Celestia Sleeps In
Chapter 4--Repercussions
Admiral Biscuit
The sun was just above the horizon, yet the mood in the room was black as midnight. Ordinarily, Twilight would have enjoyed watching the dance of light and shadow as the morning sun played through the windows, caressing ancient oaken rafters with gold. Not today; today the sun rose a vengeful weapon. Instead, she watched the pendulum on the clock swing slowly back and forth, each arc ending in a loud tick. The second hand lurched forward. Perhaps it would have been more apropos had it been an hourglass, but the Princess had modernized her chambers.
The three ponies sat around the table in stunned silence, half-eaten breakfast cooling in the chill morning air. Twilight stared at her plate, thinking about a thousand things she could have said to her mentor. She could have even wrapped herself around Celestia’s legs like a begging filly. But was it her place to do so?
She wanted to study the creature. She knew the spell—she’d practiced it with Celestia, after all. She might not know exactly where the Princess had gone, but she could find out. Luna or Lyra would know. Even Trixie probably knew how to find the distant planet, although that would mean she’d have to find Trixie. Who had probably been turned into a newt, or something.
She looked up at Lyra. The unicorn had a placid expression, but Twilight could tell by her flattened ears that Lyra was no more pleased with the end of discussion than she was. Her golden eyes were unfocused, looking beyond the door to the beach, perhaps.
She wanted so badly to study the creature. It was taking every ounce of willpower that she possessed to sit at the table. Twilight’s heart was hollow, her muscles limp. To have had a chance such as this, snatched away from her—from all of ponykind—it just wasn’t fair. The end of the discussion hadn’t just taken the wind out of her sails; it had taken the rigging and the rudder, too.
She would have had to learn its language, of course. That would have been fun. She’d never learned a foreign language. Then they could have all kinds of conversations about its culture, its community, its technology—oh, the possibilities were endless. She’d always been envious of scientists who had discovered new chemicals, of anthropologists who studied different cultures, of archaeologists who found that which had been lost. She had felt some of that adventure herself in the Crystal Empire, when she was looking for the Crystal Heart.
Her ears fell again. Thinking about the Crystal Heart made her think about Sombra, and thinking about Sombra made her think of the opportunity that was slipping through their hooves. But she couldn’t challenge Celestia. It was her Equestria, not Twilight Sparkle’s. Even if she was sure Celestia was wrong.
Or—could she? Not a challenge, no, but perhaps a careful comment. Even the Princess had her failings. She had admitted that her harsh words to Twilight before the wedding had been wrong. She hadn’t punished Fluttershy for foalnapping Philomena. Perhaps it was time to mare up, to tell Celestia what she really thought.
But what if she won’t listen? What if she sends me away? Twilight shifted uncomfortably on her bench. She could vividly remember the moment her heart had broken after Discord had turned all her friends against her. Could she risk that again? Could she chance the loss of her mentor, of her home, of her assistant? Was it worth it to risk everything?
She looked at Luna. The diarch was calmly sitting on her bench, eyes half-closed, lost in some private thought.
Well, if she banishes me, at least I will have a clear conscience. She pushed her bench back, the legs screaming across the floor of the silent room. Tail twitching, she stood on shaking knees, and took one step towards the hallway. Then another. She could hear her pulse roaring in her ears as she took a third step.
“Hold.” Luna held up a hoof, her voice hardly above a whisper. “Tis better that we go.”
“No.” Twilight lowered her head and snorted. “I wish for my opinion to be heard, no matter what the cost.”
“Twilight Sparkle.” Luna leaned close. “We gave our bond that we would not speak against our sister’s decision under pain of banishment. Should we speak in thy presence, we have broken our oath.”
“Then stay.” Twilight looked Luna in the eye with a serious glare. “After she throws me off the balcony, you can have a try.”
“Our sister would not throw thee off her balcony.”
“I hope you’re right.” Twilight was surprised to discover she was standing in front of the towering balcony doors. “At least I remember my gravity spells.” With a magenta burst, she flung them open.
Princess Celestia stood at the edge of her balcony, rays of her sun glimmering off her regalia. She looked at the bustling city below, watching the ponies going about their daily business. She enjoyed watching the city, how it had grown and transformed over the years. The ponies had changed, but the heart of the city had not—would not—as long as it remained her seat of power.
She sighed, looking at the sun wistfully. They had been together for most of her life, and while it was no more aware than the floor of the castle she now stood upon, she still felt as if she had betrayed it.
I wish I had never left, but what is done cannot be undone. When had she gone from the idyllic filly to the cynical mare? She didn’t know how it had happened. Probably it had happened slowly, one small decision after another, slowly building, until she found herself here, trapped alone in her stone prison. Or maybe it had been all at once: even after a thousand years, the memory of the look of fear and betrayal on Luna’s face hurt, a deep scar on her heart that would never heal.
