The White Rider

by Ascension Call

Chapter 1: The Old Forest

The shadows of the Everfree Forest’s trees blanketed much of its thickly-vegetated floor, and the black soil which lay hidden beneath the seemingly endless sea of shrubs and weeds was moist, and soft to walk upon. Dark shades of green and brown were the predominant colors of the forest, and there were few exceptions; the vivid blue patches of poison joke that sparsely dotted these woods were one example among the small handful of colorful flora and fauna that the Everfree was home to. Otherwise, the forest’s inherent lack of vibrancy and light served to make it a dull and bleak place, one which seemed to be filled with hidden dangers.

But little could daunt a wizard such as Gandalf the White, who was in high spirits as he trotted through the shrouded thickets. His staff, wrapped within his right hoof, struck the soil with each step forward. The Everfree he now walked in was completely different from the one he remembered, its once-youthful trees having grown gnarled, thick, and numerous. In fact, these woods did not look too different from those of Middle-earth’s Fangorn; the many more trees that time had cultivated here now blotted out much of the sun, and only occasional rays of light peeked through the leafy roof of the forest, like starlight poking through thick clouds that hung in the night sky. With the lack of daylight came an odd chill in the soundless, shadowed depths of the Everfree, but the fondness that Gandalf had for this world and all that dwelled within it warmed him. Coming back to this land had resurrected memories of a time long past, and they swam about in his mind, some dulled by the long years, but most left untouched and clear.

In the distance stood the shape of the stronghold that was Gandalf’s goal, visible despite the obstructive trees. Though he could see little more than an outline from where he stood, each step brought him closer, and while he was glad that he would soon bear witness to more of it, it was more important to him that he would soon be in the company of the Princesses. They stood out among all those who he had come to know throughout the years, for he had a history of friendship with them that was impossible to forget. The start of said friendship was so peculiar that even he, a wizard who had walked Middle-earth for three hundred lives of Men, found himself doubting that it had ever happened at times. How he wished to sit and reminisce about all those days! But he went onward and did not slow, for soon he would relive those days.

As his hooves met the earth, his breaths took generous fills of the air, which could only be described as smelling like a clear spring morning. An exceptional vitality stirred within him as he walked, as if the roots, stems, and air of the Everfree teemed with magic that invigorated his body and spirit. He felt as if all the troubles he had known and seen in Middle-earth and beyond were swept away, for the Dark and the Shadow that was Sauron and the greater evils that came before him did not exist in this land. Equestria knew only the darkness that came with night and shade, not that with the will to dominate and control. He felt renewed in this realm, as if he was reborn once more as a being purer than white.

Still, Gandalf preferred warm sunlight to the coolness of the shade of the trees, and he desired a sunlit place to rest. As excited as he was about what was to come, the entirety of the situation was more than a little overwhelming. The history of this land was weighing heavily upon him, as was his lack of rest. Fortunately, the woods gradually became brighter around him, lit by some source of light further on. He soon came across a particularly thick grove which numerous rays of light peeked through, and upon him crossing through it a sunlit clearing appeared in the distance. Eagerly, he went to it.

The small clearing Gandalf had found was ringed tightly with trees, giving it a circular shape. Tall green grasses filled the space, with the occasional clump of red or white flowers protruding from under them. Near the glade’s center sat a tall rock, which had obviously been weathered by the elements. Above, the impervious roof of leaves and boughs gave way to a view of the clear blue sky and permitted warming daylight to peek through, much to the wizard’s appreciation. Still, his view to the castle was largely concealed by the interfering trees, and he resolved to retrace his steps if he could not find a way between the trees. He placed his staff so that it stood propped up against the tall stone, and then sat by it. As the forest was open to the heavens, he could hear the melodious chorus of the birds that nested atop the trees, unlike in the serene, silent depths of the woods.

He set his gaze upon the dark wildwood that surrounded him out of instinctive caution. Danger was wont to hide in the shadows after all, though he thought himself paranoid for even thinking that evil could exist in Equestria. Still, centuries had passed since he had left, and time could twist even the simplest things into unrecognizable forms. The forest’s new, aged appearance easily depicted this, and society changed as rapidly as the soil it stood upon.

