Love Is Its Own Reward

Chapters

A Rationale
A Reply
A Request
A Remembering
A Reunion
A Recommendation
A Rebalance
A Resonance
A Reservist

A Rationale

Sometimes, you must think me a true sucker. A dragon, the most ancient of all races, pining for the love of a mortal unicorn. A little boy who needs a dictionary to spell thesaurus, and who only had the courage to confess a crush when it seemed gravity might not bend its law for the sake of love. Sometimes, you must think me a proper sap.

You of all ponykind know how intelligent I am. While I am still learning much of the pure knowledge that my guardian treasures, I try to have the common sense she often lacks. Yes, I am young, and prone to follies of youth such as petty jealousy over being replaced by a nocturnal bird. I still cringe at the memory of that stuffed rat and ketchup on the floor. Yes, I am immortal, at least from a common pony's perspective. I have walked among dragons almost as ancient as Equestria, and even the teenagers were usually older than dear little Ponyville. Why would I bother with a female who could only leave behind a horrible void when she passed on?

Because of the joy she gives me. The time I spend with her is not wasted in the pursuit of later reward. I find pleasure just being in her company. I do not trade my effort for her affection but add it toward her goals. When I labor for her, I am not a slave. She would do anything she asks me to, for I know she understands the cost and value of hard work, but I often can do it better and faster. Digging is a common example, fanning her at the spa a less common one. Even when the task is distasteful, her gratitude is enough to make it bearable. She never holds her affection over me, implying that I am unworthy but might be found acceptable if I contort myself to her whims, but is thankful for everything I do as I do it. Rarely she is stressed enough to snap at me, but she always apologizes shortly after. I have never worked for the promise of being found worthy, or toiled for scraps of attention like an unloved pet. That would sour with time, and could only end in pain. There are many things that bring me joy, so why do I prefer her company over most other pastimes?

Because she does not leach from me all other pleasure. There are times I cannot help her. Often Twilight has me employed in earning my room and board, usually by distracting her from a mathematical meltdown, or I simply need time to myself. She understands, never lets herself become upset over the trivial, and always carries herself as a lady. The value of sticking to my commitments is not lost on her, and she is always willing to help me when I am the one in need. I could wish that she used me as a dress-up doll less, but there are worse tortures that a boy can endure. Even then she only uses force and surprise to coerce me into frilly clothing. Rarely she begs, in that style she has perfected into an irrefusable demand, but she never threatens when she insists. When she kisses me, it is never to bend my will to hers, but always from pure gratitude and affection. Yes, she has a flair for the dramatic. She faints when she has misplaced a ribbon, wears a funeral shroud to mourn a dip in her career, and to describe her workroom as a disaster zone is like saying your sun is a tiny bit warm. I wish I could have seen her overreaction to the humble accommodation you offered her at the castle, I still giggle each time I read of it. She is strong on her own, and downright crazy. I adore that, for such is the madness of an artist. Perhaps I am just immunized thanks to my guardian's rolling insanity, but I find something attractive in a mare who throws herself so completely into her work. There are many artists I enjoy the company of, a certain disk jockey springs to mind, but I prefer this fashionista over all others because I have glimpsed her soul.

In recent memory, more recent than I prefer to remember, I nearly destroyed Ponyville. I wrote you a full report in response to your inquiry for more details than I provided in my first statement, and am very grateful that you covered the reconstruction costs. I was completely truthful in both scrolls, but time has allowed me to more objectively view those events. They are directly related to this matter. Shortly before my birthday, she visited the library in search of a book on old fashions. You know the rest, so I will not waste time with a chronology of events, nor will I spare myself by trying to make up an excuse. I would have eaten something beautiful, which was fully my right, but instead she turned it into something that will last much longer than a full belly. Then she saved me from destroying the town, and was too generous to take credit. She convinced all of us that I was really the one who cut down my own selfishness, and so was a hero for stopping the monster. Yes, I was the one who turned back from the path of greed, but without her I would have continued the rampage until you inevitably arrived. She took a beautiful gemstone that I saw only as food, and crafted it into an anchor. Then she cast away the spotlight so I would not be condemned by the entire town as a monster and given my just punishment. After she was through with her performance, I was the hero for overcoming the wretchedness of a dragon's nature. I had rejected a mind-eating greed, and with that noble act saved the town! That is her soul. She covered for my horrible mistake, and without her I would have been lost.

Which leads to my greatest point. She gives. It is her nature to give, be it charity from her boutique to ponies in need or several days to tail a bumbling baby dragon on his "quest of self-discovery". She makes nests for little birds every year, and puts up with a cat that seems eternally enthusiastic to test the thickness of my scales. Because she gives so much of herself, she understands the value of something when it is given to her, even such a small thing as a dragon's time. Whenever I give her my labor, she is grateful. She never expects it of me, or demands that I obey her to prove my love, but charms from me my greatest effort. That is my payment, and it is rendered as services are performed. The importance of these traits is such that I have listed them, rather than only stating that she is the Element of Generosity and expecting that to be reason enough. It is because of these traits she bears that Element, not the other way around. I love her because she is worthy, in spite of her flaws not in ignorance of them, and that love is its own reward. It fills me with strength, it lifts my feet off the ground, and it drives me to excel in everything I do. This is the capstone to my explanation, though there is one point that must be added atop like a cherry-red ruby.

She is beautiful. I saved this for last, though it was the first attribute to catch my attention. Beauty of the body is often temporary, and yet it matters so greatly to all living things. Yes, my affection began as a crush on somepony attractive. It survived because her heart, her mind, were even more beautiful. She says kind words about others' work when I can only think rotten ones, and never lowers herself to crudeness. If she were not beautiful I believe I could care for her similarly, but that beauty is entrenched in her personality. Age could wither her body, but I have seen enough old ponies to know that the spark of inner beauty never truly fades from those who carry themselves well. On the other claw, I do not lie to myself about the dangers of her duty to Equestria. Would she still be an outgoing artist if one of the Element Bearers' adventures cost her more than her tail? I do not know. But I know no scar could destroy the way I care for her. I would forever see the mare I first met in the Town Hall, and forever breathe righteous vengeance against whatever deprived the world of her beauty. That is not one of the pillars of this letter, merely a decorative gemstone atop a strong stonework.

This is my testimony. I love her almost as a hobby. If she ever welcomes further advances I will not see it as a race completed, a victory won, but as another lap to make. Love is a battle fought every day, though I know little of battle aside from those in books and one brief tussle against Diamond Dogs. If I do not show her love because I know I will outlive her, why should I do anything? I cannot measure my life by how long I live, or how long the things I invest in last, but rather how well I have lived. If I am the measurement, then nothing is worth my time, and I exist only to please myself and sleep. I am lazy, a bit of a sluggard about getting out of bed, but I know that time is precious. I will love her in the time she has, for it gives me strength and she earns my affection. Thinking deeply about these things scares me, I know you understand why. It does not feel right that a boy should have to think these things about those he cares for. That is part of the reason this letter has been so long in coming. I know that turning a blind eye to the future only makes it worse. One must make preparations, and then enjoy the moments as they pass. I am a continual firsthand witness to what stressing out over things that cannot be changed does to the mind. Just as I cannot blind myself to the future, I will not let it consume me. My heart only lets me conclude that she must be the measuring line of my life, not I. Selflessness is a key part of generosity, and a strong bulwark against greed. It also brings me to the final purpose of this letter.

The night of the Grand Galloping Gala was one of the worst of my life, though it ended well. I was left alone by those I counted as friends, and before leaving I saw the mare I cared for hunting your nephew's hoof for matrimony. I tried to convince myself that I wanted her to be happy, even if that meant losing her, and finally succeeded. I had a right to seek what made me happy, but understood that I could not force her to be with me when her heart belonged to another. If I sabotaged her evening with the Prince, I would never be able to forgive myself. So, after seeing there was no place for me at your side, and barely enough for Twilight, I left. It was not altruism, but self-defense. If I had stayed, I would have done something foolish in the name of making the "best night ever" a reality.

While I grew up in Canterlot, I remember you kept me away from him, so I knew little of the Prince save that he was handsome. Even when the others told me of Blueblood's behavior, I could not believe she endured so much. She never says a word about him, which speaks volumes. I wish I was of noble birth, for I would treasure her as he never could. I would treat her as a lady of artistry and enterprise who stooped down to be yoked with a most undeserving royal, but I am no prince. I do not know who my true parents are, but I know where my heart calls home. If there was some regal flair in my ancestry, it might strengthen my conviction that I am right for her. All I have to give her is a love that never dies. I will remember her, for that will give me strength, and I will mourn her, for she is worthy of a dragon's tears. Perhaps she will be waiting in the skies. I return to these troubling thoughts to make clear that I understand what this will one day mean for me. My heart tells me that love is a worthy cause. In support of this case, I will cite supporting evidence. A poet I know you will be familiar with, who mourned the passing of a dear friend:

"I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it, when I sorrow most;

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all."

If I do not love because I fear mourning, what am I but a lump of rock wrapped in a blanket?

I have spent considerable time thinking and writing these things because I know how unhealthy misunderstood affection can be. I did not wish to grieve you with the impression that I had fallen head-over-tail into an immature fondness for one of the element bearers, then tried to pursue her as I grew older without comprehending what love requires to transcend mere affection. I care for her, but it is a healthy care, and while Rarity might exploit me she always makes it worth my time. It is because I have time, oceans of it, that I am able to have this love for her. I write at length on this occasion because I seek your authorization, not merely your acceptance. I am just a boy, but I know how valuable the element bearers are to Equestria as a whole. These six ponies have saved the world almost as many times as I have talons. This is not a coincidence. You sent my guardian and I here to serve a purpose, not just to learn life lessons. The furthest thing from my mind is jeopardizing your plans with my greed.

In Service,

-Spike

Quotation from In Memoriam A. H. H., Alfred Tennyson

A Reply

Dear Spike,

Words cannot express how proud I am of you. It was always my hope that dragons and ponies would find a common ground, and your great ancestors would live among us as allies, not natural disasters. You have rekindled that hope, for while you are still a child you understand the burden of an immortal among mortals. I have borne that burden like a common carthorse, for I am of Earth as well as Magic and Flight, but I never spoke of it to you because it is indeed not something a little boy should be forced to think of. The reasons you gave are similar to those I have held close for so long, and I thank you for them. You thought of this rationale on your own, and pieced it together from philosophers of your own choosing. Those old tomes are much easier to read when you care about what is inside them, are they not? It is good to hear that one of the pillars I lean upon to remain sane also gives comfort to a maturing child. It is better to hear that you started with only the love in your heart and the wisdom in your mind, but ended with a sturdy support very much like my own.

Letting go of the ones you care about is hard. Letting yourself care about them while they are here, knowing that you will see them pass, is harder. This is not unique to immortals. I knew hundreds of ponies who loved their mates to the end of a terminal disease. They were faithful until the bitter funeral, then lived while their beloved rested in peace. Fewer suffer so now, thanks to medical advances made by previous generations. Such tragedies have a way of spurring minds against fate's cruelty. Even as I write this, I know a colt who mourns his wife, and the children they never had. He knew of her illness when they wed, but they reveled in one another's company for what little time they could. These are weighty thoughts. I write them because I know you are ready for them. No burden has been given to you except that which is common, even in some ways to mortals. You can find strength in their examples, for there are many. I cannot list all the soldiers who found love, then left that precious bond for their nation's sake and never returned. I know what half of a heart looks like. It is a weeping spouse, who is now single. They do not weep for themselves, but for a union that will never again be complete. This is the price of love, be it love of a dear friend or the true love that matrimony seals. I have paid for almost every type of it many times. You know of this price, and yet you accepted the cost because you decided the love is worth the pain.

You are the next advancement, my little dragon. You chose peace and coexistence. Your little heart even found somepony who makes it race. Many of your kind look down on us as weak, those who are too young or too ancient to remember the Great Crusade that ended Discord's dominion, but you live with a bookworm and serve her tea. You are not perfect, just as I have my faults, but this letter tells me your heart is set on great things. I hope you will never be able to empathize with how much stress that choice has lifted from my shoulders. When you were offered a place among other dragons, you rejected their cruelty. Even though you became a monster for a day, you defied that insatiable greed with the help of your anchor. This does not mean you rejected your kind, or your heritage. What makes you a dragon is your body, what makes you a boy rather than a beast is your ability to live in a civil society. In that sense, you are more of a dragon than the great mammoths who fly from volcano to cave and slumber away the years, for your kind's history is epic.

Before I sent the two of you to Ponyville in the hope that Twilight might save my sister, that six Element Bearers might be able to salvage what I alone could only banish, I cared for you as my only child here in Canterlot. When you were old enough, I gave you a good mentor who I had trained as my personal protégé. She welcomed you into her structured life, never treating you as a burden she had hatched and was now stuck with but a worthy aid. I read every scroll sent by your fire, for the style of your writing and the shapes of your letters tell me far more about your thoughts than one might suppose. I know that this last scroll was at least a fourth draft. You must have pored over it for many hours, surrounded by little scraps of paper on which you tested words and the large books in which you found them. Your writing is too passionate for your affection to be anything less than heartfelt, and too honed for it to be a matter of passing fancy. I know you have wisdom, for I always required it from you, in contrast to the way all but a noble few of your race are now raised. I expected wisdom from you because the pursuit of wisdom and virtue is the true pursuit of happiness. That is one of your rights in my kingdom, and I would have been very remiss not to stir up a hunger for such in you. But your heart, your affections and the pursuits you enjoy, that is your own. Your life, your time in this world, should always be your property unless you give it to another. I have no more authority to tell you who to love than I do over any of my subjects. In this case, I also have no reason to advise you against something you have clearly thought through.

You have already penned so much about her that there is little for me to write. I can give you some advice that I have learned over my centuries, but you seem to have laid a strong cornerstone for your foundation. Just be wary that the house you build atop it is equally as sturdy. Take care to learn her habits and interests before committing too heavily. Love is blind, but true love is so valuable because it is between two creatures who find solace in one another. It does not "conquer all", it gives the strength to overcome selfish desires for your love's benefit. Do not be afraid to ask deep questions, for the answers will either give your mind peace or a warning. The knowledge of something unsettling before commitment is always better than learning it yourself after the ceremony. Also, I know that your mentor is quite the storehouse of "pure knowledge". If you need answers that only come from experience, do not feel bound by protocol in asking me. There are many ways to twist an ankle on the path of love, and I have both more years and ankles than you. You have written a wonderful defense of your feelings, but I am not a prosecutor. If my stumblings can help you, I am the one who will be honored.

I did everything in my power to give you reasons to love our kind, without forcing adoration down your throat. Without the liberty to choose wrong and its consequences, how could I be pleased if you did what was right? I have not ruled for a thousand years as a dictator, but as a Princess who understands what true tyranny is. It was a morass of madness, a world carved by cosmic horrors where every illusion of choice was only part of Discord's cruelty. Where all who lived were unable to dream, unable to escape, unable to even conceive true rebellion. From that hopeless horizon of despair my sister and I were made incarnate. A twin-tailed comet announced our manifestation, a sign from old world lore that put the first crack in Discord's control of the skies. We were not born to condemn the world, to flaunt our lifespans and abilities as some right to despotism, but to lift it from ignorance into individualism. This is our fate, it is our destiny, and we embrace it. Thanks to your mentor we stand together, as the Sisters Astral once more. Thanks to you, for you were my last link to Twilight when Discord returned, there was no need for another Great Crusade. I do wish to apologize again for the transmission-sickness I forced upon you in that dark hour. Now that you have fully grasped the concept of love, I hope you can understand being in command means you must be willing to sacrifice the things dearest to you. It has been much longer than a millennium since that conflict. This is the bright future that so many hearts were torn apart for. A future where your choices forge your fate. Do you think it is worth what it has cost?

You have chosen the good path, my little dragon, and I am now confident you will stay on it. We all make mistakes, we all fall from time to time, but that is how all creatures of sapience learn. This world cannot be perfected, but there are consequences for evil, and for good. Harmony does not mean perfection, nor does it mean absolute peace. It means an ordered chaos, a just law that despises corruption and allows the individual to exercise liberty. It means that the good outweighs the bad. This is the greatest society in all history, and those are not my words. They have been written and spoken by my little ponies over the ages, those who looked back through our generations and weighed past deeds. There is no one factor that causes this, but so many working together that they boggle the mind and can only be described if you think of a great orchestra. So many instruments, so many sounds that on their own might grind the ears, but when played together from a good sheet of music there is Harmony. Yet, there is one thing that all the sheets or conductors in the world cannot replace. Love. If the orchestra does not love their music, it is obvious, and the orchestra will not last long. If a nation is not filled with wise citizens, if they hate one another more than they love their children, it cannot stand. That is why true love, of all its varieties, is so important for the individual, and for Equestria.

One question that has continually troubled you is your ancestry. I know you look to Twilight Sparkle as a mentor and a friend, but you cannot see her as a maternal figure. In the past, I have deflected that question with skill that only comes from a thousand years of kneecapping bureaucratic growth. I will be much more candid now. The answer you seek is locked away with many old things I buried after Equestria had been reborn in absolute war, along with many new things regarding your friends in Ponyville. Disclosing them is an act of high treason. Even I am not above the law, which is the only reason said law is still able to stand. I cannot answer your question, my little dragon. With that expressed, what follows is completely unrelated, merely the ramblings of an old mare.

There are times we must make sacrifices, and be apart from those we care about for the sake of duty. I know you have discretion, and that you will use it in regard to the things you have surmised about the Element Bearers. There is a good reason they are not bound by oath to defend Equestria, nor salaried for their heroism. By acting as individuals, they are far stronger in their use of the Elements than Luna and I. The Elements were intended for such as them, common ponies committing uncommon acts of valor. I have let them flourish on their own merits because that is their right, and it is also the most powerful way to train them. If one of them has a true love for a dragon, I of all ponies could not condemn her. With that said, there are also reasons that Ponyville is such a quaint little town, and that all six friends are in no way destitute. You may know that I personally granted that land to the Apple family, as well as the other settlers with them. You have seen that the mail is delivered on time, if a bit catastrophically. You know that the Mayor is fair and unobtrusive, unlike the political machines in some cities. There are reasons for these factors, and only a few of those reasons are Equestria's natural magic. I leave the rest up to your imagination, except to say that I owe the Element Bearers far more than I could ever repay, as does my little sister. So too does all of Equestria. It is a very good thing all six were able to wield their Elements, and were concentrated in one village on the edge of the Everfree Forest. After that first triumph, if I had given them the finest suites in Canterlot, if I even now placed them upon pedestals for all the nation to gawk at, I would destroy them. They deserve to be revered more than I, for they succeeded where I have failed, but would Applejack be happy if I drafted her away from her farm? Would Rainbow Dash be able to live if she had to file forms in triplicate every time she wanted to leave the sight of a bodyguard? As for Pinkie Pie... Laughter is one of my favorite Elements, but it is always the hardest to manage. Especially when packaged in an eldritch earth pony. Even a certain white unicorn would be miserable if she was only known for her Element's power, not her designs. Finally, you, my little dragon, found nothing of value at the Gala without your friends. Better is a bowl of vegetables where love is than a golden quartz vein in the company of hate, to quote an old proverb of your race.

I am weak. Long ago, when Discord was banished, it was not innate strength or magical ability that made me leader of that Great Crusade. Luna rather disliked the spotlight, though she always knew how to make a scene. It was her ferocity that fueled our armies, her cunning that crushed Discord's, and her blood that bonded the Nightguard. She was the true heroine of the Great Crusade, I only managed logistics and stood with those who mourned their dead. My tongue, not my magic, was my talent. I was the leader because I could rally many worthy allies. I could untwist the half-truths of Discord with facts, and wither his deceptions like the daylight burns away shadows. My power was in the endless armies that came to hear my words, for I tried desperately to use reason and logic, to appeal to what they knew in their hearts was true. The poor, the weak, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free, their terrified minds found solace in my speeches. Each one knew that they were not meant to live like this, but so upended was their world that they did not know how to right it. What starts with cotton-candy clouds ends in horrible abominations, never forget that. Discord takes root with cute chaos, and creeps deftly into domination. I was a beacon, and many races rallied to that glimmer of hope. With that glimmer in their eyes, they waged war. There is evil in some of us, my little dragon. No matter what, that will not change. Many embraced chaotic tyranny, throwing away their own lives in pursuit of personal glory and the fleeting joy of power. You saw glimpses of Discord during his return. Did he ever share that power, did he ever laugh with others, or did he merely turn all he touched into stooges? And yet that power, the ability to answer to nothing but your own desires, is so entrancing to all intelligent creatures. Some simply knew nothing other than misery, and could only find joy in making others even more miserable. Others just wish to see the world covered in burning water. That is his strength, he offers power to those who please him, but it never satisfies the heart. He promises to cure that ache inside you, with just a little more power. Just a few more under your heel, while he laughs as you crawl under his.

Have you ever wondered what a draconequus is? Where such a creature comes from? Who its mother and father might have been? Dragons are some of the most ancient sapients known, order is in their very genes. A pure order, not harmony, just a structure that aligns everything, provides for some semblance of rationality. From that can come logic, and justice. Long ago, in the Metal Epoch as they call it, dragons ruled all things. Their Imperium Dracon held all things known and many things now lost in a scaly palm. It was not conquered by outside forces. According to a legend I strongly suspect to be true one of their great heroes destroyed three invasions by creatures from beyond the stars. The dragons' Epoch ended because so many became corrupt that city turned against city. They chose to hate one another, to pull down the great and lift up the corrupt who justified that hate with smooth words. All they had made tore itself apart through tribalism and infighting. Those great creatures now wander in small bands, migrating from one place to another, known mostly for their greed. They call some lands their own, but all things once belonged to them. Many remember their great time of unity as a dream, a legend they all made up together. A few know the truth. I learned such truths to burden myself with history, that I might be forced to learn from it. Long before we Sisters Astral, Discord was corporeal and roaming about as a roaring manticore. After the Imperium Dracon was a hollow name, chaos rose. All did as was right in their own eyes. Nature has little use for a vacuum, so ponies flourished. They were also tribalistic, suspicious of one another simply because of differences in body, and prone to barbaric acts even though the meek had literally inherited the earth. Chaos brought all races together, just as Order tends to, and so a prince of disharmony was born.

He was content to tinker, until the pony tribes found a common ground in this magical land. Their love threatened him, for the three breeds understood they could have better lives together. So he took a far more active role in sewing chaos, and found that a throne was far more pleasing to him than roaming about. While Discord ruled, most dragons lived far underground, or in distant lands where he could not be bothered to reach them with the full surreality of his power. Some slumbered, forming a metaphysical barrier with their own timelessness that Discord often did not bother to breach. A few of them gave shelter to my little ponies before I was incarnate. This offered sanctuary to many minds, and preserved much of pony history. Generation after generation lived this way, almost worshipping the ancient titan who more often than not only woke up to accept their offerings of gold and jewels. I hope you do not drool too much and spoil this letter, my little dragon. When we Sisters rose up, many of these ancient titans fought in the Great Crusade. They were hardy allies, and worse enemies. Yes, some preferred the way things were, their greed demanded that the sacrifices to their hunger continue. The ones who stood on our principles were some of the most highly decorated of all our warriors, though I will confide a secret. I had to stop giving out medals, for not a one of them could quite grasp that they were meant to be worn, not eaten. At the height of the Crusade, there was a... well, a daring, highly-trained, special mission force. I could always count on them, no matter the odds they never gave up. A little chaos is a good thing to have on one's side. There were many in that unit, but among them were a keen Griffon commander, a bounty hunter wrapped up in technomagical power armor, and one dragon-duke who wielded an arsenal fit for a king. There were others, even a few turtles who were masters of ninjutsu, but I do not wish to ramble any more than I must. Harmony was a cause that all sapients could understand, and I had a gift for teaching. I shone light into hopeless minds, and that light led them from Discord's quicksand to solid ground. Those times are long past, those old friends and comrades... much the same.

I am weak. I know this now more than ever, combined with the sting of my own blindness in the face of insurgency. As you saw at the wedding, my true strength is not in outright battle, but as an unifier. I should like to have seen the Changlings be so bold when I had at my side... again I ramble. I apologize, I do not have as much time to edit my writing as you. Discord's essence came from chaos, and he was born from a dark union between our two races long before my sister and I emerged. As such, his appearance reflects that misery, and he cannot blend in with a civil society. Your scales, my little dragon, are those of an ancient and worthy race. Many of that race fought for us, and so we look with kindness toward their remnant in gratitude. One was truly exceptional, I would not be boasting to call him the greatest warrior Equestria has ever known. He fought for me because he believed in the things I preached, for he had clung to those same principles while the Imperium devoured itself. I was the dawn he thought would never come, I spoke clearly the truths that twisted his tongue. He was brighter than a thousand suns on the battlefield, for that was his talent. His heroism was a beautiful part of the harmony that overcame Discord's dominion, even though he was a disgraced ruler of a broken race. What matters more than your parentage, my little dragon, are your own contributions to that harmony in these modern days. You tugged at your mentor until she fulfilled her duties, and met her friends. You were the deliverer of the Element Bearers when Discord re-emerged. You carried the Crystal Heart, though it was almost as big as you. You found love, not a passing fever of the heart or seduction of the mind, but an honest love that accepts imperfection. These are a few of the many things that prove you have a noble spirit. I hoped, desperately, that would be true when I found a key to match your egg's cute little purple spots. All ninety-six of them. You are my hope for unity between two races, not chaos for all existence.

Again, even I am not above the law. I am sorry there are some questions that cannot be answered to your satisfaction, my little dragon, but I hope I have given you a little reassurance. You have a worthy heritage, but all the noble ancestry in the world will not make a noble child. You already suspect, I am sure, the reason I kept you from my nephew. He is adopted just as all mortal royalty, and truly has no greater claim to my blood than any other pony. I hope he is an example, for that is the chief reason I keep a political class about, as a reminder for my citizens to keep their governors within hoof's reach. The decision is always in your claws, to choose the wrong or righteous road. The motivation for that decision, is in your own heart. If you love nothing but yourself, then you already know what your reward will be. If you have no love for yourself, then no reward can fulfill the abyss inside you.

I am so very proud of you, "true sucker".

-Princess Celestia

A Request

Your Grand Royal Highness, Princess of the Sun,

I have written this and crumbled it up, then written it again and torn it to ribbons, then taped it back together in remorse before I threw it away in disgust several times. Finally, I sat down and wrote once more. Then I cast that one away as well, for it was not worthy of your eyes, and forced myself to bare my soul. I hope you will not mind that I sent this letter by unconventional means, please do not mind, but the dear postmare was the only way my conscience would allow. I could not ask Spike to send a message to you from me that he could not read, for such a thing would pierce his little heart with suspicion. Rightfully so, for this letter does concern him. The scandal of it all!

To explain myself, for you no doubt rightly wonder why I would impose upon your valuable time, I seek knowledge that only you possess. I have learned something that has forced me to ask questions with rather obscure answers. I have learned that the fear of admitting my true feelings is not as horrible a sensation as the fear of losing someone special who I have not settled accounts with. Until recently, I was so caught up in the details of living that I never stopped to look at the way my life is unfolding. The six of us have gallivanted about Equestria on missions of one sort or another for some time, ranging from the mundane search for a missing friend to a mind-warping encounter with the Prince of Chaos. I saw these as separate events, stitched together by bouts of normality that lulled me into a sense of calm. This was Equestria, after all. Such things were out of the norm, but this land's founders battled Windigos. As perilous as our adventures were, a little light of hope always flickered inside me. Even when we were surrounded by Changlings, or when we first were bound with one cord of friendship against Nightmare Moon, some magic of the land whispered to me that ponies had always overcome. Then we were sent to aid a faraway Empire and told that if we failed all Equestria would be endangered. Please do not misunderstand me, I fully appreciate the importance and urgency of that quest. I volunteered, as did all of us except for Twilight and Spike. He followed her because it was his duty, she led us because it was your will, and together we thwarted an ancient and enigmatic evil. I would gladly go to the Crystal Ponies' aid again if I was given the chance to turn back time. It was the right thing to do, to stand against evil in defense of freedom. That does not change what I have learned.

