Twilight.

I can’t meet Celestia without scheduling ahead, even with my celebrity status, but if there’s one alicorn I can meet anytime, it’s Princess Twilight Sparkle.

I bring my hoof up and knock heavily on the door. The sound echoes in the hall beyond.

“I’ll get it!” a roaring voice cries from deep inside, and I feel the hard thumping of clawed feet on carpet and crystal as the dragon canters for the entry. Despite being a member of the royal household, he has a penchant for acting extremely unprofessionally. If Spitfire were in charge, she’d be fixing him right up.

But Spitfire isn’t here. I am. And I’ve my own bones to pick.

The door creaks open, and Spike sticks his head through the gap. He seems to have grown slightly since last I saw him. “Fleet!” he exclaims with a beaming grin, rising on his hindlegs and stepping aside as he widens the opening and bids me welcome. “Hot damn, girl. Long time no see!”

A similar line from yesterday, but with more enthusiasm. “Yeah, hey,” I greet as I trot inside from the midday sun, keeping my expression neutral, but hopefully not seeming like I’m purposely trying to distance myself from him. Setting hoof through the entryway feels like returning to some old, forgotten part of life — so many good memories — and I hate it has to be on pretence such as this. “You’ve grown again.”

“Oh, yeah.” He looks down at himself and admires his stature; the changes aren’t terribly noticeable, but he’s definitely half a head taller. At least, it felt that way, and his affirmation only confirms it. “Time flies when you’re having fun. Or helping Twilight. One in the same, basically.”

I somehow doubt that. “Yeah, about that…” I hum, quickly scanning the hall and briefly reminiscing on how much time had passed, and how little had changed. “Is she here?”

“Yes, of course,” he says as if I were on old friend asking to sit on his sofa — the answer is always yes. He pulls the way shut behind me and sits on his haunches, practically towering as tall as a minotaur. “You want to see her?”

“Yeah.” The fact I’d given the same basic response four times over makes me want to slap myself, but I’ve come here for a reason and I’m not going to let me making a fool of myself get in the way of it. “It’s about a friendship problem — a… a pretty serious one.”

His grin fades to surprise and a hint of disappointment. “Oh, so… you didn’t come just to see us again?”

I focus on him properly and hold his gaze, but don’t give anything away. “Where is she?”

Surprise and disappointment become wary curiosity, and his brows crease as he cocks his head. “Has something happened, Fleet?”

“Where is she, Spike?”

Wary curiosity turns to outright caution, and he hesitates a moment or two before responding. “Up the stairs, through the double doors to the map room. She’s a little busy at the—”

“Thanks.” I turn away and hop into the air before he has the chance to put up a fight, not that he’d be the confrontational sort. If somepony threatened his de facto sister, or any of his family as a matter of fact, including the Bearers, then sure, he’d get fiery about it, but not here and not with me; I don’t mean them any harm. I just don’t have the patience to deal with formalities right now.

I cross the hall, ascend the stairs and touch down on the landing before the double doors he mentioned — stained glass without any distinct pattern to it. Through their colourful façades, I spy the six white thrones surrounding the legendary round table, and a blurred form lounging in the furthest. Busy my hoof.

With a negligible grunt, I rear up and push the way open.

She stares at the magical hologram of a world map pensively, reclined in her seat with lowered brows and half-closed eyes. Somewhat dejected, I’d wager. “Spike, not right now,” she mumbles, waving a forehoof in my vague direction, the other supporting her chin. “I need some time to—”

“I’m not Spike.”

She glances up, and almost slips out of the throne with how fast she seizes up and tries to look more presentable. “Miss Fleetfoot!” she welcomes with a grin — a forced one to be sure, more out of genuine shock. “Hi! What a surprise! Didn’t expect to see you here so…”

I continue walking around the table, holding her gaze without expression.

“…Is something wrong?”

“We need to talk.”

“Oh.” She blinks, and then after a second’s hesitation, she gestures for the throne to her immediate right — Rainbow’s, judging by the mark emblazoned at the top. “Well then, I’m more than happy to hear anything you have to say.”

Maybe she misinterpreted what I’d said, or maybe she was trying to convince herself I didn’t mean to sound as accusatory as I probably did — I know I’ve had trouble with that in the past. Either way, as I cross the floor and hop into the crystalline chair, so smooth and cool on the rump, I get the feeling she’ll be eating her own words soon enough.

“I take it this isn’t you stopping by to see how we’re doing, is it?”

In a manner of speaking, I suppose I am, but I didn’t come here to trade pleasantries, customary as it may be, and especially with the Princess of Friendship herself. Instead, I stare at an indefinite point of air between myself and the table, caught on how exactly I should phrase the next line. Too harsh, and I’ll come off as vindictive. To light, and I’ll come off as uncaring.

