“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying,
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.”
Celestia smiled when she read the words. Four hundred years ago, that had been one persistent suitor.
The library of letters ran so far that it was a veritable corridor, filled with shelves upon shelves of letters, love notes, deliveries, poems, runic scripts, clay tablets, scrolls, and – surprisingly – whole books. These weren’t even the weirdest of the selection. In the special vaults, there’d be monoliths carved by particularly enthusiastic warriors from the pre-Classical Era.
She kept them all. Some wilted with age, some fell apart despite her curator’s best efforts, and some became jaundiced long past the point when the suitor’s life had failed to keep up with hers.
Now she slipped out, into the main chamber, and peered at the pile of this year’s offerings.
Standing beside the table as though daring it to come closer, Luna eyed the pile as a sergeant might eye an unexploded shell in the middle of a bombed street.
“You’re surely not going to read them all?” were Luna’s first words, long past the point when her expression had already said as much.
Celestia levitated the topmost one – carefully, in case the pile collapsed – and slit it with a golden spell expertly, cleanly, without so much as a wayward rip. “Of course. I vowed I would. Without delay, interruption, or excuse.”
“That was two thousand years ago!”
Celestia’s small shrug indicated that two thousand years ago and yesterday had much in common.
“What of your royal duties, my sister?”
At this, Celestia let her lips twitch into a semblance of a smile. “Officially, these are indeed my royal duties. Oaths are not trifles, even in these modern times. Anyway, I’ve got nothing else scheduled. Don’t say I never think about –”
“But my sister –!”
Wearily, Celestia sighed. She knew it was Luna’s ancient way, but frankly it was getting old.
“Oh, Luna,” she said. “There’s no need to be so formal. ‘My sister’ this and that: I’m quite aware of how we’re related.”
She opened the envelope. Lavender scents freshened her sinuses and purged them clean. He always remembered…
“Ah! Just as I suspected. It appears Fancy Pants has written a new poem. Let’s see.”
She scanned a few lines. It didn’t take long to identify it as a sonnet. Bless Fancy Pants, but he was an old-fashioned thinker.
“Well now, I wouldn’t say that,” she murmured with a tinkling of giggles in her voice, knowing full well this sort of thing only annoyed Luna.
“Sister, please! The Mayor of Manehattan has only today requested an audience with you specifically to discuss the matter of –”
“My croup couldn’t possibly be that white.” Celestia was making this one up. Part of the fun of the whole thing was seeing whether or not Luna dared to comment. “I’m not sure about the size comparison, either. Luna, do we happen to have any Orbs of Gigantes in the palace?”
“To discuss,” continued Luna, in her meaningful we are not discussing this tone, “the matter of the Hearts and Hooves Gala organized for this evening. Not to make any undue insinuations, he appeared insistent on ensuring it was a Royal Gala.”
“Did he?” Celestia folded up the letter. “Oh dear, and the sonnet was going so well. I simply must send Fancy Pants a more up-to-date poetry anthology. He’s running low on ideas this year if he’s raiding the fifteenth century again.”
Patient as a saint, she placed the letter gently on the tray of the waiting pony beside her – servants were awfully good at materializing precisely when she needed them – and levitated another letter. The pile wobbled ominously.
Beside her, Luna tapped a hoof impatiently. “Well?”
“Hm?” Celestia turned to her servant, who nodded at the top of the pile. “Oh yes. There was a package with it. Thank you, Miss Inkwell.” She picked it off and delicately shook it near her ear. “Interesting. Cocoa Bean’s Ambrosia Selection, do you think, or perhaps a Griffonstone Goodmountain Gourmet Special? I’d heard the griffons were reviving the ancient chocolate recipes.”
“Couldn’t say, m’m,” mumbled the servant to thin air.
“Indulge me, Miss Inkwell. Venture a guess.”
“M’m? The second one, m’m?”
“Mmm. All right.”
Over the sounds of wrapping paper being carefully peeled back, Luna huffed. “It is – It was customary for royalty to appear at special galas on national occasions. Hearts and Hooves Day is not a time for frivolity, my sis– Celestia.”
Celestia nodded at her to show she was listening, and then looked down. “I fear you’ve lost the bet, Miss Inkwell. I was hoping you’d guessed correctly, too.”
“Sorry, m’m.”
“Oh well, there are no guarantees in life. But I think I know who sent this one.”
“Indeed, m’m?”
“Yes. Let’s see if my luck’s any better.” Off came the envelope, up came the letter.
