The dream seemed to last forever.
And why shouldn’t it?
The lights and sounds seemed different, this time, less restless and tiresome. They shifted and sounded in a measure more subdued, and were much easier to view and comprehend. The noise was softer than it usually was. In fact, the sweeping sounds were almost like music, a melodic requiem, inspiring something that might have been melancholy happiness. She thought she could even pick out voices here and there, saying things that were unimportant, and yet, so very precious.
And then, they appeared, just like they always did. The specters of ponies seemed to create a circle around her. Their ghostly visages appeared and were washed away with the tide of color, forming and reforming into the most stable shapes she had yet seen.
She saw ponies she really, truly knew, and that knew her back. Clover the Clever was there, and so was Apple Crumble, and Cotton Cake, and the Arch-Mage. She tried to move her mouth, to tell them she was happy to see them, but found she could not. It was frustrating, but that was okay. They loved her anyways.
She saw her father and mother, with those robes they always wore. And, of course, there was her dearest friend of all, peeking around their skirts. For some reason, she could not remember their names. But that was okay. They loved her anyways.
The soldiers were there, too. She could not remember their names, either, but that was okay. They loved her anyways.
Lucky was there, too! He just stared at her with that face, and she was worried he was not happy, but then he smiled. He did not smile very often, and when he did, it was always so youthful, almost like he still needed practice. It was the greatest gift he could give her. The last time she had seen that look, it had been wasted; marred in her mind, poisoned by his ignorance.
Yet here, in unreality, things worked differently. She allowed herself to dream, because the dream would last forever.
It was not real, but it was all she had, and that was okay.
He loved her anyways.
Usually, easy change came to dreams, but not this one. This one was powerful, set in stone, a bastion against the shadow she knew lurked in the corner of her vision, creeping along the edge of the multitude. And yet, at this moment, it was simply too crowded to let the shadow in.
The dream seemed to last forever, and for that, she was supremely grateful. A happy, trembling smile formed on her face…
**********
…and a single tear trickled down her cheek.
“Doctor, why is she doing that?”
“What?”
“Look. She’s crying. Is she sad?”
Celestia stirred as she came to a gradual awareness of self. Her whole body seemed to ache. The very act of simply lying there was a chore, and her slow, tired breaths set a fire in her lungs, especially on her right side.
“Don’t worry yourself, Cotton. That’s normal. Sometimes the eyes will act up when under magical anesthesia.”
Cotton’s voice sounded unconvinced. “Are you sure…?”
Celestia’s response was hoarse and airy, but it seemed to be the loudest thing in the room. “I’m not sad.”
There was a brief silence, followed by a sudden squeal of delight. “Celly! You’re awake!”
Celestia tried slowly opening her eyes, but they were practically forced wide as she felt a sudden pressure on her lungs. She looked down to see Cotton’s arms wrapped around her, muzzle buried in the fur of her chest. Celestia groaned in pain, but her discomfort paled in comparison to her happiness at the gesture. She tried to return the hug as best she could, weakly lifting her arms around Cotton and resting them on her back.
“Do not touch the patient, please,” Doctor Cross said, sounding annoyed.
Cotton refused to let go until she had squeezed the maximum amount of enjoyment out of the hug.
Celestia did not mind, pain notwithstanding.
“I thought you would never wake up!” Cotton said, finally complying to the shooing hooves of Doctor Cross. Her hooves clopped onto the stone as she dropped from Celestia’s beside. “How do you feel?”
“I feel…” Celestia paused, looking at her surroundings. Around her was the familiar scenery of a Canterlot clinic. This one was different than before, however. She could tell she was not in the palace, but rather somewhere more “mundane”. The space was larger and with much less décor. She would have guessed that hers was not the only bed in the room, but could not tell with a purple L-shaped curtain drawn around her. However, the architecture looked similar, even with her limited view. Were they in the barracks infirmary?
She looked down at her own self, attempting to gauge how she actually felt. She was lying belly up, her back elevated at a slight angle, and the lower half of her body covered with a thin blanket. The bed beneath her was comfortable enough, but shifting against the stiff, unyielding padding, she found it was much less cozy than her borrowed bed in Cotton’s cottage. Her bruised limbs ached, and her ribs painfully throbbed with each new breath, but her jaw remained suspiciously painless. She put an experimental hoof to it, and felt it was completely numb. She raised an eyebrow as she pushed and pulled on what no longer felt like her cheek, but rather a mass of lifeless flesh somepony had glued to her body. Her tongue, though she could control it, was similarly numb. It felt huge in her mouth.
“Don’t do that,” Doctor Cross said, swatting her hoof away from her face. “Your jaw was so cracked, it was nearly broken. I had to numb your cheek. Luckily, I was able to magically mend the bone without making an incision, but bone mending is a tricky business. It’s done for the most part, but you’ll be feeling the soreness in about an hour or so. Until then, I must insist you do not touch your cheek.”
Celestia absently nodded, prodding her cheek one last time while he was not looking. She looked back at Cotton, who was still gazing at her expectantly. Each of Celestia’s ragged breaths was another spike of pain. Her limbs were the worst they had ever been. Her head was still pained with the aftereffects of a concussion, and, if what the doctor said was true, the worst was yet to come. And yet…
“I feel good.” Celestia looked down at Cotton, and realized there was already a smile on her own face. “Happy.”
Cotton tilted her head. “Really?”
“Yes.” She nodded, and shifted herself to sit more upright in her bed. She had no idea why she felt so content, she just did. “I suppose I’m just glad you’re here.”
It was good enough for Cotton, who did not seem to care what the reason was. “I’m glad I’m here, too!”
After completing some task at a nearby counter, Celestia saw Doctor Cross approaching her bedside. The unicorn’s coat was an icy blue, and his slicked mane a rather mundane brown, but she had previously failed to notice his curious cutie mark, a simple, t-shaped red cross. She did not know what to make of it, and made a note of asking him about it later. He reached her bedside, and nudged Cotton away, who briefly squirmed in protest before allowing herself to be moved.
“Well, Celestia, let me tell you, are a very fortunate mare.” The doctor brought up a small, wooden clipboard, and seemed to read from a list. “By the end of your duel, you had two cracked ribs, which I was able to mend. Your jaw was nearly split, which I was also able to mend. You had bruises all over your body, and while most of them are still there, I reduced the swelling a bit. You also had a concussion, but it went away with no lasting damage, except you might have a little less control over your magic for the next few days.”
Celestia rolled her eyes. Just what I needed.
He lowered the clipboard, and looked at her. “All in all, you emerged mostly intact. You were never in danger of dying, but those could have been crippling injuries. I must urge you to exercise some more caution.”
“So there’s no lasting damage?” Celestia asked, concerned.
The doctor sighed, annoyed that his warning was ignored. “Well, there is one thing.” He trotted over to Celestia’s right side, and tugged at her back. “Would you kindly sit up for me, just a bit?”