She sighed. On the street below, she watched a unicorn colt trot into a restaurant, a bouquet of roses gripped tightly in his telekinesis. Did she have any right to gamble with his future, and his children’s? No.
Inscribed around the jewel on her tiara was a simple phrase, written in common that all might know: Protector of Equestria, bringer of the sun. Her duty was to Equestria above all else.
“I wish I had not done it,” she whispered to Canterlot. “I could have waited.”
Hooffalls on the balcony drew her from her reverie. Even with the gentle wind blowing the scent from her, she knew it was Twilight.
“My faithful student,” she began.
“You can’t just kill it! You can’t!”
The princess didn’t even move. “Come to the edge of the balcony, Twilight.”
Nervously, tail clamped tightly between her legs, Twilight approached.
It seemed to take forever.
“Look over the edge, and tell me what you see.”
Twilight complied, afraid to look at the Princess. She had been joking about being thrown off the balcony—she could never believe that Celestia would do that—but now she was beginning to wonder. The past day had seen her view of the world turned on its head. Was the diarch even sane?
“I see Canterlot,” she said simply.
“Would you like a closer view?” was what she expected Celestia to say next, followed by a tug of telekinesis. She had already squinted her eyes shut. This was just like a scene in a Daring Do book.
Of course, that is not what Celestia said.
“Twilight, what if I told you that there was a spell in the Starswirl wing that would allow you to travel back through time, and stop Sombra before he enslaved the Crystal Ponies. Would you take such an opportunity?”
“Um, when you put it that way, with no further qualifications, yes. Of course, I have already learned that one cannot change the future with a simple time spell—“
Celestia held up a hoof. “What if the only way to stop him was to kill him? Knowing what you know, would you kill him?”
“I would try to reform him. I would try to talk sense into him. I would do everything I could to prevent him from taking over the Crystal Empire.”
“If that failed?”
Twilight hung her head. “I would have no choice,” she whispered. “But there is no way to know the future.” She looked at the Princess. “Were I there then, not knowing what was to come, I wouldn’t kill him. I would do everything to save him.”
The alicorn smiled sadly. “Of course you would. Anypony would. Luna tried, and failed. ‘He will listen to me, Tia,’ she said. Instead of saving Sombra, he corrupted her, and dragged her down with him. Oh, it was subtle. I should have seen the signs, but I did not. I failed my sister, and lost that which was most important to me. I finally found myself with but two choices—preserve everything I had worked for at the small cost of my sister’s life, or risk it all by tricking her into releasing her hold on the Elements of Harmony, so that I could banish her.
“My advisers told me this gamble was the greatest lunacy in the history of ponykind, but I ignored their advice. I went to the tallest tower of our castle, and gazed upon the starscape. I watched the moon dance in the moat, and I enjoyed the serenity of the dark one last time. An hour before dawn, I went to her chambers, deceived her, banished her, destroyed her tower, and lied to my advisers, telling them I had struck her down in combat.”
Twilight stood, stunned. “I was unsurprised to feel control of the Elements leave me, as I had betrayed everything they stood for. I paid dearly for my sister’s salvation.
“I do not regret it.” Celestia looked at Twilight, lowering herself down until they were face-to-face. A tear was trembling at the corner of Celestia’s eye. “I knew she was about to make her move. Her ponies were already in position, waiting for their orders. Our fragile new empire would never have survived the strife, even if we split it evenly—as she had proposed—before it came to combat.” She paused, drawing strength to continue. “She knew what I was about to do. Some part of her was still aware, was still uncorrupted. My last sight of her for a thousand years was the look in her eyes. It was not a look of anger, nor sadness, nor fear. It was a look of resignation.” Celestia looked back over the balcony and fell silent. Twilight let out a shaky breath.
“I remember the first time we befriended a griffon,” Celestia said wistfully. “Genevieve. She was particularly close to Luna. Oh, my poor ponies scattered when the griffon landed.” She turned and looked at Twilight. “None of them ever forgot their fear. They learned to be civil, but they never really got along with griffons.
“But the foals did. The fillies and colts ran up to her, played with her tail, sniffed her paws—they saw no danger there. Peace accords were signed, eventually, and as the younger generations replaced their elders, nopony had issues with the griffons any more, nor they with us.
“We took a risk, and we gained useful allies. I wish all the risks I had taken over the years had paid such dividends.” She looked down at the streets of Canterlot again. “I wish that there had not been such a high cost to some of the others, and I wish that every problem had a peaceful solution.”
