//------------------------------// // 6 - Fortification // Story: A Brief History of Canterlot Castle // by Rambling Writer //------------------------------// Canterlot was completed. Canterlot Castle was completed, the platform supporting it perfectly. Ponies swarmed the capital, ready to live and work in it. Shops, residences, all the infrastructure had been laid out years in advance. From the slopes of Canter Mount, it shone, glistened, like nothing else in Equestria. It was a thing of beauty, a work of architectural artistry unparalleled anywhere else in the nation, perhaps even the world. And Gabion had had a hoof in almost every aspect of its collective construction. But Gabion pondered that perhaps it said something about himself and Celestia that he’d just finished the greatest project of his life, one of the greatest projects of the nation, yet his only thoughts were on how she hadn’t changed in the slightest. Eight whole years, and Celestia was exactly as Gabion remembered her from when construction began. It was one thing to hear that she was immortal, read of great deeds she’d done a hundred years ago, or note from a distance that she hadn’t grown much while he did; it was quite another to see if firsthoof, up close and personal. Not a single wrinkle, not single crick in her joints, not a single strand of gray in that ethereal mane. Gabion couldn’t say the same for himself; his mane and beard were slowly getting paler, he hit the ground harder than he used to, his left rear knee was beginning to throb, and his beard was making him look weathered and worn rather than tough. He felt like he was talking more slowly, too, but he couldn’t tell. As Gabion had been the head mason for Canterlot’s construction, he’d been roped into having a place of honor at the official completion ceremony, close to the princesses. He loathed ceremonies with a passion, with all their speeches and boring sitting around, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn down Celestia, neither as a princess nor (he was surprised to say) a friend. So, as the ponies pontificated, he sat by close to the stage and forced himself to stay awake. When the eternal torment finally stopped and the attendees moved to the ballroom, a worn-out Gabion hung around the fringes of the ball, staying more out of politeness for Celestia than anything else. All the other guests, the nobility and the gentry, felt downright alien to him, something out of another world with their upturned noses and glistening manes and altogether too pristine clothes. He wanted nothing more than to go home, get into bed, and sleep with absolutely zero responsibility for the first time in almost a decade, but he felt it proper to try to see Celestia at least once. Unfortunately, the good opportunities to even try were few and far between. Celestia always seemed to be thronged with ponies attempting to get into her good graces. (If only they knew…) Gabion didn’t even try pushing through to her, but hung back and waited for the crowd to disperse. But whenever somepony left, two more ponies arrived to take their place. And sometimes two someponies arrived without somepony leaving at all. He’d be waiting a while. Gabion sighed, sipped wine from his mug, and nibbled at the cheese slice that remained of his refreshments. Around him, ponies danced in expensive clothes and talked about expensive things, and he wanted no part of it. He didn’t belong and he didn’t care to belong. He squinted at Celestia, but her expression was hard to make out. She was smiling at the ponies surrounding her, but anypony could smile. A unicorn in a silk suit with a monocle stepped from the crowd, staring at Gabion like he was from a carnival freakshow. Considering the golden tassels on the suit, peasants probably qualified as a freakshow to him. Gabion didn’t care. “Yo,” he said. The unicorn coughed. “Greetings. I am Marquis Viridian Splendor,” he said after some hesitation. Gabion grunted and didn’t take his eyes from Celestia. “Gabion.” Viridian raised an eyebrow. “Just Gabion?” “Yep.” “Not even an esquire?” Viridian’s eyes flicked up and down Gabion’s simple clothes and his lip curled slightly. “Nope.” Viridian huffed. Gabion wondered just how nobles could huff so… eloquently and intricately. It was like there was an entire speech contained within that huff of Viridian’s, one that had many negative things to say about “Oh! I say! The peasantry! I say! Such rabble! I say!” and other subjects along those lines. Gabion didn’t listen. He’d had enough of speeches for the night. “To think one such as you could get in,” Viridian said in an obviously