The Horizon
The horizon. Since time immemorial, ponies had striven to be there, where the Sun and the Earth met each dawn and each dusk. Many were the valiant journeys launched seeking to conquer that gentle, distant place, where the curvature of the planet reminded all that saw it just how small they themselves truly were. It was a cosmic shore—the location of the brief, cordial meetings of the two titanic forces from which life sprung.
Princess Celestia had not sought out the horizon in many millennia. Still, the painful memory of her sister's rebellion weighed heavily enough upon her that she felt compelled to do so, for Equestria's sake, as much as her own. Still bearing the scars of that devastating conflict, the royal alicorn followed the great auburn globe of the Sun across the sky as it led her unerringly to her destination.
Bathed in a ruddy glow, Celestia landed in the forest clearing as her brilliant day gave way to bitter night. She had taken to raising Princess Luna’s Moon, as well as her own Sun, since her sister’s corruption, though she had briefly considered doing away with the darkness as a painful memory of what had been lost. Ultimately, she had decided to retain the old balance of light and dark, though it fatigued her greatly to do so, as sole responsibility for the cosmos above Equestria now rested on her, and her alone.
The clearing was lush and verdant, and Celestia could hear birds of many sizes, shapes, and hues tittering in the thickets surrounding her. Beneath her hooves, flowers bloomed in the cool north wind of autumn, and each individual blade of grass compressed beneath her weight sprung erect when Celestia stepped beyond it. This clearing was a nexus of life, a gathering of all of nature’s greatest achievements for the simple purpose of appreciating them. This was the horizon—it would be here than Sun and Earth would meet.
A gentle burst of warm atmosphere briefly overcame the frigid autumn air, and Celestia could now sense the presence of another magical creature within the clearing. She was not visible—not yet—but she was present. Her liveliness and vast energy of being never failed to betray Princess Circadia, at least not to those who knew her well.
“It has been far too long, my beloved cousin,” Circadia said, materializing from within the trunk of a mighty cedar tree that sprawled along the southern perimeter of the clearing. Flapping her wings, the embodiment of nature continued to warm Celestia with an unseasonal breeze. “A hundred generations of my children have prospered in your brilliant light. Your light gives life to the trees, and the flowers—which, in turn, give life to all other things. For these gifts, you have my sincerest thanks. And now, the day that I have anticipated eagerly is here—at last, the Sun and the Earth may commune once more.”
Adorning her own face with an unfortunately insincere smile, Princess Celestia bowed to her deferential cousin. “I’ve missed you dearly, Circadia. Of all the ponies that I’ve known throughout my life, you are perhaps the only one that I can consider a true friend.”
Reciprocating the bow, Circadia all but prostrated herself upon the plush lawn of the clearing. “Memories of the games we played as fillies have gone far in keeping me warm through the long, biting winter months, Celestia,” the other princess explained, with a wistful fondness. Celestia understood the sentiment entirely—the two had been inseparable during the youthful years they spent within the confines of Everfree Castle, and remembrances of that carefree time never failed to dull the pain which Celestia felt. Rising to her full height, Circadia continued: “I sense, however, that you have something that you require of me.”
Embarrassed that her motives were so plainly transparent, the faintest blush appeared upon Celestia’s ivory cheeks. “I seek no more than your counsel, Circadia,” she assured her cousin. “That is all that I require.”
“Very well. Whatever my fair and just cousin and sovereign desires, I shall hasten to provide,” Circadia declared. She paused, glancing at Celestia with a plaintive expression evident upon her beautiful face. “Celestia, I do hope you know that I would do anything for you. If you truly wish only to discuss the terrible events which have so recently transpired—”
“So you know of Princess Luna’s—transformation,” Celestia interjected. Though she attempted to maintain her royal fortitude, the sheer emotion of the memory of her fallen sister caused her eyes to moisten.
“Yes. I do,” Circadia confirmed. Gathering her thoughts for a moment, Celestia’s cousin continued from where she had been interrupted: “If you truly wish only to discuss the terrible events which have so recently transpired, then it shall, of course, be so, and we shall speak of them frankly and honestly. But know that my comfort, my love, and my assistance are available to you, as well.”
