Twilight felt more than she heard Celestia as the princess approached. She had known Celestia would find her. She was counting on it, even. Perhaps the guards had reported that her student had entered the royal gardens in the darkness of pre-dawn. Perhaps Celestia simply knew. That happened a lot. At one point she’d thought the princess knew everything, but it was a silly notion. Just because she always seemed so safe and strong, so in control, she was supposed to be omniscient?
She knew better now, and she wished she didn’t. There were a lot of things she wished had never happened, right down to her decision to sit by the large sycamore tree in the walled garden at the center of the palace. Celestia came to her, not the other way around. Was there some deeper meaning to it? Some inexpertly hidden symbolism?
Twilight’s head hurt already. She looked over her shoulder to see Celestia standing nearby, as tall and regal as ever, but with a respectful distance between them. Behind the alicorn, in an open doorway on the far wall, a shadow trailing the stars of night disappeared out of sight.
“Twilight,” Celestia said by way of greeting. No “my faithful student.” At least Celestia knew how trite those words would feel.
“Princess,” Twilight responded, dropping her gaze. She’d stopped feeling cold long ago. At least there was no wind here in the center of the palace grounds.
“What brings you here at night?” Celestia asked, sliding closer with that untouchable grace. There was no trace of emotion on her face, not even her usual gentle and warm smile. The words pretended at normalcy, even if her expression did not. Just like last time, Twilight wanted nothing more than to hug her, to bury her face in her coat and apologize without knowing what she was apologizing for; to pretend all was well.
Then what? She’d go back home, and the slow dread would return, throwing her into another useless pastime until the doubt choked the life out of her and made her return for another bout, none of which would get her friends back.
“You lost,” Twilight said. The words tumbled out before she even planned to speak, snuck her brain by before she managed to give them proper shape.
“You lost to Chrysalis. You couldn’t stop her, and neither could we. Now Applejack and Fluttershy are gone and you can’t do anything,” Twilight continued, her voice trembling. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to think about that and that scares me. I know you aren’t immortal, that you’re not eternal. It doesn’t add up.”
“I don’t know what I’m more afraid of. That you might be lying to me now again, that maybe you can help, but just don’t want to, or that you’re telling the truth,” Twilight whispered, clutching her stinging eyes shut.
“I feel so stupid. I feel—I feel betrayed, but I have no right,” she said, sniffling. “I haven’t talked to you for weeks, and all you do is send the same letter over and over again, asking how I’m doing, but I don’t know.”
“So you do read them,” Celestia commented with an arched brow.
“How can you joke about this?” Twilight said, her voice a little louder than she had intended. “Would you even be here if Luna hadn’t put you up to this? I’d be sitting here for hours, wouldn’t I?”
Celestia winced as if struck, and Twilight’s stomach clenched at the sight. The gamble, the little guesswork-turned-stab had hit home. Never before had she so fervently wished she could take back words, but she couldn’t even make herself apologize. She merely stared as Celestia worked her jaw soundlessly.
“There is no place I would rather be, Twilight,” Celestia finally said. “Here, with you, in the garden? It is where I want to be, and definitively where I need to be, as my sister convinced me. But in this situation? No.”
“And what situation is that?” Twilight asked, her voice dead and ashen to her own ears.
Celestia smiled at that, of all things. With great care, the alicorn princess lay down next to Twilight, first on her haunches, then reclining in a half-circle around her, dry leaves rustling in the darkness. With the princess facing away from what little light there was to be had here, Twilight could barely make out her face.
“Of having to tell you what your brilliant mind already knows, but needs to hear from me. Having to admit to you, of all ponies, the thing that I would rather never have to say. That I am just a pony, with flaws and limits.”
Twilight nodded numbly. “I knew that.”
“And you also knew that when I gave the Elements to you for you to keep safe, it was because I trusted you,” Celestia added.
“That worked out well,” Twilight grumbled, but Celestia reached out with a wing to raise her muzzle back up, forcing Twilight to look at her.
“Yet I have never admitted to you that I need you, Twilight Sparkle, and that’s doing you grave injustice.”
