Monday, August 17th, 909 AB (the next day)
Shortly after sunrise

It’s a rare treat anymore for Vines to be able to wake up holding her eldest foal, so her eagerness nearly gets the better of her when she finds him still sound asleep, forelegs and wings wrapped tightly around her chest. Her poor, sweet little stallion was so upset after his talk with her majesty he didn’t even put his horn away before nodding off.

She risks lifting her head to survey the rest of the room. Lemon is already up and, judging from the motion she can hear downstairs, is getting breakfast ready. She can feel Amethyst’s back against her own. Tufts of brown and purple tails laid across her wife’s hind legs mean the girls are snuggled against her warm tummy.

Her husband and first wife are smushed belly to belly in front of her, behind her son, in an intimate embrace. Perhaps a little too intimate of an embrace given the way her tail is dancing and hind legs are twitching.

The twins slept through the night, as did Savvy, but they’re beginning to stir in their crib.

It amazes her, sometimes… oftentimes… to think how quickly their family has grown. It was just the four of them not even nine months ago. With Savvy’s birth four became five. Amethyst and Lemon, along with the girls, joining their herd nearly doubled the size of the family, then the twins came along and pushed them clear up to eleven strong.

She doesn’t know when she’ll be ready for more herself, but her wives are certainly feeling the itch for another; a natural thing when they have a good, strong stallion ready and willing to take care of their needs. She’ll be amazed if there’s not another dozen tiny hooves clip-clopping around their home within the next couple years.

It’s a dream come true. A dream she thought she would never have, what with her condition only worsening with time. And, as with anything else in life, it was not free.

It weighs on her every day. She has a wonderful, loving, caring, happy son. He would, quite literally, do nearly anything she asked without a moment’s hesitation. A genuine alicorn prince who wants nothing more than to make her happy.

But…

But… she wonders.

She can’t help but wonder. Any dam would.

Why?

Of the tens of thousands of foals born every year, why did her precious, beautiful, sweet son have to be the bearer of such a burden?

The words of her dam come to the forefront of her mind, and not for anywhere near the first time. “The maker only places on our backs that which we can carry.”

It makes her wonder… Have we become weak? Complacent? Stagnant?

One of the first things her son said when he remembered was that a society that stagnates will eventually die. Is that why the maker or Harmony or fate brought him to her? Is ponykind so… set that somepony… someone has to be imported? To push them forward? To unstick the wheel?

Or, as he suggested, is it all just some big cosmic fluke?

Will they ever truly know?

In the end, she supposes, she has few real options. If beings far beyond herself - beyond even Her Majesty - are meddling, then what could she, a simple earth pony, possibly do that would make a difference? All she can do is the same thing she has always done; love her son unconditionally, guide him where she can, and pray that he will have the strength to overcome whatever challenges may appear.

So far he seems to have it pretty well in hoof.

She slowly rolls to her barrel while focusing on thoughts of weightlessness to make the move less noticeable. Still wrapped up by her beautiful son, she carefully prys him loose and sets him on the bed between her and his sire, his neck twisted to face her so his horn doesn’t jab into the mattress. He paws at the air adorably, unconscious searching for her warmth.

She runs her snout along his right side, deftly dodging his clumsy attempts to latch onto her muzzle. Any little tuft of fur that’s out of place gets gently groomed back to proper order. All the while she can’t help but think that it’s no wonder everymare is eager to throw their fillies at him; his royal status and finances aside, ponies simply can’t resist a foal that smells of freshly baked cookies.

A lick on his cheek. Another on his neck behind his jaw. His snout snuffles a little and his left ear twitches. It needs licked too, apparently. So does that spot right at the base of his wing, even if the limb smacks at her chin for her efforts. Unappreciative, that one is.

His eyes move beneath his lids and he begins to stir in earnest, rolling to his belly against her foreleg. His legs stretch forwards and back, his wings spread tall and proud, and his back and neck arch up. Then he collapses completely limp. Clearly, now is the time to strike.

Careful not to wake everypony else, Vines raises up, hovers on all fours above her prone son, and slowly lowers atop him, sliding her forelegs under his wings to trap him in her embrace. The bath begins in earnest with long, damp licks down his brow and off the sides of his snout, up each ear, and over his cheeks. No mercy is offered. No quarter is given. Every out-of-place hair on her firstborn’s face must be ruthlessly corrected.

“Daaaaam!” he foalishly whines.

“What is it, sweetheart?” she innocently asks between swipes.

“Morning breath,” he weakly grumbles as he blasts a powerful snort across the mattress. “Blech!”

“And a wonderful morning to you, too,” she sarcastically replies, nipping lightly at the tip of his right ear.

His wings flex up, wrapping her chest and neck in a hug as he cranes up to nuzzle into her chin. “I mean… Love you dam. Good morning.”

“That’s better,” she huffs. “Lemon should have breakfast ready soon, so -”

She’s cut off by the wild flapping of tiny wings from his second youngest sister. Savvy flaps frantically, launching herself from her crib to the bed with not the slightest hint of grace. Her left wing slaps her dam and sire’s faces and sides three times in passing, causing the pair to stir with a snort and a groan. Mercilessly stomping her way overtop of them, the pink earth pegasus bowls into her brother’s neck, head first, and calling out “Coo!” on repeat.

“Well. Aren’t I the popular one?” he breathily asks.

He pulls her between his forelegs and spins her around, pinning her rump under his chest just like his is under his dam. Vines can’t help but smile as he gets to work. He nips gently at the base of her wing, prompting the girl to spread it out, then begins nosing through her plumage in search of wayward feathers. The excitable foal’s countenance flips in an instant; his methodical ministrations coaxing her to sudden calmness.

“SHH!” is hissed like a command from Cherry, who buries her head under her dam’s foreleg, her ears clamped down tightly on her skull.

Not even stopping the filly’s preening, Cure’s horn lights as he casts the Sound Bubble spell to surround the three of them.

“Look at these beautiful wings, Savvy. They’re too pretty to be all mussed up like this! We’re going to have to have a word with your dam, aren’t we?”

“In her defense, I don’t think she has a lot of preening experience, honey.”

“Neither do I,” he argues, pulling a feather between his lips and setting it aside. A small grunt slips from the filly when he tugs, followed by a happy hum when it comes loose. “I’ve literally not once preened my own. I’ve had ’em groomed a few times at the castle and at the spa, but only preened once ever and that was by the girls.”

“The girls?” she asks, her smile creeping into her voice.

“Mhmm,” he hums, testing a larger feather with his lips. He pokes it straight with his tongue and explains, “Glacial ‘n Drift woke me up doing it one morning. It’s super relaxing,” he admits, “even better than a massage, I think.” It really must be, Vines concludes. In only a couple minutes the previously exuberant filly has been lulled back to sleep, her chin resting atop folded forelegs like an empress being tended to by her servant.

