The pegasi guards found him on the second day of their search. He spied them approaching in the distance, so he sat on the mountainside and waited, watching their armor flash in the sunlight, wondering what news they bore. These mountains were a long way from his usual haunts, and if they had traveled this far to find him it did not bode well. As they drew closer, he could sense their nervousness.
They hovered uneasily a short distance away, then spoke the words he had both expected and feared. The magic which had allowed her to live so long was finally exhausted, and even the finest of the royal magicians could only delay the inevitable. He must return to the capital immediately, for the process had begun three days ago, and she did not have long.
He knew this day was inescapable, so he had steeled his heart. Many times he rehearsed how the news would reach him, what would happen, and what he must do. Finally, the day had come.
At the royal residence somepony would meet him, they continued, but he must leave now. He thanked them calmly and politely, and saw their expressions of relief.
What had they expected from me?
The guards nodded and took their leave, swiftly flying off to find their comrades and tell them of the mission's success.
His journey to these far mountains had been unsuccessful. The pittance he had found would now be abandoned. It mattered little to him, for it was nothing compared to his hoard. He tucked the items into a crack between rocks to hide them from the untrained eye. Maybe some young dragon would discover the meager collection of gold and gems and consider it a lucky find. His younger self would have thought so.
He threw himself skyward, his powerful, leathery wings carrying him rapidly to his final altitude. Once there, with his size and power, he would cover the distance to the capital easily. What had taken those small pegasi more than a day would take him only a matter of hours. Had their anxiety been due to his size alone? Did they not remember he had once been smaller than they? Once he had been, but time cruelly changed that.
His relationship with ponies had been vastly different in those days. Over the decades he played many roles with their kind: child, assistant, confidant, partner. Was his role now monster? Was he so frightening that trained soldiers feared him? If so, ponies were a foolish race.
The two unicorns had always been different, able to see past his exterior, to discover who he really was. Now the dearest of them would soon be gone. He increased his speed. Certainly she would wait, he thought. She would still be there when he arrived; there would be no rash decision, not like with the other one.
Of course she would! She would demand the drama of the last goodbye—a fitting close to her dramatic life. She would wait for him, but he dared not take the risk.
He flew through the clear blue skies over the beautiful kingdom ignoring all its splendor. The rest of the world did not matter, for he had a singular destination. The hours passed, and he kept reassuring himself.
She will be there, waiting for me.
~~~
Only a few minutes remained in his journey, for ahead lay the capital city, with its spindly towers clinging impossibly to the side of the rugged mountain. Despite its nearness, he did not check his speed till he was over the city itself.
He had been a frequent visitor to the city over the years, and at one time a resident, but now his arrival provoked concern in the populace. Ponies in the street stopped and pointed as he spiraled over the city and began his descent. Why is a dragon here? Are we under attack?
When young, he had walked the streets with them: a curiosity tagging along behind his mistress carrying books and scrolls, the ever faithful assistant. Some thought him cute, a funny little pet, not understanding his relationship to her. Eventually, he grew to match their size and became their peer, then they respected his abilities for what they were. Those were the most pleasant of times, but they were painfully short.
Inevitably, he grew out of scale in their world: doorways became too low, furniture too delicate, books too small. Unable to enter their homes, he felt shut out of their lives. They tried to accommodate him the best they could, but finally he could no longer navigate the streets of their city.
He took leave of his surrogate mother, even though it broke both their hearts. The mountains became his residence, as he lived a self-enforced exile, trying to be a proper dragon. His friends never abandoned him—how could they? There was always a reason to visit: a birthday, a holiday, or just a free afternoon. Despite their kindness, he became an outsider.
Her presence became his only consolation. She always seemed to stay a bit later than the others, prolonging her goodbyes.
One afternoon, he saw her sitting alone in the meadow, looking towards the mountains, waiting for him to notice and join her there. She asked if he remembered the times when he was young, when they worked together. Did he remember the excitement and the adventure they had? How could he forget? Any time spent with her was memorable. She explained her proposal: a partnership, like then, but on a much grander scale—would he be interested? Although she offered only commerce, he accepted without hesitation. He would have done anything if it meant he could be with her. She hugged him in the most unbusinesslike manner and trotted off, leaving him momentarily bewildered.
And so it started: the journeys, the adventures, and the time spent with her. With that time, they forged a purpose, a true bond that replaced his youthful infatuation. They became partners in life as well as commerce. She helped him find a new dimension to himself, and restored the joy for life he had feared was forever lost.