Twilight swallowed. Perhaps it was meant as praise, but all it did was fill her with a sense of dread and unease. Despite this, the princess glowed with the same warmth and power she always had, and the touch of her wing did much to chase those worries away.
“That should be a good thing, I guess,” the unicorn said, trying once more to look away, but the princess held her fast.
“You’ve grown up, my faithful student,” Celestia said, her voice softer now by far. “A good teacher will always learn much from their students, but calling you an apprentice, a student or anything of the like is folly. It’s time you stop trying to make me something I am not. I am no goddess. I have thousands of years of experience, but even before my fight with Chrysalis, I’ve had battles I could not win. Not alone.”
Yet again, Twilight could only nod weakly. Celestia spoke nothing but logic and hard truths. There was precious little to disagree with. Nor could she think of anything to add.
“You’re being vague again, though,” Twilight said. “My friends—”
“Our friends, I like to think,” Celestia interjected, turning away from Twilight. “And yes, Luna and I are still not quite agreed on the topic of Fluttershy and Applejack.”
“Meaning you could do something, but you aren’t,” Twilight commented. Her fears verified, she suddenly felt hollow. The fatigue she’d been repressing for weeks made itself known and demanded payback with interest. She struggled to stand, but her legs had fallen asleep, and all she managed was to unbalance herself, nearly falling over on her side.
“Sit still, and listen,” Celestia said. With her eyes in shadow, it was hard to tell whether it was a command or a request, but Twilight slumped and did just that.
“Do you remember the day of your birth, Twilight Sparkle?” Celestia asked.
“I, uh. Excuse me?” Twilight replied, but before Celestia could reply she held up a hoof. “No, I mean, you’re obviously trying to make a point, and no, I don’t. I don’t think anypony does.”
“I do not, either. Nor do I—as is the case with you I suspect—remember in detail things that happened long ago. Can you tell me who was present at your sixth birthday?”
“No, but I can probably remember bits and pieces, and deduce much of it. Assume, guess, and narrow it down through logic,” Twilight retorted, curious despite herself. “How exactly is this relevant?”
“Because the same is true for me, again. I may be no goddess, but I am many thousands of years old. The oldest legible book in the royal archives is four and a half thousand years old. I’m older than that, but details are hazy. Washed out. If I were forced to recall with perfect clarity every moment of my life, I would probably lost to madness by now. I remember the big picture and major events. I remember standing side by side with Luna as we rejected King Darkheart’s demands on the steps of the old castle two thousand three—, maybe four hundred years ago. Things like that. All things considered, I believe Equestria does not suffer for it. The kingdom prospers.”
Twilight nodded, feeling a slight chill that had nothing to do with the cold autumn night. In obsessing over Celestia’s nature, busy to tear her from the throne of godhood, it was easy to forget how vast the gulf between them still was. Celestia peered skywards as she paused for breath.
“Details are lost, but certain things take the place not of memory, but of purpose. Some traits are intimately tied to who we are. Identity, I suppose. Some ponies feel this more strongly than others. You six, the Elements of Harmony, you are such ponies.”
“I shall speak not just for myself, but for me and my sister both, for we are the same. We may not remember, but we know what we are. Our earliest memories are of Equestria, because it is who we are. We are tied to the land, because it is all we’ve ever known. We are Equestria, and Equestria is us. I am sorry to disappoint you in that I can’t be more precise, but it is simply our nature.” When she finished speaking, Celestia was looking straight at Twilight, as if she expected a response.
“And you are telling me this,” Twilight said, piecing it together as she spoke. “You’re saying you’ve never been outside of Equestria. You’re saying—” she choked. “You’re saying you’re afraid? You think you could do something to help find Fluttershy and Applejack, but you’re not, because you’re afraid?”
Celestia frowned and lowered her muzzle, a half-nod frozen. “I am saying that I am reluctant to leave my seat of power because I do not know if I will survive it, be that on a metaphorical or a very physical level. The border of Equestria is all I know first-hoof. Much is at stake.”
“You—”
“Luna disagrees. Think less of me if you will, but not her.”
