Princess Celestia's Private Library

by Shrink Laureate

Rating: teen
Tags: Princess Celestia, Sex, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Original Character
Length: 6168

A tale of poetry, pornography, puns, printing presses and pretty pony princesses.

Princess Celestia has inspired many writers, artists and poets over her centuries as both ruler and Princess of the Sun. Now she invites one pony to do a special task for her.

A tale of poetry, pornography, puns, printing presses and pretty pony princesses.

Audiobook by Illya Leonov, ft Luna Farrowe and Shadow of Cygnus

Cover image by Linnpuzzle
Edited by Solstice Shimmer and BaeroRemedy.
Special thanks to Dr Bethan Tovey for help with the Old English.

“How is it that gems like these are always hidden so deep? I love your poetry, can't get enough of it.”

— SillyMare

“This is just really stellar, I hope everyone checks it out.”

— PresentPerfect

“A concept which in the hands of just about anyone would have become empty prurience is instead warm and brilliant and funny and just lovely.”

— GhostOfHeraclitus

Published 2017-02-14 03:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-02-14 03:00:01 UTC

Princess Celestia's Private Library

If I might rest mine eyes upon thy visage
And linger there a moment longer yet
Then turn away, forsaking yet the privilege
For fear my stupour cause me to forget;

If I might stumble o’er a simple question
Or stutter through the merest turn of phrase
Then lapse once more to avid introspection
Mine eloquence unravel’d by thy gaze;

If I might glance upon thy solar splendour
As night is turn’d to bright and wakeful day
And lose myself in each and every colour
That drives the gloom of e’entide away;

If I might speak thy name in whispered reverence
Through lips that few can see and none may hear
While others cast it loose in hard indifference,
Blaspheme, accuse and slander, slur and jeer;

If I might light a candle by thy bedside,
Refill thy pot of ink, replace thy quill,
Cut peonies from the garden, bring them inside,
Repair thy quilt to ward thee ’gainst the chill;

If ev’ry word and favour that I proffer
Might to thy Majesty some succour be
Then mine’s the greatest joy this world can offer:
To give myself entirely to thee.

Celestia carefully closed the fragile quarto and slid it back into its place on the shelf.

Tercet was stunned. He stood near the doorway, hesitant to step further into the room full of delicate artefacts. “That was beautiful,” he breathed. Then after a moment, “May I ask who wrote it?”

Celestia stepped to the next bookshelf, her eyes tracing over the array of old books, folders and scrolls. The room was like a library in miniature, meticulously categorised. “Her name was Verdant. She was the third daughter of Lord Albion III of Canterlot.”

He shook his head, regretting his shaky knowledge of history. “I’m afraid I don’t know her. Is her work well-known? Was she famous? Was she beautiful?”

“Not particularly. You can find a portrait of her in the western tea salon, though not an accurate one. In reality, she had a nose like a rhinoceros,” confided the Princess. “And no, I suppose she did little to warrant more than a footnote in history. She served as my hoofmaiden for a little over three years, during which time I fear she developed something of a crush on me. She wrote a number of poems like that one, though nopony saw any of them while she lived. They were found among her effects after she passed away. That’s among her better ones.”

“I’ve never heard it before, though. Has it even been published?”

Celestia shook her head firmly. “It never was published, nor shall be,” she said with finality.

“Oh. Well, I think that’s a shame, Princess. A work like that should be enjoyed by all, not hoarded. Are there other such gems hidden away here?”

She looked around the small, sunless chamber. “A few. But my order is firm, Tercet: nothing in this room is ever to be released to the public.”

Tercet nervously fretted with his fetlock, a bad habit he’d developed. “I… I don’t understand, Princess. I’m a publisher. Your guards summoned me here for a business proposal, or so they said. What am I here for, if not to… publish?”

“You are here to arrange a private printing of every single thing in this room. These parchments are all so fragile, and some have already been lost to time. All it would take is one spark, one misplaced spell, and I would lose them all forever. I wish their contents preserved.”

