Honestly – despite how often my sister teases me about the idea – I do not, in fact, play Chess with the universe. My little ponies are not, and have never been, my pieces. Indeed, if Fate were to be playing us all like pawns, then I am as much a player as any of my subjects – which is to say, not at all.
And besides, Chess is really a very dull game, and there is enough boredom in my lifetimes that I need not subject myself to it willingly. If I am to sow seeds, the trees are to bear curious and colourful fruit.
Thus, consider: a group of earth pony settlers receive the Sun Princess's blessing, and travel to the frontier to build a budding farming town. The orchards of apples and pears they plant are bountiful, and the sun smiles down upon them. The town is named Ponyville.
Consider: on the border of the town of Ponyville, there lies a magical and mysterious forest known as the Everfree, that has existed since before recent memory. The wild and chaotic nature of the place is troublesome for the ponies of the town, but they persevere, and soon the oddness of its proximity becomes part of their daily routine.
Consider: five very curious, very colourful ponies lay down roots in the very curious, very colourful town of Ponyville. The Sun Princess's student is sent to them, and they soon join forces in friendship to defeat a powerful foe, at the heart of the Everfree Forest.
And, finally, consider: an entire pigeonhole cabinet in the chambers of the Sun Princess – each cubbyhole containing a different friendship report, each one more strange and exciting than the last.
Why would I ever play a boring game like Chess when Fate makes far more interesting moves than I could ever fathom?
The fire crackled merrily in the hearth as I sat in those very chambers, splayed out on an enormous cushion. The letter hovered in front of me, and I giggled as I reacquainted myself with Ponyville’s regular antics. The world beyond the window is a deep, dark, winter night, and distantly there is the howl of howling wind and rain.
Sighing, I downed the rest of my wine glass. There really was nothing like these late winter nights. I rolled up and resealed the report, slipping it into its designated slot in the pigeon holder. I poured another glass of wine as I perused the rest of the documents, pondering which one I should read next.
Just as I unrolled another tale of friendship and self-discovery and settled down to read it, the door slammed open and a purple alicorn scuttled in like a frightened mouse. I looked up from my letter and watched her as she approached me, slowly, with a look of anguish on her face.
“Princess!” Twilight Sparkle said, “I have something I really, really, really need to ask you!”
Then she launched into a rushed tirade that I had neither the comprehension or attention to understand. I found myself staring at her, with dull surprise. Something was off. I couldn’t quite tell what that was, at first, but I knew, somehow, that this was much more than it appeared.
When I finally came back to reality and she was still talking, I decided that enough was enough. I placed a hoof on her mouth and said:
“Twilight.”
Ears down, eyes open, mouth shut with an audible click. It’s amazing what several years of teaching habits can do.
“Twilight Sparkle,” I repeated, this time with a softer tone. “Why don’t you take a seat and tell me what’s wrong?” She looked at me, blushing bashfully. I invited her with an unfurled wing, and she accepted with visible gratitude.
I felt her panting. She was cold. “Did you fly all the way up here?” We were sitting at the top of the highest tower in Canterlot, and it was the middle of winter. I figured that I would be mistaken.
“Oh,” Twilight said, with a tinge of surprise, as if she had only just realised it, “yeah, I did. Yes I did and I’m really cold, now that I think about it. Hehe, isn’t that odd? Gosh, this pillow is nice. And warm. Like your wings. Am I rambling? Yes.”
I withheld a smile at her babbling, and instead asked her, “So, you had something urgent you needed to ask me?”
Twilight looked at me, and the bashful grin on her face fell away. She looked somber now, more thoughtful. Something urgent, indeed. “Princess,” she began, hesitantly, as if afraid to even go any further than that. “What’s it like being…” she waved her hoof at me, vaguely gesturing. “You?”
That feeling of numb dread resurfaced, and I hid a grimace behind another mask of serenity. Somehow, I knew what she was asking, and I didn’t like it. Surely, I could ward off this discussion a little while longer. Preferably for another century or two, when it would all be irrelevant anyway.
