“No.”

Totem’s ears flick down, then back up, at Spike’s imperious command. “‘S’cuse me?”

Two languid beats of dragon wings lets the young emperor look down upon his subjects. More and more of the crystal ponies congregate around the train station, weaving in among the scattered boxes. They grow grim as they watch what started as something immaterial and fleeting transform into a real confrontation. Something similar transpires within Totem; the earth pony, used to receiving orders, dips down, subservient. Behind him, Withers straightens, warily regarding the flying dragon.

Is that the most important trait, confidence in decision making? Such a simple action, yet the consequences can be so dire. Spike feels good making such a spontaneous decision, perhaps rash, but there is a decisiveness to the choice that sears away any biting doubt like gouts of flame drives away a cloud of gnats. He draws strength from the crowd of ponies, commanding in his high voice, much as he tries to deepen it.

“Those books will not leave this place,” he orders.

At first, Totem reacts like it’s a joke. “What?” He glances at the books Spike just helped him load. “You serious?”

Spike motions to the crates around him, packed with supplies. “We will not hawk our heritage for trinkets and toys. And you!” Spike whirls on the changelings slinking away. They freeze. “Nor shall we barter our birthright for bowls of barley. We, the Crystal Empire, lay claim to the Frozen North and all its bounty. By what right do you seek to remove it?”

“Err,” the leader, Frenulum - green with purple wings, known for her quick wit and helpfulness - stalls. “It was our claws that dug the gems and crystals out.”

From the murmurs of his fellow ponies, Spike can tell his ploy could easily turn against him. “Yes, but it was our maps, our surveys that led you to them.” A sweep of his arm covers the modest train station. “And our station through which you wish to ship them. Or are you claiming these gems, these ores, are meant for helping rebuild that which my little ponies have lost?”

“They’re for Chrysalis’ hive in Ponyville,” Sclerite, another green changeling with pink wings, adds. “She ain’t gonna be happy about this.”

Frenulum doesn’t seem to care for the interjection, silencing her compatriot with a sharp glare. Spike can see the numbers running through the changeling’s skull, calculating, and he knows he has her caught. “We have heard,” her wheedling voice comes out, subservient, yet he can hear bristling behind it. “That Your Majesty prefers his gems baked in cake.”

Oh, how he loves a gem cake, a trickle of drool already running past his fangs. He can see it now, layers upon layers of sparkling sweetness, fiery rubies that burn only to be chilled by sapphires. And, yet, there is one other whose love of cake surpasses his, one who it is said has sampled every delicacy this world has to offer and found all others wanting.

It pains him to do this, to his very core. “No,” he refuses. “As much as it would please me to partake in such a treat, the needs of the Empire come first.”

That calculating glint returns to her scintillating eyes, whirling through greens and reds to settle on a pleasant blue. “Half?” she obediently proposes. “Of those materials most suited for your reconstruction?”

Spike considers for a long moment, long enough for the changeling’s wings to buzz nervously as she glances among her comrades. He could push for more, half of everything, but without a unicorn for enchanting the gems would be usable only as decorations. Or cake toppers, but he isn’t going to mention that.

“Very well,” he graciously concedes, much to Frenulum’s relief. “Those of you with need, step forward.”

While the Crystal Heart, when it was restored to its rightful position at the base of the Crystal Castle, repaired the damage done by King Sombra’s attack, it sadly did little for the pitiful condition of many of the houses and stores. Sure, the exterior looks sparkly and clean, but that is poor consolation for the neglect suffered internally.

It takes a moment for the ponies to realize Spike is referring to them. They tentatively step forward, then leap onto the open-topped hoppers. Glances at Spike for confirmation receive no reply, either positive or negative, but their hesitation quickly turns to fervor as they haul out great chunks of blue crystal. Walls, roofing, support beams, perhaps tables and benches, they would find plenty of locations to incorporate the raw crystal.

It would be a good test of his subjects, he realizes; nopony is taking note of who takes what, but he is, carefully counting. Later he would inquire, and woe to anypony caught misreporting their gains.

Withers takes the opportunity to approach Spike. “Your Majesty,” he supplicates, biting back his tongue. “These books are to be a gift to Princess Twilight Sparkle, to grace the shelves at her new castle. Surely you would not wish to come between her and the joy she would get from them, yes?”

