Delegation Games

by Fahrenheit

Rating: everyone
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Princess Luna, Comedy, Random, Princess Celestia
Length: 5310

Luna imagines the entire Princess Spike fiasco might have been less traumatic if Celestia had decided to assist the poor dragon instead of engaging in irresponsible gambling.

The reign of Princess Spike was a brief (if eventful) period of time. Throughout it, the royal pony sisters were nowhere to be found.

This was mostly Celestia's fault.

A delayed reaction to Princess Spike.
Because I haven't written anything stupid in a while.

Hugs to Bookish Delight for various pre-reading activities :heart:

Spanish Translation from Spaniard Kiwi!

Published 2015-08-06 05:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2015-08-06 05:40:01 UTC

Thou Hast Thyself a Deal

Celestia's voice held barely-concealed amusement as it drifted across the room to meet Luna's ears.

"Surprised by the number of delegates? Equestria's grown a substantial amount since you've been gone, sister."

Luna hummed in response, not taking her gaze from the sky beyond the window pane. The Morning Tower offered a view like no other, and while it was expected that the chambers of the Sun Princess would be as magnificent as the alicorn herself, little credit was given to the architect for managing to precisely capture the most breathtaking stretch of the Equestrian landscape. Above the land, the sun was as blindingly radiant as always—a glowing jewel set in a field of cornflower-blue silk.

"I must say," Celestia continued. "Twilight is adjusting to her duties remarkably well. She's proving to be quite invaluable."

Yes, yes, sing the praises of your greatest success story. I suppose it's about time you learned to recognize the efforts of others. Luna pursed her lips. Mornings really did make her cantankerous.

Celestia didn't appear to notice her sister's ire. "Between her micromanagement and the small army of groundskeepers Fancy Pants has employed, I do believe everything's been accounted for. I'm very pleased with both of them." There was a dull clank, presumably as Celestia levitated her regalia onto her dresser. "I have no doubt this summit will proceed flawlessly."

A moment of silence. Luna lowered her gaze to the throng of delegates mingling in the courtyard—freshly energized from the welcome speech, no doubt—and then Celestia's words sunk in.

Luna spun around with all the sudden intensity of a hurricane. "You cannot be serious. Were you paying the slightest amount of attention at the last summit we—" She stopped abruptly at the sight of her older sister raising an eyebrow, a challenging smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. "Oh for the firmament's sake," Luna sighed. "This again?"

"Luna, it's been ages. I know you've been dying to play."

"No, Tia, I haven't." Luna said crossly. She turned back to the window.

"Luna. Luuuuu-naaa," the Princess of the Eternal Sun called in a sing-song voice, prancing across the room like a schoolfilly. "Luna, it'll be fun. Let's play."

Luna remained silent and instead chose to glare at the sun, hoping it would relay the message to its idiotic equine counterpart that now was not the time for games.

"Luna, let's play," aforementioned idiotic counterpart whispered, right in Luna's unsuspecting ear.

Luna shrieked, jumping across half the chamber. The determined grin on Celestia's face broadened as she danced over to her sister. Luna stamped a hoof, the silver horseshoe clinking angrily against the marble floor. "Celestia, enough of this—this foolishness! The manedressers will be here within the hour; we are supposed to be preparing ourselves for tonight's ceremon—"

Luna wasn't sure which was more insulting: the fact that she didn't notice the pillow hurling toward her face, or that Celestia threw it in the first place.

It was a good hit, regardless; the force of the throw caused the pillow to explode upon impact, sending a blizzard of downy fluff into every corner of the room. Luna blinked furiously, momentarily blinded by the sea of white.

Celestia's pealing laugh rang through the air. "Oh, Luna. We have hours until we'll be needed. Where's your sense of fun?"

I lost it when you took the Element of Laughter and used it to banish me.

The retort leapt, unbidden, to the tip of Luna's tongue. For the briefest of moments, an all-too-familiar tide of resentment swept through her: hot, aggressive and utterly uncalled for. When it ebbed away, a dull shame took its place. That's not fair; we've long since buried that argument. All is forgiven. What is wrong with me today? Luna grit her teeth and glared at the floor. She was supposed to be over this.

