Usually, Rainbow Dash knew better than to fly tired. It was the mistake of a foal who had just learned how to fly on her own, risking an accident like this. Every now and then she’d come to again, eyes snapping open to confirm that yes, her wings were still flapping of their own accord. Had flight not been in her blood, she’d probably be upside-down in the forest below, tangled in the long scarf she wore.
Just as she’d completed the thought, she blinked again, and the forest was replaced with neater clumps of green speckled with red. She shook her head to try to clear the fog that had settled over her sleep-addled mind, stifling a yawn with the back of her hoof while Sweet Apple Acres passed by below. The sun was just now cresting the horizon, and Big Macintosh was already at work in the orchards.
Usually, she knew better, but usually she knew where her friends were, too. Big Mac had hired on two stallions to help out on the farm in Applejack’s absence, and it was a keen reminder of what was wrong with the world. Rainbow Dash grimaced and looked away, her eyes instead settling upon a lonely, abandoned cottage a small ways off.
It was a mistake. That indeterminable, untouchable feeling of subtle terror returned. She’d never admit to being afraid, of course, but this was different. Perhaps it was exactly that; the sensation of something being different? It didn’t at all explain why just looking at the darkened wood-and-soil home hurt. She wasn’t some foal to sit around crying because she missed her friends.
Curling her forelegs up, Dash redoubled her efforts and sped towards her home. The faster she got home, the faster she could take a quick nap before heading out again. She’d checked the Glittertops twice, but she hadn’t even thought to fly over the Swaybacks or the Unicorn Range. Rainbow Dash forced herself to smile at that, her eyes already slipping shut as she flew through her own bedroom window. She stubbed her wing on the window frame coming in, and it was hardly an elegant landing, but it wasn’t as if though anypony was around to see—
“Hey, Rainbow.”
Rainbow Dash yelped and shot into the air, startled into a hover. Twilight Sparkle was standing in the middle of her bedroom floor. Heart still hammering in her chest, Dash couldn’t even decide whether to be angry or happy to see her, but at the very least, she was awake now.
“Geez, Twilight!” Dash shot, gently easing herself back down.
“Sorry,” Twilight said, scratching her own withers. “I didn’t mean to scare you—”
“Wasn’t scared,” Dash muttered, rousing the fireflies of her nightstand lamp with a nudge.
“—but you weren’t here, so I let myself in. Well. Teleported in, I guess,” she corrected herself with a small smile, but it was a subdued affair. Even Rainbow Dash could tell something was wrong; she just couldn’t spare the energy for talk.
“Yeah, okay. Can I go to sleep now? I gotta get a nap in, and then I need to tell Cloud Kicker to take my shift clearing clouds tomorrow so I can go search—”
“You can’t go on like this,” Twi said, levelling an even gaze her way.
“Uh, yeah, I really can,” Dash said, shrugging. “If you just get out of my bedroom and let me have my nap, anyway.”
“No, I mean, ugh,” Twilight groaned, rubbing the spot between her eyes with a hoof. “Everypony’s worried about you.”
“Worried about me,” Dash repeated, taking great care to make the words flatter than an apple in a buffalo stampede. “Why in the hay are they worried about me? Maybe that’s the problem, huh? Maybe they should be worrying about Fluttershy and AJ, too, instead?”
Twilight’s frown only deepened. Rainbow Dash re-furled her wings and cleared her throat. As annoying as it was to have Twi in her room when she really just wanted to sleep, she got the impression she’d said something very, very wrong.
“Tell me, Rainbow. What do you think Rarity and Pinkie Pie are up to right now?” Twilight asked.
“Not trying to find Fluttershy and Applejack?” Dash suggested, glancing off to the side. Truth was, she hadn’t seen any of her friends for a few days now, but she was sure she’d spotted Pinkie Pie in town once. It might have been last week. It was getting hard to tell.
And Twilight was saying absolutely nothing. Dash looked back over at her, and the unicorn mare was giving her an outright glare. Dash’s ears went flat on pure reflex.
“Rarity,” Twilight hissed through clenched teeth. “Was on the verge of tears last time I spoke to her, because she can’t help more. Because she feels useless.”