Celestia did so, and he grabbed her wing, gently deploying it. The doctor apologized as she hissed in pain.
“This is the only one I can see. At the very tip of your wing.” He brushed some of her feathers away, and rubbed the tip of her wing. “Feel that? The bone is bent, just a little.”
He held her wing up as Celestia reached a hoof out and gingerly touched the end of her wing. Sure enough, the bend of her wing ended in a slight, unnatural crook. It was tiny, barely a fraction of the size of her hoof, but it was definitely there.
“How…?” Celestia muttered, still feeling the end of her wing with equal parts bewilderment and worry.
“I cannot be sure,” the doctor replied, “but it probably has something to do with the way you landed when you hit the ground.”
“When I was tackled?” Celestia remembered. There had been a small pain in her wing, but compared to everything else, it hardly seemed notable.
The doctor seemed uneasy with her question. He hesitated before answering.
“…Yes.” He ushered her hoof away, and carefully folded her wing back underneath her.
“Can’t you fix it?”
Doctor Cross left her bedside. The space was immediately replaced by Cotton, who seemed content to stand with her forehooves on the frame and watch over Celestia.
“I could,” the doctor said, “but I’m afraid of doing more harm than good. The bend healed too quickly, before I realized it was there. Fixing it would mean magically readjusting the bone inside your body. Not only is that a painful process, but it somewhat dangerous to the rest of your wingbones. No, it would be best to simply leave it as is.”
The doctor paused to scribble something down on a piece of parchment. “There’s no need to worry. I’ve dealt with many injuries like this before. It’s just something that happens, and it’s fairly minor. You can barely see it, especially if you don’t know it’s there. And I’m no pegasus, but I’m told it shouldn’t interfere with flight.”
“Besides,” Cotton cheerily chimed, “now you have a permanent reminder of how good you were at dueling! Oh, it’s just like a cutie mark!” Her pupils moved into the corners of her eye, and she stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Except, you know, instead of being on your fur, it’s in your bone structure.” She shrugged.
Celestia was only able to ponder it for a brief moment. On the other side of the room, she heard the squeak of a wooden door swinging open and closed. She reflexively looked in the direction of the sound, but of course, all she saw was the purple privacy curtain. Two sets of hoofsteps clicked against the stone as they came closer to her bed. Apple Crumble rounded the corner, Clover the Clever following after him.
“It would seem we came just in time,” Clover said, slowly approaching her bedside. “How are you feeling, dear?”
Her response was quick. “Fine. Good, actually.”
“’Atta girl,” Crumble said. “Tougher than nails, yeh are, and ‘bout as sharp, too. They’re still talkin’ ‘bout yer glorious triumph over the Breaker.”
“’Glorious’ is a matter of opinion, I think,” Clover chided. “Foolish, more like.” It was in response to Crumble, but Celestia knew the old unicorn was speaking to her.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me-”
“Oh no, child,” Clover interrupted, putting a hoof up and lowering her head, as if to reject her explanation. “Do not apologize to me. Apologize to yourself. Though I daresay your bruises and broken bones are recompense enough for any wrongdoing.”
Celestia looked at herself, raising her arms and shrugging her shoulders forward. Her muscles ached in return, making her inclined to agree. She tried to recall the duel, the exact nature of her “foolishness”, why she had done what she had done, and how she had done it.
She had become impatient. Captain Garde had taken her to the dueling ring. Something happened, and she beat him. Somepony else had challenged her, and she beat him too. Then somepony else, and then somepony else. She beat them all. And before each match, something happened. Lucky Break challenged her, beat her, and something happened, and she beat him back.
Celestia knew she was forgetting something important. The memory of the duels themselves were very vivid, and how could they not be? She had felt more alive than ever before. And yet, something, that something, was missing.
“Just promise you have learned your lesson, and I shall be content.”
Celestia was drawn away from her own thoughts, and nodded her head emphatically.
Clover smiled in approval.
“So,” Cotton began, “did you notice your gifts?” She pointed to a nearby table, where stood a modest wicker basket. The contents were covered with a small red cloth, but whatever it held, it positively bulged with items. Next to that, resting in a thin glass vase filled with water, was a single sunflower.
“What’s inside the-” Celestia began, but was cut off as the red cloth was sent spiraling into her face, flung by Cotton’s magic. She brushed it off, and looked back at the basket. Inside was a pile of candies of all shapes and sizes.
“Dig in!” Cotton happily said, levitating a chocolate and sending it towards Celestia.
Her telekinesis was met with a counter force. The pink magic surrounding the swirling candy was overlapped by green, and forced back into the basket.
“No solids,” Doctor Cross called from across the room, the glow still fading from his horn. “Not with that jaw of yours.”
Cotton seemed more disappointed than Celestia, whose gaze quickly turned back towards the vase and flower. She felt particularly transfixed by it. It was top-heavy, and though the stem was thick and sturdy, it drooped, just a little, as if world-weary and exhausted. She thought it beautiful, though. The petals, golden orange at the base and bright yellow at the tip, seemed to burst away from the flower in lovely rays of light. They surrounded the center like a delicate halo, a center which, by itself, was plain, brown, and rough. The contrast only added to the effect.
The sunflower was the solitary occupant of the vase, but stood as the only thing of color in a room that was otherwise white marble and purple fabric. Crumble’s red and Clover’s lavender, both faded with age, did not produce the same effect. Even Cotton’s pastel cyan seemed to fall short.
“It’s okay,” Celestia said, consoling a disappointed Cotton. “I love the flower you brought.”
Cotton retrieved the red cloth, and sullenly covered the basket. “Oh, that wasn’t me.”
“It wasn’t? Who was it?”
Cotton shrugged. “It was already here when I got here.”
Celestia turned to Crumble and Clover. Neither of them had answers for her, one nonchalantly shrugging and the other shaking her head. She gave the flower another curious look. None of them seemed to be as impressed with it as she was.
Crumble spoke up. “Well, as long as we’re givin’ gifts…” He craned his head back, reaching behind one of his saddlebags. With a long, metallic ring, he withdrew an item and presented it to Celestia, holding it forward with both hooves. It was her training sword.
Celestia wordlessly reached out and took it from him, holding it up to catch the light. Though it had been brand new, the blunted edge was already covered in chinks, and the flat side, covered in scrapes and scratches. It was still a little dirty, and if Celestia was not mistaken, there were a few flecks of dried blood towards the end, probably her own.
“’The blade that defeated twelve o’ the Maiden’s soldiers, an’ then, the Breaker ‘imself.’” He gave a deep chuckle. “Yeh’d best hang that on yer wall, sunshine. Legendary sword like that’s gonna be a family heirloom fer generations to come.”
**********
“And then what happened?”
The princess took a surprisingly nonchalant sip of tea. She was staring off into space, not with an absent expression, but with eyes that were very clearly fixed on something.
“Nothing.”
Twilight blinked. “What?”
