//------------------------------//
// Moonlight and Madness 
// Story: Blackacre 
// by Princess Woona 
//------------------------------//

30 November, Y.C. 969
Blackacre

“Keep up the good work, Taylor,” said Beatrix, smiling. “We’ve got time; they don’t. Sooner or later they’ll break, and when they do, it’ll all be worth it.”
The green unicorn nodded and returned the smile. He didn’t need the encouragement; as Beatrix’s chief of staff, he had been instrumental in developing the plan in the first place. His was the most crucial role, at least for the time being; he interacted on a daily basis with Blackacre’s full negotiation team in Ponyville, and so had an active role indeed in guiding developments.
“I’m going in tomorrow to oversee things personally; if anything important comes up, I’ll send it along. Otherwise, I’ll see you both in a few days.” Taylor nodded at the other two ponies in the room and extended a hoof to encompass the table. “Thanks for dinner. Beatrix. Gaston.”
“Good luck!” said Gaston. “I’m training up a new flight of couriers; you’ll have to let me know how their field manners are, eh?”
“Absolutely. Good night!”
As Taylor left, Gaston turned to Beatrix. “I should turn in for the night too. Going to be a long day tomorrow; I’ll get to see what the timberwolves have been up to.”
“I think you know the answer to that,” said Beatrix with a mock chiding expression. “Either that, or I’ll need a new marshal!”
Gaston grinned; he had been the one to propose the timberwolf training regimen in the first place, after all. By themselves, the wolves were incredibly fast and agile, but without magic or fine motor control in their paws they weren’t particularly useful. Frustrated wolves were angry wolves, and that generally didn’t end well.
When paired with suitably trained pony riders, though, they were one of Blackacre’s finest assets. With their intimate knowledge of the forest, they could run circles around anypony, all while remaining under protective tree cover to shield them from prying pegasi eyes. Thanks to the timberwolves, they had been able to get messages to and from LeFleur and her negotiation team in Ponyville for weeks, sending the team daily updates on exactly what tactics they was to use.
By contrast, the Canterlot delegation got new orders via pegasus, and though the orders themselves weren’t visible, simply knowing that one side had received new instructions gave the other a leg up. The whole effect played well for the reporters, too: the Canterlot delegation kept on getting new orders and trying new tactics, because the old ones were clearly not working. Otherwise why would they keep getting new messages on a daily basis while the poor Blackacrean ponies just sat there with their simple requests?
It wasn’t much of an edge, but anything that endeared them to the public opinion was worth trying. It was the little things that counted, things that Gaston was good at picking up on — just one of many reasons why he was sitting at the Mayor’s table, sharing in the small victory of another day of negotiations, wearing down Canterlot without conceding an inch.
“Thanks for dinner,” said Gaston, indicating the remnants of a Spartan meal on the table. “Tomorrow I think Rock was planning on fixing something up. Sounds good, eh?”
“Sounds good,” agreed Beatrix with a nod. “Good night, Gaston.”
“You too.”
As the other unicorn left, Beatrix sat back in her chair, thoroughly exhausted. It was one thing to maintain a public appearance of eager and positive resolve, but quite another to keep it up in private. At least with her two top ponies gone she could clean this place up and try to get some more work done before it got too late.
Stacking the plates on the small wooden table, she ferried them to the kitchen. She was never terribly in favor of the communal dinner arrangements, but they were a convenient way of holding meetings. Somehow, ponies were more likely to get along and be productive with full bellies. Go figure.
Coming back to the table for a second load of dishes, she considered the merits of just cleaning them all with magic. She was certainly one of the most skilled unicorns in Blackacre, though as with many things her public image was a bit exaggerated.
The tip of her horn started to glow the faintest blue, but she decided against it. That talking head Brook was right about one thing: the Law of Magical Conservation. She wouldn’t like it, and it would take more time, but it would be easier to just do the dishes by hoof. Besides, she needed to keep her strength up, especially these days.
Satisfied that the common area was as clean as it was going to get, she turned back towards the kitchen. Once upon a time, this must have been a grand castle indeed, but hundreds of years had taken their toll, leaving it little more than a ruin. Over the past year she and her staff had managed to rebuild a good portion of it; certainly the halls weren’t as grand as they had been, and most of it was only at ground level, but the masons had done their job well. The stonework was solid; bound with mortar and magic, it was as secure as Canterlot itself.
Scrubbing dishes might be menial, but at least it was somewhat relaxing; certainly it was better than fixing all of Blackacre’s problems. Unfortunately, there weren’t that many dishes to distract her in the first place. Their dinner had been conservative but edible; most importantly, it had been grown domestically. Large-scale agriculture was impossible in Blackacre, but it was the little things. Had to start somewhere, right?
