The Once and Future Princess

by Rustling Leaves

On the Day She Cried

INCIPET LIBER PRIMUS

It is always sad, more so when one is experiencing the shame or anguish for oneself, but sad too to the casual observer when one is confronted with a comfortless, crying youth. The young feel passion more honestly, if not with the depth that comes from long years of wear on the heart, and so, when confronted with the sight of a truly sad foal, one cannot help but feel an instant swell of pity.

Therein lies the difficulty, though, as with the surge of pity comes a desire to repair, and it is not typical of the youth of any species to wait to mourn until there is truly something wrong.

So it was on this day, very early in her life that a young filly ran, wailing like the damned, down the darkling streets of Canterlot. Such was her distraction that she crashed more than once into those good-hearted souls who took no mind only because they knew they probably could not help. Indeed, her distraction was such that more than once she fled the grip of those better-hearted ponies who sought to comfort the strange foal.

Convinced in her grief that there was none to comfort her—bitterness and frustration cancelling out all the good and better folks she'd passed—she fled to the refuge she'd frequented most in her young life: The Canterlot Public Library.

The public library of Canterlot, at that time, was not the library that you or I might think of today. What is now called simply "The Canterlot Library" was at that time (and still is, technically) The Royal Canterlot Library, and while access has long been available to all walks of society, that library was much further from this filly's magic kindergarten than the much smaller library to which she fled.

The little public library on this side of town was one of those squat, stone buildings that have seen too much of history and have been re-purposed and rebuilt countless times. The heavy, mahogany door that she could only push open enough to squeeze through had been installed after a fire that burned down the hospital it had been at the time. There were rumors that before that it was a house of ill repute, and before that it was a little smaller and housed weary travelers on their way to petition Celestia the Undimmed (for thus she was known commonly at the time).

History was sketchy before that—records couldn't be trusted, really, beyond about 600 years, and the immortal Princess never bothered to say what was there before. If you were to ask the proprietress of the library, though, she'd have told you (and she'd have been right) that the ancient parts of the building had once been the family residence of Star Swirl, who had only recently become known as Star Swirl the Bearded.

All Twilight knew, though, was that here she could be alone, and it was quiet.

Paperback, the Librarian, had seen and spoken to Twilight a number of times, since even as a filly Twilight read a great deal. When she slid in the heavy door and shot past, Paperback was rightly concerned, and she stood to follow her.
"Twilight Sparkle? Was that you? Are you alright, dear?"

Twilight didn't respond; she just kept running, galloping madly down the hallway, down the stairs, and into her favorite reading nook between some shelves in the basement. She loved it down here because, even though it was close and dim, the smell of old books permeated the room.

She collapsed into the cushion she was wont to use and sobbed. Behind her she heard Paperback's slow clop down the stairs. She wished she could be left alone. She reached up to the top of the cushion, where most of the good padding seemed to have migrated, and pulled it down to bury her face, when she saw the most peculiar thing.

Twilight paused in her weeping, sniffed, rubbed her eyes, and checked again. Behind the cushion there was an ornate "TS" embossed on the old stone and seemingly unworn like the rest of the ancient wall.

She pulled harder on the cushion, then climbed it and wedged herself between the cushion and the wall and pushed. When she'd finally unearthed it, the full inscription read:

T.S.
On the day she cried.

The clacking of pursuing hooves had grown louder and louder and all at once ceased. Now that she was curious about this inscription, and fighting her natural instinct to assume that it was meant for her, she felt silly about the wailing, and about rushing past Paperback without even a hello. She didn't want to come out from behind her cushion.

"Hullo. You must be Twilight Sparkle."

That was not Paperback. That voice sounded deep, it was a stallion's voice, and one she'd never heard before. She peeked up over the cushion.

Grinning at the sight of a wide-eyed filly peeking her watery eyes and nub of a horn over the top of the cushion stood a youngish-looking stallion of midnight blue, sporting a long, matted, grey mane and a short, sparse, grey beard. The beard both gave him a somber, wise demeanor and made him look curiously like a goat.

"Yes," she sniffed, still peering over the cushion, "Who are you?"

"I am called many things, but you may know me as Star Swirl."

Twilight was nothing if not polite, but at that time, for she was still very young, she had no idea of who Star Swirl was. "Nice to meet you. How did you know my name?" Twilight said.

"I know many things, Twilight Sparkle. So will you, someday. What brings you down here today?"

"I wanted to be alone."

"You were crying?" Star Swirl asked, ignoring the hint.

"Yes.”

“Why?”

Twilight sighed; this wasn't really any of his business, and he was a stranger, should she even be talking to him? “Because school is hard,” she said shortly. “Did you leave the message?"

Star Swirl seemed to find that funny, as he was suddenly suppressing a laugh. "I did. I'm glad you found it. Come, Twilight. There is much to do, and little time." He turned.

Used to obeying adults, Twilight climbed up over the cushion. When she'd lifted herself fully out of her hiding place, she discovered that the room was quite different. Instead of bookshelves, there were new-looking barrels in long lines, piles of fur in one corner, and near the stairs, a small table without a chair or anything upon it. The book smell was gone, too.
Twilight stopped. "Where am I?"

