//------------------------------// // Chapter VI // Story: Twilight the Tyrant // by Logarithmicon //------------------------------// The moon had long since risen by the time Twilight managed to stumble into her quarters. Four Moons of negotiations, come down to a single day, then a single moment. Twilight had taken one of her own feathers, dressed and trimmed it, and laid her signature upon the scroll alongside the others’. The subsequent party had stretched long through the afternoon and well into the evening. Her own involvement had been near-incessant, broken only truly by a brief recess to lower the Sun and raise its counterpart. She had asked their collective permission. ‘The first gesture in a new age’, she had said, and almost managed to feel sick at the misdirection while doing so. But now the sun was long since gone, and the last of her royal obligations dispensed with - all due small talk made, all unnecessary proposals and suggestions carefully sidestepped and dismissed. The crown and peytral came off, finding their careful places on the silk-bedded stands which held them while she slept. With them came the first mask she wore, a ruler’s calm departing to reveal with weary and bleary-eyed expression beneath. The royal gown, with its baffling collection of straps and ruffles and belly-bands, was removed rather less carefully. Exhaustion, by then, dogged her hooves, horn and wings alike. Rich fabric was left laying in a wrinkled pile upon the floor. Thank all Harmony there was dancing. If not, Rarity might have given me something really elaborate. It likely would not have made the evening intact. Her bed (or, perhaps, the merciful release from the day’s guilt that unconsciousness offered) exuded a near-gravitational pull that left Twilight having taken several steps towards it even before she noticed taking the steps. So, too, did it take her a moment to realize what had brought her to a halt. Then the knock was repeated at her door, followed moments later by a brown (these days, greyish-brown) mane. “Princess?” Raven asked Twilight winced. “Please, Raven. Just Twilight right now.” It had not been a rejection, and Raven did not take it as such - slipping the rest of the way in and letting the door fall shut behind her. “Forgive me, Twilight. I thought you seemed upset tonight, and I see I was right.” “Am I really that obvious?” “Only to me, I think.” Raven stopped before her. Forelegs bent in an achy bow which was quickly followed by a far less formal nuzzle, albeit one which only came up to Twilight’s shoulder. “You’re facing a mare who had to learn to read Celestia’s masks, after all.” “That’s good enough to read me, I guess,” Twilight said, turning away from the nuzzle. Raven paused, her head tilting at Twilight’s unenthusiastic response. “...if you desire to be alone, Princess Twilight, I can leave you be.” A pained smile turned up the corners of Twilight’s mouth, though it came nowhere near reaching her eyes. “You do not believe I should be, though. I can tell too.” “I can tell something is wrong.” Raven gave a light sort of shrug that bounced the bun of her mane. “Sometimes a pony needs time alone to gather their thoughts, but not when they are hurting.” “I never said that I am hurting,” retorted Twilight. A second later she realized how sharp - how incriminating - her words had been. “And that you chose to rebut that specifically tells me enough.” Turning about, Raven sat herself before Twilight again. “Why don’t you start by telling me why? That was a daring thing you pulled off today, Twilight. If it’s what you really believe, then you should be proud of yourself.” What I believe. “And what,” Twilight asked softly, “if I believe the whole thing was a convenient lie? A game of spells and mirrors to make them agree without thinking?” This time, Raven did not have an easy comeback.  Twilight took advantage of it. “It’s something Cadance said - ‘they’ll step on another pony’s tail, even if they stumble themselves, to stop that pony taking a step forward’? But that works both ways. As long as one pony is getting something good, they can’t help but go forward. I only had to bring in a hoof-full to get the rest of the herd moving.” “With any other pony,” Raven said softly, “I would wonder why it was so important that a piece of paper be signed when everypony already knows the Princess is the ruler. But I know you. What I don’t understand is why it would upset you that much that you’d move so quickly. This cannot just be about that foal of a mare during the open court session.” “‘Everypony knows the Princess rules’,” Twilight sighed. “...Princess? Twilight?” Twilight spun around again, fixing Raven with a firm look as she began to speak - quickly, sharply, a fresh coating of iron over the wounded core of her voice. “What if… what if I had been lying already, Raven? Lying about so, so much more than just what a piece of parchment says?” Raven’s tail slashed about as her brows clenched. “As far as I know, nothing you said