“I don’t—” Dash tried to say, but Twilight stomped her hoof on the tiled floor, a loud clack silencing her.
“After she made you that scarf, after you turned down her offer of a vest or whatever it was, she’s been listless. She’s talking about closing shop for a while because she can’t get anything done. She hasn’t made anything new for two weeks,” Twilight said, leaning in uncomfortably close.
“And Pinkie Pie? She’s trying to stay busy. If you ever bothered to check your mail, you’d see invitations to parties and happenings—”
“She’s throwing parties now?” Dash asked, raising a brow, but Twilight didn’t seem inclined to answer. The unicorn stepped forward so their snouts touched, her voice almost a growl.
“No, she’s cancelled them. Have you ever heard of Pinkie Pie cancelling a party before? Rainbow, when I can tell that Pinkie is being miserable, something’s wrong!”
Rainbow Dash gingerly reached out to push Twilight back and retrieve her own personal space. “Yeah. Great, and you think this is my fault? What, just because I told them they can’t keep up, because they can’t fly? Well, newsflash: they can’t.” Dash swallowed, her mouth tasting bitter.
“You’re missing the point!” Twilight cried.
“Then what is the point? How the hay am I supposed to understand what you’re trying to say if you won’t say it?” Dash yelled back.
They stared at each other like that, both ponies breathing heavily. Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes and sat down facing the other way, crossing her forelegs and silently congratulating Twilight for managing to take her from tired to tired, annoyed and confused in less than two minutes.
“It’s not your fault, but this isn’t like you.”
Twilight’s voice was gentle now, but Dash sat very still, letting her talk. The soft clopping of hooves on hard tiles told her Twilight had began pacing.
“I understand you’re trying to do your best, but this is stupid. I thought we were a team, all of us. The Elements, right? No, actually, forget the Elements,” Twilight said, stopping somewhere close by behind her. “Friends. That’s supposed to mean something. Yeah sure, you’re amazing, but we’ve always faced things together as a team, haven’t we? We’ve gone up against a dragon, we’ve taken on Nightmare Moon and Discord and I don’t even remember what else. Do you think you could have done that by yourself? We all do our part. Even Fluttershy does some amazing things when she has to, but not alone.”
Rainbow Dash let her wings free until they hung dejectedly at her side and drew her forelegs closer to her chest. The annoyance—the fire and the hurt—had been doused in an instant with the mention of one of their missing friends. “I wasn’t trying to—” she said. “I mean, I can search faster on my own. You’d just slow me down and stuff.”
There was a flash and a muted pop, Twilight instantly appearing in front of her. The glow of her horn faded quickly, but the urgency of her gaze did not. “Yes, which is what you said two weeks ago, and you can see where that’s gotten us. Think, Rainbow. I don’t care if some ponies think you’re some kind of cool loner. You’re not!” she spat. “Ponies look up to you, and you’re great at leading and motivating, even if you don’t like organizing. You proved that earlier this summer. If all the pegasi in Ponyville look up to you, what do you think we, your friends, think? We need you!”
Dash waved a hoof. “So you want us all to search Whitetail Woods together or whatever? Maybe they’re in Sugarcube Corner this time?”
Twilight threw up her hooves and groaned. “No! And yes! If that’s what it takes! We know they’re probably not in Equestria at all, so if we’re going to do something that won’t lead anywhere, we might as well do it together! What the hay is up with you, Rainbow? Why are you acting like this?”
She probably had a point. Rainbow Dash had heard the princesses’ words, and she knew well that searching was a dumb thing to do, but that line of thinking brought another thought to the front of her mind.
“Yeah, okay, I get it,” Dash said, sticking her tongue out and deflating further until she wasn’t so much sitting on the floor as she was lying down in a vaguely pony-shaped puddle. “Sure. I can’t do anything. But you can. Why haven’t you talked to the princesses again? If I can’t fly past the border, why aren’t they doing anything?”
“Oh come on!” Twilight cried, closing her eyes and staring sightlessly up at the puffy cloud-ceiling for a second. “Their hooves are tied. You can’t blame them!”