Now, her life would be over, and there would be nopony who would know him as anything but a dragon.
This would be his last visit to their city. Both he and the populace would be happy for it.
On the ground, three ponies waved furiously for his attention. He circled the open courtyard of the royal residence, dropping ever lower, then landed near them. They approached him quickly and answered his questions.
Yes, he had made it in time, but she did not have much time left. At her request, she had been moved to a room where he would have access. They lead him to a building with a large balcony on the second floor, just a little below his eye level. He sat and peered into the room.
She lay serenely on the bed, with the royal physician bedside, his horn glowing as he struggled to forestall her decline.
Some noise alerted her to his presence. She turned and smiled, then gestured to him, and he carefully extended his arm into the room. She rolled on her side so she could grasp his hand with both of her hooves, and gave it a reassuring shake, as if to say everything was going to be all right.
She signaled the physician with a dismissive wave, and, as he retreated to the far end of the room, his horn ceased to glow. With the treatment withdrawn, she gasped and shut her eyes briefly as she struggled to hold on to consciousness. Her strength palpably waned, but she continued to smile at the face outside the balcony.
After a few minutes her eyes fluttered and she rolled on to her back, keeping one hoof in his massive hand. She stared blankly at the ceiling, then shut her eyes.
He no longer perceived the passage of time. Minutes or hours may have passed. Her breathing became progressively shallower, then irregular.
Finally, it stopped. Her body lost all tension. She was gone.
He waited, holding on for just a moment longer.
He withdrew his arm and took to the sky. He needed to be someplace else, anyplace but here.
~~~
High above the city he waited, a living gargoyle perched on a spire of rock, watching the activity far below. The preparations were being made for a state funeral.
They prepared the parade grounds for the ceremony to accommodate the crowds, and him. In the front, they constructed a stage for the royalty and dignitaries, and long elegant red carpets were laid out to mark the aisles. With the preparations complete, members of the royal guard marched into their places, where they stood dispassionately observing the proceedings.
His keen eye caught the flash of the spy glass they used to locate him in the mountains. At the back of the assembly, they waved a banner to summon him. He glided down, and sat in the area they had reserved for him. Once he was in place, the honor guard brought her out.
Even lifeless she was magnificent to behold. She elegantly lay on the bier, wrapped in rich purple cloth, her forelegs gently holding it down like she was merely resting. Her impeccably arranged mane and her perfectly combed coat gleamed in the sun. She would have been pleased. There she lay, surrounded by field of white chrysanthemums.
He could not help but wonder if he was watching a funeral for a princess. Once she thought she wanted to marry a prince and become royalty. Many times he tried to make her find somepony, and to distance herself from him. She said none of them were ever good enough, it had just been youthful foolishness, that she did not need them to be happy. Now she was indeed royalty, and she did not need a prince to accomplish it.
The gates opened and the mourners flowed in. All morning the throngs filed past: colleagues, customers, royalty, and the curious. Some came to pay their respect, others to say they had seen one of them, just once. Some came to be seen, and a brave few came to pay respect to him. They all knew who he was, but only those who could muster the courage to approach a dragon acknowledged him.
The multitudes moved slowly past her, subdued and respectful, then they were ushered quietly to their seats on the parade grounds. Occasional muffled conversations broke the silence. At last, the grounds were filled, and the ceremony began. An opening fanfare sounded, and the Princesses arrived to take their place of honor. A scholar read the ancient poem of remembrance he had heard five times before.
Then the speeches started.
Her colleagues came first, praising her creativity and drive. Never mind the many times they schemed to destroy her or shamelessly copied her work, now it was all praise. To hear them now, they had been her staunchest supporters, not backbiters who hurt her deeply. He knew the damage they had inflicted, her anger at their thefts, and her despair at their lies. He had been witness to their crimes, and no parting praise could ever redeem them in his eyes.
Next, a chorus of aristocrats came forth to sing the accolades of her good works. Of course, they omitted the fact that they had initially ostracized the provincial pony. What a simple, comical beginning! How dare she ever think she could enter their ranks. Why, she was hardly good enough to work for them. And there had always been her relationship with the dragon.
In the beginning, their relationship was viewed as merely strange, later disturbing and suspicious. There were sordid rumors of their long trips together to far away places—what exactly were they doing? She tried to ignore them, but he knew their impact, and had spent too many hours consoling her. In the end, her dignity won: They may have privately wallowed in coarse thoughts, but publicly they said nothing.
