Celestia - diarch of Equestria and beloved leader of almost three hundred million ponies - stared silently at the sheet-covered sodden mass at her hooves as it leaked pink water onto the grey concrete floor. Some small part of her mind wished she had a blanket to ease the ache of chill seeking into her pelt from the cold slab beneath her dock. Such normal, common thoughts.
She listlessly reached a golden-shod hoof out to prod at the wet remains. Outside, the damp morning was giving way to a slightly less-damp noontime as this alien world spun in its unchangeable path around the massive sun. Despite not having a connection to the star above - indeed, the entire sky felt vaguely wrong to her - Celestia could feel the moments sliding away from her. For a time, there was no sounds save the alien cries of birds from outside and her own forcibly calm breathing. The air smelled salty. Then, from the still-opened doorway, one of her Royal Guard cleared his throat.
"Your highness." A simple phrase said without emotion as all Royal Guards are trained. But he was afraid. Celestia could smell his fear. She understood it as instinctively as her own anger. Without missing a beat, the Guard continued, "the creatures have been contained inside the larger of the two buildings."
"Have they been harmed?" A pause. Though she was not looking at him, Celestia could imagine his confusion. She brought her hoof up, watching as the pinkish water slid down the polished surface. There was much of both things this day - confusion and blood.
"No, your highness."
"See that they remain that way. I will be along shortly."
"Your will." The clop of his hooves on the path outside signaled his departure and Celestia was left with the remains of her most faithful student and friend as well as her own thoughts - alone on an alien world.
"There was a reason Star Swirl never completed that spell." The sound of her voice from inside the building caused both mens' heads to snap up. As large a creature as Celestia was, she knew how to move silently. It was surprising to many how quiet she could be when she tried. One of the men eyed her warily, his hardened face a shocking simularity to her own Guards. The other barely acknowledged her presence, wrapped in a guilt that was deeper than words could express. What right did he have to feel guilt? Celestia fought her anger down, stuffed it into a nice purple box studded with gems and empty of all that could be worthwhile. She took a shuddering, calming breath before continuing. "We never knew what exactly he would find on the other side, you see. There was a great deal of fear about the possibilities."
The larger of the two men - an 'Adams' as he introduced himself - hid his emotion well. It might have worked on a lesser mare but his fear was as plain as the shivering of the smaller man. Celestia found it darkly comical how close these creatures were to ponies. Their faces may have been flatter, their ears less expressive. But their eyes. Their eyes told tales. Such emotions. Her own were speaking volumes, she knew.
"And now we come to the crux of all ... this." With as much a regal demeanor as could be salvaged from her shaking hooves, Celestia blinked past the sudden blur and stared the larger of the monsters in his eyes. "Why did you take my little Twilly from me?"
She felt the tears as they fell but ignored the salty smell. She wanted - needed to see their eyes. She needed them to see her pain and she needed to see their truth, their ways. She needed to confront the monsters that stole her student - her friend from her. She wanted to see hate. She wanted to see anger. She wanted a reason to lash out at them. Her breath caught in a choked sob. Their faces were filled with confusion above all.
The larger man's face softened for a moment. It was subtle and a pony would need decades of experience to see it but Celestia had treated with harder creatures than this before. He reached a fleshy and calloused claw out, beckoning her towards a small stack of books. Books aligned in such a way that Celestia knew exactly who had last perused them.
"Let me show you something, Pale Horse."
This planet's moon was so strange. Instead of Equestria's pale orb of pure silvery white, Earth's moon was pocked with craters and large splotches of dark color - 'mare' as the humans called them. It was so odd, to see the heavenly bodies rise above the horizon without intent. Without some intelligence behind them. It was so odd to watch the sun set without a will. And such a star-scape. Twilight would have loved to watch the stars here. To see patterns that no Princess had set, to find order in the chaos of chance. Celestia wiggled herself against the rough grit of the simply shingled roof, a coarse blanket warding the chill winter air from her pelt. It felt wrong to have such comforts.
"So peaceful. Such beauty in random chance." The words left her muzzle without force - barely a whisper against the sounds of crashing waves from the nearby shore. Yet they were heard as she knew they would be.
"Your highness." One of her newly recruited guards stepped forward hesitantly. The crunch of his iron shoe was unmistakable. Despite all the training, despite all the enforced discipline, they knew when a pony was in pain. She flicked an ear at his approach but did not turn her gaze from the marvels slowly turning above her. Or if the humans were to be believed, as she spun about below them.
