Twice as Bright and Half as Long
It wouldn't be long now. It couldn’t be long.
Not even a full week after her coronation and already things were beginning to seem overwhelming. But that was only because she’d made it so: she was efficient; she planned meetings, appointments and ceremonies to the millisecond, leaving just enough room for a few minor hiccups. And she had to run a tight ship, because even though she could praise Celestia and Luna for so many things, the bureaucracy she inherited was far from orderly.
She permitted a small, guilty smirk to cross her lips at the thought of herself, the student, becoming the master. At least in regards to the Sisters’ organisational skills. Sometimes life could be terribly poetic.
But she wasn’t sitting here, in a café near her childhood home in the urban streets of Canterlot, to reflect on how far she had come since Celestia’s tutelage began. Rather, she was here to reminisce about other memories – ones that were equally dear to her, although far more… sensitive… than she’d have liked to admit.
Twilight looked up from the empty chair on the opposite end of the table and craned her head about. There were patrons sitting at the other tables, chatting and laughing, or otherwise enjoying each other’s company. One mare in particular – a unicorn, as she once was – appeared to be waiting for somepony. She could tell because the stranger had a certain longing in her eyes, especially whenever she lifted her attention from the book she was reading towards the café entrance.
It was a longing Twilight was familiar with, and had grown accustomed to. Today was supposed to be different, although her vocation wasn’t the only thing that posed an obstacle.
She sighed and started gently tapping her forehooves on the table’s edge. The placement hadn’t changed at all since she first remembered coming here, nor had the style or the menu. But it wasn’t the food, furniture, customer service or location that made this place special to her. Instead, it was the company she once spent many an afternoon with.
Him. The perfect match. A love neither lost nor forgotten, just barely out of reach. So close and yet so very, very far.
The longer she had to wait, the more fidgety she became. The seat wasn’t as comfortable as it should’ve been – itches springing up more than usual; even her wings appeared to have something of a mind of their own, their feathers ruffling against her will. She glanced up to a clock overhead and watched as it ticked over into one minute past noon.
Her message had gotten through. She was certain of it. He wrote back to confirm and agree to meet her here, at twelve o’clock precisely. If there were any complications he surely would’ve told her about them beforehand. It wasn’t like him to be negligent of those kinds of things. Not when it concerned their time together, anyway. She hoped that habit hadn’t changed after spending so much time apart.
Twilight’s hooves went still as she frowned at herself. Of course it wouldn’t have changed. The years had rolled by and shaped both of them into different ponies, granted, but some things always stayed the same. He’d never given her any reason to doubt him before and she wouldn’t be starting today. She couldn’t let her punctuality get the better of her.
She enveloped her cup of water in her magic and took a sip to distract herself from thinking about the delay too deeply. There were plenty of explanations for it, but she wouldn’t dwell on them. He’d get there when he got there and that was that.
The clock ticked over into the second minute past midday.
Just as the first bead of sweat broke out on her forehead, the door to the café was pushed open. There he was, standing at the entrance, coat as pure white as ever, sporting his stylish dress uniform and sash. Even if she didn’t already know who he was, nopony would’ve had any trouble picking him out from a crowd. Princes and princesses were, after all, entitled to at least a little sense of grandeur.
He spotted her, and when his eyes met hers relief swept through her like a soft, cooling breeze. Even the tips of her feathers felt like they’d been kissed by the wind. He smiled and she beamed in return, and as he made his way toward her, weaving through the maze of occupied tables and nodding to those who recognised him; Twilight found herself getting fidgety again. There wasn’t any discomfort this time, she just felt as if… she hadn’t tidied up well enough. That, somehow, she wasn’t pretty enough.
It was a completely ridiculous thought, she knew, because she’d been painstakingly methodical this morning to bring out any and every ounce of natural beauty she had, not only for him but every other engagement she’d had today, and a few yet to take place. Being head of state meant sacrificing personal time for the greater good, for better and, as she worried the case now was, for worse.