“As adorable as this is, we really do need to go eat. You said you wanted to head in early today,” she gently reminds him. “We need to get everypony else moving too.”

A weary sigh escapes him as he carefully pulls his snout free of her rosy plumage and nuzzles into wild blue her mane. “Yeah,” he deeply inhales, slowly blowing out the disappointment. “I do need to get ready.” A touch of resignation creeps into his tone; Mondays and Fridays are typically busier at the hospital, he’d explained.

Fewer patients travel for days via rail in the middle of the week. Many of them aren’t working full time jobs due to their ailments, but family almost always accompanies them, making the weekend slots logistically easier for mates or friends coming to support their loved ones. Or, given the virtual guarantee that is their recovery odds, to be present during the life-altering event.

Vines eases off her son, careful again not to disturb the herd. He does the same, sitting up and planting a gentle kiss on his sister’s brow. The filly is encased in his chocolatey aura, then softly lifted over Amethyst and deposited onto her two older sisters, partially wrapping them in a feathery cocoon as she settles in. Task complete, Cure rounds on his dam and rears up, more fully returning her affection.

Wrapped in his forelegs, wings, and adoration, Vines can only smile as she tightly embraces her firstborn foal. He presses his brow against her chin, careful not to poke her with his horn. His warm breath tickles at her throat as he leans bodily against her. “Hey dam?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” she asks, knowing full well what’s coming next, but eager to hear it said nonetheless.

“I’m starvin, let’s go,” he hastily barks out, then slips out of her embrace and bolts for the door.

Mouth agape and brows furrowed in confusion, she looks down, stunned, at his vacated spot beneath her, filled only with a couple of Savvy’s discarded feathers. Still reeling from the colt’s tease, she is caught unprepared when he appears in a flash above her, landing lightly on her withers and embracing her again. “Love you dam,” he sweetly coos while nuzzling into her mane, then disappears in a flash again.

It only occurs to her that the Sound Bubble must have shattered at some point when she hears a groaning sigh from her first wife. “Your son is a freaking menace.”

As much as she would like to argue, Vines can’t help but admit that she isn’t completely wrong.

Cure had planned to begin his commute earlier than normal, but has no intention of finishing it prior to his typical arrival time. The extra minutes are, instead, dedicated to checking on his relays’ health and determining if any of them have been detected.

Wreathed in Invisibility and free of any scents, the colt leapfrogs from one to the next, landing on unassuming patches of grass. With the nearby vegetation consumed and replaced, he needs only stand on the replacement grass to establish a connection through his hooves.

Awesome. They’re all spreading nicely and there’s no sign anypony’s detected anything. The cylinder, a little tinkering, a bunch of crystals, and a few rituals and I’ll be all set. I definitely picked the right book when I was chillin with Tia.

When the last node’s status confirmed, Cure directs his gaze upwards to find an area clear of traffic. It’s not a difficult thing; the weather team is hard at work closer to the shore, guards patrol in small, tight groups, and aside from a fleeting few civilians still making their way to work, the vast majority of Baltimare’s airspace is wide open. A half klick diagonally up and to the southeast puts him well away from anypony and close enough to fly to the hospital in less than a minute.

The midair flash draws attention, as always. With little fanfare, the colt spreads his wings and angles them down, dipping into a short dive. It’s only a second later when he pulls up and back, fully opening his wings angled back and splayed wide to slow his fall. He sails in smoothly, slowing to fast canter speeds and drops, pacing himself to a quick trot on his way to his protection detail.

The sergeant and two specialists greet him with crisp salutes to his nod, and all four stroll in the front doors. His attention is drawn to a cream colored earth pony dressed in a dark blue suit, white undershirt, and matching blue tie.

The stallion stands as soon as Cure makes eye contact and approaches slowly, nodding to Sgt. Blackhoof as he does. “Your highness,” he greets, bowing his head respectfully. “Apologies for the interruption to your morning, sir. I work for the courts, and I have a document for you that we’re required to deliver in pony.” He begins reaching into his vest, pausing and flicking his eyes from Cure to his sergeant, silently asking for permission.

“Go ahead, mister. I’m guessing that’s my subpoena?”

A relieved smile crosses the stallion’s muzzle as he nods and extracts an envelope from his inner chest pocket. “Yes, sir. We weren’t sure if your highness would be expecting it.”

“Princess Celestia told me to expect you when we spoke last night,” he answers. The clerk is clearly amazed that the two alicorns frequently speak to each other despite the distance between them. Cure floats the envelope closer and, in a lightning-fast motion, flicks his wing forward and cleanly slices it open in a perfectly straight cut along the top fold.

“Oh,” he softly mumbles as he tries to get his wits about him after watching the casually intimidating display. The stallion worries his lip as Cure reads the letter, steadily growing more concerned at the young alicorn’s unnatural stillness. It only worsens when the subpoena is levitated in front of the dark earth pony guard.

“Thoughts, sergeant?” he asks, eyes still locked onto the shuffling clerk.

The dark stallion’s ears turn back and his eyes tighten as he reads down the notice. “I… I’m somewhat at a loss, your highness. My understanding is that they normally use a standard form, but that doesn’t seem appropriate here. I can’t help but notice it’s stamped from the office, not signed by anypony, sir.”

The colt nods once, refolds the letter, slides it back into the envelope, and levitates it in front of the stallion. “I understand you are simply the messenger,” he begins in a deeply annoyed tone, “so I would ask that you deliver a message back to whomever wrote this,” he requests, returning the envelope. “If somepony in the court’s offices is under the impression that they can ‘command’ me then perhaps I will need to come pay a visit and disabuse them of that notion.”

The clerk hastily takes the envelope back and shoves it into his pocket. “Yes sir! I’ll inform them right away, sir!”

The colt holds a hoof up to forestall the stallion’s retreat. “I don’t blame you, dude. I’m assuming you didn’t type that out yourself,” he suggests with a questioning lilt.

“No, sir! I don’t write orders! I only serve them!”

He softens his gaze and nods once. “Then don’t stress so much. I ain’t gonna bite yer head off. Tell them to rewrite it as if they’re sending it to a prince,” he motions to his crown, “and not somepony they can just order around. Also, have them schedule it so it’s not right in the middle of my shift here.

“I have a dozen ponies coming from all across the country for life-changing treatments. I’m not going to disappear on them at nine o’clock and screw up everypony’s schedule. As a matter of fact, gimme a second.”

The clerk opens his mouth to say something, but stops himself when the colt’s horn glows golden. A rolled scroll flashes into existence just above his horn which he levitates to the stallion. “Here you go. An official memorandum telling them that they are to be prepared to receive myself and my guards at eleven fifteen. Unlike whoever sent your message, I have the guts to put my name on my orders. Feel free to quote me on that, okay?” he suggests with a wink.

“Yes, sir! Thank you, your highness!” he says, ducking his head in a bow, his body language all but screaming his desire to run away.

