The dining hall was quiet, but their table particularly so.
“I’m so glad we could do this, Spike.”
“Yeah, it’s been a while. We’ve both been busy, I guess.”
“Mmhm.”
Past large castle windows, a city bustled with life and noise. Dragons flew overhead while creatures of all kinds made their way through the crowded city streets. An odd scene in the Dragonlands, or at least it used to be.
“The capitol is a lot bigger than when I last visited,” Spike said, nudging a dumpling around his plate with a claw.
“Yeah, it is,” Ember replied while gnawing on her quill. A bowl of salmon dumplings sat to her left, but she was preoccupied with the legal document in front of her. “Of course, that just means more bureaucracy for me to deal with. Council meetings, judicial rulings, appeals, and of course… lots of paperwork.”
Rubbing his brow, Spike sighed as Ember quickly signed her name and slid over another scroll. “My job is like that too. Always somebody who needs you to sign off on something or come to a meeting you know nothing about.”
“Every day,” Ember replied with an irritated chuckle. “Always more problems to take care of.”
“Yep. Getting away from it sometimes is nice, y’know? Being here reminds me of when we used to hang out at the school, back when Smolder was still a student.
“Feels like a lifetime ago,” Spike added under his breath.
Ember scribbled her signature on a small parchment before adding it to the slowly growing pile. Outside, sunlight still dominated the sky, though daytime was waning. Of course, tomorrow held much the same as any other day—not that most creatures would complain about that. Things were much more peaceful these days, what with Equestria’s greatest enemies all either imprisoned or reformed.
Equestria was safe. Life was good.
“Sorry,” Ember said, resting her wrist on the table. “What were you talking about? I spaced out for a second there.”
“Uh, nothing really.” Spike replied. “Just… thinking. Mumbling, I guess.”
“Oh, that reminds me! I wanted to get your opinion on some economic reform proposals I’ve been working on.” Ember rummaged through the pile of unsigned scrolls and papers, eventually pulling out a worn leather notebook. “We’ve had some problems with Yakyakistan importing goods into the Dragonlands, undercutting our local merchants.”
“That’s not really—”
“Your specialty, I know,” Ember interjected. “But I figure you used to spend all your time in a library, so that’s got to count for something.”
“No, I—”
“You don’t need to worry about how we’ll get this done; I’m just wondering what might go wrong. My advisers are running numbers, but unfortunately, most dragons are only good at math when it comes to counting their hoard.”
“Ember, I really don’t—”
“I talked to Thorax last week about the plan, but that lovebug doesn’t know the first thing about—”
“Ember, listen!” Spike roared. His voice echoed off the stone walls, its noise lingering even as the room quieted. The silence weighed heavily on him, leaving Spike to continue in a much softer voice—a more tired voice. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. Can… Can we just talk?”
“Uh, ye-yeah, sure,” Ember said, pushing the papers aside. A few inches aside. “What’d you want to talk about?”
Ink dribbled onto the table in small, slow drops. The quill was still in her hand.
Spike shifted in his seat. “I’m not sure. Just, you know, talk. Like we used to.”
“Of course, of course,” Ember replied. Her claws gently wrapped themselves tighter around the quill. “We can talk.”
“Talk… Somewhere outside the castle?” Spike’s eyes drifted to the scrolls covering the table. “Alone?”
“Heh, figures you’d take me here.”
“It’s where it all started, our first good memory together.”
“I don’t know if I’d call almost drowning and nearly getting crushed by a giant rock a good memory.” Ember grinned. “Or are you talking about the part where we nearly went to war with Equestria because my father wanted to ‘honor tradition,’ rather than crown me as Dragonlord?”
Spike laughed. “All of it. Every moment.”
The two dragons landed atop the peak of former Dragonlord Torch’s perch overlooking the sea. Time had left Torch’s throne untouched so far, mostly because few dragons dared to tread near it. Those who had known Torch knew enough to fear him, even in death. Their stories kept dragon history alive—and ensured younger drakes knew what retribution the afterlife would hold if they disrespected his memory.
For Spike, however, the plateau brought other thoughts to mind.
