Canterlot was positively buzzing in the most distracting of ways. Sweetie Belle gazed out of the window of her dormitory, the red quill hovering over her notebook temporarily forgotten. Her weekends were often spent this way; alone while her roommates wasted time in the city. Only, this weekend didn’t hold the promise of another lesson with Princess Luna. Sweetie sighed and returned to her notebook, but she found she didn’t have much to write. Her roomies thought she was crazy, already thinking about her thesis. She thought they were stupid for not having some ideas already.
She still had three more semesters to go before she graduated from Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, but with one and a half semesters down, she felt she should be thinking ahead. She knew she was something of an oddity here in Canterlot. Not very many unicorns came to this school from other places. The fact that she was from such a small town like Ponyville was an inexhaustible well of curiosity for the other students. And then there’s the fact that she had a living Element of Harmony for a sister. It definitely had its perks, but sometimes, she just wished nopony knew. Sure, it got her into the School in the first place, and it had gotten her several jobs during the school breaks, but it almost felt like cheating.
On the other hoof, having a famous sister had its own problems. Her instructors seemed to hold her to a higher standard than the other students. Some of them seemed to think that she didn’t deserve to be there and did their best to try and discourage her. A satisfied smile crept onto her face. That made the looks on their faces so much more enjoyable the day Princess Luna had decided to take a tour of the school.
She was in one of her most favorite classes, Solo Voice, with her least favorite instructor, True Tone. He wasn’t a bad teacher - one of the best, actually, but he was also one who was of the opinion that Sweetie had used her influential sister as a means to get into the school. She was doing her best, True Tone had been pushing her hard, but nothing she could sing would impress him. He threatened to fail her; he threatened to write a letter of discharge. He was impossible.
But that day, he was being especially difficult. He kept interrupting her in the middle of a verse, making snide remarks about her posture, criticizing the vibrato in her tone, being all around brutal, critical and mean. She was on the verge of tears but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She knew that singing was her talent and she wasn’t going to let a sour instructor ruin her chances of becoming a famous singer.
For her last song of the day, she had picked out a classical piece. It was one of the more difficult vocal ensembles and written in High Equestrian. She poured her heart and soul into that song, channeling all of her frustration and hope into it. She thought she saw something happen while she sang, almost like she was bending leylines with her voice. Regardless, she belted out that song like nopony’s business. The walls shook.
She couldn’t remember when she had closed her eyes. She couldn’t remember when the tears started flowing but she remembered, vividly, opening her eyes and seeing Princess Luna standing before her. The Princess of the Night herself, reported to be the most powerful of singers to ever live, stared at Sweetie Belle with a satisfied smile. True Tone for once was speechless. As soon as she realized who it was, exactly, that stood before her, Sweetie Belle dropped to her knees, furiously wiping at her tears with a foreleg.
“Canta’s Ode of the Soul,” Luna said breathlessly. “A more stirring rendition I have not heard in ages, little one. Indeed, that song has not been heard in these walls for several centuries. Did you know, Canta wrote that song for me?” Luna stepped forward, placing a hoof on her shoulder. “Rise, Sweetie Belle.”
Sweetie looked up, her breath catching in her throat. “You know my name, Princess?”
Luna gave her a secretive smile. “But of course Sweetie Belle, Rarity speaks very highly of you. But her description of your talent for song was grossly inaccurate.”
Sweetie’s heart sank, her ears drooping. She could imagine the smug look on True Tone’s face.
“You are far better than she led me to believe. I would like to take you on as my personal ward, Sweetie Belle. That is, if you would accept.” Luna was giving her the choice, but it felt more like she didn’t have one.
Choice or not, Sweetie Belle jumped at the chance. “Of course, Princess. I would be honored.”
Of course, news of this leaked out to her other classmates which she suspected was the work of Grace Note, her friend. Suddenly, it was as if she were some kind of celebrity. It was one of the reasons she chose to stay in her dorm, she could actually think and practice there without somepony interrupting her with questions about the Princess. She didn’t run around broadcasting her privilege to study with Luna. In fact, she had a hard time talking about it with anypony who asked her. Her lessons with Luna were special; they weren’t something to just blather about casually. Celestia had even joined them on occasion.
Hearing the Princesses sing was one of the most magical things she had ever had the treat to experience. Celestia always sounded like she sang when she spoke but to hear a melody from her was indescribable. It was like a mother’s lullaby, beautiful in its own right, but powerful as the sun was bright. She could almost feel the vast expanse of time embracing her when she heard Celestia sing.
