Love, or Twilight Learns That Joy Wants Eternity

by Cynewulf

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Main 6, Romance, Princess Luna, Princess Celestia, Twilight Sparkle
Length: 41372

Twilight is adjusting to a lot of things. Dating an ageless mare is only one of those things.

Twilight learned she was ageless a few weeks ago. She also started dating Celestia a few weeks ago. Life moves swiftly, even for the long-lasting and the long-suffering. There are a lot of things that Twilight will have to adjust to. Dating Celestia may be the easiest of those things to accept.

Editing/Pre-reading done by the ineffably gracious and generous TheMaskedFerret and oftentimes by the lovely, beautiful, and brilliant ScarletWeather, whom I love with all my heart.

Published 2016-12-18 01:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-09-21 14:52:56 UTC

Breakfast

Twilight Sparkle’s first love had been not another pony, but a place. That place was Canterlot, perched proudly along the side of its regal mountain.

It had happened suddenly, and struck her in that all-at-once way that only deep and abiding ardor can, and it had happened ridiculously, in perhaps the least grand of Canterlot’s ways. Celestia had decided that the young but overeager young Twilight Sparkle needed to take a break and so, with only a laugh as explanation, the young student had been led out into the street.

Watch, Celestia had told her. I am about to show you a great secret, she said. And Twilight had watched raptly as her teacher had worked her magic and become somepony else entirely. Celestia was replaced and in her place stood a smiling pegasus.

That was the first time she’d been to Pony Joe’s. Not the first time she had ever walked in the city, of course—not even close. Her parents had taken her shopping, or taken her and her big brother to the park. She had walked to kindergarten, walked to the museum… But there was something magical about the moment she had walked into Pony Joe’s, giddy with delight over a shared secret, and realized that Canterlot could be full of places just like this one, where the sun filtered in beautifully through the blinds to a place clean and well ordered, where everything was in its proper place and there was always a smile waiting for you.

That was about the time that a floating spoon rapped against her mug, pulling Twilight Sparkle out of her morning reverie.

She startled, looking up to see a smiling Celestia retrieving her spoon and using it to add sugar to another cup of tea. “You were drifting off into yesteryear, it seemed. Something on your mind, dear?”

Twilight felt a nice warmth in her chest. Dear. That was new.

A lot of things were new.

“Just… thinking.” Twilight smiled back, and drank a bit of her coffee. Celestia made a face. “I know, I know, you’re terrible disappointed in me.”

“No, simply dismayed that you and my sister are arrayed against me. But I am enough of a strategist to handle the two of you in tandem.” Celestia’s voice was a purr.

She’d always liked it. Even before things had… changed, she’d always liked the sound of Celestia’s voice. It could be a lot of things. Maternal. Powerful. Gentle. Reasonable. Regal. She was repeating herself.

Twilight smiled and took another sip. “I didn’t sleep well last night. It’s hard to sleep in a new bed, you know? Just a little frazzled. I’ll be fine.”

Celestia nodded, and then seemed to think of something. She smiled. “Well, you could always find different sleeping arrangements. Upgrade your suite, if you will”

Right. Her voice could also sound inviting in an entirely new way. That was new. So was the way that Celestia leaned over and planted a brief, chaste kiss on her lips. Even something as momentary and simple as that left her heart beating a double-time march.

“I, uh…” Twilight blinked, and straightened herself out. “Well.”

Celestia beamed.

And, shaking her head with a smile, Twilight turned back to her breakfast. “We both know I can’t, Celestia. Besides, I believe it was you who said that you were old fashioned. How exactly did you put it?”

Celestia huffed, but they shared a laugh.

And others did, as well. Her head buzzed with half-heard voices. Her Court.

Another new thing. The Inner Court. The curse and the blessing of the Ageless, the Alicorns. Like trees planted in the soft, rich earth, the ageless alicorn was rooted in something far greater than themselves, and like the tree they became bound. Celestia did not merely shepherd the sun or represent it in the lives of her happy subjects, but she was to a degree, the Sun herself. Or, perhaps, it was the sun that in some way had become Celestia. Twilight did not have a definitive answer on that yet. What she did know was that whatever the exact nature of Agelessness was, it came with… company.

Celestia seemed to notice something on her face as Twilight became momentarily lost in the currents, one voice layered over another.

A slight touch on her hoof brought Twilight out of the haze like a drowning mare bursting from the water. She blinked, and then flushed. “I’m… sorry. It’s still new.”

“Your Court?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “I know it’s been a few weeks. I just…”

“It’s a lot to take in.” Celestia smiled. “I know it is. Are you sure you’re up to court this morning? Nopony will think less of you—I wanted you to have the freedom to take things at your own pace, so I did not announce your attendance in advance.”

Twilight bit her lip and looked away. “That feels like running, honestly.”

“You may think of it as a tactical withdrawal, dear.” Celestia had not withdrawn her hoof, and Twilight smiled at it.

“Sorry if I’m dragging your breakfast down,” she said.

“Not at all. Your presence brightens my day considerably.” Celestia straightened a bit. “Besides, you are much better company than Luna in the mornings.”

Twilight sent her a silent thank you for the segue. “Oh?”

“It’s the end of her long watch, and she usually dozes off at least once. She’ll deny it, of course, but it’s rather obvious.” Celestia slouched a bit more, keeping her hoof casually draped along Twilight’s and summoned a small bundle of papers. “She also never has anything much to say when I look over the morning’s docket.” Her smile turned only the slightest bit challenging as her eyes scanned the words. “But I’m expecting a far better performance from you, if you’d like.”

“I’d love to,” Twilight said, and the dim voices of her Inner Court all agreed in unison.

*

Court was a lot of things. Depending on who you asked, it was either a waste of time or a near-sacred continuation of the very heart of governance itself. A sympathetic view might say that in Court, the sovereign stepped down from her ivory tower to reconnect with the realities of the everyday pony. This was the rejuvenation that any leader needed, they would continue, to step down and throw off distance and all but the basest ceremony and speak candidly with others in a way that she could not in other times.

And so they might go on and on about the sacred bonds and traditions, but Celestia would have politely stopped listening at that point. She had gotten very, very good at pretending to listen over the years. Few if any ponies besides her sister could hope to catch her at it more than once in a decade.

For her part, and she had told Twilight as much, Celestia found that Court was a delightful mixture of the ridiculous and the meaningful. In most ways, it was a very much outdated institution—legislation was no longer written or signed in these proceedings, for instance. Where Court had been the only times in which official government business had been conducted, now the Assembly was more than a merely advisory body and handled much of the day-to-day. The law codes, the regulations, the lower courts… they all operated more or less without her. Celestia did little but encourage and caution, and yet she moved mountains all the same.

No, Court was not about the real business of the nation. It was about the personal. Solving the problems that fell between the cracks, the ones that deserved it. Her staff sorted through a thousand petitions a week, and that was after a larger sifting. There were two sorts of petitions that the Princess handled in person, and the rest her seneschal handled with deft grace.

The first? The obnoxious but potentially volatile.

“Raven, who is next?” Celestia asked.

Twilight, sitting beside the pony in question, glanced up at her. Celestia briefly wondered if perhaps Twilight was more capable of reading her than she had suspected, but the look did not last. Celestia repressed the urge to shrug.

“Lady Brigantine Rowan-Oak, of House Rowan-Oak, your Highness.”

Celestia nodded. Excellent, she thought, wishing she could smirk. This would be a wonderful lesson for Twilight. Her Inner Court agreed—Dusk, the gentler voice, fretted a bit at how Brigantine’s manner might offend her former charge, while Dawn was curious. That was a change, and one Celestia had not yet come to grips with. For so long it had been the four of them: herself, the analytical and cold Dawn, the warm and cheerful Dusk, and the agitated and bellicose Noon. But Noonday had finally relented and grown silent since Twilight had come into her own. Dawn had lost some of her certainty. The others were more used to change within their own realms, but the Sun had been in stasis for such a long time…

Brigantine was bowing before her. Celestia nodded to her. The noble rose, and cleared her throat.

“That’s out of the way,” she groused. “Right to business, your Highness. I’m here about the contract.”

Celestia knew exactly which one she meant. She raised an eyebrow. “And which might that be?”

“You know what I mean. The soddin’ defenses for the damn city. Your grace,” she added, in the perfunctory matter one might throw aside a used tissue. “I put in my House’s bid two weeks ago and there’s been no word.”

“These things can take time, Lady Brigantine.”

Only the matriarch of House Rowan-Oak could growl in a way that was simultaneously annoying and delightful. “With due respect, we both know that only House Rowan-Oak deserves that contract. The work my father did on the fortifications of Canterlot are still a miracle, and he taught me all he knew. No other House can make a place secure like we can.” Or do anything as well as we can, she did not add, though only a fool could fail to read it in her eyes.

Celestia allowed herself a smile. The truth was that she had immediately approved House Rowan-Oak’s bid, but the Assembly had been bogged down in a web of last minute contracts.

“Perhaps, but I have seen many great ponies. And many who relied to much upon the reputations of those before them. Your father was a skilled noblepony, and a fine engineer when he put his mind to it. But your work has been in munitions, has it not? Primarily, I mean.”

Brigantine narrowed her eyes, suddenly wary. Celestia did not smirk. She wished to. She wished to do many things that she never did. She played dice, or so she’d said many a time, with the universe.

But sometimes she enjoyed chess as well.

Dawn grinned brightly. Twilight will love this when you explain.

“So, the honor of House Rowan-Oak means little then?” Brigantine began. “A long history of service, we have, and suddenly it means so little. That’s low, your Majesty.”

“Not at all. I hold your House in high esteem.” Celestia shook her head, and reclined slightly. “I simply wish you to convince me that my trust is warranted. A house is not maintained exactly from master to master. I cannot be too quick to decide on something as large and as expensive as the modernization of my nation’s defense. You understand.”

She could almost hear Brigatine’s teeth grind. “Of course. Yes, of course. Munitions has been our focus for a decade, that is true. Not only myself, but my engineers have developed an understanding of modern weaponry which no House can hope to challenge. None of the upstart merchant houses can keep step with us. We’re the only bloody ponies in Equestria who know exactly how to take this city down with the least amount of effort. Who better to build it up than the house who can do that? My father’s workshops have been busy, and his knowledge is preserved. Add my own to it, and you have the pinnacle of both the defensive and offensive. I can build mountains and knock them down, your Highness. We can do it for the least, and do the best job. Our resources are greater, our expertise is world-renowned. Rowan-Oaks have been building castles since Equestria was young, and we’re no different.”

Celestia hummed.

“I’m concerned,” she said slowly. “But perhaps your changed focus has not changed much of your House’s character after all. I will send my Seneschal, Raven, to your compound tomorrow morning to discuss specifics with you, as well as deliver a letter. Will that be satisfactory, for now?”

Brigantine blinked, looking for all the world like a bull stopped mid-charge. “I… yes, your Majesty.”

Celestia nodded. “Then go in peace, Lady Brigantine. I am glad to have been of service.”

The Lady bowed, now mostly recovered, and retreated. As soon as the door closed behind her, Raven coughed politely and said, “My lady, I think you may have pushed too hard.”

Celestia hummed. “You may be right. Not even a single witty parting word? I shall have to write more than I intended. When you bear my missive, would you offer her a bit more than we had discussed?”

“Of course.”

Celestia glanced over at Twilight, and saw her brimming with questions, squirming in her seat. Dawn, Dusk, and Mere Celestia herself smiled together. Immediately, Dawn regained some of her former analytical self, wanting to lecture to her young charge, to give a full account and to impart lessons to be learned from what she had witnessed. Thus it had ever been, and the uncertain Dawn found a warm comfort in the familiarity of teaching Twilight something new.

You can’t learn this in a book, Dawn said, grinning—looking for all the world in her mind’s eye like Twilight herself in the middle of the old school labs.

But Dawn, and Celestia herself, paused. That phrase had been one that she herself had thought on multiple occasions, varied of course. She had been a teacher perhaps more honestly than she had ever been a ruler—being a Princess was often as much about being a teacher as anything, at least in how she had ruled—but it was not what she needed to be now. Was it?

She filed all of those thoughts away for later, before it could blossom into anything worth mental discussion between herself and the Selves which watched behind her eyes. She would have time for that tonight, after she gone to bed.

“I’m sure you have questions,” she said, and smiled for Twilight.

“Lots,” Twilight said simply.

“And I have answers… but first! Lunch. Raven, you’re welcome to join us as always.”

Raven smiled a small, knowing smile. “Only if you insist, my lady. I would not wish to come between you.”

Twilight opened her mouth to say something and then flushed, and Celestia winked at them both.

“I think it will be alright. After all, I do believe proper courtship requires some supervised time together, hm? It has been some time.”

“That’s what I’m led to believe,” Raven replied with a straight face, feigning seriousness. “I of course trust you, but Lady Sparkle may perhaps be a scoundrel yet, and it is my sure duty to—”

“I am not a scoundrel,” Twilight said.

Celestia and her senschal laughed as the Princess rose from her high seat. “Oh? More’s the pity. I do have a weakness for scoundrels.”

“But—”

“Oh, its quite well documented,” Raven continued, trotting behind her lady as Celestia headed towards the door. “Weren’t you telling me about that one fine stallion, the sea captain?”

“Captain is a bit too grand a title,” Celestia said, casting a look back at Twilight, who had just started to move. A wicked impulse to strut while she was ahead occurred to her, and before her better angels could object, she made quite sure that Twilight was reminded of just how impressive she was.

Twilight stabbed her salad. Celestia had always taken note of how she did that, just stabbed at the tiny mountain of greens and assorted vegetables as if it were a thing to be subdued. It didn’t really mean anything. She’d just noticed it before and noticed it again. It was strange, what things one remembered.

“Okay,” began Twilight, as soon as she had gulped down her food—another thing Celestia had noticed about her as she grew up, that she more inhaled than ate, “so… I read the dossier. House Rowan-Oak has the expertise, historically, and their various business enterprises make them a perfect candidate to handle the job. So why delay?”

They had retired to Celestia’s personal suite, and food had been brought up by Mead himself. His reunion with Twilight had been brief but joyful.

“I did not, in fact. Raven, could you put some tea on?”

“Certainly, ma’am. Shall I choose?”

“It is one of your many talents, to always choose correctly, so yes.”

Raven smiled and left. Celestia continued. “I approved of her bid almost immediately for the same reasons as you probably would. Brigantine’s House has, over the years, cultivated a collection of business contacts that is fascinating, and they have many high-profile projects under their belts. I actually have no lack of faith in their acumen at all.”

“Then why say all of that, about munitions and the passing of time and measuring up?”

Celestia sighed. “I went a bit too far. Do you remember when I referred back to her father?” Twilight nodded. “That was a mistake. He was a skillful diplomat and statesman, and he was a fine engineer. He was also a miserable excuse for a pony and a terribly individual. I loathed him. Profoundly hated that bitter, empty husk of a pony.”

Twilight seemed… taken aback, that was how Celestia would put it. It occurred to her, seeing the surprise in those eyes, that she had so rarely ever badmouthed anypony in Twilight’s presence before. She was oddly both self-concious and relieved all at once. There was something freeing about letting Twilight see the part of her that was capable of anything remotely like loathing.

Raven had returned with a kettle which she deftly placed in the center of the table. “We… long suspected that he was more than merely unpleasant. I won’t elaborate—there’s no need to at the present time—but we could never prove anything. My lady worked hard to do so. She did manage to secure a measure of protection for his family, however.”

“Protection?” Twilight turned her curious face from Raven to Celestia and back again.

Celestia winced. “I… Brigantine was an only child. I invited her to attend my school. She’s an earthpony, yes, but we teach far more than magic. As you should well know! Though it occurs to me that you were technically in my personal tutelage by the time you had moved beyond lower math and the like. She spent much of her childhood living in the Palace. Her mother I kept in constant contact with.”

Twilight bit her lip. Celestia noticed, and waited. Another mannerism of Twilight Sparkle she knew well.

“Did… I mean, was he… you make it sound like—”

Raven—song sing her to a good reward—chose this moment to intrude. “It was not like what you are trying to ask. He never touched either of them, as far as we could tell. And believe me when I tell you we watched.”

Raven was many things. Confidant, secretary, diplomat, occasional babysitter. Spymaster. Friend. Rarely did she allow even the slightest passing shadow of negative emotion to reach her composed features. Celestia had always admired that.

“Then why bring it up? Isn’t that a bit… I don’t know, isn’t that a bit cruel?” Twilight asked, and then seemed surprised that she had.

Celestia sighed again and looked down at her own plate for a moment. “Yes,” she said. “It was, and I regret it. May I explain myself? Not that it will absolve me—I shall be making this up to her for a while, I suspect. It was in poor taste.”

“Explain? Sure.”

“Politics is a conversation, one with context. One where context is everything. For an Ageless being, context is a matter of time and simple list-keeping, and I excel both in being long-lived and in keeping lists. Younger, brasher heads advocate for frontal assaults and daring, showy charges. Those things work. They do! But they are exhausting, and often risky. Nothing so cripples a mover in higher circles as an embarrassment.

“It’s why I conduct all of my business with the Houses, both minor and major, in private.” Celestia paused a moment to eat, and then continued. “Most would assume that they demand this of me, but it is a courtesy to them. A barbed courtesy, if you will. I preserve the integrity of their reputation among their peers, while also freeing myself from any consideration in regards to how I deal with them. Beyond the everyday considerations,” she added, shaking her head. “Brigantine is… rash. Angry, often. She is an unhappy pony and frequently at odds with everypony she meets, including myself. But she is not a ‘bad pony’ per se. On the contrary, she has much about her which leads me to suspect that if pushed she may be one of Canterlot’s finest inhabitants.”

“So you’re trying to push her?”

“To an extent. The real cause of the delay was not on my end at all. The contract and her bid must still be approved by the assembly, but there have been legislative delays. But it bears my seal and the matter is more or less already decided. Only the finer details are left for Raven and Brigantine to hash out.”

“It will be most unpleasant,” said the mare in question, her tone flat.

Celestia grinned broadly. “Oh, come now. Lady Rowan-Oak can be a delight. A vulgar and cutting delight, but still quite refreshing.”

“If you say so, my lady.”

“But, to continue, Twilight: Brigantine pushes far too much on others. Sometimes, this is not such a bad thing, as she demands only what she herself is willing to give, and in doing brings others into greatness with her. But often she merely bullies. I do not tolerate it, and every opportunity I have to frustrate her attempts to do so, I take with relish. If we are lucky, she will learn that there are better ways to operate. She knows better than to waste the time and effort of my court this way, and she also knows that exactly that message is what I delivered. She has internalized too much of her father’s negative aspect and I wish to exorcise it. And thus, my love, did I overstep. I shall probably have to invite her and her son to the palace at some point soon, if for no other reason than to talk to her in a less combative way.”

Celestia watched closely as Twilight brightened upon hearing the word love and she adored the happiness she saw there. Even for one such as she, with many lovers over such a great span of years, the first unsteady steps of love were exciting.

Twilight composed herself slightly, but the happiness in her features did not quite disappear. “So, all of that was show, really. The matter was already decided. You were just using it as a vehicle for something else.”

“Yes. Simplified, but yes. Much happens outside of the public halls of policy. I have worked to make it less that way over time, but…” she shrugged. “I can only control myself with absolute certainty.”

Twilight nodded, looking thoughtful. She rested her chin on a hoof, and Celestia tried not to enjoy thoughtful-Twilight-posing too openly.

Lunch concluded quietly and pleasantly, and when the plates had been removed by the quick and dutiful Raven, they had tea for three. Raven tried to excuse herself, but Celestia insisted.

She wasn’t quite sure why she insisted that Raven accompany them. She had imagined, what little she had thought about her reasons at all, that her seneschal might be able to help her answer Twilight’s questions. But they had not been so hard to answer, and really Raven’s presence was not strictly necessary.

Dusk murmured in her ear, as it were. Perhaps you wish for our Twilight to approve of your friends. Is it really so hard to believe? It’s rather natural. And for Raven to approve of your relationship with Twilight as well.

Except she already approved. Didn’t she? Celestia had informed her not long after Twilight had returned home from that fateful visit. If anything, Raven had almost acted as if she were unsurprised.

Oh, I think she suspected something. After all, hadn’t you? Dawn chuckled in her ear. I believe Raven approves. And besides, it isn’t like you need a reason to enjoy tea with a friend.

Celestia blinked. Fair. She really didn’t, and she did think of Raven as a friend.

Twilight seemed to notice. “Celestia? Something on your mind?”

“Oh, nothing,” she replied. “Except, of course, whether or not you remembered to bring something nice for L’Engle’s tonight. We have a date, if you remember.”

“Oh, I remembered. So did Rarity, apparently. You know, she snuck me a new dress into my luggage? Spike helped her.”

The Princess laughed, and found that it was already the best day of court she’d had in a very long time.

Author's Note

And lo

story.

Writing this, I remember falling asleep to the music of Laura Sullivan, so have something from one of her albums.

Dates

Twilight Sparkle wasn’t really a connoisseur. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the concept of being one, because she very much did. Being selective with food wasn’t so difficult to grasp. No, it simply never occurred to her to be anything but simple about what she ate. If Spike made it, she ate it. If it looked vaguely like a hayburger, she didn’t eat it so much as revoke its existence. Healthy? A bit unhealthy? Fattening? Pricy? It didn’t matter to her stomach. Stomachs couldn’t tell. Stomachs, in fact, cared very little about whether or not the wine one drank was from Prance or Bitaly, and that was Twilight Sparkle’s official stance.

It wasn’t that she had never been on a date before. She totally, completely had. Like, several even. A few. There were dates crammed into her student days. They hadn’t been particularly fantastic, no, and most of them had been sort of boring for one reason or another, but the protocol was familiar. Somepony drops by and picks up somepony else, they go eat something, and then maybe they do some other activity. If they want to. Which, again with perfect honesty, Twilight was willing to admit to herself that half of the time her dates had not particularly wanted to do anything after.

This did not pain her so much as it annoyed her. All those opportunities for valuable experience before this point wasted! But no matter. She was smart. She was even social now. Dates were tiny skirmishes in the long romantic campaign before her, and she feared no picket.

She did, however, have some minor concerns about dresses. Namely, it had only just occurred to her that Rarity’s beautiful new dress might not pair well with whatever Celestia wore, which of course would probably be some sort of ancient faux pas and lower her in the esteem of the highborn of Canterlot and also probably make her look like a fool and also not be romantic and—

Okay. Okay, so really, really-really, her problem was less about what she wore or ate and much more about who she would wear things next to and eat with. Celestia. Princess Celestia. Songbourne, Sol Invictus, etc and so on. The Celestia.

Her Celestia.

It was… it was nervewracking, and somehow that seemed sad to Twilight. Shouldn’t it not be? Shouldn’t she be able to move beyond seeing Celestia in terms of status?

But that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t as if she were overly concerned with status itself. She was just… Nervous. Jittery. And that, she told herself, was normal.

Her Inner Court stirred. Rarity wholeheartedly agreed that it was very normal to be a little nervous for a first real date. A first semi-official outing as a quasi-official couple. Enough ponies knew now that it was at least quasi-official, right? Rarity and Twilight began to squabble over terminology. Applejack yanked them both back into the present.

She stood before a great mirror, sitting on a stool whilst a mare she didn’t know worked with her mane. It was one of Luna’s hoofmaids, she knew that much. If she were honest—Court Applejack asked that she try to be, especially with herself—she’d been too nervous to really register much.

Everything was fine. It was all accounted for and prepared for and all those other words she liked that made her feel confident. Her dress was lovely, her mane was about to look far better than she would have arranged for herself, and on top of that, all of the arrangements had been taken care of. She hadn’t had to reserve a table or anything. She just had to show up. Well, okay, first she had to “collect” Celestia and walk her to the carriage waiting below, but that was theoretically like just showing up.

“Please, my lady, if you move I cannot work,” said the unicorn doing her mane.

Twilight flushed and sat up straight as she could. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” said the hoofmaid after a moment. She’d already returned to work.

Twilight wished that Luna had stayed. She also was glad that Luna had left.

It wasn’t as if things were strange between them. Twilight had taken one of Celestia’s jokes a bit too seriously and expected her younger sister to be something of a terror… but Luna had been rather pleased, if apparently unsurprised. Apparently, because apparently everypony else could just see what she and Celestia had avoided seeing. Or something. Honestly, she chalked up Cadance and Luna’s reactions less to what may or may have not been obvious and more to the fact that there was something about the mentor relationship which made others want to think they had seen it all coming.