Of course, years and years of dealing with Luna had taught Celestia not to push her luck too far. A very mild, very restrained, very low-pitched grunt of annoyance – such as Celestia just heard – meant that Luna was fighting several very wild, very unrestrained, very high-strung impulses right around now. She lowered the letter.
“Luna, I think it would be best if you attended the Gala tonight. It would be your time to shine, after all. You never know who you might meet.”
“Forgive me, but I am quite certain he wishes both of us to attend.”
Celestia nodded. “In that case, please tell the Mayor that I’m flattered by his generosity, but alas will be unable to attend due to prior engagements arranged one week ago –”
“Prior engagements,” said Luna in clipped tones, “do not include counting how many chocolates you’ve received this year.”
With a quick glance at the pile, Celestia added, “Actually, I think this year has been a record low for chocolate selections, though my naïve eye suggests flowers are on the increase.”
“You wish me to explain to the Mayor of Manehattan – Manehattan, my sister – that Her Highness would rather spend her time on a thousand non-officials than on a Gala full of VIPs?”
Oh dear. Luna was in one of those moods.
Celestia waved a signal to Inkwell, who bowed and backed out of the room. This was a family matter, at least in part, and servants were best not caught in the crossfire.
Gently, Celestia steepled her forelimbs on the table as though working out some fiendish riddle of the ages.
“I thought everyone knew the arrangement?” she said, to test the waters. “Any arrangements around Hearts and Hooves Day must be made one week in advance, not on the day itself?”
“The Mayor is inexperienced, lax, and forward-thinking,” said Luna, somewhat guardedly.
It was an odd position for Luna to be in, defending a liberal thinker. Usually, she was all for keeping up the traditions, if only because a thousand years on the moon doesn’t really prepare a mare for saying “you” when her gut insists on “thou”. And now she was defending someone who regarded tradition as something to knock over.
“Quite a popular candidate, I recall,” said Celestia.
“He is the voice of the city,” said Luna, sounding as though even she didn’t understand the phrase, or believe what little she did.
“Really? I wasn’t aware Manehattan had a single voice.”
“The Mayor is keen to unite the city in a common purpose and move forward to the future.” Luna thought for a moment. “I confess I don’t understand how else one is supposed to move.”
“Aha. Luna, in my experience, when someone says ‘move forward to the future’ – and this is off the record, you understand – what they usually mean is ‘find the nearest nostalgic old-timer and hog him’.”
“‘Hog’ him?”
“Hm? Oh, it means ‘heckle’, ‘harangue’. ‘Harass’ in extreme cases.”
Luna’s face darkened. It was dark anyway – you didn’t get to be the Mare of the Midnight Moon with a face like bleached paper – but Luna could do impressive things with shadow and silhouette that had nothing to do with how the light fell on her.
“I see you’ve built up quite a vocabulary,” she said.
“Oh surely, you must have picked up a smattering of street slang yourself?”
“One merely notes their existence in passing. To say such things, however, is another matter. It would be an impropriety.”
Celestia glanced back at the pile. This wasn’t even the full set. She had twelve tons of the stuff downstairs. Once Luna was gone, Celestia would employ the usual speed-read spell Twilight had taught her once. Reading her Hearts and Hooves Day letters in person was all well and good, but she did want to come back to the real world at some point. Preferably within the next week or so.
“He is a modern pony,” said Celestia, somewhat apologetically.
“None can say I do not look upon the modern ways unkindly,” said Luna, and now Celestia knew she was upset; Luna used multiple negatives like substitute punching bags.
“Of course not, Luna.”
“I am not one to disregard the new and the unexpected. None can say I avoid innovation. It would not be un-remiss of me to view them with a certain hopeful interest and, indeed, scarcely a little open-mindedness.”
“Glad to hear it, Luna.”
Now Luna loomed. She was good at it. Celestia had never gotten the hang of looming, since she preferred to convince other ponies that they were big and important and wonderful. Luna didn’t. She could still use a word like “subjects” and mean it in her very bones.
She wasn’t a bad mare, by any means. But she was getting darker the more she tried not to let on how upset she was, and in a certain light, it was easy to see where Nightmare Moon had come from.
“And the Hearts and Hooves Day Royal Gala is nothing if not derived from tradition,” intoned Luna. Intonation was another of Luna’s unsettling gifts. Movie directors and sound technicians would kill for a voice like hers. “I remember the ancient ritual of Prince and Princess Dreams in the year of the Dragon Insurrection. They are… familiar.”
Celestia beamed at her, but she tempered it just enough to let sympathy shine through. “I’m sure the Mayor of Manehattan would be delighted to have somepony like you showing the way.”
Privately she thought, Thank goodness I’m not him.
