Forever Mare

by Ice Star

Rating: teen
Tags: Royal Guard, Suicide / Self Harm, Violence, Princess Celestia, Sad, Princess Luna, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark
Length: 12683

There are ponies that even the gods cannot help.

Ponies all across Equestria have sought the help of the princess-goddess sisters who rule them. Time dictates whether one princess or two was available to aid them, and if one was ever held in favor over the other.

Princess Celestia has dedicated her life to helping every good pony.

But there are always ponies who cannot be helped.

Proofread and edited by CoffeeBean, VoxAdam, and NorrisThePony. An entry into Cynewulf's Worldbilding Contest. This story has been reviewed and recommended by PresentPerfect, you can find the spoiler-filled review here! Contribute to the TVTropes page!

Published 2018-01-08 05:10:06 UTC
Last updated 2018-01-08 05:10:06 UTC

Forever Mare

Princess Celestia looked around the torch-lit throne room of the Everfree Palace. Her eyes drifted past the occupied throne beside her to the guards leading the next pony into the throne room. She could already hear the rhythmic march of their hoofsteps and the sound of their armor in unison to those motions.

It was another day in the young nation of Equestria. Ponies still whispered reverently of the defeat of Discord at the hoof of the goddess sisters, who ruled them with such care compared to First Equestria. The mysterious death of Princess Platinum was all which the shaken then-Triarchy had barely managed to process, prior to the manifestation of Discord and the Two Sisters' war against him. So many ponies had perished in that time, it was really only known to mortals in legend now — the elderly were all extinct. All who had lived before Discord's time had seen their world turned into a place of want, but it was the reignition of interracial power skirmishes which truly shattered the briefly unified ex-tribes of the Triarchy, leading to such loss of life. Only the Two Sisters rallying the three races Luna deemed hapless mortals to march against the draconequus had pulled the country from ruin.

Even under her pristine white coat, the thought of that war, of Discord, made her divine heart feel as though it were being torn at. Each beat brought a pulse of dark thoughts, wholly unbidden, to the edge of her mind. Celestia did not hate much. But she had to hate any sense of shadows and monsters, and anything that could quash her utterly endless optimism. The sense of Good and Harmony that was the foundation of this Equestria, the Second Equestria, and her philosophy must prevail. No matter the cost. She, the radiant and eternal mare, had single-hoofedly done what no ruler had ever done in keeping stability beyond mortal capability. Prior to Celestia and her shadow, the only life the ponies in the attempted Triarchy of First Equestria had ever known was the Tribal Age in all its ugliness. Their time in the bitter north, beyond even the forbidden cities of the yaks, had left naught but deadly, ever-raging winter over uncountable generations of graves. Save for the world before, one lost to ashes and the memory of gods like Celestia and Luna, it was as though nothing else had ever been.

Celestia did not like those tales of a better, divinely-loved world, and let them stay as just that — tales and no more — at every chance she got. This displeased Luna, but everything troubled the younger, honorary princess whom Celestia found to be a leech in all but name. Her most common reaction to the otherwise silent, sullen creature that lurked about the castle and the wilds and had never had anypony to call friend or lover, was merely to purse her lips into a thin line and keep her smile unbroken in front of company, as Celestia knew she must. Always did Celestia refuse to make any sound of distaste at the different mare's presence in the polite company of her subjects.

Luna occupied a throne next to her, and that was the extent of her presence in Celestia's life, at least, between their frequent fights or occasional royal meetings, usually at mealtimes. Luna was quiet. She watched the world with eyes that Celestia could never decipher. She conformed to no standard and rarely appeared at any of the holidays or festivals. Celestia's beloved ponies spoke of her as a footnote — either as the second princess, which she was, or Celestia's younger sister, a label that seemed to drift further away between them than the distance which separated the sun and the moon. There was also 'the dark goddess' which was such a queer, eerie title compared to Princess Celestia's plentiful store of epithets. Yet, who would expect the non-governing princess to have the wealth of nicknames her elder did?

Celestia was a mare of light and change. It was she who had done away with the slavery the tribes had practiced, who had extended compassion to all, had given anypony regardless of class a chance to speak before her, who went on tours across her nation — her shadow following behind, of course — who’d converted the 'castes' of the Tribal Era into a 'class' that could be changed with good effort and favor. She funded the armies, the clerks, servants, farmers, and the laborers who loved her most. The laborers were fair and fed because she had liberated their ancestors with words in a time when violence alone was the standard, and for it, their children and children's children now kissed her hooves each time her chariot graced their homely villages. How could Celestia's heart not overflow with love at such loving obedience?

Celestia was the mare who’d declared that two stallions or two mares could wed, when the Tribal Era 'sensibilities' would have been appalled by such a 'condition' and sentenced the would-be-spouses to exile. Luna had desired the same as she, constantly urging Celestia to have made such laws a priority in the first place, and Luna had also insisted on justice for ponies suffering cross-sexual ailments. Those were the ones Celestia found herself at an utter inability to connecting with, and she hid it well, wishing that none might pick up on how much she envied Luna's ability to understand these forlorn creatures. Luna understood nopony, she had no friends whose estates she took trips to, and her name occupied the guest list to no balls unless Celestia ordered somepony to write it there. Whatever fragile chain to bind Luna to ponies who were overflowing with melancholy about their given sex was one that was inconceivable. Still, Celestia had not hesitated to include them in granting new rights when she learned of their existence. It was simply that Celestia happened to call for acceptance in public more loudly than Luna ever had, thus planting the former's efforts in the mind of the public much more firmly. Celestia spoke up for those who suffered abuse, whatever the tools of prejudice, be they magical or any other blunt instrument under her sun.

She abhorred discrimination against her ponies, and did her best to always soothe them with words of kindness and tales of their sameness. If one were to ask why poorer spouses were no longer thought of as chattel, or why the pegasi practiced marriage instead of keeping broodmares or soldier-foals, it would be because Celestia had spoken loudly and let her words carry in the ears of her subjects until they pleaded her own decrees back to her. Luna had been present at such things too, but faced with any queries as to how the innovative practices of this young land came to be, the land where Celestia had put her gilded hoof down and named such acts explicitly forbidden, her ponies would answer it was thanks to their princess — nearly always singular — and that her name was Celestia. They credited their freedom to her and her Harmony.

Celestia liked that very, very much.

Every day when she awoke to raise a sun that would not budge properly without her, donned her ever-present regalia, and sang little ditties to Philomena which no pony would hear, Celestia did so out of love for her country. When Celestia picked her gown for the day and applied the cosmetics of her station, she did it knowing that she was going to help ponies from dawn to dusk. She was the mare who acted as the pinnacle for the Greater Good, the only thing above the gods, and the dogma she would devote herself to. All of her little ponies said so.

That was why Celestia gave little thought to the occupied throne next to her — at this point, passing it over was simply instinct — and focused her attention upon the pony being marched in by the 'U' of guards surrounding them. They weren't close enough for her to really discern. She did, however, know it was not some other creature by the sound of their hoofsteps. Only her ponies had such distinctly fair steps. Her court was rarely frequented by any other species, be they zebra, griffon, donkey, buffalo, or breezie — and when they did show up, she met them at the gates to ensure they set no hoof upon the heart of her fair land. If it were a dragon, kelpie, or changeling, Celestia would have had to meet with them outside. Such was the custom for true outsiders in Equestria.

