To Weep for Family

by ArgonMatrix

Rating: everyone
Tags: Sad, Drama
Length: 13927

As Twilight grows up, the decisions she has to make will only get harder. The hardest, it turns out, is one she shouldn't have to make at all.

The price of growing up can be heavy. Growing up means making more decisions on your own, maintaining more responsibilities than ever, and learning things about yourself that you might never have imagined to be possible. As we grow, it becomes more apparent how important we are to the world, and how important the world is to us.

For Twilight Sparkle, growing up doesn't just mean getting a crown and wings. Growing up means making decisions that will affect herself, her country, her friends, and her family more than she could ever know. These decisions aren't always easy, nor are they always fair, but they are necessary. Because without them, we'd never learn, and we'd never grow.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-10-15 21:05:55 UTC

Prologue

Prologue

The air in the cavern was hot, humid, and thick with sulfur fumes. A cocktail of acidic odors permeated the atmosphere, crushing all other smells in a tight stranglehold. All that could be seen in any direction was an endless black void. Water was dripping somewhere in the distance, punctuating every second like the beat of a metronome.

In the deepest chamber of the labyrinthine cavern, the earth shook with a sound like thunder. A shock wave of air tore through the stagnant build-up of chemical fumes, rousing the age-old miasma to chaotic motion.

From nowhere in particular, yet from everywhere all at once, a voice like an earthquake boomed, “I bring news from Equestria, My Liege.”

As if in response, dozens of torches sparked to life along the walls of the chamber. Their emerald flames were dim, creating just enough light to mark a ring around the dark heart of the cave; the white chemical fumes lingering in the air gave the light an ethereal quality. Hundreds of silhouetted stalagmites formed a barrier just ahead of the torches, leaving a single gap at the farthest edge of their oval pattern. Sitting in the gap was a large creature, slanted amber eyes that reflected the torchlight being its only distinguishing features against the velvety blackness.

The sound of two heavy boulders scraping together came from the center of the large chamber. It was accompanied by a series of random metallic clinks. All at once the cacophony faded into obscurity, and a pair of cobalt blue eyes thrice the size of the amber ones blinked into being.

They glistened softly in the torchlight like a pair of dull sapphires. Milky wisps danced through the irises in elegant patterns, constantly fading away only to reappear in moments and take on a new course. Where the eyes’ colour was a faded cobalt shield, their gaze was a steel sword forged in an arctic tundra. They were the eyes of the wise. They were the eyes of the weary. They were the eyes of the warrior.

They were the eyes of an elder.

In a guttural yet distinctly feminine voice, the elder said, “You have not woken me here since the Moon Princess returned, Squire. Tell me, what could be so important that you would disturb my slumber for a second time this decade?”

A drawn-out moment of silence took hold as the squire’s eyes lowered to the ground and raised back to their original height. “Apologies, My Liege, but I believe this to be a matter of great importance. Equestria has just crowned a new princess: the first in over a millennium, discounting the Crystal Princess.”

A snort exploded from the center of the chamber, rattling the torches in their brackets. Turquoise flames replaced the green ones.

“Telling me of the return of an old ally is one thing, Squire, but what makes you think I would care for a new princess? My time on this earth wears thin, and I have no need for connections which are unlikely to benefit our race. I no longer take interest in the politics of ponies.” The elder’s eyes vanished back into the darkness, and the torches began to dim.

“It is not the princess herself that has my concern, My Liege. This matter pertains to your meeting with the Sun Princess last century.”

The torches stopped dimming, and the colour of their flames deepened to a midnight blue. When the elder’s eyes reappeared, the wisps dancing in their irises had vanished.

Not hiding the tremble in her voice, the elder spoke a single word: “Speak.”

“This is something to be seen, not heard, My Liege.” The squire drew slightly closer to the elder. As he did, gentle rumblings shook the cavern. A stalactite shattering against the ground in the distance fell on deaf ears.

When only a few feet separated the two creatures, a pair of blistering white torches lit the ground between them. A newspaper headed as The Canterlot Herald slid into the dome of light.

The squire raised his eyes to meet the elder’s and said, “Look only at the photograph, My Liege. You will see that of which I speak.”

Unblinking, the elder held the squire’s gaze for a long moment. A single white wisp appeared in the elder’s iris. It spun and twirled across the blue canvas in complex, winding patterns before eventually colliding with the venomous black of the pupil. Slowly, the elder’s eyes turned down to the newspaper.

Colours exploded in the picture adorning the front page. It depicted a group of ten ponies at some sort of celebration, evidenced by the elegant clothing each pony wore. There were three alicorns, five mares, and a stallion all centered around a lavender alicorn. Every pony was beaming wide, and some of them had puffy, red eyes. Though it was difficult to tell, the stallion on the lavender alicorn’s immediate right seemed to be smiling largest of all; strangely, the lavender alicorn herself had the weakest smile.

The elder was just about to lift her eyes and address the squire when she noticed something. It was smaller and much less vibrant than the rest of the photograph, but it was still noticeable. Wedged between the new princess and the stallion was what appeared to be...

Tranquil, amethyst flames took hold of the wall-mounted torches. Blinking a few times as she spoke, the elder whispered, “Is that...?”

“It appears so, My Liege,” the squire said.

Somewhere in the distance, water stopped dripping, and the cavern was plunged into unnatural silence. The heat of the cavern faded noticeably, leaving cold, wet air lingering in its wake. Hints of orange fire licked at the purple flames of the torches.

Slowly, the elder peeled her gaze away from the photograph. She blinked several times, and her eyes quivered almost imperceptibly. Her gaze met the squire’s, and she said, “Squire, get me a quill and parchment.”

The squire blinked once. “Are you certain, My Liege? I assumed you would want to take immediate action.”

“No, Squire. Get me a quill and parchment, and prepare the chariot for tomorrow. We leave at sunrise.” Without another sound, the elder turned back to the newspaper.

Silence lingered in the cavern for a moment before the squire made his reply. “As you wish, My Liege.” With that, the amber eyes faded into the darkness, and the sound of powerful wing beats echoed in the cavern for a short while afterwards.

The elder turned her eyes to the headline sitting just above the photograph of the paper. Her eyes glistened with a faint sheen as she did.

“Twilight Sparkle,” she said. As the words faded into oblivion, the torches throughout the chamber extinguished, hiding the world from view.

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Twilight Sparkle stood atop the golden dais of Canterlot Castle’s throne room, her head slouching slightly. The frown creasing her face perfectly underlined her downcast eyes. Grey light spilled in through the stained-glass mosaics decorating the walls, drenching the alicorn and dulling her colours. A tense silence hung in the room around her, broken only by the faint pitter-patter of raindrops tapping softly against the windows.

“Well, Twilight?” said a voice, its tone as rigid as ice.

Twilight flinched. Her eyes were instinctively drawn up to the source of the voice. She immediately regretted the action.

Staring back at her from atop the throne were two piercing, purple eyes. Their gaze was a far cry from the warm, understanding one Twilight was so used to receiving. In its place was a cold, unyielding gaze, bearing down on her with all the empathy of a steel blade. It was a look that could turn a cockatrice to stone, and a look that Twilight had never expected to be on the receiving end of, especially when it came from the one pony she respected more than anyone in the world: Princess Celestia.

The fraction of a second in which the two ponies’ eyes had met was long enough to make Twilight’s mind wilt, forcing her gaze back to the floor in front of her. Somewhere in the distance, a thunderclap tore through the sky.

Once the echoing boom of the storm subsided, Celestia said, “You have deliberated on this decision for far too long, Twilight. Tell me your choice.”

Twilight shuffled in place. “I... uh...” Her eyes slammed shut and her muscles tensed. In a rushed voice, she asked, “C-could we go over the decision one more time please?” Carefully, Twilight reopened her eyes and turned them up to her mentor with a pleading look.

Celestia returned her look with the same rigid expression as before, making Twilight shrink back. “We have been over it more than enough times already,” Celestia said, more venom spilling into her tone. “You have a clear understanding of the situation, and you will give me your decision now, Twilight Sparkle. I expected more decisiveness from you than this.”

Twilight’s head slumped down like a dead flower, and her eyes fell to the floor once more. A slight mist filled her vision as she whispered, “But you never told me I’d have to make a decision like this.”

A terrible cracking sound detonated throughout the chamber, echoing endlessly off the walls and startling Twilight into recoiling and looking up, eyes wide as dinner plates. The floor beneath Princess Celestia’s left front hoof had shattered, and her face had morphed into a malicious scowl. It was a terror that put Nightmare Moon to shame, and Twilight couldn’t stop herself from tearing up at the sight.