“A private printing, of all of this?” He looked around the room. Though small, barely more than a short section of corridor sealed off at either end, it was packed with shelves of books, folios, stacks of parchment and a few locked boxes. Even compressed down it would be encyclopaedic. “How many copies will you want? A hundred thousand? A million?”

She turned to face him, her expression grave. “No more than thirty copies are to be made, all of which will remain in my possession. The plates and equipment will not leave the castle either, and thereafter are to be either cleaned thoroughly, kept secure or destroyed. Most importantly, nopony beyond yourself may read these words or see these pages.”

When a pair of bat-pony guards had woken him at night and brought him to the palace in secret, Tercet had expected an unusual assignment, but he was increasingly fearful of what he’d stumbled into. Were these state secrets he was being entrusted with? Was he being asked to step onto a dangerous stage?

“That… will take some time, Princess. Printing is usually a collaborative effort. There must be hundreds of books here. Thousands, even. For a single pony to typeset every word of it…”

“And reproduce the pictures as well.”

“Pictures?”

She indicated the taller, lower shelves with a hoof. “These two shelves are dedicated to drawings, this one to sketches and cartoons, and this one to oil paintings. There are larger paintings over here, and a few behind you. All of them must be replicated, and in some cases restored. I imagine it will take you some years to complete the task.”

“I’m no painting restorer, your Majesty.” Cautiously, Tercet stepped forward. “May I see them? So that I can judge the nature of the work.”

“You may. After all, to complete this job, you will need to read and reproduce every page in this room. But understand that you may not share anything you see here with any other pony.”

“I understand.” Whatever was contained within these folders must be of great national importance. Picking a high shelf at random, he fluttered up and pulled a stiff, faded folder carefully out of it, laying it on the small table to unwrap the cracked string holding it together and leaf through the loose drawings within.

The first was a drawing of Celestia from the wings up, the shape resembling a swan or the white princess chess piece, her ethereal mane alight with colour. The artist had used just four different inks, but combined colour, line and texture impressively to create the impression of depth and movement. Sadly time was doing its best to convert them all into a faded brown. It would take some work to restore the original’s vibrancy, but it could be done, and the result would be glorious.

“The penmanship here is lovely,” he said. He lifted the first picture aside. The second was also Celestia, standing over the artist with her wings outstretched. The sunlight fell through her feathers in a hypnotic pattern, rendered in subtle coloured hatching.

“Ah, yes. These were drawn by the young Captain Storm Chaser. He was a distant ancestor to Prince Blueblood, though unicorn aristocracy prefer to forget that detail,” said Celestia.

The third was the same pose, seen from behind—

Tercet slammed the folder shut with finality. As sweat began to pool in the space on his back between his wings, he stood still, considering his next words carefully. He was suddenly aware of his breath. Without moving his head he glanced at the locked door, knowing that two guards stood outside it, and that Celestia held the only key. She stood between him and the door, waiting patiently for his question.

Finally, with a shaky voice he asked, “If… If I may be so bold as to ask… am I being pranked, Princess?”

She replied in a clear, calm voice. “You are not. My request is in earnest, Mister Tercet, and the payment will be appropriate.”

“But that…” He struggled to find the words. “That picture was… pornographic!”

Unfluttered and serene, Celestia nodded. “Indeed it is. Quite decidedly.”

“It’s… pornography of you!” he whimpered.

“That too is correct.” She lifted her head to survey the shelves. “The same is true of practically every item in this room, which is why they must all be kept here, safe and secure. For example, the majority of Miss Verdant’s poems are significantly more graphic than the one you heard.”

“I am a printer of serious literature and art. I am no peddler of common smut, Princess!”

“I’m glad to hear it, because this is exceedingly uncommon smut, my dear printer. It is perhaps the most unique collection of smut in the world.”

Tercet was near tears. “But why, Princess?” he wailed. “Why would you keep such things in your possession?”

“Allow me to show you something else that may shed a little light on that.” Celestia lit her horn, and from the top shelf floated down a cracked and crumpled sheet of parchment. Tercet flinched as it landed on the table before him, but there was nothing but a green and pink scribble on the page. “Lady Verdant drew this picture of me when she was a filly of just four years old. Long before she learned to hold a quill in her magic.”