The pony who came to see her now was a mare — from across the decently dim hall, Celestia could see that clearly. The mare — a pegasus, it seemed — was quite tall and her build was almost broad. The fabric of her white dress shone in a way that was quite lovely — layers of lace styled like a whimsical snowflake fell in a variety of gorgeous layers. Celestia's smile of politeness softened a bit before widening at the sight of such a lovely gown, half a dozen compliments already dancing upon her tongue The closer the visitor got made it easier for Celestia to see her golden-brown mane was pulled away from her face and done up in a net of gold. Whoever this well-dressed mare was, she must have a good family or plenty of money. Perhaps her spouse was quite generous with gifts? If all went well, Celestia might consider writing to this mare, or even inviting her to tea if she was a friendly sort. New friends were always appreciated, especially considering how lonely the Everfree Forest was.

When Celestia gave Luna a split-second glance, she noted that the darker mare's glum stoicism was paired with those distant eyes, looking over their guest with a critical gaze that surely none deserved as a first impression. Such a gesture felt rude and improper towards a visitor who had yet to speak, but Luna often sat without twitching as far as Celestia observed. She directed looks like that at everypony, silent and never wishing a good trip as Celestia did to all their guests.

And then, the visitor drew close enough for Celestia to get a look at her. She immediately understood why a glare from Luna might have even a sliver of merit in this situation.

The pony wasn't a mare, at least not to the eye. The jaw of this pony was too square, their noted bulk defined by broad, masculine withers. The lid of the eyes and brow was wholly unfeminine. Stringy, lank strands of the pony's mane had fallen out of the fashionable mane net she wore, and their guest was missing one of their mother of pearl earrings. The positioning of their ears, neatly laid against their skull, was offset by fearful eyes the color of maple syrup. The poor pony's face was weary and anxious, and every swallow looked painful, causing the pronounced ‘apple’ of their throat to bob all too visibly. Brown feathers rustled at their side and made it all too apparent just how tightly wound-up with fear this pony was.

Celestia could now see that the dress she’d admired so much was too small for the stallion-build of the pegasus before her, the hems dirtied and seams torn from abuse. There even appeared to be mud stains on the lace, discoloring them with streaks that had been so obviously subjected to scrubbing attempts at some point. The fabric, due to the pony's size, must have been extremely constricting, and the eyeliner the pony wore was so smudged and smeared as to make them look like a dirty, frightened raccoon. The makeshift, clotted look of it made her wonder if the visiting pony was wearing actual makeup at all, or some hastily scrounged-up substitute.

Immediately after taking in the pitiful sight, Celestia made a rare gesture of leaning over to the darker throne.

“This poor pony has been through much and looks absolutely famished,” she whispered. “That poor dear is terrified, and needs a soothing presence.”

Which Luna was earnestly not — she was a mare of armaments, wilds, and magicks. It was the general consensus of Celestia's subjects that the young, solitary, dark mare frightened them. Even if these lost, hurt souls often disliked Luna less than most ponies, their cases had to be handled with the utmost compassion and sensitivity. Those were two things that Celestia had never seen in Luna, not like how she had them, as the Bearer of Kindness. Lost souls would find nothing in a mare who shone no light on life.

“It would be quite well if there was some tea for Us to offer, if you would be inclined as to prepare some?”

They lived alone in this castle; guards marched ponies in and out for safety, not because they were positioned there the way they would be tasked with marching atop city walls and along village paths. The two goddesses had a kitchen, but no chef between them. It was only the soldiers who brought forth ponies for trials and court that were really the regulars. At all other times, the castle was managed alone. It wasn't that such a feat was hard — far from it, when the groundkeepers were two goddesses — but it made Celestia horribly lonely to lack adequate company. Such had been normal since before Discord, and Celestia would pack half her wardrobe into a carriage and have it drawn to the stone halls of Canterlote where Triarchy elites threw plentiful balls and stallions never had been able to take their eyes off of her.

Their home was inhospitable and dangerous, sure, but that did not keep a mare from longing for more than brief courtships and casual encounters with armored stallions who visited from time to time. Their nation was as young and fresh as the cadets Celestia liked to sample, and the post-war existence a fragile, dangerous one. Loneliness dripped from her every pore, and she knew she could never show it, not when shattering her optimism would be a wicked deed, and shatter her nation's too. Two goddesses could keep the castle magically prepared, aside from the natural protection their forest offered, but it did not change how unsafe the world was. Greedy southern nations could easily want to fight the two if they lived somewhere safe, and thus the most dangerous location in all of Equestria had become the safest. Celestia dreaded thinking about the political squabbles that might ensue, and the accusations of favoritism, if they chose to move anywhere else.

Luna knew this to be a command. It was spoken in the same tone Celestia would speak to a pony employed by the crown, only the honey she drenched each word in and her mandatory pleasantries were like thorns to Luna, and also reserved only for her. Celestia could spot this conveyed in her sister's eyes, which were usually unreadable in their sheer intensity. Despite this, Luna stood, leaving the anxious pegasus guest to relax slightly as soon as the dark goddess had departed.

That said, Celestia knew the tea would be like bitter medicine when brewed by Luna. Even after centuries, she could not manage much that wasn't mash or bran, oatmeal, or a basic herbal tea as bitter as northern winds. Toasting bread, boiling water, and little else counted as Luna’s few cooking 'skills'. Everything she made was bare, hardy food of the wilderness instead of refined recipes, or indeed anything that didn't eat holes through the cutlery and cause the paint to peel and fire to burn black. None of those were fit for life in a castle!

With Luna gone into the shadows of another corridor, Celestia turned her attention to the guest, and gave her a friendly, kind, and sympathetic smile.

“Welcome to the Everfree Castle, little pony. We are sure that thine journey hath been long and harsh, which is why We have beseeched Princess Luna to fix tea for the both of us. We commend thee for making this journey through the Everfree Forest, and as thy Princess, We wish to solve problems that plague Our subjects, and thank thee for bringing such issues to light. Wouldst thou please step forward and relay what hath brought thee to Us?”

With a wave of her forehoof, Princess Celestia dismissed the royal guards who would later escort this pony home, once the visitor exited the castle's main hall.

The pegasus stepped forward nervously, a sight that hurt Celestia, and when they spoke it was with a stallion's low voice. It was clear this pony was trying to force it into a higher pitch, for their voice wavered often and their hesitation was clear when they had to push their voice into a more nasally range.

“Mine name—" they paused to cough and clear their throat, "is Sorrel Lace, Your Majesty. I come from the countryside of Hoofing Towne, though mine ancestors descend from Cloudsdale.”

Celestia paused, trying to think of what could have happened to this pony. Were they a circus performer who trotted into misfortune? Forced into an arranged marriage — which was yet another outdated construct Celestia had abolished? Had this pony been the victim of some wicked highway criminal, those scum who delighted to live in a land where thieves of mere goods were no longer executed like all kinds of thieves and lesser offenders were under the Triarchy. Had this generosity on Celestia's part spurred somepony filled with greed on to rob this pony of all their wealth? With so little time since Discord's fall, highway gangs were the least of Celestia's worries, yet somehow more numerous than before the war and the mad god's brief reign of upheaval. Her little ponies were vulnerable to them in ways that she was not.

“Sorrel,” said Celestia, her calm tone a sharp contrast to Sorrel's wavering one, “couldst thou answer a question for Us?”

Sorrel nodded, bowing their head hastily. “Yes, yes, Princess. Anything.”

“Be thee mare or stallion, Sorrel?”

