It was morning. The sun had just been raised, and now everyone in the village listened in tense silence to the slow, irregular hoof beats outside. Everyone knew that five new paupers had just been made. One young unicorn watched from a doorway, staring as only young folk can without eliciting ire, at the feebly stumbling stallion slowly making his way home. Her mother watched from the hearth. Her own heart was heavy, but she understood the need for the daily sacrifice. Her jaw tightened a little as she watched her foal, pondering her next words to the young one. She knew there was a lot happening here that her foal was picking up on, and she wasn’t sure how much of it the little one understood.
She gently said, “It’s almost time to go to your teacher for the day.”
The filly rested her small head on the doorframe and said, “I don’t want to go.”
Her mother signed. She had a notion this would happen again at some point. She loved her daughter very much, even if she was small and easily overwhelmed. There was a lot she could say about how important it was for all the unicorns in their village to learn as much as they could about magic, and how dire things were for everyone in Equestria these days. She knew the stories of the unicorns who managed the celestial bodies completely losing their abilities from that task were very real.
She could have said a lot about how their kind had an important role in keeping balance in this barely unified little confederation of pony tribes. But she knew her daughter was small, young, and still needed encouragement.
Her little white filly let words tumble out like a flood.
“...The other foals will be watching me, and our teacher will be watching me, and I don’t like it. What if I mess up again and they all see it? There’s nobody in school like me, and I just want to stay home with you and sister…please?”
Her mother took a deep breath. She knew a lot of the things her foal was saying were probably not the real concern. Every day was a struggle in this wild land, and she admired her little foal’s endurance as she felt through her part of that. Equestria’s struggle to survive was their struggle, too. She just hoped someday her daughters would have leaders they could look up to in times like these to carry them through whatever darkness those days held for them. Understanding that didn’t make it any easier when her daughter started into high-pitched, small sobs. She put her head down, closed her eyes, and began wailing. The older mare walked away from the pot she had over the fire so that her foal could lean on her. She was such a delicate thing and looked even more so when her feelings were coursing like this through her little body.
“Hey,” she said softly, but grimly.
“I can’t promise things will be easy with the others and your teachers,” she said, “I do know little unicorns who still do their part, even when they’re scared or sad, can do a lot of good for Equestria.”
"The unicorn wizard who teaches is kinda scary," her foal finally said, "It’s hard to learn magic when I’m so nervous…”
Her daughter stared into the distance where the unicorn who had just lost his magic raising the sun had just walked. Although having met Starswirl herself once or twice, her mother understood how a young, skittish foal might feel a little intimidated by him. If only her daughter knew how powerful and wise this teacher was.
“Perhaps," her mother said, "For now, what about doing your part?” she said softly. “Who knows what you’ll get to do along the way.”
“Okay…” The little foal said slowly, drawing out the syllables and tossing her head to one side, flinging her soft pink mane about.
“I’ll still be here for you when you’re done,” her mother said. “Let’s go. You’re a brave mare, and I’m proud of you.”
Theirs was always a nation in turmoil, no matter who ruled the land. Things did get better over time. It wasn’t that long after that unicorns no longer had to sacrifice their magic to raise and lower the sun. Many of the life and death struggles felt much more manageable after that. Even still, her mother’s words rang true. It was amazing what one pony could accomplish if she kept doing her part, however small, to keep Equestria going. She never forgot what it was like so long ago to be so small, so timid.
It wasn’t easy for ponies in this new order of things to relate to some of the things this foal, now older and wiser, had seen in those early days. One friend of hers stood out more than others. Maybe it was because of how their manes had matched when they were young, maybe it was the soft compassion her young friend had for all creatures. The familiar, demure way her young friend handled herself around others reminded her of herself in her youth, doing what she could to protect herself from overwhelm.
Right now was one of those moments. Her friend was having a moment as she walked up, clearly feeling that overwhelm the old mare remembered, being put on the spot in Starswirl’s classroom years before. As the younger Pegasus hyperventilated, staring wide-eyed at nothing, the old mare looked into the smaller one's eyes. She knew now after all these years how much it meant for ponies to have strong, benevolent, caring guides to look up to, even when they had to face their greatest fears.
“Visualize with me,” she said. “You’re a princess. Regal. Commanding. Confident.”
Her smaller friend closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
The old mare bent down until their foreheads nearly touched.
“Feel the rising sun’s warmth.” she continued. “Equestria needs you.”
That was all it took. She watched as Fluttershy strode out to face the heckling crowd, armed with a confidence that no words or weapons could take away. It was the same confidence that carried Equestria itself through so many impossible situations, and it usually turned up in the ponies no one expected it from. With some determination, and gentle understanding that only comes from remembering what it’s like to feel so small, chaos itself could be tamed by souls like that.
With all that in mind, the old mare, who for many moons most ponies knew as Celestia, the princess who raised the sun each day, stepped back to the sidelines, doing her part, however small it seemed, to empower those in her care.
Author's Note
I really loved Mike Rowe's The Way I Heard It podcast, and thought an FIM version might be a fun thing to experiment with.