Nevertheless, despite having absolutely nothing wrong with how she was dressed, Twilight shifted her weight in the cushioned seat and straightened her skirt as well as she could. She was also worried that there may have been a few stray hairs in her mane out of place, and that the gap between her two front teeth had suddenly grown wider, but there wasn’t anything she could do without a mirror or a dentist.
He was also already too close, so she forced down the rising sense of giddy panic that pricked at her insides like sewing needles and steeled her nerves instead. There was nothing to fear. He was here. And she knew that she could do no wrong around him, just as he could do no wrong around her.
“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” Shining Armour said, taking a knee and bowing reverently, his voice barely audible while so many other conversations continued around them. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Twilight giggled, and in an instant the panic vanished from her system, scattered like dust in the wind. “Arise, Prince-Consort,” she answered with an upward motion of her hoof, then playfully rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Really, Shining, you don’t have to do that every time. Once was enough, and we’re way past the coronation.”
“I know, I know.” He chuckled as he raised himself to all fours again before hopping into the empty chair and facing her, forelegs folded on the table. “It’s the big brother in me. Pestering my little sister is sometimes just too much fun.”
She gave him a wry smirk and levitated the glass bottle in the centre of the table over to his end, filling up his cup with water, supplementing the partially melted ice. “I’m not sure you’ll be able to call me that for very long.”
“How so?”
“Well, Celestia may have explained that turning me into an alicorn wouldn’t end with the wings.” She set the glass down once the cup was full and brought up a foreleg to inspect it. “Apparently I’ll grow as tall as her someday.”
“Whoa,” he remarked with a smirk of his own, impressed, sitting up straighter. “Big little sister.”
“Yep. Which means that, by the law of the jungle where might makes right, I hereby declare myself Sibling Supreme ad infinitum.” She put both forehooves on the table and leaned across with a devious, mischievous grin. “That means forever.”
Shock and betrayal replaced admiration, his eyes widening and ears folding back. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I dare, Shining.” She righted herself and gestured to her crown. “Princess, remember? And as I recall, the Crystal Empire is a client state of Equestria, and since you’re the Prince-Consort of the reigning monarch of said Empire, that means, legally and for all intents and purposes, I’m better than you.”
“You’re a tyrant,” he declared, frowning in mock indignation. “This is an outrage! Five days into your reign and you’re already pulling rank on me? It’s unfair and undignified.”
“Please,” Twilight scoffed as she waved his objection away like the steam from a boiling kettle. “What’s wrong with a little power play between brother and sister? So long as we don’t come to blows over it, I don't see the harm.”
He stuck his bottom lip out and grunted. “Celestia made a mistake when she chose you.”
“Come on, don’t be like that. I didn’t write and sign the constitution.”
“You have the authority to change it.”
“I do,” she agreed, peering up at the ceiling and bobbing her head from side to side, only to fold her forelegs and smirk once more as she met his gaze again. “But I won’t. Because that would make it too easy for you, and we can’t have that, can we? Now, as your superior, I expect you to treat me like you would Cadance in every conceivable way, shape and form.”
Shining cocked an eyebrow, ears perking up, and he slid just a little closer as he angled his head and gave her a sly, perceptive look. “Every conceivable way, huh?”
And then it was as if the train they were both riding had suddenly slammed on its breaks, and all the bluster and bravado she’d been sailing on had found itself in forbidden waters, where monsters lurked in the depths. What replaced her hauteur was… nothing. Emptiness. It had all been a hollow façade, and she could hardly believe that she was only now just starting to realise that.
Twilight compelled herself to keep the veneer going, but the smug mask she wore was already slipping, and she glanced left, right and over her shoulder before she lost grip on it entirely. Thankfully, it appeared that nopony had either heard or paid attention, and that granted her a modicum of breathing space. Whether she sighed out of relief or melancholy, she couldn’t say for certain.