The birds were silent now, as Circadia channeled her lively energies towards assuaging her cousin’s tumultuous emotions. Bit by bit, Celestia felt her anxiety and her pain, having come so close to consuming her, ebb and wane. Grateful, she embraced her cousin tenderly. “Thank you, Circadia,” she sighed. “I cannot thank you enough for meeting me here. I have so much that I have not been able to share—so much pain that has been allowed to fester and rot within my heart. Please know that I don’t mean to burden you with it.”
“It’s never a burden, Celestia,” Circadia replied softly, her breath washing over Celestia as a perfumed gust. “As you said yourself, I am your friend. And you are mine. Ours is a lonely existence, and no matter how much we try to deny it, we require friendship to survive. Come, let‘s sit, and you can tell me all that you wish to tell.”
(Of my three stories I've posted so far on FIMFiction, this is the one which I'm probably the most confident in. I would love to hear any thoughts you all might have about it.)
The horizon was temporally isolated from the rest of Equestria—time had little meaning here, and it advanced only as quickly as the those within it perceived it to.
"Where are you, Dia?" Celestia sang, from a time four centuries past. Her pink mane swished back and forth as she prowled, though the golden tiara perched atop her head would keep it from becoming disastrously unkempt. The deep arbors transformed to dank, sopping grottos in the mind's eye of the royal filly, and the pair's game of hide-and-seek an anxious contest between predator and prey. "Come out, come out, wherever you are..."
Obscured from the young pony's view by the trunks of the trees surrounding her, the two adult princesses watched her with profound curiosity. Celestia found that her mouth was unhinged and hanging open, as if the shock ignited within her by this specter of the past had required a route of escape. Circadia, contrarily, seemed something less than surprised, and even quipped: "Oh, I remember this! I'm about to jump out from behind that raspberry bush and surprise you. I was quite the devious little filly."
Her composure failing her, Celestia pounded a hoof into the verdant lawn in frustration. "This can't be possible, Circadia," she declared exasperatedly. "I don't even have my cutie mark—how can we be seeing something that occurred nearly four hundred years ago?"
"I don't pretend to be an expert regarding the mysteries of the horizon, Celestia," her cousin admitted, "but it would stand to reason that, if time has no real meaning here, that our past, present, and future would unite into a single entity."
"Still, if we remain here any longer, she'll surely—I'll surely notice us, and I certainly don't remember ever meeting my future self while playing hide-and-seek," Celestia said. Her past self paused, glancing first to her left and then—as the older princess held her breath—to her right. But the filly did not notice them, nor gave any indication of such.
With a roar, the young Circadia launched herself from her hiding place behind the raspberry bush and tackled the unsuspecting Celestia into a small oak sapling. "Sneak attack!" she hollered. The infant tree bent beneath the weight of the two princesses, finally snapping and sending the both of them tumbling to the ground.
"Well, perhaps they exist on a separate plane of existence," the elder Circadia conjectured, though her tone suggested a lack of confidence in the idea. "Our ability to see them is merely an echo of our memories. A vivid illusion, nothing more."
"You're standing on my mane!" whined Celestia, the filly held prone against the ground beneath her cousin. "Get off! Get off!"]
"Sorry, Tia," the filly with the green mane replied, rolling to one side and allowing the heir to the Equestrian throne to rise gingerly to her hooves. "Didn't mean to hurt you like that. Besides, I can beat you even without the element of surprise! En garde!"
The fillies tussled, still wholly unaware of their older selves observing them from upon a grassy knoll at the center of the clearing. Slowly, a grin stretched itself across Celestia's face. "You could be right, Circadia," she allowed. "We'll wait, and we'll see what happens. Until then..." She trailed off. Her grin faded.
Understandingly, Circadia finished the thought for her cousin. "...you needed my counsel regarding your sister." She laid a comforting hoof on Celestia's shoulder. "Of course. We won't delay any longer. We'll find a peaceful place to lie down, and I'll have the doves bring us some ambrosia."
The mention of that most heavenly of all nectars—a product of the great ash tree at the center of all creation, one that Celestia had not tasted of for more than one hundred and fifty years—brought a certain warmth of anticipation to the princess's heart, though it was not enough to banish the cold pit which Luna's betrayal had dug into that organ. "I would like that," Celestia said, with a small nod.
It's been long enough that I figured I should post this first part and add the next once I'm done editing it.
