Silver Bells, Golden Scales
It was easy to tell when dragon territory turned into pony territory. Everything became more colorful. Even the rocks somehow seemed to shift from just regular old ash-gray (perfectly fine on its own) to this bluish purplish over the top gray that just seemed like it was compensating for something (not that Garble would know anything about that).
It was harder to tell where pony territory split off from itself. Dragons marked their territory through fire. Each dragon’s fire had a unique scent, something that to ponies or any other species with boring stubby little snouts just smelled like sulfur, but any dragon worth their scales could smell when one adult’s territory blended into the next. Ponies just spilled their magic everywhere, and it all smelled so sickly sweet, like flowers drenched in perfume. Out of the five ponies he’d stopped to ask for directions to Ponyville, three got scared off when he sneezed and set something on fire and the other two got scared off just by looking at him.
Why Smolder wanted to live like this all the time now, he had zero idea.
But she’d invited Garble to Ponyville for one of the pony holidays--of which they had lots, but this was one of the big ones, Heart’s Warbling or some sappy frilly pony crap like that. It sounded terrible, but Smolder had expected him to hate it and done her best to talk it up--there would be food, loads of it, enough to feed even a dragon a hundred years older, and ponies just gave you stuff for free “in the spirit of the holiday” (wow, they really got more ridiculous with every new thing he learned about them), and there was a big deal made about fire, so there would be one familiar thing to latch on to, at least.
Also, Smolder was going to be in a play. She was weirdly excited about this part. Pretending to be somedragon else and listening to a bunch of artsy ponies tell you what to do didn’t seem like the kind of thing Smolder would like if you paid her in citrine (her favorite gem--she liked the sour taste), but his sister had changed a lot since the days they used to tail-wrestle each other in the fledgling craters.
To be fair, so had he, sort of. The fact that he was even asking ponies for help, instead of setting fire to their dumb little houses on purpose, was proof of that. The fact that he’d written a few new poems to show Smolder was probably also proof of that. Still, he wasn’t about to get a pony roommate and open up a combined bakery and tea cozy store with them or something like that. He was still a dragon, not a pony in dragon scales or whatever Spike was.
The sixth pony had finally managed to point a shaky hoof in the direction of Ponyville for him, and after days of flight, Garble finally touches down on the cute little cobblestone streets of Ponyville, where the ponies going about their daily business…do not all scream and run away, for once. A couple of them manning a flower booth faint, but nopony else looks more than mildly startled. That’s probably confirmation he’s in the right place. From what Smolder’s told him, this is positively mild for Ponyville.
He’s heading in the direction of the big purple eyesore Smolder told him to look for (hard to miss) when he’s alerted to a pony charging towards him for once, and not away, something so startling he stops in his tracks.
His eyes meet a pair of startlingly intense green ones belonging to a little white unicorn. Her poofy pink and purple mane is curled in such a cutesy quintessentially pony way that he could gag, but he’s being nice to ponies now. So he doesn’t do that.
“You’re Smolder’s brother! You…you are Smolder’s brother, right?”
“No, that’s the other big scary dragon that flew into town square today. Just missed him,” he replies, maybe a little too snappishly, but the unicorn only dignifies him with a tiny snort.
“You were supposed to arrive by train yesterday,” she complains, ignoring the fact that he opened his mouth at all. “I was waiting at the station for half an hour!”
“Why would I use a train when I could fly? I could ask a third of you ponies the same thing. I don’t think we even have a train station in the Dragonlands.”
“You flew--what, all the way here? That’s a four-day trip for the average pegasus flying practically nonstop! Why would you do that to yourself?”
“We’re endurance fliers, Curly. Ponies tire out before dragons break a sweat in the air.”
(In a trade-off, most flying ponies are much faster than most dragons, but that’s none of her business.)
Garble realizes there’s a more pressing conversation to be had. “Why were you waiting for me at the train station, anyway? Do I even know who you are?”
The unicorn smacks a forehoof to her face. “Right. Of course.” She extends a hoof to Garble, who hesitantly takes it. “Hi, I’m Sweetie Belle, nice to meet you, and I am going to be in soooo much trouble if you don’t help me out with something really important!”
He recoils from her suddenly frantic outburst. “Hey, slow down! I’m really confused right now. Can you try explaining what’s going on before you start in on making me do stuff for you?”
Sweetie Belle cocks her head. “Smolder didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“What did they do to you.”
Smolder, huddled under a blanket, laughs, which turns into a raspy cough. “Chill out, Gar-Gar. It’s just a winter cold. Still not used to how cold it gets around this time of year, I guess.”
“So why do you want to stay here all the time?”
He notices Sweetie Belle, who stands some distance away from them, wince at his words. He feels maybe a tiny bit bad about that, but not enough to go back on what he said. Not by a long shot. It was a valid question.
“I know you’re not used to being around ponies, but come on, dude. You’ve heard enough from me to know not all of them are that bad,” sighs Smolder. “I was hoping I’d get to show you around and try to prove it to you, but I’m not really feeling up to anything except sleeping right now. I was really excited for the Hearth’s Warming pageant, too.”
