“This meeting shall be written in the history books, Senator Garfeld. I trust we’ll continue our talks towards peace in the weeks to come.”
Princess Celestia nods along with her words, with a deceptively disarming smile. The griffons across the little table are deceived. They continue with their self-important speech about the rights of the singular creature. When they broach their views on the unjustifyably-liberal Equestrian social programs, her eyes narrow. And yet, she hears them out.
The griffons’ voices raise as they reach the denouement of their manifesto. They speak declaratively. The alicorn princess does not allow her frustration to show. Eventually, the Griffonian ambassadors finish their prepared speech, and look expectantly to the Equestrian diarch.
Princess Celestia stands up from the table, gently placing her teacup and saucer back, smiling with the restraint of a thousand years behind her. She offers a hoof, and the griffon ambassador takes it, warily, but willingly nonetheless.
As he pulls his talon back, he spasms, and the teacup within his hands slips, crashing on the ground. His limp body follows shortly afterwards.
Celestia whips her head around, alarmed. A royal guard rushes towards them, before hesitating, eyes wide open. “Princess…” he chokes, before collapsing to the ground. Arrows litter his back that weren’t there before.
There they are in the rafters. Celestia’s magic comes to life, and she prepares a hasty shield, before turning for the exit. They would follow, of course, but Celestia knew the castle better than they did. Hallway after hallway, she twists and turns, occasionally looking back to fire shots at random towards her pursuers.
Down the fourth balcony, towards the royal library, she collides with one of the griffon assassins, who had apparently become separated from the rest. It’s over in a flash. The assassin puts up a fight, but Celestia is too experienced to let a simple griffon overpower her in single combat. Pinning him onto the ground, she roars, “Who do you work for? What treason is it to kill your own ambassador?”
The griffon, eyes watering in fear, as if possessed, suddenly screams, and drives a sharpened wing into his chest. Celestia watches in bewilderment as the life drains out of his eyes. Before he’s gone, he manages to choke out one final statement:
“Long live Griffonia. Long live the Clan of the Two-Talons.”
Then, a click. Celestia gasps, and throws up the shield again, but it’s too late. The bomb planted inside the griffon assassin ignites upon his death, and a blinding flash of light overtakes Celestia. Before she disappears, she thinks of what possibilities are still to explore. With luck, she might still find an opening.
Now, Celestia stands before the empty darkness of the Future. A pony, or something like a pony, stands before her. Its eyes glow with the light of millenia past. Its robe is woven from the blue highlights at the edges of a thousand shadows. Its face is unseeable. She may look upon its eyes, its robe, but when she looks away, all else is but a phantom of a memory.
Celestia trusts this apparition.
Perhaps she shouldn't, but her position is almost entirely owed to the leniency of this single extra-dimensional entity.
“Celestia, it says with the voice of aeons, Dost thou persist in manipulating the threads of fate?
“I do,” Celestia says with measured determination. She knows what she’s doing. She’s done it for decades, after all.
Despite my warnings?
“Yes.” Again, she says it with confidence.
Very well.
“This meeting shall be written in the history books, Senator Garfeld. I pray we’ll continue our talks towards peace in the weeks to come.”
Celestia blinked rapidly as her mouth spoke on its own, adjusting her vision to the sudden light in the room. Across from her, the griffon ambassador breathed once again, calmly sipping his tea as if nothing had happened.
Celestia gave a wry grin. “Excuse me, sir, but would you mind if I took care of a few gnats in the room for a second?”
Garfeld knitted his brows, giving a casual shrug. “Gnats? I didn’t notice any, but this is your castle, princess.”
Celestia clapped her hooves together. “Excellent!” She closed her eyes, focused on the core deep inside, and breathed.
There it was again, that familiar fiery touch. Celestia sang to the sun and the sun answered, eager to serve its master once again. Celestia felt the familiar flames coating her, gave a cautious sigh, and looked up. There they were, the griffon assassins, perched in the rafters again. This time, though, they were cowering in fear. Celestia sneered. They always looked so confident, until they weren’t. All it took was a single shot, a single beam of overwhelming energy.