Celestia’s gaze unfixed itself, and slowly turned back to her student. “Oh, forgive me. I mean to say, nothing important. I rested at the hospital for another couple of days, and resumed my training shortly after. Crumble found things for me to do away from the barracks that did not stress my injuries, and Clover the Clever taught me magical theory while waiting for the aftereffects of my concussion to wear off.”
She gave a small, almost mischievous smile. “And I was not allowed to duel.”
“Hmm.” Twilight put her quill to the paper, and wrote a single note. As she reached the end of the line, her writing became slower and slower, until she was meticulously drawing each individual letter with deliberate precision. She finished her sentence, and did not look up, instead tapping her quill on the parchment, her features becoming contemplative.
Celestia saw right through it; Twilight’s expression was not fake, but she was clearly stalling something. She waited for a moment, and broke the silence after it was apparent her student would not.
“What is it, Twilight?”
“Hm?” She looked up, and then back down. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking.” Her quill continued tapping. It was leaving inky black dots on the parchment.
“Did you have a question?” the princess asked patiently.
“No, just thinking,” Twilight repeated. Her quill stopped.
“Although,” she slowly began, “If I did have a question, it might be something about… well, I’m just thinking about your infirmary visit.” She looked up, and gestured with upturned hooves. “Just thinking.”
The princess nodded. “Of course.”
“But if I did have question, it would be about…” she trailed off, but Celestia her pupil’s glance sway in the direction of her wing. The princess looked at it, looked back, and smiled. She sat up, took a few steps forward, turned her right side towards Twilight, and extended her wing.
At full deployment, the princess’s wingspan was impressive and, to most ponies, including Twilight Sparkle, intimidating. The tip of her wing hovered in the air before her, the white feathers trembling ever so slightly in the air.
Twilight hesitated. “May I?” she asked.
Celestia nodded.
She reached a tentative hoof forward. They were close, and contact between them was not uncommon, yet Twilight felt strange about… examining her mentor, especially for something like a deformity. But, as always, curiosity won out. Her hoof reached Celestia’s wingtip, and sure enough, on the utmost end of the bone, literally invisible beneath the thick white plumage, was a small crook. It would have hardly been noticeable, especially if she had not known what she was looking for. Yet there it was, a small token of history, living proof of events long past.
When she was sure her student was done, Princess Celestia retracted her wing, and returned to her seat.
“Did he ever visit you?” Twilight asked, simultaneously writing something, determined not to miss a beat. “Commander Break, I mean. In the hospital.”
“No,” Celestia said lightly. “They wouldn’t let him.”
“He tried?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. If he did, Apple Crumble would not have allowed him to set a hoof in my room. Lucky was technically a higher rank, but even he knew where the line was.”
Twilight scribbled something. “When did you see him next?”
Celestia paused. “Well, I saw him the day I resumed my training. He was required to oversee it, after all. But I never talked to him, and he never talked to me, except in the way you might address a distant acquaintance. Really, the last time we had truly interacted was our duel.”
Her gaze strayed away again, and she looked at the study wall. Hung on the hearth, just above the fireplace was a wall mount, holding in place two swords. They were artistically crossed behind a shield bearing Equestria’s coat of arms. Over the past thousand years, the renditions of Equestria’s flag had been depictions of herself, raising the sun and moon. More recently, her sister Luna had been added. Not so on this one. This shield bore Equestria’s old coat of arms, a combination of the three pony tribes’ ancient banners, set into three equal quadrants. The bottom left held a depiction of the earth ponies’ fields, and the bottom right, a unicorn’s regal profile on a diamond-studded background. Above them both, a pegasus with wings outstretched hovered serenely in a starry night sky.
Even the closest examination would tell any normal onlooker that the swords were merely decorative. They were, after all, fake, being blunted on the edges. They were not even quality fakes, at that; the edges were chinked, the metal was substandard, and the cloth around the handles showed signs of obvious wear. The flat side of the blade had countless scratches and scrapes, no doubt the work of a careless smith. Why the princess would care to purchase such inferior work was beyond the comprehension of the guards that inspected the room, the servants that cleaned it, or the student that studied in it.
Celestia allowed herself a private smile. Some ponies just did not appreciate the value of antiques.
“So the two of you never spoke again?” Twilight asked, breaking the princess out of her trance.
“Oh no, Twilight. We did. I thought it would last forever, but things change. They always do. I spoke with him six days later, outside of training. It was on the day of Harmony.”
Twilight made a note of the date, but paused. She looked up from her parchment. “The day of… what?”
“The day of Harmony,” the princess repeated patiently.
“Is that some ancient Equestrian holiday, or something?”
The princess chuckled. “Hah. A holy day. I daresay it is.” Her student tilted her head and looked at her, as if still waiting for the punchline of a joke she did not yet understand.
Celestia’s tone was terse. “Sunday, Twilight.”
“Oh.” Twilight blushed. “Sorry.”
“It’s quite alright.” Celestia put her teacup down and casually stared out of a nearby window. “Equestria has certainly changed in the past one thousand years, hasn’t it?”
Twilight did not know how to respond. She merely sat there, waiting for her mentor to continue. The princess rose from her seat, and moved to the window, looking down upon the city below.
“Twilight,” she began, without turning around, “Have you ever been to the Canterlot Cathedral?”
Twilight was caught off guard. “Uh, well… maybe…” She took time to think. Her mentor patiently waited, content to gaze at the moonlit city of Canterlot. Her gaze lingered on one building in particular.
After a moment, Twilight’s eyes brightened in realization. “The building next to the palace, mostly secluded from the rest of the city, right? The one with the bell tower and all those spires. Didn’t somepony want to tear it down to build a new wing of the palace, and you-”
“And I wouldn’t let them. Correct.”
Twilight briefly pondered. “I might have been there once or twice.”
Celestia did not immediately respond. When she did, it was slow and deliberate. “I visit the place quite frequently.”
Twilight was anxious to continue the story, but was doubly curious about her mentor’s thoughtful repose. She thought about standing up and taking a place next to the princess, but the thought of breaking her peace seemed almost heretical. Instead, she asked the immortal question, voicing the word that bespoke both her inquiry and her endless quest.
“Why?”
Celestia still did not turn. Her answer was almost a whisper.
“To pray.”
Twilight sat motionless. Not even her quill moved. Eventually, Celestia turned away from the window and faced her student.
“Are you familiar with the Equestrian Pantheon?” she asked. Her voice seemed to regain its volume, and in the same stroke, her tranquility left her.
Of course Twilight was familiar. She had read countless mythologies, from children’s books, to professional documentations, to ancient texts she had trouble deciphering. Much of the lore she had learned as a result of her most recent project. The mythology of ‘the gods’ was a common theme in ancient history. But that was all it was… mythology.
Nevertheless, Twilight’s answer came quick. “Yes.”
“Back then, ponies believed all of that, you know. The cathedral was a very sacred place for them.”