was a lie, Princess. You were not dishonest… unless there is something more.” “I was. I have been. For the longest time now. I’m lying to you even now.” A brief, strained silence quickly folded in defeat as Raven glanced over Twilight’s face for only a second. Then she began to talk in a low, steady, carefully-controlled voice. “If you were to lie about what your intent was with that contract you just signed, Princess Twilight Sparkle - if you intend to violate it - then I would warn you to be very, very cautious. But that is not what I think you mean, is it?” “No. Not about the contract. Not - directly. But also yes.” “I know. I only had to look at you for a second to know that. Look, and use an old mare’s intuition to know that whatever this is, it cannot be that bad.”  Twilight’s voice was rising in both pitch and volume, frustration beginning to displace laughter again. “It’s not just the contract. Not just today. Or even just yesterday. You don’t understand.” “You’re right. I don’t totally understand. I’m not a princess, or an alicorn, but I know what I feel is right.” Raven returned to her seat, falling back to her haunches with a little huff and snort. When she looked up, though, Twilight Sparkle was not smiling. Instead, her entire form seemed to sag.  “Princess?” she said in a quavering voice. “I’m sorry,” Twilight said after a moment’s pause, her own voice none too steady. “It’s just, I’ve been lying to you. I’ve been lying to everypony all this time. I wish it were about being a stupid tyrant usurper, because that feels easy to fix in comparison. Luster’d turn up tomorrow and put an end to my tyrannical reign, and I’d go off to live the rest of my life somewhere that doesn’t have thrones. Or something.” “But it isn’t anything like that,” Twilight went on, “and it means I’m never going to be looking back from some day centuries in the future to think of this as funny. I’m never going to be Celestia.” “That’s not fair to you, Your Highness. It surely can’t be that bad-” “Raven, I’m aging.” For the second time that day, a leaden silence settled over them. This time, it was Twilight who fell to rest on her haunches. With the admission out in the open, strength seemed to leave her entirely: Head drooping and wings half-unfurling to hang limply. But somehow she still found it in her to speak. “I’m - I’m getting older. I’m not immortal. I never have been.” “ I - That can’t be - your body, you look just like her - we knew about Cadance, and Flurry Heart isn’t a foal anymore of course, but not you…!” Twilight shook her head. “It’s an illusion. A good one. Not just illusionary magic; I’ve actually slipped a little transmutation in to change myself too. But in the end, it’s an illusion. Fakery. Only a few know. Trixie, of all ponies, saw right through it. I had to swear her to silence - Harmony around us, she was so smug about it!” “Do you know- how fast-” “I don’t.” Corners of lips curled up, a bitter and pain-tinged smile. “I’ve only ever lived the one life, after all. No control sample to experiment against. But I can feel it. I used to be able to pull all-nighters without a problem. Now I’m exhausted far before midnight. I’m starting to ache in places. I’m slower. Time hasn’t stopped for me.” “But - why lie?” A wince twisted Twilight’s face at the sheer betrayal weighing Raven’s voice. “Because ‘everypony knows the Princess rules’. Equestria needs a Princess. Not a librarian pretending to be one. Cadance made the choice not to hide it when I was still a foal. But everypony - Everycreature - needs to see a Princess on the throne, to trust that there’s a mare in charge who has a plan and knows better. A ‘Princess-Princess’, Starlight once told me. They look at me and they see Celestia, even though I’m not, and they trust.” “Then when you promised them input on your raising of Sun and Moon -” Twilight nodded. “-but they see you look like Celestia, and they think you’ll be here millennia-” Twilight nodded. “-and when you go, it won’t apply to whoever wears the crown next-” Twilight nodded. “-they’re giving away something they didn’t even know they had, and gaining far less than they think they are,” Raven concluded. “Yes,” Twilight murmured back, “the agreement they signed is very clear about that. Very specific. I made sure.” Another sigh heaved at the broad, false ribs. “I was dishonest. I am being dishonest. I’m lying. It’s not right. It goes against everything I teach, and being a hypocrite makes me hurt in a totally different way than this achy body. But I don’t know what else to do because I’m going to be gone in decades, not centuries, and I have to think about what whoever comes after me will be dealing with too.” Raven nodded. “That’s why this ate into you. Because when you’re gone, somepony else is going to have to face this too.” “Yes. Someone new. Someone who won’t be appointed by the Sisters themselves. For over a thousand years it didn’t matter, because it was Celestia - or both of them - but it won’t be, won’t even