If Twilight had to pick a single word to describe Celestia’s personal chamber, hidden deep within the labyrinthine halls of Canterlot Castle, that word would be “soothing”. The space was simple, and sparsely decorated. Absent were tables, desk, chairs, and even a proper bed. The walls were a mural of a calm sky just after sunset; deep blues and purples moving into lighter tones in the western corner of the room. That last detail was, incidentally, how Twilight knew the scene represented the end of the day, and not its beginning – as some of the few ponies fortunate enough to see the inside of the Princess’ private sanctum would often erroneously conclude.
There were serene mountains of indigo clouds painted on those walls, and a shooting star just over the fireplace, where gently playful flames of red and orange danced in the near-total silence. In front of the fire, a large reniform floor cushion, luxuriously soft, silken, and violet with golden trim, served as the diarch’s ultimate retreat from the expectations and responsibilities of rule.
This was a room where work – or at least mandatory work – ceased, and where personal interests and unmarred relaxation held reign.
Twilight had been here often enough to be intimately familiar with the surroundings; a state of affairs that was, in itself, a great honour. Celestia permitted only a select group of ponies to even dare approach the door, a far smaller number to enter the space, and, to Twilight’s knowledge, only four had ever been allowed to feel the heavenly plush of the cushion: Celestia herself, her sister Luna, her adopted niece Cadance...
...and her faithful student, Twilight Sparkle.
It was here that Twilight presently lay, sharing the cushion with her teacher, staring into a cup of green Jasmine tea. Tea, it seemed, was the beverage of choice for life-changing conversations. Given recent events, and knowing how the mind establishes subconscious links between physical sensations and emotional states, the unicorn could only hope that she would not develop a loathing for the drink as a result. Jasmine was her favourite.
“I’m pregnant.”
Too late she apprehended the threat of her mentor performing a classic spit-take, but to everypony’s good fortune Princess Celestia continued her sip unperturbed. Her features indicated calm, considered thought as she placed the cup onto the tray beside them.
“My faithful student, please understand that I mean no offense to you when I say this, but... that was rather evident from the moment you arrived.”
Twilight blushed. “It’s that obvious?”
“You are showing quite nicely,” the princess said with genial tone.
Twilight blushed harder.
She knew Celestia was speaking exactly the way she had always wanted: clearly and factually, with no hidden meaning. It was an unambiguous compliment. Whether it was a desired one was a more confusing matter.
The choice of what to say next was difficult, and the unicorn employed her go-to strategy to buy more time by taking a slow drink. She ensured that there was sufficient liquid in her cup to proceed; at the very least, she could pull this trick off better than Rarity.
“I take it this was not in any way planned?” Celestia inferred.
“No,” Twilight answered, refusing to lift her gaze from the brew.
“How long have you known?”
“Since this morning.”
The alicorn’s eyebrows jumped up a nearly-imperceptible distance; a rare sign of surprise that most ponies would easily overlook. Twilight’s peripheral vision, however, had been waiting specifically for it. She laughed bitterly.
“It’s just like me to miss the obvious for so long, isn’t it?”
Celestia produced a genuine smile to contrast Twilight’s ironic one. “It is perfectly understandable to miss the obvious when it is also is also the unexpected. We live our lives according to certain presumptions, and there are many ponies who do not at all react well when those presumptions prove false.” Her smile tempered, and her eyes turned more concerned. “How are you feeling, Twilight?”
The unicorn shrugged. “Physically, I’m fine. At least it’s not a tumor or something.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“I know.”
There was no use delaying any further; it was what she had come here to talk about.
“I feel... scared,” came the near-whisper. “Confused.”
She swallowed hard.
“Alone.”
There was a ruffling of feathers, and suddenly the purple mare found herself underwing, enveloped in the gentle warmth of a pony that felt like summer sunlight itself. “Twilight, you are not alone. Ever. You have a caring family and wonderful friends who love you... and you have me. Know, always, that even when it may seem that there is nopony else you can turn to, I will always be here. Do you understand?”
Within her feathery sanctuary, Twilight sniffled. Though it hardly seemed an achievement to be proud of, she silently congratulated herself for not bursting out crying like a little foal. “Yes,” she answered, working to keep her tone even. “Thank you, Princess.”
Her control had apparently been sufficient to convince the alicorn that it was safe to slowly withdraw her wing. Both mares levitated their respective teacups and drank; a decent effort to re-establish the conversational normalcy that Twilight now desired. The Jasmine still tasted good.
“May I ask who the father is?” Celestia inquired after the lull had ripened.
The unicorn chewed her tea before swallowing it. “I’d rather not say.” Her head bowed down in shame. “I’m sorry.”
“Twilight, if there is somepony who has hurt you–”
“No!” she practically shouted the response. “It’s not like that! He would never– I mean–”
A calming breath.
“It was consensual,” she tried again, composed this time. “I just can’t say who. It’s complicated.”
Concern still painted the alicorn’s face.
“Please don’t ask,” Twilight begged, knowing that if her mentor did ask, she would not be able to refuse her the truth.
Celestia scrutinised her pupil carefully. Slowly, she nodded. “I won’t,” she assured. “But I had hoped by now you would have learned that you can tell me anything.”
A fresh wave of guilt drowned the young unicorn. Here she was, in the presence of her teacher and her princess, after having deliberately sought it out and imposing on her precious time – and she knew it was an imposition, no matter how much Celestia might deny it – and yet she couldn’t even bring herself to explain the whole dilemma to the pony who was doing her utmost in offering help. She nearly broke from the strain; nearly spilled it all right there, but it was the princess herself who stopped her at the last moment.
“It is all right,” she assuaged. “Perhaps... some day? When you’re ready?”
At this, Twilight’s mood lifted, and she nodded vigorously. She could tell Celestia the truth – she just needed more time to get ready, and her princess would give her that time. The flux of guilt began to recede.
“From your reluctance to reveal his identity, I can assume that the stallion in question is either unwilling or unable to assist you with caring for a child.”
The teapot was already levitating in the royal pony’s golden aura, before Twilight even perceived that it was needed. Her own magic held up her cup to be refilled.
“Unable,” she declared, a little hesitantly, to the sound of flowing liquid. “Thank you.”