Twilight knew exactly what she wanted to ask next, but was unsure of how to ask it, and almost afraid of how the princess would react. She waited to see if Celestia would continue. She did not. In fact, she appeared to be waiting for Twilight to speak.
Celestia knew her student all too well. There was not a question in the world that Twilight Sparkle’s curiosity would not drive her to ask, regardless of the subject matter. Questions with difficult answers, or questions with no answers at all. Where is your sister? How is the sun raised? Where do baby foals come from?
“Do you believe in the gods?”
Celestia’s answer was short but clear. “Maybe.”
Again, Twilight could only ask, “Why? How?”
The princess began pacing behind her chair. “I am not so conceited as to believe myself the highest power in the land. Goodness, no. And I am glad for it. If you are asking me for proof, however, then know that I have none. I know what I am, I know that I am powerful, but do not believe me to be connected to the unseen. I can raise the sun, but remember, Twilight Sparkle, it was once within every unicorn’s power to do so.” She paused, and looked at the moon outside, as if contemplating that fact.
“There is solace to be found in knowing there is something greater than yourself. Parents to guide you, teachers to instruct you…” Celestia paused, and ceased her pacing. She gave her student a piercing gaze. “Gods to protect you.”
Twilight could only gaze back, searching for a proper response. Gods to protect you. She immediately thought of the princess herself, which she supposed had been the intent. Celestia often professed herself to be a ‘normal’ pony, but nopony thought of her that way. How could they? Here was a being of immortal grace and unrivaled, otherworldly beauty. She had both wings and a horn, was twice as tall as a normal pony, and her ethereal mane seemed to flow with the breeze of an alternate world.
Imposing physicality aside, it was her mannerisms that always caught ponies. They always expected a harsh ruler, but never, ever experienced it. No, they heard the soft, almost playful tones of her alto voice, felt the gentleness of her motions like silk over skin, and could only think one thing: before me stands a princess. Perhaps the word ‘princess’ had carried a different meaning in ancient Equestria, but nowadays, it was something else entirely.
When they needed guidance, she lead them with the kind of wisdom only one thousand years of experience could afford. When they needed instruction, she taught more skillfully than the greatest scholars in all of Equestria. When they needed protection, she protected them.
Twilight considered herself very close to the princess, perhaps, in some ways, even closer than Luna. She heard Princess Celestia confess that she was normal, and believed her. The princess enjoyed a good prank every now and again, and held a soft spot for cake. And yet, Twilight could not help but be struck with that same, otherworldly awe when seeing the sun raised, or witnessing feats of incredible magic. In the back of her mind, Twilight saw her mentor as “something greater.”
As she thought about it, Twilight might have even been the most devout of them all. She understood Celestia better than nearly anypony, and even though she saw much of the reality of her princess, she was all the more devoted for it. As with the disciple of any doctrine, there was always mystery, but with her most recent project, the enigma was becoming clearer and clearer. Twilight “believed” in Celestia, apparently in the same way a pony might put faith in gods. Twilight had a limited basis for comparison, but found she was inclined to agree with the princess. She offhandedly wondered at the coincidence of her nickname and title. The faithful student.
Suddenly, something made sense, and she answered a question she had yet to even ask. Twilight had known about the Equestrian Pantheon for a long time, and had only given a brief thought as to why it had faded into history, and why ponies no longer believed in it, or even knew about it. Her explanation was the same it had been for the forgotten history of the past: ponies simply forgot, or lost the records, or ceased to care.
That was incorrect. Information can be lost, but ideas do not simply disappear. Ideas are resilient. They change, they are revolutionized. Or…
She gave a searching look to the princess in front of her, who gave her a tired look back.
Or, they are replaced.
But there was still one adherent to that ancient religion. It was interesting, Twilight thought, that the center of one faith believed something else entirely. But still…
“I don’t understand…” Twilight said hesitantly. “There’s no evidence. How can you believe in something like that?”
“Because, my faithful student.” Celestia returned to her seat. A fond smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Because, I have seen miracles.”
**********
A tender light streamed onto the city through the near mountains. Celestia yawned, rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes. “Remind me what we are doing, again?”
Crumble sighed. “Fer the last time, its Harmony’s day. We’re goin’ to the cathedral to do a bit o’ good ol’ fashion worship, n’ whatnot. Lordie, sunshine, were yeh raised under a rock?”
“No!” Celestia said defensively. She shot him an annoyed look, even though she had no idea, and it was technically possible. “I was just wondering why we aren’t training today, instead. Isn’t that more important?”
“Maybe. To each their own. Some ponies don’t quit their trainin’, but when stationed in the city, most o’ the soldiers take the day off. They jus’ need a break, is all.”
He glanced at Celestia out of the corner of his eye. Even after a week of the lightest of training, her gait was still somewhat awkward. Both of her front legs were still recovering, and while she could walk, she was forced to minimize the pressure put on either leg at any given moment. This resulted in an unusual, hobbling stride, the obvious amble of a pony in pain. Her hooves clopped against the stone in irregular beats.
“And I’m thinkin’ yer one o’ them ponies that needs a break.”
“My first day of training was on a Sunday,” Celestia remarked. “Why then?”
Crumble grunted. “The council was overzealous. So were you, I might add. That courtyard would’a been thrice as full any other day. An’ even those who were trainin’ had already done their time in the cathedral. Well, most of ‘em, anyways.”
“Also, could you tell me why-” Celestia was cut off as her hoof caught an edge of her clothing, pinning in against the ground and making her stumble forward. Her wings instinctively flared to her sides, in order to regain balance. One of them hit Crumble in the face. She was able to make an awkward recovery, but scowled in frustration.
“Sorry,” she said, as Crumble rubbed his face with a hoof. “Tell me why we have to wear these cloaks. Mine is too long for me.”
She raised a hoof and brushed the fabric draped around her shoulders. The cloak she wore was a simple, singular piece of cloth. It had no pockets, the only notable features being a clasp around her neck, and a hood resting on her back. It was also indeed slightly too long for her, as the edges bounced and dragged along the Canterlot stone. If she stood perfectly still, it would hover only a fraction of an inch above the ground. Celestia cursed beneath her breath as she stumbled forward again.
Crumble moved a little closer, ready to catch her in case she fell. “It’s traditional, sunshine. Citizens’ll generally jus’ wear nice clothin’, but we get to wear cloaks. It goes back to the early years of the war. Soldiers’d be travelin’ with their battalions, which would occasionally be stationed in cities. ‘Course, those soldiers wanted their day in the chapel, either to pray or to… well, jus’ to get a day off.”
He scratched his chin. “The cathedrals would never let ‘em in, though. ‘Disrespectful’, they called it, to be wearin’ less than yer best. And of course, the soldiers never packed anythin’ but the essentials, so why would they be carryin’ their Sunday dress?
“Eventually, there was enough complaint, an’ it was considered acceptable fer a soldier to enter with jus’ a cloak on.”