“Becoming friends with the princess, helping her become Dragonlord, making it through the Gauntlet of Fire,” Spike said. “That’s what I remember, and I wouldn’t change a thing—especially the part where I made Garble eat his words.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. Seeing Garble hug my dad was hilarious. Life was pretty exciting back then,” Ember replied.
“Yeah, I guess it was.” Spike sat down, dangling his feet over the edge while Ember stood beside him. “Life isn’t really the same without some sort of catastrophe or misadventure every month,” Spike said.
“Every month?” Ember asked, trying to hold back her laughter. “Every week we had some sort of wacky adventure. I can’t remember the last time I punched something in the face or blasted a monster with fire. Maybe we’ve just gotten boring in our old age.”
Spike chuckled. “If that’s the case then everybody else must be twice as old as we are. A couple months ago, Applejack sent an ‘urgent’ message to me and the girls because one of her trees had a few brown spots on it.”
“But… trees are brown.”
“Yes.”
“Wow.”
“Yep. She had us doing all sorts of stuff.” Spike held up his hand and began counting. “Running tests on a piece of bark, talking to the animals, inspecting soil samples, checking the apples for contamination, you name it. Turns out, a couple foals dumped a ‘growth formula’ on it for their science fair project. Apple cider vinegar, cola, and ten cans of the official energy drink of the Wonderbolts, Rainboom Blast.”
“Unholy bucking Tartarus. I would turn brown too if someone poured that on me.” Ember smoothed back her scales, sighing as she took a seat beside Spike. “What is everyone doing now anyways? I see Twilight sometimes, but I can’t remember the last time I saw the others.”
“They’re, well… living life.” Spike answered. “Applejack is working hard like always, but now she has a bunch of orchards across Equestria. Not only apple orchards either—pears, bananas, cherries, peaches, blueberries—her farms grow everything.”
Ember shook her head. “Not just ‘some lucky dirt pony’ anymore, huh? I still can’t believe the Hoofington Post printed those articles.”
“Yeah, they’re struggling to find readers after that scandal.” Spike couldn’t help but smirk. “It’s hard to find good news stories when there aren’t any changeling invasions, royal gossip, or ancient powers wreaking havoc. They have to write about something, you know?”
“Hmmph. I still think your press laws are too weak.”
Spike waved his claw dismissively. “Eh, she doesn’t let it get to her. Nopony really believes that stuff anyway. Everyone knows about Equestria’s six greatest heroes. They might spread the rumors and gossip, but they haven’t forgotten what they’ve done for Equus.”
“At least not yet,” Ember shot back. “Some of them, anyway.”
A deep laugh rumbled in Spike’s lungs as he leaned back and stared into the cloudless skies above. “They’ll remember. So long as the Princess is around, they’ll remember. She’s already commissioned statues of them all. If I remember right, they’ll be unveiled next month on the future site of her first museum.”
“First museum? What, does she need more than one?” Ember asked.
“Eight, by Twilight’s current estimates. One for each of the Elements, one dedicated to Equestrian history, and one focused on technology and magic.
“What is it with you ponies and this stuff? Sheesh,” Ember huffed.
“Would you prefer we write ballads instead?”
“Yes! It’s worked for us dragons since the dawn of time.” Ember threw her claws up, praying that these ponies would one day see reason. “Ballads don’t sit around collecting dust and wasting space. They tell epic stories about wars and romance and tragedy—without all the boring stuff.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Spike replied, chuckling. “But I can see why this means so much to Twilight. Right now, I could tell you about Rainbow Dash’s new routine with the Wonderbolt recruits, or how Discord finally popped the question to Fluttershy. But someday, I won’t be able to do that.”
Out beyond the overlook’s edge, seawater washed against the cliffs below, slowly wearing away the rocky pillars that formed Torch’s throne. Waves of salty air blew across Spike’s scales while distant clouds began to take shape in the horizon.
“Ponies won’t know who the Elements of Harmony are. Not really. They won’t care about what Fluttershy’s engagement ring looks like or how Rainbow Dash’s wing is healing after her last crash. My friends will just be stories, like the Headless Horse or Santa Hooves.”
“Who?”
“Exactly,” Spike said, a melancholy grin tugging at his lips. “They’re not really real, at least, not to most ponies. Creatures who’ve passed into the Great Beyond are kinda like that. We hear about them, and everyone else talks about them, but they don’t really exist from our point of view. Like myths.
