Those Who Wield Power
by Present Perfect
Roblé Rotunda thought he could at least give Celestia the courtesy of looking nice for her defeat.
As he checked the mirror, however, he couldn't help but grind his teeth just a little. The purple vest Artichoke Hearts had goaded him into procuring did, in fact, go perfectly with his best black suit, the one with the red pinstripes. He looked good, really good: slick bouffant coiffed, hooves polished, teeth shiny. Thanks to her meddling, his meeting with Celestia would likely go over even better.
Curse that Artie anyway, he thought. She was always hanging around, always bothering him, always meddling. Looks be hanged; any credit for today's success would go to him, and him alone.
The cab waited at his front door. Perfect. From Canterlot Tech to the palace wasn't very far, but traveling in style meant less effort on his part, and less chance of some air-headed weatherpony dumping a stray snowdrift onto his thesis papers. That happened all too frequently.
Roblé did his best to rein in his mood as the palace grew nearer. Excitement had stymied his initial concepts for this thesis, when he had come upon its central question. He wasn't stupid; he'd conducted thorough research. After all, one couldn't disprove common thought without first proving it was indeed common. Five months of hard work, travelling to all corners of Equestria and speaking with all manner of rube, of negotiating and pulling strings to arrange a private meeting with the Princess, was about to pay off. And it would pay off in spades.
Victory would be his.
Lightning wormed up his legs as he paid his fare and made his way past stoic guards and stately columns into Canterlot Palace proper. None of these ponies -- not guards, not councillors, not staff -- had the faintest idea what was about to happen. He all but pranced tip-toe through the halls, like a colt who knew the secret of his Hearth's Warming presents.
Time ceased to move. He was at the door to the throne room; his name was announced; he bowed; Celestia ushered him into her private chamber.
"It isn't often one of my little ponies asks for help with a master's thesis," she remarked, her voice calm and gentle.
What a treat, to be escorted by Celestia herself into a room few ponies, even those who worked at the palace, saw. The rich mahoganies and walnut accents flowed over the walls and furniture like cream across coffee. The office was cozy, sumptuous, at once ostentatious and humble: an absolute marvel of interior design.
"Tea?" she asked, seating herself behind a large desk and motioning for him to sit before it.
"Thank you, Your Highness." What a treat indeed. "And I would think my request shouldn't be too surprising. As you have no doubt already seen, my thesis concerns you directly."
A tiny smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she poured tea into two fine porcelain cups. "Quite the honor. I prefer to hear the reasoning from the mouths of my little ponies. Just how am I concerned?"
Roblé took a moment to savor the aroma of the tea. It was only polite. It was also likely his only chance to do so, before jumping into this with all four hooves.
"Do you know, Princess, the prevailing ideas many of your subjects have about you? Specifically, that rather a large portion of them believe you to be all-knowing, all-seeing, and all-powerful?"
She hesitated. "Yes, I am aware. I try not to cultivate such notions, but one can do little about what others think."
He lifted the papers he had brought with him. "I have conducted extensive research on the topic."
"May I?"
"Of course." He relinquished his magic's hold on the papers so she could peruse them as he spoke. "You'll find my research has confirmed my presupposition: a majority of ponies in Equestria, from the lowly rural farmer to the upper-class businesspony, believe you to be omnipotent."
"I see." Celestia paused, her face a neutral mask. "But why go to all the trouble to collect popular opinion on such a, shall I say, uninteresting topic?"
"Uninteresting to you, perhaps, Your Highness." He chuckled inwardly. The coup de grace was at hoof! "You see, I could not posit a hypothesis to test without first building the data to support it. In short, I do not consider myself to be among the ponies I so polled." He leaned forward, eyes shimmering.
"I do not believe you are omnipotent in the least, Princess."
If she thought anything of his pronouncement, she kept it hidden. To be expected of a centuries-old political master.
"I aim to prove them wrong."
Celestia let out a breath; he could swear it was a sigh. She stacked his papers neatly and levitated them back to him.
"And just how, Mister Rotunda, do you propose to do that?"
He couldn't stop himself from grinning. This was the pinnacle moment! The single request he had striven and sweated for all these long months!
Roblé sat up straight, angling his head slightly upward. He gestured to the princess, his polished hoof gleaming in the muted light.
"I want you to create a rock you cannot lift."
A moment passed before Celestia deflated. It was all Roblé could do not to crow. He'd done it! Already, she knew she was beaten! The name Roblé Rotunda would go down in history as one of Equestria's greatest thinkers!
"For you see," he continued, "whether you can or cannot, it will prove--"
"Very well."
Roblé rocked forward. What had she just said? He hadn't anticipated that.
No, no, there was that giddy impatience again. Of course she could do it, and if she did, he would still win. That was the whole point of this exercise.
"But not here," she continued, standing. "May I request your permission to translocate?"