Celestia was only half listening, much of her attention drawn to maintaining her poise.
“Why this one, though?” she asked. She glanced back at her cloak. The fabric was a light yellow, so light it was nearly white. As far as Celestia could tell, that color remained solid and unbroken throughout the whole of the cloth.
“’Cause, we were in a hurry, an’ it was the best I could find. Technically, yer supposed to wear the color of the patron yeh plan on prayin’ to, but seein’ as yer…” He paused, indecisively motioning at Celestia. “…You,” he continued, gesturing with a note of finality, “I figured any of ‘em would work. Yeh’ll have to tell me yer preference later.”
“My preference?” Celestia questioned. “For what? Cloaks? I’d just like one that fits.” She briefly thought of her old black cloak, which was still in the process of being sewn up.
Crumble stopped walking, and shot her an incredulous look. She stopped at his side, and innocently looked back. Had she done something wrong?
“Tell me yeh know somethin’ ‘bout the Pantheon.”
She tilted her head. “The what?”
“The Pantheon.”
She shook her head.
“Nothin’?”
She shrugged, and shook her head again.
Crumble sighed, and turned towards her. “Okay, we don’t have a whole lot of time, so let me give yeh the rundown…”
**********
Twilight Sparkle raised a hoof. Celestia nearly giggled in amusement; she looked as though she were a schoolfilly, wanting to be called upon.
The princess nodded her acknowledgement. “Yes?”
“Actually, princess, I already know the Pantheon,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Oh?” Celestia raised an eyebrow. “I know you are somewhat familiar, but…”
“I can name them all!”
“Really? Well, then…” Celestia made an outward motion, giving Twilight the floor. She cleared her throat, and sat up straight.
“As defined by Quiver Quill’s ‘Guide to Ancient Equestria’, the Equestrian Pantheon was divided into three groups, one for each pony tribe. Within each division, or ‘house’, as it was called, there resided three deities. Each deity embodied a different aspect unique to that tribe.
“In the unicorn house, there was Corona, Goddess of the Sun, Selena, Goddess of the Moon, and Aether, Goddess of Twilight. The time of day kind of twilight,” she added, “not the... me, kind.”
Celestia smiled amusedly, and Twilight blushed. It had been a silly thing to say. She cleared her throat and continued.
“The unicorn’s mastery of magic was attributed to Aether, whom they believed to be the source of magical energy.” Twilight looked to her mentor for confirmation.
Celestia nodded. “Go on.”
“In the pegasi house, there was Nimbus, God of Clouds, Tempesta, Goddess of Storms, and Ventus, God of Calm Winds. Ventus was also generally regarded as the patron of flight.
“In the earth pony house, there was Gaia, Goddess of Earth, Cibus, God of Feasts and Revelry, and…”
Twilight trailed off, tapping her quill to her chin. After a moment of contemplation, her eyes widened in remembrance, and she clopped her hooves together.
“And Tyche,” she said resolutely. “Goddess of Fortune.” She gave a satisfied nod to herself before continuing.
“Gaia was the patroness of harvest time, and was also where earth ponies are said to have received their above-average strength.
“Finally, above them all, uniting the three houses, was Concordia, Goddess of Harmony.” She finished with a note of finality.
Princess Celestia gave her student an approving nod. “Very impressive, Twilight.” She returned with a modest nod back, though a proud smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“Yes, Crumble told me all of that, but I was not nearly as studious as you. Mostly, I only remembered the one whose colors I was supposedly wearing. Corona, of the Sun.” She chuckled. “At the time, I had no idea how ironic that was.”
Twilight agreed. She had always thought the forgotten collection of myths to somehow be the key to the princess’s past. Perhaps “Corona” and “Selena” had been interpretations of Celestia and Luna, or were possibly the sisters themselves. Still, it had made no sense, seeing as the name “Aether” seemed to come from nowhere, as did the other deities.
Now, it was both clearer, and more confusing. If what the princess was saying was true, the Pantheon had always existed, independent of her or anypony else. But where, then, did it originate?
Twilight made a note to herself, determined to make it a point for further study. For now, however, she was eager for her teacher to continue her story.
“So, you said you met Lucky that day. Was it in the cathedral?”
Celestia nodded. “Indeed, it was. But he was not the only important pony there that day.”
**********
On the outside, the cathedral was an impressive structure, even in comparison to the palace it neighbored. It was tall, wide, and imposing, constructed from the same, brilliant white stone and marble. However, while it was not uncommon for buildings, especially buildings in Canterlot, to be breathtaking due to sheer scale, the style of architecture was what really set the cathedral apart. Taking a cue from older, more eastern styles of construction, the exterior was lined with columns and decorated with grand arches. The amount of detail etched into the stone, especially considering the size of the place, was extraordinary. Carvings of all types, from simple, vertical columns, to actual, detailed works of art sculpted into the stone, made for a building that could be appreciated both at a distance and up close, for both its awesome scale and its painstaking attention to detail.
All of the architecture at the base of the cathedral lent to the formation of several spires at its top. Columns and arches culminated into four tall towers, one on each corner of the building. In the center was another tower, taller than the rest. Cradled underneath a large stone pavilion and exposed to the open air was a large church bell. Even in between the pillars that sheltered it, and even by the dim light of morning, rays of sun could still be seen glinting off of the shining brass.
The interior of the cathedral was no less impressive. There were rows of pews, with several long isles in between them, leading to a grand altar at the front. If completely filled on the base floor, it could hold five thousand or more ponies at once. That was not even counting the balcony stands, which were constructed of permanent cloudstuff, exclusively for pegasi. However, the most striking feature had never been its potential for occupancy. Entering the grand double doors at its front, the first thing that struck nearly everypony was its sheer verticality.
Rather than being separated into floors, the interior of the cathedral was one, massive room, with only a minimal amount of rooms adjoining it for the purposes of the clergy. This meant that the roof of the building, which appeared to be high on the outside, almost directly translated to the height of the ceiling on the inside. Seeing such a large space on the inside of a building was dizzying, even for veteran pegasi fliers, or perhaps even more so.
At the front of the cathedral, lining the far wall and standing in perfect view of every seat in the building, were four large shrines, one for each house. Within three of the shrines were three more altars, one for each deity.
To the left was the earth shrine, decorated with earthy shades of green and brown.
To the right, was the unicorn shrine, inlaid with gems and painted with a gradient of colors that shifted from night to day to venerable twilight.
Far above, taking advantage of the high ceiling, was the pegasus shrine, colored with the white, blue, and grey, the hues of the sky. Instead of the usual stone, the stands before it were made from permanently set cloudstuff, and as such, were only accessible to pegasi.
In the center of it all was the shrine to the goddess Concordia. It was painted with traditional colors, an odd rainbow believed to represent Harmony: turquoise, green, blue, and pink.
