III
The Baroness
Contrary to the cold facade on the outside, as reflected in the imposing marble pillars and carved pegasi that decorated the city hall, the Baroness’ office was a cosy little abode. The fireplace may be empty now, but it was no stretch to imagine it spreading warmth with its crackling embers in Winter. The rug beneath Celestia felt soft against her hooves, the wooden floor well-polished.
It was in this sanctuary where Celestia found herself standing before the Baroness. A desk, carved from mahogany, sat in the space between them. Yet the Baroness gave it only a quick glance, and made no move to sit upon the chair of her office.
If the wood beneath Celestia was well-polished, then the mare before her was as rugged as the wild mountain pine. Now dimly lit by the sunlight, Celestia saw her features more clearly. Beautiful orange eyes, marred by the bags beneath them. Feathers from her wings that stuck out of place. Dark stains of waking brew around her muzzle, where she must have dipped it during the long nights of work. Yet she couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, all in all.
A far cry from the stallion whose regal portrait was hung behind her. River Feather. Celestia remembered him well. He’d never been one for the decorum of the gentry, from the scant occasions when he’d visited Canterlot. Neither was his granddaughter, it would seem.
“Leave us,” the Baroness said gruffly. One of the guards opened his mouth, but the Baroness quieted him with a raised wing. “It won’t be long at all. I’ll be alright.”
She shot Celestia a glance. Celestia inclined her head slightly. That sufficed for both guards, on evidence of the fact that with a courtesy nod to their Baroness, they departed, closing the doors behind them.
As soon as the doors latched, the Baroness released a long, heavy sigh. “Apologies,” she said. She pointed at a stack of parchments littering her desk. “I’ve been busy, as you can imagine. Make yourself comfortable.”
Celestia nodded. She sat herself down on the rug, as prim as she could. “It’s quite alright, of course,” she said. “I see you’ve adjusted to your post, Downfeather.”
The Baroness’s ears flicked. “If you can call this adjusting,” she said wryly. “But I do try. Father would be proud.”
“He should be,” Celestia agreed. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for your loss, truly. Five years, has it been that long?”
“Don’t be,” the Baroness rebuked. “He did Vanhoover proud, alright. He’d have been the pride of my grandfather. Ursa Majors, who’d have seen them coming this far North?” When Celestia opened her mouth, she looked away, directing her fierce gaze towards the window. “Don’t start now. I know your game.”
Celestia raised an eyebrow. “Game?”
“Win the hearts and minds of the children first, eh? I appreciate the gesture, Princess, but let’s not pretend,” the Baroness clarified, nodding at the window behind her. Down the street, far off in the distance, one could just barely make out the borders of the public gardens. “Clever that. Lowers the guard. Eases trust.”
“Perhaps,” Celestia countered. “But if you didn’t trust me, surely you would not have allowed me into your proud city in the first place, nor led me into this fine office of yours.”
The Baroness let out a resigned chuckle. “What good would barring your entry do? What good would it allow my compatriots if they were to fight to the bitter end against overwhelming odds? Not a risk I’d take.”
She turned away from the window, meeting Celestia’s eyes.
“Now it’s only you and me in here, Your Highness. If I’m to be made an example of, then so be it. But spare them. They were doing their duties to their city,” A pause. She reached up and removed her fine, metallic brooch. “Have you come to punish me then, Your Highness? Send me into exile, or to the dungeons?” she asked, regarding the brooch with forlorn eyes.
“No,” Celestia said firmly, “I only wish to speak, Baroness.” She pointed a wing towards the window. Outside, the afternoon Sun lowered in the sky. “Why all this, then? Why rebellion?”
“Rebellion,” the Baroness repeated quietly. She placed the brooch gently on the table. “So that’s what the good captain told you, is it?”
“Aye. But I wish to hear it from you. Is this true?”
The Baroness turned around. Her youthful face had contorted into a deep frown. “You think we wanted this?” she asked, aghast. “When the ponies of Vanhoover marched on the streets, did you think we wanted to rebel? No. It never was a rebellion. I allowed the march. If they wanted to have their voices heard, then it should be granted. I wanted to know about the Princess of the Night’s fate as much as they did.”
“And the envoy? The one you threw into the river?”