“I don’t care what I did or didn’t tell you, Twilight. You are a princess now. You will have to make these kinds of decisions whether you like it or not. If you aren’t mature or responsible enough to make simple decisions like this on your own, then maybe it was a mistake to make you a princess after all. Maybe you still have more to learn than I thought.” Her words sunk into Twilight’s heart like lead daggers. Celestia closed her eyes and sighed a heavy sigh.

“I must say I am disappointed, Twilight.”

Tears rolled from Twilight’s eyes like twin waterfalls, cascading in pure silence. She wanted to say something—anything—but her mind was too broken for her to do anything more than cry and stare. Even the weak relief of sobbing was beyond her grasp. All she could do was stand there as the world crumbled around her.

Celestia’s eyes opened. None of the hot iron in her pupils had vanished; if anything it had intensified. She met Twilight’s dewy gaze and spoke in an icy, distant tone. “It is far too late to have those regrets now, though. So tell me, Twilight Sparkle, what do you choose?”

The dam in Twilight’s mind broke, and she was suddenly racked by uncontrollable sobs. She tore her eyes away from her mentor, unable to endure the torturous gaze any longer.

For a long moment, the cries of the weeping alicorn defined the scene. Celestia made no move to approach her, instead opting to observe with notable apathy. Twilight’s body shook with rapid spasms, her eyes leaking endlessly. Another thunderclap resounded, rattling the windows of the chamber.

It took far too long, but eventually Twilight managed to get her sobs under control. Still unable to meet Celestia’s stare, Twilight stifled a sniffle and said, “I’m... I’m sorry, Princess. I can’t make the decision. It’s just—” a sob cracked her voice “—t-too hard.”

In a feat of courage that would have awed even Rainbow Dash, Twilight lifted her head to look into Celestia’s eyes. She poured all the hope and desperation in the world into that one stare. “What do you think I should do, Princess?”

Celestia slanted her eyebrows inward, her eyes steeling like an executioner’s axe as she did. She practically shouted, “You know what I think you should do, Twilight?”

All the response Twilight could muster was a throaty sob. She crouched low to the ground like a filly afraid of being struck.

Then, in a voice that was familiar yet not entirely her own, Celestia cried, “Wake up!”

Despite herself, Twilight raised an eyebrow at the declaration. “W-what?”

In an instant, Celestia’s pupils shrunk to pinheads, and her eyebrows lifted. It was not with the voice of a merciless dictator but rather with a rushed, almost pleading, tone that she said, “Twilight, wake up! Please!”

Before Twilight could formulate any sort of response, she felt herself being pulled toward the back of the chamber. As she looked around feverishly, all the colours of the world seemed to bleed together before fading away entirely. She turned to look back at Princess Celestia, but the princess had vanished along with the entire front half of the room, leaving a black void in its wake.

Without a sound, the world exploded in a cacophony of light.

***

Twilight sat up in her bed, awake and breathless. She panted heavily as her eyes tried to acclimate to the room around her.

“Twilight!”

Noticing the tense claw shaking her from the left, Twilight blinked once and turned to her bedside. A little dragon’s face—dyed silver in the moonlight—looked up at her, eyes slanted in worry.

“Spike?” Twilight asked, her voice scraping harshly against the arid barrier in her throat. She wiped the sleep out of her eye with a hoof.

“Is everything okay, Twilight?” Spike said. He kept his soft eyes focused on her and her alone.

“Uh…” Twilight said, the shroud of sleep falling away rapidly. “Yeah… yeah, everything’s fine, Spike. Why would you think something was wrong?”

Spike frowned deeper. “You were crying in your sleep.”

Twilight was suddenly and intensely aware of the gentle sting surrounding her eyes. She looked down at her sheets. A little damp spot had formed near where her face would have been moments ago.

“Oh…” she said, not looking at Spike. “I… uh…” She turned back to him and smiled a brittle smile. “I was just having a bit of a nightmare. Nothing to worry about, Spike.”

Spike quirked an eyebrow. “Must’ve been some nightmare. You wanna talk about it?”

“N-no,” Twilight stammered. “No, it’s okay, Spike. W-we should really just get back to bed.”

“C’mon, Twi,” Spike said, laying a claw on her withers. “I always talk to you whenever I have a nightmare, and it usually helps me get over it. You should know better than anyone in the world that talking to a friend about your problems is a good idea.”

“I know, Spike, but—”

“You know I just wanna help, right, Twi?” He smiled sweetly up at her.

After a moment’s hesitation—a moment of staring in Spike’s warm, caring face—Twilight hung her head, closed her eyes, and sighed with the weight of the world. “It was… I was talking to Princess Celestia—in the dream, I mean—and she wanted me to make some decision. I can’t really remember what it was, but I knew it was… it was too hard to ch-choose.”

A warm sensation built behind Twilight’s eyelids. “When I told the princess I couldn’t decide, she said she was… d-disappointed in me. Sh-she said it was a mistake making me a princess and that I wasn’t mature or responsible enough to handle it. She… it was awful, Spike.”

“Aw, Twi.” Spike pulled her chin up with a claw, and Twilight’s eyes opened to meet his. “It’s okay. That was just a bad dream. You know none of that’s true. The princess totally believes in you! Everyone does! And you are ready, Twilight. You proved it!”

A small smile flashed across Twilight’s face for but a second before it drooped back into a frown. “I know, Spike, but…”

“But?”

Her eyes became rippling pools as she said, “But what if everyone’s wrong? What if I can’t do what everyone expects me to? Just because I’m a good friend doesn’t mean I have what it takes to lead an entire country! Ponies will expect me to be just as good a leader as Princess Celestia, or Luna, or Cadance, and what if I’m not? I…”

She sighed again and closed her eyes, shattering the sheets of water that had formed between her eyelids. “I just don’t know, Spike,” she said in tiny voice.

A moment passed in silence, Twilight with her head hung and Spike with a single claw laid on her shoulder.

A framed picture on Twilight’s desk across the way glinted in the moonlight.

Eventually, Spike said, “Look at me, Twi.” She opened her eyes—keeping them slanted sadly—and looked down at the gently smiling face of her best friend.

“I know it’s gotta be tough for you. You’ve only been a princess for, like, two weeks! And I know it’s not gonna be easy, but that’s why you don’t have to do it all alone! Me, your pony friends, the princesses, and your family will all be there to help you get through this. We’re never gonna be disappointed in you, Twi, and we’re sure as hay never gonna abandon you or anything.

“And don’t ever say you’re not a good leader,” Spike continued. “You’re the best I know! Who else coulda rallied a bunch of ponies she barely knew to beat Nightmare Moon, or reminded all of her friends who they really were after Discord messed ‘em up, or switched all of her friends’ destinies around only to come back and reunite ‘em again? You’re awesome, Twi! And everyone’s gonna stay by your side no matter what happens with this whole princess thing.”

He winked, smirking. “Especially me.”

Despite herself, Twilight chuckled. She smiled—genuinely smiled—and pulled Spike into a one-armed embrace, lifting him off the floor. “Thanks, Number One Assistant.” She set him back down and said, “You always know just what to say, don’t you, Spike?”

Spike grinned widely, puffing his chest and pointing a claw at himself. “That’s what I’m here for, sister!”

Twilight giggled. She turned to face her other bedside and looked out the window. The moon was several hours past its zenith in the sky.

She yawned, turning back to Spike. “Well, I don’t think I’ll be having any more nightmares tonight, so we should really get back to sleep. I’ll try not to cry and wake you up again.”

Spike nodded, turning and taking half a step towards the foot of the bed. He froze, his eyes widening as though he’d just heard a key click into a lock.

“Oh, that reminds me!” He turned back to Twilight. “Your crying wasn’t what woke me up.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow at him. “It wasn’t? Then what did wake you up?”

Spike ducked down to somewhere beyond Twilight’s sight. When he popped back up, he held a scroll in one claw. He extended it towards her and said, “This.”

She took the scroll in her magic. “A letter?”

“Yeah.” Spike yawned and started towards his bed again. “Wasn’t the nicest wake-up call in the world. I think we need to remind the princess of my sleeping hours again. The Spike Postal Service is closed between the hours of 9:00 P.M. and 12:00 P.M.!”

His words fell into Twilight’s ears but half of them bounced off her brain. She was preoccupied focusing on the dark turquoise ribbon which kept the letter bound. The ribbon itself was held in place by a brass seal engraved with an insignia Twilight didn’t recognize.

“I don’t think this is from the princess, Spike.”

Already lifting his blanket and preparing to enter his basket, Spike stopped and looked at her with one raised eyebrow. “Really? But isn’t she the only one who can send letters that way?”

“I don’t know,” Twilight said, regarding the seal more closely. “All I know is that this isn’t her seal. I’ve seen it enough times to know. Could you light the candle for me please, Spike?”