Gandalf’s contemplating stare shifted downwards, to a butterfly that was perched upon a group of flowers that grew nearby. He watched it absentmindedly as he pondered. The already-vast forest had evidently been left to grow undisturbed at some point after he had left, and he knew that the daily lives of many ponies necessitated a journey or two through the woods, since the hub of politics that was the royal palace sat within them. In the past, countless dirt paths snaked across the forest for ease of passage, but now it seemed as if all of them had been swallowed up by the wilderness; he could not find the faintest trace of them beneath the greenery. The old paths had been forsaken, but he couldn’t be sure why, and the guesses that he did make were ominous. For a second, the possibility that some unforeseen conflict had come and laid waste to ponykind entered his mind, and hung about him like a stormy cloud. Quickly, he forced that thought and others born from it from his mind, abruptly ending his fear. He sighed. Even here, he could not escape worry.

After a brief moment that felt as tense as the calm before a storm, the wizard decided to take an interest in his current manifestation. He raised his forelegs and inspected them, nodding slightly at the sight of the white hooves that were once grey. By the magic of the Maiar* he had chosen the equine incarnation that he had worn once before, and knew it to be a wise decision; having just re-entered the land after a lengthy absence, he did not yet know how (or even if) the native ponies had changed with the ages, but there was no doubt in his mind that remaining in the appearance of Man could possibly rouse panic in them, and he did not wish to frighten such innocent creatures. As a pony, he thought, he would be completely inconspicuous among the populace, in garb and manner alike. It was not the first time that he had chosen the appearance of a people that he wished to walk among.

Humorously, he could not help but fancy the reactions of those in Middle-earth if they saw he, the wizard Gandalf the White, in the current guise of a robed and bearded pony; it was certain, he thought as he chuckled, that the foolish Took and rascal Brandybuck would shake with the mightiest mirth of all his former companions, though Bilbo and those remaining of the Thirteen Dwarves would definitely liken him to Beorn*. Memories of his past adventures were stirred up, and for a moment the wizard was tempted to wonder once more about a great many things, particularly the remarkability of Hobbits, Dwarves, Men, and Elves, and the long roads he had walked alongside them. Still, he decided to postpone reminiscing to a more appropriate time. Recollecting was of no use if it prolonged current affairs, he reasoned.

Following a brief rest, he was no longer weary, and he stood and took hold of his staff. His brow furrowed slightly as he wrapped his hoof around it; this act, alongside most movement in this equine form felt alien to him. Maintaining the appearance of a human wizard for all of his time in Middle-earth had left him accustomed to living as a Man, and thus moving on all fours brought a persistent sense of awkwardness. His adjustment to the semblance of old Men that the Wizards wore had been swifter than this, from what he could recall, but he would manage. He made to leave, before suddenly remembering that he was in possession of a unicorn horn once more, and could possibly still wield the power that came with it.

With skeptical enthusiasm, Gandalf trained his focus upon the staff in his hoof. He held his breath, anxious to see if he had retained his old abilities. A simple telekinesis spell was all he was attempting. If his memory served him right, all he had to do was imagine levitating the staff, and his efforts would come to fruition. For a brief moment, everything around him was insignificant, and only the idea of grasping the staff with the extension of his being was on his mind.

Suddenly, sparks of greyish-blue burst forth from his horn, like dust being cleared off a long-forgotten artifact. Both the staff and his horn were now enveloped in auras of a color similar to the sparks. Awed, Gandalf began to form movements of the staff within his thoughts; as he imagined it spinning, it spun. A triumphant smirk formed on his face. The familiar sensation of ticklish warmth that coursed through him reminded him of days gone by, when he had first discovered the capability of unicorns to perform such versatile magic on a whim and had taken to it himself. He began to move his staff in a sweeping motion in the air in front of him, becoming both amused and annoyed at the juvenile nature of his entertainment.

By his control, the staff then dropped from the air and landed on the ground, the grey-blue aura disappearing from both it and his horn. For a moment Gandalf sat in silence, contemplating what he remembered of unicorn magic. Its mechanics were a mystery even to him, and all he knew for certain was that the presence of the horn was needed to wield it, meaning that only the unicorns and the alicorn sisters could make use of it. He also knew it to be a magic devoid of violence, that it served as a versatile tool for unicorns to grasp objects out of reach with, and that it could also manifest itself in such feats as illumination. Gandalf strained to remember more about it, but nothing surfaced from the murky depths of his mind, though he did remember penning a variety of methods that he felt the magic could be applied out of pure boredom and a spontaneous streak of creativity that stemmed from his vast knowledge of Istari* magic.

