I murdered Princess Celestia. I betrayed her and usurped her throne. Now, I rule over Equestria as her successor, beloved by all her former subjects. They do not know of my crimes.
I am the Phoenix Empress. Her Imperial Highness, Sunbeam of House Sparkle, first of my name. And this is my confession.
Celestia once told me that great things often come from humble beginnings. A mere glassblower’s daughter rises to become the most powerful mare in Equestria, casting down nobles, warlords, and even a goddess in the course of her journey. A single pebble tossed into a pond causes ripples that flow across the surface of an entire lake.
A snowball fight sets in motion the chain events that will lead the death of Celestia.
To be fair, this particular snowball fight was far more than an idle diversion; it was training for my daughter. Midnight’s natural talents lie in cryomancy, so a mock battle of snow and ice was a fine way to develop her skills. She learned the basics of offense and defense, and gained familiarity with her element of choice.
At the time, I was merely the Archmagus of Canterlot and Grand Vizier to Celestia. Those two ranks arguably made me the most powerful mortal pony in all Equestria in the aftermath of the Lunar Rebellion, and I was quite content with that position. If I were to offer any complaint on the matter, it would be that Shadow Kicker, Lady Protector of Equestria, often seemed more powerful in practice. Though her formal power was less defined than mine, she had Celestia’s ear. Thankfully, she almost never used her influence in ways that were counter to my own interests.
However, the Lady Protector had no place in my mind at that time, for Midnight fully occupied my attention. My daughter and I are a study in contrasts: my coat is a shade of blue so light it is often mistaken for pure white, where Midnight’s is—rather fittingly—a deep midnight blue. Her mane and tail called to mind the appearance of fresh ice, while my own red and gold locks had the semblance of an open flame. I was of a choleric temperament, while my daughter tended towards melancholic moods. Even our magical talents seemed in opposition to one another: my daughter’s skill in cryomancy compared to my own inclination towards pyromancy. The marks our talents e’en reflected that difference: an open flame, and a snowflake, though Midnight’s was only recently acquired.
However, surface appearances are often so simple as to be deceptive. Consider, for example, our talents in magic. Fire and ice are often declared to be in opposition to one another, but my own studies have shown that this is not so. Ultimately, fire and ice are both just a matter of manipulating heat: either concentrating a great deal of it, or simply moving it away. Regardless of the result, the methods used to achieve it are almost entirely the same.
Thus, our current exercise.
I conjured a projectile, and directed towards the scampering young filly who sought to evade my aim. Just as I’d set my aim and prepared to strike, Midnight dove behind a tree, effectively blocking my lines of attack. The Canterlot Royal gardens featured enough cover to make for a useful training area, and were conveniently located relative to the Archmagus’ tower.
‘Twas a minor annoyance—the objective of this exercise was to refine her magic, not enhance her mundane dodging skills. Still, agility exercises had their place too; a magus who utterly neglects their physical training is naught but a fool. Not all attacks can be magically deflected, and even when magical defenses will suffice, there will be times when one’s magic would be better served by directing it towards another purpose.
Thankfully, my daughter was not so physically adept that I could not simply predict her course and compensate for her movements. The projectile struck her upon the muzzle and promptly dissipated into a mess of powdery white snow that scattered all over her mane and face. Though Midnight had adequately protected herself against the cold, enough snow entered her nose that she had to sneeze several times to clear it. That did nothing to diminish the small but undeniably present smile ‘pon her face.
“Midnight,” I chided, “Thou didst not e’en attempt to defend thyself. Do recall that this is a training exercise, not a game.”
“Can it not be both?” My daughter inquired as she set about preparing her own counterstrike. “Learning and enjoyment are not mutually exclusive goals.”
“They are not, but one must be mindful of priorities in the matter.” Since we began this particular training regimen, I have often felt that my daughter enjoyed herself far too much in these games. Though an entertaining lesson can often settle in a student’s mind far more effectively than yet another unengaging lecture, one must take care that the entertainment does not o’ershadow the lesson. Though Midnight was far better-disciplined than most ponies her age, she remained a filly at heart and was thus easily distracted from her work when given a chance for idle play.
Midnight hurled her own projectile towards me, which I easily blocked by conjuring an ice barrier. When next I struck, she produced a half-formed barrier of snow that did not stop my snowball completely, but did succeed in deflecting its course enough that it failed to strike her. As she was not struck, I counted it as her victory. “Well done, Midnight. Now, canst thou penetrate my defense?”
My daughter frowned in thought, sitting upon the snow as she considered her options. Experience told her that a straightforward conventional attack was unlikely to succeed. I have gone into battle against cultists, warlocks, and the very avatar of Nightmare Moon herself; a mere snowball would never break my shields unless I allowed it. If I was to be beaten, it would take something on a grander scale.
Midnight had apparently reached the same conclusion, as she began her casting and I felt the snowbank shift beneath me. Soon a veritable wave of snow rose up from the ground gathering together and slowly moving forward to engulf me. A conventional shield might hold the mass of snow at bay, but it would also ensure that I would be buried to the tip of my horn. That was hardly an ideal solution. Thankfully, I had other means of countering the attack.
As the wave descended a curtain of flame met it, not merely melting it but converting the snow to steam, which I quickly directed upwards and away from the both of us. My daughter’s face slowly shifted from hopeful grin to annoyed pout as she realized her attack had been foiled. “But mother!” She protested, “You gave your word that you would not use pyromancy in these exercises!”
“I did not use pyromancy,” I countered. “I used cryomancy, but reversed the process.”