Celestia was not prepared to see Sorrel's eyes tear up at the question, or the sobs that racked them. She could not help but watch as Sorrel tried to roughly smother the sound of their own sobs by holding a forehoof over their mouth, as though they hated the sound of their own voice.

For all Celestia knew, Sorrel did. A small slice of the Equestrian population were stallions who said they were mares and vice versa, and they were the ponies that Luna possessed that blasted, enviable insight into. It was only recently that such ponies were given any compassion at all, and were allowed to dress accordingly without ridicule thanks to the works of Celestia and Luna. Some of them were wealthy or desperate enough to seek minor appearance-altering charms that gave the appearance of shaving down a throat, squaring a jaw, or a number of minor things, like temporary alteration of a voice. Potions, creams, and cosmetics could offer a little work here and there too, and plenty of ponies had stood before Celestia and Luna in order to request legal name changes.

It was all that could be done to help them.

Was Sorrel one of those ponies? If so, Celestia would gladly help Sorrel, who deserved no judgment or ridicule for who they were.

Celestia dearly wished that Sorrel wasn't the other option. That would be a much direr situation.

“Little pony, there is no need for tears,” Celestia said as she rose from her throne. She grasped the hem of her dress in her golden magic as she stepped down to Sorrel's side. Next, Celestia quickly offered them a conjured hoofkerchief to dry their eyes, a kind hoof on their back, and a concerned smile that any mother would give her foal.

“A m-mare,” Sorrel sobbed, burying her muzzle in the hoofkerchief thankfully.

Patting her wither, Celestia continued to speak gently to the mare in front of her. "And what hath troubled thee to such lengths, Sorrel? Harmed by another? In need of the name to be fixed, or a magic potion? Buffalo remedies south of Our great nation can be obtained with careful diplomacy, if tis’ what thou art in need of. So please, do not feel so miserable. There are ponies here who shall listen to thee, as We are sure Our kind guards did."

“No, no, Princess. You are too kind,” she sniffed and wiped her eyes, only for more tears to flow. “I need none of that, I need to…” Sorrel paused, swallowing and hunching over slightly so she appeared smaller. “Something which was taken—”

“What be it?” Princess Celestia interjected gently. “If bits, it shall be refunded and the thief brought to Our hooves. If t’was material, or any other kind of heirloom or trinket, We shall recover them in perfect condition for thee, if thou tell Us the circumstances and events leading up to the theft. In any horrible case where an heirloom or precious item of thine is broken or lost forever, a trinket from Our surplus of personal wealth shalt be thine, if thou wouldst accept Our generosity and a token of it We would be all too happy to bestow. So please, Madam Sorrel, tell Us what was stolen from thee and why no other pony has come to thine aid."

Sorrel did not answer immediately. Instead, she tried to quell some of her small, pained sobs — the very sobs she hated the sound of — that still lingered between subject and ruler. Princess Celestia rested the hoof on Sorrel's wither more firmly, and lightly brushed the mare with her large, white feathers. They were the feathers that her subjects described as 'angelic' and claimed to have healing properties, if one were to hear the right gossip. This kind of talk still came from the same ponies who used 'goddess' as a way to Other the dark one, while outright worshipping Celestia the way the deities outside of Equestrian borders were hailed.

Princess Celestia stood at her side while the young mare sobbed hysterically, and offered what little comfort she could in the moment, where the dim and austere castle offered none. Perhaps one day, that could change. Celestia had always dreamed in a way that had her chest filled with fuzzy fondness of hacking the Everfree Forest to bits. The beasts in it were ugly in looks and in action. All its relics were from sour ages that made the Tribal Age to today mere infancy on the planet's record. The cursed World Tree had given Celestia the only things she would ever need to keep peace in the land. Each tree in the forest could fuel a fire or the home of a sweet, normal family. All the feral monstrosities that passed as flora here could be done away with, if only some god knew how, and Luna would stop showing such ghastly rage each time Celestia simply brought up the plan. Wealth of nature and being rich in magic meant nothing, for true wealth came from that which ponies shared among each other.

Luna simply had to learn that either they finally make something good come out of the dreary, dangerous Everfree. The small number of cities that Equestria supported would have an unfair advantage if they became the home of Princess Celestia, and in order to be equal to all in matters of politics, to choose to relocate would be to show something as unapproved of individual favor. Thus, they chose none, and Celestia dreamed of smiling friends right across the bridge spanning the castle chasm instead of repugnant woods.

Sorrel's voice was weak and raw when she spoke. “Tis’ true, what ponies hath spoken of you,” she whispered. “You are the light of the castle, Princess.”

"Shh, little pony. Thou didn’st come here to offer compliments; hardship was not endured for thee to be smiled upon by Us. Please, little one, what hast thou lost?"

"Me, Princess… I-I hath lost everything, no longer am I Mistress Sorrel Lace. I am not the wife of Maple Oak, nor am I the mare of a household or an expectant mother..." Sorrel's voice was horribly choked up on the last two words, making them an attempt as a feminine wail, that simply couldn't be done with a stallion's voice.

Now, the blood of Princess Celestia was running cold. The throne room felt frosty and slow, except for poor Sorrel, because now Celestia knew exactly what was wrong.

And she wished it could have been anything else. But Celestia kept her hoof on Sorrel's wither, and the maintained her most empathic expression, and would not let her own voice drop to a horrified whisper.

“Mistress Sorrel,” Celestia said slowly, as though her deliberate recitation of the name that had previously been a plea would shake the eerie atmosphere. “What hath become of thy family, husband, foal-to-be, and household? We know how terrible tis’, how difficult and harrowing thy world must feel, but thou must shed light upon it. Tell unto Us what hast truly happened to thee, We shall do everything as a Princess to help you, if tis’ within Our power.”

If, came the unwanted, cynical, and terribly conditional nagging whisper.

“Mine family…” Sorrel echoed, eyeing something past the far wall with a distant, harrowing look of recollection before swallowing painfully. “M-Mine household and mine h-husband's—” Celestia hid a wince when hearing her say that word, and how awful it sounded, “destroyed, Princess, by the chaos monster Discord, who dared try to take our land from us, our Harmony, and call himself a king!”

Still holding Sorrel at a distance, Celestia breached personal space a bit more, using her magic to tuck a few strands of Sorrel's mane out of her face. She focussed on that square jaw of Sorrel's and how she had to keep her own irregular breathing in check when Discord was mentioned and the tangled, pained barb of feelings that Discord brought up. Only Celestia and Luna knew how he didn't use to be like that, not ever—

Celestia listened patiently, trying to keep her mind tranquil.

"We know, little pony," she said in a feather-soft tone, "how grand a threat he could be."

Was.

"But thou need not fear Discord any more, for as long as We..." It was Celestia's turn to pause; to correct what she was about to say and stress the plural she had almost ignored ever-so-slightly, "as long as thy Princesses' connection to the Elements is strong and sure, the lingering magic of his petrification sealed as Harmony wishes, all shall be well. The stronghold of Canterlote is peaceful and Equestria as lovely as a sunny day, Discord shalt never, ever return. His stone prison holds fast, and shall for a time even beyond Our knowing."

Forever.

Sorrel did not smile, but Sorrel did not sob, which was an improvement. She kept speaking, slowly revealing an all-too-familiar horror story to Celestia. While she listened, the sun princess kept her emotions in check, as she should.

“Maple is an honorable and stubborn stallion of the earth, Princess, thou must understand that—”

“We do,” Celestia replied gently, silently marveling at just how quickly her subjects were embracing the interracial marriages that Tribal Era ponies had held in such horror.