“Does that mean—“
“How could I harm a creature which has caused no harm to my ponies or myself?” Celestia turned to face Twilight. “What manner of monster would do otherwise?”
“But I thought that you meant to strike it down. The way you were talking—the way we all were talking….”
“My faithful student.” The Princess leaned close to Twilight. “Of course I wish nothing more than the survival and prosperity of my citizens. It would be easy to justify the creature’s death in that light. But where would it stop? Should I exterminate the dragons? Would we be happier if there were no diamond dogs? Would Ponyville be safer if it did not share a border with the Everfree? The creature has so much to offer us that it is worth the risk of continued contact. I had felt that the moment I allowed Lyra to approach it—do you think I would have if I believed that it posed a threat?
“Let me offer you a lesson, Twilight. Cornered ponies make bad decisions, decisions they regret.” She tapped a hoof to her peytral. “In the end, the only pony we need to please is the one who is in here. If we can’t live with that pony. . .you cannot imagine how relieved I was that all three of you unanimously agreed that it was better to accept a risk which the creature might pose, rather than to jump to the easy solution of killing it.
“Of course, we must take precautions. I am not ready to let any such creatures roam free throughout Equestria. Regrettably, its intentions may not be peaceful, and we must be prepared for that, but we have plenty of time. There are spells that could be used to shield us, and to slow it; there are areas where we could anchor the spell with far less risk than the throne room. We must be cautious to not reveal too much about ourselves, yet should also not be seen to be deliberately withholding information. It has been so many years since our ponies have undergone an initial diplomatic meeting, as well as the study of a new culture. In another generation, perhaps we will be seeing novel cutie marks.”
Twilight sank to the ground, all the strength gone from her legs. “I was so worried. Who knows what we might have lost?”
Celestia opened the doors to her antechambers. It was like looking into a funeral parlor. Lyra seemed deep in her own thoughts, staring at her teacup without actually seeing it. Luna looked up in surprise, her eyes narrowing as her sister stepped into the room alone.
“Sister, we cannot believe thou wouldst—“ her voice trailed off as Twilight walked through the door, a cheerful look on her face. “—um, not have clearly informed us of thy decision before thou went to thy balcony.”
Celestia nodded absently. “I apologize. Yet, I cannot believe that all of you were so quick to assume that I had reached the decision to kill the creature, despite your entreaties to spare it. Do you really not understand the difference between pragmatism and sociopathy?”
Twilight raised a hoof. “I know!” Celestia looked at her with an amused smile.
“Lyra and Twilight, we have much to do in the next month. I would have you both try to determine the best way to communicate with the creature. As always, the full resources of the Royal Archive are at your disposal. Meanwhile, I have a matter I must discuss with my sister.”
Twilight and Lyra sat across a large table in the archives, surrounded by a mountain of books, their dark mood of earlier dismissed like a pegasus-kicked cloud. While Lyra had been collecting her thoughts, Twilight had been frantically levitating over every book she thought might bear some relevance to their research.
“It tried to puzzle out meaning from my two messages in the sand,” Lyra began. “I think it’s safe to assume that the creature has some manner of writing.”
“Every civilized creature does, I think,” Twilight added. “Dragons don’t write much, but they certainly can read well enough. Griffon fledgelings attend essentially the same kind of school as foals, and they certainly learn to read at a young enough age. I’m not so sure about diamond dogs, though.” She started leafing through Alphabets from Buffalo to Zebra.
“They use a pictogram language,” Lyra said, unconsciously tracing a few symbols on the table with her hoof. “There isn’t a lot they communicate in writing. However, they are capable of learning. A few kits have been taught common, and raised as ambassadors.”
“It might be easiest to start it with books, if it understands reading. I think schoolbooks, the kind the youngest foals read. Simple. We’d also need to teach it the alphabet.”
“The common alphabet would be best, since it would only need to learn fourteen letters. Whomever is meeting with the creature would have to be using a lot of magical energy keeping a shield up, and that pretty much means mouth writing. Plus, if the creature ever comes to Equestria, that would allow it to communicate in writing with nearly everypony.”
“Royal Unicorn is more flexible, though,” Twilight countered. “With forty-six characters, it unambiguously covers every single sound ponies use. What if it thinks we aren’t civilized because we have a simple alphabet?” She started flipping through a dusty tome of historical orthography. “Earth ponies started with pictograms, before the pegasi adopted them to ideographs. Unicorns changed it to a syllabic alphabet, then the earth ponies took that and simplified it further, while the unicorns added more symbols to more clearly share spells.” She looked at Lyra as if that would settle the argument.
