//------------------------------// // Part 1 – A Heart of Eggshells // Story: The Price For Luna // by PoweredByTea //------------------------------// By their age alone, rooms such as the Hall of Dusk and Dawn acquired a sense of deep consequence far removed from any actual material grandeur. In the case of the hall itself, ponies entering it would find themselves speaking in hushed tones as more than a thousand years of history swallowed their words. If one looked back far enough, the knotted tangle of customs and laws of Equestria all wrapped around this room and its purpose. Only one pony still remembered that the hall had once simply been a hall—a serviceable place to meet others, a shelter against the winter cold, or perhaps four sturdy walls to contain a celebration of some joyful occurrence—and nothing more. As she did every morning before sunrise, Princess Celestia of Equestria, Daymare, Dawnbringer, and Regent of the Moon stepped through the great arched doors on the west-facing side of the Hall of Dusk and Dawn, and made her way over the stone floor, its surface made uneven by hundreds of years of hooffalls, to a dark wood booth where the on-duty Auspex Harenae would be waiting. This morning it was Autumn Fern, a middle aged stallion with a brown coat and dusty mane. “Good morning,” Celestia greeted him, as usual. “Good morning,” came the reply, as usual. In the centre of the room was a round, stone table, worn with age. About its circumference sat exactly three hundred and sixty five sandglasses of various sizes, each with its own little brass plaque upon which were written two dates. By the laws of Equestria, the lengths of the day and the night were determined by these sandglasses. Each would be flipped twice a year, once at the start of a day and once at the start of a night. Sand flowed from the night bulb to the day bulb in one of the glasses. Examining it, Celestia estimated that ten minutes of night remained. “How did Sandy do on his exams?” Celestia asked the Auspex. “Aced woodworking, of course,” Fern replied. “The rest were a bit of a mixed bag.” Sandy was Fern’s son, an apparently precocious youth who Celestia knew much of, yet had never met. She followed his life through little morning conversations with Fern such as this one. Fern was a second generation Auspex; Celestia remembered hearing about his birth from his father, but she understood that Sandy had unearthed a passion for carpentry and was unlikely to follow in his father’s hoofsteps. The Auspex Harenae were an old institution. They had only a single responsibility, but it was an important one: watch the sandglasses and remind the on-duty sun-raiser or moon-raiser when the time came for them to do their job. A job for an alarm clock, some might argue, but with so much riding on the sunrises and sunsets, only a living, breathing pony would do. Besides, the Auspex Harenae were too deeply ingrained in the traditions of sunrise and sunset at Canterlot Palace to get rid of, and were popular with the tourists. They dressed in their own archaic-looking uniform last redesigned some six hundred years ago, had their own traditions, and were rumoured to practise an initiation ceremony that they thought kept secret even from her—it involved a toothbrush, a lampshade, and much drinking, incidentally. “Sleep well?” Fern asked in turn. No. “As well as can be expected.” The true answer didn’t fool Fern. The Auspex shifted uncomfortably, perhaps expecting an elaboration that Celestia didn’t give. Instead, she made a show of checking the sand in the nightglass. “Em, eight minutes ‘til sunrise,” Fern supplied a little hesitantly. There was no more conversation after that. It took all of Celestia’s considerable supply of self control not to fidget or check either the sandglasses. To not look at that one sandglass. You’re starting to crack. Your own guards are noticing. Fern notices. Only a matter of time before everypony knows Princess Celestia is terrified of something. So she would tell them. Today was the day. She’d left it far, far too long anyway. “Thirty seconds to sunrise,” Fern said. Celestia nodded, levitating the next sandglass round the great circle of sandglasses that made up the year as Fern counted down the seconds. As the last of the sand fell from the nightglass, Celestia spun the next glass around. The click it made as she placed it back on the stone table echoed through the empty room. She stepped over to the balcony on the Eastern side of the hall, past which the mountainside plummeted down to the planes that stretched out to the horizon. The flipped sandglass still