Apples and Acres Away

by JusticeSnake

Rating: everyone
Tags: Applejack, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Romance, Spike
Length: 2914

Short story based on the alternate ending to Unintentionally Yours

Short story based on the alternate ending to Unintentionally Yours. Spike is asked to recount and document his three-year experience with his parents in the Dragonlands.

Published 2012-11-20 20:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-11-20 20:20:01 UTC

"Make it Two."

Apples and Acres Away

In a large hollow tree at the centre of Ponyville, a dragon behaved like most dragons do not. Planted solidly at a writing desk, nearly buried in blank scrolls amid soft candlelight, the young drake practiced his craft. He wrote, deftly and competently with a feathered, ink-laden quill clasped delicately between the claws of his purple-scaled index finger and thumb.

It had been nearly three years since he had been within this very library, scribbling at these very scrolls at his studious caretaker’s behest. He had been a miniscule creature then, barely standing a mite above the average mare’s breastbone, chasing the affections of a certain fashionista who barely registered his existence. Times, however, change, and the dragon had grown into a tall and powerful creature. To most, he could have been a monster. To some, he is a good friend and brave soul. To one orange farm pony, caught unintentionally into the webs of his affection, he was a lover.

As of two days ago, the drake and the mare had shifted from unintentionally theirs, to forever theirs, to love and to hold for as long as they may live.

Spike the dragon smiled from his desk at the wonderful memory, all while simultaneously remaining unsure of how to fulfill his sister’s request for a complete detailed account of his past three years living among dragons in uncivilized lands. He scratched his great green spines when Twilight Sparkle had asked this unprecedented feat from him. Even now, as he sat in the dark under flickering light, Spike wondered further where Twilight even was at this moment. He pondered this, for he would often see her at this very desk, detailing reports and organizing the next year and a half of both of their lives, all whilst he slept soundly upstairs in his now useless little wicker basket. How times change, he thought. Instead, in a frenzied flurry of frantic packing and rushed answers, Twilight was out the door clutching within the aura of her magic, a simple letter she had received. She would not say from whom, but she did state from where and before she could elaborate, her rushed words followed her out the door and toward Ponyville’s train station. Spike did not question his sister and thus had no problem leaving her to her affairs. He had the feeling that she would never change, come Tartarus itself and he counted on it. Her final words before departure were, “Going to Seasaddle for a few days. Be in touch. Congratulations again!” Then she was gone northwest, toward the great Pintocific Ocean.

‘Congratulations again,’ that was for the engagement of Applejack and himself. Spike smiled, thinking about the mare of his dreams, now fast asleep upstairs in Twilight’s vacant bed. Applejack’s day of rest was tomorrow and she had decided to spend that night with her husband-to-be, taking advantage of the unexpected privacy procured by Twilight’s departure. This left the library wholly available to them. The dragon and pony shared a lovely evening in one another’s company, but when she beckoned him to bed, Spike had reluctantly refused, for his attention had been captured by the stacks of empty parchment scrolls reserved for his daunting task.

“Give me an hour,” he had asked of her, his green eyes pleading.

She nodded in understanding. “Take two, loverboy. Just don’t leave me alone all night, hear?”

She winked at him and he purred in response. “See you soon, my sweet.”

“G’night!” she lingered for a moment, watching him ready his desk and utilities. It was not long before she retired and was out of Spike’s view completely. The dragon ignored the longing that rose in place of her absence, but he pressed onward.

After what seemed like a long while of staring at the parchment’s tanned blank field, Spike began to write down and recount all the events from the past three years. And where did he begin?

He started right from the beginning, at the forefront of a daunting task, leaving his old life and new love behind him.

These are the written accounts and experiences of Spike the Dragon, born Severezhad of the High Clan Royum, of Lord Dadaelus and Lady Nalthanida.

Let it be known that I hold absolutely no regrets.

Day 1:

I wish I could remember that last time I felt so torn. Clinging to the scales of my mother’s neck for dear life was, perhaps, not the best time to think about such things. Yet, despite the fear of the unknown and knowledge that all I had known falling quickly behind me, I continued to look forward, to whatever fate they held in store for me. I remember chancing a glance back toward the shrinking landscape, brightly lit by Celestia’s day. I saw what I thought was to be my last few fleeting moments of all I had ever known. I saw my sister, Twilight Sparkle, the magician unicorn and Celestia’s prized protégé. Her sad violet eyes mirrored my own and her gaze I could not hold. I saw mild Fluttershy, her equally despondent sea green eyes tearfully and carefully hidden behind her veil of pink mane. How could such a sight weaken? Even the great Rainbow Dash hid her haughtiness as she comforted her fellow pegasus, bidding farewell with her bright rosy eyes. I found myself looking over at Pinkie Pie, the most joy-filled pony I have ever met. Her bubbly smile had faded away, replaced instead by a long frown, her bright blue eyes glimmering innocently watching. When I saw the retreating form of Rarity, I could not help but despair, for she had not stayed to wave me off, but instead had turned and trotted away toward the empty purple hot air balloon she had arrived in. I could not question why, because another sight had stolen all of my attention. Even from afar, I could see the sun-kissed richness of her orange coat, the silky locks of her golden mane, unashamedly caressed by the gusts of my parents’ wings. Her hat had blown off in the sudden lift off and I could never see where it had landed. For as long as I had known Applejack, the beautiful farm mare had rarely allowed anyone to touch that stetson, nor did she allow it to part from her head until now. She watched me depart and I watched her shrink away by each passing second. The more I saw my image of perfection become obscured, the less sure I became of my choice to leave. Tears had welled up from that moment, but as soon as the first layer of cloud had completely interrupted my view, I did not hesitate to unleash them. I cried and I am not ashamed to admit that I did so, heavily, until my eyes grew heavy and the day grew long.

What little I can recall of that first day’s flight was punctuated with my response to the wordless statement my Applejack had issued before my departure. I am loath to say that I was long airborne and unable to reply, but I shall write it here and now so that all of Equestria can understand that I, Spike, had indeed replied to that statement:

I love you too.

She was never far from my longing mind. She never will be.

Three days of flight upon my mother’s back followed that uncertain morning. Leagues had passed beneath us as swift seasons. Rolling green kills and valleys surrendered their splendour to the vastness of dry and boundless desert. For a long while, the iron snake of the Equestrian Railway had accompanied us as we soared over many a sun parched cliff and mountain. As Celestia’s day bled into Luna’s night, the waxed moon became our guide, bathing the desert in silver blue. This came to an abrupt end as the blackness of great mountains overtook the flat, motionless sea. In sharp contrast to the salted flats, a rising surge of jagged rock suddenly crowned the land. Snow met sand and stormy winds met the bleak dry breezes. As the crescendo of dark rocks took command of the land, I realized that I was no longer in the beautiful land controlled by the regal sisters. I was the first Equestrian, be it dragon or pony, to see this new world, empty and wild.

And yet, we remained mere days away from out destination. Home, as it were.

We stopped then, to eat and rest. The details of the meal, I will omit from sensitive pony eyes. This was first among my many lessons to be learned.

If the crown of sheer rock did not emphasize the limits of Celestia’s control, it was what followed on the next day’s leg of flight. I more witness then, to a sight that I shall never forget in my long years to come.

The ocean met my eyes with a blinding reveal. I had only ever read of such things from stories of the East, or by travelers who dwelt near the shores of the Great Pintocific. But to see that horizon of rolling, sparkling blue, to breath that salted air and to feel my scales flare in the crisp breeze is forever marred by mere words that I am lost to find and am thus compelled to describe.

Would that I could fly then.

Another day of unceasing blue met my ever-fascinated eyes. From many leagues away, I espied a formless mass of black cloud and lashing lances of lighting that cascades against a wall of rain. Before long, the tendrils of the storm spread like wildfire, threatening to overtake our path. For the first time on this journey, my parents decided to ascend their altitude and fly over the storm. For that brief moment, I felt like Rainbow Dash and I envied her. Just as the sea reached out in waves of perpetual blue motion, the land of cotton clouds spread ever-onward as a blanket to comfort the world.

Would that I could fly then.

The final day of flight saw us touch the rocky ground of lands unfamiliar. This was the land of dragons, wild and untamed. No pony eyes could have possibly seen this place beyond those of the immortal sisters. I could not help but think of Celestia then, in all of her regal perfection. Had she traveled this way also those many years ago? How much further did she fly before stumbling upon my parents and befriending them? How much longer still did it take her to strain that friendship with my rescue? How much sooner could she had come and perhaps have saved my brothers and sisters as well? Such thoughts invaded my weary mind as we took to the land. My parents seemed to relax then, upon this rocky, craggy and alien world. Grey mountains ringed a deep valley where steam and molten rock warmed the land. It did not occur to me, then, that other dragons could have been present. It was not long before a deep, loud and angry roar lurched from my father’s throat, startling me and awakening the valley below. A long silence followed, but that did not last. A low rumble traveled from the darkest places of the crags and caves and shook me to my spines. I became afraid, though my mother softly reassured my safety.

