The sound of a door opening stirred Prim Rose from her half-sleep.
Age had become a vise around her mind that forced out anything that wasn’t solidly anchored, and stole the strength that she’d once wielded confidently, her hooves and horn becoming unsteady in equal measure, and so she did not stand to greet the visitor.
The sound of the door closing prompted her goldenrod colored eyes to turn and take in the sight that she should have expected, if the memories of habit and routine had remained with her. Despite having lost much of her mind, the permanence of the figure that stood almost timidly in the entrance to the stone brick room made her larger than life, and more real than the sheets that covered Prim’s aging body.
Princess Luna’s realness shook away some of the dust from Prim’s mind, bringing a smile to her lips, and to the wrinkled edges of her always-squinting eyes.
Prim had worn glasses, once. She knew this, but knew not what had happened to them. But her own confusion faded in the face of the Princess’s presence.
She tried to stand, but Luna rushed to her side and put a hoof to Prim’s side to keep her in bed. Unable to give proper respect by bowing, Prim did the next best thing.
“Thy Highness. Thou hast brought honor to my humble self with your presence.”
Princess Luna’s sad smile nearly pushed Prim to embrace her, but proper etiquette dictated that a Castellan would not initiate contact with royalty without the royalty initiating such. She pondered briefly if Luna’s hoof on her side signified such.
“Oh my little Rose…”
Tears sprung unbidden to Prim’s eyes, and she looked up at the princess in confusion.
“Far be it from I to advise thee in formality, but the royal plural--”
“There is no need, Rose. For you are cherished by myself more than all the ponies in the world. The ‘royal we’ would be too broad.”
Prim wiped her tears away, and let herself smile, relaxing into the pillow under her head, taking in the Princess with an awe and love which she could not properly place to a memory.
“Tell me of court,” Prim said softly. “I regret that I was not present.”
Luna reached out and tucked a bit of mane behind Prim’s ear, which flicked in response to the touch. The old unicorn’s horn was warped upward ever so slightly from age, and her maroon mane with hints of pink was in a braid, while ragged cut bangs shaded her eyes a bit. The braid needed to be redone, Luna thought. Perhaps washed as well. The old mare’s coat was a grey tinted mauve, and had always been such, it was not greyed by age.
“Of course, you are forgiven. We saw a dozen and one petitioners this day,” Luna said calmly, running a hoof down the covers of the bed to smooth out the wrinkles.
“Who served as Senechal?” Prim asked urgently, concern in her tone and the crease of her brow.
Luna calmly smiled, and sat next to the bed, so she could be closer.
“Silver Decanter,” she said with a bit of a smile. “He tutored under thee, and has been serving splendidly for five years now.”
Prim frowned at that, curling in on herself slightly.
“I apologize, princess… A stallion serving thee as Senechal? I… Times change, I suppose,” she sighed.
“It was at thy prompting that we embraced his service,” Luna said, running a hoof down from Prim’s forehead, along her cheek, to her chin to encourage her to look up.
Prim did look up, but was still sorrowful.
“Princess… May thee help me to recall? From… From the beginning.”
Princess Luna had known she would ask, and withdrew an old book from under her wing, keeping it out of Prim’s sight as she laid it on the floor and opened it to the first few pages. It had been written by Prim, after all. A journal. Memories of a whole lifetime, every fear and state secret and horror and wonder, preserved in ordinary paper, and genuine leather binding, sourced from a time when such things had been accepted. Gold leaf pressed into it with precision, to form Prim’s own coat of arms. It was the same as her Mark.
Two flowers above an unrolled scroll on which a pair of lightning bolts are held in an X by a horseshoe around their crossing.
The first words of the journal had long ago been copied from a smaller, flimsier sheaf of papers.
“This day, I hath met my one true future, and her name is Luna.”