Author's Note
This story is a direct sequel to and massive spoiler for "Old Friends." Please read it first! It's short, I promise.
Old Friends, Again
She twitched, murmured. Strained. Spine arched.
Celestia…
The voice, hoarse. Rough. Barely there.
Celestia…
Pain, pulling at her. Gripping, dragging, fragmented.
Celestia!
The Princess of the Sun’s eyes snapped open, magenta irises focusing instantly on the small clock sitting on her nightstand, its pale ivory face illuminated by the light of the moon. The arms read 4:12. The clock ticked at her as she watched, trying to catch her breath, and eventually the minute arm moved. 4:13.
She pushed up and looked around her bedchamber, looking for the speaker, the one who called her name, seeing no one. She called for her guardspony and listened to the ticking of the clock as she waited.
A stout, powerful stallion entered, clad in golden armor. “Yes, my Lady?”
“Is all well, Silver Scale?” she asked. “Any reports of disturbance?”
“No, my Lady. All is well.” She was silent, mulling over the implications. After a time, the guard asked, “Is there anything I can do for you, my Lady?”
She nearly started; she’d forgotten the guard was there. “No, Silver. Thank you.”
“Then I shall leave you to your rest.” Silver Scale saluted and stepped out, carefully shutting the door behind him.
She laid back, staring up at her ceiling, where a beautiful sunny sky was reproduced in a detailed mosaic, dulled now in the dark of night. She smiled a wretched smile. For a moment upon awakening, she had caught herself hoping – actually hoping! – that there had been a death in the castle. Then she could have written it off as an unfortunate coincidence and gone back to sleep.
But all was well, and so all was unwell.
This was not the first night she’d awoken to that voice calling her name, her sheets damp with sweat, her muscles taut against the mattress. It was a voice she knew, a voice she heard only at the best and worst of times.
She never remembered the specifics of the dream after she woke up. She knew it was the same each time, and she knew what she felt during – fear. A fear unlike any she’d known before, a fear she had occasionally wondered in her darker moments if she would ever feel at all. Fear for her life. It consumed her, burning at her mind, and she felt a visceral jolt with the sudden, absolute knowledge that one day her spark would be extinguished and her world along with it.
An old friend – her oldest friend, really – had told her once that he would be there for her if such a time ever came, but now she had to wonder at his true meaning, wonder if it was meant as the comfort she’d taken it to be or the cold emotionless fact it truly was.
For she’d become more and more certain, each time she had the dream that woke her in terror like she’d never felt, that it was no dream, but a warning of what would soon come to pass.
Soon. She turned the word over in her mind as the tick-tick-tick of the clock echoed around the room, and she eyed the timepiece mistrustfully. It would be soon, wouldn’t it? Much sooner than it had any right to be, really.
Soon she would meet her death while Death looked on and called her name.
“Your dreams have been troubled, sister.”
She cast a sharp look at Luna. “I seem to recall a promise, made centuries ago yet made all the same, that you would never intrude there.”
The darker alicorn spread her wings placatingly. It was hours later, and they were alone in their dining hall, sharing breakfast. “It was not by choice; they have been so powerful of late that it has been an effort on my part to block them out. And so some of the, mmm, flavor remains on the palate of my mind.” Luna regarded her older sister carefully. “Are you well?”
She laughed hollowly. “All is well.”
Luna’s brow creased. “I am not sure I take your meaning.”
She hesitated, then smiled. “Please do not worry yourself on my account, sister. I am sure it is nothing. I promise that should the need arise, I shall confide in you, but unless it is worth troubling you over…”
“You know I would be more than happy to share your burden.” The lighter alicorn nodded, and leaned over to nuzzle her sister’s cheek, and said nothing. Luna eyed her briefly, then folded her wings. “Very well.”
Heat.
Celestia…
Flame, searing her hide.
Celestia…
A scream – her own, ripping her throat raw – as her fur and feathers burned to ash.
Celestia!
The Princess of the Sun sat bolt upright in her bed, her coat soaked with sweat. She looked around, her eyes wild. Her bedclothes were scattered, half on the floor, half twisted around her; her pillows lay in a jumbled heap to one side. She kicked free and curled up on the bare mattress, panting.
She didn’t bother calling for the guard this time.
When her heart refused to slow, she got up and drew a bath. As the ornate porcelain tub filled with steaming water, she stared at herself in the mirror. She looked as she had for centuries.
She shut off the water and made ready to get in, but when she touched a hoof to the water it fizzled and hissed. She drew back, startled, and looked at her bare hoof. Nothing out of the ordinary, though the water had felt unexpectedly cool to the touch.
Carefully, she let her hoof dip below the surface of the water again. Immediately, the water around it churned. She held it there, fascinated. There was no pain, just a wash of coolness as the bubbling gradually slowed.
