Twilight's Final

A month after moving back into the castle, Twilight was in her main laboratory poring over Nucleosynthesisby Earl Stanley Trottingham, with occasional glances at the Horsesprung-Rustle diagram. She gradually became aware of Celestia behind her, and jumped a little despite herself. “Princess! Why didn't you say something?”

“I did.”

Twilight sighed a little. “You could have tried again.”

“I did that, too, Twilight. Three times.”

“Oh.” Twilight grinned sheepishly, despite the seriousness of it all. “Sorry. Why are you here? You can't seriously expect progress yet, I hope.”

“No, Twilight.” She hesitated, all too aware of the awkwardness of the situation. “I came to make sure you aren't driving yourself too hard.”

“Celestia, I know you mean well. I admit, it was a shock, and to be honest I'm still not certain how to feel, but I certainly don't think you're a monster. You're doing what you have to do for everypony. And I'm doing fine.”

“Eating?”

“Of course. Well, sometimes. I think.”

“Sleeping?”

“A little on Tuesday, but I can make it through a couple days without sleep.”

“Tuesday was four days ago.”

“Oh. Again.” Twilight looked at her work, then at Celestia. “Your Highness, I'm busy with three, no, four trains of thought I just can't let go of now. And a little hard work won't kill me.” She'd said it matter-of-factly, but at the expression on Celestia's face she wished she could take it back. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that.”

“I know, Twilight. Again, I'm sorry. I would let you have all the days an alicorn should. You know that, right?”

“I already said I did...” Twilight wobbled a little, feeling faint for a moment, then looked back at her work again. “You know,” she said slowly, “It occurs to me that I can't afford to be so tired I make a mistake. If I miss something now it could mean years wasted. What would you say to tea back in my living room?”

“I'm afraid I'm really quite busy, myself,” Celestia demurred. What executioner wants a pleasant tea with her victim?

Twilight, however, knew how to work more than one kind of magic. “Tea and cake?”

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As Twilight set cups on the table in her own, rarely-used living room, Celestia lightly inquired, “Have you any leads at all, no matter how speculative?”

Twilight understood that Celestia couldn't let this go, and as she sent a piece for cake to her Princess she answered, “Possibly. It might be possible to shift the strong coupling constant in the sun, sort of catalyzing further fusion past the iron stage in a self-sustaining spell. It violates the hay out of conservation of energy, but that's something magic's always pretty good at, right? It's a long shot, though. At best, it could give us several million years, but by then, with further encouragement in technological and thaumological development, we might be able to find a better answer.”

“That sounds promising!”

“Well, there are a couple downsides,” Twilight admitted as she sat down.

“Yes?”

“First, I think that some unicorns have never gotten past the event that created you and Luna, in a kind of subconscious memory. This would require a lot of work on their part, and I'm sure they'd never let anyone else forget it.”

Celestia put down her tea. “It haunts me, what they did for Luna and me so long ago. I think subtle memories of that hideous sacrifice are why legends say the unicorns used to raise the sun and moon.”

“They didn't do it for you, Celestia, they did it to you. And you couldn't do anything about what some ponies did when you were born. Even the ones who did it, well, I won't say I agree with it, but they saved all life on the earth.”

“I know. Logically, anyway. And in any case there is much that really I do have to answer for. You may not see me as a monster, Twilight – I believe you mean that, and I am grateful beyond words -- but nevertheless, no matter how good my cause, I think must be one. I'm no better than a doctor who saves a life, only to turn around and take it.”

Twilight sat there, then quietly observed, “You haven't even touched your cake. I baked it myself, you know. Rarity even had two pieces on her last visit, and if you don't at least try it, I'm afraid I just might have to change my mind about you.”

Celestia smiled, her first honest expression of happiness in a while, then took a small bite. “That really is quite good. You mentioned another downside?”

“Well, there's a small probability...”

“How small?”

“Twenty percent, plus or minus seven.”

“Fairly small, then.”

“...That thaumic feedback would expand the spell exponentially, effectively using the sun's entire supply of iron within a second.”

Celestia blinked. “Oh.”

“Effectively, a supernova. The complete destruction of all life, and indeed our entire planet being vaporized in the blink of an eye.”

Celestia nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, a bit of a downside, I’d say. On the other hand, the problem with unicorn politics would become rather moot.”

“I'm still trying,” Twilight noted, looking a little hurt.

“Twilight, you misunderstand me. Even this faintest of hopes is better news than we've had in thousands of years. Speaking of news, how did your friends handle yours? And Spike?” The latter in particular worried Celestia. She had practically been an adopted mother to the little dragon.

It was Twilight's turn to look downcast. “Spike's being the brave little knight for me, I think. Pinkie, though, well, Pinkie didn't throw a farewell party.” Celestia froze in actual shock, but Twilight continued. “Spike's had one or more of them up here every week since I left, though, and I think they're doing better now.”

Celestia gave a very little smile of relief. “And how is Trixie settling in?”

“Trixie. Yeah. Well...”

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A few weeks earlier

The novice (and probationary) bearer of the Element of magic galloped headlong through a series of abandoned diamond dog tunnels, her cape trailing behind her as she heroically cried out, “Somepony save Trixie's flank!” As she galloped, the aura of her horn her only light, crystal outcroppings threw her light into treacherous shadows she was sure something would leap from. Others reflections showed the undead creature gradually catching up to her from behind.

“No escape,” it called mockingly. “Give it to me.”

“Anyyyponyyyy!” she cried before skidding to a halt as a wall loomed in front of her. She frantically looked for an escape, her breath ragged from terror and exertion. Finding no was out but back the way she came, she stared at her oncoming fate with determination, and galloped toward the monstrous vampotaur.