If I were to judge by the frown on her face, Midnight did not find my reasoning convincing. “But you always say cryomancy is naught but pyromancy inverted.” Her face contorted in thought as she considered the matter, no doubt attempting to construct some form of logical trap for me. “Is this your way of saying that you do not wish for me to use cryomancy?”
Rather than debate semantics, a topic which Midnight is at times aggravatingly well-versed in for a filly of her age, I opted to alter the discussion. “Mayhaps instead we should take as a warning that there will be times when thy opponents will use dishonest tactics.”
“But I know that already.” My daughter gave a discontented grumble and sat once more, clearly having lost interest in our training exercise after being unfairly cheated of her victory. Rather than set her mind to finding another way to overcome my defenses, she put her magic to work on gathering up a large mass of snow and forming it into a miniature likeness of Mount Avalon, then set to work putting Canterlot in place on the mountain’s side.
Despite Midnight’s obvious loss of interest, I was not prepared to let the matter drop yet. I caught her eyes and delivered a challenging smirk. “If thou didst know the danger of perfidy, then why didst thou fail to anticipate that I might use pyromancy?”
My daughter thought carefully on the matter as she completed her recreation of Canterlot. Once the city and royal palace were completed, she set to work recreating the Lunar siege camp that had surrounded the city a mere year ago. ‘Twould seem that memories of the war yet lingered in my daughter’s mind. Mayhaps her unusual choice in regard to her artistic endeavour had caught my attention, as I was quite unprepared for her response to my question. “Because thou art my mother, and I trust thy word.“
Trust. One of the rarest and most precious commodities in all the world, and yet given away all too readily by children. I did not know whether to be concerned by my daughter’s naivete in granting me her trust so easily, or honored that she felt me worthy of it. Regardless, the simple, matter-of-fact manner in which she delivered her statement, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, struck a chord with me. “Perhaps we have learned enough for the day.”
I settled into place next to my daughter, and after a moment’s consideration began adding further details to her creation. While my daughter is a skilled cryomancer, she does not yet have the delicate touch needed to manage a perfect recreation of Canterlot and its surrounding environs. Though I expected she would one day equal or perhaps e’en exceed my achievements, for the moment her raw potential was insufficient to match my far greater experience in the magical arts.
Midnight turned her mind fully to the task at hoof, seeming determined to match my contributions to her latest project. As she worked her magic, she slowly shifted her own position, until her back rested against my chest. As she settled into her new position, one of my forelegs moved of its own accord, gently wrapping itself over her chest in an embrace. The gesture brought a smile to Midnight’s face, and I decided to leave my limb in that position.
I confess, I had grown far fonder of Midnight than I ever would have expected when first she came into my life. Her arrival was most unexpected, and I was ill-prepared for the trials of raising a newborn foal, especially absent a second pony to share the burden. More than once, after having been woken in the wee hours of the morning by her cries, I had been tempted to be done with her. ‘Twas not uncommon for mares of my station to simply leave the raising of children entirely in the hooves of servants.
However, I had persisted in rearing her as best I could whilst attending my other duties as Archmagus and Grand Vizier. With any other ruler the task might have been impossible, but Celestia seemed quite willing to make allowances for Midnight’s rearing. Somehow, I had grown quite attached to the young filly o’er the years she had been in my care. Of all the titles I so eagerly sought and claimed, I had never thought I would place any value ‘pon one that most mares would come to possess: ‘Mother.’
I was rudely jarred from my thoughts as a snowball struck the back of my head. The triumphant grin adorning my daughter’s face made the cause plain enough. ‘Twould seem that my brief moment of sentimental distraction had left me vulnerable. That would not do.
With a single spell, a dozen fresh snowballs came into being, each targeted at a young filly who was beginning to grasp what a dangerous foe she’d roused. “Well played, my daughter. However, since thou art so eager to resume thy lessons let us begin by redressing the balance.”
Enjoyable as teaching my daughter was, my duties as Archmagus and Grand Vizier required my attention. As such, I attended to Queen Celestia at court.
Neigh, ‘twas Princess Celestia now. I still did not grasp the reasoning behind her choice of title. Unicornia had been a kingdom in its own right, yet when the unified Equestrian crown was established she took the title of princess—a demotion, on the scales of nobility. If anything, she should have styled herself as the Empress of Equestria. ‘Twas only proper, now that her royal authority extended over all three pony tribes. However, the Princess’ mind was set on the matter.
I have always possessed rather mixed feelings regarding my attendance at court. The opportunities for intrigue and advancement within Celestia’s palace were considerable, and I was indisputably a master at the games ponies played. However, since the Lunar Rebellion my taste for court intrigue had soured. I suspect it had less to do with any distaste for politics in general—rather, I had become a victim of my own success. All my enemies lay beaten and destroyed, and those few goals which I had not yet attained simply required time to bring to fruition. Shadow was the only mare who could challenge my standing in Celestia’s eyes, and she rarely cared to do so. On those occasions when our desires clashed, we had developed the rather distressing habit of meeting and amicably resolving them. Sensible and pragmatic, true, but some tiny part of me yet missed the battles we fought in earlier times.
My position simply provided few challenges, in this age. Implementing my grand plans did not provide the same joy that crafting them had produced. It was satisfying to see my will done, but much like the rebels I had so recently helped to destroy, I found that attending to the many small details of leadership was a wearisome task. I had given thought to attempting to seduce Celestia or Shadow, but they favored one another’s company over mine. I did not credit the rumors that they were engaged in some illicit liaison, though. Both thought themselves too noble for such a thing. Rather than pursue their clear mutual desires, they would let the barriers of rank and position stand betwixt them whilst they suffered nobly through the love they both desired, but had deluded themselves into thinking they could not have.