Twilight shook. Slowly, painfully, she stood, her voice reduced to a croak. “You’re afraid,” she repeated. “You could help, but you won’t, because you’re afraid. I don’t understand.”
Celestia lay quiet. If not for the subtle movement of her form moving with breath, she may as well have been a statue of an alicorn frozen in an expression of trepidation. Twilight backed away, one step, then another.
“Would you like to know why?” Celestia asked, her voice barely louder than the rustle of leaves and Twilight’s soil-muted hoofsteps.
Twilight closed her eyes and gave a shuddering sigh. “I’m not sure I can deal with any more revelations tonight. I should get some sleep, and if I’m not mistaken you should raise the sun about now.”
“The sun will keep. Would you like to know why?” the princess repeated, following her with her gaze as Twilight made for one of the many doors that led into the palace. Twilight would’ve ignored her, mumbled an apology and left, were it not for how thin and frail the princess’ voice sounded just then. The unicorn stopped on the spot and bit her lower lip, nodding once.
“I’ve never before been afraid.” Celestia rose to stand as she spoke, brushing leaves off her sides with her wings. “I’ve never had an issue with admitting my limits. That’s one thing. I’ve also never before in all my years been in a position where I could not accomplish from my throne in Canterlot what I needed to do, but nor would I have hesitated to cross the border if I truly needed to, either. Trust me when I say that Applejack and Fluttershy matter a lot to me, too. This is one such situation. Twenty years ago, I would have done what I must.”
Twilight’s heart hammered almost painfully in her chest. The unspoken question of “why not?” hung in the air. It took all of her restraint not to yell the words at her, and the only reason she was succeeding was because she knew it was unfair on so many levels. If the princess was afraid, if something stopped her from putting her everything on the line, it had to be big.
“Something changed,” Celestia said, closing the gap between them. The princess stood before her, neck craned as she looked down upon her. “Now I have you.”
Twilight’s expression slowly melted from tentative curiosity to something else entirely. Celestia stood and watched as her protegé’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened, The unicorn took a failing step back that only half her body followed through on. Not quite the reaction she had expected or hoped for.
“You mean—” Twilight stammered. “You mean it’s my fault?”
Celestia paused. She forced her breath steady, refused to do more than arch a brow as she thought.
“I already caused this,” Twilight added, a sickly grin spreading across her face as she lowered her eyes, shaking her head from side to side. “I’m the one who made this happen, and now you’re telling me that if not for me, you could have saved them already?”
“That is not at all what I said,” Celestia replied, taking a step towards Twilight, but the unicorn backed away twice as fast until the sun princess halted.
“No, you’re right,” Twilight agreed still shaking her head, her chest heaving with breath and her voice bordering on hysterical. “You’re right. You’re the one who suddenly decided to trust me with the Elements, you gave me what I needed to ruin everything, and now I’m stopping them from coming home, too. I’m a walking disaster!”
“Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia snapped, her voice booming across the small courtyard as she set her horn aglow. “Listen. It’s not that simple, and you are missing the point entirely. You are not at fault in preventing me from doing anything, nor could I magically whisk Fluttershy and Applejack back home!”
Celestia sighed and tossed aside the glamour. She forced herself to discard the minor spells she applied to her voice as habit more than anything else. Her student was looking at her like bunny frozen before a cart.
“What I am saying is that I care for you, Twilight. I was born to bear the Sun as Luna was born to bear the Moon, and I do not know to which degree I am or am not immortal. I love life far too much to put it to the test needlessly. What I do know is that I cannot be perfect. I have needed to be perfect for Equestria at times, and that is why I do not show weakness, but for you? For you, it is a desire, not a need.”
Twilight stood as frozen as before. Time itself might as well have stopped. With no wind to play the leaves, no sound in the isolated little patch of garden, absolutely nothing moved for seconds so long, Celestia would gladly have traded them for a thousand years of anything else. Finally, Twilight drew a sharp breath, her pupils dilating.
“I have to—to go,” she stuttered.