be somepony who shares the trust and respect ponies already give me. Somepony might ask why they have to follow a princess in the first place. Especially if I - don’t live up to what the crown means.” “Does it - does it feel different?” “It feels awful. I’m afraid when everypony finds out, they’re going to-” “Your body, Twilight,” Raven said with a slight toss of her head. “Does it feel different, because you became the Princess?” “My body?” Twilight shrugged. “Maybe. It used to, but by now I’ve had the illusion in place for so long that I barely notice half the time.” Circling her bed, Twilight again went to stand by the window, and in Raven’s eyes she seemed to grow smaller with every step. “The only other one I willingly told was Spike. He was my first friend, even if I didn’t know at that time, and he deserved to know.” “That’s why you went to the Crystal Empire.” “Yes. He’s off working with Hive Heterocera. Spike has been… quiet-” Angry. “-since the hives split.” I think he might blame me. I’m sorry, Thorax. “Can I give one more piece of advice then, Princess?” “Of course, Raven,” Twilight said with a gentle smile. Stepping up, Raven drew to Twilight’s side and settled onto her haunches as well. Her eyes slipped shut, and for a moment she could almost imagine it to be another moment - a nervous (terrified, even) young new secretary and her first day beside a monarch who literally towered over her - and who, without warning, had stretched out an ivory wing to rest across her back and leaned down to whisper quiet words of advice of her own. “The world… is not a perfect place. We do not live in - what do the minotaurs call it?” “A utopia. We couldn’t live there, the word literally means-” Raven’s eyes slipped open again, her head tilted up to the far larger pony at her side, and she found Twilight looking down a teasing smirk. Raven chuckled. “Yes. That. We’re not there. We can’t be there. Every choice in ruling is a balance of what’s ‘right’ and what’s ‘must be’.” “I’ve heard this before, Raven.” “But you haven’t heard this.” Turning fully, Raven shakily lifted a weathered hoof to press against Twilight’s chest. “You aren’t a tyrant, because doing this bothers you. You don’t like deceiving your subjects. But you saw what you had to do. ” Eyes falling to where the ivory hoof pressed to her coat, Twilight lifted her leg to slip over Raven’s. “Sometimes I wish I could just be a tyrant. It’d be easier, at least.” “So do many other rulers.” “Did Celestia?” Raven pulled her hoof from Twilight’s turning again to trot from the window. There, off to the left if she craned her head, a far taller tower rose - its royal occupant absent now, though it still gleamed with her colors every morning. “I distinctly remember her proposing the assassination of three Griffon monarchs, one Minotaur chieftain, and two Zebra clanmaidens merely for being particularly persistent annoyances. “Ponies?” “To many to count.” “But she did not.” The smile widened on Raven’s face. “No. But when she did have to break her principles in smaller ways, it hurt her too. Even with you, Twilight Sparkle.” “With me?” “When she sent you to Ponyville. I think she was as much concerned with whether you would forgive her for the deception, as about Nightmare Moon in the first place. She was trotting back and forth here for hours, you know? Almost until the sun set.” Twilight’s heart skipped a beat, clenching so hard she feared for a moment that she’d be ill. Why that thought struck her so hard seemed elusive: The thought of Celestia being worried on her behalf? The thought that Celestia’s own deceptions had eaten at her so sharply as well? I never even thought of it. Of course, I understood she’d hidden something from us. I knew the second after the Elements opened themselves to us, when I saw Luna for the first time. But to be angry with Celestia…? “She wasn’t happy with her choices, Twilight Sparkle. But she made the right ones, even if they upset her. That’s what made her a good ruler, and that’s what makes you a Princess, Twilight Sparkle. Not wings, not size, not eternal life.” Bowing her head, Twilight laid her chin atop Raven’s head - nostrils flaring. “Thank you, Raven.” “You’re welcome.” “I still don’t feel like a Princess. Every crisis I’m facing, I lose some part of me. I don’t have any victories.” “I can’t say it will ever stop, Twilight. But tomorrow you can wake up, and Equestria will still be there to bedevil you with another crisis. Isn’t that a victory?” A smile, though slim, turned the edges of Twilight’s lips. “Goodnight, Raven. I will see you tomorrow, won’t I?” “I am nothing if not punctual, Princess.” Pulling back, Raven bowed her head again. “Goodnight, Twilight.” The door opened. The door closed.  And Twilight found herself before the largest window in her quarters once again, staring down: The palace. Canterlot. Equestria, spread out beyond that in a quilt shot through by glimmering lights in the dark. It would, she concluded, be there still tomorrow.