But Luna… there were no words. She had tried many times to write down how she felt when Luna truly began to sing. She always ended up crumpling the paper in frustration. Luna’s voice simply was not of this world. An idea came to her, so she quickly flipped to a fresh page of her notebook. Last week, she sang a duet with Luna. It was an ancient song, Luna taught her the words, but Sweetie had no idea what they said. She began to write.
The Princess took me to the balcony of the North Wing. It was nearing midnight, if I remember correctly. The Shinespire rose behind us and the moonlight bathed everything in a pleasant glow. I remember seeing Luna look at the sky and then out to the west with a sad shadow haunting her eyes, but she never spoke of what it was she looked at. She sat at the railing and beckoned me closer, acting as if nothing were amiss.
“Sweetie Belle,” I remember her whispering, “Have you ever wondered at what the voice can do?” It was a strange question. Usually, she would ask me about the song we were to sing or she would give additional instruction in how to manage breathing to preserve my tone or something like that.
It caught me off guard, she sounded different, like something bothered her. But I did my best to push that out of my mind. “I have. When I sang Canta’s Ode of the Soul, I thought I saw leylines bending around me, but I didn’t summon them. Have you ever heard of something like that, Princess?”
She smiled at me. It was a sad smile. She had been melancholy of late. “That is a rare gift, Sweetie Belle. I did see leylines bending to your will. You sang with all the power of your heart and Harmony responded to you. This may be the last lesson I will be able to give you for a time, Sweetie Belle. If there is anything I want you to learn and to teach others it is that the voice is more powerful than most magics. The voice can heal and uplift but it can also harm and destroy. Remember and ponder the power of the voice, little one. Come, let us sing.”
Her quill stopped and hovered over the last word. She was lost in her thoughts, remembering that magical night. She did not believe her eyes or ears when they began their duet. The stars twinkled in time to the cadence of the ancient words, the wind seemed to hum accompaniment. The stone of the mountain and the light of the moon vibrated around her. Luna’s voice seemed to reach into her soul and draw out any unease or fear, doubt or pain. She did not worry over the opinions of others, she wasn’t afraid of failure. For the space of that song, she was at peace. She still wondered how she was able to sing with Luna. But sing she did. It was the hardest she had ever sung, it was more heartfelt and deep than even Canta’s Ode, and no matter she didn’t know what the words even said.
“Sweetie Belle? Are you here?” A clear soprano called from the entrance of her dorm.
“I’m in the breakfast corner, Grace,” she called back. She quickly flipped her notebook closed just as Grace Note rounded the bend.
Gracenote was a diminutive unicorn and therefore often teased for her size. Her illustrious forest green coat was usually what everypony noticed first, followed closely by her dark red, almost maroon, mane and tail. Her cutie mark, the triad notes of a D minor chord, sparkled like ruby against her coat. Sweetie smiled at her friend. Though a poor substitute for Applebloom and Scootaloo, Grace tried her best to make Sweetie Belle’s life a little less dull. The two became fast friends in the first week of school last semester. They had quite a bit in common; they were studying vocal music, they were odd and, according to everypony else, they weren’t supposed to be there. Grace was a lot older than she looked. In fact she had missed the age cut off by only a week.
“Hey, Sweetie. I see you’re being antisocial again. What’s the occasion?” Grace trotted up to the table and set down a basket draped over with a blue kerchief. The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from it, suddenly reminding Sweetie that she had somehow skipped breakfast.
She had to swallow and avert her eyes from the mysteriously alluring basket. “Oh, um, no occasion. I just... needed some time to think.” Her stomach growled like starved dog.
Grace rolled her eyes and enveloped the basket in a cloud of cerulean magic and pushed the basket towards her. “Skipped breakfast again, I see. And they tell me I’m the one not right in the head.” She loosed a tinkling laugh.
Sweetie scrunched up her nose and stuck her tongue out at her friend, even as she fished out a piece of the still warm bread. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.” She said more defensively than she wanted to.
“Oh.” Grace tried, and failed, to make it sound like she wasn’t that interested.