Even ponies like Platinum, who’d sought the tribes' end, would be disgusted by such a condemned act being legalized by a ruler... But Celestia knew that if her old, supposed 'friend' was aware she ruled Equestria now, then Platinum would most certainly be turning in the Canterlote Catacombs.

Sorrel dipped her head. The skirt of her dress quivered in a way that Celestia, a mare experienced in politics and the social habits of ponies, knew to be an obvious signal of shaky legs. “You are very gracious, Princess, and your power is dwarfed only by your kindness.”

“Tis’ Our duty to listen to all of Our subjects,” Celestia said with a modest smile. “Especially when they make a point to arrive at Our home so well-dressed after much time on the road. We are being a proper hostess."

Sorrel did not return the smile, as Celestia wished, but appeared a little more at ease. "Maple is strong, Princess. He is a good pony, a goddess like yourself would know if you were to stand before him, I assure you. He loves his land."

She bit her lip with the delicate bite of any noble wife. It was a mannerism Celestia knew no other sort of pony to have. That slight gesture stood out so much — at least to her.

“He loved me once too,” Sorrel whispered eventually, her whole body seeming to fade once the words were spoken.

Celestia could guess what unpleasant experience was going to be heard by her ears, and quietly looked at Sorrel's ears — direct eye contact was tricky for long periods of time for a multitude of reasons — and saw the small holes in them. These were clear indications of where fine jewelry would have been, no doubt made when Sorrel Lace was just a filly.

“I am but an embroiderer, Princess. Maple is a lumberjack, he is the strength in our family... would have been. Was. I know not what more should be spoken…”

Before she could burst into another round of disturbed, distraught sobs, Celestia shushed her gently. She pushed Sorrel's own hoof to her chest to remind her of the kerchief she still clutched, the one straight from the sleeves of Celestia's gown.

So, Sorrel continued, even though her voice was still shaky in the presence of a goddess. “When Discord came to the countryside, spreading madness and wrecking the stability we all knew... the whole world seemed on a tightrope, following Princess Platinum's peculiar death. I am sure a great goddess like yourself felt that, Princess. How positively... sad, and peculiar that bated-breath existence was.”

She had, and if Princess Celestia closed her eyes. She could see syrup rivers, her dear sun wobbling in the sky among cotton clouds, and feel roads of soap, dying crops, and the crunch of many a dead locust as though they were still under her very hooves. The sensation of burning summer snowflakes and raining worms stuffed with jam was a phantom against her coat. She imagined the all-too-recent time when snakes had fur, hen's teeth were more abundant than cinnamon, and the most important ponies became their opposites.

Celestia surprised herself, just a little bit, by not shuddering at the memory.

“We did, Sorrel Lace,” Celestia said, her voice perfectly even and betraying nothing.

“Maple was a good stallion, Princess. Truly, he was. When Discord's damned madness had spread to our part of the country, Maple was quick to organize the rest of our little corner of the woods so that the stallions would be able to fight. Even a visiting mage-mare amongst them! And, oh Princess, mine friends and I..." She paused once, mourning privately in a way Celestia could not quite understand, “... We had all that Discord would attack our stallions first, their strength, magic, clubs, anything they had would have beaten his chaos back. We knew in our hearts that we were good, Princess."

“Thou art,” Celestia whispered.

“E-Exactly! We were the good, the everyday, the normal, and the light up against that dark, insane beast — even if Maple and the others were all mortal, Princess. But the monster did not fight the stallions first,” Sorrel said, her voice raspier, “Maple's ax never cut into his flesh, its blade never struck through him and spilled out his tar-black and foul blood.”

Celestia did not bother to correct her and say that Discord bled blood as red as Celestia's own — and as red as a pony's, too.

She felt numb, a cold and familiar clockwork shroud only she could feel the weight of draped around her again, for she had heard such similar tales before. Her inner light waning and that numbness becoming unbearably familiar. Oddly enough, she embraced it, and some of the stagnation that it brought. It was a cold thing, like digging for treasure until the spade struck the earth a certain way. That iciness crept throughout her, sifting like fog —and a fog that told her she was digging a grave the whole time.

Her own grave, to be precise. Celestia, like her sister, was not a creature who could die. Yet, Celestia alone had lived through so many mortals vicariously, and something of their nature to die seemed to rub off on her as well, staying stuck fast like a burr in the heart that she was excellent about ignoring.

Maybe Sorrel felt that feeling too. Maybe she knew others who went through this. Celestia did. Discord's magic was not anything dark, it was just madness. Some laughed. Some laughed, and it hurt. Some laughed because they were forced. Some wept and wept. The aftermath could be terrible, there could be begging and pleading, and not all things were reversible... if they were at all...

These ponies came in variety, but Celestia knew they were all the same. They were desperate. They were hurt. They were changed in bad, horrid ways that other ponies couldn't understand. What sounded like a joke was a night terror. Many had night terrors. Age did not matter. This magic happened. Discord said that he was just having fun, and that echoed in Celestia's ears for some time afterward… Because for Celestia, it wasn't fun to change land back to normal, and know that even Harmony's power could not restore all the food her ponies had lost.

He had said it was for 'fun', before he said he was lying.

…Because Celestia had once had to hold the hooves of a little filly, who had run across the ground as an earth pony, weep uncontrollably through the rag in her mouth while the seemingly normal wings on her back were amputated. She was not a pegasus, her bones were not right, nor was her magic. A variety of things did not make her a pegasus, as Discord would have liked to think his surprise would. That change did not make her an earth pony, merely an earth pony with pegasus wings grafted to her, and that mixed magic poisoned and debilitated her over time until death had threatened the little one, who was trapped in a noxious, agonizing state all because of impossible magics. Any foal she bore would forever be an earth pony, her soul had always been that of an earth pony, and so was everything else about her existence. Celestia knew because her family had been one with little interracial breeding. She remembered helping the family check their filly's ancestry in hopes that maybe something compatible could be found there. Celestia remembered how much their daughter cried as the princess whispered incoherent coos to the filly as the surgeon's blade went to work.

And it was all started for 'fun'.

…Because Celestia had beheld so many other things, all seemingly mundane changes with horrifying consequences.

Discord's magic was just somewhat different from a pony's, or from an Alicorn's, or any other creature. He could achieve certain magical results he wanted in a way no other creature could. While he was powerful, he was nowhere near all-powerful or all-knowing.

Oh, the sense of helplessness that ran in Celestia, because some of the things he'd done struck her very bones. Things that would take generations to hide, of which many could never be reversed... Perhaps if Discord had reappeared in Celestia's life three-thousand years later, she was largely certain that many of his magical alterations would not be nearly as catastrophic.

Discord did not murder, and Discord did not rape. Discord did not beat, he did not cut, he did not bruise. He created no wounds to heal. Many could move on from Discord with ease, and yet others could not.

Sorrel Lace was one of those ponies.

Celestia had to listen to why. She was Sorrel's Princess, her last resort.

So Celestia listened and listened and listened because she was Sorrel's hero. She was the hero of all her ponies. The reason a gallant hero in shining armor had said armor in the first place and the morals to combat the darkness was in order for that armor to get very, very dirty.

Sorrel told her about how she'd been all alone in her house. She'd decided to try and pack a bit of food for herself — the kitchen was nearby and she was hiding in the cellar — before finding any servants hidden in the house and getting them to do the same. Sorrel had thought it would be a good idea to have a few gardener-stallions pull the only carriage on their property — really, Sorrel and Maple were not that wealthy. It was that Sorrel bothered to specify those kinds of details which stuck out to Celestia.