More fools, they.
If the noble pining of Princess and Protector was the greatest trial of court life, I might have been content to suffer through it. Sadly, there was another, far greater blight within the palace.
The nobility.
I’ve always found the entire concept of inherited aristocratic families lacking in any form of logic or reason. Certainly, some traits were inherited through bloodlines, but history has shown time and again that a pony is far more than the sum of their ancestors. Great statesmares give birth to fools and wastrels, while others such as I come from the humblest of origins, yet attain far greater heights than those of better breeding.
I had been sorely tempted to refuse when Celestia named me Countess of Shetland. In the end, I had accepted the title out of simple pragmatism; whatever my dislike of the institution as a whole, possession of a noble title was useful for my current purposes. It granted me a new measure of respect, ensured my lasting legacy, and lulled the nobles into a false sense of security regarding my intentions. Let them hold their delusions that a mere title would end my plans to destroy their power.
Sadly, the greatest moments of my master plan had already been implemented. Private armies and levies had been incorporated into the Princess’ Royal Guard as a temporary wartime emergency measure, which naturally became quite permanent after the war’s end. New taxes were levied, and traditional rights and privileges revoked under the same reasoning. Though the nobility still existed as a distinct political class, their capacity to threaten the crown’s authority was near to nonexistent. Most were now dependent on the crown for various offices and honors simply to provide for their livelihood.
Before I reached the age of retirement, I fully intended to reduce the nobles to fighting one another over who would provide a servant’s duties to Celestia herself. It seemed a fitting end to them, to linger on with empty titles as they schemed and plotted to determine which of them would have the honor of wiping Celestia’s arse.
To my current dismay, my plans simply required too much time to bring to fruition. The process was, barring a radical shift in Equestrian politics in the next few decades, as inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun, but it could not be done with excessive haste. Tighten the noose too swiftly, and one’s enemy might grasp that a hanging is imminent.
Thus, I would be forced to endure the prattling of fools who only held a position at court by virtue of their ancestry. At least there would be other magi there alongside the nobles. Sadly, politics being what they were, every other magus looked to me with hungry eyes, coveting the office of Archmagus. My every word and action would be weighed and measured, searching for a sign of a weakness to exploit, or barring that a sign of who I might favor as a successor. Little did they know that I fully intended to retain the title until my daughter had sufficient age and experience to inherit it.
The business of the royal court moved slowly, this day. The official matter before the Princess was a number of appointments to minor offices. I had already discussed the matter with her and Shadow both, and a list of candidates had been approved. What passed today was merely a formality, so long as no unexpected complications arose from the discussion. Thus far, none had.
So it was that I found myself in place at Celestia’s left hoof, listening to the slow drone of court procedure. The raised dais upon which the throne rested provided me with a fine view of the entire room, save for the angle blocked by decorative columns. Candidates were called forward. Credentials were discussed, decisions announced, and oaths sworn. It was a laborious but unfortunately necessary part of rulership. In earlier times I might have at least found some diversion in brief stolen conversations with Celestia, but now Shadow sat at her right hoof, quietly exchanging words with her. No doubt their conversation was punctuated with many lingering looks of forlorn longing and similar foolishness.
Though perhaps there was some silver lining to the matter, as their preoccupation with one another left me free to cast my eyes and ears about the court. Only a fool would think to discuss the Archmagus of Canterlot within her very presence, but one of the hidden virtues of the current system of inherited nobility is that it left court with an appreciable population of fools. Though the two stallions I took note of at least had sense enough to speak to one another in hushed whispers, they did not have sense enough to realize that a magus has means of overhearing such conversations.
“—gone soft,” the taller of the two stated.
“Surely not,” his companion answered. “For any other mare I might believe it, but Sunbeam the Foalslayer? Never.”
Ah. ‘Twould seem the shadow of that incident yet lingered over my reputation. In truth, the whole situation was much exaggerated. ‘Tis an unpleasant but inevitable truth that collateral damage occurs when powerful mages do battle with one another. I took no pleasure in the child’s death, nor my own role in causing it, but had I not sacrificed the young colt’s life in the course of stopping his mad warlock of a father, many more would have perished. Those who are quick to feel moral outrage at some of my more questionable acts always seem to forget that those actions, unpleasant as they might seem, were ultimately for the good of all Equestria.
However, now was not the time to linger on things long past and best forgotten. The fools continued their conversation. “I swear it. The mare who was once the terror of Trottingham is now naught but a doting mother! When didst thou last hear of her going forth to slay a warlock, or burning down a group of brigands? I cannot recall her taking the field since the war’s end. Neigh, instead she whiles away her days spoiling that strange daughter of hers. ‘Tis enough to make one wonder if her magical abilities have been damaged in some way...”
Ah. So that was the topic of their discussion. Ponies are endlessly confusing, at times. If I go out into the world, I am little better than the monsters I hunt. Now I spend my days governing and training my daughter in the ways of magic, and am naught but a tired old dotard. Aggravating.
Still, for all the foolishness of the conversation, their sentiments were of some small concern to me. In truth, I had been so occupied by my duties to the crown and Midnight’s instruction that I had not done a proper magus’ work for some time. ‘Twould not do to have my enemies think I had grown old, weak, and soft-hearted. I would need to find a way to demonstrate that I was still every bit the fearsome magus my reputation suggested, lest the appearance of weakness provoke my enemies.
