An Apple a Day Keeps Autocracy Away
Celestia awoke to what at first looked exactly like any other day in her life—that is, until the moment she realized she had been overthrown while she wasn’t looking,
It all happened so quickly, too. One moment, she was going around her business, ready for another exciting day of ruling. The next, she was finding Big Macintosh sitting in her throne, wearing her regalia, and looking almost constipated with determination, in an oddly majestic way..
It was at that exact moment that she knew everything might have gone wrong. Seeing a farmer wearing your crown will do that to a monarch.
“I’m... sorry,” she said, and she made sure to smile as she spoke, “have we been formally introduced?” She crossed the throne room in easy steps. “You would be Applejack’s brother, yes?”
“Eeyup,” he said, and his voice boomed down the corridor.
Celestia’s smile didn’t disappear, but it did falter a little.
That had sounded exactly like the Royal Canterlot Voice.
“Ah.” Celestia switched to the more neutral expression worn by every bank teller who has had to press the silent alarm. “I’m afraid I must call the Guard now. I’m sure you understand.”
Macintosh nodded slowly, his expression unchanging. “Eeyup.”
Celestia hummed thoughtfully. Normally they ran at this point.
When Celestia turned, two Royal Guardsponies stood behind her. They held their spears in a way that, had she not been their Princess, could probably be misconstrued as threatening. “Ah, good, I’m afraid we have a situation—”
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to leave, ma’am.” The first guard intoned.
“The Princess doesn’t wish to be disturbed.” The second finished, with an apologetic grimace.
Celestia blinked. “Well. Yes. And, as your Princess—”
The first Guard cut her off with a sharp hiss of air through his teeth, and the second nervously rubbed the back of his head.
“Madame, I’m afraid we are the Princess Macintosh’s guard.”
Behind her, a voice rang through the throne room; “Eeyup.”
Celestia considered this a moment. “Doesn’t he say anything else?” She asked the guards.
“Eenope.”
Celestia pointed at the unmoving, barely speaking pony sitting in her chair. “How did you tell them you didn’t want to be disturbed, then?” She asked, curious.
“Ma’am, talking is not the same as leaving.”
She needed to go ask Luna about this.
[Line Break]
Luna was still in bed when Celestia found her. Blue satin sleeping mask over her eyes, snoring lazily, holding the covers up underneath her chin. It would be horribly rude to wake her, but not half so rude as usurpation.
She prodded her sister in the side, and Luna rolled away from her in the Princess-sized bed, mumbling. “Luna? Luna?” Luna just pulled a pillow over her head. More prodding. “Luna, I brought coffee and pastries.”
That got her to stir. Luna sat up in bed, loudly smacking her dry mouth, looking wearily around the room. Celestia lifted the mask off her eyes, and gave her the mug of coffee.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she apologized, “But I believe I’ve been overthrown.”
Luna blinked slowly, one eye and then the other. A thin bead of drool hung from her bottom lip. Celestia sighed and motioned towards the coffee, which her sister continued to nurse.
Her hoof started tapping impatiently. This seemed urgent. Was it urgent? She’d never been overthrown before, it seemed like the sort of thing she should rush to fix.
“Blrgh,” Luna grumbled, “What time is it?”
“Nine in the morning,” Celestia ignored Luna’s groans of pain and misery, and ducked the pillow that was thrown at her head with a serene grace. “I’m sorry, Luna, but I rather need your help.”
Luna yawned. “Why?”
“Do you remember the Element of Honesty’s older brother, Macintosh?”
“Oh yes,” Luna smiled blearily, waking up more at the thought, “he has the most wonderful dreams of being a Princess, so I’ve been giving him lessons. Such an endearing young man, Princess Macintosh.”
“I don’t doubt that. However.” Celestia looked down gravely. “I’m afraid there’s something wrong with him.”
“Yes?”
“Indeed.” Celestia nodded. “He’s sitting on my throne.”
Luna looked at her, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. “That’s it?”
This caught Celestia by surprise. “Um. Yes.”
“Please, Sister.” Luna scoffed. “That is hardly an issue. It’s not like you were truly using it. Goodnight.” She threw her pillow over her head.
...Only for Celestia to take it off once more. “Actually,” she said, hoof still tapping at the ground impatiently, “I rather think I was.”
