of friendship forged by sharing in what is sure to be such a catastrophe." "There it is!" Miss Combes crowed. "Ye've gone and revealed yerself." "You do not get along with other ponies, Miss Combes. I spent more than a little time dropping the eaves whilst upstairs. But you seemed to form a bond with Lamp right away." "Other ponies are a buncha suet-brains and I cannae stand to breathe the same air as them." "I'd like to stay," Lamp said before the conversation drifted off to some faraway place from whence there was no return. "Lamp's not coddled or entitled," Miss Combes said to Ficklewick, seemingly oblivious to Lamp's quiet interjection. "She's taken her lumps. Just like I did. She's no shirker and she doesn't shy away." "Suet-brains… is that not… organ fat, Miss Combes?" "Fickle, I was weaned 'round griffons." "Right. Right." Then, without skipping a beat, he said to Lamp, "Lovely, dear. There is a room upstairs. A spare room. It is rather small, I fear, but it is warm and pleasant enough I suppose. Miss Combes uses it as a workshop and a sewing room. There is no bed, but I will procure one as soon as possible. In the meantime, you can sleep here, in the common room. There are cushions and the fire is—" "No!" Miss Combes bonked her hoof against the table. "Miss Combes seems to have an objection," Ficklewick remarked. "I 'ave a 'uge bed." A dry swallow could be heard from Miss Combes. "When you bought that bed, Ficklewick, I was terrified by my own imagined implications." She quieted for a moment, her eyes turned somewhat glassy, and her scowl became a straight line—which was distinctly different than a smile, it should be noted. "The colt and Lamp can sleep with me. I dinnae mind." Nodding, Ficklewick seemed pleased. "Well, that's settled then." "Lamp, do ye burgle blankets?" "I've never had blankets," she replied. "Or a bed." "Crivens! Och! Feck!" "Miss Combes! That vulgar vernacular! That profane provincialism! Cease your outburst!" "The colt is deaf, Ficklewick, and Lamp 'as surely 'eard worse." "But what of my ears?" he demanded. "With all that earwax, 'tis a miracle you can 'ear at all," the housekeeper replied. "Can you live with this madness?" asked Ficklewick. "Miss Combes and I… we are not like other ponies. But I suppose you figured that out for yourself when we invited you in for supper. I for one think it will be delightful to have you here, my dear." "Thank you… for everything." She wanted to say more, but what? How could she possibly put it all into words? This kindness, this generous behaviour was unlike anything else she had experienced in her life and at a loss for words, a single tear somehow managed to escape the burning confines of her eyes. As it meandered down her cheek, Ficklewick said, "Eat your soup, dear. Welcome home." Author's Note So... the explanation of the Waking Nightmare certainly gives Miss Combes' mention as a combat veteran a whole new perspective. All that is left now is the epilogue. If people want me to post it sooner, rather than later, I can be convinced. Maybe.
Epilogue"—And this, Twilight Sparkle, was your predecessor." Serene, calm, collected, cool, Celestia stepped back and allowed her tale a moment to sink in. The wings had changed her student profoundly, but Twilight was still Twilight in all the parts it mattered most. Her heart and soul remained unchanged. At the moment, the young mare was a wide-eyed filly once more, completely lost and overcome. She would recover, of course. The young mare wore her emotions so openly, and with such warmth. There could be no doubt that she was worthy. "Ficklewick was—" Words completely failed Twilight, and the young mare began to sniffle. Head high, Celestia cast her warm gaze upon the bronze bust of Ficklewick. One of the many points of interest in the hedge maze, the plaque merely mentioned that he was the father of modern psychology. But that was a lie of omission. Celestia knew him as so much more. He had laid down the foundation of friendship, and all of his hard work culminated with Twilight. If Ficklewick had laid the foundations, then Twilight was the capstone of a great work, finally finished. As for Celestia, she considered herself the custodian of this great work. "The story can't be over!" "Twilight, you—" "No!" Stomping her hoof, Twilight's stubbornness manifested in the form of a squinty stare and a protruding lower lip. "You only told the story's start! You can't do that! There's rules! You can't tell a story without an end. You just can't. There's so many unanswered questions! You told me how it started, and how it ends with me, but there's so much more to be told! What happened to Lamp? What about Miss Combes? And the colt… what of him? I need to know!" With a sigh, Celestia understood. Of course Twilight needed to know. This was a tale of friendship after all, a friendship that had changed the very fortunes of Equestria. A friendship that had influenced one-thousand years of history. This was the friendship that would eventually return and restore Luna, all because of what it represented. Slowly, with all of the gradual, unhurried majesty of the rising sun, it occurred to Celestia that Twilight was not the end of this story—but merely another chapter. The last time Celestia had seen her student this distraught, this disturbed, was when it was bedtime, and a story had to be put on hold. If Twilight had a failing… this had to be it. A flood of memories flowed over Celestia like a raging torrent but her face showed no sign of the inner turmoil. No emotion marred the alabaster perfection