Spike walked over to her right bedside table and blew a tiny flame onto the candle’s wick. The green and silver lights in the room danced with each other in twisted harmony.

“Thanks.” Twilight tore the seal off and set it gently on her bedside table. She unfurled the scroll to jagged—yet somehow still elegant—cursive. With Spike hovering at her side, she read.

Princess Sparkle,

I apologize for the unseemly hour at which you’ll receive this letter, but rest assured it is not without reason. As an esteemed foreign ruler, I would only disturb you at this time with a matter of the utmost importance.

Today, Miss Sparkle, I do not write to you as a leader of a foreign nation seeking diplomatic relations or any such thing. No, today I write to you as a fellow living, breathing, sentient, and morally sound creature. I write to you as an equal in mind and conscience.

But, perhaps most importantly, I write to you as a mother.

It has recently come to my attention that my son, the as-of-yet unnamed heir to my throne, has been living in Equestria—and, to my knowledge, under your personal care—for over a decade at this point. While I greatly appreciate that no harm seems to have come to him, you are surely aware that this is a clear violation of the agreement I made with the Sun Princess Celestia not one hundred years ago. If this is, in fact, news to you, I will not waste my time or yours with the details of the agreement. You may ask Celestia about that.

Now, I have had a long and hard life, Miss Sparkle. I have borne witness to many generations of strife, death, and things beyond imagining, and I have become jaded to most emotion. This, however, touches me on a very personal level, and I must confess that I am deeply hurt by the dishonesty and disloyalty you and your people have displayed here. I cannot guarantee this will not affect the relations of our two nations in the future, but I will try to be the bigger of the two of us and fix this without conflict or repercussion.

I will arrive at your capital city in three days' time to right what has been wronged. If you do not cooperate, and if you refuse to allow my son to return with me to his rightful home, I will not hesitate to use force to reclaim what is rightfully mine. I pray it doesn’t come to that, but that is for you to decide with your actions.

I have already lost one son in my lifetime, Princess Sparkle. I will not lose another.

Sincer

This matter is not up for negotiation.

Sincerely,

Queen Dracomedon of the Dragon Empire, Draakenhelm

When Twilight reached the end of the letter, her body was ice and her heart was electric. She stared at the name marking the bottom of the page for a full minute before refocusing her eyes to the start of the letter. She read it a second time, and a third, and a fourth. Each time she hoped to find some small detail she had missed that would confound the letter’s message. And each time only served to further cement the reality of the letter’s words into her brain.

After her seventh time rereading the letter, she slowly turned her head to face Spike. He was smiling innocently up at her, rocking back and forth on his feet casually.

Twilight’s magic broke, and the letter fell from the air.

“Doesn’t usually take you that long to read a letter, Twilight!” Spike said, grinning. “So, who’s it from? What’s it say? Is it something to do with your princess-ness?”

Twilight just stared, her eyes mixed parts confusion, pain, anger, and sadness. “I…” she began, but her words fell limply back down her throat and solidified in her stomach. The words of the letter clung to her mind like leeches.

“...my son…”

Spike’s grin disappeared. “Twilight? What’s wrong? What did the letter say?”

Twilight turned her head back to the fallen letter, then back to Spike. Then to the letter. Then to Spike. She repeated the action twice more before finally settling on Spike. She closed her eyes and hung her head, sighing.

“...as a mother…”

“It was from… the queen of the Dragon Empire.” Her voice was more fragile than a snowflake.

Spike’s eyes widened and his jaw hung slack. “Whoa… really? That’s… whoa… I didn’t even know dragons had an empire. And their queen wrote to you? That’s… whoa...” After a moment of staring at nothing, Spike turned his expression up in a wide smile. “Wait, Twilight. Do you realize what this could mean?! Do you think I could meet her?! Whoa… I have so many questions I could ask her! Like, I could—”

“She said she was your mother, Spike,” Twilight said, her tone louder and colder than she had intended. She clenched her eyes more tightly shut. “She wants to come take you away.”

“...to his rightful home…”

Spike stopped cold. He stared at Twilight unblinkingly, his face betraying nothing. A frigid silence filled the room. The streak of moonlight on Twilight’s desk had moved beyond the framed picture, leaving it obscured in darkness.

Eventually he simply whispered, “What?”

“Your mother, Spike. The queen of the Dragon Empire is your mother. And she wants to take you away. Away from Ponyville, and Equestria, and…” She clenched her teeth as her voice hitched. Combatting emotions were fighting for dominance in her tone, and the number of thoughts going through her mind rivaled the number of books in her library. She settled on one.

“...Celestia…”

Twilight’s eyes shot open, her gaze stony. She hopped out the left side of her bed and, without turning to face Spike, she said, “We need to talk to the princess. Now.” She lifted the discarded letter in her magic and resealed it.

“Twilight…”

“Now, Spike!” She started towards the stairs, keeping her eyes set forward.

“Twilight…”

“What?!” She whipped around to face him, her expression steel and her mouth a razor-sharp scowl.

When her eyes fell on Spike, Twilight’s face instantly softened.

Tears were flowing down Spike’s face like little trickling streams. He didn’t sob or make any noise of any kind. He just cried, staring at his best friend in the world through watery lenses.

“Oh, Spike.” Twilight dropped the letter and ran to him, scooping him up in a full embrace. He grabbed onto her more tightly than she’d thought possible, as if afraid the wind itself would blow in and whisk her into the night.

“What’s going on, Twilight?” His voice—muffled by Twilight’s coat—was quiet and distant. “Th-that letter…”

“I don’t know, Spike,” Twilight said, hugging him tighter, “but we’re gonna find out. Don’t worry.”

“My… my mom…” Spike’s voice cracked at the last word.

“We’re gonna figure this out, Spike. I… I’m confused right now too… and… I don’t know… but we’ll figure this out. I promise.”

“I don’t w-wanna be taken away…”

Twilight pulled herself away from Spike, setting her hooves on his shoulders. “Look at me, Spike.”

Spike looked up at her, blinking rapidly. Twilight’s eyes were like stones in a riverbed—watery and glistening yet hard and certain. She didn’t blink as she said, “You’re not going to be taken away, Spike. I don’t know what’s going on right now. I don’t understand half of what that letter was talking about—and that scares me—but we’re going to talk to the princess and sort this all out right now, okay? I promise I won’t let anyone take you away. Ever. You’re too important to me, Spike. Do you understand?”

Sniffling once, Spike wiped his nose with the back of his arm and nodded diminutively. Twilight smiled down at him and squeezed him once more. When she let him go, she stepped back and turned her side to him. “Okay, hop on, Spike.”

He made his way to her in half-steps and quietly clambered up onto her back. He leaned his head against her mane and wrapped his arms around her neck. Twilight hurriedly trotted over to the stairs leading down from the loft and started towards the library below.

“The letter, Twi,” Spike mentioned, his voice a ghost of sound.

“Right.” Twilight turned on the spot and went back up, stopping beside her desk. She looked to her left, and time froze for a moment.

To her left, on the desk, sat a picture in an ornate gold frame. It depicted her in her coronation dress standing in the middle of a large group of ponies, all of whom were some of the most important ponies in the world to her. The three princesses stood in the back, and her five pony friends as well as her brother were on her either side. Everyone was smiling with varying degrees of formality, and some of them still had some puffiness in their eyes, but all were glowing with pride.

And near the center, wedged between her and her brother, stood a little purple dragon. He was almost lost in all the colours of the photograph, but his face was the brightest of anyone’s.

Twilight smiled briefly at the picture. She forced herself to look away, spotted the bound scroll on the floor, and levitated it to her side before cantering down the stairs and out of the room.

***

The flight to Canterlot was important in its uneventfulness.

Neither Twilight nor Spike spoke the entire trip. Twilight’s face had all the emotion of a rock, yet her eyes were infinitely deep as they focused on the distant mountain. Spike held his position latched around her neck and kept out of the way of her wings without really thinking about it. His eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, but the thought of falling back asleep never crossed him.

The wind didn’t seem to bother either of them.

Twilight landed with a bit of a stumble at the entrance to Canterlot Castle. She craned her head up to look the castle over, then looked over her shoulder at the baby dragon sagging on her back. Exhaling a gust of anxiety, she faced the double doors and walked forward.

The guards flanking either side of the entryway stooped into low bows and greeted, “Good evening, Your Highness,” as she approached. Twilight nodded curtly to each of them in turn before magicking the doors open. She stepped into the castle and trotted through the familiar set of corridors leading to the throne room.

Each step echoed in the midnight silence, filling the minutes with eerie gravity. Some of the corridors were decorated by stained-glass windows which mimicked those in the throne room. Twilight paid most of them no mind as she trotted past, but she chanced a glance at the final two.