“I mean, he’ll rather let you do what you’ve always done,” Luna reassured her, pouring a mug of coffee and reaching for a blueberry danish, “Officiating ceremonies, shaking ponies hooves, talking to the dignitaries... he just wants to go about running the country for a little bit, that’s all. Wonderful ideas. Such a remarkable stallion, our Princess.” She punctuated the remark with a happy sigh which sounded like nails on a chalkboard.
Celestia felt her jaw clench. “I rather think you’ll find that is largely what running the country consists of.”
Luna rolled her eyes wearily. “Of course it is, of course it is. Meanwhile he’ll just do... everything else.”
“Everything else?”
“Oh, yes. All the tedious stuff. The tax system, education, infrastructure, legislature, zoning, grants... you know, so you can do the important things.” Luna smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure you’ll hardly notice the difference.”
“Luna,” Celestia said, with the tone of forced clarity one takes when they insist they’re calm, “I’m a Princess in my own right. I have power over the Sun itself. I bring the day.”
Luna nodded. “You’re just going to ask Twilight what you should do, aren’t you?”
“I am going to confer with my most faithful student, Princess Twilight Sparkle, yes.” Celestia retorted. “There’s no need to be so reductive.”
“Yes, well,” Luna took another big bite of a cruller, spraying crumbs over the bed, “When you do, do tell her I’m thinking fondly of her, and I’m still working my way through the books she sent me.”
Celestia and Twilight sat in the corner of the courtroom as guests of Macintosh. Celestia stared, while Twilight pored over spellbooks. Nobody around them paid them much attention, which still wasn’t what was bothering Celestia most at the moment.
“Twilight?”
“Yes, Princess?”
“Did Macintosh always have a horn and wings?” It seemed the sort of thing she would have noticed sooner.
Princess Big Macintosh’s court was full, now, of admirers and courtiers. He was surrounded at all times by scribes, noting his words, as his wings spread wide and proudly. His magic flickered quills over countless decrees, signing endless scrolls and paperwork.
Truly, the situation had deteriorated.
“I cast Starswirl’s last spell on him,” Twilight explained, flicking through her book, “I thought if I gave him the wings and the horn he’d stop having responsibilities! That’s how it worked for us.”
Celestia raised an eyebrow.“Us?”
“Well, yeah.” Twilight was too busy to pay her much attention. “I mean, it’s not like you do anything in a monarchal capacity. It’s an alicorns’ role to be a figurehead! You move the sun, but so can any ten unicorns with a stick of chalk and a knowledge of calculus.”
Celestia blanched. “Twilight, I run Equestria.”
Twilight blinked, closing her book with a soft ‘whump’. “Huh. Really?”
“Yes.” Then, to make sure her student was getting her point, she pointed at her head. “The crown isn’t just for show.”
“You... Princess, I’ve been your student my entire life, and the only governing I’ve seen you do is officiating ceremonies. And parties.” Twilight seemed to be studying her, now, like she were some fascinating undiscovered new species of creature, “And you’re really good at that, and wise, but... When’s the last time you read a piece of legislature?”
“Why would I read legislature?” Celestia was genuinely confused now. Her student did have a tendency to go off on strange tangents... “What has that got to do with ruling?”
Twilight stared blankly, expressionless. “What do you think ruling is?”
“It’s...” Celestia rolled her hoof, “maintaining the status quo, collecting the taxes, ensuring everything goes on in the right way. Being acquainted with the movers and shakers, officiating ceremonies, too, yes... there’s a lot of that, keeps a ruler busy. There’s really not much need for new laws, if you’re ruling well.”
Twilight’s brow knotted in thought, and she chewed the corner of her cheek a little. “One second, I’ll be right back.” She left Celestia to her darkened corner and went up to the throne, to the usurper. They seemed to discuss something, Celestia couldn’t hear what, and Twilight came back with a copy of a scroll with a surprisingly immaculate signature. Apparently Macintosh knew cursive.
“See, this is what I mean. Macintosh is drafting a new financial system that will ensure that the richest pony doesn’t earn annually more than ten times what the poorest pony earns, while maintaining healthy economic growth.”
Celestia rocked back in horror. “He’s doing—? Twilight! We must stop him!” She tried to storm up to the throne
Princess Big Macintosh gave a look to his guards.
Thirty seconds later, Celestia was back in her darkened corner with Twilight. At least the guards had the decency to be apologetic about it.
“Princess, I don’t understand.” Twilight wasn’t appreciating the significance of the situation. She’d taught her much, but obviously not the importance of good civics. An oversight in their lessons, perhaps. “You’re going to have to explain this one to me.”