Spike considers, regretting his earlier rashness. Had he thought these were a purchase for the Canterlot Archives, because it was Celestia’s golden script? The alabaster alicorn hoards knowledge, that much is known, as well as powerful artifacts that she parcels out to those that serve her. But Twilight would appreciate these books for what they are, the heritage and history of the Crystal Ponies, explanations of their culture and ideals. She wouldn’t be delving into them in search of hidden clues to buried mysteries that might disrupt her carefully cultivated country.

“I would hate to deprive her of such a luxury,” Spike concedes, a tactical withdrawal from his earlier position. But he needs something for his bold assertion earlier. “But the Crystal Library, while the repository of our history, is surely not the only contributor to our heritage.”

Withers stares at Spike. Much like Frenulum, Spike can guess as to the going through his head, on whether to call Spike’s bluff or to acquiesce to his demand. And, the funny thing is, if he gives in? Then maybe Spike had the power after all.

The henchpony shrugs, going to the saddlebag laying just inside the train car. He comes out with two heavy bags, stamped with the Equestrian crest, that jingle and clink. At least he has the wherewithal to not outright state that the bits he’s giving away aren’t his, they’re the Princess’, though Spike isn’t sure whether he would have kept them a bonus for a successful mission. He chucks the bags at Spike; one of them splits open beneath his clawed feet, dozens of ten-bit coins spilling and rolling in every direction.

“For the ponies of the Crystal Empire,” Withers states dryly, watching with a certain satisfaction as the Crystal Ponies chase the bits as they roll and bounce down the road. A guardpony moves in to grab the bags, another two to corral the crowd.

Spike holds his tongue. He can’t always get the last point in, so he merely nods and flies back toward the Crystal Castle. He would need to codify this edict into law, to make it fair and applicable to all, to anypony or anycreature who wishes to take advantage of their vulnerable state. Because they do need the food, loathe as he is to admit it, and he can’t cut off trade completely until they are self-sufficient.

Whatever construction project taking place at the base of his statue is still underway. Two ponies have stuffed themselves into a hole as deep as the rupture he made when he slammed into the pavement, only their construction-garbed tails of ice blue and rose peeking out. He flies next to one of the young fillies watching to inquire what is going on.

“Dange-ous Magical Ar-fact Survey,” she replies with a sense of pride that she is able to remember, seemingly indifferent to the fact that he is a dragon. He likes that. “They’re checking to see if there’s anything left over from…”

The filly sniffs once, tearing up, along with all of her neighbors. Spike immediately regrets bringing the subject up, though likens it to having his scales removed by Ember when his wings came in: painful, yes, excruciating even, but a necessary part of getting past the horrors the Mad King inflicted on them.

So he counts every cry, a wail echoing against the Crystal Castle, that pierces into his heart. How long could he withstand such distress? Not long, that is certain, and it feels like the whole Empire shudders with them.

“Do not worry, little one,” Spike comforts, running his claws through her poofy golden mane. “For King Sombra will darken your skies no longer. The Crystal Heart will provide warmth and love, and I will be here to defend you from all that is out there.”

Pretty brown eyes follow his claw as he traces the horizon. She snuggles next to him, providing her own form of warmth and comfort to the somber dragon. “Thanks, Mister Brave and Glorious.”

Spike tugs her close, relishing every moment. Sweet Celestia she reminds me of Sweetie Belle. “Please,” he begs, nearly choking up. “Call me Spike.”

A loud whistle blares from the train station. The filly in his claws jerks away, her eyes suddenly wide. “S-sorry, Spike. But I gotta go!”

Spike lets her go, reluctantly, and she scampers down the tail and to the Crystal Castle. Spike sighs; I could have flown her there. He would have liked that. He resigns himself to watching the commotion speed up at the work site. The unicorn - Radiant Hope - rushes to fill the hole back in while a shrouded earth pony stuffs something in their saddlebags.

“Find anything?” Spike asks as he flies down, catching Radiant Hope by surprise.

“Ye-mm-err,” she stumbles, quickly inclining her head and coughing. “Brave and Glorious Spike! What a surprise!” He taps his claws impatiently. “I’m glad to say, there aren’t any traces left! They’re all gone!”

“There’s nothing left of Sombra?” Spike peers at the spot where the hated enemy fell. He can’t tell, and would have to rely on her expertise. “Good riddance.”

Radiant Hope bows her head. “As you say.”

