//------------------------------//
// 12. The Future 
// Story: Time Enough For Love 
// by horizon 
//------------------------------//

There was a faint scrambling noise from outside the throne room, then a grunt, and a quiet rattling as pebbles showered down from a not-quite-solid hoofhold.

Celestia waited.

In the circle of starlight shimmering through the hole in one pitch-black wall, a dark equine silhouette clambered up to all four legs, pausing for a moment to take a breath.  It took a step forward and dropped again, letting out a feminine yelp as it faceplanted.  A cacophonous skitter suggested a collection of objects spilling to the floor. 

The visitor bit back the first syllable of an Earth-dialect curse word, and her silhouette shifted around the lower edge of the starlight, accompanied by the scrape of hooves on floor and the occasional clatter of finding something by touch.

Celestia waited.

There was a loud clack, and a momentary flash as flint sparked on steel.  A moment later, light flared up as flame enveloped the rag-wrapped end of a short stick.  The other end was clenched in the teeth of a dirt-smeared, white-coated earth pony, whose flattened muzzle and faintly striped legs suggested okapi crossbreeding somewhere in the family tree.

The pony glanced backward at what had tripped her, and her eyes widened.  A small section of the broken shaft of a warhammer was embedded deeply in the wall at the edge of the hole, looking like it had been flung with impossible force.

She turned slowly back around, throat muscles tightening as she swallowed, then spit the torch out into the crook of one pastern.  "Y-your Highness?" she said, fear thick in her voice as she peered into the darkness.

Celestia waited.

The mare's legs were openly trembling, and she made no move forward.  "M-my name is Silver," she said, eyes sweeping through the darkened room.  "S-silver Polish.  I used to work in Everfree as a maid, but we never really met.  I —" Her voice faltered for a moment.  "I know you don't like being bothered any more."  She forced a smile.  "I didn't want to bother you, either, but I drew today's lot, so, um, if you'll just raise the sun, please, I can leave and let you be…?"

Celestia said nothing.

Fear and desperation warred on Silver's muzzle, and she let out a whicker from deep in her throat, hooves rocking in a suppressed little dance.  She stilled herself with obvious effort, then forced a smile.

"Please, Your Highness?" she said.  "It's a special day today.  The first Summer Sun since you saved the world from the Imperatrix.  So we'd like to celebrate your —"

A golden glow flared in the center of the darkened throne room, followed by a lightning blur of golden light.  Before Silver could even blink, there was a hollow whunk, and a new section of warhammer-shaft was embedded in the wall just past her ear, vibrating fiercely.  

"— vic … tory …" she trailed off.  A lock of pale blue hair, neatly shorn, drifted down from her mane to the floor.

Silver screamed.  She bolted out the hole, dropping the torch as she scrambled and leapt.  Celestia said nothing.  The torch slowly guttered out.

A few minutes later, there was the sound of cautious motion out in the starlight.  "Y-your Highness?" a thoroughly miserable voice said, muffled, from around a corner.  "I'm so sorry.  But if nopony raises the sun, our crops will fail and we'll start freezing …"

Celestia said nothing.

There was silence from outside, then a choked-back sob.  "P-please," Silver whimpered.  "I-I can't leave until you do.  A-and, um, if I don't come back, t-they'll just send somepony else."

There was a shuddering sob from inside.

Then the throne room was bathed in golden hornglow.  Outside, a shadow-darkened moon trembled and slipped below the horizon.  The sky lightened, and reddened, and suddenly burst into daylight.

Silver let out a sob of relief.  "Thank you, Your Highness!" she shouted, followed by the sound of galloping hooves receding at top speed.

Celestia waited.  And, when the noises from outside had faded into the distance, her eyes gradually settled closed, and she returned to the uneasy half-sleep that had tormented her for a year.







Clover emerged with a body-jolting thump into a blinding halo of light.

He went limp until gravity finished having its way with him, settling painfully against something cool and hard.  The light lurched around in his vision as he jolted to a stop, but refused to go away.  He squinted — wondering for a moment if he was still in the middle of the Harmonic blast, but the glare was too white.  Then it occurred to him to consider whether he had died and was orienting to the Ever Upward.  But it didn't seem right that the afterlife would welcome him with both throbbing agony in every corner of his body, and the distant, muted sounds of birdcall.  