“Very well,” said Luna, lightening considerably. “I shall speak to him. It would be an honour to attend.”
“Wonderful! I knew I could rely on you to sort this out.” Celestia turned back to her letters. Now, the next one was a little rugged, smelled faintly of dried hay – extra crispy – with just a hint of window-cleaner. Ah, and the same scribbly hoof-writing of old Hayseed Turnip Truck. Yes. A very hopeful window-cleaner, indeed…
She looked up. “I’m sorry?”
“I said,” continued Luna, jutting her jaw in displeasure, “that this still doesn’t excuse you.”
“Hm?”
“Why aren’t you attending as well?”
“Is it traditional for both of us to do so?” Celestia opened the letter. Then she turned it over. Wow, he’d really made an effort this year. Hardly any spelling errors or crossings-out…
Luna coughed meaningfully. It sounded like a volcano clearing its throat.
“I’m sure,” she said, “you could spare a moment to accompany me? Away from your letters.”
Celestia began to feel the prickling of sweat glands. It was not a nice feeling. A mare who handled the sun every day like a cake out of the oven didn’t usually feel sweat, and yet Luna managed to do what several million Kelvin completely failed at.
“I…” Celestia chose her words carefully. “…believe there’s an international summit on the subject of the Horshukraab question.”
“What on earth is Horshukraab?”
“That’s an excellent question.” Celestia quickly plucked another letter from the pile. “To be asked at the summit in one week’s time. It is an important summit, and by my reckoning it will take roughly one week to clear the backlog of –”
“‘Backlog’?”
“All those letters piling up downstairs, I meant. Backing up, like a log?”
“Whereas the Hearts and Hooves Day Royal Gala –”
“Is a recent invention, not a tradition,” said Celestia smoothly. “Oh, I’m aware it derives from the ancient ritual of Prince and Princess Dreams in the year of the Dragon Insurrection, but that tradition petered out. It hasn’t been celebrated in over three hundred years. I think you’ll find they’re very different in character nowadays. After all, Twilight Sparkle is derived from Twilight Velvet, but I wouldn’t dream of claiming they’re the same pony.” She thought about this for a while. “Twilight Velvet, for instance, can tell a joke worth a dam.”
She paused in case Luna needed time to catch the pun. It went clean over her sister’s head.
“You pick up altogether too much slang from the streets, my sister,” said Luna.
Disappointed, Celestia stopped grinning and went back to her letters. Huh. This one rattled when she shook it. Surely, no Canterlot stallion would be so childish as to include money…
She opened it, and upon seeing the card all doubt washed away. Oh, bless. This sender had written in crayon.
“Ah, such innocence,” she said indulgently. “The first fumbling steps on the road to romance.”
Then she actually read it. Surely a foal wouldn’t say that… or that… or… oh goodness, no…
“Eugh…” She cringed and placed it delicately on the side. “Not quite so innocent. What do they teach their children these days?”
“I’m still waiting,” said Luna pointedly, “for your answer.”
“Perhaps you have a point, Luna. Modernity is a fine thing, but not when it comes to how foals are brought up. Sometimes, the past has an advantage there.”
“Ahem?”
“I believe I’ve already given you my answer, Luna. I made an oath to personally read every Hearts and Hooves Day letter sent my way, and that is precisely what I intend to do.”
Luna shook her head, mane undulating in strange ways like a disturbed galaxy. Its stars flared for a moment as untold anger rushed for escape.
“You were young and reckless when you –” she began.
“Luna,” said Celestia, in polite yet firm tones. “I’m afraid you’re right, but my age and… temperament mean nothing here. It is tradition.”
Celestia opened another letter, this time filled with crayon and the soggy remains of papier-mâché. Judging from the white flecks of paint and the sagging face, it was meant to be a 3D picture of her. Nervously, she opened the letter, hoping she didn’t have to read such language twice in a row.
There were only four sentences, enthusiastically mangled by someone who’d used lines to keep the mouth-writing neat and who barely slobbered at all – indeed, who’d tried to wipe away what little slobber made it on, and accidentally smeared the ink halfway down – with little hearts and kisses added to the bottom by someone with geometric precision. Some foals really did take the time.
Celestia sighed for innocence misplaced. Youth was a terrible time of simple thinking, when romance basically consisted of fancying your kindergarten teacher because she smiled and spoke to you like you were special, which was sadly more than many parents were willing to do. Plus, foals loved princesses. At that age, it was somewhere between religious worship and extending the family circle. Didn’t some ponies still call her the “Mother of Equestria”, and hang historical accuracy? Even these four lines read more like a Mother’s Day card than like anything the more traditional love poets would have wrung out of their own tortured souls.