There were more problems, though, than just coaxing the hard earth to give up a half-dozen radishes. Taylor’s report earlier had been right; they were winning at the negotiating table, but sooner or later they would have to see some actual concessions. With three weeks to go, though, she doubted they would see much out of Canterlot. An eleventh hour deal wasn’t the ideal solution, but it was the most likely at this point.
With the dishes sitting out to dry, Beatrix gave the kitchen a last look. She really didn’t like this, but it had to be done. What sort of community could they build if their leader insisted on eating apart? She certainly couldn’t have servants tending her kitchens. Blackacreans hadn’t gone against hundreds of years of tradition and elected her for a chance at kitchen duty.
Beatrix took the steps up to her study one at a time. Unlike most of the rest of the stonework, they were original; worn down by countless hooves, they were also very shallow, but she didn’t feel like rushing anywhere, especially not back to work. She already knew the problems she had to deal with, and none of them had easy —
Two steps into her study, she felt it. Something wasn’t quite right… of course. She glanced out at the thin high window; the moon was well over the horizon. What was it, nine at night? Ten?
Though the oval room was dark, she knew her way to her desk well enough. Certainly she had spent enough time there. If she wanted to get any work done, she would have to turn some light on sooner or later, but she held off for now, simply walking along in the dark.
Once at her desk, she put a hoof on it, considered sitting down, but decided against it. She would take any advantage she could get, and though she wasn’t much taller standing than seated, and certainly not taller than her, every bit helped.
She took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and let it out slowly. All right.
“It’s about time you showed up,” she said evenly. When was the last time one of her groveling lackeys used that tone of voice with her? Hah. Let her stew on that.
The shadows in the back of the room shifted ever so slightly.
“I’ve been expecting this moment for a while now,” she pressed, turning her head ever so slightly. “A pity we couldn’t get this done through the proper channels.”
“If you want something done right…” said her visitor, stepping out of the shadow. The slightest trace of moonlight caught her mane, giving her a shimmering aura, pastel shades all turned to grey in the night.
“Celestia.”
“Beatrix,” said the princess, dropping the mayoral honorific. She angled her head ever so slightly. “Or is it Beatrix the Great? It’s so hard to keep up.”
“My people call me what they will,” said Beatrix with a shrug. She would never call herself anything of the sort to another pony, but getting the suffix engrained in the public discourse had been the first step in her political career. It was one thing to shape rhetoric, but quite another to shape the very words and names they used to talk about her. Even her enemies.
“Your people,” echoed Celestia. Surely the possessive irked her, but she gave no sign. “Normally, a leader looks after their people.”
“They look after all of their people,” countered Beatrix. “Making sure each of them has a chance to succeed, a chance on par with everypony else.”
“A leader also knows when the good of the many outweighs the needs of the few.”
“By that token, sometimes the needs of the few do outweigh the needs of the many.”
“Sometimes.”
Somehow, she had turned completely around, and was now facing Celestia in the middle of the room. In the sliver moonlight, both of them took on a bluish hue, though that wasn’t saying much for Beatrix, who started off a pale blue color herself.
You’re no perfect pale princess, thought Beatrix. You’re only a pony, like the rest of us. Well, pony princess, let’s see what you really want.
“Enough of this,” said Beatrix dismissively. “I have a people to serve, and you have a moon to raise.”
The moon being the only thing that shone light into the room, the statement was patently false, but the dismissive tone struck home nevertheless.
“I fully agree,” said Celestia, her voice carefully modulated. “You have yourself to serve, and I have the realm.”
“Who says the two are exclusive?”
“You do,” she said in that perfect controlled calm way of hers. “Every day your spokesponies reject compromise and levy demands is another day that all of Equestria watches and worries.”
“Demands?” asked Beatrix rhetorically. “I don’t remember levying any of those.”
“Funny thing is, neither do I,” said Celestia, her moon-grey muzzle curling in the slightest of smiles. “Please. Refresh my memory.”
Beatrix eyed her for a moment. 
“Nationalization,” she said, the crisp word cutting through the air. “Total local control over all means of transport and regulation thereof, coupled with sufficient external regulatory assistance to ensure the development of the most basic of nonmagical economies.”
Celestia laughed, a light and airy sound in the cloistered room. Absently she wondered whether anypony else would be able to hear it at this hour; she immediately dismissed the thought. She would have only come if she were absolutely certain about the visit being entirely private. Besides, there was already a simple damping spell in place to guard against unwanted ears listening in.
“Next you’ll be demanding the throne of the Crystal Empire,” she said, the laugh still dancing on her lips. “Negotiations only work when the other side has what you want.”
Beatrix frowned. Who did she think she was, bringing that old pony’s tale up? Might as well threaten to unleash the Mare in the Moon while she was at it.