Whatever the situation, there weren't any homicidal shadow demons.  That was a plus.  So he closed his eyes for a while, and listened to that birdcall while his pain subsided and the light baked off the last lingering tendrils of darkness from his form.

After some time, Clover rolled his head against the hard surface, then finally managed to block the glare by clumsily lifting a hoof to shade his face.  As he cracked his eyes open and blinked the spots out of them, straight lines began to resolve in the surrounding dimness: the walls and corners of what had once been Everfree Palace's new throne room.

Slowly, the halo resolved into a shaft of sunlight peeking at a low angle through the giant hole in the ceiling. Clover was centered in that spotlight; a second sunbeam shone through a hole in the back wall with two thin, broken spears embedded in the edge, and that spotlight illuminated the crater in the center of the room where both alicorns had landed during their fight.  The rest of the room was lit only indirectly from those sources.  No mage-lights shone on the walls.  Heaps of rubble had been stacked in front of the doors, blocking every entrance except for the holes.  The background sensations of dark magic and Harmonic surge — and the tangy ozone of overwhelming magical discharge — still suffused the room and clung to the back of Clover's throat.  That seemed impossible if a full year had passed since the fight, but then, everything about the Everfree had seemed subtly off since his encounter with Discord.

At first Clover thought the room was empty.  But then he saw her: A pale form slumped in the center of the crater.  What at first had looked like a mound of pebbles was a sprawled wing, white turned grey beneath a layer of dust.  Her once-sleek barrel was emaciated and patchily discolored, rising and falling in barely perceptible waves.

Clover's jaw dropped.

He staggered to his hooves, wincing as fresh pain blossomed, and croaked, "Celestia?"

Celestia's head turned toward the voice, eyelids cracking open.  Her face was gaunt, eyes red and raw, pupils dead.  

She blinked slowly, and her eyes drifted into focus.  Then they widened, and she lifted her head, sending dust eddying from the floor.  

"Clover?" she whispered through a scratchy throat.

He staggered forward.  "I'm here," he said, the moment too big for clever words.

Celestia lunged at him with startling speed, given her appearance.  He let out a weak little rattle as she squeezed fractured ribs, and tried not to twitch in pain as she bawled into his shoulder, and waited until the oxygen-deprivation spots began to appear around the edge of his vision before he started smacking her side in their age-old "please ease off the hug" signal.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed the whole while, and Clover finally managed to gently shush her.

Their clinging forms soon sunk to the ground in the crater.  It was intensely, supremely uncomfortable — lumpy where it wasn't jagged, and curving at an angle that pressed on all the wrong parts of his spine.  Celestia's body was gaunt, hard-edged in all the wrong places, and smelled like a year of bad dirt. 

None of that mattered.

Celestia sobbed until her tears were spent, and Clover simply held her — which felt more important than any words they could possibly have exchanged.  Gradually, her sobs faded, and her breathing slowed.  Silent minutes later, Clover glanced up to see her eyes closed and her mouth half-open.  Her chest still occasionally hitched as it slowly rose and fell, but the anguish suffusing her features had receded.

Finally, he let exhaustion take him, too, drifting to sleep as the sun shifted in the sky and left their crater in shadow.







Sunlight from the hole directly overhead stirred them both back awake hours later.  Clover nuzzled into Celestia's chest.  She clung to him fiercely, hooves wandering in repeated loops over his barrel.  He held her, and waited for her to speak.

"I didn't ruin everything," she finally whispered.  "You're really here."

Clover gave her a reassuring squeeze.  "You did the right thing," he murmured back.  "I'm sorry I had no time to explain."

"You're really here," Celestia repeated.  "How?" 

The corners of Clover's mouth twitched upward.  "A time skip, of course.  When Luna was finally distracted for a moment, trying to shield against your rainbow blast."

"But …" Celestia said, opening and closing her mouth.  She finally managed: "That's impossible."