Hooves thudded against soft earth and then hard stone floors. Leaves kicked up in the darkness rustled and settled again, and Celestia remained standing in the center of the garden by its one large tree. She kept her mind carefully blank as she waited, and it took considerable work to curb her own tendency to plot and plan ahead while idle. It was one of those rare moments where she’d rather not think of consequences and such. It took no more than a minute before she heard hoofsteps from one of the side passages.
“You may as well drop the act. I know you have been listening in, and yes, that could have gone far better,” Celestia murmured as Luna stepped into the courtyard.
The night princess didn’t so much as bat an eyelash, but rather, shrugged. “It may be that she simply did not understand what you meant,” she offered. “You said you care for her. You care for all your subjects. Perhaps simpler, more modern words would have been better? Even we missed your full intent last time we talked about this.”
“Twilight is too clever to miss the meaning of my words,” Celestia murmured. “It would be ridiculous if I could not handle anything but abject approval and agreement when the entire point is that she needs to see me as an equal.”
“She needs to respect you as a person, and not as a princess, and you need to respect her as a pony, not a student,” Luna nodded, crossing the distance between them and giving her a brief hug, neck to neck.
“My first step towards exactly that is not flying after her right now, and you won’t believe how hard that is. I hope I get a chance to explain myself, and that she does not fear or loathe me now,” Celestia added, sitting down flat on her rump with a sigh. Luna nodded and scuffed at the ground, visibly hesitant.
“For how long have you had, ah, special interest in Twilight Sparkle? Are these amorous intentions something new?”
Celestia blushed ever so slightly in the darkness while rolling her eyes at her sister’s candour. “The last year or so. I never act rashly, you know that. There’s a strength to her, something of steel beyond her adoration. It is... remarkable,” she muttered. “I would have your thoughts.”
Luna tilted her head, her mane shifting and sending the star-trail brushing past her. “Our thoughts? We are in no position to object, and we find Twilight Sparkle to be thoroughly fascinating. We think you deserve each other, and that is the highest praise we can give her, for we love you, sister.”
“Thank you,” Celestia replied, but even as she spoke, Luna’s expression hardened.
“We wonder at your parting words, though. Is this why you hesitate? Is Twilight Sparkle and your attachment to her why you veto our desire to aid in the search for the missing Elements?”
“It isn’t that simple,” Celestia retorted.
“Is it not? Eleven hundred years ago, we would not have taken the neighbouring kingdoms and tribes into account if we had a cause in which we believed.”
“That was then, this is now. These are peaceful times, Luna.”
Luna snorted. “You are getting bogged down with consequences when you know what we should be doing!”
“And what exactly is that?” Celestia snapped, standing up in an instant. Luna matched her, muscle for muscle, as they spread their wings. “You speak of acting, of doing something, but you have no plan except wanting to throw us out there!”
“We speak of—” Luna began, indignant, but Celestia would not be quelled.
“The world has changed! The world always changes, sister, and these are times for peace and proxies, of diplomats and designates! Those few envoys who are willing to venture forth beyond the borders have been informed, they have been told that Equestria wishes for its two beloved subjects to find their way home, but you have no plan. Are we to take wing by ourselves and call out to them?”
Slowly, breath ragged, Celestia furled her wings and looked away. It was misplaced and unfair anger. Shame and regret warred with one another as her stomach clenched. The night princess made neither sound nor move.
“I’m sorry. You are frustrated,” Celestia said. She aimed for an even tone, but it came out a whisper.
“We believe that is an understatement,” Luna agreed.
“Because you feel you owe them?”
Luna nodded slowly, her eyes never once leaving Celestia. “Fluttershy and Applejack are two of the Elements of Harmony. They saved us, and they carry no grudge.”
The night princess’ eyes glinted in the darkness as a frown crossed her features. “Perhaps that is it, then. You forget what we owe them. Perhaps you are content and free to bank on them finding their way back home, but we are indebted.”
“Content?” Celestia repeated. “You forget that I owe them the same. I have my sister back, and you suggest that I am sitting here idle because I am content? You forget, perhaps, that I planned for your return from the very day you were banished. Apologies have been made, and it is done with, but if you doubt that I wish them returned, you doubt my love for you.”