She could have played dumb and made Grace work for the information, but she did bring her brunch. “I’ve been thinking about the Princess, and how sad she’s been lately.... I wonder if it has something to do with that crazy storm yesterday.” Sweetie frowned at the piece of bread floating in front of her. That storm was one of the most terrifying things she had ever seen. No wonder the city was in all sorts of upheaval. As far as her history classes were concerned, the pegasi had never lost control of the weather before.
“Well,” Grace sat across from her at the table, “have you seen the new proclamation? I think I have a copy here....” She rummaged in her saddle bag. “Do you have a lesson with her today?” She finally upended her saddle bag over the table and sifted through the debris.
Sweetie took a bite out of the bread, a contented sigh leaving her at the light, slightly buttery taste. “Mmm, no,” she finally said around another bite of bread. “I’m a little worried about her actually. I mean, she isn’t the most jovial of ponies I’ve ever met, but at least a few weeks ago she would laugh every once-in-awhile. Hmph. Well, It’s not my place to worry about a Princess though is it?”
“Aha! Here it is!” Grace pulled out a thick scroll from the pile of seemingly random items. She undid the tie and let it flop to the table. “It’s a pretty big one. Celestia says that the storm was caused by some crazy resurgence of chaos left over from Discord, of all things. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s pulling my le--”
Sweetie paused in picking out another slice of bread. Grace sat stock still, her mouth open slightly, eyes unfocused. She had gone off again. Sweetie kept one eye on her temporally displaced friend as she slid the thick sheaf of paper close to herself. Poor Grace Note. She really was a great pony and a wonderful friend, even if she wasn’t quite right in the head.
Grace suffered from a rare malady called redhorn when she was a filly. It was a birth defect from which the ridge of her horn became crooked. This caused a blockage to the magic flowing along it. Unicorns are very susceptible to ambient magic. Around the time of their Yearling mark, most begin gathering such magic to their horns. Grace was just like other unicorns that way, but she could never release that magic. It built up, bit by bit, until the pressure of it started to hurt her. The final stage in the degeneration of the malady is where it got its name. The built up magical energy caused the horn to glow a dull reddish color and once that happened, the foal might have less than a week to live. The doctors recognized the symptoms just in time. Her life was saved by a new makina that was designed to fix the ridging of a horn, usually for somepony who had been in a serious accident.
There was a time, not long ago, that a foal born with redhorn would not survive the malady. Grace was lucky, even if she didn’t escape completely unscathed. Now, she has to deal with these episodes. They never lasted longer than a minute or two, but it made Sweetie nervous every time it happened. The lasting effects of the malady were also what stunted her growth and made her magic somewhat unpredictable. She led a strange life somewhere between being a unicorn and an earthpony.
She studied her brave friend. It was such a shame that a talented and special pony like her had to deal with something like this. She glanced at her notebook, thinking of Luna’s words. The voice can heal and uplift.... What did she mean? Sweetie always found joy in music and singing often made her feel better after a long, difficult day. But there was always a deeper meaning to what Luna said, the past year had taught her at least that much about the dark Princess.
She started to skim over the long proclamation. Until something caught her eye. The refugees from the south, known as ‘Bronies’, have been accepted into the fellowship of Equestria. Bronies? That’s an odd name. She read further. Princess Luna, of the Night, is regent and sovereign to the bronies from this time forth. All dealings with our new friends will be managed by Princess Luna through one Cereal Velocity, appointed Steward of the Bronies, mouthpiece and envoy. Regent and sovereign? She thought hard, trying to remember her history classes thus far. As far as she knew, never has a group of ponies been singled out and ruled over by one Princess. The Radiant Guard and Nocturne Guard didn’t count, of course. They were military organizations. Princess Luna must be very busy. Their journey was arduous and fraught with danger. We ask that our subjects be kind and of a helpful hoof to these our downtrodden friends. They have suffered much and have come to our fair land seeking safety.
The document went on to talk about other, bronies. Strange names lept out at her vision such as the emissaries Phoe, and Sethisto. They were believed to come from a forgotten settlement from across the great sea, how long they had lived there or when their ancestors left was mysteriously left out. It all sounded strange to her, but stranger things had happened, especially when Discord was involved. And of course the Living Elements were managing the acclimation of these new immigrants. Sweetie smiled at the thought of her sister, prancing about and making a fuss at all of the new ponies. Probably flirting with as many stallions as she could. Her smile faded when she glanced back at her friend.
Grace hadn’t moved, her eyes now glossed over.