Maybe. Twilight tried not to huff or shrug or move at all.There was something uniquely intimidating about a manestylist at work with a heavy frown on her face.

“I believe I am almost done,” said manestylist informed her. “Lady Luna should return soon. Are you to wait for her, or…?”

“I’ll be making my own way, though I’ll stay to talk a moment if she comes back soon enough,” Twilight said. The mare nodded, and after a moment she bowed swiftly and let Twilight examine her work.

Twilight took only a moment. She’d been watching all along. “It’s good,” she said softly. “Don’t you think so?”

“You should grow your mane out longer, Lady Twilight. I could do more with it, if it were longer.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, actually…” Twilight lost herself for a moment in looking, turning her head this way and that, gingerly buoying one side’s curls and then the other’s. When she came to her senses, the mare had quietly left her alone.

Twilight took a deep breath. Another.

“Time to go,” she told the mirror, and it responded in perfect unison.

One of the problems of having an Inner Court was that every moment had multiple narratives.

Simultaneously, she saw herself in a variety of ways, doing a variety of things. Each vision had inner voices attached, Aspects fawning over how Twilight might be or worrying over how they knew she would be… and it was dizzying. One—Rarity—saw her as dashing and elusive, smiling in a devil-may-care way like something out of one of Fluttershy’s novels. Another image, of her natural and calm, another of her stoic and formal, and…

And the reality, which was Twilight Sparkle nervously dancing in place in front of Celestia’s door.

Had she knocked? She was mostly sure she hadn’t. Mostly. It was kind of all a jumble of panic and nervousness and clamoring Court voices, all trying to give her advice. Except for Court Fluttershy, who mostly just seemed content to join Twilight in mild panic over perfect dates. Twilight liked Court Fluttershy. Court Fluttershy was a very sensible… pony. Pony worked. Language was hard.

She knocked.

There was a short silence, followed by the sounds of somepony moving behind the door.

Twilight, who all of her life had a sharp and powerful imagination that was more than prepared to go above and beyond the call of duty, saw Celestia many times before she actually saw her. The aspects which had not so much lodged themselves in her mind as grown out from it helped in this endeavor, either fretting that she would be woefully underdressed or scandalously overdressed… or in awe over the image that did not walk so much as gracefully processed through her mind, a Celestia of shining lights and perfect coat of the lightest color of dawn.

When she finally did see Celestia, her mentor-turned-friend and lover was… well, not like any of those images or petty worries.

The Celestia in her mind had absurdly worn her crown, that was the thing that Twilight noticed first that was different. The real Celestia, the mere Celestia, did not. She had seen Celestia without a crown before, obviously. But it just… it felt different this time.

No stately formal gown, no regalia or insignia nor any badge or trapping of office or status. Just a nice dress that reminded her of the sky at dusk with a little Sun-brooch, her mane pulled back so that her radiantly smiling face was always clear.

Twilight swallowed. “You look good.”

“I do try,” Celestia said, and her eyes ran over Twilight. But only for a moment, a brief pass. Celestia’s smile did not falter. If anything, it grew stronger. “As do you, Twilight. I’m ready to go if you are.”

“Ready!” Twilight stood up ramrod straight. “Very ready. Super ready. Absolutely prepared.”

Celestia raised an eyebrow.

Twilight wilted a little. “Okay, I’m a little nervous,” she admitted. If she’d learned anything over the last few years, denying the obvious was not a viable strategy.

And, because the world is a strange and sometimes fortunate place, Celestia smiled extended a wing in invitation. “Walk beside me. I’m a bit nervous myself.”

*

Celestia had worried about different things. About not impressing Twilight, for one. About being “authentic” whatever that looked like and meant. About… well, everypony else in the world. Literally.

And yet, walking Twilight down to the carriage had been relaxing. Those fears had fallen away, and when they had entered the restaurant, it had been mid-joke.

Celestia leaned on her hoof—unencumbered by golden finery, for once—and smiled lazily at Twilight as she ambled her way through an explanation of her day. She’d been busy after lunch, meeting with some of her old professors and the College Board.

“I was less prepared than I thought,” Twilight finished, her energy draining a bit as she moved from reunions to the substance of the discussions. “I mean… I suppose I understood that I was going to have to adjust my curriculum for students who weren’t, you know, Starlight Glimmer. I knew that teaching younger unicorns would mean starting slower and starting more basic. I thought I understood what that would mean. But I was clueless. Just… absolutely clueless. They tore the whole thing apart. Almost none of it was worth anything.”

Celestia levitated her wine over and sipped at it, letting Twilight hear her own words for a moment. I can’t step in and fix every little thing, can I? I can’t be her teacher forever.

But it wasn’t as if she were planning to ignore Twilight, obviously. But she did not answer with a platitude or a probing, leading question as a teacher might. “I’m sorry, Twilight. Surely you got something useful out of it, though. You know what not to do now.”

Twilight sighed. “You’re right. I mean, you’re totally right, but it doesn’t really feel that. Mostly it just feels like I’m a dunce.”

Celestia snorted. “Well, I can attest to that being untrue.”

“More than that, it set me to thinking about something that I’ve had on my mind since I first moved to Ponyville.”

This sounded promising. Celestia leaned in. “Pray tell.”

Twilight pulled a bit of bread off of the half-loaf that sat between them, and talked slowly as she buttered it. “I just… Well, I guess this will sound silly to you, but it was a rude awakening to how strange and unusual my childhood was.”

Celestia just raised an eyebrow. It was a well practiced and truly time honored gesture. Ponies had been watching that eyebrow slowly rise with growing dismay for literally centuries now, and it rarely failed.

But Twilight seemed unperturbed. She ate, pausing only to speak, and then spoke evenly, almost as if to a wall, or to herself.

“I think every filly grows up just assuming that the world works like her own home does. That every kitchen is like her family’s kitchen, and all the forks are like her family’s forks, and so on until one day that illusion is shattered. And it’s not a bad thing, when it shatters. I think it’s a good thing! But that never happened for me as a filly, because I was so insulated from ever experiencing that.”

“City life and country life?” Celestia smiled. “I can see that. There’s quite a gap between Canterlot and Ponyville.”

But Twilight shook her head. “Not just that. I mean, the whole urban-rural divide is part of it, sure. More than just differences in streets and atmosphere, I found differences in how ponies lived… and more then that, even! It’s hard to explain.”

Celestia had an idea, but she simply hummed approvingly. There was an old expression, in Old Adunaic that had no twin in the modern common tongue, which could best be summarized as the experience of one’s own experience—the individual awakening to just how vast the world around it was. The experience of other ponies.

It was hard to put into words. At least, in words that ponies could bear to hear. She could say what she wanted to say easily.

But that would require another language entirely, Dusk sang softly in her ear.

Dawn added, Twilight will have to hear our Singing eventually.

“What would I have been like, had I been born somewhere else? Say, in Ponyville. I can guess, surely. I might have never discovered my love of magic, with no nearby school or exposure to the mages or the College. But some things would have been the same no matter where, I guess. My parents would still be the same. I’m not doing a good job of this, am I?”

“You’re trying, and I appreciate that. I love hearing you think, honestly,” Celestia said. “I’ve always loved how you applied yourself to things.”

Twilight ducked her head, but she couldn’t hide her smile. “Thanks. One of the reasons I wanted to open the school in Ponyville has to do with all of that. Thinking about how I wouldn’t have had some of the same opportunities made me think about how the foals in Ponyville don’t and I just…” She shrugged. “What’s the use of princesses if they can’t help?”

“I often say the same,” Celestia murmured.

“Just wish I didn’t, you know, suck at it.”

And that’s my cue. Celestia reached across and touched Twilight’s foreleg. The beginnings of an anecdote danced on the edge of her tongue—remember when?—but she swerved towards something different and not connected to Twilight the Faithful Student. “It takes teaching to make a teacher, and it takes time. No one expected you to know everything. Honestly, I would have been startled if you hadn’t been set straight! Did the ponies you met with today tell you that you should give up?”

Twilight shrugged. “No.”

“Don’t you think Bright Shine would have been frank on that point, had she thought that you were a lost cause?”

And Twilight shrugged again. “I remember the classes I took with her were rigorous. She made a stallion cry once. I mean, she didn’t mean to, but…” Her shoulders slumped and then she looked up at Celestia again. “I know what you’re getting at. Dr. Shine actually gave me a ton of notes.”

Celestia wanted to see what Twilight had put together. Was it because Twilight was her old student? Was it professional curiosity? Probably both, but she preferred to think that it was because the mare in front of her so obviously cared and that moved her.

Twilight looked awkward. Celestia didn’t have to wonder, she knew: watch a mare like Twilight Sparkle grow up, and you learn to read her like a book. But she didn’t mind. Why should she? Part of the point of dates was to grow comfortable, after all. It was new.

And she had had her share of butterflies. It was only fair.

“I’m not really used to fancy restaurants,” Twilight said at last. She eyed her wineglass skeptically.

“Oh? With your pedigree?”

“Pedigree?” Twilight snorted. “Just because my parent’s house is in High Canterlot doesn’t mean that we wandered around in high circles! Dad worked at the observatory and mom wrote. I mean, I guess some of Dad’s friends from the Guard were high up. Does that count as having a ‘pedigree’?”

“Twilight Sparkle, surely you jest. Lady Twilight of House Sparkle?”

Twilight stared and blinked. Celestia, bewildered, waved a hoof in front of her face, and then Twilight startled. “Oh! Oh, right. The, uh, the House. I completely forgot about that. We never talked about it.”

“Did you not?” Celestia blinked. It wasn’t every day she found out something radically new about Twilight Sparkle. “I’d always assumed you were brought up knowing about it. Do you know anything of your family’s history? Surely you do. I know you loved history.”

Twilight let out a sheepish little giggle. “No, I really don’t. Gosh, this is embarrassing, but I did try to do some research? But House Sparkle is such a minor family in the scheme of things, and that was around the time I first got really excited about magic. Family history got lost in the shuffle.”

Celestia sat back. “I’m astonished. Here I was, thinking you had grown up with some image of your house and its place in mind. I’m… Well. That is a bit sad. The Sparkles are a fine house. You simply must learn of them. They have been my friends for a long time.”

“Wait. What?”

Celestia nodded, lost in thought. The aspects within her followed, bringing individuals back from the dead to parade before her mind’s eyes. “Of course. Your House Charter, you have it, hm?”

“Um, yes. Dad has it in his office at home. I always liked it. It was old looking and interesting.”

“It’s quite old. Yours is an old house. I wrote that charter, you know. I remember writing it.” Celestia sighed, and brought her wine glass back to her. “Teach me something new,” she said. “That is what I told them. And I grinned when I said it!”

And then a curious thing happened. Not an uncommon thing, but a curious one. Celestia became unstuck in time.

“Your only burden, young master Azurite, is one of education. I require knowledge. Lore! And you are a scholar of the highest order. I will grant you this title and the land to sustain you, and you shall in turn swear your family to be my teachers and loremasters ‘till such a time as your line grows weary of me.”

Celestia blinked, and realized she was not in a small library, holding parchment before the befuddled, awe-struck face of Azurite Sparkle. She was in L’Engles, and Twilight was looking at her strangely.

It occurred to her just how isolated their table was, in a spacious private room that the proprietor had saved for her many a time. She was glad for it now.

“Did you… what did that mean?”

Celestia flushed and looked away. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I, ah, it’s nothing.”

“It sounded… I swear I recognized a few of those words. What was it?”

There was a chasm between agelessness and mortality. In some places, the two cliff faces were but a pony’s length apart. But in some? In some the distance was staggering. This was not one of the worst places, but it was substantial. What seemed like madness from below was natural from above.

“We go away sometimes. Back into memories. Usually, I’ll find myself drifting only when I’m comfortable. Which I suppose I am at the moment, here with you. I have a lot of history to wander through.”

Twilight nodded slowly. “Like daydreaming? But you seemed… I mean, you weren’t just preoccupied. You seemed totally not here. I said your name a few times.”

“I’m sorry.” Celestia looked away. “It’s nothing to be concerned over. Simply an old habit of mine.”

Twilight hummed. “What were you thinking of?”

Celestia looked back at her, and smiled. “Your ancestor. Azurite. I think he would have loved you, honestly. I wish I could go back, take you with me, and show him what his family would accomplish.”

Twilight sat back, her face unreadable. At last, she said:

“Will you tell me about him?”

“Of course,” Celestia said. “And more besides.”

Author's Note

Thanks to MaskedFerret for reading this over and being awesome

Friends

Rarity was having an absolutely fantastic day. Not the best of all possible days—those happen only in the best of all possible worlds, which was the one where Blueblood was gallant and her legs were just a tiny bit longer—but certainly an excellent one. Nothing spiced up her Thursday spa engagement with Twilight and Fluttershy like grilling the newly minted princess on every single detail of her nascent lovelife.

Well, perhaps nothing went a bit far. There were things probably far more intriguinging, but that was neither here nor there. Twilight was here, and Rarity had broken through her wall of shyness like a cannonball through cardboard.

A lady knew how best to stay abreast of things, after all.

“L’Engle’s?” Rarity squealed—yes, squealed, because a lady is excused her exuberance if the cause is sufficiently worthy!—and moved closer. As she moved, tiny waves followed her, disturbing the otherwise serene bath.

Twilight sank deeper into the water. “Yeah,” she said, half-grinning, nodding. “It was good.”

“Good? Twilight, my dear sweet Twilight, L’Engle’s is the absolute pinnacle of high fine dining in the historic High Canterlot district of Bluethorn! I have been eagerly awaiting the day that I finally found myself led to my seat within that superb establishment since the beginning of my career! What was it like? How was the food? No, forget the food! The decor! Tell me about it. Everything.”

With every word it seemed she drew herself further and further out of the water until she towered over Twilight, her face smiling but in a frankly predatory, intense way.

Twilight shrugged, because Rarity dramatics weren’t that unusual. They were just a thing one lived with, like the sun and no mail being delivered on sundays.. “I mean, I’d heard of it. Just in passing, mind you, but I had heard of it.”

Rarity pulled back for a moment, with a thoughtful—no, not thoughtful, an appraising look—and said: “You know, I’ve never actually been to your home. Where did you live in Canterlot?”

Twilight smiled. “Well, perhaps we’ll have to go visit next time we’re together in Canterlot. I’m sure mom would love to have me for dinner for any reason, and having friends over?” She laughed, looking away for a bit, towards the door. “Well. It isn’t as if I did that much as a filly. I think she’d get a kick out of it.”

Rarity sat back a bit, humming. “You know, it only now occurs to me how little I know about your younger life. You know about my family, but what precious little I know about yours. And, you also neatly sidestepped my question,” she added with a slight smile.

“That I did.” Twilight stretched and then settled back into the water. “I lived in the Sapphire District. It’s on the other side of the tier, actually. It’s an old house, going back in our family for a few generations. My great-grandparents built it! I didn’t go to that part of town much, so I’d never seen it.”

Rarity pursed her lips, as if in thought. “So you lived in the noble district. How was that, brushing shoulders with the scions of the rich and landed?”

“Well…”

Twilight ran her hoof along the surface of the pool and watched the little wake she formed. Her earlier conversation with Celestia sprang to mind. Not just Celestia’s encouragement to delve into the history of her own minor House, but the thought before—the “what if” for lack of a better term.

In a moment, she saw Rarity walking proudly in the marble squares of the Diamond District, chatting with some young daughter of a House Major. Perhaps Epona or Rowan-Oak. House Rose, perhaps. The Aspect who wore her likeness and shared her name took Rarity’s place now in her imagination, which seemed so vivid as to replace what her eyes saw. She saw—

Rarity amongst the High Society, draped in her finery, hair done up in intricate perfect coiled beauty, eyes sharp and undaunted by the press of the crowd. Her speech here like a purr, there high and easily overheard, there just a hair above silence. She played the crowd like a violin. No, she made herself the instrument. It was herself that was the prize to be won. Her life did not become other’s but overtook others, bringing them up and out of their own circles into her grand communicative web—

Twilight shook her head, dispelling the strange vision.

“Twilight? Are you alright?”

“Hm? Oh. Fine, sorry. Spaced out.”

“Of course, dear.”

Twilight rubbed her temple, feeling the beginning of a headache coming on. Was this what Celestia had experienced, during their date? With the other language and the thousand-mile stare? What did it mean? Did it mean anything at all?

Speech seemed the best way to weasel out of any further inquiries. “I didn’t really spend much time in high society. I mean, looking back, I met and knew nobles. My parents interacted with them. But they weren’t introduced to me as Lord So-and-So or Lady Whoever. They were just mom’s friends or dad’s friends or both and…” She shrugged. “When I was very, very little, I played with Climbing Rose at her family’s keep. We used to run around in the gardens.”

“My word.”

“Yeah.” Twilight sighed. “You know, I’m looking back now and I’m sad that we drifted apart. I wonder what being friends would have been like. But no, I didn’t really ‘brush shoulders’ with anypony important. I just knew a few and didn’t really know or care to know about their significance at court or anything else. I mean, I barely remember my own House.”

There was a pause.

It was a very interesting pause, actually. It was the sort of pause, the sustained moment, that one expected to hear right before some spectacular crash or uproar. It was the sort of silent, fit-to-bursting pause one might expect to experience at a dinner party right after confessing to some awful crime, or after saying rather loudly that Nightmare Moon had really had the right idea and so on.

And it was ended by Rarity’s voice losing any pretense of civility and grace as she all but screeched.

“When were you going to tell me about this?”

Rarity was still talking about it as they walked towards the diner on Maple Street, the one with the good coffee that Twilight sometimes had bizarrely strong cravings for between the hours of eleven and two in the morning.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know! House Sparkle. Your own house! You’ve been nobility all along, and here I was talking like a foal about such things. How foolish I must have seemed.”

Twilight, again, for the twenty fourth time—she’d counted—shrugged.

“Well, it wasn’t quite like that. It’s not like I have any room to judge you from experience,” she said. “The House Charter is in my dad’s office and I’ve never actually read it. It was something I think we talked about… twice, at most? I attended a few parties, and even then we were there mostly to show support for a friend or chat and my parents always left early.”

“It just baffles me.”

Rarity bit her lip, and Twilight turned back to the street.

It wasn’t as if the conversation bothered her that much. It wasn’t an ideal topic, sure. She’d never really felt one way or another about the whole business—it was a non-issue. But Rarity’s insistence about it was a bit uncomfortable. Her friend’s dreams of fame, glory, and riches had never really bothered her that much before, and truth be told she wished Rarity the best. She always had.

But it was a little reminiscent of the divide she had worried over when she had first ascended. The space between herself and others, specifically her closest friends. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, the Archmage was watching, prowling silently.

“Why?” Twilight asked.

Perhaps too much of her frustration had leaked into her tone. Rarity stopped up short.

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve been going on and on…”

Twilight stopped as well, turning back to her. “It’s alright. Was that angry sounding? I didn’t mean it to be.”

“‘Twas, a bit. But it’s quite alright. I do know that sometimes I can be carried away.”

“Sorry. It’s just… I don’t know. It’s not a big deal. Being nobility doesn’t matter to me and it never did. No one in my family has cared in generations. Maybe if we had land or riches or whatever… but we don’t. We have an old but wonderful house and a few pieces of paper with a crest. Oh, and a crest. I do like the crest. I never thought of your aspirations as foolish or outlandish. Honestly, I admire your ability to pursue your goals. I just happen to think you’re at your best creating, and not, ah, mixing. If you follow.”

“I do. Perhaps. At any rate, I have carried on too long.” She looked behind Twilight, towards the diner, as if looking for their friends, and then spoke in a lower tone. “By the by, I had forgotten to say so earlier, but… I am terribly sorry about that daft letter. I know it was incomprehensible.”

And Twilight, who had thought on it quite a bit, smiled. “Hardly. Come on. We’ll be late.”

They were late, but only by a few minutes. Pinkie bounced in just as Twilight and Rarity reached the door—neither had any idea where she’d come from, but that was more or less the norm—but otherwise the other girls had staked out a table in the back.

After the brief but boisterous exchange of greetings, the conversation settled on the topic that it was, if Twilight were honest with herself, always going to settle on. Namely, Celestia and her relationship with Twilight.

“So…” Rainbow Dash, traitor that she was, struck first. “Any details?”

“Details?” Twilight responded, her voice light.

“You know what I mean! You, Ce—” Rarity was a quick mare, and as her hoof clamped down on Rainbow’s mouth, Twilight once again found herself thankful for this fact. After a few seconds of admittedly comical struggle, Rainbow freed herself. “You and you-know-who, whatever! Sorry.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t bother her…” Fluttershy began. But before Twilight could be grateful, she added: “But I would love to hear anything you feel up to sharing.”

“And of course, my own desire to know more goes without saying,” Rarity butt in from her side.

Twilight shrugged helplessly. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to talk about her new relationship. She did, really! It wasn’t that. It was… what would she talk about? How did you talk about something that was mostly internal? On the outside, from the view of somepony outside of her, all that had had happened was a nice dinner, sharing breakfast, sitting next to Celestia at morning court. Was that satisfying? To her it was, obviously. But to others? What sort of story was that? She could relate the entirety of it in a sentence or two and be done with it.

That obviously wasn’t the entirety of it, but the rest was so… internal. You know, the thing I’ve always had trouble talking about, she thought.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, at least a few of the Aspects scolded her, but they all spoke over each other and whatever there was to be gained from their words was lost in the chaos. Would it ever get easier to separate one voice from the other? Or would forever they just be a gaggle of divergent opinions all working at cross-purposes?

She sighed. “Well… I mean…” Words dissolved into a few helpless noncommittal noises as five pairs of eyes centered on her. Eventually, after some uncomfortable squirming and Rainbow ribbing her, she managed to continue. “It was nice? We went on a first date—” she had to pause to allow time for Rarity’s gushing again, and for a chorus of appreciative noises— “at a nice restaurant. I sat in on court in the morning. Breakfast. Not in that order, messed that up, but you can guess which one was first. I mean…”

“Dinner sounds awfully romantic,” Fluttershy said.

Twilight, because she was cursed with a mind that moved swiftly and in all directions, remembered exactly what sort of books her friend wrote. She then promptly tried not to think about that very hard. “It was,” she replied, hoping she wasn’t feeding any blossoming novel of steamy affairs.

Which she almost certainly was. But Twilight had also learned what battles to fight. Sort of.

Nevertheless, she continued on. “I mean, I’m not sure what to say! We spent time together and talked. It was lovely. But I don’t think it was, I don’t know, exciting in the way you seem to expect. But it was wonderful. This is my first real marefriend, girls. And Celestia is a bit old fashioned. So I wouldn’t be expecting juicy scandals all the time.”

“Isn’t love itself exciting?” Rarity asked with a swoon.

Applejack was next. “Twi, hon, I’m with you. Ain’t everything romantic got to be about dashin’ caped heroes and swordfightin’ adventures.”

“It does help,” Rarity grumbled.

Applejack rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. But life ain’t a storybook. I mean, sometimes it’s stranger than fiction, I’m willing to give you that on faith, but fiction and life are separate.”

Twilight watched the unfolding new discussion with a sense of relief as Fluttershy joined. She had been a lot more talkative lately, generally, and far more open about defending her point of view. The shy pegasus had been making strides all along, of course. Was Twilight only now noticing how much she’d changed, or had something else happened to bolster her confidence?

“I’m not so sure about that, AJ. I’m sorry to butt in, but… fiction follows life, really. I mean, I think it does. If it weren’t connected at all, I don’t think we would be able to understand anything that ponies wrote.”

“Novels are entertaining on account of their unreality, Flutters.”

Twilight coughed and looked at Fluttershy… who coincidentally happened to be to her left, so she could catch Rarity’s eyes as well as she spoke. “I’m with Fluttershy, I think. There has to be some sort of connective tissue between art and reality, if only to explain how it can make sense to us, living as we do in reality and not the actual when and where of the work.” She smiled. “I mean, think about it. When you tell somepony what you did on a given day, what do you do? You use a story, created by compiling the events in order and connecting individual physical phenomena aesthetically and causally.”

Applejack shrugged. “If you say so.”