sat on the stone table, sand gently falling from the top bulb to the bottom. Not far away, only ten places across, was the largest of all the glasses. The Greater Solstice Glass, that would be turned ten days from now to mark the beginning of the longest day of the year. A day that might never come because, according to the prophecies of Foresight, a creature thought gone, a creature that dared to call itself Nightmare would return to Equestria, and then there would no more sunrises. Foresight had yet to be wrong about a single prediction. After all, the future had been his Talent. Celestia raised the sun. ☼ ☼ ☼ It was midsummer in Equestria and the day promised to be as sweltering as any other. Of course, this meant that sunrise was scheduled around half four in the morning. The palace would be all but deserted for hours yet. The passageways looked different by the fresh morning light, without a soul about to clutter them up. Little motes of dust danced in the shafts of new sunlight Celestia passed as she made her way through to the western wing. Fears became muted in the wake of the morning and she felt more like herself. Soon, the day would fill up with duties and responsibilities as Equestria awoke, but early morning was hers. Over the years she had noticed that the early morning acted as a filter of sorts. Many ponies wanted to meet with her. Oddly enough, few of those ponies were quite so enthusiastic about doing so this early. Harder to be seen meeting with me, promoted the more cynical side of her nature. The thought made her smile wryly. Some things would never change. Still, the ponies she shared this time with were often ponies who were dear to her heart. Speaking of which… “Good morning Spike,” Celestia called as she poked her head into the small drawing room tucked into the palace’s west wing. “I see you’re up early.” Spike smiled proudly as he stood next to a server trolley upon which a breakfast of egg on toast served with tea and coffee sat. “You brought some breakfast?” she asked. “Made some breakfast,” the little dragon corrected her, as he puffed out his chest in a way she found most endearing. “I’ve been learning to cook from the chefs.” Celestia inspected the dragon’s work. In truth, it didn’t look quite as good as her usual breakfast: the toast was slightly burned and some of the egg whites were a little runny, but right now that didn’t matter because upon seeing the food she found she was hungry. She thanked Spike and levitated one of the plates over. It was good, considering Spike's age. “The coffee’s for Twilight,” Spike said, as he got started on his own plate. “I think she’s going to need it,” he added with a smirk. Celestia raised an eyebrow. “She was pretty stressed about something yesterday,” he explained. “She kept cursing at a book and pacing back and forth.” “Oh my.” “And every so often, her horn would glow a bit, but nothing would happen.” “That must have been very frustrating for her.” “Except once when I think she exploded just a little bit.” “Goodness.” “I went to bed after that.” “You do need your sleep, Spike, you are still a baby dragon after all.” “I think Twilight was up all night though,” Spike added, nodding at the coffee. Celestia smiled. Little Spike was growing up to be such a dear. “Between you and me,” Celestia said, after taking a sip of the tea, “I think Twilight has gotten a little too used to being able to just skim through spells that, by all rights, should take a unicorn the better part of a week to master, and go ahead and cast them right away. I gave her the teleportation spell to learn—Blink’s special talent. It’s one of the eight spells that are classically regarded as the hardest to understand.” Blink had been a very confusing unicorn with the thrill-seeking temperament of a Wonderbolt, an at-times tenuous grasp of reality, and little in the way of scholarly tendencies. She had, sadly, left precious little written about her odd views of the world and her magic. “I’m not expecting her to be able to teleport for years yet.” Assuming they were all still around past the end of the fortnight, prompted a part of her she had been trying to ignore. She tried her best to silence it. Morning was a time for friends, not for worrying. Time enough for that later. Even so, she shuddered. “Yeah, I don’t think Twilight quite picked up on that,” Spike said, oblivious to Celestia’s sudden change in mood. She blinked. “I did explain it was a hard spell,” Celestia added, forcing herself back to the present, “but it would be just like Twilight Sparkle not to listen.” Outside the door, Celestia heard the