Canterlot Will Never Be the Same
"Clover, this weather is mocking me," I say to my favorite companion, frowning at the impertinently gray sky.
The snow laughs at me as it saunters down from the clouds, collecting atop the newly-finished walls of Canterlot Keep. The wind is a tease, sending tendrils of freezing air to tug at my mane, my cape, and the shawl that has replaced my crown. But perhaps most insultingly, the sky remains stone-like and sunless, an impassable wall barring Equestria from the warmth and light it deserves.
"Clover?" Now is normally when Starswirl's apprentice jumps in with some dull scientific observation, generally accompanied by an eye roll so as to inform me of my absurdity.
I lower my gaze, and remember that Clover has not commented upon the crisis at hoof because she is with Starswirl and the others, venturing to foreign lands in a final, daring attempt to—
"Princess Platinum?" Candlewick, my sole lady-in-waiting (and an entirely unsuccessful substitute for Clover, if we're being frank), steps onto the bartizan, no doubt bearing responsibilities. "Princess, they've need of you in the Keep."
I heave a sigh and follow Candlewick back inside. The high-ceilinged halls we walk through are tragically lackluster, but it can't be helped; Father refuses to send me any tapestries, and between the mines and the solar duties, everypony remains too occupied to focus on something as trivial as mere decoration.
Everypony except myself, that is.
"Clover—" I begin.
"Candlewick, miss."
"Yes, of course. What exactly requires my presence?" I ask, as we pass the door to the caverns and head for the entrance hall.
Candlewick gestures towards a group of ponies standing in the grand foyer. "You have guests, Princess."
Guests? A surge of excitement runs through me. Are they a traveling band of wizards, come to our aid? A group of minstrels, to lift our spirits? I'd even be glad to see a lumberjack, at this point. I smile graciously at the visitors, eager to welco—Oh no.
Polished armor, arrogantly heroic stance, trailing the unmistakable scent of victory (Is that even a smell?)...
Commander Hurricane stares back at me.
I am the epitome of courtesy as I invite the Commander and his regiment to warm themselves by the hearth after their flight. I am painstakingly polite as I lead the way through the still-empty keep and into the caverns, warning them to watch their step as we make our way into the warm, torchlit area that serves as the Dining Hall.
I am flawlessly proper as I pour the Commander a cup of steaming, watery tea. My cup has but a few leaves, itself, but I pay no heed to the lack of taste. Frugality is the ultimate refinement, as Clover would say. Or is it simplicity?
The Commander offers no such restraint. "This is awful." He glances over at his troops, who are gulping down the watered remnants of the mead reserves. "We were hoping you'd be in better shape than this, especially considering the Keep's finished." He gestures to the ragged, crystalline cavern around us. "This seems redundant. Why are you still down here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," I sniff. (Politely, of course.) "I wasn't expecting the... pleasure—" I have to force the word out. "—of your company until the Spring Festival. You're early."
"No, you're late." His voice hardens, and the chatter in the room quickly dies. "Winter should have been cleared up two weeks ago. You've shown no sign of bringing in Spring, the sunrise is getting less and less dependable, and in the modicum of land accessible to you, absolutely nothing's been planted. What are you and Puddinghead waiting on?"
Silent, expectant gazes weigh upon me. I keep my tone steady. "Starswirl. We await Starswirl's return."
"And what if he and Private Pansy don't come back?" A pegasus soldier asks, to murmurs of agreement. "Just sayin, miss. It's been months."
Then we are doomed, I want to say. Instead, I adopt the Optimistic Voice of Hope. "Starswirl and his companions will return soon. In the meantime, we must endure—"
"We're running out of magic," Candlewick states abruptly. Heavens, how I miss Clover.
I take an unsatisfying sip of tea, bracing myself.
"Princess? Is this true?"
I slam the teacup onto the table (amiably, that is). "Yes. Starswirl is gone, along with our two largest sources of magical talent. Managing the sun—we haven't bothered with the moon in weeks—is draining our spellcasters completely and permanently, and we barely have the magical potential for another two sunrises, let alone a season change."
Nopony says a word, so I decide the Commander might as well hear it all. "We don't have the arcane resources to bring in Spring, so the land remains frozen and unfarmed. Between the cold and the wildlife, it's too dangerous for anypony to venture out after firewood, and since the caves are near the mines and easier to heat, our best option is to live underground like animals. If Starswirl doesn't return soon, then it's likely that we'll starve down here in total darkness, if we don't freeze to death first. Unless," I raise an eyebrow at the Commander. "You've found a way to grow food up in your clouds?"
He apparently hasn't, and the entire hall is quiet once more. That is, until Clover's substitute pipes up again.
"You still have all of your magic, Princess. You could Ascend."
Oh no. My stomach twists, and I'm grateful that I haven't consumed anything substantial.
The Commander frowns. "What now?"
"She could Ascend—climb Starswirl's steps up the mountain. The wizard performed all his major spellwork at the peak. He'd say it was the proper place for important magic, something to do with some sort of convergence." Candlewick shrugs. "King Silverhorn never allowed Princess Platinum to take solar duties, so she might be able to clear the weather if she casts the spell at Starswirl's Peak."