Only then did she realize Luna was tapping a hoof impatiently. Not that Celestia looked around, but she knew better than to make eye contact. It would be like waltzing into a black hole.
“That was a very mean thing you just did,” said Luna, and for once she sounded like a little sister rather than like a fellow politician.
“Once a royal oath is made, it cannot be broken,” said Celestia. “You know the rules. You made the rules.”
“It was a foolish promise. You were young and irresponsible.”
Celestia almost choked. Luna said “young” and “irresponsible” as if she herself hadn’t been basically stuck in magic school at the time. Then again, Luna had always taken her studies far more seriously. Sometimes, Celestia envied her sister’s strange ability not to run out a classroom in the middle of a hot summer.
Nevertheless, Celestia rallied magnificently.
She put the letter down for a moment. “I do regret it, in some respects, yes. But there it is. Whatever else I was, I was also a royal. And I made an oath. In the presence of a dozen noble ponies and the court jester.”
“Yes, but –”
“There is no ‘yes, but’.” Reluctantly, she met Luna’s eye, and oh boy, the black hole was not forgiving. “Luna, I can’t help it if a million ponies suddenly decide I’m this year’s most eligible. That’s what modernity means. A thousand years ago, foals wouldn’t have dared do anything untoward, not if their parents threatened to give them a good kicking for acting out. I only received letters from nobles, not common ponies, and then only the noble stallions. Go back a few hundred years, and I wouldn’t have believed other species would try their luck. Some of these –” she nodded to the pile “– were written by claw, or by paw, or by tentacle in some especially rare cases. And Equestria’s grown since then. We’re on speaking terms with more and more countries with every passing decade. What else am I supposed to do?”
A thoughtful hum: Luna surveyed her sister with new interest. “As a royal, you could draw the line somewhere, surely?”
Celestia shook her head in real political despair. “But for who? If I start drawing lines, some countries will start drawing swords. This isn’t the soft option.”
“That’s sheer exaggeration.” Luna’s voice was oddly cool, considering Celestia herself was burning up now. “You are not obliged to go so far as to provoke and encourage hostilities amongst the other nations.”
“Is that much better? Some ponies can’t, or daren’t, or won’t, draw swords. Why should I do to them what I wouldn’t do to a stronger opponent?” Now she added a glint of solar simmer to her burning voice. “I have never been that kind of ruler. Nor do I intend to become one.”
It didn’t change anything. Luna’s eyes were two black holes, and even a roaring sun was no match for sheer, unmoved darkness.
However, she did blink.
“It was merely a practical suggestion,” Luna said, and a pinch of little sister petulance broke through. “How much bigger will the world get before you say, ‘Enough?’”
“One thing I can guarantee is that it is not big enough yet.”
Celestia plucked a large package from the top. She didn’t bother with the charade of shaking it first, but simply eviscerated it. Wrapping fell away as torn skin.
“Hm,” said Luna. That was the squeak of a cogwheel creaking into life.
Peering at the… thing, Celestia turned it upside down and all around. No note. That was new.
“What is that…” Luna’s lip made sticky sounds trying to frame the right word. “…specimen?” she settled for.
It looked for all the world like a lump of rock. Celestia’s classical education snuck into the room and whispered suggestions in her ear, but very faintly: she hadn’t been at school since the days of Star Swirl the Bearded. Granite, perhaps, with the characteristic pink hue of the Frozen North. Her classical education moved aside for economic knowledge to pass her a note. Ah yes, granite contained quartz, which up north was a significant and symbolic gift. So was this a crystal pony seeking her heart?
Eventually, she placed it on the ground beside her. Tiles cracked.
“I believe,” she said after much consideration, “that it is a lump of rock.”
“What a twist,” muttered Luna under her breath.
“So you do pick up street slang?”
Luna glowered as though a dirty word had slipped out, despite her efforts. “One is not completely uninformed regarding modern colloquialisms.”
“I see.”
“In any case, it is a highly familiar theatrical term, as it happens.” Theatre was a respectable enough place for royalty. Although a royal up in the gods was unlikely to meet anyone who used phrases like “What a twist”.
“Ah. Don’t tell me. A reference to plot twists, perhaps?” said Celestia, who actively sought out anyone who used such phrases.
Luna coughed, not without a frisson of embarrassment. “I’m sure I have no idea.”
“Aren’t you keeping that nice young Mayor waiting?”
Stiffly, Luna turned to march away. Celestia felt the panic rising up in her heart. Pushing Luna was all well and good, but sometimes she worried it might go too far and some invisible line would be crossed.