Their ashes would make a fine addition to the garden fertilizer.
Princess Celestia was a princess of trial-and-error.
If you don’t succeed, try, try again. Princess Celestia taught it to each and every one of her pupils, and it was a good lesson to learn. It was the catalyst for Twilight’s manic science experiments dead into the night, and Sunset’s manifesto of a new Equestrian era.
Sometimes though, ponies took her lesson a little too seriously. Before Sunset, Princess Celestia had a pupil called Wave Dawn. She was a prodigy in her own way, extending upon Starswirl’s time spells. One day, she’d asked, with the innocence of youth:
“Princess, are there ponies that shouldn't be allowed to procreate?”
Princess Celestia had flinched, suddenly paying increased attention to her student with trepidation. “I’m sorry, Wave Dawn. I don’t think I heard you quite right.”
“Princess, say there are two ponies who love each other very much, but their foal turns out to be the most evil pony Equestria has ever seen. If he lives, he slaughters hundreds and hundreds of innocent lives, and puts a stain on Equestria’s history that’s never been seen before. Shouldn’t it be alright, then, to travel back in time, and prevent the baby from ever being made?”
Princess Celestia had vehemently opposed denied the truth of concept, but under the cover that her calculations were simply wrong. Wave Dawn hadn’t believed her.
The next day, Wave was gone, popped out of existence into another. The castle maids found an empty room in the morning, marked with a smoking spot where Wave’s form had last appeared. She’d tried the spell, and Celestia probably would never know if she’d succeeded.
It was a shame how close she’d been to figuring out the truth.
When Twilight Sparkle journeyed with her friends to defeat Nightmare Moon, Princess Celestia had taken no chances. Twilight needed to grow as a pony, of course, but not at risk of death. So Celestia watched as Twilight introduced herself to the citizens of Ponyville, taking note as the moon grew closer and closer to eclipse. It wasn’t long before she received the frantic letter detailing Nightmare Moon’s return.
Of course she’s right!, Celestia thought. That was Twilight Sparkle, smartest unicorn in all of Equestria.
Celestia took the quill and ink, wrote a simple response detailing her doubts, and sent it back. Then she packed her things, and prepared for the Summer Sun Celebration, and for Nightmare Moon.
Nightmare Moon was an idiot pony with an inflated ego. Princess Celestia seethed in fury as she summoned all her restraint to simulate being defeated, simulate being locked up as Nightmare Moon cackled in naive victory. It was a shame that Celestia would not be able to finish the Nightmare off herself, but at least she’d revel in watching from the shadows as Twilight and her friends would do the job. Hopefully.
If you don’t succeed, try, try again.
Rarity wails as Twilight, screaming in pain, goes down to Nightmare Moon’s pinpoint blast. Fluttershy and Applejack watch in shocked silence. Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie lay huddled in a corner, defeated.
From a room nearby, Princess Celestia readies her resolve, and summons the sun once more.
Nightmare Moon turns her head, cackling. “What’s this? My beloved sister seems to have freed herself. It’s a shame she couldn’t make it in time to watch her beloved ponies suffer.”
Celestia can’t meet her gaze. “Goodbye, Nightmare.”
Before Nightmare Moon can react, Celestia summons her power again.
And winces mutedly as the beam of sunlight pierces her own heart. As always, she has just enough time to note that it never gets easier. She collapses to the ground, falling into the waiting darkness once more.
The empty aeons wash over Celestia.
She knows, somehow, that this is the end. And yet, it seems, she could rectify the mistakes made if only she could stand and face the future.
If only she could move.
After a time, Celestia becomes aware of the pony who had always been standing before her, there in the blackness. The pony who determines the chronography of the world.
“Why must this be the time?” asks Celestia. “Why can’t I have one more try?”
Without even a glance to the stricken alicorn, the stoic sentinel of the temporal realm shakes her head at nothing in particular.