There came a moment when all hope seemed lost. The sky was burnt orange, all defenses were shattered, and the city was in chaos. Princess Cadance had done her best, all of us had, but the enemy had still overcome our little bubble. Then I heard Spike. Then I saw him falling to his death, and this time even Rainbow Dash could not reach him quickly enough. The ground rose up to claim him, snorting smog and drooling to reclaim a lost dominion. It was the most terrifying moment I have ever experienced. I knew in the depths of my mind that we were all doomed, that we had failed and there would be no quarter for meddling mares. That was not the greatest horror, for in that moment I realized that I cared rather little about what happened to my own self. I saw that purple dragon falling, just like we had fallen together from a great height after his rampage, and I realized whatever fate would befall me, he would not be there. Ever since he came to Ponyville, I had thought of him as a dragon, an ageless creature. He would always be there, solid as a rock, as constant as your sun. I was the one who had faced Nightmare Moon, I was the one defiled by Discord, I was the one plummeting to my doom after my folly burned up my borrowed wings. When he transformed back to his regular size after rampaging through the town, we fell together to a shared fate. Even when he faced that gang of ruffian dragons, I was close at hoof. Somehow, I had let my mind turn the detail of his lifespan into a guarantee that he would outlive me, or else we would go together. Until that moment, I never realized how fragile life is, even when wrapped in thick scales. I could not watch. I had to cover my eyes, and so I missed the extraordinary act of heroism that saved both the little dragon and the city. Even that does not change what I have learned. It was the most terrifying moment of my life not because I was in jeopardy, but because I was forced to realize that I had let the myth of immortality and the fear of stigma divert me from seeking out answers. Answers that would force me to change, to move out of my comfortable little bubble, and that would burden me with knowledge.

I know Spike means much to you, just how much I dare not speculate, and that has made this letter far harder to write. I must explain myself fully before I can ask my questions, since I must justify my intentions as pure. Otherwise I might give the Princess of the Sun the impression that I am a lecherous old hag. That fear was the death of several drafts. I cannot, I will not let fear keep me silent, and so I must beg that you view this letter with the kindest of indulgences as I fumble to express my heart. The lesson of life's value is still too vivid in my mind for me to continue quietly stitching inside a bubble of willful ignorance. You know that he has an affection for me. If he has not spoken of it to you with words, I know you are perceptive enough to infer something from the way he escorted me about during the celebration of Discord's defeat and our time at Princess Cadance's wedding. I also am perceptive enough to infer from the way he speaks of you that he is both respectful and familiar. Most ponies look to you with reverence bordering on fear, not because we are terrified of sudden wrath but because we feel unworthy when reminded of all you have done for this land over the centuries. Even Twilight views you as a stern mare, forged in battle and imbued with great wisdom, so she works even harder to prove herself worthy of your interest in her. Spike reveres you, but never seems to doubt his own worth. While Twilight panicked herself to a frazzle, he kept trying to reassure her that you would not banish a mare for one letter. I hope that this is not an overstep, but the image of him snuggled under your wing, completely at peace, springs all too easily to my mind whenever he speaks of you. Likewise, you never forget him. There was a place of honor for him in the Hearth's Warming Eve Pageant. He fit in perfectly at the Royal Wedding with manners and poise that he must have learned while Twilight strained her eyes on books, although he was adorably ignorant of what consisted of a bachelor's party. Even in something as small as the Grand Galloping Gala, you included him. I realize that he means much to you, and I hope this letter affirms that he means much to me also. That is why I have written to ask you what you know of dragons, and I have not done so lightly. Twilight's knowledge of them is limited because there are few written records. The books that she could find are filled with disjointed legends and laughable depictions. What facts I have worry my heart to no end. I do not doubt your judgement of his character, please do not misunderstand my intent. None of us have anything to fear from Spike, nor do I wish to imply that you would place him or anypony else in permanent residence here if it would one day destroy this little town from within. He is a kind soul, and Ponyville is his home. The mystery surrounding his race interests me for a different reason, one much closer to my heart than civil defense.

Until we faced Sombra, the most horrible moment of my life came on a sunny day when I was ripped out of my boutique by a giant scaly claw. It was not the peril of hanging hundreds of meters off the ground that marks that memory, but a realization similar to the one I would have in the Crystal Empire which compounded the horror. Although I was uncomprehending for that terrible day, when the night came and I lay in bed staring at the sheet I had taped over my ravaged window, I cried. I cannot fully express how terrifying it was to realize that the cute little dragon I know could have crushed me with a clench of his tail. I realized what he was capable of, for he was not a pony. He was a monster, as massive as a mountain and as greedy as a horde of shoppers at a red-tag clearance. That day changed my perception of him. Before, I knew he was a kind soul, an adorable assistant, and an ever-faithful friend. Somewhere inside that little body was a ravenous beast who tried to devour the Spike I knew. The boy slew the brute that day, and I cheered him for the hero he was. Yet I of all ponies know that such beasts rise again and again. I know what greed feels like, because it so often hurts to give. Envy and pride, those green-eyed monsters, make their lairs in my heart as well. To my eternal shame, you witnessed how that almost cost me my life when I flew too close to your sun on wings of gossamer and morning dew. I should have been hovering in the stands, not flying among the competitors. I focused on one detail, my own borrowed beauty, and forgot the reason I was even in Cloudsdale. That mistake almost ended me and several other fliers. When Spike became a monster, he would have destroyed his hometown in the name of greed. I understand his struggle, because I fight far less visible ones every day. I want to help him. I want to be a reason for him to flee from such desires, but I do not know if I am strong enough, or if it is even possible for him to hold back his species' traits forever. That is the reason I am so interested in dragons, because just like historical fashions, historical behaviors tell us what to expect in modern days. All ponies seem to know of dragons is that they are monsters. They are beautiful, nestled atop a prince's ransom of gold and jewels with spines and scales that shimmer when shined. They are also terrifying! Dragons eat gems, vegetables, almost anything. Including meat. This is my fear, that Spike will grow into a monster not by his own will, but simply because he was born with scales and claws. I do not believe he would ever choose to become a hoarding beast, but I am quite convinced he did not choose to rip me out of my boutique either. There is something evil in his heart that wants to take control of him if he will only give it a hoofhold.

That is the mystery of his race. Is his future his own to decide, or was a sad ending written for him ages ago? Spike is a dear friend, but I know so little about him. He is an orphan, or at least he has no real idea of his true parents, yet he is one of the happiest young males I have met. His own kind are almost alien to him, but he is comfortable living with ponies, who share neither his claws or scales. If Twilight and I earned our cutie marks on the same day, then he was hatched only a few years after me, but he still seems to be a child in body if not in mind. These are paradoxes I have swept under the rug since the day he arrived in Ponyville. Most other residents have done the same, though that is not an excuse, merely a bit of context. This is a very relaxed community. When he and Twilight arrived with royal orders and wide smiles he was treated as an adorable oddity. Nopony poked or prodded him, for most did not know what to make of a baby dragon. Fluttershy's stamp of approval went a very long way towards setting everypony at ease, since if she found him adorable and harmless there were few who could prove otherwise. Most ponies do not know that she tames Manticores and has tea with bears. The Apple Family found his appetite to be quite "fittin'", and their social status as the earliest settlers of the town counts for much. Rainbow Dash and he were friends almost at once, unified by laughter, and Pinkie... well, I was quite surprised that Pinkie waited as long as she did to throw them a party. I cannot recall her ever hesitating more than a few moments for any other newcomer. It was almost as though she recognized something special about Twilight, and determined to throw the grandest party she could assemble to dye them into the fabric of Ponyville society as irreversibly as possible. Then again, perhaps she had merely eaten one too many cupcakes that morning. Spike fit right into our patchwork town, so I was content to simply sit and stitch without looking too closely at the roll of cloth. Not once have I treated Spike cruelly, but I have brushed off his affection as simply a crush. I always thought that there would be time, later, to consider just why a dragon might find a mare attractive at all. While it is not unknown for zebras or even gryphons, I could not find a single learned source who would say with certainty why a dragon might find a mare to be a fit partner. If there is no pattern to cut cloth by, then there can be no dress made from that cloth. He is a handsome little fellow, and always a gentlecolt to me. That is precisely the problem. He is a dragon, one of an ancient and mythical race, not a young colt or even a preening gryphon. I do not think that he finds ponies attractive merely because he was raised with them. I know what lusty eyes and charmed hearts look like, for I have been the cause of many. He does not care for me in that superficial sense, but gazes with a blissful adoration I have rarely seen elsewhere. I do not know if it is simply the idealism of youth, but it is refreshing to feel that I am cared for because of who I am, not merely my beauty. That endears him to me, but it also worries my conscience.

If he was hatched the day I earned my cutie mark then we are only a few years apart, but he is so cute as Twilight's little brother that I have to force myself to remember he is closer to my age than my sister's. At times he acts like a child, but I have seen him stand against three older dragons simply because protecting an egg is the right thing to do. He seems to swing between being the only voice of reason and diving head first into folly. I could not understand why until I realized that I too act much like a petty, greedy child sometimes. I often forget all about that day in the Crystal Empire, yet at other times the image of him falling refuses to leave my mind. He and I have much in common, that is the only reason I believe I have any right to write these things to you. To fully confess myself, I care about him. I am afraid of losing him, of seeing him cold and gone instead of warm and alive. I would regret most of all never truly understanding that little dragon, while he spent so much time seeking to understand me. He has only deepened his affection since we first met, rather than broadening it like an unwanted suitor who truly cares only for himself. He is not a star-struck sap who believes that romance is bliss. Spike has an adorable way of finding the good in me and bringing it out. He looks for ways to be kind, but he does not trouble me with grand gestures that would embarrass us both. I do not know for certain what feelings I have in return for him, but even as just a close friend, I care for him and want to know more about his kind. I have searched high and low, low and high, but I cannot find more than a few scraps of lore about the Ancient Race. I should like to think that I know more about dragons than most ponies in Equestria. The scholars I have called upon talked of theories and postulated possibilities based on ancient bones or old expeditions. None of them spoke with authority, and few had seen a real Dragon without a telescope. I have. All but Spike were awe-inspiring but terrifying. Our forest-dwelling mystic knows a little about Dragons, but after consulting her I only left with more questions. There are many paintings of great scaly beasts, and more legends than gossip articles in the latest issue of Cosmare, but all of them conflict.

I admire the majesty of Dragons, their obvious power, and even the wings of those that happen to be so endowed. I envy their hordes, for I have much the same lust for gold and gemstones as they. I craft those beauties onto amazing garments, then sell my creations to the world. Spike eats them. I have seen the light of pure joy in his eyes when he finds even the smallest gem, and he has fumbled to explain to me just how something beautiful can have rich flavor. This leads to another troubling point, his size. Dragons often are massive creatures, requiring massive meals and long periods of slumber. Even dear little Spike grew as big as a mountain, and that was after stuffing a few odds and ends into the watertower. I tremble at the thought of what he would become if he ever began hording things of value! Dragon teenagers are loud and chaotic, and their old are slothful emotional wrecks that barely notice the settlements of other creatures. In the old tales, some are described as Heroes of the Kingdom. Others as powerful foes, whose greed drove them to destructive rampages against anything and everything. They had some grand civilization long ago, and many of their ancient artifacts still remain, but only a few broken codes are left for their descendents to follow. What is the fate of a dragon in this future world they surely never imagined? Is Spike doomed by his genes to become a monster one day, condemned to a bit part in a tragedy penned strange aeons ago? When Spike came to us, nopony could see him as anything but a cute little sidekick for our new librarian. As I mentioned, even dear Fluttershy was more interested than afraid. I can find few other references to dragons that lived close to other ponies, and none where they actually resided in a settlement. Certainly it was odd to see a baby dragon toddling about, but his eyes were bright, his smile was kind, and his manners were admirable. There is nothing, absolutely nothing in all of the little history I could find, that accounts for him. It is my hope that he is not bound by the fates of other dragons, but free to choose his own future.

Which brings me to the hardest part of this entire letter. I have asked every other source that I could find, out of respect and no small amount of trepidation, but finally I had to write to the ultimate authority on this matter. There is no more ultimate authority than the Princess who led into battle great dragons, then centuries later cared for one until he was old enough to aid the filly who hatched him. That is why I write this letter so candidly. Either I will be banished, or I will be chided, or I will find peace in your answers. I cannot even throw myself completely to the wind with a declaration of love, I truly do not know what I feel for him. Whatever my heart decides, I will always be his friend. That is why I ask you what you know of dragons, so that I will know if he will last forever or if I must savor these few moments before the Spike I know is gone with the wind. I must know if the little dragon will grow into a sober knight or a sleepwalking monster. If it is the latter, I will weep. If the former, I must make sure of my feelings. I looked for love in the highest reaches of Canterlot, and I found only pain. The romantic in me cries out for action, but that memory of helplessness, dangling hundreds of meters in the air from the side of a mountain, still terrifies me. I care for Spike, not that monster. If I can help him turn from that road, if I can anchor him as he tells me I did on that day, then regardless of romance I will. There is an ache in my heart that comes when I pause long enough to think of that day in the Crystal Empire. If I can aid him, then that ache will be soothed, and that will be reward enough. He is dear to me, and after all we have shared I cannot let ignorance be an excuse for letting him slip away. If the stars align, perhaps there is something more for he and I, but I cannot begin to measure for a gown until after I have stitched this dress.

I wanted to make a clean admission of my intentions to you along with my petition for wisdom. I have, I hope, succeeded in that regard. My heart will give me no peace until I have sent this, and I could not survive having to rewrite it again, so I hope my inelegant fumblings do not offend. If I have been too candid, it is because I wish to be condemned for what I have penned, rather than sneaking behind your back and being banished for what I did not dare to write.

Your Humble Servant,

Rarity

Author's Note

I would not call this the best chapter of this story, but it is a chapter that had to be written. I felt it was important to show Rarity's point of view, and also to underscore the many parallels that can be drawn between her and Spike. Most importantly of all, this was another chance to mention the "dear mailmare", something that should never be passed up! I want to keep these notes brief, more about the writing of this chapter is in my blog, but I must thank all my readers. This story has over a thousand composite views as of this posting. That is largely due to you readers, your favorites and links, and I hope this chapter has entertained you.

Thank you for your patience, and your time.

A Remembering

As Rarity measured out the tea leaves, she heard an faint mewing from upstairs. The soothing aroma that rose from her work helped her contemplate what she had learned. Spike was not doomed, rather he was blessed. Sir Fancypants thought he had a great future ahead of him if he chose wisely. Although it was hard to believe some of the old stallion's claims, she knew they had to be true. In her adventures with Twilight and the other girls, she had already seen many things that were hard for a small-town fashionista to accept. The idea that a seasoned globetrotter had walked through the dream-city of the ancient dragons was... fanciful, but not beyond possibility. She wondered what exactly would be too much for her to believe.

One thing was certain. She believed in Spike. She believed that he had a noble little heart inside him, even if he was just as fallible as her. Yet she still did not know if she loved him. All the tales of romance insisted on that spark of absolute certainty, the feeling of being swept off your hooves by love, pure and perfect. Rarity put the leaves away and closed her eyes. She was old enough to know better, but young enough to wish that love was as easy as old stories and new movies made it seem. She steeped the leaves, letting them release their flavor into the hot water, and then strained them out so she could infuse the tea again. Making a good brew was a delicate process, one that should not be rushed.

Easy, Rarity. You don't have to make a decision today. No, but she did have to ask all the right questions. She knew now what Twilight's little assistant would become, and Sir Fancypants had made it clear that dragons and ponies could have fulfilling relationships. Her thoughts drifted back to that Sergeant-Prince's well muscled body, plated with beautiful scales... and a shiver passed down her spine. That warrior had lived for several centuries. The mare took down a few porcelain cups and set them on a tray with the kettle. How quickly did dragons develop? Would Spike be as small as he was now her entire life? Princess Celestia had sent her a true expert on their species. If she dared, she could have that answer today.

The designer glanced in the mirror again, and tucked a stray lock of purple hair back into her mane. Just how adaptive were dragons? Yes, she had already seen how fast he could grow when his body felt a primal urge, but Spike did not look at her like she was a sack of potatoes. He did not appraise her, gauging if she would be an acceptable outlet for his lusts. He thought she was beautiful. She smiled at her reflection. Her Spikey-wikey had an innocent sort of adoration for her. If he kept that, added to it... yes, he would be a rare catch indeed.

Well, you always did like shiny things, but are you good enough for him? Rarity turned back to the tray and snugged the coozy tight around the teapot. Little Spike was Twilight's assistant, a page who dreamed of becoming a knight. He had been raised in Canterlot, by Celestia, and seemed to know the capital like the back of his claw. What was she? A hopeful designer who kept rushing off to help her friends. The mare blushed and found she could no longer look herself in the eye. As much as she longed for a prince to sweep her off her hooves, she knew that there was very little she could offer as a spouse. She had no kingdom, no treasury, and knew all too well how quickly her beauty would fade. The fact that she had built her business with nothing more than hard work and talent slipped her memory. Fear began to swirl in her mind like the leaves in her teapot.

Now that she thought back, was it pure coincidence that she had bumped into Sir Fancypants that day in Canterlot? Was that another test of her character, a test she had come so terribly close to failing? Was she failing this test? Her eyes swung to the kitchen window. For a moment, Rarity felt the fear winning. She could leave pony society, flee into the rock wastes, and become Empress of the Diamond Dogs again. It would not be so hard, a few good wails and the discovery of a gem deposit or two...

Rarity closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. No. That was not an option. It would spell ruination for her mane. More than that, she knew there was a little dragon who would come searching for her, thinking her kidnapped again. He would always follow her, as long as it did not conflict with his first duty. No wonder he and Rainbow Dash had become fast friends, they both understood loyalty. The mare opened her eyes and curled a lock of her mane with a hoof. Maybe she was being too hard on herself. Celestia had not laughed her out of Equestria for that letter, and the veteran in the other room considered her worth his time. Most importantly, Spike cared for her. Perhaps it was just a boyish crush, but all love had to start somewhere. Even so, did she have an answering call in her own heart for him? She picked up the tray in the glow of her horn, and looked at herself in the mirror again.

The dress must be stitched first, then the gown could be measured for. Rarity walked back out of the kitchen with a calm smile. Would he mature in body to match his mind, and how would she know if this was true love. Those were her questions, but they were not the only things on her mind.

He's almost a prince, Rarity. Everything you ever wanted... if you're willing to reach out for it. But you'd better be sure that he's the one, because this is the rest of your life you're talking about. She swallowed hard, thinking of how those little golden flecks had spun away before Sir Fancypants' breath. One way or another, till death do you part.

The designer gently set the tray on the table, trying not to stare at the spot where those flecks had landed. The stallion had cleaned up his visual aid while she was preparing the tea, but their absence from the floor only underlined his point. She took a deep breath, and poured a cup for her guest.

"Ah, thank you." He sipped at the brew. Noticing the distracted look in her eyes, the old stallion took control of the conversation once more. "Now, Miss Rarity, I want to put your mind at ease about this sword. Its presence is purely ceremonial for today, though I assure you that it has seen just as much action as I. This is the blade I was issued all those years ago when I was promoted from an enlisted Expeditioner to an officer. At the time, I was serving with a very... focused, subgroup of the Corps. A sword is a very personal weapon, but the sword of an Expeditioner all the more so."

The old soldier slowly drew his blade, and angled it to catch the light. "Ready as ever, hmmm. Each one of these is custom-forged, part of a tradition that goes all the way back to the very first Summer Sun Celebration." He stepped back from the table and wrapped the hilt in the glow of his magic, while still holding it with a fetlock. It was a double-sure grip that let him add the strength of his body to the sureness of his mind. "To some, a blade is just a weapon, a tool, a means of destruction, a font of power. Ah, but this sword, and all its kin, were made for a greater purpose."

Light fell through a window as the sun peeked out from behind a cloud. It flickered off the blade, casting a golden rainbow over the boutique. The metal seemed to melt and flow, soaking up some mystical energy as it reflected the sunlight. Rarity reached out with a hoof and let the golden rays tickle her fur. If she had turned to look, she would have noticed that the shadow she cast on the wall was quickly swallowed up by the light surrounding it. All that remained was a gilded silhouette.

"They are not mere weapons, but torches. Just like the one held by that statue in Manehattan." He deftly stepped through a quick drill of attack and defense, wielding the blade with the kind of skill that only comes from a lifetime of familiarity. "Torches of liberty. A light of hope, the first glimpse of dawn in utter darkness. We carry other weapons, but these blades never fail. Be it cutting through a jungle, chipping away at an iceberg, or slashing through armor."

He did not add the reason these blades were originally forged. Long ago, Celestia had feared that she would weaken, and give way to the same whispers that had felled her sister. She needed a check, a balance for her power, so she put her fate in the hooves of the finest Ponykind had to offer. To this day, she still trusted the Expeditionary Corps to treasure their liberty over their loyalty to the Crown. That was why Expeditioners' oaths of service were to the laws of Equestria, not the will of its rulers. For so long as she was worthy, for so long as she remained true to the law, they were her most loyal soldiers. If she ever fell, ever lost her mind and became a monstrous tyrant, they would be there. The Expeditionary Corps would protect her little ponies.

"I brought my sword today because pictures only prove so much." He returned the blade to its scabbard. "And, well, I wanted to show off a bit." Sir Fancypants winked. The mare did not know how lucky she was. Most who had a chance to see his skill with a blade did not survive the encounter.

"Who could blame you?" Rarity smiled, holding her warm fetlock against her cheek. Her mind felt so much clearer now, all those little doubts had scurried away for the moment. She could almost hear some faint star-secret, passed on by the reflection of sunlight across the blade, but it faded just as quickly as the heat. "It's beautiful."

"That it is." He smiled. "Now, springing to a different avenue of attack. I came to your beautiful little town to speak to you of dragons, but also of love. Do you know why I joined the military, and why I still serve?"

The mare looked down into her tea, searching for an answer that would not embarrass herself. Still, the only one she could come up with sounded horribly juvenile. "For love?"

His smile widened. "Yes. Ever since the first time I saw Her Majesty, I knew what I wanted to be. I was not born a Canterlot noble, my dear, oh no. I was born in the scrappiest down-hive crawl you ever could put eyes on." A trace of undercity brutality began to curl through his refined accent. "My mother, bless her soul, raised me by 'erself. Never saw my father. When I was just a little colt and school cut us loose, I'd walk to the candy factory a few blocks off. I'd do odd jobs, sweep the floor, anything they could pay me a few bits for. Helped us pay for paper and quills, things I needed for school, maybe a few crayons. Mother made one thing very clear, I was going to get an education. Even if it killed me." The old stallion snickered.

Rarity covered her mouth with a hoof. "Sir Fancypants, I never would have guessed. You're such a sensation in Canterlot!"

He winked at her. "Quite. I don't talk about my roots very much, and you'd be surprised what a military record and a mercenary's nest egg will make up for. That, and I have the name of a well-bred pony. My mother had high hopes for me. Oh, the fights I used to get into when I was a foal..." A smile crossed his face. He had been kicked around as a young boy, and so he learned to brawl from that brutal school of the streets. Those lessons had never left him. On the first day of close quarters combat training, he had broken the instructor's nose and three of his ribs. Oh, had he paid for that, but it was worth it. None of the other recruits dared to snicker about Fancypants after that day, even if all the instructors did their best to kick the tar out of him. He was grateful for those beatings too. The enemy never held anything back, and neither did he. "When I got my cutie mark, she was happier than a sump rat with a rotten carrot. A natural leader, I was." He sipped his tea, monocle firmly over his left eye. "But I did not know what I wanted to lead, only that I was good at it. Not 'till Celestia came to our sprawl one year to toss the sun up in the sky."

Silence reigned for a long moment. He reached out and turned back in the book, almost to the very beginning. "Ah... afraid that I couldn't afford a camera back then." He chuckled, the kind Canterlot accent once more reasserting itself. "I hope my scribblings aren't as bad as I remember them. Crayons were my luxury, they were why I worked as hard as I could at the candy factory. So I could put a little color in my life." Curiously enough, he wound up working for that same candy company later in his life when they needed a band of mercenaries.

Taped into the book was a report card. With a blush, he lifted it up to reveal a sketch of what looked like a heap of scrap, drawn with browns, greys, and one little sprig of green out front. Written above the mess was the word home. Next to it stood a stick figure with a very large smile, labeled mommy. Rarity bit her lip when she noticed that the "o" was in the shape of a heart.

"My Mother's Day gift, one year. Straight As." His cheeks were red. With a cough of embarrassment, he folded the card away once more and continued his search through the book. "Love... we only have one word for it. The dragons have many. Love of a mother, love of country, and love of a battle-brother. All so different, but we only have one word." He chuckled softly. "And we believe ourselves masters of the world... ah, here it is."

Pasted into the book was a foal's drawing of the sun, held aloft by a beautiful if misproportioned Princess. Below her stood tough looking soldiers, their swords held high and drawn as straight as might be expected of a child. The older unicorn blushed again. "I... I was a bit excited when I was drawing this, you understand." He nodded toward the macaroni art sitting next to the seamstress' glasses, "and rather young."

"It's the heart that matters." Rarity reassured him. "Everypony has a touch of creativity in his heart."

Sir Fancypants' eyes lit up. "That's just it. All of us are equal, not in gifts or in what we own, but in spirit. That's what I understood that day. Celestia didn't come to our city as some ruler who wanted to lord over her subjects. She came to us as our servant. Simple clothes, no jewelry but her crown. Real soldiers, not the palace guard. A ceremony that everypony could attend, not an exclusive event for the elite." Some elements of the Summer Sun Celebration were the same everywhere, but it was always tailored to the host city. For Canterlot, a jaw-dropping display of magic. For Ponyville, a joyous celebration with feasting and banners. For a glorified slum built atop the rubble of two others, a sublime reminder that greatness was defined by the spirit, and could come from the most humble of places. "After the ceremony, she walked with us, talked with us. We, we little rats who barely had anything to call our own. We were just as precious to her as the clean-cut stallions and mares of Canterlot."

Rarity looked again at the drawing, and saw all the things he mentioned. They were drawn with the enthusiastic emphasis only a child could produce. Celestia was white and pure, clothed in flowing robes rather than a fancy dress, with little lines sparking away from her. The soldiers wore battle armor, not enchanted gold, and their faces were stern. He had drawn them with furrowed brows and sharply defined jaws. The stallion turned the page, revealing another drawing that had been pasted into the book. This one had that same Princess, with streaks of grime on her clothes and a smile on her face. Around her crowded little foals, nuzzling into her robes or clamoring for her attention. Further away adults bowed, while shyer children peeked over their backs.

The stallion cleared his throat. "That's the real reason we have the Summer Sun Celebration. It's not to celebrate Nightmare Moon's banishment. It's to remind us of our principles. The things we all do to make sure Equestria stands for freedom, not oppression." He gently touched the drawing. "To remind her that it was worth the cost. Long ago... a lot of ponies forgot. They forgot why we fought against Discord, why Luna was banished. They thought that freedom meant they could do anything they wanted without consequence."

The mare looked up at him. Over the years the ceremony had become almost a formality, a night of revelry and rejoicing, but Rarity knew how it had sparked Twilight's hopes. Certainly the seamstress remembered that night it came to Ponyville. "Just like a designer keeps in touch with the latest trends, and the needs of her clients. Celestia wanted to connect with her subjects."