Cure dismisses the stallion with a shallow nod before moving on. He greets the receptionist mares by name on the way through the doors leading to the ICU. Once the group is out of sight, he glances back at the sergeant. “You three already got yours, I’m guessing.”

“We did, sir.”

“Were they scheduled around the same time?”

“No, sir. Spread out over a couple hours.”

“Hmm. Does Lady Bush have family in the courts, perhaps?”

“I do not know, sir,” he admits after a moment’s thought. “Should we investigate?”

Cure hums in consideration and shakes his head no. “Nah, it’s not worth raising a ruckus just yet. Somepony probably thought they were being clever, but I don’t really see what the point was.”

“Maybe that was the point, sir.”

“Reckon it could be, sarge. Either way, if something like it happens again I’ll just march in there and deal with it myself.”

“Uhh… sir?” the stallion warily asks.

“Not like that, sergeant. Probably. No, I mean I’ll probably be able to tell who the troublemaker is.”

Voice filled with curiosity, Spc. Strafe asks, “Some kind of alicorn thing, sir?”

“Not really, but I’m betting an annoyed alicorn marching in there will probably scare the piss out of the guilty party. I’ll be able to smell their anxiety as soon as I show up there.”

“You… can smell anxiety, sir?”

“Sure can, specialist.” He turns his neck to look back with his right eye. Playfully, he asks, “Why? Is that making you nervous?”

“It’s not!” she quickly replies, belatedly adding “sir” after a moment’s pause. Cure gives her a teasing smirk and turns back. She tries to subtly crane her neck right and lift her wing a little to give a quick sniff-check. The young mare looks back up to find the colt hovering backwards just a hoof off the ground, wings spread but unmoving and meeting her eyes with a face-splitting grin.

Her mortification reaches new heights when both stallions start shaking in not-so-quiet laughter. The mare’s light gray coat turns nearly fluorescent under her heavy plate and helmet.

“Relax, specialist,” the colt insists, spinning around and landing to continue his trot. “The strawberry oil you’re wearing is quite lovely, in fact.” A pink tint creeps up her muzzle and over her cheeks as she fights to hold in the embarrassed squeak. “I’m talking about pheromones anyhow; stuff other ponies can’t smell that I can. I’m not sure how to describe scents, really. I guess anxiety is like a lime going bad, sort of.”

“That’s kind of weird, sir.”

Cure simply shrugs his wings in response.

“In regards to Friday, sir,” Blackhoof cuts in, “unless you have further need of us later, Spc. Strafe will report to Base Carol after our shift today to arrange your transportation. Also, if I may make a suggestion, sir?”

“Always, sergeant.”

“Protocol requires that his highness has a minimum of three guards in his protection detail. If one of us is providing testimony then, until we can finish, we would be falling short of that.”

“Oh. So you’re suggesting we bring Bravo Team along?”

“At a minimum, sir.”

“Good idea, sarge. I think just the six of you should suffice, though. While it’s tempting to stroll in there like I own the place, I don’t want them to think we’re taking the building over. Please inform Sergeant Glazer that his team’s presence will be required.” After a moment’s thought he adds, “I want you all kitted out for work. None of those fancy dress uniforms, sarge.”

“Understood, sir.”

“I also need to go visit Carol at some point just so they can show me what all the carriage can do. The princess said it’s pretty loaded up, but the only thing I know how to do is darken the windows.”

“I can show you, sir,” Spc. Twist volunteers. Cure glances over his withers at the unicorn and cocks a brow. “Sgt. Glazer or I could. We’ve both been briefed on everything. If it’s okay, I can ride in the cab and brief you on the way to court. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to show you everything.”

Cure recalls that it was Sgt. Glazer that was inspecting the wards on the carriage on his date night. “That’d be great. Thanks, Twist.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

The group makes the rest of the trip in relative quiet, occasionally greeting passing ponies as they make their way to the double doors that lead to the ICU. Dr. Nala is awaiting his arrival, standing outside of the ICU area speaking to the mares at the reception desk. “Hey everypony,” he calls out, waving a wing in greeting as he approaches. “How’s my favorite monochromatic mare managing on this marvelous Monday morning?”

A wide smile graces the zebra’s face as the nearby mares giggle at his flirtatious mien. “Ayh ahm qwuite well, your high-nees. Ayh ahm pleezed to say owr last paysheent waz stabeel enouf to bee ahmeetid.”

“Oh? Should I go pay ‘em a visit? I got a few minutes before my transfers start showing up.”

The mare hesitates, her snout scrunches slightly, then sighs, hanging her head in disappointment. “Et wood be appreeshiated, your high-nees, but I do not know eef you can help thees won. She ahrived Saturday morneeng ahfter beeing found to ave crashed afteer she imbaybed ehn excess. Thees is err third time thees yeer, ahnd the dameeg… ees seegneefeecant thees time.”

“Ah. Had a few and took to the air, did she?”

With a nod she answers, “Eet ees as hees high-nees says.”

“How bad is she? She didn’t bash her head, I hope.” The mare’s wince is a good enough answer for him. “Well… if I can fix up somepony that had a stroke I should be able to fix up somepony… a pony, right?”

“She ees.”

“I should be able to help her too. As for making sure this isn’t a recurring theme… I’ll have to ponder on that.”

“Ahv course, your high-nees. She ees in room two oh seveen.”

“Cool. Thanks, doc!” He hears her reply as he makes his way back out of the ICU heading for the elevator. The dismayed groan from his sergeant nearly causes him to cackle when it becomes evident they aren’t headed for the stairs.

His amusement must have shown in his body language, as the dark stallion sighs and quietly complains, “Really, sir?”

Not slowing his pace, Cure calls back over his withers, “Something wrong sarge?”

“Not at all, sir,” he poorly lies.

“If you want, you could always take the stairs, ya know? I can’t imagine assassins are going to suddenly come crawling outta the woodwork between floors.”

“I’ll be fine, sir.”

Spc. Twist smirks at his CO, teasingly suggesting, “Maybe ya oughta hide a mint or two in your pack, sarge. Dam always said mint’s good for an upset gut.”

“It’s one floor,” Spc. Strafe lightly mocks. “I know you earth ponies don’t like heights, but really, sarge?”

“I don’t mind heights,” Cure idly comments.

“You have wings, sir,” she retorts. “And you’re not an earth pony.”

Cure barely manages to keep his ears and tail from showing a reaction to that. He recalls quite vividly when the world shoved proof in his face that the earth pony that he was essentially died that day. He’s pulled out of his thoughts by the sergeant’s gruff reply.

“It’s not the height, it’s the motion,” he growls back. “Feels like my stomach gets left behind only to slam into my spine when we stop.”

“How the hay can you ride the train then, sir?”

“It’s different!” he defensively insists. “You can see that you’re moving, and it’s not an up-down motion. That isn’t natural!”

The mare half spreads her wings and smirks up at the much larger stallion. “Seems pretty natural from here, sarge.”

