“What do you know about other dragons in Equestria?”

Twilight froze. She’d been having a nice enough day to this point; the library was in good order, she was up to date on her studies, and the weather was going to be perfect for stargazing tonight. In the remaining few hours before sunset, she had been considering going for a walk. A little time alone was overdue, and it was just the right time of year for an evening stroll through the Whitetail Woods. Then, Spike just had to ask that question.

“I mean, there have to be some, right?”

Twilight turned stiffly to face her charge, an unconvincing smile plastered on her face. “Sure, Spike. You remember when we had to tell one to move so his smoke wouldn’t bother anypony, and there was that one you found the night you ran off.”

“Not those,” Spike said, waving a claw dismissively. “I mean dragons that live with ponies.”

Twilight had known what he meant, of course. She’d had the same question, once. As was her way, she’d researched the topic extensively. Her findings were not encouraging. Initial panic eventually gave way to a growing hope that she’d be gone before Spike ever thought to question his relationship to equine society.

So much for that.

“Well there, um, aren’t any. Aside from you, I mean,” Twilight stammered.

“Huh.” Spike said. He sat down on the floor, adopting an expression of deep thought. “Why?”

Twilight didn’t want to lie to Spike, and she was a poor enough liar that it probably wouldn’t be a good idea anyway. There was an alternative, though, one that didn’t involve disclosing all the grisly details of Tremor the Mad’s sad story: Spike’s attention span was not yet capable of standing up to a proper Twilight Sparkle lecture, to say nothing of his vocabulary.

“Well, pony societies -- like Equestria -- are based fundamentally on our species’ biological imperatives; we’re a social race, and our culture shows that at every level. Familial structures, governmental organizations, the standards of all interpersonal interaction -- they all reflect the fact that ponies have always relied on the herd to survive.”

Spike’s eyelids began to sag. Encouraged, Twilight continued.

“Dragons are different -- they’re solitary creatures, and what social structure they have is much less involved than that of ponies. They don’t maintain relationships they way we do, and this results in a profound psychological -- and possibly neurological -- divide between our two species. What evidence we have suggests that dragons are not well suited to sustained equine-level social behavior.”

“Okay.” Spike said slowly, clearly not fully understanding. “Well that makes sense I guess.”

Twilight breathed a silent sigh of relief. It appeared that he was going to let it go at that. “I’m going to go for a walk,” she announced, hoping the change in subject would derail any ongoing ponderings in the dragon’s mind. “I’ll be back before dark.”

Spike grunted a distracted acknowledgement as Twilight trotted over to the shelf where she kept her saddlebags and their most frequent contents. She’d almost made it out the door when he spoke up again.

“Twilight,” he called.

“Yes?” She answered apprehensively.

“What makes me different?”

Nothing, as far as I know, Twilight thought. “Well, everyone is unique, Spike,” she said instead.

Spike gave her a sour look. It was becoming more and more difficult to placate him with such vague assurances, and while Twilight was proud of his intellectual growth, it did make him much more difficult to manage.

“Will I be able to stay with you when I grow up?”

“I’ll be dead long before you even approach adulthood,” Twilight didn’t say. Nor did she expound upon the practical difficulties of housing a fully grown dragon in an area populated by ponies. She certainly didn’t share her speculations regarding how everypony else might feel about such an arrangement.

“That’s a long way off. You may not even want to, by that time,” she replied eventually. “I wish I could give you a simple answer, but I’m not a fortune teller. All I can promise you is that I’ll be your friend for as long as I’m around.”

Spike scowled in distaste at the answer. Aside from her failure to provide anything concrete regarding his actual question, he never liked it when she made reference to her comparatively short lifespan.

She smiled apologetically. “Well, I have to get going or I’m going to run out of sunlight. Don’t think too hard about this, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbled. “Have a nice walk.”

A nice walk turned out to be impossible; the best Twilight could manage was a dejected shuffle. Despite her best efforts to push the conversation from her mind, her thoughts circled endlessly around visions of Spike’s future. A sample size of one was hardly basis for a definitive conclusion, she told herself. Maybe Spike wouldn’t have any of issues she feared. She didn’t believe it for a second. In the end, she was left with the empty consolation of her own mortality; she wouldn’t live long enough to truly experience the folly in raising a dragon as a pony.