"Yes." He took a sip of tea. "When I was a young boy with security clearance... I indulged myself in reading certain things that others would find boring. The final battle with Nightmare Moon almost destroyed the older sister as well. For an entire decade after she wielded the six Elements of Harmony by herself, it was all she could do to maintain the heavenly bodies. Once a year, she would stagger out for the celebration. That chariot she now has as a formality used to be a necessity."

"But... but I've used the Elements." Rarity protested. "You feel alive after-"

"They were never meant to be channeled by only one mare." He glanced away. "I... spoke with one who fought at her side on that long night. Before she gathered the Elements, she feared that the backlash of bending them to her will might destroy her. It was the risk she had to take, for there was no other way to stop what her little sister had become." Not without killing the younger alicorn outright.

The mare thought quickly. "You talked to one of the old dragons, the ones called Heroes of Equestria?"

"Yes." He chuckled. "I spoke with many of the few who still live. They are every bit as great and terrible as the legends say. Oh, the stories I heard them tell. Many fought for the Astral Creed, but many others warred against the sisters' vision. Some opposed it for power, or for treasure... or just plain spite. Those that rallied to Celestia's banner had their own agendas. For some, power, for some, treasure... but one I spoke to had a far more worthy reason for honoring her commands." The stallion winked, and took a long sip of tea. "He was the greatest of their kind. Make no mistake though, it was not by the strength of dragons that the world was liberated from Discord. All races marched together under the banner of the Sisters Astral. It was a glorious time to be alive, and Equestrian society has never reached a higher zenith than when those two ruled together."

Rarity nursed her tea, digesting his words as best she could. A shame that she had no crumpets or scones on hoof, but it would have to be today that he came. "All races, Sir Fancypants?"

"Indeed. Why, I heard of the great Lord General Peabody Creed and his standard-bearer Sherman from those who had seen that old dog's tactical genius with their own eyes. The Lord General invented the first Sherman Russ, naturally named after his dear comrade, and we still use many of his designs today. Some claimed that he even invented a time machine, but even I think that's a bit of a stretch. Then there was the tale of a young gryphon commander whose mind far outstripped his body. He hangs in stasis now, waiting in a column of blue mist within the armory of the dream-city." Sir Fancypants lifted his cup to his mouth again.

"Waiting for what?" The mare asked.

"Ah... I cannot say, for I do not know." He took a sip. "But, I would dare to guess that he waits for the Nightbringer's command to rise. The legends say that he always loved the stars, and it was his hope to one day fly among them. After Luna's fall, he locked himself out of time in the hope that she would one day return, and lead him to the heavens. As for the Duke, I learned that long ago he led his own kind and others into battle, roaring out the rallying cry of their elite unit." Real Equestrian Heroes indeed. Sir Fancypants pondered for a moment. "He fought for the Sisters Astral, but in truth he fought for Celestia. There's something about Her Majesty. I don't know if it's the way she talks, or just the way she carries herself, but she has that aura of regality about her that nothing can take away. Even when she's completely wrong, she is so skilled with her words. Hmmm. We're all very fortunate that she's not afraid to admit a mistake." He smiled. "I think that's why so many follow her."

Rarity noticed the blush creep across his cheeks again. "That was why you joined the military, wasn't it? You saw her at the Summer Sun Celebration, and you loved her." She wondered a moment too late if that was too forward.

He furrowed his brow. "Well... no, no I couldn't say that I loved her. I loved what she stood for, the ideals she represented, the land she had forged. I loved that she truly was worthy to be our leader. I loved how she kept our land strong by spreading out her power, vesting it in our mayors, our cities, so that all the chum who swirl about Canterlot can only meddle so much in our affairs. Oh, don't look at me like that, Miss Rarity." The old soldier chuckled. "I'm a Canterlot stallion now, and I can say such things about the social parasites who lobby for corruption. Why, just the other day, I had one trying to convince me that... ah, but I am sorry. I am losing my way again." He sipped his tea. "Mmm. I began to love this country as she loved it. I wanted to protect and serve Equestria. That morning, I realized that I had not been born to watch this land decline, but to carry it further. On my back were the hopes and dreams of past generations, and generations unborn."

The designer smiled, leaning a bit closer. For the stars' sake, why was this beautiful stallion born in a slum, and that reprehensible Prince B- Rarity took a deep breath. Yes, she had seen him at social occasions since that night. Yes, she had been civil. No, he did not remember her in the slightest.

"Yes, I do love Her Majesty. I love her just as I love this country, but not as I love Fleur."

Lucky girl. "Because there are different kinds of love." The mare said quietly, feeling a bit nervous once more.

"Quite. All love requires effort, my dear. I loved my country, I wanted to see it strengthened and protected, and so I offered up my life. It was hard, brutal, and you saw how much it cost me in the end." He sloshed the dregs of tea around his cup, and swallowed hard. "I'll confess that I was a sight luckier than many. But I would do it all again, indeed, I did. After I got this new body, I formed up my little band and went back to war. I endured sights you can't imagine and horrors I could not bear to speak of, because I loved to see Equestria standing free. That is the love I have for my country, for Celestia's vision, and that is the effort it took to make that love produce something." The stallion finished his cup of tea. "Sometimes, that's how love works."

Rarity tilted the teapot down. "And Fleur?"

He laughed, but was careful not to spill tea as she poured it into his cup. "Ah, quite a different kind of love, that is. I love her because she has a beautiful heart. We've fought long and hard over little things, but there is always something special that holds us together. I've felt it before, with many other girls, but she is the only one who my heart has truly resonated with." Sir Fancypants sipped at his tea. "She tried to kill me... mmm, second time we met, I think. A communications mishap, thought I was the enemy, you know." He waved a hoof in the air, tossing such petty concerns away. "Every time after that, she knew exactly what she was doing when she came at me with a bayonet. As I said, we sometimes fight, and it does get quite intense."

"But you two do love one another... right?"

"Yes." He nodded. "Though I had to convince her of that, I'll admit. It took us a while to admit that we truly wanted to be with one another, but... well, there was something of a turning point." The old soldier cleared his throat. "I... I kept her from making a very horrible mistake, from doing something unspeakable to herself just to win a battle."

The younger mare lifted the teapot in the glow of her horn and turned her head to the side. Sir Fancypants blinked, and suddenly the cheery boutique was gone. The room was black, stone and brick, the burned-out husk of Trottingham on that cursed night. He felt the weight of his sword at his side, the pounding of his blood in his ears. He had run all this way to find her, to help her... and she was standing there, with that wretched relic in the glow of her horn, about to jam it into her heart-

"Sir Fancypants?" Rarity set the kettle down.

He blinked, and pressed a hoof against the side of his head. "Sorry. The old memories... they come back now and again."

The book's pages rustled gently, as though touched by an invisible wind. He quickly pressed down on it with a hoof. There were some images he did not wish upon anyone, least of all this young girl.

She smiled at him. "They do. You always see that horrible moment, don't you?" The mare glanced down. "But... you did something. You stopped the horror, didn't you, Sir Fancypants? You're a hero. I couldn't even watch."

The stallion leaned forward, images still flickering in the corners of his eyes. "Close. So close. You've no idea what it would have done to her, and for what? One battle?" He shook himself, trying to get rid of the tingling in his spine. "One battle, for her soul. Pride, my dear, pride and envy, and fear of loss. They make us do very, very stupid things." He paused, then began to laugh. "Ah, but here I am a hypocrite. If I didn't fear losing her, I wouldn't have gone all that way, put my neck on the line to make her see reason." The stallion took a sip of tea. "And then I'd be dead, along with everypony else there."

"Was that when the two of you knew it had to be love?" Rarity asked gently, a smile playing across her face. It sounded so beautiful, like a poem almost.

The reality had been far less picturesque. "Yes. Yes it was." They had kissed. He had coughed blood into her mouth, she had apologized for almost killing him again, and he had assured her all was forgiven. "But, that's not what kept the love, that was just what proved it. We both had to work, because love takes a lot of work. It costs time, and it means putting aside some of your own desires for your love, just as she does for you. It means honoring that commitment the two of you made, and knowing that commitment was the right thing to do. That's our secret, at least. You have to be willing to be with your love forever. Through sickness and health, in riches or poverty, through hades and back again. Yes, it'll be hard sometimes, but it'll be hard because of what life throws in your path, not because your love is dulling your blade behind your back." The stallion spread his hooves on the table, then looked her right in the eye. "You have to realize what a commitment means. Love isn't bliss, it's a beautiful work of art. Two souls on one canvas, if you will. You'll have a wonderful life together if the two of you are right, but if not..."

"If not, it's not a collaboration, it's a designed-by-committee dress." The seamstress finished.

"Exactly." He chuckled. "I met many beautiful mares before Fleur. After a while, I stopped getting attached, because... well, I seem to be bad luck for those I think I could share my life with. Fleur is tough enough to weather my bad luck. That was not enough on its own, though. We had some horrible disagreements, she and I, but we always got through them together. Because real love, the kind Fleur and I have, breaks sometimes. But it's worth fixing, because it's more than an emotion. It's more than a rush, or a feeling, or a buzz when you kiss. It's..." He frowned, the words eluding him. "It's like a battle, really. You have to know what you're fighting for, and why it's worth the fight. It's an adventure, a refuge, and a heavy responsibility." The stallion took a sip of tea. "And it's not for everyone. There's a type of love that seems true, but when it's tested, it falls apart."

The mare swallowed hard.

"That's why you must test it before you commit, my dear. Like Fleur and I, our love was tested many times before we ever had a chance to wed. That's what proved it true, proved it was more than a rush or a feeling. Now, sometimes, when you test love, you find it's not true. And that's the type of love you have to let pass by." A tear formed in his left eye. "Hrmm... I mean to say, it's better if that love was left on a perfect pillar, untouched and unspoiled." The stallion sipped at his tea. Unspoiled. Yes, death preserved such fond memories so very well. He could still see their faces. Especially hers, his first true love. The old soldier set his jaw and forced a smile. "All I can tell you is that real love takes far more work than the cinema lets on, but it is so very worth it."

There was silence, for a moment. "Real love is, isn't it?" She smiled into her cup. "It's so much work, but the love makes it easier. You don't notice the effort quite so much, because you're not focusing on it. You're focusing on the reward."

"I think you've seen an example or two of that yourself, my dear." Sir Fancypants smiled. "But, ah, we could be here forever talking about love, and I'm just an old Expeditioner." He reached out for his book. "Besides, I'm throwing all this at you like one of those sniveling professors. Love can't be taught, but if you pay attention you can avoid bashing your nose into walls already sticky with blood, mmm?"

Rarity nodded. "Quite. Oh, and thank you, Sir Fancypants. I know this isn't easy... well, I mean, I know you don't talk about these things with just anypony."

"You, my dear," he winked, "are far more than just anypony. You're a bright spark of generosity."

The mare blushed.

"Besides, I need to pass on what I can before my time's up. Oh, Fleur has no intention of letting me go, don't worry about me." He chuckled. "Mmm, Fleur used to teach foals, did you know? Worked at an orphanage, when she wasn't off battling monsters and dispelling unruly transcendents. I'm no great teacher, though. I'm just the messenger boy." He idly raised his hoof a few centimeters into the air, and the book rose to follow like a charmed snake. "Down."

The book obeyed quickly enough that Rarity wondered if it had all been her imagination. With a shake of her head, she thought about his words. He was more than a messenger boy. Sir Fancypants was everything, except available. He was a happily married stallion. Judging by the almost fatherly way he looked at her, extremely happily married. Now, to ask if Spike would mature to become such a wonderful fellow before her own mane turned grey. The designer's thoughts drifted to her purple dragon, making him a few decimeters taller and a little more wise in the ways of the world. On instinct, she added a clean shirt, new shoes, a silk suit, oh, and a black tie... another blush crept across her cheeks, but it was not from embarrassment. The thought of such an outfit brought another question to her mind.

"Ah, Sir Fancypants, how well do dragons mingle among high society?"

The stallion tossed one last glare at his book, then smiled up at her. "Oh, well, I think you've little to worry about there. Most dragons don't have dancing lessons from the time they can walk, or know how to play the piano." He winked. "Mine grew up in an environment that could make a berserker out of a bunny rabbit, and preferred the ancient music of his race."

Rarity smiled. "The harp?"

Sir Fancypants chuckled, careful not to spill his tea. "Goodness, no. That boy could play a guitar like he was ringing a bell. It only got worse when our Communications Officer hooked his amp into her Voxcaster. He could flatten buildings." The stallion pressed a hoof against his forehead. "As I said, love takes more than a feeling. You have to compliment one another." He groaned softly. "Though my ears wouldn't have minded if they had complemented each other a little less."

Author's Note

Apologies for the delay! I was unable to work on this for several days longer than I had anticipated, and when I did start back on it the words just kept flowing. I spent around four to five hours today on the final proofing, much more than I intended, and I do hope that it reads well.

Yes, this was supposed to be the final chapter, just as the chapter before it. Yes, there is still more to come. I really hope this isn't getting long-winded or boring. When I originally drafted Sir Fancypants' part in this story, it was a little three-thousand word piece.

As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your reactions in the comments, they're what inspire me to keep growing this little story!

A Reunion

Rarity finished her cup of tea. It was time for the last great question. A part of her wanted this curious afternoon to stretch on forever. After that little shock, this had been a splendid time. That could not be, for Sir Fancypants was not her stallion. He belonged to another, and the designer again felt a pang of envy. She wondered briefly how Fleur could trust him to come all this way on his own. For that matter, how could she let him out of her sight? Oh, his virtue was trustworthy, he was the kind of boy who could say forever with all his heart. It was the rest of the world who could not be trusted!

Thinking that she was merely digesting everything he had said, the elder unicorn gave her a reassuring smile. Rarity glanced away, blushing once more. What was it about him that made her feel this way? Was she really a filthy-minded mare, to be thinking such things about a happily married gentlecolt?

After a deep breath, she smiled back. "This has been... you're a very interesting stallion, Sir Fancypants."

"Well," he chuckled. "I've been called the 'Most Interesting Stallion in the World'. I think it's a rather egotistical title, but Fleur knew this advertising executive and one thing led to another..." The old soldier let his shoulders slump. "Their marketing department thought it up and Fleur persuaded me to go through with it." He rested his head against a hoof. "They wanted to hear about a few of my 'adventures', needed good taglines for their posters you see. I didn't know how popular it would all become, so I told them the honest truth."

Rarity furrowed her brow. She did not often pay attention to advertisements for strong drink, but his mention of posters had triggered a memory. "Wait... you mean the posters for that brand of-"

"Yes. It's a good brew, but I barely even drink anymore." He shrugged. Once one has tasted ale-ambrosia from the brass tap of a diamond keg, a drink that writhes with currents ethereal and imparts mad sanity meant for far more worthy minds than a ragged old stallion's, nothing brewed by mortal ponies can really compare.

"And you mean to say that... all those wild claims on the signs, those are real?" She tilted her head to the side. "You actually kickboxed a manticore?"

The stallion groaned softly and set his head on the table. "My dear, take this lesson to heart. If your beloved kisses you, kiss back. Whatever you do for your beloved, do it with all your heart and your mind. However," he sighed, "if your beloved ever tells you that a photo shoot and interview is 'just for fun', flee ye into the mountains and dwell deeply within the hidden places!" He began to laugh, and she quickly joined him.

"Oh, I don't know, you seem to carry your fame and fortune quite well." She said with a wink as he straightened up.

"I learned how to make a little go a long way, and I never forgot that." The stallion smiled. "Much like you, I think. There are ponies in Canterlot who have never worked for anything. Not for their clothes, or their food, or even love. It all flows to them because of social status, inherited wealth, or petty politicking." His lip curled in a way that reminded Rarity of an angered Timberwolf, and she again remembered this fine gentlecolt's rough roots. "That's the worst kind of life one could live, I think. Barely even realizing they're alive, trotting from fancy dinner to elegant party, and worst of all are their tempers."

"Sir Fancypants, I know exactly what you mean." The young designer dryly assured him.

"Mmm. Yes, you do, don't you." His gaze met hers. "And you know that Her Majesty would never permit Spike to be raised for such a life. He learned to assist her star student as soon as he was physically able. That's the kindest thing to do for a youngster, to teach him that hard work brings great rewards." A lesson that the stallion had learned well in school, and while sweeping the floors of that candy factory.

The mare leaned forward. "You seem to know a lot about Spike's younger days, Sir Fancypants." She drew in a breath and willed her heart to beat slower. "When was he ready for Twilight?"

He smiled, and took a sip of tea. "Ah, you're really asking when he might be ready for you, hmm? Oh, don't blush, my dear. It's quite becoming on you, but you needn't feel embarrassed. I do think you're looking at this the wrong way, though. You're treating the question of maturity as though it is simply a chronological matter. There's another wrinkle in your fabric, and it's throwing off your measurements." The old stallion leaned his head to the side. "Spike began to aid Twilight when he would be of the greatest use to her. If he had begun to carry her books when his arms were too weak, he would have been a poor aid. If she had taken charge of him when she was still learning to discipline herself, she would have been a poor mentor. Fortunately, Her Majesty watched over both of them, for they were under her tutelage."

Rarity smiled. "Yes, I think becoming Celestia's student was the happiest day in Twilight's life." She sipped at her tea, ears perked and eyes focused. To her surprise, an expression of vague pain crossed the stallion's face.

"Yes... well, sometimes we choose our destinies, and sometimes we are luckily born. The riddle of life is what we make of the cards we are dealt." Fancypants wondered, not for the first time, how his life might have unfolded if he had somehow impressed Her Majesty at that Summer Sun Celebration long ago. There was some solace in the fact that he had not, for he had been valuable to the Princess of the Sun just because he was one of her little ponies. Still, he wanted to be more valuable, to more fully prove his worth. The best way to do that now was to help this mare in front of him, and he could do that gladly. "Twilight and Spike were dealt a very enviable set of circumstances, but they had to work hard to prove themselves worthy. History is filled with examples of those who did not."

The stallion coughed, then took a sip of tea to soothe his throat. "Now, I don't mean that Her Majesty slapped a chain about his neck and forced him into a life of slavery. She would not push such a fate on anyone, least of all that little boy." His eyes shifted to the side for a moment. "We all have our place in the world. There's a joy in finding your place, that can't be denied, and I dare say that the entire point of life and liberty is the pursuit of that slot where you fit. Spike's place is at Twilight's side, and he took to that at a young age by his own choice, not because he was brainwashed into it." The old soldier paused, and a dark expression settled on his face. "I've seen brainwashing, my dear."

"I've felt it." The designer said quietly.

"You've felt a sort, a touch of chaos that addled your perceptions. What I'm talking about is not an imbalancing of the brain, but the training of a mind so that it sees black as white if so instructed." He breathed out slowly, then met her gaze with a reassuring smile. "What I mean is that it was always Spike's choice to serve as Twilight's page, and that is why he still does. It's his place, and he's happy there."

"His first duty." She said slowly, beginning to see where he was leading the conversation. A twisting sensation began to worm through her gut.

"Yes." The stallion smiled. "He's content, Celestia's star student is happy and productive, a good match for all concerned. However, you-"

"I am muddying it all up." Rarity shut her eyes. "I'm trying to tempt him away from where he belongs, the destiny that makes him happy." Her voice trembled, and her ears drooped. "I can't believe I was so blind."

Sir Fancypants sipped at his tea and regarded her with a raised eyebrow. "My dear, I did not mean to imply that we are cogs in some grand machine. Just because we find a place that brings us joy and work that rewards us, we are not bound with invisible chains to toil away for all time. We are always changing and adapting. Sometimes that means we desire to pursue a different place in the world. The beauty of Equestria is that we are free to do so." The old soldier chuckled softly. "Besides, I've seen temptresses. They're far less beautiful than you, because they're all rotted on the inside." His book fluttered, and before he could reach out with a hoof to still the pages, it was open to a page filled with strange writings and symbols that seemed to wiggle beneath a steady gaze. The stallion turned the page, and on the other side was a photograph of himself and Fleur, sitting together in front of a roaring bonfire. Rarity leaned closer and realized that the remains of what once was a building lay within the inferno.

"Those... those weren't dragon-runes, were they?" The symbols had looked far too... alien, to be designed by dragons.

He shook his head. "As I said, I've seen temptresses. I think we both know that a certain little dragon would be happy to hold a place at your side, and you would do your very best to be a worthy partner for him."

She traced a hoof around the edge of her tea saucer. "I would try." The mare forced a smile. "You're saying I should wait? Did... did you wait for your wife?"

Sir Fancypants rolled his eyes to the right. "Hmm. I think that you might call Fleur and I's courtship quite abnormal. But, yes, I did wait for her. I waited till her responsibilities were complete, and she waited until I had fulfilled my obligations to those under my command." He swallowed hard, forced down the painful memory, and continued. "But more importantly, I made sure while I waited that I would be ready. A soldier who stands guard cannot know when the enemy will strike, so he must be ever vigilant for when the moment comes. Likewise, I prepared myself for the time when she would be free of her duty, and we could begin our true romance." Best not to tell what that duty had entailed. Fleur was one of the kindest mares he knew, but her zeal was unmatched. Her talent was purification, and when he had forced her to realize that the mortals who signed her orders were just as corrupt as the ones they sent her to fight...

Rarity leaned forward. "And, one day, Spike will be able to handle more than just his first duty, won't he?" A smile crossed her muzzle. "That's what you meant. It's not a matter of him growing up, he has to be able to sustain a real relationship."

"Quite so. If he tries too early, it'll be just like trying to carry too many books. He'll hurt himself." The stallion sipped at his tea.

"So, I've been doing the right thing." She curled a lock of her mane. "Treating him well, trying to spend time with him. I just... I don't know. Is that what you meant by "when the moment comes"? Is that when I'll know for sure that this is right?"

"It's when you'll know that you must act, my dear. Just as a sentry might hear a hoofstep and know that he must react quickly. You might not be certain, but you will know that you need to act. To effectively respond, you must make sure that you are ready." He glanced down at the picture of himself and Fleur. "When my beloved had finished her duty, she... well, found herself in something of a predicament. She was what you might call homeless, hunted, and hated by a great many creatures of power and influence. When the moment came, I was ready. I had set my affairs in order so that I could offer her the life she deserved, and the aid she needed. If I had not been ready, then the moment would have come and gone, and she with it." A hint of a smile twitched at the edges of his mouth. "After all, I'm but a poor boy from the sump, and she... well, she certainly had other options."

"But she chose you." The seamstress took a sip of tea, the warm liquid mixing well with the warm feeling that Sir Fancypants' words stirred up. "Because you were ready to love her."

"I hope so. I'd hate to think she married me for my money, but sometimes I wonder..." The stallion quickly chuckled when he noticed the expression of worry on his hostess' face. "That's what I would advise you to do, my dear. Prepare yourself, store up your treasure and establish your name. When the moment comes, meet it as a worthy sentry who has been vigilant in her work." He swirled the tea in his teacup. "We think of dragons as ageless creatures, but time passes at the same rate for all of us. A moment to a pony is the same as a moment to a dragon. While we might think of a decade as a long time and a dragon might think of it as a short while, that decade is full of the same number of moments for both races." The stallion took a sip. "I have never sought to live long, but to live well. It is the better choice, I think. My Seargent used to say that he was not born to live forever, that it was not his family's creed. He was born to be forever, to shape history with his acts. Even if his name is forgotten, his acts remain, for without him history would be very different. That is his immortality. He made his moments count, and when the crucial ones came, he seized them."

"The dragons have a saying for that, don't they?" Rarity asked, searching her mind for those curious words she had found in her research. "It's... carpath... oh, dear me, I've-"

"Carpe diem. Sieze the day." The stallion smiled. "To merely exist forever is boring. If you wish to live, you must act. Do not trust that tomorrow will come, but be ready if it does. Better to live for one day, than exist for a thousand."

"And if I'm ready when he is ready, our time together will be better spent..." The mare began, looking to her guest for assurance that she was on the right train of thought.

"Than if you wasted your preparation fretting over the future, or worrying about what you might have let slip into the past unnoticed." The old soldier sipped his tea. "Stock your shells, maintain your treads, and sleep without fear. This has seen many a soldier through the terror of unexpected battle."

"But what if I lose him!" Rarity bit her lip and leaned back, ashamed at her outburst. "I... I mean, what if he... finds..." Her voice trailed off to a whimper. "Then I'll hate myself for not doing all I could."

Sir Fancypants nodded. "Trust. Trust, but verify." He sipped his tea. "Walk your patrol route with pride, knowing that you are ready."

The mare leaned her head to the side. One of her blue eyes twitched as she tried to decipher the military metaphor.

With a chuckle, he clarified. "Make sure he knows you're interested. Does he know that you know of his affection?"

She bit her lip, thinking back to that day when her little Spikey-wikey defeated a monster. If she shut her eyes, she could still see the way his adorable grin had curled up around her hoof. Her eyes almost started to water again, but she pulled herself together and stared down into her tea. "Yes."

"Then build on that, and trust him." He smiled kindly. "When I courted Fleur, for I assure you that we did not simply jump from the heat of battle into wedlock, I trusted her. I was there for her when she was weak, and at her side when she was strong. When we considered a future together, I offered her a life of ease. She had other plans." He hid a smile behind his teacup. "But I was able to offer it to her, rather than promising that we would 'figure something out'. That is a stallion's duty, to offer strength to his love if he is able."

"Ah... but, Sir Fancypants... perhaps ease and luxury would not be the best thing to dangle before a dragon's snout?"

Her guest laughed. "You have it by the hilt, my dear."

She nodded, leaning forward and wrapping her hooves around her cup. "I should be strong and independent, able to provide for myself... and him as well, if need be. Not because I'll have to provide for him, but because I... I have dreams too." A glint flashed in her eyes. "And I want him to be proud of me, because I'm my own mare."

"Just as Fleur is proud of me, and I of her. We are two souls on one canvas, not one artist dragging another down."

Rarity took a deep breath. "But what if... he finds somepony else?"

The stallion took a sip of tea. "I think you mean, what if you find somepony else. After all, you are an attractive young mare, and this is a small town. Who knows what grand, worthy colts might seek your hoof as you rise to the top of your craft and become known throughout the world?"

She let out a small meep and hid her face.

"As I said, Fleur and I's romance is a poor example." He reached out with his magic and gently tugged her hooves down. "We both had sampled love before." He blushed slightly. "I... somewhat more than her. Goodness, I don't know how she managed it, but just about everypony she fell for turned out to be evil, indoctrinated, insane, or taken. I just had a problem keeping mine alive... still do, sometimes, but that's less of a problem for her."

Rarity let her hooves slip away, but still could not look him in the eye. She had written that letter, she had started all this. Was she not already sort of committed?

"As I said, we sampled love. You have not. That's why trust is so important." The stallion rubbed his front hooves together. "My dear, you may think this heresy, but I'd advise you to try a little romance. You've already met our embarrassing young Prince, who I was technically obliged to give my life in defense of while I wore Her Majesty's uniform." The stallion's tone was as sarcastic as he could allow himself to be. There was a quiet school of thought among the Expeditioneers. Mortal royalty was mortal for a good reason. Furthermore, heroes were hard to find but nobles seemed to reproduce like bacteria. Finally, Expeditioneers were sworn to the laws of Equestria and the Astral Creed, not to a political structure. "It's a heavy burden to love an ageless soul. You might find that you are more fulfilled with one who shares our weaknesses, or just one of our kind. As I said, we are not bound with invisible chains. It is your decision. Nopony, not me, and certainly not Her Majesty, should take that away from you. This is not a land where brides are bought and sold like sacks of vegetables, but where hearts are free to pursue their desires."