"Is the - is my ... friend at rest?" She smelled the smoke as it gave its answer. The guard's nervous pawing at the roof gave the answer. The slight ruffle of his feathers against the undoubtedly cold steel of his armor gave the answer. In her mind she knew the answer. Yet she needed to hear it all the same.
"Yes, your highness." A piece of her heart felt as if it had shattered and Celestia finally knew - in her heart - that she was less one more friend. And she finally allowed herself to weep.
"I was wrong." The large human's - Adams' voice cut through the air in that quietly commanding way of his. It was a statement of fact and brooked no argument. Celestia glanced slightly at him before turning back to regard the clouds lazily drifting overhead. The sun was warm and bright and seabirds called to one another in the distance. A chill wind sent the trees a waving in the air and Celestia was reminded of the sounds of waves on a distant shore. And stars. She closed her eyes and fought back the images of a purple smile and bright, curious eyes. A filly's eyes.
"Do you feel guilty, Mr. Adams?" Her throat felt like sandpaper and it was a chore to hold back the lump that threatened to burst, spilling her torment into the air and the ground and the water. That threatened to scorch all to ash except her. That threatened to banish all light except her. That froze and burned and tore all the glamor from life.
"Yes." His voice brought her back, gave her a rock upon which to land before all sense and reason was whipped away by the hurricane. With a slow and deep breath, she turned and regarded him. Though he struggled to remain unchanged, his shoulders bowed just enough. Just enough. His eyes were tired and the blood of his friend's death stained his hands. The body of an innocent was burnt, the body of another found drained of life by his own hand. And yet this man endured. "Do you hate me? Us?"
Celestia paused before responding. While her tired eyes searched his, her mind stroked that gem encrusted purple box deep within her self. It felt colder, empty. Empty.
"No, Mr. Adams. I am angry. I - I hurt. But I do not hate you."
"Why?"
"Because I ... understand why you felt as if you had to do what you did. Because as much a monster as I wanted to create out of you, you are no monster." She turned from him, her eyes tracking a bird - so like an Equestrian animal - as it banked on an updraft of warmer air. The sun momentarily hid itself behind a random cloud and she shivered unconsciously. The silence stretched, words unspoken stringing themselves along the shore like so many small pink waves.
"I forgive you." Her words surprised them both. The cloud moved on and warm light once more filtered down into the yard. Celestia opened her eyes, her vision unblurred. "I forgive you."
"God has tested me and I have failed." The rock crumbled. She could hear the pain in his voice, the desperate pain of the forgiven. He lashed at her with it. He lashed at them both with the pain. Celestia heard in his voice Twilight's cry of surprise and pain, the struggling sob as confusion and hurt - so much hurt - battered at her. She heard the wet thunk of the iron tool driving sense away, leaving only instinct and pain. She heard the sound of well-manicured hooves striking cold concrete, the sucking sound as knife entered again and again. Driven by fear, driven by history, driven by animal instinct to be.
She smiled and bore her lashes well. Gently, she nuzzled the crumbling statue of flesh beside her as she once nuzzled a scarred purple filly who had just had her book fort crumble around her. She opened herself and poured her love onto his cracks.
"In failing, we learn. There is nothing that can be done that cannot be forgiven." The winter air felt suddenly very cold to her. Celestia whistled her Guards to her side again and left the stone man's side, turning to face him with a gentle smile. "I think I will hide Star Swirl's work for a time. A long time. I do not think either of our peoples are quite ready for ... another mistake."
"I'm sorry." The water, turned to ice in the cold winter air, forced apart the pieces of rock and left the man behind. His voice was quiet and his strength spent. He was nude before her despite his heavy winter clothing and she bowed her head to his shame.
"I know, Mr. Adams. As am I. Good day, Mr. Adams."
In Light, she was gone.
John Cook Adams
Coast Guard, Writer, Husband, Father
Aug. 6 1971 - Oct. 12 2058
In the first rays of the Sun on the eve of Her Ascension, I killed an Angel of the Sun in fear. And though the Sun gave to me forgiveness, I could not forgive myself. Glory be unto God and may eternal rest forever be Hers. Amen.
Author's Note
“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
Sometimes, the worst thing we can be given ... is forgiveness. And sometimes, it's ourselves we need to forgive.
Probably not my best writing but inspired writing is never polished. It doesn't show, it doesn't tell - it feels. At least, I hope it does.