The Commander is entirely too enthusiastic about the situation. He orders his soldiers to begin gathering firewood, wraps up some provisions, and announces his intention to accompany me up the mountain.
It's not an especially lengthy journey.
I'm not sure if that's a disappointment or a relief.
"I'm surprised, Princess. I never pegged King Silverhorn as the type to keep his little filly in swaddling clothes all her life," Commander Hurricane says as we approach the narrow stairs hewn into the mountain. "Or do 'sacred solar duties' not apply to esteemed royalty such as yourself?"
Definitely a relief.
"I'll have you know," I harrumph, placing a hoof on the first well-worn step. "I have my father's full confidence. He simply considers solar duties to be an unnecessary burden upon the crown, when so many others can contribute." I don't mention that my meager amount of arcane ability marks me as the only member of the royal family to have never performed that particular set of duties, but the Commander thankfully drops the topic.
We adopt a steady pace, our horseshoes clanking softly against the stone. Thankfully, the wind has kept most of the snow off of the stairs, and our footing is firm, if unnervingly small. We follow the steps around the mountain, until Canterlot Keep is out of sight, and there's nothing but thousands of feet of empty space between us and the ground.
"Whose idea was it, anyway?" the Commander's voice asks from behind me.
"Pardon?"
"The Keep. Who looked at this mountain and said 'I think building a castle right there would be a terrific idea'?"
"Chancellor Puddinghead," I reply, neatly stepping over a small crack. "I wouldn't have agreed to it, had the caverns not proved to be so abundant in resources."
The Commander grunts. "I wouldn't have agreed to it, regardless."
"You didn't agree to it," I point out. The wind bites into me, and I quickly amend, "Of course, it was noble of you to offer to patrol the sky. Useless as your outpost is now, what with the weather, your service is appreciated." I didn't intend for the pleasantry to become a compliment, but the Commander makes a surprised little hum.
"Thank... you," he says, hesitantly. The wind seems to subside a bit.
The next few hours are almost... pleasant. Certainly bearable. Despite the snow flurries obscuring most of the view, the air is fresh, my cloak is cozy, and I am positively thrilled to be doing something. The staircase spirals back above Canterlot Keep, treating us to a bird's-eye view of the single hall and lone, arching tower. For a moment, I imagine it fully completed: spiraling towers, sweeping parapets, and a magnificent wall surrounding a bustling, lively city. Oh, what a sight it would be! A city of dreams—
"Princess?" The Commander's voice snaps me out of my reverie. I see, too late, that my hoof is descending to the right of the next step. It scrapes the side of the stone and keeps going. I lurch forward, and for a sickening moment the ground swings up to take the sky's place, swinging wildly as—I blink. As nothing.
My hooves are lowered onto solid stone and I regain my footing, looking up to see Commander Hurricane adjusting his plumed helmet. He opens his mouth, a poorly-disguised sneer adorning his features, but then closes it again, the smirk sliding off his face.
"Thank you," I whisper. Whether the gratitude is for saving my life or refraining from mockery, I'm not certain.
"It's a long way down, Princess," is the soft reply.
The time passes without incident until the sky begins to darken. I pause, frowning at the horizon. I've been told lowering the sun is a fairly simple process. The six unicorns managing it are to do nothing more than give the star a gentle nudge, and then keep it on track as it slides from the heavens. Raising the moon at the same time speeds the process along; the two solar entities dance away from each other in a complimentary, harmonious cycle. Even without its partner, the sun should set fairly quickly.
But the sky has been growing steadily darker for an hour, now. I feel the familiar twist of panic in my gut; if we're struggling this much to lower the sun, will we be able to raise it tomorrow? The next day? We're out of time. Furrowing my brows, I close my eyes and concentrate, reaching up with my magic to grasp at the sky, searching for some connection—a tug, a griphold, anything—to help me lend my magic to the others.
The energy slides uselessly through the air. Nothing. With a sigh, I spark my magic, lighting the tip of my horn. Maintaining the silvery glow will be a steady drain on my arcane reserves, but it's better than relying on the Commander to watch my every step.
bleaaaat
I freeze.
"Was that a goat?" The Commander asks, disbelieving. "I didn't think anything lived up here."
No. Surely not. Starswirl was jesting, poking fun at Clover's gullibility.
"I've—" I gulp. "—heard that the sole occupant of the mountain is a demonic beast obsessed with devouring the sanity of any who cross its path." I laugh nervously. "But I, ah, presumed it to be idle legend, needlessly encouraged by the local eccentric."
"Nothing but an evening story told to pass the time?"
"Exactly." We continue up a few more steps.
Bleeeeaaat.
Commander Hurricane leaps into the air, procuring a spear from seemingly nowhere. "SHOW THYSELF," he thunders.
Beyond the glow of my horn, a misshapen shadow approaches, looming menacingly in the gloom. The Commander points his spear at it.
"BLEAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" it screeches.