The first depicted Spike as the focal point with the Crystal Heart looming large above him, the moon casting an ominous glow through it. Other than Princess Cadance depicted just at the top of the window, Spike was alone in his triumphant frame.

The second was Twilight herself, wings outstretched in front of a six-pointed magenta star. Celestia and Luna were depicted above and below her, but no one else appeared in the scene.

Twilight frowned and moved onward.

Just a minute or so later, Twilight stood before the large, gilded doors of Canterlot Castle’s throne room. She assumed that the knights guarding the door were repeating the greeting she’d already received, but she didn’t actually hear them. She was too focused on the suddenly intimidating size of the doors.

Stiffly, Twilight closed her eyes and forced herself through the motions of the breathing exercise she’d learned from her sister-in-law. When she reopened her eyes, she did the exercise again; and again; and once more.

“Twilight?”

She jumped slightly before turning to look over her shoulder. “Oh, I thought you’d fallen asleep, Spike.”

Spike sat up and stretched the exhaustion from his arms. He held a familiar letter in one hand. “I wish I could, but I can’t get this… this, out of my head. We need to find out what’s going on.”

Twilight turned back to the door and whispered, “And the princess has the answers.” She blinked once—hard—and said, “Ready, Spike?”

Spike sighed. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Steeling herself, Twilight pulled the doors open with a burst of magic and walked into the room.

Princess Luna sat at the head of the room scanning one paper from a pile of official-looking documents. She looked up at the booming sound of the doors swinging open. Upon seeing Twilight, she smiled. “Ah, Twilight Sparkle.” She set the forgotten document back into her pile and stood on the dais. Walking forward to meet Twilight halfway, Luna said, “And Spike the dragon as well, I see. To what do I owe the pleasure of greeting the two of you at such an hour?”

“Good evening, Princess Luna,” Twilight said, commanding a weak smile. “I… sorry to disturb you—I know you must be busy—but we—”

“Nonsense, Twilight Sparkle,” Luna said, grinning slightly wider. “The matters of Canterlot’s nobility interest me little, especially compared to the company of a friend and fellow princess. Now, how may I assist you?”

Twilight had to force herself to look Luna in the eye as she said, “Uh… well… we actually came to see… uh… Princess Celestia. Could we talk to her, please?”

Luna’s smile instantly slipped into a flat line. She narrowed her eyes and said, “You know as well as I, Twilight Sparkle, that my sister is not awake at this hour, as she does not command the night. If there is something you require, it will be me who you need ask.”

Twilight frowned and broke her gaze away. “N-no offense, Princess, but this… this is something that we need to speak to Celestia about. It’s… important…” Her voice grew weaker with each word.

After regarding Twilight for a moment more, Luna’s eyes softened and she raised one eyebrow. “Truly? I cannot help?”

“In this case… I don’t think so.”

In a soft, confused voice, Luna asked, “What is the matter, Twilight Sparkle?”

Twilight’s mouth opened and closed uselessly a few times. It was all she could do to not fall apart on the spot. Her blinks were coming in rapid succession when a little claw grabbed her shoulder. She looked to her side and saw Spike offering her a bound scroll. She stared at it for a few seconds, sighed, and levitated it out of Spike’s grip and over to Princess Luna. “Here.”

Luna took the scroll in her magic, eyeing it oddly. “What, pray tell, is this?”

Twilight closed her eyes. “Just… read it. Please.”

Princess Luna looked to Twilight for a moment and watched Spike hold her shoulder weakly, frowning himself. She nodded sharply, unbound the letter, and read it through.

Her eyes grew wider with each passing sentence, both shock and confusion warring in her pupils. At some point her jaw fell a bit slack, and it took her a moment to catch herself and close her mouth. When she finished reading, she stared at the letter for a time before looking above it to see Twilight and Spike, heads still hung.

“Twilight Sparkle…” Luna began, “I… when did you receive this letter?”

“Earlier tonight,” Twilight muttered.

“I see.” Luna looked back to the letter, her gaze still uncertain. Suddenly, though, her eyes hardened and she dammed her scowl with a thin frown. “If you two will excuse me, I must go find my sister and inform her of this matter.” Without waiting, she vanished in a flash of silver starlight, letter in tow.

***

Princess Celestia slept soundly in her room. A thin strip of light shone from the bottom of the doorway, and the moonlight streamed in through a thin veil of clouds, but otherwise the room was dark and still as an alcove tucked deep in a mountain, far from the world. Her royal apparel sat neatly next to her bed in the same position it always did. Not a sound could be heard in the posh tranquility.

That’s when a supernova detonated at the foot of her bed.

“Celestia!”

Princess Luna’s bellow brought candlelight to the room and jolted Celestia straight up in her bed. The wide-eyed princess stared at her sister—making note of the diamond glare in her eyes—and said, “Luna? What in Equestria—”

“Twilight Sparkle and her companion Spike are currently in the throne room, distraught beyond words and undoubtedly livid with you! And rightly so!”

Celestia’s eyes only grew wider. “Twilight? What is she—”

“This!” Luna whipped a piece of parchment from her side and into the air between her and Celestia. “What is the meaning of this, Celestia?! I do not know all the specifics of the matter this letter addresses, but it is quite clear that you have done something outright foolish, and now Twilight Sparkle is being made to pay the price! Honestly! What were you thinking when you crossed the queen of dragons?! Even I—”

“Luna!” Celestia cried, raising a silencing hoof. “Enough of your shouting. Now, please, calm down and…” Both of Celestia’s eyebrows raised. “Wait… what was that about the dragon queen?”

“See for yourself!” Luna harshly shoved the letter in Celestia’s direction. Celestia took it in her magic and set her eyes moving rapidly across the page.

“Queen Dracomedon, Celestia,” Luna said, her tone sharp yet somewhat subdued. “We both know how powerful she can be! I don’t claim to understand what agreement she’s referring to in that letter, but there is little you could say to convince me that this is not your fault. Did you truly think you could deceive her and escape the consequences?! Of all the idiotic—”

“Oh, dear…” Celestia muttered just loud enough for her sister to hear it and cease her tirade. Celestia sighed, rolled the scroll back up, and closed her eyes. “I had hoped this moment would never come, but you’re right to say I was foolish for not expecting it, Luna.” She reopened her eyes and cast a defeated look at the letter. “I had hoped that just this once…”

Luna raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“Never mind. I’ll explain later.” Celestia rose from her bed and mechanically stepped into her golden slippers. “You say that Twilight is in the throne room? Spike, too?”

Luna straightened her neck and softened her glare a bit. “Indeed, and, as I said, more upset than they deserve to be.”

“Very well. Let’s go, then.” Celestia began towards the door, floating her crown and necklace over to her as she went.

Luna fell into step beside her and said, “What do you intend to do?”

“What I should’ve done a long time ago, Luna. Something I’ve had a lot of practice doing but have never found any easier over time.”

Luna turned her head to her sister and quirked an eyebrow.

Keeping her eyes forward, Celestia said, “Tell the truth.”

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Pre-read by The Descendant

The doors to the throne room swung open. For the pony on one side of the entryway, the groaning of the hinges lasted a painfully long time. For the one on other side, the action passed far too quickly.

“Hello, Twilight.”

Twilight turned on the spot to face the doorway. Her wide, wet eyes met the soft, sympathetic gaze of her mentor. “P-princess Celestia.” She sniffled once and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Shh.” Her mouth a straight line, Princess Celestia beckoned Twilight towards her. After a moment’s hesitation, Twilight ran to her. The princess stooped down and pulled her into a soft, one-armed embrace. Twilight buried her face into Celestia’s coat, and the princess returned the nuzzle in kind.

Before long, however, Celestia opened her eyes and lifted her head, looking across the room. She smiled a tiny smile. “You too, Spike.”

The dragon had been standing by Twilight’s side, holding her shoulder, when the two princesses had entered. At Celestia’s call, his eyes widened and he immediately ran over to join the embrace. The princess gently nuzzled the back of his head.

After not long enough, Twilight pulled away, sniffling and wiping her eyes again. “Th-thank you, Princess, but… but now’s not really the time for this.”

“I’m afraid I must agree, Twilight,” said Celestia, still holding Spike close. She forced herself to let him go. The little dragon backed up to Twilight’s side, wiping his nose as he did.

Twilight kept her eyes trained on the floor and said, “Please, just… could you explain what’s going on? W-what that letter was talking about...” She sniffled once.

Celestia stepped forward and lifted a hoof to Twilight’s shoulder. “Are you certain, my faithful student? We have plenty of time. I could have some tea prepared first if you—”

“N-no,” Twilight interjected, shaking her head. “Not that that isn’t… it’s just…” She closed her eyes, sighed, and gently pushed Celestia’s hoof back down. “Please, Princess. We just... need to know what’s going on. That letter…” Her voice fell away.

