“But I know,” Twilight said hurriedly, “you had to.”
“No,” Celestia said, “I didn’t.”
“And you – what?”
“I didn’t have to.”
Twilight stamped one hindleg nervously. “But, but she wouldn’t move the moon, and there was going to be endless night, and all the crops would die and the ponies would freeze and –”
“It wasn’t about the sun or the moon,” Celestia interrupted calmly. “That was just an excuse.”
Twilight gulped. “An... excuse?”
“I just said that.” Celestia said nothing more, and started listening at Twilight again.
The mare finally caved in to that inescapable gaze. “Well - well - well - WHY!?” She looked away and blushed again, embarrassed at her outburst.
"Why...” The princess stepped away from the desk, and began slowly pacing back and forth between the great hourglass near the window, now half-empty, and the potbellied stove near the room’s center that warmed it in the winter. “Why do you think Luna threatened to keep the moon in the sky, when that obviously wouldn’t have worked?”
“Well... she was angry.” Celestia kept pacing, so Twilight continued. “She was jealous of the attention you got.” Still no response. “She wanted to be loved.”
At those words, Celestia finally stopped. “Correct,” she said, and Twilight grinned like a puppy. “But completely misleading.” The grin vanished.
Celestia walked to the far side of the little library and down the longest row of shelves, which was against the back wall under the balcony, and stopped three times; and each time she stopped, she pulled a book from the shelves and sent it floating over to settle gently on the table. Then she returned to the table and stood by Twilight’s side.
“Everypony who thinks too much – and that includes you and me, Twilight – becomes one of the three types of ponies described in these three books, if they live long enough; and they use one of three words to describe their loves and their desires.”
She opened the cover of the first with her horn. It was old, and smelled of yellowing paper. “Thus Spake Zarahoovestra, by Neighzsche. This is the book of the master. These ponies know what they want, and they call it their will, and that is enough for them. They can be happy, but they can never be content; because an active will is a whip that will not let you rest.”
She opened the second book, and it seemed to Twilight that she handled it with more respect – wistful was the word that came to mind. This one was much older, and had no musty smell, being made of some thicker and more robust material – possibly papyrus. Even so, Twilight saw from the inscription that it was only a translation of a copy of a commentary on some manuscript that was much older still.
“Fundamental Verses on the Middle Way, by Maregarjuna. This is the book of the introspective scholar. These ponies know the things they want have no lasting importance, and it isn't enough for them. They call them attachments, and they scorn them; and they try not to care about them, so as not to be deceived or hurt. They can be content, but never truly happy, because they have laughed at their dreams.”
Twilight looked over Celestia's shoulder as she turned through first few pages. It contained some unfamiliar, foreign-sounding words; but more confusing was how it took ordinary words and combined them in strange, self-contradictory ways, like "the neigh of no neigh". Celestia saw Twilight's look of confusion, and gave her a wry smile. “I suppose for now you can just read Suzuki like everypony else.”
She flipped open the last book. It was equally as old, and the most-beautifully bound of the three; and inside, it had an illuminated picture of her, smiling up at a many-armed icon of her sun which was done in gold leaf. She looked beautiful, and loving, and unreachably perfect. “The Celestial Way, author unknown. Well, I know who he was. He was an irritating git who kept hanging about the court a millenium ago, always trying to find out what I thought about apple trees, or what kind of tea I was drinking, or whatever nonsense his inner voices had convinced him that day was of great symbolic import.” She leafed through the pages idly. “Many ponies have studied this book, hoping to learn the deep mysteries I keep hidden to myself because they're too holy for this profane world.” She snickered. “I never did read it myself. But the pictures are nice.” She was so absorbed in the book, which indeed had many masterful illuminations, that she didn't notice – or pretended not to notice – the deep blush spreading across Twilight's face.
“This is the book of the follower,” she said, “and they call the things they want, sin. These ponies also know the things they want are of no lasting importance; and it isn't enough for them. So they look for somepony else, somepony better; and they say they want whatever that pony wants."
"You make that sound like a bad thing!" Twilight said, a little defensively.
"Do I? I'm sorry. It's not a bad thing to follow your nature. You could call them the lucky ones. They can get what they really want, which is freedom from doubt; so they can be both content and happy. They can be very strong - as long as they never realize that they're as wise and as worthy as the pony they're following."
This last statement puzzled Twilight, since the book in question was about Celestia, not about some ordinary mortal pony. Of course it would be foalish to follow some mortal pony that way. She supposed the princess was simply using the book to make some kind of more-general point, which just happened not to apply to that particular book. Or something like that.
Celestia walked over to the great window in front of them, and looked out to where Luna's tower rose at the corner of the keep's southern and eastern walls, with its flat, open top from which the Moon Princess managed the night sky in all kinds of weather. "But the following mustn't be too easy, or they'll become irresolute and anxious, and look for something else to follow." She put one hoof out and touched the glass as she said this, as if she wished to reach out to her sister; and stood that way for some time.