Luna shifted. “Perhaps we misspoke, but we do not expect that we will be anything but restless until Applejack and Fluttershy are both safe and sound. If not content, you at least seem resigned.”
Celestia puffed out her cheeks, but there was no counter to be found, no reply to be had.
Mercifully, one of the windows in Ponyville’s Library were open. It shaved a good half second of Rainbow Dash’s not-quite-planned route as she slipped in and landed in the middle of the main floor. It was nearing noon already, and flying the Ponyville-Cloudsdale route twice in quick succession could wear down even the toughest of pegasi. Perhaps, under usual circumstances, Rainbow Dash herself would’ve felt the strain, too, but sleep and rest were easily the furthest things on her mind.
“Hello?” a voice called from the kitchen. A moment later, Spike stuck his head around the corner, giving the pegasus a quizzical look. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Hey Spike,” Dash said by way of greeting as she made for the stairs. “I need to talk to Twilight. Now.”
“Uh, sure. Except you’re going the wrong way. She’s down in the basement,” Spike explained as Dash put her forelegs on the stairs leading up to Twilight’s room. “She just came back from—” he continued, but whatever he was saying was lost to Dash as she flipped around and galloped through the open cellar door. If Twilight had broken out of her stupid reading binge, good. Better, at least.
Dash kicked off at the top of the stairs and pumped her wings, jetting down the narrow hallway and over the railing. Glancing about the deceptively large cellar area, it was a simple matter of following the noise and the telekinetically flung odds and ends to find Twilight herself. The unicorn stood amidst slanted bookcases and open crates, magically hovering dozens of objects around herself as she inspected them, occasionally flinging one over her shoulder and bringing out another one.
“Hey, Twilight,” Dash called, ducking under a large pocket watch that whizzed past her.
“No,” Twilight murmured.
“Uh, Twilight?” Dash repeated, hovering right behind the unicorn. The only reply she got was a musty old book bouncing off her forehead.
“This one’ll come in handy,” the unicorn muttered as she gently deposited another book by her feet. “Now where—”
“Hey, egghead!” Dash snapped. “Wake up!”
Every single item Twilight had been holding dropped to the ground with a terrible clatter, the purple mare spinning around and backing away all at once. Her eyes were wide with fright and she was heaving for breath, and it didn’t take a lot of detective work to realize something was wrong. There was always something wrong these days, but this was new. Twilight’s eyes were rimmed with red, and she didn’t even complain that Dash had frightened her. Even as she finished that thought, Twilight lit up her horn again and began sorting through the items again.
“Uh, hey. Sorry. Have you been crying?” Dash asked, trying her best not to make it sound like an accusation.
“I don’t know,” Twilight muttered, blinking heavily and looking away. “Have you seen a book called Wayfarer’s Guide here somewhere?”
“No? Listen, I came here because I need a map,” Dash said. “Like, one of the big ones with pictures and stuff. Not just Equestria. Bigger.”
“Map size doesn’t have anything to do with its scope,” Twilight replied, for one moment sounding almost like herself as she lifted the top off a crate and levitated out a stack of musty old books and lengths of cloth.
Dash sighed and blew a strand of her mane out of her face. “I don’t speak map-ese or whatever, I just need one, okay? I’m done waiting.”
Twilight paused at that, her cracked and abused eyes trained on Rainbow Dash in silence for so long that the pegasus began to fidget.
“You want to leave. To go search for them,” Twilight said.
“Yeah,” Dash replied, swallowing. “This is dumb. I’m not gonna sit around—”
“Me too.”
Rainbow Dash rolled her tongue around in her mouth. “Right. Cool. So why’ve you been crying?”
“What’s that around the base of your wing?” Twilight countered with a small smile.
Dash scratched at her nose and re-furled her wings. Every time she did that, she could feel the bracelet against her wing. Her cheeks heated up. “I’ll tell you over lunch or something. Point is, you should have told me. I’m in. I bet you Rarity and Pinkie Pie want to come along too.”
“I didn’t want to get you involved,” Twilight muttered.
“Hey, we’re a team, right?” Dash asked, grinning. “Now let’s get that lunch.”