Sweetie sighed. This was going to be one of Grace’s more difficult days. Thinking back on Luna’s lesson, she took a deep breath and began to sing a wordless tune. Lullaby of the Lilly, one of Grace’s favorite songs.
Her ears perked up at the familiar sound, eyes sliding back into focus. By the time Sweetie got to the middle of the melody, Grace started to sing along with her, joining in for a few notes at a time.
Sweetie’s voice faltered in disbelief. Nothing could snap Grace out of one of her episodes, at least nothing she had tried before. As soon as the song faded, Grace began to stiffen again, eyes glazing and voice falling still.
Sweetie Belle picked up the tune again, pouring more feeling into it. Grace started to sing with her once more. Sweetie pushed harder at the song, like she did when manipulating magic. She tried to conjure in her mind the image of pulling Grace back, of healing a wound and knitting it closed with care.
Grace focused on Sweetie as the song came to a close. “W-what... happened? Did I go away again?” She put a hoof to her head, blinking at the room. “Were you singing to me? I remember....” She shuddered. “I was someplace, just a moment ago....” she looked at the table covered in the contents of her saddle bag and blinked. “Aha! There it is.” She tapped the heavy sheaf of papers in front of Sweetie. “It’s a pretty big one. Celestia says that the storm was caused by some crazy resurgence of chaos left over from Discord, of all things. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s pulling my leg.”
Sweetie nodded numbly to her friend. “Yeah. But there’s always a reason behind what the Princesses say...”
Cereal fought valiantly to keep his eyes open as he trotted alongside Twilight. The sun was bright overhead in a perfectly clear and serenely blue sky. He squinted at his surroundings under eyelids that seemed to be made of lead--and sandpaper. The camp was a bustling mire of organized chaos. He and Twilight waded through throngs of ponies and weaved around ropes, tents, boxes, barrels, crates and carts in search of the proverbial needle in the haystack. The air was a tad muggy, something that Rainbow Dash had assured him would clear up as soon as the winds were fixed. Whatever that meant.
The ‘streets’ of the camp had turned into something akin to potter’s clay that was constantly trying to coat his legs and turn him into a sculpture. It made him stumble slightly as the mud sucked at his hooves. He shook his head to try and clear out the clouds that seemed to have crowded in there after they left the sky last night. Dead tired, that’s what he was right then, dead tired and for no good reason. He didn’t know if it was just the power of suggestion or if he really felt it, but he could swear Princess Luna was looking over his shoulder somehow.
His dreams were plagued with unpleasant scenes and dark visions. The few hours of sleep he managed to get the night before only seemed to make him feel more exhausted. He glanced at Twilight, and was hit with an inexplicable wave of jealousy. How could she get the same amount of sleep and be so blasted happy and energetic in the morning?
“Because I do this all of the time, Cereal,” Twilight informed him, throwing a smile over her shoulder.
“Wha--!” Cereal tried to express his surprise over the rapidly increasing number of telepathic ponies, but instead found his head slathered in mud and his hooves dangling uselessly in the air.
Twilight giggled. “You know, you remind me a lot of my nephew,” the familiar tingle of magic being used in close proximity danced down Cereal’s back, “he thinks he can do everything the big stallions can.” She lifted him up and out of the mud in a cloud of magenta telekinesis, setting him down back on his hooves on the grass. “You would be surprised at how often his head ends up in the mud too. Especially when there isn’t any mud close at hoof.”
“Wait--blegh!” Some of the mud lazily oozing over his face trickled into his mouth. He sat on the side of the street and wiped at his face with his hooves. “Wait, did you say--plegh!-- that you have a nephew?” He blinked at Twilight through one mud free eye.
She blinked at him. “Is there some reason why I shouldn’t?”
Cereal slowed in his attempt to remove the rapidly hardening mud. “Uh.... No, it’s just... nevermind.”
Twilight chuckled, holding a hoof to her mouth. “You bronies sure are strange. Here, let me help you out.” A magenta aura gathered around her horn again. Cereal could faintly pick out several leylines coalescing into an ornate pattern that tickled at the back of his mind. She pushed a few strands of the pattern to him, lightly touching his face. The flecks of dried mud and viscous dribbles slid from his coat as if he were made of teflon. “There we go, good as new. You’ll get used to having magic soon enough.” She gave him a friendly wink, then turned to continue down the street.
Cereal followed, still spitting some grainy bits of mud from his mouth. “Uh, Twilight?”