"Perhaps, Celestia," Luna told the floor, "we could review the schedule of events, or practice our speeches for tomorrow's panel. We might even see if Twilight Sparkle would like further assistance with the logistics of the summit." There. That was civil, reasonable, and even included a subtle acknowledgment of Twilight's contribution. Luna raised her eyes, slightly proud of her diplomatic maneuvering.

She immediately realized that she was foolish to lower her gaze in the first place—each and every feather from the pillow hung suspended in midair, encased in Celestia's golden aura. Luna gulped as a single feather floated forward to brush lightly against the tip of her nostril. Between the pillow stuffing and the arcane energy scintillating throughout the room, Celestia remained hidden from view. Her voice drifted over from somewhere to the left.

"Oh, no, we don't need to worry about disturbing Twilight—she's already had our duties transcribed and delivered to me."

Luna withheld a sneeze as the feather gently traced her muzzle. "Shou—shouldn't we be doing that, then? It would be a—a better use of our time than that silly game."

Hundreds of feathers whipped around to point straight at her.

"Silly game? Oh, Luna," Celestia chided lightly, stepping into view. "Wrong answer."

Luna did her best to keep the fear from trickling into her voice; Celestia could likely smell it. "Please don't. We have duties."

The feather tickling her nose stopped abruptly. The sudden absence of the irritation was somehow more aggravating than the feather itself. Luna sneezed.

"Bless you," her sister said, and then the feathers swarmed.

Time lost all meaning. Luna never possessed a magical tie to the sun to measure her days by in the first place, but the shadows could usually be trusted for an estimation of the number of hours until nightfall. In a worst-case scenario—her recent sojourn in Tartarus flashed through her mind—she could rely on the beating of her own heart to mark the passing seconds.

Now, she couldn't count her heartbeats if she tried. Feathers assaulted her from all directions; she had seized the first dozen that reached her with a dusky-blue aura, telekinetically whirling them about to counter the others—even managing to knock a few from the air—but Celestia once wielded the Element of Magic, and Luna was hopelessly underpowered in the face of her older sister's feather-dueling prowess.

The golden-lit plumage that sneaked past her defenses danced across her coat, behind her ears, between her shoulders—dozens and dozens of them tickling every sensitive spot with near-mechanical precision. Luna flapped her wings in an attempt to blow some of the demonic fiends back, but in doing so she revealed the shallow cavities at the base of the appendages, which turned out to be incredibly sensitive oh sister have mercy.

"Tia... Tia, please... No more," Luna gasped, between nearly-painful gales of laughter. The onslaught didn't lessen in intensity. Luna's loyal feather defenders halfheartedly batted at another wave of golden assaulters, to no avail. Slumping to the floor, Luna closed her eyes. Her defeat was a familiar tragedy, and not one that required her as a witness—though it was strange that she should be laughing as she fell once more at her sister's hooves.

Just as tears began to gather in the corner of her eyes, however, the feathers inexplicably froze. Sweet, sweet relief flooded her senses, leaving her gasping for air. It wasn't until her laughs subsided into an occasional weak giggle that Luna realized the cause of the ceasefire.
Celestia's bedroom door had been flung wide open, and in the opening stood a masterfully-composed Princess Mi Amore Cadenza. Luna staggered to her hooves.

Celestia beat her to the greeting, managing to look appropriately dignified even without a scrap of plating on. "Cadance! We're just about to start a game—"

"We are not."

Celestia ignored the interjection. "Would you like to join us?"

Cadance shook her head. "As, ah... pleasant as that sounds, Twilight didn't give my schedule as much breathing room as yours." She chuckled. "I'm about to go check on the kitchens to make sure there won't be any issues with the luncheon."

Taking advantage of the pink-coated distraction, Luna edged out of the epicenter of the feather barrage and toward the dresser.

"Lunch certainly will be quite the experience," Celestia mused. "Rather clever of Twilight to propose the multicultural buffet, don't you think?"

"Mmm-hmm," Cadance agreed, before frowning. "Speaking of Twilight, I asked Spike to make sure nopony disturbs her while she naps. She should be able to get a few hours of sleep in."

Celestia's tone softened. "Thank you, Cadance. I greatly appreciate it."