“Same here,” Cure agrees, stretching his wings up to fluff his feathers before settling them back into place. “We can take the stairs if you want, but I’m tellin ya right now, you’ll be seein more and more buildings with elevators in ‘em sooner or later. Best thing to do is look in the direction you’re moving. ‘sides, like Strafe said, it’s only one floor.”

Despite his concern, the sergeant was perfectly fine on the elevator; unsurprising given the group ascended less than five meters total. It was by no means a quick ride, either. Half way through the crawl the impatient colt quietly grumbled, expressing his regret for not taking the stairs after all.

He had to reassure the nervous operator that it wasn’t her fault. A jerk of his head back to an outstretched wing and an explanation that he’s taken to more extreme motion lately placated the worried mare, even if the thought of spiraling through the clouds seemed to cause the sergeant a small amount of discomfort.

A quick stop at the nurse’s station to review the patient’s history and get directions has the colt escorted to the right room. The nurse asks to join him while he tends to the patient, though he suspects she’s more interested in tagging along for the story than actually providing any assistance.

He knocks and, after a male voice calls to come in, opens the door to trot inside with her on his tail. He finds the patient asleep on her bed, mostly covered by a sheet, along with a stallion in his late teens laying on a couch by the window, holding a book in his wing curved in front of him. The scent and age all but confirm he’s the mare’s son.

The young stallion drops his book and scrambles to his hooves, pausing only when Cure waves a hoof to calm down.

“Sup, dude?”

Caught off guard by the royal’s informal address, he hesitates a second to answer, shock still written on his face. “Your highness?” he asks, glancing at the nurse who has busied herself checking the patient’s vitals.

“At ease, bud. Doctor Nala suggested I come take a look at your dam. Said she took a bit of a tumble after maybe partying a little too hard and it’s not something they can easily fix. Nurse Fever came along to lend a helping hoof.” Cure motions to the mare with his snout and says, “I’m going to go ahead and give your dam a look if that’s alright.”

“Of course, sir!”

Cure approaches the bed, half climbs up, and touches the mare’s hoof with his own. It’s not necessary with his horn out, but it’s a clear indicator for non-unicorns when he is or is not using his talent.

What he finds is an absolute mess. The mare has entire patches of her coat scraped off from the fall along with a dozen breaks and fractures, including the site of the impact; right on the crown of her head. The whole area is as much her bone as it is Origin Cells that the ICU team used to fix her up. Though there is some internal bleeding, there isn’t enough to put significant pressure on her brain.

She’s massively underweight, which will complicate healing her, and yet none of that is a huge problem compared to how much damage she’s done to her internal organs. Her head is no better; entire swaths of her brain are highlighted in red in his mind; particularly her cerebral cortex and frontal lobe. Between the damage from alcohol abuse and the impact, Cure isn’t sure how functional the mare is going to be when she does wake. She has more cumulative brain damage than anypony he’s scanned thus far.

Cure takes his hoof off the mare and looks to the stallion who has approached on the other side of the bed. “Okay. So I’m confident I can help your dam. It’s not going to be a once and done kind of deal, though; she’s simply too underweight for me to magic this all away in one sitting. I gotta admit, though… I’m not thrilled with the idea that she’s going to go right back to it after I patch her up.”

“Sir?”

“I’m not gonna beat around the bush. According to her chart this isn’t the first time she’s done something like this. She ended up in the ER two times this year already and, unless I’m missin my mark, she isn’t exactly improving,” he finishes, waving across the disabled mare.

The stallion takes a deep breath and explains, “Dam’s kind of… lost her way. My sire died back in nine-oh-three. Boating accident.”

Cure is aware that ‘boating accident’ could mean a lot of different things, but the immediate question of how a pegasus could have drowned is the first thing that comes to mind. Regardless, he’s nowhere near tacky enough to interrupt the stallion to ask for clarification.

“Dam just kind of broke. She started drinking. A lot. Lost her job. That only made her worse. A year and a half later one of my moms decided she’d had enough and… that was how my family fell apart.”

“Ugh… I don’t know what to say, bro. Condolences don’t exactly seem adequate. Any younger siblings you’re taking care of?”

He shakes his head no. “Two, but they went with their dams. She only has me. I stayed, trying to take care of her as best I could.” He hangs his head and says, “I was on patrol this last time when they found her.”

“Oh? You’re in the Guard?”

“Private Ocean Swell, sir. I’m in the reserves. It was one of my weekends.”

“Gotchya. Okay, so first things first. Your dam will be fine, physically at least. I’m assuming the guard is involved since she took to the air while drunk?”

The stallion shrinks slightly and nods.

“Well I’m not gonna magically fix that for her, but I have a somewhat crazy idea that may help.”

“Sir?”

“We’ll worry about that when she’s awake. I can fix her up some, but ultimately I’ll need to hook her up to one of my plants to supplement her lacking mass. How about I heal her up as best I can now, then you can bring her by later?”

The stallion lights up, excitedly nodding his head. “Thank you, sir!”

“Sure thing, dude. The cath will need to stay in until she’s up and moving, so no need to step out. Just gimme a few minutes to do my thing.” The stallion nods and steps closer, half resting on the bed to hold his dam’s hoof. Cure does the same on her other side and activates his talent.

He wasn’t exaggerating when he said she was underweight; the little in fat reserves she has are liquified and shifted through her bloodstream to fuel the repair of her brain. Even with his magic flooding her system, Cure is careful to do so slowly. He is aware that many ponies would strongly object to doing anything to a pony’s brain, but as far as he’s concerned that’s a somewhat silly argument when all he’s doing is returning it to optimal function.

He acknowledges that there is some merit to the argument that any change to the brain is a fundamental change to the pony him or herself, but that ignores the fact that ponies change literally all the time no matter what.

Depression changes a pony. Poor nutrition does as well. Even something as simple as not getting enough sleep alters the way a pony behaves. An argument that whatever quasi-divine source using him as a tool is changing a pony, while valid, is simply not something he’s overly worried about. If such a being can wholesale copy someone’s entire existence, or has power over souls themselves, he figures they probably won’t struggle too much fixing a few kilograms of squishy brain meat.

It takes nearly ten minutes to move the fraction of a kilogram of matter where it’s needed and allow his talent free rein to fix what the mare has broken. A light touch on her other internal organs is all he can spare with her dwindling reserves. He spends the last few moments putting the finishing touches on the ICU staff’s work, then fixes up her bruised and coatless patches before ensuring that her discomfort from the catheter in her bladder will be minimized.

Healing done for now, he separates from the mare and gives her son a quick summary. “Alright. I did what I could with what she has. She’ll probably wake up soon, and I’m betting she’ll be pretty confused. Bring her down to my office in a few hours. I have one of those healing trees down there I can use to supplement her missing mass, okay?”