“How was your own haul this year, my sister?” said Celestia.
Luna did not turn back as stiffly as she’d turned away. Instead, she moved as gracefully as a dancer until face met face and her own locked up behind a vault of official calm.
“I have received a sizeable quantity from various well-wishers,” she said.
“Perhaps you’ll meet more, out in Manehattan? It’s a popular venue, and quite the tourist trap. I hope you enjoy yourself immensely out there. It sounds like fun.”
Still, Celestia wondered if she was saying the wrong thing. Love was worse than a minefield. At least if you put a hoof wrong in a minefield, you weren’t around to suffer the consequences for long.
Whereas with love, you could wish the bang had blown you up there and then. Sometimes, you couldn’t even see the bang. And then weeks later, you’d be in pieces before you realized why you shouldn’t have trodden so hard right there…
“It’s not as if I have to reply to every message,” she said, hoping she’d eventually say the right thing if she danced enough. “Ultimately, who knows how many I actually receive? It’s hard to count past a certain point, especially with my notorious head for numbers.”
She tried a cheesy grin. No reaction.
“Besides, all the letters are locked up in here. Same goes for yours. No one beyond these walls will ever know. The royal mail ponies are sworn to secrecy on the subject. Just because the public are curious regarding how many we each receive, doesn’t mean it’s in the national interest to know.”
Still no reaction.
“Anyway, I have an unfair advantage. By a thousand years, as it happens. Not everyone’s even heard of the Princess of the Night, in some countries beyond Equestria.”
Luna simply regarded her coolly. That was the worst part about the Princess of the Night. She knew how to cast a bitter chill.
“Anyway, you’d be amazed what slips through. I’ve seriously considered reviving the… well, the c… the censors. Not ideal, granted, but sometimes I do wonder if I was… a little excessive in cutting away that sort of thing.”
Deep inside, Celestia began to feel the worm of worry gnawing away at her. She’d hoped mentioning the censors would act as a trump card. Luna had been quite aggressive in the old days regarding the royal reputation. Besides, even back then, Celestia had struggled to use the word “censor”. It revolted something deep in her soul. Surely a concession like this would mean something to her?
A rather colder smile slashed across Luna’s muzzle. “I see.”
Full panic erupted deep within Celestia’s core. Perhaps she was overreacting, and Luna could take a joke much better than she’d thought. Modern times had welcomed Luna, strangely despite Luna’s tendency to announce proclamations while summoning a thunderstorm.
After all, a thousand years ago ponies wouldn’t have dreamed of letting, say, griffons from the Griffon Kingdom come anywhere near Canterlot, even though a bunch of half-bird half-kitty animals going up against the Princess of the Sun had all the military chances of a feather in a volcano.
But still, there was the small stone of doubt, deep within Celestia’s core, that could so easily shift and cause an earthquake’s worth of worry.
“I’d be more than happy to take your place at the Nightmare Night Celebrations in Ponyville,” said Celestia, knowing this would cost herself a good night’s sleep. “Or the Crystal Pony Summit in Yakyakistan,” she added, knowing this was going to be like herding cats at a tiger convention.
Now the cold smile had grace in it. Luna pinned her down with but an imperious glance. And Celestia relaxed.
“Speaking for myself,” said Luna, rich and luxurious as though each word was the finest Griffonstone chocolate, “I’ve always considered the Minutes of the Moon an excessively dreary duty.”
“The Minutes of the Moon? But isn’t that when all the lawyers –?”
“Yes.”
“And the accountants –?”
“Yes, my sister.”
“And the bankers and economists and –”
“Yes, Celestia.” Luna’s eyes twinkled. It was a playful twinkle, even if the game it played was more serious than a regular chess match. “I should warn you in advance that they are very thorough ponies.”
“Ah,” said Celestia.
“Wonderful ponies, in their own way, of course.”
“Indeed?”
“But not, I fear, good conversationalists.”
“Oh.”
“Unless you have an extreme fondness for figures. For instance, they’re quite keen to discuss the complex functions regarding the levels of economic activity, national crime rates, and fiscal security in relation to the causal effects of each phase of the moon.”
Celestia frowned, her considerate nature coming up against every effort her nurture had tried on her stupid brain, just to get her to even write numbers the right way up. School and a lifetime of politics could only hammer so much mathematical knowledge through her skull.
“Well, I suppose with an open mind, a pony could find those things –” she began.
“Mind-numbingly tedious? I quite agree. Nevertheless, duty is duty. Of course, so long as any royal is present, I don’t think they’ll mind the exact level of expertise.”
“Really?” Hope flourished in Celestia’s chest.