Celestia nodded slowly and said, “I understand, Twilight.” She paused, looking from Twilight to Spike. Something shifted in her eyes, and her voice went much softer as she said, “Both of you must be so scared right now.”

Spike nodded minutely, looking at the ground. Twilight turned her head to look up at Celestia, her eyes desperate and her muzzle fallen.

Celestia held Twilight’s gaze for a time, then turned her head up to look at nothing in particular on the ceiling. “It all started not one hundred years ago.”

***

The cave smelled sulfuric, and a deadly white cocktail clung to the high ceiling above. Dozens of torches lined the walls of the chamber, each glowing bright enough to fill the area with a warm, orange light. Hundreds of stalagmites formed an obtuse ring around the middle of the room, a ring broken only at one of the oval’s far edges. Just beyond the gap sat the throat of the world: a titanic hole of complete darkness which served as the only entrance or exit to the cavern.

And in the middle of the chamber, almost taking up the whole of the stalagmite-lined ring, was a dragon.

Her large silver scales reflected more light than they had any right to, giving her something of a ghostly aura. The spines along her back and tail were deep blue, matching her cobalt eyes in both colour and power. Little scratches lined her entire body, but four noticeably larger scrapes marked her muzzle. Her massive claws were longer and sharper than any of the millennia-old, pointed stalagmites of the cavern, yet their colour was dulled to a pale blue.

She rested her mammoth head on her front paws, not looking at anything in particular as little white wisps floated in and out of her irises. A large, pristine purple pillow with gold trim sat a short ways ahead of her snout, sticking out like a feather in a battlefield.

The sounds of wingbeats came in quick succession from the cave’s entrance, draining the cloudy imperfections from the dragon’s eyes. She looked up to see a lanky green dragon with amber eyes and copper spines fly into view. He landed on his hind legs before the behemoth and, in a voice too deep for his body, said, “My Liege.” He descended into a low, practiced bow.

“Rise, Squire,” said the queen, her voice rattling the torches in their sconces. “I have known you your entire life. Such formality is not required of you.”

The squire rose to a standing position. “Apologies, My Liege. I have come to inform you that the Sun Princess of Equestria has arrived.”

“Thank you, Squire. Lead her down.”

“At once, My Liege.” The squire bowed quickly, rose into the air, and flew off to the world above.

The queen shifted her body just slightly, making the earth tremble and groan around her. After the chamber settled, she craned her head over her shoulder to regard her wing. It sat carefully over a specific spot on the floor, rigid and unmoving.

Her eyes remained fixated there, looking at something unseen. She adjusted her wing minutely.

The sound of beating wings drew her eyes back to the front of the chamber. She turned just in time to see a tall white alicorn soar in and land silently on the large pillow. The dragon squire flew in shortly after and landed at her side.

He gestured to the alicorn and said, “My Liege, I present to you the Sun Princess, Celestia of Equestria.”

“Thank you, Squire. You may go.”

The squire nodded, bowed, and made his exit.

The queen turned her head and nodded to the princess. “Well met, Celestia.”

Celestia returned the nod. “And you, Dracomedon.” She looked down at the ornate cushion she’d landed on and smirked. “You know this is not necessary. I’ve told you plenty of times over the years, I’m fine to stand on the cave floor.”

“And every time I respond the same way. It is part of a dragon’s nobility to ensure their guests are as comfortable as possible. Your sister never questioned it.”

The princess shook her head, still smirking. “That’s likely because Luna was just as noble and stubborn as you.” Celestia sighed gently. “But if you insist, I can’t complain.”

The queen’s chuckle shook the air, and the cavern brightened. “It is good to see you again, Celestia. I sometimes find myself longing for the times of war just so we might meet with more regularity.”

Celestia smiled up at the queen. “Speaking of which, I’m assuming you didn’t ask me here today just to catch up. Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but you’re not typically the type to indulge in frivolous meetings.”

“You are correct.” The dragon queen smiled marginally. “And I resent that.”

Celestia giggled. “So, what do you wish to talk with me about?”

The queen’s expression fell, and the lighting of the cavern dimmed slightly. She closed her scarred eyelids and sighed, ushering a volcanic gale across Celestia. The princess held her smile.

“Alas, it is with head hung and heart heavy that I speak to you today. I have not felt such distress since…” The queen stared beyond Celestia for a moment. A single, warbling white wisp crossed each of her pupils.

Celestia said nothing. The gravity of unspoken words pulled her smile down into a straight line.

Her eyes still distant, the queen said, “But that is the past.” The wisps sunk back behind her eyes. “I have asked you here today to—”

“Marauders!”

Both the princess and the queen turned to face the lone entrance of the cavern. Animalistic roars clashed from beyond the hole, growing steadily louder likes war drums on march. In the din of it all, a sharp, distinct javelin of noise shot through the air.

A caw.

The light in the cavern went stark red, and the queen’s single outstretched wing hardened to an iron sheet. Any dullness in her eyes vanished as she focused on the entrance. In a voice that could—and did—shatter rock, she bellowed, “Move, Celestia!”

The princess had already stepped to the side of  the entrance and set her horn aglow. Her stance was rigid and her eyes were firm as the chaotic sounds of screeching beasts and flapping wings drew nearer.

Faster than a lightning strike, one griffon and two hulking dragons—neither of which were even half the size of the queen—screamed past the entrance and straight towards the queen’s outstretched wing.

Celestia fired a blazing column from her horn. It collided with the rearmost dragon and snared it in a web of light. The dragon instantly fell to the ground and skidded into a wall, unconscious.

The queen unleashed a monstrous, midnight blue sea of fire at the other assailants. The griffon deftly weaved around the flame and turned immediately back towards the queen’s wing. The dragon shot upwards to dodge, but roared horrifically as his tail grazed the queen’s fire.

From the side, Celestia aimed three golden bolts at the dragon. At the same time, the queen twisted her mammoth head in the dragon’s direction, still spewing flames which blackened the cave walls.

Dazed, the dragon flew up and away from the fire, but Celestia’s highest missile slammed into his chest. He stopped cold in the sky and was scorched by dragonfire.

The griffon had since cleared the distance to the queen’s wing. It swiped one talon at the appendage, leaving a deep gash. The queen winced, recoiled her wing barely, and turned her head in the griffon’s direction.

It had vanished.

“Dracomedon! The entrance!”

The queen flicked her incensed eyes to the cave’s entrance in time to see the griffon soaring away.

It held a massive egg in its clutches.

An earthquake came with the queen’s roar. She hulked her massive body towards the entrance, preparing another surge of flame.

A single bolt of gold sent the griffon into the ceiling with enough force to fracture the rock. From where the griffon had been struck, the egg hung suspended in the air by a sparkling yellow aura.

Baring a wall of jagged teeth, the queen called, “Squire!”

The thin green dragon arrived not a second later. He landed hastily and bowed deeply. “Apologies, My Liege. I managed to stop two more marauders in the tunnel, but the others moved too quickly.”

The queen’s nostrils flared, releasing large plumes of smoke. After a moment, her expression calmed considerably, but the lines in her face remained rigid. Tension still high in her voice, she said, “Thank you for your efforts, Squire. Now, take this griffon away. I shall handle the rest.”

One curt nod later, the squire flew up to the griffon plastered on the ceiling. He unceremoniously pulled it free and carried the creature into the darkness of the tunnel.

Celestia, breathing heavily, gave the queen a hard stare. Her face drawn in straight lines, she said, “Dracomedon, please do not tell me that was what I think it was.”

The queen held Celestia’s stare even as she pushed the heavily charred dragon to the side of the cavern. “If you are concerned that the griffons have broken The Harmony Treaty, you are mistaken.” Her eyes moved to the floating object near the entrance. “Place the egg between us, please.”

Straightening herself and lessening her stare, Celestia hovered the egg to the spot between the two of them and set it gently on the pillow. The egg was a sort of lavender, and covered in green spots.

“It is, perhaps, fortunate that this happened today of all days,” said the queen, her eyes still on the egg. “It will help to explain my purpose.”

Several white wisps swam back into the queen’s eyes, and some of their cobalt hue bled away. Her voice detached, she said, “Those were marauders—a group formed of outlaws from both the griffon and dragon societies. This is not the first time they have attacked me here, nor do I believe it will be the last.”

“But what do they hope to accomplish?” Celestia said. Her eyes flicked from the queen to the egg and back again. “Such a risky, foolhardy raid can’t just be because they want to wreak havoc.”

The queen’s expression sagged a bit. “They wish to bring an end to my monarchy. As I understand it, griffons who still have their hearts set on war and dragons who are vehemently opposed to the throne have formed a temporary alliance in an effort to end my family line.”