“But we don’t know if the creature can make sounds like a pony. It made low grunting and growling noises—it sounded almost like a dragon—when it was gesturing after having read my pictogram. Assuming that is its language, then it’s below the normal vocal range of most ponies.” She sighed and blew a lock of white hair out of her eyes. “We can’t assume that it doesn’t also use scent or body language in its communications. What if body position makes a difference in the meaning of its words? It would be like teaching in common without using vowel points. Speaking of which, I think if we’re just teaching it to read—if it can’t mimic our speech—it might be better to leave the vowel points out, since what it will be reading won’t have them.”
Twilight scratched her chin. “There are spells that can lower a pony’s voice. They were invented to communicate with dragons. When I talked to a dragon, I had trouble understanding him, his voice was so low.” She brightened. “Poison Joke made Fluttershy speak with a deep voice. That might be easier to get.”
“And I suppose you could guarantee that result?”
“No, but maybe Zecora knows of a potion that would have the same effect. If Poison Joke can do it, there must be a spell or potion that could do the same thing.” She wrote a note on her parchment. “Ok, written language is common, books for writing, spell or potion to lower the voice.”
“I would think some objects would be handy, to demonstrate verbs,” Lyra said. “Maybe a doll or two. The creature’s face wasn’t very expressive, but it did use its forelegs to make gestures. I bet it uses its hands like a juvenile dragon, for gripping and holding—maybe even for writing. Spike makes a lot of hand and arm gestures. Perhaps the creature does, too.” She paused. “If it’s bipedal, I suppose that would stand to reason. It would be difficult to mimic that—I can stand on my hind hooves, but I certainly couldn’t keep it up for too long.”
Twilight giggled. Most adult ponies only stood on their hind legs to make a point, or to make themselves look bigger, and even then, it was more of an earth pony trait. On the other hoof, foals often stood up. Some psychologists though it was because of an inferiority complex; Twilight thought it was so they could reach things that were taller than them, which would explain why the habit fell off as unicorns developed their magic and pegasi their flight skills, while it remained in earth ponies. “Do you think it’s larger than most creatures on its world?”
“Why would that matter?”
“We’re smaller than griffons, diamond dogs, and minotaurs, and a lot smaller than dragons. It’s affected our view on the world—made us a little more cautious, and more likely to prefer the company of herds. I wonder if a taller creature—taller among its peers, that is—would be more likely to be solitary?”
“Maybe. Dragons and minotaurs are solitary.” Lyra looked over at the parchment. “We should probably talk to an ambassador or two. We might be able to get a better idea of how different species view themselves. This creature might not be the dominant species on its planet, anyway. Perhaps it’s a quasi-sapient species, like cows and sheep. It might be kept around because it produces something helpful for its keepers.”
“You said it had hardly any fur.”
“Perhaps it had just been shorn.” Lyra rubbed a hoof through her mane. “Gah, talk about a Sisyphean task. I almost wonder if the Princess is punishing us?”
“She’s not punishing us, she’s happy we didn’t want to murder the creature.”
“It might be for something else. Maybe she’s just amusing herself at our expense.” At the sharp look from Twilight, Lyra continued. “I mean, when I spent my first day with my maestro, she took me to her rock garden. Have you ever seen a Neighponese rock garden?” Twilight shook her head. “Many of them are quite beautiful. Hers had a single dark rock in the center—looked like obsidian—with the pattern extending outward in a widening spiral, almost as if they were ripples caused by the large rock falling. She asked me to spend an afternoon studying the obsidian.
“That evening, after dinner, she asked me about it. I described it exactly as it appeared.” Lyra smiled. “I thought she would be proud of me. I had done everything but weigh that dumb rock. Instead, she looked at me critically, and the first question out of her mouth was, ‘What does the stone desire?’”
Twilight furrowed her brow. “’What does the stone desire? What kind of question is that?”
“Unanswerable, and the rest of her questions were along the same vein. Her point was that depending on the context, a physical description means nothing at all. When I was dueling, being able to describe my opponent physically was of no use whatsoever. It was entirely a mental game—the winner was not the unicorn who knew the best spells, it was the unicorn who best got into the head of her opponent.” Lyra looked at Twilight.
“Well, there’s no harm in being prepared.” Twilight wrote down a few more notes. “Even if we don’t know what this creature desires.”
“If it’s primarily visually oriented,” Lyra continued, “perhaps a book of pictures would help it. Like a foal’s primer, but it could have pictures of all sorts of different objects, maybe with the word under them.”
“Like a dictionary with pictures?”
Lyra nodded. “Exactly like that. Or maybe we’re just overthinking this; maybe we could just use a language spell to understand its language.”