“Oh yes. They’re very helpful when it comes to teaching the uninitiated. They start with the rudiments…”
Celestia considered her own prospects. Oh dear… “Rudiments?”
“Polynomials, matrix calculations, that sort of thing. And they meticulously bring you up to complex analysis in eight-dimensional modelling. I think you’ll find it’s quite a wide field. You’ll like running around in it. I do remember how much you liked running around in fields when we were younger. Quite fondly.”
Celestia blanched. Luna had always had a head for numbers, and she’d still take the best part of a day and a night attending the Minutes of the Moon. In Celestia’s case, they could spin it out for half a month.
“Yes,” she said, trying not to sound heartbroken or just plain broken. “I… suppose it’s time for some… innovation on my part.”
“Try new things.” Luna’s grin widened. “I believe you’ll be surprised.”
“Pleasantly so?”
The grin vanished behind an official mask of innocent politeness. “You might think I’d already thought of that, but I couldn’t possibly comment.”
Celestia hung her head. Sometimes, you just had to let little sister declare checkmate.
“I would be delighted,” she said, trying to keep a straight face.
“Excellent.” With a little more spring in her step, Luna headed for the grand portal separating this chamber from the more public great hall. “I shall inform the Mayor of our plans. Perhaps this will be an experience for me too.”
“Enjoy yourself,” said Celestia, to be kind. “I mean it.”
Before Luna opened the double doors, however – or technically signalled for the two guards on either side to open them – she ignored their groin-straining efforts to stop opening doors that weighed a ton apiece, and turned back once more.
She smiled and nodded, as though Celestia had passed some hidden test.
“Lest I forget,” said Luna, and a thin envelope puffed into existence beside her.
It zipped and flapped through the air, past the pile of letters, to land on top of the rock that was currently sinking dangerously into the floor. Luna nodded once, and then the doors slammed and she was no more than the distant fading of a thunderclap.
Celestia glanced at the new letter. Whatever paper it had been made out of, it couldn’t possibly exist on this plane of reality. Night sky shimmered across it. Stars twinkled. When Celestia picked it up and raised it to eye level, the windows and columns behind it faded into view as though peering through silk curtains.
She turned it over suspiciously. She sniffed it, though not with much hope. Letters like these probably didn’t produce smells within the usual three dimensions of space.
It’d waste time – she glanced at the accusing pile – but… it was technically a letter…
Celestia got up and stepped back into the archives.
The library of letters bulged with a million pleas for love, expressions of passion, cries for her royal eyes, as well as solicitations to her mouth, muzzle, neck, hooves, legs, and several other parts that, even in this day and age, would get the sender drummed out of polite society. No smell survived alone, but clashed as flowers, dried powders, rare perfumes, and ripening fruits tumbled over each other to bury her. Glitter glittered, gloss gleamed, silver shone, and metal slit the air as she passed. Some of the more experimental ponies had wrapped garlands around their messages; she paused to recast the preservation spell over them en masse.
She’d never admit it to Luna, but this room housed only her personal favourites – the more artistically gifted, the most heartfelt and touching, or sometimes just whatever struck her fancy among the million. All ponies were equal, her mind insisted, but her taste insisted some were better at being equal than others.
The rest she kept in another hall entirely. Over the centuries, this had posed quite a practical problem, but thanks to a nifty little space-time trick she’d picked up from Star Swirl’s notes, she’d mostly solved it.
Up ahead was sheer wall. She kept going anyway. Perspective flipped –
– and the endless void stretched around her.
Stars watched her.
Below, she walked on a mist as ethereal as the furthest mysteries of the night sky.
That was the thing about the cosmos: whatever the ponies on this planet wanted to think, the universe always favoured the night. Endless darkness, endless stars, and nothing to say the day was anything more than a silly legend.
This was a place of enlightenment. The infinite realm. A sacred sanctum known only to a mystical few.
It also made a great storage space.
Far, far below, barely visible through the thin mist, were more shelves.
In this place, position and direction were options. She merely had to focus and think…
…and she was there, between shelves that went from the far distance ahead of her to the far distance behind. Yet in an aisle that could dwarf miles, she always ended up exactly where she wanted to be.
More letters and scrolls piled up on the shelves, sorted into various pigeonholes. They appeared exactly in the order she’d read them. How that worked when there were shelves on both sides, she didn’t dare speculate. Space-time here didn’t care for her opinion.
She focused again, then blinked.
Dominating one shelf, the letters were like fragments of night. Stars twinkled in them, just like the letter she was holding now.