“Oh,” Shining uttered, and through his tone alone she knew he understood perfectly, and wished that he could take what he said back. “Twily, I… You know I didn’t—”
“I know,” she replied, nodding as she returned to him, trying her best to put on a brave face, or at least a neutral one. “I know. And you’ve nothing to be sorry for. It’s just a shame that… well…”
“Yeah.” He sighed in turn and slackened his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s… Yeah.”
A silence settled between them, somehow feeling louder than the ambient clamour of the café itself, as if being quiet would draw unwanted attention.
Shining took the opportunity to steal a healthy swig from his cup and refill it, and Twilight busied herself by gently patting her mane for the few stray hairs she thought she had. Whether they existed or not, she began worrying that she’d done more harm than good, and that doing anything else would initiate a cycle of messiness.
Instead, she lowered her gaze to the tabletop and shifted the neatly folded napkin to a perpendicular axis, along with the cutlery. “Anyway, I didn’t ask you to join me here just so I could gloat,” she said, looking up at him, mentally shedding the baggage from her withers. “You remember this place, right?”
After finishing his second cupful, Shining dabbed at his mouth with his own napkin – no room for poor manners while on the job – and cleared his throat. “Of course.” He motioned with a hoof and his head toward the entrance, then swivelled in his seat to better demonstrate his point. “Our old house is right around the block from here. School was… about twenty minutes north of the intersection outside, the Royal Guard barracks was about five minutes west of that, and your favourite library was—”
“Three hundred and forty-nine paces east,” Twilight proudly interjected, and she was grateful that she could smile sincerely again. “Before Celestia took me in, that is. I didn’t use it so much after that. Not when I had her archives to browse.”
Shining snorted and angled his head, grinning amusedly. On anypony else, it might have appeared condescending, but she knew better, and she liked him all the more for it – as if it was a secret only they were allowed to have. Well, one more secret, anyway. “You really bothered to count how many steps you took?”
“Surprised?”
He folded his forelegs over his barrel and sat back. “Surprisingly, yes. I never thought you were that much of a nerd.”
“Hey,” she protested, gesturing to herself pointedly with both forehooves, “this nerd has saved the world more times than any of your guards have ever done their job correctly.”
“Ooh.” Shining pouted and slowly, deliberately shook his head, and there was a hint of genuine hurt in his eyes. She’d evidently touched on a sensitive topic for him. “That’s a low blow, Twilight, especially by your standards.”
“Honesty is a virtue, Shining,” she announced with a wry smirk and a shrug, then levitated the bottle over to her side of the table and topped off her cup. “I’m just calling it like I see it.”
He said nothing in reply for a long while, watching her instead. At first he wore the same sour expression, which was frankly far too adorable to take seriously, but after she tilted her head back and refreshed herself, she saw that he’d gone from peevish to thoughtful. “Do I detect a hint of Applejack in there?” he queried, scooting his chair in closer and propping his cheek on a hoof. “I don’t remember you being so direct when we were growing up. Not always, anyway.”
Twilight hummed, and her smirk sank into a relaxed and wistful grin. “Maybe a little,” she admitted, and all the memories that she could recollect came wafting in like the sweet smell of lavender. “She and the girls have been…”
“A positive influence?”
“Something like that.” Nodding musingly, her gaze grew distant as the reality dawned on her yet again. What she and her friends had experienced was more than most ponies ever underwent in their entire lives, and she wasn’t even halfway through hers. If hers had a limit anymore. “Thinking back on it… it’s all just so hard to believe. I mean, we’ve been through so much together, and somehow we survived it, and now I’m a princess.” She emphatically pointed to her crown, which still didn’t feel quite so right on her head. “The princess, as a matter of fact.”
Shining made another sour face. “I have a wife, you know.”
“Oh yeah, and Cadance too.”
He laughed. Loudly and proudly. “Sweet mother of Celestia!” he cried, slapping the table, never minding the odd looks he was getting from the other tables. “Is that all it takes, huh? Just a taste of absolute authority and you’re ready to forget the rest of us even exist.”