He couldn't say he was familiar with the word. "Um, yes?"
Her horn glowed, and suddenly they were no longer in Celestia's quarters.
Roblé had only teleported once before in his life, in that time when he and Artie had been practicing every spell they could find in the hope of getting into the School for Gifted Unicorns. That experience hadn't had quite as smooth a transition as this one, but neither had it been any more welcome. He had always resented Artichoke for picking the spell up before him, hated her for being better than him.
But though Princess Celestia was unsurprisingly more competent at the act than a markless filly, Roblé was still on the verge of losing his breakfast.
"Am I correct in assuming you come from a family of architects, Mister Rotunda?"
The non-sequitur surprised him, but focusing on it helped keep his gall down. Silently, he thanked her for that.
"Yes, Your Highness. Mother hoped I would continue the family tradition, but my aptitudes have always trended toward academics, thought experiments, and philosophy."
Celestia gazed into the distance. Though the place they had come to was wreathed in wind and snow -- which Roblé only now realized he could not actually feel -- he still caught glimpses of the far horizon. Far in the distance, Canterhorn Mountain stood, purple and majestic, an icicle barely larger than his foreleg. The palace was nowhere to be seen.
"Where..."
"Is there anypony else who can take on your family business?"
Roblé's stomach sank. He swallowed. "N-no, Your Highness."
"Then I recommend keeping a safe distance, Roblé Rotunda. And mind the edge."
The snows swirled, providing a view of the edge of the cliff upon which they both stood. It came to a point some few hooves to his right. He stepped back what he felt was a safe distance; that he didn't fall in this process buoyed his spirits slightly.
The princess drew magic to her horn. Immediately, Roblé saw the energies were far beyond anything he had ever been able to wield. Her eyes burned with dark intensity for an instant; in the next, there was a sucking sound and a stone plinth popped into existence, burying itself lightly in the rock beneath them and canting to the side. It was halfway between his height and hers, dark, made of a rock he couldn't identify, and blazoned with something like a white sunburst. It reminded him of a star opal.
She nodded. "Would you please test the stone for yourself? I wouldn't want you to feel as though I've cheated you."
Swallowing again, Roblé returned the nod. He summoned his meager magical ability; in his mind, Celestia's face took on an artichoke green hue for a moment. Resentment surged haughtily through him. Shaking it off, he tried to levitate the stone.
It wasn't so much that he couldn't lift it. Were he trying to lift, say, a house, it would simply provide too much resistance for the amount of energy he could channel into a telekinesis spell. It was more that the stone was eating his magic. However much magic he sent toward it would never be enough to budge it, let alone change its color, find out where it came from, or any other act for which magic was necessary.
Just to be safe, sending Celestia a quick glance, he moved to it and tapped it with his hoof. It was indeed solid rock, and a quick bodily shove resulted in no motion. To the best of his knowledge, there was no chicanery ahoof. Relenting, he nodded to her and took his place near the cliff's edge.
"Show me," he said quietly.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I just want to make certain you are satisfied. I have known many an intellectual."
Without waiting for an answer, she poured magic into her horn. This was even more impressive than the spell she had used previously, which, he was chagrinned to realize, he couldn't identify as summoning or creation. Her eyes blazed with furious light, and Roblé could swear he was looking at the sun itself. Magic rushed from her, not just her horn, but her wings, her hooves, her coat. Her hair billowed in aetheric torrents. The air grew oppressive, the swirling snows hanging motionless. The ground clung to his hooves more than usual.
Just as it had with his own attempt, the stone resisted all Celestia's efforts to move it. From this vantage, it was obvious the material absorbed the magic; no telltale aura marked her grasp upon it.
Celestia loosed what Roblé could only describe as a low roar. Her head lowered as though she were about to charge the monolith, while the ground beneath her hooves turned to glass. He had to look away from her, so bright was the light emanating from her entire form, and most harshly from her eyes.
The sun shuddered in the sky.
He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. The snow that had previously obscured the promontory had burned off under the magical onslaught of the Solar Princess. There, at its place a few hours past noon, wobbled the sun, as though it might drop from the sky at any moment.
Roblé felt it in his bones, his very essence: this was wrong. It couldn't be allowed. Terror clawed at his throat as he screamed, "Princess!"
He feared both that she could not hear him at this distance and that, should he approach closer, he would be annihilated. "Celestia, stop! You have to stop! I believe you! I'm satisfied!"
He shouted and entreated over and over, his throat going raw. He feared he might pass out, when she at last took notice. All at once, everything ceased. Celestia's mane regained its usual shape and softness. The snows hesitated, then swarmed the clifftop again. The sun returned to its rightful place in the sky, glowing indignantly. Roblé himself once again felt right, and wondered at just how wrong he felt mere moments before.
"My apologies, Mister Rotunda," Celestia said, panting. "I seem to have overdone things a tad. I just wanted to make sure you knew I wasn't faking."