Celestia was answered by a coarse laugh. “That imbecile was sent here to quell ‘disturbances’,” the Baroness said through gritted teeth. “Told everyone to shut it already about Nightmare Moon! That’s not exactly how you go about it in Vanhoover, or anywhere. It gets them antsy. So when he and his entourage tried to… enforce your authority, or so they claimed, and got too hooves-on, we made it clear that Vanhoover remembered her.”
She looked up, and Celestia followed her gaze, pointed at the ceiling. There, she saw it for the first time, the beautifully painted mural of a field of stars, set against a rich night-blue expanse. It was surrounding the Moon, the white surface illuminated by the chandelier at the center of it all.
Celestia let out a laugh.
“W-what’s so funny?” the Baroness asked.
“Nothing,” Celestia replied, with the utmost sincerity, clearing her throat. “Only that if Luna had known how loyal you all are to her memory… perhaps she would not have been so bitter.”
“Are you mocking–”
“No, I am not.” Celestia said ruefully. “I’m sorry. But it has been a very eventful year. And every day I think on how things could have gone differently, every little decision.” She looked back at the Baroness. “If you want to know, then she’s up there. Sealed away after she sought… sought to seize power. All because I could not see her pain, for so long...”
The Baroness’s eyes widened.
“Then why haven’t you brought her back?” she demanded. “Please. Tell us.”
She’d prepared for this, of course. The question she’d dreaded all this time. But it did not prevent the sinking feeling in her gut.
“... I cannot,” Celestia answered, the thin veneer of that mask cracking with each breath taken. “I can’t bring her back, Downfeather.”
“Why not?”
Breathe. In and out. In and out. With shaky hooves, Celestia reached for her saddlebags. Her horn lit up, and the clasp was undone. The sound of cold stones grinding against one another was heard from within, like glaciers against rock.
“When my sister was consumed by the madness, the sickness, I took the Elements,” Celestia said, voice barely above a strangled whisper. “I wished to cleanse her. Bring her back to the light. But I underestimated the Elements. They did not take kindly when I forced Harmony against itself, against its other Bearer.”
Gently, Celestia brought out the Elements of Harmony. She laid them on the rug, letting the Baroness take an eyeful of them. Six stones in all were they. Once so vibrant, now muted and dull as any other quarry rock.
“The Elements…” the Baroness whispered, weakly nudging them with her snout.
“I want her back, Downfeather,” Celestia remarked, steeling herself despite her trembling voice. “I want nothing more than to see her here, safe and sound, with the only family she’s got left. I could reach into the very Moon myself, set her free. But I know that there’s nothing left, nothing but a monster where she stood. And now… now they won’t let me. I broke them, and this is my punishment to bear.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “Perhaps they thought that I would hesitate. That I would welcome her back with open arms, caring little for what she’d turned into. And you know what? They would be right.”
Celestia wiped a few teardrops away. “Now you see, don’t you?” she said, returning the lifeless Elements into the saddlebag. “Nevertheless, it has been a comfort to see you, Downfeather. I shall be on my way. I have a star to lower...”
Giving the Baroness one last proper nod, Celestia hoisted her saddlebags and moved to leave. She paid neither the Baroness nor the mural above so much as another glance, so painfully tight could she feel her chest contract.
“Your Highness, wait,” the Baroness spoke up. Celestia paused in her steps. She glanced back, with a raised eyebrow. Baroness Downfeather bit her lips. “Why the Rainbow Crow?”
She pointed a hoof at the saddlebag. The very top of the picture-book was uncovered, the iridescent water-colour all too evident.
“Truth be told,” Celestia remarked, turning to face the Baroness, “I hadn’t realised Vanhoover’s children needed a story. I brought it as a little light reading. A trip down memory lane.”
“A little light reading,” the Baroness repeated, sighing. “We could use more like it. Few of us have had a good night’s sleep recently. Least of all the children from Low Town.”
Celestia shot the mural a quick glance. “I am sorry. Dreamweaving has always been my sister’s realm, never within my reach.”
“Aye. Grandfather told me before his passing that she came to clear our night terrors after… after the plague,” the Baroness replied, eyes forlorn. “Now… I can’t say I can blame anyone here for finding little reason to go on.”
Celestia nodded. The Plague of Vanhoover remained a dark stain in the city’s hallowed history. She remembered it all too well. News of the dead piling up high, and the risk of it spreading beyond’s Vanhoover’s borders were burned into her memory. So too did the memory of Equinox standing in Court, declaring her intent to visit and assist the city, a visit from whence she did not return.