“Pageant? You mean that play thing you wrote about?”
Sweetie Belle jumps in, despite the fact that he wasn’t asking her. “Exactly! The Hearth’s Warming pageant in Ponyville used to be the story of the Fire of Friendship and the three tribes uniting into one every year, but Twilight--um, Princess Twilight--wanted us to start branching out, show everyone that the holiday season isn’t just for unity between ponies. So this year, it’s the story of how Flash Magnus was the only pony to ever attend the Feast of Fire, and how he convinced the Dragon Lord not to kill him through his masterful storytelling abilities! Smolder was going to play the ancient Dragon Lord, but…”
“...but I can barely project across a room right now, let alone across a stage,” says Smolder sadly, with another wheeze.
“So, um…”
Garble meets Sweetie Belle’s hopeful eyes, then the eyes of his sister, and the realization of what, exactly, he is being asked to do slams into place.
“No. Absolutely not. No way am I getting up on stage to make an idiot out of myself in front of a bunch of namby-pamby--” he remembers who he’s talking to and closes his jaws with a snap-- “I mean, can’t you just get Spike to do it?”
“Spike’s in Canterlot, dummy,” Smolder says, rolling her eyes. “He lives there now, with Princess Twilight. He’s gonna be in town to see the pageant, but he doesn’t have the time to perform in it.”
“Look, Garble…can I talk to you outside for a minute? Smolder should really be resting anyway.”
“But I--”
His sister waves him off. “Go. I’m bad company right now, and I want Sweetie to chew you out when she’s not worried about offending me.”
“Missed you too, sis.”
He follows Sweetie Belle out of Smolder’s room and the unicorn shuts the door behind them with a flicker of magic. “Listen,” she starts, “I’m sorry if I…offended you, or came on too strong, or anything like that. It’s just that Smolder had told me you were a performer, and I thought that--”
“I’m a beat poet, not an actor. There’s a difference. And it’s not like I perform on a stage or anything. Mostly we just sit in a circle and read for each other.”
Garble had started a little club of sorts in the couple of years since he’d first read poetry for other dragons. It was still only six dragons strong, and the members still had a bad habit of fighting with each other over who was “winning at beat poetry,” but it was more of an outlet than any of them had had before.
Sweetie Belle gives a long, deep sigh. “You don’t owe me anything. I know. Heck, you’d never met me before today. I get it, and I understand if you don’t want to help. It’s just that…this pageant was a big deal for me. We’ve been doing them for years, ever since Twilight’s coronation, and every year since the first one I’ve wanted to direct it…but I was always too young, or not experienced enough, or whatever else, until this year. I was finally going to make everypony see how I was mature, and talented, and I could create beautiful things, but everything just kept going wrong! First the Pillars wanted to rewrite my whole script in the interest of “historical accuracy,” and then all the props we ordered came at half the size we wanted, and I know it’s not Smolder’s fault she got sick but every little thing that goes wrong just makes me think that--that the universe is telling me I wasn’t ready, that I was silly and stupid and rushed into things just like when I was a filly, and I’m just…not good enough.”
Her already high-pitched voice cracks near the end, and she looks embarrassed. “Sorry. I know dragons don’t like feelings talk.”
He doesn’t. He doesn’t like how she looks like she’s about to cry, and he doesn’t like the exhaustion he can hear in her voice, and he really, really doesn’t like the way it’s making him want to say--
“Fine, whatever, I’ll be in the stupid play.”
Sweetie Belle’s eyes light up and she lunges forward. For a second Garble thinks she’s attempting to strangle him, but no. Apparently it’s another one of those pony things. “Omigosh, thank you thank you thank you!” she squeals, still not letting go. “I promise you won’t regret it!”
He’s already regretting it. But whatever.
The three days that follow are the longest of Garble’s life.
Sweetie drills him relentlessly on his lines (and there aren’t even that many of them, mostly just threats and growling). He’s surrounded by ponies nearly all the time, and arty ponies on top of that. They mostly stay out of his personal space as long as he stands in the corner and looks tough, but he’s not stupid enough to think they’re not talking about him behind his back.
One night, after rehearsals are over, Sweetie Belle walks him back to the inn he’s staying at. As the sun sets, the houses around Ponyville start to light up in a rainbow of colors. The streets are filled with the scent of pine from wreaths and garlands, and a million tiny lights twinkle in every direction you look. Glowing statuettes of reindeer and ancient ponies adorn front lawns. Atop the giant purple castle, a magical pink flame shines light down across the town.
“I know you’re not exactly a fan of Hearth’s Warming,” Sweetie had said to him, wrapped in a scarf and jacket, “but I wanted you to see this just once. It’s always been my favorite part of the season.”
So not everything had been bad.