Care would need to be taken with my chosen target, though. Midnight was displeased when I was absent for extended periods. So, something that would not require an overnight absence. Or I could make plans to face some threat minor enough that I could safely bring Midnight along, and make a learning experience of it. Perhaps I could even—
My line of thought came to an abrupt end as I grasped its current direction.
I would never have imagined it before, but was it possible that there might actually be some small measure of truth to their words? Why else would I concern myself so much with tending my daughter’s needs?
This would not do. I would need to put further thought into my relationship with Midnight, and what adjustments might be required.
I confess the matter lingered on my mind for the rest of the day, e’en as the business of court continued around me. I did not brood over it or allow it distract me from other matters, but whenever my mind sat idle for too long, the thought entered once more. Had I grown so comfortably at ease with my daughter that I had allowed her undue influence over my actions?
The matter preyed upon my mind so heavily that I was taken somewhat unawares when Celestia spoke to me. “How does thy daughter’s training proceed, Sunbeam?” Due to my state of distraction, Celestia was forced to repeat her question, and then lightly rest a hoof upon my shoulder to gain my attention before echoing herself once more.
“My apologies, Your Highness. I was lost in thought.” Not that her inquiry as to my daughter’s training did anything to draw my mind away from my current dilemma with young Midnight. “Midnight’s training proceeds quite well. I have been at work developing her skills in cryomancy and defensive magic. Her progress is satisfactory.” A confident smile slid onto my face with practiced ease despite my current concerns. “If she continues at her current pace, I have every confidence that she will match or exceed my record for the youngest pony to claim the title of Archmagus.”
Celestia gave a single satisfied nod, then had her attention claimed by one of the many noble parasites that populate Canterlot. However, it seemed that our brief exchange had drawn the attention of another. “Let us hope you are correct in that, Sunbeam.” The aged croak to his voice gave away the identity of the speaker e’en before I turned to face him. Tempus Fugit, Archmagus of the Southern March. A stallion who, between his advanced age and the fact that his talents lay in a questionable area of the magical arts, would normally never have become an Archmagus. However, the Lunar Rebellion had taken a heavy toll on our ranks. Of those magi who hailed from the Southern March, he had the best qualifications for the post of Archmagus. More importantly, his political views were in alignment with my own.
Tempus being the best choice reflected poorly on our available pool of candidates. He had been quite content as a researcher far away from the troubles of the world—no doubt he hoped that another candidate for the post would arise, allowing him to return to his laboratory in peace.
Tempus turned to me, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “More’s the pity that I don’t imagine you intend your daughter to become Archmagus of the Southern March. Well, unless you intend to give her another post before having her succeed you.”
“I have another candidate in mind for the Southern March,” I answered simply. “I pray it will be many years before he must take the post.” Daylight Shimmer was a skilled magus—not that I would have expected anything else considering his parentage—but he was some years away from being ready to succeed Tempus. Still, I had been Daylight’s patron from his earliest days amongst the magi; I had every confidence that he would prove a valuable asset.
“So,” Tempus inquired. “You are training your daughter in shields now? A fine thing, and I am glad to hear it proceeds well.” A troubled frown crossed his face. “An important thing for an apprentice to learn. Very important. One of the simplest things we expect our apprentices to manage, yet a single error could cost them their lives.” His ears went flat and tone turned mournful. “As happened to poor Second Chance.”
It took a moment to call to mind the mare he spoke of. An apprentice of his who had died during the war. I did not recall the details of how she had passed, but from Tempus’ reaction I presumed that her defensive spells had failed in some way. That, or she had fallen afoul of one of the mage hunters. Far too many of my magi met their end at the tips of cold iron lances; the magebane metal made a mockery of most standard protections. ‘Twas why I sought to instruct Midnight in using her cryomancy to construct physical barriers rather than rely on pure magic as a defense. Though the forces calling the ice into being might be magical, the ice itself was mundane in nature, and thus deflected cold iron weapons quite effectively.
Rather than allow him to linger in melancholy, I politely inquired after his new apprentice. ‘Twas not a matter of great concern to me, but given the discussion of Midnight, not asking after his own student might be seen as a slight. “How fares ... Vital Force, was it?”
The question had the desired effect of ending his poor mood, as his troubled frown shifted to a proud smile. ‘Tis no secret that most magi regard their apprentices’ accomplishments as a testament to their own skills. “He learns quickly. Quite quickly. His talents might lie in healing and restorative magics, but he still managed an acceptable shield with only a week’s effort. Quite impressive, especially since the spell is outside his natural talents.”
A week? Impossible. Inconceivable. I had spent two weeks at work with Midnight, and her efforts had only begun to bear fruit. I had met Vital Force in passing, and the colt had not struck me as a magical savant. In truth, I thought him rather undistinguished. Certainly lacking in the superlative qualities one would normally expect to find in an Archmagus’ personal student. At the time, I suspected that Tempus had chosen an apprentice of such middling ability so that he need not devote much attention to the young stallion’s education.
And yet, that colt of indifferent skill had mastered a talent in half the time it had taken my daughter. Neigh, Midnight had still not even mastered her defensive shields. I could scarcely believe it. Either I had grossly underestimated the colt, or...
I had allowed my fondness for Midnight to lessen the quality of her education. How much time in our lessons had been spent at idle play? Too much, if others were learning faster than her.
Measures would need to be taken. Extreme measures. Immediately.