of her visage. The sunny optimism found within her rose-hued eyes did not diminish. Yet, her mood worsened when she thought of her own failings, of which there were many. "I was a fool." "Princess Celestia?" Still the most faithful of students, Twilight looked upwards with warm, sincere concern. Where to begin? Celestia wondered how she might teach this lesson. How did one plan for this? Twilight was as worshipful as ever, which somehow made it worse. Ficklewick, too, was every bit as worshipful. Always patient. Attentive. She'd taken him for granted. It wasn't until after he was interred in his tomb that she'd understood his vital importance, and what he had offered not just to her, but Equestria—and the world as well. "Ficklewick was the wellspring of Equestria's most valuable, most precious resource. Friendship. I squandered everything. My failures are many. There were many failures in those dark days after I lost my beloved sister." She swallowed, but the lump stuck in her throat did not go away, it only grew larger. "He had all the answers. He knew. He knew. And I failed to listen. I try to tell myself that the circumstances were impossible. We were a fledgling nation with many enemies. With my sister gone, we were seen as weak. So weak. "Our enemies came like vultures to a carcass. While I was trying to deal with all these different crises, Ficklewick would come to me with these ideas, these notions, these things he admitted were hunches, and I barely paid him any mind. I had chosen him to be my advisor, and then I completely ignored his advice. I made so many excuses. But he had all of the answers, even then. I like to tell myself that I was blinded and deafened by grief." "Princess Celestia…" "He knew, Twilight. How he knew I'll never know. But he knew how to revive and restore the Elements of Harmony. Ficklewick knew how to bring back the lost Element of Magic. With friendship. He tried to tell me. Over and over, he would try to bend my ear, and I was always too busy with some calamity that was sure to be the end of Equestria. Ficklewick was my friend, Twilight, a good and dear friend… and I ignored him just like I did Luna. It was only after he died that what he had to say was finally heard, but he was no longer around to answer questions. I wish things had been different." "Princess Celestia… I'm so sorry." Twilight wouldn't say it unless it was true. After taking a deep breath, Celestia somehow managed to calm herself just a little, though her heart still raced and blood pounded in the depths of her delicate, slender ears. Twilight's sincerity and earnestness reminded Celestia of so many others that came before, other students… other friends. Mere moments ago, Twilight had been upset because she wanted to know more of the story, but now, all of her attention was focused on Celestia's well-being. "Ficklewick only found the barest hint of proof," she began, and her heart warmed when her student's ears pricked in the ever-so-familiar way. "The cold that Lamp felt that day… it was… it was something but Ficklewick never ascertained what it was, only that it was something malevolent. Lamp felt it and just as her light spell had once driven off the supernatural darkness that threatened to consume her, it adapted to fend off the supernatural cold. How and why it adapted, Ficklewick never fully found out." Her eyes grew distant, as they often did when she had to see a thousand years into the past. "Perhaps it was some leftover residual magic from the Windigo Winter. I don't think we'll ever know. Ficklewick found witnesses and he spoke with them. He tried to find out why they did nothing. They too, felt the cold, and none of them could quite say why they just stood there, frozen in place. This wasn't much proof, but for Ficklewick, it was confirmation of everything he believed in. He buried himself into his work and spent the rest of his days seeking answers to some unknown question. Ficklewick lived for a very long time. I don't know what kept him going. The Circle accused him of lichery." "Lichery?" asked Twilight. "There were awful accusations, Twilight. Terrible things were said. The Circle was very influential. They accused Ficklewick of prolonging his life through unnatural methods. They said that Ficklewick consumed the memories of others so that he might cheat death. Memory magic was outlawed because of these accusations, and liquid libraries were sought out so that they might be destroyed. A lot of knowledge was lost forever." "That's… horrible!" Wide-eyed, Twilight lapsed into speechlessness. Closing her eyes for but a moment, Celestia allowed her mind to drift back to those chaotic times. So much was lost. Ficklewick was still remembered—but the Circle was practically lost to obscurantism, a victim to their own practices of censorship and omission. Good riddance. When she opened her eyes, she looked down at the bust of Ficklewick, and somehow, she was able to smile. It was like the sun parting obnoxious clouds and spearing the earth with crepuscular rays. "I am still alive," she said to her student, "and I still remember." Somewhere, lost within the leafy walls of the hedge maze, a group of foals giggled. Celestia rapidly recovered her sense of self, her sunny optimism, and her belief that things turned out the way that they did for a reason, even if she herself did not understand those reasons. With this came the return of her humility, and with humility came serenity. These were the things that mattered, the truly important things that defined her as a pony. "What