Sorrel was with foal, and quite heavily too. She was sure neither of the two maid-fillies had run off and nor would they be able to walk far. She was just being kind, she told Celestia.

She was heavily pregnant.

Sorrel repeated that a lot. Celestia's mind did too.

Discord had shown up in her cellar, cheerful and menacing all at once. Sorrel claimed he'd scared her so much she'd dropped the loaf of bread tucked under her wing, and spilled all the food in the sack she'd placed neatly upon her back.

Celestia wished her mind could be farther away, while haltingly, Sorrel recounted how Discord had smiled, how he had laughed and looked upon her like a wolf might look upon a sheep.

He'd told Sorrel that she was fat. Laughed too, when he said that. Said that she was a fat little mare and prodded her stomach with a claw while Sorrel shook and squeaked, frozen in fear on the ground.

Now Sorrel, standing before Celestia in her once-lovely white dress, thought it odd, between her sobs, that Discord did not know a pregnant mare when he saw one. Having known Discord long before, Celestia was not surprised.

Discord laughed at Sorrel like she was the punchline of the greatest joke ever. Told her over and over again how she was such a fat little mare, how silly it was for her to stuff her face while her precious husband was risking his life. How ungrateful she was. How pathetic. Mostly, how silly that a pony should be confined to a house just because she was a mare, and that he found the ponies of the north so ridiculous for such customs.

If she was a stallion, he'd taunted her, she would not have to be confined to stuffing herself all day and sitting on her rear getting fatter.

She'd felt a paw pressed to her forehead, the barest translucent glow about it, and if she had been standing farther away, she knew she wouldn't have caught it at all. But what truly seemed to hold power was how 'the monster' had snapped his claw.

The aura on his paw faded, and he'd started to fade too. The last thing she saw of him was his smile hanging in the air, but even that vanished quickly enough. She told Celestia about the flash that followed, and...

"Oh, Your Majesty," Sorrel's woeful tone struck, "the pain was unbearable. I-I just... opened mine eyes, trying to not feel so stunned, so pained... mine body..." Sorrel paused for a shuddering breath, "How it felt for just that second, made me think about Maple felling trees, and for that second I was the tree and this awful magic the ax."

Celestia just nodded. It was the good thing to do.

"And then..." Sorrel's low voice was thin with fear. "I felt..."

With one of her forehooves, she reached out to press her belly, eyes hazy with tears and dread as she had to realize what wasn't there anymore. Who wasn't.

That time, Celestia had to gently pry the kerchief out of Sorrel's grasp and gingerly dab at the tears silently working their way down Sorrel's square muzzle to her strong jaw. The action was blind, done when Celestia glanced out of the corners of her rose-colored eyes. Dimming her horn, Celestia pressed the kerchief back into Sorrel's trembling forehoof.

"What happened after that? Did thine husband find thee?"

The latter question was a foal's question; Celestia had a half dozen reactions to choose from in all the stories of these situations she had guided her ponies through. Horrible, horrible tales with answers that left her hollow when she heard them. After so long living, Celestia had decided answers were far worse than questions.

If her mind was a meadow, and every question a flower, those flowers only bloomed in the shade, among the wild things. To her, it was best to stick to what little patch of sunshine and sweetgrass she had, making sure it was the perfect place for herself and those whom she saw fit to share it with, keeping them safe and happy.

"Maple found me a-and..."

Solemnly, Celestia led her visitor towards the only watered-down response there was. Could be given. "He was pained to behold thee, was he, Sorrel?"

The haunted gaze of the mare made Celestia's chest clench. "He was not happy..." she whispered, "Maple looked at me like he was the ax, Princess."

Celestia, always, wished she knew to say what was good instead of true, and would thus bring these ponies healing every time.

"That made me the tree." More silence. Sorrel looked at her like it was a patient silence instead of a fearful one. "He looked at me like I was no longer the young maiden who'd stood before him on our wedding day, with a pretty dress and mine mane in curls... I-I apologize for rambling, P-princess."

"Do not apologize," Celestia whispered. "Please."

Celestia remembered the last pony who'd come to her like this was a unicorn 'mare', who could just barely roll the leg of his trousers to reveal the burn scars from an unforgiving wife with a pyromantic magical disposition. He had sought to defend the streets of the mighty walled stronghold of Canterlote, one of the reasons why the great city did not fall in Discord's brief and anarchic reign. Celestia also recalled how terrified he was at the possibility of his wife becoming estranged from him, and how deeply conflicted over what had happened and his feelings in regard to their relationship.

He had wanted her help, and unfortunately, that was the one thing that Celestia could not give...

Did Sorrel have scars under her skirt, below the dirt still caking her coat?

With her mind a million miles away, Princess Celestia heard herself say something about how Sorrel would be safe and protected, and asking her about how she’d made her journey here once she had fled from her husband. Sorrel's family were too terrified to take in the mare who was supposed to be their daughter, hollow-eyed and miserable, believing she was corrupted. Common ponies always believed the curses of chaos to be contagious, which was something Luna saw fit to bring up to Celestia often enough.

She heard Sorrel string up a stuttering response of how she'd had to beg for places to stay, how the rain chilled her to bone, how she'd traveled with only grazing, foraging, tossed scraps, and half-dead crops for food. The world had overwhelmed her, she said. She wanted only to be a loved housewife again instead of begging and stumbling in the vague direction of the Everfree, hoping with all her heart to find royal guards whom she could implore for an audience with Princess Celestia, Sorrel's very last hope. Her fellow ponies had begun to terrify her.

Celestia always was the last resort for these ponies, and she did not like that, for reasons she could never bear to say.

How many of her ribs would We see under that dress of hers?

She did not ask why Sorrel hadn’t sold her mane-net in desperation, for it was clearly gold despite the damage her journey had wrecked upon it, and her unwashed mane was all tangled up inside, this was plain to see now. She did not ask, because it was like the pocket watch of the unicorn stallion with the burn scars, or the other tattered and tarnished keepsakes these ponies all bore before her. So clearly treasured.

One mare, who'd spoken before her not so long ago, was a mare of the earth presented by the guards as a 'stallion' out of innocent ignorance. She had been so desperate for even an extra scrap of her identity, that she had used her knowledge of natural remedies to create cosmetics to wear in Celestia's presence. The end result had come across much like what Sorrel wore right now.

Dying sobs echoed around them both, and Sorrel's gaunt face looked up at the princess-goddess with wide, pleading eyes.

"Princess Celestia, I have come all this way, yearning for any escape to mine horrid condition. In the time I have wandered from mine home, taking laborious steps away from the only place I have ever known, I have grown lost. This world is not the world a housewife was to know, and I want to be that housewife again — I know, princess, that I am that mare. I have lost mine foal..." she sniffed, shuddering, "I lost mine baby and... and... I feel all cut up inside, always. Princess, I used to laugh and feel things other than this constant terror. Before Discord, I had never known hunger or anything harsh."

Celestia did not want to give the answer she knew she'd have to give all over again.

"Mine whole world feels like the fine plates mine mother used to have propped above the mantle. You know the plates, surely, Princess? They are the ones with scenes of old tribal queens and the wilds carved in them, all the legends of us pony-folk poured into those glazed lines. I feel like those plates, only, if the plates were cantered upon and their shards swept into a glass jar, where they are shaken constantly. That awful noise is all I feel in mine head, and they are this voice I cannot recognize. All those cuts against the glass are mine heart's attempts to beat against this wrong body, princess, I just know it."