We would begin my new lesson plan the next morning. As was often the case, I arose much earlier than my daughter. No doubt she had once more stayed up well into the wee hours of the morning, looking through one of her books. ‘Twas a common occurrence, and one I generally did little to discourage. If she was to one day take my place as Archmagus, she would need a firm grasp of magical theory. Once she had done enough field work to prove herself capable, I fully intended to have her do research work until she uncovered something suitably grand to seal her reputation.
Her late rising provided me with ample opportunity to finish my preparations. I did not expect to enjoy this new method as much as our previous one, and I certainly did not expect my daughter to, but such was the way of things. I did not teach her magic as a form of idle diversion, but to ensure that she would possess the skills needed to ensure her very survival. If given the freedom to chose their own path to knowledge, most children would be quite content to remain illiterate savages.
When my daughter finally joined me some hours after first light, she found a considerable breakfast awaiting her. She would need her strength for what was to come. She took her seat opposite me and attacked her meal with all the zeal one would expect from the young and growing. Thankfully, she at least did so with the etiquette one would expect from a child raised to survive in Canterlot’s Court. I confess, it had taken me some time to grasp all of the intricacies and I still found many of them needlessly complex and befuddling, but one does what one must to obtain and hold power. It matters little how foolish the game when the rewards for victory were so great.
Such considerations were why all those areas of the Archmagus’ tower in which I would ever entertain a guest were the very image of opulent luxury. Canterlot society places great deal of importance on displays of wealth and power, and thus I ensured that every visible surface in the tower had some preposterously expensive embellishment adorning it. However off-putting I found the display, appearances must be upheld. Thankfully, my daughter and I were currently in one of the few private areas of the tower, where I could safely do away with the gaudiness of high society and allow a more natural and comfortable level of luxury.
My daughter briefly paused in the course of consuming her meal, turning to me and speaking with her usual abrupt efficiency. “I have come to a decision, Mother. I would very much like to own a cat. Have I your permission to obtain one?”
“No,” I answered immediately. “Thou hast distractions enough from thy studies as it is. The feeding and care of an animal is an unneeded burden and a pointless waste of time that could be put to better uses.” Let us not even consider the possibility that she would be lax in attending its needs, and expect me to take up the burden.
“By your will, Mother.” Midnight returned to her meal, and there was no further discussion on the matter. Once my daughter completed her meal with her usual commendable efficiency, she remained seated, patiently waiting for me to instruct her as to our next activity. However, I noted a slight impatience to her demeanour, revealed by occasional fidgets and glances towards the door. Normally, such eagerness to resume her training would have been commendable, but now I wondered whether she truly considered our recent activities training at all.
“Midnight.” Speaking her name instantly drew her attention to me. “We will continue thy training in the defensive arts this day.” She left her chair and crossed half the distance to the doorway before I could utter the next sentence. “However, this lesson will not involve going outdoors.”
“Oh.” She paused, her ears slowly flattening as a very faint frown crossed her face. “Very well then, Mother. What are we to study?”
“As I said, we will endeavour to improve thy skills in defensive magics. If thou dost properly apply thyself to the task, I am certain thou shalt master the lesson ere the day is out.”
My daughter considered the matter briefly, then offered a single nod. “If that is your wish, Mother, then I shall see it done.”
“I have never doubted that.” The remark drew a small, uncertain smile to my daughter’s lips as we proceeded to the training area I had prepared. “Midnight, have I ever told of my own experience in learning defensive shields?”
My daughter pursed her lips in thought. “I cannot recall you ever speaking of it, Mother. ‘Tis possible that you have, and my memory is failing me in the matter. If that be the case, then I apologize.”
“Fear not, for ‘tis unlikely I would have spoken to thee on the matter.” My apprenticeship with Cast Iron had not been a pleasant experience, nor one I cared to discuss. Though his instruction had been highly effective, his methods were harsh. Cast Iron had once declared that every drop of blood shed in training prevented ten from falling in the field. If that were true, then ‘twas likely I owed him my life several times over.
Still, his methods proved effective, and there were far worse masters one could be apprenticed to. ‘Twas not unheard of for masters to freely make use of their apprentice’s flesh for pleasures once they came of an age where such things were not excessively distasteful—a practice I did not care for, and had gone to some effort to end. Thankfully, I had been spared such indignities. Cast Iron was not a kind teacher, but he was never cruel.
“I mastered my defensive magics after a mere two days of instruction,” I informed my daughter.
My daughter’s eyes grew wide with surprise and admiration. “Truly? How did you manage to attain such skill so quickly?” Her eagerness faded slightly, and a small hint of shame crept into her voice. “We have been at our lessons for two weeks, and I have not yet matched your accomplishments. I am sorry, Mother, and I will work harder.”
“The fault does not lie with thee, daughter,” I reassured her. “If a student fails to learn, one should first look to the instructor as the cause. Since our previous methods proved less effective than I would have hoped, we will alter them in order to speed thy learning.”
She turned to me, curiosity lighting her eyes. “How, then, did your own master teach you? He did not throw snowballs, I presume. After all, your talents do not lie in cryomancy, and ‘twas some time before you grasped how best to unlock that particular art. What method, then, did you use? What did he throw to test your shields?”
“Knives,” I answered simply.
“Kn-knives?” My daughter swallowed, and took a half-step away from me. “Th-that would allow little room for error.”
“Thus, the great speed with which I learned.” In fairness to my former instructor, Cast Iron, had aimed his throws very carefully. A mortal wound teaches nothing, and a grievous one would require long periods of recovery between lessons. Those times my defenses failed produced only a small amount of pain and blood, but ‘twas quite effective in motivating me to greater efforts.