"No, just very difficult."  Clover chuckled, then winced as the chest motion twitched against something cracked.  "Ow. … The leech spell she stuck on me is a standard anti-magic technique.  It cripples unicorns by removing their ability to focus through their horn.  But a trained caster can still throw ridiculous amounts of energy into a raw magic surge, and direct some tiny fraction of it with pure willpower and colossal inefficiency.  I watched you teleport that way once."

"You cast a time skip with a raw magic surge?  I couldn't do that!"

Clover's eyebrows shot up.  "What?  Are you kidding?  I was lucky I could muster up enough energy for the briefest burst of telekinesis." 

"Telekinesis?"  Celestia stared at him uncomprehendingly, then blinked.  "What good would — wait, your necklace?"  Celestia lifted a hoof in the direction of the shattered bits of gold scattered across the floor.  "But I watched Luna destroy it."

Clover fumbled with his cloak, undoing the catches and revealing a circular golden necklace with an inset triangle.  The real one — not the duplicate Aketi had once made.

"It turns out," he said with a grin, "I used to know a jeweler."

Celestia stared down at the necklace in disbelief.

Then a smile began to spread across her muzzle, and she wheezed out a laugh — which quickly shifted into a hacking cough, doubling her over and causing Clover to wriggle madly to avoid being bent the wrong way.

"You are a miracle," Celestia whispered once she caught her breath.

Clover beamed and kissed her nose.  "Only because I've got the example of a goddess to live up to," he whispered back, and snuggled back into her embrace.

He wasn't expecting Celestia's body to go rigid.

Clover pulled his head back, startled.  "Celestia?" he said, his heart squeezing at the sudden terror in her eyes.  "What's wrong?"

"I —" she said, faltering, and abruptly drew back, sitting up.  "I'm sorry.  You should go."

"What?" Clover exploded.  "For all stars' love, Celestia.  Why?"

It would have been hard to argue that the anguish on her muzzle looked worse than when Clover had arrived, but it was certainly a strong contender.  "I promised you only the best of me," she whispered, eyes barely holding back tears.  "This isn't … I'm not …"  Her horn sputtered to life as she trailed off, and the necklace rose from Clover's chest in a shaky golden glow.

Clover yelped and shot a hoof through the amulet's chain, yanking outward as hard as he could.  With a brief flash of pain at the back of his neck, the clasp snapped.  There was a brilliant shower of golden sparks from the ends of the chain, and the necklace shot away and skittered across the floor.

Both of them turned their heads to stare at the amulet.  Then back at each other.  

Celestia slowly blinked.  Then her eyes widened and her cheeks went pale.

"Oh, no, no, no," she said.  "I broke it, I broke it, I —"

Realization hit.  Clover's eyes widened.

He lunged in, pressing both forehooves to her muzzle.  "Celestia."

She whimpered, ears lowering.  Clover stared deeply into her eyes, feeling her lower jaw tremble under his hooves.  Then he lowered his legs and gave her a gentle smile.

"You silly, silly mare," he said.  "Do you think you just did something wrong?"

"What do you mean?  I just ruined everything again!" Celestia said, voice rising as panic set back in.  "Now you're going to grow old and die!  I'll get upset!  We'll have bad times and fights!  The necklace is what made us work!"

"No, it isn't," Clover said firmly.  "We had those anyway.  And the amulet isn't our relationship — merely what brought us to this moment."  His voice softened.  "When the mare who loves me is alone and broken-hearted.  Without it, I have the chance to be here when she needs me the most."

Celestia choked back a sob, standing still on trembling legs.  Then her face softened in something very much like awe.

Clover leaned in and clamped his forelegs around her withers, clinging as tightly as he could until she let out a shuddering breath and lunged back in to return the hug.

"Do you remember what I said about when love counts?" he whispered.  "I love you, Celestia, and there's no time or place I would rather be."

Celestia let out a long breath, clinging tightly to him and shivering, the tension slowly draining from her shoulders.

"Thank you," she whispered back.

Clover gave her a silent squeeze, closing his eyes and feeling her body against his.