Despite the extra attention, which she was still wary of, Twilight beamed in kind. She liked making him laugh. It always reminded her of how much fun they had together when they were younger. He didn’t get to be her BBBFF for nothing, after all, and while Rarity and Fluttershy, Applejack and Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie and Cadance may as well have been sisters to her, she only had one brother. And she couldn’t be happier that he was. “How is she and Flurry doing, by the way?”
His laughter faded into delighted chuckling, and then he calmed himself with a long, outward breath. Perhaps his wife had taught him the same methods of dealing with stress as she had with her. “Fine, fine,” he answered, trying and almost failing to keep the mirth from overpowering him again. “We just finished a bit of shopping before we’re due to head home. The little one seems to have gotten her magic under control, finally, so that’s a win. And let me tell you, neither I nor Cadance are eager for a second.”
Twilight felt a soft twinge in her barrel when he mentioned their scheduled departure – an event she had taken into account and planned around, but whose existence nevertheless loomed over her like an anvil. His closing remark, however, pricked her ears and threatened to cut the anvil loose. “A second?”
Shining’s own ears perked up, catching her tone, and he rolled his eyes sardonically. “Twily, I’m only twenty-six, and Cadance is gonna be in her prime for a lot longer than I am. It’s not like another foal can’t happen for, like, at least another four or five decades.”
“Right, right.” She nodded to herself in understanding and lowered her gaze to the tabletop, where she noticed her napkin and cutlery had been misaligned. Quickly rectifying the issue did precious little to set her mind at ease, though. “And you’re… comfortable with that?”
“With what?”
She returned to him, then bit her lip and glanced away apprehensively. Broaching the subject was one thing, but elaborating and expanding on it was another. “Well, knowing that she and your daughter… and possibly any other children you have together… are going to…”
The curious expression Shining wore remained as he tried to parse her meaning, and when he did, any contentment he felt disappeared in the blink of an eye. Conversely, he gradually lifted himself from the table and sat straight in his chair again, forehooves sliding into his lap. His mouth opened and closed a few times, before eventually muttering a vacant “Oh.”
It wasn’t a pleasant train of thought, she knew, but it was a necessary and, in all likelihood, an inevitable one. She’d pictured what the future would hold for her, on the day she outlived her parents, her friends, their descendants… even him.
There were many benefits to having an immortal head of state, and they demanded a great deal of sacrifice. But such was the burden of responsibility, which was one that she had willingly accepted. The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few in the end, so she couldn’t let self-interest dictate her actions.
But Shining was in a different position entirely, having married an alicorn like her, fathering a child that had the potential of being just as if not more powerful than all of their magic combined. He was the outlier where the rest of his immediate family, barring both their parents, would live forever.
“Yes,” he finally, grimly mumbled, his attention drifting off to the side. “And no.”
Twilight could only imagine, and she wished that she didn’t have to. She hadn’t intended for their conversation to take such a bleak turn, but there was no going back from it – no way to undo what had been said, let alone what they were now thinking of. Memory spells were always an option, of course, but some things were worth remembering. As mororse as the topic was, this was one of them.
He stayed quiet for a few moments longer, brooding, running a tongue along the inside of his mouth as he thought of how best to tackle the matter. But then he shook his head and sighed, returning to her with a pensive frown.
“Look, I’ll be frank with you,” he sullenly murmured, “I’m not looking forward to watching myself waste away while Cadance stays exactly as she is. I’m scared that, at some point, I won’t be able to provide what she wants or needs from me, and that she’ll have to go looking elsewhere for a newer, younger, less senile model. And I also worry what Flurry might think, when she sees me leave both her and her mother behind.”
Twilight was thankful for a dip in the ambience, or else she might never have heard him. Nonetheless, the statement compelled her to arch an eyebrow. “Worried how?”