My daughter’s eyes travelled up and down my body, as if seeking some hidden scars of my lesson. “Wert thou wounded during thine instruction?”
I chose not to comment on my daughter’s sudden lapse into more informal methods of speaking; there were more important at hoof. “I was not harmed in any lasting way.”
My daughter paused, directing a nervous glance towards me. “I must admit that I am uncertain whether my shields are advanced to a point where they could withstand a knife.”
“I do not think it wise to test the matter in such a way.” Cast Iron’s skills in ferromancy allowed him to manipulate his knives with far more precision than I could hope to manage with mere telekinesis. ‘Tis rather difficult to control objects in motion, especially if their movements are particularly erratic and unpredictable. “We will not test thy shields with knives, now or at any point in the future. I would not risk seriously harming thee as a part of our lessons.”
Midnight let out a relieved breath at the news, the tension ebbing from her shoulders. “I am glad to hear it. I have never been stabbed, but judging by the reactions of those who have been ‘tis a most unpleasant experience.” Curiosity soon o’ertook her, and she asked. “What will we be using, then? ‘Tis plain that you intend something other than snowballs, else there would be no need to depart from our standard procedures.”
“You are quite correct in that.” I said nothing more until we arrived at the room I had prepared for the day’s training exercise. ‘Twas a relatively small area which was normally used for storage, but once the contents were removed and the floor cleared it was quite adequate for my purposes. It was not so small that my daughter and I would feel cramped, but Midnight would not have enough room to run and dodge. I had spread a bit of sawdust over the floor to deal with any blood, and set an appropriate stockpile of medical supplies off to the side. It was sensible to be prepared for the consequence of the upcoming lesson. “We will be using rocks for this exercise.”
“R-rocks?” Midnight hesitantly stepped forward, approaching the large bucket of rocks I had prepared for the exercise. Her ears went flat at the sight of them, and she removed one particularly large and jagged one, blanching slightly at the sight of it. “I do not wish to question the wisdom of your plan, Mother, but these look like they would hurt if they were to strike me.”
“That, my daughter, is precisely what they are meant to do.” I turned to her and offered a slight smile. “I think that will provide thee with considerable reason to ensure that as few of them strike thee as thou canst manage.”
My daughter shrank back from the bucket, not caring for the sight. “Mother, I thought the purpose of this training was for me to learn how to defend myself. Not to suffer painful and unpleasant injuries.”
“Not all training is fun and games in the snow, Midnight.” I briefly frowned in disapproval, then turned my tone gentler and somewhat more understanding. “I take no pleasure in this, but sometimes a bit of pain and blood in the training room will save thee from much greater suffering in the future.”
I would not have my daughter meet the same fate as Second Chance. She is my daughter. Like any mother, I would willingly go to any extreme to ensure her safety.
Midnight’s eyes lingered on the rocks for some time, then she slowly turned to face me, hesitantly meeting my eyes. “Mother, you are certain that this is the best way to learn?”
“I am.”
My daughter was thoughtfully silent for some time, then offered a single slow nod. “Very well then. You are my mother, and I know that you always act with my best interests in mind. It is my duty as a daughter to trust your judgment.” She spoke with careful deliberation, almost as if trying to assure herself of the truth of her own words. “What do you wish me to do?”
I pointed to a position opposite the bucket of rocks. “Move there, and prepare thyself.”
“By thy will.” My daughter hesitantly moved to her designated position. Her breaths came fast and sharp, and her eyes seemed fixed upon the rocks. I lifted a suitable one, and she gave a nervous swallow, taking half a step back. “M—mother? Are you certain that we must train in this way? Could we not just work in the snow again? I will redouble my effort to learn if you will but stay your hoof for long enough to allow me to—”
“Midnight.” I firmly cut her off. “We are starting.”
I measured the distance between us, carefully calculating the exact course the stone should take. I would need to act with the utmost care in this matter. While I could use telekinetics to control the rock to some degree, it would not be wise to take needless risks. ‘Twas of the utmost importance to provide the appearance of mortal peril whilst avoiding the reality of it. Unicorn magic is, to a degree, a matter of instinct. A healthy dose of fear might be just the push Midnight needed to achieve her full potential.
I never intended for the stones to strike her in any meaningful way. I would not have objected to a passing graze, to be sure. Pain is an excellent motivating force for defensive magic. Even a small cut or bruise might serve as a fine incentive to push her to better efforts. It might seem cruel to speak so coldly of injuring my daughter, but the entire process would ultimately be to her benefit. Better to shed a little bit of her blood here and now, rather than see her meet her end spitted on the end of a lance.
I hurled the rock towards her. From that point, matters escalated quickly.
Midnight tried to raise her shield in time, but much like the snowball from our previous lesson, her shield came into being a moment too late, and far too weak for its purpose. It would have been better had she failed to cast the spell completely. Had she failed, the rock would have continued on its planned course, barely passing over her head. I then would have chided her for ducking under the throw, and warned her that she would not be able to dodge the next throw. An ample enough warning that we were no longer at play without needlessly harming her.
Unfortunately, my daughter did not fail. Instead, she was partially successful. The stone’s course was not halted, but deflected away from the path I had carefully calculated to avoid injuring her.
There was a sickening crunch as it collided with her right foreleg. I hissed out a curse, directed in equal measure at myself for failing to anticipate the possibility, and at her for somehow finding the only possible way to fail me that I had not anticipated. I would have begun expressing my displeasure with her performance at length, had she not gone on to do something most unexpected.