Dash chuckled and scratched at the floor. “I just thought you trusted them or something, but yeah I can, I can blame them, just like I can blame you for casting that stupid spell—”
Twilight’s mouth hung open, a look of abject disbelief on her face. Without another word the unicorn’s horn flared, and she disappeared in a flash of brilliant energy.
“—and myself for getting that stupid armor thingy instead of the shiny whatever. Gee, thanks, Twi, see ya later,” Dash finished, unwrapping her scarf before sailing over to her bed with a single flap of her wings.
Only to find that sleep was apparently not in the cards. Rainbow Dash groaned, sighed, rolled, tossed, turned and buried her head under the pillows, but nothing happened. Even though she was tired enough to sleep for two days straight, her eyes no doubt rimmed with red, she couldn’t fall asleep. Her treacherous brain had decided to try to spend some time thinking, and trying to fight that was futile. With a final wordless cry of exasperation, she sat back up in her bed.
It wasn’t the whole argument with Twilight. Sure, she’d said some things she shouldn’t have, but it usually worked out. Thinking back to how the unicorn had looked at her before she disappeared, she swallowed.
“Yeah, okay, I’ll apologize, I guess,” Dash muttered to herself, going cross-eyed as if she could lock eyes with her own brain. “Fine. Apologizing. I was an idiot. It happens. Good night, Rainbow Dash.”
Head. Pillows. Eyes closed. Nothing. Rainbow Dash trembled where she lay, grinding her teeth against each other. Usually, it took all of three seconds to fall asleep even if she wasn’t tired. Simply being bored was enough to give her cause for a nap.
“What!?” she cried, bolting upright again. She wasn’t about to sit around and mope because two of her best friends ever were missing, nor would it do any good to feel bad for Rarity and Pinkie Pie either. Instead, a few useless words were lodged somewhere inside her skull. Twilight’s words. This isn’t like you.
Who was it like, then? Who or what was she acting like, and why? On a whim, Rainbow Dash slipped off her bed and gripped the handle of her nightstand drawer in her mouth. The drawer creaked and groaned as it resisted, not having been opened in years, but Dash knew she had to see, now. When the finicky furniture yielded, it was with a crack that left her with the entire front section of the drawer in her mouth. Dash scowled and flicked the front board away before peering inside.
She knew there was something she’d put there at one point, long ago. There was something missing amidst the forgotten and unimportant diplomas, a bare spot in between what may at one point have been a sandwich, and an empty picture frame. She just couldn’t remember what, and that left a gnawing feeling in the back of her mind.
With a sigh, Dash stood up, coming face to face with the picture she kept on her nightstand. It was the same picture of her little group of friends that they all had; there was nothing special about it except that it made her miss her friends all the more. She could admit that much, at least.
Her eyes locked with the yellow pegasus who peered back up at her through the glass, and it finally hit home. She felt incomplete. It was as if she’d performed an amazing routine of tricks, only to find that nopony was watching. The stupid thought was all too good an example; she hadn’t had any time to practice lately, but there wasn’t much point to it now anyway. Without her friends, the sky was a dull place. Without Fluttershy quietly cheering her on during the daily practice sessions, it didn’t feel nearly as tempting.
Dash closed her eyes and tried to stop her line of thinking there, but the smile she tried to pin on her face wouldn’t stick. It felt forced and weird, and all of a sudden, she was twice as curious about the missing object in her drawer.
Perhaps they all felt like that, then. If Twilight, Rarity and even Pinkie Pie felt something of the same, then everything made a lot more sense. She should probably make those annoying apologies now, rather than later.
On the other hoof, she was pretty sure that none of the others had lost a friend who had been with them since they’d been little fillies. All the same, she couldn’t stand to lose another friend right now, not even for one moment.
Rainbow Dash gently lay the picture face down, if only so she wouldn’t have to deal with their stares for now. Sure enough, Fluttershy and Applejack had only been gone for a few weeks, and they were both pretty awesome in their own right—they were her friends, after all, and thus, probably fine. She couldn’t imagine ever spending a single moment doing anything other than her best to find them; she’d just missed a tiny bit on what her best really was.