Twilight had caught Rarity’s eye, so she added a bit more. “Sorry. Aesthetics used to be something of a passion of mine when I was younger.”

Rarity, to her credit, didn’t squirm or react much at all outwardly. Which was to be expected, really. But had she seen a flash of recognition in those eyes? Probably. The way her friend pointedly did not look at her seemed to suggest she was right.

Conversation moved again, as Applejack complained about the fare the rail company was charging her, and then to Rainbow Dash’s various escapades which were probably only half true, and then back to Twilight and her newfound love.

It was Applejack that asked her this time. “I do got a question for you and her, for both of y’all, even though only one of you is here.”

“Well, ask away.”

“Right now, y’all are keepin’ things sorta quiet-like, is that right?”

Twilight nodded.

“So… when you gonna change that? What’s keepin’ you?”

At this, Twilight looked away—Applejack was doing that thing where she looked at you with earnest eyes and wanted answers—and bit the inside of her cheek. The truth was, she didn’t really know when she would change that, and trying to explain what was ‘keepin’’ them would take longer than she wanted to dwell on the question. But it was a fair question, so she tried a fair answer.

“I’m not sure yet, AJ,” she said, waving a hoof vaguely. “About when we go public. I guess… I guess it needs to be a bit more established? Nah, that’s not really a good answer. Going public is sort of a big deal. Ponies start to see you as a pair, and not just as a pony anymore. You know?”

“I do, yeah.”

“And that’s kind of big. For me, it’s big because it is new. For her, it’s big because she’s… Well. I mean, she’s—” here Twilight leaned forward in a probably unneccessary manner and lowered her voice. “You know, the Princess. So suddenly the princess is part of a pair and that means I’m drawn into all of the goings-on and it’ll be complicated.”

“Seems a bit unavoidable, you know. Don’t envy you, girl.” Applejack reached over and patted her shoulder, and Twilight smiled at her.

“Thanks. No, you’re right. It’s unavoidable. But I’ve accepted that as much as I can at this point, not really knowing what it will look like! I think we both want to wait a bit and not just enjoy the calm before the storm, but really strengthen our relationship before we reach that point.”

Applejack nodded. “That makes sense, I suppose. I’m not sure I’d be eager to run off into all that hubbub myself.”

Pinkie shrugged. “It’s all in how you think about it! I mean, won’t lots of ponies be super duper happy about it? I mean, they like her a lot and lots of ponies like you a lot and so if the both of you are together won’t that make them all super happy that you’re happy? I mean, that’s what usually happens!”

Twilight chuckled, but Rarity beat her to the answer.

“It’s not quite that simple. I mean, yes, many ponies will no doubt be thrilled! But court is… not quite hostile, per se. Simply… bah. Court is complicated, Pinkie. So is running a country! And much is at stake.”

“And all the time,” Twilight said, wondering if her hayfries were ever going to arrive. Now would be a good time. She tried to will them to come but, yet again, she proved unable to alter reality by force of will. Still need to work on that.

“Yes,” Rarity continued. “So it’s not simply a matter of whether ponies are happy that Ce—that our mutual friend is happy, but rather whether or not they think that Twilight is up to sharing her burdens.”

“Oh. Well…” Pinkie frowned, and her brow furrowed like an adorably pink thunderhead. Twilight wasn’t sure why she thought that, but she did. Strongly. “I mean, Twilight’s like super smart. And she’s saved Equestria like, I don’t know, a bunch of times. Some like really high number of times saving Equestria and/or the world. That has to count for stuff.”

“It should,” Rainbow said, surprising, well, everyone. “But even I know it doesn’t, always. Like, ponies are forgetful, you know? Pinks, imagine you throw a huge bash, but then you don’t throw another one for a long time. How much do you think they will remember about you or it?”

“At least some, I guess. I’ll remember like all of it because I never forget a party. But I know what you mean. Sorta like, ‘what have you done for me lately’, right?”

“Exactly,” Rainbow said, grimacing. “That’s it exactly. And it sucks. But what can you do? Nothin’, really.”

Twilight didn’t reply to that, but she made note of it. Something seemed… well. There would be time to think about it later. Just something that seemed a little too knowledgeable there.

“Anyway,” she said, hoping to bring the matter to a point, “I want to be ready for that, and I will! But I need to know more first. That’s really what we were doing when I was in Canterlot—I was learning. And… working on something special.” She rubbed her hooves together, knowing it was cliche, but hoping at least one of them laughed. Pinkie did. That didn’t count. Pinkie laughed at everything short of the end of the world.

“Let me tell you about my school.”

Author's Note

Madeline L'Engle was a swell lady.

Clair de Lune, in honor of a fic released by a friend who also helped a bit with the latest chapter of Esoteric, along with her husband and Ferret.

Letters II

Dear Rarity,

You know, I never went much to parties. It was interesting to read you talk about them, or well. About things related to them? I guess you weren’t really talking about the party itself but a facet of the party, but it’s enough to count. Probably.

You know, I agree with you on the subject of Applejack. When I was younger I tended to think of romance in terms of wild love affairs primarily. But she exhibits another flavor: namely, that she is the pinnacle of that vision-minded, domestic love that is as romantic as anything you or I might find. But you and I aren’t Applejack, and it would be rather unfair for either of us to compare ourselves.

I enjoyed your letter, by the way. I thought I should say that. I mean, I always enjoy letters! And I enjoy letters from friends more than normal letters by default because, I mean, most everypony does! But I enjoyed your letter more than that. On one level, it was reading material and I don’t have to describe how voracious of a reader I am. I packed a bit too light for that trip! I finished reading my copy of Black Guard’s Repetition long before anticipated. And of course, one doesn’t read a letter once. Oh, no. Read, re-read, contemplate, return to and reread, argue with, agree with, disagree with, read again, sit on for awhile, and then answer. That’s the way a letter is done.

My first reaction was to be a bit sad, and to think that you had sold yourself short all over. My second reaction, and don’t be upset, was to think that you were being ridiculous and perhaps I ought to talk some sense into you. My third reaction was merely to listen, and that was when I took you the most seriously.

I imagined you, talking to a young mare (which I probably imagined because of my own interests, which amuses me to think about) and how she might have left and forgot about you, and it made me sad. But what made me more sad was imagining how she might have left and thought, surely I have no chance with such a mare. She never really seemed like she wanted to keep going so much as she wanted to watch me. And another, a tousle-headed stallion, perhaps a young academic rising in fame, who went away with a sigh, thinking—I was mistaken, wasn’t I? She wasn’t a true pony at all, but an image.

Does that seem harsh? I hope not.

What I most mean to say is this: I think perhaps that you are a bit too enamored of distance and image.

Going further—Distance. You throughout this letter maintain a distance between yourself and these pretend suitors. I can’t tell if you ever let any of them in. Do you? Do you ever think about it? Do you really entertain this option at any point when sober?

Image—you talk at length about the aesthetic of the meeting, of the pleasure inherent in the experience. It may be because of what I’ve been reading, but… what exactly did you experience? Were you experiencing something which can be called aesthetic in any sense?

Sometimes, I think I work on a different wavelength than you. I think that about most ponies! But often I think we say the same word and mean two very different things. When I think “aesthetic” I think of art in museums or on easels or in galleries of sculptures. But I sense that you mean “aesthetic” in the way that I might use the word “experience” and that’s very puzzling to me. I would love for you to explain it.

Beyond semantics, though, I hear a bit of… oh, I don’t want to be rude. Loneliness? Loneliness works. That’s really sad, Rarity. I mean, why wouldn’t ponies be interested in you? That can’t be it. You admit as much yourself that they are. It doesn’t seem to be them that is the source of this disconnect.

What do you want out of a relationship? You talk about this experience but is that the experience that you want? It doesn’t seem to be. What would you want if you could choose another setting, or another dynamic, or change really any part of this scenario?

Maybe I have gone about this all wrong. Maybe you’re just sharing thoughts and I’m seeing problems to be fixed. I do that, after all. I imagine problems and then worry over fixing them. If I’ve read you wrongly, please tell me! I promise it comes only from how much I care.

Thank you for the dress. It was perfect and honestly I think it helped me feel a bit more confident for going out with Celestia.

Oh, and two can play at smuggling! You are no doubt wondering how this letter found its way into your sketchbook. There’s actually another copy by your bed, and one that may or may not be tucked underneath your sewing machine so whichever you get, know that employing your little sister for acts of espionage was actually far more enjoyable than I had anticipated. She was very excited for an “Official Princess Mission”.

All my love to Ponyville.

Twilight

P.S. What is this about Rainbow Dash? She seemed a little dour the last time we talked.

Dear Twilight,

Is this real? Like, if not, well played. Seriously, I’m not messing with you, very well played. If this is ironic or a joke in any way please go ahead and tell me because otherwise I’m going to assume its real because this is way, way, way too good for a Twilight-prank. Sorry, but them’s the breaks.

So I’m going to treat this as real to be safe.

You. Celestia. You dating Celestia. Celestia dating you. Like, Celestia dating anypony, really, but also dating a former student. It’s not crazy because it’s you, mind you, just… Just I guess its like someone knocking on your door and saying, “oh by the way, here’s a letter with the royal seal! Celestia actually thinks the moon is better than the sun and also she gave you up for adopted so you’re a princess now!” and then shoving a pair of wings at you and slamming the door. It’s surreal to me because it’s Celestia, and it…

Let me back up.

So, when you told me about how you and Celestia were dating and stuff, I was sitting on the the statue pedestal. You know, the one outside of school, where the portal that you came through was. Though, I guess it doesn’t quite work like it used to, does it? But I was sitting there.

And I had just been thinking about home. I mean, Equestria, not my apartment. Home with a capital H. Which is weird to write, by the way. It took me awhile to figure out how to transfer that idiom over into Equestrian. Heck, it took me a few seconds to remember how to write your name in Equestrian.

And while I’m thinking of home, waiting for the girls so we could walk home together (to Pinkie’s place. Just because in Equestria I’m no longer school age doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying it to the fullest here!) I started flipping through my journal. I looked at the old entries, back when I was writing to Celestia. Those entries used to hurt so much. It was an almost physical pain. No matter what they were about, each one was either something I wished I could redo or phrase differently or it was something I wish that she would… say again.

But it didn’t hurt, reading on the pedestal. I was happy. And it occurred to me that I hadn’t talked with her in a long time. I guess… I know you wanted me to. I know you said I should write her, and you went to the trouble of giving me bottled dragonfire for that express purpose, but I just couldn’t. Writing that letter was too much. I thought it when you brought me the bottle and the parchment, and I thought it again sitting and reading. The Celestia in these pages is untouchable. She’s an icon on a wall, or a beautiful stained glass.

I’m not sure if I ever really knew her, and I think that it’s my fault that I didn’t.

And then the book gave me your newest message and… I mean, first I laughed because I was sure you were pulling my leg, and I was about to reply and tell you that it was rather bold of you to tease like that about Celestia of all things! But then you kept going and you were so happy and the Celestia you wrote about…

Was she my Celestia? Were they the same? Of course they must be on some level, I mean, she’s still Celestia. Like I was Sunset then and I’m Sunset now, so she’s still Celestia. But the way you talked about her, she seemed so real. She seemed like a pony, and not like a painting or an icon or a stained glass. I was confused.

I can be brash. I get it. Maybe this is brash to ask, but what do you see in her? What drew you to her in that way? What is she like, when she’s not in teaching mode? Who is Celestia?

I’m dying to know.

I couldn’t write a letter to the Princess. But I think I could write one to Celestia.

Sunset

Dearest, Sweetest, Best Former-foalsitter’s Dream Twilight,

This is like, litterally the greatest thing that has happened to me. You’d think my wedding was the best thing, but eh. We know how that went down!

No, this is the best possible thing. We live, I have decided, in the best of all possible worlds. I am beyond excited for you and for Aunty.

I know that I’ve been teasing you off and on about colts and fillies and the odds and ends of your romantic life since you were old enough to even think about dating, but I always knew you would find a wonderful match someday. Trust me, this is my job. I know things. Okay, more I have an approximate knowledge of things. But even when you were young, I knew you would grow up to be wonderful. It wasn’t just how smart you were, or how eager you were. It was just you, who you were. Sweet Twilight. When I moved to Canterlot, Aunty made me get out and do things to avoid being a Palace couch-potato like Blueblood had been. I tried all kinds of things. Did you know I worked for a few months as a barista? It was fun. I mean, the coffee part was fun. The customers were a toss-up.

But eventually, we compromised. I foalsat, so I could do homework and work at the same time. It was for the best, really. I was still struggling with learning Equestrian at the time, remember? Or maybe you didn’t know. You were young.

I didn’t mind it, but I wasn’t really enthusiastic until I met you. The first time you were a little terror, but in a way that was endearing. It was all a game to you, and you were a clever player. Foalsitter meant bedtime, and you didn’t want that, did you? Even when you were difficult, I found myself enjoying the times I sat for your parents. And no, it wasn’t just because I met Shiny that way.

Okay, so that helped a little. I won’t lie.

I’m rambling, I know. But I’m just very, very excited. You have to let me help. Not “have to” as in “oh, Twilight, you should come to me for advice”. Oh no. This is my domain, and this is my finest hour. Maybe. Probably! I’ll go with it being my finest hour. If you doubt me, I’m sure someone can tell you of my youthful experiments in setting Aunty up with ponies. And griffons. And a dragon once but that was actually mostly a joke. And here you come along and do it for me! I knew you were the best.

All of this to say: next time you two are going out, write me. Love is a battlefield, and you’ll find no better general than me. Or any general. Most generals aren’t really plotting out the perfect romance. At least, I don’t think they are.

Ever yours,

Cadance

Author's Note

Pre-read and Edited by the ever loveable and most Masked of Ferrets

Touring

Twilight grinned. “So… working lunch?”

“Indeed,” Celestia groused.

Stacked somewhat precariously on top of the ornate table were several stacks of manilla folders brimming with papers. Twilight had already started tabbing through the pages, looking for the more urgent things and setting them aside.

Mostly, the folders were filled with reports. Committee proceedings, general assembly minutes, some analysis from her staff on current and upcoming legislation. Others were requests or ongoing communiques from the leaders of the largest cities. Others Twilight had no idea about at all, and those she left alone.

“Don’t your staff sort these?” Twilight asked, but without any heat. “Goodness, it’s chaos here…”

Celestia sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Twilight.”

Twilight blinked and looked up.

They were sitting in one of the many smaller dining chambers that the palace had to offer. This was a rather modest one, no gilded surfaces or ornate art to hang. Twilight liked it, in a distant way. It didn’t distract.

“Whatever for?” Twilight asked. “It’s just paperwork. It’s not like you can stop doing that.”

Celestia winced as she helped sort, and Twilight wondered if she had said the wrong thing.

“I suppose that I cannot, even when I wish to so very much.” The Princess rested her head on a hoof and hummed. “I had hoped to spend the day with you, Twilight.”

Twilight smiled. “Well, I’m here regardless. I’m not going anywhere.”

“No matter how boring this is?”

“Boring? I’m not sure I could be bored with you,” Twilight said, and then coughed. “Anyway, I’m still here, and I don’t think either of us will be absorbed to the point of not being able to talk. I know it’s not what you wanted, but we can still make a day of it.”

Celestia laid out as much as she could on the table and whined. It was a stunning sight. “But I don’t want to make a day of it.”

Twilight chuckled. “Shouldn’t I be the one doing that?”

“I miss the old days when I ruled by fiat. The only paperwork was dictating to a scribe while I was fed grapes and selected from my full harem of beauties.” She sighed mightily. “Those were the days of my halcyon glory.”

“You never had a harem,” Twilight said flatly. “Tell me stories, then. I’ll take over a bit. You could use a break. Just pay me back with some stories.”

Celestia was silent.

It took Twilight a moment for that silence to register.

“You… didn’t have one of those, right?”

“It was a very different time,” Celestia murmured, head on the table. She straightened, and cleared her throat. “Besides, they did the one thing that I am most weak to in this world.”

Twilight, somewhere between amused and dismayed, asked the obvious. “And that is?”

“Preening,” Celestia said, for an instant relaxing with a distant look on her face. “Do you know how hard it is to find someone who doesn’t die of fright because I ask them to preen my wings?”

Twilight blinked. Then she laughed.

“You could have just asked me!”

Celestia looked at her, flushed, and looked away. “I suppose I could have, but it’s a bit different.”

“Bad different?”

“No. No, not at all.”

They continued to work with Celestia continuing to tell stories, the rustle of papers and quiet murmurings that drifted in from outside drowned out by Twilight’s laughter and eager questions. Slowly the messy piles began to change into orderly filed papers.

*

Twilight stretched, and did so reluctantly. She’d made good progress, and heard more of her own country’s history in the last hour than some historians found in years. As much as she was eager to learn more, there was something strangely calming about listening to Celestia’s voice as she worked. It was the almost thoughtless way in which her body moved without her, letting her mind somehow focus more fully not so much on the words Celestia delivered but the timbre of her voice.

Celestia had a wonderful voice. Deeper than her own, richer by far. Melodic like a song and soft like a silk robe. It reminded her of a fireplace, sometimes, like the one that Celestia had in her suite. Warm and dancing with barely contained life.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Always and forever.”

“It’s about… uh, the dreams.”

Celestia hummed and her horn lit lightly. Twilight didn’t have to call on her own magic to know what her lover was doing. Noise-cancellation. It was odd to think of herself as a pony who had conversations so private and serious they needed to be hidden, but the world had changed.

“Tell me.” Celestia paused. “Or do not. Be vague, if you wish. You should not reveal what you do not wish to reveal.”

Twilight frowned. “What? Why wouldn’t I? I mean, you and the others are the only ones who would understand.”

Celestia sighed. “It is… a private thing. No, that isn’t true. It is a bit complicated.” Celestia gestured to herself. “Once, only Luna and myself knew the courts. Our courts were own, very different from each others’. We visited, or rather Luna visited, and sometimes whisked me away to her own realm. I have never managed to acquire the knack for flitting from dream to dream that she has.”

“And then there was Cadance. And me,” Twilight added. “So, there’s not much precedent.”

Celestia nodded. “Right, as ever. The precedent between us does not neccessarily apply to the two of you. We were sisters.” Suddenly, she smiled. “Though, I suppose the two of you are very close. Close enough that you might as well be siblings.”

“In our way,” Twilight allowed, also smiling. “Well, for what it’s worth: I trust you, and I feel comfortable talking about this with you if you’re comfortable hearing it.”

“Then I am satisfied. Ask what you would like, and I shall try to answer,” Celestia said. “Leave the papers alone for a bit.”

A thought occurred to Twilight “You know, I think we’ve done enough to warrant a real break. Would you like to break for tea? Talk on your balcony, maybe?”

Celestia grinned. “You mentioned tea because you thought I would say yes if you did. And you’re right, obviously. I’ll have a tray brought up.”

*

“So. The Court.”

Twilight nodded. “It’s… Well. My dreams have been really strange since it… manifested, I guess? Is that a good word for it?”

“It’s as good as any,” Celestia said softly, and floated over a shortbread cookie. “Since it manifested, your dreams have changed. Might I ask how?”

Twilight pursed her lips. “It’s hard to explain. Mostly because it makes no sense! I’ve usually remembered my dreams about as easily as ponies normally do. A bit right after a wake up, and then it fades to nothing before noon. They’re usually nonsensical.”

Celestia smiled. “And now?”

“And now they’re still nonsensical, but they don’t fade. They just… bounce around in my head all day! It’s chaos.” She waved her hooves and scowled. “Their voices echo around in my head.”

And they echoed now.

“So you can hear their voices distinctly?” Celestia asked. She had been happily snacking, but now she paused. Twilight thought she saw a rather different question behind those eyes, but she answered what was in front of her.

“Sort of,” she began. “It’s… Well. Sometimes I hear one or two voices and I can tell who they are. But usually? They drown each other out.”

“Is there a difference? At certain times, perhaps?”

Twilight nodded. “Well, that’s just when I’m awake. When I’m alone, I can hear them individually and they speak less. There’s less to comment on, if that makes sense. Which of course it does, right, back on target, Twilight. Mostly they just provide commentary. But at night? Dreams. Strange dreams.”

“Tell me about them.” Celestia put down her tea and leaned forward slightly, her attention completely on Twilight.

So Twilight did. “Each one is different. Sometimes I’m at home, in Canterlot. Sometimes I’m in the observatory tower. Or I’m in the library, before Tirek. Or I’m in my palace. Sugarcube Corner. The human world, once. The only constants are that I know all of them are there, all of my friends, and that I never remember what we talk about.”

Celestia hummed. “It sounds as if they are determining what sort of Court you shall have. Not just the idiom, for that changes. But the dynamic. The dynamic tends to remain.”

“What do you mean?” Twilight said, arching an eyebrow.

But Celestia hummed to herself and looked out over the city.

Twilight watched her, waiting for her to speak. Some thought was on her mind, some word right on the edge of her lips, and Twilight wanted to hear it.

And a bit, she was thinking about herself. About Celestia. About Them. It was still strange, yes, but there was more to the thoughts that slowly rolled about in her mind. What really made a relationship romantic? Friendship she felt like she had a grasp on—understand? Never, not really, it was far beyond her to plumb its depths in even a few years’ time—but this was… new.

The way they were now. Was this romantic? It seemed like a conversation they could have had any time before, normal. Did romantic excitement seep into everything? Was it some all-encompassing thing?

She’d expected it to be like that, and sometimes it was.

In that moment, as she watched Celestia, Twilight felt a warmth in her chest. It wasn’t a great flood of emotion, and it wasn’t anything grand by any stretch of the imagination. It was closer to mere affection than to anything she had read about in books.

She reached over and touched Celestia’s hoof. “Thank you,” she said.

Celestia looked back at her, and then down at their hooves. “You’re welcome, dearest. Though, what have I done?”

“Just listening,” Twilight said. “While I ramble.”

“You’re not rambling,” Celestia said. “And I’m glad that you feel comfortable talking about it, to be frank with you.” She chuckled. “You’ve handled it far better than Cadance did.”

“Really?”

“Oh, absolutely. You’ve been a bit befuddled, yes, but I expected that. It’s normal and natural. Cadance was rather distraught.” Celestia paused, and then frowned slightly. “You would tell me if you felt overwhelmed, wouldn’t you?”

“I would. I promise.”

“Good.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a time. Work was forgotten. Twilight didn’t think of it at all, or really anything at all but how nice the air was.

“A thought comes to mind,” Celestia said eventually.

“Share it?”

“In a moment. I have a few thoughts. The first is that I would prefer to do the rest of our work later, and would love to retire to the long couch. Is that alright?”

Twilight, heart filled with butterflies, laughed. “Sure.”

They finished and left everything on the tray before moving back into the royal apartments. The long couch was, well, just that. Plush, opulent, in the old style when unicorn nobles reclined and ate on their sides. She’d always found the idea slightly ridiculous, but there it was.

Celestia laid down first and opened her forelegs, and Twilight tried to suppress the giddy grin that bubbled up as she laid down in that embrace.

They laid that way peacefully for a while. Celestia did this sometimes, Twilight had discovered. She napped. She napped a lot.

It was one of the little things that she’d noticed only after she’d ascended, when much of Celestia’s formal mask had cracked. Left to her own devices, without someone to prod her, Celestia lazed. With Luna and Twilight herself contributing to the flow of work, more and more time had opened up, and with it came ever more tempting moments that could be wasted in indolence. And the patronized daughter of all sunbeams was loathe to waste any opportunity.

She’d learned that Celestia would work at night with a glass of scotch, which was surprising for some reason. That she sometimes had trouble sleeping. That she daydreamed. That she teased her servants and inquired after the minutia of their lives to such a degree that more than once she’d found Raven and Celestia happily conversing over the pregnancy or birthday surprise of some maid.

Twilight found she liked most of these things. It was a good thing to discover.

“I was considering that the best way to become acquainted with your court is to experience it,” Celestia began after a while. “Which I cannot help much with. But I can help in another way. True, you must discover yourself for yourself, but to see how another lives can be beneficial. If it would please you…”

She hesitated. Twilight lay still, waiting for the next, but it did not come. She shifted and faced Celestia, who didn’t quite meet her eye.

So Twilight did what felt best in the moment. She leaned up and kissed Celestia gently. “What is it?”

It felt so forward. Presumptuous, even. But it also felt… nice.

Celestia seemed surprised, going still, but then warmly returned the gesture.