As her fame grew, those who once disparaged her became sycophants. When she was able to help others, they thought her foolish. Why did she waste her time on those ponies? When she started the organizations, they reveled in exhibiting themselves at her fundraisers, not knowing or caring who they might be aiding. She said she didn't care because, in the end, good was being done, but he knew how their disingenuous behavior rankled her. She feared the work would not continue without her and now he was certain it would come to an end.
The speakers blathered on with their false praise and sanitized truths, but hate clouded his mind, and he no longer heard their words. Had not their malice and envy toward her in life been enough? Must they desecrate her here and now by spouting their filthy lies? Every utterance sullied her memory! There was no honor in their land, no justice, when one so beautiful and pure was degraded by these frauds! His breaths became deep and measured as control eluded him.
The elder princess dutifully watched the speaker, showing no emotion, then her gaze shifted towards him. She raised her head haughtily, as if distracted by a distant sound.
Come now—you know the truth.
Quickly his anger dissipated, revealing a truth he had always known: she had never been perfect. How many times had he willingly played to her vanity? Could she have not taught the greatest actors how to perform an entire drama over a trifle? What of the compulsions, the hysteria, her anger and, yes, even violence? In truth, she was flawed.
Vanity and altruism, avarice and generosity, anger and tenderness: her inner tensions made her rife with neuroses, yet she managed to balance them with the utmost decorum and class. Her genius lay in harnessing those conflicts to drive her creativity and compassion. Her's was beauty which sprang from imperfection.
What a disservice he had done! Adoration tricked him into discarding the flawed, unique being and fabricating a sanitized image devoid of substance. His anger had been misplaced. Now he pitied the speakers he had despised, for they sought to fool others as they transparently burnished their reputations. It was he who deserved scorn, for he had fooled himself.
The princess gave the briefest smile of satisfaction, barely perceptible to her sister seated beside her, and returned her attention to the speaker.
The aristocrat finished at last, and the time had come for the ultimate eulogy. A faint murmur spread through the crowd as the princess of the night rose and stood before them.
She told a personal story, the story they all knew by heart. She spoke of her failings more than a millennia ago: her jealousy, her crime, her punishment. She told of her return, how the six had defeated her with a power greater than her desire for revenge, how their victory had not been in her defeat, but in her redemption.
Did they accomplish this, she asked, with magical gems alone? Those were just gray lifeless stones until the six added something uniquely powerful. Their combined gifts brought the stones to life and unleashed the redemptive power. Each had used their gift that day, and, like the one laying before them now, each used that gift throughout their lives. She told them how the ordinary use of their gifts had been as powerful as they way they had been used on her.
She paced back and forth admonishing the assembly. She knew from experience that evil lives in every heart, waiting for its chance to corrupt. But that lurking evil may be subdued with the simple acts of love, compassion, and grace. The most fitting remembrance for them, she concluded, was for each to use their individual gift in service to each other, and thus render evil harmless.
She gazed out over the silent crowd, then returned to her place beside her sister.
With surreal suddenness, the ceremony ended, the Princesses left, and the crowd dispersed.
The honor guard accompanied by four unicorns returned to prepare her for her final journey. They took the richly colored cloth on which she lay and wrapped it tightly around her until she was entirely concealed. They used a thick, gold cord to hold it in place. With their preparations complete, they stood back, bowed, and called for him.
The final duties were his alone.
He carefully picked her up, holding her in his arms as one might hold a newborn foal, and began the flight to the mountains, back to the hoard. Slowly he rose above the capital city, but he did not look down at those watching him depart. He had no reason to—he was done with their kind.
He held her tight against the cold, though she no longer needed the protection. In their flights long ago, the cold always managed to find her despite her preparations. Even if it could no longer find her, he would protect her just a little longer. Soon they would be home to the cave in the mountains—a short journey—and they would rest.
Yes, rest for all of them now.
One-by-one time claimed them all. The proud farmer, the champion, the kindest soul, even the one who celebrated life to its fullest, all were gone. Each ceremony had been different—some private, some public—as unique as the individual. But the uniqueness of the other unicorn's ceremony haunted him.
Utilitarian, practical, that's what she said in her final letters.
Had she been afraid? She lived by knowledge and reason. Had entering the unknowable frightened her? Maybe she saw it as the final act of control, a way to choose her own time, her own destiny. Had it been her ultimate act of reason?