Tercet blinked tears from his eyes as he looked down at the foal’s drawing. It was crude, but clearly showed a big, kind, white pony with multicoloured hair.

Celestia’s expression turned reflective. “She left me too soon. All my little ponies leave me too soon. They love me, each in their own way, and I love them, but soon they are gone, and these words and pictures are all that I have left.”

There were no windows in the room. Celestia glanced at a clock that was nestled between shelves. “I’m afraid that I have duties to attend to. I will leave you here to peruse the pieces and get a scale of the work, and return this afternoon. I’ll ask the guards to fetch you some breakfast.”

There was an octagonal reading room not far from the private library. It was comfortable and well lit but also, Tercet couldn’t help noticing, well locked. It had tall windows filling five of the eight walls, but they didn’t open. Instead, cool air was wafted into the room from above and below by means unseen.

Tercet would put good money on those windows being enchanted to prevent the interior being visible. He made a note to check from outside next time he was passing through the gardens.

Above, the spaces between the ribs of the vaulted ceiling were painted a deep blue, with scattered silver stars. The theme was echoed in the cushions on which he sat, and the walls flanking the door.

On the round table before him sat a folio of free verse, written in dense horn-writing, the ink and pages both yellowing with time. It told the tale of a young stallion from a well-to-do family who set out alone to explore the wilderness. Tercet knew that a noble heir of that era would invariably have been travelling with a retinue of at least two dozen servants, who were probably busy setting up camp and preparing his dinner while he wandered along the banks of the river, but he chalked their absence up to poetic license.

The sun did settle near the western rim
Grazing mountains and threatening to light trees ablaze.
A cool breeze twisted twixt root and limb
Lingered to ruffle leaves and tickle fur
In its headlong rush to catch up to the sun.

So leaving my heavy load behind,
I stepped along the bank of a brook,
Its idle chatter lulling my mind;
Followed upstream as it wound between two mighty pillars,
Twin daggers of obsidian
Jutting far above the crest of trees;
Found there a cove o’erlooked by sheer cliffs,
Branches and vines entangled at its edge.
A lagoon rested in the bowl below,
Its surface unsettled by the endless flow
Cascading from an outlet far above.

And in the shallow pool ’neath the torrent
Stood a mare unlike any known before or since.
Her legs were long as a summer afternoon,
Her horn tapered to a vicious point;
Her wings stretched gloriously broad;
Her mane shone with the myriad colours of dawn;
And her neck…

Her neck did reach for the heavens like the Tower of Stable.
A braided cord of unmeasured strength
Held tight beneath a sheet of calming white.

Entranced, I could but stumble forwards
’Til my hoof struck careless against a metal shoe,
A bell ringing clear round the enclave
Announcing my presence.
She turned and saw, unwitting stallion I.
The water pouring down her muzzle
Quenched not the fires of Tartarus in her eyes—

“Ah yes, Lord Bridle. He did have a tendency to exaggerate.”

Tercet near leapt out of his seat at discovering Celestia sat next to him on the window seat. He’d been so absorbed in the writing he hadn’t noticed her arrive. “P-p-pr-princess!”

“I wasn’t all that angry, really, simply concerned he was about to crush my hoofboots.”

Tercet held a hoof to his chest and hyperventilated.

“Do relax, Tercet. I’m glad to see you’re enjoying the story.” She watched the nervous stallion struggle for breath, and placed a comforting hoof on his shoulder. “Take your time.”

Catching his breath and swallowing his butterflies, Tercet finally squeaked, “I’m sorry, Princess. This job has me… on edge.”

“I understand,” she said calmly, though a small rebellious part of Tercet wondered how well she possibly could. When was the Princess last anxious?

“Can I ask you… How is this story unheard of? I… every artist and writer in Canterlot studies Lord Bridle’s poems. They’re sold in bookstores across Equestria. Foals study it in school. How can something like this have been overlooked?”