“But in a museum, everyone can see who they were, and what they did for Equestria.” Spike scratched absentmindedly at the scales on his arm. A rumble in the distance drew his eyes to the island volcano where the Gauntlet of Fire had taken place. “A reminder that it isn’t just a story. All of it actually happened. The fights, the mishaps, the disasters, the friendships—they… they were all real.”
“I didn’t realize you were that sappy, Spike.” Ember said quietly. It came out half joking, but even that half felt a touch somber.
“Well, being a grandparent changes you, I guess.” Spike hucked a stone into the endless blue expanse below. “Pinkie and Cheese are still trying for another foal, but Lil’ Cheese is already a hoofful. He must be wearing me down; I’m getting soft.”
“The big, tough savior of the Crystal Empire? Soft?” Ember nudged him playfully, knowing all too well that Spike had always been softer than most. “I thought the only thing that could soften him up was that marshmallow dressmaker.”
“Rarity.” Even after all these years, Spike had a hard time hiding the doofy, lovestruck grin that her name brought to his lips. “I don’t get to see her much. She’s too busy with fashion shows and custom orders—and she doesn’t just make dresses either, you know.”
Ember rolled her eyes. Ponies and their clothes, such a bizarre habit.
“Suits, shoes, t-shirts, hats—her clothing lines are going to be the biggest in all Equus one day, mark my words. She’s one in a million. I’m telling you, no one else—”
“Puts the ‘rare’ in ‘Rarity’ like she does,” she interjected teasingly. “Yes, I know, because you say that every time you talk about her.”
“Maybe it’s corny,” Spike replied, stifling a laugh. “But I don’t think I’ll ever meet someone else like her. Not in a thousand years.”
“Heh, I’m just trying to make it through this year. Don’t remind me that another thousand are still on the way.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me…” he said, his thoughts drifting away with the tide. The water had risen, though not by much, and seafoam fizzled beneath them while Spike continued. “I saw her a few months ago; the girls came to visit Canterlot while I was there. It was weird, everypony hanging out again like nothing’s changed. Twilight’s pupil was there too, and—”
“Twilight has a pupil?” Ember interjected.
“Oh, yeah. You probably haven’t heard about her,” Spike replied. “Luster Dawn started studying with Twilight about a year and a half ago. Smart filly, but she has a lot to learn about friendship. At the rate she’s going, her whole life is going to pass her by before she even realizes what she’s missing.”
Ember leaned back and sighed. “Thank goodness we don’t have that problem, at least. Feels like I’m just starting to figure things out now.”
“Yeah.” Spike scratched a claw against the coarse rock underneath him. “It’s weird that I never noticed it before—everypony getting older—but I guess it’s because I still feel the same. Just a awestruck little drake hanging around Carousel Boutique. But this time, when I saw them…” Spike’s claw held still when it reached a crack in the ground. “When I saw Rarity, all I could see were the streaks of gray in her hair. How I had to slow down for her when we were walking. The way her eyes drooped a little lower than before.”
“No one lives forever.” The words left Ember’s mouth softly. Even dragons, a species that defied time itself, would one day see death’s shadow darken their eyes.
“Even our friends.”
Clouds lingered overhead, casting a dull gray hue over the Dragonlands. Speckles of sunlight made their way through the gaps, but fewer and fewer rays could find an opening through the clouds. Rain would be coming soon.
“She won’t talk about it,” Spike said, lowering his voice, “but I know Twilight’s been researching the spell Celestia used to transform her into an Alicorn.”
“You think she—”
“Maybe.”
“And the others? Do they know?” Ember asked. “Heroes or not, that kind of magic isn’t natural. I’m still not sure how I feel about what Princess Celestia did, but this… Celestia and Luna—they can’t be okay with this.”
“I think all of them know, in their own way. Twilight isn’t ready to be alone. She’s not ready to lead Equestria alone. The Princesses—the other ones—had a long time to accept their destiny as Alicorns. They were born this way.”
“But Twilight wasn’t,” Ember added. “And ponies, even the best ones, aren’t meant to live like they do.”
Spike shook his head. “They aren’t.”