“Share my dreaming with me. Tonight. I will speak to Luna and have her assist us. Perhaps you might make a tour of it, if the others are willing. Twilight Sparkle going from dream to dream as a pilgrim.”

“Is that alright?”

“Yes. Yes, I do think it will be. You surprised me,” she said. “With the kiss. We have been slow about this, haven’t we?”

“Yes, a bit.”

“Mm. Forgive me if I seem… daunted.”

Twilight chortled and nosed her. “You? I was going to say the same.”

“It’s been… well. I was going to say that it had ‘been a while’ but the truth is that by my measure it really hasn’t. I’m not sure what keeps me from being more free. I wish to be, I am trying to be, but—”

Twilight nuzzled her cheek. “It’s okay. This is kind of my first serious relationship. I’m not sure how ready I am to do much more, you know?”

Celestia sighed. “Thank you. Often you have steadied me.” She nuzzled back, and resumed. “But the ‘tour’ if you will, I think that will be a good way to introduce yourself to what courts look like in others, and help you in the formation of your own.”

“I’m willing. What do I do?”

“Oh? That’s the easy part.” Celestia grinned and kissed her forehead. “You need only to sleep.”

Author's Note

Thank you to MaskedFerret as always. Sorry it was so late. Up next: Lots of Courts.

Interview

Twilight loved the quiet walk from one home to the other. There was something deliciously nostalgic about retracing her fillyhood path, overshadowing her smaller invisible hoofprints. It helped that the walk itself was through one of the nicest parts of town, avoiding the business of the markets and the shops and the calling of pedestrians.

Her ancestral home and her accustomed path were both firmly in the old district of the Celestial Tier that was sometimes called the Garden District. She still remembered Celestia explaining why, years and years ago.

She had been sitting on the floor of her mentor’s study, reading diligently—at that age she did everything diligently—while Celestia took tea. When Twilight had been a filly that had been a fairly common occurrence. It had all been a mixture of shyness and happiness then. Being a student at Celestia’s school had been a great accomplishment, but actually becoming her liege’s official private student had been a rush.

And little Twilight hadn’t known exactly how to handle it, had she? Not entirely. But foals rarely know in their minds what they understand in their hearts. Twilight hadn’t really thought through being comfortable in the Princess’ presence, she simply had been. She hadn’t thought through or analyzed her way into deciding that the proper place for studying was Celestia’s teatime. It had just been the obvious choice.

Celestia had asked her what book so captivated her, and young Twilight had held it up with a wobbly magic grip. A history of Canterlot, she had said proudly. And Celestia had smiled.

And do you enjoy history, then, my student? She had asked, and of course Twilight had said yes. So Celestia had told her all kinds of things. The district where she lived had once been a great garden kept by the Princess herself. But as the principality grew ever greater, she had less time and energy to devote to her garden, and so she had invited a few of her trusted subjects to live in and maintain the wooded hills. Time had rolled on, but even so as more houses were built, the inhabitants never forgot to make their homes beautiful and their street shaded with trees and begirt with flowers.

Twilight, in the present day, sighed. Not an unhappy sigh, per se. It was a good day, all told. Lunch with her parents had been wonderful. Her mother had talked her ear off about everything from Ponyville goings-on to her new relationship. Her father had been eager to discuss her last paper. And also her relationship.

They were excited for her and in general. And it was nice. But it was also a little overwhelming.

“Nice, but a little overwhelming” was more and more becoming Twilight Sparkle’s motto. It perfectly described the experience of going from being more or less alone with just Spike for company to having a whole circle of friends and a village that knew who she was. It very much described the aftermath of getting wings. It was also almost painfully perfect for describing what it was like to date Princess Celestia, Driver of the Chariot of the Sun and Protector of the Realms and also a lot of other titles that Twilight knew by heart.

She had so much going on, and here she was walking the same path as she had as a filly and for a moment the world just seemed very, very close and very, very full. It was not that she was unhappy. Just… overwhelmed.

The feeling hadn’t started with Celestia’s offer to explore the dream together, but Twilight had found it harder to put her own slow-burning distress away since that discussion. She wanted to see whatever there was to see. Not only for herself, but because she wanted to know more about Celestia. She wanted to be firm in her knowledge of Mere Celestia.

And, here she was, on her fillyhood track.

It bothered her. It bothered her that it bothered her. It wasn’t symbolic. It was a straight line from home to palace. Her feelings about it weren’t an indictment on anything. They were just a reaction.

But she’d read too many books to ignore the juxtaposition of Thoughts and Place. It tugged at her, asking to be examined and overanalyzed.

Until, of course, the letter found her halfway between anxiety and home.

The courier was not like any courier Twilight had ever encountered. He fell out of the sky like a dark comet, wreathed in light—or was that illusion, the sun glinting off of dark armor?—his face shrouded and his barding unfamiliar. She did not recognize him as friendly at all at first. She saw glinting black and leathery wings and her mind was filled with changelings.

But even as she called up her considerable magic to face this ambush, the courier bowed to her and she stopped, baffled.

“My Lady,” he said, his voice gravelly and dark, like echoes in a cave.

Twilight blinked at him, but recovered. “Who are you?”

“This one is called Good Harvest, my Lady. The Liberator wishes for your presence and asked that you be given this.” As he spoke, the strange pony pulled an envelope from his barding and presented it to her, still not meeting her gaze.

Twilight took it with her magic and glanced at it. Luna’s presence was obvious. Most things she did, to be fair, were rather obvious in one way. Luna was the kind that announced herself loudly but did her true work quietly. Crescent moons decorated the front, and it was addressed to her.

“Thank you,” she said. “Uh… forgive me, but… I don’t recognize your barding. I’ve seen plenty of Night Guards, but you don’t look remotely like them.”

And he didn’t, it was true. Sure, there was a similar color scheme but that was about the extent of it.

“This one is of the Duskwatch,” said the stranger. “I am sorry to have startled you. Shall I return your response to the Liberator?”

Twilight frowned slightly at that. She still had no idea why he was referring to Luna that way. There was a story there and it tugged at her. “Of course. Tell her I’ll be there presently. Should I just waltz in or is she expecting me at a certain time?”

“At your convenience,” the stranger said, and with that he launched himself into the air.

Startled, Twilight tried to follow him with her eyes but he dived low and she lost him behind an oak tree and an old house.

Left without much else to do, Twilight looked down at the letter still tight in her magical grip and shrugged before opening it.

The message, as it was, went thus:

Dearest Twilight,

As a favor, I would request your presence in my chambers for a bit of palaver. Having made inquiries as to your preferences and tastes I will of course have tea and sundries provided for you. Take heart, for nothing serious is afoot. It has simply been a long time since you and I took tea together and you do happen to be “in the neighborhood” as the ponies of this day say.

Oh, and a friendly reminder: you have not continued our game in some time. As I recall, I have your king between the horns and I would very much like to finish him off. Do get around to that.

Yours,
Luna

Twilight chuckled. “Hardly,” she said to the air. “You’re too narrow-minded, Luna. Pay attention to the rest of the board.” But she smiled, and folded the letter up.

Twilight found another Lunar soldier waiting for her at the palace gates. This one was a bit more conventional, wearing the old night watch barding and insignia that Luna had decided to keep. He saluted smartly and she nodded at him.

“I’ve been asked to inform you that the Princess is in her studio, my Lady,” he said.

Twilight wished that she had had the chance to get to know some of the night staff when she’d lived in the Palace. “Thank you. Change of shift already?”

He smiled briefly at her. “It’s already five, ma’am.”

“Is it?” Twilight blinked and then chuckled. “I lost track of time, I guess. I’m still not used to being without my careful itinerary, but the Princesses asked me to, ah, ‘take it easy’. As you were,” she added, and trotted past.

Twilight knew the palace better than she knew any other place in the world, perhaps. All of it except for the suite of rooms that Luna now inhabited.

They had been mostly sealed off when Twilight had been a filly. Not all of them, of course. The Lunar observatory certainly had never been unlocked that she knew of, but the small Lunar library had always been open. Few had ventured in besides herself, and even then she had been largely ignorant of the place’s significance.

So she was grateful when a maid met her at the door leading to Luna’s wing of the palace. The maid was a bat pony, short and frankly adorable, with eyes like twin blood moons that she swore gleamed.

“My Lady,” the maid said, and curtsied. Twilight smiled at her, and she continued. “My name is—”

“I remember,” Twilight broke in, grinning. “You’re Hyacinth, aren’t you?”

“Yes! Oh, I’m glad that you remembered me, my Lady.” The maid beamed even wider, if such were possible. “The Princess is in her studio. But, ah… you’ll need my help to find her, I think. Have you visited my Lady’s apartments whilst the lights were out?”

Twilight blinked. “No, I don’t think I have. I’ve been in her study before, but I remember it being lit. Not brightly, I suppose, but lit.”

Hyacinth nodded. “Sometimes, she wishes to be in darkness. She told me that I should light your way if you found it disorienting or unpleasant, but I can also lead you if you wish.”

“Lead on,” Twilight said.

Another bow, and Hyacinth opened the great doors that separated Luna’s domain from the general palace. The difference was immediate. Twilight had walked these halls before, but now they were in pitch blackness, far darker than at first she thought was even natural. She balked for a moment, but Hyacinth trotted through the open door way and Twilight awkwardly shuffled in after her.

She couldn’t see a thing. Her first impulse was to call up arcane light, but the door closing behind her startled that instinct away. Something moved past her, and Twilight tensed, only to hear Hyacinth’s voice.

“Are you alright? It is no trouble to light a few of the braziers.”

“How is it this dark? I can’t see anything!”

“There are few windows,” Hyacinth said. “There used to be many more, they tell me, but the Liberator had most of them removed and the gaps filled in. I am surprised you had not noticed.”

“I… I wasn’t paying attention at the time. I usually see Luna in Celestia’s apartments,” Twilight said weakly. “How will you guide me if I can’t see?”

Twilight heard the clack of hooves against stone and a gentle touch on her shoulder. “By touch, if you are amenable. Because you can use magic, you can simply keep a light touch on me and I shall walk ahead. The halls are quite clear of anything which you could stumble over.”

Twilight bit her lip and then nodded. Calling up light still seemed appealing, but she had already accepted help and it seemed rude to do anything else now. She found Hyacinth with a light telekinetic touch, resting it on her back, and then her guide turned and began to trot down the hallway.

It was not easy, but keeping up was not quite as hard as she had anticipated. Hyacinth did not dawdle, but her pace was not so fast that Twilight had to speed up.

At last, they stopped, and Hyacinth turned towards her. Twilight let go of her magic.

“Here we are. I am not sure what my Lady is working on, but please be quiet as you enter.”

With that, Twilight heard her open the door. Beyond, she saw a room illuminated by light pouring out from under another door in the back. She thanked the maid softly and walked in, careful to stay in the light and not stray where she could not see well enough to avoid anything precious Luna had set up.

The door was unlocked. She opened it.

Luna sat at a desk, hunched over some work. Several floating orbs of white light hung over and around her, making the room so bright that it hurt Twilight’s eyes for a moment. She winced, covered her face, and took a step back.

“Come in, come in. I’ll only be a moment,” Luna said. Her voice seemed distant. Calm, but in a flat sort of way.

Twilight grimaced and uncovered her eyes, only to find that the room’s lights were dimmer now. She stepped forward and stood in front of the desk.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Come and see.”

So she did, orbiting the desk until she could get a better look.

Luna held a paintbrush in her magical grip, and it floated above a small pewter statue, more of a figurine. Already, it was half painted, and if the brush’s catlike aggressive hovering was anything to go off of, it would be done soon.

“That’s an old Unicorn kingdom soldier, isn’t it?” she asked. “I recognize the style of his barding from the history books.”

Luna smiled and nodded, but said nothing.

Twilight watched her work until some point of completion and then Luna stretched and turned to her. “My apologies. I was lost in my work.”

“New hobby?” Twilight asked with a smile.

“Something like that,” Luna replied. “It is… a meditative sort of practice. I happened upon it in a conversation between two of my guards and made a few inquiries. Amusingly, it is a far more ancient practice than they believed.”

“Gaming?”

“Yes. You know, the old pegasi commanders would play such games, legatus versus legatus, centurion against centurion. I played a bit myself here and there. They were a way to keep one’s spirits up after a hard march and a long flight. Our way of playing was a bit different, I will say. A bit cruder. I also thought it was a bit more realistic.” Luna examined her work and sighed. “And, after all, I do paint. But I did not call you here to talk of my hobbies.”

“I was wondering. You mentioned our game but if you’d wanted to chat you would have just dropped by at dinner or for tea afterwards. But you didn’t seem to have an urgent tone. What’s going on?”

“A bit of this and that. There are better venues for conversation than this.” Luna stood, stretched again, and her horn lit as the room beyond lit up. She gestured and Twilight followed her through the studio, which was filled with paintings.

Twilight wished she could stay in that room. She wished she could examine each and every single canvas. Most were completed, others not, and she wanted to see them all. The few records she had found speaking of Luna extensively from before her isolation always talked of her artistic skill, and Celestia had mentioned it wistfully more than once, and there it was. But she knew better than to pry. But sneaking a glance couldn’t hurt.

Luna led her on, lighting a brazier here and there with magic fire that glowed green, until Twilight began to recognize where she was. Luna’s study wasn’t so far from her studio.

Getting comfortable distracted them both, as did the arrival of a tray of pastries and tea, and that was good. Twilight had long ago learned that the primary utility of tea and snacks was to act as a buffer. Ponies needed that, a space between themselves and the coming conversation. Even a good conversation needed some space. Ponies needed space. They didn’t always need it at all points. But in general, they needed it.

So she gathered herself, rehearsed silently and idly what she might talk about. She prepared answers and questions, plotted out half a dozen might-be’s and maybes. It was not a worried or a fretful thing, but a calm one. A curious one. Luna seemed at ease.

Of course, in the back of her mind, there was the stirring of Something Else which she had begun to call the Court. A gaggle of competing voices, sometimes quieter, sometimes louder. Now they stirred within her, talking over each other. Luna is a trickster, they said. She is a shadow inside of a darker shadow, they whispered. But they said this not with malice, only with speculation.

Twilight was glad for the seat in front of Luna’s desk. There was nothing quite so bad as an uncomfortable chair, in her opinion. Another thing she had learned from Celestia in the time since she had ascended: little details mattered. The softness of the chair, the choice of refreshments, even the color of the wall. The sisters chose everything with care, even when they seemed carefree.

At last, Luna had situated herself, and for a moment Twilight was transported to a much, much earlier time. Gone was the regal but relaxed style of her former mentor, the style of the modern day which stressed approachability and personability. Luna had become something else entirely, something far more made of steel than what Twilight was used to. Her face was set, again, not with malice, yet it was a hard look. An appraising look, a statue’s gaze. It demanded a solemnity which Twilight found bewildering, but only for a moment.

And as soon as she had acclimated, Luna threw her for another loop.

“What are your intentions with my sister?”

Twilight, who had been for all of her casual behavior regarding her own highborn status raised well, managed not to spit out her tea.

“Excuse me?”

“The question remains.”

“I mean… I mean, you know we’re, uh dating. Courting. One of those.”

“Yes, I am very well aware.” Luna nodded, before returning to her immobile stauesque pose. “My sister’s tastes don’t often turn this way, did you know? But that’s not what I wished to discuss. What is your intention with this courtship?”

Twilight sputtered. There weren’t really words coming out more than just syllables of dismay. “I… I mean…” she waved her hoof. “You know.”

Luna raised a single eyebrow.

“You know,” Twilight repeated, a little desperately. “I mean, what every relationship is, uh, intending?” Luna didn’t budge. She sighed. “I’m sorry, you just caught me off-guard.”

“As was my intention, I confess.” Luna took a breath and seemed to relax. She leaned forward, ears pricked. “But I suppose might ask you in a different way. You are serious, yes? Do you love my sister? That may seem like an almost insulting question, but I mean it quite earnestly.”

“Of course I do,” Twilight replied slowly. “I’ve loved her a long time, Luna.”

“As you’ve said before—as she has said before.” Luna glanced away, as though lost in reminiscing.

“Is… is she… did I do something wrong?” Twilight asked, starting to rise.

Luna looked shocked and reached a hoof out towards Twilight. “No! Not at all. Rather, you’ve done many things quite right. Do calm yourself, friend, nothing is amiss. Celestia offered to let you visit her Court, as I understand it.”

Twilight settled back and nodded.

There was some silence then, as Twilight tried to recover and Luna plotted. Twilight found her eyes wandering anywhere but Luna.

The room was crowded, filled to the ceiling almost with books and scrolls. Luna’s desk was a disaster zone, so drastically different from her sister. But, to Twilight’s sudden distracted amusement, the inbox was neat and orderly.

As if on cue, the door to the study opened and Hyacinth, the maid from before, returned with a bundle of papers. Twilight caught a glimpse of Luna’s face and filed away the sudden soft, happy look there for later.

“Can I get you anything?” Hyacinth asked, her gaze flicking between the two ponies..

“No, dear Hyacinth, we are doing well. Did you bring me more of your torturous modern rubbish?” Luna asked in a tone of feigned weariness.

Twilight watched, interested but not knowing quite why, as Hyacinth smiled softly and simply placed her pile neatly into the inbox. “I can always have some of your staff help lighten the load, if you wish.”

Luna grimaced. “And let those fools conduct the state? The helm is not meant for too many hooves.”

“We do have councils now,” Hyacinth said, still smiling as she took the papers from the outbox and straightened them carefully. “Times have changed, my Lady.”

“I suppose they have. Some things stay the same,” Luna said softly.

“Some things,” Hyacinth agreed. She turned to Twilight Sparkle. “Lady Sparkle, is my dear Lady troubling you?”

“Not at all,” Twilight said, cracking that sort of smile one smiles when unsure how to respond. “Just a bit of a discussion.”

Hyacinth gave her a flat look and then turned back to Luna. “Oh, you are still cruel sometimes, aren’t you?”

“Hyacinth,” Luna said, with something of a grimace.

“Yes, yes. I’m leaving. A meddling seneschal am I,” she said and chuckling, all but danced out.

Luna sighed, and then chuckled. “My seneschal is rather, ah, familiar.”

“I like her. She reminds me of Raven a bit, but decidedly more spirited,” Twilight said. “I thought she was a maid.”

“Oh, she is. She serves in both respects. Perhaps I’ll tell you one day how she came into my service.”

“She came at a good time. Things were getting a bit bad there for a second,” Twilight said. “Celestia did tell me that she wanted to share her Court with me. I’m not sure what it will be like.”

“Boring,” Luna said flatly. “I do not jest. It is as dull as my sister is in the waking world of our subjects.”

“Aw, that’s not fair.”

“Ah, give her a decade,” Luna said, waving her hoof. “She is delightful sometimes, yes, but so dull! So sedentary! She prefers to read these days! Ah, she used to keep up with me drink for drink. We had such adventures. You must ask her about it sometime.”

“I’ll try to keep it in mind,” Twilight replied, trying hard to resist the urge to ask there and then.

“Do so. I’ll be asking later. I think you’ve perhaps guessed that her offer was not casual.”

Twilight shifted in the chair. “Yeah, I had kind of gathered. She hesitated.”

“Might I ask you something you may not enjoy answering?”

Twilight paused.

“Yes. Sure, go ahead.”

“Did it bother you that she hesitated? Did it hurt a bit?” Luna looked at her steadily, her dark eyes betraying nothing.

Twilight looked away. The piles of books, the painting of some long forgotten conflict, the wood panneling, anything but at Luna’s searching eyes.

“What is this all about?” she said softly.

“I shall tell you. But I need to know some things first. Have I upset you?” Luna lowered her head slightly, glancing over at Twilight.

“It bothered me,” Twilight said. “A little. Because I’m insecure. I’m worried about us, about our relationship. About… about whether or not I’m enough for her, about whether or not I’m boring, or going too fast or too slow.”

“Have you had lovers before?” Luna leaned forward slightly.

“Not… not exactly.” Twilight fidgeted with her tea cup, swirling the dregs.

“Ah.”

“But she didn’t mean anything about it! I think. I didn’t take it personally. And she offered, and I felt like that was important.”

“It was. It was very significant. Do you know who else besides her has seen that place?”

“You, I guess.”

Luna nodded. “And only myself. You will be the first to step foot. In fact, you will be perhaps the first beyond our small number to even know that such a thing exists. She looked at Twilight with hooded eyes. “This is a heady thing, you know.”

“Oh… The first?” Twilight sat back and took a reassuring sip of tea.

“Aye.”

“I’m… I’m not really sure how to process that.”

“It is perfectly fine not to know.” Luna paused. “Twilight, you are my dear friend. But I must also protect my sister. I will be the one ferrying you, after all. Do you understand? I wish only for you to know a bit of what this all means.”

“So… I guess I should be, what, careful? Cautious? I don’t want to go too far. I know how fragile this all is.” Twilight chewed her lower lip slightly.

“Fragile?” Luna asked, furrowing her brow. “Explain.”

“I mean…” Twilight gestured vaguely. “I’m not exactly drawing from a lot of personal experience here, but I know enough to know that any romance is fraught. Step wrong in the early stages, and it all falls apart. A relationship, friendship or romantic or whatever it is, is always kind of like… like a game. No, a dance, I guess. No, that’s not it. It’ll work. If you step wrong in the beginning, it throws the whole thing of… if you step wrong enough in the beginning…”

Luna hummed. “That’s a bleak mode of thought.”

Twilight just shrugged and sank back into the comfortable chair which was doing a poor job of being comforting. “I know. I am worried that if I push, if I go too far… I don’t know. I’ll scare her off? Or I’ll come across as desperate or needy or childish or something.”

“Not a totally invalid fear.”

“Exactly! But I don’t know where the line is. Now I’m worried that even going will be too much.”

“I don’t think so, necessarily,” Luna countered. “It needn’t be.”

“But it may be that way. And what if she misinterprets my caution? Agh, this is agonizing.”

Luna laughed. “Ah, to be young and in love.”

Twilight glared at her. “This is not funny.”

“It is, in a distant sort of way. I do not mean for you to fret. Only to be in the know, as it were. This is very important.”

“I know.”

Luna took up her saucer and cup and took a long sip. “I am sorry that I began as I did. I was only having a bit of fun. But I do want you to be thinking very seriously about what you and my sister want. Love is not a thing to be rushed, of course. It is also not a thing to be taken on willy-nilly.”

“Yeah.” Twilight sighed. “You know, she wanted me to visit everyone’s.”

“Ah, yes. Mine and Cadance’s as well. I believe you’ll like mine more than hers. If I judge you correctly, that is. And I have been a good judge of character before. Once or twice, at least.”

“What is yours like? Or hers? Or Celestia’s?”

“Celestia’s is dull and flagellant. I am only partially kidding. It has changed quite a bit recently. Mine own is a bit crowded, but not as crowded as my niece’s. One is never far from good company in the Court of Love.”

“Is it… is it like when you and your sister hold court?”

“Not exactly. It was, once. That is where the name started. But it changed over time as we changed. It changed when we realized that it could be something other than a reflection of duty. For a time we learned how to be rulers that way, and then we branched out, imagining more and more, building and building. Taller and taller we climbed. And then one day we stopped. We…” Luna shrugged. “It is complicated. It would take a long time to explain.”

Everything seemed to, Twilight did not say. As much as hearing that over and over, that there was history to things she did not yet know, excited her… it was frustrating. She was always ten steps behind.

There was another pause. Twilight shifted in her seat, wondering what to say next. What was required of her here? What would satisfy Luna? Was that even the right question to ask?

“You seem pensive,” Luna said between bites of a flaky confection of some sort.

“A bit, yes,” Twilight replied. She rested her chin on a hoof and sighed. “Luna, can I be honest with you?”

“Of course.”

“I always feel… like, ten steps behind. Just in general. With Celestia, with being a Princess… I’m always playing catch up. Will I always feel like this?”

Luna nodded throughout, and when Twilight fell silent she hummed for a moment. That moment stretched out a bit too long, but before Twilight could say anything else, could somehow elaborate on her feeling, Luna finally answered.

“Well, I can say with some degree of certainty that the mantle of rule never truly becomes easier,” she began slowly. “Hard decisions do not become easier with time. If anything, they become harder. Of course, you will not have quite the same weight as we did, so long ago.”

“Things work a bit differently, yes.”