Had she just lied? She supposed that it all depended on one’s definition of “able”.
“I’m sure he’d be willing. He’s like that,” Twilight elucidated. “But I don’t think it’s possible. I’d have to do it by myself.”
‘Stop putting it off. Just ask!’ the unicorn commanded herself. She set the tea aside to eliminate its opportunity to stall her further.
“And... and I don’t think I can.”
The winged mare looked solemnly down at her protégé. “You are thinking of terminating the pregnancy.”
It was not a question.
Twilight shut her eyes tightly, in part to keep her tears from flowing, and in part to escape, at least in some illusory way, from the reality she was facing. An agonising length of time was necessary to force out the response both ponies were already well aware of.
“Yes.”
Celestia nodded simply, and waited; it was not yet her turn to speak. That left Twilight with no path but the one leading straight to her destination.
“Princess,” the smaller pony said, “is it... wrong to do that?”
It was the princess who now took a calming breath. The answer she was about to give would be one of the most painful things her student would ever hear from her. With desperate, pleading eyes, Twilight was looking to her mentor for guidance. Her life lay in pieces before her.
A white, regal hoof clad in golden armor came mercilessly down on one of those pieces to shatter it further.
“I do not know, Twilight.”
The young mare recoiled and stared back in a state of shock, flavoured by a healthy dose of betrayal, and – just perhaps – a tiny hint of rage.
“Wha– how can you not know?!”
Celestia gave her best effort at a soothing voice as she spoke, though it was doing little to take away from the harsh bluntness of her words. “The same way that you do not know.”
“But– but... you’re Princess Celestia!” Twilight exclaimed, as if the words were an undeniable, air-tight argument that any foal should have been able to understand. Her lips trembled while she tried to bolster her evidence. “You’re old... hundreds of years old! Thousands! And you’re wise, and you’ve seen so much, and you lead all of Equestria–”
“–and none of that means that I am able to answer your question.”
Twilight shut her eyes again. The words hurt. They hurt more than if the princess had just struck her, hard, across the face. She found herself wishing that she had; it would have been preferable.
Celestia sighed. “There are ponies who believe me to be some kind of all-knowing goddess who can do no wrong and make no mistakes. I trust, after all the time you have spent as my student, that you are not foolish enough to be among them.”
The unicorn wiped a small tear from her eye before it could roll down her cheek. She nodded in acceptance, but then, a faint glimmer of hope lit up inside her. “Is this... just a test? You just want to see if I’ll come to the right conclusion on my own?”
The alicorn’s head shook. “You are not being tested, Twilight – certainly not by me. I am telling you the truth as best I know it. You asked me whether it would be wrong for you to have an abortion. I can’t answer that because I truly don’t know.”
Still desperate for any hint of wisdom from the larger pony, Twilight focussed on a particular aspect of her phrasing. “Wrong for me...” She churned over the meaning. “Then... abortion in general is fine. Right?”
“I don’t know that, either.”
The purple unicorn’s pain was progressively being smothered by a layer of anger. After years of dedication, study, loyalty, and obedience to the princess, surely she deserved better answers than this in her most desperate hour. Though she knew her mentor was telling her the truth, she couldn’t help the feeling that she was being mocked – if not by Celestia personally, then by the universe at large.
“But... abortion is legal. You decided that, so you must think it’s alright.”
“Twilight, you know that is not how things work. ‘Legal’ simply means that there hasn’t been a powerful and convincing enough reason to make it illegal. ‘Legal’ is the default. I cannot impose restrictions on ponies’ freedoms – especially ones with such heavy consequences – without a measure of certainty in my reasoning.”
“What about the freedom of the unborn foal?” the unicorn immediately countered. “Doesn’t every pony have the freedom – the right – to live?”
“A person has a right to live,” Celestia corrected, spearing into the heart of the matter. “But a foal who has never experienced the world; who doesn’t understand that there is a world; who has never tasted, or seen, or touched anything... is that a person?”
“You’re saying it’s not?” Twilight asked with a degree of incredulity.
The large pony did nothing but look back at her. She wasn’t saying anything.
The unicorn exhaled. “All those things are irrelevant,” she decided, “a person... is any being capable of conscious thought.”
Celestia allowed herself a tiny smile. “My goodness. Millennia of life-long scholars and philosophers have argued in circles about what it means to be a person, and here my faithful student has come up with a solution so quickly!”
“It’s the only definition that makes sense,” Twilight insisted.
“Well, then,” the regal pony said as she lifted her cup of tea back to her lips, “perhaps you are one step closer to having your answer.” Her smile turned larger, and more encouraging.
Twilight’s spirits didn’t lift much, however. She sighed again. “Not really. That just changes the question to whether an unborn foal can think. And I don’t have that information. Nopony does.” She pressed a hoof to her swelling abdomen, as if she could divine the answer from the contact. As if on cue, a twitch – which she could now identify as movement from inside her womb – made itself known. Being a logical mare, she knew better than to consider the coincidence as any sort of answer.
“There are those,” the white alicorn pondered, “who believe that even if an unborn is a person, it still has no inherent right to be supported by its mother. An abortion is merely the termination of that support, and death is a side-effect.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Twilight opined. “How can death be a ‘side-effect’? It’s a clear and direct outcome of the action. If the fetus is a person, it is the most important outcome, and its moral implications are of paramount importance.” She was speaking faster now, and louder. “It is, in fact, the deciding factor, unless the pregnancy threatens the life of the mother! No matter how uncomfortable the situation may be for the pregnant mare, when her needs are weighed against a pony’s life, the life must take precedence! Especially considering that her state is temporary, while the child’s entire existence hangs in the balance! Anypony would have to be crazy not to see that!”
Celestia watched as her impassioned student jumped to her hooves to emphasize her last words, bumping the nearby silver tray and almost spilling the tea, not even caring that only the alicorn’s stabilising magic had prevented tea from touching velvet. The princess looked quite pleased; her student might not have become happy, exactly, but she apparently considered “argumentative” a definite improvement over her previous mood.
Twilight snorted haughtily. “‘Side-effect’ my flank!”
“Spoken like a true consequentialist.”
She waved a hoof. “I’m a rule utilitarian,” the pony stated, sitting back down.