“I think I heard ‘friendship problem’ from downstairs, now that I think about it.”

Of course she did. You can’t so much as whisper in the bigger chambers without it echoing throughout the castle halls, and she’s probably had more than enough time to train herself to pick up all kinds of secrets.

“If that’s the case, you’ve come to the right place. It’ll also be the first time you’ve sought my help, but there’s a first time for everything!” She leans closer in her seat expectantly and eagerly. “So, what’s the conundrum today?”

“You lied to him.”

She blinks again. “E-e-excuse me?”

I meet her gaze once more, but keep my face as neutral as I can manage. “You lied to him,” I repeat, adding more conviction. “You and Spike, you knew about humans the whole time and you said nothing.”

All her eagerness disappears with folded ears and widening eyes.

“While he was sleeping in this castle, you had a portal in the basement to whatever world he’s from, and you, Spike, the Sisters, your friends, you thought it was best if he never found out.”

She shuts her eyes and lowers her head, sighing as she sits more squarely in her throne.

“You told him to his face you’d never seen his kind before. But you knew all along and you kept it from him. You covered it up. And now you and the Sisters are telling him he can’t go home after he learned all this the hard way.”

“It wasn’t my choice.”

I frown and turn to face her properly. “You chose not to tell him.”

“Those were my orders,” she murmurs, already sounding somewhat weary by the conversation, as if she’d gone through several hundred iterations in her head. “And on the count of not initially telling him, I agreed, because the less he knew, the easier it—”

“You lied to him,” I hiss. “You, the Princess of Friendship. And you’re telling me what you did — what you’re doing to him is right?”

She shuts her eyes again and scrunches her snout, letting out a pained sigh. “Fleetfoot…”

“There’d better be a damn good explanation.”

“And I can explain,” she looks at me delicately, “but whether it’s any good is up to you.”

I pause for a short while, but eventually lean back and balance myself more comfortably on my haunches, my frown lingering on her as I roll a hoof urgingly. “Alright then, let’s hear it.”

She closes her eyes yet again, putting a hoof to her chest as she breathes in and sweeping it away as she breathes out. I remember Rainbow saying she learned this from Princess Cadance, as a way of dealing with unwelcome and unhelpful stress. In this case, unless I’m proven otherwise, I wouldn’t say the stress is undeserved.

“Philip’s Earth is… different to ours,” she begins, calmly, coolly. “Its past is more violent, its peoples more divided, and some countries more… fanatical than any Equestria’s ever come across. The United States, for instance — his home — has had a long history of contradictions. It was a nation founded on liberty, but exercised slavery. It despised empires, but wanted to be one. It shunned the crimes of others, but excused its own.”

“I asked for an explanation, not a history lecture.”

“And I’m getting to that,” she replies, glancing at me with a slight edge, “but you have to understand, things aren’t as simple as they may seem, especially when we’re talking about two whole worlds coming into contact.”

“Then why bother keeping the portal around?”

“To study humanity.”

My frown deepens, mostly in bewilderment. “You’re… studying them?” I wonder aloud, and then the pieces fall into place. “So, what, this is all just some big experiment to you, and he’s your little lab rat?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” She shakes her head vehemently. “I’m saying… they’re a learning opportunity. Despite the rifts between their cultures and the rampant greed and bigotry among far, far too many of their leaders… friendship still manages to flourish. I know because I’ve seen it myself.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’ve crossed over to the human world?”

She nods.

“You can but he can’t?”

“Like I said, it’s complicated.”

“Then uncomplicate it.”

She pauses, then shakes her head again, but slower and more rueful. “I wish I could, but… it’s not up to me. I have friends on that side, yes — ponies… people who remind me of the friends I have here — and there’s another pony who practically lives there now, as a human, but none of them are in a position to help Philip reintegrate. If we can’t do it quietly — and after a year’s absence, I doubt his reappearance would go without question — then… we’d have to repatriate him officially. That means going to the authorities, and that’s where things get… risky.”

My head’s starting to spin, trying to keep up with her train of thought. “Risky how?”

Her gaze has turned apprehensive. “Diplomacy… isn’t to be taken lightly. Especially when we’re talking about a world so similar, and yet so diverse. There’ve been instances where certain individuals tried taking matters into their own hands, and sparked conflicts that didn’t need to happen. We’d naturally want to avoid that, but whether we like it or not, if we treat with one country, we’d have to treat with them all… And with hundreds of envoys at the table…”

The situation is starting to make more sense now, but the picture I’m getting… isn’t bright.