Celestia’s eyes softened, and she turned them to gaze at the spotted egg. It suddenly seemed much smaller in the hold of the plush pillow. “And since they have no hope of defeating you in such small numbers…”

“They seek to destroy my kin.”

The light in the cavern shifted from orange to pale blue. As silence lingered, and as the egg took the lone focus of both its mother and Celestia, a strange chill strangled the heat from the chamber. Somewhere in the black nothing behind the queen, the earth cried resonant tears.

“You wish for my help in protecting this egg,” said Celestia, her face impassive and her eyes deep. “That’s why you’ve asked me here today.”

The queen said nothing, but her stare lifted from the egg to Celestia. She held it there for several moments before shifting it to the side of the cavern where the two dragons lay. She snorted two dark clouds. They mingled in the air for a moment before dissipating as one.

She focused on the charred dragon, and the ghostly wisps returned to her eyes. “I have no heroes, Celestia. Not once in my lifetime can I recall a situation where I depended solely on factors beyond my control to aid me. I have fought my own fights, and I have long protected my people without the need for assistance. I have lived a proud life.”

Her eyes twisted to the other dragon, bound in golden light. “But I am old, Celestia. At best, I have two hundred years of life ahead of me, and I am well past my prime.” She moved her head back to look at the egg. “In more ways than one, it would seem.”

The queen blinked. “I can still handle myself, but my ability to care for and protect others is dwindling. Even those closest to me can no longer entirely rely on my protection. If you had not been here today…” The light in the cavern dimmed. Both Celestia and the queen remained focused on the egg.

“What’s more,” said the queen, her voice softened to the point that the torches didn’t so much as shudder, “I have surpassed a critical point in my life. You are certainly aware that I am beyond the age where breeding is possible. But what most do not realize… is that I am also beyond the point at which mothering an egg is possible.”

Celestia’s attention snapped up to the queen. “What? Are you certain?”

The queen nodded, blinking. Her voice shaky and small, she said, “It is the most painful truth I have ever had to acknowledge, but as it stands, this egg will not hatch in my care.”

“Oh, Dracomedon…” Princess Celestia leapt swiftly over the egg and landed next to the queen’s snout. She reached up and pressed her hoof gently against one massive scale, holding it there. The queen closed her eyes and said nothing, breathing audibly through her nose.

The air hung heavy for a time. A single warm hoof steadied the mind of a giant. Shadows ran down the walls from the ceiling, but the midnight blue torches kept them a safe distance from the two creatures. For a moment, the scent of smoky cinders overtook the acidity of the volcanic air.

Without opening her eyes, the dragon queen said, “I have a favour to ask, Celestia.”

Celestia lowered her hoof. She looked up as the queen’s reptilian eyelids lifted to reveal her cobalt eyes. They were deep pools, yet nothing swam through them. “Of course.”

The queen lifted her eyes past Celestia and to the egg. She looked at it. She looked past it. She looked through it.

She looked, and a single globule of water rolled from her eye.

“I ask that you take this egg away with you today.”

Both of Celestia’s eyebrows shot up, and she recoiled a step as her mouth fell open. “Dracomedon, I… I couldn’t. I know how much this egg means to you. I know how much he meant to you. There must be another—”

“I have made many mistakes in my lifetime, Celestia,” said the queen, some power returning to her voice. “Some were more costly than others. One was the most costly of all, and I will never forgive myself for it.” She turned her eyes back on Celestia, the queen’s face hewn in stone. “I will not make that mistake again.”

Celestia stared for a time, frowning. She turned to look over her shoulder at the tiny, shimmering egg. She blinked at it and turned back to the queen. “I understand, Dracomedon. Truly, I do, but this…” She closed her eyes and lowered her head.

“This will hurt you so much…” she whispered.

“...it would hurt more to never see the face of my child.”

Celestia’s brow creased, and she frowned deeper. “My magic will take far longer to hatch this egg than any dragon would. Perhaps there is another dragon who you could entrust it to.”

The queen sighed and looked across the way at the gaping entrance of the cavern. “As much as I wish I could say otherwise, dragons are not trustworthy creatures. I would trust no living dragon with this task. At least, none who would be up to the responsibility.”

“But, Dracomedon, this—”

“Is something I have thought about for a long time, Celestia.” Her head turned sharply to look back at the princess. “That egg is over one hundred years old. I have been weighing my options for half of that time. It makes my heart heavy, but the decision is made.”

Celestia said nothing.

The queen allowed her to say nothing, but as silence became uncertainty, she sighed. “Celestia, you have proven yourself beyond the shadow of any doubt. You are capable of protecting much more than a single egg. That, I know. I have the utmost confidence in your abilities.”

The princess remained silent, keeping her eyes low. Her body looked tense.

“Moreover,” the queen continued, “in terms of magic, you are perhaps the single most powerful living creature I can fathom. While you speak the truth in regards to hatching the egg, you will still hatch it well within my lifetime. That is all that I require.”

Celestia’s gaze bore into the rock.

“And one other thing.” A trace of a smile grew across the queen’s mouth, tinting the cavern pinkish with torchlight. Her tone went as dulcet as possible as she said, “You are one of the dearest friends anyone in this lifetime or the next could ask for. I have been deceived and abused countless times by false allies, but you have always shown me nothing but kindness and absolute fidelity.

“I trust you, Celestia. You will do what is right for my child. I ask nothing more.”

Celestia closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

The torchlight—which had been flickering between pink and blue for some time—finally decided on a sort of peach. In the distance behind the queen, the gentle metronome of dripping water finally came to a stop. All the world seemed to hold its breath in that moment.

Barely above a whisper, Celestia said, “Very well.”

The queen bowed her head to Celestia’s level. The princess looked up at last and met the queen’s softest gaze. Celestia smiled and lifted a hoof back to the same massive, ivory scale she’d touched earlier. Time froze like that for a while.

Eventually the queen lifted her head back to its more regal posture. With all the sincerity in the world, she looked at Celestia and said, “Now, what is your price?”

The princess’ eyes widened and her smile went slack. “Dracomedon, you can’t be serious.”

The queen stared.

“This isn’t some governmental exchange, Dracomedon,” Celestia said. “I will do this for you solely out of the kindness and generosity of our friendship.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Celestia,” the queen said, her face impassive. “While I appreciate the gesture, a dragon’s nobility knows no generosity. I would sooner denounce my throne than leave a favour unrewarded. Especially one so personal.”

Lifting a hoof, Celestia made to reply, but no words came. All that her mouth managed was a gentle smirk. She lowered her hoof and shook her head. “Arguing dragon nobility with you is always a losing battle, you stubborn old reptile. So, fine. I’ll concede this time.”

One corner of the queen’s mouth rose. “You’ve learned well. Your sister would have argued with me until well past next sunrise if she had been here.”

Celestia chuckled. “Now, let me think…” She held a hoof to her chin and moved her eyes to look at nothing. A few short moments later, she craned her head to regard the egg which was still nestled comfortably in the pillow. Her eyes widened marginally, and a smile crossed her face within the dimensions of sincerity. “Actually, I do have one idea.”

“Speak.”

Turning her head to face the queen again, Celestia said, “I’m not entirely sure how comfortable you’ll be with this, but… do you remember my school for gifted unicorns back in Canterlot?”

“Vaguely,” said the queen, “but I recall it more vividly as it was in the old capital. ‘Princess Celestia’s School for the Magically Gifted,’ as my memory tells me. What of it?”

“Well, as you and I both know, magical ability can be a very difficult thing to accurately gauge, especially in younger ponies. The equipment we currently use to test would-be students is… subpar at best.”

The queen nodded minutely. Something flashed behind her eyes, but she remained silent.

“Now, I’m certain that I don’t need to tell you that dragons are naturally resistant to magic, and they also have the keen sense to detect minor differences in magical ability. For dragon eggs, this applies doubly so.”

The queen’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she snorted. “Are you suggesting using my offspring as a testing device?”

Celestia held her smile. “Allow me to finish, please.”

The queen focused on Celestia’s expression for a few moments longer before nodding and softening her stare.

“In regards to your egg,” Celestia said, “it has such a high magical resistance that even my most powerful magic applied to it for several hours a day would take nearly half a century to hatch it. And while I wish I was capable of doing that, such an act would drain me of all my energy, and I do have a nation to run.

“So, what I propose is this: Allow me to have applicants to my school test their magic on your egg. This way, your egg will receive the high dosages of magic that it needs, and the entry exam at my school will work far more effectively as well. It’s a beneficial relationship for the both of us.”

The queen looked down her snout at the princess with sharp eyes. “Forgive me, Celestia, but I am not overly keen at the idea of having my last offspring held in the magic of mere children.”