She stared for a moment, then decided she was so bewildered and exhausted that she had no idea what to do. Nothing in her long, eventful life had prepared her for this. She climbed into the tub and settled herself comfortably.
The cool-feeling water was soothing; the bubbles fizzing furiously around her even more so. They tickled a little.
She watched them roll around her body for a time, and her eyes drifted shut.
When she awoke an hour later, just in time to raise the sun, she found the tub empty but the drain still plugged, and Silver Scale swore no one had entered her chambers under his watch, and she wondered if she had still been dreaming.
The doctor, sworn to secrecy, had been eager to help but ultimately useless. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. She had never needed a physician before. She left the medical center after stopping in at the foals’ ward. Her visits were generally a boost to morale, and it provided suitable cover for her true purpose. She took special care to not touch anypony. Philomena had tagged along, delighting the children further.
When they emerged from the rear of the sprawling building, the better to avoid overeager nobles and hangers-on undoubtedly waiting for her in the lobby, they were surprised to find themselves not alone.
“I suppose I should expect to meet you here, of all places. I hope it wasn’t one of the children.”
After a moment: It was not.
His words arrived in her mind without her actually hearing them. Philomena eyed him from her back.
“That’s something, I suppose. Are you well?”
I am not unwell.
She chuckled. “Perhaps a foolish question.”
Are you well?
She looked at him, considered lying, but he was her friend, her confidant. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I may have… taken ill.”
He hesitated, then nodded. I hope that it resolves itself soon.
She flashed on her most recent dream, the sense of heat. “As do I, my friend.”
She felt then that there was something greater at work here, something that she was missing. Something that she should know and did not. She started to walk away, thought better of it and turned back to ask him something, but he was already gone. Her pet called softly, looking around the alley expectantly, but settled down as they left.
Pain.
Celestia…
Fire.
Celestia…
Darkness.
Celestia!
The Princess of the Sun awoke in Hell. Her bed was aflame, the sight of her chambers beyond distorted by heat.
“What?” she breathed, and choked on ash. As her mattress disintegrated beneath her, she rolled herself, falling to the cold stone floor. She pushed up and watched the burning canopy give way, crashing down into the space she’d occupied moments before.
She stared at the flaming wreckage of her bed for a moment before forming a spherical shield around it and filling the space with water; reversing the process left the sodden remains of extinguished furniture laying where her bed once stood. Her sky mosaic was sullied by a great bruise of soot. Her bedside clock had been knocked aside. The glass was cracked but she could make out the hour arm just past four.
The door slammed open and Silver Scale burst in, horn already ignited, seeking a target. “My Lady! I heard –” The guard skidded to a halt and gaped at the room. “What…”
She took a step back, onto the luxurious rug in front of the doors leading to her balcony. It felt odd beneath her hooves, and she looked down; the fibers were curling and blackening, thin streams of smoke rising from them.
“Thank you for your speed, Silver. You may go.”
The guard turned to her, incredulous, not noticing the effect she was having on the carpet. “My Lady?”
“Go,” she commanded sternly. Silver Scale moved back as if struck. She softened. “Please. It’s all right.”
“If… if my Lady is certain…”
“Everything is as it should be,” she said, and hated herself for the lie.
Silver bowed his head and left the room, his magic quietly shutting the door behind him.
She moved back to the marble flooring and looked at the rug. Four dark smudges marked where she had stood.
She looked at her hoof. She turned, mind frozen, to her desk, and picked up a half-written letter.
It smoldered and burst into flame.
She dropped it on the marble floor and ran to her bathroom, stared at herself in the mirror. She looked the same.
She felt wrong.
Her heart was racing, her mind having trouble processing what was happening. She felt fuzzy, disconnected. She reached for the tap on the sink, and it softened under her hoof like wax, drooping to rest against the porcelain.
Something was wrong.
Fever, the physician had suggested. Compounded by her immense magical power, perhaps. He had thought he might be able to figure something out.
She stumbled to her chamber door and pushed it open. Silver Scale was standing there, the worried look on his face quickly schooled into neutrality.
“Yes, my Lady?”
“Get me… the doctor.” She couldn’t remember his name. “The head physician of the Canterlot academy of medicine. Wherever he is. Find him and bring him to me. Now.”
Silver Scale blinked once, and to his credit that was his only hesitation. “Yes, my Lady!” Silver took off at a gallop, and as her eyes followed his dash down the hall, they found a pony that the guard gave no thought to, because the guard had not seen him.
“What… why are you here?”
Because I must be. His regret, almost more tangible than he, crashed over her like a tidal wave and left her reeling.
She stared at him wildly. “It cannot be!”