Sorrel tilted her head in a way that brought her meek gaze to those of the Princess for just a moment.

"I want mine dress to fit again. I have yearned for mine husband's smile. The absence of mine foal's kicks is maddening. I can barely come up with acceptable ways to arrange this tangle of a mane. I have half a mind to just rip it from this wretched body. Every look in a mirror is... Princess, it feels like I am feeling all I felt when there was news of s-starvation, of anarchy. Except, it is all on the inside, and I cannot pull myself out, because this cursed body is a cage. Mine own body, with this now-sick heart and wings I took mine first flight with... and e-everything, is not supposed to be a stallion's body. I am a mare rotting and I have screamed for any chance to get out. I have cried so much I feel forsaken by every god but the one before me. I know that when mine mother looked at me, she saw a filly, and a filly I am supposed to be, never this. I know that inside I am not just Sorrel Lace, I am Mare, and I am supposed to be forever Mare."

Her words were as wild as her eyes, and yet Celestia had contained herself remarkably in the face of them, like the cold of a statue, all stately and regal.

"Yet," Sorrel said with a crying tone like the whine of a door hinge, "every time I am called Stallion, I feel struck, no matter the innocence of the words. I am dragged about by this mockery of mine own legs. Sleep does not find me, if I remember it at all, and mine whole body shakes. 'Stallion' is the worst of curses, the vilest word ever written upon mine heart. I no longer want it to fall from mine tongue, but every time I say 'mare' and try to feel the life of mine foal, I see the eyes of that monster, I feel hurt and everything impossible. I am reminded of the cold, the ache in mine stomach, the tears that always find me, and how no word I say feels right anymore." There was that pained swallow again and then a whisper, "This very voice hurts worse than a knife."

Princess Celestia couldn't meet Sorrel's gaze directly. "Thou, like many others, seekest for what Discord has done to be returned."

Why did she never called Discord a monster — she couldn't bring herself to, not yet — but was so set and liberal with calling him so many other things. This warped his legacy into a bogey creature to be feared by foals, no more. Celestia wasn't certain as to why she did that. Or if she was, she wished to bury it and call it uncertainty.

Sorrel sniffled, and a dying ember of feeling shone in her hollow, fearful eyes. To call it 'hope' would be a great hyperbole, especially when hope was only a bitter thing used to disguise the evil that was uncertainty.

"More than anything, Princess. You need only tell me what must be done to make myself whole again, for in this body I cannot live. As your mere subject, I shall consent to it. You have all the gratitude I could ever know for this," Sorrel said, slipping into the practiced curtsy of a well-bred mare and flexed her wings carefully. "Thank you," she whispered with a voice that was choking back tears. "To have mine body be mine again, to be usable, and to not think of j-just c-chopping off parts when this madness is most potent."

Behind her perfect, compassionate exterior, Celestia felt like her heart was a pillar that had been pushed over, and now everything crashed down with it, even if it did not show. She was the one who had to maintain strength, to rule Equestria, and though she would always strive to be kind and good, she could never let anypony see her crumble.

She was their Princess first, and always a Princess first.

"Sorrel Lace, thou hast endured nothing short of torture on thy way here, requesting only that someone treat thee with kindness and understanding. Hearing stories from others like thyself is not any easier for Us, and We have always loathed being the bearer of such grim news."

Celestia touched Sorrel's wither lightly, but without familiarity, as she did with many ponies, and her voice grew softer.

"There is no magic in the world, save for Discord's own that can instantaneously undo the transformation he forced upon thee. We have had to stand before the few of Our dear little ponies to have endured this particular treatment, for the physical scars that Discord has wrought are few, and death, none. This has never been harder. Any magical procedures that might undo something like this, even gradually, are not even dreams..." Celestia sighed heavily, and admitted with great reluctance, "... If anything like it could be done at all, such a fanciful and elaborate technique would always be something only the far future might know, but this... is beyond the power of any pony, any creature... and yes, that includes Us..."

Celestia did not have to look at Sorrel to know she was crying. Small sobs were half-muffled in the air and sounded like they had to be forced from Sorrel's body with invisible kicks. For a subject hear that not even a goddess' magic could be of any help was an internal, hidden blow to Celestia.

Slowly, Celestia withdrew her hoof from where she had lain it upon Sorrel's withers

"Ponies like thee have not been neglected by the crown, Sorrel. There ar many ponies who are born as magic made them, knowing they are not who they should be on the outside, and having to live with that. Though this is a rare phenomenon, these ponies still have trades, homes, and families. Where Our words fail, there are others who can aid a mare such as thou, to help keep thee on the right path, because thou art still one of Our subjects and thy welfare and safety have always mattered. Do We appear before thee like some fabled tyrant?"

"N-No, Princess..." Sorrel whispered weakly.

Looking upon Sorrel with the same gentle concern she showed so many ponies, Princess Celestia offered the last words of comfort she had. They were almost the same as she had imparted to other ponies with similar conditions, but she meant them every time. To see others suffer was a gnawing fear, and a horrid sight. But when it came to the less common ponies, the eccentric, and any other segment of her harmonious society that privately puzzled her, Celestia was at a loss she would never admit to. Such a thing would give ponies reason for fear and hurt, which she simply could not allow.

"Disaster strikes us all, little pony. We shall try to contact thine family eventually, but if they are... unaccepting, dost not be afraid to move on and find another whom thou canst confide in. Thy healing is paramount, and in Canterlote there are ponies like thee gathered in their own collective home, with compassionate healers always working to understand and help a mare such as thyself. Their research and therapies remain afloat with donations from the public and funding from the crown. All focus is on rehabilitation. Thou needst not worry about stability, for such is a constant there. There shall always be a roof over thine head, and food to eat. Wouldst thou wish to be escorted to Canterlote and see this home for thyself? Or to perhaps even stay temporarily? 'Twould be horrid to send thee elsewhere when thy distress is clear."

After a long pause, Sorrel nodded weakly as a doll, her eyes frozen with a horror Celestia could not quite fathom the depths of.

But Celestia still offered a welcoming smile. "Sorrel Lace, We know thee to be just as much of a mare as We. Thou can heal, just as Equestria has. Ponies shall be patient with thee, for there is no cruelty from this haven thou need fear, truly. Thou art welcome to write whenever thou findest thyself able — We may be a Princess, but a letter is a comfort to anypony, regardless of station. Would thou be willing to write me a letter about thy stay after a few sunrises, to see how it is? Let us say a week? As a friend?"

It took some time for Sorrel to nod, and Celestia puzzled at how those eyes kept the mortal mare frozen in a world Celestia was unable to pull her from. Her breathing was as shaky as the motions of her forelegs, one of which she lifted slowly, as though to brush against the tangles of her mane in a poor attempt to tidy them. The rustling of her tattered skirt was almost defeating in comparison.

But Sorrel still nodded, and Celestia breathed a sigh of relief, drawing one of her gold-shod forehooves from her chest and pushing out.

"We await thy reply with bated breath," Celestia said, smiling as she nudged Sorrel along, snapping the nervous mare out of her spell and getting her to start her slow walk towards where she had entered the throne room.

Celestia, clinging to the optimism of recovery for a mare as young as Sorrel Lace, thought it would be best to personally guide Sorrel to the guards who were to lead her inside.

It was what a good friend would do.

...