He laughed at this memory, mainly at himself at his own foolishness for doing such a thing. The differences between the magic of Middle-earth and the magic of Equestria were tremendous. How could he expect the peaceful Equestrians to adopt magic such as concussive forces or defensive shields when the land lacked warfare? He thought it a blessing that he could remember little of the impractical sorcery that he had so idiotically devised, and it was his hope that the pages on which he had scribbled all that drivel had been lost to time.

Nonetheless, the wizard’s condemnation of his past absurdity did not surpass his amazement at the fact that he was still able to wield Equestrian magic, even if he only saw it as a novelty. After all, gripping objects with magic felt more secure to him than taking hold of them with whatever force that Equestrian hooves used. It now fully dawned upon him that he knew so little of this world despite having spent quite a deal of time here, a revelation that made him even more eager to explore. He made it his aim to learn more of this land while he was here, and regain what he had forgotten as he did so. Before him was a feast of adventure.

Even though he had re-discovered the magic of unicorns, he had grown accustomed to holding the staff close and leaning on it as he walked, and he did so as he walked away from the stone that he had rested near. He then noticed a small break in the wall of trees surrounding him, and beyond that was a grassy path. Though it was overshadowed by the long boughs of taller trees that grew close to it, it was mostly clear of rough plants. More importantly, the way seemed to lead in the direction of the palace. He looked upon the castle as he crossed the glade to reach the path, intent upon admiring it as it re-entered his sight. Now that he was closer, Gandalf expected to see much more than the faint outline he had seen from a distance, but to his disappointment and surprise, a great curtain of white fog hung around the grand edifice and only a silhouette of it was discernible.

He had not seen the mist from afar, but now he understood why all he had seen of the glorious towers were mere shadows, and none of their shining splendor. But disappointment was quickly defeated by curiosity, for he did not remember the presence of the concealing fog, and he observed that the silhouette seemed to be misshapen, as if the palace that it represented was collapsed in much of its structure. He was intrigued, but he still had a ways to go and did not think much of it, instead dismissing it as a trick of the eye brought about by the rolling mists. Granted, the presence of the vapor was still unusual to him; the rest of the forest remained clear of it, and it seemed to envelop only the palace and its boundaries.

The path he chose brought him through woods that grew sparser and thinner as he walked on. He crossed the threshold between shadow and light as the woods around him came to an end near the wall of fog. The shadow of the castle that stood hidden in the white haze loomed over him, and it did not become any clearer as he neared it. Part of him expected the haze to part at any moment and reveal what lay behind it, so that he may bear witness to a place of no less wonder than the grand cities of Elven craft. But there was no sign of it parting, and it seemed so irregularly dense that when Gandalf stood very close to it, the castle remained just as obscured as it had from a distance. In fact, he could not catch even the faintest glimpse of the ground that he knew must lie before him.

A faint suspicion crept into his heart and he did not tread into the mist. It was far too organized to be natural. Nature favors spontaneity, yet it restricted itself to only the boundaries of the castle, as if were a fortification of smoke. Gandalf was now wary; he had seen many an instance of magic throughout his travels, and he knew enough to figure that this barrier was fabricated by some manner of sorcery, meaning it would be wise to examine it before walking into it with the abandon of a naïve fool. The rocks he saw in the grass at his hooves would suffice.

Wordlessly, the wizard focused upon a stone, intent upon levitating it. As expected, the familiar greyish-blue aura appeared and the rock ascended from the grass. For a moment, Gandalf examined the stone while it hung suspended in the air, as if seeing it in another light. Then, bracing for whatever consequences that may result, he imagined swinging the stone forward and released his magical hold on it as he did so, flinging the stone into the mist. His surprise at the success of his attempt did not show as he eyed the flying rock.

While nothing seemed to happen when the stone plunged into the thick fog, Gandalf did not hear the sound of the stone hitting the ground. It was as if the plumes of white concealed no earth, as one would assume, and truthfully hid a deep chasm. Thinking himself mistaken, Gandalf reached for another stone that lay near him and flung it into the haze in a similar fashion as the last. Once again, no noise was heard by him aside from the rustling of the trees behind him in the faint breeze.