“There aren’t any that would work.” Twilight looked at her surprised expression. “In order to make a language spell work, the caster needs to know what language is being spoken, or else she needs to adapt a close spell in the field.” She rolled her eyes upwards in thought. “Let’s see, we covered this the year before I moved to Ponyville. Language spells work by facilitating a limited connection from left inferior frontal gyrus of one pony to another and modeling the neural commands to the mouth, lips, throat, tongue, and larynx.” Seeing the blank look in Lyra’s eyes, Twilight hastily simplified. “If it’s a spell to allow speaking in a foreign language, it interrupts and changes the caster’s speech patterns, whereas for hearing it’s almost a telepathic work-around, although the more complicated spells do involve an aural aspect.” She shrugged. “It’s exceedingly complicated, and needs a very skilled caster to shift the spell to account for differences in regional accent, physiology, and neurological development. It really requires a pair of creatures working together for some time to get it to function properly. I’ve practiced a little with Spike, but he hasn’t really got the patience for it, and becomes embarrassed that his voice comes out sounding like a mare’s.”
“Alright, so translation spells are out.”
“How old do you think it is?”
Lyra shrugged. “No way to tell.”
“Did it seem mature?”
“Really, Twilight? How in Tartarus would I know?”
“Everypony knows that foals learn languages and magic better than adults: their brains are better organized for it. So, if it’s a foal—or immature, I guess—it would probably learn language more quickly.”
Lyra laughed. “I wasn’t able to ask it its age. It wasn’t very colorful, what I could see of it. That could be normal—maybe they’re all like that. Or, it could be a sign of immaturity—some species don’t adapt a colorful coat until they have reached sexual maturity. It could also be a sign of advanced age, since some species lose their color as they become old. It could even be seasonal. Maybe it’s brightly colored sometimes, and dull others. I suppose one of the things we should learn is its basic biology. We don’t know what it eats, if it even does.”
“Do changelings eat?” Twilight looked at Lyra thoughtfully. “I mean, they feed off love, if what Queen Chrysalis said is true. But if that’s all they feed off, why do they even have teeth?” She looked over towards the bookshelf where the zoology section began.
Lyra blinked. “Perhaps you should ask the Princess. Aside from shapeshifting and being able to brainwash a pony, I don’t really know that much about them.”
“Oh! How does it feel to be controlled by a changeling?”
Lyra turned greener. “Ugh, I’d rather not relieve that memory. I can’t believe you’d even ask.”
“Sorry.” Twilight scratched her hoof against the ground. “Ok, getting back on subject. Books for foals in common. Would be useful to know more about the sociology of larger creatures, such as griffons. Perhaps a book on magic? Simple spells?”
“That’s putting the cart before the stallion. It can’t even read unicorn, and we don’t know if it can do magic,” Lyra countered.
“Just because you didn’t see it use magic doesn’t mean it can’t.” Twilight looked at Lyra thoughtfully. “It might have been using magic, and you didn’t see it. I wonder if there’s a foal’s book with easily understood illustrations of magic?”
“Given its initial reaction to us, I would expect it to have at least put up a defensive shield.”
“Oh, right. But it did have a horn?”
“No. Not that I observed, anyway.” Lyra lifted her ears. “Of course, we’re thinking of it from the pony perspective. If it has limited abilities to interact with the leylines, it might not need a horn.” Both of the unicorns nodded simultaneously—like most unicorns, they tended to forget that pegasi interacted with the weave using their wings and hooves, earth ponies with their whole bodies, and non-ponies sometimes used different parts of their bodies, such as a cockatrice’s eyes.
“Well, if it hasn’t got a horn, it can’t cast.” Twilight said that with the definitive tone of a filly, a certainty based on no factual information whatsoever.
“Where do you get that idea?” Lyra looked at her curiously. “Zebras can cast spells, and they don’t have horns.”
“Wait—what? Zebras can cast spells?”
“You didn’t know that? But, you told Trixie before your second duel—“
“I made that all up.” Twilight stared at Lyra as if she had grown wings. “I figured that she would—but—Zecora makes potions! Zecora doesn’t cast spells.”
“And one zebra is the same as all the rest.”
“Yes? No? Wait.” Twilight scrunched up her muzzle in thought. “I’ve never seen her cast a spell. I’ve never seen another zebra.”
“Exactly.” Lyra looked at Twilight. “So, you don’t know that you don’t need a horn to cast spells. You probably didn’t know that earth ponies can cast spells.”
“No they can’t.” Twilight spoke with much less confidence than previously.
“Daisy can do telekinesis, I’ve seen it.”
“She cannot!”
Lyra shook her head. “She was doing it before the storm that sent a tree into your library.” She began chuckling.
“What’s so funny?”
“A tree fell in your library.”
“So?”
“Your library is a tree. And a tree fell in it.”
