“I could help, you know.”
Under the midday sun atop the tallest spire of Canterlot Castle, Celestia repressed a sigh. The voice behind her was one she had come to expect any time she prepared to leave the castle, no matter the planned length of absence.
In a way, she found it almost a comfort, a reminder of centuries long past, when Celestia could regularly anticipate a discussion and a heartfelt goodbye before a flight away from Canterlot, and when she could provide the same for another in return. For well over nine hundred years, she had grown accustomed to quiet departures, give or take the Solar Guard accompaniment that she rarely felt inclined to converse with. Genuine small talk was hard for the monarch to come by.
Granted, she didn't figure this talk would be very small, either. Not after…
“Your place right now is here, Sunset Shimmer.”
Celestia turned away from the balcony into the entranceway, where her young protégée stood facing her. She was poised, holding a look of determination, projecting an image of resolve. But Celestia could detect a tremble in her stance, a giveaway of the roiling emotions underneath, and it did not escape notice that her flame-red mane was unusually unkempt, almost fully obscuring the left side of her face.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to accompany you on a mission,” Sunset replied. “I’ve finished my required assignments and, well, I was… hoping to go out into the field with you.”
“A mission,” Celestia replied with a soft chuckle as she began a slow trot toward Sunset. “My dear student, you make it sound so covert, as if I were a secret agent. I assure you, this is merely a diplomatic affair – an important one, true, but one that you would find rather dull to witness.”
Sunset held her stance as Celestia got closer, but the discomfort became more visible as her eyes failed to make direct contact. “Any chance to see you performing your royal duties would not be time wasted, Princess.”
Celestia kept her outward expression calm; internally, however, she frowned. She could tell Sunset was specifically trying to say what Celestia wanted to hear, all while fundamentally misunderstanding what that was.
“There will be a time, hopefully very soon, when I can provide you with the ‘field experience’ you seek. But for now, as I said, your place is here.”
Sunset’s eyes were still slightly elsewhere as she grumbled a reply. “You say that a lot.”
“Pardon?” Now right in front of her pupil, Celestia stopped.
Cheeks flushing, Sunset looked up; it seemed likely that was a thought she hadn’t necessarily meant to let slip into speech, and now was scrambling to figure out how to address that mistake. “That... that I have to stay. That this is my place.”
“Well, perhaps I’m wistfully hoping that it will sink in one day.”
Sunset just looked down and sighed. Fearing she’d miscalculated with her jest, Celestia shifted to a soft, empathetic voice.
“It’s not forever, Sunset. We can discuss more once I return, but I assure you, things will be different soon.”
“Then why doesn’t it feel like it?”
There was a bitterness in Sunset’s words that stung Celestia’s ears. “I don’t–”
“Why does it feel like you’re punishing me, for what I said before?”
Celestia winced. She knew the conversation couldn’t last too long, but she’d hoped it would take more time to reach this point. She took a calming breath, responding in a measured tone. “Your current lessons were planned out some months ago. I have not changed them, in any way. I am sorry if they feel stifling, but my intent–”
“I’m not talking about your lessons,” Sunset said, the bitterness refusing to subside as she looked up and restored eye contact. “Even if you’re right about how they feel. I’m talking about you. How distant you’ve become. How far away you feel. We do so little together anymore. What is that supposed to be, if not a punishment?”
“Was it so long ago that you were asking for more independence, more freedom? That you wished that I would trust you to your own devices, conduct your studies in your own way?”
Sunset’s visible eye twitched.
“That’s not what this is.” She broke from Celestia's gaze again and began an absentminded trot to the right. “You’re cutting me off. You’ve stopped inviting me to watch the sunrise with you, even occasionally. You don’t ask me to be by your side at important functions, or parliamentary sessions. You didn’t bring me with you on your visits to Manehattan, Appleloosa, or Trotter’s Falls. You decided my place isn’t ‘with you’ anymore, it’s just ‘here.’ Close enough to be under your watchful eye, but too far for me to reach back to you. All because I said something I thought should have been obvious.”
She paused and looked back. “It doesn’t feel like freedom or independence to me, Princess. It feels like a gilded cage.”
Celestia grimaced.
“Do you really think so little of me, my dear student? That I would stoop to such pettiness, that I would withdraw my affection, my care for you? That I would be having this conversation with you, listening to you even as you say such hurtful words, if I wanted to push you away?”
Sunset’s head started to turn again, only for three booming words to pull it back.
“Look at me.”
It wasn’t Royal Canterlot Voice, but it was skirting the edge of it.