Taking a running start and bouncing via her bed, Dash spread her wings and angled herself sideways to slip outside the bedroom window on the opposite wall. For the first time in weeks, she felt truly awake and aware.
The sun was at its peak when Rainbow Dash landed in front of the library tree. In the space of a few hours, she’d drafted every single pegasus with whom she was on a first—or nick-name basis, and while the visit to Carousel Boutique had been a little awkward, her belly was full of muffins from Sugarcube Corner as proof of her and Pinkie being okay, and of Pinkie herself being a little more okay herself. Lots of stuff down, one thing to go.
Bringing a hoof up to both knock and push the library’s front door open, she ran a couple of sentences through her head, trying them out. “I’m sorry you didn’t let me finish?” Probably too, well, true. “I’m sorry that we were both idiots?” Maybe.
“Hey, Rainbow Dash,” Spike called, waving from over by a bookshelf he was carefully dusting. The baby dragon had his apron on, and was apparently engaged in a full round of library cleaning.
“Hey, Spike. Where’s Twilight?” Dash asked. “Sorry about whatever made you angry, but seriously Twilight, are you getting anything done with all those books?”
“Oh, didn’t she tell you? She took the morning train to Canterlot like, three hours ago. Sheesh, I thought you guys talked.”
Dash froze, staring straight at Spike, who, for his part, shrank back a little bit.
“Uh, okay, so she didn’t tell you,” Spike added.
“Yeah, no. She didn’t,” Dash snapped. Twilight of course knew that this whole search business was pointless. Despite the fact that nothing had come of it yet, Twilight’s talks about magical lay-limes and arcane whatevers was the only thing that sounded like it had a real chance of getting them somewhere.
Instead of working on that, Twilight had given her a pep-talk about being an example, and then—unless she was going to Canterlot to yell at Princess Celestia herself in person—she’d run off to take a vacation right after?
“I can’t believe this,” Dash growled, her wings flaring.
“Can’t believe what?” Spike asked, hopping off the stool he’d been perching on and tossing the feather-duster onto a nearby table. “What’s the big deal? Want me to take a message?”
“No. Just forget it,” Dash muttered, trotting past him and up the stairs that led to Spike and Twilight’s private chambers. “I’m just gonna get the latest graphic novel version of that Daring Do spin-off series. I can’t sleep. I know where she keeps them.”
“Rainbow, wait!” Spike called, his voice fading as she rounded the corner. “Where are you going? Even I’m not allowed in our room anymore! She said it’s off-limits and told me to sleep down here, wait—”
Dash ignored the little dragon’s protests. If Twilight didn’t want ponies in her room for whatever reason, then that just made it twice as satisfying to go there, now. She nudged the door open and kicked it shut once inside, muting Spike entirely.
She had to wonder if she was in the wrong place. The top floor of the library didn’t really leave a lot of room for error in that department, but the bedroom was entirely changed. Twilight’s bed was propped up against the far wall, and indeed, judging by the amount of empty tea- and coffee-cups scattered around every surface, it was hard to imagine the studious mare used it much these days anyway.
In the center of the room, on a floor stripped bare of carpet and other furniture, a clear crystal bowl rested over a piece of very familiar dark metal. Surrounding it, circles and other geometrical shapes, only half of which Dash knew the names of, were etched in the floorboards.
Vials and jars, potions and odd objects no doubt dredged up from the library’s cellar competed for space with more books than Rainbow Dash had ever thought the library housed, and that was to say nothing of the ridiculous wealth of loose sheets of paper and parchment that lay all around the room. Near the glass bowl, in the only area otherwise free from this mess, a stack of particularly fine sheaves of parchment rested, each unfurled side by side, and most of them bearing only a few words. Dash tentatively took a few steps closer, squinting.
“Dear Princess Celestia”
“Dear Princess”
“Princess Celestia,”
“Princess,”
They all carried the same words, the trail of ink invariably splotched after a few words. Only the very last scroll showed any variance, the quill still on the floor at its side.
“Dear Princess Celestia. Why aren’t you doing anything?”
Rainbow Dash swallowed and gingerly reached out to seize the quill in her mouth. Dipping it in one of the many inkwells nearby, she scrawled a quick “I’m sorry. -Dash” on one of the disused papers.