clip-clop of a pony moving at a canter. “Speaking of Twilight...” The bleary eyed unicorn in question burst through the doors of the drawing room and glanced about. Unfortunately for Twilight, Celestia had taken a seat on a cushion pushed up against the same wall as the door, and in her haste, she somehow missed the presence of the Sun Princess entirely. Her student, bless her heart, just wasn’t one of nature’s morning ponies—a rather unfortunate situation given who her mentor was, Celestia observed wryly. “Spike!” Twilight exclaimed. Her gaze settled on the trolley. “Breakfast!” she added enthusiastically, single words apparently being the present limit of her articulation. “Oh thank Celestia! I thought I was late for my meeting with—” she paused slightly as her brain caught up with her mouth, “Celestia.” Rather than answer, Spike raised a claw and pointed. “Coffee?” Celestia asked, levitating the jug of foul tasting black liquid over to her tardy student. With a panicked cry of “Pr—Princess!” Twilight jumped nearly her entire body height. Celestia hid a smile as she sipped down the last of her tea. ☼ ☼ ☼ Twilight’s lesson had gone well enough once the unicorn had calmed down—and once Celestia had gotten the idea into her student that, no, she wasn’t expecting her to understand Blink’s talent right away. Then, all too soon, the eight o’clock bell rang, signifying breakfast time for the palace and the beginning of Celestia’s working day. She hadn’t even made it to breakfast before the first of her worldly cares interrupted, this time in the oft-dishevelled shape of the oft-grumpy Captain Whiskey. The Old Captain, as many of the more junior members of the guard referred to him these days, was an earth pony with a dirty white coat and faded mane who wore armour that had seen better days. It was covered up now, but Celestia knew that underneath was an image of a lute, a fact that tended to surprise many of the new recruits. “Yer Majesty,” Whiskey said, falling into step with Celestia as she proceeded down the wide vaulted hallway. “Captain,” Celestia replied with a satisfied smile. “It seems that today everypony is rising early. Something I heartily approve of.” “Well, I ain’t been up since the early hours for fun, yer know,” the captain grumbled, with a casualness that came of decades of commendable service and, perhaps more significantly, imminent retirement. “Er, no offence. Ma’am,” he added. She let the smile fade. “Has there been a problem?” “Sure has,” Whiskey replied. “We had an intruder last night. Or at least, we think we did.” “You’re not sure?” “Whoever it was, ‘twere a real slippery bugger,” the captain said. “We probably wouldn’t have known anything was wrong, ‘cept that Twiggy spotted a door open that shouldn’t have been. Lass had enough brains in her to get everypony searching. After that a few of the privates spotted whatever ‘twere already leaving.” “It wasn’t a pony?” “Don’t rightly know,” the captain shook his head. “Both of them claimed ‘twere some kind-a glowing thing with wings. Would-a thought that they’d been drinking, but just to be sure, I got some ‘corns to take a look and what do ya know, they tell me they found a lot of spell residue. I tell you, these are complications we don’t need right now.” The pair arrived outside of Celestia’s private study where two watchful guards stood next to a catering pony with a serving trolley. At the sight of both the princess and the captain of the guard they straightened visibly, but Celestia only had eyes for the potential second breakfast. “Thank you, I can manage from here,” she said to the caterer, who gave a quick bow before scampering off at a quick trot. “So in short,” said the captain, who was also looking at the food enviously, “bugger had a bunch of magic and knew how to use it.” Celestia turned back to Whiskey and considered what to do. Unfortunately, the coming solstice meant she already had too much to think about. “Ordinarily,” she said, “I would treat this matter with the utmost seriousness, but due to the...” Celestia chose her next words carefully as the two guards were in earshot. “Imminent situation, I would ask you to delegate this matter to a capable pony. I would like to be kept up to date with anything you find.” “Understood, ma’am,” Whisky said, saluting as he did so. He began to move, taking her words for a dismissal, but something screamed, faint and muffled, from within. “One more thing, Whiskey,” Celestia added, feeling oddly detached. “Tell me, what do you make of Lieutenant Stonewall?” Whiskey paused a moment, eyes rolling up as he pondered the unexpected