“Mmhmm?”
“When somepony--well, okay... when a unicorn works long enough with magic, do they develop some kinda, telepathic power or something?”
Twilight turned a quizzical look to him. “What makes you think that?”
“Heh, well, twice now I’ve had somepony somehow answer my thoughts and, I was just wondering if that was more than just a coincidence.”
Twilight didn’t even try to curb her mirth and outright laughed at Cereal. “No, Cereal. We don’t develop special powers of telepathy. Maybe you should try and not think out loud.”
Was that what he was doing? He was more tired than he thought.
“Who was the other pony that answered your thoughts?” Twilight asked suddenly.
“Princess Celestia, actually.”
“Oh, well, then...” Twilight cleared her throat and looked away.
“What’s the matter?” He narrowed his eyes. “She is a telepath, isn’t she.”
Twilight looked around furtively. They were leaving the more busy part of the camp but she waited until they were out of earshot of the other ponies milling about. Even then, she walked closer to him and lowered her voice. “In a way, yes. But she cannot read your mind or mine, or any other pony’s. She and Luna share a special connection, or at least they did. The advent of Nightmare Moon changed a lot of things....”
Cereal frowned. “Is nopony supposed to know? I don’t see how this is a problem, in fact it makes me feel a bit better, knowing.”
Twilight grimaced and tossed her head. “It isn’t exactly a secret, no. But not everypony knows; probably only a few historians besides myself know how deeply connected the Princesses are.” Her voice took on a darker tone. “That connection very nearly destroyed everything they had worked so hard for. It was the origin of the royal We, by the way. They spent so much time within each other’s minds that they almost became the same pony.” She paused and looked up at the sky. “I have given it a lot of thought.... If everything hadn’t happened exactly as it did, I--and you, probably--would not be here. Even though Nightmare Moon was terrible and both sisters suffered greatly, I can’t help but be grateful for it all....”
Grateful? Cereal studied his hooves, he wasn’t just looking out for more potholes to avoid. It was a strange concept, to be grateful for something so terrible. She did not see those events like he did. The magic of the Vault had imprinted on his mind images of pain and carnage that he thought were behind him, left in a broken world full of indifferent souls. But it was all behind them... wasn’t it?
“You understand, right?” She ducked her head and looked into his eyes with an open expression.
“I guess,” he deadpanned.
Twilight pursed her lips as if she wanted to say more. She instead straightened and let the matter drop. “So, are we close to our next reference?”
Oh yeah, the task at hoof. Cereal looked up and studied the tents around them. They spent the greater part of that morning looking for somepony who knew how to translate the runes. So far, they were able to find just one pony who called the letters ‘runes’. He didn’t know how to read them but he knew somepony that could. Leek Sauce or Lichen Moss or something like that. Some of the names were weird, even to Cereal.
He glanced back at Twilight. “I dunno, but he said we would know it when we saw it...” They rounded a bend in the path and a strange tent came into view. It was larger than the others nearby and looked like it had been purchased from an Army Surplus store. From the forties. It was made of a faded olive green canvas that had definitely seen better days. A few spots were patched up with lengths of silver duct tape, a few looked fresh. Leaning against the side of the tent, were some pieces of carved wood. Cereal trotted up to them, turning his head to the side. Woven around the several knots in the lumber were ribbons of those same angular letters that were on the walls of the Vault and in the ancient tome. They found the needle.
Muffled voices mumbled behind the thick canvas. “I’m telling you, it shouldn’t work. At all.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know if it works even a little. I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” another voice answered.
“Just watch,” the first voice said. There was a scraping noise of wood on wood, then a deep breath. Sharp clacks like a bunch of dominos hitting each other rattled behind the canvas. Cereal turned to look at Twilight, who shrugged.
“Hmm,” the second voice mused. “Well that is interesting. So, it does this consistently?”
“Eyup. One time out of three, but only if I’m in the camp. It still boggles my mind that it works, even sporadically,” the first voice exclaimed.
“Have you tried the other method? Drawing from a bag?”
“Mmmyeeeaah, I don’t know how well that would work. Besides, I don’t have anything specific in-- hey, did you move that one?”
“No, which one?”
“Sowilo. I could have sworn it was face down a second ago. It’s like Wyrd herself doesn’t know what she wants.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Wyrd, Urth, Fate. C’mon, I know you know this stuff.”