Twilight seems to notice the wind in my sails has slacked somewhat and she sighs sympathetically. “If we want a smooth transition for Philip, we’d have to reveal ourselves to and negotiate with an entire planet — eight, nine, ten billion people. I believe it’s worth a shot, but Celestia… doesn’t think humanity’s ready for us just yet.” She shrugs dejectedly and shakes her head. “I won’t go behind her back on this. Maybe I’ll be able to convince her, or something will happen on their side that’ll change her mind, but as it stands… my hooves are tied.”

My gaze has lowered to the space between us, and my frown has slackened to something less critical. Questions still need answering, but I have the sneaking suspicion I’m on the losing end of a very short debate. “That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell him anything.”

She sighs again. “I’ll be honest… that was my suggestion,” she murmurs guiltily. “I thought… if he didn’t know the truth, then maybe his life here would be easier. Like you said, myself and a few others can travel to and from, but he can’t, and if he found out about that… just how miserable do you think he’d be?”

“But he found out anyway.”

“He did.” She nods to herself. “And now we’ve paid the price.”

Had she, though? Philip might be pissed at her, Spike, and all the other perpetrators, but just because they feel bad that he’s angry at them doesn’t mean they know his pain — what they’ve all collectively denied him. Just thinking it over last night let me realise how bogus it all was; how dare they smile and pretend everything’s fine, while keeping his old life behind lock and key.

But put in this context… I’m not sure what to feel. If I stay on his side, that makes me vindictive, but if I concede the point, I’ll have betrayed him. A catch twenty-two if ever I’ve seen one, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.

With a soft groan, I turn away and find myself staring at the map. There’s Canterlot in the centre, Cloudsdale a fair way west of it, Ponyville south of them both, and Fillydelphia all the way on the east coast. He’s still over there, I’m pretty sure, having found temporary shelter in Seaford’s Riviera — a place I expressly recommended on account of the service and the views. The guards weren’t too pleased when they had to list their rooms under necessary royal expenses.

“You still lied to him,” I mumble, remembering the look on his face when he flopped on the bed and told himself it might’ve been the best decision he’d made since coming here. I try to stay peevish, but the memory and my current circumstance are working against me. “That wasn’t right.”

“It wasn’t,” she agrees, shaking her head, “but we… I thought it was necessary.”

I pause for a moment, continuing to jadedly stare at the map and its four key locations. “I thought the Friendship Princess would be more virtuous.”

She looks at me pointedly, but surprisingly, doesn’t give me a verbal warning. I suppose she’s wondering whether I’d meant it as an insult or was simply making a blunt observation, and I’m happy to let her wonder as long as she likes. “Magic’s my Element,” she says candidly. “Honesty is Applejack’s thing. I may be a princess, but I’m no Celestia.”

“She lied too.”

She pauses again, and then sighs once more, turning to the map as well and pursing her lips. “I need a drink,” she suddenly, dourly declares, twisting and hopping out of her seat, leaving me to my own devices. At least, until she stops strolling languidly around the table and peers across at me with an eyebrow raised in a blasé fashion. “You coming?”

---

I’ve never fancied myself much of a wine pony — too sweet on the tongue and I don’t like the aftertaste — but this vintage blend generously gifted from the Canterlot cellars isn’t half bad. But right now, the glass I’m holding isn’t what I’m focussed on; it’s the giant, oval mirror in the centre of the basement. “So, who invented this thing, anyway?”

“Starswirl the Bearded,” Twilight replies vaguely, looking down at her drink held in a magical embrace. “Just like everything before Nightmare Moon, it always circles back to him. Crazy old coot just couldn’t stop being amazing. Or bearded.”

I blink and glance at her. “This is over a thousand years old?”

“Yep.” She takes a sip. “He had a habit of dumping his problems on other dimensions, mainly Philip’s. Why he created and contained this portal in particular, he can’t remember, and surprisingly enough, neither can the Sisters. No records on it either.”

I turn my head to her fully and quirk an eyebrow. “This world has made contact with Philip’s in the past?”

“Technically, yes.” Another sip, and her expression becomes more brooding. “But never in any diplomatic capacity. Again, in Starswirl’s case, he treated it more or less like a massive, magical garbage can, sending monsters there when he and the Pillars couldn’t… dispose of them here.”

“Then what’s with this protocol of non-interference?”

“Because it was a different time back then, and now we know better.” She meets my gaze with a sombre one. “Better to learn from our mistakes than keep repeating them, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose.” I sigh through my nose and return to the mirror. “But that still doesn’t seem right to me.”

“It isn’t, but Celestia thinks it’s necessary.” She watches her wine as she swirls it around. “Of course, one could argue there’s no difference what’s right and what’s necessary, but I’m not opening that can of worms.”

My ears twitch and I look at her once more.