Inclining her head respectfully, Cadance moved to leave. Luna carefully levitated her sister's tiara off of the dresser and into her hooves, then froze as Celestia began to turn around.

"Oh, Cadance?"

The Princess of Love poked her head back into the room. "Yes, Aunty?"

"Luna and I are extremely excited to hear your dedication address this evening." Celestia said in a voice as warm as it was generous.

Cadance's smile would have put the sun to shame. "Thank you, Aunt Celestia. And you as well, Aunt Luna," she added, with an inquiring glance at the tiara-snatching Moon Princess. Luna made a violent shushing gesture.

Celestia inclined her head in acknowledgement, before asking, "Are you certain you wouldn't like to play?"

A nervous laugh broke Cadance's composure. "Oh, well—I hate to decline, but, the kitchen—lunch—I'll see you this evening!" With a pop, she vanished.

Celestia shrugged as she magicked the doors shut. She turned around, opening her mouth to make a remark of some sort, but her voice died in her throat as Luna took an angry step forward, brandishing a golden tiara.

"You are out of line, Celestia." she hissed, jabbing the amethyst-studded headpiece for emphasis. "There are representatives from every city-state in Equestria here in your castle, and all you want to do is play that stupid game. It was all well and good to indulge in such foolishness before I was capable of resuming my duties, but now? Now is hardly the time for a Princess to be goofing off!" She hurled the tiara at Celestia's head, shouting, "Would it kill you to take your title seriously?"

To her credit, Celestia did not shy away from the diadem hurling toward her face. She did not flinch as it hit her squarely in the muzzle, glancing off to clatter upon the floor, nor did she take her eyes from her younger sister's enraged glare. For a moment, the only sound in the Morning Tower was that of Luna's heavy breathing.

In a voice as soft as the first tentative light of dawn, Celestia said, "The last time I took my duties too seriously, I lost my best friend."

Luna clenched her eyes shut, willing the tears to stay back. This was her fault. Of course it was her fault. It wasn't enough that she betrayed her sister to begin with; she had to go and remind Celestia of the incident, too—dragging all of Tia's baseless self-reproach to the forefront of her blameless mind in the process.

Perhaps Luna should vary her nightmares. The pain and distress she had inflicted upon the Six was nothing—nothing—when compared to the tartarus she had put Celestia through.

The very thought made her quail. She could spend a thousand thousand years attempting to atone for her sins against Celestia alone, to say nothing of her crimes against her country, or against Twilight and the others. A mare could only handle so much penance.

No—if she attempted to face her sister's tear-laden eyes every night, Luna would quickly become unfit for the throne. Being blasted with the Elements was easier.

"Luna?" A rush of feathers, a soft breeze, and Luna was enveloped in a fluffy embrace. "Oh sister, you know I have forgiven—"

"Don't," Luna said. Her voice sounded foreign, loaded as it was with poorly-disguised regret and unshed tears, but she couldn't bear to hear Celestia's apologetic sentiments—not again. Not when she so obviously didn't deserve them.

She sniffed nobly, withdrawing from the embrace. "I don't wish to speak of it. Summon the board. We'll play your ridiculous game."

Celestia creased her brow. "I don't mean to coerce you, Luna. Are you—"

"Confound it, Tia, of course I'm certain." Luna did her best to sound irritated. "Now would you be so kind as to summon the playing board?"

Celestia obliged, pulling an oblong, gem-studded slab of crystal from a null-space and laying it upon the floor as Luna levitated a pair of cushions over from the bed. Settling into the comforting plushness, Luna watched as her sister pressed the tip of her ivory horn to the very center of the board. Sparks of light burst from the contact, skittering across the crystal as it came to life with a low hum.

On the left end of the board, a translucent model of Canterlot Castle flickered into existence, surrounded by holographic shrubbery and miniature, moving ponies. Luna spotted a tiny Cadance, walking purposefully in the opposite direction of the kitchens. The little liar.

"So," Celestia began, her voice accompanied by a soft clinking as she set down a small velvet pouch. "Would you mind terribly if I went first?"