“Oh? I seem to recall you once expounding on the superiority of act utilitarianism.”
The young mare flinched at the reminder. “I re-evaluated. It’s just not practical for everyday life, and there is high degree of utility in having a clear and consistent set of rules–”
A loud knocking on the door interrupted Twilight’s impromptu disquisition.
“Yes?” Celestia said, her tone calm as ever.
A somewhat harried-looking coltish pony that Twilight presumed was one of the castle’s many messengers stood in the entryway. “Princess Celestia!” He bowed with practiced speed and precision. “Your presence is urgently required in the Chamber of Ministers. The ambassador has brought–”
“It can wait,” the princess stated matter-of-factly as she poured herself a fresh cup of brew.
“But the matter is–”
“Tell me: Is somepony liable to die if I do not attend immediately?”
“Well, I suppose not, but–”
“Then it can wait.”
The anxious pony’s eyes flitted from Celestia, to Twilight, then back. At last, he capitulated. “Yes, your highness.” With the same technique as before, the messenger bowed, and left, closing the door behind him.
The whole exchange had been so unreally abrupt and unexpected that Twilight was left with the impression that she might have imagined it. She rose. “I... I should go. You have important matters and I’m just–”
“Sit, Twilight.” The alicorn’s foreleg patted the cushion invitingly. “Please.”
With marked hesitance, the young mare retook her spot. “I don’t want to hold you up from important business. We can talk some other time.”
“So can the Chamber of Ministers,” Celestia said, her lips tinged with a mischievous smirk. “Politicians often need to be reminded that the world can manage without them – at least for a time.”
Twilight couldn’t help but give a tiny smile of her own at the idea.
“And as for ‘important business’...” The alicorn leaned in closer. “I assure you, I am attending to it at this very moment.”
The purple mare’s cheeks burned crimson and her ears pulled down. How a pony could at once feel so proud and yet so embarrassed was an enigma she filed away for further investigation at a later date.
“Now, then.” Celestia lifted her head back, resuming her regal posture. “I believe we were discussing the finer points of ethical theory?”
Twilight’s nose scrunched. “I think we were discussing whether abortion is murder.”
“No solid conclusions, then?”
“No.”
“Hmm.” The alicorn’s eyes drew upward, and Twilight’s followed. The beautiful – and point-for-point accurate – painting of the constellation Pegasus on the ceiling presented no immediate answers to either pony. “Let us assume for the moment that it is not.” The princess looked back to her pupil. “Would it then be your first choice?”
“I guess so. I mean, I don’t want to have a child. Not yet, anyway,” Twilight argued, her hooftips running small circles around each other. “The only other option is to give birth and then give it up for adoption.”
“You do not seem very pleased with that option.”
“It’s a lot of trouble. Birth... hurts, doesn’t it?”
“For most mares,” Celestia agreed.
“And what does it say about me if I bring a child into the world and just expect somepony else to care for it? Wouldn’t that make me irresponsible?”
The princess’ look turned distant for a few seconds. “Twilight, if one of your friends... Applejack, or Fluttershy perhaps, had to deal with an unexpected pregnancy, as you now are...”
The smaller pony’s ears perked.
“...And if she decided that she would be unable to care for her child, and so opted to place it with a family who would...” Celestia’s gaze fixed on her student; her head tilted. This was definitely a test. “...would you think any less of her? Would you think her irresponsible?”
Twilight contemplated on the answer, but didn’t need very long. “No. Of course not.” She let out another sigh, and looked at her mentor, her lesson delivered with its usual efficacy and style. “Okay, I get it. But then why does it still feel like I’d just be dumping my problems on somepony else? What if there’s a problem with the foal and it needs constant care for the rest of its life? What if the adoptive parents are abusive? What if... both?” Twilight shuddered. “It’d be my fault, wouldn’t it?”
“Twilight, nopony can see the future, or every outcome of every choice. In the end, we can only make the choices we think will bring about the best results, and hope.” A wingtip lifted Twilight’s chin. “There are many ponies in Equestria who wish to have children of their own but cannot. Stories of overcrowded orphanages run by sadistic matrons are, thankfully, only that – Equestria’s foster care system is well-funded and organised, and adoptive parents undergo rigorous screening to ensure only those truly willing and able to care for children are allowed to do so – including children who may have any number of issues that make parenting difficult. Nothing in life is certain, but both adoptive children and parents can generally expect a happy future together.”
The argument was convincing. “Are you saying that’s what I should do?” Twilight asked.
“No, my faithful student,” Celestia replied. “I am simply helping you explore the options. I’ve no doubt you would eventually do the research and come to the same conclusions yourself.” She smiled warmly, and lowered her head. “I do hope that I am a tolerable substitute for a book.”
Celestia had timed her words perfectly to Twilight’s taking a sip of tea. The unicorn sputtered and choked lightly. “P–Princess!” She recovered and wiped at her wet lips – fortunately, none of the tea had spilled. She stared accusingly into her mentor, who had attired herself with an air of angelic innocence. “You’re a lot better than a book,” Twilight admitted, “But that wasn’t fair. I wasn’t expecting it.” The corners of her mouth pulled up. “Besides, you can’t joke around like that with somepony who’s drinking tea while pregnant!”
Both mares smiled widely, their eyes crinkling, quiet snorts of air escaping their muzzles, stopping just short of actual laughter.
There were times Twilight wished her teacher didn’t know her so well.
And there were other times – like right now – that she was thankful that she did. Smiling felt good.
Alas, nothing lasts forever.
“So those are my options,” Twilight summarised. “Abortion, which might be mareslaughter; or adoption, where I go through the trouble of childbirth just to give the foal away to who-knows-what kind of life.”
She fell silent. There was a third option. It was presently at the bottom of her list, but a full analysis of the situation would be incomplete without it.
“I could also do it.” She cleared her throat. “Be a mother, I mean. I could raise a child. I think. I don’t know.” She looked questioningly to Celestia. “Could I?”
“If you decide that it is something you want to do, then I’m certain you would make an excellent parent.”
Twilight’s eyebrows gained altitude. “‘Excellent’?”
“Excellent.”
“How do you know?”
“Past performance.”
Her cheeks burned again. The princess grinned.