Somewhere past the cloudy horizon, the sun prepared to relinquish the skies to its lunar sister. Light waned from the Dragonlands, but it would be an hour or two before darkness covered Equus.
“You know, one time,” Spike said, “I tried to help Luna and Celestia figure out how old they were. Our best guess was somewhere around 2,439 years old.”
“Sheesh, that’s almost as old as my dad when he passed.” Ember smoothed back her scales. “Can you believe he ruled the Dragonlands for 1,500 years before he gave up the title? If Dragon Law didn’t require it, he probably would’ve wanted to rule for another 1,500 years.”
“I know,” Spike replied with a sigh. “That’s why I’m still surprised that Celestia and Luna gave up their thrones. Seems like their reign together was just starting, and then they… gave it up. Moved to Silver Shoals. Bought a marina and a houseboat, like they’re retirees or something. Last time I passed through, I saw Celestia flirting with the town baker while Luna was hoof wrestling three sailors at the same time. I don’t get it. I just don’t.”
“Heh, I didn’t either, until I asked them about it a year or so after they stepped down,” Ember said.
“Right around the time Twilight was trying to ban quesadillas from school lunches, right?” Spike asked.
“Among other things,” Ember said, shaking her head. “When they told me why they gave Equestria to Twilight, I thought they were crazy. The older I get, though, the more I feel like they understood things better than I realized.”
“That’s pretty much the story of my life, right there,” Spike interjected. “Those two always know more than they’re willing to let on.”
Ember nodded. “Yeah, I guess a few thousand years of experience comes with that.” She rubbed a claw along the ground, drawing spirals in the dust while ocean waves washed over the silence. Distant rumbles foreshadowed the coming storm, but the rainclouds still drifted far out across the sea, slowly making their way to land.
“What did they say?” Spike finally asked.
“They told me the world didn’t look like them anymore.” Ember’s claw paused as she reached the center of a spiral. “It looks like Twilight. Like you. Like Thorax. Like me.” Pulling her hand back, Ember tucked her knees into her chin and wrapped her arms around herself. “Princess Celestia said that they looked out a window, and they recognized their reflection in the glass, but not the Equus past it.”
“I…” Spike began. “I think… I understand.
“I remember what Equestria was like back when I was a kid: the way it looked, the way it felt, even the way it sounded. Everything is so different now, though. Equestria is my home, but I feel like a new family moved in while I was gone. It’s all redecorated. You know, new wallpaper, fancier furniture, bigger fireplace—the usual stuff—but I can’t always tell if it’s still my home.”
“I don’t think Celestia and Luna could,” Ember answered. “They saw the entire world change around them. The Crystal Empire reappeared out of nowhere. Discord isn’t trapped in stone anymore. Yakyakistan made peace. Changelings—well, rumor has it Thorax is appointing a successor soon.” She continued with a chuckle, “Imagine, a changeling taking the throne without a civil war.”
“Don’t forget about the dragons,” Spike added. “Other species didn’t dare set hoof or claw inside the Dragonlands before. Now its cities are trade capitals and vacation spots.”
“Yeah. Feels like all that stuff happened yesterday, but I can barely remember how many years it’s been since I took the throne.” Ember relaxed her arms and knees, letting her legs dangle over the water below. “My dad could never keep track of the time. Always pissed me off when he couldn’t remember how old I was or how many months it’d been since we went on a hunting trip together. Now I understand why he had such a hard time.
“Dragons don’t think about it much, but 1,500 years is a long reign. Of course, now that the council decided to remove the limit, who knows how long it’ll be for me.”
Spike fiddled with his claws while he watched ocean foam coat the cliffside beneath him. “Think you’ll still recognize Equus by then?” he asked.
“I think my dad did.” Ember replied. “He used to say all the time, ‘Dragons are all made of the same stuff: blood and fire.’ At first, I thought he meant wrath and fury. Most dragons who heard him say that thought the same thing. Then, one day, I saw him listening to one of Garble’s poetry performances. Crying.”
Spike, shocked, turned to her. “Actual tears?”
“Yeah, real tears.” Ember replied, nodding. “They were small, and I don’t think anyone else noticed, but I saw them. Everyone thought he wasn’t that kind of dragon. I can still hear councilmembers grumbling, ‘All blood and fire, that one’ after my dad would snap at one of them during a council session. But he wasn’t—at least, not like they thought he was.
