Prompt: Difficult Greenery
Ponyville Jr. Librarian was there the last time Summer came to Equestria. She remembered, however distantly, what it was to feel the gentle warmth of sunshine on her flank, to run through grass instead of snow, to breathe in and not feel faint spears of ice pierce her soft tissue and leave her shuddering.
The view from atop the Castle of Endurance was very different now.
Through the pale blue crystal, Equestria's last surviving Alicorn found a dense circular settlement, arranged in three concentric rings around the warmth flowing from her arboreal fortress. It was so colorful once, she thought. The pavilions were gone; they couldn't keep out the wind in the very first winter. The thatched roofs were gone; nearly all had rotted in the constant cycle of moisture and cold. In those days of warmth, the city had been so green. That color barely existed in Twilight's world now. Pale blue crystal grown from the bones of her castle like a metastasizing tumor. Through it, she could barely make out the pale ghosts of her citizens, huddled in their homes.
Her study door rattled, then swung open. Four soft hooves, lingering timidly near the entrance. "Uh, princess? I have the morning report, and your tea."
"Bring it here, Sweetie Belle."
Her secretary scampered forward to the window and stopped just behind. A tray floated in her magic with a single chipped blue and white cup, filling the air with a smell like mildew and unwashed dishes.
Like everything else, the mare was less than she should've been. Lean, with ribs visible whenever she turned, and splotches of missing fur where frostbite had scarred her. Twilight could heal her in an instant. But if she used her magic for that, Ponyville would get a little colder.
She took the cup instead and sipped. It tasted worse than it smelled, but she forced herself to swallow. "I take it this is—"
"All we have left," Sweetie said. "From Canterlot's final shipment. I made sure it was set aside, princess. But you remember the storm last winter, and the—"
Twilight set the empty cup down on the tray with forced lightness. "She did everything she could, Sweetie. Half of Ponyville wouldn't still be here without your sister."
Sweetie's magic faltered. The tray jerked an inch before correcting. The folio floating on her other side dropped entirely, and a pen rolled. Sweetie sniffed, ears folded backward. Her shorn tail flicked from side to side. The cold had taken her curls away.
"Morning… report," Sweetie corrected, after a few moments. "Inventory: 17 days barley. 12 days oats. 41 days fermented… slop."
70 days of food and all of Equestria will starve. Twilight wobbled, catching herself before she could fall.
"Princess?" Sweetie set the tray down, crossing to her in seconds. She wasn't as tall as she ought to be, a product of poor nutrition. But the mare's concern was as real as the child she remembered. "Princess, are you alright?" She pressed close, and the warmth of her coat was immediate. "You're freezing. Princess, why are you so cold?"
Twilight forced herself up straight, though the effort cost her. One leg shuddered under the strain. "The effort of producing so much heat by magic is—" She tried to light her horn to demonstrate. For the first time since she was a filly, absolutely nothing happened.
"I'll be fine," she lied. "Ponyville will—Ponyville needs me. Continue the… continue the report."
Sweetie retreated, then flicked open the folio and continued. "Report from… her. Greenhouse says there's… no appreciable harvest this season. Have taken all possible measures. Asking for help." She stiffened as her eyes found something written there. "Don't bring the secretary. Why would she say that? How could she still blame me, after what Rarity did for her, after—"
Twilight reached for Sweetie. The effort cost her a little more strength than the rancid tea had given her, and she flopped sideways to the floor.
This is how Celestia must've felt, Twilight thought. Those last letters, three winters back, elegant script long lost in smeared ink scrawled on bits of old parchment. Even an Alicorn had only so much to give.
Sweetie was at her side again, huge green eyes filling her vision. "Princess! Princess, what's wrong? Was it something in the tea? Did the cook… he's a pegasus, do you think he—"
Twilight saw the green grass of Ponyville again. She saw herself walking through the fields now filled with snow, past a river that wasn't frozen. She carried a picnic basket and offered it to the dead.