“I’m not so sure,” Twilight doubted. “I always thought that having two parents is optimal for raising a foal. I don’t think single parenthood is wrong, exactly, but knowing the disadvantages... is it fair to knowingly put a child in that kind of situation?” Her eyelids descended, and she went back to making circles with her hooves. Her words came at a near-whisper. “What do I do when my child looks me in the eyes and asks who their father is and... and I can’t tell even them the truth without letting them know what a horrible mistake their whole life was.”
Celestia’s features registered surprise at that.
“I... I wouldn’t put it in those words,” Twilight clarified. “But it’s true. This whole thing was an accident. It should never have happened. How can you tell a child that? That if things had gone right, they would never exist?”
The princess placed her tea aside, and moved the tray away, clearing the space as if what she was about to say was material enough to be physically impeded by such obstacles. The young unicorn straightened, knowing that another lesson was fast incoming, and eager to receive it.
“I knew a mare once,” Celestia began, “a young, wonderful pony, with a kind heart and a bright future ahead of her. Her life wasn’t perfect – nopony’s is – but she had family and friends, and even a special somepony, whom she one day hoped to marry and start a family with.”
The alicorn’s brows furrowed. “That is, until that special somepony decided that he had waited long enough, and... forced himself on her.”
Twilight paled. The meaning of the phrase was so horrific that her brain needed to replay it twice just to be sure she had heard correctly. “He... raped her?!”
Celestia nodded, her eyes flashing in anger at the memory. “She wanted to abstain from sex until marriage, but he didn’t. When he couldn’t talk her into his way of thinking... he decided that he didn’t really care what she thought.”
Twilight’s mouth hung open. Rape was so much an evil and – fortunately, rare – event that just hearing it described, and knowing that it had happened, made her blood run cold. How anypony could be heartless enough to commit such a vile act beggared imagination.
“The situation was only made worse by the fact the stallion was meant to be a protector – he was a member of my Royal Guard.” The princess turned aside, and Twilight was witness to her showing an emotion even more exceptional than anger.
It was shame.
“Responsibility, and so blame, travels upward through military ranks – as it should. The matter was severe enough that it ascended directly to my personal attention. The mare found herself in a position similar to yours, in some ways–”
“What happened to him?” Twilight interrupted.
Celestia assessed her student quizzically. “This is not his story.”
The unicorn would not let the matter slide. Not in anger, but with dismal curiosity, she implored, “I just... I want to know what happened to him. Please.”
Obvious reluctance to indulge this particular course held the princess momentarily, yet Twilight’s anxious, questioning eyes were apparently convincing enough. “He was court-martialled, received a dishonourable discharge, and a rather lengthy prison term.”
Twilight nodded in approval. The young pony shared her princess’ distaste for prison; It was a wholly inefficient method of punishment and deterrence, and all-too-often ineffective at reformation. Whenever possible, Equestria’s criminals were made to work off their misdeeds in the communities they had wronged. Prison was reserved for those rare cases where no other option was available to protect ordinary ponies from violent offenders.
Twilight hated prisons. But she wholeheartedly believed that rapists belonged there.
“He never did get to serve it,” Celestia finished.
“...Why?”
“He committed suicide, in his cell, after only a few months.”
Twilight nearly threw up. Rape was bad enough, but to then compound that with a pony’s death by suicide – even if that pony was the perpetrator – was horrible in a whole new way. She came close to asking why her princess was telling her such an obscene tale when she recalled that her own inquisitiveness had brought forth those last few details.
“But, as I have said, this is not his story,” Celestia stated, bringing her chronicle back to its intended track. “The mare found herself pregnant, frightened, and uncertain of what to do. I gave her the best advice I could, and assured her that whatever her choice, she would have my support – as you do, Twilight.”
The purple pony was back to listening eagerly, unwavering in her trust that this story’s end could not be as revolting as its beginning. “What did she do?”
“She wanted to give the foal a chance at a normal life, and so decided on adoption. She even went as far as asking certain members of her family if they would be willing to raise the child. When it came time, however, and she gave birth to a beautiful little filly... she could not bear to give her up. There was an instant connection, and she chose to raise her, as a single mother.”
“How’d that turn out?”
Here, Celestia smiled. “Their lives weren’t always easy; there were the typical pains associated with growing up, and maybe a few more. But, with the support of family and friends, both mother and daughter prospered. The child was raised with all the love her mother could give, and, to my knowledge, it was a choice she never regretted.
“That young filly grew to be a charismatic, intelligent young mare, with many friends of her own. She had a way with ponies; a natural charm and leadership that she always used for good. She became a powerful voice in her community – with an uncanny ability of convincing ponies to open up their pockets for worthy causes. She even exposed the incompetence of her town council, and led a campaign for change and reform, making her mother, whom she loved dearly, very proud.
“Her ability to rally ponies eventually led her to get involved in politics more directly, and in an unprecedented landslide vote, she was elected the mayor of her hometown–” The princess brought her head lower, now holding back a wily grin. “–a quaint and picturesque little community just south of Canterlot...” She was almost breathing in Twilight’s ear now. “...a position which she holds to this very day.”
The young pony’s eyes stretched wide as saucers as the pieces were pulled into place. Her mouth had trouble extricating the words. “M– Mayor Mare... is a child of rape?”
“She is.”
“...I had no idea.”
“Few ponies do,” Celestia explained. “The precise details of the case were never made public, and she has never openly spoken of it – not because she is ashamed, but simply because she considers it a private matter. I have her permission to tell this story to anypony who I feel needs to hear it, but I trust you will keep it discreet.”
“Absolutely!” Twilight pledged with hoof over heart. “I won’t tell a soul!” Her pupils flicked to and from her other forehoof, the acute pony’s mind still working through all the corollaries of this new information. “Wow.”
The princess’ tea service was restored to its previous location. Twilight drank eagerly; the Jasmine tasted as good as ever.
“You asked me, Twilight, whether it’s possible to tell a child that their conception was, as you put it, a ‘mistake’. I don’t know exactly how the mayor’s mother explained it to her, but the younger Mare has known the full truth of how she came to be since she was a child. I think you’ll agree with me that she is a well-adjusted pony, and I can tell you that her relationship with her mother has always been close. Clearly, it is possible.”