A few moments later, Celestia shifted against him.  "No, that's not enough," she murmured.  "Because I think I finally understand.  You were right.  Love — real love — means wanting each other every possible minute.  For the good times, to share them.  And for the bad times, because you would make any sacrifice to make your lover's bad times better."  She sniffled, and her body shook in silent laughter.  "I can't give you my best right now.  I'm as far from my best as I can get.  But having you here makes me want to try."  Celestia lowered her muzzle and kissed his forehead.  "I love you, Clover.  I do love you.  But I wasn't loving you when it counted.  I want to change that.  And I'm sorry that took me so long to realize."

Clover felt tears burst through the dams of his eyelids, and he laughed, and raised his head to return her kiss.







Noises stirred Clover back to consciousness as the shadows outside were getting long.  The muffled sounds of hoof-fall, and the rattle of shifting pebbles.  A pale head popped up from the lower edge of the hole in the wall, then immediately ducked back into cover.  

"Y-your Highness?" a feminine voice hesitantly called from outside.

Celestia stirred, too — looking past Clover, then refocusing her eyes on him, as if even now she couldn't believe he was really there.  She gave him a brief squeeze, which he smiled and returned.

The touch seemed to stir something within her, and Celestia lifted her head and cleared her throat.  "Hey," she called out in a gravelly voice.  "I'm sorry about this morning."

There was no sound from outside for several seconds.  Then a wide-eyed head slowly rose to stare into the room, its surprise matching Clover's own.

Celestia, too, rose up — a cloud of dust puffing up around her as she pushed herself upright from the crater and shook out her wings.  "You're here for me to lower the sun and raise the moon, right?  Even though you thought I was going to kill you last time."  She glanced back at Clover.  "There must be a pony you really love to make a sacrifice that big."

Silver scrambled up to the rim of the hole, then dropped into a low, trembling bow.  Her mane had been cut short and uneven in a crude attempt to compensate for the chunk of hair shorn off by the warhammer shaft.   "I-it's for all of Equestria, Your Highness.  I drew the lot, and without day and night, there's far more than my life at stake." 

Celestia winced at the honorific — and was silent for a moment in thought — but her muzzle ultimately curled into an unsteady smile.  "Uh, good!  Don't sell yourself short.  Being willing to sacrifice yourself for ponykind is the sort of heroism I hear stories about.  Equestria needs more ponies like you."

Silver was briefly silent.  Then she risked a glance up.  Her eyes met Clover's for a moment, and confusion registered, but she quickly turned her gaze back to Celestia.  "… Thank you, my Queen?"

This time, Celestia's ears flattened.  "No," she said softly.  "Not your Queen.  Never again Queen.  I got so caught up in being on top of the world that I didn't realize how badly I was rutting everything up.  And until a few hours ago I —" her voice hitched — "I … was scared I'd ruin the whole world the same way I ruined everything I ever cared for.  I'm sorry." 

Silver considered for a moment, opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated.  Instead, she bowed her head again.

Celestia's horn blazed at full intensity for a moment.  The shadows outside lengthened, then spread as the sun dipped below the horizon, then lightened fractionally as a dull, darkened moon rose.  Celestia's horn stayed lit, and soon, the throne room's magelights stuttered to damaged, flickering life.

Then she stepped forward to Silver.  "Whoever sent you here," Celestia said, "tell them there's no need to draw lots tomorrow.  I'll raise the sun."  She fidgeted as Silver gasped, then glanced back at Clover to smile gamely.  "I've never done well with the bad times, but it's time I started trying."

"That's," Silver stammered.  "I-I can't tell you how much that will mean to us all.  Thank you, Your Highness."  

"Celestia."

"… Celestia."  Silver angled her head even further down, and took a step back toward the hole — but paused, then made no further move to leave.

Celestia stared back uncertainly, then frowned.  "Is something wrong?"

"Not … with what you just said, no."  Silver swallowed, then shakily stood.  "I'm so sorry, Your… Celestia.  This is rude beyond belief.  But you said I was a hero because I asked you for help when the world was at stake.  And … I think that means I need to do it again."