The trip to Canterlote on hoof took a few sunrises, but Celestia was pleased to find a letter from the head of the guards who had escorted Sorrel to the community haven among the rest of her daily letters and other papers — petitions and the like. Knowing Sorrel was somewhere safe brought a smile to her face. The same couldn't be said of Princess Luna, who spent every waking moment a blurry presence, like a half-faded ghost and largely silent.

Celestia would have enjoyed hearing from Sorrel. The Castle of the Two Sisters was the undisputed and official capital of Equestria, but it seemed that the steadily thriving citadel thought itself the nation's capital in spirit. This was despite the fact that Canterlote was a primarily unicorn city. What would a country wife like Sorrel Lace think of a grand place like Canterlote?

But she was content enough with waiting for a letter, and waited. Sorrel would want to settle in first — so many, ah, 'surprises' were not going to be good for the poor mare. Even Celestia herself had come to resent such things, albeit in a silent, detached fashion — she was not one given to bitterness.

The week for Sorrel to learn of her new home came around, and even in the whirlwind of duty, she still thought about the mare.

The first day, Celestia found herself thinking of the chambers there — Celestia had seen them herself, making sure they were comfortable and bright. Each window had lovely, if homely curtains, and was fitted with a window box. Residents could choose to grow whatever kinds of flowers they wished — the markets of Canterlote had a selection like no other, of course. Celestia herself loved to visit them and see all the foreign seeds and bulbs from places like Prancia, the Ottomare Empire, the Kingdom of Germane, the Mustainian States, and more. She often tried to find any excuse to get away from the Castle, Everfree Forest, and gloomy mute Luna to get supplies for her hidden courtyards. Which kind of plant would be Sorrel's favorite?

On the second day, when Celestia was still groggy as she began her morning — it was always Luna who rose so unnaturally early — and had yet to bring the dawn, she rummaged among her dresses, trying to decide in her morning haze which one to wear. She hazily recalled Sorrel, in her tattered white dress like a dollop of slush. What would she be doing today? A letter would take a short while to reach Celestia from Canterlote, but if Sorrel were to pen a letter today, what would she write about? Perhaps she would want a new dress and was chatting with a new friend over possible styles. There was nothing like a common bond to help a pony overcome some of the shyness Sorrel seemed to possess.

Come the third day, Celestia enjoyed her time in the walled and hidden castle gardens more than usual. All her favorite flowers were in bloom, showing off all her hard work to... her... just her. She selected a few for a friendly bouquet to send Sorrel — azaleas, Bells of Trotland, carnations, and chrysanthemum flowers, all picked fresh from her enchanted courtyard and ready to be pressed into a thoughtful trinket. She wrote to Sorrel again, asking her how she was finding everything and if she liked flowers too. She wrote about how dreary the wild and unusual Everfree Forest could be, how it was impossible to maintain a civilized garden in such a place, and that if she ever had a castle all to herself, it would be a bright, sunny place with acres of spectacular gardens. She even did something uncharacteristically personal. Princess Celestia confided that one day, she would like to have some friendly staff to help around the castle instead of living all alone with her sister. Though, she didn't say anything about Luna other than that.

Philomena would certainly enjoy being able to bother a cook or a maid. Celestia sent her letter with a smile on her face, flowers included along with the teasing pen name of 'Sunflower' even though Sorrel would know exactly who she was. Sometimes, Celestia thought it would be nice to be a mare as simple as the name 'Sunflower' suggested. She didn't write that, however.

Celestia spent the fourth day of her week as a Princess should, attending to her duties, sparing time only for falconry with Philomena. With towns being nonexistent in the Everfree, and the forest itself surrounded by grassland and hills, anywhere nearby would be too out of the way, and she simply couldn't whisk herself to the closest cities unannounced. More often, she had to plan her departures when she went in search of local holidays that may require a royal presence. She tried to do so as often as possible, since parties called to her as loneliness gnawed at her and left her desperate. Princess Celestia loved walking among her ponies... sometimes, she even did so in disguise.

But she didn't get any letters that day.

On the fifth day, Celestia ran into Princess Luna at dusk. Literally.

"What is it that has caused you to run about from shadow to shadow in such a hurry?" Celestia said, voice somewhat scolding when she regained her composure.

Princess Luna was nothing short of a recluse torn between silence and her own brand of temper. Celestia, unfortunately, had found herself well-acquainted with the other mare's terse, blunt, unfriendly, and just queer ways. That was how everypony would describe Luna, and Celestia could see why — she never humbled herself or had the good manner to be dim over divine. She refused to contain how different she was and was so obviously a goddess in magical power instead of a label granted in the eyes of mortal ponies. Celestia readily embraced those kinds of titles, the ones that praised her heroics and kindness instead of making it obvious she was an alien being — a reality that was best left untouched and unaddressed.

An air of insolence that only Celestia knew of was buried in Luna, who even when silent was as much a presence as spilled ink on fresh parchment, and she could sense it in their fights. To the public, Celestia was a rose, and they loved the vivid blossom which the period ballads made her out to be. The sonnets of every stallion who wished to be her suitor were quick to use the popular comparison. Celestia would smile a small, polite smile as she listened to how the gesture was as 'soft as petals' or 'warm as sunlight' and any other comparison to find its way into an amateur poet's mind.

Luna was a briar to ponies, but she was not mentioned in poetry, or at least none that was ever widely known to the public. Not a single popular ballad ever made reference to her the way they did for Princess Celestia. Once or twice since the fall of Discord, a stallion with riches or wanting them was bold enough to look at the other sister, the 'Celestia's sister' the 'dusky maid' or 'younger sister' of all the legends, to see the mare of the night who was an outline of a royal. Oh, how Luna turned all the stallion-suitors away. She was all thorns, and though of age, Celestia had witnessed Luna begging her tearfully to not make her get married, because the even rarer suitor then still had his eyes on her... or at least, parts of her.

Celestia was not that kind of sister. Though she did not like Luna and did think her somewhat privileged, she always refused her sister's suitors too. Because Luna said so, and because no matter what era in history, there wasn't a pony alive who deserved such treatment. In fact, Princess Celestia was strongly considering outlawing all kinds of arranged and political marriages within Equestria — especially if it would stop yet another kind of conflict with Luna.

But Luna was rather spoiled, and it was in the fights that nopony knew about that Celestia, Rose of Equestria, made it known that she had thorns at all. Luna never liked the dresses Celestia was careful to order for their appearances. Luna was aloof at the holidays the sisters appeared at. When a brave pony was to be knighted, she offered him all the warmth of snow. She never made idle chat.

Here was Celestia, bumping into her own shadow.

Everything about Celestia's shadow was strange, but then again, she barely talked to it. Luna's body language was odd. Though she lurked about, she stood ready for something, as agile as her hoofsteps were silent, despite her permanent vigilance. However, her mysterious eyes were always so sad looking for some reason or another, were wild and filled with shock. She was clearly startled as to why Celestia was talking to her. This young mare was eerie in the way she was so wild and un-pony-like. Always delving into magic, sometimes disappearing to the frontier, the list went on.

Yet that was how Luna had always been, and old displeasure always rippled through Celestia at how Luna just never seemed to grow up... but it was a source of frustration she dare not pry too deeply into. The last time that happened...

"Is there something wrong?" Celestia's tone still held the same authority, the same regal bearing she showed her ponies. "I see no cause for thy clumsiness, unless thou art ill. Should I reschedule tomorrow’s feast with the King and Queen of Prancia?"