Located in the northwest corner of the hospital, Cure’s “office” is one of the very few with more than one set of windows. Though it doesn’t get direct sunlight while he is at work, it still allows his stand-alone miniature plant an opportunity to get a few hours each evening. More importantly, it gives him access to an exterior wall; a fact he didn’t hesitate to take advantage of.

Beneath the long planter that takes up most of the left side of the room is a single, thick root leading to the green space outside his window; a small park with an artificial stream, a dozen trees, and a short, winding path flanked on either side by carefully tended flowers.

While the colt’s invasion of the space is nowhere near as complete as his own home, the entirety of the grassy areas have been systematically replaced. Unlike his parents, the groundskeepers still have to maintain the yard, but they’ve noticed and frequently discussed what a positive impact having Alicorn of Life nearby has had on the small slice of nature outside his windows.

Aside from the vastly oversized plant, which is far more visually appealing than his normal Origin Cell Trees, the inside of Cure’s office is exceedingly plain for a member of royalty. The long planter and plant take up the vast majority of the left wall facing west, the two north windows, which originally had wooden blinds, have been mostly covered by a creeping vine with large, sunlight-gathering leaves.

A single sink set into a small vanity is nestled in the far corner with a large but atypically short couch for patients stretching across half of the back wall under the windows. Two more couches for accompanying family take up the entirety of the right side of the room, giving the office the appearance of a living room more than a pseudo-doctor’s workspace.

With spells like Cleaning and Sterilize there’s no need for paper products lining everything, nor do the couches need to be made of water-resistant material. Instead, they are exceedingly well crafted and exceptionally comfortable couches which, aside from their diminutive height, would be found in any well-to-do pony’s home.

Using matter from his plant, Cure decorated the entirety of the wall above the couches with stunningly detailed, colorful, but anonymized, diagrams of every type of creature he has encountered thus far, copies of which have been shared amongst the medical staff and with Merryland University’s School of Medicine.

Despite the gravity of the reason for their visit, the sire of the older filly Cure is working on can’t seem to stop glancing over those same images.

“Playground accident?” Cure echoes.

“Uh huh. Was pwayin on uh tee’r towd’r un I fwell,” the teary-eyed unicorn explains.

“She and her friend were runnin back and forth on the board you’re supposed to sit on,” her dam steps in to explain. “They bumped into each other in the middle… she fell, hit the support beam.”

“Sure did,” the sire absently agrees, still looking at the wall. “Gave it a big smooch on the way down.”

“Daddy!” the filly snaps, glaring at the stallion. Cure can’t blame her or the annoyed dam; while he’s not wrong, the impact shattered her jaw and left her permanently disfigured. Though it wouldn’t have been a significant disability, the devastation it would have wrought to her social life would have been extensive, especially when trying to find a mate in a few years.

“Easily fixed,” Cure assures them. “It’ll feel weird, what with me shifting teeth around and all that, but you won’t have any pain. Do you want to be awake or would you prefer to take a little nap while I work?”

“Awake,” she immediately insists. Cure casts a quick glance to the parents, both of whom nod in assent.

“Alright. Here’s what we’ll do.” Cure hops up on the couch with the filly, a move that gets a raised brow from her folks and a slight blush from the girl, despite there being enough room for him to literally run laps around her. His horn lights and the vine above the pair suddenly grows a leafy stem that hangs heavy with a large flowering bud. It grows in size until nearly as large as a hoof, then blooms into a massive golden lily. Cure plucks the flower, stem and all, in his aura and levitates it down to his right hoof.

Blushing furiously at this point, the filly looks between the flower and the colt in bewilderment. He gives her his most charming smile and explains, “Many parents find what I do difficult to watch. I am going to move things around, after all, which looks pretty odd. What I want you to do is to take this flower,” he offers it to her, “and take a big, long sniff of it,” he instructs, miming holding one up to his own snout with his empty hoof. “Hold it there for thirty seconds and I guarantee you’ll be all healed up.”

She barely spares a glance to her emphatically nodding dam before gingerly reaching out to accept the flower from the similarly colored alicorn. Cure’s heat sensing ability shows an even greater spike when their hooves briefly come in contact. She reverently holds the flower, slowly raising it to her snout before taking a small, then much deeper sniff. “Sweet Celestia,” she coos, enjoying the powerful fragrance.

“Nah, the princess usually smells like raspberries with a hint of vanilla,” Cure idly comments, drawing curious looks from the three. He steps closer and sits on his haunches, his chest nearly touching her right side. Ignoring her crimson glow, he reaches up to turn the filly’s head so she’s looking directly at her parents. With the flower obscuring their sight he gets to work realigning her jaw, fixing her teeth, repairing the deformed bones and cartilage, then cleans up all the little odds and ends every pony seems to have such as slightly deteriorated sight and hearing and some minor wear on joints.

A moment passes in silence while her parents eagerly await the reveal. “Aaand done,” he calls, pointing a wingtip at the mirror affixed to the back of his door, “Go on and take a look. See if there’s anything you’d like changed while you have me.” To his amusement, the filly levitates the lily by her side, trailing with her as she hops down and nearly sprints to the door.

The parents are hot on her tail, staring in wonder at all three of their reflections. “Oh honey!” the dam squeals, leaning to pull the girl in a tight embrace. “You look absolutely amazing!”

Cure had already hopped down and followed more sedately behind them, fairly confident what would happen next. The lack of wings takes away from the hug somewhat, but the enthusiasm from both dam and daughter is commendable nonetheless.

He speaks up when the three separate, looking to his right at his wall-covering plant. “I’ll tell ya what. I don’t normally do this, but,” he pauses, lighting his horn as another large bulb floats in front of him, “here’s a little something to commemorate the occasion. Plant this fella when you get home and, with a little watering and some sun, you’ll have yourself a whole plant full of those guys within a few weeks.” He looks around conspiratorially and whispers, “Just don’t tell anypony, okay? I don’t need my fillyfriends getting jealous, what with me givin flowers out to other girls and whatnot.”

All three nod in agreement, startling slightly when he opens the door behind them. “Awesome. Just stop by the nurse on your way out. They’ll have to update your records to reflect the change. And do me a favor,” he teasingly requests of the filly, “be super careful from now on, okay? Save those kisses for some lucky colt instead of the playground equipment.”

In retrospect, he’s aware he all but asked for it, but at the moment he was caught completely by surprise. As if they’d known it was coming, all three guards lean around the doorframe and look in as the girl lunges at him, wraps her forelegs around his neck, and plants a long, wet smooch on the side of his muzzle. Her dam looks proud. Her sire looks ready to panic. The sergeant and two specialists merely watch on, nodding in silent approval while quietly laughing.

“Oh myyy,” he quietly mumbles, prompting the filly to finally let him go. The filly turns to flee so fast her tail brushes over his snout.

Her wide-eyed sire points out the door and shouts, “I’ll go check on her!” before taking off as well.

He regards the stock-frozen mare, still standing there staring with both flower and bulb floating in her aura. “Don’t worry,” he smoothly assures her. “Stuff like that happens all the time.”