became of Lamp?" asked Twilight, who unceremoniously plopped her backside down onto the grass so that she might have a good sit. It was an exceptionally Twilight thing to do—the very epitome of Twilightisms—and stood out in sharp contrast to Princess Celestia's poise and posture. She looked up at her teacher, eager, still concerned, but most of the severe worry was gone from her face. "I miss Lamp," Celestia blurted out before she realised what she was saying. A deep breath. Then another. Thinking this far back took effort. "Eventually, she became Street Lamp, and she was a welcome sight on the streets of Canterlot. Her light and warmth helped others to feel safe and secure. She became the Night Captain of the Watch." Another deep breath and this time, a fuzzy image of the mare materialised, enough so the mind's eye could see. "Nopony else wanted the job. It was a demanding position… one that placed a pony in the dark. Street Lamp excelled in the Watch. She knew the streets, she knew the hustles, she knew all of the shakedowns. Ever Ficklewick's student, she used her power, position, and influence in the Watch. She became the chief orphan wrangler, and she had the Watch raise unwanted foals. "This changed everything. The foals raised by the Watch… little earth ponies, little pegasus ponies, and little unicorns… they saw the Watch as their family. As their tribe. It changed them in some great fundamental way and Ficklewick studied them. He kept detailed notes. But they grew up in the Watch and it was their tribe. Lamp didn't know it, but she was the pony most directly responsible for one of Equestria's greatest assets. Eventually, those foals grew up and they would become the EUP. The Watch became the Guard, an example of unity in action." "And that's how we got the Wonderbolts!" "Correct, my most faithful student. That is how we were graced with the Wonderbolts." For a second, Twilight was a foal again, a tiny filly bursting with energy and eager to please. Celestia saw her quite clearly, but with the blink of an eye, the illusion vanished and Twilight was an adult mare once more—one that sat in the grass with her hind legs kicked out in a manner most unprincessly. It was Celestia's most sincere hope that Twilight would not change, because right now, at this moment, she was the best possible version of herself. "Street Lamp did amazing things with the precious few years she had—" "She died?" A sad smile threatened to ruin Celestia's solemn expression. "All ponies die, Twilight. But yes, she died rather young, at least by our modern standards." "How old was she?" "About late twenties. Maybe thirty at the most." "That's awful." Barrel hitching, Twilight began to sniffle. "Did she… did she go down fighting?" Seeing her student's distressed state and recalling these memories caused an ache in Celestia's heart, and she allowed herself to be distracted for but a moment by the sounds of life in the hedge maze around her. Students and teachers roamed these leafy corridors, no doubt doing what she and Twilight were doing. A great many lessons were taught among these topiaries. "She died foaling, Twilight. Which caused no end of upset to Miss Combes. Ficklewick's housekeeper was left embittered by the experience. I guess, in a sense, she did go down fighting, because she held on long enough to foal a wonderful little pegasus into the world. His name was Rescue Robin, and I… well, I still don't know how I feel about him. He was my most trusted associate and my nemesis." "Nemesis? How can somepony be a trusted associate and a nemesis?" "Rescue Robin found a way," Celestia was quick to reply. "He was raised in a household of ponies who practiced brutal honesty and regularly spoke their minds… in an era when ponies in general did not do this. Those ponies turned casual insults into an artform. They had tongues like axes and the ponies around them were but firewood for the block. He had no fear of me whatsoever. No qualms about telling me that my ideas were terrible, or that if I did this, or that, I would bring Equestria to ruin. He was a member of my exclusive retinue and one of my most trusted advisors. Mostly because he told me the truth, no matter how awful it was, or how little I wanted to hear it." Wide-eyed, Twilight squirmed and waited. "Once upon a time, there was a dragon, and his name was—" "No," Twilight said, somewhat testily. "No, you'd better not switch stories on me." So bold, her most faithful student. "Once upon a time," she began again. "There was a dragon and his name was Icefang the Unruly. He was a great and terrible dragon, and every now and then, when he got bored, he would stop by to collect tribute. It was a small price to pay to keep the peace and all things considered, we had a rather cordial relationship. "So one day, Icefang was spotted. These were lean times, and there wasn't much to offer as tribute. I was a bit worried about this. But my worries were greatly compounded when Rescue Robin flew off to meet with Icefang. With the fate of Equestria's future hanging in the balance, Rescue Robin challenged Icefang to a contest. A simple contest, but not a contest suited for dragons. You see, Rescue Robin challenged the great wyrm to see who could make the most friends, and naturally, with his draconic pride thoroughly pricked, Icefang agreed. Because, surely, anything a pony could do a dragon could do better." Twilight sat in rapt wonderment. "Almost right away, Icefang runs into problems. His first attempts to make friends turn out to be a spectacular series of embarrassing