Luna nodded. “But, as for the rest… Celestia is… old. It is odd to think of ourselves this way. Not that we aren’t cognizant of this fact. If anything, my dear sister and I live, breath, and move in every moment in the shadow of the fact that we have been and shall be beyond the lives of most everyone we meet.”

Twilight leaned in, putting her tea aside. “And I’m not sure what to do about that!”

“Should you do anything?”

She was taken aback. “Well… shouldn’t I? Isn’t that a huge gulf?”

Luna shrugged. “Of course.”

“Then shouldn’t I… I mean…”

Luna waved her questions away. “Hark, Twilight Sparkle: we have both loved many times, and I can tell you truthfully that rarely did that gulf inhibit us or our beloveds. Consider this, that we are not so different. I have seen much more than thee—forgive me, then you—and that shall never change.

But is that not true in this day and age of most any pony you would meet and fall in love with? In my age, ponies did not leave the place of their birth without some compelling need. In this age, they seem to wander far abroad merely because they can.
In a way, we have picked back up the even older ways, before the cities, but we have kept the progress made since that halcyon time. Difference is not so much a gulf but a spice, methinks.”

“So just… don’t worry about it?” Twilight said, slumping a bit.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Then?”

Luna laughed. “Learn! Is that not what you do best, ‘Faithful Student’?” She made a broad, grand gesture. “You must learn! And quickly, though that is not to say you do not have time. Nay, you have nothing but. Look at this as a chance to learn more. Look at every instance you feel such a thing as this, this being ‘behind’ as you say, as a chance to learn more. Do you not wish to learn more of my sister?”

Twilight smiled despite herself. “Always.”

“Then that settles it,” Luna said and returned to her tea.

“That… what?”

“We have talked about it, as I promised my sister we would. I will ferry you in your dreaming. Would you indeed still like to visit the other Courts?”

Twilight shrugged. “Of course, even though I’m not sure exactly what that entails.”

“Of course, of course. We will have to space these things out. I will begin thinking on it. I believe you will be ready to explore either my own or your sister-in-law’s Court in another week. We will deliberate amongst ourselves as to which is more appropriate. But for now? Let us put this to rest.” She shrugged. “I think that you are in the right set of mind, as much as you can be! And there is not much to be said or done before the unfolding of my sister’s choice. And… Well. You and I have a game to finish, don’t we?”

Author's Note

Dreams come soon after

Dreaming

They were both nervous.

It was palpable, that nervousness. It was the sort of feeling one felt on the eve of a test, or the day before a wedding, the aching knowledge of some potentially important change in the world right around the next corner.

Twilight and Celestia handled this in their own way. Specifically, by pretending it didn’t exist.

Celestia mused that they were like each other in this and in other ways. Up to a point, Twilight would panic and cast about for some immediate response. But beyond that point, she simply filed the problem away and pressed on in defiant ignorance of it. Celestia did the same. Some problems could be solved and should be solved. Some problems weren’t so much puzzles as they were solid, mildly frustrating realities, and the best answer was simply not to be too dismayed about them.

So they found themselves together on Celestia’s wide bed, with a bit of space between them, each with their own book. It was quiet, peaceful, and absolutely a facade.

Celestia wasn’t bothered by this. If anything, she was relieved that Twilight’s silent freaking-out gave her space to do her own swift, quiet panic.

It would be alright. Luna wouldn’t have assented if she thought even for a second it would not be okay. Right? Celestia felt like that was a sure thing. She hoped it was.

And it wasn’t bad. It was just…

She shook her head, and on impulse shifted closer to Twilight.

Twilight looked up at her, smiled, and then leaned in. Celestia nuzzled the top of her head gently and hummed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Twilight said softly. “Your sister is a very strange mare, Celestia.”

Celestia chuckled. “She can be, yes.

Twilight continued, still nuzzling into her side. “But she told me that you’d never let anyone but her visit. I guess I hadn’t really thought about it, but… that’s both… it’s like…” she sighed. “It’s both wonderful and a little intimidating. I wonder what it will be like.”

“She probably made a point of telling you how dull I am.”

Twilight giggled, and Celestia felt it against her side. “Yeah, she did. A few times.”

Celestia rolled her eyes. “Typical.”

“What do you say it’s like?”

Celestia hummed. “Reasonable,” she said after a moment before resting her head on Twilight’s mane. “I happen to think that my court is reasonable. It makes sense. Coherent and compact. My court is a structured one, where all things happen in decency and in order. Or, so I would like to say.”

“Hm?”

The Sun’s shepherd could not help but smile at how soft Twilight’s voice grew as she began to inch towards the oblivion of sleep. “It has been rearranging itself of late.”

Twilight stirred, but only to stretch. Her book floated away to land neatly on Celestia’s bedside table. “So they change?” she asked, after a yawn.

“Indeed they do.” Celestia kissed her head, and Twilight stiffened slightly.

It was vexing. Not intolerably so, but annoyingly so. She was not quite sure how to be with Twilight yet. Celestia had had many lovers. She knew the ways of two dozen intimacies, each unique, and yet Twilight was an enigma. Of course, they had all been, at first. Love’s glory was also its central problem: there were two ponies involved. What did Twilight like? What did she dislike?

Perhaps Twilight sensed her hesitation, for she shifted onto her back. Celestia looked down at her, and wondered if Twilight’s flushed face mirrored her own.

“Why’d you stop?” she asked.

Celestia smiled and kissed her forehead. “I wish we had longer stretches of time to ourselves,” she said. “It is useful for figuring each other out.”

“What do you mean?” Twilight asked, propping herself up.

“Well…” Celestia slipped in swiftly and kissed her on the lips. Twilight’s flustered, surprised reaction was predictable, but still highly enjoyable. Celestia pulled away, and allowed herself a smirk. “Like that, for instance. Sometimes, I wonder if I have been too slow. Sometimes I wonder if I move too fast.”

Twilight looked away for a moment, and then back to her eyes, grinning sheepishly. “I guess I’ve just been following your lead. You’ve… I mean, you’ve done this before. You have way more experience with, uh, this.”

Celestia chuckled to herself. “In a way. Shall I ask you a question, then, Twilight?”

Twilight hesitated, and Celestia couldn’t help but enjoy the sudden shyness around the edges of her voice as she answered. “I, uh… of course.”

“Do you like it when I do… this?” She leaned in and nibbled on Twilight’s ear.

Twilight gasped, and let out a little whine, and Celestia almost forgot herself. She pulled away again. “I’ll take that as a yes. But what if I were to, oh, I don’t know…” She paused. “I wouldn’t want to scare you off,” she said lightly, laying down on her back with a laugh. “My sweet, sweet Twilight.”

Twilight filled her field of vision in an instant with the most precious indignant look. “You can’t scare me off! I’m not a foal, you know!”

Celestia huffed. “I never said you were.”

“Well…”

“Alright, alright. Tell me, how do you feel about chains?”

“W-what?”

Celestia laughed, not just a chuckle but a deep belly laugh, and turned her head before Twilight’s blank confusion could send her into further peals of laughter. “Forgive me! Forgive me, Twilight, but I had a lover once who enjoyed such things.”

“Oh my gosh… You can’t be serious.”

“Chains!”

Twilight blanched. “Oh stars.”

Celestia composed herself. “I assure you, it was far nicer than you’re no doubt imagining.”

“Ah, no. I mean… I wasn’t… I…” Twilight shook her head. “I didn’t, ah… I didn’t say… Oh, stars, now I’ve forgotten how to speak.”

Celestia giggled and nuzzled against her girlfriend’s cheek. “Sh, none of that. My point was that every pony is different. We do not like the same things, and we are not the same.”

Twilight nodded, covering her face partially as if mortified. “I understand. I mean, I think.”

Celestia settled down. “Come lie with me? You seemed to be growing weary earlier.”

Twilight nodded, and they laid close, Twilight safe and comfortable as Celestia curled up around her. Celestia laid utterly still at first, only moving to ask Twilight softly if it was alright if she played with her mane, to which she was told yes--it was very alright--and her horn glowed softly as an invisible thaumic brush ran through Twilight’s mane.

“What were you reading earlier?” Twilight asked.

“An old volume. Laurel Leaves’ Georgics, in fact. Have you read it?”

Twilight shook her head carefully. “I haven’t. Um, I think I forgot my horn cover…”

Celestia nibbled on her ear, causing another little pleased but embarrassed whine, and she pulled her nightstand drawer open and retrieved a soft sleeve. Twilight took it and placed it over the tip of her horn. Celestia smiled into her mane. “I always have a few spare. I tend to misplace them.”

“Huh,” Twilight murmured as she adjusted herself, snuggling closer to Celestia. “It’s not too big. Just my size.”

Celestia smiled sheepishly.

“What about you, love?” Celestia asked. “What were you reading? I never caught the title.”

Twilight squirmed. “It’s, uh… Well. It’s not quite the same, uh…”

“Is something the matter?”

Twilight swallowed. “It’s, uh, one of Fluttershy’s.”

Celestia raised an eyebrow as she continued to play with Twilight’s mane idly. “Fluttershy? Why, Twilight! I wasn’t aware you had a writer in your circle. I can only imagine what sort of tales or verse one such as gentle Fluttershy might spin. What is the title?”

“Lady Connemara’s Lover,” Twilight said. “Which wasn’t the one I suggested, but it’s good enough, I guess.”

“Ah, I think I might know what it is about. What is it like, hm?” Celestia tried to envision what a romance written by Fluttershy would read like. So shy, barely able to speak up on those rare occasions that Celestia had had to interact with her. It was hard to think of her as knowing enough to make a proper story! Which was, she thought, a bit of a mean thought to have.

“They’re…” Twilight sighed. “Fluttershy writes saddle rippers, to be honest with you. Very, very good ones. They are scandalous and she’s been using Rarity and I as beta readers for the last year. Her pen name is Fanny Hill.”

Celestia was quiet for a moment.

And then, the book floated over towards her from the table. Before Twilight could stop her, Celestia had opened it up to the beginning.

“Now this? Now this I have to see.”

Twilight came to in a very different place.

She came to, in fact, as not quite the same Twilight she had been.

She was flat on her stomach. Her head felt fuzzy, as if she’d woken up with a hangover. Body felt… heavy. Damp. Damp? Wings were gone, and--

Twilight Sparkle opened her eyes and jumped to her hooves, only to stumble and fall over on her side. She tried flapping her wings once, but they were gone. Panicked, she continued trying to do the impossible, babbling worriedly and looking everywhere, as if wings were a thing that could just fall off and be picked back up.

It wasn’t until somepony cleared their throat above her that Twilight stopped her frenzy. She whirled around on her back, horn ready to meet whoever it was that had made the sound…

And found Luna with a devilish grin above her. “Hello there, Twilight. You seem to be having a spot of trouble.”

“My wings! My wings are gone!” Twilight cried, sitting up. “Where are we? What happened? Where’s Celestia? Why are you here?”

Luna simply rolled her eyes and held up a hoof. “Peace, Twilight. Calm thyself but a moment, and I’ll explain. You are dreaming.”

Twilight slowly lost some of the tension in her back as Luna continued. “Furthermore, to answer the rest: We are in a dream I created apart from your court and my sister’s. Think of this as neutral ground, or a waiting room of sorts. What happened? You fell asleep, of course. Celestia is still awake, which does not surprise me in the slightest. She always was one to linger on. And as for myself? Why, Twilight, I am here merely as your guide and chauffeur. I shall perform for you the service I have performed for others over the years, and ferry you across.”

“Ferry me… across?” Twilight shivered at a sudden remembered passage. “You make it sound like death, Luna. It’s a bit morbid, isn’t it?”

Luna chuckled, but offered a hoof and helped pull Twilight up. “Indeed, and I quite like it that way. Though I have met passengers bound for what lies beyond the moon more than once, you know. They flit about here in the aether awhile before they continue on. Dreams are a resting point for them.”

Twilight shivered again, for a slightly different reason. “So ghosts are definitely a thing here?”

Luna sighed. “I wouldn’t call them that.”

Shrugging, Twilight looked about her. Without the panic of losing her wings, she could focus at last on her surroundings. Not that there was much to focus on, truth be told. All around her was a heavy fog, impossible to see through and smelling faintly of rain. The ground beneath them was… well. It was. It was perfectly featureless, and simply trying to look at it for more than a moment made her head hurt in a somewhat frightening way, so she didn’t spend much time looking.

“Why fog?” she asked.

“I like fog,” Luna said and shrugged. “Not everything is a grand secret.”

Twilight stuck her tongue out at the moon’s shepherd and sat back on her haunches. “Well… so I guess we just wait for Celestia to fall asleep?”

Luna came and sat beside her. “Indeed we do. She will any moment now. It’s been a long day. I figured she might be a bit too nervous to fall asleep easily, so I had Hyacinth deliver a bottle of Moon’s Draught to her after dinner.”

“I didn’t see that.” Twilight glanced over at Luna and saw her smirk.

“You wouldn’t. She is quite talented, far beyond any other pony I know. She has no more peers.” Luna looked away, and continued softly. “At least, she does no longer.”

“I thought she was just a maid.”

“Oh, she is.”

“Then… what?”

Luna chuckled. “Hm. Shall I tell you all my secrets?”

“You certainly don’t have to,” Twilight said, cocking her head to one side.

“Ah, I certainly do now that you’ve said it just so. Hyacinth is the leader of my Dusk Watch. You’ve no doubt heard of the Nightshades.”

“Your personal guard,” Twilight replied. “And before you returned, my brother used to say that they did the work nopony else could do, and they did it quietly. I wasn’t sure what he meant at the time.”

“Poetic. Well, not quite, but it does sound nice. Captain Armor is quite correct. But the Nightshades are not a secret, even if sometimes their feats of valor are obscured. If the Nightshades are tightlipped, but quite real, then the Dusk Watch are a rumor that you only talk about deep in your cups.”

“Hyacinth? But…” Twilight frowned. “I am having a bit of trouble reconciling the Hyacinth I met and what you are hinting at.”

“And that is why she is the best,” Luna said. “Or at least, part of why she is the best. There is always some deeper layer, some darker… ah, but Celestia is beginning to waver.” Luna looked away, towards something Twilight could not see. “There. She will be with us any moment now. Or, I suppose, you shall be with her. Are you prepared?”

“I suppose. Though now I’m stuck trying to figure out how your maid is also some sort of shadowy assassin.”

“Hm. I shall have to tell her you said that. She will be quite amused. Ah, there she goes! Celestia, not Hyacinth. Her court shall be ready to receive us both presently.”

Twilight took a deep breath, and then paused. “Wait. Before I go… my Court.”

Luna cocked her head to the side, as if waiting for her to continue.

“It’s… well. It’s quiet,” Twilight said. “Not entirely gone, I don’t think. But I don’t hear the whispering in my ear like I have since Celestia and I dived into my dreams.”

Luna snorted. “If you wish to call my sister’s floundering a ‘dive’, that is your prerogative. But yes, separated from the dreaming of your Court, you will be as close to alone as an Alicorn can be, Twilight. Cadance asked me some time ago to give her normal dreams from time to time. Did you know?”

Twilight nodded. “She told me.”

“Is there anything else? I believe it’s time.”

“I guess so. I guess I’m ready.”

Luna grinned--and Twilight was taken aback for a split moment as that playful grin revealed sharp canine teeth and then she felt her body, her mind, her sight pulled forwards. It was like being stretched, till her body felt infinitely long and Luna became a long streak of light going on and on into the darkness and Twilight’s sight melted into something else.

It did not come back all at once.

Twilight herself did not all come back at once.

Her senses were broken. Fractured. It was like being born again, and with it all of the anxiety and the agony of birth. First came sensation, like tiny points of fire all along her body. The fire spread, as fires do, until it was a great blaze from head to dock. Beneath her was something cold and hard and unforgiving.Above her, the air was stifling hot.

Again, like before, she was flat against whatever sort of ground there was now. Nothing she did could lift her, for she could do nothing.

Next came sound. There was the scuffling of hooves against whatever her cheek was pressed against, and the distant thrum of voices. She heard the wind pick up, and the scattering of dust and rock. She gradually heard her own heartbeat, still strong despite her dreaming, and the sound of her own labored breath.

Luna spoke from somewhere above her.

“She seems to share some things in common with thee, sweetest sister.”

“Luna! Honestly, can you not put aside your foolishness? Did you warn her?”

She heard more hoofsteps.

“I didn’t,” Luna said. “I apologize. I was distracted by our conversation and... “ she sighed. “It is of no importance, now. She will be fine. She can no doubt already hear us.”

Twilight had, by the point, regained enough of her agency to let out a scratchy groan of affirmation. She felt something soft and warm rub against her cheek, and heard Celestia’s voice in her ear.

“Hello, love.”

Twilight’s heart skipped a beat, as it always did in such circumstances. “H-hello,” she managed, and then coughed.

She felt Celestia kiss her cheek and then the strange tingling sensation of magic enveloped her. Twilight fought it at first, trying to squirm, but movement took so much energy and she simply surrendered to whatever it was. Celestia would take care of her, after all.

And in a moment, sight began to return, and she saw that there was nothing to fear.

First: the sun, and Celestia’s mane. Not the flowing mane of color she was used to, but a soft pink. Shorter but still flowing down to her withers, bouncing with curls. Upon her head, Twilight saw the tip of a circlet peaking out between her locks. Above that blessed head, beside the tall towering horn, the sun in its blinding glory. Twilight grimaced and looked away.

All around them was a rocky expanse and a clear blue sky that strangely she thought had never seen a cloud. Great jagged boulders stabbed at the sky, and between them small creeks begirt with wild greenery. Beyond those tiny peaks, Twilight saw a many-pillared building, but it was hazy and indistinct, like a sketch that somepony had left unfinished.

Before her, around Celestia’s head, she saw a building which was more of a circle of marble pillars with a domed roof, and perhaps the beginning of steps leading down into something. Within the shade it cast there was a soft sort of glow, but she could not see what was there.

Twilight Sparkle was parched. She wasn’t sure it was even possible to be thirsty in a dream, and yet suddenly she was.

Luna, who walked beside the two of them, hummed, and Twilight realized that Celestia was humming along. And then, startlingly, she found that she herself had joined them, though she did not know the song. It simply happened. The notes simply happened, whether she willed them or not.

“Where are we?” she asked, but it came out as music.

Celestia, whose voice she had always adored, sang back to her and Twilight wished she were standing, if only to swoon. “I am come at last, when I least expected it. The others are waiting.”

Luna did not sing. “May I say hello before I depart, sister? I do not wish to intrude.”

Celestia laughed and drew closer to plant a kiss on her sister’s brow. “Of course, Luna, you needn’t even ask.”

“Thou art quite certain that I speak to Celestia, my sister, and not Dusk, her better third?”

Celestia chuckled. “Aye, and I am quite certain that I speak to none other than Luna, that harrier of misfortune and woe! Thy tongue is sharp as always, and I am glad to bear its wounds.”

“They are cut, of course, in love.”

Twilight stirred, and Celestia stopped. “How art--ahem. How are you feeling?”

“A little more like a pony,” Twilight said. “A little… confused? Fuzzy? Not quite sure how to say it. But I think I can walk. As much as I appreciate the ride.”

“Of course, Twilight.” Celestia kneeled slightly and Twilight slipped off her back. The song still hummed in the air around them, but Twilight managed to keep her mind relatively on track. Doing so felt like swimming against the current, but she managed. “So… where is home?”

They continued walking. “This is the plateau of Jannah, or rather, Jannah came after. It had no name you would know before the mother of cities,” Celestia said softly. Passing between two rocks that formed a sort of arch, Twilight could see clearly now the ancient tholos glowed.

“What is that?” she asked.

“If I said home, would it satisfy you?” Celestia said, and Twilight glanced over to see her smiling. She rolled her eyes, and Celestia chuckled. “I thought as much, love. It is a well, I suppose you could say. A pool of water, but very unlike what you know.”

“I wonder if it would be the same, here,” Luna said.

“Were anypony to know, t’would be thee, I would suspect,” Celestia said, raising an eyebrow.

Luna shrugged. “I know enough of time and space to know I do not know much. Which is to say that there are mysteries even here, and I’m not sure I’ll reach the end of them.”

They stood before the steps that led up into the tholos proper now. Twilight marvelled at it all. This was an ancient structure, even as it was in the dream. She had not ever in her life seen such a thing. Similar structures in books, yes, but those had been child’s play and foal’s blocks before this archetype. She tried not to lose herself in the intricate carved pictures that ran along the pillars, and was helped by the arrival of another alicorn.

The newcomer was… Well, to be honest, Twilight wasn’t sure at first. They were certainly beautiful, androgynous, like Celestia but not quite. Their eyes shone with a light that almost seemed to burn, and their mane blew in an unfelt wind and was fire. Their hooves were armored in gold and atop their head sat a crown of swords.

“Twilight! Luna.” The voice was definitely male, a fine rich tenor. Twilight settled on “he” for now as the newcomer continued. “It is good to meet you, Luna. It is also good to meet you at last, Twilight. I am the Sun Triumphant. You knew me once as Noonday.”

Luna blinked. She squinted, and then her mouth fell open. “By the song, truly? Where went that burnt out bitch, and from what gardened heaven did you walk out of, and shall I call you the Sun?”

“Noon is acceptable,” he said, almost a purr. And with that, he turned to Twilight and bowed deeply. Twilight, for her part, felt a bit embarrassed and mimed a curtsy she was still rusty at, having avoided it for most of her term as princess with a skillful ease. “You may call me whatever you wish, of course.”

Celestia stepped forward, as if she had forgotten her guests, and circled this strange male alicorn with a look of bewilderment. “I do not recognize you,” she said slowly. “I… it… I do not remember what it was like before, when one of you came into being.”

“It is alright,” said the Sun, and to Twilight’s shock, he nuzzled her cheek. “Dear Celestia, what is pony to you is not alien. What is you, I might say, is not alien. You and I shall palaver. But I have been eager to meet Twilight since I was born.”

Celestia nodded, and managed a smile as she stood beside her new twin. “Twilight, meet Noonday. Or the Sun, I suppose.”

“It’s an honor,” Twilight said, still reeling. She stepped forward, awkwardly extended a hoof, put it down, and then sputtered a bit. “I’m not really sure what the right protocol is here.”

“It’s quite alright,” the Sun said with a laugh. “My sisters and I are all Celestia, but we are also not her. We love her as you do, and we love you as she does. A hoofbump is fine with me. We are navigating this as well.”

Twilight smiled slightly and offered her hoof again, and the Sun tapped it with apparently ill-disguised glee.

But that glee faded a bit as the Sun straightened himself up and sighed. “Well… now that I’ve done that… I do believe it is time.”

“Time?” Celestia asked, and then paused. “Something is down there that I have trouble seeing. I don’t…”

“It has been some time since everything was not clear, yes?” the Sun shrugged. “Luna, Dawn and Dusk have asked that I pass along their regrets that they cannot meet you in person this time, and to pass along their love.”

Luna seemed taken aback, but as Twilight watched with open curiosity, she seemed to come to some conclusion and stiffened. Luna swallowed, looking like a filly who’d been caught coming home past curfew. “Yes, of course. My apologies. Send them my love and my wit. Twilight, Sister, I will take my leave here. If aught troubles thee, I shall be about my work.”

Luna vanished without ceremony, and Twilight startled. “Wait, what--”

“I think perhaps we should move along,” said the Sun.

“He’s.. right,” Celestia said carefully.

As the aspect turned and descended the steps down into the tholos’ center, Twilight and Celestia shared a look. Twilight wasn’t sure what her own face revealed, but Celestia’s was nothing like the careful mask Twilight had seen so many times. Instead, her expression was one of naked curiosity mixed with perhaps the slightest bit of trepidation.

“That was weird,” Twilight ventured. “And not normal, I’m guessing.”

Celestia nodded slowly. “In the waking world, the Court manifests primarily as suggestion or perhaps a voice. Aspects do not have much agency there. But in the dreaming they are very different. Far more separate, far more willful. There is no equal footing, I think, with the self. Not for us, at least. Either we are in charge or they allow us agency in an environment they rule.”

“That’s… a bit disconcerting.”

“Perhaps. Of course, temper this with the knowledge that aspects are still never divorced from you. Even misguided, they seek only your good, for it is their own good as well, and they care for you.”

Twilight nodded. “Shall we go?”

They descended the steps together.