It’s the night of the pageant, though, and he needs to get in the moment. An older unicorn with a striking resemblance to Sweetie stares him down with a stony glare. “A good designer can work miracles on any creature,” she sighs as she buffs his scales and drapes jeweled chains around his neck (fake jewels, so there would be no temptation to sneak one or two to eat during the show). “And if ever there was a time for generosity, ‘tis the season, I suppose.”
Garble doesn’t think her opinion of him would get any higher if he admitted to her he has no idea if he should know who she is.
The pony playing Flash Magnus, a loud, scruffy pegasus that Garble would love to beat in a fight just to wipe the smirk off her face but can’t touch because she’s one of Sweetie’s best friends, calls the cast in for a huddle. “Alright, ready to put on the best pageant this side of Canterlot? Don’t answer me, ‘cause I already know you are. Come on, guys. Hearth’s Warming on three! One, two, three…”
“HEARTH’S WARMING!” cheer the assembled ponies, and Garble is as surprised as any of them that his cheer has a few degrees of emotion in it. Who knew?
The audience for this pageant apparently includes the purple pony princess and the actual thousand-year-old heroes the play is about. This isn’t especially meaningful to Garble, but he hears a couple of the actors excitedly speculating that this will be their “big break,” which is interesting. Is the princess going to break something after the show? He’d actually like to watch that.
“Good luck out there,” Sweetie’s annoying friend says to him, with a little smile.
He blinks. She sounds genuine. Looks it, too. “Thanks,” he says, caught off guard.
She flashes him a salute, then heads over to chat with the other pony actors.
Before long, the curtains rise and “Flash Magnus” takes the stage, with a handful of other ponies playing the members of her squadron. As annoying as she is, at least she’s got stage presence.
It isn’t long before Garble makes his own appearance, looming over Flash Magnus with a snarl. He opens his mouth--and realizes he has no clue what his line is supposed to be.
A silence falls across the entire auditorium, tension wound as tight as a spring. Flash Magnus’ smile tightens. She jerks her head towards him, as if he didn’t already know his line was supposed to be next.
Desperately, he looks to the wings, where Sweetie Belle stands. He waits for her face to fall, for her to turn away from him--but she doesn’t. She smiles--a silly, trusting pony smile--and mouths “Just be a dragon.”
So he channels the sulfur, the lava, the fangs and claws, the years he spent being everything a dragon was supposed to be and nothing else, and sneers, “And explain to me just why I shouldn’t roast you alive in your armor this second, Magnus.”
In a second, the bravado is back on the pegasus’ face.
From there, the performance goes off without a hitch. He mostly just has to sit back as Magnus spins her brilliant tales of swords and sorcery, pony heroes prancing across the stage. When Garble finally claps the pony warrior on the back and declares he’ll let her live--for today, anyway--he sees the faces of the crowd and knows they pulled it off.
The actors all come out on stage to take their bows. Garble makes a show of it with the rest of them, but as the audience continues cheering, his eyes go back to the wings. Sweetie is still there, stamping her hooves softly along with the rest of them. He motions her forward, but she shakes her head, stepping back.
So he does another dragonish thing and interrupts.
“Yeah, yeah, we were great and all, but you know who you should really be cheering for, right?”
The crowd goes quiet again, mutters of confusion piercing the air.
“The pony who put this all together, you dorks! She worked the hardest of any of us, she even got me to make an idiot of myself in front of all you ponies, and she never gave up on making this the best pageant it could be. Sweetie Belle, you should be up here!”
Once again, the pony playing Flash Magnus proves herself to maybe not be so bad after all, and immediately jumps in to follow up. “Yeah! This is Sweetie’s show! Sweetie Belle! Sweetie Belle! Sweetie Belle!”
The chant of her name reverberates until every actor on stage is shouting it and stamping their hooves in time.
When Sweetie finally emerges onto the stage, everyone, including the audience, cheers.
She lights her horn, her throat glowing with an amplification spell. “Wow. I…gosh, I really didn’t expect this.”
She swallows. Under the stage lights, Garble can see her eyes shimmering with tears. “This pageant has always meant so much to me, and all I’ve wanted to do is share that with all of you. It may not have been perfect--it was hard work, and exhausting, and so, so stressful--but I just hope that I could add a little more magic to the season.”
She catches his eye as she adds, “Even if you’re not usually one for the warm and fuzzy stuff.”
And her horn lights again, and out pours a pale green flame, warm but not burning, as it rises higher and higher until the whole auditorium can see its heart-shaped form.
As he is bathed in its light, feeling the warmth suffuse his scales, Garble thinks that maybe Smolder was right, though he’d never say it to her face.
Not all pony holidays are that bad.
Author's Note
there was cover art but fimfiction won't let me add it right now. for some reason. sad.
when i was assigned this prompt i admittedly had no idea where to take it considering i've never written garble in my life nor felt the desire to do so. but you know in the end i actually came around to him and these two in general as an unexpected pair, though i kept this a little romance-light for you to interpret as you wish. my giftee also has a fic where these two are in a play together, but considering their one point of commonality is performance to some degree i'd hope i could be forgiven for copying the concept </3