Twilight started chuckling. Soon, both unicorns were laughing.
“I still have my worries about this creature,” Celestia stated flatly to Luna. The two of them were on her balcony.
Luna looked over the edge. Even though she preferred the night sky, she still enjoyed the daytime view of Canterlot from above. “We would be concerned if thou didst not.”
“How do we know this creature is peaceful? Remember our first dealings with the dragons.”
Luna nodded. “We feared we might not live to see another day.”
“I thought the entire cave was going to erupt in fire.”
“If thou dost establish the meeting site, thou hast control.” Luna looked at her sister thoughtfully. “Were we to choose, we should place our stepping point somewhere where the creature could not easily land, nor where it could escape notice if it did.”
“Away from the castle.”
“A castle is only useful if nopony can breech its outer perimeter.” Luna gestured at the stone walls around her. “As risky as it was to have built our old castle in the Everfree, it did mitigate many threats.”
“As did Sombra’s empire in the north.” Celestia grimaced at the look on Luna’s face. “Forgive me, sister.”
“Dost thou deliberately rub salt into our wounds?”
“No.” Celestia nuzzled her. “You know I speak without thinking often enough.”
“We would think a thousand years of introspection might have caused some small improvement in thy demeanor.”
Celestia chuckled. “I have learned to not take my station too seriously. Does that count?”
“No.” Luna looked at her flatly. “We wish that thou hadst considered the repercussions before thou didst send thy student to the Crystal Empire.”
“Did you know that the Crystal Heart would destroy Sombra?”
Luna lowered her head. “We knew not. However, we did warn thee to use caution before thou sent thy student north.”
“I suppose it’s a little late for sorry?”
“A thousand years on the moon, when we instead could have ruled at our father’s side.”
“How would that have ended?”
“We likely would have died with him.” Luna looked her sister in the eye. “We rue and lament the choices we made, and our harsh proclamations. We regret our folly in driving apart those tribes whom thou hadst so recently shown the strength of unity. We regret the choice we left thee.” She lowered her ears. “We suppose that we and thou have learned a thing or two over our years of separation.”
“I have learned that ‘having a sister is just about the bestest thing in the whole world.’”
“Bestest?” Luna gritted her teeth. “We thought that our ponies’ lack of admiration for our night was offensive. We have found that their utter disregard for the nuances of language is grating to our ears, and now thou art speaking similarly? We should banish ourselves back to the moon to escape the noise.”
“I am simply quoting a friendship report from Rarity and Sweetie Belle,” Celestia said defensively. “Apparently, the two got into quite a tiff, and both agreed that they would be better off without a sister.”
“A problem not unlike our own,” Luna muttered darkly.
“Indeed. Yet, they resolved their differences well enough.”
“And thou believest that we and thee should do the same?” She looked at Celestia, amusement on her face. “Perhaps we should run a race together.”
“I wish I could forget that night.” Celestia looked at her sister. “If there is one thing I have done in my life that I truly regret….”
“Thou canst take it back. Thou knowest that we see the dreamers. Oft, we go into the dreams of those who we feel need us the most. We were but a shadow when we were imprisoned on the moon; now we are in our full splendor.” She looked at Celestia. “Many of those who are troubled wish for nothing more than to take back words spoken in haste, yet too often we see that they are too proud to bend, unwilling to admit fault. Too often, we believe that a sincere apology or a helping hoof would solve their problems, yet they are unwilling to yield.”
“I cannot undo what has been done, yet I can try to be better for the future.” Celestia looked at her younger sibling. “I regret having banished you to the moon, but you left me with no options.” She sighed. “Over the next thousand years, every night when I lifted your moon, I wished I could bring you back somehow.”
“Yet you did not.”
“I could not.”
“Really?” Luna waved a hoof. “With all the resources thou hast at thy disposal, thou couldst find no manner to undo the spell?”
Celestia flattened her ears. “No.” Seeing the look of disbelief on her sister’s face, she frowned. “You know I am not as good at spellcraft as you are. I might have had the power, but I don’t understand how to craft my own spells. I never have.”
“At least thou art capable of seeing thy faults. Now if only thou wert to eat a healthier diet. Our mother would cry, did she know thy weakness for cake.”
“Everypony loves cake,” Celestia said defensively. “Perhaps we should give the creature a cake.”
“It would be our luck that it has a cake allergy.”
The two sisters chuckled.
“Hast thou decided upon an emissary?”
“I think Twilight would understand the creature the best.” Celestia stepped back, already anticipating her sister’s angry rebuttal.
Luna nodded. “We agree. Despite our differences, we concede that thy protégé is brilliant, and refuses to give up even when the odds are against her. Yet, we wonder what the creature might think, should you send her.”