Some apologies couldn’t wait.
“The princess will see you in a moment,” Twilight repeated to herself as she ground her butt deeper into the cushions in the audience chamber’s waiting room. She knew that rationality, one of her oldest friends, would suggest she take this moment to reflect on exactly what this meant for all the other times Twilight had sought an audience with her mentor. The princess always made time for her. Princess Celestia was the co-ruler of an entire nation, and this was the first time in her entire life she had been made to wait.
It was also the first time she had barged through Castle Canterlot’s gates not soon after sunrise, arriving unannounced and demanding—well, requesting, really—to see the princess. For all her familiarity with the castle guard after having grown up here, she doubted she would’ve even gotten past the inner gate had her brother not seen her in passing. Shining Armor asked no questions and told them to let her pass, just like Silver Clip, Princess Celestia’s attendant, had hurried to schedule an appointment.
No, she should be grateful. Her mentor, the pony who had been like a second mother unto her, was quite possibly the most powerful pony in existence, and she should thank her for all that she gave.
It was this familiarity that also let Twilight be angry with her. For weeks she had done her best to keep her friends together through this. She couldn’t even remember the last time she slept. Even if Dash was being unreasonable, even if her words were nothing new, they had been spoken. Another pony who dared repeat the question that she herself had been trying not to ask. Why weren’t the princesses acting? What were they doing?
It had been two full weeks without so much as a word from the princess on the subject, other than the daily letter inquiring as to how she was holding up. Twilight had stopped responding to those sometime last week, their only use now being to keep track of days when her sleep pattern failed.
“Twilight Sparkle. We heard you had arrived and sought an audience with the day court.”
Twilight looked up, squinting at the dark shape that stepped closer. She hadn’t heard the door to the opulent little pillow-filled chamber open, but Princess Luna stood in front of her all the same. The princess of the night wore a bathrobe, her mane was hidden in a towel, and she hovered a teacup at her side. For all that she looked very little like royalty, she appeared perfectly at ease.
“I, uh. I’m sorry,” Twilight said, all her ire temporarily forgotten. “I would have asked for an audience with you both, but I thought you usually slept during the day—wait, ‘we’?”
“Oh please. Were we to be insulted by such things still, we’d have learned nothing. At any rate, yes, we usually do slumber the high noon away,” Luna acceded with a shrug, pausing to sip her tea. “But certain rituals must be observed first, amongst them, tea and a bath.”
Twilight merely stared back at her, licking her lips at the one question that remained ignored.
“And the royal ‘we’ is appropriate when we are in our own home, free to speak as we desire,” Luna added, frowning.
“Right, sorry,” Twilight muttered, sending them lapsing into silence. The larger alicorn frowned skeptically still as she leaned in a little closer.
“Are you sleeping alright? You do not appear well. Far be it from us to comment on the state of your mane, but your eyes are red.”
Doing the best to keep her expression neutral, Twilight gave the princess a small nod. “I’m fine.”
“Indeed,” Luna replied, her brow furrowed as she worked her lips soundlessly for a second. “Well. We have places to be, and our sister should be ready to receive you,” she announced, setting course for the door. Twilight dipped her head respectfully until she was gone, and sure enough, the second her tail disappeared from view, the ornate doors on the opposite walls parted. Four guards filed out, two taking up position along the walls on either side, and Silver Clip beckoned her.
“Princess Celestia will see you now,” the deep blue unicorn mare announced. “She would rather see you in her study instead of the reception room, if that’s okay?”
Twilight wobbled a little as she got up on all fours and nodded. It was a question by courtesy only, of course, and going through the whole waiting-and-requesting process had left her aching for something familiar. She was happy to follow the older mare through a small side door and down a simple, marble-tiled hallway until she stood before the door to Celestia’s inner sanctum—a place where she’d spent so many hours. A room with so many happy memories.
And then everything had changed. Twilight waited for the guard nearby to open the door, and when the gilded wood swung to reveal her mentor, a memory flashed before her eyes. Celestia on the ground, horn singed and crown lost. Her heart stopping, the rush of blood in her ears—
“My faithful student, please, come in,” Celestia said, looking up from a book over by the fireplace. She was smiling that tranquil yet confident smile of hers. The smile that said that everything would be okay; the smile that told her that she was safe when it all came down to it; the smile that made her dare everything and anything, because she knew that Celestia was always there.