question. “Stonewall? Very solid lad. Dependable. Has a decent brain in his head, which is rare enough these days.” Solid lad. Dependable. And he had even received a commendation for that remarkable display of loyalty in the pursuit of duty a few years back. Maybe? No. Meanwhile Whiskey was still speaking. “Been grooming him a bit to perhaps replace me when I kick the ol’ bucket. Not made any final decisions yet.” “You mean retire, surely?” “Death? Retirement? Ha! Seem about the same to me, to tell the truth,” Whiskey said. “Oh, and while we’re on the topic, do me a favour, yer majesty, and make sure they don’t go telling everypony I’ve left to spend more time with my family. That ship sailed years ago.” “I’ll… make a note of that request,” Celestia said, feeling a little confused. She wondered how much she didn’t know about her captain of the guard. With that, Whiskey straightened himself up and executed a perfect military salute that would have made the most hard-hearted drill instructor cry from sheer joy. Then, with one last enthusiastic “ma’am”, trotted off. She was going to miss Whiskey. ☼ ☼ ☼ It was nine o’clock sharp when Quill Scratch was shown into Celestia’s private study. Always punctual, that one. Quill was one of her Advisers, another old position that might sound a bit archaic in a world of modern government but unlike the Auspex, the role had evolved and changed with the times. There was no outdated uniform, Quill’s attire was sharp and thoroughly modern. The Advisers still provided advice, yes, but they often acted directly on her behalf as a liaison to the various departments of the wider government. Otherwise governing Equestria in these days would require her to be in several places at once. Quill looked about the room which, Celestia had to admit, was currently in a bit of a state. To maintain secrecy, the cleaning staff had been barred access to her study for the last several months and it showed. “Your Majesty,” Quill said, giving a perfect deferential nod. “Ah, Quill,” Celestia greeted him. “We have a few more details to go over before this afternoon’s announcement about Nightmare Moon.” It had taken a great deal of practise in front of a mirror to say that name calmly, but years of planning sessions with her most trusted senior staff members had hardened her… somewhat. Even now, she still found herself mentally adjusting her sentences to avoid having to say those words. “I have full confidence,” Quill replied, surprising her, “in your ability to make the announcement in a manner that will reassure your ponies that, despite the gravity of the situation, everything is in hoof.” Had uncertainty shown in her expression? Quill didn’t know the full truth. No pony did. No matter. She was ready. They had been making plans in secret for this, and today was the day that Celestia would make the general announcement to her staff. Tomorrow the guard would mobilise, the evacuation of potential battlefields would begin, and carefully worded press releases would be made. In a way, everything would be easier after today. With the plans made all but public, there would be no going back. She would simply have to endure for ten days, coasting the waves of events as they unfolded and not thinking too much. After all this time, ten days wouldn’t be that long. And after that… And after that... she didn’t know what would become of her. But her ponies would be happy and safe. ☼ ☼ ☼ Princess Celestia sat impassively on the throne of Equestria. The events of the morning blurred together in her mind. She’d made it through on habit and reflex alone. Around her, some her most trusted ponies on her staff began to file into the throne room. A few of them glancing about in surprise as they did so. The rows of pews that usually covered the floor had been moved aside. Mismatched tables and chairs from other parts of the palace now sat in their place. They were arranged in a rough square pattern that gave the hall the feel of an improvised war room, which, of course, was essentially the idea. Making sure to keep her bearing composed, she collected her thoughts. A vile, evil creature was about to escape and threaten to cover all the world with darkness. They would deal with it in the most efficient manner possible. With stakes so high, there was no room for faltering of mercy. Celestia would lead the charge. Most of all, Celestia owed it oblivion for... taking... Luna... That creature killed Luna, came the familiar mantra. Presently, Captain Whiskey entered with four of his lieutenants: Stonewall, Shining Armour, Merryweather and Lodestone. Next were three of her