The mare finally forced herself to meet his gaze. "I... just... I made you come all this way, and... how could I ask you about that without making you think you had wasted your time?"

He shrugged. "You did not make me do anything, my dear. Mmm, no, Her Majesty asked me to visit you, because you had questions about love and its rewards." He took a sip of tea. "And I am happy to discuss that with you, my dear. If this leads you to one day finding a husband and mothering children after our kind, so be it. However, if you take the road less traveled by, then know it will not be easy. There are many who fear and loathe dragons, with good reason. Others simply wish to feel strong by oppressing others." The old soldier smiled. "Curious how they seek to oppress the weak, instead of searching out true evil and stamping it into the dust. By all means, let your head and heart sample romance while you are young, but if you wish to one day court a dragon, make sure you are preparing. Then, when the moment comes and he is able, let him have the opportunity to choose you because you are the best choice."

"Because I'll love him like he deserves to be loved... because I know him better than all those other girls ever will dare to."

Sir Fancypants raised his cup in salute. "You have it by the hilt, my dear. Walk your route with dignity, earn your place with honest labor, and when the moment comes..."

"Carpe diem." Her mouth twisted into a wry smile, and her eyes flashed. "Seize the day."

"Precisely, and I know you'll have the panache to make that moment count when it comes."

The mare blushed. "I-"

They were interrupted by the mewing of a cat, and Opalescence sashayed into the boutique. Rarity quickly stepped away from the table.

"Opal, dear, I'm quite busy at the moment-"

"Mrrow?" The white cat ducked around her leg and looked up at their visitor with a curious expression.

"Opal, really, we're in the middle of-"

The cat turned her head and glared, then waved a paw as though dismissing her owner. Then she looked back to the stallion and purred out what sounded surprisingly like a question mark.

The old soldier's jaw slackened, and he carefully set down his teacup. Two pairs of eyes met, searching one another for a long moment. Finally, he reached out to shake the cat's offered paw.

"Ah... I..." Rarity frantically tried to think of something to say.

"It's quite alright, she just recognizes me, that's all." He murmured, his voice distant. The cat began to rub against his right front leg, purring softly and getting tiny hairs all over his suit. "This is quite the surprise, I suppose she was just too disoriented when the two of us bumped into one another in Canterlot." He sighed, "or perhaps she was keeping her peace, biding her time." As if to confirm his suspicion, the white cat growled, then snuggled up against him and let the old stallion scratch her behind the ears.

The cat's owner took a smile out of cold storage and quickly slapped it on. "I... didn't know you two had met."

"But of course." The stallion looked up with suddenly old eyes. He nodded toward the table, where the book had somehow managed to flip back to that picture of a bandaged stallion and a chewing cat. "Without her, I'd never have found my way below the end of the world. As I said, cats are some of the strongest creatures in the Dreamtime. One might even say that they rule that immaterial web."

Opal put on a self-satisfied smirk.

"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

The cat's purple bow wobbled as she shook her head, still smirking. One had to keep the servants reminded of their place in the world.

Rarity held up a hoof. "I'm afraid that's quite impossible. I've had Opal since she was a kitten." She stepped a bit closer, feeling embarrassed yet again. The cat in the picture looked nothing like her little kitty. "I think she's playing you, she does that quite a bit."

"Miss Rarity," the old stallion said sternly. "Surely you know that all cats have nine lives?"

She covered her mouth with a hoof. "Y-you... that's just an old ponies' tale... isn't it?"

"So was Nightmare Moon." He reminded her with a smile. "And, though I take no offence and am quite sure you meant none, I am old enough to believe such odd legends."

Opal mrrowed softly, as though apologizing for her owner's lack of education in matters catological and felinomystic.

"I am... surprised she would choose you, and she did, make no mistake." The stallion fixed the designer with his gaze. "We ponies think we own cats, just as we think we can dictate terms to dragons, but in truth we are at the mercy of both races. Cats are the greatest tyrants the world has ever known." He scratched the cute little kitty under her chin, and she purred happily. "But their demands are simple. To be fed, cared for, loved, and in exchange they offer companionship... when they feel that we have earned it. A dog has a far simpler, more loyal mind, and I dare say that I favor them over-"

Opalescence hissed.

"Well, can you blame a soldier for admiring loyalty? You left me hanging on the Straits of Vorticon because you saw a fish swim by."

The cat nestled her face into her tail and smirked.

Sir Fancypants sighed, then smiled at Rarity. "You love your cat, don't you?"

The mare nodded, and sat hesitantly back down at the table. She was almost getting used to the unexpectable. After a moment to collect herself, and an apologetic smile from Opalescence, she took a deep breath. "Yes. She really does have a kind heart, and dear little Opal helps me when my mind's simply too scattered to continue. She'll be right atop my drawing board, patting a design I forgot all about... when she's not sleeping in my fabric."

"Yes, yes, that is her way." The stallion smiled. "Though, when I knew her, she had a rather different name. A zebra gave her to me as a little kitten, and she took care of me until I found my way to that city of dragons. By then she had grown up, and as soon as I had no further need of her she was off to pursue her own goals again." With a look of pain in his eyes, he stroked the small furry creature. "Though... well, just because one no longer needs something, doesn't mean the heart is ready to let go just yet."

Opal rolled her eyes and growled.

"She's yours now, make no mistake of that." Sir Fancypants said quickly. "I couldn't take her away even if I wanted to. She was my guide, but she's chosen you now."

Rarity swallowed hard. "I never... why me?"

The cat stood up and stretched. She flexed her legs and jumped atop Sir Fancypant's back, then hopped over to the wooden surface. With a distinct strut, she stepped up to her owner, then began rubbing against the mare's throat.

"I think she saw something in you, Miss Rarity." The stallion chuckled. Perhaps his little kitty had known that this girl would one day wear one of the Elements of Harmony. "But she'll never tell. Cats never do. They never speak of their agendas, only their desires."

On cue, the white persian purred softly into her owner's ear. Rarity was trained well enough to know that meant her little darling wanted a saucer of milk. She glanced up at Sir Fancypants.

"Oh, don't mind me. She's certainly earned it." A wry grin crossed his face. "Although, I could call in that favor you owe me..."

The cat's tail stiffened, and she turned to glare at the stallion.

"Ah, you were hoping I had forgotten, weren't you?" He chuckled. "Oh, no, and now I know where you live, little one."

Rarity stepped away with a smile while Opal turned to hiss at their guest. Being in the debit of lesser creatures was so bothersome, even if this one had been a useful pawn.

When the mare returned with the saucer of milk, she found the two staring at his book, oblivious to her presence.

"Those were the days, weren't they?" He chuckled. "High above the clouds, tracer fire ripping the deck apart under my hooves, you hanging tight to my back while we tried to fix a-" He noticed the ivory mare and winked. "Ah. Well, Miss Rarity, I've a note to your credit. Your cat speaks highly of you." He grinned.

"I'm glad to know that pampering her like a foreign dignitary has paid off." The designer remarked dryly. She set the saucer on the table, then raised an eyebrow. "Oh, don't tell me, she actually is one?"

The stallion tilted his head to the side. "Well... sort of. As much as any cat is, I suppose. Now dogs..." He winked at the kitty, who had raised her face from her saucer to glare at him. "Well, I suppose dogs are sort of like dragons, but I would never compare the two in anything other than loyalty. A dragon is a far more elegant and brutal creature than any dog could ever hope to be." Sir Fancypants crinkled his nose. "Dogs also smell far worse wet."

The mare smiled. "I'll keep that in mind." She sat back down at the table. After a long sip of tea, she closed her eyes. "This is all... so much to take in."

Her cat stepped across the table and rubbed against her chin. Rarity smiled weakly. "Wait... what was that about being above the clouds? Opal, darling, you despise heights."

"Ah, but why do you think she hates them so?" The stallion chuckled. "Perhaps because she was with a certain fool unicorn who wound up abducted by the most fearsome band of sky pirates the world has ever known?"

"Mrrraaaow." The cat shivered, then rolled her eyes. He had left out the part about how often those sky pirates had snatched him up.

Sir Fancypants petted her as she continued to lap up milk. He wondered briefly if she had come down just to meet him, or if she was merely thirsty and did not think him enough of a reason to put off a saucer of milk. The stallion felt a little choked up. He had not wanted to let go of his cat, but... she had chosen the best time to leave. His fetlock moved gently up and down her spine, just the way she always liked it. Her body felt strange, different, and yet... it was the same warmth against his fur, the same soft buzz of her purr. Yes, this was his cat. She glanced up at him, then nodded toward the white mare, reminding him why he was here. Just like old times.

"I... I really don't know what to make of all this." The younger unicorn said, while teasing her mane around a hoof. "I... Opal, what are you?"

"She is your pet, my dear, just as always. You just know her a little more keenly now."

The cat finished her milk and stepped over to her owner. She purred softly, looking up with those adorable eyes, and nuzzled Rarity's cheek. Then she shot a glare at Sir Fancypants, unhappy that he had not yet taken her hint.

"But... I think she wants me to tell you something." He sighed as the mare hugged her cat. "About letting go."

"Not just about letting go of a pet, I take it?" The designer asked gently. Her guest nodded. She took a deep breath, and let Opal return to her spot near the book. It wavered slightly, as though pulling away from the white cat. "About... letting go of him. If I... if somepony else..."

"If he chooses someone else, perhaps from his own kind." He finished for her. She nodded.

"What do I do? If I let him know, and I work hard, but he... he finds another that makes his heart race?"

Sir Fancypants shifted uncomfortably. "Then you might have to let go, Miss Rarity. It's not an easy thing to do, but if he truly is happy with another, and she has the best intentions for him, then... then there is nothing to be gained by sabotage." He avoided her gaze. "It's hard, letting go, but we don't always get what we want."

Rarity clenched her fetlocks together. "But I could make him happier, I could-"

"It's his choice, not yours." The stallion said gently. "Your choice is for your own heart, his is for his. We can't force creatures to fall in love, even if it's for the best. The means sometimes justify the ends, my dear, but you must never forget that the means make the end." He gently scratched behind Opal's ears. "The choices we make define the world of our future. If we choose to forsake the ideal of free will when it comes to love, we must realize what result our choice will create."

"If I steal him... then I'll be a heart-thief." The mare bit her lower lip.

"Indeed. I have done many questionable things in my life, Miss Rarity. Some of them I believe justified. Others, I count as mistakes, made in the heat of the moment." He smiled at her. "But they were my choices, and I made them. This is my future, and I embrace what made me. I did not choose to be born poor, nor did I choose to be scarred. Those were forced upon me, but they are all part of my history. Neither did I command Fleur to be my wife. I asked. I offered."

The white persian smirked. "Rawr." She knew the stallion too well.

"Yes, yes, I was most eager in my offerings, but I never... I never tried to trap her, do you understand? I never tried to force her to come to me." He frowned, wrangling with his words to convey his thoughts. "I never stole her. She came to me of her own free will, even though she had other options. I offered her the best I had, and she accepted me. I did not try to use what resources I had to break her, to hound her, to force her into my embrace."

Rarity leaned her head to the side. "C-could you have?"

He glanced away. "I... goodness me, most of this is classified." With a forced chuckle, he continued, "I could have removed some of her other options. Done away with what few friends she had. None of it would have been traceable. I could have cut a few of the strings she pulled, but I did not. Because I loved her, and even if she chose another path... that love was enough for me." The stallion finished the last of his tea.

The white mare poured him a fresh cup, then topped her own off. "It's... strange. I'm supposed to be the Element of Generosity, but I worry about losing him to a better girl."

"None of us are perfect, Miss Rarity." He winked. "That's what makes the world so interesting. Still, if he was happy, if it was a true and honest love and not a delusion or foul sorcery, what would you want for him?"

She was quiet for a long moment.

"I know," he said softly, "how hard it is to let go."

"Mrraw." The white kitty paged back through the book, her tail flicking from side to side. "Mrrrrrr... mrrrr... Mrrah!" She yowled softly when the elder unicorn glared at her.

"What are you doing?" The stallion asked, a touch of color draining from his face. "Why are you-"

"Raawr." The cat hissed, then flipped a few more pages. He leaned to the side and gauged roughly what part of his life she had turned to, and all the youth that had twinkled in his eyes seemed to drain away.

"Oh. That wasn't the story you wanted me to tell, was it?" He asked quietly.

Opal shook her head, and glared up at him. Rarity's eyes swung from her cat to her guest, and she took a long sip of tea.

"I can't tell her about that, little one. I made a promise." He swallowed hard.

The cat turned away from the book, which was open to a drawing of a round steel ball, surrounded by bands of metal and arcs of electricity. She stepped over to the stallion, and gently patted his front.

"I can't" He said simply.

"Grrrr."

"Little one, you know what would happen." He wiped his brow with a small kerchief, feeling as though he were back among the hissing steam valves already. "I can't tell anypony about that." The stallion threw an apologetic glance at his hostess.

"Mrraw." The cat shrugged, then flicked her tail up the side of his neck. "Raawr... mmm?"

Sir Fancypants looked down at the small creature for a long moment, and listened to the subtle vibrations in her purr. Rarity teased her mane and tried to remain calm. Opalescence finally ended her soft sounds, and smirked.

"You're certain?"

"Raawr!" She had forgotten how sturdy his will was. Still, he had always fed her on time.

"All right." He wiped his brow again and put away the kerchief. "All right. But you'll owe me for this too."

"Hisssss!" The cat glanced back at her current owner. Rarity smiled as broadly as she could, uncertain of how to respond. After a moment, Opal twitched her tail and held out a paw. The two adventurers shook, and she returned to the book, casually flipping through the pages. It would be worth it to have her current owner hear the tale. She was wise enough to learn from it. Besides... Sir Fancypants had a way with words, and... she missed those old times too. This life was supposed to be an easy one, but sometimes her claws itched for the feeling of uncharted ground.

"Miss Rarity," he began, "What I am about to tell you... well, it cannot leave this room. I have assurances," he glared at the small white creature, "that if I speak wisely, I will not break my word of honor." He took a sip of tea, and thought for a moment. "Do you remember when I said that some love is best not pursued, and how when you truly love someone, you want the best for them?"

"Yes." She nodded. "You're saying that... if Spike finds another, I should be happy for him."

"Wouldn't you want him to be happy for you?" He asked gently.

"I would." The mare looked down. "But... I... I don't want to let go of him just like that!"

"Good girl." He said to her surprise. "Because sometimes, you have to fight for your love. However, there may come a time when you realize that there is another who is better for him."

Abruptly, Opal hissed at the book, and it rustled slightly in response.

Sir Fancypants cleared his throat and continued. "To take a mundane example, have you ever referred a client to another dressmaker? Say if an order was too big, or if you were already swamped, or perhaps just because you knew that it was a job that fell out of your speciality?"

The seamstress nodded, her hooves tightly gripping her teacup. She reminded herself that this was all in the realm of perhaps, and that Sir Fancypants was trying to help her. "Yes, I have."

"I don't mean to compare love to a simple order, but it's the best I could think of. Now, likewise," he winked. "If you saw a stallion who was being over-charged and poorly treated as a customer at another shop, you would offer him your services, would you not?"

"Is that a business proposition, Sir Fancypants?" She asked, trying to lighten the mood.

He winked. "Perhaps, but that for later. As I said, sometimes you must fight for love, and sometimes you must try to be happy, even when you lose your love. The question is if you love for yourself and the simple reward of having those feelings returned, or if you truly love, and expect only that joy as your reward."

Rarity looked deep into his eyes. "That's the kind of love Spike has for me now, isn't it? He wants me to be happy... and that's enough for him."

"A young crush." The stallion smiled. "But, such things can be the root of something greater."

Opal yowled softly.

Sir Fancypants looked down into his tea. "And sometimes... sometimes, no matter how bad you want it... love doesn't work out. That's one of the risks, I'm afraid." His eyes rose. "But how you deal with that risk, how you choose to respect that other's decision, the means you use to forge your end. That, is what defines you, my dear. It's a bittersweet reward, but it's better than the tart taste of hate." A smile crept across his face. "And sometimes, it all works out in the end."

The mare rubbed her hooves together. "Sir Fancypants, I thank you for all this... but before you tell me these things, I must ask. Do you really think that I will have to make such a choice?" She bit her lip and looked into his eyes, searching for strength. It was there, but so was pain. She realized that he was willing to suffer this pain again, in the hope that if the worst came for her, she might suffer less. Was that a kind of love? He was right, there were far too few words to define such a complicated thing.

"No, my dear. I think you will have a joyous future, filled with exciting adventures. I think you will love and be loved in this wondrous land, and I hope that you will not have to know the pains of the heart that I have felt." One side of his mouth crooked up. "Also... I rather think you and he would make a cute couple in a few years. He would be an excellent knight, and you a fine lady."

A wide smile spread across the mare's muzzle. She dipped her head in gratitude, then out of the corner of her eye saw Opal nod and wink. The cat was still paging through that book. It seemed to be fighting her at every turn. Still, nothing could distract Rarity from that warm feeling inside.

Carpe diem. She thought. "Thank you, Sir Fancypants."

Author's Note

This chapter was very hard to write. It was a struggle to properly describe the idea that Spike needed to be ready for a real relationship before they tried one. I also wanted to have Sir Fancypants assure Rarity that she was not "marked for Spike", she could indeed choose another if her heard so led her. If she decides on Spike, she should choose him because she loves him, not because she feels pressured to be with him. I hope I explained that well without making her sound like a flake! This chapter alone probably took 30+ hours, and this entire story has become a massive time sink for me. I firmly believe that hard work brings rewards, and quality requires considerable effort. Hopefully this chapter has been worth the wait for you readers!

I'm already working hard on the next chapter, and plan to have it out soon. Check my blog for further updates, I try to put up a status report every Sunday, along with bonus material when I feel it's good enough to see the light if the Internet, but not quite what the story needs. For example, if you're interested in seeing a piece of LiiOR that fell on the cutting room floor, check out this deleted scene: Butterflies and Stormblades

I hope you're enjoying this story, and I'd love to hear your thoughts below! Personally, I'm a little afraid that I am jumping the shark with this chapter, but everything in it feels right. When I proofed the final draft, I had a cheshire grin right out of an HP Lovecraft story. As always, thank you for reading!

A Recommendation

Sir Fancypants watched the cat fight with his book. When she turned a page, it would only reveal the page before it. Once, the mischievous codex tugged at her whiskers. After he was certain that her struggle would be fruitless, he reached out and relieved Opal of the book with a glow of his horn. It took him a moment or two, but he finally turned the page and found a newspaper clipping.

The black-and-white photograph was of his younger self, left side wrapped in bandages. At his side was his sword, and his white coat was stained with soot and grease. His cat was next to him, calmly licking the back of a paw, and they were standing atop a crumbled gargoyle. Behind them, some houses had been scrapped together out of wood and metal, while others were carved into nearby rock faces. Rarity realized that the two explorers were standing in what amounted to a town square for this village. The caption read: "Digging into the past, retired Expeditioner suspects ancient ruin actually monument to great dragon hero. Reward for return of missing stone "hair", details pg.4"

"This is from one of the little towns that exist out beyond Equestria. They are a patchwork, civilizing the land just enough to be called a society. Without airships they could not survive. Here we have trains and carriages, but the land is so wild and the monsters that crawl it so vicious that the only true safety is in the sky." He turned the page again to reveal a cozy little skyskiff that reminded his hostess of that wonderful yacht he owned. "From great monoliths held aloft by helium or hydrogen all the way down to small clippers that are more engine than vessel, you'll find every type of airship out there. It was often said that if you had a chance to count, you'd find more ponies in the sky than on the ground at any given hour of the day or night." The stallion smiled down at his book. "I ventured out there for knowledge... but I wound up staying because I made a few good friends."

The mare nodded. "Amazing what friendship can do for your life. I used to be, well, almost a shut-in. I'd work all the time, barely got out except for functions. I thought I had to if I wanted to be a fashionista."

"I know the feeling. I... well, I thought I was already dead when I was discharged. Didn't know how long I had left, so I tried to discover and document all I could." Sir Fancypants looked up. "I didn't study the dragons because I wanted a new skin, my dear. I studied them because I was fascinated by their civilization. So, I cut off most social contact and just worked. The little one and I would zip about, linking together clues and reconstructing events, digging up fossils and repairing forgotten terminals. Then... then I met her." He chuckled. "Quite by accident, I assure you, I wanted to keep to my work, but I suppose without her I wouldn't have gotten half as much done."

The designer raised an eyebrow and sipped at her tea.

"Miss Rarity, how far would you go for Spike? I've heard that you were willing to fight a few dragons to protect him, is that true?

She blushed. "Yes. A lady must know how to protect herself."

"Given my wife's unhealthy affection for sharp objects, I cannot disagree with that." He grumbled good-naturedly. "But, how far is too far? Would you break the law for him, if his life was in the balance?" The stallion sipped at his tea. "Or, more precisely, would you bend it just enough to let him slip away?"

The seamstress blinked. "I... I suppose that would..." She swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. Then, she leaned forward. "Sir Fancypants, I don't know. I... suppose I would have to know what law I would have to bend."

"I faced a similar dilemma," he confided with a smile. "For when I was a younger boy, I fell in love with a pirate."

Rarity gasped. "Sir Fancypants!"

"Oh, I don't mean one of those amoral marauders who maim for sport and profit. She was not one of those who sought out innocent blood or preyed upon the helpless. I mean a true classical brigand, a mare who lived by her own code. She was the most renown of all the sky pirates on the frontier, and a fine looking mare if I do say so myself. There was a reason she was so successful, though. Whenever I looked into her eyes, I knew that her mind was the most beautiful part of her. She always searched for a way to outmaneuver you, and she was brilliant at herding her opponents into checkmate. That was why she was feared."

"But, Sir Fancypants, a pirate!" The mare protested. "Surely you're not comparing Spike to-to a pirate!"

He chuckled, and leaned back. "No, no. He and his guardian were raised at the heart of the sunrise. My pirate was a poor girl born on the rim of the world, out beyond Her Majesty's domain where the light of civilization is dim." The stallion frowned. "It's a wild land, one rich with resources, but hard to tame. To rule it as most would wish to is all but impossible. Technically it's under the Equestrian banner, but you can find creatures of every shape and size there."

"But... doesn't Celestia want it?" Rarity asked, still not quite understanding. "I mean, what's the harm of claiming it as ours? Ponyville has a mayor, the other cities have governors..."

"No, because Her Majesty doesn't want to rule the world. Even when she and her sister reigned together long ago, they clearly marked their domain. Equestria is large enough for our needs, and small enough to be governed justly." Sir Fancypants patted his sword. "However, that's not to say that Her Majesty has turned her face away from those who dare to take our values beyond her domain. The Sky Marshals guard our borders, and they enforce the law out where the wild wind blows. Every so often a few Expeditioneers roll through on a quest of discovery, since we do so love to embark on crazy adventures." The old soldier winked.

"Even so, it's a hard world, one ruled by conglomerates and criminals as much as lawful governments. On the surface, everyone plays by the rules of the Charter, though I'd be here all day explaining that." He rolled his eyes. "Officially, the Sky Marshals are the law, but you'll find bad apples in their ranks too. That was the world my pirate was born in, and so she chose to take her future into her own hooves."

"By robbing others?" The seamstress asked, then realized how harsh her tone had been. "I'm sorry, Sir Fancypants, I didn't mean to insult her. Or you."

"Bah, I told her to her face that she deserved to hang for all she'd done." He chuckled. "She was a criminal, my dear, but she was not evil. It was the thrill that drove her as much as the reward, but she had her principles. If you fought her and then begged for mercy, she would show none. On the other hoof, if you gave yourself up when she first boarded the ship, you would not be harmed. She despised the slavers, the body traffickers, and the ones who sold wicked drugs. Rum was her vice of choice, though she indulged several of the others on occasion. Her airship's crew ran like a fine timepiece, she relied on them and they adored her. If you couldn't understand that cooperation was a better assurance of profit than backstabbing, then you would be lucky not to catch a dagger with your spine when they threw you out a hatch."

Rarity took a sip of tea. "You respected her."

"That I did."

So you broke the law for her, because she was not as bad a criminal as some."

The old soldier's face softened. "I was not sworn to the law. My oath was to defend Equestrian liberty from all enemies, foreign and domestic. While I was out on the border, I worked with the Sky Marshals quite often, for their Grand Marshal had a vested interest in capturing her. She knew, of course. In fact she often used them to accomplish her own ends. Oh, it was a wonderfully complex web, but it was such fun. Ah... but those are stories for another time. The context I wish to establish, my dear, is that sometimes love makes you do things you normally wouldn't."

"Like write a letter to Princess Celestia." The mare murmured.

"Or offer to fix a Stormblade-class plasma cannon that's held together with brass, hope, and duct-tape." Sir Fancypants nodded. He took a sip of tea. "My dear, this is a very hard thing for me to truly explain. The little one wants me to tell you ten years of my life in the span of as many minutes."

Opal yowled. Was it her fault that his voicebox was unable to warble data as quickly and efficiently as hers? A simple meeaow could express even more than one of his pictures.

"Sir Fancypants, you've already done so much for me." The young mare smiled. She knew what Spike was, what he would become... and an idea was starting to form as to how she might woo him while she waited. "If you don't feel comfortable talking about this, I couldn't force you."

The persian hissed, and aimed a reproachful glare up at her owner.

The stallion smiled. "Hmm. Well, my dear, I didn't come here today to bore you with my life story. I came to help you plan yours." He took a sip of tea. "This is a story about how I had to choose if I loved someone else because of how she made me feel, or if I truly loved her and wanted to see the best for her. You already know that it's something of a story about love making one do strange things. Would you care to hear the rest?"

Rarity leaned back and curled a lock of her mane. No, this wasn't about dragons. It was about reality, and the hard choices you had to make. She saw that this was something close to his heart, one could tell by the look in his eyes and the way he kept his breathing steady. These were bittersweet memories for the old stallion. "Yes, sir. I would like to hear about your pirate."

With a smile, Opal settled back onto the table and winked up at her old companion.

"All right you little scoundrel. You've got me." Sir Fancypants rolled his shoulders. "When I was young and reckless, freshly discharged from the Expeditionary Corps and unsure of my place in the world, I searched for the remains of the Imperium Dracon out in those borderlands. The first time I met that beautiful pegasus-pirate was when she... I'd like to call it a rescue, but it was more of a temporary enslavement. I impressed her, and afterward she often kidnapped me along to help her study a relic or unearth an ancient ruin."

He sighed. "Hmmph. We did not have a traditional relationship. It was ten years of adventure and archaeology, filled with pauses of eerie normality. Throughout that decade, I... I can't quite express how I felt when I looked in her eyes, nor could I make you understand how she was... different. You sort of knew as soon as you saw her operate that she was not an evil brute. She would shoot you as soon as look at you, as would any of her crew. But at the same time, she would not murder an officer of the law, nor would she hurt a cowed civilian. She had no problem forcing a few captives to dig for her, but she would make sure they got back to a safe port with a bit of coin for their trouble."

The stallion shrugged. "My pension check always found me, for I had somehow managed to gain a hero's reputation in the Expeditionary Corps, so I never really lacked for money. I was close friends with the Grand Marshal, even if he did threaten to have me hanged now and again, so when I was not off exploring I would help with cases. Whenever my pirate kidnapped me, I would tell her up front that it was my duty to aid the law and bring her to justice... but I never quite let them catch her, and she never quite put me in a spot where I had no other option than to turn her in." He met his hostess' eyes and smiled bashfully. "Oh, once or twice they managed to throw her into a prison, but there was only one Sky Marshal who ever truly caught her. She had a black queen on her flank, my dear. That girl was a mastermind the likes of which the world seldom sees."