The second voice chuckled. “But that doesn’t make any sense. I thought Urth was Norn of the past. How does that play into fate? Isn’t that Skuld’s domain?”
“It’s not so simple. The Norns are part of everything, past, present and future, all the time. It’s like that nagging difference between fate and destiny. Wryd is the energy that drives fate but it can be overcome... wait a minute.” The first voice paused. “Sowilo, that’s a guide or a mentor... so, unless there is some very important pony around here who suddenly made a decision....”
“Laich, I think you’re reading into this a bit too much.”
“Nonsense. Reading a rune casting is difficult by definition. You have to consider all of the possibilities before you can make heads or tails of the situation. The runes are like little advisors, it doesn’t do you any good to have a bunch of advisors if you only listen to one.”
“Riiiiight. Well, while you are consulting your little advisors, heh, I’m going to mess around with your hoverboard.”
“Hey! I’m still working on that, I don’t think it’s very sa-sa-saa...”
Cereal blinked. Twilight was ducking under the tent flap. He quickly ducked under the flap as she let it fall from her telekinesis. He had to blink several times to get used to the darker interior of the space. When he could finally see everything, he just barely stopped a groan. Books, books everywhere. How he had gotten so many here, Cereal had no idea, but it seemed all of the brony scholars had managed to smuggle vast collections with them. He had set up an archiving initiative, it wasn’t like they left Earth with nothing. Rule breakers.
“It isn’t very what, Laich?” said a tan unicorn stallion with a dark brown tail and mane. His back was to them as he placed his front hooves on a polished plank of dark wood, impossibly floating in midair. Cereal recognized him as the owner of the second voice.
“Ela está na minha porta....” the first voice whispered from a deep red unicorn with a black and gray mane that may have been purposely coiffed to look windswept, or it just happened to be that way. He sat behind a piece of wood, of which there were many in this tent, that was carved with circles and lines. Oddly, they looked to be measurements for various angles. On the carved wood was a scattering of polished, rectangular sticks. He was like a statue. Cereal could barely tell if the red unicorn was breathing as he stared wide-eyed at Twilight.
“What are you babblin’ ab--” The tan unicorn turned from the floating board and froze.
“‘Se ela me tocou, eu seria dela e não a minha. Não, nunca mais.’” The red unicorn spouted more of some language that reminded Cereal of Spanish.
“That was pretty,” Twilight mused, “but what do you mean about not being your own?”
The red unicorn finally blinked. “You-you understood me?”
Twilight turned her head and raised an eyebrow at him. “You spoke plain as day, why?”
“I-I-I...”
“He was speaking in tongues, that’s why, Miss Sparkle.” The tan unicorn ducked his head after getting their attention. “Uh, I mean, he wasn’t speaking English.”
“Speaking... what now?” Twilight furrowed her brow.
“Um, English. What we’re talking right now...?” He cocked his head to the side, furrowing his brow.
Twilight turned to Cereal. “You understood what he said, right?”
Cereal shook his head. “Can’t say that I did.”
She turned back to the red unicorn. “Say something else, in the same... language, as before.”
He shakily got to his hooves. “Uh... Eu, ah, Eu não sei o que dizer? Não é tão fácil que vocé pensa.” He sighed.
Twilight turned to Cereal expectantly.
He shifted his gaze between Twilight and the red unicorn. “I didn’t get a word of that.”
“Interesting....” Twilight pulled a scroll, quill and inkwell from her saddle bags. For a few moments, the tent was silent, save for the scratching of Twilight’s quill across the parchment. She looked up from her notes. “I assume you are the specialist on these, runes,” she said the word slowly, as if testing it, “professor....?” She raised an eyebrow in the red unicorn’s direction.
“I’m, uh, Laichonious,” he said.
“Lie what?” Twilight asked in a disbelieving monotone.
“Lie-co-nee-us.”
“Laichonious?”
“Yeah, just like that.” He smiled sheepishly.
Twilight shook her head slightly, then turned to the tan unicorn. “And you are...”
“Sort of his assistant.”
“No, no. Your name.”
“Oh, heh. Retsamoreh.”
Twilight looked at him.
He rolled his eyes. “Rets-a-more-ay.”
“Where do you get such strange names?”
Retsamoreh shrugged. A snort came from one of the tent’s darker corners. Twilight and Cereal leaned forward to look around Retsamoreh at a sleeping blue pony with a vibrant, almost eye-wrenching, green and black mane.