“I need you to see it in my eyes. I need you to see the truth in me when I say that I have always cared for you, Sunset Shimmer, and I always will. Why you’ve allowed the idea that I would do otherwise to take hold in your heart, I cannot say. But it has deeply clouded your judgment of me. This must stop.”
Sunset slowly brought herself about to face her mentor once more. Her tremble was more evident than ever, and Celestia now could hear it in her voice.
“I-I don’t mean to insult you, Princess. Really. I just, well, want to know if…” She didn’t finish the sentence.
Celestia picked it up for her. “If I’m bitter that you presumed that I was training you to become a Princess yourself.” Celestia swallowed another sigh. “No, I am not.”
She began to walk over towards her pupil once again.
“If anything,” Celestia went on, “I am bitter at myself. It has been a very long time since I have taken a personal student, particularly one as young as yourself, and you did not know what to expect when I took you in. Before I even had a concrete plan for what I wanted to teach you, I was inadvertently dazzling you with who and what I am, giving you unwitting demonstrations of my power, my capabilities. I fear the constant exposure to aspects of myself my little ponies so rarely get to see left too much of an impression. Perhaps it was only natural you assumed they were lessons for your own future.”
Sunset mumbled something in response, and Celestia paused.
“What was that?”
“...My mark. It’s–it’s practically the same as yours.”
“Go on.”
“How is that not destiny? How is that not proof that our paths are the same?”
Celestia held still for a moment, regarding her pupil, before stepping forward once more. “In and of themselves, of course, sun marks are rather common among ponies. I’ve met quite a few over these many years, and many, especially parents, associate them with magical talent, or power, because of the commonality with myself. Of course, beliefs can be deceiving. Just recently, I met with a student at the gifted school with a sun mark, who’s been struggling. His theoretical knowledge is exceptional, but his field strength and spellcasting abilities are sadly unsatisfactory.
“You, of course, don’t have such issues. Your magical ability, as I have said many times before, is outstanding. But talent is not the same as destiny. Destiny is not a thing anypony can force upon themselves. It can be only too easy for us to try to find clues to our paths in life, to find the shortcut to our purpose. I’ve seen other ponies lose themselves to the notion that they were meant for something truly special, something beyond. And when that idea takes hold–” she swallowed, heavy memory pressing down on her “–even power equal to my own is not enough to satisfy that craving.”
She stopped in front of Sunset and crouched down to her level, making firm eye contact once more.
“What those ponies failed to understand is that they were sacrificing the most special part of themselves – their inner spirit. That is not what I want for you. When I met you, you were a kind, radiant soul, the very model of empathy. Qualities that were just as important to me as your magical prowess in my decision to take you on as a personal student. Now, though…” She placed a hoof on Sunset’s cheek as her pupil frowned. “I fear you’ve pushed too much of yourself aside in pursuit of your dreams of destined power.”
Withdrawing her forelimb, Celestia watched as Sunset continued to stand, quietly, her breathing measured and controlled. Her eye, however, had wandered, drifting off to the horizon beyond as she formulated a reply.
“I’m sorry for how I acted, before, Princess.” She looked back toward her, then at the floor. “Both now and when I first brought up… Princesshood. It wasn’t my place, and I was wrong to question your judgment.”
Slowly, Celestia drew back to her full height, looking down on her student. She knew that line had been rehearsed. It hadn’t been rehearsed especially well, a very obvious monotone in its delivery.
“I don’t ask for you not to question my judgment, Sunset Shimmer. In fact, I welcome it. What I ask is for you to understand that judgment. And for you to respond earnestly, not tell me what you feel will get me to change the subject.”
At this, Sunset’s mask broke as she looked up toward her mentor, her teeth bared. Her fury only lasted for a moment, however, as her face crumbled under Celestia's gaze.
“I’m sorry,” she replied. “Really, I… I am. Sometimes I just feel like… like I can’t talk to you honestly, anymore, because if I do I’ll say something dumb, or get angry, or yell. It makes me feel like a stupid little filly. I try to follow your example, I really do. But I just get so frustrated, all the time… I don’t know. It’s just dumb.”
At this, Celestia crouched down once more. “Anger is a natural emotion, my dear student. I don’t judge you for having it. Expressing it without restraint can be a dangerous thing, without question, but the same can be true for letting it fester, where it grows into resentment. Properly managing anger is a tricky thing, one that took me a very long time to master.”