“Patronage, Twilight.” Celestia declared grandly, “If you don’t maintain an upper class of the extravagantly rich, nobody funds the arts. No opera, no sculpture. They’re called the high arts for a reason.”
Twilight looked towards the ceiling, at nothing in particular, like she always did as a child when she was thinking especially hard about something. Something seemed to click neatly.
“...Princess, do you know what an autocrat is?”
Her student asked the strangest questions when she was thinking. She got results, somehow, so it seemed best to humour her. "I'm the one immortal ruler of the land. Why wouldn't I be an autocrat?"
Twilight nodded, more at the ceiling than at her. “That makes a lot of sense, actually. Wow. Okay. Is this why education is underfunded outside urban areas?”
Celestia’s eyebrows shot up. “Underfunded? Are there no teachers, no schoolhouses?”
Twilight shook her head. "Ponyville only has one schoolhouse, with one teacher in it, for the whole town.” She actually sounded angry, now, or at least very frustrated, which was surprising, considering she’d just said Ponyville had a schoolhouse and teacher. What more did humble farmers need? “Is this why it doesn't even have a highschool?!"
"Why would it need a highschool?" Celestia asked in genuine confusion, "Ponyville is mostly poor farmers. Why would poor farmers need a highschool education? Unless... do they read to their plants to help them grow?"
“Yes. Farmers need to know how to read.” Twilight stated plainly, but something seemed to stick in her mind like a fleck of popcorn between her teeth. “I think Applejack tells them stories sometimes, but Rarity says it’s just because she needs a boyfriend.” Twilight shrugged. She was staring at some point past Celestia, through her, and she frowned tightly. “Wait, can Applejack read? Is this why she uses pictographs so often? Oh dear. Am I terrible friend?”
“Of course not, my dear student, merely a terrible librarian. But I think we’re getting distracted from the real issue here. Ponyville’s education is fine, I’m sure.” Celestia emphasized her usual calm patience. It always helped to act for the job you wanted, after all.
Her student flopped onto her butt so she could massage both her temples, now, with both hooves. "Well, the one farmer that learned to read on his own is single-handedly bringing a golden age to our civilization. I'd argue that makes for a strong point for education."
It was a good point, Celestia thought. It might be best to start demolishing the schoolhouses; They’d obviously done enough damage.
“Golden age?” Celestia murmured. “I do not know what you mean, Twilight. Surely, Big Macintosh is not bettering my kingdom. You can’t improve perfection.”
Twilight considered that a moment. “Hold on, let me test something.”
She was always testing things, Celestia mused. As a completely random example, possibly, a deposed Princess’s patience.
Twilight called from the top of her lungs, “Hail Princess Big Macintosh!”
The entire courtroom roared back, in unison, in one voice; “Long may he reign!”
Macintosh raised a hoof in acknowledgement, and the court went back to its busy work of reforming the empire.
Twilight nodded, satisfied. “I see. Princess?”
“Yes?”
“I’m honestly starting to wonder if I should be helping him instead. No offense.”
Celestia considered that, quietly, wondering if she shouldn’t just drag Twilight away from this den of... of chaos! Of anarchy! They were being a corrupting influence on her dear student. “Twilight! Think of everything, everything I have done in the service of our empire.”
To Twilight’s credit, she did. She genuinely did seem to think about it. Indeed, she put no less thought into that than any other part of this conversation. That was probably why her response was so disheartening.
She looked at Celestia with an almost pensive frown on her face, the kind of miserable that can only be achieved with education. "Celestia?” she asked. “When's the last time you didn't solve a national crisis by throwing a nerd and five random ponies at it?"
"The Elements of Harmony—"
"—Are wonderful friends of mine that just so happen to be five random ponies I threw together at a ceremony you were officiating.” Twilight blinked. “Wait. You didn’t even do that yourself, did you? Even though you were going to be there anyway. Wow.”
Celestia was not a pony to grasp at straws. There was too much of a risk for grabbing the short one. But still, desperate times, as they said. “ ...What about the changeling invasion?” she asked.,. “I fought Chrysalis, one on one. I put my own life on the line. I am,” and here she actually felt entitled to infuse some pride into her voice, “the last line of defense for our people.”
...But you lost,” Twilight said. “We, um, we were saved by my brother making out with my babysitter. Is it weird that I’m still not over that?”
“It is.”
“And speaking of Cadance, you didn’t even notice your own niece had been replaced by a sociopathic shapeshifter. Just like when you didn’t notice your own sister had become a sociopathic shapeshifter.”