“I don’t understand.” Celestia narrowed her eyes. “I assume you are not trying to be deliberately obtuse.”
“Put thyself in its hooves. The only pony with whom it hath had any close contact art Lyra Heartstrings. What might it think if another takes her place?”
“I had assumed it would send an ambassador in its stead.”
“What if it doth not? Thou sayst Lyra Heartstrings left her sigil in the sand on the beach. We know unicorns often sign their work in such a manner, yet how art this creature to know? If it believes that symbol means that she is to return, how might it feel if she doth not? Would it not feel betrayed?” Luna looked at Celestia thoughtfully. “Thou hast armies at thy command. Dost thou not remember the courage it takes to approach a stranger alone?”
Celestia blinked. As the most powerful creature in Equestria, she had forgotten that feeling—but she remembered The Night, where each step to her sister’s eyrie seemed a thousand feet tall. “I think it would be insulted if we were to send her rather than a diplomat.”
“Yet we know naught of its customs. We feel twould be best to send her.” Luna tossed her head. “Thou mayst order her. Art she not under your command?”
“Technically, yes. She is an auxiliary guard, seconded to the Royal Guard, who fall under my command.” Celestia snorted. “Would you believe she won that honor at a duel in Manehatten?”
“Tis her misfortune, but a solution to the problem, art it not?”
“I cannot order her.” Celestia looked at her sister seriously. “I will ask her, but I will not have the sole emissary of Equestria be a pony under duress.”
Their list was finally as complete as they could make it. Twilight felt she had explored every avenue of contact with an alien creature. Naturally, there were dozens more left unexplored. They knew so little, it was impossible to fill in all the blanks just yet. They hoped that it would bring something to its meeting, something that they could use to understand it better.
Lyra looked at the parchment, completely covered in Twilight’s horn-writing. “It looks like you’ll have a lot of studying to do,” she commented. They had both agreed that Princess Celestia wanted to keep this quiet, so Twilight was going to do all the hoofwork, without explaining anything. Her curiosity was legendary around Canterlot, so nopony would be surprised that she was asking all manner of strange questions.
“At least I won’t have to memorize it all,” Twilight muttered.
Lyra looked at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You are going to be the one meeting it again.”
Lyra’s eyes widened in surprise. “Me? Why me?”
“Do you think it would want to meet with anypony else?”
“I’m not qualified!” She waved a hoof at the books and parchments scattered around the table. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin!”
“You have a month to prepare,” Twilight said grimly. “I wish it were me. I wish it had been me with Celestia, but it wasn’t. It was you. And who will the creature expect to return?”
Lyra hung her head. “Me.”
“You.” Twilight began levitating books back to their places on the shelves. “If you want, I will tell the Princess of our decision. I know she would have expected me to go.”
Lyra looked at the clock. “She’s probably at dinner right now. That will give me time to prepare.” She looked back at Twilight. “I suppose I should be the one to tell her.”
Applejack sat on the dusty floor of the attic while Apple Bloom rummaged through old trunks. Winter Wrap-Up had gone well—the guard who was going over the checklist had done his best, and they had only finished slightly behind schedule. Mayor Mare had pronounced all the tasks complete at midnight.
Even though it was only scheduled for one day, it was an unwritten rule to plan nothing for the next day. Before Twilight had applied her organizational skills, they had always run over. With school canceled, Apple Bloom had spent the entire morning with Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle. She had come home two hours ago, muttering that she hadn’t gotten a cutie mark in falconry; looking at her filthy pelt, Applejack wondered if they hadn’t been trying to mud-wrestle the birds.
Unsurprisingly, an hour of being scrubbed by her big sister in the tub had done nothing to lift her spirits, so Applejack had suggested that they go up to the attic and look through Pappy’s trunk. An Apple heirloom of sorts, the trunk had become a repository of old things that nopony wanted to throw out, but could find no real use for. It was just the sort of thing a filly would love to spend a chilly spring evening with.
She smiled as Apple Bloom carefully unwrapped a chipped plate wrapped in an old newspaper. One of the Oranges had painted it—it was supposed to be the orchard, but it looked like lichen that had measles instead. For a few years, it had been proudly displayed on the mantle before each family reunion, to be re-wrapped after all the guests had left, but nopony had bothered after Apple Bloom was born—it had gone from a conversation piece to the punchline of an overtold joke.
“What’s ind—indik—indiktided?” Apple Bloom motioned a hoof at the yellowed newspaper.
Applejack frowned and stood, her knees popping. “Cinnamon Lulamoon Indicted in Manehatten Bank Fraud,” she read aloud. “It’s a fancy way a sayin’ accused,” she said.
