The rising sun gave Celestia new thrills of pride—and jealousy—as her overnight train pulled into Canterlot station. Both her own arrival, and the new dawn’s light, were welcome breaks in the moonlit monotony of her trip back from the coast, which had featured little besides sidelong glances from the few other passengers who hadn’t slept.
Most days, she didn’t feel like her powers had diminished much since relinquishing the Sun. This time, though, she’d been unable to initiate the kind of long-range teleportation that would’ve saved her the trip. It felt strange to find herself relying more on non-magical assistance. And it struck her that it must also be odd for her former subjects to see their erstwhile Princess riding a train like an ordinary pony.
She felt she should say something as more and more passengers came filing through the train car on their way to the platform, gawping at her presence. Yet she didn’t know what to say. Not wanting to make awkward conversation on her way off the train, Celestia lit her horn and cast a short-range teleportation spell, depositing herself and her large saddlebag on the train platform next to a small cluster of armored soldiers—doubtlessly an honor guard.
They startled, but just as quickly saluted, and led her on a procession from the train station, through the heart of Canterlot’s bustling Upper City, and to the grounds of her former castle. She gave onlookers polite smiles and waves as they went, and felt a certain comfort at regaining a few small trappings of her former life, if only for a moment.
Still more comforts washed over her as she entered the throne room—now the demesne of Princess Twilight Sparkle, crowned ruler of Equestria following her and Luna’s abdication some years past. Much of the old decor and statuary that she herself had picked sat unchanged; not entirely surprising, given her greatest pupil’s tendency to focus on substance, not style. And Twilight herself—now taller than the last time she’d seen her, though still much shorter than Celestia—paced back and forth atop the dias where the throne sat, worry etched into her brow. Celestia took no pleasure in Twilight’s silent malaise, yet there was a comforting familiarity in seeing her so deep in thought.
“Princess Celestia!” shouted Twilight, eyes brightening. “Thank you for coming! And so quickly, too! How was your trip?”
“Former Princess. And it was fine. Luna’s miffed at you about losing me for her ‘mimosa week’ kickoff, but she’ll manage. After all, it’s been a while since you last wrote me with a question… and it’s not every day that one’s sovereign liege summons one to answer her face-to-face.”
Twilight blushed. “I… I’m sorry, I could’ve probably waited if you were busy. It’s just taken me years to put my hoof on a certain problem, and it’s not something that I wanted to try talking about through letters.”
“Such is a Princess’ prerogative, Twilight. Now, how can I help?”
“I’m… worried.” Twilight glanced back at the blazing sun through the chamber’s grandest window, taking up the vantage that Celestia herself had done countless times over the centuries. “I worry that Equestria isn’t listening to me. Or… not to me, but to the principles of Harmony that my friends and I have spent our lives teaching.”
Celestia stifled a grin at her dear former student’s familiar, yet unwarranted, self-doubt. “Oh Twilight, I’m sure that you’re doing a wonderful job, even though I’m just as sure there are good reasons why some ponies don’t seem like they’re listening. Sometimes even the most serious-minded ponies have their ears tugged by day-to-day matters. Crops and foals leave little room for ‘principles,’ even when ponies are living by them.”
“Of course. But that’s not what I mean.” Twilight gestured toward the final stained-glass window commissioned during Celestia’s tenure. “When Tirek, Chrysalis, and Cozy Glow brought Equestria to the brink of a new ice age under the Windigoes, I was just happy that we managed to restore the power of Harmony by rekindling enough ponies’ sense of unity with one another. But the more time goes on, the more I keep coming back to how quickly everypony cast aside the things that bound them above tribal differences in the first place. It wasn’t just that they rejected what I’d taught them as Princess of Friendship; it was that nothing they’d learned about Harmony through their own life experiences, or a few thousand years of cultural inheritance, made a difference in that moment. And I can’t help but wonder… did I fail them? Or did I misunderstand how fragile Equestrian culture truly was, if it could be shattered by mere whispers?”
“Heavy thoughts, indeed.” Celestia kept her tone even and strong, even as her mind raced through possibilities of what Twilight might need to hear to maintain faith in herself and her ponies.
Twilight averted her gaze. “It’s tempting to blame Chrysalis, Cozy Glow, and Tirek for what happened. They’re villains after all, and they incited it. They spread their influence and used it against us. They tricked us, undermined us—”
“But they did it so quickly.” Celestia shook her head, feeling pangs of guilt for her own influence—or lack thereof—over Equestria on that day. “As if their leaders failed them.”
“Or as if they couldn’t be led, except to their own worst conclusions about their fellow mare.”
The words felt sharp in Celestia’s heart. And yet, the pain was clarifying. She set her mind to forming the right words as she ascended toward the dias, climbing the stairs slowly, giving herself ample time to reflect on its towering height above those who didn’t wear the crown. Step by step she rose, approaching Twilight, before stopping a respectful distance from the top.
“Few ponies know how fragile our notion of ‘Equestria’ truly is,” Celestia said at length. “The things I said about principle being far from ponies’ minds most of the time… isn’t quite true. The truth is that most ponies believe they’re doing the right thing most of the time, even when they should know that they’re not. And when they don’t, there’s always some perfectly understandable reason why they don’t, isn’t there?”
“I refuse to be so cynical. Friendship is…” Twilight paused, drawing breath, visibly collecting herself. “Friendship should make us strong. Especially against divisions like those.”
“It isn’t cynical to highlight the truth.” Celesita’s words drew a glare from Twilight, but she continued: “A Princess must accept the truth about her ponies, regardless of what that truth might be.”
“What good is ‘truth’ if they’ll just throw away everything they know to be true at the drop of a hat?!”
Celestia didn’t let the outburst faze her: “It reminds us that all things are fragile. Ideas, ponies, even Equestria itself… they can change. They will, in fact, change during your time with them—and not always for the better. Sometimes high-minded virtue will triumph for a generation; more often, you may feel you’re the last pony left trying to hold it together. And at its darkest, you’ll know that you’re truly walking the path alone.”
Twilight shuddered. She turned away, squeezing her eyes shut, hiding what Celestia knew must be bitter disappointment. “I thought they were with me. That I was bringing Equestria along on a noble path.”
“But you are! Twilight… the fact that ponies falter, get distracted, or face a hundred other things that limit the purity of their walk with friendship and Harmony… it doesn’t mean that they’re not walking the path, or that the path isn’t worthy! Their walk may be different than yours, but you can still lead them on it. And they need that leadership, lest they turn away even more easily.”
After a few moments of silent contemplation, Twilight gave her a wan smile. “You know, for a retired mare at the start of her ‘mimosa week,’ you aren’t terribly comforting.”
Celestia returned the smile. “I earned my mimosa week by leading through the bad times, not the good ones. And I have every confidence that you will, too.”
Twilight shook her head. “But it’s a long way from here to there, isn’t it? And there’s no guarantee that I’ll succeed. And in… a thousand years, everything I worked for might be long forgotten?”
“I think you’ll come to look at ‘success’ differently after a couple centuries. Yes, there are things that you’ll want to accomplish. No, it’s not always a straight line to get there. But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to celebrate the good, even if you’ll never quite get rid of all the bad.” Celestia’s grin turned mischievous. “And you don’t have to wait till you retire to have a mimosa with breakfast every once in a while.”
Twilight giggled. “All right. ‘Dear Princess Celestia: it’s time to start your week off right.’”