The designer sighed. "All right, so you fell in love with a sky pirate, and she was a decent mare." She shook her head. "Sir Fancypants, I do believe you could tell me that the mailmare was dating an alien from beyond our reality and make me believe it."

He choked on his tea, but quickly regained his composure. "Ah... ha, ha." The stallion chuckled, his eyes wide. "Why, Miss Rarity, you fashionistas have such wild imaginations."

Opal mewed innocently. The old soldier shot her a glare.

"Mmm, as I was saying, she had an amazing mind. I didn't love her because she was a pirate, or because she had one of the few airships good enough to get out to the truly untouched ruins. I didn't love her because of her wealth, or her power. I loved her because I felt something in my heart whenever she brushed a wing along my back, or thanked me for a job well done. I loved her for the way she kept true to her morals, even when it would have been easier to just cut down everything that moved. Most of all, I loved how she always was one step ahead of the law, and two steps ahead of everypony else. She had a mind that could have corrupted that land with slavery of the whip and of the needle, broken the backs of the Sky Marshals, and set herself up as queen."

He smiled. "But she didn't. I think she took a twisted pleasure in raiding those conglomerates and burning the drug-runners' stashes. She had grown up under their heels, and that had made her sharp as a blade. That was why I loved her, and I think she loved me because I valued my life less than my honor. Sometimes, that was what she needed to keep her true to herself. Before I came along, she had a rather curious game of cat and mouse going with my friend the Grand Marshal, almost never passing up a chance to tweak his nose. Every time he missed her by a feather's length, but she was usually cluing him in to a worse set of offenders. He was a firm believer in a strong, fair law, but that also bound him tightly to a sense of priority. She knew that as long as she was clever and kept true to her code, he could not simply shoot her on sight. My pirate did not hate the law, she merely toyed with it."

"And she got away with that?"

Sir Fancypants nodded. "Hmm... little one, see if you can find that photo from the Sky Marshals' Charity Ball." He smiled. "It was the largest assembly of lawbringers in ten years. It was held in the capital of those borderlands, actually a fair-sized city. Had its own rail line and everything. The event was one of those standard affairs, wealthy girls would donate a sum for a dance with the charming young officers, and rich boys would empty their trust accounts for a twist with the mares in uniform." The stallion sighed, and a little bit of the joy faded from his eyes. "It was held every year, but when they announced how that year's ball would be an exceptionally exquisite one, my dear pirate decided she wanted a date with the Grand Marshal."

The cat purred softly. She had found a picture of two pegasi. One was a very shapely brown mare with a devilish grin, and at her side was a straightlaced stallion whose fur was sky blue. The mare wore a perfectly tailored red dress that covered her cutie mark, along with a matching fedora. Next to the Grand Marshal's ornate uniform she seemed almost underdressed, but even the fashionista could not deny that she looked stunning in the ensemble. Perhaps some sequins or ribbon... The black boots did add that bit of criminal flair, but Sir Fancypants had been right about her eyes. The mare in red looked as though she could be dancing through a room full of Sky Marshals one moment, and have all of them wondering where in the world she was the next.

"Wait, she walked into a room full of trained law-enforcement professionals dressed like this?"

"Mmm-hmm." Sir Fancypants chuckled. "Oh, the Grand Marshal recognized her as quick as you could wink, but by then it was too late. She'd already bought him for the whole night, and before he could yell she whispered into his ear that she had smuggled in a few vats of a rather horrible gas with the catering. Harmless, if you had the antidote running in your system. Lethal, if you didn't." He smiled. "Of course, security was too tight for that. Even for her. So, it was all a bluff. However she had me along as her trump card. The Grand Marshal shot me a look, and I just nodded sadly."

The mare gasped. Opal snickered. "You lied?"

He rested his chin on his front hooves. "I helped two very good friends of mine have a wonderful night of dancing together." He reached out and turned to a sketch of two pegasi swooping through the high ceiling of the ballroom together. They were in the middle of a particularly intricate maneuver, and it almost looked as though the mare was kissing him on the cheek. Rarity glanced up, saw the wistful expression on Sir Fancypants' face, and realised why there were little splotches on the page where droplets of water had dried. After a long moment, and a glance at her cat, she realized why Opal had wanted her to hear this story.

"You had to let her go."

"I loved her. She loved me. We could have had a life together, but... it wasn't to be." He chuckled softly. "She had been teasing him since before I met her, and they had spent so long crawling inside one another's minds that they were the only two who could understand each other. He despised her, but he respected her. She knew he was the only one who had always been there for her, albeit with a set of cuffs and a noose. Often, he would tell me what a wonderful Sky Marshal she would have made, if only she had chosen the path of justice and order. But the law said that she must hang for her crimes, and he was sworn to uphold the law. That night, though, I think she made him see that sometimes... the law isn't always right." He took a sip of tea and closed his eyes. "She never lied to me about what we had, and it was special. Just... not what I wanted it to be. We tried, we really did, but... my crippled body and tormented mind couldn't keep up with her."

"But you still wanted the best for your pirate, even if she had made it clear that she loved another." The designer teased a lock of her mane nervously. He was telling her this so she could learn, not because he wanted her to throw away what she had with Spike. Even so, how could she not feel sympathy for the stallion?

He nodded. "Because I loved her, Miss Rarity. I wanted to see her happy. Even if... I couldn't share that joy."

The mare reached across the table and gently touched his hooves. "I'm sorry."

Sir Fancypants looked down at the table. "I must say that I am not. I don't regret it, not one minute. I regret what could have been, but it wasn't my choice." He brightened. "And, if I had been her true love, I never would have ventured to the lost city, never would have met Fleur... and I would not be here this afternoon with a charming young Element Bearer. We do not always get the destiny we want, but we can always choose what means we are willing to use to achieve our ends. My pirate chose her means, and so she was able to have a night of wonderful dancing with her love. If she had been one of the wretched monsters, he would have risked it and run her through on the spot." The stallion chuckled. "But instead, he went along with her plan. He knew when she promised him that nopony would be hurt if he played along like a good boy, she would honor her word. Even smiled at me once. He'd never admit it, but he had a wonderful time."

"Who was she?" Rarity asked, curious. "I've heard of a few sky pirates..."

His eyes widened, and he leaned forward. "There are some things I must guard my tongue from saying, my dear."

She blushed. "I understand, Sir Fancypants." That had been part of the deal, after all. Still, she could tell that he was abridging so much for her sake. That photograph had looked familiar... but where on earth had she seen that red fedora before?

"You know, I feel terribly sorry for Her Majesty. When I finally pass on, my secrets will go with me." He shivered. "But she must endure, carrying the weight of centuries within her mind."

"Just like Spike." The mare said softly.

"Indeed." He took a sip of tea. "I helped those two have a wonderful night together because it formed a memory that could not be stolen away. After that night, I knew that she was not my mare, however much she cared for me. Even so, I didn't know how they could ever be together. He would be obliged to hang her if he ever caught her, no matter his feelings. Really, that was the saddest thing about him, he never let himself feel. For him there was only the law. He kept the border towns safe, and the ponies adored him, but... he was lonely. I think I was one of his only true friends, and that was just because he knew that he could ship me back to Equestria for a military tribunal instead of dealing with me himself." Once an Expeditioner, always an Expeditioner, especially at the higher ranks.

The stallion coughed. "Then, one day, I was snatched away and brought to her ship. Not for a grand expedition or a cunning raid, not that time. She wanted me to deliver an envelope." His shoulders slumped. "I... was still having trouble accepting that we couldn't be together. Of course, I wanted the best for her, and I knew my friend the Grand Marshal was an excellent choice, but... well, I was quietly angry that I was not the one."

"Who wouldn't be?" Rarity asked.

Sir Fancypants sighed. "She told me that the envelope held vital evidence, and I needed to take it directly to the Grand Marshal. As I made my way back to civilization, I thought I knew what her scheme was. She wanted a pardon, and so she had dug up evidence that would convict some wretched gang or corporate board who deserved death a thousand times more than she and her crew did. In the eyes of the law, the Grand Marshal would be able to suspend her sentence in exchange for that evidence. They could live happily ever after... but she needed a knight in fresh bandages to deliver that envelope discretely. Then the Grand Marshal could start the cogs turning."

Opal turned to a sketch of the Expeditioner's cat. She was sitting atop the envelope and hissing at the artist. The stallion smiled. "I was angry. I sat in my home, and I wanted to burn that envelope. That... that evil part in all of us wanted her, and I gave it a hoofhold. I wanted to be the one she relied on, I wanted to be her strength. I was an Expeditioner, a Knight of the Order Solar, a hero! What was he but a tough lawbringer. He had never stared down an army imbued by the Ruinous Powers. He had never fought in the trenches, never held the line when all hope was gone and all that remained was duty until death." Sir Fancypants closed his eyes. "I wanted to burn it, or perhaps I could give it to another Sky Marshal, one who had political aspirations. Surely he could see the Grand Marshal strung up on charges of conspiring with pirates. Then she would be mine. Or, I could open it myself and find out which band of pirates she was turning in. I could give them the letter, and they could rid me of this wretched mare who had chosen another."

The cat purred softly. He reached out and scratched her behind the ears. "No, you wouldn't let me, little one. You kept it away until I had calmed down, and worked out my anger on a poor, defenceless piece of paper."

"What did you do then?"

"The only thing I could. I went to the Grand Marshal, and I delivered the letter directly into his hooves. Unopened. I watched as he opened it. Inside were several sheets of paper. He picked up one bearing his name and read it slowly. Once, twice, then I watched his eyes trace over the page a third time. Then he produced a lighter from his desk, and burned every scrap of it to ash. Inside the envelope were photographs and diagrams." The stallion took off his monocle and rubbed his eyes. "My dear, it was an invasion. If I had waited, or destroyed the evidence, we would all have been dead or worse. If I had opened it, tampered with her seal, he would have thought it was another trick like at the charity ball."

Rarity raised an eyebrow. "An invasion? I thought nopony cared about those borderlands."

"It wasn't the borderlands they wanted. It was the towns." He swallowed hard. "Slavers. An intercontinental cabal had rallied the worst of the pirate clans, bankrolled them. They planned to reap us like fields of wheat. The Grand Marshal had never seen anything like this before. Oh, there were rumors of some great force plotting against civilization, but nopony gave it credence. She sent us photographs of the slavers' flagship, a cursed thing that looked positively ancient. I still see it in my nightmares, I still hear that infernal hum."

The mare blinked. "Hum?"

He and the cat traded a glance. "Ah... not a topic for today, I think. My pirate warned us, told us how and where. When they came, we were prepared." A proud smile crossed his muzzle. "History calls it the Skyfold Blitz. In her envelope was a letter for me too, but I cannot show you that today. It told me I was the only one who could save the capital, because that was where the slavers' flagship was bound for." He sipped at his tea. "It was more than just a ship, it was... evil. I knew as soon as I saw the photograph. She had given me an enemy I could understand, but I did not know if I could win. I didn't, not on my own, but we survived. I and a few..." He sighed quietly. No, he couldn't mention the Expeditioneers he had rallied to his command. Not today. "We held the line. While the Sky Marshals battled their fleets across a front so large I could only call it apocalyptic, I kept them from taking the capital. I killed the slavers' old machine, sent it crashing down to the earth." He smiled wistfully. "I even saved the Grand Marshal. He told me to run, but I wouldn't. I loved her, so I saved him, even though I could have let him die with a clear conscience." The stallion looked his hostess in the eye. "Would you be willing to do that for your dragon, Miss Rarity?"

The designer leaned back. She swallowed hard, and took a sip of tea. It tasted bitter in her mouth. "I don't know." She whimpered softly. "I don't know. Some Element of Generosity I am."

Sir Fancypants chuckled. "Oh, you're a fine Element Bearer, Miss Rarity. But mortals like you and I, we're not naturally good. It's not the easy path. Chaos is the natural order." He reached out and lifted her chin. "It's hard, and sometimes it doesn't feel like it's worth the effort."

She blinked back a few tears. "I don't want to lose him."

He smiled, and took his hoof away. "I didn't want to lose Fleur, either. I'd lost too many already. Do you know what I did to give myself a little peace?"

Rarity shook her head, her mane bouncing with the gesture.

"I first thought of buying her a beautiful necklace, something of humble form but awe-inspiring craftsmareship. However, I realized that would not be enough. She had enough pretty baubles. Instead, I gave her a memory. A sort of demonstration, a taste of what I hoped our life together could be like. I thought of many refined, elegant resorts. I realized that she had been alive when many of them were built a century or two ago." He shrugged. "So, I took her out to Neighagra Falls, and we went tubing."

The fashionista blinked. "Tubing." I must have heard him wrong.

"Yes, with inflated rubber tubes." He noticed the expression on her face and reached out for his book. Sure enough, he produced a photograph of himself and the supermodel seated in inflated rubber tubes, and floating down a river without a care in the world. He had one of her fetlocks in his, and the pink-maned mare had an almost childlike smile on her face. The sight brought tear to her husband's eye. His darling had never really experienced childhood. That was why she loved to work with children. Such was the price of forging the ultimate Crusader.

The younger unicorn closed her gaping mouth.

"We floated for hours, spotting birds, watching the passing scenery... just, talking." He blushed, beginning to realize how odd this sounded to the mare. "You understand, we were so used to going with the ebb and flow on a battlefield that the feeling of being tugged along by the peaceful water, together..." He cleared his throat. "It was wonderful. It was a memory that meant much to us, because it was a moment of solace. When she came back to me, she still remembered. She wanted to live that kind of life with me."

Rarity nodded slowly. "I... think I understand, Sir Fancypants. Tubing, though. I never would have... I mean, there's nothing wrong with it at all, but-"

"Not what you expected, hmm?" He chuckled.

"Not at all." She smiled. "You go from sky pirates and blitzes to tubing and romance. What became of those two pegasi, anyway? Did she get her pardon?"

The stallion suddenly became very quiet. "Yes."

Opal growled softly, and poked him. He glared down at her. "Mrraaaow."

"That's all I can say. Yes, she did."

Rarity took a sip of tea. He was not angry, he was not scared, he was... he was keeping his promise. Still, curiosity got the better of her. "Did they get together?"

He looked away, out the window. "Hmm. It's later than I thought." The stallion inspected one of his front hooves. "Yes. They did."

Let it rest, Rarity. Let it rest. Don't ask- "...and lived happily ever after?"

Sir Fancypants looked up with a very guarded expression. "After the Blitz, we pushed. We counter-punched, everything we had left. Rooted out the pirates, shattered their strongholds, torched their stockpiles. It was a matter of survival, if we had not they would have rallied and tried to pick us apart while we rebuilt. Couldn't find her. Hadn't heard from her since just before the Blitz, and the Grand Marshal never let slip where his intel came from." The stallion's voice was dry, and his words forced. He sounded like a record, except he didn't have that warm undertone. "Things happened. Things I can't talk about. I saw both of them..."

The cat hissed. He looked down at her and shook his head. She rolled her eyes.

"They're gone. I got her a posthumous pardon." He swallowed hard. "On the frontier, they're legends. You... might have heard of them, but I can't say anymore." The old soldier closed his eyes. He remembered the parades, and the mourning. "They're gone."

Rarity was a very clever mare. She leaned her head to the side. "Sir Fancypants. I'm sorry." With a soft glow of her horn, she refilled his cup. "I shouldn't have let Opal force you."

"It's all right." He sipped at his tea and smiled at her. "Mmm, she always did have to have her way."

"I've learned a lot today. Thank you." She looked in his eyes. He was holding something back... "I understand that sometimes, you have to sacrifice everything for love. Would you say that it was worth the cost?"

He leaned slightly to the side. "Ah... yes. Yes, I would say that it is worth it, if the love is true. I gave up much because I loved my pirate, and I wanted her to be happy."

The mare smiled into her cup. "I wasn't talking about you, Sir Fancypants. Your friend, the Grand Marshal. Was he willing to give up everything for love?"

His left eye twitched, and he glanced down at the white persian. She winked at him, a smug grin across her face.

"I think he was." The stallion said carefully. "I think he would have been prepared to seize the moment, and he would have thought that the cost was worth the reward."

Rarity nodded. "Thank you, Sir Fancypants. I learned a lot from that story." She took a sip of tea, feeling rather pleased with herself. She had deduced what Opal wanted her to from the story. Sometimes you had to let go, and sometimes you had to be willing to set your burdens down to be with the one you loved. He still looked sad, though. Poor dear. For a moment she hesitated, then decided to say it. Somepony had to. "And thank you for helping your friends to have a wonderful night together."

Opal rolled onto her back, clapped her front paws together, and snickered.

Sir Fancypants blinked, not quite understanding what had happened. After a moment, he set his jaw and glared at her. "Miss Rarity-"

"I didn't hear anything." She said with a smile. "And it won't leave this room."

He leaned back, then after a long moment began to smile. "Not like it matters anymore, anyway. But I keep my word, I didn't even tell Cuffwin Keys when he asked."

Rarity's eyes widened. "You knew Cuffwin Keys? The composer?"

He nodded. "Yes, my dear. Without him, and my pirate, and the lawbringer... why, I'd never have found my way to the lost city. Music was the key that unlocked my mind." The old soldier chuckled. "Perhaps one day, I'll tell you the whole story. Well, except for the bit I can't." He winked. "Today is your story, though. I've told you my memories, given you my knowledge. Some of the things I've said are best left within this boutique."

"You have my word, Sir Fancypants. I may enjoy a bit of gossip, but I do know how to be discrete."

"Of course." He nodded again. "Have you reached a decision?"

The fashionista put on a demure smile. "It's Spike's decision, not mine. All I can do is offer him my love."

"Good girl. I hope that you never have to endure heartbreak as I have, but when I was in basic training, I thought I would never be more than a mere infantrypony. I didn't understand why they made me learn how to pilot a tank." The right side of the stallion's mouth quirked up. "My instructors thought otherwise. We train ourselves so that the unexpected can be overcome."

"And so we can prepare ourselves to seize the moments, when they come." Rarity thought that she might put on that camouflage hat once the stallion left. She was feeling a rather military buzz. "Because of what we know."

"And knowing is half the battle." The stallion chuckled. "Now, I think I have served my purpose." He stood, and rolled a kink out of a leg. "Thank you for the tea, my dear." He glared at the cat. "And... thank you, little one. I've missed you."

Opal waved a paw at him and mewed softly.

"Oh, fine, fine. I'll tell her." The stallion winked. "She thinks you and Spike would make a cute couple too. But, she's always been biased toward reptiles."

The cat hissed, and her former owner laughed.

"I'll keep that in mind." Rarity stood to walk him to the door. "Really, I don't know where to begin with all this. At least now I know it's more than a springtime fantasy."

Sir Fancypants removed his monocle and appraised her for a moment. "My dear..." His voice fully embraced that buttery-smooth Canterlot accent once again. "Would you like a piece of advice from an old rapscallion?"

The fashionista nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, sir!"

"Ponies often say that it's the thought that counts. That's very true, mmm, but an insider knows that it's the memory that matters. Take Fleur and I as an example. If I took any girl along for a tubing expedition, she would think me rather strange. However, for Fleur and I, it was the perfect getaway. No cares, no worries, and plenty of things to simply look at as we floated along. That memory mattered much to her." He took his bowler hat from the rack. "Find an event that will matter to your dragon, and a way to make it a lasting memory."

"Hmm..." She pursed her lips in thought. "What was it you said earlier... music was the key..."

He nodded. "Music is a very important thing to dragons. I say, here's another example..." With a glow of his horn, he pulled his book out once more, and flipped through it until he found a set of black-and-white booking photographs. It took Rarity a moment to recognize the mare, but she knew it had to be that pirate.

"Was her mane grey?" She hadn't looked closely enough at the earlier picture, and most of the mare's mane had been obscured by the angle and her red fedora.

"Three shades of it, to be precise. As I said, the Grand Marshal was the only one who ever caught her with wits rather than luck or brute force. That got her interest, but it was his style that made it a memory. He didn't catch one of her mistakes, he honestly outsmarted her. She wasn't used to that, growing up with a black queen on her flank and all."

Rarity sighed. "So, their relationship started with a set of mugshots. How... romantic."

"As I said, it's the thought that counts." He slipped his book back into his vest. "And I know you can come up with something infinitely better for your dragon."

"I will." She said quietly. "You haven't wasted your time."

Sir Fancypants winked. "I know I haven't. Hmm... actually, my dear, when you do follow through with whatever you come up with," he paused, as though embarrassed to ask. "I mean, I do not wish to imply that I would be checking up on you or anything..."

"Sir Fancypants, please." She smiled warmly at him. "What is it?"

"Write me a letter, if it's not too much trouble. I... I've seen enough horrible things in my life. It would help me sleep at night to know that I've... I've helped something beautiful flourish." He leaned away from her, and for a moment there was a curiously vulnerable expression on the old soldier's face. "If it's not too private, of course."

"Of course. I'll write you, Sir Fancypants." Rarity glanced to the side, unsure if she should ask. Opal waved lazily at her from the table, then growled softly as she nodded toward the stallion. The designer smiled up at him. "And perhaps, if you're not satisfied with your current tailor, I might be able to make a customer of you?"

"Miss Rarity, I'll have you know that I employ the finest designers in all of Canterlot. Fleur would nail me to the wall if I came home wearing anything but the latest and greatest." He winked. "Do you truly believe you're up to the challenge of pleasing not my tastes, but those of my wife?"

She giggled. "Oh, you'd wear your old tanker's uniform out in public if she let you, wouldn't you, Sir Fancypants?"

"Nothing wrong with a few grease stains and scorch-marks." He grumbled, then glanced back at the cat. "Ah, don't think I'm not wise to your game."

"Meeeow?" The white persian crossed her paws, the very picture of innocence.

"I thought as much. Today is not the day for action and ray guns."

"Ray guns?" Rarity cried out. "What on earth?"

"Oh? I didn't mention that?" He smiled. "Ah yes, my pirate had a wonderful contraption of cogs and coils that would atomize anypony she pointed it at. Oh, and the Grand Marshal had a very interesting pistol. He could fire all kinds of bullets from it. Heat seekers, stun rounds, high-explosives, mmm, sometimes I would wonder where he got all those wonderful toys."

"It did sound like a rather... dramatic part of your life." She said. "But what did you mean you told it to Cuffwin Keys?"

The stallion smiled. "Perhaps on another day, one not focused on your life but on mine, I may tell you the full story. I've it all written in pictures and snippets here." He tapped his book. "But, not today. This is your time, my dear, and I mustn't take any more of it. After all, you've a memory to create."

Rarity dipped her head. "Thank you, Sir Fancypants. Perhaps on another day we'll make a trade, a suit for a story?"

With a chuckle, the old Expeditioner opened the door. "My dear, you're picking up a bit of my charm!"

Author's Note

(Exit, stage left, Sir Fancypants)

Well, it's about time! First off, I must apologize to you readers. I had originally planned for Fancypants' part to be a quick five-thousand word chapter. However, I started writing and realized that there were so many good hooks he could be used for. This was a stallion who had battled the horrors of the world and emerged triumphant. He had walked with dragons, and earned the respect of mighty forces. He had romanced, and been romanced. Still, this was not his story, this is Spike and Rarity's. I hope that he did not overstay his welcome.

I have a few cut scenes from this chapter that I plan to post in my blog. Here's the deleted scene I posted on the 18th: LiiOR Deleted Scene - Trust and Temptresses

What happens next? Well, I'm going to wrap up Rarity's view of this visit and try to slip the story into the show's canon. If you've a sharp eye, you might already have an inkling how that's going to happen! After that, I hope to have a little view into how our dear fashionista has applied Sir Fancypants' lessons. Also, as many of you know I love to slip little references into my stories. Two beloved old cartoons make appearances in this chapter. For hints, think about what the clue-dropping supercriminal is wearing in her photograph, and that crumbled statue is a nod to a Cartoon Network favorite whose buff main character was rather concerned about his hair.

Finally, I'd love to know what you thought of this chapter. If you really enjoyed it, tell a friend!

A Rebalance

Rarity waved goodbye to him from the front door of her shop. Sir Fancypants did look so dashing in that suit, but she could make him a better one. She did like that hat though, it completed his ensemble and his rough beginnings. The bowler hat was a symbol of laborers, made of stiff materials to shield the head. It was a rather fashionable helmet, and he wore it well. As she shut the door, a sudden wave of weakness almost overcame the mare. Her adrenaline trickled away, and she felt as though she had just pulled an all-nighter to finish an order. It had been quite the afternoon.

"I... I really must thank Princess Celestia, next chance I get." The mare murmured. Her mind reeled at the scope of the old stallion's life, to the point that she almost forgot why he had come in the first place. "Sending him all this way just for me..." She leaned against the door. "For me... and for Spike, too." A smile crossed her muzzle as that old fantasy of dancing with a prince passed before her eyes. This time the prince was not an egotistical unicorn, but a lovestruck dragon in a fine suit and hat.

Was that really what she wanted? To love a dragon, to hold him, treasure him, all the while knowing that as she grew older and weaker he would still be fresh and strong? Could she ever hope to be a worthy partner for such a creature? Rarity hung her head and sighed. Sir Fancypants had been very clear, love was not a business contract. All she could offer was her whole heart. It would be his decision to love her or not, to offer his whole heart as well.

The seamstress sat down and leaned back against the door. Yes, she did care for that little dragon. Yes, they could have a future together. No, she did not know for sure if she loved him. Love was not fashioned in an afternoon, it took time to be knit together. If one rushed such a dress, it would only hurt the final product. Spike still had a little bit of growing up to do... and so did she. Rarity opened her eyes, and saw Opal sitting in front of her.

"What do you think, dear?" The seamstress asked curiously. "This has been a... a wild afternoon... I wonder, perhaps this is all just a dream?" Her eyelids did feel very heavy, and aside from the teaset on the table, there was no evidence that anyone had come to visit her boutique. A pang of fear shot through her, what if she dozed off and awoke to find that all this had been but a figment of her overworked mind? She felt the buzz of the tea fading, and though she struggled to stay awake, found her eyelids fluttering shut...

"Raawr!" The little persian tickled her owner's nose with her tail. Rarity sneezed in a very unladylike fashion, but the cobwebs of fatigue blew away from her mind. She reached down and gratefully cuddled the little kitty.

"No, no time to sleep. I can't sleep, not while there's work to be done." The seamstress pulled herself to her hooves and gathered the teaset onto the tray. She needed to grow her business, follow her dream, and become a renown designer. That was the call of her heart, and it was also the wise choice. Then, once both of them were mature enough to decide, she would see if that little dragon still loved her. Opal followed her owner into the kitchen on silent paws.

Rarity turned on the sink and began to rinse the teacups. If she ran out now and kissed Spike, told him he was her true love, that would begin a commitment that could only hurt them. His duty was to Twilight, without him the poor girl would probably blow up the town. The designer's duty was to her career, to her talents. As she rinsed the teapot, she mourned that love did not "conquer all". It certainly helped, but love on its own did not pay the bills. Love on its own did not keep Equestria safe. A smile quirked across her face as she remembered the Royal Wedding. It had not been love alone that threw the Changelings out of Canterlot, but the fusion of love and righteous anger. Her fur tingled at the thought of the pulsing magical aura that had washed out over the city. Love alone would not make a happy life for a fashionista and her Spikey-wikey, nor would she truly be happy if she gave up her fashion career for him. The mare put the teaset out to dry and walked upstairs.

Sir Fancypants truly was the best response Celestia could have sent, even better than a personal visit. Her heart beat quickly as she thought back over all she had learned, and came to a simple conclusion. The two of them may not yet be ready for love, but that did not mean there was no place for romance. How would the dragon keep that fire in his heart alive if his crush did not tend it?