Madness! When she felt herself slipping, she must have gone mad!
Had those years amounted to nothing? Their life together—the trials, the laughter, the defeats, the celebrations, their love—did it mean nothing to her? Her feelings were all there in the letter, precisely enumerated, perfectly rational, but he demanded more than words and reason. All he had really needed was her.
Madness—it had to be madness, for he could find no other explanation.
She should have waited. She should have waited for me.
In the end, her final spell left them with nothing, her portrait from the library acting as a stand-in at her ceremony.
~~~
He landed on the wide ledge outside the hoard cave, brushed away the small stones, and carefully laid her down. Their flight had ended and her journey was almost complete, but he would have to leave her for just a moment.
He leapt off the ledge and glided down to the woods below, alarming a flock of birds that fled across the river. The sound of snapping limbs echoed off the harsh rock walls as he gathered the materials. The heavy armload of accumulated wood slowed his progress and he strained to return to the ledge where she lay. One trip had not been enough, so he descended for a second time.
Back on the ledge, he stripped the smaller branches from the limbs, creating a pile of kindling. Then the larger logs were stacked in alternating layers, until the construction reached the level of his chest. Here he built the final platform.
Delicately he lifted her wrapped body and placed it atop the construction. He looked upon her one last time in this form, then retreated to the mouth of the cave. Patiently he waited, watching as the shadows of the day slowly lengthened.
In their search for treasure in distant lands, he would fly high in the cold rarefied air. He was immune to the temperature, but eventually he would feel her shivering as she held tightly about his neck. He would pull in his wings and plunge headlong towards the ground. Exhilarated, she would scream her laughing protests and pound on his thick hide. It became a ritual.
Then he would build her a fire. As it burned, she would lean against him, smooth and warm, and talk. The subject did not matter, for he needed no other purpose in life except to be with her, listening to her voice. They would sit, talking through the night, as the fire slowly burned out.
One more fire, one more night.
Darkness descended. He laid his head down at the base of the pyre and delivered a final fiery kiss to carry her away. The kindling took easily and soon all the wood was ablaze. The cracking of the burning timbers sent showers of bright sparks skyward, adding their light to the stars of the deepening night. Could they see the light in the far off capital? Would they even think to look?
Through the night, he resolutely tended the towering fire, adding wood piece-by-piece until it finally ran out. He watched the glowing coals, the heat distorting their orange glow, as they slowly reduced themselves to ash. Now there was nothing left to do but await dawn.
~~~
As the light of day returned, he crept into the cave to retrieve the vessel. Uncounted years ago she had it commissioned, giving it to him along with her instructions. By her standards, its design was simple, almost understated: a lidded golden vase inlaid with three blue diamond-shaped gems, their shape and arrangement leaving no doubt for whom it was intended. It stood alone on the high shelf of the main chamber. He tucked it under his arm and returned to the remnants of the pyre.
He placed the vessel down at his side and removed its tightly fitting lid. Gently, he blew on the ash, creating a gray cloud that drifted out over the valley. The last pieces of unconsumed wood were discarded, leaving only fragments of bone. One-by-one he transferred these to the vessel, gingerly lifting each piece with the very tips of his claws, delicately setting them down inside. All morning he scoured the remains of the fire, until the final shards had been retrieved. After sweeping the remaining debris from the ledge, he replaced the vessel's lid and pressed it close to his chest. Exhausted, he closed his eyes.
Almost done—then we will rest.
He returned to the cave, and when at last he reached his pile of gold and gems, he reverently placed her vessel back upon its shelf. Unoccupied it had merely held a place of honor, now it would be sacred.
He turned and looked upon the years of accumulation covering the floor of the chamber. She had helped with the mighty task; both were proud of the accomplishment. Here he would rest, with her and their treasure.
A few decades will be enough.
When his sleep was over, what then? Imagining life without her presence, without her guidance, seemed impossible. Who would check his avarice? Would his dark urges overwhelm him? Would he become the monster they thought him?
For the first time, he felt entirely alone.
No, he would never be alone. She was right here, watching over him. What had she said when she gave him the vessel so long ago?
This way I will be yours forever. Yes, forever with him: watching, guiding, reminding him of his better nature.
He laid down upon the mound of treasure, looking up at the most precious gem he had ever found.
He closed his eyes, and sleep overtook him.