“Accused? Is that like excused?”
“Nope.” Applejack put a leg around her sister’s withers. “Sometimes, a pony’ll do somethin’ bad, an’ the courts have ta punish her fer what she done.” Seeing the concerned look on Apple Bloom’s face, Applejack ruffled her mane. “Honey, we’re Apples, an’ that’s somethin’ ta be proud of. We don’t cheat, an’ we don’t steal. Ain’t nopony who’d say otherwise.”
Apple Bloom nuzzled her sister. “That’s an ugly plate.”
“Best ta wrap it back up. If’n that mare ever becomes a famous painter, it’d be worth a lotta bits.”
Apple Bloom frowned. “Not with paintin’ like this. Ah kin do better ‘n that.”
Applejack rubbed her forehead. “There’s a lot about art ah don’t understan’. Mebbe Rares kin tell ya what makes art art.”
“Sweetie don’t know.” She laid the plate gently back in the chest, then pulled out a musty cardboard box. “Ah wonder what’s in this?”
Lyra sat patiently on a bench outside the great hall. Although the Princess would have understood if she had gone in—especially since there was no formal dinner tonight—she instead had decided, given the nature of her request, to wait outside. It was traditional for the Princess to speak with a few petitioners after her evening meal. There were layers of protocol involved that Lyra didn’t understand, but since the castle was officially closed, there were no other ponies in the room, with the exception of a surprised herald, who had dutifully notified the Princess between courses.
The rumbling of her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. She and Twilight had gotten so involved in planning that they’d both forgotten.
She shifted around on the bench, trying to find a comfortable position. It should have been easy; as they were designed for upper-class ponies, the benches had velvet cushions, but no matter how she sat, she seemed to sink into the padding.
She sighed. No doubt the discomfort was psychological, having more to do with her nervousness with her upcoming request than the blameless velvet. Her ears perked up as the herald came into the room.
“All rise for Her Royal Majesty, Princess Celestia.” Lyra stifled a giggle as she got to her hooves; the solemnity was lost on the nearly empty room.
“Lyra,” the Princess said warmly. “How has your research with Twilight gone?”
“We have more unanswerable questions than we did when we began,” she said, smoothly genuflecting. “I imagine you are unsurprised by that answer.”
“Such is the nature of the task.” Celestia looked at her thoughtfully. “I am given to understand you have a question?”
“Twilight and I have decided that I should be the one to go,” she said bluntly. Lyra was surprised when the Princess chuckled.
“Pray tell, how did you come to that conclusion?”
“Since the creature has only seen me, it seemed that it might scare it should somepony else come in my stead. Twilight suggested it, and I agreed.”
“You ponies never cease to amaze me,” Celestia replied. “Luna said the very same thing. Of course, you know that I would rather send Twilight.”
“I would rather she went,” Lyra admitted. “But if we wish to befriend the creature, we must do all within our power to make it comfortable.”
Celestia nodded at the bench. “Please, take a seat. I must explain something about a diplomatic mission of this nature.” She looked intently at Lyra. “Although we have never made contact with an extra-Equestrian species before, the principles of diplomacy remain the same. In all that you do, you will be the sole representative of our entire nation, of all the ponies and other creatures. You must maintain your composure no matter what.
“We know naught of its habits, of its culture. Whatever the creature does, you must react calmly. You must not injure or offend the creature, even if it injures or offends you. If need be, you may retreat, but that is the extent of what you are allowed to do. Your purpose is to attempt to learn its language and customs, while teaching it ours.” She frowned. “You cannot imagine how difficult it is to maintain composure while watching a griffon devour a rabbit. I will request that one of my ambassadors train you as best she knows how, although I would prefer not to enlighten her of the true purpose of the training.”
“You can trust me to keep silent.”
“Mm-hmm. Now, there is one more thing.” Celestia fixed Lyra with a serious stare. “If I have any reason to believe Equestria is in danger, I will collapse the spell without a moment’s hesitation. If you are not within the hemisphere of its reach, it may not bring you back. Alternately, you may be captured by the creature, or its kin. Should that happen, for the good of Equestria, you must dispel the portal on your own. In either case, there is very little possibility of your rescue.”
Lyra swallowed a lump in her throat. “I understand.”
“It would be best if you were able to meet it on a schedule it determined,” Celestia continued. “My sister and I would like a debriefing after each session. To that end, I will make a room available for you in the castle. I have no doubt we are going to have dozens more meetings as the time draws near.”
“Thank you, Princess.” Lyra bowed again. “I will not disappoint you.”
“I know you won’t.” The alicorn leaned down and nuzzled Lyra’s neck, then walked out of the room, leaving the stunned unicorn behind.