It was rare for them to have daily exchanges. More than that, rarer even for Luna to initiate conversation, or for Celestia to give her anything more than a whispered order or murmur to mind herself, to keep with customs, to smile a little. Or at all.

Luna simply shook her head 'no' and lit her horn to adjust the thick spellbook that she had tucked under her wing. Loose sheets of paper scribbled with notes Celestia couldn't catch in the dim hall's light were shoved and folded between the pages of thick parchment. She tilted her head to the side and looked at Celestia.

"... Doest thou need something?" she said, voice low and hardly audible. The sound of a door opening at the farthest end of the hall would have been louder.

No, they had just bumped into one another during the dusk hours. Luna was often active through the nights while Celestia slept, something that had not happened during the pre-war times. There would be some weeks when she slept not at all, doing what she wished in the night hours, always alone, to take advantage of one of divinity's many blessings. Being able to forgo sleep, to some extent, was something that Princess Celestia preferred to utilize for work. Whatever Luna used it for... well, it was likely frivolous.

"I do need something of thee — the mare whom I sent to Canterlote barely a few sunrises ago, Sorrel Lace, doest thou remember her well enough?"

"A little. Appearances are not everything I need to go off of. Thou biddest me I find her?"

"I do, ensure that she is well. I am expecting mail from her soon... or I was. Do not frighten her with thy manner, and if she is being mistreated, alert me immediately. I have trusted the safe spaces of Canterlote with dozens of ponies in the past — if she proves to be an exception, I shall hold whoever brings such evil to the vulnerable responsible. That is all I need of thee." Celestia gave one short look to Luna's book. "Didst thou have plans?"

Luna nodded.

"Then they shall have to be put aside, and that shall be done at once. There is another land dispute with the buffalo that needs to be resolved too. A small group of earth pony farmers has destroyed a burial ground on accident, and the buffalo are understandably upset. Their chieftain has requested to speak with me, but I cannot have the number of supplies I will need to be packed in such a short time. I certainly will not be able to have a new gown commissioned for the occasion by the time the meeting is to be had. Thou knowest how the buffalo are, too. They do not appreciate such signs of high culture the way my little ponies do — and their territories are ever so far for me."

Luna's eyes widened just a little. "Destroying a burial ground on 'accident' is the excuse that is being suggested? How is it that a group could damage something so plainly marked that even the sands of the arid south exaggerate their presence? These ponies are blundering foals to manage such idiocy when it is within the buffalo cultures to have obvious sacred spaces. Tell me, was it after the first plot was destroyed or the eighth that they realized they were vandalizing a sacred burial ground?"

Celestia shot Luna a hawkish look that she had mastered from her years as a young mare among the unicorn tribe. It was one of the few things about her, other than her height, that she allowed to show how truly imposing she could be, if needed.

Luna knew this look. She lowered her ears, ducked her gaze back under her bangs, and shifted away from Celestia slightly.

"Mine ponies are not fools. A single pony may be a fool, but many ponies are not, nor will they ever be, if such a thing were ever possible! I shall be dealing with this dispute accordingly, if thou continuest to behave this way. Thou art going to Canterlote to find Sorrel Lace. Anypony in thy position should not have such a low opinion of these good ponies that work and live under the skies we maintain. Am I clear?"

"Verily. Though, if the catacombs of Maris had been damaged by buffalo living in thy kingdom, thou wouldst express disgust over the actions of the buffalo first. Here, thou layest blame upon those who are vict—"

"What have I always said?" Celestia neglected to add 'since you were a filly' this time. She didn't want to...

"Ponies are good, and dissidence and skepticism are the two hooves of evil that drag an individual away from Destiny's herd."

Celestia smiled, trying to brush off Luna's remark instead of debating utterly baseless accusations, especially when it was Luna who was so obviously in the wrong. "And?"

Luna remained unreadable. "'Tis' just another lie of thine." She held up a wing when Celestia opened her mouth to protest. "There is a trip I must be making according to Her Royal Highness, thus I must prepare myself for travel."

With that spoken in an almost mild tone, Luna began her walk away, and Celestia did not stop her except for;

"Thou didst not offer a good-bye."

And from down the hall, she received "Farewell, Princess," spoken with a quiet, lukewarm tone, largely unremarkable if it were uttered by a common pony and not in Luna's peculiar cadence.

What Celestia had said had been an observation, not a request. She walked on, not needing to look back at Luna, and let the night begin.

When the sixth day began, Celestia attended to her schedule. She enjoyed her day and attending to all that was required to keep Equestria standing from sunrise to sunset — not that there was too much to worry about since Discord's imprisonment — and enjoyed some more time in her private garden, Philomena perched on her back and listening to her sing so everything didn't feel so quiet. Even paperwork was better than silence, but that was a silly comparison, since Celestia didn't mind paperwork much. She retired early, not bothering to look at the moon rising above the forest.

At last on the seventh day, Celestia maintained her work with Philomena at her side, reviewing scrolls, writing speeches for upcoming events, partaking in tea with a Mustangian minotaur diplomat. She chatted happily with visiting Maretonian nobility until their departure, and snuck in a half-hour of light reading a melodramatic novel revolving around a group of young mares who desperately wished to attend a ball they had no proper gowns for. She only half paid attention to it, and that was mostly because Philomena kept pecking at the pages, especially when she drifted off into thought to ponder if she could fit dancing lessons into a schedule as busy as hers. Would it be possible to convince a tutor to live in the wicked Everfree Forest with her?

And as she sat in the throne room, having just lowered the sun to make way for dusk, Celestia felt comfortable enough to scribble out a few tentative provisions for a future meeting date.

Luna walked into the throne room, clad in her black cloak, one of her newer blades sheathed at her side, and saddlebags on her back. She said not a word and waited for a very confused Celestia to look up from her papers — which she did, after a moment.

"Where is Sorrel Lace? Has something happened to her?"

Luna nodded silently. Celestia could not see her face under her hood, only the wings, horn, and forelegs still dusty from her journey.

Now Celestia felt worried too. "What happened to her? Couldst thou not find her? Thou knewest exactly where to go, and I did tell thee all thou needed to know for thy journey, so what is it that has prevented thee from safely escorting Madam Lace through the Everfree Forest? Thou art stronger than any guard, or any pony! A mare who uses her magic so freely should know how to keep her safe, so why is she not here? Doest thou at least have a letter from her?"

"No," Luna said, and it was almost as though that one word took effort for her to say. She lit her horn, turquoise aura shining in the dim throne room as the light of dusk shone through where it could, and she reached into her signature saddlebags. They were the very same bags that once held her Elements of Harmony. From within, Luna withdrew a single object in her telekinetic grip.

It was only part of a whole object, but it was testament enough to Sorrel Lace's whereabouts.

Celestia stifled a gasp by clasping her forehoof over her mouth, unable to look for too long, but it was there, in front of her. In Luna's magic was part of a thick, frayed rope — and it had clearly been cut away from something strong, like a beam.

Author's Note

It's not the story I intended to write for the contest, but I happened to have this sucker lying around. It's honestly probably the least clever bit of worldbuilding I have, or just not exactly a shining example of such. Seriously, with how I approach my historical stuff, it's easy worldbuilding compared to spinning something more elaborate. Plus, this was originally supposed to be about 6k, but because I let stuff tell itself it grew, so I'm a little frustrated I can't write anything under 10k that's right anymore (or at least it feels like it) considering the status of Enemy of Mine and its chapters.

Oh well, hoped you liked it and don't mind checking out other stuff from the same continuity~

[Revised for print on 12/28/2020-5/11/2021]