Celestia's eyebrows raised.  "What do you mean?"

"You already do more for us than we have any right to ask for.  You saved us from the Im— the Nightmare — and you move the sun and moon."  Silver's ears swiveled back.  "But there are monsters in the forests, and raiders on the borders, and nobles and warlords fighting each other for the scraps in between.  To be blunt, Your Highness, Equestria needs more than sunlight.  We need you back.  Now more than ever."

Celestia looked away for a long while.  Then she glanced out at the shadow-darkened moon.

"Not back," she finally murmured, lowering her head.  "You deserve better than that."  She drew in a deep breath, then let it out again and straightened up.  "But … a wise pony just taught me that the most important thing is being there for the bad times.  And it looks like I'm not the only one who spent the last year convinced everything was ruined forever."  She let out a pained laugh.  "After everything I've done, I owe it to you to fix what I can."

Silver's eyes filled with tears.  Her jaw started quivering.  Then, suddenly, she lunged in for a hug, clinging to Celestia.  "Thank you," she sobbed, over and over.  "Thank you."

Celestia lifted a hoof to awkwardly pat her withers, giving Clover a wry smile, then said, "Go let the others know.  I'll fly out tomorrow morning.  We'll talk."

Clover watched Silver gallop away, then walked up to Celestia and leaned his head to her shoulder.

"I'm proud of you," he said.  "And you really should think about what she said.  If the world's that bad off, Equestria will need a leader."

"No," Celestia said firmly.  "All this happened because I was Queen."

"Celestia, I know what I just heard," Clover said gently, "and I promise you, in my professional opinion as a royal advisor, that they're never going to find a better ruler than a pony who wants to listen and fix things." 

She stared into his eyes.  Clover smiled.

Celestia nuzzled his cheek.  "I'll think about it," she said softly.







"Princess," the pegasus said with a crisp salute, "I bring word from General Firefly.  The Western Protectorates recognize your rightful rule, unconditionally cease hostilities against the Everfree Fiefdoms, and pledge allegiance to a reunified Equestria."  He bowed low.  "Welcome back, Your Highness."

Clover smirked.  "Told you."

Celestia stuck her tongue out at him, then nodded to the messenger.  "Tell him we'll be looking forward to his visit here to Canter Peak.  We —"  She hesitated for a moment, then clarified.  "That's the 'all of us' we, not the royal we.  This time, everypony's going to sit down from the start and figure out how to work together again.  'Cause I already lived through one Unification, and this time, we're gonna skip the part where the big problems don't get brought up until a generation later."

Celestia watched the messenger spin and leap off the cliff, tracking his form as he flapped past the teams of mages and weatherponies who were still — four weeks after their arrival — working in round-the-clock shifts to tame Canter Peak's skies.  Only after he vanished into the storms did she let out a breath, yanking the tiara from her head and rubbing her eyes with a hoof.

"Gah, telling ponies how to fix things is so tiring," she muttered.  "I'm supposed to be out there doing the bucking."

"Save that impatience for King Guto," Clover said.  "The way talks are going, you're likely going to have to beat some sense into him.  And when you leave to lead the army, we don't want the clouds rolling back in and undoing all our work.  The more experience these ponies get by then, the less effort we waste."

"I know," Celestia grumbled.  "It's just … nnnngh!"  Clover's world suddenly shaded gold, and he hurtled through the air alongside Celestia as she trotted toward the storage building that had once been the only structure on the mountain.  "Busy for a bit!  Princess time!" she shouted as she yanked Clover inside, slamming the door.

Celestia's form was decidedly less tense as they snuggled together afterward, Clover noted.  But she was still staring out into space in a way he wasn't certain any distraction could erase.

"What's on your mind, lover?" he murmured, nuzzling her shoulder.

"Mmm?" she grunted, her eyes refocusing.  Then she sighed and laid back, sprawling out on the straw mattress they'd set up for old times' sake.

"Luna," Celestia said.  "Fixing things was always her job.  I just … you think you get used to seeing shadows on the moon, and you think you get used to a world without her, and then a reminder of her still blindsides you, you know?"  She let out a much longer, deeper sigh.  "I failed her most of all."