How Luna could have shouldered the grief and weight in her visits to Vanhoover, in the waking world and the dream realm, Celestia did not know. Perhaps she never would.
A thought passed Celestia’s mind. Her eyes darted from the painting of River Feather, to the Baroness before her.
“What do you know of the Crow, Baroness?” she asked.
“I’ve heard of the tale. My father was well-read, just as he was well-travelled. He told me plenty of stories from beyond our borders.”
“Then would you believe me, Baroness,” Celestia said, feeling a longing smile creep up, “when I say that it was I who first told this legend?”
“... Pardon?”
Celestia let out a melodious chuckle, remembering.
“In my youth,” spoke the Princess of the Sun, “I’d met a very large, very lonely crow in the Great Plains. So often did she try to approach the bison, yet time and again would she retreat, so shy was she. She came to me one day, asking for help in bringing an early Summer when the bison were starving from the cold. So I did. I gave her a lock of my mane, as proof that she’d been the one to ask for it… Actually, Starswirl suggested that gesture. Hah, to be so young and vain...”
She ran a forehoof through her mane. Magical and flowing, beautiful and cursed. It had once been so pink and lush. The Elements had blessed – or cursed – her with a myriad of colours, as she wielded all six at once and embodied Harmony itself. She gave a small sigh.
“Now, I see little reason to be as stingy,” Celestia remarked. “I don’t know, Downfeather. Perhaps now I truly understand the Crow, after so very long. Time gives one perspective, and we are so often defined by the stories we hear. Stories of Firefly and the Rainbow Bridge, already old when I first heard them. Stories of the Princess Equinox, who came forth to cure this city of a plague at the cost of her own life, who stood her ground no matter how much her mother and aunt asked her to return.”
Her eyes drifted to the painting behind Downfeather. Her grandfather looked so much like her.
“But I remember someone else,” Celestia continued. “A dutiful pegasus from faraway Stratusburg by my niece’s side. A brave stallion who risked life and limb to bring her messages to Canterlot and back, who gave her mother peace in knowing her sacrifice. I could go on about River Feather, of heroes of old. Long have they passed, but their legacy remains.”
“Grandfather never liked to talk about Stratusburg,” Downfeather reflected. “Home was here now, he’d tell us.”
“Where he came from matters little,” Celestia retorted. “This nation of ours came together to heal a city’s wound. And you’re as much Vanhoover as any of those children are, Downfeather.”
A golden aura shone, wrapping around the silver maple brooch still lying on the table. It levitated, and Celestia fixed it on the Baroness' mane. Downfeather looked up to her, yet here she might as well have stood on equal footing, with that confident glint returning to her eyes.
“Equestria stands as a nation only by the will of its people,” Celestia said. “Such as it was in the time of the Hearthswarmers and Pillars of Harmony, of Princess Equinox and Baron River Feather, such as it has always been and always will be. There may be those like Ironhoof who'd rather not see it that way, but your path is your own to make. You, and every pony alive.”
“Do you truly think so?” Downfeather asked. “The Elements are gone.”
“But the Hearthswarmers did not need them, and neither shall we,” Celestia replied softly. “No one knows what tomorrow will bring. Not even I. No, not even I… But I have time, and shall see this through. I promise.”
Downfeather reached up to touch her brooch. “Half the country would rather call you Queen Celestia, and so would the foreign traders,” Downfeather said, almost in reverence. “Yet I see now that you’d be the first to turn the title down, Your Highness.”
“To call myself Queen would imply that the seat by my side is empty, forever vacant. It is not. I’m holding onto it until its rightful owner returns.”
“No matter how long it would take?”
“Of course, Baroness,” Celestia said. The Sun’s rays were disappearing over the treetops. The bells at the gates were rung. She wore a forlorn smile. “You showed me it would be worth it.”
* * * * *
There had been much furious activity that followed, Celestia would recall. Sundown brought with it food supplies, just as promised, and just as she ensured it would. She watched the caravans stream in with discipline, before the disbelieving eyes of the assembled townsfolk. There was no trace of Captain Ironhoof, but she found this did not concern her very much. The children of Low Town were brought at the head of the line to feast, bread and water given to them in abundance. Next came their parents, exhausted from days of harsh work. They paid Celestia little mind save a few stolen glances, too busy they were in gathering their share, but only after their children were well-fed.