A great shape emerged from the steam. Scales, once amber and bright, met my eyes. They were dulled and without sheen. His furled wings bore the scars of former dominance; a deep furrow graced the side of his grey head where once a lavish crest did protrude. His eyes were of a faded white, all colour lost with age. I knew this form, this dragon, instantly. His very presence seethed with a long life of strife that was the purest of dragon ancestry. My father offered a glare, but the elder dragon did not meet it, not out of fear, but because he simply could not. I later learned that this elder dragon was blind. His name was Nestoramnen and he was of the greatest among us dragons, to be deeply respected and listened to. With a bow, Nestoramnen hailed my father, “My unseeing eyes cannot bare witness, but my nostrils never lie, Royum. I bid thee welcome to your domain.”

I recalled his speech from the previous days before, days that had then seemed so long ago. His words were so eloquent, even for a dragon, that I took him for a blind poet, reciting long-lost tales of conquest, plunders and great feasts.

I heard my father reply, not nearly as eloquently, “A betrayer greets his lord with open arms and barred fangs, old friend.” The crimson of my fathers’ scales deepened their complexion, his glowing eyes filled with righteous menace.

The elder dragon did not waver, though his blind eyes blinked with the wisdom of knowing to choose his next words with prudence. “My ears do not lie when I detect the anger in my lord’s voice, though my nostrils again tell me that you have returned, not to open my throat, but to settle in silent victory.” The elder Nestoramnen offer what I could only speculate was a draconic grin, all knowing. “You have returned with our prince, just as you set out to accomplish.”

At this, Dadaelus, my father, ceased the billowing of steam from his lips, but did not lift the gaze from his advisor. Again, the elder spoke, “And you, Lord, have given your clan what you have promised: wealth to shore our hordes.”

My father lost all of his malice then. His eyes had lost their malevolent glow and his tightened claws only released their tension. Nestoramnen smiled, “I sense that my Lord now understands that betrayal is the furthest from his friends’ and allies’ minds.”

Suddenly, the great and withered wyrm turned about and raised his forearms to the sky, shouting in a booming voice, “Hail, brothers and sisters and rejoice at the return of our Lord and Lady, fully glorious, magnanimous in their victory! The Royumi Clan firstborn has come home!”

A series of shouts, hails; joyous and flamboyant echoed from the mists of the dead, rocky land. Dragons, unseen and all around reveled in their great achievements. It was a cacophony of elation that I shall never bear witness to again.

My mother set me down at the foot of the Maw, an enormous cavern that serves as our home. A soothing heat met my scales, born of the natural cracks of the earth that lead down to the molten heart of the world. For the first time in my short life, I saw what a true dragon’s horde looked like. Gold, jewels, gems and stones from all corners of the known map formed seemingly unending piles, heaped one onto the other, from one tall and rocky wall to another. The ceiling was aglow with the radiance of the immeasurable wealth that grazed its surface as far as my eyes could see. My eyes felt strangely heavy after such a short moment of admiration.

Spike set the quill down and regarded the dimming candlelight. The wax of the stick had nearly been spent and his wrist began to ache with a familiar tightening. It had been a long time since the dragon had written anything. Without Twilight dictating the direction of his claw, Spike found it easy to slip into the world of parchment and ink when it was for no one but himself. Regardless, the hour was late and his eyes warned of the impending collapse of his heavy lids. Now was the time, he reasoned with himself, to join Applejack upstairs for some much needed rest. He stretched his back and his arms as he removed himself from small desk. With practiced silence and a detailed memory of which wooden steps creaked, Spike ascended the staircase to the private loft of the library. There, curled in Twilight’s starscape covered bed was his wife to be, indiscernible as a lump beneath the sheets. The gently rhythmic rise and fall the lump was Spike’s only indicator that his mare was breathing, sleeping soundly. Small as the bed was, she had courteously scooted over to a far edge as to save room for his eventual joining her. As stealthily as a large beast could, Spike slid beneath the covers and settled into bed. He lay upon his back, gazing toward nothing in particular, his mind lost in boundless thought. As soon as he had settled, the curled lump of Applejack suddenly uncoiled and turned with a sigh. Spike winced, preparing to receive the wrath of his bedmate. Instead, her orange forelimbs wrapped around his rippled chest. Her snout burrowed itself deep within the hollowed junction of his neck and shoulder. With another sigh, this time filled with contentment, Applejack smiled and settled down once more. Spike could only return it as his claw gently began to stroke the farm mare’s soft blonde mane. His mind wandered then, to far away places and to the sunny days that he was yet to embrace with the pony at his side.

Tomorrow would be another day of writing and cataloging his experiences. The days of his stay will still be in there, waiting for him to write them down.

For now, he relished the warmth of his wife to be