Celestia’s smile dropped to a line. “The most talented children of their kind, Dracomedon. And every entrance exam is monitored by a panel of professional teachers who have dedicated their lives to the practice of magic. You have my word that every precaution will be taken to…”

The queen’s eyes hadn’t dulled in the slightest.

Her mouth still open, Celestia sighed and lowered her head. “Forgive me, Dracomedon. I just thought… I’m sorry. It was a selfish proposal. I’ll think of something simpler.”

At that, the queen’s eyes widened. The light from the torches went deep yellow, and the queen’s body tensed noticeably.

Celestia lifted her head back up, a tiny smile across her face. “How about—”

“Celestia.”

The princess stopped.

The queen looked beyond the pony, back at her egg again. The acidic odors of her home mingled in her nostrils. A tiny, milky wisp flashed into one of her eyes, and then it was gone.

“This school… how important is it to you?”

“Oh, I…” Celestia trailed off as the queen looked back down at her. She sighed. “To be perfectly honest, Dracomedon, it means the world to me.”

“Truly?”

The princess nodded. “Yes. To be able to help the next generation of my little ponies prosper is a pleasure that has never grown old for me. I only wish I could do more for them.”

Neither Celestia nor the dragon queen blinked as they held each other’s gaze. Both sets of eyes were deep, and the silence between them spoke volumes.

The queen nodded slowly. “Very well. I accept your proposal.”

Celestia smiled wide. “Thank you, Dracomedon. You can’t know how much that means to me.”

“I believe I can, Celestia.” The torches went bright yellow.

Celestia giggled. “I promise, you won’t regret this decision.”

***

Luna sighed. “Oh, Sister, what have you done?”

“B-but… I don’t understand,” Twilight said. Spike had settled beneath her, clutching her forelegs with both claws and staying focused on Celestia. “If you were supposed to give Spike back to her when he hatched, then why… why…” Her head dropped, and she saw Spike’s little claws holding her.

Celestia closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “There is more to this story, as you might have guessed, and I’m afraid I’m not entirely proud of the rest of it.”

“Oh, Sister…”

***

“Yes, yes, yes, yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes! Yes, yes—”

“Easy there, Twilight!” the filly’s father said, both he and her mother beaming as they approached their daughter.

Twilight stopped bouncing long enough to notice them. “Mom! Dad!” she called, running up to them. “Look, look! I got my cutie mark! And… and Princess Celestia! And my cutie mark! And the princess! And… yes, yes, yes, yes!” The filly put her energetic hooves back to work as she leapt in little circles.

“We’re so proud, Twilight!” said her mother, her eyes a bit scrunched up as she watched the filly hop about.

“You certainly have quite an excitable daughter!” said Princess Celestia, stepping over to Twilight’s parents with a mirthful smile.

Twilight’s father nodded, his eyes still trained on the filly. It took him a moment to jerk his head to the side and notice the alicorn on his right. “Y-your Majesty!” He stumbled into a bow, and his wife followed suit.

Celestia chuckled. “That’s not necessary. Please, rise… oh, I’m afraid I never got your names.”

“N-night Light,” stuttered the stallion. “And my w-wife here is Twilight Velvet.” He gestured to the awkwardly grinning mare.

Celestia just smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. You have an exceptionally talented daughter.”

“I-I’m glad you think so!” said Twilight Velvet, beaming a little more sincerely. “She studied night and day for this exam.”

“I knew she’d do well,” said Night Light with a cocksure grin. “But she was still so nervous, and the fact that Shining Armor couldn’t make it just made her even more nervous.”

Celestia raised an eyebrow. “Shining Armor?”

Night Light’s eyes widened again as he looked back to the princess. “H-her brother.”

“The two of them are very close,” said Twilight Velvet. “Probably about as close as a brother and sister can get!”

“I see,” Celestia said, allowing herself to process the thought. “Well, I look forward to meeting him someday as well. Now, back to your daughter—”

“Quick! Before it sets the building on fire!”

The three ponies turned their heads towards the voice, and even Twilight stopped her excited bouncing at the shrill tone.

Near the front center of the room, the four exam judges were gathered around an assorted mess of hay, wood, and eggshell. The newly hatched baby dragon floated in a yellow aura, wailing to the world as rivulets of tears cascaded down his face. The professors all had their ears pinned to their heads as they scowled at the dragon.

Something shone behind Celestia’s eye. “Oh, dear,” she whispered. “Would you two please excuse me for a moment? I must—”

“Leave him alone!”

For the second time, all eyes went to the source of the voice.

Twilight Sparkle leveled a glare at the four teachers. They all stared at her blankly as she ran towards them, her horn glowing with a tiny spark.

“Put him down!” Twilight shouted, looking up at the one with a yellow glow around her horn. “You’re scaring him!”

“Young filly,” said one of the other teachers, “you would do well not to speak that way to your elders. Now let us do our job.” He nodded to the teacher who held the still-shrieking baby dragon.

“No!” Twilight cried, widening her stance. “Shining taught me how to stand up to those bullies in magic kindergarten, so now I’m gonna stand up to you! Put him down!”

A third teacher chuckled deeply. “How charming. I understand your concern, little one, but I can assure you that we’re not bullies.”

“Then why is he crying so much?!”

“That’s what babies do.”

“Only if you’re not doing what’s right for them! Let him go!”

Princess Celestia’s eyes widened slightly. She looked down to Night Light who was staring at the scene with pinprick pupils. The princess asked, “Is this normal for her?”

“Er…”

“Ma’am,” called one of the teachers, looking to Twilight Velvet, “could you please get your daughter under control?”

Twilight Velvet shook her head vigorously for a moment. “Oh, Twilight, sweetie—” she began moving towards the commotion.

She was stopped by a white hoof clad in gold.

“Don’t worry,” Princess Celestia said, keeping her eyes on the fuming filly. “I’ll take care of this.” With that, she strode calmly over to the scene.

“Your Highness,” said one of the instructors, and all three immediately stooped low as Celestia stopped near them. Twilight looked over her shoulder at the princess, and her face fell very quickly.

Celestia looked down at Twilight impassively for but a second before focusing on the unicorn holding the baby dragon aloft. “Miss Polish, please put the child down gently.”

The mare gulped visibly before nodding and slowly lowering the little dragon back to the ground. His sobs continued, but they were noticeably more subdued.

Princess Celestia regarded the four instructors coolly. “Thank you all for your assistance. You are excused.”

“But, Princess—” began the other mare.

“Please, Miss Clear, leave us be.”

A tense silence hung for a brief moment before the mare nodded curtly. “Of course, Princess. Apologies.” She promptly walked away into the recesses of the building, her fellow instructors following shortly behind.

Celestia watched them go. When she saw the last of them disappear, she looked back down to the filly in front of her.

The little dragon had ceased its whimpering and crawled over to her, latching itself around Twilight’s neck. For her part, Twilight embraced the baby dragon in kind, but her uneasy eyes were still looking up at the princess.

“I-I’m sorry,” Twilight stammered. “I d-don’t know what came over me. I just… I saw him crying like that, and my big b-brother told me to always help somepony who’s in trouble, a-and…” Her head sagged. “Y-you don’t want to t-teach me anymore, do you?”

“On the contrary, Twilight,” Celestia said, smiling, “I think you’ve just shown something very special about yourself that makes you an ideal student.”

Twilight looked up through wide, misty eyes. “Really?”

Celestia nodded. “You displayed incredible compassion for someone you didn’t even know, and a dragon, no less. That kindhearted nature is exactly what I want in a student.”

Twilight smiled a tiny smile, but it was pulled away when the little dragon squirmed in her arms. She stroked his back gently with one hoof, and she looked up to Celestia with shiny eyes. “What’s gonna happen to him?”

“I…” Celestia trailed off as she watched the Twilight hold the baby tenderly, genuine care behind the filly’s eyes. At once, a dust-caked memory jumped to the forefront of her mind.

Dracomedon roared with such ferocity that it rippled the distant ocean. She held something tiny in her claws, and large droplets of water poured from her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Dracomedon…”

“Why must this world be so cruel, Celestia?! He did nothing to deserve this! He was… but a child…”

As the dragon began snoring in Twilight’s embrace, a second memory came to the princess. Not as old, but far from fresh.

“You will do what is right for my child. I ask nothing more.”

Like twin gears, the two memories clashed in perfect harmony, working with one another to create a single thought which superseded all others.

“Well, Twilight,” Celestia said, blinking once and smiling wider. “You’re the one who hatched him. I think it’s only fair that you get the privilege of raising him.”

Twilight froze.

“If that’s alright with your parents, of course.” Celestia looked over her shoulder at the two ponies. They were both smiling warmly at the scene, and they walked over together.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” said Twilight Velvet, a film of water making her eyes shine.