fake whisper. “The guards’ standards must be slipping.” “Or maybe I’m important and was invited and was polite enough to come,” Gabion said blandly. He still didn’t look at Viridian. “Do I look like I want to be here?” “…P-perhaps… not…” Viridian said. He shook his head. “But what could one such as you possibly have to offer?” “This, for starters.” Gabion waved a hoof around the room. “I oversaw the whole castle’s construction from beginning to end.” Viridian looked around the room. “You oversaw it,” he said derisively. “How difficult. It’s watching other ponies putting stones together.” Luckily for Viridian, Gabion wasn’t so far gone that he had no self-control, or else he would’ve introduced Viridian’s face to the bottom of his mug, repeatedly and enthusiastically. Another “noble” git, talking from his rump about a topic he had absolutely no authority on. “It’s trickier than it looks,” Gabion said, not caring about how weak a defense it sounded. “You know how Celestia assisted in the construction? I had to teach her how to properly use her magic.” Viridian looked like he’d been told that rain fell up. “You. Taught Celestia. Magic.” “Now you’re just repeating me. Stop it.” “Oh, yes,” Viridian said dryly. “You — a mere builder — taught Princess Celestia Sol Invictus, who was alive before our grandparents were, she who moves the sun itself, magic. Indeeeeed.” He glanced at Celestia and the throng surrounding her. “Oh, and look, she can’t even deny it, for she’s too busy. How convenient.” Alcohol, fatigue, and annoyance conspired together, and Gabion made a decision. “I’m sure she won’t mind stepping away for a few moments to confirm it,” he said. He took a deep breath and bellowed, “HEY! CELESTIA!” In the space of three seconds, the ball stopped. Nopony moved. Nopony said anything. The musicians were silent. Everypony alternated between staring at Gabion and staring at Celestia. The only sound was the echoes of Gabion’s shout. Viridian appeared to have forgotten how to breathe and his eyes had grown a few inches wider. “You blithering, lowborn idiot,” he whispered. His legs were shaking, but his hooves were as still as if they’d been glued to the floor. “I didn’t mean-” “Too bad,” Gabion whispered, and inhaled again. “I WAS WONDERING IF YOU COULD SETTLE AN ARGUMENT BETWEEN ME AND MARQUIS VIRIDIAN HERE!” “You shouldn’t have named me why did you name me I WILL SEE TO IT THAT YOUR FAMILY NAME IS FOREVER RUINED-” hissed Viridian. Celestia reached out to nudge some of the ponies in her surrounding crowd aside, but she’d barely lifted her hoof before every single pony between her and Gabion stepped out of the way and then some, clearing a path almost seven feet wide. When Celestia strode down it, her hoofsteps echoed cavernously throughout the ballroom, like foundation stones falling into place. (Was that first day really eight whole years ago? Wow.) It took a few eternal seconds for Celestia to reach the pair. She looked down at them expressionlessly, her eyes rapidly flitting between Gabion and Viridian. Viridian hastily bowed to her, his horn nearly plowing a furrow in the floor. Too tired to bow as well and too friendly with Celestia to care, Gabion just raised his mug in greeting. “Highness.” (Viridian looked between Gabion and Celestia with rapidly-increasing terror and confusion.) Finally, Celestia smiled. “I was wondering when I’d get a chance to speak to you, Gabion,” she said. (Viridian spasmed and looked like he was going to vomit.) “I’m afraid I’ve been caught up with… ponies, but I can spare a moment.” “Yeah, Marquis Viridian here-” Gabion casually threw a leg over Viridian’s withers. Viridian didn’t move; he’d even stopped shaking. “-was saying that I probably wasn’t important in building this castle, and I was saying I was, because I helped you with your magic, and we were hoping you could clear things up for us.” Celestia’s smile twitched in that way that meant she was thinking very, very quickly. After only a second, she laughed and said, “Well, of course you were important! The castle never would’ve been completed without the instruction you gave me in the first week!” Viridian’s mortified shock quota ran out and he slipped into a dull, expressionless daze. “I see,” he said tonelessly, weakly pushing Gabion’s leg off him. “Yes, laying a proper foundation is much more complicated than moving the sun.” Gabion twitched at that — was she making things up for him or did she mean it? Viridian, on the other hoof, finally broke completely. He mumbled, “Heh beh,” turned, and walked into the crowd with a vacant expression on his face. Gabion looked after