“Well, that depends on how Cadance decides to handle it.” Shining shrugged, then decided some clarification was in order and rolled his forehoof. “My… aging, that is, and eventual passing away. If she goes into mourning, would Flurry think that love for her can only end in heartbreak? Or if she moves on, either before or after I’m gone, would Flurry think that the rest of us mortals are… expendable? Nothing to get too attached to. In which case, she’d never allow herself to find true love.”
As she listened, her gut began to feel heavier and heavier, nearly sickening her to the core. That was truly an awful thought, and what made it even more striking was that she hadn’t considered it from her niece’s perspective.
Being born a unicorn and rising to the position she now held meant that Twilight knew what it meant to be temporal. Flurry would never have that experience. She’d be the first of her kind in more ways than one.
“I don’t want that for her,” Shining glumly finished. “I don’t want either of those outcomes for her.”
And Twilight understood it perfectly. Her heart sank alongside her stomach, and her ears weren’t far behind. But she wasn’t the pony her brother most needed to share this with. “Have you discussed this with Cadance?”
He shook his head. “Not yet,” he said as he looked up at her again, and hurriedly waved a conciliatory hoof when he noticed her concerned expression. “We will, we will, just… not yet. I’m not sure how to bring it up with her anyhow.”
“The same way you did with me: talking about it.”
“Yeah, I know that,” Shining retorted, pouting, but then his scowl softened, reverting to its pensive, preoccupied state. “But it’s more than that.”
Twilight blinked. She didn’t see how, because communication had been the answer to the vast majority of problems she’d faced, and it was the foundation upon which every relationship depended, platonic or otherwise. But if he had something important to say, she wasn’t about to interrupt.
He continued staring off into empty space for a short while more, then sighed dejectedly and shook his head. “I’m not sure I want to know.”
Her eyes widened, ears standing at attention. “You don’t want to know what she has to say about it?”
“It’s… petty and selfish of me, I know, because it’s reasonable and it makes sense that she’d eventually move on from me, and I want her to be happy.” Shining hesitated. She could tell by the way the bridge of his snout wrinkled – it was all too familiar, having memorised it at such a young age. On any other occasion, it may have been endearing, but the context here was far too solemn for that. And as he met her gaze again, genuine heartache bled through. “But I want her to be happy with me, and only me.”
Twilight felt as if she’d been struck by a bolt of ice, piercing through her belly and into her barrel. She wasn’t sure why at first, but then the full weight of his words came crashing down, practically crushing what spirit she had. Her brows furrowed in consternation, dismayed that this parallel had to happen with the one pony she desired most.
Sometimes life could be terribly poetic. Sometimes it could be terribly ironic.
Shining didn’t let it go unnoticed. The atmosphere between them had changed long before he leaned forward and peered up at her sympathetically. “Twi…”
But she wouldn’t give him the honour of her attention. She shut her eyes, sealing herself off from him and the rest of the world, only letting in the sounds and scents of the café – of coffee and tea and assorted cakes, pastries, muffins and freshly toasted sandwiches. They brought back more memories. Fonder memories. Ones that felt as if they may have been from a dream. So long ago they were.
Things were so much simpler then.
“Do you remember,” she slowly began, holding onto each image, each echo of a sensation, as if they were pieces of irreplaceable parchment millenia old, “how we used to go here for lunch every so often? Just the two of us.”
There was a lengthy pause, followed by a quiet yet resounding and resolute answer. “I do.”
“We weren’t sure how we felt about it, but we tried anyway.” Twilight almost smirked at that, the recollection of how they’d both decided dating was the proper course of action. It was funny because they’d only thought about doing so after… certain other activities had been performed. “It was… awkward at first… wasn’t much better going forward for the first couple of weeks… and then it started feeling… good. Right, even. Like that side of this… dynamic we had… had finally caught up to us.”
He paused again, then hummed amusedly. “We started liking it.”