“My little ponies aren’t ready to see me as these ponies have seen me. I must be the living sun to them, flawless and impeccable. Otherwise I would face countless obstacles in ruling them.”

Tercet shook his head. “No, I… understand ‘why’, Princess. I simply meant ‘how’?”

“Oh, I see.” Celestia looked up, her eyes unfocused. “If I remember, that particular journal was among those belongings left to Lord Bridle’s daughter, Lady Straightlace. A remarkably intelligent young mare, though sadly lacking in poetry. Retrieving it from her manor required a full moon, a spiked bottle of brandy and a bat-pony dressed up as a dragon.”

Tercet was not entirely sure if the Princess could be believed, and her implacable expression was giving him no clues. “Did she read it, before you… extracted it?”

Celestia nodded. “Probably, but we acted quickly. Lord Bridle was among the ponies my agents kept an eye on, for a number of reasons, as I’m sure you can imagine.” Tercet nodded. The mad poet’s misadventures and fevered ramblings were well known.

His eyes were drawn to the wall, somewhere behind which the collection rested. “Has anypony else ever seen them before?”

“Of course. Every volume and sketch in the collection came from somewhere, typically locked away in some family vault or private collection. Obtaining them all was not always easy.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be. If ponies think they have something rare, they’re likely to guard it jealously.”

“My assistant, Raven, has seen the room, as has Princess Cadance. And even the palace security isn’t perfect. Just a few years ago, a filly from my School for Gifted Unicorns managed to break through the wards and teleport in. I found her sitting in there long after her bedtime, reading a most salacious novella by Umasaki.”

“Did you punish her?”

“Not exactly. We had a long and somewhat awkward conversation. She went away with a head full of difficult thoughts, and a few weeks later contributed something of her own to the collection.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and teleported a single folded sheet into the room, an inch or so above the table. It settled with a soft flutter of paper. She carefully unfolded it to reveal a minimalist, nearly abstract portrait of herself in bold strokes of colour, each chosen with precision.

Tercet read the name in the corner, next to a roughly symmetrical red and yellow symbol. “Sunset Shimmer? I can’t say I know the name. Where is she now?”

Celestia drooped, her brow knotted. “Far away. Sadly we had a falling out, and she left both me and the school. She too left me too soon.”

She sat in silence. Tercet was tempted to lift a comforting hoof to her tall shoulder, but visions of his flesh burning away stayed him. Soon after she recovered, lifting her head and asking, “How long do you believe it will take?”

Tercet considered. “There’s a lot to be done. At least a few years.”

Celestia nodded. “You have two,” she said with finality.

“Two years? Oh. Er…” Tercet frowned, his mind nervously running through all the things that would need to be done. “Why the urgency?”

“Somepony will be arriving. I’d like to get this finished before they do. Of course the crown will cover the costs of your time and equipment to make this happen.”

Tercet did a hundred sums in his head and reached an answer that didn’t add up. He said, “I’m going to need an assistant.”

“Ya know, there’s a story I ’eard about one o’ them old phaoroes o’ Zebrica. Centuries ago, this was. He wanted to make sure he’d be remembered, so ’e commissioned the most renowned architect in the land to build ’is tomb. The greatest tomb the world ’ad seen since, well, foreva, that what ’e wanted.”

Apex paused his tale to add a layer of leading into the chase before starting on the next row of type.

“An’ it took ’im more’n twenty years,” he continued, “but sure enough ’e built a pretty damned impressive tomb. Miles across, wiv’ a big pyramid in the middle, an’ a temple an’ carvings of sphynxes and the like.”

“How did the sphynxes feel about that?”

“Don’t think they was ever asked. When ’e started it was slap in the middle of the desert, miles an’ miles from anywhere, but by the time it was finished, an whole city ’ad grown up around it. Even had a canal, for moving ’eavy blocks. Anyway, time came soon enough the old phoaroe kicked the bucket, and they all went to bury him, big procession through the city for a big king, only he’d left instructions wiv ’is priests what the architect ’ad to get locked up in there wiv ’im. Buried alive, ya know?”