The implication that the fog stood upon no ground was not lost on Gandalf. He now gazed at the cloudy expanse in front of him with narrowed eyes, his old wits attempting to decipher the purpose of the mysterious obstacle. It was far too conspicuous to be a trap, which left him to conclude that concealment was the sole purpose of this interference. Still, it was more disturbing to him that there was a barrier here at all. Instantly he was uneasy, and he became anxious about what lay behind the curtain of smoke. His concern for what had become of the ponies only heightened this anxiety.

He was now aware that the day seemed to be waning, for the shadows of the trees had grown longer, as if they were talons reaching to entrap him inside these unfamiliar woods. The wary wizard within Gandalf began to stir, and he glanced at the silver handle of Glamdring*, which glinted at his side. His senses were now as sharp as the blade he had brought with him.

An abrupt breeze that came sweeping through the tense air startled him, but he did not fidget. The wind seemed cold to Gandalf, chillingly so. He glanced behind him and was met with the sight of the woods, which, now darkened with the lowered sun, seemed more ominous than it had moments ago. All of a sudden a second breeze blew, though it was more of a strong gust. The wizard’s eyes widened as he realized that the strength of the wind was blowing apart the mist. He watched with bated breath as the veil of white began to swirl rapidly, its firmness wavering easily. The white expanse vanished as its clouds drifted away with the wind, and at last the castle that had been hidden was uncovered. At once, Gandalf’s breath caught in his throat.

His prediction had been correct; a deep fissure cracked the earth in front of him, forming a wide rift in the ground between where he stood and the opposite side of the ravine. The chasm’s depth could not be seen, for another screen of white fog covered it. No such fissure had split the earth here before, and Gandalf knew it to be improbable that such a deep one could have formed by nature even in the time that he had been gone for. There had been other forces at work here. However, Gandalf’s attention was drawn mainly to that which stood across the gap.

Rather, it would be a better question to ask what still stood. A great sundered ruin laid there, its walls cracked and unwhole. Its towers were shattered, broken to the point of such frailness that it seemed as if the weakest breeze would easily lay waste to their crumbling shapes. Over every structure clung creeping clusters of black vines, like the fingers of some creature of shadow, while strange, twisted trees grew among the destruction. Such decay made it clear that this place had been abandoned long ago.

For a moment, Gandalf’s disbelief stunned him, and he simply stared as his brow furrowed in a rare instance of bewilderment. Briefly, he believed his eyes to have been cheated by some spell, but his wishful thinking was in vain. He knew that what he saw was no illusion, for the castle, as decrepit as it was now, was undeniably the same as the immaculate palace crowned by golden spires that he saw in his mind’s eye. But now nothing was left of the stained-glass windows and mighty battlements. All that remained was a mere shell.

“What is this trickery?” muttered Gandalf as he surveyed the scene. He had no answers to the multitude of questions that were plaguing him, and the mix of great confusion and even greater distress weighed heavily upon him, albeit his errorless composure was not threatened. His wizardry had long since taught him that nothing could be judged wisely until all facts had been seen and considered , and he had only seen the outside of the deteriorating edifice from afar. Perhaps inside, he reasoned, he would find something to shed light upon this dark discovery.

The shock of the find wore off quickly, and was replaced by a determination to figure all this out. Though placid, he searched for a way across the crevice with a heavy heart. He did not have to look for long; further along the precipice, a wooden bridge spanned the crevasse. A grim stroke of luck, he thought, as he made his way to it.

The bridge was in no decent condition. Like the ruin it led to, it was frail in appearance, consisting of nothing other than rotting, vine-entangled ropes suspending rickety crudely-shaped wooden boards, with two stone posts between which he stood serving as the anchors on which the cords were tied. Gandalf stood at the foot of the bridge, now observing the chilling sight from a new perspective. Now the silence that was left by the lack of the sounds of mighty horns and hooves was overwhelming, and the lifelessness of it all unnerved him even as he watched it from afar.