The children remembered more than food. When all was said and done, when Celestia returned to Equinox’s statue, a larger crowd had gathered there, lit by lanterns and candles. Some, from Uptown in the main, had brought their own books. So she sat down with them, and read aloud with a voice as soothing as the morning breeze.
Firefly. Dream Valley. Reindeer princesses and griffon knights. The Six Hearthswarmers. The Pillars of Old Equestria. Stories from far and wide, all the reaches of the globe. The night went on, yet many children remained around her, listening keenly to the tales she had to tell. They laughed, they cheered, and all was right beneath the Moon.
And when Celestia awoke the next morning to raise the Sun, they were still there, sleeping soundly all around her. Part of her wished she could remain there, full of peace and quiet. But duty called, as it always did. So once she had raised the Sun, and ensured that the children’s parents would be there to collect them, Celestia departed from the gardens.
Most of Vanhoover was awake, and plenty were busy tending to their lives. Celestia could fault them little for that. There was so much to be done, in the days and months and years to follow. Busy as she herself would be, though, she took time to say her goodbyes to those few who did come to see her. Such as the Baroness, still half-asleep from overseeing the supply deliveries, and a little filly who’d trailed her all the way from the statue.
“Will you return?” asked little Flake. “I like hearing your stories. I wish I could read too.”
Celestia shook her head. “I don’t know yet, little one, for there is much to do,” she said. “But know that I shall remember you, and this new story you’ve given me. Take care of your sister and yourself, would you?”
She gave the diminutive filly, now looking rather better-fed a fond tussle of her mane, eliciting a sweet giggle. “I will, Princess! I’ll miss you.”
Celestia gave her and the Baroness, whose eyes were full of reminiscence, one last nod. Hereupon, she went on her way, quiet as a shade.
She spoke no word, left no parting remark, till she met the ferrymare once more.
* * * * *
“You knew,” Celestia said, as the ferry arrived on the opposite bank. “Knew I'd see the statue.”
The ferrymare said nothing at first, busying herself with tying the ferry to the dock. Then she turned her icy blue gaze to Celestia. “Aye,” she answered, “I knew you would. And so would the children see you there.”
Celestia smirked. “Touché,” she remarked. She stepped off the ferry, dusting herself off. Her aura lit up, reaching into her saddlebags.
“In my rush, it seems I’ve forgotten to pay you. I’m sorry.”
The ferrymare shook her head. “Keep it. As I’ve said, only mine duty matters. Don’t fret, Your Highness. What of the children? Are they well?”
Duty. Simple words. Reluctantly, Celestia returned her coins down her saddlebags, regarding the ferrymare with a contemplative gaze.
“They are,” said Celestia, sighing. “As well as they could be. From here on, it’s up to the Baroness.”
“They live a rough life,” the ferrymare added morosely, and Celestia saw no fault in agreeing. “But goodwill and respite are always welcome, Your Highness, and may it bring us all good tidings. Thank you.”
Celestia nodded. “It was the least I could do.”
‘For now,' she thought.
But there remained something to the ferrymare’s accent that gave Celestia pause, just as she prepared to spread her wings. A soothing, warm tone that reminded her so strongly of old forests and forgotten groves. Not as rough-hewn a manner of speech as the children’s, yet neither was it silky-smooth as the Baroness’s refined diction.
“Madam Ferrymare, you aren't from around here, are you now?” asked Celestia, turning to face the ferrymare.
The ferrymare said nothing. Something passed behind those eyes of hers. She pulled her hood back just enough, revealing a youthful, elegant face streaked with sweat and stained with soot. Her mane fell to the side, lush, thick, and skillfully braided.
“Stratusburg, Your Highness,” she answered. She could have been no older than thirty. “Old Baron River Feather was Stratusburg born and bred. I had to see the city he chose to reside in.”
Small world after all. There was indeed a touch of Stratusburg to her accent. Celestia tapped her chin in pondering. “I’d have thought… hmm, Trottingham. A bit far from home, I see.”
The ferrymare shrugged, her hood pulled to cover her face anew. “It's where the heart is.”
And what else could Celestia do, if not let out a hearty chuckle. She gave a respectful nod. “I suppose it is. Live well, Madam Ferrymare. And thank you.”
The ferrymare answered with a nod of her own, and a tiny smile. There was a renewed vigour in those weary, icy blue eyes, one that gave Celestia promise of peaceful days yet to come. “And you too, Your Highness.”