Distracted pony-watching while hovering by the window, Cure is pulled out of his musings when Sgt. Blackhoof leans in the door. “Sir?”

“Sup, sarge? They here?”

“Yes, sir,” he answers, glancing at the bizarre looking plant that takes up half the room. “Should I send them in, sir?”

He drops down to the floor and sits in the middle of the room facing the door. “Sure thing, sergeant. Whenever they’re ready.” The stallion nods and steps out of the way to wave the three ponies into the room.

The son enters first looking much better than he had when Cure saw him a few hours prior. He begins to duck into a bow, aborting the motion when Cure motions for him to relax on one of the couches. He refocuses on the door just as the mare is wheeled in.

Wheelchairs do exist, but are used exclusively for bipedal creatures like abyssinians, minotaurs, and presumably avians, assuming any ever come to Equestria. The quadrupedal equivalent is simply a small bed on wheels.

There are versions available for ponies that have lost one or two legs and can’t use prosthetics. They’re more along the lines of a wheeled bench, though are contoured and cushioned for the pony’s barrel. The more expensive kind are enchanted with the same spell that his crown and shoes have to keep the pony from somehow getting separated from the unit, but typical versions have straps that go over the pony’s withers and croup.

They’re inconvenient and, after several hours of use, can become uncomfortable. Using the potty with one can be difficult as well, depending on which limbs are missing. It’s a wonderful day for all involved whenever Cure is able to tell a patient they’ll never need one again, and the colt has on more than one occasion suggested that the hospital provide a trash compactor or firepit for the patients to commemorate their newfound freedom from the devices.

He gives the mare a pleasant smile and nods in greeting. “Why Miss Breezy Southwind, I’m quite relieved to see you more-or-less up and about. Thank you, miss,” he says, turning to the orderly and waving her away. “I’ll take it from here.” The mare ducks into a bow as she turns to leave, pulling the door shut behind her. “Would you prefer to stay on the bed cart or would you like some assistance transferring to my normal patient couch?”

“I’m fine, highness. Thanks an awful lot for fixin me up. My son says I just ‘bout finished myself off. Says I might not’a woken up if it weren’t for you.”

“Eh… I’m not a neurologist or a brain specialist, exactly. I can see what’s wrong, but I don’t have the experience a real doctor does, so I couldn’t really say for sure one way or the other. I’m assuming they would have contacted me sooner or later if they thought you wouldn’t. Either way, you had a lot going on that would have probably brought you to me eventually.”

“Don’t know what we woulda done,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “My boy can’t be missin work takin care ‘a me all the time.” More despondently she adds, “Says an investigator’s gonna be by ta talk ta me soon, though.”

“I suppose they would once they find out you’re doing better.”

“I’m supposed to contact them now that she’s awake,” Ocean explains.

“And here’s where I had a bit of an idea. It’s a tad extreme, but what I’m proposing is that I give you a small implant to help with the whole drinking thing.”

“Help how?”

“Help by making you never want to drink ever again in your life once you test the waters. The implant will release a compound into your system if it detects more than about a drink’s worth of alcohol in your blood. If you gain some weight you may be able to have a little more, but too much and you’ll be sicker than a dog, Miss Southwind.”

The mare’s face contorts in disgust as she eyes the colt like he is slow or something. “Why would I want that?! That don’t sound like help ta me! Ainchya suppose’ta make ponies not sick?!”

Cure chuckles and nods, patiently explaining, “The idea is you’ll learn really, really quickly that a drink is not the solution to what woes ya, ma’am. I bet it would also go a long way towards showing you’re genuinely sorry when that investigator comes back to ask questions. Think of it this way, Miss Southwind: It’s proof positive that you’re wholly dedicated to changing your ways. I’m also going to strongly recommend you consider starting counseling before you have to go to court for this.”

“Counseling?!”

“You have an alcohol problem, ma’am. One that almost got you killed. One that coulda hurt somepony else. One that only seems to be getting worse with time. Taking away the bottle won’t make you suddenly all better. It’s barely even a start. What it does show is that you’re committed, though, and I bet when you stand in front of some judge with a letter from his highness saying what you volunteered for, then pull out a letter saying you’ve already started counseling… well, how do you think that’ll look?”

The mare’s wings sag even more than they already were. The expression on her face is the same combination of defeat, defiance, and disappointment he would expect from a foal being told they’re grounded. The fact is driven home when she nearly whines out, “Do I have to?!”

“Private Ocean?” he calls, turning his attention to her son. “What’s the punishment from flying under the influence?”

“Uhh… I don’t know, sir,” he answers, wilting like he gave the wrong answer in front of the class.

“It’s up to three months in prison and a five hundred bit fine.”

She flops heavily on her side and cries out, “I don’t got no five hundred bits!”

“Which is why you want to take steps to show you’re genuinely remorseful before you face the courts,” Cure explains. “I’ll tell ya what. You ponder on that while I get started on fixing you up. How’s that sound?”

Her only response is a weak, pathetic nod.

Cure ignites his horn and pulls her along as he moves closer to his plant. He slides the cart right up beside it, drawing the mare’s attention to the flowery vines above her prone form. “So this will look weird. I’m going to basically force-feed your body nutrients. I’m gonna go right in through your neck, just above your chest, only a hoof or so in front of where your esophagus goes into your stomach.”

The mare’s gaze slowly drifts down to her chest, then back up to the colt. Uncomprehending, the mare simply asks, “Whut?”

“He’s going to put food right into your stomach, dam. Are you going to knock her out, sir?”

“Not unless she wants me to.” He turns back to the mare and explains, “You’ll still be able to talk and breathe normally, and it won’t hurt or anything. Would you prefer to be asleep?”

She immediately shakes her head no.

“Alright, just lay on your barrel. It’ll look weird, but it won’t hurt or anything, promise. Before I get started,” he pauses to lock her wheels in place, “I want you to take a second. Move your joints, twist and turn a little, maybe stand and stretch. Get a real good feel for how your body’s feeling, how sore you are, what all hurts. When I’m done patchin you up here in a few minutes, I want you to think back to right now and compare the two, okay?”

“Okay?” she answers with a questioning lilt, glancing uneasily between the alicorn and her son.

“You haven’t been taking care of your body for a long while now,” he explains, watching her move and stretch a little. “When I fix you all up I want you to be able to see the difference.”

“Get comfy and tell me when you’re ready. This’ll only take a few minutes. Funny thing is, I have another patient I plan on doing this to this weekend. Hadn’t thought to tie directly into his esophagus… was gonna cram the tube right down his throat,” he admits. He looks up to the mare with a smile and says, “Good thing I had a better idea, huh?”

“I don’t want nothin crammed down my throat!” she instantly agrees.

