Do You Wanna See the Sun Rise
"I don't want to do it," Twilight says.
They sit, side by side, on Celestia's balcony, looking out at the streaked pre-dawn sky.
Celestia is silent.
"It feels wrong somehow. Like I'm taking something away from you. Or replacing you."
"Just try," Celestia says, "you know I have complete confidence in you."
Twilight adjusts her wings. The sky remains dark. Twilight takes a measured breath. For the Princess. She lets her power flow, reaches out into the sky and across the Gulf and feels the sun. It sits below the horizon waiting for her. She touches it and pushes and
Celestia's limp body lies before her. The feathers of her wing are blackened and burnt. Twilight cannot tell if she is breathing, especially through the tears running down her face.
—lets go, recoiling both in mind and body. "I can't." She tastes that old potion again . It is as bitter as the day she actually drank it, but better that then the memory.
"What's wrong?"
"I saw it again. That vision I told you about. With you a-and..."
Celestia is already hugging her. But she hugs tighter. "Don't worry, Twilight," she says, "I like a good plan, and I have a lot of them. And me leaving is not in any of those, I promise you." She says it all with that old smile of hers, that has fortified Twilight before so many tests.
Twilight is glad to hear that; it is always reassuring to know that there is a plan, that everything is occurring according to an agenda. But then again, that was never what she was worried about here. Celestia is asking her to take the sun this morning, but that is only a necessary condition for her taking up the sun, but it's not enough.
At least Celestia is a patient friend.
"You have done this before," Celestia offers.
That does not help. "That was different, with Tirek. That was an emergency, and you couldn't do it." That's the rationalization, but are the real reasons audible in the shaking of her voice? Twilight hopes so, the longer she can deny those thoughts the dignity of words, the better.
"Then don't you think you should know how to do it properly? for when there are emergencies in the future?" Twilight may no longer be a student, but her teacher always has one more lesson. "Because, as it happens, I did see your sunrise during the Tirek incident. Would it help if I gave you a bad grade on that and asked you to redo it?"
That does get a chuckle out of Twilight. Celestia has always been good at guiding her to those small victories that pave the way to larger ones. "Well, when you put it like that..."
It has been several minutes now. The frozenness of the sky is becoming more and more apparent, and a little bit discomforting. Celestia is impeccable in her routine, and delays such as this do not happen outside of disasters. Twilight herself has a vague feeling that she needs to fight somepony.
Twilight feels the heat of embarrassment; she should get over herself, she is holding up day for the entire kingdom. She's not even the one who is going to have do deal with any fallout. Celestia is not pushing her, though.
It's just a good thing the moon has already been lowered. As it is, far too many ponies are going to worry that Luna had a relapse.
And with that Twilight thinks of Nightmare Moon again. And when the pain of her memory fades, she finds in her mind a name for her fear, or part of it. Necessary: there's the rub. She is here on Celestia's invitation, and would never think of taking this from her without explicit permission—in her current state. But how long did Luna rule well and peacefully before her fall?
Now, Twilight can't see friendship of all things falling by the wayside like the nighttime, but that does not mean something analogous is impossible.
She speaks again, and Celestia listens. "I guess, I'm afraid of replacing you. If, like I was saying, something happened... Or... if I—turned."
"You won't," Celestia says. Her answer is instant.
But Twilight can see her stiffen.
"You won't," she says again, "I have faith in you... And I haven't made the same mistakes with you."
It is not as reassuring as it was meant to be. To either of them, judging by the minuscule quaver Twilight can hear in Celestia's voice. That sound is a scary as any Twilight has ever heard.
Celestia speaks again before silence can fall. "You are the best student I have yet had. And you are a very different pony from what my sister was—and she is too—: I sincerely believe you would never do that."
"But what if—"
"Twilight. Do you really see yourself doing that sort of thing? "
"Okay, I guess I got a little worked up," Twilight says.
"And I'm sure that your friends would not allow such a thing to happen."
Twilight wrinkles her nose. "I just imagined Rainbow punching me in face." She smiles. "You're right, they'd never let me take over."
"And this concern over replacing me is new, anyway. I distinctly remember, on more than one occasion, walking in on you and your classmates reenacting scenes from history. And you always played the part of me."
Twilight blushes. Like many, she feels (or feels like she should feel) a certain amount of embarrassment when events of her foal hood are brought up in conversation. She also sees Celestia's point.
The gradient of the sky still has not changed, though the eye adds tension.
It is time—long past time—to try again. Again she closes her eyes, again reaches, again touches, again is flooded with memory:
Sheets of paper with wingshapes scribbled on them are taped to her sides. She prances in front of Moondancer, looking as regal as a little filly can. "Be quiet," she says, "this is very complicated magic." She throws her head back and a paper sun rises (it is convenient that Lemonhearts' magic is just the right shade of yellow) shakily in the background.
The sun comes up.
Twilight looks at Celestia and sees her beaming face.
"Good job. I knew you could do it."