Luna grumbled concededly, summoning her own coinpurse with a sharp burst of magic. The challenging smile reappeared upon Celestia's face as she dumped a small pile of glowing diamonds in the center of the board. The glittering gems fell right through the transparent city, clattering to a rest in the middle of a miniature fountain.

"The crown jewels?" Luna asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

"The very same. Well, the crown jewels in addition to everything in my half of the treasury."

Celestia's smile was entirely too smug for comfort, Luna thought. She narrowed her eyes.

"And what, pray tell, are you betting it on?"

The untrustworthy smile grew broader. "I wager that Twilight will get the nap she deserves..."

Well, that wasn't entirely implausible. "And?" Luna prompted.

"And at the end of the day, we will all gather around an intact Statue of Friendship to hear Cadance's dedication. All according to schedule."

Luna stared at her. This was a trick. It had to be a trick; she herself had caught a glimpse of Twilight's checklist—there were simply too many things that required supervision. This summit was a disaster in the making.

She turned to the board, and with a magical prod, the winding streets of Canterlot shimmered into view along the rest of the stone. A brief survey of the map identified three traffic jams waiting to happen, four maintenance projects lying completely abandoned, a cloaked jeweler slinking out of the palace grounds, and a severe shortage of wagon parking. To make matters worse, it appeared as though the Canterlot Polo Club was hosting its monthly X-Treme Inter-City Polo Challenge—at least, Luna was fairly positive that normal polo guidelines didn't allow for the use of civilians and national monuments as targets for bonus points.

Granted, the rules might have changed. But she highly doubted they underwent revisions that dramatic.

A cough from Celestia drew Luna's attention back to the challenge at hoof. After running through the odds one last time, Luna tossed her entire coinpurse into the betting fountain. It made a satisfying smack against the crown jewels.

"You won’t win this one," she told Celestia cooly. "Having witnessed the delicate balancing act that goes into organizing an event this massive, I take you up on your wager, and raise you my half of Equestria. Excluding Las Pegasus," she added hastily, as the glint in Celestia's eyes went from cheerful to manic.

"Fine," Celestia sniffed. "I'll include patronage of the eastern seaboard from Manehattan to Appleoosa—but not Canterlot. Deal?"

Luna mulled it over. Canterlot's society was arguably the most influential of any settlement in the land, and being its patron princess would certainly give her an advantage in the unofficial Princess Popularity Poll (which Twilight had yet to be introduced to—not that Luna was in any hurry to have to compete with the Princess of Friendship). Then again, perhaps she wouldn't need Canterlot's patronage.

'We love ALL the Princesses!'

A smile crept across Luna's face. She wouldn't need Canterlot—especially with the rest of Equestria honoring her Princesshood with statues and offerings... and... well...

She wasn't quite sure what all was involved with being the patron princess of a city—she hadn't actually visited any of her shrines, since the deeds to the cities tended to change hooves (or tiaras) multiple times a month. Making a mental note to fly to Las Pegasus later that week, Luna nodded.

"Deal."

In a corner of the board, a timer began to count down the hours until the welcome reception.

Later on, Luna would never admit to the glee of watching an official Equestrian Summit fall to pieces.

It was elegant, almost—the way that everything fell into place as it crumbled into a logistical nightmare. Throughout the fiasco, Celestia merely twiddled her hooves, her serene expression unchanged by the chaos playing out on the crystal slab.

When the water main burst, spewing gallons and gallons of fresh spring water into the main ballroom, Celestia had merely shrugged dismissively.

"I purchased a flat-rate flood insurance plan during a drought two hundred years ago. This won't be a delay."

Luna held her tongue. She also tossed a few enchanted amulets into the betting pool.

When Spike sneezed, and the Citizens of Equestria statue collapsed into a glittering pile of gemstones, Celestia just smiled.

"There's still a few until the reception," she observed.

"Celestia, the statue is in pieces. I have clearly won."

Celestia ignored her, instead rising to her hooves and moving to the wardrobe. "I don't believe the manedressers are coming."

"Most likely not," Luna agreed. A hairbrush floated into her field of vision, encased in a familiar golden glow. She waved it aside. "I'll brush my mane this evening, Tia. Quit fussing."

"You know how easily your mane tangles," Celestia chided, running the brush through her own glimmering tresses. "You'll want to look your best for the dedication ceremony."