senior advisers: Quill Scratch, Birchwood and Whitetail. They were followed in turn by various higher ranking aides and attendants. The issue of the solstice. Why she was here. Focus on that. Say it, came thought unbidden. If you can’t say it in your thoughts, how can you lead these ponies? The issue of... the return of... Nightmare Moon... and how to deal with that vile creature who had killed her sister. Deep within, something stirred disapprovingly. She thought it might be her link to the Element of Honesty. Celestia allowed her eyes to close, listening to the rest of the ponies file in. Her left eyebrow itched but she remained outwardly still. Considering the news she was about to deliver, well, it wouldn’t do to be anything less than a picture of serenity. You’re going to crack. This broke you before. Remember this morning’s Nightma— Her bad dream. She refused to use that word in the manner it had come to be used by others. It had been a title of respect, once, given by her ponies to one who had protected them. Her bad dream. Her bad dream. Blinded by the darkness, she stumbled through an endless forest. Stray rocks and branches lined up to trip her while nameless malevolence filled the gaps between the trees. Somewhere out there her sister was hurting, badly. She journeyed with five ponies: four faceless pegasi soldiers and a unicorn wearing white ceremonial vestments covered in sunbursts. All her ponies were seated now. A few of them looked down at the sealed briefing packets placed on the tables. Merryweather and Loadstone were having to share, for some reason. She heard her own voice. “This is an urgent meeting. Equestria is in grave danger...” The camp had been set up. Celestia lay on a patch of grass, trying to sleep but failing. The darkness washed in towards her threatening to drown her. Fear wormed deeply into her chest and cut her breath short. Suddenly desperate, she lit her horn and reached out beyond the horizon to lift the sun. She was refused. Faced with her own powerlessness, the living blackness flowed in through the gaps in the trees as if meaning to wrap itself around her limbs. Her legs began to visibly shake. “There is good reason... there is good reason to believe that… that… There is good reason…” She tore open her saddlebags with magic, taking out every single precious candle within. They floated about her as she lit every last one with magic. It wasn’t enough. She began rooting through the saddlebags of her companions, searching for more candles and discarding everything else. Within moments, she was surrounded in a meagre circle of flickering light. By the light of the tiny flames, she forced herself to breathe normally. Calmness returned. She became aware of five sets of eyes watching her, the ponies that owned them wearing five expressions of utter shock. Celestia lowered her head and looked to the ground, too ashamed to meet their gazes. Her bad dream. Save for a few details—Noonday, High Priest of the Sun Cult, should not have been there—it had been a real memory. “Yer Majesty?” “Princess Celestia?” Her sister. It had been so long. Did she even remember what Luna’s face had looked like? “Princess Celestia, is something wrong?” She opened her eyes—she hadn’t remembered closing them—and was surprised to find them misty. Every single pony in the room was staring at her. Quill Stroke, Whitetail, and Whiskey were approaching up the steps to the throne, looking concerned. Yes, she had been saying something. “There is good reason…” What was wrong with her? Couldn’t she take this one, final step? How much more did she have to harden herself? Feeling herself rise on unsteady legs, she heard herself say: “I am sorry, my ponies. But this meeting will have to happen another time. Perhaps tomorrow. I require… time, to consider matters. Please do not be alarmed.” Lighting her horn, she brought forth memories of Blink, that strange, eccentric unicorn she had met eight hundred years ago. The world dissolved around her and became a field of wheat. Where, she wasn’t sure, except that Canterlot mountain still dominated the sky. A green earth pony in a brown hat gaped in shock as a piece of straw fell out of his mouth. Celestia quickly wrapped herself in invisibility magic and took to the air. She needed time to fly under the light of her sun. She didn’t know where yet. ☼ ☼ ☼ Time had not been kind to the old castle. The Sun Princess huddled in what had once been a feast hall, wings wrapped around her body. It was modest in size compared to some of the grander venues in Canterlot but then, in many ways, times had been simpler when