It was possible. If a single mother could raise a healthy, happy child from that...
Twilight couldn’t claim any experience with parenting, and her babysitting resume could be written on a fortune cookie slip. She wasn't certain whether her quasi-big-sister relationship with Spike could count; the young dragon had been largely able to look after himself from the first day the two had lived together. Yet she could claim a general sort of responsibility and dedication that pervaded her methods for nearly anything she did, the confident support of her teacher, and more. With time to plan, and relevant books to help, she was confident that she could do nearly anything. With all that she had learned in her time as Celestia’s student...
“What about my studies?” she suddenly inquired as the priorities of her life reasserted themselves. “If I have this child and decide to raise it... will I still be your student?”
Celestia’s face became indecipherable; no longer the nurturing, supportive, and jovial visage of Twilight’s friend and mentor, but the stoic countenance of The Princess of Equestria. This instantly worried Twilight.
“Do you wish to be?” the diarch asked.
“Of course,” the unicorn answered.
“Then yes.”
There was a deeply uncomfortable lull as teacher and student looked at each other. Celestia’s face was still stone. Twilight sensed that there was far more to this response; that behind the simple “yes” concealed many monstrous caveats.
A child was a huge responsibility. A child demanded effort. And time. Lots of time.
“I guess I’d have to take some sort of... ‘maternity leave’ for a while, huh?” Twilight asked, trying to see the positives in that.
“It is not quite that simple,” Celestia said. Her stony expression had fallen away to a no-less-disquieting contemplative frown. “Twilight, the care of a foal does not stop after a few months, or a year, or five. If you truly accept the obligations of being a parent, then your child must be the most important thing in your life – even above me and your studies.”
There it was again; that feeling of fear that the young unicorn had almost managed to leave behind. “But... I can still do both, right?” she entreated. “Be a parent and your student?”
“Certainly, you can. I have always held certain... hopes... for what you might some day achieve. Your lessons and your research have gone a long way to preparing you, but there is still more to be done. It is because of my high expectations that you presently dedicate such a large amount of your time to study. But if you have a child to take care of, then it would be irresponsible of you – and negligent of me – to expect you to continue with your present workload.”
It was all true. Twilight knew it. Her throat felt dry, but the tea had been forgotten. “What... what are you saying?”
The princess’ hoof found its way to the young unicorn’s own. “Twilight. Understand that as long as you maintain your thirst for knowledge, your dedication, and the goodness in your heart, I will never abandon you as my student.”
Through the comfort the words afforded, the young pony knew to brace herself for what was to come.
“However... it is only fair that you know: Raising a child would mean that the overall course of your studies would be... delayed.”
“D– delayed? For how long?”
“That is difficult to say.”
Twilight looked pleadingly to the diarch. She needed something more solid than that.
She needed a number.
Celestia fidgeted and looked aside; it was a rare sight to see the princess ever show this kind of discomfort, yet it was the third “rare sight” in the past thirty minutes, by Twilight’s reckoning. “Ten years,” she finally said.
Twilight gasped, her eyes squinting, a fresh wetness collecting there. “Ten years?!”
“Perhaps more.”
The young pony could do nothing but stare uselessly at the ground, as her mind tried to wrap itself around the concept. Ten years was a huge chunk of her life, and the princess had said it might even be longer than that. Formulae danced in her brain, attempting to match themselves to the span of time presented. Twilight’s studies had always been a full-time job, and as of late, the total hours she spent each week could easily surpass two full-time jobs. Though she would be loath to ever admit it to her friends, she suspected that she regularly did more “work” than even Applejack. Such a schedule would never bear the addition of single parenthood.
But ten years...
“How can it be that long? I’d still study part-time...”
Celestia’s forehoof was still on hers. “It is not simply a matter of adding or subtracting hours from each day, my faithful student. There are feats which I hope to see you make that will require something more.”
Twilight felt like crying.
She caught herself. She had been exploring options after all. Internally, she chastised herself for losing perspective and getting so immersed in the idea of motherhood that all else had surreptitiously vanished. It was as if she were already planning for the new baby. Why had she done that? She tried to tell herself that her thoughts weren’t merely about the current situation – that she was also thinking of having children at some point in the future, and that’s why all this talk of academic delays was relevant.
In truth, that wasn’t the reason at all. She was thinking firmly of this child. Between abortion, adoption, and raising a foal, the latter proposition was the most costly; least in tune with her life and her plans – but for whatever reason, it also seemed the most right.
She felt the foal within her kick again.
‘Base instincts,’ she concluded, ‘that’s what I’m reacting to. Hormones. Not a solid basis for decision-making.’
The option of parenthood was quickly relegated back to the bottom of the list.
At some point, Twilight had grasped Celestia’s forehoof. She let it go.
“Thank you, Princess,” the unicorn said, standing, and bowing her head respectfully. “I think... I think I have a lot to think about.”
Celestia met her gaze affectionately. “I’m certain you do. You have my support, Twilight, no matter what you decide. Remember that. I hope you are feeling at least a little better,” the princess said, rising to her hooves.
“I guess so. Though ‘better’ might not be the best word; I’m still confused,” the pregnant mare answered, thinking hard. “But I do feel... ‘stronger’? A little bit?”
Celestia nodded. “Then our time has been well-spent.” Her sight examined the nearby tray. “Teatime always is.”
A parting gift it was then; one more smile graced Twilight’s muzzle. Memories of long conversations with her mentor filled her, and phantom aromas of various teas and more exotic drinks they had sampled over the years played in her nose. It was regrettable that these kinds of meetings had grown more and more infrequent as the years had passed, but the knowledge that Princess Celestia would always make time to hear her when she needed it most warmed something deep within her.
“I still need to do some research,” the young mare said, already using the small boost of courage she had received to start planning ahead. “Maybe make a pro/con chart of my options... I need to see a doctor, too.”
“You haven’t yet?” Celestia queried.
“No. I haven’t really had any time since I found out. I pretty much just came straight here. I’ll make an appointment as soon as I get back to Ponyville.”