In the center of the great divot in the rocky plateau, sheltered by the marble roof, the steps led down to a pool of crystal clear water. No, not quite clear, but crystal seemed to be appropriate, for the water seemed almost to shine like a mirror. There were no others in sight--the Sun was absent. There was nothing else but the pool.

Twilight heard the slightest sound as Celestia’s breath caught. It was a beautiful sight, to be sure, and the whole structure had a sort of calming effect that was pleasant, but when she turned to say this she found her love transfixed as if she had seen a ghost.

Celestia walked ahead, as if Twilight had never existed. The air around Twilight shimmered, and her throat closed up. This was not normal. This was…

Well. Awe-inspiring.

Celestia changed all at once and yet part by part, her whole body seemed to be change and light, until she was a bit shorter and dressed in ragged battlegear. Atop her head laurels, and then a burnished helm, and then her hair in a complicated sort of braid. Now in armor, now in a flowing robe, now naked as the sun’s light, now…

It was hard to keep up, but as she stopped by the water and sat, Twilight was relieved that she maintained a single visage. She looked younger, somehow. Her face bore a long scar across it from Twilight knew not what, and her flowing rainbow mane was simply a long pink again, tied up in a Prench braid. Her wings were folded against her, and she wore a small ornament on her horn--a ring with a chain that ended in a strange stone.

Twilight blinked, and with a start she recognized it. A Focusing Amulet. She’d read about them, but the old artificers had only known of such things secondhand, as relics of another land. Focuses these days were certainly useful, but none of them were quite as powerful as the artificers suggested the amulets had been. The Alicorn Amulet was the closest she’d ever come to finding such a thing.

But she did not mention it. Celestia seemed too focused for that. If anything, Twilight suddenly felt small and alone. Whatever was going on here, it did not seem to be for her.

And yet, Celestia turned to her with eyes that shone with as of yet unshed tears. “Twilight, my love,” she said, or rather she sang the words. “Come here. Come sit with me.”

Silently, Twilight walked to the pool and sat beside it.

Now she heard the water sing. Trying not to think too deeply about the impossibility of such a thing, she listened and was lost in the sound for a moment. It was… it wasn’t quite singing in words she knew. It certainly wasn’t Equestrian. She wasn’t sure if it was a language at all, for it seemed almost to be sound as primal and unadorned by attributed meaning as could be.

Eventually, Twilight pulled her mind away. “What is this place? What is this… this pool?”

Celestia wiped her eyes, and Twilight felt as if she’d blurted out her question in the middle of something solemn. Yet Celestia smiled. “This is the Well of the Firmaments. This is where I was born. I have not been back in a very, very long time. I do not know why I am here now. But… But this is home. Welcome to my home, Twilight.”

“The water, it--”

“Sings, yes. It doesn’t really sing itself. Think of a cave where you might hear your own echoes. The Well is like that, but the song it heard, the song that made it last before it withdrew westward, was far more present than any call you or I could make. The echoes of the Song linger still, and will for a long time. Perhaps until…” Celestia shrugged. “I’m sorry, I am not all here, in this moment. I was simply…”

Twilight reached over and touched her shoulder lightly. “I think I understand. I mean, I can’t completely, but I can understand some of it.”

Celestia stroked her foreleg and smiled at Twilight. “Thank you.” With a sight, she looked around. “Though, I am not sure why exactly you and I are here now. My court has not been of Jannah in almost a thousand years, Twilight.”

Twilight resisted the urge to let out a low whistle. “That’s a long time.”

Celestia smirked at her. “Hard to imagine, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

“Yes. It has been before.” Celestia’s voice fell off and she gazed back into the water. “Twilight? I think… Are you up for an experiment of sorts?”

Twilight chuckled. “Do you really have to ask?”

Celestia joined her. “I suppose not. I’m going to test what happens if I enter the Well. I know what happens in the material world, but… I have a feeling that this was placed here for me to touch or enter. I need you to tie your magic to mine.”

“A lifeline.”

Celestia nodded. “Exactly. Any disruption and you’ll know before I do, probably. You can pull me back and I won’t resist it. Is that alright?”

Twilight nodded, setting her jaw. “I can do that.”

Twilight called up her magic and found it strange. It was there, yes, but it seemed… The only comparison she could think of was like seeing a familiar pony through a thick fog. Her magic felt the same, and yet it also felt borrowed.

But she did not have time to dwell on it. Celestia needed her and this was a task Twilight felt prepared for, so she found Celestia’s own aura and powered through her customary awe reaction--god but it was like the sun lighting up the world!--and latched herself on.

Being tied thaumically was always an odd experience, no matter how well you knew the other pony. Flitting images and feelings and thoughts haunted you, in this state. Experience was soft and malleable, and diffused between two poles.

Celestia flared her wings and then tucked them back against her side. She nodded, more to herself than to Twilight, and then walked calmly into the water.

She sank quickly, far more quickly than Twilight had expected, and before she could even think to open her mouth and comment on it, she felt a tug on her connection. The tug became a pull, the pull became irresistible, and as Celestia’s head was fully submerged within the sparkling waters, Twilight was pulled to the brink.

A flash of insight burned through her mind in Celestia’s voice.

Jump.

And she did.

Meeting

The first thing that Twilight was aware of was the ticking of a clock.

One. Two. One. Two.

There were moments when one seemed to wake up in the middle of a sentence or halfway through a thought, rousing from some daydream or other. It was the closest thing that Twilight knew to what she felt.

The room around her was simple, stoic, greys and browns and warm light through one window. She knew this decor, wooden desks and blackboard. Canterlot Academy, top floor of the annex. She’d had classes here once or twice. Celestia had lectured in this very room before.

Which was fitting, as there were currently multiple Celestias.

In the light of the sun that streamed through the open window, there was a nice table and at it sat three ponies. In the middle was the Sun Triumphant with a light smile, just a hairsbreadth away from neutral. On his right, a Celestia with a pair of glasses perched atop her nose and an appraising little frown.On his left, a Celestia who smiled with obvious delight.

Twilight blinked at them. The smiling one gave her a little playful wave, which she awkwardly returned before looking around.

Behind her, the lecture room’s seating was arranged in that stereotypical tiered stadium style, and in the middle of the rows sat a very flummoxed Celestia. Without even a slight pause to consider, Twilight knew this was her Celestia, not an aspect but the whole.

One of the Court cleared their throats, and Twilight turned.

“We are waiting, Twilight Sparkle,” the Sun said dispassionately. “You are allotted no more than fifteen minutes for your presentation and the rest of your time is given over to an oral examination and defense. Do you understand?”

She sputtered. “What? Of what? I already did my thesis, I--” She shook her head. “I mean, what?”

The delighted Celestia giggled. “Why, your master’s in friendship, of course. The post-grad course in romance!” She continued to laugh while the more stern Celestia rolled her eyes. “Get it? I mean, not every friendship has to g--”

“We get it,” droned the bespectacled, serious aspect. “It’s a joke, yes. We let you pick this setting to make the joke. Let us move on.”

“Yes, let’s,” the Sun said. “You may begin, Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight took a deep breath.

There wasn’t really time to think, or compose some opening statement. Her actual thesis defense had been exhausting, a little frightening, and overall not an experience she had wanted to repeat--and that was with hours and hours of preparation and research and a full presentation all but memorized.

What did they want? Romance. They wanted what, “prove you know something about romance in fifteen minutes”? It was absurd. More than that, wasn’t it a bit cheap?

She coughed.

“It’s a bit much,” she began, “to ask me to take fifteen minutes to explain something that can alter the course of a life.”

The delighted Celestia cooed softly in, well, delight. Emboldened, Twilight continued.

“I am not sure what’s best here. Do I spend this time convincing you I know enough to be worthy? Or that I am worthy of love at all? Do you want me to expound upon some kind of theoretical underpinnings of romantic love, as if there were ones I could articulate? Do you want The Four Loves or the Ars Amores? Do you want me to declaim some pithy collection of lines about mares and rivers and inconsistency?

“I… I don’t know what to say. Love is… Love isn’t new. Not exactly! I loved my parents. I love them still! I love my brother and my sister in law. I love my friends with all of my heart. When I first had a student, I loved her and wanted the world for her. I love Spike. All of these loves have names and expectations but none of them are absolutely set forever in one place. They wander, and that is okay.”

Twilight swallowed. She knew Celestia, her Celestia, was watching. It felt… it felt like being in school again.

And she didn’t like that. She felt small. Exposed. It was the exact feeling of all of those dreams where she’d forgotten to study for some nebulous final exam and there was no time to cram. She hated it. She hated feeling like she didn’t have an answer. To not have a ready explanation, or even the possibility of acquiring one, was intolerable.

But more than this, more than all of this, she hated the feeling of detachment. She hated even for a moment, with a suddenness and a power that shocked her, that Celestia was above her somehow, removed and superior, unapproachable and serene. Watching, watching like a silent proctor, Good but not good, perfect but not… equine.

Twilight grit her teeth for a moment, and fished for where she had left off. Words didn’t come. She looked at the aspects. She looked at the blackboard behind them and the walls and then at last she turned and saw Celestia.

The image of Celestia the Teacher, the Pedestal-sitter, broke. Mere Celestia sat instead seemingly on the edge of her seat, her face full of concern and something else, something soft but fierce, something that Twilight’s everworking mind gave up trying to dissect and just called love.

“I think,” she began again, her eyes locked with Celestia’s. “I think that I don’t entirely know what love means yet. Not in this new way. But that’s normal, isn’t it? I had to learn a new kind of love when I came to Ponyville. I didn’t know really what it was like to love people who were not family in just this way, this new way where… where you were there for them, even when you had a project, even when you were tired, even when you weren’t sure how much help you could be but you tried because you loved them and they were important and that… that’s just what you did because it was good! And…”

Celestia nodded. She did not say a word, but she mouthed a single plea: Go on.

“And… and I’ll figure this new kind out too,” Twilight said, swallowing. “I’ll figure it out. Or, rather, I guess I should say… we’ll figure it out. You--Celestia, the one I know in the waking world--told me that every love is a little different. I think that’s right. It feels right.”

She pivoted and faced the aspects.

“So I don’t have any definitive answer for you. That is my speech. Celestia and I will find out what it means for us, and that’s all that matters.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then, enthusiastically as can be, the smiling Celestia clapped. She was the only one, and she made up for that with obvious pleasure.

She looked to her companion aspects and grinned broadly. “See? I told you Twilight was wonderful.”

The center, the Sun, remained impassive, but the third rolled her eyes. “Honestly. Really, Dusk?”

Dusk giggled. “Surely you were moved!”

“A bit, but you’re destroying the atmosphere.”

The Sun coughed, and the other two aspects straightened and dropped their interplay. Twilight watched, fascinated, as they he exchanged glances with them and then turned to address her.

“We have heard. We understand. And we will wait. We have only met you at a distance, and now we meet face to face--”

A curious thing occurred: The Sun, the other aspects, their eyes glowed with an intense, painful white light. Twilight winced and tried to cover her eyes, but the light was behind her as well, and she saw her own Celestia rigid and in the same state.

“What, what’s go—”

But their singing began and it overwhelmed her they were all in harmony and she did not hear the words but she felt them carved into her skull and they read:

—NOW I KNOW IN PART, THEN I SHALL KNOW FULLY, EVEN AS I AM FULLY KNOWN—

“Celestia? Sun? Dusk? What—”

The singing, the light, all of it stopped and Twilight reeled for a moment. It had been only a moment, but she found she was a bit shaken and slumped down slowly to the floor.

“What was that?” she asked, breathlessly.

And without her seeing even a bit of movement, Dusk and Dawn were at her side. Dusk pet her mane and cooed, and Dawn explained.

“We are sorry. This is something that happens in the waking world, but you experience it differently there. Celestia, would you like to explain?”

Twilight tried to look up as Celestia spoke from behind her, but Dusk’s fussing and fretting kept her from doing so. “Please continue, Dawn. Is she alright? Twilight, are you alright? That wasn’t exactly planned.”

“I’m okay. Just kinda bewildered,” Twilight said, not sure if Dusk was more annoying or soothing.

Dawn adjusted her glasses and sighed. “Well… in the waking world, you would only notice perhaps a subtle change in Celestia’s voice. A lilt, a bit of a sing-song sometimes. But it would seem like a person remembering an old, old conversation. Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so. Celestia—you I guess, all of you?—stares off into space sometimes. She’ll be looking at something else and her voice will grow softer and she’ll say something. Sometimes she will say it’s a quote, or I assume it's a quote.”

Dawn nodded. “Well, perhaps it is. We are not privy to that information. Celestia and ourselves only know that the words come to us and like a channel we carry them along to the world beyond. The wind does not tell what it passes before it comes to you, after all. It only speaks to you in that moment.”

“I… guess,” Twilight said. “I… are we done with the whole examination thing?”

The Sun chuckled. “Yes. Sorry, that was ill-advised. But we worry about Celestia. Even I, the youngest and the oldest, worry. You came here for help, and we would like to assist you if you would still have us.”

Twilight nodded, and Dusk spoke with dulcet tones. “Close your eyes a moment, would you, Twilight?”

Twilight nodded, her composure restored, and closed her eyes. Around her the world had no sudden change. There was no flash of light nor wave of heat nor clutching cold, and then Celestia laid a hoof on her shoulder and she opened them again to discover herself in a very new place.

It was a study. More specifically, it was Princess Celestia’s study in the waking world, reproduced with perfect detail down to the motes of dust in the streams of light that flowed in from the circular window above the bookcase behind her grand oak desk. This was the study that lived forever in Twilight’s pristine foalish memory. She gasped, feeling her whole body going slack as she gazed around. The great bookshelves were massive as they always had been, filled to the brim with ancient volumes and old maps. The desk in perfect order, everything in its proper place. Celestia herself was not in the desk--the Sun sat there with a patient, warm smile. Twilight expected to see herself as a foal sprawled out on the floor with a small pile of books, reading peacefully in the sunlight.

“Stars,” she said softly. “It’s just… did you look at my memory?”

She didn’t notice Celestia or the others until Celestia nuzzled her cheek. “Not at all,” her lover said with hushed tones. “I also enjoyed this. Though they can feel your connection to this place, I’m sure.”

Dusk, who came into view and laid leisurely on the couch in the corner of the room, nodded. “We can.”

Dawn perused the shelves, humming. Celestia was always doing that, but Twilight so rarely heard her sing.

Twilight smiled, but something stirred in her heart. “Is it… I feel a little conflicted,” she said.

“Go on.”

“Is it okay for me to cling to moments like this? Reading as a foal in your study? Being your student? All my young memories of you, are those okay to cling to like I do? Does it make our relationship strange now? Will it keep us from being… equals?”

Dusk chuckled, but not unkindly. “Oh, Twilight… will you take offense if I say that you never cease to be adorable to me? I hope you do not take offense. Are those memories good memories?”

“Of course! I love them!” Twilight said, spreading her hooves. “I… they make me happy. They make me feel safe.”

“Would we take such a thing away from you?” Dawn asked, still looking at books.

“I wouldn’t think so,” the Sun finished.

Celestia, who sat beside her, continued nuzzling Twilight. “For my part, I am happy you think of our time together in such a way.”

The Sun rested her head in his hooves. “Twilight, do you think of Celestia in the same way now as you did then?”

Twilight made to answer, and then paused. “Yes and no,” she said after a moment. “I still feel happy to be in her presence, and I still admire her for a lot of reasons. Of course, Celestia being here makes me feel more confident and I still want to make her proud, just like I did when I was young.” She looked up at Celestia. “I’m not sure I’ll never not want to make you proud.”

Celestia didn’t answer. She merely smiled.

So Twilight leaned into her and continued, looking at the Sun. “But there are things I know now, and things I think now, that are radically different. I used to think Celestia was perfect when I was young and read in this study. I know now that she makes mistakes. She’s imperfect. I loved her when I was young, and I still do! But I love her in a very different way.” She giggled suddenly, feeling her cheeks flame. “Though sometimes I entertain thoughts that my teenage self might have recognized.”

Dusk raised an eyebrow and grinned with obvious delight. “Now that I would love to hear about.”

Dawn finally turned from her books with a mortified gasp. “Honestly!”

The Sun, for his part, kept still. “Life is strange, Twilight. But your intention and your heart are honest, and so are Celestia’s. Do you feel any better?”

“A bit.”

“Good. You came here to better understand what your court will be like, when it settles.”

Twilight nodded.

“Though we aren’t sure yours will be like mine,” Celestia said into her mane.

“In fact,” the Sun continued with a nod, “we know it will not be the same, for you are different and the things you are bound to are different, unless Celestia has been seeing a second sun without informing us.”

“One is enough, thank you,” groused the princess. Twilight chuckled.

“So…” Twilight pursed her lips. “So, I guess it’s just… Well. From what I’ve seen, it’s the three of you, but sometimes that changes. Where you are can change, just like in a dream.”

Dawn, who had gotten over herself, smiled and turned back as she answered. “Yes. For many years, it was a court room where Celestia argued before a panel. Now it is wherever she wishes to be or go, most of the time. We spend a lot of time in the gardens.”

“I do so love the gardens. The terraced walks are romantic, aren’t they Twilight?”

Twilight flushed, knowing exactly which walk she was referencing and why--she remembered the first awkward kisses there. “Yes,” she mumbled.

“But yours might be less stable than ours, or more,” Celestia said and nibbled her ear. Twilight gasped softly and felt warm all over.

It was hard to keep focused on the Sun as he spoke, but she did her best. “And it won’t be confusing and chaotic all the time? I’ve had to ask my court to be quiet during the day because I can’t think. My head hurts and I can’t understand what’s going on.”

Dusk frowned and sat up. “We are sorry to hear that. But it will pass, we promise.”

Dawn turned back around and nodded. “They love you,” she said, pushing her glasses up. “And wish only the best for you. Give them time to adapt to being alive and their new way of living.”

“I guess… I guess it takes a while to be used to it from the other side,” Twilight said. “I know I’m probably not helping.”

“New things are difficult,” Dusk said soothingly.

“What can I do then?”

The Sun leaned back in Celestia’s desk chair.

“Dream,” he said. “In the waking, try to ask one of them to step forward at a time and spend the day with them. Let them all speak through one voice, a new one each time. Get used to the interplay between yourself and your court. Go slowly.”

“Go slowly. I guess it’s like any other relationship, huh?” Twilight began to smile. “I overthink things sometimes--”

The assembled Celestia’s snorted with laughter.

Twilight flushed. “Yeah, I know. All the time. But… I guess I’ve been trying to think of my court as some sort of, I don’t know. Magic thing? As a logic puzzle or a problem to be solved, and not as a relationship.”

“There was a time when Twilight Sparkle thought that relationships were machines to be tinkered with,” Dawn said.

Twilight sighed. “Yes, there was. That Twilight is thankfully pretty far removed from me, I hope.”

“I’d say so,” Dusk opined.

“And for our parts,” the Sun said with an air of finality, “we may try to talk to them, if you wish. Briefly, of course, but we may try to impart some of what we know. Would you mind?”

“I…” Twilight shrugged. “I’m not sure. Celestia?”

“It is your choice,” Celestia said and stopped nibbling on her ear. “I think it could do a bit of good, and is unlikely to do much harm. But of course, that is for you to decide.”

“Then sure,” Twilight said with a smile. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“Close your eyes. This will take only a moment for you, but it will be a bit too much of a strain to keep you conscious. Dreaming while dreaming, strange, no? But think of it is sleeping soundly at last.” The Sun rose and the other aspects followed him to take places around Twilight. As one they touched her horn with the lightest touches and before Twilight could even be embarrassed about such brazen intimate display she was feeling exhausted and her eyes closed.

Author's Note

A/N: This chapter was super gay because ScarletWeather was in the google doc with me

and it was just like my yuri animes

Letters III

Dearest Twilight,

I have thought on your letter for several days. I have read it and reread it, ruminated on it and pondered. My conclusions are many, but they are fragile like most things worth attention are.

Firstly, before I begin my… I’m not quite sure it is a rebuttal, but before I begin it, I would like to say that these letters really are a delight. If experience is what I should seek, the act of living in the world as it were, then I believe that this exchanging of words surely must count! I so rarely get the time and space to formulate my thoughts. Always always I am on the move, and the act of letter writing is such a nice reprieve.

But to the point.

Twilight, my dear, my friend, my liege after a fashion (is that official?)--what on earth are you going on about? Experience? I believe you’ve quite misread my words.

Firstly, you cast my account as if it were some sort of, oh I don’t know, a juvenile display, a fabricated distance as if it were not something integral to being equine to be at least a little lost. I am not avoiding experience Twilight! I am not cutting people off. To do so I would require some agency in the matter--as if it were my choice to be alienated!

But at the same time, I do not doubt you mean well and I’m not sure that there is not some truth to your words. Were I consciously choosing to isolate myself, were I as a matter of personal policy choosing with full knowledge to erect some sort of wall about my person, my Self, than indeed that advice would be perfect.

I think the answer, Twilight, lies instead in the concept of loneliness.

I have been very dependant upon the presence of others since I was a foal. Ponies, their voices and their faces and their company, filled me with energy and live. Only in the presence of others could I feel myself coming to life. Oh, to be sure, I am quite happy to have a lazy sunday morning to myself here and there, because who doesn’t? But the party, the scene, the crowd, the clique, the circle of friends were what gave me life.

So I am hyperaware of loneliness. Whenever I am alone, I feel it intensely, good or bad. Perhaps most ponies do. Maybe it is not rare. I wouldn’t know! I only know what I myself experience.

I believe loneliness is a warping. It is like quick sand. The desire of the lonely one is to be with others, no? But its loneliness keeps others at bay. Ponies sense the clawing, cloying quicksand loneliness and they refuse to step into it--and why should they? Is it not dangerous? Didn’t ponies of old fear the leper, darling? Loneliness has a stench about it, the smell of death.

But let us not be quick to thrust all responsibility upon the Others. The Lonely, too, plays a part in his or her predictament. That solitary individual often begins to blame the world for the dysfunctions of his or her heart and sees in mere indifference an active malevolence which he or she then proceeds without success to combat. The Lonely becomes short-tempered and bitter, an heir to greater things convinced that they live in the shadow of active oppressors where exists only those who know nothing of them yet.

The weariness of the inside circle and the outsiders’ warped mind’s eye—these things work together, dancing round and round, I think, an in endless dance of dismay.

Ironic, isn’t it, that loneliness creates itself?

I do endeavor as always to be better.

Rarity

TO: Petty Officer Rainbow Dash
FROM: Cmdr. Spitfire
RE: Duties

Rainbow. I don’t know how else to say this.

Do you know how many letters I’ve had in my inbox from a princess? About five in the last decade, not counting the invites to the Gala. Two of those were to inform me that the Bolts were going to be deployed into a warzone halfway across the world. Two of those times were to express condolences on the premature death of a Bolt. The last was when she sent me congratulations for ten years of service and I had a heart attack.

Okay, yeah. I get a card on my birthday, and she personalizes it, but that doesn’t count.

Look, what I’m trying to say is that I got a note on my desk from Princess Twilight asking how you were doing. I then got a slightly shorter note from Princess Celestia asking after you as well. The note from Princess Luna was unrelated and most consisted of a challenge and an insult to my considerable honor.

Dash, what is going on? You seemed exhausted when we dismissed you for leave, and I thought some time back home would help you clear your head.

I’m your commanding officer, but I’m also your friend. Both sides of me need to know what is going on with you.

Just talk to me.

Dear Sunset,

You asked me what Celestia is like, but before I get to that…

You should write her directly. I know that it’s kind of intimidating to do, trust me. I was her student once too. I wasn’t always a great one—ask me some time about a doll named Smarty Pants and dabbling in mind-manipulating magic. Not a great moment. But! I get it.

As for what she’s like… well, the shortest answer is that you already know. Underneath the teacher is the person. A teacher is just a person at their job, really.

Honestly, I was going to just gush about how wonderful she is (because she is very wonderful) but then I realized that trying to answer the question you posed was more tricky than I first assumed. How do you describe ponies? I mean, we do it in a lot of ways but which one is more useful? Is one way of describing them better than another way?