“Why on earth would he do that?” asked Tercet.

“So’s he can’t just turn around and build an even better tomb for the next guy, right? I mean, nopony wants to be remembered foreva as the guy who spent a fortune building the second greatest tomb that ever was.”

Tercet scrunched up his face. “What a vindictive thing to do.”

Apex locked the page of type in place with a quoin. “I know, right? ’specially since his son just goes and raises the both of ’em from the dead ’fore the year was out.”

Tercet shuddered. Tales of zebra necromancy made him nervous. Apex started a new page. “What one are you setting now?” asked Tercet.

“Er, ‘Confession To The Sun,’ this one’s called,” said Apex, fetching the box of 18-point type for the title.

“I thought you did that one yesterday?”

“Nah, it’s another one. Popular name, right? This one’s by Percy Filly.”

“I suppose there are only so many variations out there.”

“You still doin’ ‘The Tale Of Genma’?”

“I’m afraid so. Ancient Neighponese is not my strong suit, and Umasaki’s hoofwriting was atrocious.”

“Let me know if you need any more baji blocks carved. Anyways,” continued Apex, “I was thinking, right. Once we’ve done this job, and printed all these books for ’er, an’ she’s gone an’ locked ’em up in some vault or somethin’ so’s nopony ’cept ’er can ever see ’em, what to stop ’er doin’ the same wiv us?”

“Doing what?”

“Lockin’ us up, so’s we can’t ever tell nopony what we’ve seen ’ere.”

Tercet took a deep breath, and spent the next few seconds concentrating on the line of type he was setting. “You know, Apex, when I told the Princess that I needed an assistant, and suggested your name, they asked me some questions about you.”

Apex’s chest puffed up with pride and a grin graced his lips. “Oh yeah? What did ya say about me?”

“The guards asked me about your family, your friends, where you go to hang out, what sort of hobbies you have, whether you’ve had any contact with foreigners, that sort of thing. I answered them all as best I could. In the end, when the guards were done, I had to promise the Princess one thing. Just one, but it was very important.”

“Wassat then?”

“That you could keep your mouth shut.”

“Tercet!”

He froze, one leg in the air, wondering what he’d done this time. Cautiously casting his eyes about, he saw a stallion he recognised hurrying across the busy street.

“There you are,” said the stallion, catching up to him. “Where have you been? Nopony’s seen you in moons. Canterlot just isn’t the same without you.”

“Oh, Tardy. Er. I’ve just been really busy, hard at work. You know how it goes.”

Tardy trotted to a stop in front of him. “Busy with what, man? Your shop’s been shut tight. You’re turning away customers. Last week a mare wandered around outside your door for two hours wondering if she’d found the right place. She was a pretty hot one, as well.”

“I did leave a notice up,” volunteered Tercet, “suggesting ponies try your place instead if they needed printing done.”

“Yeah, and I’m grateful for that. Like I said, smoking.” Tardy whistled. “And loaded as well. Seriously, dude, what’s worth giving up that for?”

“I’ve been working on a big job. A, er… custom print run. One that will take some time to complete.”

“Must be somepony rich to buy you for moons like this. What’s the job? Need any help?”

“I can’t really – Oomph!” Tercet was shoved aside by a stocky pony hurtling down the street. Short but surprisingly strong, wearing a long dark cloak with a hood, concealing their head and most of their body, and clutching an aged scroll in their teeth.

“Hey, are you all right?” Tardy stepped forward and lent a hoof to help Tercet up.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Who do you think that was?”

“Definitely a mare, judging by the hips,” replied Tardy, ever the expert. “And I think I saw a horn under the hood.”

There was shouting and a clamour of hooves on cobbles as a dozen guards rounded the corner, led by Captain Shining Armor. “Stop! Thief!” he shouted. Tardy and Tercet stood still as the squad flowed around and past them, helmets and wingtips within inches of them, hooves clattering on the cobbles.

“That looks pretty serious,” said Tercet, watching the cluster of guards running and flying uphill.