“The palace infirmary is well-stocked and well-staffed,” Celestia suggested. “There is no need to wait until your return to Ponyville. I’m certain the physicians here can provide you with any care or information you need, and given who you are, you will be seen immediately. The personal student of the Princess of Equestria does not get put on a waiting list,” she said with a playful wink.
Twilight rubbed a hoof over her foreleg nervously. “I... I don’t know. The doctors in Ponyville know me, and I’ve waited this long already. I shouldn’t get special treatment just because I wasn’t careful...”
A regal hoof met her shoulder. “Twilight, I know how averse you are to taking unfair advantage of your position. But this is your health at stake – and potentially the health of another pony. You owe it to yourself to take every advantage you can. Please, go talk to the doctors here. They are some of the finest professionals Equestria has. And... if you are concerned about privacy, let me assure you that a royal physician is bound by an even higher standard of confidence than an ordinary doctor. Nothing you say to them will be revealed to anypony else – not even me. You have my word.”
Twilight’s features hardened in steadfast determination. “Alright. I will. The earlier I have all the information, the earlier I can come to an informed decision, anyway. I’m not going to procrastinate.”
Celestia seemed especially amused by that last phrase. As the two mares made their way out of the room, she spoke again. “Is there anypony else you plan to tell about your pregnancy?”
“I don’t know. Rarity is the only one who knows for now, and I made her promise not to say anything to anypony until I got back.” The mass within her abdomen was all-too-noticeable to her now, especially when walking. And especially whenever the baby stirred. “I won’t be able to deny it much longer, anyway. I don’t think I’d be fooling anypony.” She sighed loudly.
“You may wish to start by telling your family. They are likely to be the most understanding.”
“My parents are away on vacation,” the unicorn stated flatly.
“So I heard. You may be aware of this already, but Shining Armor and Cadance are visiting Canterlot, though they are leaving tomorrow. If you do wish to tell your brother in person, this may be the best opportunity to do so.”
As the mares reached the hallway junction where their paths were to diverge, Twilight stopped, and frowned. “If I’m going to do what I think I’m going to do... there won’t be any reason to.”
When the doctors had asked when Twilight had last eaten anything – it was important information to interpret some of the test results – she had been forced to admit that her last proper meal had been the day before. Ever since her morning teatime with Rarity, panic had entirely displaced hunger.
It had returned with a vengeance the moment the question had been posed. Almost as if she were hungry for two.
The next couple of hours had been doubly torturous; not only had the unicorn had to contend with being subjected to some very uncomfortable physical exams, but all through it, she had been starving.
Not literally, of course. She knew that true starvation could not kick in for several days; her body’s natural reserves were plentiful. Still, if today had been in the running for the title of Worst Day Of Twilight Sparkle’s Life, her hunger pangs had put it far into the lead.
Now that the prods and pokes and needles and scans and oozing gels and the stench of alcohol and the uncomfortable questions were over, she was free to lie in bed, still wearing a ridiculous paper gown, in the facility’s “V.I.P. room” and indulge.
Or, more accurately, gorge.
One of the fringe benefits enjoyed by Canterlot Castle’s infirmary was that food services were provided by the same kitchens that served the rest of the palace. When Twilight had asked for a meal, instead of being delivered the expected formless green mush and a pathetic cube of gelatin, she had received a platter filled with varied sandwiches, an assortment of fresh fruit and vegetables, a bowl of sweetened oatmeal, biscuits, a rich garden salad, and a slice of still-hot cherry pie.
Half of it had been consumed by the time she heard the knock on the door.
“Cohmph imph!” the unicorn said, spitting up chunks of cherries in the process. The gown, if nothing else, made a fine bib. She quickly wiped her mouth with a convenient napkin, sat, and turned to face the arrival.
The white-clad mare that entered was the castle’s head medic and one of Celestia’s official Royal Physicians; a middle-aged unicorn pony with deep blue coat, a short-cut sky-blue mane, and a bright-red cutie mark that Twilight suspected few ponies without a medical background would have been able to identify – an erythrocyte. She was also the bearer of one of the most unsettling names Twilight had ever had the pleasure of hearing: Cold Blood.
Doctor Blood, as she’d introduced herself.
“How are you feeling now, Miss Sparkle?” Despite her name, the mare consistently carried herself with an affable professionalism.
“Better, now that I’ve eaten,” Twilight answered simply.
The doctor nodded. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long, but many of these tests require a twelve hour fasting period to ensure optimum accuracy. The fact that you hadn’t eaten anything prior to coming here was actually a stroke of luck.”
Her levitating clipboard caught Twilight’s attention. “Do you have any results yet?” the purple mare questioned with a sedate curiosity that firmly refused to blossom into any kind of enthusiasm.
“Plenty,” the other pony replied as she flipped through several pages. “A few of the blood tests had to be sent out for processing overnight. We won’t have those until tomorrow, but what I do have here is very encouraging.” She gave a questioning look to Twilight, who motioned for her to continue.
“Your pregnancy appears to be perfectly standard – medically speaking. You yourself are in excellent health, and all our tests indicate that there are no complications. The fetus is healthy as well, with an estimated age between one hundred ninety and two hundred fifteen days–”
“One hundred ninety-six days,” Twilight stated emotionlessly.
The doctor glanced up, surprised, then quickly penned in the figure on the sheet.
“Which means one hundred forty-six days until I’m due.”
“Going by the averages, yes, but a variation of as much as three weeks either way is considered normal.” The blue mare turned to the next sheet, taking a moment to examine it before speaking again. Her voice shifted, slighty but noticeably, into a gentler, more careful tone. “We’ve also been able to determine the sex of the fetus with a high confidence.” She met Twilight’s eyes. “Would you... like to know?”
To Twilight, it seemed illogical to deny oneself useful information. She had a hard time imagining why anypony would not want to know. She supposed that surprises could sometimes be fun – Pinkie Pie came to mind – but a situation like this certainly didn’t qualify. She held out her hoof.
The clipboard levitated into her grasp, and she read the various statistics on the page. Beside every numerical result was a helpful addendum informing the reader of what the expected range for a healthy pony was. Twilight’s every number was right in the middle of its range; her condition was almost painfully average. Down near the bottom the information switched from Twilight’s own to that of the fetus.
Susp. Type: U (EHC)
Susp. Sex: F (EHC)
Unicorn. Female.