What had become of the ponies? What had become of Celestia and Luna? A cataclysm large enough to leave the castle in ruins certainly did not bode well for them. True, time was the destroyer of all, but the Royal Sisters were both immortal, not to mention powerful to the point that even the natural cycles of the world were easily manipulated by them. Natural disaster was not the cause of this abandonment. Furthermore, their popularity among their subjects ruled out revolution, and he could not imagine any combative threat that could withstand the combined might of the two, so warfare was unlikely as well. For once the White Wizard had no good guesses, for he still knew too little to make them.

But above all his thoughts, there was guilt. He had promised to return to them, but now it seemed as if he would never be able to keep his promise. Had he come to visit sooner he would have been able to intervene in whatever caused this, or at least visit once more if there was nothing but time that left the castle in such a state. It was somber irony, really; he would go on to gain victory in Middle-earth, but lose all that he had in Equestria. Now he dreaded what he may find within the cracked walls of the castle. He prayed that it did not also serve as a tomb.

Gandalf stepped on to the bridge, half-expecting it to collapse and sighing when it did not. It was not a sigh of either relief or weariness, but of lamentation. The deep chasm stretched right underneath his hooves, while the castle’s entrance lay straight ahead of him across the bridge, haunting in its entirety. The sun was setting behind the ruins, so against the orange dusk sky the castle was a monstrous black shape, jagged and uneven. Even now Gandalf could not expel the echoes of the golden past from his mind, and so his thoughts flashed between then and now as he crossed the bridge. Where there was now the weak wooden bridge and unnatural chasm there once was firm earth covered with fresh green grass; where there was now untended wild grasses growing at the foot of the castle there once grew noble gardens brimming with the many-colored buds of bright flowers; and where there was now a silent wooden door leading to foreboding ruins there once was a grand grate flanked by stallions in armors of gold and silver, while rowdy ponies from all across the land fraternized inside and outside of the white palace.

But reality returned quickly to Gandalf, who was not one to be confounded by delusions. He had crossed the bridge and now stood close to the small stone posts that secured it on this end, his hooves standing upon the soft soil. The ghastly husk of the castle was closer now, and hopefully so were the answers to the riddles of these discoveries. He spotted the flight of stairs leading into the palace, the very same upon which he had once sat to marvel at the green lands and forests that lay before the castle. He looked behind him to view the woods. Now the blossoming Everfree was cruel and aged and even the very earth had become split. Gandalf looked into the chasm.

Hidden from the sinking sun, the fog that had whitened the depths of the chasm was covered in shade, so that nothing could be seen but a pitch-black hollow that looked like the open maw of some ravenous beast. Gandalf could see no bottom to the drop, and suddenly he could envision himself falling into it. While he stood firm on his four hooves he could practically feel the wind rushing past him, and see the rough rock of the chasm’s walls as he descended rapidly through the world’s deepness, the darkness illuminated by the fire-light of a great beast of shadow and flame that fell with him.

He blinked and the memory of his descent through fire and deep water dispersed as quickly as it had come. Though it had been nothing more than a brief and random flashback, the recollection had been vivid enough to jolt the air of dreary calmness and leave the wizard dismayed. The battle against Durin’s Bane* had been a desperate battle to the death; it was painful to even recall, and Gandalf remembered little of it aside from endless shadow and fire. A second wary glance into the shadowy abyss showed little other than darkness in the jagged pit, after which Gandalf gave an involuntary sigh of relief. Nothing but his fatigued imagination had caused that odd vision, or so it seemed.

“Can a wizard not enjoy even one instance of respite?” Gandalf said to himself as he recounted all that had been revealed to him this past day. Not one revelation had been pleasant aside from the re-discovery of his unicorn magic, and the sparked memory of his deadly past foe had left him on edge. Dismissively he turned away from the chasm and set his eyes back on the sinister monument of Equestria’s past. He was tired and glum, even more so than before now that he stood right before the former palace, with shadows creeping on all he saw with the steady coming of night. The door stood there set in the stone, unmoving yet beckoning. Behind it, he hoped, lay the answers he sought.

He could feel a chill crawl up his spine as he drew nearer to it, the fractures and splits in every stone and structure growing more and more discernible to him with every step. They looked almost like the wounds in the bone of some long-dead creature. Now his previous fears resurfaced; thoughts of ancient corpses and rusted weaponry came to mind, as did other nameless horrors. Who was to say that a discovery not unlike that which had awaited the Fellowship in Moria now awaited him within this castle’s destroyed walls? He had no way of knowing aside from entering, of course.