catastrophes. As it turns out, you cannot just snatch up a pony and command them to be friends. Icefang was truly baffled by social intricacies. Rescue Robin offered to help him… he offered to help the dragon win. A strange and curious friendship formed, one that Ficklewick zealously studied, because such friendships might very well be the key to Equestria's survival. "Rescue Robin teaches Icefang how to be helpful. Beyond that, he teaches Icefang how to be kind, honest, loyal, generous, and funny. Icefang, motivated to win, accomplishes a great deal. He helps farmers build irrigation ditches. Tremendous stones are removed. Icefang helps to build castles. Cities are constructed, because even the most massive of stones are just building blocks for a dragon of that size. Ponies stopped calling him 'Icefang the Unruly' and he became just 'Icefang'. "Eventually, Rescue Robin's clever ruse was revealed. A pony's life is so much shorter than a dragon's life… there is a magnitude of difference. And as Rescue Robin lay dying, Icefang realised that the pegasus never had a chance of winning. He also realised that he'd been duped. Outsmarted by a pony." She paused, overcome by the urge to shudder, and she had to draw a long, soothing breath to steady herself. "Icefang understood just how precious his friends were, because all of them would die. They had short lives. It crushed him… after Rescue Robin's death, Icefang was never quite the same. He mourned his friend and he told me that he might very well be the first dragon who has ever grieved. We became friends, he and I, because I saw that he'd endured a true change of heart. I hope he wakes up soon, because I would like for you to meet him, Twilight." "I think I'd like that," Twilight replied. "And I bet Spike would as well." "That one friendship changed everything. Icefang acted as a diplomat of sorts, and somehow managed to convince his fellow dragons to stop sacking and pillaging Equestria. It was a turning point for us. A major threat had been mostly nullified. Friendship changed everything for the better. Rescue Robin somehow accomplished what centuries of conflict failed to bring about: a lasting peace." "So Lamp's son took after his mother." "Yes, Twilight. Eventually, I saw the series of events for what they truly were. A sort of ripple-effect that moved ever-forward. The magic of friendship made itself known. It started off small. A filly saved a deaf-mute colt from certain death and decides that she is responsible for him. From that friendship, an endless chain of friendships are formed, all of which made Equestria what it is today. A whole sequence of events that led to you and what you accomplished with your friends." Nostrils aquiver, Twilight's moistened eyes became highly reflective. "Miss Combes had her long life. She lived for a century, or thereabouts. As she aged, she only became more and more abrasive. She raised Rescue Robin and she never let him forget his mother. He got to study his mother's memories and the experience changed him profoundly. Naturally, he was best friends with his mother's dearest friend. Lamp named her friend Warmheart, due to his genial good nature. Miss Combes raised two fine sons. "Warmheart was like a brother or an uncle for Rescue Robin. Sadly, he never fully recovered. He never stopped being frail. A draft would cause him to cough and he was in a constant state of sickness. Still, Miss Combes kept him alive. He lived for… at least two decades after Lamp's light was extinguished. I was with him when he passed…" When her throat closed unexpectedly, Celestia found herself robbed of speech. Lifting one foreleg, Twilight swiped at her eyes. Thinking back, Celestia could not remember a better listener than the deaf-mute earth pony. "It's all yours, Twilight," she managed to say, but she could not hide the strain in her voice. When her voice failed her again, she could not continue. It left a gap in the conversation and Twilight asked, "I'm sorry, but what is?" "All of Ficklewick's notes, all of his writings, copies will be made available to you. This is, arguably, one of Equestria's most valuable treasures. He spent a lot of time lost in memories and wrote down everything in agonising detail. All of his friendship studies. His unique view of the events that took place in his lifetime. All of his observations. Everything will be made available to you. As the Princess of Friendship, this knowledge shall be your stewardship. Do great things, Twilight." The young mare seemed to be at a loss for words. Her mouth opened—briefly—but closed without a sound. She tried several times to say something—anything—and each time she met with failure. When her barrel began hitching, rapidly rising and falling with each laboured breath, she gave up. Averting her gaze, she looked down at the grass where she sat and in silence, she struggled to compose herself. "Would you like some ice cream, Twilight Sparkle?" "Would I?" The response came out as little more than a squeak. "Yeah, that sounds nice." She sniffled, coughed, and then succumbed to even more barrel hitching. "Twilight Sparkle… you have exceeded my every expectation. Long may you reign as the Princess of Friendship. Remember those who have come before you, and inspire those who come after, just as I have done my utmost to inspire you. Now come… let us have ice cream and I shall tell you how the Circle met its end and how I opened up my school for gifted unicorns." Author's Note And so it ends. Thank you for your readership. May your own friendships ripple forwards.