"So did I."  Clover sighed too.  "I keep thinking, if I had talked to you about the prophecy earlier, or tried harder to make up with her …"

"If I had listened."  Celestia's voice was quiet.  "If I hadn't taken her for granted.  If I'd put more effort into making her equal to me, instead of a substitute me.  There are so many signs I should have seen over the past few decades."

Clover gently stroked her side.  "I wasn't there for that.  What happened?"

"A lot."  Celestia looked away.  "I'll … tell you later, okay?"

"Alright," Clover said.  "And when you do, I'll tell you about the wonderful beings who helped me get less broken after I failed Pansy.  And we'll figure out if there's anything we can do to fix this — and if not, how we can learn from our mistakes."

They held each other in silence.

"I'm sorry," Celestia finally said.  "I've got the entire rest of my life to have regrets in.  I shouldn't be wasting your time with them."

Clover gave Celestia a kiss on the base of her perfect alabaster throat, running a hoof through the otherworldly aurora of her mane.

"We'll always have regrets," Clover murmured.  "Regrets are part of life.  But we'll still have time enough for love."







A few weeks later, Clover was directing the team of ponies hanging tapestries in the newly finished Canterlot throne room when an ear-shattering boom split the air.  Two tons of iron-plated wooden door sailed out from the doorway, bouncing across the marble floor and coming to rest against the steps of the broad throne dais.

Every pony in the Great Hall froze statue-still, then swiveled their heads toward the projectile's source.  Clover sighed and turned around, a gentle smile plastered on his muzzle.

"My name," a deep baritone voice thundered, "is Prince Gruntwig of the Great Yak Kingdoms!  I have laid low eight gryphons with a single blow, wrestled the Arimaspi until he cried, and evicted the Lord of the Frostdrakes from his cave!"  Gruntwig's gaze swiveled around the room, then fixed in on Clover, and a burly hoof shot forward.  "You!  Stories have reached yak lands of the tiny little pony who won a drinking contest for the sun!  Now the mightiest of the yaks challenges you, to see if you can keep it!"

Chaos erupted as Gruntwig stomped the floor for emphasis, tossing back the braids of his shaggy brown mane and swaggering into the room.  Earth pony, pegasus, and unicorn alike all screamed and galloped for the nearest exit — except for Clover, and one small white figure with faded stripes.

Silver galloped up to Clover and poked his shoulder.  "Get the Princess?" she whispered.

Clover smirked.  "Oh, yes, get the Princess," he murmured back as Gruntwig strode up.  "She wouldn't miss this for the world."

Then he dipped his head to the yak in a casual bow.  "A drinking contest, eh?" he said.  "You've certainly caught my interest.  But what makes you think you have a chance against me?"

Gruntwig's blunt face contorted with pride.  "Look at the frail little pony!" he bellowed.  "This yak has endurance to make the stars themselves tremble!  He can drink four hundred tankards and still stand up from the table!"

Clover lifted his eyebrows.  "Four hundred!  That's certainly worth bragging about.  For, you know."  He waved a dismissive hoof.  "Normal beings."

Gruntwig's eyes widened.  His nostrils flared.  "Bring us tables!" he shouted.  "Bring us tankards and your weak thaw-lands drinks!  We will see if the little pony can live up to his boasts!"

Clover straightened up.  "What kind of weakling do you take me for!" he shot back, putting his hoof to his chest in mock outrage.  "I'll drink you and your ancestors under the table!  Just as soon as … well, you know."  He gave Gruntwig an apologetic shrug.  "Surely, you're aware that a competitor at my level can't take challenges from just anyone.  First, there's a tiny formality.  A simple test to make sure you're worthy."

"Ha!" Gruntwig bellowed.  "A yak fears no mere test!"

"Marvelous!" Clover said, gesturing toward the doorway — where Princess Celestia had just galloped in, wings flared, Mister Smashy at the ready.  "It's simple.  Merely outdrink the mare who lost to me."

Celestia blinked.  

Then her eyes lit up, and the peal of her laughter echoed throughout the castle.