“We have a train to catch,” the other pony reminds.

Spike recognizes her as Tempest Shadow. What are those two doing here? And leaving so soon?

“Well, it was good seeing you, Spike,” Radiant Hope continues, offering him a slight smile. She taps a hoof, horn nearly done restoring the pavement. “And it looks like you’re adapting well to your new position!”

“Thanks,” Spike says, watching the two gallop to the train station and barely make it on as the train departs. Must be in a hurry, afraid I’ll impose something else on them. He chuckles to himself, but now isn’t the time to engage in frivolous day-dreaming. The sun has nearly set, and there’s still much to be done!

The entrance to the Crystal Castle is as open and bright as ever, but there is an emptiness that he finds off-putting. That there is so much potential, so much room to grow, to fill with his hoard. Or is that the dragon in him talking? Even so, he has the same desire for the rest of the Empire, to fill the empty space surrounding the city with something, even if it is only fields and pastures.

He spots Golden Wheat talking with the filly from earlier, noticing a bit of a resemblance between the two. Upon seeing him, the older mare nods curtly, the filly scampering off with a quick wave. He watches her go as Golden Wheat approaches.

“Your Majesty,” she greets, curtseying. “Maize was just telling me about all that you’ve done.”

“Did she?” Spike grins, thrilled at the prospect of the filly’s interest. “But that’s not all.”

As they climb the many steps to his quarters, him flying, he recounts what happened at the train station. “But I’m worried,” he ends with. “That the ponies will see me as greedily, grasping for any chance to prove myself.”

“That is a worry,” Golden Wheat confides as they enter his chambers. “I watched from here, and talked to some who were there.” While Spike goes to his desk and grabs parchment and quill, the mare goes to his bed. She taps the mattress, enticing him to join her. “Do you not wish to relax? You have had a long day, and it would serve nopony should you become exhausted.”

Spike doesn’t feel tired, but does concede that it looks more comfortable. Is that the most important thing, to listen to those around you?

He lays down in front of the mare, propping himself up on his elbows so he can write. Two hooves, firm and experienced, press into his back. His scales buckle and bend under the pressure, hurting, but it’s a good hurt, the kind that drives away the pain and leaves room for renewal.

He must have moaned, because the pressure lets up, if only for a moment. “My apologies. I am not used to working with scales.”

“Mm,” Spike grunts in the affirmative. He spreads his limbs, forgetting about the parchment, inviting her to continue.

“But that’s not what the others saw,” Golden Wheat croons, splaying her body forward. Warmth spreads along his scales where she presses into him, stoking that furnace inside him.

“What did they see?” Spike asks, struggling to maintain his composure.

“They saw a ruler who would stand up for them.” A nip comes to the base of a frond, right in the middle of his back. He jolts, but strong hooves hold him in place. “Where are those who thought you were a stooge for Equestria, somepony who would bow and kowtow to the Princess’s demands? They are silent, thanks to your brave and glorious actions.”

“Mm,” Spike the Brave and Glorious mutters, lost in thought.

“Now, is there anything else you desire?” Her words curl like the sensuous curve of her flanks under her raised tail. “Anything at all, Your Majesty?”

“Mm. In fact, there is.” Spike shrugs his shoulders, enough for Golden Wheat to pull back, an eager look in her eyes. It falls when he grabs for the parchment, though he doesn’t notice. “We cannot, should not, become reliant on the continued generosity of others. Your cutie mark.”

Golden Wheat, confused and disappointed and happy to help in any way, turns to display her flank. “A stalk of wheat, Your Majesty. I worked in the fields that once surrounded this fair city. Before...”

Spike waits a moment, but it’s obvious she doesn’t want to elaborate, not at this time. “I have need of that expertise, whatever you can recall.” She gives a hesitant nod. “Excellent.” Spike taps the parchment with the feather end of the quill. “What I want is a plan that will restore our glory. How many fields will we need to plant, and how soon can we count on a harvest?”

Golden Wheat regards him for a moment before her tail drops and her smile returns. She remarks, rhetorically, “Has anypony told you that you are nothing like him?” She slides around so they are facing each other.

Perhaps that is best, Spike muses as she explains all she can remember about the intricacies of harvest. Paying heed to your advisors, in whatever capacity they come in.

Next Chapter: Ch. 94 - Grand Spectrum, Part One Estimated time remaining: 17 Hours, 5 Minutes