She's kidding, the vampotaur thought as he stopped in surprise. She's kidding, right? He pawed at the earth before charging directly at her again, until she was almost within his clutches. Suddenly Trixie gestured and he was blinded by a cloud of smoke. Hearing her hoof beats now close behind him, he spun around and tried to follow blindly. By the time he cleared the smoke she was out of sight, the sound of her hooves echoing through the branching tunnels.

“Trixie would still very much appreciate a rescue! Now would be a good time!”

“Ah'm a-comin', Trix!” Applejack hollered as the earth pony galloped her way from a side tunnel. Trixie met her halfway and stood panting, almost unable to speak.

“What's your plan, A.J.?”

Applejack stared at the undead minotaur, who was back on Trixie's trail and flying rapidly at them. Where Trixie had to run around stalagmites, their foe simply batted them aside with apparent ease. “Yeah. Uh. Ah'll run ahead of you and cut down on yer air resistance.”

Trixie looked at Applejack with disbelief, then shrugged. “Trixie doesn't have a plan, either. After you.”

When they reached a fork in the caves, the unicorn hoarsely shouted at Applejack. “No, left!” Applejack, without a word, backed up and galloped left, Trixie right after her.

“You've got an idea now, Ah hope?”

“Trixie hopes so too! Take the second right, and then another right. No, Trixie means a left!”

Trixie's plan led them gradually upwards to another wall, this one a mass of boards nailed in place. Their backs against a wall, the two mares shared a glance.

“Trixie,” Applejack began. “When we got saddled with... Er, when you were appointed as Twilight's replacement, Ah had doubts about you. Gradually, you done proved yourself. Ah just want you to know....”

“Trixie knows, A.J.”

Applejack shook her head. “Actually, Ah wanted you to know that after you led us to this dead end just now, after you supposed you had a plan, well, all them doubts are back again. Just reckoned you oughta know before we died horribly 'n' all.” At Trixie's sour expression, she added. “Hey, Element of honesty, remember?”

The vampotaur caught up to them at that point, it's stench a second later, and when Trixie reached beneath her cape for another smoke bomb, he batted her hoof away with inanthrobovinely quick reflexes. “Give me back the phylactery,” he seethed at her. “I saw you hide it under your hat.”

“And then you'll let us live?” Trixie asked.

The dark figure grinned horribly. “What do you think?”

“I think you don't know that how earth ponies do magic,” Trixie exclaimed, shifting into her stage persona. “Do you know how?” Trixie then turned to Applejack with what she hoped looked like a knowing, confident smile, and repeatedly glanced from her to the wall behind them, then made a little motion of a rear hoof against it. Applejack's eyes grew wide.

Their living-impaired foe, fortunately, had not been dead so long as to be immune to a literary hook. “How?”

“Misdirection.” Trixie doffed her hat, and took out what she'd hidden under it: an ordinary rock, which, in what was possibly her last dramatic performance, she bounced off the fiend's nose. “The others probably have the real thing halfway to Canterlot by now for disenchantment. Next time you die, you're staying dead. And, for clarification, Trixie means the not-moving-around kind of dead.”

“That won't save you,” he gloated. “And I will have time to make another. You will die now, having accomplished nothing.”

“Nuh uh!” the magician countered intelligently, “Because Trixie knows where we are, and, according to her calculations, Trixie know what time it is.” Though I wish they were Twilight's calculations, because I've never been very good at math. It didn't seem appropriate to say. She rather wished she hadn't even thought it.

The vampotaur, though, had gradually caught on to her delaying tactics, and simply grabbed her by the throat before she could dramatically announce where they were or when. Her first thought was that this seemed remarkably poor form. “Acklack, ow,” was all she could get out of her strangled windpipe.

Applejack was trying to pull the powerful creature's hands apart, but even her strength couldn't budge them. “Beg.” Tug. “Pardon.” Tug. “Trixie?”

“'uck...”

“Trixie! Such lingo from someone what weren't even raised in a barn. Oh, wait, Ah hear ya! 'Buck!' Consarn it, why didn't you say so earlier?” Applejack bucked hard, hooves virtually exploding through the wall behind them and opening the tunnel up to daylight.

Trixie fell from the dying, well, de-animating undead creature's grip before it tried to hobble away, but it was already turning to dust before their eyes. “'Where' was an old, sealed-up exit. Trixie studies the stage where she'll be playing. And 'when' was nine in the morning.” She felt more than a little cruel as she mocked a defeated foe, no matter how many diamond dogs had met a grisly end as his cud, but she couldn't deny the call of the moment.

“'Tain't even a quarter of eight,” her farmpony comrade corrected after a quick glance at the sun.

Trixie rolled her eyes as she picked up her hat and carefully brushed off the dirt and vampotaur dust. “Really, A.J. You have all the dramatic style of a dull plow.”

“Element of honesty here, Trix.”

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Back in the present...

“Trixie's doing OK, overall,” Twilight answered. “She can't seem to use the Element of magic yet, but the girls have warmed up to her faster than I expected. Spike less so, but, well, that'll be harder for him.” She stifled a yawn, but Celestia caught it and set down both her cup and now-empty plate.

“I really must be going, Twilight. I strongly advise you get a little sleep. And I insist on taking another piece of your cake.”

“For Luna?” Twilight inquired, so innocently that Celestia knew she was being mocked.

“Let's go with that.”

After Celestia had left, Twilight yawned a lot more freely, and climbed the stairs to her main laboratory once again. Just a few notes while they're fresh in my mind, then bed. If the catalyst spell can receive positive feedback, maybe a governor spell can be overlaid to provide enough negative feedback... As she opened the door her thoughts were shattered by the figure she saw inside, glaring at her from tear-reddened eyes.

“Spike?”