Of course, in this day and age Hearts and Hooves Day was just a time for very special someponies. Everyone thought it was about love letters. If they thought about the history at all, they’d just conclude it had started with some soppy romance involving a Prince and a Princess, and had blossomed from there to grow among the nobles and then among the common ponies. A field of love flowers, spreading across the country and beyond.
Only now did Celestia open the envelope. Out came a letter. Surprisingly, it was written on perfectly ordinary paper.
Celestia knew how the holiday had started. It had not been a soppy romance, unless you had a very troubled and troubling idea of “romance”.
Prince Blue Dream and Princess Golden Dream. The love poison. And a dragon taking over the kingdom while the two royals stared into each other’s eyes…
Those were dark days indeed. Celestia and Luna had been called in from neighbouring Equestria. Of course, Equestria had been much smaller back then.
Both Celestia and Luna had fired shots and raised shields to stop the fighting, all while the Dragon Lord had ripped through the city and the earth pony revolutionaries had tried to throw stones at the unicorn loyalists. Earth ponies blamed the Princess. Unicorns blamed the Prince. Both blamed each other for the dragon. Neither would hear a word out of the other’s mouths, even when Luna had finally cast a Nightmare Syndrome over the dragon’s eyes and watched it running, fleeing, screaming from…
Well, goodness knew. After all, what could possibly terrify a dragon?
Celestia had never figured out how to break the love poison’s spell. She’d been desperate enough to attempt a mind cleaning spell – no joke in those days, when a wipe could be a touch indiscriminate – until Luna had found the little drop of dream inside each head and extracted it, as easily as pulling a thread out of a tapestry. The whole thing unravelled, and both Prince and Princess had woken up.
Not right away, of course. Luna had insisted they be separated for roughly one hour. According to her, that was enough time for the dream to disintegrate in the light of reality, and Celestia wasn’t going to argue. Luna could speak in her Royal Canterlot Voice and shape destiny with it, she was that good.
Then Prince Blue Dream and Princess Golden Dream had emerged from their cells, blinking in the dawn light, to a smoking kingdom and two crowds of sullen ponies not speaking to each other.
Even now, in the modern day, Celestia held her breath just remembering this tiny moment when everything could go so wrong. How would the royals deal with love, the force that had led to the kingdom’s being split asunder in the first place?
After all, what could they say? Love, don’t hate? They could hardly set an example; if Prince Blue Dream hadn’t tried slipping the love poison in the drink of Princess Golden Dream, she wouldn’t have looked twice at him. But he’d been the youngest of many royal brothers, with no chance of getting to a throne without marriage. He’d been desperate.
So, rather coldly, Luna had taken him aside and whispered something in his ear. Celestia never found out exactly what, despite asking a hundred times since.
Nor did she find out what Luna said to the Princess, when she’d taken her aside afterwards.
All Celestia knew was that, after that, both Prince and Princess had come out and announced the truth. Or a truth. It was a traditional tactic, as political decisions went.
They confessed they’d been so smitten with each other that they’d neglected their loyal subjects, and so had let them down. They said that this was because the royals had selfishly celebrated their own love, forgetting that common ponies lived and loved just as passionately. To acknowledge the passion of the earth ponies, who had wanted revolution and a new way of living and loving, and the passion of the unicorns, who had wanted a timeless stronghold for the lives and the loves they’d known and respected in ages past, the day would be celebrated not for the hate that divided them, but for the heart and soul of ponydom, for love.
Celestia thought it had been quite a good political speech. Neither one had mentioned the love poison at all.
So a hundred years passed, and because this was reality, the earth ponies and the unicorns of the kingdom had passed it with a few skirmishes and grudges here and there. But over time, Hearts and Hooves Day gradually got through to both sides. It was new and exciting, which pleased the earth ponies. It became a tradition, which met with the unicorns’ approval.
And only then did Celestia and Luna release the true, official version of events, but by then it had become history, so most ponies didn’t notice. The fact that Prince Blue Dream had gone home to lick his wounds, whilst Princess Golden Dream had thereafter flatly refused to speak to him – those details happily passed most ponies’ notice. Instead, everyone thought they were lovers pining, lovers devoted, ultimately, to their subjects.
Worse, it led to the ideal image of romance. Of a truly smitten Prince and a truly smitten Princess, locked dreamily into each other’s eyes. The truth never had a chance.
Celestia had hoped that the image would find two real royals who could fit the bill, and then thousands of years later, Shining Armor and Princess Cadence had fit the bill. Cadence even had talents in love magic, to say nothing of Shining Armor’s very knightly name. True love to replace a hidden hatred.
Now she’d just have to wait out the centuries and see if it stuck.