So! I got to thinking. Sometimes, we describe each other through the physical. Color of coat, horns or wings, tall or short, heavyset or lithe. You already know what Celestia looks like as well as I do, even if the Celestia that lives in your memories is a bit less fresh than mine! Besides, the mere outward parameters of a pony aren’t terribly useful beyond calculating how fast they’re going or how many of them you can fit in a room. We say that ponies are unkempt or shabby or that they smell bad—but you know that Celestia is a lover of sandalwood and lavender (we share that one!) and she had perhaps never been possible to describe as “dirty” on a single day in history.

You already know that Celestia can be serious. Sometimes, she is so focused that she reminds me less of a pony and more of a knife; she’s all a rush to the point. You already know that she can be silly or carefree. Sure, it doesn’t happen as much as she (or I for that matter!) wishes. When I was young, Celestia would play harmless tricks on her maids, leaving them little surprises in the strangest places, notes with a few bits attached, bundles of chocolate lying in wait in a cupboard, that sort of thing.

You know also that she is gracious. Celestia wants to forgive most everyone. Holding grudges just… It’s not her usual style. She’s capable of it as much as any other pony. She just prefers to be friends again, and I love that about her.

Celestia can be… sad sometimes. She doesn’t hold grudges, remember? Except I lied. She’ll hold grudges against one pony easily, and that’s herself. It’s the worst sort of selfishness, the kind that no one understands as selfish until it’s too late. She has long moments when she thinks no one notices her where she wilts. I know this sounds cheesy, but it’s like watching the sun go down too early in winter, or a flower wilt right in front of your eyes.

Celestia is kind. She learns her servant’s names and wouldn’t dream of treating them any other way then as friends. She spares time in the middle of long, stressful days to teach fillies like us. She doesn’t mind that I am inexperienced with love. When I had my first panic attack in the dorms at the Academy, she helped me calm down. When Stormy Day, the maid, had a bad day and came to work while her mother was gravely ill, Celestia invited her for tea and then sent her home with a present for her mother… and the fare for a hospital stay.

Quiet. She is very quiet. I have watched her spend two hours without a word or a noise, enjoying the gardens. I have seen her move through the sunlit halls of the palace without alerting a single busy servant.

She can be commanding, bringing a whole room to heel with a word, or by her patient silence bring low the most haughty ponies. She is both greater than us and just the same. She is, ultimately, just like you and I.

Celestia is all of the things you knew when you were a student.

And I know she misses you an awful lot, but I’ll say no more on that.

Do you have any idea how hard it is not to gush about how great a kisser she is? Becuase it is very hard and I managed not to do it this whole time and frankly? I think that’s an accomplishment.

As far as dating, we’re going kinda slow. It’s still secret, but… it won’t be for long. We’ve decided to open up to the public about it, if only so we don’t need to be so covert. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to just… be girlfriends? In public? And not worry about it? I mean, I’ll still be under scrutiny, I just… I don’t know. It’ll be more honest. I could use that.

She’s so good to me. She’s so patient.

Twilight

Author's Note

Still alive.

Rainbow

Twilight surveyed the joyous riot that was her Self, her Court.

It was not entirely solid, but it was certainly getting there. Physically, if that was a word one could apply to anything in the Inner Court, it was just the inside of her palace. The chairs were arranged around the Cutie Map as was normal, the decor was the same as it was when she was awake. Yet this hall in the waking world was mostly empty, and in the Court it was brimming with life.

Ponies crowded around, chatting amiably here and there in little clumps. Her friends, her close inner circle of friends, hung around the chairs at the center of the room, laughing. Twilight floated above them all with lazy wings that worked by different rules and smiled wide. A warmth had settled into her chest.

Cadance had the Court of Love, so she called it. Celestia and Luna obviously had Sun and Moon respectively. But all of them had puzzled over what sort of Court Twilight would have. Luna had envisioned something more like her own dreaming, with an active and adventuring court, always building or doing. Cadance had imagined something more along the lines of her own, a great gathering of friends and loved ones. Celestia? Celestia had offered several ideas, but had explicitly hoped that Twilight’s Court was not like her own.

But it was like none of these, or at least not entirely like them. Her friends and loved ones were here, and they were active… but not in the way that the other Courts might imagine.

Twilight lighted down on her throne and straightened her feathers. With outstretched hooves, Twilight asked loudly for silence and received it as two dozen smiling, cheerful faces looked inward towards her. She greeted them all, and then asked her five companions to take their seats. Court had begun.

“Firstly, I’d like to thank you all for coming!” Twilight began with a bright sing-song. We’re going to have a long night tonight, I think.”

Pinkie bounced in her great seat with obvious excitement. “Oh! Oh, what’s first?”

“Don’t you get too excited, Pinkie,” the Court’s Applejack said as she tipped her hat and slouched lazily. “I have a feelin’ at least one of the bits of business won’t be easy.”

“You’d be right,” Rarity said, and summoned a mirror to observe herself. “Excellent. Everything as it should be, and more than ready for serious business.” The mirror vanished, and a glass of wine replaced it. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I um…” Court Fluttershy squirmed in her seat until a kitten bounded from the crowd around them and curled up next to her in the slightly too large chair. “Ready,” she said.

“And yeah, I’m ready,” Rainbow said. “If that’s the thing we’re doing, I’m ready. But I think I’m leading this one, right?”

“Yes,” Twilight said. “I think you should.”

“Gotcha. Alright! Listen up, ladies,” Rainbow said and cracked her joints. “This one is about me. I mean, like, me-me. Not Court me? I don’t really know how else to say the Not Court Rainbow. Look, it doesn’t matter. There’s something up with her, maybe something big, and nobody seems to know what is wrong. That about cut it, Twi?”

“More or less,” Twilight said, furrowing her brow. “We know some things. We know that whatever it is that’s bothering Dash, it’s been bothering her for a few weeks now. She’s been hard to find and not really forthcoming with any information about her doings. She’s missed a few get-togethers, absences which can’t be explained by work or something else simple like that. I asked around, and everypony says that she’s been exhausted or grouchy or just generally…

“Off,” Court Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, I don’t like it,” Pinkie said. “I mean… it’s just not right. Rainbow Dash should be up and at ‘em! Or at least up. She’s lazy sometimes, but this isn’t just laziness.”

“Avoiding the orchards,” Applejack said. “That ain’t normal.”

“I have no idea what’s wrong,” Court Rainbow said. “I mean… It could be, like, a lot of things! Tons! I have no idea, you guys.”

“Well, what sort of things?” Twilight asked, leaning her head on her hoof. “Give us some possibilities, and we’ll think about it.”

Rainbow shrugged. “Well… Commander Spitfire said that she hadn’t messed anything up with the Bolts, so that’s out.”

“Could it perhaps still be related to them?” cut in the Court’s Rarity. “They are a rather large part of her life now.”

“I mean, yeah,” Dash conceded. “You’re not wrong. It could be related to them. But it isn’t, like, about them specifically? You would know. I would know.”

Rarity hummed and sipped her wine.

“Keep going. Think, Dash,” Twilight said.

Rainbow bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling for a bit before rattling off a list. “Could be something with mom and dad. Could be one of the Bolts said something she didn’t like. Weather team doing poorly makes her feel guilty, or doing well makes her feel like she’s forgotten. It…” she screwed up her face. “I don’t think it’s romantic problems, for sure.”

“Yeah, not thinkin’ so,” Applejack answered.

“I hope not,”Rainbow murmured, half to herself.

“That would be unfortunate,” Rarity commented, still sipping it.

Twilight hummed. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. We have to. It’s why the court of amity is here!”

In the waking world, Twilight Sparkle flew over Ponyville.

It really was a wonderful place. She felt like she could wax poetic on it forever if given the chance, but she wouldn’t. Today, she had something else in mind.

In her mind, the Court still murmured, but the chaos was starting to stabilize into something more coherent. It was not like hearing voices, as she had read about in books. It was not like madness at all. If anything, she felt more sane with these new, bright connections. It was hard to imagine a time before the Court, even though it was a new development. But wasn’t how things went? Change, and then gradual forgetting about what life without that change was like?

It didn’t matter. The Court and herself were focused on a single point, or rather a single pony. Rainbow Dash, junior speedster, Wonderbolt, paragon of swiftness, and all around layabout on warm summer days. If you needed the sky cleared or a storm gathered, Rainbow Dash was your mare. Loyal to a fault, impervious to dismay… or well, so she seemed.

Applejack’s orchards had been her first stop. Applejack still hadn’t seen their mutual friend in any of her trees. Sugarcube Corner had been next, with similar results. Pinkie’s sudden attempt to join the search had been cut short by a friendly yet firm Mrs. Cake who had pulled her back into the kitchen.

And no Rainbow in the Library… so where else? Her cloud house seemed like a good choice, so Twilight Sparkle had set off through the sky to make a house call.

The house was a bit bigger now. Rainbow Dash had made something of a project of expanding her home when she was in the off-season, to keep herself busy. The weather team was glad to let her help on occasion, but they’d filled the gap that she had left behind and helping out two or three hours a week wasn’t enough for a mare of action.

So it was more of a cloud mansion now, which probably fit her new status as a Wonderbolt. Twilight stopped at the gate, made of cloud of course, and pondered how utterly ridiculous it was. Why a gate? Flying was a prerequisite to even come to this place, and that sort of implied three dimension of movement, so the whole point of a gate was moot.

She rolled her eyes. A button. For a speaker. To call in. Rainbow Dash had litterally no need of this, and yet there it was sitting proudly next to her imperious gate, because of course it was. It probably wouldn’t even work.

She pushed it anyway. A speaker--for she saw now there was one held tight beneath the cloudcrete--sparked to life.

“Ah… um, hello,” she said, still trying to come to terms with the fact that Rainbow Dash had either paid some pegasus to install a completely unnecessary magitech component into her cloud house or had learned how to work with electrical magitech on her own.

There was no answer.

So, she continued. She might as well. “Hi, Dash! Just checking in! It’s Twilight, by the way. I mean, you can recognize my voice so I guess saying that isn’t really useful or neccessary but maybe the speaker distorts it. I’m not really sure. But it’s me. I got back yesterday and hadn’t seen you, and I know you’re on off season, so I figured I might drop by while you had leave and catch up!”

Resounding silence.

“And, uh, you know… maybe we could go flying? Because you like flying? And I like flying! I mean not as much as you… like… flying…”

Nothing.

“Oh, ponyfeathers. This is dumb. I’m just coming in, Rainbow!” Twilight stomped uselessly on the cloudcrete, spread her wings, and hopped the superfluous fence in a single effortless bound.

Celestia had taught Twilight Sparkle many things. As a foal, she had learned civility and manners alongside magic and math. Logic and music and art and thaumaturgy and alchemy, all subjects in which Celestia had tutored her and which she had lost herself in. But she had learned things after, too. After the wings came, one of the lessons had been this: sometimes, you just need to break a stalemate.

Were stuffy dignitaries spending days getting to the point? Do something outrageous, but not too outrageous. Perhaps your staff was getting too reliant on you because it was easy--why, what better cure for that ill than to be absent for a few days, not too far away but hard to find. In war, she showed up without a weapon at all and a disarming and alarming smile. In peace she showed up late with bells on and a Wonderbolts military parade before sheepishly and falsely apologizing for scheduling all of this hubbub on the wrong day. Celestia called it playing dice. Taking chances and looking ahead, knowing that the world was strange and never worked like it was expected to work, knowing that you had time to try over and over again but that no circumstance repeated exactly.

Twilight just called it cutting through the bullshit, no dice, and for her it meant finding Rainbow Dash and hopefully dragging her out into the sunlight.

The door was unlocked. Somehow, Twilight wasn’t even remotely surprised.

The inside of the mansion was a strange and unthinking mixture of spartan and opulent. Her bannister, carved so finely as to look like marble, dominated the central hall. Around it, here and there, one found pedestals with trophies and awards. A few even had news clippings, either of herself or of all of the Elements.Twilight walked with her eyes on swivel, taking it all in.

It occurred to her that they had rarely visited Rainbow’s house. She always came down for them. It made sense, didn’t it? Only two of their circle of friends could fly, so it wasn’t a practical spot.

But even after she’d gained her wings, Twilight hadn’t visited more than two or three times. Rainbow was just so rarely at home.

“You can sorta tell she doesn’t come home much,” Twilight said to herself with a frown. Aside from the small pedestal’d shrines and a single portrait in the main hall, there wasn’t much to the decor. A few boxes here and there, yes, but that was it. She hadn’t even unpacked completely after her renovation.

“Rainbow!” Twilight called. “Rainbow, where are you? I know you’re in here.”

No answer because of course not.

Twilight explored the first story, wandering from room to room. She found what had probably been meant as a home theatre of sorts, complete with a projector that she was quite sure Rainbow hadn’t yet used. She found a library--or what she guessed was a library from the flock of small book-filled boxes scattered about it with a amorphous soft cloud to lie on in the middle.

Rainbow evaded her, so she mounted the stair. Halls with tall windowed openings to the bright blue sky and a few more cloudcrete-pasted portraits, held in place by old pegasus arts.

Until, along the last of those halls, she heard something stirring.

Definitely Rainbow. Twilight went flat immediately, hugging the ground and flaring her wings to jump if she had to. Ponies always forget to look in two directions: up and down. Pegasi aren’t immune: they always forget to look down. It was why Rainbow Dash kept clipping thatched rooves and careening into windows. Being below eye-level might give her a few seconds of advantage to strike.

Which was way, way more aggressive sounding than she needed, even if she was planning to be pretty aggressive about this. It’s what Dash would want.

Probably.

Another rustling, and then as she creeped she heard someone trying to control their breathing on the other side of a door. Twilight grinned. That’d be Rainbow.

There were Alicorns and alicorns, but regardless of origin, they all possessed the same lightness of hoof. It was not an absolute thing, but her apotheosis had brought with it a certain degree of grace.

So when she threw open the door and jumped into the gap, she fully expected to catch Rainbow Dash and bear her down into the cloud.

But Rainbow Dash was fast. More than fast, Rainbow was the very image of a pegasus in her perfection. Twilight had the momentum, but Dash had all the skill, and so even as Twilight’s hooves touched her she was gone.

Twilight fell forward and landed face first in cloud. Or, rather, she landed and her face went through the cloud an inch or so.

While Twilight squirmed and pulled her head out of the clouds, Rainbow Dash was yelling.

“Twilight! What the hell were you thinking? You could have been some kind of robbery in progress! What if I had tried to kick you into next week when you came in?”

Twilight shook her head, rubbed her sore neck, and then sighed.

“Rainbow, I called you on your speaker. And then I called you from almost every point in the house. I’ve been calling for you for awhile.”

“So?”

“So if I was a robber, you’d have known already. I’m hardly even intruding, seeing as how you were pretty quiet about me saying I was coming in. Not the best defense against the charge, I know.”

Rainbow Dash’s brow furrowed and she crossed her forelegs as she hovered irritably in place. Twilight gave her a quick lookover. She seemed fine, physically. So she wasn’t sick, as the Court’s Fluttershy had thought she might be--good news. But there were bags under her rosey eyes and she looked like a mare running on too little sleep for too long.

“What was so important that you had to give me a heart attack?”

Twilight sighed again. “I didn’t. You knew I was here. I wasn’t a surprise. Why were you avoiding me?”

Rainbow Dash growled, “Do I have to talk whenever you command it, your Highness? Are you ordering me to have company over?”

Twilight blinked, and her cleverness fled. Her whole body seemed to go slack under Rainbow’s wilting glare. “I…”

But Rainbow Dash advanced, pointing an accusing hoof. “How’d you think this was gonna go over? You were just gonna bust up into my house, bother me when I could be napping or whatever, and then just assume that the fact that you wanna talk means that I have to come out and do whatever the hell it is that you want? You don’t think sometimes I just wanna be alone? You think maybe sometimes I just wanna little Rainbow Dash time to figure out what Rainbow Dash wants to do, and I don’t want anybody yelling in my halls and trying to tackle me through my own house, and waking me up? You ever think that?”

Twilight Sparkle’s tears came unbidden and traitorously. She tried to wipe at them, still reeling. “I… I was just…”

“Just what, your highness?”

Something snapped. Twilight Sparkle began to cry, but her teeth ground together, and she pushed Rainbow back.

“You know what? I’m here because I’m worried about you. Everyone is worried about you. Fluttershy was too busy and she was too nervous and the others can’t fly, so that’s why I’m here. You ever think that maybe when you intentionally avoid all of your friends the entire time you’re on leave, then yell at the only one that sees you, that maybe there’s something wrong about that?”

“So I’m tired!” Rainbow Dash threw her forelegs open. “So I’m exhausted.”

“So am I!” Twilight said. “Dash, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t give you privacy, but I’m here now. I’m not trying to order you to do anything. If you really just… don’t care that all of your friends are worried sick, I’ll just go home. But I’m not coming back. Pinkie can figure out how to get everypony up here if she wants, but I’m not coming back.” She poked the now sputtering Rainbow on her chest. “I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to scare you that bad, and I kind of thought it would be funny. But you know that I worried about my friends thinking exactly that, that I was some kind of tyrant now, or that I would want to be better than them, or that I wanted to order them--you knew that and you said it any way.”

“I--”

Twilight shook. “This was stupid. I was stupid. I should have just let you stay in your dumb cloud mansion and rot.”

She turned, and made to leave, but Rainbow Dash caught her midstep.

“Wait.”

“Why? Obviously this isn’t going to work.”

“Just wait.”

Twilight sighed and slumped. “Sorry.”

“Adrenaline?”

“Adrenaline.”

Rainbow nodded. “Same. It’s why you don’t talk about any screw ups in the air until you’ve had a chance to lie down, eat a snack, and have a shower. Not ever. Nothing good comes of it. Let’s not do this here, okay? This is a bad place and it’s a bad time. Will you give me like… five minutes? You can wait for me in the living room. Er, the hall. Whatever the thing is called. I’ll be down in like five minutes.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “We’ll go flying. I don’t care where. We’ll talk, okay? I just need five minutes.”

Twilight nodded, feeling a little hollow, and stepped back out into the hall. “Okay. I’ll wait for you.”

She did not say sorry. It wasn’t quite time to say sorry.

Instead, she sat on her haunches in Dash’s foyer and considered herself.

Where had that come from? She’d been a little nervous this morning, sure. About Rainbow, or so she’d thought. Dash saying that had just… she shook her head. No, the anger was coming back. The hurt. Your majesty. She hated those words. She never wanted to hear them used to describe her, at least not by the likes of Rainbow Dash.

Twilight closed her eyes and breathed. She counted. One. Two. Three. Three in, three out, three in, three out. Cadance had been the one who taught her this first. Celestia had walked her through it afterwards as well. Three in. Three out. When she felt too much, it helped. Grounding helped.

Feeling like Rainbow Dash was taking forever, Twilight went back over the events of the morning.

Breakfast with Spike. Eggs and toast, coffee and some orange juice. The newspaper, a little more coffee, some reports from the Burgher of Halftrot that she’d put off. She’d written him back with recommendations and the promise of some royal funds from her new coffers to help pay for the infrastructure that the town needed. How had she felt? Good, actually. It had been a good morning.

Lunch, and then here. That was it. She’d already consulted with her friends the day before, and they’d all agreed on this.

Yet, she felt ill at ease. Sick, even, if that wasn’t too extreme.

She’d quarrelled with her friends before, but not quite like that. Rainbow had always been a prankster and a rough houser. Yes, Twilight had probably gone too far, but that reaction had just…

Rainbow descended the stair. She did it slowly.

Twilight, who had opened her eyes, watched Dash until she came to a stop right in front of her.

They stood there awkwardly for a few beats, until Rainbow sighed and ruffled her feathers. She pursed her lips, looked as if she were coming up with something to say and then abandoned it, and then finally just groaned. “Well this is awkward. Look, let’s jet, alright? You, me, and a lap over the Everfree?”

Twilight nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

They didn’t say anything else until they hit the woods.

“I’m sorry,” Twilight said. “About, uh, I was going to say ‘for breaking and entering’ but I think technically it was actually just trespassing.”

Rainbow, flying on her left, smirked. “Trespassing sounds right. And it’s okay. It really is. Door wasn’t locked, you were worried… I get it. I’m sorry I said that.”

Twilight bit her lip, and then nodded. “It’s okay.”

They were quiet for a bit.

Twilight wasn’t sure where to go from here. She had anticipated finding Rainbow Dash and then… well, to be honest, she hadn’t really thought much past that point. She’d assumed that Rainbow Dash would be easy to shake from whatever funk had overridden her normal mood. Dash was elastic. Sure, there were some sore spots that could send her spiralling. Every pony had things like that. Twilight had exams and tardiness. Rainbow Dash had her image as a cool, strong pony. Also her wings, Twilight noted. That was a big one. And her hooves, actually, now that Twilight thought about it. What was with that? That particular berserk button had never made sense.

Could she just… ask? Just say, hey Rainbow Dash, what’s been eating you? But no, there was no way it was that easy. Ponies weren’t just easy that way. They didn’t just get to the point. There was always a whole series of layers to peel back first before you got to the important bits.

“Twilight, when did you know what you wanted to do with your life?” Rainbow asked, as she lazily banked and Twilight followed her into the wide turn.

Twilight, thrown for a loop, tried to answer. And failed. Twice.

“What?” she managed.

“You know,” Rainbow said with a grimace.

“I… I mean, I sorta do? Can you elaborate? That’s kind of a big question. I mean…”

“Okay, okay. Lemme start over.” Rainbow waved her front hooves, as if to dispell her first attempt. “Okay. So… like, when you were young, did you have dreams?”

“Of course! Every pony does.”

“What were they?”

Twilight hummed. “I wanted to know everything. About magic, about the world, about the sciences.”

“Yeah, shoulda seen that one coming. Okay, did you ever get there?”

“You mean, did I ever know everything? Well of course not.”

“Right. It was a dream. It was something way, way off. Something you had to work towards, and it didn’t matter if you never got there! Trying to get there was enough. Trying and trying and trying and all along you got better, and you always had something to do. Right?”

Twilight nodded. An inkling of an idea had wormed its way into her brain. She didn’t like it.

“Right.”

“What if tomorrow you knew all the magic?”

“Well,” Twilight said, lapsing without pause into lecture mode, “that’s not really possible. You see--”

“Nah, just go with me here. Please?”

Twilight sighed. “Okay. Yes. I know all of the magic, as you said.”

“Right. What would you do? Would you still use magic? Yeah, of course you would. You’d use magic all the time. But would you still get excited about it?”

Twilight blinked. She thought.

“Not in the same way.”

“Exactly.”

“What’s this about?” Twilight asked.

“I’m not really sure,” Rainbow admitted. She banked again, and Twilight noticed that they were starting to turn back towards town. “I just… I don’t know. I’m restless, Twi. I don’t like what I’m doing. No, okay, that’s a lie. I’m sorry. I just…” She groaned. “I don’t know.”

“What was your dream?” Twilight asked, flying a little closer.

The wind picked up as Rainbow led her into a dive and Twilight followed as best she could. They pulled out right above the trees, and she strained to hear her friend over the rushing cadance of her own heart.

“Wonderbolts! Always the Bolts, Twi.”

“That was it?”

“Yeah.” Rainbow and Twilight hovered above the trees. “Yeah, that was it. I mean, really, what were my chances? I always knew it was a long shot as a kid. But I didn’t care. I knew it was a long shot when I was older, and I still didn’t care.”

“And now here you are. You beat the odds.”

“I did.” Rainbow flashed her a smile that quickly faded. “I really did, didn’t I? I pulled the sonic rainboom as a kid, which reall shouldn’t be possible. But I did it! I tore that baby a new one. A normal pegasus can’t pull that off without years and years of training, and a kid certainly can’t! But I did it, and I don’t even know how. I just did it!”

“I wish I could have seen it up close,” Twilight said.

“Yeah. It was something,” Rainbow said with another smirk. This one died even faster. “But everything has been that way. I just breeze through it.”

“So you’re just too good?” Twilight asked playfully.

“You know it. No, I mean… I don’t know. The Bolts as a dream was great. It helped make me who I am. It made me awesome. But like, what now? I did that. What comes after? The stuff that was supposed to keep me going for years is just gone and everything else I can try that comes to mind I know is only going to keep me occupied a few months at most. I could try and get to a triple rainboom. That might take me a year. I’m not bragging here--I know I do that a lot, and I know it gets on pony’s nerves and I get that--I’m dead serious. Give me a year, with my speed and the way I can train now that I’ve got the Bolts facilities and the team’s medical facility and I can do it in a year. Easy.”