"SAVE YOURSELF!" I shriek, bolting up the steps, the Commander hot on my hooves. The wind's died down, and I can hear the thundering of the—the thing's hoofsteps as it gains on us. Its scream pierces the air, the shrill noise at first coming from behind us, and then to the... side? I round what passes for a corner on these stairs, and nearly barrel straight into it.
"BLEAAHH-HA-HA-HAAAA! You should have seen your faces!" the thing laughs, clutching its stomach. My horn-light reveals it to be a goat, clad in an embroidered nightcap and set of slippers.
"You—that—bwah?" I sputter. Commander Hurricane hovers in the air, one eye visibly twitching.
"Ha, I had you worried there for a second, didn't I?" The goat winks. "Don't worry, I just heard you traipsing around and figured I should try to be neighborly, but I couldn't help horsing around a bit first." He guffaws, nearly falling to the ground in his mirth.
I look at the Commander and see he's wearing an expression of utter horror, completely identical to my own.
An hour. I endure a solid hour of terrible puns from Almonzo the goat before we bed down for the night, carefully settling into a small niche.
It feels as though I've barely closed my eyes when Commander Hurricane nudges me awake. "Almonzo says we're almost there," he murmurs. Behind him, the goat pulls off his nightcap and turns it inside out, stuffing his slippers into it. When he slaps it back onto his head, it appears to be nothing more than a snazzy purple beret.
"Rise and shine, ponypals! Got a bit of hiking ahead of us. I know a shortcut that could have had us there already, but it's hard to get to if you're saddled with someone who doesn't know the way."
I lock eyes with the Commander, trying to convey as much desperation as possible in the gaze. "I'm going to die," I whisper. "He's going to make another joke, and I'm going to lose my sanity and throw myself off of this mountain."
The Commander chuckles as we continue our ascent. "It's not that bad, Princess. Could be worse—he could be Puddinghead."
My outlook on life brightens substantially.
The sky, however, does not. When we finally emerge onto the peak, we're greeted with an impenetrable wall of cloudstuff. The clammy air clings to my mane, the footing is treacherous, and the sky—
The sky remains pitch black, without a trace of morning light. My mouth goes dry.
"Princess..." There's genuine concern in the Commander's voice. "I thought you had enough magic for two more mornings."
"Huh, it just dawned on me... the sun should have risen already." We ignore Almonzo.
I straighten my shoulders and toss my mane. "No matter. I'll clear the weather and then we can worry about the sunrise." Head held high, I trot towards the middle of the peak.
I immediately notice four circular spots where the stone's nearly polished—as though somepony's repeatedly scuffed their horseshoes over that particular location. I hesitantly place my hooves over the circles and look up.
Clouds. Gulping, I reach out with my magic and test the air, trying to remember Starswirl's methodology of spellcasting—Clover would mutter it to herself while brushing my mane.
Focus.
I direct my awareness to the air currents around me, cold and harsh. I sense the clouds, brimming with snow, and the chilled ground, far below. The world is cold and barren, winter a deep ache upon the land.
Charge.
I summon up the reserves of energy within my being. All of it—I call upon every last drop, my horn beginning to glow with the power. I can tell already it's not enough.
I look around frantically. Where's the convergence? Am I missing something? This place was supposed to make the spell easier!
"Well, looks like Hurricane's decided to spring into action." Almonzo points. I follow his gaze and there the Commander is, tearing through the clouds in a looping spiral. He circles the peak again and again, leaving clear air in his wake. The faintest glimmer of light wavers on the horizon, just barely illuminating the wide expanse of Equestria spread out before me. It's beautiful.
The sky around me, the stone beneath my hooves, the magic humming in my veins... with a sudden fwooom, the three elements converge, lighting my horn aflame with energy. Magical energy—more than I've ever seen before—shimmers in the air around me. I refocus.
Release.
The world explodes.
Waves of warm air and magic blast from my horn, obliterating the remainder of the clouds and chasing the cold from the land. I am suspended in the middle of a hurricane of power, eyes seeing everything and nothing, and then I'm lying on my back in the springtime air, staring into the morning sky.
Morning.
I stagger to my hooves and behold the sun, rising steadily from the East in a sweeping, serene arc of glorious light. Commander Hurricane lands beside me—helmet nowhere to be found and mane blown to Tartarus—and points down to the Keep below.
"Starswirl's returned."
I did not expect a parade upon my return. I did not expect a massive, multi-day celebration to be in full swing, and I certainly did not expect two alicorns to be seated at the center of the merrymaking.
A cup of tea appears on my table. I look up as the Commander slides into the empty chair.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asks, draining a mug of mead.
I stir the tea idly and sigh. "I'm certainly grateful that the crisis is averted—"
"Just disappointed that nopony's noticed you finally did something useful."
My cheeks flare, but I nod.
"Well—" the Commander sets his mug down with a satisfied sigh. "—everypony else may credit the new Princesses with bringing in Spring, but I saw you do it, and I think you were brilliant."
It's a compliment. A genuine compliment.
He gets up from the chair and stretches.
"Care to walk with me? It'd be a good idea to plan out where you want the defense towers before we start building them."
I smile. "I'd love to."