Celestia squinted. “Well,” she said. “They are good at hiding. And I was busy, Twilight.”
“Yeah. Officiating ceremonies.” Twilight was frowning, now. “So, yes, you’re not our last line of defense. You’re the first.” A pause. “In the same way carriages have crumple zones, I would add.”
Celestia was not a sentimental pony, but that one stung. Just sharp enough for her to notice that Twilight had stopped referring to her as ‘Princess’.
Twilight saw the way Celestia’s face didn’t change, had stopped changing, and had known Celestia long enough that she hastened to add, “Of course, they were very nice ceremonies you officiated! You’re very good at that. Very official looking.”
Celestia took a deep breath. “You are beginning to sound just like Luna.”
Twilight’s ears flicked to attention, and a smile shone from her face like morning light. “Oh, Princess Luna? How’s she finding the books I sent her?
“She wants you to know she’s enjoying them,y.” Celestia said, and Twilight smiled wider. “What did you recommend her, if I may ask?”
“Oh, just some, you know, history books.” Twilight waved a hoof. “To help her catch up on what she missed. I’m glad they’ve been helpful.”
“Hrrm. That does seem like something I should have helped with, isn’t it?” Celestia mused, “It took a year just for her to stop shouting.”
“Yeah. Yeah, we… we even had to help you with Luna, didn’t we? Seriously? Even your own sister, you fix by throwing at us. Celestia, I’m sorry, but that’s just—”
“There’s no need to be sorry, my dear Twilight,” Celestia said. “You make a fair point,” Indeed, a pointy one at that, “and there’s no use in arguing about it. But I also believe it is useless to argue with results. And now, I must excuse myself.”
Twilight said nothing. She just got up and wordlessly walked to to Big Macin—Celestia’s throne.
So much for most faithful student, Celestia mused. No wonder she got magic instead of loyalty. She wondered how Rainbow Dash would take to a lesson plan... probably with a weapon. Hrrm.
But still, Twilight hadgiven her a fantastic idea....
[line break]
There had been precedents for rebellion before, oh yes, and the records of them lay in the archives. How had she done it before?
There was the rebellion of 135CE, when a famine had struck Equestria. She’d been managing that fairly well until they’d found her swimming in the cake vault. Dreadfully embarrassing. Not that the cake would have done them any good; it was bread they were short of.
That had been managed with the farmers and pegasus, getting her hooves dirty, bringing food to her people.
Hrrm. Unfortunately, now, her people were well fed. Famines were never there when you needed them. Besides, Macintosh was a farmer himself. Probably a lot better at it than her, anyway, she was more than seven hundred years out of practice.
Besides. Dirt was so... dirty.
There were the Stalliongrad movements against her, of course, when she outlawed hard liquor. Fortunately that had all blown over after a generation or two of waiting for everypony to sober up.
She didn’t think letting them all start drinking again would solve anything, really. While alcohol was a solution, it wasn’t a solution.
There was the Trotston Tea Party in 878CE... Ah, yes. With the failing of the Eastern colonies, the price of tea had shot up, and she had such an addiction... she’d had to raise taxes a little, just a little! Well, some ponies got mad and threw all her tea into the harbour until she lowered them again... she couldn’t get her tea either way.
A pity. Could she just lower taxes until... no, Twilight said Macintosh had already changed the tax code, she wouldn’t know what to do with it anymore.
Harumph.
She put the scrolls back on the shelves. A few hours of reading history had done nothing to inspire her, and had rather soured her mood with the bad memories. No, if history had taught her anything, she’d have remembered it by now, having lived through or outright caused most of it.
Celestia began the long march up from the library vaults, and up to the throne room. Maybe she could just reason with Macintosh.
It didn’t help that everywhere she went, she was surrounded by crying ponies. Normally she’d do the royal and dignified act of attending to her subjects, listening to their woes, but they also seemed to be smiling.
Unnerving. So many happy, crying ponies... was there a wedding? A particularly funny funeral?
There couldn’t have been. She’d have known about it, certainly. Ponies didn’t simply stop inviting Celestia to weddings... did they?
That was a terrible thought. They could take so much away from her, her throne, her subjects... but the idea of losing the ceremonies sent a cold and unnerved shiver down her spine.
The throne room, when she found it, was empty. Up to and including the throne.
That was fortunate, because otherwise she would have to sit on someone to get it back. While her tush was willing and quite capable—a Princess must always endeavour to have a queen-size posterior—it certainly wouldn’t have the same dignity of returning to the throne that she had hoped.