Rarity settled down at her davenport desk and pulled out a quill. Knowing was half the battle, now it was time for the other half. Sir Fancypants had told her so many things, but one above all else stuck in her mind. There was nothing to fear from Spike, and he had a great destiny ahead of him if only he was strong enough to grasp it. She would be there for him, love him as he became that strong knight, and seek to be a mare worthy of his claw. The fashionista began to arc elegant letters across the page, and immediately began writing nothing with a great many words. Then she stopped, rent the paper in two with her magic, and threw it away. On a second piece, she began again with simple words and unadorned penmareship. As she wrote, she felt the fears beginning to fade, for as she put into her own words the things that Sir Fancypants had told her, she began to weigh their value. Opal found a comfortable perch and watched.

The cat's owner seemed to be drawing more than writing, circling little ideas and sketching lines between them, or underlining quotes from the old stallion. In fact, as she moved from page to page, the sketched words seemed to meld into the shapes of a dress pattern. An "estimated third quarter earnings" would be linked to a "Saturday jewel expedition", or an "upcoming concert" to an "ask Twilight if interested". The mare tore up several pages and threw them away, but soon Rarity smiled in satisfaction at her notes. She had digested much of what Sir Fancypants had told her regarding love, link "positive reinforcement" to "dragon maturity". This was no dream, this was her life. Underline "be ready, be the best, seize the moment." Finally, at the end of the last page, she wrote:

To live must be your joy, Rarity, and you must be strong on your own before you can be strong enough to love another.

She set the quill down and breathed out slowly. That was the message Celestia had sent, written in the seamstress' own words. The Princess of the Sun had cared enough to send somepony who would calm her far more than any letter ever could. Sir Fancypants had lived a full, rich life, and he had no regrets. He had told her a story of a mare he loved, but he had still honored her decision to love another; and a story of a mare who returned his advances with a pure heart. Rarity smiled, then penned the next thought.

If I must love, it will be without remorse.

Spike deserved somepony who truly cared for him, who found just as much solace in his company as he did in hers. Time would tell if that was true. Her horn glowed softly, and the sturdy lock on her safe spun back and forth. It opened with a muted click, revealing her most precious things. The unicorn reached out with her mind and grasped a beautiful necklace with her magic. It floated through the air and settled on the table next to her papers. Rarity bit her lip and ran a fetlock over the gemstone. It did seem a crime to let such beauty lie in a box of cold iron.

If she went to him now, it would indeed be in greed. She would be trying to claim him before either of them were ready, just in case he chanced upon another mare. He deserved more than that. An odd noise came downstairs, but she was too distracted to care. The cat's ears perked up, and she mewed suspiciously.

Rarity continued writing. She did not know with that quiet assurance if she truly loved him or not, but she would not play with his feelings like Opal with a ball of yarn. The dress was measured, the cloth cut, and she would treasure every moment as she pieced it together. Perhaps after the dress would come a beautiful gown, but if not, she would still have a well-made garment. Rarity brushed a tear from her cheek. That knowledge was worth the pain. Opal lept onto the table, and rubbed against her owner's neck.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that you planned all this." The seamstress gave her cat a suspicious look.

"Mreeeow?" The white persian shook her head innocently, momentarily distracted from her original intent.

Rarity smiled. "Well... nevertheless, thank you, Opalescence."

The cat smiled. "Raawr." She was old enough to remember Celestia's words during the Great Crusade, her vision of a world where the great and noble races lived in harmony. Many of her kind had feared what horrors might be unleashed if that promise came true, for if the lesser races were united who knew what harm they could accomplish? Opal purred softly as her owner levitated a brush and gently ran it through her fur. Love like this was worth the risk. Love and pampering.

"I... if there's anything I can do to thank you..." The mare bit her lip nervously. Sir Fancypants had treated the cat as though she were an equal. Her mind drifted back to that time she had soaked her pet to deceive her friends. "I know I haven't always been the best-"

"Mrreow." The white persian looked up. Their eyes met, and Rarity felt a flash of insight. Opal was her pet by choice, this was the life she wanted to live. A life of luxury, yes, but not without hardships. If she sought nothing more than hedonism, there were many in Canterlot she could have chosen. Even now, she could slip aboard a train and turn up at Sir Fancypants' doorstep. Opal was here because this was her place, it was her home, and Rarity was her owner. She wished not to be treated as royalty, but simply as a dear companion.

"Love." The mare kissed her cat on the forehead. "Oh, my little Opal-wopal, I love you too."

"Mrreow..." The persian sighed, but did not object. That was her favorite brush after all, and it did feel so good... wait... what was that illness in the aether? It was as though a thousand souls cried out as one, and could not be silenced. She closed her eyes and stretched. Curious.

Rarity had no seventh sense to forewarn herself, and so continued to groom her pet until an unholy crash jarred both of them back into awareness. The cat dropped flat on the desk and hissed, while the seamstress turned her head toward the source of the noise. Already her mind was rationalizing it away as simply another unexpected visit from Rainbow Dash, and she continued to deny the reality until there was no other option but to accept it. A pink pony was bouncing atop her bed. She locked eyes with it and was about to commence a withering interrogation, but it spoke first.

"Fun?"

Rarity blinked. Suddenly, there were two of the pink things.

"Fun?"

"Fun!"

Three now. Three pink mares. Another crash.

"Fun, fun, fun!"

"No, no, no!" The unicorn cried out, her left eye twitching. "Not now, any time but now, please, no!" Quickly, she turned back to the neatly-arranged papers, but instead found a pink tail sprawled across her desk. "I... I... I'm not..." Around her, a storm of pink ponies whirled. Opalescence was yowling like an air raid siren. Her hard work was scatted all over the room, and a distinct crash from downstairs told her that something expensive had fallen. The mare had taken steps to Sweetie Belle-proof her treasured things, but such safeguards were no match for the pink hurricane. She found herself sprawled on the floor, and curled her legs close to her body. Something cold was in her fetlocks. The seamstress opened her eyes and saw it was that beautiful fire ruby, she had grabbed it on instinct as she was knocked away from the desk.

A sense of peace settled over her as she held the necklace tight. Rarity closed her eyes and remembered Sir Fancypants' book, opened to that dragon and the pegasus on his shoulder. Then she saw Spike falling, her hoof on his mouth.

While they were together, they were happy.

That was the missing element, the finishing touch, the perfect accessory. She had to be happy with him, to make the time they had together matter. Something else shattered behind her. Love was not roses and candlelit dinners, it was not soft kisses and champagne, it was finding joy in the company of the one you loved. If she had that with Spike, then she knew everything else could follow. All the measurements were complete, all the little worries put to one side. Rarity took a deep breath, clicked the necklace around her throat, and rolled to her hooves.

"Pinkie Pie-s!" She cleared her throat. "Get out of my bedroom!"

"Fun!" They chorused back.

The designer levitated a fallen dress form with a glow of her horn, grabbed the base of it with a hoof, and began to heard the energetic ponies toward the door. "Out, out, in the name of Celestia, out!"

Opal watched as the last of the pink mares bounced out of the room, chased by an angry unicorn. She stood up from the desk and smirked. The seamstress had learned more than she thought from Sir Fancypants. A shame that Rarity had not been able to finish brushing her coat, but she would overlook it this time. With an easy leap, she landed by the door and kicked it shut. Her owner was off for another adventure with her friends, and the cat known as Opal was overdue for a nap in a sunbeam. When she reached her wicker bed-basket and began to tug it over to the window, she noticed a stray page laying atop the downy pillow. The cat paused for a moment to read, for this page had been written not with a designer's hurried scrawl, but a lady's elegant script.

My dear Spike,

It is a dangerous world we live in. The seven of us have already been in peril of life and limb far more than I ever imagined as a little filly. I've outwitted ancient evils, revolted against crazy tyrants, and taken on Changelings in hoof to hoof combat. But if you're reading this, then... oh, it's not a pleasant thing to think about at all, but if I do not write this then I know that I will regret it later. If you are reading this, my scaly friend, then I hope I am only gravely wounded. I promise I will do everything in my power to return to you, but this letter is my insurance. I want you to know that I treasured our time together, and I hope you knew that before your claws ever touched this page. Any princess would be honored to have as faithful a suitor as you, but you were more than just a Casanova seeking my heart. You were my friend, my helper, there was no task too great or small that you would not do gladly. You did not knock on my door with a bouquet of roses and expect me to fall into your arms, you came to me with a sharp mind and a willing heart. I am sorry if I never was able to show you how much that meant to me.

One of my greatest regrets is not listening to you on the night of the Grand Galloping Gala. I know we all apologized, but I never truly had the courage to face the facts. You are a native of Canterlot, you even tried to tempt my interest on the ride to that grand city, but I was too much the fool to listen. I should have asked you if Prince Blueblood measured up to his carefully-crafted public image, but by the time I realized what he truly was you were gone with the wind. I suppose if you ever read this letter, I shall have made much the same mistake again. If... if I truly am gone, please do not cry. I was the fool, not you, my Spikey-wikey.

I am sorry if I never had the courage to put the feelings of my heart into words. I could make excuses, I am but a silly mare and not a brash dragoness, but that would change nothing. Instead, I hope that I can prove how I truly feel in this letter. Please, think back to the time we spent together. All the gemfinding expeditions, the hours you spent helping me in my shop, and the adventures. I knew that you loved me because of how you treated me. You were a joy to work with, and though I am certain that you could have torn me apart I always felt safe when you were near. I hope that you knew how I felt because of how I treated you. I trusted you with my newest designs, relied on you as a worthy coworker, and gave every reward from my heart. You were not a burden to me but a blessing, and I still remember how you helped my sister and I make peace. I hope that the memories of our time together will last far longer than I ever could hope to.

You are strong, Spike, but that is not what drew my interest. It is your humility, your servant's heart. By right, your kind owns this world, since you are of the Ancient Race. Yet you saw what becomes of a dragon who discards discipline, and you rejected that destiny. You would rather be a little helper than a monstrous tyrant. I hope Twilight understands how valuable you are. I certainly do, even if I... I will confess that I am a vain, self-centered mare. Sometimes I wonder how you could care for me. I am supposed to represent the Element of Generosity, yet all too often I think of myself long before anypony else. I suppose that if I was truly generous, I would be able to set aside my pride and honestly tell you how I feel. Then this letter would be superfluous.

There is another reason if I never told you plainly that I cared for you. As I write this, I know that you have a duty. You are Twilight's assistant, and I know that means more to you than anything else in the world. I hope that one day I will be able to ask you to step back from that post to become my partner, but I will not tear you away from where you belong. That would be an act of greed, not love. She needs you more than I do, but... I know what you saw in the Crystal Empire. I know your deepest fear, and I hope that even in that horrible moment you knew in the bottom of your heart that there would always be a special place for you in mine.

I hope you never read this, Spike. I hope that we are able to embrace the best of all possible futures together. But if you are reading this next to a still, cold mare, know that I regret only that I did not throw caution to the wind and live as though there were no tomorrow. I hope that the only reason I delayed was because I felt we were not yet ready to embrace that future, for if I waited only because of fear... then of all mares I am most to be pitied.

I hope that you knew this in your heart before you ever saw this page, but I will write it anyway. I must, for I cannot bear to imagine my short candle burning out only to have my last thought be that you might burn on forever, uncertain of my true feelings. My dear Spike, I love you.

-Rarity

Opal growled to clear the odd lump in her throat, and rubbed at her eyes with the back of a paw. There must be dust in the air, kicked up by those pink ponies. She tugged her bed-basket into the sunbeam, tossed the paper away, and curled up. Usually it was a simple thing to balance atop the wall of sleep, and then dive into the Dreamtime. She felt more at home there than in the waking world, where her body was constrained by the limits ponies in their hubris had labeled physics.

"Mreeeow..." Usually, it was a simple thing.

She always had a very good memory, that was one of her requirements in a physical avatar. Sometimes it was more trouble than it was worth. As she tried to sleep, she felt Fancypants' story tugging on her subconscious. Memories sprung unbidden into her mind's eye. She saw her former owner and that pegasus pirate, saw the pain in his eyes when he knew she would choose the Grand Marshal. The cat had helped him then, kept him on the right path, and kept his secrets. She knew what breed of false sovereign that old machine had been, what had really happened to those two pegasi, and why nopony had ever found the Stygian Dawn. That had been a good life, a full life. This was her time to rest.

And yet Opalescence could find no rest. The sunbeam was too hot, it felt as though Celestia was reminding her of the Astral Creed. All the great and noble races, joined together in order to form a more perfect union. Yes, the cat could sleep, but was there not work to be done? Was there not a small task she could perform now, a little thing for her but a noble deed nonetheless?

"Rrrgh." Opal growled. This was what her kind had been afraid of long ago. She did not believe that Celestia was an omnipresent being anymore than Sir Fancypants did, but it was curious how often those who followed Harmony in her name received solar aid in their darkest moments. Still... she loved her owner, and her owner loved her. With a sigh, Opal rose from her bed. She stretched out a kink in her back, and scooped the heartfelt letter atop the cushion with a flick of her tail. The room was in shambles, but she was a cat. A paper stuck in a cramped space was but a moment's worming for her, and a stray page atop a wardrobe was only a few leaps away. Once she had all the pages, she was only half done. Now came the part that only a wise cat with a keen mind could compute.

The white persian stroked her chin for a long moment, then began shifting the pages into three piles. "Mew... mew-mew... mew." Once some semblance of order had been restored, she closed one eye and began the painstaking process of sorting the papers into the exact sequence that Rarity had written them. Her memory called back the expressions on her owner's face as the quill had twisted in her magical aura. The little dragon really did mean much to the mare. Opal sighed as her little paws moved gracefully over the stacks, but sooner than she had expected only one pile remained. She allowed herself a smug grin. "Meeeow."

However, a cat did not wear as many avatars as she had without picking up a little caution. So she turned back to her little basket-bed, lifted the pillow, and stashed the stack underneath. The universe tended toward chaos, and she was only of a mind to sort this data once. Opal curled up atop her pillow and smiled. She would leave the papers out for Rarity to find in the morning. All in all, the good deed had been worth her time... except that her sunbeam had shifted, and now she had to move her bed-basket again!

Opalescence closed her eyes. The land of dreams called, her true home. Her owner had restored the Nightbringer, who had once more taken her rightful place in the slumber of ponykind. This pleased cats, for they had long held the duty of guarding the dreams of their owners. The buffalo fashioned crude dreamcatchers to protect their minds while they slept, but such crude firewalls could not compare to the savvy of a cat. However, while every cat weaved through dreams, the persian had found herself meddling in the physical affairs of her owners over the ages far more than most. Yes... yes, she supposed it was a kind of love. All the pampering in the world could not buy the smile that a kitten could bring to a child's face. She had led Sir Fancypants because of love. She watched over Rarity because of love. In the end, that was the true reward of a cat.

Opal felt herself slipping away, her consciousness ascending into a different form. She would safeguard these papers until the stars were right. Power overwhelming flooded her senses as she walked along the wall of sleep, then let her body go as she lept into a nap. An unusual harmonic thrummed across the golden fields, distorting the way light melted as it passed through a million shattered memories. A warning? No. A threat, whispered through swirling portals from another dimension by those who thought themselves gods. How adorable. Ah, time to message the Princess of the Night, tell her to break out the crowbar...

And so while her owner struggled with the problem of too many Pinkie Pies, the eldrich cat slept harmoniously, a pile of notes beneath her pillow. Contained within them were the beginnings of a mare's devious plan to fortify the heart of a dragon.

Author's Note

I wrote and edited this on a crippled machine, sorry if there are mistakes. I'd really appreciate a PM if you do notice any! This chapter has a lot packed into it, and I hope that all the fans of earlier letters enjoyed the small one in here. I planned this scene many months ago, and I had it drafted three chapters ago. I felt that the additional content from Fancypants and Rarity would enhance the story as a whole, and I didn't want to shoehorn in Opal too early.

Having Opal in this story let me express a letter that I never wanted Spike to read, but still wanted Rarity to write. It was a dilemma for a little while, but I'm really happy with how it turned out. Also, here's an additional deleted scene Sky Piracy and the Stygian Dawn!

What do you think Rarity has planned next? Did you enjoy this chapter? Let me know in the comments!

A Resonance

Knight-Commander Fancypants,

Music. Music was the key, you were so right. The look in his eyes was enough to stop my heart, it was as though he was seeing some perfect moment in time that we lesser creatures could never hope to comprehend. I had given him something that nopony could ever take away, something that will live on long after I am gone. Then I pulled him close, kissed his cheek, and he hugged me tight while the music rolled through us. I know all was not well in the world at that moment, you were probably snatching a screaming orphan from the jaws of Sobek or something equally horrific, but it felt so perfect. Of course, I am still deaf in one ear, but Twilight assures me that will pass and it is a small price to pay for the joy I saw on his face.

I am sorry, I should have begun by thanking you. Without you, I would never have mustered the courage to find that moment, or if I had I would have first wasted so much time figuring out if there was any hope for a relationship between a mare and a dragon. Instead I laid my plans, stockpiled my resources, and waited for the proper time to attack. I cultivated a routine of mining gems with him, and it was only natural for us to chat to pass the time. After I had gathered my information, an accidental "Wub-nificent" wakeup call one morning provided the spark of inspiration. I knew what would touch his heart, all that remained was to find a proper guise for my true motives. I needed something innocent that would evade suspicion.

Vanhoover was my sketchpad. A city known for its diverse climate, broad selection of shopping venues, and thrilling nightlife. I labored for hours, piecing together the perfect shopping expedition. It was a facade, but it still had to be perfect. The element of surprise is invaluable both on the battlefield and on the runway. Once I was certain that my plans were well stitched, I walked to the Golden Oaks library to see Twilight. She was in Canterlot on Royal Business. I came back the following Tuesday, and we had a wonderful chat.

Twilight Sparkle has lived a very sheltered life. I knew this, I had prepared for it, but nothing could prepare me for what I learned that day. The dear has a stipend that could clothe a cinema star, but she had never been to a real galleria. I wept for her, and assured her that I could not let such a crime against fabulosity go uncorrected. Her eyes grew very wide, and I had to hurry to reassure her that my plan did not involve cutting off my tail. Not this time. No, I would need my tail, for I would have to be her guide to the wonderful world of power shopping! After a bit more explaining, I was able to convince her that power shopping did not involve multiple simultaneous differential spellcasting, or portable tesla generators, or even a forty-two volume encyclopedia set and a node graph. However, she was sold on the idea once I mentioned the words "efficiency" and "time-management". As I explained that power shopping was the art of finding and purchasing the best deals in the shortest time possible, her eyes began to glow with an eerie light, and a very disconcerting grin began to stretch across her face. For a moment, Sir Fancypants, I was afraid that I had awakened a monster and filled her with a terrible purpose.

Fortunately, my knight came to my rescue. He trundled into the room with a stack of books, turned to smile at me, and plowed headlong into Twilight like an steamboat into a sea monster. I helped them up, of course. Thankfully that little jolt was enough to knock her out of whatever mad vision had caused her ears to twitch and her eyes to gleam. The librarian was most excited by the idea, and assured me that we would have to do it soon. My trap had been sprung.

Spike was of course confused, doubly so when Twilight volunteered him to carry our bags. That got his attention, and he began to object over her explanation. He wanted no part of a girly shopping trip. Dragons did not "power-shop", they pillaged! He glared straight into her eyes, and flexed his arms to underscore his point. The librarian was about to try and coax him into it when a sudden thought struck her. I cannot describe the look on her face, but she let out an adorable yelp and blushed. With a sheepish expression, she asked if I had really been inviting only her. Spike began shelving books and grumbling to himself about something or other, and I resisted the urge to steeple my front hooves in triumph. I was ready to seize the moment, for everything had come together just as planned. First I reassured Twilight that, Spike could certainly come if he wanted to. He steadfastly reasserted that he did not, especially if it would involve a lot of heavy lifting. I had expected as much. An afternoon's gem collecting is one thing, but travelling all the way to Vanhoover just to lug Twilight and I's purchases about was not something he would eagerly volunteer for. He has a cute crush, not a mental disorder.

I gave a ladylike sigh of dejection, and told Twilight that it was just as well. We would be dreadfully busy rushing from store to store, and I was not sure dear little Spikey-wikey was strong enough to keep pace with two mares on a mission. He was a baby dragon, after all. That needled him in the pride, and he began protesting about how mature he was, and how much he had grown since they had come to Ponyville. I think he almost hurt himself lifting a pile of weighty tomes to show off his strength. Twilight agreed that perhaps it would be best to have just us two girls go on the shopping trip. I had a wonderful weekend planned for us in Vanhoover, and she was confident that Spike could look after the library and her owl. He was certainly mature enough for that in her opinion. According to her, the dragon was an excellent caretaker, even when there was a frantic librarian teleporting about in search of a misfiled report.

Then came the moment. I was prepared. Twilight and I chatted about shopping and cuisine for another moment or two, then I mentioned that it was really for the best. I only had two tickets to DJ P0N3's Resonance Cascade Redux show at the White Mesa Citadel. Those tickets were the crux of my plan. They were not cheap to acquire, even from the mare herself when she stopped by my boutique for some fashion advice. Acquaintances though we might be, we are both businessmares. Spike was suddenly standing next to the librarian and I, with a very interested look on his face. Twilight was confused again. I knew that she was moderately interested in DJ P0N3's work, but her assistant was simply addicted. He rather excitedly exclaimed that the mare was a musical genius, and I really must agree.

I thought I would have to do some quick talking, but Twilight caught on surprisingly fast. With what I suppose the poor dear thought was a subtle wink at me, she suggested that if Spike was willing to come along and take care of our bags, he could have her ticket to the show. She would need time to recover from all the shopping, and to compile the receipts into a formal report for her expenditure logbook. The mention of hard labor soured the dragon on the idea a little, so I mentioned that they were VIP all-access passes, and even came with the "Black Hole Implosion" glow-in-the-dark lanyards. He was sold. I trotted out of there with a spring in my step and a song in my heart.

Without your help, Sir Fancypants, I would have never worked up the courage. I would not have known if he was truly an infant, or a young immortal. Spike is already a fine, strapping young male, and I dare say he casts a taller shadow than when we first met. Because of what you explained, I know that his mind will guide his body's development. I know that the few years between us are less troublesome than our duties. Most importantly of all, I know that it is better to treasure the time I have with him than to worry about what the future might hold. Thank you, Sir Fancypants. I hope that your new suit fits well.

I met DJ P0N3 rather on accident, many years ago. All I knew when I knocked on her door was that somepony had moved into that supposedly "haunted" house, and seemed intent upon carrying out a sonic exorcism. My new neighbor slept during the day and shook the ground during the night. After a week of pulsing lights, rumbling wubs, and curious explosions, I could stand it no longer. A mare has to get her beauty sleep! So, I put on my best set of earmuffs, donned a soft blue scarf against the morning chill, and steeled my nerves. That was the day I met Vinyl Scratch, and my initial impression upon finding her front door ajar and the mare herself guzzling a concoction of energy drinks, alcohol, and thin red paste while dancing over the creaking wood floor proved perfectly accurate. She's a madmare.

Oh, but what a madmare to see upon the stage, her ivory coat illuminated by spotlights of every color as the fog poured over us all! I do not know if you have experienced one of her performances, but they are without equal. I have read in the papers how so many musicians throw every scrap of decency away just to cause a stir, but for her the show builds upon the music. She plays the crowd like another of her machines, and it is not lewd acts that pin her in our minds but her skill. I do not know how she performs the technomagical tricks that she does, it is as though she were not bound by the same laws of physics as the rest of us. She mixes new songs from old, right on the stage in the heat of the moment, and controls everything from the lights to the pyrotechnics with a pulse of her horn. I like to think of myself as an able showmare, but I could not in a thousand years hope to achieve her level of skill, not even with the deepest meditation, yet that madmare does it all with a grin and a cackle! A night like that was what I wanted to share with him.

Spike certainly held up his end of the bargain. From the moment he hauled our luggage off the train in Vanhoover till our homebound return to the station, he was the dutiful page. Twilight had a fabulous time, and I finally managed to get her a set of saddlebags that do not scream bookworm as much as they whisper intellectual. We tried a bit of skiing for a breather, and the young dragon had to melt his guardian and I out of a snowdrift. Then it was deep into the heart of the thrift stores, for while I pride myself on keeping abreast of the latest trends I have never been so proud as to turn up my nose at a worthy cast-off. Some of those clothes looked as though they had been barely worn, and others could be mended for far less than what they would cost new. After that, we took advantage of Vanhoover's diverse climate to spend some time at the beach. Spike consented after some prodding to helping Twilight set up some monitoring equipment for... oh, something or another about crabs. All I remember is the look on his face when he hauled himself back up onto the pier and had to pry a few pinchers off his green spines. We three had a grand time, but I hoped that the best was yet to come.

When we first arrived at the Citadel, I was terrified for a moment that Spike might be denied entry. Even I had to show proof of age, something no mare likes to do. However, the bouncer was only under orders to keep out underage ponies or gryphons, and after a moment of smooth words from that serpentine tongue, he had to admit that there really were no rules regarding dragons. Regardless, it turned out that Spike was actually older than the limit, to my mild surprise. I knew Twilight was a prodigy, but I had not thought the two of them were that close in age. The two of us caused something of a stir at first, but... well, the delicate way to phrase it would be that a young dragon escorting a mare was not the most exotic sight in the nightclub. As I said, he casts a taller shadow now, and nopony was willing to bother a boy whose scales could turn a knife. I had thrown some simple outfits together from our purchases, and I dare say that we looked more at home than many of the others who had obviously come only because DJ P0N3 was performing.

Spike had never been to such an establishment before, and so I had the odd privilege of watching his genetic instincts clash with his civilized knowledge. As an example, when we first walked up to the bar he asked the stallion behind the counter for an "Andesite Lava, extra iron." No sooner had the words left his mouth than an expression of surprise to match the bartender's own blossomed over his face. It was as though the words had been chiseled into him since birth, merely waiting to be read when the right moment came. I knew that he had an uncanny knowledge of gems, but I thought that came from years of living with Twilight. I am almost certain that he did not learn that order from those ruffian dragons on his little quest of self-discovery. The way he spoke was not like a drunkard buying another glass of courage, it was as a knight ordering a fine brew.

On the note of fine things, perhaps I should explain just what the White Mesa Citadel is not, a hovel filled with degenerates and agitators. It is a fabulous nightclub, highly lauded in such circles, and staffed by respectable ponies. I would not take Spike to a den of addicts and brawlers, just as I would not set hoof in such an establishment myself. The Citadel pulses with all the energy and passion of youth, but it is not a wretched hive of scum and villainy. Perhaps it is simply the uncultured small town girl in me, or perhaps Pinkie Pie's parties have let me build up a tolerance, but I must confess that I do enjoy a rave now and again. I would not dare to imply that a stallion of your stature would feel at home at the Citadel, but it is more than a club where ponies go to dance their troubles away. As DJ P0N3 put it that night, it is a sanctuary. Within those walls, it feels as though you are safe from all the fears that lurk outside. Or perhaps it was the strong presence at my side that night who kept those worries at bay.

My knight had managed to order a drink just before we first saw that madmare. She had arrived almost without ceremony. Many performers of her renown have bodyguards, but the only other pony with her was a grey mare I could have sworn I had seen before somewhere. I waved at the pale unicorn as she passed by, and she tilted her glasses down to wink at me. A few minutes later, the club was buzzing with the "news" that DJ P0N3 was up to something. While others speculated, Spike and I shared a wonderful midnight snack. DJ P0N3 was always "up to something", for she takes her performances just as seriously as I do my dressmaking. The food was excellent, as I said the Citadel strives to be more than just a dancefloor, and just as we finished I saw that grey mare walk out onto the main stage. She carried on her back a curious contraption that I recognized after a moment as an electronic cello. When one of the roadies plugged it in, several runes flashed up its sides. After the cellist came three more earth ponies, with their own black-shirted tech crews and electrified instruments. They were a keyboardist, a cyan mare wrapped with wires and festooned with pulsing gizmos that collectively resembled a sousaphone from a mad scientist's laboratory, and a purple stallion who carried a curious instrument I later learned was called the "harp-guitar".