The cathedral was mostly empty. At this early hour of the day, it was reserved for officers of the army and, of course, members of the clergy. There were perhaps four hundred ponies or less, which, considering the massive interior, was practically nothing. Each officer could have had two or three rows all to themselves, should they so desire. The reverence held by each soldier, in addition to their already small number, made for a silence one could find nowhere else in the whole of Canterlot. Each pony could hear their own hoofsteps echo off the walls. Each whispered prayer seemed to hold the volume of a conversation, and each whispered conversation, the volume of a shout.
One pony in particular, shrouded in a faded green ranger’s cloak, bowed in front of the earth shrine, restfully musing upon a specific altar. Though his attire was an unbroken light green, and had no identifying marks to speak of, it was obviously not meant for Sunday prayer. It was too coarse and sturdy, and had utility pockets on the inside and out.
He heard a set of slow hoofsteps approaching. They stopped behind him. He knew who it was, and, without turning, he spoke.
“Well met, Father Bright. May all the gods’ good greetings be upon thee.”
“Well met, Lieutenant, and likewise to thee.”
Most ponies were sitting in the pews, allowing themselves a moment of respite, taking in a tranquility that nowadays was hard to come by. However, some were at the shrines themselves, standing and looking up to ponder, or else bowing or kneeling to pray. Regardless of position, each military pony wore a cloak, and each cloak’s hood was respectfully drawn.
“It’s Commander, now, actually.”
“Of course it is. My apologies.”
There was a silence, though it was not awkward. In this place, silence was natural, and perfectly comfortable. The stallion with the green cloak did not move from his reverent bow, nor did he lift his eyes from the altar upon which they rested.
The Father spoke. “Thine cloak is rough, for a stallion of your station.”
“It is the only one I have. It is the correct color, at least. May I confess something?”
“Of course, my little pony.”
The Father’s elderly voice was deep and dry, and strangely pleasing to the ear. It seemed to hold an inner power that perfectly suited his role as archbishop, providing quiet solace to a troubled soul just as easily as it might declare the sacred word of Harmony.
“I was never a man of the gods. I never kept a Sunday cloak. The only time I ever went to church was when she…” He trailed off.
“I know, my child. I know.”
There was another, comfortable silence.
“It’s a strange title, isn’t it? Commander. Doesn’t quite fit.”
“It suits thee as well as any. The name doth reside in good hooves, I think. Thine are better than most.”
He rose from his bow, but did not turn. “Are they?”
“Lucky.” The Father walked beside him, and put a consoling hoof on his shoulder. “Of course they are.”
Lucky craned his head low. “Forgive me.”
“Whatever for?”
Though Father Bright could not see it, it was easy to imagine the rueful, shameful expression beneath Lucky’s hood.
“For letting what happened happen. Daylight… your daughter… I should have been…”
“Stop.” Even though it was barely louder than a whisper, the Father’s voice made it powerful. Lucky immediately fell silent.
“I will not forgive you, for there is nothing to forgive. Lucky Break, are the habits of life, of war, unknown to thee? Thou art a soldier, and a patron of Tyche, no less. There is a difference between carelessness and ill fortune, and both of those are certainly different from outright sin.”
The Father took his hoof off of Lucky’s shoulder, and turned to face him. “My daughter knew the risks of such endeavors, as did countless others that perished in battle. I could not be prouder that she faced them anyways. As I am proud of you, Lucky Break, for continuing to face them. If somepony must be blamed, do not let it be thyself. Do not blame thy soldiers, or even thy ill fortune. The sin rests squarely upon the shoulders of that abominable demon.”
Lucky raised his head, and looked at the shrine in front of him. It was Tyche’s altar, the Goddess of Fortune. He turned away from it, and faced the Father.
Father Bright was an elderly unicorn, a stallion whose body had seen better days, but whose spirit remained unshaken. His coat was a mellow blonde color, and his mane, though thin and balding, was a greyish-white. His features were old, but his countenance seemed to remain in constant empathy, ready to listen and dispense advice in return. Around his shoulders, he wore an ornate robe with a drawn hood, colored with the odd rainbow of Harmony.
Lucky Break looked at him for a moment, hesitation playing over his features, as if deciding what to say. Eventually he only muttered, “I promise, we will carry on. Her death was not in vain.” He almost looked ashamed of having said it.
“The vanity would have been in living, when the gods beckoned her to their sides.”
Lucky absently nodded. He glanced again at the earth shrine, and then gave the cathedral a quick sweep with his eyes.
“Where is the little deaconess?” He finished his sweep, and looked back to the Father Bright. “Still sleeping, as usual?”
Bright’s countenance seemed to darken, just a bit. “She has left.”
“She… what?” Lucky raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. He did not understand.
“She is gone. A few weeks ago, she departed Canterlot, and left for Marechester. She is joining the army.”
“She’s what?!” Though Lucky’s voice had only elevated to the volume of a normal speaking tone, in the silence of the cathedral, it was practically a thunderclap. His voice reverberated off of the stone walls more than once, and he drew a few curious glances. Lucky’s ears went flat as he cringed at the sound of his own voice, and his gaze swiveled sheepishly around the room.
“She’s what?” he repeated, his voice lowering back to a whisper.
“Thou didst hear correct, I am afraid.”
“How could she…?” Lucky shook his head disbelievingly. “Why? She is only, what, fourteen…?”
“Fifteen, which is, as I remember it, the same age at which thou enlisted in the 21st Division, and the same year thou didst earned the title of ‘Breaker.’ Only to be slightly outdone by my daughter, who, at age fourteen, was given a battalion, the official title of ‘commander’, and the unofficial title of ‘Maiden’.”
The Father sighed. “Is it really all that surprising, Lucky Break, with such legends to live up to? She only wanted to do what was right for Equestria, to live the life of her idol. Would that every pony was so inclined.” He turned towards Concordia’s shrine. “If it be the gods’ will, she shall return in safety.”
Lucky only stood there, not knowing where to look, or what to say. Suddenly, the cathedral seemed so very empty, emptier than it had already been.
“Not a day goes by that I do not think about her, and not a prayer is said in which she is not the center.”
“I shall find her,” Lucky suddenly said. “Bring her back for you.”
Father Bright shook his head. “That is not necessary, my child.”
“She doesn’t belong out there,” Lucky urgently whispered, throwing a hoof towards the cathedral doors. “She’s a filly, a... a deaconess. Not a soldier.”
“I daresay none of us belong out there.” The Father’s gaze played over the front of Lucky’s torso and legs, regarding his many scars. “And yet, we go anyways.”
Lucky kept his arm outstretched, and motioned again to the door. “But…”
“Thou art a busy stallion,” Bright interrupted. “The newly christened commander of a rather famous battalion, or so I hear. The same battalion that will be, in a few weeks’ time, deployed back onto the frontlines of battle. Dost thou truly consider thyself able to find a single lost child, in a city that is miles and miles away?”