"An inquisitive mind," Star Swirl said without turning, "is a good thing, but only so long as it does not keep you trapped in a musty basement. Follow."

She did so, and came to the stairs, now made of rickety wood, and followed him up to a door that hadn't been there before.
The library was not a library anymore. A huge fireplace stood where Paperback should've been sitting at her desk. The building was much smaller and no longer had stairs going up to a second floor. An elderly mare sat in a rocking chair by the fireplace with a hugely fat dog curled up next to her.

Twilight was beginning to be apprehensive about being in a new, strange place with new, strange people. She was just about to say something to that effect when a startlingly loud snore shook the room. Twilight leapt back, which was fortunate, because Star Swirl had stepped toward the sleeping mare and he took an unconscious step back at the sound, and would have trodden on her hooves. The fat dog looked up, roused, but seemed to be unable to muster the will to bark—instead, it leaned heavily against the old mare.

"Mmm?" The old mare muttered.

"Mother, you're awake?" Star Swirl said quietly.

"Of course I am!" The old mare snapped. "You think I sleep all the time? There's work to be done." She seemed suddenly to notice Twilight. In a moment she was fully awake, and all abrasiveness was gone from her.

"Hello, dear. Welcome. Who are you?"

"My name's Twilight Sparkle, ma'am."

A platoon of wrinkles formed up around the old mare's eyes and mouth as she grinned. "A beautiful name. It is a pleasure, young miss Sparkle.”

"You two get acquainted, I'll return presently." With that, he retreated into his study. The smells of cinnamon and wood smoke tickled Twilight's nose briefly, and were gone.

Alone for the first time in this place, Twilight suddenly missed the eccentric Star Swirl. The old mare heaved herself up out of her rocking chair, with much groaning and the popping and cracking of protesting joints.

"My name is Starlight, dear. You may call me ma'am, though, if it pleases you. You must be starving."

Now that she mentioned it, Twilight was hungry. She said so.

Starlight's grin got even bigger and more wrinkly, and she shuffled off to the kitchen with Twilight in tow.

The kitchen was where the bathrooms should have been, were this the library. It looked a lot like a normal kitchen, except that everything---the cabinets, the table, the brick oven—was extremely ornate and hand carved.

"Um... ma'am?"

"Yes dear?"

"I don't really even know why I'm here, or where I am."

Starlight ceased her bustling, head held low, "That boy never was good at making a filly comfortable. Perhaps if he had been, I'd be somepony's grandmare by now." She seemed to notice Twilight for the first time, again. "Star Swirl has been talking my old ears off for long about ten years about taking an apprentice, miss Sparkle---though you're so young, dear."

"Apprentice? but I'm just in Filly School! I'm barely out of magic kindergarten!"

"Oh, don't worry about that, dear. For all he's a complete wreck with mares, Swirly's got almost as much magic in him as her highness. I'm sure he'll be able to teach you."

"Was that a compliment, mother?" Star Swirl had followed them into the kitchen. Starlight looked flustered.

"I was talking to her, you braggart. Honestly, you haven't told the poor girl anything. I'm trying to make her feel at home!"

"Quite right, quite right." Star Swirl said. He approached her and bowed a little. "And I apologize, Twilight. I am the Wizard Star Swirl. I am the dean of the College of the Applied Arts Magic. I am, since Her advent, the Most Faithful Student of her Highness, Celestia the Undimmed."

His voice had begun to echo, and to resonate in Twilight's chest and down to her hooves. He raised himself up and loomed slightly over the now thoroughly impressed filly "I have created more spells, more new magic than anypony that has ever lived, their majesties included! I am the second most powerful spellpony who has or will ever trod this earth!"

The air was electric after that---something deep inside her whispered that everything he'd said was true: not vainglory, but an understatement. She was standing in the presence of a pony like she'd dreamed of becoming since she started learning magic.

Then a thought struck her.

"Who is the first-most powerful?" she whispered, star struck.

The wizard lowered himself way, way down to where the little filly was sitting on her haunches, looking up with big eyes. His grin was wolfish, but his eyes sparkled like Santa Hooves'.

"You." He said. She blinked up at him.

"Welcome to my home, Twilight Sparkle."

Author's Note:

There you have it; the first-ever section of my first-ever fanfiction, out there for the whole world to see. This is also my first attempt at writing a story serially, taking little nibbles at it rather than trying to swallow writing a novel at a single go.

I'm oddly nervous to present it.

I feel that Star Swirl offers countless opportunities for fan illuminations on the history and workings of Equestria, and I was excited, when I started, to get a chance at writing a grouchy, old wizard. Once I'd actually begun, though, I realized that Twilight would have buckled under the disapproving glare of a mighty wizard, so he became a tender, clever old man...who will probably be subtle and quick to anger toward ponies older than the little filly Twilight.

Credit must go to Skywriter for the title "Celestia the Undimmed," used in his comic masterpiece regarding tea. The title was so medieval-y and awesome, and fitting for somepony who had just banished the night, that I couldn't resist.

I also toyed with the idea of doing the back-in-Star-Swirl's-time ponies in middle-Canterlot ("Thou art. Welcome to mine home, O Twilight Sparkle"), rather than modern English. Anypony's thoughts?

I'd appreciate any constructive criticism! ...but gently, please: I'm new to this.