A girl.
A filly.
Twilight sighed. She liked information. She liked categories. She liked numbers. They were comforting and absolute.
Somehow, she wasn’t feeling comforted at all.
Doctor Blood gave her patient a few more moments before starting up again. “I believe... you were also interested in options for terminating the pregnancy?”
“Yes,” the purple mare replied as she stared vacantly past the clipboard.
“Unfortunately, this would have to be considered a late-term procedure. Most ponies seeking abortion do so within the first four months – not to say that procedures this late are unheard of; they are simply rare.” The blue pony waited for a reaction, but Twilight was offering none. “At this stage of pregnancy, drug- and magic-based options to induce a miscarriage are out of the question. The recommended procedure is a ‘D&E’. That stands for–”
“Dilation and evacuation,” the other unicorn finished, taking her doctor by surprise once more. “I read the pamphlet while I was waiting,” she explained.
“I see. Well, in your case there are no contraindications, and we’re equipped to perform a D&E right here. Including all the prep and recovery time, we can have everything done within twelve hours. Sixteen, maximum. If you’ve decided already, all we need is your signature to start.”
Twilight continued to gaze into space, giving no outward sign of her turmoil.
It could be that easy. Twelve hours and everything that was presently wrong with her life could be gone. She could go back to Ponyville, continue her life with her friends, resume her studies, and run the library as always. All she wanted was for things to be back to normal – didn’t she?
The physician cleared her throat, finally drawing Twilight’s eyes onto something within the room. “Do you have any questions? Take your time if you need to.”
There was a pause. And then, Twilight’s hollow stoicism broke. Tears welled up, blurring her vision, as her face took on a look of frightened desperation. At that instant, there really was only one question on her mind. “What should I do?”
Cold Blood, in brash beliance of her name, approached and placed a gentle hoof on the purple mare’s shoulder. Her eyes showed compassion; her voice, regret. “I’m sorry. I wish I could answer that, I really do, but there is nopony who can make this kind of choice for you. It must be your choice, completely. The most that I’m allowed to– the most that I can do, is answer questions of a medical nature. I can refer you to one of our counsellors, who can help you come to a decision, but it will still be your decision.”
The pregnant mare wiped at her nose. “What would you do?”
The other pony withdrew, and shook her head. “I don’t know. And even if I did, what’s right for one pony isn’t right for another. Miss Sparkle... Twilight... it doesn’t matter what anypony else would do. You will be the one to live with the consequences of this decision. That makes you the only pony who can make it. I can only tell you that whatever you decide, you will be provided with the best of care our staff can offer.”
A stretch of silence followed.
“There is another matter,” Cold Blood stated apologetically. “Please understand that I don’t mean to put more pressure on you; I can only imagine how difficult it is already... but abortions become more dangerous as time passes, and, as I said, you are already at the stage where such procedures are rare. If you do choose to go through with it, then – from a purely medical standpoint – the sooner we can proceed, the lower the risk to you. Again, I don’t mean to put pressure on you, and you must take all the time you need to be certain. Abortions are generally considered safe even in late stages, but you are at the point where at-term birth becomes... safer.”
Twilight leaned back, and shut her eyes. This was unfair. All her life, she had been good at following directions. Every mundane aspect of her life, from cooking to bed-making to slumber parties was always done by the book. She could follow instructions.
Here, she had none.
Scared.
Confused.
Alone.
Celestia had said that she was never truly alone, but Twilight found it difficult to discern what benefit came from having other ponies around if they couldn’t even help answer a simple question.
Her eyelids fluttered open. “You said the fetus is healthy, right? Normal?”
“According to our tests, yes,” the doctor confirmed, “but the tests aren’t perfect. There are conditions we can’t detect, and some which only develop later in life. This is especially true for genetic disorders.”
Twilight moaned softly. Every piece of data she was being given was confounding rather than elucidatory. She tried a different tack. “Have you ever seen cases... similar to mine?”
“A few.”
“Did any of them go through with the pregnancy?”
Cold Blood hesitated, shifting her weight. “Yes.”
“Did they regret it?”
The medical pony looked to the side. “In a couple of cases, the emotional toll was higher than expected... and in one there were complications when the child was born with... issues. The ones that chose abortions didn’t have these kinds–” She cut herself off suddenly, fixing her jaw as if to prevent it from moving.
Twilight had heard enough, however. “So, you think abortion is more likely to have the best outcome?”
Cold Blood’s professionalism had developed a small crack. She was clearly upset, though working valiantly to rein it in. “I think... I think I may have already said too much. My apologies, Miss Sparkle. Once again, the choice is completely up to you. We have a counsellor on-call at all times if you need to speak to somepony, and a doctor is always on duty. Did you have any other questions?”
The unicorn had lots of questions.
Not nearly as many answers.
“...No.”
Doctor Blood retrieved her clipboard from where it had been dropped on the bed, and, after giving a polite, yet formulaic goodbye, left the room.
Twilight stayed only a few minutes more, finishing up the pie which had turned cool and mildly unpleasant despite its sweetness, and, disposing of her paper gown, signed out of the infirmary.
It was long past dark when she emerged from the castle; close to her usual bedtime, in fact. She noted the shining quarter-moon in the sky, orderly and reliable as Celestia, and now Luna, always ensured it was.
And then it was swallowed up by an enormous tide of clouds. After her years of living in Ponyville, it was a bit odd – almost alarming – for Twilight to see clouds move seemingly on their own. Her sight searched, and found, a few ponies from Canterlot’s weather team on a nearby tower, their horns aglow, bringing in the late-night mass of vapour. She watched them for a while, judging their technique and finding no fault, until something cold and wet touched her back. Startled, she turned to see what it was.
A snowflake.
It had fallen from the newly-arranged cover, soon joined by its many bretheren.
The first snowfall of the year. Winter was coming.
She shivered slightly as the cold penetrated to her skin. She had neglected to put on any clothing appropriate to the weather; unlike the ponies still milling about the city around her, she was completely undressed. Though the air was cold, there was no wind to forcibly strip the heat away from her, and her body’s natural mechanisms could still compensate for the ambient temperature, allowing her to shrug off the chill.