It was nearly sunset, and Twilight knew this meant they had only a short time left together. But the princess was not the type to dodge questions, at least not important ones. So Twilight waited, until Celestia finally stirred from her reverie.
“My dear sister, bless her heart – and you must never repeat this, Twilight, although she knows it herself – is a follower. Nightmare Moon was somepony she invented so she wouldn't need to be responsible for herself. It would do no good just to defeat Nightmare Moon - Luna would replace her with something else. And there are many worse things seeking followers. That was when I knew I had to step in and provide some... firm guidance."
"Guidance?" Twilight blurted. "I... I don't understand, princess."
“I had to give her a task. And it had to be a very difficult one, because she's terribly strong.”
"You gave her a task on the Moon?"
“The task was to stay on the Moon,” Celestia said. “To obey.”
Twilight’s flank shivered, though the room was not cold, and she pawed unconsciously at the marble tile. “You’re... not kidding, are you? She had no choice!”
Celestia turned back to Twilight, her eyes serious. “Luna was physically capable of leaving at any time.”
“Physically?”
“You could say it was a contest of wills.”
“And... you won?”
Celestia sighed. “No. I wanted her to find it in herself to disobey – to quit her part in this story we were telling each other, and say she was taking her toys and going home. I waited a long time. But I gave in, in the end, and made up an ending for our story so we could get on with our lives.”
“But, but – Nightmare Moon! And the Elements of Harmony!”
The princess smiled tolerantly. “I suppose it's time I told you something about the deep magic. It's all psychological, at the very bottom. Have you ever heard of a placebo?”
Twilight gaped at Celestia in stunned silence.
“It seems you have. Anyway, it all worked out in the end. Because, when we had all played our parts and finished our story, and Luna had proven that she could do anything – anything – that I told her to – it was, well, healing. It cured all the awkwardness and ambiguity that had beset our relationship for so long. And it enabled me to help her, as I had never been able to before. My sister... She doesn't trust herself. She was like this even before Nightmare Moon. She needs somepony to give her permission.”
“Permission?”
“Yes. That's what I do for her now. I give her permission when she can't give it to herself. And do you know what else?” Celestia brought her head close to Twilight, as if about to impart a secret. The princess did not look like a god-empress so much as a schoolfilly who was about to admit to an embarrassing and slightly naughty crush.
In daydreams, Twilight had sometimes imagined Celestia confessing some very personal secret to her in just this way. But seeing the princess momentarily drop her regal mask - it had been a mask, Twilight now saw - seemed... obscene. She shied back from this sudden intimacy as much as she dared, but was unable to look away.
“I enjoy it.”
Twilight forced a grin that she hoped was the appropriate response. It was not. She saw a flicker of disappointment sweep across Celestia's face before the princess swished her tail and the mask went back up; and Twilight knew she had been supposed to drop whatever mask she wore in return. But Twilight couldn't, couldn't, she didn't have a face like that. If she had a mask there was nothing behind it.
Permission, Twilight thought stupidly.
The princess took a step back, putting a more respectable student-teacher distance between them, before continuing. “At first, I felt that Luna was forcing me to play a role. But it was more than a role. It was who I am, just as it was who she was. It was incredibly freeing.” The princess gave her a smile - a light-hearted, unworried smile that Twilight did not think she had ever seen her make before. “Do you understand what I’m talking about?”
“I have no idea,” Twilight said. She realized she had been backing away slowly, and forced herself to stand still.
“For example. You know how I'm always having tea with this dignitary or that, or just being seen having tea on the verandah. It projects a certain image. Well. I never really liked tea.”
Twilight tried to laugh. “Hah-hah. Funny thing, on my way here today I passed the tea-shop on High Street, just in front of the castle, and it wasn't there. I mean, the place where it used to be was there, but it was locked, and I could see through the window that everything was gone, there were just bare shelves, and nopony knew what had happened - ” She realized she was babbling, and stopped.
Celestia smiled blissfully, as though this were welcome news, although she did not seem surprised by it. “Never liked it at all,” she repeated. Then she looked at Twilight again with that same frighteningly candid expression. “There are a lot of things around here that I don't like,” she said. “I think I've put up with them long enough.”
It was odd, Twilight thought, that something spoken so softly could echo so loudly in her mind. She looked down at the three books before her on the table that had somehow led to this alarming conversation. Something about them, and about what Celestia had just said, nagged at her. “Which kind of pony are you, Princess?” she asked.
“It's strange,” Celestia said. “I thought I knew. But it turns out that a pony can change. Even after thousands of years, a pony can change. Which kind of pony do you want to be, Twilight?”
“Whatever kind you are, of course!”
Celestia smiled and shook her head ruefully. “Weren't you listening, my faithful student? You can never be like me, as long as you want to be like me. I'm not the following type.”