Something in the Tea. "No, Sweetie." Fluttershy's face smiled at her in that memory, reclining on a blanket used for comfort instead of warmth. She pushed a plate of little cakes and pastries towards Twilight.
"No." She straightened, settling on her haunches beside her secretary. "Sweet Sauce didn't put something in the tea. You will not say such things in my castle. It's my fault. I'm—" she glanced over at the fallen notebook, and reached for it with a hoof instead of magic, sliding it across the crystal floor.
The unicorn was right; the farmer had asked for help without 'the secretary.' No friendship was safe from the cold.
Sweetie Belle ignored her. She rested her warmth against Twilight's side a second, then scurried over to the enormous window and looked down. The greenhouses took up much of the second ring, their clear roofs crusted over with frost visible even from there. The steam that once rose from the vents each day had long gone. "They shouldn't ask for your help. What's the point of keeping them around if they can't even use their magic to feed ponies anymore?"
What's the point?
Twilight's posture tightened, her ears snapping to where Sweetie stood. "We're the last ponies of Equestria, Sweetie Belle. Our friends don't have to justify themselves by being useful."
The young mare made a noncommittal sound. "We keep them warm. We treat their injuries. If they can't even fulfill their responsibilities, then—"
She faltered again. Twilight used the window to keep herself upright and regretted it instantly. That blue crystal sucked the warmth from her like something ravenous. She stumbled away, shivering. Condensation shaped like her body clung where she had been. The pain brought its own kind of energy. "Sweetie Belle. I am… we're going to the greenhouses. We are going to… help them. You just… gave me the report. We have two months of food left. If we don't bring in a harvest, Ponyville won't survive the cold season."
Her secretary eyed Twilight's shaking limbs, her sunken eyes, and the limp tail dragging behind her. No trace of Alicorn magic moved it, or her mane. She'd gone as dull as the frost-covered buildings. "No, princess. The only place you're going is to bed. I won't let you go out there into the cold." She tensed when she said it, ears coming forward, patches of coat left on her chest puffing up. It cost her a great deal to argue with the last Princess of Equestria.
Twilight would never have allowed such behavior when there was still a court. But Ponyville had no court vying for her audience anymore, no council. Only she remained, and she was so very tired.
"Yes, Sweetie. You're right." She stumbled across the study a few steps, towards the sleeping nook that had become her bedroom, tucked away behind a disorganized bookshelf of overflowing spellbooks. "I'm going to take a nap."
"I am?" The mare lit up like the fortress did whenever Twilight renewed its heat spell. Her tail swung once, and an actual smile appeared on her face. "It's been too long since you've had some rest. I'll run to the maids and bring a few fresh blankets, have them draw a bath, you can—"
Twilight held up one hoof. "You'll do none of that." She pointed at the fallen folio. "I have an appointment, remember? With the greenhouse."
"But you just said—" Her ears folded, and a familiar whine slipped into her voice. "You—"
"I am. You're going in my place. If Apple Bloom doesn't want me to send the secretary, then—I hereby appoint you—Regent Sweetie Belle, over the office of—Royal Assistance."
She made it a few steps further, flopping onto the edge of her tangled mattress. "Go."
Sweetie Belle emerged into the chill of Ponyville wrapped in three layers of coats. Even wearing the new fabric their princess had invented during the first winter, even in the center of Ponyville closest to the radiant warmth of Castle Endurance, she still felt the cold. It pierced through every shield they built. It shattered the bubble that protected Ponyville during the first winter.
It had killed her sister.
Sweetie stumbled over wet streets, keeping to the narrow path of gravel between the castle's outer ring and the first structures. All had come after the winter, made from sheets of metal grown over with Twilight's blue crystal. They kept out the cold far better, but brought her none of the comfort that the wooden walls of Ponyville once did. Shame they burned those for firewood.