“Torch didn’t know how to say it, but deep down, he knew we were made for something greater than rampaging and hoarding treasure. What he could never say, but always wanted to, was what dragons are really made of: strength and passion.”
Ember paused as another peal of thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Our nation changed so much while he was Dragonlord, but even when we traded pillaging for poetry, my dad saw dragonkind the same as he always did. Bold. Intense. Fierce. That’s what a dragon is—and that’s what he was.”
A chuckle slipped through as Spike said, “Yeah, he was a gruff guy, but I miss Torch.”
“He wasn’t the best father, but the Dragonlands feel a lot less like home without him,” Ember replied.
“Well, he might not have been the best, but he did raise a pretty amazing daughter.” Spike nudged Ember’s side with a grin.
“Please,” Ember groaned, pushing him off. “I get enough flattery when I’m in the castle, I don’t need it from you too.”
“Maybe so,” Spike said through a stifled laugh, “but I started saying it before you became Dragonlord.”
“Heh, I guess that’s true.”
Both dragons would have stayed forever if they could have, but their time was coming to an end if the skies had any say in it. Scattered about, drops of water pattered softly and colored the rock around Ember and Spike. Neither dragon said a word, but the cacophony of their thoughts filled the air regardless. An arc of lightning jumped between clouds in the distance. The storm’s edge had finally reached land, but the clouds overhead could barely manage a drizzle. It wouldn’t be until the thunderclouds reached a little farther inland that the rains would start.
“You didn’t answer my question, you know.”
Ember bit her lip, holding back a giggle. “If you care so much, why don’t you give me your answer first?”
“All right, fine. I think I will,” Spike retorted with a snicker. “I’ll be the brave one.”
“You are the Champion of the Gauntlet of Fire, after all,” she teased, throwing a punch at his arm.
“Ow! Sheesh, for someone who spends all day signing papers, you don’t hit like a bureaucrat.” Spike rubbed his shoulder and sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll still recognize Equus. Sometimes nothing feels the same, but then I’ll see something that seems… familiar. Almost as if it hasn’t changed, not really.
“I can barely remember their names, but the new students at Twilight’s School of Friendship aren’t so different from the ones I knew. They’re foalish and loud—always getting into trouble—but loyal and kind too. I’m not around the school much, but Starlight and Sunburst are always writing to me about their latest misadventures.”
“I remember those letters,” Ember said, shaking her head. “I still can’t get past how Smolder managed to get into so much trouble.”
“Well, she did have help,” Spike replied with a chuckle. “But when I watch these kids laughing and learning about friendship, I remember the ones I knew. All the smiles during class breaks. The smell of grass stains on their fur during a game of tag. Their laughter echoing in the library after school. Those awkward glances between lovestruck teens.
“All those days are over for me. I ‘graduated’ years ago, and I haven’t lived in Ponyville since I moved out of Twilight’s castle. Sometimes though, when I’m standing in just the right spot, lost in a daydream, surrounded by the smell of musty hay—I can remember.”
Ember shifted her tail. “Home.”
“Yeah.” Spike nodded. “It’s not exactly the same, but I guess I’m not either.”
“Really? It's not just all that extra muscle that's new?” Ember playfully pinched at his arm muscles before Spike’s tail slapped her claw away.
“It’s not,” Spike replied, hiding the blush in his cheeks. “But I… well, I do like the muscle.”
“I like it too,” Ember replied with a wink. Her tail wrapped itself around the other dragon’s before it could pull away. “Wish we had more memories like that. Before I became Dragonlord, life felt so busy. Never enough time to visit Ponyville or invite you to the Dragonlands. If I knew what our lives would be like, I would’ve spent more time with you back then. Back when we could just hang out, and there wouldn’t be a mountain of paperwork waiting for me.
“You know, I really… Ugh... I’ve always wanted to say that…” Her voice trailed off as she gazed into the ocean. “Gods above, I’ve always been so bad at this.”
“What, confessing?”
Ember sighed. “Damn it, Spike. I was working up to reveal this major crush and you’re just going to—”
“Tell you I already... kinda knew.” Spike scratched his head while sheepishly staring at the ground. “Yeah, I... sort of always knew. Even when we were kids, and I was practically a baby by dragon standards, I had this feeling.”