It had been dark for hours by the time Twilight found herself back at the library.

“Where have you been?” Spike asked as she entered. “I was starting to get worried.”

“Oh.” Twilight replied blankly. “Well, um, it’s just so nice outside, so…”

“Whatever,” Spike said, gesturing towards to kitchen area. “I made dinner. It’s cold now.”

The dragon appeared to have moved on from their earlier conversation much more easily than Twilight.

“Thank you, Spike.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m gonna turn in -- see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Spike.”

---

Celestia had to give them credit for audacity, if nothing more.

“Just out of curiosity, how long were you expecting a spell like this to hold us?” She asked the Canidan leader in an almost disinterested tone.

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll try to escape,” Alpha confided with a smile. “The spell is nothing compared to your power, I’ll admit,” he continued, glancing briefly at the dozen entranced unicorns he’d hired from every corner of the world to enact his plan. “But it’s strong enough that if you break it, not much will be left of Mare-is.”

It was an interesting tactic, one Celestia doubted the Prench had agreed to when they’d offered up their capital as a neutral ground for the negotiations. Beside her, Luna stifled a yawn.

“Very inventive,” Luna admitted. “But aside from opening negotiations on a particularly sour note, I don’t see what you’ve accomplished here.”

“Negotiations?” Alpha scoffed. “Don’t tell me you still think this is about negotiations. With the two of you trapped, Equestria will be ours for the taking!”

The royal sisters glanced at one another with expressions of grim amusement.

“I see,” Celestia said flatly. “I suppose we’ll just wait here, then.”

Alpha was not completely blind to their lack of concern. “You don’t think we pose any threat, even without your intervention, but Canida has grown strong since last you knew us! With our gryphon allies controlling the skies, the meager forces of Equestria will fall in short order.”

Luna raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Gryphon allies? I’m not sure I’ve ever heard those words together before.”

“Quip all you like -- that’s all you can do now,” Alpha taunted. “Soon, I’ll--”

He was interrupted by a rumbling vibration in the cavernous hall’s floor. Half a second later, another followed.

“Ah,” he said, his manner brightening. “I think it’s time for you to meet one of my newest friends. He made all of this possible, in a way.”

Celestia felt the slightest hint of worry as the thunderous footsteps continued. After another minute, the dragon’s mountainous form lumbered into view.

“Your highnesses,” Alpha addressed them mockingly, “allow me to introduce--”

“Princess Celestia,” Spike’s rumbling voice interrupted. “Princess Luna.” He squinted at their containment area for a moment before his eyes shifted to Alpha. “Alpha, I never believed the stories about defective canid intellect,” he said, almost consolingly.

“Well, of course not,” Alpha replied uncertainly.

“I trusted that any adult canid could count to three, for example,” Spike continued.

“Count to three?” Alpha asked, confused.

“Yes!” Spike roared, his sudden exhalation making the room uncomfortably warm. “Three! Three princesses of Equestria!”

“I-- Well…” The canid sputtered. “Only two came to meet us. What was I supposed to do?”

“You make a good point!” Spike exclaimed, a manic grin appearing on his enormous face. “Why not spring the trap when it will serve absolutely no purpose?” The dragon’s oddly shrill laughter echoed through the hall.

“We have two of them,” Alpha said defensively, having regained some part of his composure. “Alone, the last won’t be able to stand against our forces.”

Spike shook his head, chuckling, then in a deceptively casual motion scooped Alpha off the floor with one of his massive claws. Before Celestia realized what was happening, the dragon squeezed. The former canid didn’t even have time to scream.

“Wow, that was violent,” Luna remarked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Spike seemed to whisper to himself for a moment, eyes unfocused, as liquefied Alpha seeped from between his clawed fingers. Finally, he appeared to return to the moment.

“You!” He pointed a dripping finger at one of Alpha’s aides. “You’re Alpha now. Take your servants outside and await word of your failed invasion.”

The canids stared, still frozen by the shock of their leader’s sudden death.