“We did, didn’t we?” She opened her eyes to discover him grinning at her with a sense of gratitude and nostalgia. And it sent her heart aflutter to see him like that, reminiscing with her about the old days. “There was a point somewhere along the line where, after we’d spent a few months pursuing this… unattainable goal… I began to think it was actually possible. That it never had to stop. That we could keep doing it forever.”
“I thought so too.”
“It was a pretty dream,” she said, nodding, only to exhale and deflate, her smile wilting as leaves did from the trees in winter. “But then we had to wake up.”
Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Shining adopted an equally melancholy expression, although there were still impassioned embers smouldering beneath the surface. The same that lay within her. “I wish things could’ve been different.”
“As do I,” Twilight avowed, now finding the strength to profess it outright, and not feel the slightest pinch of shame about it. Both of them always knew, but she had to say it, and it nearly brought her to tears. “With every fibre of my being.” She unfurled her wings and folded them again while shaking her head devoutly. “I would trade these wings for you in a heartbeat, if it meant we could go back to those days.”
A weight lifted from her barrel, allowing her to breathe easier, and after a quick moment to gather her wits, she glanced left and right to reassess their surroundings. Once more, and much to her mute relief, nopony appeared to have noticed, or were at least none the wiser. She hadn’t expected to be carried away by her own conviction like that, but she wasn’t disappointed in herself either.
She couldn’t be. Not when Shining was watching her so… affectionately. Admiringly. Adoringly.
“But I can’t,” she concluded, then gulped and cleared her throat when she realised her voice had cracked. She wiped her eyes clear with a wingtip for good measure. “And even if I could, I was taught better than that. Too many ponies depend on me now. I’d never abandon them.”
Shining nodded thoughtfully, his grin growing even wider. And after losing himself for what may as well have been an hour in her gaze, he reached across the table with an upturned hoof, wordlessly pleading for hers. She obliged, and he lay the other over it, holding it tightly. “And that’s why you’ll make a good princess.”
Twilight couldn’t believe how much she needed to hear that from him. “I love you, Shining.”
“And I love you. But I love Cadance and Flurry too. And although I’d give up anything, anything, for things to be as they were between us…”
“You’d never abandon them either.”
He nodded again, this time more ruefully, but it wasn’t long before the sadness was replaced by another of his delightful chuckles. “We’re too good for each other, aren’t we?”
“Perhaps.” She giggled in turn. “I’m just happy we’re still able to meet like this.”
“There are worse arrangements, I suppose.”
“Lyra’s closet, for instance.”
“Oh stars, don’t remind me.” Shining let go and threw himself into the backrest of his chair, laughing heartily, then jabbed a hoof at her triumphantly. “That took some inventive ad-libbing.”
“You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Why, yes.” He put on his most stately and official expression imaginable and bowed as well as he could while staying in his seat, flurrying a hoof as one would when exaggerating a curtsy. “Thank you, most gracious, gifted and utterly benevolent Highness.”
“You flatter me, Prince-Consort,” Twilight said, waving him off dismissively, even as she felt a welcome warmth rising to her cheeks. They weren’t always able to be as intimate in public as they’d have liked when they were younger, and the same applied to the present. Playing up the adulation was a convenient substitute.
“I do, don’t I?” Shining hummed, as if marvelling at his own generosity. But then he clapped his forehooves and rubbed them together, glaring hungrily at the menu he floated from the stand in the centre of the table. “Now, are we gonna order something from this place or what?”
Indeed, some things always stayed the same, up to and including a ravenous appetite – a trait they quite happily shared. Snacks never lasted long in their old home, and since becoming an alicorn with plenty of growing left to do, Twilight’s had only increased. But now that she was in the company of a kindred spirit, she didn’t have to worry about seeming piggish.
She peered up at the clock. They’d spent far more time talking than she had anticipated. At this rate, accounting for any other conversations and chit-chat that might crop up, she’d be overdue for her appointment with the royal envoy from King Thorax by approximately twenty minutes.
That was okay. Even if she risked offending the emissary, Thorax would understand. He knew all about the importance of family. Just not in the same way she did.