Ember turned away, defeated. “Of course you did. I dropped, like, a thousand bucking hints.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Then, wh-why?” Ember’s voice cracked softly. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” she continued as her tail gently pulled away, but Spike kept his grip.
He scratched at his claws awkwardly. “Because I didn’t want to say no. I just didn’t know if I could say yes.” Closing his eyes, Spike went on. “I was scared of what would happen if I said yes. Scared of what would happen if I said no. Scared that Rarity would never notice me. Scared that I wasn’t ‘dragon’ enough for you. Scared that I’d mess up. Scared that I’d lose one of you to someone else.”
“Tch, we’re both going to die old maids, apparently,” Ember retorted. “So you don’t have to worry about that.”
“And that’s the worst thing.” As Spike opened his tired eyes, shame wore away at him. “You both deserve someone amazing. Stallions and drakes should be lining up for a chance to be with the two of you, but who would ever be good enough? Rarity is the Element of Generosity; you’re the Dragonlord. Either of you could have married by now, but most stallions interested in Rarity are jerks, and you’re nothing like other dragons. Picturing you with another dragon is like thinking about a kirin dating a manticore.”
“Gee, thanks.” Ember leaned forward, crossing her arms.
Spike clamped his snout shut with his claws before he could stumble over his tongue again. Tripping on his own words so hard that he literally fell off a cliff didn’t need to be on his ‘Proof that Spike is an Idiot’ list. Loosening his grip, he said, “You know what I mean.”
Sighing, Ember admitted, “The dating pool is… more of a swamp than a hot spring.”
“I know,” Spike replied. “So, instead, you’re stuck with me. A coward who knew how you felt, and did nothing, even after I started feeling the same way.”
Spike and Ember stared into the distant waves below as their tails limply slid to the ground, intertwined but spiritless. With the clouds overhead and the sun well on its way into the horizon, the encroaching darkness bid them to leave, but neither dragon did. Perhaps weariness kept them on the cliffside. Despair and remorse also pulled at them, but something else tugged at their spirits. Something that had never been far, but only now began to feel close.
Turning to the blue dragoness beside him, Spike said, “Ember, you’re the only dragon I’ve ever met that could lead the Dragonlands like you do. What you’ve done is unbelievable, but you shouldn’t have had to do it alone. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
“It’s okay. I know ponies are sensitive about age differences, and we were so young. Heh, I guess we still are,” Ember said with a morose chuckle. “And stupid. So freaking stupid.”
A small grin crossed Spike’s lips. “The ‘stupid’ part is probably just me. I’d give up my right claw to be half the dragon you are.”
“Pfft, for all the good that would do you.” Ember said, uncrossing her arms. She shifted slightly and used her arms to prop herself up a little straighter. “You still want to hear my answer? If I think I’ll still recognize Equus after a thousand years?”
Spike nodded quietly, mirroring her pose and absentmindedly scratching a claw against the ground. “Yeah.”
“I think I’ll recognize everything I failed at. Everything I wish I’d done. Everything I regret.” Ember wrapped her hand softly around Spike’s, stopping the scraping noise. “I don’t know if I’ll recognize anything else. Heck, I don’t even know if I’ll recognize myself. Feels like every year I’m losing more of who I am. Another hundred years and I’ll be Ms. Endless-Legislative-Reform-and-Foreign-Negotiations the Dragonlord.”
“And somehow, that’s still a sexier title than ‘Ambassador of Friendship,’ if that’s any consolation.”
Ember was sorely tempted to smack the cautious grin off Spike’s snout, but she couldn’t bring herself to disagree. He was dorkishly charming at the worst times—moments where her heart wanted to break but her lungs couldn’t hold back the laughter. But eventually, even that fades.
“Is it too late?” she asked.
“It’s always too late,” Spike answered. “By the time we see what’s happened, we can’t go back and change it. We don’t have the past anymore; that’s gone. We just have now, and whatever comes after.”
Gently, he turned Ember’s face toward his. “And I’m still scared of what comes after.”
“I am too,” she said, hesitantly leaning into Spike’s caress.
Ember’s claws wrapped tighter around his as the rain finally came down.