Sunset blinked, more than once. “You…”
“Indeed,” Celestia said, allowing a smirk to creep across her face. “Once upon a time, I had quite the fiery temper myself. Perhaps my control in that regard is yet another thing I make look far too easy.”
Sunset laughed a bit, a wonderful sound. “I kinda want to hear more about this Celestia.”
“If I didn’t have a schedule to keep, I’d tell you all about her. Alas,” Celestia said, and meant it. “I’ll be sure to have a story about her for you when I return. As it is, though, I do have one more thing I want to say before taking my leave.”
“Yes, Princess?”
Celestia shifted into a sitting position. After a moment, Sunset mirrored it.
“Please know, truthfully, that I do not hold your behavior against you. If I kept my distance more than I should have, it was simply because I was shaken by our exchange, and needed time to think about how to better approach my role as a mentor. I don’t want you to feel hurt, and it was never my intent to isolate you. I sincerely apologize.”
Sunset stared at her for a few moments before replying.
“So if you never meant for me to become a Princess… then what am I, to you? What future have you been trying to prepare me for?”
“Your future, Sunset. Yours, and yours alone.”
Sunset’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”
Celestia’s heart sank as she realized just how little her warnings about destiny had meant.
“Meaning I see in you, and have always seen, a pony with amazing potential. I wanted you to learn how to harness it. To become the best version of yourself you can be, and have the means and opportunity to make a real difference for Equestria.”
She had braced herself for an explosion of fury, a series of vengeful curses and language entirely unbefitting of Equestria’s seat of power. Instead, though, there was simply quiet between them as Sunset processed her words, before eventually lowering her head.
“So there was never a plan for me.”
Celestia placed a hoof on Sunset’s shoulder. “Not in the sense you’ve been imagining, no. Because there are parts of you that remain undiscovered by yourself. In focusing so closely on your desire for Princesshood, you’ve neglected your own identity quite severely. And, in order to correct this, the next phase of lessons will be focused on obtaining that self-discovery.”
Sunset looked up. “How?”
“We can start, perhaps, with something that should be quite simple for you. Making some outside friends.”
Sunset’s expression remained dour, yet she almost snorted with laughter. “Friends? You can’t be serious. Friends. What good have friends ever really been for anypony? Friends are distractions.”
“I can understand why you feel that way. But friendship is quite a bit more meaningful and magical than I think you realize. And it’s critical to that crucial understanding of who you truly are.”
Sunset nodded, curtly. Her head turned away, and, as Celestia rose to standing position, she could hear a soft mutter.
“There was never a plan.”
Celestia held back another sigh. Her student remained fixated on the loss of her alicorn Princess destiny above all else. Convincing Sunset of the importance of friendship would not be an easy task.
Unfortunately, it would have to wait.
“I’m afraid I’ve kept my chariot waiting long enough. I must depart.”
Sunset stood up quickly. “Wait–”
“I promise, I’ll be back very soon. Please, let yourself relax for now. Destress. You have my permission to visit the city, or go anywhere you’d like within the castle grounds. But above all, just think about what we've discussed here. About friends, about self-discovery, about finding your own future.”
“Princess–”
“Believe me, we will have all the time in Equestria to talk about this when next we meet.”
Sunset raised a hoof for another interjection, but whatever words she’d intended to say never left her mouth. Her ultimate response was simple resignation, her head hung low.
“Okay. I… I’ll see you.”
Celestia wrapped a foreleg around her shoulders, then gave her a soft nuzzle.
“Never forget that I care for you, Sunset. May Equestria watch and protect you.”
Eventually, Sunset nuzzled back. “You too.”
Slowly, they withdrew. Celestia turned away, spread her wings and, without a look backwards, took off to meet her chariot.
In that moment, the Princess of the Sun didn’t yet know her beloved pupil would not be there when she returned.
She did not know that her diplomatic visit would be interrupted by an urgent communiqué from the palace, that she would return in haste to find a short, fieldwritten note on her bedspread, that she would run in despair to a dimensional rift that had closed hours before. That she would spend years dissecting that very conversation, picking apart every word she'd said and wondering helplessly what she could have said differently, done differently, why she hadn’t simply said of course Sunset, you can come along right from the beginning.
She did not know that she now had a new failure, another dark spectre of the past that would join the many others that haunted her with each lowering of the sun and raising of the moon.
What she did know was that she’d told Sunset she would have a story for her when she returned, one she'd hoped would bring back that joyous laugh she’d heard so briefly just a few minutes before. And as she glided away from Canterlot Castle, she was content to simply consider which story to tell.