Now he stood at the foot of the steps of the castle, looking into its obscured windows and all around for any hint to hidden danger. Seeing none, the wizard made to climb the stairs with great trepidation, a flood of guesses as to what lay behind that tall door having burst in his heart at this critical moment. His hooves made steady clacking sounds as he ascended the stairs. Each step returned pieces of his history here to his mind, and by the time Gandalf had reached the top of the steps and his hoof was set against the door an intricate portrait of yesteryear had been painted in his mind. His eyes saw the beaten wood and rusted metal of the time-trodden door before him, but his spirit saw a regal entrance built of robust lumber, with gleaming steel fittings set into it. Perhaps all this would be revealed to be a simple jest by those two mischievous sisters? Perhaps a spell of theirs had hoodwinked him into seeing the castle as nothing more than a ruin for the sole purpose of fooling him, and they would reveal themselves soon? They did enjoy the occasional prank-pulling on their beloved ponies, with Celestia being the more playful of the two. It was certainly not beyond them to conjure up a trick such as this, he thought.

But despite all this rumination the door had not yet been opened, and Gandalf pushed his right hoof against the firm wood with little hesitation. For a gateway that did not appear to have been opened for a great many years, it took little effort to shift the doors upon their surely rusted hinges even as they creaked. Gandalf glanced at the metal components and was surprised to see that while they had obviously been long-disused, the rust on the hinges showed little breaks, as if the door had been forced open fairly recently.

“Alas, another mystery!” Gandalf muttered. “For what reason had this door been opened?” Evidently something had entered the ruined castle for some unknown purpose. Had his guess been correct, and this was a clue to a frolicsome scheme by the sisters? Or was this a sign that something potentially dangerous lurked behind the door? Slowly Gandalf pushed it open, as if he were drawing the curtain away from something that had lay concealed beneath it for longer than any remembered.

The scene that was revealed to him brought a simultaneously relieved and disappointed sigh: neither bone nor broken blade lay upon the cold stone floor, but he saw no sign of the two regal mares either. The palace hall was uncharacteristically bare now, and looked just as bleak inside as its walls did from the outside, only the inside was filled with shadow. Seeing this, Gandalf took note that night had come and day had gone. The sky above looked almost like a vast purple ocean, with stars floating like white gems within it.

The door closed with a thud as Gandalf shut it behind him, knowing that even though all had gone from the palace he would stay to relearn what he had forgotten, and learn what he did not know. This very room, like many other places throughout this world and the one he had left, was filled with the ghosts of his past; a lofty ceiling from which great golden chandeliers and draperies depicting emblems of the two Princesses had hung once stood in place of the vast ocean of dusk, and long tables upon which the most sumptuous of Equestrian feasts were arrayed filled almost the entire hall, which was lit by torches placed all upon the great walls and pillars that now stood shattered.

Gandalf walked forward into the darkness, looking about as he went. The walls that had once held windows crafted from elegant glass now stood with empty arches, many of which were broken. Seeing everything so still in a room that was once brimming with life was surreal. It was familiar, but at the same time completely unrecognizable. To Gandalf this was almost like a dream; here he existed and walked upon his legs, breathing and seeing, and yet it all seemed so unreal to him for exact reasons that he could not interpret.

But amidst the ruined stonework and the glimpses past time that followed them, there stood a sculpture in the very center of the room that roused nearly-forgotten memories from Gandalf’s mind. It was an immense pedestal upon which a short but thick column capped with a great white stone sat, and from that column extended five more pedestals of greatly smaller size. Even though the monument had been somewhat worn and was now dressed in moss, Gandalf easily recognized it for what it was.

“The Elements of Harmony,” Gandalf said, and the words felt foreign on his tongue from their lack of use. Though he knew that what he saw now before him contained the most powerful magic in Equestria, his lack of knowledge of them left him less awed than he had expected. Friendship was the most powerful magic in Equestria, and aspects of it, specifically Honesty, Kindness, Laughter, Generosity, and Loyalty, were harnessed by some ancient magic to be used as forces capable of purging any evil that set foot in Equestria. It was for this reason that Gandalf knew that evil had no place in Equestria. How could there be malice in a place where friendship was both commonplace and a powerful force against it? He had no other words other than “miracle” to describe this magic of Equestria, and it was one of the many regrets of Gandalf that he had not found out more of them from the Princesses.