There was an odd mood about the club, something rather like curiosity with a few gemstones of discontent sewn on. The quartet ran through their sound check quickly. I could tell they were nervous about the little crowd that had begun to gather in front of the stage. The grey mare glanced backstage, then back to her partners, and they started into a wonderful piece of smooth jazz. I thought it was a perfect match for the club's refined atmosphere, after all the night was young and they were just the opening act. It took me a moment before I realized that these ponies were some of the most talented performers in Equestria, their performances usually commanded sold out amphitheaters and high-society gatherings. I wondered just why they were here of all places. This was not a concert hall, and to prove it the dissenting noise began to spread like wine on a white gown. Still, this was a club of connoisseurs, and there was an equaling buzz of enthusiasm. I found it rather exciting to watch, as did Spike, for we could see the musicians truly putting their hearts into the piece. This was a challenge for them, a crowd that had to be won rather than simply played for, and they were doing a phenomenal job. On the whole, everything seemed to be rolling along fine... until a gem tore loose.

To be more precise, a crumpled can zipped through the air and smacked into the cellist's head. This was a nightclub after all. The grey mare looked more stunned than hurt, but the entire quartet froze. Their jazz came apart like a dress in the hooves of frenzied shoppers, and the audience gasped. In the corner of my eye I saw Spike's claws clench shut. Some of the dissenters whooped in thuggish approval, but just as I blinked a pale blur tore out from backstage. When my eyes opened, the crowd had parted, and DJ P0N3 was sitting on top of some ruffian who had just received a black eye by air-mail. She growled loud enough for everypony to hear that the musicians were friends of hers, and she had asked as a personal favor for them to bring some culture to this place. If somepony had a problem with that, they could leave, or she would be happy to explain how "fighting's just as magical as friendship."

Well, by this point I already doubted Spike or I would ever forget that night, but I'm sure you will agree it would be for entirely the wrong reason. Fortunately the cellist seemed quite fine. After a viselike hug from the DJ and a bit of fussing-over from the rest of her bandmates, she combed a stray lock of her mane back into place and the quartet launched into a new piece of music. I also noticed a few more of the black-shirted staff lurking in the shadows, but they were the best kind of stage help. They knew their whole job was to make somepony else look good, keep somepony else safe, help somepony else do what they were put here to do. Their presence alone was enough to dissuade any further troublemakers, especially since one roadie carried a brutal-looking axe. The tension of the moment had popped, but the four musicians still had to prove their worth to a skeptical audience.

I felt a pang of sympathy for them, and when they shifted into a grand little ditty that could really get a lady's hooves moving, I will confess that I heard your voice. Carpe Diem. I stood from my stool, turned to the dragon, and held out a hoof. He blinked, and I can still see how his eyes widened and his knees started to shake. After an instant, he swallowed hard and pointed at himself in the most adorably awkward way. Several other couples had started the Lindy Hop, and I already regretted squandering one chance at a night with my dragon. It was time to give him a memory he could cherish.

The band swung the beat, and I eased him into it. Once he relaxed, he really was a natural, all those years of dance lessons melded with his natural instincts to make a fine partner. I could still feel his fear when we touched, he was terribly afraid that he would embarrass me in front of all these ponies. It took another couple mistiming a dip and hitting the floor with a sound rather like dropping a sewing machine for him to realize that there was nopony around who would care. Madmare that she was, DJ P0N3 had been working the lights and tweaking the instruments from backstage, until before I realized it she had pulled almost the entire club onto the dancefloor. The songs were all old hits, performed live by the quartet. It was so wondrously retro, and I doubt anypony else could have pulled it off. By then I had danced with my knight long enough to truly regret my choice at the Gala. Just before she was scheduled to start her own show, DJ P0N3 bounced back out onto the stage again and announced that the orchestra would be helping her with a very special starter. Words fail me. I... Sir Fancypants, I have the photographs to prove it. She had everypony shaking a leg to Thriller. What's more, the pale mare was right in the crowd. She had on a candy-apple-red jacket, those purple shades, and her horn waved like a glowstick as she controlled the music while deftly spinning and sliding through her chanting fans.

All of her chanting fans. Including Spike. While he and I moved together, the world seemed to flow around the two of us, a sea of pegasi, unicorns, gryphons, zebras, earth ponies, and who knows what else. We stepped and swayed, and my smile was as wide as anypony else's, until she stole him away. One moment he was at my side, and the next she had him lined up next to her. The two of them danced like they were walking on air. I kept pace with the others, but she and he seemed to move as equal leaders of the crowd. I knew it was nothing personal, and he had such a ecstatic expression on his face that I could only feel happy for him, but I was reminded of my own weakness. As I watched them, I remembered how little I really have to offer him, and I felt so very small when she reached out to tap the VIP pass around his neck before sliding back into the crowd in search of another victim. Worst of all, I knew that this was exactly why I had brought him here, to make his dreams come true. But, I had underestimated my knight once again.

When he spun back to my side, he reached out and caught me in a hug. It was a quick clutch timed with the music, a catch and release if you will. I saw a glimmer of fear in his eyes that he had been too forward. He was frightened for an instant that I might disavow him for being as uncouth as a certain other escort of mine at the Gala. I was overwhelmed by the moment, and tried to say something to him. Naturally, my ladylike voice was crushed beneath the weight of the noise surrounding us. Then DJ P0N3 lept back onto the stage, slid behind her turntables, and with the scratch of a needle started her true performance. I smiled at the dragon as the crowd roared around us, and after a few seconds he smiled back. No, I was not the enigmatic mare on the stage, but I was the one he wanted to be with.

The quartet bowed and took their leave, then the world around us disintegrated as the madmare took absolute control. As for my dragon and I, our eyes met, and... well, I know my heart melted. Our time together that night was magnificent. It truly began at the start of the show, when I pulled him close, kissed his cheek, and he held me tight for a moment before we let go to dance. There, away from all the culture, all the society, all the trends and the worries and the... the... oh, everything that makes me think that it could never work. I suppose it was rather like tubing. We danced together under the lights, through the fog of dry-ice, and among the lattices of lasers. It was not a civilized dance, not a cultured series of actions as might be proper for a mare of high society, but it was not a carnal thing either. We moved in harmony with one another, two souls on one canvas.

I know in my mind that DJ P0N3 did not build that night's mix just for one mare and a dragon. I know this, and yet it seemed to build so perfectly to another more perfect moment that I would swear she was performing just for us. However, we were far from the only fans of hers there on that night. I suspect that if I were to try and describe all the little glimpses I caught while Spike and I were on the dancefloor I would run out of quills and ink. There were a pair of gryphons, judging by their clothes newlyweds still struggling to make their way in the world. I saw two pegasi who must have been brothers, or at the very least shopped for clothes at the same bulk discount store, swaying to the music and throwing sly glances at nearby girls. That sousaphone player and the stallion with the harp on his flank even joined the crowd for a little while. DJ P0N3 was performing for all of them, for all of us, and her skill well deserves the love of her fans. Even so, at the height of the show, the music pushed my dragon and I together so perfectly that I am certain she had an eye on the two of us. Oh, she denied everything when I asked backstage, but that toothy grin was all the answer I needed.

He knew that kiss on the cheek was not a commitment, I felt it in his embrace. He knew I was not asking him for anything more than this night. A lady does not string a knight along. Spike knew that when we stepped outside the Citadel, he and I would not be engaged. Life in Ponyville would not change. But this night, this moment, was ours. It was my gift to him, one he could keep for all time. Nothing can steal that night from his mind, for he is one of the Ancient Race. That was the best I could give, and I know he will treasure it. I for one will not forget the gentle touch of those savage claws around my neck, or the look in his eyes as I seized the moment in full at the height of the performance and we kissed.

After that, I... bothersome ink, I feel that there is little more to write. In the late hours of the morning DJ P0N3 finished the show with a bang. We and a small group of other Very Important Ponies were allowed backstage to chat with the musicians. Vinyl Scratch was slouched across a couch, chugging another wretched-smelling concoction that seemed to glow crimson whenever it touched her lips. The grey mare, who was indeed that amazing cellist I saw at your garden party, was standing just behind her, still wearing her immaculate pink bow-tie and sipping on a glass of water. The other musicians were supposedly asleep, and at the mention of that word I will admit that I felt my age catching up with me. Fortunately, Spike noticed and guided my weary body to one of the thoughtfully provided couches. They were clean, chic, and gloriously comfortable. I may have dozed for a moment against his shoulder, but his enthusiasm was infectious.

I soon found my second wind and was able to take part in the conversation. Vinyl was signing autographs, and her grey friend was blushing ever so slightly as she spoke with a colt who had developed a sudden respect for the classics. In particular, he was impressed with a mare who could take a hit to the head and carry on as though nothing had happened. I wonder what he would have thought if he had seen her survive Pinkie Pie at the Gala. The madmare joked that all earth ponies were made of iron but, "Octy's cold iron." The two girls shared an easy camaraderie, much like Applejack and myself, and I do wonder how two musicians with such differing tastes became friends. Somepony else asked that exact question, and Vinyl looked as though she were about to start into some thrilling tale. However, the grey mare quickly set a hoof on her friend's shoulder, gave a nondescript smile, and answered, "we met on a train." My dragon inquired why the quartet had come tonight, to which Vinyl shrugged, slugged back the last of her drink, and proclaimed, "because I felt like it, and DJ P0N3 gets what she wants!" This was punctuated by the madmare hurling her glass into a bin on the far side of the room, and calling for "Another!" before the sound of it shattering had faded.

My escort and I had a wonderful time. I knew he was a fan of DJ P0N3's music, but from what I understand he was always too bashful to approach her. Having me at his side seemed to give him courage, though I suppose after our dances together he would have felt up to pummelling Queen Chrysalis' entire army. For all his enthusiasm, he still kept a very level head. I poked him once or twice when he began to ramble, a bad habit he has contracted from Twilight and myself, but for the most part he was plying his tongue very wisely. At the very least, we made a better impression than the two pegasi who staggered backstage, said hello, and collapsed on a couch. After five minutes of trying to talk over their snoring, Vinyl motioned toward them with a hoof. The grey mare calmly stepped forward and easily lifted one end of their couch. Spike lept up and got the other side, then with the furniture balanced between his claws and her back they carried the two dreamers outside. That and many other things happened, but they are not what has unsettled me enough to mention our time backstage to you. They are merely context, so that you do not think I am suddenly putting on an evening gown while the sun is high in the sky.

Everything seemed innocent enough, until Vinyl referred to Spike by a rather curious name. She called him "Star Child". I asked her what she meant by that, and I know I saw her eyes shift behind those purple glasses. Her friend was still talking with that pegasus colt, but she leaned down and whispered something in the unicorn's ear before continuing her own conversation as though nothing had happened. Vinyl quickly reassured me that it was a compliment to Spike's dancing skill, from the old funk and groove music. She made it her business to know the history of music, that was part of the reason she wanted the quartet to perform tonight. By building on the classics, she did not have to reinvent the wheel. It seemed like an honest answer... which concerned me even more. Vinyl Scratch is a brilliant mare, but that reply was flat, factual, it pulled away too much of the mystique. I would have expected such an answer from her if she was telling me what clothes she wanted, and perhaps not even then. After all, even I did not know what she wanted that candy-apple-red jacket for until I saw her dancing among the crowd in it. For a question about why she had called someone by an odd name, her reply should have involved a tilted head, a shrug, and some witty quip along the lines of, "I'm crazy, that's how it goes!"

Before I could inquire any further, Vinyl mentioned that I was her chief fashion consultant, and I found myself subject to a rather curious recreation of that moment in your garden party when I suddenly became the pony everypony wanted to hire. I asked Spike later, in a nonchalant way, and he told me with honest eyes that he had never heard that name before. If it were anypony but Vinyl Scratch I would disregard it, especially since as a mere mortal I dare not ponder too deeply why that madmare might call the dragon Celestia raised as her own by such a name. I know you are a keeper of many secrets, Sir Fancypants, and I know there are perhaps some secrets best left alone. I know what I feel for him, and a title cannot change that. We had a wonderful night together, that is something nopony can take away. Still, it lurks in my mind like a forgotten gem at the bottom of a fabric chest, winking at me every time I open the lid.

Vinyl bid us all goodnight and left just before the dawn broke. Spike and I staggered out of the Citadel into a beautiful sunrise, which reminded me rather poignantly of the one I saw upon Celestia's return from wherever she was imprisoned by Nightmare Moon. Still, it hurt my eyes, so while he and I hurried back to the hotel in an attempt to beat the morning masses, I was grateful for having brought along two pairs of cheap sunglasses I had found at a thrift store.

We slept together on the train back to Ponyville. The two of us were exhausted once we got back from the nightclub, and had stayed far longer than intended. Fortunately, Twilight had already neatly packed our things and gotten a good night's rest. She sheparded us aboard the train and onto a bench, giving me the window seat, then settled down next to Spike with a book. According to her, the two of us were slumped together for the entire ride, even snoring peacefully in sync. I assured her she must have been mistaken, a lady does not snore, she merely breathes heavily while getting her beauty sleep. One thing I know for sure is that I felt very peaceful with him at my side, and when I awoke I was not at all upset to find that his tail and mine had somehow gotten tangled together.

I hope he knows now, for I could hardly say any clearer how I care for him. All that remains is to wait for the right moment, when both of us are ready, but until then I will take joy from the time we can spend together. I owe this knowledge, this peace, to you, Sir Fancypants. I owe it to you for coming and to Princess Celestia for sending you. I am writing you this letter in the hope that you will feel your time was not wasted, for I learned more from you than I could have ever hoped to on my own. I hope that this brief page from my life helps you sleep well at night, for you do so richly deserve that. This has been quite an ordeal, both in time and emotion, but I feel it has been worth every moment. I love him, and that love is reward enough for all the trials that will come my way. It is patient and kind, and it drives out fear with knowledge.

I hope also that this letter has found you well, Sir Fancypants, for I have heard worrying rumors about your health. This may be an overstep, but I do hope those reports are greatly exaggerated. If your ailment is not of the body but of the heart, please know that there is a mare who has seen a glimpse of what you see in your love's eyes. It is stronger than the fear, and it is stronger than the doubt. We mortals cannot cling to life forever, but this world would be a much darker place without you. You have helped something beautiful to flourish, and I do hope this knowledge soothes many old wounds.

Respectfully Yours,

Rarity

Author's Note

I never intended for this story to last longer than the first two chapters, and I still think that they are the strongest. However, hope that all the other chapters have been worth your time, and that I have managed to entertain you. Love Is Its Own Reward has taken me well over two hundred hours of work to conceive, write, edit, re-edit, and finally publish. This is the end of this story, but I have another one that is soon to be released that continues this line of thought. It is titled A Kiss and A Duty.

Vinyl Scratch is something of a callback to chapter one, which is itself a nod to a cover variant of the FiM comic book where Spike is dancing to tunes played by DJ P0N3. Why did Vinyl charge Rarity for the tickets? She wanted to gauge how serious Rarity was about Spike. After wheedling out the real reason that the fashionista wanted the tickets, the fact that she hoped to take Spike to the show, Vinyl wanted to know how much she was willing to sacrifice for just the chance to have that night with him. Realizing that Rarity was deadly serious about this prompted Vinyl to bring in the quartet from the Grand Galloping Gala, to give Rarity a "second chance". Just because the DJ is a savvy businessmare doesn't mean she's going to give a friend less than her money's worth! I thought that giving Rarity a chance to make up for the night she lost at the Grand Galloping Gala would be a wonderful way to end the story.

This chapter also contains a number of references to old music and The Show. If you need a little help spotting them, check out this blogpost: LiiOR References

If you enjoyed this story, let someone else know! Add it to a group, recommend it to a friend, or even link it on a forum if the discussion warrants. Now that this tale is told, its future is in the audience's hands.

I want to extend a very heartfelt thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story from the beginning, and to all you wonderful readers, thank you for reading!

A Reservist

A little silver bell tinkled as the door swung open.

"Welcome to Carousel Boutique, where-" That was as far as Rarity got before her mind processed who was standing in front of her. Then the words dissolved into a gasp of disbelief that she had not used since Sapphire Shores strode into her little shop. "S-Sir Fancypants!"

"Well, I certainly hope I am." The stallion chuckled. "How are you today, Miss Rarity?"

"Well, I..." She forced a smile, shuffling to the side to block his view of a macaroni collage Sweetie Belle had left out on a table. Macaronis were much cheaper than gemstones, with the added bonus that Spike did not salivate quite so much if he stumbled across the finished product. They also looked horridly juvenile! She desperately hoped that he had not noticed, no designer worthy of Equestria's highest society would have such things lying about her workplace. "I'm humbled that you came all this way. Really, all you had to do was send a letter, I'd have been more than happy to come to Canterlot." The seamstress laughed nervously as she wrapped a few dresses in her magic and tried to put them into some semblance of order. Oh, why was he here now? The boutique was such a mess, he would probably turn about and storm away in disgust! Of all the worst possible times, this was-

"There are some things that letters cannot say. I am here with a message, though." He adjusted his monocle, and with a glow of his horn gently stalled the half-finished dress she was trying to hide. The mare blushed, then hung her head in shame as she set it back on the table. He let out a warm chuckle."There now. I cannot stand useless ponies, and I will not have an artist tearing apart her workspace on my account. I am the one intruding like an elephant in a carving hut."

"Oh, not at all!" The mare assured him. "I just- I'm so unused to receiving such esteemed gentlecolts as yourself, and it's sort of the off season right now, and this morning I finished making a new ensemble that I'm still not quite satisfied with, and the mailmare just stopped by to ask about that dress for her daughter..." She bit her tongue to stem the rambling stream, her cheeks turning almost as red as the work glasses on her face. Then she blinked. "What was that about a message?"

He smiled and stepped a little closer, bringing the scabbard on his off side into the other unicorn's line of sight. A ray of sunlight fell upon the golden insignia of the Equestrian Guard engraved upon it, weathered by decades of service. "The regards of Her Grand Royal Highness, Princess Celestia."

Rarity felt the blood drain from her face. The blush of embarrassment vanished, and her eyes widened until her blue irises could hardly be seen. "Oh. No."

"Oh, quite so." Sir Fancypants replied with a roguish grin. "I'll confess that it's been more than a few years since I was on active duty, but once an Expeditioner, always a Expe-"

Unfortunately, rather than feeling calmed by thoughts of Equestria's finest ascending the highest mountains and venturing into the dark corners of the world, Rarity's pulse quickened. She was far from the first to notice that Expeditioner sounded an awful lot like Executioner. A military engineer had even taken advantage of the similarity when naming a new variant of the Equestrian Guard's venerable main battle tank. The fashionista was already on pins and needles, and when Sir Fancypants began to reach toward his blade for a ceremonial flourish, she threw herself at his front hooves.

"Oh, please, don't! I'm so sorry, I knew I shouldn't have sent that letter to the Princess!" Tears streamed from her eyes, and she clung to his fetlocks as she plead for her life. "It was far too rude of me, I am a terrible wretch of a mare, please don't kill me!"

It was his turn to blink and smile nervously. "I... cannot say that such a thing ever crossed my mind."

"Then... banishment?" the mare gasped. The Expeditioners were an elite branch of Equestria's military, known for taking on any assignment, no matter how hostile the conditions. It was a more than fitting punishment for such a presumptuous fool as her. "Are you here to drag me away in chains, far from civilization to the uncharted-"

"No." The old unicorn chuckled. "No, none of that, Miss Rarity. I'm quite sorry, I should have known how worried you were about this matter by the tone of my orders."

She looked up at him, eyes wide and head tilted to the side in confusion.

He gave her his number-two smile of reassurance, always good for putting a little steel back in the spine of a shellshocked soldier. "I'm here because of my expertise on dragons. You asked certain questions about them, and I have certain knowledge about them. I did command one, after all." A look of ancient pain flickered in his eyes, and the smile fell a bit. "It was... after I left Her Majesty's service, but I suppose that's not quite true. I have always been the same boy who took the Oath of Service on that granite landing pad, even after my medical discharge."

"Oh." Rarity's blush returned, even redder than before. She carefully pushed herself backwards, avoiding eye contact by staring at the floor. "I... oh. I'm sorry." She swallowed. "I've... I've made quite a fool of myself." No, she had completely embarrassed herself in front of the most important stallion in Canterlot! It would be a mercy if he finished her off right now!

A hoof entered her field of vision. "Hmm. No more than I did when I was a grass-green recruit still learning what those little rank bars meant, I'd say. Come now, Miss Rarity, the floor is no place for a lady of your stature."

Still blushing, she let him help her up. Her tongue fumbled for words. "I-"

"You really are quite refreshing, do you know that? All the Canterlot ponies start rambling on about how important they are, but you," he chuckled. "You're not afraid to be a little silly. You remind me much of Fleur." The old stallion let out a happy sigh. "She will miss me, I hope. That is the problem of having the last Crusader for a wife. No matter what, she will outlive me." He grumbled under his breath, "but she still makes me eat healthy. She wants me to last as long as I can, as much for myself as for her."

The designer nodded slowly, cheeks still red. "The... the two of you do make a wonderful couple." Fleur was certainly a lucky girl, but what in Celestia's name did he mean by Crusader?

Sir Fancypants winked at the confused mare. "But, ah, I'm afraid we've started this all wrong. I'm supposed to be here to help, and so far all I've managed to do is frighten you. Hardly a fine beginning to all this, I'd say."

All this was a bit much for her to comprehend. Rarity took a deep breath. Reassured by the kind smile on the elder unicorn's muzzle, she glanced about her boutique. It really was not as much of an uncouth disaster as she had feared, but why did this sort of thing always happen on the worst possible day? Her first act was a simple one. She removed her red glasses from her face and set them next to Sweetie Belle's macaroni art.

"I..." No, not I. This was not about her, it was about him coming all this way to speak with her. By the Princess' command, no less. "You mentioned dragons." She hesitated, unsure how much he knew about her foalish cry for knowledge. "Do... do you have a letter from Celestia? Or..." Wait. He had commanded a dragon?

The old soldier shook his head. "No, nothing so formal as that." He chuckled again. "Ah, this reminds me of the way the Pegasi used to trade messages. A commander would take one of her slaves, shave his mane, tattoo a secret communication on the bare skin, then let the hair grow back before sending him off. When he got there, the other commander would shave him and read the message. Well, fortunately for my mane, Celestia's a bit more modern in her thinking. You see, my dear mare, I am the letter, albeit my script was penned by experience, with blood and steel rather than ink. You have asked some very excellent questions, the kind of questions that should not be answered by a message, but by a messenger. If Her Majesty came herself, or asked you to Canterlot, it would attract far too much attention. Also, I dare say that I am a far less imposing conversational partner than the mare who raises the sun. So, she has called me up again."

The seamstress smiled, brushing a few stray strands of her purple mane back into place. This was... unexpected, but far from unwelcome. Perhaps this personal touch was why Celestia's response was so long in coming?

He rolled his shoulders, a youthful gleam flickering in his eyes. "In your letter you mentioned that you had consulted many learned sources, and I can assure you that you do indeed know more about dragons than most ponies in Equestria." With a sly wink, he continued, "I am not one of those ponies. I am a retired officer of the Equestrian Expeditionary Corps, and the former captain of a wonderfully effective little band of mercenaries you never have heard of. For my exceptional service to Equestria, the precise nature of which I am not allowed to disclose, I was knighted, as you well know. I have seen all manner of incredible things under Celestia's sun, including a few that crawled the earth since long before that power Solar was vested in her. Her Grand Royal Highness's Armed Forces have always been her response when liberty is in question, so she decided that I would be a suitable answer for a question of history." The stallion blushed slightly, and indicated his scabbard with a nod of his head. "As for the sword, well, I figured that since I couldn't walk through your small, beautiful town with my brass and braids, I'd just bring along a faithful friend."

How was she supposed to respond to that? She had heard the rumors about his military career. Everypony in Canterlot knew that the old unicorn earned his knighthood long ago, yet still had the vigor of a young colt. She also knew of the Expeditionary Corps' renown as Celestia's Own, and how once sworn in you were only called an ex-Expeditioner if you were kicked out. But to have him here, in little old Ponyville, offering his wisdom with a blush of embarrassment that almost matched her own? Unthinkable. "I... you honor me, Sir Fancypants."

"The honor is all mine, Miss Rarity. You have certainly earned my service." Noting that the look of confusion had returned to her face, he clarified. "You are one of the Elements of Harmony, yes? Thrice-savior of Equestria, if one presumes that Sombra's first act after regaining power would have been an offensive against the Princesses who defeated him long ago?" The old soldier waved a hoof at a dress awaiting repair. It was missing part of its cloud-like frill, and had a tear in the multicolored train.

Rarity winced. She had meant to mend that for Rainbow Dash long ago, but something came up... and as much as the pegasus assured her that she loved the dress, she never seemed to have an occasion to wear it. Her eyes turned back to Sir Fancypants. He wore his sharply cut suit very well, and his bowler was cocked at a jaunty angle.

"You and your companions also laid low Nightmare Moon and overthrew Discord. In your short time of service to the country you have always acted with the spirit of a true Minutemare." His expression hardened, and his words lost some of the jovial tone as he sought to drive home his point. "Make no mistake, you preserved the lives of many young girls and boys in the uniform when you broke Sombra. If you had failed... well, suffice it to say that while you were in the Crystal Empire, I was called to an audience with the restored Nightbringer. Your actions ensured that what we discussed remained safely in the realm of the hypothetical. The least I can do is heed my Princess' orders, and give aid and comfort to an honored citizen."

Rarity rubbed a fetlock against her other front leg. "Really, Sir Fancypants, I'm sure you are a far more worthy protector of Equestria than a hopeful designer. And... and Spike really was the one who saved the Empire." She could never forget that horrible sight, his little arms flailing as he fell. Her eyes focused on the floor as the scene flashed through her mind again, and she quietly cursed herself for not having the courage to watch. In her mind, he would always be falling, for she never saw the moment when he was caught. Did he even realize how close he came to death?

Sir Fancypants smiled kindly. He had been attributed many victories, but knew that while one soldier might turn the tide of a battle, it was the army who won the war. For want of a nail...

The mare glanced back up, still embarrassed by her earlier overreaction. Her eyes darted over her visitor as she tried to find some way to feel less like a foal who has just upset the punch bowl. "It was too much for you to come all this way, but I'm forgetting my manners! Let me get your hat for you." With a glow of her horn she took his bowler and set it gently on a rack by the door. "Just a moment, and I'll have a kettle on. You will be here long enough for tea, I hope?"

The old soldier nodded. "Quite so. Some things require a dialog."

"Then I'll be right back. Do make yourself comfortable!" She gave him a charming smile, trotted to the kitchen, and promptly let the calm mask slip. Sir Fancypants was in her boutique to tell her about dragons, sent by Celestia herself! This was far beyond anything she had conceived! Briefly she wondered if some cosmic power was toying with her, if a simple letter from the Princess would not have been sufficient answer. The fashionista forced a chuckle at the thought. Her hooves were trembling, so she took a glass and held it under the tap with her magic, then downed the water in one long chug. It was hardly sparkling, but it started to calm her nerves as soon as it reached her stomach. The mare pushed all her fears to one side as she took down her finest kettle and cups. This was not a time for panic, this was a time for calm. She had been in enough fashion shows to know how to beat stage fright. If Celestia was annoyed, she would have sent a disapproving message. If she was open to the idea of the dragon she had raised... well, having a relationship with a pony, she would have sent a kind note, full of her ageless wisdom. The kettle was full, and the stove heated. It would come to a boil soon enough. If a letter would have covered either of the Princess' responses, why then was Sir Fancypants sitting in her boutique?