Luna scoffed, then squinted at the holograph. "It appears as though they've decided to form a mob," she observed happily.

"You had Cadance working for you, didn't you?" Luna hissed, chasing after Celestia as they trotted down the halls.

Her sister merely laughed. "Oh, Luna, there’s no need to be sore. You still have Las Pegasus."

Ahead, the guardstallions opened the ballroom doors, revealing a throng of ponies grouped around the Citizens of Equestria Statue.

“Las Pegasus isn’t going to help with the Princess Popularity Poll,” Luna grumbled. “I’m tired of losing to you.”

“Princess Popularity Poll?” Cadance’s voice asked quizzically. She trotted up beside Luna. “I thought that was just Aunty’s way of satisfying the basic alicorn instinct to subjugate, since conquering kingdoms is frowned upon nowadays.”

“Don’t you have a dedication speech to deliver?” Celestia asked icily. With a respectful nod, Cadance moved to watch as Fancy Pants levitated the final piece of the statue into place. “Don’t pay her any mind, sister. She’s just upset that the Empire only qualifies as a single voting district. And no—” she added, at Luna’s accusatory stare. “She is not working on my behalf.”

"So how, pray tell, did you manage to triumph over odds so clearly skewed in my favor?" Luna demanded.

Celestia lowered her voice as they passed through the crowd, forcing her sister to trot barrel-to-barrel with her. "There is an extremely important lesson being displayed here, Luna—one that I have learned over years and years of experience. As a show of sportsmareship, I will share it with you." Leaning over to speak directly in Luna's ear, she whispered, "Never bet against Twilight Sparkle."

Before Luna could even begin to formulate a reaction to Celestia's revelation, her attention was pulled to the other side of the room by the unmistakeable sound of somepony—no, somedragon—rearing back for a sneeze. Eyes widening, heart stuttering to a halt, she could do naught but watch as Twilight's assistant released upon the statue the most violent expulsion of flaming phlegm in recorded history.

Fire engulfed the friendship statue. For a heart-wrenching moment, dozens of colors danced across the walls in a magnificent tribute to the tenacity and virtue of Equestria's citizenry. In that short time, the ballroom burned with the hopes and dreams of all the noble souls that ever claimed verdant plains and sweeping mountain ranges as their treasured homeland.

And then the Citizens of Equestria Statue just burned.

Forty-three hours later, a bedraggled Princess Celestia rose from her half-destroyed chair at an equally-battered royal table—which was holding up remarkably well, considering it had been used as a bunker, a battering ram, and a peace treaty in the past seventeen hours alone. The same couldn’t be said for the curtains and tapestries, whose remains smoldered quietly upon the water-stained walls.

"My most esteemed representatives," the Princess announced, glancing down at the ceasefire scribbled upon the table's surface to ensure she was using the agreed-upon honorific. Beneath the clause classifying subjects and little ponies as strictly off-limits for the next five years, a small section confirmed that representatives was indeed acceptable. Lifting her head, Celestia continued, "Throughout the duration of this... summit, you have demonstrated not only your love and passion for the magnificent land we share, but aspects of your cultures we would never have learned, had we not spent the majority of our time here fighting a small-scale civil war."

Inclining her head to the left, she called, "Champions of the East! Your tactics and ability to adapt to a changing battleground—" Some of the ponies still bore signs of frostbite. "—truly show you are a dynamic group that values differing viewpoints for the insight they possess." A wave of cheers followed her words.

Turning to the right, Celestia nodded to the citizens wearing yesterday's raspberry tart as warpaint. "Defenders of the West! The strength and determination shown by your fighters is a testament to the unwavering character interwoven in your spirits."

The stomping of hooves filled the ballroom with thudding and an occasional splash. Squinting, Celestia craned her neck, managing to make out a few hazy forms nestled in the branching arms of the chandelier.

"Citizens of Cloudsdale?"

The pegasi wafted aside enough smoke to reveal themselves. "We're here," a mare with half a singed mane shouted down.

"Ah, excellent. Well! This battle has proven your... your..." Celestia wracked her brain for something positive to say. 'Your capacity for high treason' wasn't quite appropriate, nor was 'Your inconstancy and all-around lack of honor or loyalty.'