“That’s… that would be a pretty huge achievement, Dash.”

“Yeah. And then what? I got a lot of year to fill, Twilight. I can’t keep going from thing to thing until I run out of stuff. It ain’t going to last me that long!”

Twilight shook her head. “No, I think you’re right. That mentality isn’t sustainable anymore.”

“So… what?” Rainbow Dash asked. She didn’t wait for an answer. She gestured with her head and they started back towards town.

“What do you mean?”

“So what do I do now?” Rainbow asked.

Twilight laughed. She couldn’t help it. This was not the kind of question you asked mid-flight, and you certainly didn’t ask Twilight Sparkle.

“Stars, Rainbow, how should I know? I can’t tell you what to make your life about! I’m not even sure if it has to be about anything.”

Rainbow Dash shook her head. “Life’s gotta have a point, Twilight.”

“I mean, does it? Stay with me here, just follow for a bit. It’s good to have goals, right? But you can’t live off of a couple of lofty goals forever. Consider this: I wanted to know everything, so I said. But imagine what that would like, if I really tried to do that. I would never have any time to do anything else. I would lock myself in libraries for months, and only leave to go to the next one. I wouldn’t talk to anypony ever. Remember how much of a shut in I was when I first moved here?”

“Oh, definitely.”

Twilight smiled faintly. “Yeah, well, that’s old Twilight at her most social. Imagine old Twilight at her most unsocial.”

Rainbow Dash snorted. “I can’t. She’d be invisible.”

“Right. What I’m trying to say, Dash, is that… not having one huge thing to structure your life around… that’s not a bad thing. You can enjoy the year-long goals as they come, and focus in, but for the rest of your life? This is going to sound pretty uncharacteristic of me, but I think life is about making it up as you go. I didn’t exactly plan to be a princess,” Twilight finished.

Rainbow Dash hummed. She shrugged.

“So… is that why you’ve been avoiding everyone?”

“Kind of,” Rainbow replied after a moment. “Mostly. I’ve just not been in a good mood. You sending Spitfire a memo didn’t exactly make me feel better.”

“She told you I sent it?” Twilight groaned.

“Yup.”

“Wow. Well, that was dumb.”

“Very!”

Twilight sighed, and followed Rainbow Dash on one last turn. “Where are we headed, Rainbow?”

“The Corner!” Rainbow replied, and laughed. “Flying makes me hungry, and you owe me!”

Rainbow picked up speed, and Twilight did her best to keep up as they soared over the fields around Ponyville. They fell into a wordless race, Rainbow diving and rolling and Twilight copying her move for move, without the grace but as best as she could.

And it was okay. There was always time.

Letters I

There sits a letter on a bedside table in High Canterlot, in a bedroom beneath the palace observatory and the newly-dubbed Twilight Sparkle wing of the Canterlot Archives. The writing is florid, all perfect, rounded and precise—it is, of course, written to convey a sense of self, and that Self is at her best an aesthetic creature.

The room is not bare or spartan, but neither does it match the easy luxury of the rest of Canterlot’s palatial glory. No, this is not the sort of room where one finds silk and gold in abundance. It is homely. It feels “lived-in” as some might call it. Twilight would have called it “Sensible” and left it at that.

When she had moved to Ponyville, the room had been cleaned but never emptied. Celestia had left it unused and open for her student to occupy again at any time. Perhaps there had always been nothing more than mere politeness in the gesture, born out of a general affection for such a student as Twilight Sparkle had always been. Perhaps there had been something else to it.

The letter has a companion, and had been detached. The box sat on the bed, neatly laid with its contents already given their due.

The letter reads thus:

Dear Twilight Sparkle,

I do hope that you waited until you were in Canterlot before reading this, as you promised! I shan’t know either way, of course, unless you tell me. But I trust you to understand the propriety of such a thing. Promises are important!

But I digress. You have probably already found it, but I had Spike smuggle a surprise into your luggage. He is such a dear, and he is a fine co-conspirator. I daresay a natural! But do open your present. Shoo, go! I’ll wait.

I hope you like it. I know that you said that you would have no need for formal wear whilst you were in Canterlot, but I also know that it is better to have and not need than to lack and be caught unprepared! And I say this in love Twilight, but you desperately need to become more comfortable with such things as fine dress and Society. Whatever the character of the latter and the occasional inconvenience of the former, they are both a part of your life now and you must master them. Equestria has high hopes for you! And I do as well. I have all faith that you shall prove yourself a fine statesmare and more besides.

It is also something of a more general gift to celebrate not only your new romance but also your first steps towards being a princess in your own right! Which, yes, has been an ongoing process but not a properly celebrated one. It was high-time I expressed how proud I am of you in a tangible way.

Now, with that out of the way: Twilight, I am so torn! On the first hoof, I do understand why you never told us anything about your affections for Princess Celestia before your announcement. I can imagine what it would be like, what pressure there might be, perhaps even a sense that it may never happen. And besides, we never really asked, did we? I wonder why we did not, why I did not. Did I? Perhaps I did. But I do not remember asking!

On the other hoof… Oh, Twilight, I wish I had known! What fun it would have been to share in this affair’s first inception? To have gossiped with you over wine and been privy to such intimacies would have been delightful. I daresay that must seem silly.

I hope not to offend, but I was surprised to learn that of all of us you were the first to rush headlong into love and by all accounts succeed. (Much could be said of my own attempts, though I know you are a dear and would surely not bring them up!) I suppose I had expected… well. Who first? Perhaps myself or Applejack. Yes, Applejack. Deep down, she is more of a romantic then you would suspect! Fluttershy next, and then perhaps you or Rainbow, and then Pinkie, always so full of life and going too fast for anyone to keep pace… until one day someone does.

This is of course between the two of us, but more and more I think that I shall be the last. It is something of a sad thought for me, who dreamt often and so grandly of romance, but it tastes of truth. I am so very busy, and so very—it pains to say—unromantic in the day to day. Rainbow is so dashing (ha!), Fluttershy demure and more or less perfection, Applejack has good prospects and a honest heart, and I? Well, I have little time and a devotion to my work which pushes out serious aspirations of romantic entanglement.

Still, a mare can dream. I am still Fluttershy’s appointed first reader, after all (a note: do remember to ask her about her newest work. It is marvelous and you simply must find the time. You shall thank me later!) and occasionally, when I am on a business trip to Canterlot or Manehattan, Coco and I attend some of the refined soirees that mark the industry’s successful. There is an aesthetic pleasure in it, to catch the eye of a stallion or a fine young mare, to talk with pretense of art—with savage wit of some local scandal—with a firm, fiery tambor of some aspect of philosophic inquiry. There is an aesthetic pleasure, I repeat, in the sort of play-pretend that goes on at such affairs, where one can imagine with alarming clarity how conversation might deepen, how a companion of the moment in conversation might perhaps by art or by mystery become more than merely a passing glance, but in truth a suitor. How one might receive a letter in the mail waiting at home from the ardent, earnest admirer who wishes to know the Rarity beneath the regrettable falsehood of the cocktail lounge.

But it is merely an aesthetic pleasure, and of the most fleeting sort. There is no letter waiting, and I often never see these souls again. Or, if I do, then they often seem so much more vapid and shallow then before, or I find to my dismay that they are perhaps not such at all and it is I who seems thus to them.

I would wish to hear everything. Not because I am nosy, but because I am simply dying to know. What is it like, to be in love? To be not alone at the end of the day, if you would allow me to be a bit melodramatic.

I’m sorry, I’ve been so morose, haven’t I? I start again with all of this, but I should be off soon to meet Fluttershy for our weekly appointment. You know, I think we might be close to finally convincing Applejack to join us? It’s been something of a project for the last two months, and I’m quite happy to report that our victory is well at hoof.

Do have a splendid time, Twilight. And remember that we have dinner together when you return! I have some designs for the upcoming ball that you need to look over. And if you forget, well, I do happen to personally know your seneschal, and he is very dependable.

Truly yours,

Rarity

Author's Note

Thus it begins.

Guarded

Celestia was having a dilemma.

To be fair, she was more having a further complication of an existing dilemma, similar in a way that was amusing but only in the way that something stressful induces a startled laugh. To be fair, again, this newest crisis was really nothing more than the manifestation of the dilemma which had birthed it, which had festered, for lack of a better term, as she left it to lie unconfronted.

Or, to put it more bluntly and without the convoluted circles she was mangling her thoughts in: Celestia had a dilemma, and that dilemma was roughly half herself and half Twilight Sparkle.

She’d just… She’d said it clear as day. Just blurted it out. Invited another pony to join her in dreams. Just… just like that.

The panic had set in about an hour later, after the impromptu nap and somewhere in the middle of the paper work, which she had finished on time—thank you very much!—when her mind began to wander.

The newly formed Court of the Sun was, conservatively speaking, riotous.

Dawn and Dusk alternated in spiralling worry.

Dusk shouted at her that this would go horribly wrong! She wasn’t prepared! Her Court had lost its ancient stability! Noonday was gone, there was only the two of them and they barely knew themselves and each other and… and…

Dawn fretted also in her other ear. She wasn’t emotionally ready to just open up like this, was she? She should be! Why wasn’t she? She was a terrible lover for this.

Celestia stared out the window. She did this a lot, in fact. Staring out a window had many uses. For starters, most windows in her palace had a gneuinely excellent view of the city below and aesthetic pleasure, even overly familiar aesthetic pleasure, was good for the tired and ageless soul. An open window was a good excuse to not have to move, much in the same way a couch or chair was. If she tried very hard, Celestia could look regal and noble enough to fool ponies not in the know that she was lost in deep and imperious thoughts and wasn’t to be bothered.

They were also good for having minor crises of the heart, providing a nominally soothing backdrop for rather un-soothing lines of introspection.

Her dreaming was private. Sacred. Inviolate, by a certain definition of inviolate. The only visitor it had ever known was Luna, and she was family and therefore did not count.

Twilight would be the first. It had been a long, long time since she had done something or contemplated doing something and been able to say definitively that it was a first of any sort for her.

She couldn’t stand here forever, Dusk said, fretting still. Eventually, Twilight would come looking for her.

She’s visiting her mother, Celestia groused internally. There’s no way in the deep hells that Velvet is going to let her daughter go without a lot of catching up. I have some time to get ready.

There was not enough time, literally, in the world, Dawn assured her.

Celestia wasn’t angry so much as she was frustrated with herself, her Court, her… her everything. I have had lovers before. I’ve been married… how many times? I can’t believe I don’t know off the top of my head.

Twenty-one, Dawn offered helpfully.

She blinked. Only that many? Over such a long stretch of centuries?

There was a awkward shuffling of feet.

They all knew why immediately, of course. They were all her in the end, together, yet separate.

It was Dusk who, with a slight silent cough, broke the stalemate. Celestia had had many lovers, but few had succeeded long enough to convince her to enter into the dangerously binding situation of actual, official, in-front-of-everypony-and-a-few-griffons-ever engagement of matrimony for a very good reason.

Because Celestia had a hard time moving past things.

She huffed and left the window. There was no point in trying to think her way through this. The Court was useless. Thinking in this case was useless. She would occupy her time with something calming and mindnumbing in equal measure. Chess with Luna, perhaps. She needed to speak to her sister anyway, didn’t she? No backing out now.

So she crossed over to the other side of the palace.

Luna’s schedule ran mostly opposed to her own, which was more or less natural and more or less eternal. The sun and the moon spent but a brief time sharing the sky, after all, did they not? Even before the moon and the sun had chosen them, the sisters had enjoyed different paces and moods.

So it was natural and normal, yes, but Celestia still found herself wishing it was not true.

Luna got up around dinner, and had a brief moment with her sister before seeing to the moon’s ascension. They tried to set aside a few hours uninterrupted, but Luna had been gracious about that time when Twilight visited.

It was a bit early, but not too much. She came to the door of Luna’s suite and knocked on it twice.

There was no answer.

Puzzled, Celestia waited a few moments. She counted to ten in what she would be very quick to assure anypony watching was a very, very patient manner, and reached out to knock again.

Only for the door to be pulled open midway through the first knock to Luna staring blearily at her, rubbing her eyes. Her mane had none of the usual glamor that caused to flow like it had been caught in the solar wind, and there were no stars or anything else. Her Glory was quite sealed up for the night, thank you.

“You.”

Celestia coughed, and managed a sheepish sort of smile. “Ah, yes. Me. Celestia! Your beloved sister.”

“You came between shifts… Hold on,” Luna grumbled, and then yawned before finishing. “Sorry, between shifts. So the guards couldn’t tell you. Court went long and I had some things to deal with, so I’m not entirely ready yet.” Luna rubbed her eyes, sitting down on her haunches.

“Are you alright?” Awkwardness vanished. “What sort of things? Might I know? I could make you—”

“You could make me a cliche,” Luna groused. “Which I will appreciate regardless and thank you for, even as I mock you for your predictability. Yes, you can do that. In fact, you should just go the whole way and I’ll eat breakfast. I doubt I’ll be getting back to sleep.”

Luna summoned her ladies in waiting whilst Celestia found her sister’s ornate tea set and did just that. Luna returned, with a young batpony mare by her side, and looked her brighter sibling over.

“You’re here for something important. I’m going to guess. Two guesses. It’s either Twilight or it’s your court.”

Celestia frowned. “Can’t I simply visit you?”

“You can,” Luna said, and then smirked. “But we both know that you’d just wait until dinner for that. It’s alright, either way. But if I’m to be roused from my bed, I’ll need a soak. You can cry to me about your lover while I do.”

Celestia chuckled despite herself and followed Luna and her servant into the baths.

Each of the sisters had a large bath to accommodate their size, and over the years what had started as reasonable arrangements had become frankly more spa-like in nature than anything else. Some ponies had questioned why there was a whole separate set of obviously-princess-sized bathing rooms but few had ever thought to ask. Now they knew.

Luna lounged in the great tub while her young lady in waiting hummed happily and washed her mane, devoid of its starry glow. Celestia brought the stool from her sister’s boudoir and sat towards the door.

Briefly, just briefly, it was like being somewhere very different, back in the past.

She coughed. “Remember Phandal?” Celestia asked.

Luna, with her eyes closed but her contented smile slipping, hummed. “Aye, I do.”

“I just remembered the inn there. Whatever happened to that town?”

“Blasted,” Luna replied, a bit gruffly. The servant who had been happily going about her task faltered a bit, and Luna opened her eyes. She stared at the wall. “Blasted and scorched and what have you. Purged. We lost it right after Discord. The Fellclaw crisis. The fire-cats.”

Celestia caught the eye of the servant and nodded for her to continue. “It comes back to me. I was remembering it from before, when we were still wandering. How the pretty barmaid offered to wash your mane once. Do you recall?”

Luna chuckled. “Oh, I recall a lot about that night. But I wouldn’t dare tarnish the pure mind of my dear Hyacinth here,” she added. The servant flushed and mumbled something and Celestia tried to catch it while also holding back a laugh.

“I don’t blame you. Though the young are hardly innocent, these days.”

“You’d know ‘bout that more than I would, sister,” Luna said, not bothering to look over. “You’ve quite a lot more experience with the youth of the last century or so, wouldn’t you say? All sorts of valuable and personal experience.”

“You’re terrible,” Celestia shot back, but she smiled briefly. “Though not as much as you’d think.”

“Boo. And here I was hoping to cash in on your great debt in exchange for steaming tales of romance sub rosa. Hyacinth, would you use the sandalwood scent this time ‘round? And is it Moonshine’s night?”

“Ah, no ma’am. Well, I mean, yes usually. But she’s sick.”

“Ah, blast. Can you preen?”

The mare stammered for a moment, and then meekly responded. “Yes, I can certainly try.”

“Have you before?” Celestia asked.

“Uh, no, your highness. I mean, not for my lady. I practiced a few times. Madame Duster suggested it when I entered my lady’s personal service.”

“Wise of her,” Luna murmured. “You’ll do. And if you do not? I am capable of doing it myself, so fear not.”

When she had finished, Hyacinth dried her off and Luna and Celestia found themselves in her sitting room. Hyacinth poured tea, and Luna sighed while Celestia took in her surroundings. She’d forgotten what the room used to look like. Her younger sister had poured herself into redecorating when she’d returned, using it as a way of reintegrating with mundanity. It was far more ornate than her own sitting room, which was intentionally unassuming and homely. Luna’s space was filled with fine craftsmareship and art of all sorts.

“I’m going to assume that Twilight is what bothers you.”

“Actually,” Celestia said, her eyes following Hyacinth, “it’s both. Twilight and my Court. I invited her to mine to help her make sense of her own.”

Luna whistled. “Hyacinth, do be a dear and excuse yourself for now. Tell Parfait that I said you could have anything you’d like from the kitchens, and then wait for me in the main room. Is that alright?”

“Of course.” The mare bowed deeply to both of them and then retreated quietly.

“She’s a good filly,” Luna said as the door closed behind her. “Easily flustered, but otherwise dependable. Go on.”

Celestia shifted nervously, a bit of her momentum lost. But not for long. She would not have lasted if she could not recover quickly. “Twilight’s court is not yet formed,” she began. “Which is not that surprising, really. It’s not what I had hoped, but I’m not exactly shocked. It’s a lot of mental rearranging.”

“If you are not shocked or dismayed…”

Celestia held up a hoof. “I know, I know. I’m stalling. Just trying to set the stage. Twilight is a bit frustrated. Or, well. Perhaps not frustrated so much as… Reading between the lines, I sense that she is not engaging herself and her court as she should be for a reason that I should have foreseen: she has nothing to go off of. Twilight Sparkle is a brilliant young mare, but she tends to fall back on what she knows rather then surging forward to discover. Confronted with something new and unexpected, Twilight will often retreat back into familiar territory—a book, perhaps—even without realizing it.”

Luna nodded. She seemed to be lost in contemplation, and Celestia followed her eyes to a painting of a primeval forest, forbidding and streaked with early sunlight. It tugged at her memory, but Luna’s voice intruded on her remembrance.

“So. Have you thought how you might aid her? And I chose my words carefully. I trust you know that this is not something you can ‘do’ for her.”

“I’m aware,” Celestia said with a frown. “And I have.”

“Then let me hear your plan, dearest sister.”

“I’m here to ask you to help me… Help me take Twilight with me into the dreaming.”

Luna had been sipping at tea but she stopped and carefully, perhaps a bit too gingerly, set her saucer down. “I… You are decided?”

“I promised,” Celestia said, solemnly.

“My word,” Luna whispered. “I had not expected this. Truly?”

“Truly.”

Luna seemed to hesitate, her eyes darting from the painting to Celestia and then away somewhere else, her lip tucked tightly between her teeth. “I can help,” she said at last. “But I am unsure how to feel. Excited? Perhaps. Interested? Decidedly. This is unprecedented for you.”

“I’m very, very well aware of that.”

Luna waved her off. “I know, I know. I am simply thinking aloud, Tia. It’s just a bit of a twist, don’t you think? But I’ll be happy to help.” Celestia relaxed, but Luna continued. “On one condition.”

“And that would be?”

“Are you alright with this? Do you consent to it? I have… A certain code regarding such things. If you merely feel obligated, then I will help you talk to Twilight. Or I will take the blame and play the villain. I will not do this if you are not willing to share this with your lover.”

Celestia groaned softly. “I do. I don’t. I… I am torn. I want to want to, if you follow. I want to be able to just throw open the doors of my heart and just let anypony at all in! I want so badly to just… to just be alright with saying, ‘Sure, Twilight! I’ll go ask Luna and I would love to have you visit!’ but I just cannot be that Celestia. I’m nervous. I feel violated and it hasn’t even happened yet. This relationship is so new and it is so different and it’s been so long since last I was in love with anyone. Too long! So long I’m tongue tied and confused all over again.”

Luna hummed.

“An alternative,” she said at length. “I have a proposal.”

“All ears,” Celestia replied, sighing.

Luna leaned back, and absurdly Celestia was reminded of a cat. A specific cat, in fact—the one Luna herself used to have far too long ago. It would perch on her shoulders and seem to smile at her in just the way that Luna now smiled at her, as if picking her apart piece by piece like a tinkerer would inspect a watch.

“Have her come unto me,” Luna began, “after the evening meal, when things have quieted and the night is full. Before you two retire, of course,” she added. “And I shall speak to her. Torn as you are, you will go from pole to pole until you have made yourself sick of yourself, and will have accomplished little. I know your moods.” She paused, and Celestia wondered why, but then Luna continued as if nothing had happened. “I shall decide, if you agree. You shall spend the rest of the night with your beloved, and then… well. You shall see. Either way, it has been far too long since I have spoken to Twilight at length. I believe it will benefit us all rather well.”

Celestia pursed her lips and considered it.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Luna’s judgement. It was simply that she didn’t trust Luna’s judgement. Which was a slightly too harsh way of saying that she found it difficult to fully trust anypony’s judgement beyond a certain point.

“You are wary,” Luna said with a smirk.

And, of course, showing a bit of fang.

A fascinating bit of living history, that. Celestia had never quite understood it. Oh, she very much understood the how and the original why, but not the continued why. Both sisters had changed their appearances many times over the years, and yet since… well. She didn’t want to think about Him. Not at present. Or really, not ever. Never thinking about Him would be nice.

“Wary is not the word I would use,” Celestia said.

“What word would you use?” Luna asked, leaning forward a bit, engaging from her indolent position sprawled out.

The dice were spinning, which alarmed her.

Roll, roll, roll. She was no longer sure if the dice were real and if she really heard them or not, but they were Established. Roll, Celestia, they said. Roll.

Celestia to many was a chess player. But she had always been a gambler. She rolled.

“Guarded,” she said simply. “Guarded would be better. On a most basic level, because I am a very private pony. More broadly, because it is a sensitive thing that we are dancing around and we both know exactly why. Even more broadly, because sometimes I am slow to trust and despite my best efforts to be a better sister, I still sometimes worry.”

Luna’s smirk dropped. They were both silent for a moment.

And then the younger sister leaned back.

“Good,” she said at last. “Good. I’m glad, honestly. I will not pretend I am not a bit put out, but sometimes I think perhaps you accepted me far too quickly. It worries me. Less, of course, because of what I’ll do…”

“You said as much a year back.”

“I’ll say it a time or two before the end of things, I suspect.”

“Be that as it may, I’ll accept your offer,” Celestia said. “On the condition that you do not embarrass me by spreading any ridiculous tales about me to Twilight. And… Hm. I believe that I might add on this: Be not merely a conduit for us, but consider inviting her yourself.”

Luna’s brow furrowed. “I can think of an aspect who might make her visit unpleasant. Or two. Or three.”

“We do not love ponies in parts but in wholes. The rest is indecision.”

“Perhaps. I shall consider it.”

Celestia rose and sighed. “Thank you. I have some things to attend to, and to be honest I’m sure you’d like to have a few more minutes of rest.”

Luna chuckled. “I was planning to take to bed as soon as you departed. Well timed, as always.”

“I had a feeling.”

“You always do.”

Celestia resisted the urge to frown. They locked eyes again. They smiled.

All quiet on the Lunar front. As she left her sister’s quarters, Celestia wondered how long they would walk softly around each other. It was not as if they sniped across rooms, or bathed in angst or were harsh with one another. If anything, Celestia was far more attentive and generally more polite to her sister than she had ever been.

But civility did not immediately breed familiarity. It merely made the process more pleasant. Usually.

It was not that they were estranged. That would be going too far. It was not that they were at odds, for they were not. It was not that they did not love each other, for even if she found herself enraged at the very idea of Luna, which she did not, erasing millenia of love and joy is a thing that perhaps not even alicorns can do. Alicorns, be they alicorn or merely alicorn, be they of Jannah or of birth, are not limitless. And so, likewise, was her compassion and patience limited.

It was not fair. Most things that involved ponies were not fair at some level. It was at best rude to be blunt with Luna. But it was also necessary for now. They had decided this in tandem. The less they danced around sores and wounds the less time they would have to spend being anything other than inseparable.

She had heard a sage in the West, destitute in the red cliffs of Valon, preach to an amused crowd that all was change and that change was all; as nothing was constant so nothing could be repeated. But sir, one cheek asked, can we not repair a broken vessel?

But is it the same vessel? He asked. They laughed at him. Celestia had rolled her eyes.

But she thought about it a lot. She thought about the dirty street speculator and the broken vase he carried held together by branching gold.

Author's Note

I'm back.

Sorry.