The smile that was a lie.
Twilight forced her face into a rictus that played at being a smile and walked up to stand before her. While Celestia reclined on the pillows as she did, Twilight could see eye to eye with her while she stood. When Celestia patted the pillows next to her, Twilight made no move.
“Is something the matter?” Celestia asked, glancing about the room. It was one of those little exaggerated gestures that meant nothing. Twilight opened her mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.
What could she say? Should she yell her frustrations at the Princess, despite knowing that she would have a perfectly reasonable answer? Would it lead anywhere, were she to beg again for Celestia to somehow magically solve everything, even when she now knew some things were outside the grasp of even the princesses?
She had been led here by a foalish impulse that Celestia’s presence seemed to melt away. She just couldn’t decide whether this was because of the princess’ strength or weakness. As Twilight stared and worked her jaw, the princess in question frowned and put her book down. Before Twilight had time to even react, Celestia rose to stand, towering over her and leaning in close.
“Are you getting enough sleep?” she asked.
And just like that, the apparently one-sided tension in the room shattered into a million infinitesimal pieces. Twilight let go of the burden she had been carrying. Even if things were different, there was no denying the genuine warmth in the princess’ voice. She wouldn’t scoop her up and fuss about her like her mother would, but the frown upon her face spoke volumes. Now, more than ever, she needed that warmth.
“Sorry princess, I’m just a little worried, I guess,” Twilight said, craning her neck so she was almost mumbling into her own coat.
“Which is a sign of strength, not weakness,” Celestia replied, sitting back on her haunches once more. “What worries me is that I have not heard from you for a while. I understand you have much to do, and I meant it when I said I only expect to hear from you when you have something to report, but when you go quiet for weeks on end, well,” she smiled, a wordless chuckle playing at the edge of hearing. “Like I say, I worry, too.”
The gentle admonishment stung, and Twilight nodded glumly at that. At one point, she may’ve shrugged it off, believing that while disappointing the princess was a sad thing indeed, she couldn’t truly hurt her. She knew better now. Less than a month ago, the princess herself had all but admitted that Twilight been the one to teach her a lesson in the wake of the wedding attack. Thus, it was with ears well and truly pinned to the back of her head she replied.
“I’m sorry.”
“Think nothing of it,” Celestia replied, once again gesturing to the other end of the pillow mound upon which she sat. “Would you have tea with me?”
“No, I—uh, I should get going really,” Twilight blurted. “I mean, you’re probably busy with meetings, talking to dignitaries and dealing with—with matters of state and such.”
Celestia tilted her head ever so slightly and smiled. “I always have time for you, but if you are busy, I’m sure Steelhoof at the door will arrange for a chariot home. Please tell your friends I said ‘hello’.”
Twilight nodded as quickly as she could. She already began retracing her steps, edging away backwards while dipping her head. “I will, thank you, princess,” she said, suddenly very eager to get back to the safety of her library.
“She was clearly distressed. The polite thing to do would be to insist at least once.”
The door had barely closed behind Twilight’s trailing dark tail before Luna spoke up. A corner of the room visibly un-darkened, the minor spell dissipating even as Celestia gave her sister a reproachful glance.
“It would have been,” Celestia agreed, wincing at that as she picked up her book with a soft golden glow of magic, putting it safely away in a nearby bookshelf.
“And you did not,” Luna added. The night princess was sat on a pillow, wearing her bathrobes and a nightcap. On the table in front of her, an empty tea-cup and the morning edition of the Equestrian Inquirer. It was as innocent as it was annoying, and her words stung even if there was no intentional barb.
“I did not! Sun and Moon, Luna, I did not,” Celestia said, rubbing her face with the back of a foreleg. “I ignored her and sent her on her way knowing full well she would not dare force the point. While we’re on the topic of observation of details; you do realize that if she paused to think, she’d see straight through your little spell?”