Viridian, shrugged, and said, “Thanks for that.” “There’s a balcony down there,” Celestia said, pointing down a hall, “you know the one. If you’re willing to wait fifteen minutes, I can talk with you alone there.” “Thank you,” Gabion said, bowing. “I’ll be there.” He took a step towards the hallway. The crowd promptly unfroze and suddenly Gabion was surrounded by ponies chattering about Celestia. “How you do know her?” “How long have you known her?” “What did you do?” Wherever he turned, there were more ponies pressing in on him. “Run,” Celestia whispered, “before they use you to get to me.” Gabion took one look at the crowd surrounding him and immediately bolted. The balcony overlooked Canterlot, with all its lamps being lit in a sea of stars as the sun set. Torches flickering in their sconces illuminated the balcony. Gabion didn’t watch it at all; he’d seen the sight before. He slouched on the bench in a daze. More than once, he stifled a yawn. At least the guards were nice enough to make sure he had some solitude. The door creaked open. Gabion turned to say that he wasn’t going to talk about Celestia, only to be confronted with a guard levitating a plate with a large slice of cake on it. “Her Majesty will be out in a few minutes,” the guard said, setting the plate next to Gabion, “and requested this be sent to you in the meantime.” He bowed and closed the door behind him. Gabion squinted at the cake. He recognized the design, it was from the high table, where the highest-ranked were invited. With his luck, it’d be some snooty thing with fruit, more ingredients than he could count, a name he’d never be able to pronounce in a million years, and hardly any taste. Of course, Celestia wouldn’t send him something he wouldn’t like, would she? He cautiously tried a bite. Fifteen seconds later, the cake was gone. No, she wouldn’t. The concentrated sugar gave Gabion’s mind the little kick it needed for him to get back up again, and by the time Celestia was out, he was looking out over Canterlot and almost alert. Celestia laid a wineglass on the railing next to him and poured him some wine from a newly-opened bottle. “I apologize for Viridian’s behavior,” she said. “Besides being a marquis, he comes from one of the oldest families in Equestria and thinks that elevates him above other ponies, with the exception of myself and Luna.” “Don’t worry about it,” said Gabion. He waved a hoof dismissively. “He wasn’t nearly as biting as he thought he was.” “He still needs to learn a lesson about respecting others, which is hard when so few others can reprimand you for a lack of respect.” Celestia took a sip of her wine and smacked her lips. “Maybe I could make you a duke for your service.” “Oh, stars above, NO,” gasped Gabion. “I’d run my holding into the ground within-” “I’m kidding,” giggled Celestia. “I know that would be a punishment for you. Now, if I made somepony else a duke and had you build their castle…” “Let it wait a year,” said Gabion. “I just finished building a city.” “Mmm. Very true.” Gabion took a sip of his new wine. As far as fruity alcoholic beverages went, it leaned more towards “fruity” than “alcoholic”, but he was fine with that. “So, ehm, is moving foundation stones more complicated than moving the sun?” “You’d be surprised at how low a bar that is to clear,” Celestia responded. “The sun isn’t very complicated; it’s merely very big. At the end of the day-” (Gabion snorted, but Celestia didn’t seem to notice.) “-it amounts to moving a giant ball around the sky at the proper speed. Not to say moving foundation stones is easy, but-” “No, no, I get you,” said Gabion. “Just curious.” “Hmm.” They stood and looked out over Canterlot, taking occasional sips of wine. Every now and then, Celestia’s horn would glow and the sun would move a little closer to the horizon. Shadows crept across the city, and as more and more windows were illuminated, it slowly turned into a facsimile of the night sky. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Celestia. “The greatest project I’ve ever been involved in, Your Highness,” said Gabion. He liked tooting his own horn. “And if you knew me-” “Yes,” Celestia said. “That is quite something.” Her agreement was remarkably sincere, with no trace of sardonicism or capitulation. “Why do you think you were the one chosen to oversee it?” “Although…” Gabion looked down at his glass. “Your Highness, I never did apologize for snapping at you all those years ago.” “Hmm?” Celestia tilted her head at him. “I can’t recall.” “Your second day at work. I told you to lower a block, and-” Bells tinkled as Celestia laughed. “That? It was so long ago, I’d utterly