“Yeah. Did he say ‘thief’? You think that first pony we saw stole something valuable?”

There was a rush of wind and the Princess of the Sun sailed overhead, wings outstretched, her shadow briefly covering the two of them. With another powerful stroke of her wings she caught up with the group of guards ahead and soared straight over the top of them.

“Wow. I’m going to go with ‘yes’.” He looked to Tercet for confirmation, but the pegasus was rooted to the spot, his gaze locked on the retreating form of the Princess.

Sunnan ond mónan þeodcwéne ſwearcunge þurhflon.

“Sunnan ond monnan theod-queenie… theodqueyne… swayyar-kung… guh… thurflon.” He paused, squinting at the words. “The queen of… sun and moon… flew through… the darkness.

Þa heo dægriman ſawon, þa hie ſe dyſig ſeah.

“Tha heyyo dayg… daggri-man… sawon, tha hier se… dissig… sayya. They saw the dawn… and the… fool… saw them.”

Dwolman hearra ſæt uppan héahſetle his, cancetende.

“Dwolmna heyyarra… sat upan… heyya-settler his… canker… tenday. Cankettendey. The king… Or… The lord of… chaos… sat upon his throne… laughing.”

Tercet closed his eyes, rubbing them with a wing. He found Old Equish strangely harder to get his head around than Neighponese, perhaps due to the way it would occasionally look almost like modern language, like ‘sæt uppan … his’ for ‘sat upon his’.

A sharp regular clop of hooves on the marble floor outside announced the arrival of Celestia. She quickly opened the door and stepped through, wearing her full golden regalia and an expression of stern, fair rulership. “I’m told you wanted to see me, Tercet?”

“Er… yes, Princess, but… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your business. It’s not that important.”

“It’s quite all right. I have a few minutes before the next appointment.” As the door closed, Tercet could see her assistant, Raven standing just outside the door, keeping an eye on a clipboard but keeping a respectful distance.

“I just had a few questions regarding the translation of this work by Cædmiere. I’m afraid my Old Equish isn’t up to the job, Princess.”

“Certainly. Which passage is it?” He showed her the fragile old page. “Dwolman hearra ſæt uppan héahſetle his, cancetende,” she read aloud flawlessly, adding, “Yes, indeed he did.”

“Am I reading that right? The ‘Lord of Chaos’ sat upon his throne?”

“That’s right. His name would be ‘Discord’ in the modern tongue. A spirit of disharmony who took over several of the fledgeling Equestrian kingdoms and made them his plaything. He could literally turn the world upside down, move the sun and moon at his whim, make fish fly, and make it rain chocolate milk. He had power far in excess of alicorn magic, but no sense of responsibility.”

Tercet boggled. “But you defeated him?”

“With the Elements of Harmony, yes. Don’t worry, you’ll never see his like again.”

He mirrored her smile. “I’m also slightly confused by this title it gives you, the ‘Queen of Sun and Moon’. It’s a perfectly sensible thing to call you, but the author makes a point of always mentioning them both, even though nowadays ponies tend to call you the Princess of the Sun. Does that signify a shift in… the…”

Tercet trailed off as he saw a pained expression flicker across the Princess’ face. It was gone a moment later, replaced by her usual practiced maternal calm.

“Princess?” he whispered.

“My apologies, Tercet. I was simply distracted by a memory.” She raised a hoof and cleared her throat. “I’m afraid your reading isn’t entirely correct. Þeodcwéne is plural, since the author is referring to two queens: my sister and myself. The passage reads, ‘The Queens of Sun and Moon flew through the darkness. As they saw the dawn, so the fool saw them’.”

Tercet stared. A sister! Telling him that had taken something out of the Princess. Her professional composure from just a few moments before was soured by a vulnerable, reflective expression.

She said quietly, “I… the crown would appreciate it if you kept that detail to yourself, Tercet. As with so many details of this project.”

“Of, of course, Princess.”

“I have to be going now. Places to be, ponies to see.” She pulled the door open with her magic, startling Raven who was standing outside.