Lucky dropped his hoof in defeat. He turned his head, and looked at the doors ruefully. “Then allow me to promise you this. I will win this war, before she must ever see a battlefield. On that day, I will find her, and I will bring her home. I swear it.”
His voice was full of conviction, and though the Father could not see it, a determined fire burned in his eyes. Lucky meant every word he said.
Father Bright gave a sad smile. “Thou needst not worry thyself. The gods will protect her, I am sure of it. But know this; thy words give this old stallion hope.” He turned followed Lucky’s gaze towards the doors, simultaneously surveying his meager congregation.
“My eldest daughter’s hoofsteps are hard ones to follow, but hope can come from interesting places.” He cast Lucky a curious look. “Speaking of, word has reached my ears of a new member entering my daughter’s battalion. An alicorn.”
Lucky seemed to flinch at the mention, but did not speak.
“Is there hope to be had in thy newest soldier? In the battalion itself?”
Lucky watched as the grand cathedral doors opened. A pair of ponies were inspected by a Royal Guard, and were permitted to enter.
“Yes,” Lucky muttered. “There is hope. There is still hope.”
**********
After her stay in Canterlot, Celestia had gotten quite used to seeing larger-than-life buildings made from stunningly beautiful material. And yet, as she set hoof into the Canterlot Cathedral, she, once again, had her breath taken away. It was absolutely enormous! It almost looked as though it was bigger on the inside than the outside. The floors were immaculate white marble, the pews were made of the finest oaken wood, and the stone walls were carved with amazing craftsmanship. Stained glass adorned the walls, each depicting a past event, some with the gods, others being simple history. She particularly liked one showing the goddess Concordia blessing a lavender unicorn with the knowledge of Hearth’s Fire, banishing a blizzard to the corners of the window.
At the front of it all were the three plus one shrines to the houses of the gods, the very ones Crumble had instructed her on only moments before. The whole, majestic scene made her feel inadequate, almost as if she were back in the courtroom, under the eyes of scrutinizing ponies. Yet, as she looked around, she saw the room was relatively empty, and most of the attendants had not even spared her a glance.
“Why are there so few people?” Celestia whispered, almost afraid to break the silence.
“Righ’ now, it’s officers only,” Apple Crumble muttered back. “After that, it’ll be soldiers, and then, the rest o’ the city. Hey, put yer hood up, yeh cheeky filly.”
Celestia reached back for her hood, but was beat to it by Crumble, who did it for her. Scowling, she adjusted it on her head.
Celestia gave another searching glance around the room. “Where’s Clover?” she whispered. “Is she not here yet?”
“Well, technically, only army officers are allowed in this early, ‘member? That said, Clover does get some… special privileges.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter today, though. I hear they found one o’ her Adepts yesterday, jus’ wanderin’ into town.”
Celestia turned toward him, surprised. “Somepony from Canterbury? Somepony survived?”
“Shhh!” Crumble hushed, putting his hoof to his lips. “Keep yer voice down. Aye, somepony from Canterbury. Beat up real bad, though. Clover’s with ‘er in the hospital, waitin’ fer a recovery.”
Celestia marveled at the news, wondering if it would be somepony she recognized.
At the front of the cathedral, which seemed an almost impractical distance away, a pony whom Celestia recognized to be a priest, saw her from across the room, finished his conversation with another churchgoer, and began making his way towards them. His multicolored cloak fluttered behind him and his slow, reverent hoofsteps echoed off the walls.
“M’kay,” Crumble began, his voice low and quiet, “I’d usually spend a bit more time here, but seein’ as yeh don’t know what yer doin’, we’ll make it quick. Jus’ go to the unicorn shrine, say a prayer, and sit down in the stands.”
“Say a prayer? About what?”
“What do yeh mean, about what?” he grumbled. “Anythin’ yeh like!”
“Isn’t there some routine?” Celestia asked, apprehension in her voice. “Something I’m supposed to say?”
She looked towards Crumble. The anxiety was on her features was clear. She felt as though she were taking a test, and had no prior knowledge of the subject matter.
“Well, sure,” Crumble remarked. “In addition to jus’ prayin’, there are some spoken cadences. But I don’t have time to teach yeh. ‘Sides, I don’t know what it is fer Corona. Just go up there, mumble somethin’ to yerself, and nopony will be the wiser.”
“Greetings.”
Celestia jumped at the sound, and swiveled her gaze forward. Without her noticing, the priest had closed the distance between them.
“Well met, Father. May all the gods’ good greetin’s be upon yeh.”
“Likewise to thee, Apple Crumble. And you,” he said, turning to her, “must be Celestia.”
She nervously nodded, though her nervousness was mostly a remainder of the surprise. His calm, kind voice was disarming.
“Well met. I am Father Shine Bright.” He extended his hoof towards her. She did the same, and they shook.
“I understand thy welcome to our city was less than amiable.” He stepped to the side, and swept his hoof towards the cathedral shrines. “Please, be at peace in my chapel. The gods care not for circumstance; pray freely, and for as long as you like. The sermon shall not begin until the citizens are permitted this afternoon, but thou art welcome all day.”
“Thank you,” Celestia muttered, taken by the unexpected display of kindness.
“Thou art welcome.” Father Bright gave a small nod, dismissing himself. “Harmony guide your steps.”
“And yours,” Crumble returned. “And Father,” he added, before the priest turned and left. “Please accept my humble condolences for yer daughter. She was a good commander, and a better friend.”
“Thank you, my child,” the Father said graciously, bowing his head. “She is with the gods now. She still watches over us, and aids us from above.”
“O’ course,” Crumble said noncommittally, but not unkindly.
The Father smiled, and walked away towards the front of the chapel.
“Who was that?” Celestia whispered after he was gone.
“That,” Crumble muttered back, “was Daylight’s father.”
Celestia looked at him, surprised. “Her father?” She would have expected the priest to be much more distressed.
“Aye.” Crumble nodded. “Well, adoptive father, anyways. He’s a good fella. Kind-hearted, n’ soft spoken. He’s a bit too... calm, for my taste, but he really knows how to get a pony right ‘ere.” He patted the center of his own chest, right over his heart. “Speaks straight to the soul, he does. ‘Spose he passed that on to Daylight ‘erself. Or maybe Daylight gave it to ‘im.”
“Huh...” Celestia wondered after him, watching him walk along the benches and stopping to have brief conversations. She had no idea who most of the ponies were, but they all seemed pleased to see him.
“Alrigh’, sunshine,” Crumble said, after waiting a few moments. “I’ll see yeh in a few.”
Celestia snapped out of her observation. “Wait, Crumble, I-”
But it was too late. Crumble was already airborne, flying towards the cloud balcony and the pegasus shrine. Celestia looked after him for another moment, before returning her gaze below.
Just go to the shrine, say a prayer, and sit down in the stands. Celestia weakly nodded to herself. Easy enough.