“You’re an absolute monarch, Princess,” said Beatrix. “You have everything that Blackacre needs. What’s holding you back?”
“Wrong question, little one,” said Celestia, her voice steelier. “Why should I give you anything? Blackacre is the only region of Equestia that levies internal tariffs. Your only articulated demand has been a repeal of the existing agreement, followed by a new one.”
“If you want to repeal the present terms, and don’t want to propose reasonable replacement terms….” Celestia smiled a dangerous smile. “I just might give you what you want.”
“You can’t do that,” said Beatrix. There was no petulance in her voice, nor shock or dismay; she was simply stating a fact, just like she might declare that the moon was above the horizon.
“Oh?” asked Celestia, arching an eyebrow. “I’m just giving you what you want. No one can deny that.”
“We want an opportunity to grow, an opportunity to become something better,” pressed Beatrix. “Something different, something new.”
Celestia gave a slow nod, turned to a side, and walked slowly to the window.
“A thousand years ago, this was a glorious castle,” she said, admiring the view. Not that there was much of one, with the study only a storey above ground, but it was something. Certainly it was better than the view from the bunker network below.
“And then, one day, one pony decided that she could do things better, that she knew better, that her way would make things better.” Celestia turned to face Beatrix, her mane filtering the moonlight into pale colors. “Her hubris drove her mad, and she paid dearly for her mistake.”
Unable to maintain a modicum of respect for this spiel, Bellatrix couldn’t help but snort. She had thought the princess was done spouting off about old nag’s tales, but if she was determined to press the issue, well, she would sink to that level.
“If I remember that legend correctly, the Elements were left in this very castle. The most powerful magical artifacts in the land, just sitting here for a few thousand years.” She spread her hooves wide. “So you’re saying I should start digging.”
“Just under a thousand years, and of course not,” said Celestia with a shrug. “They’re back in Canterlot. When the time is right, they’ll return, but until then, I’m no foal.”
Beatrix rolled her eyes.
“You would make a poor student,” said Celestia, walking once more towards the center of the room.
“Teach me.”
“Equestria draws its strength through its ponies, through our harmony. Our unity. The others may fall for your bluff, but I will not. You cannot stand on your own; no one can. This very ruin is proof.”
“I’m different,” said Beatrix. “We’ve learned from our mistakes. We’ve —”
Celestia laughed. “You don’t even know her name, and you claim to be better than her?”
“We know what we want,” insisted Beatrix, refusing to be sucked back in. “And now, you do too. You value harmony, Princess? Then start working for it. Make me an offer.”
“You want an offer?”
Princess Celestia, now at the exact center of the room, somehow seemed to grow larger, the shimmer of her mane breaking out into sparks as her eyes narrowed. Quite abruptly, Beatrix realized that, whatever magical skill she might have, it was rivaled ten times over, a thousand times, by the alicorn standing directly in front of her.
“This is my offer, Mayor Beatrix,” said Celestia, her voice calmed not by kindness but by a steely undertone, one that dared even the bravest of ponies to challenge it. “You will renew the trade agreements as they stand, you will demobilize your citizens, and you will think long and hard before ever again claiming the common good as justification for your actions.”
Unacceptable! Beatrix wanted to say. We just want a chance!
But somehow, the words caught in her throat, didn’t even make it to a whisper.
“Let me make one last thing perfectly clear,” said Celestia, her voice a honed blade. “I have ruled Equestria for a thousand years. You are not the first with this madness, nor will you be the last, yet I am still here.”
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
“If you challenge me, you will fail.”
Later, when she thought about this moment, Beatrix would come up with a dozen, a hundred responses, all incisive, all perfectly balanced, every one of which would bring the mighty Princess to her knees in the same masterful display of logic that won her the hearts and minds of her people. At the time, though, she could think of nothing other than the aura of sheer power emanating from the alicorn standing before her, the one being in the entire world powerful enough to raise the very sun itself, and how very much she wanted to curl up in a ball and have it all go away, have it all be gone —
And then, quite suddenly, it was.
Beatrix opened her eyes — when had she closed them? — to an empty room, the sliver of moonlight on the floor her only company.
Slowly she walked towards the window, looking out at the forest. Canterlot wasn’t visible from this part of the forest; all the better. She glanced down to see the embers of a hundred fires, ponies and timberwolves and all sorts of forest creatures gathered around the old castle ruins to work together, to build something different, something new, something better.
Slowly, a new smile crept back to her face. Celestia was one pony, but Beatrix had a people. Let the princess’ diplomats come, let them propose what they will; at the end of the day, though, the ponies of Blackacre would be the ones with the resolve to see it through.
Tomorrow would be a new day.