She pauses for a short while, then blinks and shakes her head. “Sorry, I’ve just… had a lot of time to think and read. I thought it’d help, but… it’s kind of done the opposite.”

I wait for a moment, mulling it over, then nod slowly and understandingly. The bookworm can’t find comfort in her books; that’d be like me no longer finding flight therapeutic — inconceivable. And if it were, a lot must’ve happened for it to reach that point. Whether or not she’s in the wrong here, I can at the very least respect when somepony else is beginning to lose their passion.

“So, you’re just studying them, are you?” I query, peering into the mirror and pondering what it’s like on the other side — just how big could his world be. “Check in, make a few friends, check out, jot down some notes, rinse and repeat?”

“That’s all we were doing initially, yes — myself and Sunset, that is — but with most of Equestria’s major friendship problems resolved… we’ve shifted focus.”

“To what?”

“Technology.”

I raise another eyebrow.

“Electricity, phones, TV, wireless communication, it all comes from there.” She wanders forward, gazing up and tracing the outline of the portal as she sips her drink. “We had some of these things before, but in a world without magic, humans have always had to go the extra length. I figured… why not learn from their achievements?”

“Did you ask them kindly?”

She stops before the small stairwell leading up to it, smirking at the ground and ears lowered slightly, then shares that melancholy smirk with me. “Unfortunately, no. And that’s another reason to keep the portal closed — so we don’t face the legal trouble of all the patents we… copied.”

I snort, offering a smirk of my own as I stroll to join her. “Naughty girl, Twilight.”

“I’ve never claimed to be perfect.”

“The whole world thinks you are.”

Her brows give a shrug and she turns away. “Then that’s their mistake,” she casually remarks, taking another sip of her wine afterwards. “I’ve made plenty.”

“Same,” I say, and then take a sip of my own. Sweet, but bearably so.

A long silence descends, and it affords me the chance to properly admire just how big the basement is. So much space, and so much of it unused. Granted, that description fits the castle as a whole like a glove. If Twilight were more mercenary, I bet she’d make quite a few bits running a hotel business on the side — the prestige attached to lodging in her home would be irresistible for many a noble with deep pockets.

But she has her limits, and I’m pretty sure welcoming strangers who’ve come to visit only to brag to their friends crosses them. She has enough troubles on her plate anyhow, balancing her duties to the school and the kingdom, and now with her connection with Philip on the line.

“Do you think he’ll forgive me?” she quietly asks, practically reading my mind and facing me with upturned brows. “Did I… screw up too badly?”

I meet her gaze but don’t answer immediately, and I hope I keep my doubt from showing. “Maybe,” I say with a sigh, and then I decide to be a bit more hopeful, while staying in the bounds of reality. “Probably. Just… give him time. You have the excuse of following orders, and Spike and your friends were just following your orders — that’ll wear on him eventually.”

“Can you say that for certain?”

“No,” I admit, figuring there’s no use in being dishonest, putting aside the fact I’d be a hypocrite if I were. “But that’s my educated guess. He’s not spiteful. A pain in the flank on occasion, but, hey, who isn’t?”

She pauses, and then a smile sneaks through. Demure and bittersweet, but welcoming. “You’ve become fast friends, haven’t you?”

I shrug. “He’s growing on me.”

“I can see.” She nods thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.”

I blink at that, but don’t change my expression, even as I slowly look away and stare at nothing in particular. And I linger on the fact — he hadn’t asked me to meet her, I just… up and left this morning. Had a good, long think last night, and told myself demanding answers was the right thing to do, especially if I couldn’t get the whole story from him alone.

My chest feels… heavier, suddenly. Warmer. Pride, perhaps? In what, myself? For doing something that, frankly, any good friend would do? That’s not something to feel proud about, is it?

A hoof rests against my shoulder.

I turn to look at her.

Twilight returns my… unsettled gaze with a gentle, empathetic grin. “You care for him,” she intones, each note radiating the pride I’m sure I don’t entirely deserve. “He cares for you. Right now, he needs all the support and all the friends he can get. And you… You’ve made big strides in helping him through this.”

Knowing her penchant for lectures and speeches, part of me wants to roll me eyes — at this point, as a princess, they’re practically mandatory. But the rest of me can’t help smiling; hearing this from her just feels… right, somehow. Earned.

“Maybe things will work out between us and maybe they won’t, but whatever happens… I just hope you two can make the best of it. There’s beauty in what you have already. Don’t let it go.”

And I guess that’s why she’s the Princess of Friendship. You don’t become an alicorn unless you’re worth something. But despite my best efforts to keep myself restrained, my smile grows wider and I shake my head amusedly, chuckling at the sappy nature of our exchange. “Never planned to, Twiggles. Never.”

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