The Princess of the Sun squared her shoulders. "Citizens of Cloudsdale!" she called again, more confidently. "Your refusal to choose only one side in this conflict speaks volumes of the immense love you bear for this land—" As well as your lack of testicular fortitude, she refrained from adding. "—and your inability to turn your backs on your fellow Equestrians is truly admirable."

The pegasi rapped their hooves against the metal chandelier in response, cheering. The smoke and dust clinging to the air shielded them from the angry glares of the two factions below, which was just as well—the ponies with frostbitten limbs wore particularly unfriendly expressions.

Under all four princesses' watchful gazes, delegates from the East and West factions emerged from their table-forts and carried their makeshift standards to the front of the ballroom. Cadance and Luna each took an artfully-stained napkin, folded it, and then magicked it off for display in the Museum of Equestrian History. The representatives collectively bowed their heads.

Hefting the Banner of the Sun and Moon back to its position of prominence, Celestia declared, "Let us remember this summit as one that took us apart only to rebuild us, stronger than ever!"

Stony faces stared back at her.

Confound it. A quick count of the assembled delegates informed her that the ponies who had walked out earlier had not, in fact, returned to the battle. Celestia threw up her hooves, exasperated. "Or reunited most of us, anyway!"

The crowd was immediately amicable again. Amidst the cheering, servers began to bring out the remnants of Canterlot Castle's emergency food store. Pleasant conversation once more filled the ballroom as everypony tucked in for a celebratory feast.

Granted, the lingering smoke did season each dish with an ashy taste, Celestia observed as she chewed her dehydrated salad. But then again, it was to be expected that the sweetest of victories would be tainted with bitter losses.

On Celestia's left, Princess Twilight Sparkle disregarded her appetizer in favor of staring into the depths her own soul, as she had been doing for the past two hours. Poking her gently with a salad fork evoked no response.

Perhaps asking her to channel the Magic of Friendship into an explosive anger-reducing spell was a bit unfair. Even if the ceasefire inked beneath her chipped salad bowl proved its effectiveness, there was something to be said for respecting boundaries—no matter how terrifying Cadance was when given a small army of magic-wielding, pastry-flinging delegates.

Before she could properly initiate a conversation with her former student, however, a nudge at her side drew Celestia's attention first to her sister, and then to the baby dragon standing before the table, wringing his claws. At her beckoning, he stepped forward, reaching down to drag a bag along behind him.

"Hello, Spike," Celestia greeted. "I don't recall seeing you in...at least a day and a half, has it been? How are you holding up?"

"I'm alright, I guess," Spike began nervously. "I just wanted to... uh... say that I'm really sorry and I think it's my fault that the—"

"If this is about the Amareican colonies, Spike, you needn't trouble yourself," she replied smoothly. "I’m certain they'll come around with enough diplomatic maneuvering. Perhaps we should send them a shipment of tea," she added as an afterthought.

Spike continued to fidget, then reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of gemstones.

"I felt really lousy about the whole situation, so I gathered the gems from the statue and kept them safe from all of the fighting," he said. "There are only a hundred and thirty-six in here—I know that gem expert said there were supposed to be a hundred and thirty-seven in the statue—but I swear I didn't eat any, honest!"

Before Celestia could assure him that the statue was of little importance, a stallion whose crumpled badge identified him as Fluffy Clouds threw himself down from the chandelier. Stumbling across the room, he nearly trampled Spike as he collapsed before the royal table, sobbing.

"I'm sorry, Princesses! I'm sorry! It was us! It's all our fault!" he wailed.

"Whatever do you mean, my little po—my most esteemed delegate?"

"Cloudsdale doesn't have any gem mines, Highnesses, and we were worried somepony might realize we didn’t bring a jewel and then everypony would accuse Cloudsdale of being cheaaaap,” he bawled. “So I, I bought a stone this morning, and then I added it to the statue before the welcoming speech and, and nopony noticed and it held up just fine with the morning dew glue—”

“Ekscuse me?” a braced-and-bespectacled mare called out, adjusting her cracked glasses. “Was the stone a reddish-orange color?”

“Yes,” Fluffly Clouds sniffed.