She reclaimed her rightful position as ruler of Equestria.
The double doors to the throne room opened wide, and her subjects were returning. They were skipping and bouncing anxiously, babbling, eyes practically sparkling.
Twilight was among them, fur damp at the corners of her cheeks, still occasionally rubbing the back of a leg along her eyes, with the subtle, intense smile of a pony who had seen first sunrise after six months of night.
And Big Macintosh led them, standing proud and tall. He said nothing, didn’t look back at the crowd behind him a moment, his eyes focused on Celestia’s as he walked towards his—her!—throne.
Someone had given him a cape at some point, something fine and purple. It swept the floor as he walked, billowing majestically around him. Well, that was unfair. Celestia didn’t have a cape. She didn’t even have a robe. Why didn’t she have a robe?
It was obviously pompous. Yes. Yes, that was probably it. New money. Overegging the pudding. No subtlety to it, she told herself. She made a mental note go get one as soon as the opportunity arose.
“Macintosh,” she stated coldly. “I hope you enjoyed your game, but I’ve taken my throne back.” Everyone else stared at her in a mixture of shame and embarrassment which raised her hackles a bit. It was the same look she would give an older gentleman who had just called a zebra friend bangles. “I am Princess Celestia,” she insisted.
Macintosh had cleared the distance between them, now, and simply stared Celestia down with an arched eyebrow, dispassionate expression. ‘What are you doing on my throne?’ It said. ‘Are you done embarrassing us both, now?’ It said.
Celestia bristled, raising her own eyebrow majestically. She had centuries of practice at this. The eyebrow raise was the truest sign of a monarch, above even the hoof shake. It took ten muscles to fake a smile, yes, but the three muscle groups around the eyebrows were the ones that made it politics.
Macintosh’s expression didn’t change, it was practically set in stone.
Celestia raised her eyebrow higher, giving it a wicked curve. He had a face in stone, but she had an eyebrow raise of steel!
Macintosh’s eyebrow stayed exactly where it was. You can’t improve on perfection. Curses.
Princess Celestia laughed, as if this was darkly amusing, but it sounded awkward and embarrassed even to her own ears. “It’s still my throne, Macintosh. This is still my Equestria—”
Everyone else in the room booed. Twilight hung her head and shook it miserably.
What was with ponies today.
“Well, if you want the throne so badly,” Celestia declared, rising from it, gesturing at it, “have it then. It’s only a throne, after all. The people still know who their leader is.”
Macintosh sat on the throne, nodding. “Eeyup.”
“HAIL PRINCESS MACINTOSH!” the court boomed, “LONG LIVE THE—”
That was the last Celestia heard as the guards threw her out of the room. Only Twilight trailed after her.
“Oh, Celestia!” She breathed, “Are you alright?”
Princess Celestia stood up, brushing herself off slightly. “I am fine, Twilight. But I worry for my Kingdom.” There should have been a way to go about this, surely. Just because she was overthrown didn’t mean she had to be... well, thrown out. Did it? Or maybe that just was how these things went about.
Twilight swooned. “Oh, there’s no need to worry at all, Celestia. Didn’t you hear?”
“Hear what?”
Twilight sighed happily again, which was very quickly becoming grating. “The speech!”
“What speech?” Celestia asked. “Who spoke?”
“What,” Twilight laughed, “Were you under a rock or something?”
“For… a given measure of a rock. I was under the entirety of Canterlot, yes.”
“Oh... Uh, well Macintosh gave a speech.” She sighed, happily, like she was talking about a boyband or something, “It was beautiful. It was the single most profound thing I’ve ever heard. Ponies will be talking about it for generations!”
“What did he say?”
She wondered how much milage a pony could get out of Eeyup and Eenope. Maybe if he said them very slowly, that would be a speech of sorts. Maybe that was the problem with the commoners: She wasn’t speaking slowly enough to be understood.
Twilight waved the question off, swatted it as if it were a fly. “I couldn’t repeat it. It wouldn’t be the same... It was all in the way he said it, you know? Well, I mean, you don’t, because you really had to be there! But Princess Macintosh climbed the mountain, and when he reached the top he started speaking in the Royal Canterlot Voice so all of Equestria could hear him—”
“Well, not all of Equestria, surely.” Celestia started walking, as standing where she had been unceremoniously thrown out on her rump seemed to be putting her in a sour mood. She had no where in mind she was going, but wherever she was going was probably where she wanted to be. It stood to reason, or at least walked in its general direction.