“Who’s that?” Cereal asked.
“That’s Pissfer,” Laichonious answered. He put a hoof up to the side of his mouth. “He’s not a morning pony,” he said in a low voice.
“Hey, Laich, you know it’s like two in the afternoon, right?” Retsamoreh gave the red unicorn a sidelong look. Laichonious only blinked at him.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you all,” Twilight said, putting away her writing utensils and extracting the copied pages from the tome they had found in the Vault.
“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Miss Sparkle. I, uh--what can I do for you?” Laichonious stepped around the carved plank and the small pieces of wood on top of it, obscuring it from view. He had a strained smile plastered on his face and was pointedly not looking in Cereal’s direction.
Cereal thought he knew why. His lips were pursed in thought; he had heard the name Laichonious before. He’d get it eventually, but right now his brain was too tired to think.
“We have need of your skills, Laichonious,” Twilight continued, sending the pages over to him. He clumsily assumed the levitation spell in his own red magic. His eyes widened to the size of saucers as he got a closer look at them. It seemed like his eyes were glued to the paper. He slowly raised one hoof and started groping at the low table next to him.
Retsamoreh rolled his eyes and summoned a blue aura to his horn and floated a pair of square spectacles onto the other unicorn’s face.
Laichonious blinked at the glasses and then glanced at his hoof floundering uselessly on the table. “Oh. Thanks, Rets.” He rubbed his chin with the hoof that once sought his glasses. “This... this is pretty amazing. Elder Futhark, fairly early in its usage if I’m not mistaken. Around the second or third century AD.” He shuffled a few pages out and held them up side by side. “But this page here, this was written much later--wait, what’s this....” He squinted at the page. After a moment of studying, he started shaking his head. “No way, there’s no way that can be right.”
Twilight took a few steps forward. “What?”
“Draumr Dalr,” he breathed.
“What?” Twilight asked again.
“Dream Valley... it-it exists?” He looked up at Twilight.
Silence stole over the tent, for she, the unicorn who knew everything, didn’t know this.
Celestia’s knees buckled, her breath ragged, as she shut the door to her private chambers. She felt the weight of over a thousand years of secrets threatening to break her proud back. Why did she do this to herself? Why did she not trust Luna? Why, why, why? So many doubts she could not dispel. So many regrets she could not absolve. So many questions she could not answer.
The great princess of the sun dragged hooves mired in sorrow to her bed. There was much she had forgotten during the long years of Luna’s exile, but some memories were far too strong to be ground away in the turning of time. She had hoped that Luna, being under the taint of Nightmare Moon, would have forgotten them, and she was right. It had taken every scrap of skill and power she could muster to keep those memories from Luna in the Vault. Her heart pounded still, remembering Luna’s memories for her. Dry tears began to stream from her eyes as she prepared to retire for the night.
Her golden crown and royal necklace clinked softly, coming to rest on the nightstand beside her bed. She did not deserve to rule. She was not like her sister, noble, kind and honorable. She was a husk of the alicorn who ruled alongside Luna all those years ago. But Luna was pure, free from the bitterness of that evil spirit that had taken her. Celestia was a keeper of secrets now, a deceitful and masterful mare of manipulation and subterfuge. She was shackled in chains of her own making and bound by her own will. She did not like what she had become. But if it could save Luna any heartache, she was willing to bear it, even if it broke her heart.
She laid her weary head on a pillow, cool and soft, the comforting glow of the moon and stardust streaming into her room. The long, lonely centuries never seemed so bad at night, when she could see the moon and bask in her sister’s magic. Now that Luna was here, why then did she choose to distance herself? Every day was a battle, constantly under siege from Luna’s attempts to reestablish their psychic connection of eons passed. She dared not let Luna back into her mind. She feared she would not be able to hide her feelings, her secrets, her crimes. How she wished she could cry, to let her anger and fear out. But the tears could not come; they would not, and the dry pillow under her face mocked her.
Luna must never know. She must never find the truth. She did not know the depth of Nightmare Moon’s atrocities, the horrors of her malice. And if Celestia had her way, she never would. Was it wrong to lie to her sister, to protect her? Was it so wrong to love somepony enough to silence those who would do them harm?
No, it should not be wrong. She was protecting her sister as a good sister should. Why did she feel so heavy?