My daughter is not a pony given to the usual displays one associates with childhood. She is not prone to tantrums or the usual flights of fancy or disobedience that typify so many of the youth. One of her most admirable qualities was that, aside from her earliest years, she had endeavoured to make herself as little of a burden to me as she could manage. I was not plagued with the usual troubles of motherhood, such as my daughter seeking me out in tears to be comforted for every minor scrape and bruise she suffered. When such things occurred, she comported herself with the level of composure and quiet dignity I expected to see from my daughter.
Thus, when my daughter fell to the floor, clutching her wounded limb and screaming in agony, I could only conclude that she was gravely injured. I immediately set the remaining rocks aside, and made haste to her. “Midnight, show me your leg.”
To my surprise, when I saw my daughter’s eyes she was in tears. “M—mother! It hurts!”
“Let me see!” I snapped at her, struggling to resist the urge to grab her limb and examine it at once. Wrenching it about would hardly improve her situation. After a few moments’ hesitation, she slowly ceased cradling her wound, gingerly extending her leg for my examination.
The skin under her coat was already turning mottled purple, and a small cut where the stone had made its impact bled profusely. The entire area had already begun to swell, as though an apple had been halved and forced under her flesh. Her leg wavered as she presented it to me, likely pained by the mere tension of holding it at length. Despite her efforts to hold her leg straight it rested at an angle, and a diagnostic spell confirmed that the bone was broken.
“Damnation,” I hissed. “Fool of a filly, why didst thou find the worst possible way in which thou couldst fail to meet my expectations?” My daughter let out a pained whimper, but I had neither the time nor the inclination to coddle her any further. The injury was beyond my skill to heal, and far too severe to leave unattended. I briefly considered attempting to have the wound treated in secret, but I was not optimistic as to my chances of finding a skilled chirurgeon and transporting him or her to my tower in secret. I have many enemies who watch my movements most keenly. E’en if I could elude them, Celestia sees and knows far more than any mortal pony, and she does not suffer harm to foals lightly.
Better to act openly on the matter. Attempting to conceal the matter would only encourage the creation of rumors that would trouble me far more than the actual truth. ‘Twas quite common for apprentices to be injured in the course of their studies.
That is not to say the matter would be painless; certainly there would be all the usual whispers that accompanied training accidents. The usual sorts of outlandish suggestions, such as my daughter’s wounds being the result of a dark pact made with demonic forces in order to allow me to seduce Celestia within her own chambers, or perhaps this week’s rumor would be that I was secretly a stallion, and my daughter was not wounded, but pregnant as the result of our incestuous affair? Naturally that was quite impossible, as I was very much a mare and Midnight had not yet blossomed.
Wild rumors aside, I would likely face some small bit of scrutiny from Celestia. I would need to act quickly in order to mitigate that particular issue; as the matter of the Clippings showed, Celestia choler is roused by the mistreatment of foals. Still, training accidents were far from unheard of. The same was true of Gale Kicker. Shadow’s daughter might have an odd fondness for my own, but a mare raised in the proud warrior culture of Pegasopolis would hardly be surprised by a training injury. She’d likely suffered far worse during her own childhood.
“Mother!” My daughter cried, removing me from my contemplations. “Please, my injury pains me. Is there nothing thou canst do to end it?”
“Be silent, Midnight,” I commanded her. “I am thinking, and idle words from thee do not make the process any swifter.”
Thankfully, my daughter complied. Regretfully, the silence offered no further insight into how I might address the matter. ‘Twould seem there was nothing to be done in the matter but to acknowledge the injury and seek treatment for it. A pity it could not be handled discretely, but such was the way of things. “Canst thou walk, Midnight, or is thine injury too severe?” Though the one leg was plainly useless to her, she did still have three perfectly functional ones.
My daughter let out a tiny whimper, and struggled to rise to her hooves. For a moment it seemed as though she would manage it, but then her legs failed her and she nearly fell to the floor. Before she could land upon her wounded leg, I quickly ensnared her within a telekinetic grasp, lifting her up and placing her upon my back. Once I had her in position, her unwounded foreleg slowly curled around my neck, and she very gently nuzzled me, no doubt driven by the pain of her wound to seek maternal comfort.
My eyes fell once more upon her wounded limb, and an odd emotion overtook me. I have seen and caused far more gruesome wounds in my time, yet there was something about the injury I had caused my daughter that unsettled me. Without making any conscious decision to do so, I found myself working what healing magic I possessed over her limb. Though ‘twould not be nearly sufficient to undo the injury, it would at least lessen the bleeding and pain.
Midnight let out a quiet murmur of gratitude, nuzzling the back of my neck once more. “Mother, I am sorry for failing you. I—”
“Midnight,” I gently interrupted her. “Recall thy lessons. When a student fails, one should look to the instructor as the cause.”
I encountered no difficulty in bringing my daughter to Celestia’s personal chirurgeon for treatment. Nopony would think to bar my path, or ask any unwarranted questions about why or how my daughter had been injured. Despite some idle talk that I might be “softening,” my reputation remained as fearsome as ever.
Despite his grand title, Temperance was quite available to treat Midnight’s injuries. Much like was the case with Celestia’s personal bodyguards, the position of personal chirurgeon was more a matter of ceremony than practical need. Celestia was, to all appearances, quite unaffected by mundane illness. I had only seen her wounded twice in all my time in the court, and of those times one had been an injury I was certain she deliberately allowed to shame a mob of rioting ponies into submission.