He hesitated. She perceived in her fevered state a distinct sense of him biting his lip before he proceeded. Everything is –
“Don’t you dare!” she hissed, and spun and ran, ricocheting off walls in her unsteadiness. Her hooves burned holes in the burgundy carpet of the castle with every step, and where she brushed decorations and tapestries, they were seared away.
“Luna!” she cried. “I need Luna!”
And then he was next to her, galloping in silence, solid reason to her wild desperation.
I am sorry. Profoundly so. When we spoke of your time, I knew only that it would come for you as it would come for every other creature in this world, and that it was far off. I believed, as you did, that your life was tied to your sun, that there was no other way for everything to be. And yet…
Celestia sobbed. It could not be. What of her subjects? Her students? Her sister? She had unfinished business here, though a cool voice in the back of her mind murmured traitorously that she was hardly unique in that regard. Her tears sizzled on her cheeks.
It seems not to be. So I have stalled. Done what was within my power to do, to keep you in this world. For your sake, for your sister’s sake, but for mine as well.
They rounded a corner, the last corner; before them lay the entrance to the Night Court.
I have been selfish. There will be punishment meted out for my violation, of that I am sure. There must be a price. I will pay it willingly, whatever that price is, for I know our time together has been worth it.
I shall miss you.
Celestia burst through the heavy wooden doors, splintering the solid oak like kindling.
As one, the hall’s occupants turned. Common ponies from all over Equestria, who had travelled far to ask their rulers for consideration, went white with fear. The Night Guard immediately went into defensive postures, weapons ready, but froze in confusion when they saw the Princess of the Sun standing before them, unliveried, the doors a smoking hole behind her, desperation in her eyes and in her voice.
“Clear the hall!” she cried. “I must speak with my sister!”
The guards hesitated; the royal petitioners stared. Luna looked down from the throne at the head of the room, fear in her eyes. “Leave us,” the darker princess said.
The guards began ushering out the royal petitioners, who were still shocked into silence. After a moment the hall was clear.
Luna flew from the dais to Celestia. “Sister, what is it? Are you unwell?” The darker alicorn looked down, saw the carpet smoldering underhoof, and her eyes widened. “What is going on?”
The lighter alicorn made as if to draw her sister into a hug, but caught herself and retreated, her eyes darting around the chamber. “I… I am afraid that… I am perhaps more mortal than previously understood…”
Luna stared. “Sister, really. What is the meaning of this? Speak plain!”
Her wild eyes locked on Luna’s. “You recall my dreams? We spoke of it then, I thought not to worry you – I was wrong, Luna, I was so wrong! I’m sorry! I thought surely I had more time, surely I – but I was wrong –”
Celestia.
She whirled. He stood in the doorway. She screamed, and burst into flames.
Luna flinched back from the sudden heat and light, cowering behind a wing. For a wild moment she told herself she must be imagining things, but then she lowered her wing and saw Celestia wreathed with raging fire.
Luna called out: “Sister!”
Celestia turned to her, and Luna’s heart caught in her throat at the abject terror that consumed her sister’s face. She had hoped that somehow Celestia had known what was happening, that her elder sister would give her a knowing smile through the flames, as if to say that Luna need not worry, that everything was as it should be, but she did not.
The fire had begun to burn away Celestia’s coat and flesh, and the Princess of the Sun threw back her head and screamed again, her wings splayed as they disintegrated, her mane and tail barely visible in the whirling conflagration that consumed her. The cry pierced Luna’s soul, and she poured on her strength, fought to reach her sister, to save her, to do anything, but the heat was unbearable. It was like a physical force unto itself; no matter how she railed against it, her body refused to move any closer.
Then Luna gasped. In the flames that engulfed her sister's form, she could see something – an outline of a pony, its darkness a welcome relief from the blazing brilliance of its surroundings. She saw it stretch a foreleg toward her sister – it seemed to be straining, shaking with the effort – but a final burst of fiery energy threw the shadow back and she lost sight of it, as an otherworldly “Celestia!” echoed through the room.
As the fire died away, she only had eyes for the scorched marble where her sister had stood a moment before, where now there was just ash, accumulating in drifts as more floated down through the air like deathly snow. A singed white feather landed at her hooves.
Against her will, she drew herself closer, dragging her hooves. It could not be.
But it was. She had seen every excruciating moment with her own eyes.
Celestia was gone.
She was gone.
Celestia…
He hung his head.
There was a small patch of land behind Canterlot Castle that few ponies knew existed. At its center was a chapel, meticulously groomed and maintained, yet shrouded in a sense of timeless history, as though no one had set hoof inside in a lifetime. Surrounding it, equally groomed and equally ancient polished stones dotted the land, each with a symbol carefully carved into its otherwise unblemished surface.
One stone felt less ancient than the others. He stood before it, gazing at the eight-pointed sun etched there, tracing the waving rays with his eyes.