Cure reaches into his plant and pulls a quarter-hoof thick vine out of the thick foliage. He could have simply had it snake out on its own, but it occurred to him that he would then be controlling a tentacle plant reaching out to cram itself into a mare. Even avoiding the “classic” entrances, that’s a little too “hentai” for his liking.

More practically, it also means the thickness of the vine itself can be reduced since it doesn’t need to have nearly as much musculature added, and it makes the plant seem more like a tool rather than some kind of mare-grabbing wild creature.

He casts a weak Warming cantrip on the vine and nutrient supply, then places the end against her neck, just above where it meets her chest. Conscious of both ponies intently watching, he has the end open like a budding flower to hide the more upsetting parts. Her coat is removed by the inside of the tube and a large incision is made before it slithers its way into her esophagus and down to her lower esophageal sphincter, which he dilates to allow the intruder access.

“Alright. It’s in. I know you can feel something, but you’re not in any pain or discomfort, right?”

Still wary of speaking, the mare nearly imperceptibly shakes her head no.

“Okay. So you may feel some slight movement from the tube as it feeds you. You’re getting a nutrient drink, just thickened a little to provide more calories per liter than normal food. I’m giving you about ten days worth of food in half an hour, then I’m going to ramp up your digestion quite a bit. Normally that means you’d be crapping your brains out in a few hours, but that’s not going to happen here.”

Both ponies start laughing, slowly at first, then shaking bodily while laughing out loud. Cure isn’t sure if it’s from hearing a prince talking about taking a dump or from the absurdity of the situation, but figures it’s a good sign either way.

He continues despite their chuckling, explaining, “Almost every gram of food I put into you is going to go to use, so we’ll have you at a healthy weight and all patched up in no time, then we’ll talk more about that implant.”

“What’s wrong, son?” his sire asks, eyeing the unusually lethargic colt. “Yer lookin mighty worn today.”

Cure sets his fork aside, washes down the mouthful of bread, and reluctantly answers, “Had kind of a downer of a patient at the end of my hospital shift, pa. Sounds like she was doin alright, then her husband bit it in an accident. She hit the bottle hard, eventually drove off her wives. Son’s a reservist. He’s been trying to take care ‘a her.”

The moms all listen quietly as he continues, “He went out on patrol the other night, she hit the bars. Took off drunk, crashed, ended up in the ICU ‘till they fixed up what they could ‘n got her stable. Years of alcohol abuse, poor nutrition, etcetera. Basically killing herself slowly, ya know? Told her to pay real close attention to how she was feeling before, then fixed her up.”

“So… she’s all better?”

“Physically, she’s as healthy as a forty-three year old pegasus could possibly be. She bawled her eyes out for almost half an hour when I finished. Squeezed the life out of me for a moment, then clung to her son sobbing uncontrollably when he stepped in to pry her loose.”

Amethyst carefully points out, “Reckon she’ll be at tha bottom ’a ‘nother bottle ‘fore long. Was right kind ‘a ya, colt, but…” she trails off when he shakes his head no.

“I came so, so close to doing it without asking, but I was able to convince her to let me give her an implant. It’ll kick on after about a drink and a half, and she’ll be sicker’n a dog for ‘bout six hours. Told her the judge she faces may take it into account, whenever that happens.”

Title gives a half shrug while spooning Savvy a bite, saying, “Sounds like a good solution to me. Figured you woulda given her the same one we have so she can’t get drunk.”

“She’d just drink more,” Amethyst points out.

“Right,” he agrees. “It was just kinda draining, ya know? Felt bad that I almost didn’t ask, then had her in my office crying so long and hard the sergeant leaned in to check on us. They had to bring her water halfway through; she was literally crying herself dry. Made my afternoon drag a bit. Even Wind, of all ponies, said I looked tired.”

“There ain’t no shortage ‘a sad ponies out there, son. Ya still done good, though.”

“Thanks, pa. I’ll feel better after a nice relaxing shower.”

“Maybe after yer all cleaned up we can take a gander at the listings yer sire brought us,” Amethyst suggests.

“Sure thing, ma.”

“Finish your meal before you go taking off, honey. I’m sure you’re using a lot of energy every day.”

“I am, quite a fair amount, in fact. I’m going to have to find a way to take a bunch of extra…” he pauses, inclining his head in thought. “I need to go to Fillydelphia soon. Like, this week soon.” The parents share a look of confusion at the sudden apparent subject change. “I need to buy some more crystals. Higher grade ones Early won’t have. Also, I need to get ads running for my visit next month.”

“You’re not flying all the way to Fillydelphia by yourself,” his dam sternly insists. “One of us can go with you on the train on the weekend.”

“It can’t be this weekend. Solar’s leaving and I need to be here for his procedure.”

“Could go Saturday night,” Lemon suggests, “but I don’t know if the ponies you need to see at the newspaper will be in on Sunday.”

“Or if the stores will be open,” he points out.

“Next Friday, then,” Vines argues.

“How long does it take for an ad to show up in the paper?”

“A few days, maybe a week, dependin,” Deed answers.

“So the ad might not even run two weeks before I go up there. What if I just fly one of you up with me after work tomorrow? It’ll only take an hour or so.”

The question hangs in the air as each parent considers it.

“Not it,” Amethyst declares.

“You gotta get over the whole flying phobia, ma.”

Lotus nods energetically, insisting, “Flying is awesome! You can see the whole town, dam!”

“Mhmm!” her sister hums in agreement. “And Cure can go really fast and when he does loops and spirals it’s super fun!”

None of the parents seem particularly pleased to hear that tidbit. Amethyst and Vines, especially, give him looks that leave him wincing.

“You, uh, weren’t supposed to tell them that,” he quietly chides.

The cream filly’s ears pin back when she notices the unhappy stares. “Oops.”

“Their suits had Slow Fall in them. They were perfectly safe. Promise!”

“No more stunts with your sisters!” Vines declares.

“Okay! Fine.”

“I can come home a little early and go with you,” Title volunteers. “How are you going to fly us there, though?”

“However you want. Easiest would be with the Butterfly Wing spell, but I could make a cab from my plant for you to sit in easily enough.”

She hums and tilts her head side to side in consideration for a few seconds. “I’d rather have you fly me if that’s okay. Going all the way to Filly doesn’t exactly feel like a good first flight.”

“Fair enough.”

“Won’t that look weird?” Lemon asks. “You know, a pegasus colt pulling a cab with an adult earth pony in it?”

“I’ll use invisibility like I do for work. It’ll be fully enclosed, ma, so you don’t even need to worry about the wind. You can just sit back and enjoy the view.”

“That sounds fine to me, babe. I’ll come by the shop around after lunch, okay?”

Cure smiles brightly and bobs his head. “Awesome! I’ll get the cart ready tonight, then tomorrow I’ll knock my afternoon appointments out ASAP.”