this place had been built. The ceiling was completely gone and the marble columns that held it up were cracked and broken, one having fallen completely over onto its side. The flora, both natural and unnatural, had all but claimed the room; ferns grew up though the stone floor, vines hung down the walls and tree branches grew through the remains of what had once been stained glass windows. Celestia began walking slowly and aimlessly through the ruin, pausing frequently as some memory or other demanded her attention. Broken glass crunched under her hooves, though she paid it no mind. All around was stillness. The Everfree was a dangerous place, but perhaps the monsters who lived here knew to at least not disrupt the sanctity of these halls. Before her, sitting on a bizarre collection of plinths and platforms, joined together in a tree of tortured stone, were the five physical forms of the Elements of Harmony. With magic, Celestia cleared some of the debris away, so she could sit facing them. “I know what I have to do,” she said softly, beginning her communion. It was never unambiguous, dialogue like this, but she felt that something heard her. “I just don’t know how to have the strength to do it.” The stones were silent. “When the creature that dares call herself Nightmare comes again, I will face her. Alone. For the good of all of Equestria. It is the only way. I—” Celestia’s eyes were drawn to one of the orbs. Honesty. She couldn’t tell if the compulsion originated from the stone, or if it had been simply from within herself. “You. Don’t you dare judge me. It is the only sane way. Luna is gone. The only way to stop the eternal night is to banish the creature again. Or kill it somehow. The creature killed Luna. Don’t you understand how important it is for me to believe these things? Won’t you allow me this one, small lie, if only to myself?” She took a deep, calming breath. “Please, you have guided me in the past. Show me how to—to freeze my heart and stop feeling. Whatever it will take.” She felt a sense of… pity, almost? No, not quite. It was comfort, and assurances. An image came to mind—a translation of the abstract feeling, of a pegasus youth, out flying for the first time, lost, but at last found, wrapped under her mother’s wing. She pulled away mentally and physically as if burned. “I am no longer a carefree young foal, nor an inexperienced youth with only my own neck on the line. I am a princess of Equestria, responsible for the lives of millions. I cannot simply wait for a miracle. There is only one way that isn’t gambling with all those lives, and I must take it. I am not asking for pity, I am asking for strength.” As before, the stones were silent. No means were offered. “I made this bargain, long ago. Luna—” her voice cracked. “It was her, weighed against everything. I am called to prove myself a second time, but if it must be so then—” She faltered, feeling the strangest sensation that she should look behind her. It was the nature of the clouds of the Everfree forest to move on their own, restlessly shifting about. They always blanketed the sky thickly no matter the season, spreading perpetual gloom. But a tiny gap had opened to the blue sky beyond it through which a shaft of light fell on the ruined ground at her hooves. Look up. Celestia followed the shaft upwards to where it streamed through a broken window frame. There, at the very apex of the arch, was one single piece of stained glass. It had endured, unbroken, a thousand years of weather, a thousand years of plant growth, a thousand years of the the attentions of the fauna. A thousand years without breaking to a hailstone. A thousand years without being stolen by a dragon. While her ponies had invented the steam engine and constructed the first railways, it had endured. When explorers made the first contact with the Zebras, it had endured. It had endured through Polaris’s usurpation of Thuban as the north star. The great eastern migration of ponies. The death of the Dragon Ardusin. Through all this, it had survived. Through the glass shone ancient symbol of the Mares of the Day and Night: a disc, half yellow, half blue, split by a waving line upon which twin stylised images of winged unicorns chased the sun and the moon, one white coated, one deep blue. Sister, it seemed to say, I’m not dead yet. “Ten days. I only have ten days.” Her horn lit up. Golden crown, torc and horseshoes were thrown to the floor. They were heavy and she had a long flight ahead of her before sundown. There were creatures in the world much older than the first sunrise, and she needed to speak with one.