He thought of his friend. It had not been long – a blink of an eye for him – but already he missed her, as he had known he would.
He thought of their last moments together. The terror, the pain in her eyes, visible until the last instant, the final burst of heat pushing even him away. He had been party to countless deaths, but hers burned at him.
He thought of his final confession, of the constant strain keeping her here had been. Such an effort, contravening everything he was, had been painful in its way. Worth it, regardless, to give her more time here.
He missed his friend.
A breeze ruffled the tips of the grass, whispered through the branches of the trees that ringed the graveyard, scattered a few leaves.
He had watched from within those trees as they had erected this stone, quickly and quietly. It hadn't taken long. There had been nothing to bury.
He bowed his head.
“Hello,” she said.
He whirled.
She stood there, unliveried, mane and tail shimmering in the solar winds. She smiled at him. “It's good to see you.”
He stared.
She stepped forward and sat next to him, looking down at the stone whose engraving matched her flank. “It almost seems an affectation, I suppose. Yet it felt right, to have this made and placed here, amongst the rest of my kin who have died.”
Yes. You did die. I… watched. Was there, with you, when you died.
She turned to him and smiled, and had he possessed a heart it would have been warmed at the sight. “As you promised me you would be, a long time ago.”
Yet you are here now.
She nodded slowly. “That’s true.” She looked up to the sun and closed her eyes, let it warm her face.
A call echoed from the nearby trees. He looked over and saw her bird companion, Philomena, watching them.
She followed his gaze. “Do you know anything about phoenixes?”
He shook his head without taking his eyes off the red-and-gold bird. I have seen them before, but they appear to… handle themselves. I have never found one in need of my assistance, and so I have paid them little mind.
She held out a foreleg, and Philomena swept toward them, alighting on the offered perch. “At the end of their lives, they grow weak, sickly. When they die, their bodies combust, and they are reborn from their ashes to live anew, until the cycle repeats.”
He looked from her to the bird and back again.
She smiled. “I always did like phoenixes.”
“My sister saw you, that day.”
Unlikely.
“Just before I… burned, she said she saw a darkness in the shape of a pony reaching for me through the fire. She said she heard somepony call my name when I was gone.”
Silence.
“Just as I knew you would.”
I tried to save you. I failed. You burned, and worse, burned for nothing. I interfered with the natural order and you suffered terribly for it. You should never have experienced such a thing.
“You had no way of knowing. What you did was kind, as far as you could tell. You fought to keep me here, to give me time.”
I was selfish.
“You were a good friend.”
Silence.
“I told her about you.”
What?
“Luna. I told her what she saw that day was real, that she saw my oldest friend trying to save me. She didn't believe me, at first, thought I was delusional from the ordeal. Eventually, though, she understood I was telling the truth.”
Silence.
“She said that she wished she could meet you, but she knows that won't be possible. So she asked me to give you something.”
What could she possibly want me to have?
“Her thanks. She wanted to thank you for being there for me when she would not, could not be. She knows, now better than ever, just how powerful a force friendship can be.”
I do not require her thanks. You are my friend, and that is sufficient.
“I told her you would say something like that.”
Did you also tell her what I told you before?
“When the world turns its last turn?”
He nodded.
“I told her I would be there for her, when all is darkness.”
They looked out over her balcony as the sun drifted down below the horizon, and golds turned to grays.
“I believe that everything repeats. Stars are born, live long lives, and burn out in beautiful novae. From their ashes, new stars are born, and the cycle begins again. Again and again, for an eternity. But each successive star is not the same star that came before. Surely, there must be some difference, some change… for if there is not, then every star would experience the same things. The same pain, the same loss, the same sacrifice, over and over again.”
Silence.
“And of course, those that depend on the stars, the planets and moons and living things… they do not survive these cycles.” She bowed her head.
He looked at her as the full moon rose behind her, silhouetting her, shining through her mane and glinting off the tear slowly rolling down her face.
I will be there. For them, and for her, and every time for you, now and forever.
And she smiled.
She lay in bed, breathing weakly, eyes closed. She heard something and opened them.
Luna stood over her on one side, looking down at her. On the other side of the bed, he was there, mirroring her sister.
“I think it’s time.”
Luna nodded, her eyes watering. “Good luck, sister.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it. But thank you.” She smiled slowly up at them. “I’ll be… right back.” She sighed, a long, calm exhalation, and was still.
A tear dripped down Luna’s cheek. “I don’t know if I shall ever grow used to this. Even now, I worry… what if she does not return?”
She will, he said, but of course Luna did not hear him.
And then she burned, the sudden heat and light a surprise even when expecting it, the enchanted bedclothes billowing away unharmed, the fire quick and scorching and thorough and moments later there was nothing but ash.
There is no other way for everything to be.
He reached out a hoof, brushed at the ashes.
And they stirred.