This pronouncement was the last straw for Twilight. She had always known that she couldn't be like the princess, not really. But to be told it was a logical impossibility... Her eyes began to tear up, and she looked away.
“Twilight,” Celestia said, in a kind and loving voice that washed away her fears. “My dear, dear little pony. Come here.”
Twilight obediently moved to Celestia's side, and began to cry freely when the princess laid her head softly up against hers. Twilight spoke almost in a whinny. “It's just, I'm so confused. I love you the way you are, Princess. I don't understand what's happening.”
“Shh. Hush. Twilight. Listen to me. Wherever I go, whatever I become, I will always love you. I don’t mean to speak in riddles. I promise, when you’re ready, I'll teach you everything you need to understand. In fact, I'm looking forward to it very much.” She glanced at the hourglass, which was now empty. “I should have known it was too soon. We can focus on friendship for a long time yet before moving on to more... complicated things. Have no fear, Twilight. Trust me for now.”
Twilight looked down, suddenly very tired. “I always trust you, Princess.”
“Thank you.”
A thought occurred to her. “But... what about Luna? Is she okay? She seemed fine when I saw her yesterday.”
Celestia's ears perked, and she stood up straight. “You saw Luna yesterday?”
“Yes, just outside the conservatory.”
“Did she say anything to you?”
Twilight twitched her ears, recollecting. “We just chatted. About the relative merits of donuts versus cupcakes. It was... normal.”
“Really,” Celestia said, and she was suddenly all business again. “I was going to go over some other things with you, but I think we’ve done enough for today. Oh, and Twilight – please keep these books I’m loaning you out of the public shelves. I’m not impressed by the way Ponyville’s citizens treat books. Some that you’ve returned look like they’ve been dropped on the floor. But at least it must mean they’re reading... And now, if you'll excuse me, I have some business with Luna to attend to before sunset.”
Twilight stood rooted to the floor, and only snapped out of it after the library doors closed behind the departing princess.
She thought back on all the times that she had tried to explain things, important things, to her friends in Ponyville, and gotten nothing but blank stares, because the gap created between them by a mere dozen years of study was too large. And here was Celestia, going through some kind of epiphany that had been centuries in the making and drew on all the wisdom of the ancients, trying to explain it to Twilight. She suddenly felt foalish for having imagined she could talk with Celestia on that level. She was just a moth, circling a brilliant flame that she could not understand but could not turn away from. But even if it burnt her to ashes in the end, it would be worth it.
She didn’t know if she really wanted to understand what Celestia was talking about. But if she could – if she studied very hard, for the rest of her life – then maybe, for a few years before Twilight died, the princess would have someone she could talk to. That was something Twilight could aspire to.
“Twilight,” Princess Celestia said. “What did I just say?”
Twilight Sparkle blinked, and glanced at the books scattered about the reading desk between her and the princess, then at the odd collection of maps, instruments, and strange devices in the lobby of the royal library beyond, desperately seeking some cue.
“If you don’t know,” the princess said patiently, “then the correct answer is, ‘I don’t know.’”
“Well... I...” Twilight hung her head. “Don’t know,” she finished.
The princess smiled encouragingly. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Now let’s try a harder one: What’s on your mind? It obviously isn't the theory of karmic conservation.”
That, Twilight remembered now, was what the princess had been talking about. She blushed, and took an involuntary step back from the overly-perceptive princess. Twilight felt sure that if she'd been having some typical schoolfilly daydream, Celestia would merely have brought her attention back to the present without pressing for details. The princess had a knack for picking up on the things Twilight wanted to keep hidden. Or perhaps she picked up on everything, and didn't bother mentioning the rest.
The possibility of lying never even occurred to the straightforward unicorn. Dodging the question did, though it had never worked yet. She lowered her head humbly and said, “It's really none of my business.”
“Oh,” Celestia said, “this should be good.” She cocked her head at Twilight and propped it up on one hoof, waiting.
When Celestia really listened to a pony, she put her whole body into it - leaning forward, tilting her ears towards them, stilling every other muscle in her body, and focusing on the speaker with an intense gaze that made them uncomfortably aware that the goddess who moved the sun was hanging on their every word. That usually shut them up pretty quickly. If, on the other hand, they were trying not to speak, there was little hope for them; it was impossible to out-wait Celestia, and would be a kind of sacrilege to look away first. There were few ponies who could stand the strain of such listening, and Twilight Sparkle was not one of them.
“I was thinking about Luna,” she confessed. She looked to Celestia for some reaction, but the princess merely nodded for her to continue.
Eventually, Twilight did. “All those years on the moon... Centuries. There’s no sound there. No color. No smell. Nothing but dust and rocks. It would drive a pony insane.”
“Go on.”
“Well... it’s just...” Twilight stopped, and this time seemed to have run out of words for good.
“How could I?”
Twilight looked away and nodded.
Celestia smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”
