//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 // Story: Sun and Daughter // by brokenimage321 //------------------------------// “So,” Celestia asked, “are you enjoying school? Really?” She and Luster were now washing the dishes. Both of them knew that Celestia’s magic was powerful enough for her to clean and sanitize the dishes by herself, even without using soap and water. But there was something comforting about working with your hooves--especially with someone you love by your side.  Luster finished drying the plate she was holding before answering. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s fun.” “What’s your favorite part?” Celestia pressed her.  Again, a few moments’ hesitation. “I like the learning,” Luster replied, finally. “It’s interesting.” Celestia picked up the next plate in her teeth, set it in the soapy water, then used a washcloth to scrub it, all while waiting for Luster to continue. However, she had apparently answered the question to her own satisfaction, and said nothing more.  “Are you making friends?” Celestia asked, as she rinsed the plate off and passed it to her daughter.  Luster dried the plate off, then set it on the counter with the rest.  “Not really,” Luster replied. “The other fillies are kinda…” “Kinda what, Dear?” Celestia asked absently, as she scrubbed at one of their glasses.  “Kinda mean,” Luster finished.  Celestia froze, mid-scrub. An ancient anger boiled up inside her--an anger, not from the Old Days, but the Old Old Days. When the land that would become Equestria was still savage and wild. When she had been, not the Sun Queen, but the War Goddess. When she had protected ponies from waking nightmares, just as her sister fought them in dreams. An old feeling, a primal feeling, one of fire and pain. The draw, the pull, the need to charge in, horn blazing, and leave naught but ashen shadows on the floor. Not just to kill, but to terrify--to teach that harming those under her charge was not to invite anger, but apocalypse-- No. She dropped the glass she was holding in her magic into the sink, splashing the kitchen with dirty water. Luster yelped, then lunged forward to pluck it from the sink.  Celestia gritted her teeth. She was not that pony anymore. She was no avenging angel, protecting Equestria from the darkness that would swallow it whole--she was a mother. A mom, for Tartarus’s sake. Her battles were no longer showdowns with fiends and monsters, but PTA meetings, bake sales, and quilting bees. She would have been a soccer mom, if Luster had been interested in sports. But someone is hurting our baby, raged the War Goddess inside her.  But we will hurt her even more if we bring down fire from heaven, she shot back. She is a young mare. She needs to learn. We won’t always be there for her, and— And she realized she didn’t know how to finish the thought.  Celestia realized that Luster, water still dripping from her mane, was now looking up at her, an unspoken question in her eyes. She swallowed, then picked up another glass with exaggerated care.  “What do you mean, they’re mean?” Celestia asked, fighting with every fiber of her being to keep her voice neutral. “Are they making fun of you?” Luster took her time answering. Celestia counted every heartbeat as if it was the ticking of a time bomb.  “It’s just,” Luster said finally, “they’re so annoying.”  “Annoying?” Celestia asked, confused. “Annoying how?” Luster heaved a heavy sigh. “They always keep on interrupting me,” she said. “We have a lot of homework to do, and I want to make sure to study, too, so I don’t fall behind. But there’s always a party, or a picnic, or something else stupid that’s going on, and they keep on bugging and bugging me, even after I tell them I need to stay inside and work!” In the sudden, ringing silence of the kitchen, Luster’s chest rose and fell, trembling the slightest bit as it did. Celestia stared at her, her gaze boring a hole through her. Luster felt the weight of her stare, and, suddenly self-conscious, she reached out with her magic, grabbed a small cluster of silverware, and dunked it into the soapy water.  “I’m sorry,” she said, unsure of why she was apologizing.  Celestia seemed to shake herself awake. “No,” she said, “No, I am.” And, unlike her daughter, she knew exactly what she had to apologize for.  It took Celestia another two months before she spoke to Cadence. She was still staying in her seaside villa. This hadn’t been the plan. She was due to go on a ski adventure next. But, in all her planning, she had never even dreamed of being in this situation. She felt paralyzed, with a dozen emotions she could barely name.  Part of her was absolutely overjoyed at the thought she was about to, finally, have a foal of her very own. Part of her hoped that something would happen, and that would be the end of it. Part of her hoped that Captain Halyard would come back from sea and sweep her off her hooves, let someone else make all the decisions for once. Part of her hated herself for not being more careful. But mostly, she was shocked, amazed, terrified, and a dozen other flavors of surprised that she could even find herself in this situation. After two months of fear and indecision, she finally managed to put pen to paper. The note--when she finished it--was a simple one, just asking Cadence to come meet her as soon as she could get away. The twenty-two notes she had written before that one had been a mix of hysterical, flippant, coldly clinical, and childish. But every one of them had stopped at the same phrase:  Cadence, I’m— She couldn’t even bring herself to write the word.  Four days later, Cadence knocked on Celestia’s front door. Celestia let her inside, and the two of them made pleasant small talk while Celestia fixed them both a cup of tea. Cadence took a sip from her cup, then looked Celestia in the eye and asked what was wrong. And suddenly, all of Celestia’s fear, shock, surprise, and loneliness swelled up inside her. She wept like a little filly, wept and hugged Cadence to her, wept for pain and fear and relief. They both knew that this was not the first time Cadence had had this conversation with a frightened mother-to-be. They both knew that much of what she said was almost rote by this point. But Cadence swore to her--swore to her aunt by everything she held sacred--that she would do everything in her power to help her through this.  It was Cadence who suggested, among all the other preparations, that Celestia write Luna and inform her that she was about to become an aunt. But Cadence did not suggest informing Twilight. She had assumed that would have been a given.  She assumed incorrectly, of course. Celestia felt no need to inform her of that fact.