“Go!” Spike roared.

Belatedly, the pack sprinted towards the hall’s distant exit. Satisfied, Spike turned his attention back to the captive alicorns.

“So,” he said warmly. “How have you been?”

---

Twilight Sparkle was exhausted and ill-tempered as she set down gently on a Mare-is rooftop. It was now sixteen hours since she’d heard from Celestia or Luna, and four since she’d repelled the last of the invaders. She surveyed the city carefully from her perch, alert for signs of conflict, but to all appearances it was just a quiet afternoon in the Prench capital.

She fixed her gaze on the Great Hall, which dominated the skyline. It was the crown jewel of Prench architecture, and it rivaled Canterlot Palace in scale, if not in craftsmanship. The negotiations were supposed to take place there, but as far as Twilight knew, they never had. Disturbed by the lack of visible activity, she leapt from the rooftop and glided closer, eventually circling the immense structure while eyeing it carefully.

After three orbits, she decided she would have to venture inside. Before she could, a pillar of fire burst through the rooftop and engulfed her. She weathered the attack without significant effort, and looked down again. A satisfied-looking Spike had appeared next to the flaming hole on the Great Hall’s roof. When she landed in front of him, her mane and tail were still flaming, though by no doing of his.

“Hey Twilight,” he greeted. “Pretty good sneak attack, right?”

Twilight did not respond.

“I bet you’re in a pretty bad mood, huh?” He asked. “Sorry about that. I thought you’d be here, you know. Made sure they invited you specifically and everything, but leave it to you three to play it safe.” He rolled his eyes theatrically. “I had this great plan worked out -- I was going to have you destroy Mare-is. Would have turned all the other equine nations against you, along with the gryphons and the canids, and a few of the others I’d already linked up. Then we’d have a fight on our hands!”

His eyes lit up with an enthusiasm that faded as quickly as it appeared. He shrugged. “Not happening now, though.”

“Why?” Twilight asked, in a low, calm voice.

“Because they messed up the trap,” Spike complained. “Wrecked the whole plan.”

Twilight’s only response was the continuation of her cold stare.

“You mean why the whole war thing, I guess,” Spike realized belatedly, with an unsettling laugh. “To tell you the truth, I don’t remember. It seemed like a really good idea like a hundred years ago, so I started putting together the pieces. Hadn’t talked to you in a while, so I figured I should send you a letter, or try to destroy your kingdom, or something like that. Probably?”

He was lost to mostly-silent musings for a few moments before he looked down at Twilight again. “You know, you’ve been spending way too much time with Celestia. I really have no idea what you’re thinking when I look at you these days. You’d almost think we weren’t friends anymore.”

He waited for some reply, but none was forthcoming.

“So what did you want to do now?” He asked. Bored, he swiped at her playfully with a claw. It bounced forcefully off of an invisible shield several meters from Twilight herself, just as he’d expected. “Are you gonna give me the lecture about how disappointed you are?”

“No,” Twilight said. “I’m not going to do that.”

“Well, do something,” Spike demanded, his cheerful manner abruptly vanishing.

“Alright,” Twilight agreed. A hint of grief snuck through her mask of cold indifference as she spoke.

---

Celestia and Luna were asleep when Twilight checked on them. She wasn’t surprised that they’d managed to sleep through the confrontation; their confinement had presented their first opportunity at a guilt-free nap in centuries. It suited her well enough -- she didn’t feel like talking to anypony, and probably wouldn’t for some time. Safely ending the containment spell was simple enough, from the outside. When they woke, the princesses would be free to go, though Twilight imagined they would stay long enough to speak to the Prench guardsponies and officials that were now swarming toward the building.

In terms of political relations, it would probably be considered uncouth to leave a giant decaying corpse on the roof of the nation’s most notable landmark. Twilight couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment. The only question in her mind was that of how much information to give her fellow princesses.

After some thought, she decided on a minimalist approach.

Celestia & Luna

Situation resolved. Going to be away for a while. Good luck.

Yours,
Twilight Sparkle.

She wedged the scroll under Celestia’s forehoof, and, nodding as if to reassure herself, disappeared.