“We’re already getting telegraphs from Appleoosa!” Twilight skipped happily, skipped!, as she followed Celestia “So, except for those ponies under rocks,” she giggled, nails-on-chalkboard, “I think it’s pretty much everyone. And he spoke of... freedom, and betterment, and ponykind, and...”
“Goodness,” Celestia breathed, “And here I thought I had missed a wedding. The way you speak of him, it might have been you.”
“Do you think a pony like Macintosh would ever...” Twilight sighed happily at the thought, and she might as well have farted out her mouth for the effect it had on Celestia, who smiled patiently. “Well, you’d have to officiate the ceremony, I suppose.” Twilight agreed, “You are very good at that.”
Well. That meant she’d still be invited.. That was, at the very least, a relief.
“It’s going to be a new golden age for Equestria! Everypony’s so happy! Macintosh is already figuring out the districting for the new democratic representatives!”
What?! “Democratic—”
“It means ponies vote for who and what they actually want.” Twilight explained.
“Twilight, I’m sure the masses don’t actually know what they want.” Celestia mused. “They don’t even know how art works, after all.”
Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”
“Of course not.” Celestia laughed, like silver bells. An important lesson! “But I’m very good at giving money to ponies who do. That’s how art works.”
“Right.” Twilight nodded. “Patronage. Did you think to just... tax the nobility and then use that tax money to pay artists?”
“That seems dreadfully inefficient.” Celestia admitted. “It’d be like giving everypony a university education.”
“Well... Macintosh was thinking about that, actually.”
Celestia shook her head. Such a senseless waste. “Equestria has long been a utopia, Twilight. Under my careful and watchful rule, peace and prosperity. Why risk that?”
“I’m starting to wonder how much this has to do with you living in a really big palace...” Twilight pointed out.
“Good rulers always live in big palaces. That’s how you know they’re good rulers!”
Why was this so hard for everyone else to understand? It was like she was speaking an entirely different language to Twilight, and that language was basic common sense. Alas, the truth about common sense was that it was strangely uncommon.
“I am going to talk to Luna. Again.” Celestia declared. “Perhaps you should spend some more time with your... boyfriend? Fiancee? Do invite me to the wedding, regardless.”
“He’s not—I mean—” Twilight stammered, but Celestia was already off and away towards the bedchambers.
“Hey, Sister!” Luna greeted her, lying upside on her bed eating coffee ice cream straight from the tub, hooves kicking and pinwheeling happily above her, “Did you hear the speech?”
“No.”
“T’is a pity. Was a marvelous, miraculous thing. Truthfully, I ne’er shall forget it as long as I live.”
“I rather wish you would.”
Luna flipped onto her belly again, looking at her sister curiously. “Why the grumpiness?”
“Luna, am I bad ruler?” Celestia shouted frantically. She felt her coat turn white from the stress... well, probably. And why was Luna giving her such a guilty look? Wasn’t meeting her eyes...
“Well...”
Pause. “Luna.”
“You didn’t hear the speech!” Luna protested. “If you had heard the speech you’d understand.”
Celestia wore her patient ruler mask, because hiding your emotions was the truest demonstration of a great politician. “What did he even say?”
“The stuff of dreams,” Luna sighed happily, “The stuff of legends. I had not considered him for a bard or orator before, but his voice and his words... There are so many ways his mouth could cause happy shudders in a mare, I tell you that much” She flicked her spoon towards her sister, jabbing the air with it to make a point and bits of the carpet sticky.
“Yes, yes, but what did he say?” Of course, one could still be a little impatient behind a mask... the things were stuffy.
Luna rolled her eyes. “Nothing you would understand, Sister. It’s fine. Here, have some ice cream.” The tub floated over, but Celestia pushed it back. She didn’t much care for coffee. Luna shrugged, made a little ‘suit yourself’ noise, and stuck the spoon back into it.
There was a knock on the door. Luna sing songed ‘Come in!’ and a guard entered, unfurling a long scroll. The guard was a white unicorn, gold helmet, very regal looking.
She missed being able to think of him as ‘her’ guard, truthfully.
“Princess Macintosh has requested an audience with you, Ma’am.”
Celestia blinked “Where is he? Where is... Princess Macintosh?”
The guard frowned, shed a single tear. “He’s waiting for you in the throne room, I think. I don’t know how we’ll manage without him...”