forgotten about it. It was a necessary reprimand, Gabion, you don’t need to apologize.” “The pony who says you don’t need to apologize is the one you’ll want to apologize to the most,” said Gabion. He set his glass down. “I wasn’t treating you like a proper worker.” “I wasn’t a proper worker yet.” “I was treating you rudely.” “Your rudeness was just what I needed to be knocked from the rut of princesshood.” “I shouldn’t have done it in front of everypony.” “Should you have told them to leave, first?” “…I… was…” “And even though you don’t need to apologize, you’re forgiven.” Celestia nudged him with a wing. “It was eight years ago. I hope you haven’t been stewing on it for that long.” “No.” But when Gabion looked at Celestia again, a strange feeling came over him from nowhere. Those eight years had refused to look Celestia in the eye, but they were quite happy to greet him. Celestia must’ve grieved dozens — hundreds? — of times in the past, and yet she welcomed, rejoiced in his inevitably temporary company. How could she do it so easily? He took a sip of wine for courage. “Celestia?” “Yes?” “Why do you… value friendships with… with mortal ponies like me? We’re… I’m going to die within thirty years, perhaps less, and that’ll be it for me.” Gabion cringed at the phrasing, but it was out and there was no way to fix that. “And you… still talk with me. Still like me.” He expected some quick platitude about… he wasn’t sure what. It wasn’t exactly easy to collect idioms specific to immortals when there were only two of them known. But some quick, snappy saying about life. Instead, Celestia simply looked out over Canterlot, her expression distant. She took a sip of wine. Gabion opened his mouth, but quickly closed it again. It wouldn’t do to interrupt her thoughts. Finally, Celestia said, “Do you have a garden, Gabion?” Gabion gulped down some wine. “My wife and I do. She spends more time on it, but I’m always available. Why?” “What happens every winter?” “Most of the flowers wither and die. Some go dormant for the season, with some prodding.” “What happens every spring?” “We plant new ones.” “Even though they’ll die?” “Yes.” “And there you have it,” said Celestia. “Friendships are like flowers to me. I know they’ll eventually wither and and die even as I begin cultivating them, but that’s no reason to not enjoy their beauty in the meantime. Of course, ponies hold considerably more impact than flowers.” She turned to Gabion, her expression wistful. “I’m not going to pretend seeing friends grow old and depart from the world is easy. Stars above, I hope it never will be.” She put her hoof under Gabion’s chin and delicately lifted his head up so their eyes met. “But knowing you won’t always be around makes moments like these all the more precious to me because they’ll never come again. Maybe I’ll meet other ponies like you. I already know that none of them will teach me about construction.” Gabion had never been one for poetry or metaphor. But as he gazed into Celestia’s eyes, he understood. It wasn’t something he could fully put into words, a sort of appreciation for temporary things because they were temporary. Regret and thankfulness, joy and wistfulness, all mixed into one. Celestia released Gabion and looked over Canterlot. “We’re in fall right now. And the leaves are so beautiful.” After a moment, Gabion put his hoof next to Celestia’s. “I’m happy to have known you, Celestia.” Celestia wrapped her hoof around his. “And I you, Gabion.” A few seconds’ silence. Desperate for a lighter tone, Gabion said, “I… hate to break your philosophical streak, but I’ve been offered another job on the basis of this one.” “Oh?” “It’s on Equestria’s east coast, where a baron wants me to build him a fort…” The minutes ticked by, and suddenly Gabion realized the castle behind them was quiet and the moon was hanging above Canterlot. “Oh, shoot,” he muttered, “I didn’t keep you from the ball, did I?” “You did, thankfully,” said Celestia. “I’d had quite enough of it for a while. Luna said she could handle it before I left.” “You should thank her,” said Gabion. “I can’t ima-” He cut himself off with a huge yawn. “Listen, I need to get back to my hotel. I’ve got a long trip tomorrow.” “If you want, I can take you home tonight.” Gabion did a double-take. “Wha- The whole way? Now? Through- teleportation or whatever it’s called? I live halfway across Equestria!” Celestia smiled. “Having enough power to move the sun does come with other perks.” Gabion stared, then laughed. “Well, if you insist. My wife would be happy to have me home already. Let me get you a map so I can show you where my town is…”