She walked the city’s ramparts without any destination in mind, passing streets, shops, towers, many of them familiar. Since she had been a child, she would sometimes go on long walks when confronted with a particularly intractable problem, and the diversion would allow her mind to work the quandary in the background, at its own pace. Starting from her immediate neighbourhood, the range of her journeys had expanded as she had aged. Now an adult, she could freely walk about anywhere in Canterlot – technically, anywhere in Equestria, if she so wished.
There was something about seeing new locations, and, with a mental map, connecting them to the old, familiar ones, that was thoroughly pleasing and stimulating. And even though she would sometimes admonish herself for using such walks as a way of procrastinating, or avoiding problems, empirical evidence bore out the conclusion: It always helped. She would return home, or to the library, or even to Celestia, possessed of newfound clarity and insight.
The hour may have been late, but Canterlot was a city that never truly went to sleep, with certain districts remaining active all through the night. Walking down an especially busy street, Twilight couldn’t help mentally tabulating the number of pregnant mares she could spot. There were a lot. Despite modern technology and society having long ago made childbirth safe in all seasons, most mares, beholden to natural rhythms, still followed the typical birthing schedule, with a profusion of new foals arriving in the spring and early summer. Never having paid much attention to such things before, the young mare was surprised at just how many females around her were expecting – and how easily she blended in. Her lack of clothing made her stand out far more than her swollen belly ever could.
Stopping off at an out-of-the-way bridge overlooking a small, peaceful creek, she thought of all the advantages she had. Everypony made mistakes, but Twilight prided herself on making statistically fewer than most others did. She was responsible and dedicated. Healthy. She was willing to sacrifice. She had friends. Family. Knowledge, and the constant will to add to it. Between her inheritance and her royal sponsorship, she would never want for money.
Ponies with far, far less had managed to be good parents.
Her entire life, and all its opportunities, were before her. Those opportunities included raising a child.
What Twilight did then, wasn’t the logical thing to do. At this point, it could provide her with no further information.
She did it anyway.
With the gentle babbling of the creek below, and soft crystals of ice wafting around her, she cast Heartsong again.
She listened for a while, and then resumed her journey.
Her hooves carried her into the upper-south district of the city. She had, in the sum of things, made a long, irregular arc through Canterlot and was on her way back to the castle, although she had one last stop to make.
Her brother’s house.
Cadance and Shining Armor had their own suite at Canterlot Castle – and at the Crystal Palace, of course – but Twilight’s brother had refused to let go of his old dwelling. Owning it was a point of pride for him; its relatively modest size and simple construction were more than offset by its ultra-prime location, and to say it cost a fortune would be an understatement. Even on a Royal Guard Captain’s salary, it seemed out of reach, making it just a touch suspect whenever Shining Armor had insisted that he had not spent a single cent on the place that he hadn’t earned himself. Being master of multiple properties was one of the few “princely” things the stallion had taken an easy aptitude to. Twilight knew that both he and Cadance often eschewed the castle suite for the warmer feel of this location.
That certainly appeared to be the case on this night; as she approached, she could see that one of the upstairs windows had a light on. Making no ceremony, she ascended the short flight of steps to the entryway and went in without even bothering to knock.
“Shining Armor?!” she called out into the dimness of the main room. “Cadance?!” She flipped on the lights.
For a few seconds there was only silence, and then the heavy beat of hooves on hardwood. “Twiley?!” A familiar white stallion appeared at the top of the stairs, his eyes immediately sparking and his mouth grinning upon recognising his visitor. “Hey! I didn’t know you were in Canterlot. Oh, it’s great to see you!”
The voice was certainly a welcome sound for the mare’s sore ears, but she could only produce a momentary, frail, half-smile in reply. “Is... is Cadance here?” she asked, looking around.
“Not yet, but she should be back soon... Twilight, what’s wrong?” Her brother descended the steps slowly, his smile vanished into a visage of concern, gaze fixed squarely on his sister.
There was no point in delaying.
“Shining, I’m pregnant.”
The stallion froze in his tracks, his face suddenly blanked by an expression that could aptly be described as “stillborn surprise”.
Twilight performed a quarter-turn, presenting the bulge in her abdomen to add veracity to her claim. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep her tears at bay.
A stock-still Shining Armor stared at her, taking in the sight, and likely still reviewing the words he had just heard. It took a moment. “Y– You mean...?”
His sister nodded, her overflowing eyes confirming everything he needed to know.
Twilight didn’t understand when or how her brother had crossed the intervening space, but all at once he had her wrapped in his forelegs, squeezing, rocking gently, hooking his neck around hers, as the dam finally burst and she clung to him and cried like the little filly she felt herself to be.
“It’s okay. Twilight. I’m here. I’m right here. I love you. I promise. I’m not going to let anything bad happen.” His hooves ran down her withers, caressing her, their bodies’ rhythmic swaying like something one would do to calm down an infant. All the while, he continued to speak, every word an assurance of his love and support. “You hear me, Twiley? We’ll get through this. I swear it. I’m right here. It’ll be okay. I love you. I love you, okay? I’m not leaving. I’ll help you. You’re gonna be alright. I’m here. I love you.”
With time, Twilight’s cries muted into sobs, and ultimately into a soundless weeping. Shining’s grip never slacked, even as he, too, eventually fell silent. All day long the pregnant mare had been fighting this; grappling with her feelings and attempting to subdue them with thought, logic, and analysis. Her success hadn’t been total, but she had never given up the fight; never surrendered.
Until now.
In her brother’s embrace, she was free to loose all the pent-up fear, helplessness, anger, despair, and shame. She did, and he sat there with her, his fur drinking in her tears, his form steadfast and loyal; an unwavering rock in the middle of a stormy ocean, and Twilight appreciated it no less for having known that it would be there. He loved her, he understood her, and he would help her.
At length, even the tears ceased, their supply exhausted.
Shining Armor chanced to speak once more. “Twilight, I don’t know exactly what’ll happen, but I swear to you, you can count on me. I’ll support you, no matter what you decide to do about... this.”
“‘Her’,” Twilight corrected with a whisper. “‘About her.’ She’s a filly. And I’ve already decided: I’m keeping her.”
She felt Shining Armor hold her little bit tighter.
“I’m keeping our daughter.”