“What’s it like being a princess?” I replied, too loudly. “I would not worry about it, Twilight Sparkle. I wouldn’t have coronated you if I hadn’t thought that you would be able to handle the responsibilities of such a position."
Twilight looked caught between a smile and a frown. "Thank you princess, but actually that... wasn't quite what I meant."
No. Of course it wasn't. And it was silly of me to imply otherwise, regardless of my personal feelings on the matter.
"What I meant was, what's it like being so..." she hesitated, and in that brief pause I heard a number of possible words, all of which made my guts turn in on themselves. "Above it all?"
I pondered the question. It was certainly rather diplomatic, better than what she could have said. But even then, I didn't know how to breach the topic. I'm certain that, if I had decided to be heavy-handed, events would have come to a satisfactory conclusion.
But, as my sister La Lune has reminded me constantly, I am a mare who cares too much. Especially when it comes to the ponies that I name family, both face-to-face and within the safety of my own mind.
“Above it all?” I echoed. “Are you, perhaps, implying that I am not a pony? Something greater than that?”
Twilight squirmed; it was a loaded question, and she knew it. “No!” she squeaked. “Just… well, you’re Celestia. You aren’t exactly a pony to be ignored. Y’know? It’s a little…” I could see the cogs turning. “Overwhelming? Sometimes.”
I snorted inwardly. I could not be more aware of that little fact of my existence, for it was something that permeated so deeply into the ordinary pony’s understanding that every encounter was marred by it. But, on the exterior, I nodded and I smiled and I watched her relax, like the pretty little princess I was. “That is true. But, would you say that it is merely a cosmetic problem? I am aware that I do not look as… inconspicuous as a regular pony.”
Twilight shook her head emphatically. “No, not like that. I mean, if that were true, then I’d be like you too!” She chuckled nervously, and my heart skipped a beat. It was funny, honestly, just how close she came just then. “It’s more like… gosh, it’s so hard to describe—”
“Let me guess,” I interrupted, before I could stop myself. “You look at me, and you don’t see a pony. You don’t feel like I should be able to exist, in this imperfect world of ours. You look at me and you imagine a mountain crumbling, or a tidal wave crashing into a continent, or the sun and the moon meeting in the heavens. Something so utterly overwhelming that you have trouble comprehending it all at once. It gets hard to think, hard to concentrate. You don’t feel worthy of simply being in the same room as such a thing. All you know is that it is just… beyond you.”
The room settled into a tense silence. She looked at me with wide eyes, and I just watched her, blankly. Did I hate myself for thrusting it upon her so directly? Should I have kept my mouth shut? Possibly. But, in retrospect, perhaps it was all for the better.
Perhaps.
“Does that sum it up?” I asked, quietly. Twilight didn’t respond immediately, instead deciding to continue staring. The gears in her head were locked in place, I’m sure.
“Do you...” she said, eventually. “Do you feel the same way about somepony else?” There was genuine compassion in those pretty purple eyes of hers, which seemed almost ironic, considering the situation at hand.
“Possibly,” I said. “I have been alive for a very long time, after all.”
Twilight still looked saddened, as if the confirmation that I felt dwarfed by another being was at all a tragedy. Was it possible that I had been too distant with her? It was definitely plausible, if unavoidable.
“Getting back to the question at hand,” I said, “I never once aimed to make myself out as such a thing. The fact is, I’ve always considered myself a pony, simple as that. A leader that works with the group, not above it.” Well. Not entirely true. There were times in my youth where that way of thinking may have been a little warped.
I hugged her tight under my wing. “Alas, it seems ponykind will never detach itself from its ideal of me. I’ve become a symbol, I suppose; something unattainable to reach towards.” I sighed.
I felt something shift under my wing, and, before I knew it, two purple hooves were wrapped around my neck, clutching me tightly. Surprised, I looked to my side, and found my vision filled with sweet-smelling indigo mane.