“Had such a weapon been in the hands of the Free Peoples, Sauron would not have lasted long!” Gandalf laughed, though it had been more of a small joke and less of a serious belief. After all he did not even know how the power of the Elements manifested itself. However, something seemed inexplicably different about the sculpture now aside from its aged appearance. Something was missing from it, but he could not be sure what. The wizard carried on nevertheless, making a note of his observation.

But even though the sight of the Elements had raised his spirits somewhat, he became grave again. Celestia and Luna were nowhere to be seen, and even though he saw no true evidence that pointed to the demise of the ponies of Equestria and their rulers, he could not imagine any other explanation for the utter lack of life here. Still, Gandalf carried onwards past the sculpture of the Elements. He spotted the door that he knew would lead to the Grand Courtyard of the palace, and went to it, pulling open the rusted doors by way of his magic.

By now dusk had turned to complete night, and the stars above shone brighter in the darkness of the night sky. The moon hung in the distance, ever watchful, and eternally spreading its light. But the starlight and moonlight revealed only more ruins to Gandalf, which had been concealed behind the walls when he had first set his eyes upon its new form. The countless stairways that led to the intricate network of castle chambers had been reduced to little more than debris, though most of the towers were far too unstable to enter anyway. The stairs leading down from the wall atop which Gandalf stood were somewhat wrecked, but they supplied him an easy jump down.

The fine cobblestone of the courtyard had long since split and given way to wild grasses. Much of the courtyard was covered in debris, and had been rendered impassable as a result. Gandalf did not see any paths through the debris that would lead him to another part of the palace. As he walked he noticed that unsurprisingly, the statues that he had once admired in the courtyard were nowhere to be seen, undoubtedly crushed beneath the fallen stones of the surrounding buildings. Then, he saw that one flight of stairs had been left untouched. A tall tower that he knew to be the Royal Observatory was still accessible, and so he headed for the staircase. He made sure to watch his step as he went up, taking care not to further damage the steep stone steps. Near the pinnacle another heavy wooden door stood, and he easily opened it and entered a narrow, winding stairwell.

Moments later Gandalf reached the Observatory proper. A view of all the lands would be greatly helpful, for he wished to see Equestria beneath the silver moonlight. It was his hope that some trace of the sisters could also be found. The room he was now in was even more massive than the hall; windows lined the wall on each side, and a tall window stood at the wall on the other end of the room. He had not been in this part of the castle much during his previous stay here.

Hurriedly, he sprinted for the vast window at the other end of the room, which, though obscured somewhat with tall-reaching vines and mosses, gave a clear view of the lands. Setting himself before it, the wizard took the first glance of the entirety of Equestria that he had see in far too long.

Though the night bestowed light upon the land he could still only see black shapes, much to his disappointment. He did not complain, however, for the vastness of the land became apparent to him once again. Far, far from where he sat atop that ancient tower were great mountains of old. There they sat, immovable, the very same mountains that the wizard had seen a millennium ago. At the foot of the tower stretched the Everfree, which Gandalf now saw had grown far larger than he had expected it to. The masses of trees covered miles and miles of hills and bog, and after them stretched miles and miles of darkened plains. The enormousness of it all struck a chord of amazement within Gandalf.

Then weariness took him. He had not slept in what felt like days, and he was eager to rest. He lay down upon the stone. The awkwardness in doing so as an equine was lost to him in his exhaustion, and his form lay huddled against the window with his staff, sword, and baggage at his side. He yawned, and then a song of travel old Bilbo had composed on one of his many journeys came to his mind. Softly, he sang.

The song brought to mind the sweet smell of grass and the sound of rushing water and chased away his doubts and fears. For now at least, the wizard would rest. As sleep set in he thought he could see the spires of another palace set into the side of a distant mountain, its white towers glinting in the everlasting light of the stars and moon. But darkness took him quickly, and in his slumber he dreamed of travels beyond thought and time. Tomorrow would bring what it would.