She began walking towards the front of the chapel, keeping her eyes trained on the floor below her. Eventually, she reached the front, where the paths divided to go to either the earth shrine or the unicorn shrine. She looked up, and was about to head right, when her hooves stopped in place. At the earth shrine, among a sparse few amount of ponies, was not somepony, but something she recognized. The ponies there wore earthy green and brown cloaks, but she recognized one in particular.
“Lucky…” she muttered under her breath. She shook her head, took another step towards the right, but hesitated again. After a moment of contemplation, she gave a defeated sigh. Feeling very much like a glutton for punishment, Celestia made her way towards the earth shrine, and towards Lucky Break.
She stopped beside him. He was kneeling, and his face was obscured beneath his hood, but he did not seem to notice her. She heard him speaking to himself, in the quietest of whispers; Celestia could only hear tiny pops on certain consonants, followed by nearly inaudible breaths of air.
“What god is this?” she asked him, looking at the altar before them.
He remained seemingly oblivious, and his toneless, whispering prayer continued uninterrupted. Celestia’s ears drooped, and she lowered her head. She had not known what she was expecting, or why she had even bothered talking to the stallion who had caused her injuries she was still suffering from, but for some reason, his silence disappointed her. She turned, and walked away.
“Tyche,” came a sudden response.
Celestia turned around. “What?”
“Tyche,” Lucky repeated. “The goddess of fortune. Lady Luck.”
Celestia hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to get in an argument in a church. What on earth had told her this was a good idea? Yet, she did not feel like she could back away now.
“She is your… preference?” Celestia asked, remembering Crumble’s words before. “Your favorite?”
“My favorite?” Lucky, still kneeling, shook his head. “No. But it does seem most appropriate.”
“I suppose,” Celestia replied, her tone noncommittal. “The similarity between your names…”
“Not just my name. I’m sure there is more than one stallion out there bearing the name ‘Lucky’. It was part of my brothers’ names, and my birth father’s, too.”
Celestia remained silent, unsure of his point. “Why do you pray to Tyche, then?”
There was a moment’s silence. “Ever heard of Tyche’s muse?”
Celestia shook her head, and, realizing he was not actually looking at her, said, “No.”
He drew a breath, seeming to prepare an explanation. “When you pray to Tyche, you are really praying for Tyche’s muse, an angel that she sends to provide her devout with good fortune. Except, that is wrong.”
She tilted her head, not knowing what he was getting at.“Wrong?”
Lucky rose from his knees, but did not turn to face her. “On the battlefield, things are different. War is its own world. Steel clashes against steel, collides against hide and skin and bone, and cries of anguish fill the air, emanating from both armies. A beast may be a beast, but its death knell is no less haunting than any pony’s.”
He shuddered at some distant memory. “In the face of such a symphony, even the bravest lose their spirit. The flesh grows weak, blood runs chill, and fear inevitably finds purchase.
“What then, can one count upon? The sun, the moon? One could fly miles into the sky, and never reach the celestial bodies. Clouds, or storms? What solace have they ever provided? No. The only thing you can truly rely on, the one thing that will remain constant, is your own fortune.”
He looked up at the altar, staring at it. “Good or bad, you may adjust for it, and act upon it. On the battlefield, it is not a soldier’s luck that kills him. It is his fear. It is his inability to act.
“Tyche is not a goddess of good luck. Just luck, of any kind. Fate is, as they say, a cruel mistress. Praying for Tyche’s muse is not the same as praying for good fortune. It is praying for guidance.”
He turned around, finally finally facing Celestia. She was surprised at his expression; his features were not hardened, like she expected them to be. Instead, his usual grimness was replaced by a strange mixture of serenity and uncertainty. Whatever it was, his relative relaxation struck Celestia as completely uncharacteristic. It was almost as if she were seeing Lucky for the first time.
“Guidance is something I’m afraid I have been lacking, as of late,” he told her. She remained silent, examining, appreciating the way his brows were not furrowed, the way his mouth was not contorted into a grimace. The way his eyes did not seem to accuse her of something.
He took a step towards her, and she took a half step back.
“That was some good dueling out there,” he remarked. She only nodded. “How did you do it?”
“I don’t know.” It was the truth. She had no idea.
“Nopony has beaten me in years, you know.”
She shook her head again. No, she did not know.
He stirred uncomfortably. “Maybe we can have a rematch. Just a friendly one-on-one. I can be more... reserved. We can use the wooden blades, if you want, rather than steel. I can teach you. Maybe you can teach me, too?” His tone was slightly anxious, uncertain, but not unkind. In fact, he seemed almost vulnerable, out of his element, with the way his eyes could not remain locked on hers, the way he shifted his weight from side to side.
The idea of a friendly anything with Lucky seemed absurd. “They say I’m not allowed, right now,” Celestia murmured.
“Oh.” Her lack of enthusiasm seemed to disappoint him. “Well… I suppose we shall see, then.” He turned away from Celestia, and towards the door took a few steps towards the door.
Suddenly, he stopped beside her, so that their shoulders were side by side. He turned slightly towards her, and raised his left hoof off the floor. It hovered in the air, perhaps moving towards her, perhaps not. Celestia made no move, except to watch him with curiosity.
“Celestia, I-”
He stopped himself. His hoof fell lamely back to the floor, hitting the stone with a soft click.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
He stood still for another moment, before nodding to himself, looking at Celestia, and nodding to her as well. Then, he continued walking, his hoofsteps echoing down the rows until he reached the door and exited the cathedral.
Celestia gazed at the cathedral doors until they came to a full close. A part of her had wanted to say ‘me too’, if only to comfort him, though she knew it was probably not true. Why she would even want to comfort him was beyond her. Celestia scowled at the floor. She felt confused.
Her gaze swiveled to the nearby earth shrine, to the altar of Tyche. She walked towards it, knelt on the stone, and prayed as hard as she could for Tyche’s muse, for guidance.
When Crumble descended from the pegasus shrine, she was still praying. When the regular soldiers were granted entry, she was still praying. When the citizens arrived, she was still praying. After the sermon had been given, and after the congregation had left, and when the Royal Guard came to insist that she leave, she was still praying.
**********
Twilight looked up. “So after that, you became friends?”
“Friends? Mmm.” Princess Celestia closed her eyes, and contemplated the question.
“Friendship comes in many forms, Twilight Sparkle.” She reopened her eyes, and smiled at her student. “Something I don’t have to tell you, of all ponies, I think. What he showed me afterwards was more like…” She paused, looking up as she searched for the word. “Respect.”
Twilight gave a disappointed frown. Respect was perfectly fine. Twilight had garnered plenty of respect as a scholar before she moved to Ponyville. But it was not the same.
She knew what it was like, to be too busy to make friends. She also knew how lonely it became, and how much better life was with friends. Her mentor had been busy serving a desperate nation embroiled in war, but even that would be all the more reason to keep one’s friends close.
“But friendship, eventually. Right?”
The princess smiled.