A shock of cold fear lanced Roblé. The thought of his princess being winded, from something so commonplace as using magic, even so much...
"As you can see," she continued, "I was not able to lift the stone, despite giving what I hope you'll agree was my best effort." She smiled at him, with a hint of mischief. "I am not, as many ponies claim, omnipotent. Your thesis is secure."
Just like that, it was over. Months of hard work and frustration culminating in a simple statement of fact. He had dreamed of this day, of finally claiming victory despite the odds, for so many months. Why did he feel so... unfulfilled?
Celestia gave a short laugh. "Ahh, I've caught my breath, I think. Shall we return to the palace, Mister Rotunda?"
Roblé stared at her. A minute ago, she had seemed completely spent. A minute before that, she had been the sun incarnate, the very goddess so many in Equestria believed her to be, that he himself had begun to believe her to be. And now, she was laughing as though it had been nothing.
As though none of it had mattered.
Dumbly, he nodded to her, and she lit her horn. In the moment before her translocation spell took hold, he glanced back. The snows swirled away from her magic, revealing the rest of the mountaintop.
Dozens of black monoliths emblazoned with white sunbursts stretched off into the distance, as far as he could see.
"Thank you, Princess," Roblé said, bowing, "for your time and attention. I feel as though I have learned far more today than I had anticipated I would."
"I am most glad to hear so, my little pony." Her voice was motherly, pedagogic, and warm. "If I may, I have something for you, before you go."
She produced a scroll from nowhere, obviously aged and bound with a faded blue ribbon.
"Take a look at this spell in your free time," she said, floating it over to him. "See if you can replicate it."
"Th-thank you, Princess." Roblé took hold of the scroll, and it wobbled slightly. "What, may I ask, is it?"
"A modified version of the spell I cast for you today. It won't create anything other than rocks, and nothing precious enough to upset the national economy, of course." The Princess of the Sun giggled at her own joke. "But since I was able to create a rock I couldn't lift, I wanted to see if you could as well. Consider it a... thought experiment."
Roblé's mouth went dry. "I'm not..." He shook his head and raised his voice a little more. "I'm not very good with magic, Your Highness."
"Oh?" She gave him a small pout. "Did you never have dreams of entering my School for Gifted Unicorns?"
Memories flashed through his head, a familiar, smiling green face in each. "Once, perhaps, Your Highness. My... friend and I would practice magic together, when we were young." He frowned. "But she was always so much better than me. I gave the dream up after a few years."
Celestia nodded. "Your friend enrolled, then?"
Roblé shook his head. "No. When I decided on CanTech, she came with me."
Celestia positively beamed. "If you'd like to show the scroll to your friend, you have my blessing. Otherwise, do keep it between us." She gave him a wink. "Just our little secret." She chuckled. "And if I may make one more demand, please try and have it back here within two weeks. The royal archivists become ever so panicky when things go missing for long periods of time." She made a show of glancing at the clock. "If you'll excuse me, Mister Rotunda, I've another appointment soon. I should be going."
Roblé bowed once more and left without a word.
That night, Roblé sat up in bed, the scroll perched on his hind legs and a firefly lamp buzzing at his bedside. He'd made himself red in the face trying to replicate the spell; he recognized all the formulae from basic magic training, but the energy threshold was simply beyond him.
Create a rock he couldn't lift, huh? Back when he started this whole fiasco, he would have said he couldn't do it because of his own failings in magic. Now...
Well, Celestia certainly had a way of making a point.
He pondered her advice. Going to Artie for help would heap even more humiliation atop what he had already suffered today. Granted, there weren't enough hours left in the evening for a meeting, so perhaps it wouldn't count.
Really, he was feeling the way he had the first time Artie teleported the two of them: disoriented, angry, lesser than another pony. Oh, how the hatred for that feeling seethed in the back of his throat!
He flicked the scroll onto his end table.
When all was said and done, wasn't he really angry at a feeling? And weren't feelings merely a part of himself?
It would be nice to use magic other than simple telekinesis for once. Maybe, just maybe, it would be worth calling Artichoke up and asking for her opinion on the scroll. If anypony could perform the spell, it would be her. Maybe he could take her to dinner tomorrow, as thanks for her help getting him the meeting with Celestia. And the fashion tips.
That would be nice.
He rolled over, lifted the lamp lid, and let the fireflies go.
Author's Note
This story was inspired by my general love of Celestia and this journal. If you are not currently following ScarletWeather, take this opportunity to rectify that oversight, then go read all of her blogs. She has a lot of useful, fascinating things to say about a wide variety of topics.
Artichoke and Roblé are named after two things I've been obsessing over recently. I'll leave the identity of the latter as an easter egg. :V
Thanks go to Pascoite, Petrichord and an unnamed Anon for proofreading and feedback!