“We did just fine until this morning.” Celestia pointed out. The guard shook his head, no.
“Until this morning we were but sleepwalkers, and now a great and slumbering giant has been awakened.” He breathed, tears in his eyes—she hadn’t taken her guards for poets, that’s not why she hired them—“Didn’t you hear that speech?”
“No.”
He blinked, tears still gumming up his eyes, and stared in confusion. “How, were you under a rock or something?”
“Yes.”
“You have to be the only pony in Equestria who didn’t hear it.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Well, it’s okay. I’m sure somepony wrote it down for you.”
Celestia brightened at that. “Oh, indeed?”
The guard nodded. “Well, somebody would have to. I didn’t see anyone, myself, because we were all too busy crying and hugging each other and what have you, but I’m sure somebody wrote it down. We all knew Princess Macintosh was speaking straight from the heart so, if they didn’t, because they were too busy crying and all... that’d be a tragedy, wouldn’t it? Imagine, ponies who’ll never get to know what he said.”
“Yes,” Celestia said. “Imagine.”
Luna flicked her spoon back at Celestia getting a little bit of cream in her mane, the hair in which may or may not have started falling out over the course of the day. Nopony else could shed six different shades onto the carpet, really.
Wait, what was that... Six different shades...
“Luna,” Celestia declared solemnly, looking at the white guard before her, “I have had a brilliant idea.”
“Tia!” Luna replied grandly, pointing her spoon at her bucket, at the guard, then back at the bucket, and tapping it so it made a hollow noise. The guard nodded, then skipped away. Apparently the guards, whose job it was to defend the throne, would not defend the throne, but would go for ice-cream runs for a Princess who could teleport to the kitchen and back. “What is it?”
“The Elements of Harmony are unavailable for this national crisis,” Celestia nodded, taking to pacing the room seriously, her hoof falls making a steady clop-clop-schlk as she stepped in drying coffee syrup in the carpet around Luna’s bed, “What with Twilight’s betrayal and this being Honesty’s brother.”
“Well, it’s not really a national crisis, is it?” Luna opined, watching her sister pace with barely concealed amusement, “It’s more of a personal crisis. Since you want to be back on the throne, but nopony else does.”
“Yes, Luna, it’s a national crisis that I have been overthrown by ponies who are wrong.”
“Not even overthrown, really. Politely deposed? No, it was too passive aggressive for that. Ousted? No, you’re still in the building...”
“But the underlying plan still works,” Celestia turned on the spot spinning on a hoof, tearing a chunk of carpet in the process because Luna had dropped her spoon there at some point, “Six random ponies, thrown together in a crisis, brought together by the magic of friendship and a common cause.”
“Patriotically supplanted? That’s not it.”
“It was never really about the Elements after all!” Celestia muttered, eyes low, feeling the pieces click together in her head so perfectly, “It was about the lessons they learned along the way, and the spirit of togetherness...”
“I suppose it was technically a coup, since the Guard unanimously sided against you.”
“So all I need to do is find six ponies, force them to come together in the name of friendship, and throw them at the problem until it goes away.”
“But they didn’t really tell you, so maybe it was a chicken coup?”
“I need to find a bookworm unicorn, a white prissy unicorn, a blue and yellow pegasus, a party pony and a simpleton. That usually works.”
She had just the ponies in mind.
Luna nodded. “That’s your plan?”
“Yes,” Celestia stopped pacing, struck a proud pose, a dramatic wind sweeping her lustrous mane, “It’s time to fight for my kingdom back... by proxy.”
Moondancer, Blueblood, Spitfire, Cheese Sandwich and Maud Pie were not the most conventional team of ponies, which was exactly why they were perfect.
Celestia surveyed her crack team, the Elements of Anarchy, as she had gathered them in the palace entrance hall.
Check One: Moondancer was essentially just Twilight without the privilege of Celestia’s education. She had no castle, no wings, just a Field medal and two fields of magical science named after her to console her for what might have been.
Check Two: Blueblood. Maybe too prissy. It was the knowledge that she was at least partially responsible for Prince Blueblood that made Celestia stop and think maybe Macintosh might have had a point.
Check Three: Spitfire was a yellow and blue pegasus, and Celestia felt certain she was missing something important with this one, but she was apparently loyal and a Wonderbolt, so she was checking all the boxes.
Check Four: Cheese Sandwich was about to be someone else’s problem, so that made it okay.
Check Five: Maud Pie was as simple as a rock. A particularly simple rock at that. Perfect.