Later that evening, shortly after sunset, there was a polite knock on the door. Tercet quickly draped a sheet of oil cloth over the press and closed the folio he was working from, then called out, “Come in.”

One of his two allocated guards poked her muzzle into the room. Her eyes betrayed curiosity about what was going on in here, but her voice stayed professional. “A message for you from Apex.”

“Oh?” Tercet trotted closer to the mare.

“He says his husband is feeling much better now, so he should be back at work tomorrow.”

“Oh, good. Thank you, Miss… Eclipse, was it?”

The mare smiled. “That’s right.”

There was a cough from Stalwart, the other guard stood outside, and Eclipse darted back into position and let the door close. A few seconds later, the Princess’ muffled voice could be heard thanking the guards for their service.

She stepped inside, closed the door then cast a spell. Tercet grew nervous as some sort of shield appeared over the doorway.

Celestia looked more tired than before. Her crown and torc were gone, and even the hoofboots she was always seen wearing. She looked oddly naked without any gold on her. She sat down in the middle of the floor, her shoulders slumped.

“Tercet, can I talk to you in confidence?”

Though his stomach was clawing its way out of his abdomen, he replied as simply as he could, “Of course, Princess.”

“Please, call me Celestia. At least while we’re in private.”

“Ye–” He coughed, took a breath. “Sure thing, Celestia.”

“I haven’t… told this to anypony. Not in centuries. My ponies can’t know this. If they do it would… it will change things.”

Tercet sat on the floor near her. He stretched to his full height, but still had to lift his face to look at hers. “What is it?”

“I have not always been wise, Tercet. I have not always been right.”

Tercet looked down. It occurred to him how small her hooves looked without their usual golden decoration. They had scratches and pits from walking, just like any other pony’s. It was such a small thing, but without those hoofboots she looked more like a real pony.

“Is this about… your sister?” he ventured. “You mentioned her earlier, but there are no records about her.”

Celestia nodded. “She left me too soon,” she said quietly. “We should have had millennia together. We should have ruled the world in harmony, guided our little ponies to enlightenment. We should have been a symbol of love. Instead I am a symbol of power, alone and unassailable. Celestia Sol Invicta. The unconquered sun.” She spat the last phrase out bitterly.

“What was her name?”

Celestia looked up at the windows, at the moon that hung outside them, the Mare In The Moon shining down on Equestria. “Luna,” she said.

Luna? Tercet’s mind raced, digging through the old texts he read as a student. The word meant ‘moon’. Some of the oldest myths of ponydom, little more than fairy stories, told of a pair of alicorns, sisters representing the sun and moon in balance. Even the Equestrian flag borrowed that image, though the flag itself was less than three hundred years old and had originated as a naval pennant, hence the shape. Everypony assumed the story of two sisters was either just made up, or came from before the Age of Harmony, possibly even before the great migration, but either way it couldn’t possibly refer to Celestia. After all, ponies carried the same flag during Hearth’s Warming plays, even though it was completely anachronistic. But if Celestia really did have a sister, Luna, an alicorn connected to the moon, then she would surely have made sure that her story was told and remembered, kept the memory alive – unless there was some reason not to. If ponies knew, it would change things, she said. Somepony was arriving soon, she said. Two years, she said. One and a half years now. There was another pony in myth associated with the moon, a story of the times before united Equestria, told to foals to keep them awake at night. An antagonist, who wanted to plunge the world into eternal night. One who had laid waste to the old palace, and whom Celestia battled and defeated. One who was banished to the moon, as explanation for the symbol seen there. And at least one story, buried in a near-indecipherable tome, predicting her return after a thousand years. Her name was…

“Nightmare Moon,” he said.

Celestia’s head snapped to him, her eyes sharpening, pinning him in place. She opened her mouth a little but said nothing.

Tercet’s breath was short. Terror filled every inch of his body, crawled along his pelt, though whether he was more afraid of the return of an ancient nightmare or of Celestia’s anger he couldn’t say. “The deadline. Two years. She’s… she’ll be here soon.”