The answer seemed simple enough. To take her measure as a mare. Rarity glanced into a mirror, tossed her mane, and wiped a few flecks of golden sparkle from one cheek. If that was the game, then she would win. She would prove herself, not just for her own sake, but to show Celestia that Spike had a crush on a mare worthy of his affection, and was far too wise of a little dragon to fall for any old girl. The white unicorn trotted back into her boutique proper and flashed a dazzling smile at the patient stallion. She had planned to open with a kind word about his wife, but he stole the initiative with a question that stopped her mid-step.

"Are you familiar with the main battle tank employed by the Equestrian Guard, the Sherman Russ?"

The fashionista blinked a few times as she continued to the table. "I have never seen one..." she sat down across from him. "Well, drawings, of course, but not a real one."

"Yes, the conundrum." He chuckled. "Everypony knows what a 'tank' is, something big and metal, hard to stop. Few have seen what they truly are." The stallion adjusted his monocle. From his vest, he produced a small book, completely wrapped in what looked like leather. Rarity could have sworn that she saw the tough material form a seam of its own volition when Sir Fancypants tried to open it. He flipped through, then laid it flat for her to see a page that held a single large photograph. "Fewer still have crewed them."

Rarity leaned closer to the book, even daring to set a hoof next to it. She felt an odd warmth from the covering, as though it were alive, but quickly dismissed the thought as impossible. The stallion in the picture was far younger than the one sitting next to her. He perched atop what looked like a wall of metal, another soldier on each side of him and two more below. The image was old and showed fold-lines, one ragged corner stained with something that had dried brown, but all the important details remained. She noticed that one of the other soldiers had her mane cut in a short mohawk and stripes running across her fur. On closer inspection, Rarity felt certain that the mare was a zebra. Another pony wore red robes that hid her face, save for two bright eyes. She cradled a toolbox almost as large as she was, etched with runes and technomagical iconography that made no sense to the seamstress. A metal claw curled from behind her, but Rarity did not even consider that the mare might have replaced her beautiful tail with something so cold. Why would anypony do that? Between the two mares was the young Fancypants, his smile just as charming as it was now, and his eyes hidden by the type of sunglasses Rainbow Dash favored.

Leaning against the metal wall below them, her head level with the stallion's hind hooves, was a wild eyed pegasus with a band of cloth binding her wings close against her sides. Now that Rarity looked closer, she could see bandages on all of the ponies in the picture. On the pegasus' flank was a cutie mark of a storm cloud hammering down white-hot bolts, and "Hail-Fire" was stenciled on the front of her uniform. Opposite of her, standing on stiff legs with a crazy grin that brought to mind memories of Twilight under stress, was an aqua blue earth pony. Her name was "Larami", but her cutie mark was obscured by water damage to the picture. The poor girl looked like an overpressurized gauge. It took Rarity's eyes a few moments to shift from the ponies' clothes to the wall of metal they were clustered around, but her mind required only an instant to comprehend the massive treads, sharp prow, and ominous barrels of a war machine.

"Adamantium monsters," Sir Fancypants confirmed with quiet reverence. "Rolling bastions. An armored spear to strike down all who rise against this land. We love peace, and so we like our wars to be as brief as possible."

"And you... you drove one?" She asked tentatively.

"I captained a Sherman Russ, Ryza-pattern, a mighty tank that fired small suns at an awe-inspiring rate. Think of a small rolling castle with a crew of five or so wedged around a reactor that had a point oh-five percent chance of some catastrophic failure for every shot of the main cannon." He chuckled. "Mmmm. They called us Paladins, because nopony crewed a Ryza-pattern who wasn't right with Celestia or wrong in the head. My, but it was worth it. No matter where we rolled, you would always hear a cheer from the infantry who saw us." He smiled at the memory. The old stallion had started off as one of those poor mudsloggers.

The designer nodded. "I can see why Rainbow Dash named her turtle after one of these. It certainly looks unstoppable."

"They are." He sighed. "Until... one day when everything that can go wrong does, and you're trying to hold a containment aura together long enough for your gunner to drag you to safety. Everypony else got clear, but..." The stallion touched the left side of his face. "As I said, either right with Celestia or wrong in the head. That was how Knight-Commander Fancypants got a medical discharge."

She shivered. Everypony knew about the Equestrian Guard, but you thought of the Royal Guard in gold armor who protected Canterlot, or the Wonderbolts. This picture showed five ponies, weary from a battle she would never know about. Standing next to her was a pony who wore a monocle, and she doubted very much that it was purely for style. Rarity realized with a heavy heart that this was what Discord had meant when he had called Celestia "grim". He did not speak of the kind Princess that they knew, but the unbreakable will of two sisters who had defeated him so long ago that it boggled the designer's mind even to think of it. That victory had come at a great cost. It had been preserved through the centuries by ponies like the one standing next to her, soldiers who were willing to put their lives on the line for the freedom of those they loved. Somehow, in the grim darkness of this picture, she saw more hope than in all the flashes of Canterlot culture combined. Rarity looked up at the old soldier. There was only one thing she could say. "T-Thank you."

Sir Fancypants raised an eyebrow, confused for a moment, then smiled at her. "It was my honor to serve, Miss Rarity. I signed up for it. You rose to the occasion when your country needed you, and that is a far more heartfelt thanks than any words could ever express." He paused, searching for the right turn of phrase. "As an observer of certain upper levels of society, such as they are, hmm, my opinion is that true patriots thank far less than they act. One might say that in all labor there is profit, but mere talk leads only to slavery." That was pretty close to an old dragon proverb.

The mare glanced away, trying to decide if she should ask the question that had risen in her mind. She gathered her courage, looked up into his eyes, and very nearly lost her nerve. "A... about Spike. What will become of him?" Though she was a seamstress and not a scholar, she could join the dots together well enough. "I think I understand why you showed me this. You commanded a dragon and a tank. Both are unstoppable... and very dangerous." She swallowed hard, then continued. "I... Sir Fancypants, please, I must know..."

Indeed she must, but she did not want to. Once she knew, once she heard him say that one day Spike would become that monster again... Still, she had to ask. She had sent that cursed letter against her own better judgement, and now Sir Fancypants was in her boutique. If she choked, he would return to Canterlot and condemn her as a weak-willed mare before the Princess of the Sun. Possibly he would even caution Celestia against allowing the young boy near such a mare, as it might hasten his decline. But her fear was strong. Her tongue had dried, and all the strength she had gathered in her kitchen evaporated like steam from a teakettle. She shrunk back, despising herself as she felt her muscles cringe, and looked down at the floor.

A hoof gently lifted her chin. He smiled kindly at her, his eyes twinkling with empathy. "Miss Rarity, it is not the absence of obstacles that makes a hero. It is the overcoming of them." Another old saying, this one from the zebra tribes he had spent so many years among. Sometimes he wondered if he was still a pony inside, or some curious mixture of Draconic metal and Zau insight. He certainly would have married a zebra, or two... but all the girls he fancied had a rather unfortunate way of dying. Even Fleur. However, she could get right back up, screaming with powers cosmic. Her outer beauty was a reflection of her inner purity, her devotion to the ideal of Harmony.

Hmm. There was a thought. "As I said before, you remind me of Fleur. She has slain dragons and modeled before tens of thousands of eyes, but when we are together in public she almost hides behind me." He paused, searching for just the right words. "We all feel fear, Miss Rarity. I know that you have overcome the fear in your heart before." The old soldier leaned back as she bit her lip, giving her a little room to breathe. He kept his left front hoof under her chin, and after a moment she lightly gripped it. The mare could feel the scars under his neatly groomed fur, and seemed to borrow strength from his vast reserves. He urged her softly, "ask, and it will be answered."

"I don't know if I will like the answer." The mare replied honestly. She stepped away and gathered her courage. "Sir Fancypants... am I to understand that you have read my letter?"

He nodded. "The parts Celestia saw fit to show me, yes."

The young unicorn winced. "I must appear to be quite the deviant."

"Oh, Rarity." The old soldier sighed, pressing a hoof against his face. "I have seen many who deserve that label in my time. You would be disgusted with what unrestrained power can do to the mind." He shifted, and the sunlight glinted off the golden icon on his scabbard again. Sir Fancypants knew that nopony, no matter how pure, was above the corruption of absolute power. That was why his love was all but the last of her order, and by royal decree no more were to be so imbued. That was why the Expeditionary Corps were not sworn to a Princess' will, as the Nightguard had been long ago, but to the laws of Equestria. Yes, they were Celestia's Own. Her own sword of Damocles. They hung over the heads of tyrants, and they were sworn to stop her if she ever became one. The New Nightmare Monarchy had not been cast down so that the Princess of the Sun could raise her own empire in its place.

The old soldier felt the memories seeping back into his mind, those things that he would never be able to forget. Luna had helped him since her return, even practicing her dreamwalking in his mind while she reclaimed her powers. Before that, he would toss and turn through the nights, Fleur's embrace the only thing keeping him sane as he fought battles that had already been won. "I have seen perversion, hatred, a lack of all things good. I have seen children who know nothing but war, who fight one another for scraps while their overlords cut their feasts and lick the gravy. I have seen stallions and mares sold and bred to produce superior slaves. I've watched as magic beyond your imagination twisted innocents into unliving murder-puppets."

He turned his head away, but she saw the glimmer of an angry tear before he could blink it back. "Before I was passed off to the Armored Divisions as damaged goods, I was a frontline Expeditioner. I have stared true monsters in the eye, cut out the very heart of evil, and ground tyrants under my treads." In truth, he had deployed far ahead of the frontlines, but that was another part of his life he could never talk about.

Rarity glimpsed the book almost glow with an unexplainable crimson light, as though it were ready to prove every one of the scenes flashing before the stallion's eyes. She blinked. The glow was gone, yet she could not say for certain it had been her imagination.

Sir Fancypants looked back at her, his memories once more locked away. "You are as pure as the freshly-fallen snow in which fillies frolic." He rolled his tongue after finishing the phrase. You couldn't say that five times fast, old boy.

The mare could protest no further. This was her moment, her choice to cower in ignorance or risk knowledge. An idle thought questioned if this was why Celestia had sent him instead of a letter that could be filed away, never opened, forgotten until it was too late. Not so with a messenger. This was her moment. Rarity seized it. "Dragons are much like tanks. They are mighty, unstoppable, but also dangerous. Will... will Spike one day melt down like your tank?" She turned, looking up at him with a determined gaze. "And... and if he does, will he hurt those dear to him?"

"Yes." The stallion said quietly.

Her heart dropped through the floor.

"Yes, if he does melt down, he most certainly will hurt those dear to him. I cannot overstate the amount of damage a dragon can do. They are flying engines of destruction, tunneling terrors, or moving mountains, depending on the adaptation of their bodies. While a tank requires a crew, a dragon is a self-contained weapon. From his claws and breath to his thick scales, he has many tools at his disposal. They trade very little durability for much mobility, and I am sure you have surmised how useful an opposable thumb can be. Worse, their stomachs work far faster than their minds, and they quickly become jaded to the needs of shorter-lived races." He saw the tears beginning to form in her eyes and held up a hoof. "Ah, ah, Miss Rarity. I did not come here to preach doom and gloom. If that was all Her Majesty wanted, she would have left your letter unanswered."

The mare held her head upright. Her voice trembled, "Sir Fancypants, I understand... I understand what he is." She breathed in slowly. "Is that the same as who he is?" Rarity could not know that she was almost echoing the little dragon's own words.

The old soldier smiled at her. "Perhaps you should see for yourself." He flipped forwards in the book of his life, searching for another photograph. "I know you have seen the destructive potential of such great creatures firsthoof. I had to caution you, but that is not all I have come to say." He cleared his throat, and adjusted his monocle. "My dear, long ago dragons were very wise and powerful creatures. What most ponies call dragons are but a pale shadow of their past glory. They are all quite dangerous, for all have a base cunning that should never be underestimated. Fortunately for our civilization, most have little in the way of goals. I am quite sure you have seen the laughable shapes that some grow into."

He let out a warm chuckle, and Rarity found her spirits lifting as she dared to hope. Spike always talked of being a trim and fit knight, not one of the bulbous distortions that they had seen when she tailed him on his quest of self-discovery. He was Twilight's little page, not an anarchistic teenager. She blinked a few times as she realized that teenager in dragon terms probably had at least one more zero than ponies were used to. The mare cleared her throat. "Yes, I have seen some... odd, dragons. I saw what Spike became when he... when the greed inside him came out. And Twilight has told me of what he grew into after he was struck by a pulse of magic." Rarity had heard from her little sister that Spike had once been zapped into a different stage of growth by the purple unicorn, and had treated her friend to lunch as a guise for mining every little detail out of the librarian's memory.

A glimmer sparked in the stallion's eye, and he stopped flipping the pages. "Indeed. Unrestrained growth. A dragon without purpose, without a reason to live save to hoard and sleep."

"Unrestrained?" she echoed, weighting the word just enough that it became a question.

He looked to her and smiled. "It is... tell me candidly, when you saw Spike as that monster, you pitied him, did you not?"

She started to open her mouth, but he quickly amended his statement.

"Not at the first glimpse, of course. One is always terrified at such a sight. I meant later, when you had a moment to contemplate him. He had no purpose, no goal, nothing but an all consuming greed. Mmmm." With a shake of his head, he continued, "he forgot his soul, and became an animal."

Rarity nodded. "Yes. Yes, I pitied him. What else could I do?"

"Of course, you had no idea it was Spike." The stallion paused. "But if you did know... if you could pull him back from the abyss, from giving in completely to that whisper of corruption that lurks in all of us... well, you'd give anything." He glanced away. "Because you won't let something so beautiful slip away, go into the blackness like so many others. No, you'd give anything." His eyes turned back to hers. "Would you not?"

"For him, yes." The mare replied, almost without thinking. For a brief instant she saw the book glow, the pages flip without the touch of hoof or magic, and was almost terrified that she had made some kind of deal without realizing it. Sir Fancypants looked down at the book and sighed quietly.

"That's right, you would." His shoulders slumped. "You'd do anything, because you've seen what lies down that dark road, and you won't let her slip away. You've lost too many already, and she's the only one left who knows."

The mare cocked her head to the side, then realized that the old stallion's words were not meant for her ears. Yet, in a strange way, she knew they were. Otherwise he would not be saying them.

"She's the only one left who's seen the real you, the leader. And she gave it all up to be with you. Immortality." He closed his eyes. "But a vow's a vow, and love didn't annul that vow, it was the seventh seal. So she'll outlive you. You're her anchor, she won't fall while she's leaning on you. She was born for a higher purpose, but old boy, you're the prince she always wanted." A smile crossed his lips. Fleur would sometimes tell him stories about the various princes she had rescued. Some were secretly in league with dark powers, others were simple prudes. So she settled for a down-hab colt who had done alright for himself.

Rarity stepped as close as she dared. The book was open to a picture of Sir Fancypants and Fleur at what could only be their wedding. She stifled a gasp as she realized that Princess Celestia was pronouncing them mare and colt. On the opposing page was a copy of their vows. As she blinked, she could have sworn that the book waggled the corner of a page at her. The mare was beginning to think she was losing her mind. She understood a little more now why the old soldier had come to see her. Celestia had not sent Sir Fancypants here because he was a convenient messenger boy. She had truly shaved his mane and tattooed her messages onto his skin. The scars of war, the courage of one who dared to face evil, and the heart of a pony who loved one who would live far longer than he. She still did not understand what he meant by Crusader, but she did recall that Fleur's cutie mark was for Purity. The stallion in front of her was not just the messenger, his life was the message.

"One of the happiest days I've ever had the pleasure of living through." He said softly. Rarity blushed and backed away, feeling that she had intruded into his privacy. The stallion resumed turning the pages. "Yes, for the ones we love, we would do anything. And she's far more handy with a blade than she lets on, nearly killed me once. Now, Miss Rarity, I've told you these things so that you will believe me when I speak to you of matters that you must take on faith. I can show you pictures of tanks, of old comrades, of my darling... but I have no pictures for some of the things I have come to tell you of. An image is worth a thousand words, but there are some realms that boggle the unprepared mind. I can only tell you of them and trust that you will believe me, because I have so far proven to be an honest witness."

The mare nodded slowly. "I... you've seen the old artifacts, then. I've looked at some of the sketches, seen a few of the things that the old dragons left behind."

"Yes, yes, I've seen those relics crumbling." He turned a page, and then quickly slammed the book shut as something tried to leap off the paper. "Ah-ah, no you don't! You stay right there." The old stallion smiled apologetically. "Yes, I've seen the bones of the old Imperium Dracon. But I'm not here to speak to you of the bone, but the hard muscle, the sharp mind, and yes, even the beating heart." He opened the book once more and continued to page through it.

"Hmm. Now, Miss Rarity, I have cautioned you of what a dragon is capable of when he lets his greed and baser instinct guide him. You know what becomes of a pony who eats too much of the wrong foods, she quickly fattens and becomes unattractive." He paused, then looked at her. "Ah... bother. I didn't mean you, ah... purely an objective... you're a very attractive young-"

She tossed her mane back and smiled at him, feeling some of her worry melt away. "Do stop, Fancypants, you're a married stallion after all."

He sighed in relief. "Dragons are... extremely adaptive creatures. Some have wings, some do not. Some see in the dark, and others can smell a gemstone under a sea of lava. But I did not come to tell you of all dragons, for that would take till doomsday. I have come to tell you of those old, wise dragons and their ways. They are the ones who are worthy by blood and glory to rule over their race." The stallion turned one final page and waved her over to the table. "I know they are real, for I have seen the last great bastion of their kind. It is the City of Aspirations, below the end of the world. It can only be found by dreamers, and many dragons think it nothing more than a myth, even as they slumber for centuries in search of it."

Rarity's brow furrowed as she pondered his words. She knew she could trust what he said, but that did not make it easier to understand. "Then... that red dragon we evicted, the one who was planning to take a hundred-year nap..."

The stallion nodded. "Precisely. When dragons are old enough to seek out that city in the dreamtime, they often dedicate large swaths of their lives to it, much as we Expeditioneers might embark on some crazy adventure that could take a decade." He chuckled. "But you must have more than a dream to find that city. You must truly know yourself." The old soldier smiled. "And... well, I cheated. I had a guide. She helped make up for my bad eye." His hoof rested on another image.

In this picture, a young Fancypants sat on a rock, his saddlebag lying on the ground next to him and a bedroll spread out next to a firepit. Linen wrappings covered the left side of his body, and he wore an eyepatch over the eye that now had a monocle. Curled up atop his saddlebag, her jaws working on the last bits of a freshly-caught fish, was a lanky black cat. Rarity noticed something oddly familiar about her eyes, but was too distracted by the stallion's bandages to mention it.

"Yes, that was all there was of me after the medical discharge. Any sane boy would have gone home, lived off his pension, but not me. I couldn't give it up. So, I went hunting legends. I saw many of those relics, and I learned what I could from them. I found the last city of the Great Old Ones, Miss Rarity." He chuckled. "Took me more years than I'd like to admit, but it was worth it. What we think of dragons are just creatures who adapt to their environments, but in that city live those who reshape the world to their pleasure. I walked those hallowed halls, worked my tail off, and earned the right to be reborn."

"It sounds wondrous." Rarity said softly. "But I can't imagine it's gone on for so long unnoticed." Not if they could heal that.

The old soldier flexed his left foreleg. "You can't point to it on a map, and you can't lead an army to it. All you can do is wake up one day to find your cat nuzzling your chin and pointing you toward the Onyx Bridge." He smiled. "My guide left me there, cats always have their own agendas. They are some of the strongest creatures in the dreamtime, and if they did not spend so much time in it I am quite sure that they would rule the waking world. She helped me find what I was searching for." He patted his left cheek again. "A place where I could earn a new body, since I had spent my first one in Celestia's service. The eyes are tricky things, though, they never could quite get it fixed proper."

"It's... it's hard to believe, but I know it has to be true." She assured him. "You went to a city of dragons and... and they healed you?"

"Took me a while to get it, of course, but that gave me time to live among them. There are many races there, coming and going as their desires allow. I was lucky enough to speak with the ruler of that city, the one who bears the title Prime. I told him of the world as ponies knew it, and he told me secrets that still haunt my dreams. He is more ancient than you can imagine, he survived the fall of his race and led a precious few out of the ashes."

"Is he their Prince, or do they actually call him Prime?" The mare asked, thinking that such a ruler would have a title similar to Celestia's.

"He prefers to be called the Duke." Sir Fancypants replied. "But he is too old of an example for me to use, a forgotten soldier from a race whose time has passed." He flipped ahead in the book. "Now, as to the true Prince of that city, ah." The retired campaigner nodded as he found the picture he sought. It was large enough to spread across two pages, the crease in the middle well defined. "I dare say he is a sterling example. He was worthy by blood, but also proved himself worthy by deed to claim a royal title among his own kind."

Rarity leaned close, heart fluttering.

"A noble dragon," Sir Fancypants said. The mare's jaw went slack as she stared at the sepia-toned photograph. "Of such a rare breed, I was proud to call one my dearest friend. This is a group shot of that little mercenary band I mentioned before. Yes, he is the one looming behind me there, with our Communications Officer on his shoulder. She's the pegasus all wrapped up with wires and wearing that voxcaster. The boy was about two and a half ponies high when he straightened up, but he tended to crawl or hunch like you see there."

The designer felt her heart beating quickly. Her eyes focused on the dragon's face, for it offered her the answers she sought. He had been halfway through a laugh when the shutter clicked, revealing rows of pearly teeth. A wisp of smoke curled up from his nostrils, and his spines looked far sharper than little Spike's. This was a dragon who had seen several centuries by her educated guess, which was just about the best estimate that a pony could make. It was his eyes that held her attention. They were not dull like those of that red brute from the mountain near Ponyville, nor were they cruel like the other dragons who had accepted and then threatened Spike. She saw the brutal cunning that Sir Fancypants had cautioned of, and his raw destructive potential was made all the more clear by the large revolver holstered at his waist. Indeed, the entire scene was littered with weapons and ammunition, everypony seemed armed to the teeth and ready for a short but loud war. The old stallion was much more recognizable in this picture, holding his sword high and winking at the camera. She saw honor, courage, and dedication in Sir Fancypants' eyes. Those qualities were reflected in the dragon behind him. Above all else, the mare saw one trait that gave her hope.

"Intelligence," the designer said softly. "He was a smart one, wasn't he?"

"Not with words or books, but yes, he was very smart. He was the best Top Sergeant I ever had. The boy had instincts that you couldn't train into a pony, and he saved my life far more than I ever had a chance to return the favor."

She looked up at the stallion. "Did he melt down, Sir Fancypants?"

With a smile, the old soldier shook his head. "No. He was a greedy dragon, but he focused that greed for good. You see, he too was only a boy, only a few centuries out of his egg. A child by the standards of most of his kind, yet his mind and body were sharper than many of those who had lived for strange aeons." He tapped the image. "See his arms? As I said, dragons are extremely adaptive. Strong upper body muscles to let him take advantage of weapons with his claws, and long legs that let him cover the distance in the blink of an eye." He shivered. "You don't know terror until you've seen a dragon lying in wait on the ceiling, digging in with his talons and anchoring his tail around a convenient pipe. Even though you know he's your guardian angel, it's still quite a fright to think he could snake that tail down and around your neck as easy as winking."

Rarity thought of the little stick figures Spike drew when he talked about being a knight one day. His knights had long arms and legs, and carried lances. A smile crossed her face. "So... there is hope." In her relief, her tongue got a little ahead of her thoughts. "My little Spikey-wikey is not doomed to become an evil old beast after all." Her cheeks turned red again as she realized what she had said.

"Not at all." Sir Fancypants reassured her. "But I wish to caution you that he is by no means assured that noble fate. You see, we ponies carry our sins on the inside. We think nopony sees the corruption in our hearts." He tapped the page. "But a dragon quickly reveals his heart in his body. Those who dedicate themselves to thought become weak in form but strong in mind, those who live for nothing but greed very quickly balloon into imbecilic mountains... and those who are mighty in battle often see no other solution to a problem." He adjusted his monocle. "A noble dragon has to desire excellence, and I dare say that good friends are all but a requirement for that. Mmm."

The designer realized that the water had certainly boiled by now, but felt she could not yet go to the kitchen. One final question, then she would fetch the water and steep the tea. "Is it really Spike's choice?"

The stallion nodded. "Yes. Yes it is, Miss Rarity, and I've seen Celestia's eyes. She desperately hopes that he makes the right one. Long ago the dragons were one united race, much like we ponies are. Those they chose as leaders guided them down a path of destruction, but a few escaped." He glanced down to the book, then back. "Every dragon's fate is now in his own claws. It is up to him to choose what he wants from this world. The Sergeant I was proud to command learned well from his ancestors' mistakes, and he was the best friend I ever had."

She smiled. "Thank you, Sir Fancypants. I'll go see about that tea." The mare trotted to the kitchen, but stopped just as she entered the door and looked back. "And... what of that cute pegasus on his shoulder?"

The stallion winked back at her. "Why, Miss Rarity, whatever do you mean? He thought of everypony in our little band as part of his extended family." He took off his monocle and rubbed it against his vest. "But I will say this. You are not the first mare to catch the heart of a dragon." He set his monocle back over his left eye. "And I must caution you that they are very loyal creatures. When that loyalty is to his greed, he protects his horde with all his strength. If that loyalty is to one he loves, there is nothing he will not do for her. But to break a dragon's heart is no small matter. It punches through his scales, and destroys him from the inside out. Oh, he can handle rejection, but if somepony tells him that he is her everything and he is not, when he finds out it will destroy him."

Rarity swallowed hard. "Ah... is that... is that from personal experience, Sir Fancypants?"

"Quite so." The stallion said quietly. "But, I have also seen that the right girl can put a dragon's heart back together. It's a beautiful thing." The old soldier cleared his throat. "Hmm. You understand, of course."

"Yes, sir."

He nodded. "I should say this as well... even if a dragon is rejected, I know at least one who still cares for the mare who rejected him. Even though they might never be together, he only wants the best for her and the ones she cares for." He tapped the picture again. "But, as for that dragon's son, he did not take kindly to being lied to, led on, and used." The stallion glanced down at the table and noticed a few flecks of golden dust. He leaned down and blew them away with a gentle puff of warm breath.

"Ah." There was really no way to misinterpret that.

"But, Miss Rarity, I am certain that far better things are set aside for you." The old unicorn smiled kindly at her. "Otherwise, I would not be here."

The designer smiled at him. She felt lighter, for the moment at least. "I shan't be long with the tea, and thank you again for coming all this way."

Author's Note

I am sorry this chapter took so long. I have wanted to write it since last Christmas, but other things kept chipping away at the time I needed to devote to this final chapter. Hopefully it has been an enjoyable read, though I know it cannot measure up to the expectations that the wait has placed upon it.

But, don't go just yet! One byproduct of that wait is that I had a considerable amount of note-scribblings piled up. This allowed me to write a rather large final chapter, one that simply did not read well in one single chunk. So, I decided to split it into two parts. The second will be published within a week. It is fully written, it only needs to be proofed.

I would love to read your thoughts on this chapter. I deviated from the format of the earlier "letters", and I hope that I was still able to entertain you with this parallel line of thought. I had the idea of using Fancypants as a sort of "living letter" shortly after writing chapter two, so this is something I've been wanting to write for a very long time!

What did you think, and how do you like the new cover art for this story?