The cold was bad that day, filling the air with the same perpetual fog that Ponyville had worn since the second winter. She couldn't see the greenhouses until she was practically next to them and had to follow the road of half-frozen mud until she reached the heavy airlock door. The seals on one side had cracked, drawing a constant stream of cold air into the building.
She stopped in front of the doors, and her own distorted reflection stared back. Messy mane, Twilight's royal pendant over her neck, frost collecting on her satchel despite the short walk.
You can do this, she thought. It's just her.
She shoved on the door, and it barely budged. Instead of gliding on metal tracks, the door seized after less than an inch, deflecting Sweetie to the mud. She landed with a painful jolt in the half-frozen gravel, looking up with surprise. "It wasn't locked, why—"
"Hold on!" A familiar voice echoed out from inside. The winter could take almost everything else, but the twang of that pony's accent remained as defiant as Twilight's castle. "Almost… there."
Sweetie scrambled to her hooves. A fresh brown stain now covered her jacket where it landed in the mud, with a dozen little rocks frozen to the fabric.
The door opened. Apple Bloom stood in that doorway. She'd grown as large as her sister once stood, with a mane as pale as an old apple skin. She looked past Sweetie, to where the princess would've been if she'd come. Then she turned down, and something else flicked across her face. "What are you doing here?"
Apple Bloom didn't even have a jacket. Warmth flowed out from around her, washing over Sweetie. "What's wrong with the front door?" she asked instead. She ran green magic over herself, smoothing away the dirt. "It won't even open."
"The ponies meant to come here can," she answered. "We're strong, remember? Guess you don't talk to a lot of Earth Ponies in the castle." She didn't wait for Sweetie to argue. "Anyway, there's nothing you can do. We need the princess here. Nothing will grow, we need that spell of growth again. The one she used… three winters ago. Otherwise, tell the pegasi to work harder. If they brought back more from their foraging flights—"
"I'm the one who interviews them! There's nothing green past the walls anymore," Sweetie said. Her teeth started chattering, her body going numb from the cold. Even here, in the heart of Ponyville, she couldn't remain outside for long.
"Oh, sure. Let them give up because it's difficult. But you want me to make my ponies put in double shifts with magic they don't have. That don't sound fair. I want to talk to the princess, not—"
Little slivers of ice sliced into her exposed face, cutting her nose and her flanks where they emerged from the jacket. It gave her courage she wouldn't have dared a few years ago. But if she could stand up to the Princess, she could manage a little courage with this pony.
"Princess Twilight barely has any magic left," she said. "She's dying. If we don't get things growing again, we all will be too."
"D-dying?" Apple Bloom's face faltered. Her face turned towards the distant castle, its outline faintly blue against a sky of pale white.
"Yes," Sweetie said, exasperated. "She doesn't get her magic back the way she used to. I don't know why. She can barely stand. We'd be losing more ponies to the cold, except there are fewer and fewer of us every year anyway, so we just closed up the outer ring. She's got no magic to give the fields, Apple Bloom. Or we'll all freeze. Now let me in."
Finally, the earth pony moved. "Okay. But I'm not sure what you're going to do about it. You're not an earth pony."
Neither do I.
It had been at least five cold seasons since Sweetie saw the greenhouses for herself. In those earlier years, they'd overflowed with green things. She remembered the pleasant earthy scent rising from every tray, swaying stalks and clinging vines and grasses heavy with grain.
But now the long rows were changed like the rest of Ponyville, dominated with the silver of metal struts and the brown of mud. The scent of night soil assaulted her lungs as they walked past. A pair of earth ponies looked up as they passed, looking up from their shovels with obvious suspicion.
"Last harvest wasn't exactly zero," Apple Bloom was saying. "Put it on the form, but—since you're here. My sister wouldn't approve if I wasn't rightly honest. Losing her don't change that none." She stopped beside a connecting building, a narrow roofed tunnel leading past the rows into the yawning darkness of a warehouse. "Maybe a hundred pound or so of half-rotten potatoes, carrots, and the like. Some kind of… white fungus. Never seen anything like it before. Not rightly sure how it got in through the cold, neither."