Celestia said nothing. Her horn glowed and the barrier over the door responded by a stronger shimmer and a louder hum. A similar barrier covered the windows, and a faint vibration through his hooves told him it was under the floor as well.

“You needed ponies to forget,” said Tercet, staring into the face of his Princess. “You needed them not to realise it was her.”

He could feel her breath on his muzzle. She was waiting, like a knife raised above him, deciding whether to strike.

“Because…”

He could no longer see the room, the walls, the door, the windows. He could not see his own hooves or hers. He could not see her wings, her neck, her ears, even her muzzle. All those things had faded away. All he could see were her eyes, pinning him to the floor. In them he saw piercing sharp intellect, hard determination, and also fear. Fear of being forced to do something she didn’t want to do. Fear of losing another pony. Fear of the next words he said.

He spoke slowly. “Because if ponies remembered… if they knew the old stories… they wouldn’t forgive her. Only if she passed into myth could she ever hope to return. Ever stop being a nightmare. For that slim chance, you’ve carried these memories with you. Carried them for centuries, all alone. A lie you could never escape. A… a splinter of sorrow cut through every moment of joy. Everything you’ve ever done… has been for her.”

Celestia closed her eyes, and Tercet saw tears forming, reflected in the moonlight.

She leaned forward and softly kissed his cheek. Then she quickly stood up, the barriers evaporating as she opened the door wide and strode away.

The guard cleared his throat. “Princess?”

Celestia looked up from the report she was reading from Agent Sweetie Drops on the state of Ponyville, in particular the antics of a young mare named Pinkie Pie.

“Yes?”

“I have an update from Masters Tercet and Apex. I thought you’d want to hear this one.” Through his stoic demeanour, Celestia thought he sounded apologetic. She used her well-practiced comforting tone.

“Go ahead, Stalwart.”

The guard cleared his throat again. “‘It’s finished.’”

Celestia raised her eyebrows just a touch. “It is? I’m impressed, they’re two moons ahead of schedule. Are the two stallions waiting for me to visit so they can hand it over?”

“Actually, I think they’ve both passed out, Majesty. They’ve often been heard working late into the night lately.”

“Indeed. Well, let them rest. When they wake up, make sure they’re both paid the remainder of what they’re owed.” She glanced out the window at the snow still covering the royal gardens. The printer and his assistant had worked on this straight through Hearth’s Warming. “And if they’d like, arrange a trip for them. Somewhere warm and quiet. All reasonable expenses paid. Their families, too.”

“Yes, Majesty. And what should we do with the… end product?”

“Nothing, for now. Keep them secure. I’ll make arrangements for the safe transport of the other copies.”

Celestia leafed through the freshly delivered book. Volume 19: The Reneighsance. Some good years, and some fond memories.

The books were heavy, each bound in solid white covers designed to last centuries, embossed with her cutie mark on the cover and spine. The paper felt rich enough to enjoy, and not so thin as to be fragile, but still thin enough to fit thousands of pages into each volume. Truly, they were beautifully done. Tercet was to be congratulated on his work.

She laid down volume 19, and took up volume 41: The Modern Era. That was a name that was going to get ironic fast. She turned to the last few pages to look at the most recent item, a gorgeous reproduction of Sunset Shimmer’s light sketch, just slightly larger than the real thing. Tercet had been wise enough to leave the opposite page blank, allowing her to appreciate the drawing in isolation.

She was about to close the book when she realised there was one more page after that.

The picture was created from letters. Some large, some small, some italic, some bold, some baji, some Zebrican, some in old pegasus script, some simply numbers or punctuation. At first glance, they seemed to have been spilled across the page at random, jumbled letters in rainbow colours, and if you looked too close that’s what they became. But take a step back, let your eyes see the whole page, and a picture of Celestia emerged. In contrast to the rigid pose of a classical portrait, this was dynamic, movement without symmetry. Everywhere you looked seemed to be myriad details suggestive of feathers, hair or brilliant eyes, but look too closely and the suggestion evaporated into its mere parts.

Celestia smiled as she closed the book. “I knew I’d chosen the right pony.”