“That was a dragonheart ruby,” the mare stated. “It’s highly volatile and eksplosive.”

Cadance nearly spit out her rehydrated water, Twilight's eye twitched so violently that Celestia fancied she could feel the shockwaves from a few feet away, and her own face felt as though it had been suddenly cast in stone. It was Luna, though, who ultimately rose to her hooves to give Fluffy Clouds a proper royal fussing.

"MORNING DEW? A DRAGONHEART RUBY?" she thundered, eyes flashing. "You assembled the most valuable symbol of Equestrian Harmony ever constructed with MORNING DEW? And then you added a DRAGONHEART RUBY into the mix? What were you thinking?"

Fluffy Clouds pulled his mane over his eyes, sniffing, "We wanted to contribute, Majesty! We wanted to help! We did the best we could—"

"The best you could?" Luna interrupted. "The best you could?! Gave you no thought to the consequences of your actions? Under what sun was purchasing an explosive gemstone a good idea?”

“It was the most expensive one they had, Princess! It looked pretty with the dew glue—”

“Morning dew is all well and good for clouditecture, Mister Clouds," Luna snapped icily. "But the plans for the statue specifically called for Grade-A gemstone adhesive."

"I know, Highness, but we didn't know what to do and we didn't want to disappoint anypony—”

"Then perhaps you should have asked somepony, yes? Perhaps you should have been mature enough to realize you weren't capable of fulfilling the task assigned to you, and asked for assistance instead of taking things into your own hooves, should you not?"

Mister Clouds was now weeping openly into his mane, but Luna showed no signs of letting up. Spike was looking more deflated by the second, and the fire in the delegates' eyes was beginning to smolder again, reignited by the promise of scapegoating the same ponies that had repeatedly betrayed them throughout the rounds of food-fighting and pony-tossing. Sensing the probability of hostility, Celestia deemed intervention was in order.

So she laughed.

It started out as an unladylike snort, which she quickly amended into a gentle, tinkling stream of giggled amusement. Luna rounded on her, but the expression on her younger sister's face—combined with the fact that her starry mane had tangled into a black hole and was now devouring itself—only made Celestia laugh harder. Luna's hostility quickly melted into utter bafflement.

Laughter rang through the air for a solid two minutes. The rest of the delegates, unsure of the cause but eager to follow along, joined in—guffawing and chortling and eventually turning it into a competition between East and West Equestria.

Even Twilight attempted a dry chuckle, before gagging on the smoke in the air. Celestia whacked her on the back affectionately, before dashing the tears from her eyes and rising to her hooves. The aggressive laughter filling the hall quickly gave way to vehement shushing, and then relative silence.

“Thank you, Luna,” she said, fighting down another giggle as she looked at a bewildered Fluffy Clouds. “All of us here have made mistakes throughout our lives," she assured him, smiling gently. "Whether intentionally or not, everypony causes some amount of grief. I suspect it is an inescapable part of life, and one that we must eventually come to terms with."

As murmurs of agreement crept through the air, Spike, Fluffy Clouds, and Luna all stared at Celestia with pain-filled eyes. Celestia nodded at each of them in turn—and if her gaze lingered on her sister's glorious teal irises a bit longer than the others, nopony paid it any mind.

“Learning from our mistakes is what’s important,” Twilight piped up. Celestia looked down to see her protege getting to her hooves, seemingly roused by the prospect of delivering a life lesson-based lecture or two. “I know I've caught myself dwelling on my failures before. But with the help of my friends, I've learned it's much better to focus on what those mistakes have taught me.” She pulled Spike into a hug, smiling.

“Exactly, Twilight,” Celestia agreed. She turned back to Fluffy Clouds, who still wore an expression of remorseful confusion.

"But... but how?" he whimpered. "Wouldn't you learn more if you never forgot how you messed up?"

Celestia walked around the table to kneel beside him. “Sometimes," she said, in a voice loud enough for everypony to hear but soft enough to be gentle. "Sometimes, the best thing we can do is look at our mistakes, shake our heads, and laugh.”

So they did.

And amidst the enthusiastic toasting, cheerful story-swapping, and general merriment that followed, nothing but genuine smiles were to be found.