Sweetie Belle listened, nodding seriously whenever Apple Bloom spoke. As though she had any idea how farming was supposed to work, or what she was even talking about. "And you've been…" she looked down at the notes Twilight had given her. Woefully inadequate. Only three words, scribbled in penmanship that was no longer perfect.
Fertilizer, Rotation, Friendship. She'd drawn a lopsided heart next to that last one.
She didn't need to ask about the first one. The ponies working made that clear enough. "You've been rotating the crops? Like the princess—"
"Yes," Apple Bloom said, exasperated. "Like we never worked a farm before. My sister taught me right, Sweetie Belle. Things grew here, year after year. They grew. But less and less each time. Don't got the foggiest flick of my flank why they ain't green no more."
They continued past the warehouse entrance, to more shallow trays on low racks. A few had shoots emerging from the dark soil. Most were empty, smelling of the foul fertilizer. Though their final destination was somewhere the pony seemed reluctant to reach, a large circular greenhouse with angled glass overhead, and a sign warning away ponies: "Hooves off the Trees."
Trees. Half a dozen of them grew here, each one arranged in wooden containers as deep as barrels. Wasteful, luxurious crops compared to barley or potatoes or the clover they used to renew the soil.
"Buck me, these are from the farm," Sweetie whispered, reaching for one of them with a trembling hoof. "Your sister—"
Apple Bloom smacked it away, spinning to glare in her direction. "Don't touch 'em." She stiffened. "These are the ones we got left. We brought in the youngest when the frost came. Some of these trees should live as long as a pony. But they… these are the ones we got left. Even they aren't green no more. And yeah, we thought about bees, we got some. So don't waste my time by saying so."
"I wasn't going to…" Sweetie Belle had been about to say so. She swallowed. "I was, I'm sorry. You know what you're doing. I won't suggest anything obvious."
She put her hoof back down, staring at the brown growth before her. Of the half-dozen trees left in here, perhaps half looked to be sagging under their own weight. Thin cord bound them to a rigid metal strut, keeping them upright despite the rot.
"I did it exactly right. Everything Applejack used to say about caring for the tree. First year, it worked great. Fifty bushels from half a hundred trees. Never seen 'em grow us so much, it was downright magic. But after that—it's been hard. Usually don't even get a bushel from each tree anymore."
Sweetie perked up. There was something different after all. "The first year. I remember. We all helped, remember? Your…" the word lingered on the bottom of Twilight's notes. "Your friends. Remember Scootaloo? When she—" Sweetie sniffed, wiping the moisture away with her foreleg.
Apple Bloom nodded once. "She tried to balance a whole basket on her back, and they tumbled everywhere. And your magic still wasn't working right, so we had to pick it up off the ground for hours."
She smiled at the memory. Her friend was smiling back. "If Scootaloo was—if she was still here…" Sweetie said. "What do you think she'd say about us right now?"
Apple Bloom circled once around the tree between them, the healthiest by far in the narrow room. "That we were being bucking idiots. Not talking for years. Blaming each other for what happened to her. Ain't that what made ponies get so angry with each other in the first place? What made Equestria so cold?"
Sweetie sniffed. Tears came freely now, but she didn't care. She'd given up trying to see. "You think she'd forgive us?"
It took her friend a long time to answer. "That depends. I think she would, if we could forgive each other first." She gestured at the tree between them. "Go on, Sweets. You can touch it."
She did. No magic came from her horn—she didn't know whatever spell Twilight had used to make the plants grow all those seasons back.
Even so, something changed. The old bark shifted, and faint sprigs of green emerged from the tallest branches. It spread and grew, forming a flower in the space between them. Wide, vibrant.
"Oh."