All five, checked.
Celestia stood in front of her team of misfits, and thought yes. These are the ponies with which I will defend Equestria.
“Elements of Anarchy,” Celestia informed them, “I’m sure you all know why you’re all here.”
“This is a band audition, right?” Spitfire asked, confused, “Because I can play guitar. Should I have brought mine from home or...?”
Blueblood blinked. “I thought this was casting for the new season of ‘the bachelor’.”
Cheese Sandwich and Moondancer looked at each other with a shrug, while Maud stared blankly at nothing in particular directly ahead of her, unblinkingly.
Yes.
These are the ponies with which I will defend Equestria.
“I have gathered you all here today,” Celestia’s neck straightened, she stood tall, long strides nowhere in particular with the expectation that others would follow, “Because our nation is in great peril.”
“Princess Big Macintosh is in danger?” Cheese Sandwich gasped.
“Yes,” Celestia nodded, “In danger indeed from you, Elements of Anarchy.”
Blueblood laughed, but there was no humour in it. ‘It’ referring as much to Blueblood as to the laugh. “Whyever for, Auntie?”
Spitfire flew in front of Celestia just to show off her disbelief. “Didn’t you hear the speech?”
“What,” Maud asked in a voice so monotone that it actually sounded beige, “were you under a rock or something?”
“Yes.” Celestia hissed through grit teeth.
“Oh.” Maud nodded approvingly. “That is always a good place to be.”
Moondancer sniffled, and pushed her glasses back up her face. “Why do we want to depose Princess Macintosh?”
Celestia braced herself. This was the moment. “Because this will bring you all closer together, with the true magic of friendship.”
All of them were silent at that, except Maud, who simply said; “Ha.”
Celestia didn’t look back, because a Princess always leads with the expectation others would follow. To have to check would simply prove she weren’t a Princess. Appearances were everything. She continued leading them down the halls.
She finally turned around when she had reached their destination. The throne room.
“Well, My Little Ponies,” Celestia informed them, “This is where I leave you. Make Equestria proud.”
She grabbed the five with her magic and pushed them through the throne room double doors, locking the doors shut behind them, and moved to make her dramatic exit until this whole thing had blown over.
She was a good ten steps away before something caught at her, tugged at her memory... No, this plan was perfect, she’d checked every box except...
“Oh no. Oh, dear, oh dearie me.”
Celestia broke into a canter, then a gallop.
The plan wouldn’t work.
She had thrown five completely random ponies at the problem and expected it to just be fixed.
It only worked with six!
Oh, dear.
This was going to end very badly, wasn’t it?
She needed to go into hiding. She needed to make her escape. She needed to go someplace where nopony would ever go looking for her.
But where did a pony go when they had no future, no life prospects, and nothing left to strive for?
The Apple family farm was quaint. Well, the definition of ‘quaint’ is ‘attractively old fashioned’, and Celestia was both older and more fashionable, so really it was more picturesque than quaint.
Her gold shoes were gone, as were her crown and other fineries. Farmers didn’t have such things. They had straw hats, and sometimes overalls, to protect them from the sun. Really, all things considered, the sun had more need of protection from Celestia, so she only wore the hat because it looked picturesque on her.
Celestia remembered farming. She’d had a green hoof, once, before antibiotics were invented. Unfortunately, dirt was perhaps even dirtier than she remembered though.
There was an unplowed field in front of her. Big Macintosh obviously meant to do this before he left, and had probably looked at it as a metaphor for politics. Celestia saw it as a simile for hard work.
The big plow loomed on her right. A good, honest farmpony would hook themselves up to it, drag it all the way across the field, and then, as a reward for getting all the way to the other side, they earned the fun reward of getting to drag it all the way back.
Celestia looked at the unplowed field, which still looked dirty.
The plow and harness were still next to it.
She looked once more at the field.
This didn’t take a political genius.
*ZZZZZT*
Celestia’s horn blasted furrows in the dirt, up and down. This was so much easier than fighting Chrysalis. The field, for instance, didn’t fight back with the power of love. It just lay back and took it, which was a kind of love in a way.
When she was done, she dropped the plow into it carefully, propping it carefully into place. Technically, that counted as plowing it.
Celestia leaned against a spade and admired her handiwork for a long moment.
Wait.
She took a long, hard look at Ponyville’s schoolhouse, off in the middle distance.
“Wait a minute. You don’t need to be literate for this. WHY ARE YOU TEACHING THEM TO READ?!”