And that would have been that, except one day she’d gone to visit the Dragon Lord, who had mellowed over the years. Gone were his old ambitions, his youth, his greed, and his prime. Now he’d simply watched the whole thing from afar, learning from the world. An unusual sign of wisdom in a dragon.
He’d said, “Such crafty, puny ponies! So this is why you love politics, little Princess?”
And she’d replied, “No. This is why love and politics don’t mix.”
Ever since, she’d wondered about his booming laugh. Was it just typical “puny ponies” mocking? Or had he, uniquely among his kind, seen her excuse for what it was?
After all, nothing was what it seemed in her world, where countries set great stock on their leaders and a single wrong word could lead to armies on your doorstep. Dragons and their Lords didn’t care about that, but ponies had to. So the excuse had a grain of truth to it, which was what made it so useful.
But the real reason… Well…
Anyway, she thought, enough reminiscing.
In the middle of the ethereal void, between two shelves, in a world of her own, Celestia looked down at the letter.
She read it twice, very thoroughly.
Of course, in those days “love” could mean anything, from a good friendship to a tight-knit family to full-blown marriage-with-children. Hearts and Hooves Day had started out as just a reminder to say “hi” to your loved ones, really. Anyone’s love was good love: friends, family. And Luna was nothing if not a traditionalist.
This time, she’d written down what she’d said, all those years ago, to the Prince and the Princess. Finally, the mystery was solved:
“Carpe Diem.”
Celestia turned the letter over, as though expecting more. Nope. Nothing but Luna explaining what it was.
Sadly, Celestia rolled her eyes. She should have guessed.
These days, the phrase was slung about by frat students excusing nights out on the Canterlot scene, usually right before they struggled back to their accommodation, singing inappropriate songs at three in the morning. “Carpe Diem” was just a corny thing ponies said. They didn’t understand it.
Whereas back then, ah… Back then, in the olden days, “Carpe Diem” was a serious philosophical point. A controversy. The au courant thing. Court ponies discussed it in Canterlot with excitement or dread, depending on who was listening. The words would’ve been quite daring to say to a royal, even if the one saying it could seize the night any time she liked.
“Carpe Diem,” Celestia said, and nodded. “Perhaps you’re right. And I know you mean well, my sister. But I can’t.”
She placed the letter with great care at the end of the shelf. There was still room for many more.
On her way back to reality, Celestia thought of rosebuds, and smiling flowers dying tomorrow. Flowers smiled at the sun. A few rare varieties smiled at the moon, of course, but not nearly as many.
Privately, Celestia made an oath never to answer any. If everyone had to be equal, then she couldn’t single them out. Not publicly.
And then –
– she was standing in the aisle again. The real aisle, in a real library, made of real wood and stone.
Perhaps, though, she’d make one exception. For the first time in her life. This was the modern day, after all.
Quickly, she summoned scroll and quill. A hurried note would do. She had about a million letters to hurry through later. Anyway, it was obvious what she should write down.
She remembered a verse from a particularly pessimistic suitor, which began:
“Graven in diamonds her letters plain,
There is written her fair neck ringed about,
‘Noli me tangere’: Equestria’s I am.”
She underlined the last three words again, just to make sure.
Then she paused. She’d always wondered if the pessimistic poet meant these words ironically, as a kind of ploy to get her to give in. He had sent it, after all. Perhaps in some small way, he’d be consoled by her appropriating his words in a private, personal communiqué. At least she meant them sincerely.
She’d ruled alone for a thousand years. That was a long time for nations to get used to having her around as a single, powerful figure. As an idol. Perhaps, in some of the more daring corners of the world, as a goddess.
Whereas Luna had a younger, fresher start. She was new. She was a strange mix of long-forgotten traditions behind a new face on the political scene. There was room for ponies to treat her differently, and for her to do things Celestia herself would never dare.
So Celestia continued: “Instead, my sister…”
A minute later, she appeared in Luna’s private library. This one had neither window nor lamp. She had to light up her own horn just to see anything, and what she saw was mostly cobweb. The shelves loomed and leaned forwards. The word “gothic” stuck in her mind.
Celestia slipped her own letter into an empty pigeonhole. Overhead, the golden light of her horn briefly caught the beak of a stone raven, glaring down at her.
It’d be a nice surprise for Luna later.
Before she hurried out, she wondered if “Carpe Noctiem” was really the correct form. She’d never been much good at dead languages. Whereas when Luna spoke them, Celestia herself would swear the past had suddenly come back to life. A past with classrooms to run out of, and fields full of rosebuds, flying away forever, never old, and never dying.