“Is it lonely?” Twilight asked, her voice muffled by my fur. “Being at the top?”
I blinked. I felt a smile rising, unbidden, to my muzzle. Slowly, I lifted an arm and gently returned the embrace.
“No,” I whispered, “it is not lonely. Not anymore, now that I have my sister back.” Twilight looked up at me, and I beamed at her. “All thanks to one Twilight Sparkle.” A blush dusted her cheeks, and she chuckled bashfully. My smile turned to a grin; I don’t think I’d ever tire of that sweet little face.
“And should I ever find myself rising too high for my own good… well.” I gestured to the friendship letters by my side. “A few lessons on friendship should keep me grounded, no?”
She hugged me again. And for a long, long moment, the world consisted only of her, me, and the fire burning in the hearth.
“Now, shouldn’t you be sleeping right now?” I teased, poking Twilight’s side with a hoof. She squealed. “A princess is a busy mare, after all. One should not disrupt their responsibilities to the crown due to lack of sleep!” I said, with a haughty sniff. She giggled.
Twilight peeked out of the window. The rain continued to pound on the frames, filling the silence with the rattles of the windowpane. She turned back to me, and fiddled with her hooves shyly. “Um… would it be okay if I, I dunno… Slept here for the night?” She curled her lip and engaged Defcon One. Her eyes glistened with crocodile tears.
I rolled my eyes and smirked. I knew when I was beaten. “Oh, fine. But just this once.” Lying down on the cushion, I opened my wing and allowed her to curl up against my chest, before enclosing it around her like a tent. Once I was sure she was comfortable, I snuffed the firelight with a flicker of magic.
I closed my eyes. Twilight’s heartbeat echoed against my belly, and I listened to the soft sounds of her breathing. I hummed in content. It reminded me of the olden days, when Luna and I would snuggle up on these very same winter nights. Perhaps I could convince her to restart that old tradition…
“Princess?” Twilight whispered sleepily. “Do you think… do you ever think I’ll be your equal? Keeping you company at the top…?”
I opened my eyes. My mind buzzed as an old, untouched sense awoke at the edge of my awareness. A realisation struck, one that deepened the coldness in my chest. I looked down at the purple lump beneath my wing. Slowly, I let my senses free.
Then, I saw it.
Immediately, the blazing white light emanating from Twilight’s form nearly blinded me. Threads of fate gathered and tangled around the spot of impossible brightness, drifting off through the world and intertwining with the specks of light that existed within the castle, within Ponyville, within all of Equestria. Five particularly bright rainbow-coloured bonds were attached to five other lights, off in the distance.
And there, connecting the two of us, was an iron chain. The last time I had seen it, it had been impeccable; newly forged by the Fates themselves. Now, it was crumbling, the aether that formed it flaking and withering as I watched. It was a slow, yet inevitable process.
“Princess?”
I remembered the door. The door to my study that she had blown through as if it were any other, as if it wasn’t an ancient artifact that I had created myself, enchanted so that only I or a being of considerably greater power could ever open without permission.
As if it meant nothing at all.
“Princess, are you okay?”
I looked at Twilight. She was looking at me with concern. The lights had vanished, my senses were bound. I could feel it, however; that little buzzing at the edge of my consciousness, something that I had long-since tuned out until now.
“Yes, Twilight. I am fine. Now, let’s go to sleep, shall we?”
I watched her close her eyes and lie back down. I waited until I was sure she was fast asleep, before leaning my neck down, and whispering in her ear:
“You don’t realise, do you, Twilight Sparkle? You don’t realise how you, and you alone, are the only one to ever humble a goddess.”
No response, of course. I wasn’t expecting, nor desiring, one.
“Someday, you won’t need me anymore, my princess. Someday, you’ll understand, even more than I do, what it is like to be me.”
She looked so peaceful when she was sleeping. It almost made me want to cry.
“It’s very lonely at the top.”
The wind howled. The windows rattled. Twilight Sparkle slept.