“Got a question, son.” Cure cocks a brow at this sire. “How much do ya reckon you could carry like that?” The question draws a sharp, warning glare from the pink mare. Deed feels the heat but doesn’t acknowledge it at all. “Now, I ain’t sayin yer not strong or nothin, but the pull ‘a the world is a right powerful force when it grabs onto yer ma.” A wad of smashed together bread bounces off the left side of the stallion’s head as he continues, “I’m just worried fer her safety’s all, like a good husband oughta.”

With three mares quietly snickering and two fillies giggling along, even if they don’t quite get the joke, Cure nods in acknowledgement at his sire’s concerned questioning. “That’s a pretty good point, pa. I bet I can rig up some buoys runnin the length ‘a of the cart with helium in ‘em. It won’t make a huge difference, but every little bit helps.”

“Ya both think yer real funny, donchya?”

“Right good thinkin, son. I reckon an adult alicorn oughta be able ta pull ‘er, but ‘till yer at least as big as the princess…” hoof on his chin, he regards the pink mare analytically, “well… I dunno.”

“You know what,” she growls, “maybe you’re right. You might not be able to carry me. Maybe it’d be best if we do wait a week and half and took the train.”

“No, no! I’m sure a slim, delicate mare such as yourself will be no problem, ma,” he assures her.

“Uh huh. That’s what I thought.”

“I wouldn’t mind trying that some day,” Lemon comments. “Maybe not the loops, but just a ride around the city? It sounds neat.”

“Whenever ya want, ma.”

“Sounds interestin ta me too, son,” his sire seconds. “Maybe if you can get yer ma up ta Filly ‘n back you can give yer ‘ol pa a…” he pauses, mouth hanging partially open before clicking shut. “Wait, that don’t sound right.”

“Glad you caught that one. Sure, assuming flying mom around works as well as I expect it to there’s no reason I can’t take anypony else.” He motions to Savvy with his snout and asks, “You bringin her with us?”

“We’ll watch her,” Vines insists before Title can answer. “It’ll be easier that way.”

“Thanks, babe. Probably a good idea.” She turns to Cure and asks, “If we’re going there tomorrow then we need to figure out where you’re planning on setting up shop. I haven’t heard you say anything about it.”

“Uhh… gotta admit, I hadn’t figured that part out yet.” He looks to his other two moms and says, “You lived there. Where do all the rich ponies and the well-to-do dragons go shopping on the weekend?”

“The Writing House Market,” Lemon answers. “It’s just a bit southwest of City Hall, so not too far from Dragon Town. They have vendors there every weekend. Arts, crafts, performers, you name it. You’ll need to stop at their offices on Walnut Street first to make sure you can get a good spot.”

“We’ll need to go there first then, babe,” his mom points out. “They'll need your location on the ad, after all. That and your hours.”

“I’ll be there all day as long as I stay busy. I plan on coming home after Junior Guard training and flying straight there. I’ll only be coming back to pick you,” he motions with his snout to Amethyst, “and a big heap’a extra biomass up before we head on up there.”

“Woah, woah,” Amethyst calls out, waving her hooves frantically. “We’re flying up there? In the dark?!”

“Uh… yeah? Would you rather go with the security ponies the night before?” The purple mare hesitates, weighing her options. “How’s this sound: I’ll put together a carriage full of mass on Friday just like I did when we moved, then I’ll come back, teleport you directly into it while still asleep, fly up there, and wake you up when we’re back on the ground? I can do the same thing for the trip home.”

“Mmm… can’t say I’m wild ‘bout the idea. Suppose it’s better ‘n bein awake for it.”

“You won’t know a thing’s happened, ma. You’ll go to sleep snuggled with everypony like normal, then wake up warm and comfy in Fillydelphia. You may want to set aside some books or whatnot, though. It’s gonna be a boring day if you’re just hangin around the market with me the whole time.”

“Not a bad idea," she agrees. "I oughta go drop in on yer folks,” she suggests, meeting her first wife's eyes. “Have ‘em come by ‘n visit, see the colt while we're there.”

Lemon lights up at the suggestion. “Sounds great! Assuming you don’t mind them comin by,” she inquires, looking to Cure.

“Sure,” he agrees. “If they’re up for it, they can be my demonstration ponies. May help with the skeptics, which I’m sure there’ll be at least a few of.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll send them a letter so they know what to expect.”

“Write it up tonight,” Title tells her. “We’ll drop it in the mail when we’re there tomorrow.”

“You know, you could always come with us when I go up there,” Cure offers. He pans his gaze around the room and says, “All of you, if you want. I could load you all up, don my full-sized alicorn outfit, add a couple functional wings to the carriage itself, and take you all up there for the day. Y’all can go see the sights while I make the moolah.”

The idea gives them pause as each considers it.

“My parents would be thrilled to see the girls,” Lemon points out.

“And everypony else,” Amethyst adds.

“We could take turns keepin an eye on tha colt,” his sire suggests.

Cure huffs and rolls his eyes. “I’ll have grandpa’s squad watchin out for trouble. If I need one of ya to come rushin back I can Send ya a message.”

Lemon voices her agreement, reminding them, “The Market is right in the middle of the city and they’re only a little north of City Hall, so that would work.” A grin crosses her muzzle in eager anticipation. “I can’t wait for you to meet my folks! Just one thing.” She gives Deed a pleading look, “I’ll warn ya right now… Watch out for my little sister. She can be a bit much.”

Somehow, Amethyst’s deep chuckle doesn’t reassure the stallion.

Author's Note

First, an announcement. I've had to have a lot of folks in & out of my house over the last week for fixes and whatnot, so I've gotten very little writing done. Seems like every time I get started I get pulled away, which completely derails the brain train. As a result, there may not be a chapter next week unless I can get some freaking peace. I'll pop in and leave a comment one way or another.

Also, the SFW is in the chapter title because of the suggestive title. With most of the chapter either being Cure being with his dam, at work, or at the dinner table, this is actually one of the more tame chapters, even as far as profanity is concerned. Of course, if you're reading a M-rated story on a work computer then you're gonna eventually have a bad day. Don't do that.

That aside, not a whole lot to comment on in the chapter. Someone either accidentally or intentionally makes a power play against the new prince. Cure, at his sergeant's suggestion, is going to respond in kind. We get to see him treat a couple ponies; a filly a few years his senior and a mare with an alcohol problem. He briefly entertained the idea of acting unilaterally with the latter, but with his slip-up over the weekend, not to mention his dam's reminder of it, he very quickly dismissed the idea. I felt it way, way out of character to have him do so, even if it would have led to a delicious helping of drama soup. In fact, I had to rewrite about a quarter of the chapter after scrapping the idea. Drama is fine, but forced drama just for the sake of it? Pass. I don't want like forcing characters to behave stupid or OOC just to stir shit up.

We'll get a quick jaunt up to Filly in the next chapter, then Cure has Court on Friday and Saturday is Solar's farewell for quite a while. It wasn't intentional at all, but this will end up being a very busy week for him.

As always, a big thanks to everyone that takes the time to rate and leave comments (especially the latter). Enjoy!