“Of course. We know her strength better than you, sister,” Luna said, the barest hint of an edge upon her voice, but the strain disappeared an instant later as she sighed. “Forgive us. Eavesdropping is not very polite, but while it is plain she is distracted, so are you, and we would know why.”
Celestia rose to stand and crossed the short distance to the table, taking a seat on the opposite side before leaning over to briefly touch her snout to her sister’s.
“Because, my dear Luna, ever since the fiasco at the wedding, Twilight has had a lot to think about, and this whole crisis isn’t helping. The veil is lifting, and she is trying to understand who I am to her.” She pursed her lips and let her gaze drift out the nearby window, eyes roving over the ponies milling about the streets of Canterlot. The markets were already in full swing for the day.
“All children must learn that their mothers and fathers are not infallible,” she continued in a lower voice. “For all the adoration we receive, not all of our subjects ever think about the distinction between princess and deity, ruler and goddess, but it is much of the same. Few ponies take up philosophy and ever delve into this. Fewer still ever have cause to care.”
“A non-issue with most ponies,” Luna acquiesced. “Yet this is different. You would rather not discuss this with Twilight and her friends. You are reluctant to discuss the topic of us, of our royal selves, with the Elements.”
“And you were very quick to pick up on that and indulge me when we went to Ponyville right after the accident,” Celestia nodded, adding a grateful little smile. “But no, I have no problems discussing it with the Elements, in theory.”
“But Twilight Sparkle?”
Celestia swallowed and inclined her head ever so slightly. “She is different.”
The night-princess tilted her head and gave her a skeptical glance. Rare were the moments where Luna could not ascertain the truth of a matter at a glance, but some things were more complicated, and this was one such matter.
“You’ve had other protegés since I was banished,” Luna said.
“I have. Twilight is different,” Celestia reaffirmed. Luna took a moment to look at her, the slightly smaller princess’ eyes trained on hers for a few seconds before she nodded.
“If you say so. Twilight Sparkle is different. She is also not well, these days.”
“So I saw. I may have to send her a letter about coffee drinking habits,” Celestia agreed, daring a small chuckle. Luna did not seem similarly amused.
“She is employing a spell to keep herself awake, sister. In the long run, such a spell could be very harmful to her short-term memory and her psyche both. Why do you let her do this?” Luna asked.
“What am I to do?” Celestia asked, furrowing her brow. “Is it in my place?”
“You are unusually philosophical today,” Luna remarked. “If we are to continue this line of discussion, we shall have to find more tea.”
“No, don’t bother,” Celestia sighed. “If it goes too far, I will of course intervene. I will not let harm come to her, but if she wishes to engross herself in the past, then I will let her. She needs to do this in her own time. “
Celestia counted to three inside of her head while Luna nodded slowly at that. It seemed like a closed topic. Luna had asked her a question, and she had given an answer, but as all roads led to Canterlot, so would all topics invariably lead to the one they had been discussing every day for the past two weeks.
“You see, we had thought she was distressed on behalf of her friends,” Luna commented.
Celestia sighed inwardly. “She is. Very much so. That is why she wants to talk to me. It’s all related. She sees me in a new light, and then a catastrophe occurs, one we are powerless to act upon. It’s exceptionally bad timing.”
“But we are not powerless!” Luna retorted. The moon princess rose to stand, forelegs upon the table. “To give in to apathy like this is folly, and you seek to use your student as yet another excuse to delay?”
“I am aware of that fact that you disagree,” Celestia said, doing her best to deprive Luna of the pleasure of any reaction whatsoever. “And we will discuss this on a daily basis without getting anywhere for a while yet, I suspect.”
“Because of your reluctance to take risks,” Luna said, sinking down to sit again.
“Or because of your zeal and eagerness to do just that,” Celestia countered.
“It is no matter,” Luna snorted, her brow furrowed as she seemed to look past Celestia rather than at her. “We do not have to have to press this issue any more. Twilight Sparkle matters enough to you that we do not have to. She will be back, and you will have to face her. Will you still have supper with us tonight as per usual, or are we quarrelling?”
Celestia shook her head at her sister’s unusually cryptic words and chuckled. “We are not quarrelling as far as I can tell. Supper at ten?”