Night Light just continued smiling.

Her jaw hanging slack, Twilight turned her awestruck eyes back to the little purple dragon in her embrace. Barely audible, she asked, “What’s his name?”

Celestia chuckled. “I don’t think he has one yet. Maybe you should give him one.”

Twilight looked over the dragon in wonderment. She looked at his pointed tail, and her eyes coasted across the entirety of his back, staring at the jagged green frills.

Eventually, she smiled. She stroked his back with a hoof once again and said a single word.

“Spike.”

***

Silence hung around the throne room like the heaviest of drapes. Twilight had her head low and her eyes closed. Spike had resigned himself to clutching one of her forelegs, keeping his eyes on the ground. Celestia simply had her eyes closed, her face unreadable. Luna looked at her sister with marked softness in her eyes and a frown across her face.

“Sister,” Luna began, “are you truly saying what I think you’re saying?”

Celestia didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her tone was even. “I did what my heart told me to do, Luna. I did what I believed to be right rather than what I knew to be right.” She opened her eyes and watched Spike hold Twilight like she was on the verge of vanishing.

“And I cannot say that I regret it.”

“But it was not your decision to make, Celestia! It is not you who gets to choose what is right or wrong for the child of another. And to betray the trust of one of our dearest friends for a pony you barely knew at the time… it’s unthinkable!”

Celestia slowly turned her head to meet her sister’s eyes. “I know, Luna. I know.”

Luna didn’t make to reply.

Celestia turned back to face Twilight. “Twilight, you must understand. The dragons… their society is very different from our own. Spike’s childhood would have been nightmarish in their land. His life would have been in extreme danger every single day, and the love you’ve shown him would have been virtually nonexistent.”

Twilight said nothing.

“The compassion you showed on that day, Twilight, was what drove me to my decision. I wanted him to lead a peaceful life without wars or bloody conflicts. I wanted him to experience your friendship—and for you to experience his—instead of allowing him to become a sheltered monster trained to kill or be killed.”

Silence held.

“And seeing just how far you’ve come now—both of you—tells me I made the right decision. I deeply regret that I had to betray such a dear friend to do it, but I wouldn’t hesitate to make the same choice again.” Her voice lowered to just under her breath as she said, "No matter how much it pains me."

Still, Twilight maintained the quiet. Celestia’s words settled around the room, allowing everyone to contemplate them.

“Why didn’t she ever ask about me?” said a scratchy voice.

All three alicorns looked down at Spike who was looking up at Celestia, eyes pleading.

“This queen,” Spike said, “my… mom… if she knew you were watching over me, why didn’t she ever ask about me?”

Finally, Twilight pulled her head up. She stared at Celestia with deep, half-lidded eyes underlined by a deeper frown. She said nothing.

Celestia held Spike’s gaze for a moment, then moved to Twilight’s, then closed her eyes with a sigh. “I’m afraid that story, Spike, is the one I’m most ashamed of.”

“Sister?” Luna asked, taking a small step closer.

“Every year...” Celestia began. “Every year since she entrusted me with your egg, Queen Dracomedon would visit Equestria to see your progress. After I  made the decision to… after I made my decision, I needed a way to ensure that the queen would stop visiting. So I did something terrible. I did something I will never forgive myself for until the day I die.”

Three sets of eyes focused on her, and she said a single, lead-clad phrase.

“I lied.”

***

“My Liege! You’ve received a letter from the Sun Princess!”

The queen turned away from the darkness of the cavern in order to face its entrance. She lumbered her massive bulk to its traditional resting place in the ring of stalagmites just in time to meet her squire. The torches along the walls shifted from standard orange to bright yellow.

“My Liege,” said the squire, bowing his head low as he landed.

“Rise, Squire,” said the queen, a certain glint in her eyes. “Again, you needn’t bow in my presence. We know each other well enough by now.”

“Apologies, My Liege.” The squire bowed his head slightly.

The queen’s mouth curled in an imperceptible smile. “You said Celestia sent me a letter.”

“Yes, My Liege.” The dragon lifted a single green claw towards the queen. A scroll bound by a tight red seal lay in his palm.

“Thank you, Squire.” The queen reached over with her comparatively massive claw and deftly grabbed the letter. She shredded the seal and laid it across the flat section of rock before her. At once, her large, bright eyes began scrolling across the page.

Dracomedon,

I wish I were writing to you of happier things than this, but I’m afraid I’m currently writing with a sad heart and sadder news.

Today during an entrance exam, the applicant suffered a magical spasm of sorts while holding your egg. As I understand it, the professors overseeing the test tried to react quickly enough, but I’m afraid it was a lost cause.

The egg collided with the wall and shattered. It is unsalvageable.

I know I could say how terribly, gravely sorry I am until eternity runs dry, and I know it would make no difference to you. Regardless, words cannot express the sorrow and guilt I am currently feeling at this loss. I am so, so sorry.

If you wish to terminate our relations, I will understand completely. All I ask is that you don’t blame my nation for my fault. I am the sole one to blame in this case.

I am truly, deeply, and eternally sorry.

Yours truly,

-Celestia

The queen froze as she arrived at the letter’s last words. Her eyes were dull, and a single wisp flew through her vision ceaselessly. The torches dimmed severely, and dark purple light filled anything that wasn’t shadow.

“My Liege?”

The queen blinked. She blinked again. In the distant darkness, the steady metronome of water colliding with rock began anew.

“Squire…”

“My Liege.”

“I ask that you write a letter for me, send it to Celestia, then… leave me in peace until I say otherwise…”

The squire said nothing for a moment, but soon bowed his head. “Of course, My Liege. As you request.”

***

“That letter…” Celestia said. “The letter I received in reply… it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to read in my life…”

The silence lingered for a moment, but Twilight finally spoke, her voice small. “What did it say?”

Keeping her eyes shut, Celestia’s body tensed and she whispered, “It was a single line. It said, ‘I forgive you. I take this tragedy upon myself.’ ”

The nighttime quiet returned, heavier than ever.

"I tried sending her letters in reply," Celestia said, her tone on its last legs. "I tried to convince her that she shouldn't blame herself, tried to mend what I had done to her... but she never sent any letters back. It has been a burden on my heart ever since."

“Y-you lied to this queen…” Spike said breathlessly, looking at the ground. “You lied to her... about… about my…”

“As I said, Spike, I will never forgive myself for that.”

Luna gave her sister a very dark, very penetrating look. “I am not sure that is something I can forgive either, Sister.”

Beyond the window, the moon was slowly nearing the horizon. Its grey light spilled across the four of them, paling the colour of the scene. It matched the dead air to a tee.

It was Twilight who finally broke the moment. “So… what now?”

Celestia looked to Twilight. “What do you mean, my faithful student?”

Twilight met Celestia’s eyes with a look of stone. “What are we going to do to keep Spike here?”

Spike clutched Twilight’s leg tighter.

Celestia sighed. “I… this is entirely my fault, Twilight, and I’m sorry to have put you and Spike in this position. I… I will talk to Queen Dracomedon, but beyond that…"

Celestia closed her eyes. Her voice lost all momentum as she said, “I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”

Even as Celestia closed her eyes, Twilight kept staring. She eventually moved her eyes to Luna. The princess shook her head slowly.

Twilight’s head fell again, and her eyes became like pits. The silence lasted long enough for the moon to reach the distant mountaintops.

At last, Twilight looked to the looming double doors behind the princesses. “Let’s go, Spike.”

Slowly, Spike released his grip on Twilight’s leg. He kept one hand against her as he went through the motions of clambering onto her back. Once there, he wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her neck.

Twilight walked between the princesses, Celestia with her head still hung, and Luna staring harshly at Celestia. Twilight approached the exit slowly.

“Twilight.”

She stopped.

Celestia lifted her head and spun around to look at the alicorn and the dragon. “I cannot apologize enough for what has happened, but please try to make the most of the situation. Take my actions into consideration. There is a valuable lesson to be learned there about—”

“Stop.”

Celestia stopped.

Twilight turned halfway towards Celestia, froze for an instant, and finished turning. She looked up at her with gently quavering, somewhat slanted eyes.

“Don’t try to spin this into some lesson I’m supposed to learn. This… you messed up… I’m going to fix it… and that’s all there is to it. So, please, just… just don’t.”

Like shattered glass, the tension which had lingered in the air broke into a thousand shards, and a new sort of tension came to replace it. All Celestia could do was dip her head and say, “I’m so sorry, both of you.”

Twilight’s eyes still wavered, but her expression was hard. Spike’s face was softer, but he said nothing.

As the sun peeked its way over the horizon to signal a new day, Twilight and Spike left the throne room, signaling the end of something very old.