As such, there was little call for Temperance’s services. No doubt a most frustrating situation for one of the finest practitioners of the medical arts in all Equestria. As such, Celestia freely offered his services to those she held in high regard, and even the palace staff, so that he would not be forced to spend his days in idleness. I would hazard that even absent Celestia’s standing orders, few chirurgeons would refuse to attend a wounded child.
I entrusted my daughter to his able care, and then found a suitable location to await further news of her condition. I briefly attempted to return to my tower and attend to some other matters, but I found myself quite unable to focus my mind on anything other than my daughter’s condition. ‘Twas most vexing, and I soon found myself pacing about outside of Temperance’s operating theater, which was no doubt only furthering my reputation as a soft-hearted, doting mother. For all my irritation over the circumstances, I could see no other direction in which I might act.
As I waited, my mind lingered on the events leading to my daughter’s injury. My words to her echoed long in my mind. Much as I would have preferred to lay the fault for my daughter’s failure to properly defend herself entirely at her own hooves, I could not deny that ‘twas I who had conceived the exercise and cast the stone. That Midnight’s efforts might deflect a projectile from its carefully chosen course was a foreseeable hazard, but one I had failed to account for.
I do not tolerate failure. Not even from myself.
With hindsight’s benefit, ‘twas clear where I had erred. I had utilized my old master’s methods without fully accounting for the differences betwixt our talents. Cast Iron had a far greater degree of control over his knives than I over a few tossed stones. I should have used fire, or mayhaps ice as my daughter did. A greater degree of control would have ensured that no such accidents could have occurred.
Amends would need to be made for my failure. Some small boon to express my displeasure with the manner in which events had unfolded. Perhaps tickets to some of those plays she was so fond of?
For that matter, she would likely appreciate some small tokens to comfort her upon the end of her treatment. Perhaps one of her dolls? I was not sure if she still played with them, but I do recall her being quite fond of them, once. If nothing else, retrieving the objects would provide me with something to do other than uselessly pace about.
I made haste to the tower, and to Midnight’s room. Her quarters are most intriguing in their decor, as I allowed her some degree of freedom in the matter. Where she found so many replica skulls, why she thought them a suitable accessory for almost anything, and why she decided to paint them all pink, I will never know. At least the substantial book collection was something I could quite understand, as were the various minor magic items she had begun toying with once her apprenticeship started in earnest.
There had been some talk of a pet too. A cat. I had not cared for the idea of having my tower smell of litter and cat food, but perhaps I should make some allowances on the matter. Once Midnight had properly healed, of course. And she would be entirely responsible for the creature’s wellbeing. Perhaps some value could be had from setting her to the task.
A brief search was sufficient to locate the chest where she kept her dolls. After some consideration, I opted to select one I was reasonably certain I knew the name of: Midnight had spoken once or twice of a ‘Lady Buttoneyes,’ and there was but one doll which was feminine in dress and appearance, and featured buttons in the place of eyes. I do not quite know why knowing the doll’s name mattered to me, but it did. Perhaps saying the name as I gave it to her would offer some form of comfort to my daughter, and thus speed her recovery?
I confess, ever since we had first begun the training exercises in the snow, I had begun feeling oddly towards my daughter. Her brief touches, her subtle smiles, and even her simple presence became a thing that brought me some level of comfort. The Archmagus’ tower felt oddly empty and cold in her absence.
Damnation. I truly had allowed myself to grow too soft towards the filly. The whole situation unsettled and confused me, and I wished to be done with it. Matters were always far more easily addressed when one does not become emotionally invested.
I put the matter out of my mind as best I could and made my way back towards the palace, Lady Buttoneyes in tow. However, this time the journey did not prove so uneventful. I was two thirds of the way back to the chirurgeon when an event I had anticipated quickly developed in a direction I could scarcely have imagined.
“SUNBEAM SPARKLE!” Celestia had all but abandoned the use of the Traditional Royal Canterlot Voice after my alterations to the standard court protocol, but ‘twould seem that in this case she felt its use warranted.
Witch’s teats. I’d hoped to be the one to inform her of the matter. I might have controlled how the news had come to her, but instead I had foolishly concerned myself with a doll of all things. Now she had heard the news in the worst possible manner, and her ire had been aroused. Like many gentle-natured ponies, her temper is difficult to fire, but almost impossible to calm once fury has taken her. Especially when the matter at hoof is injury to a child.
I turned to face her, already considering how best to explain my daughter’s injuries so that they did not reflect poorly upon my performance. She did not allow me a chance to explain myself. It is rather hard to draft an eloquent defense of one’s actions whilst in the midst of being targeted by a beam of magic empowered by the very sun itself.
The wise thing to do would have been to accept the blow, then humbly beg forgiveness for my actions whilst playing the wounded and helpless victim. However, a magus will not survive decades of service without developing certain instincts. The very instant I realized I was under attack, I erected an icy barrier to deflect the strike.
If that had been the sum of it, I might still have found some way to contain the situation, but one of the greatest assets of my fusion of cryomancy and pyromancy was the ease with which I could move between attack and defense. In simple terms, the best way to cast fire and ice is to manipulate existing heat rather than create it out of the aether. Thus, the very heat one removes from area to conjure ice can quickly and easily be concentrated elsewhere to create fire. Thus, the very instant I created my shield, I had already begun gathering strength for a counterstrike.
I am indisputably the most talented pyromancer of my age, wholly capable of conjuring flames that matched the intensity of a dragon’s breath or conflagrations that consumed entire enemy formations. Celestia countered my fireball with a simple flick of her horn, her eyes narrowing in grim determination. “So, thou wouldst attempt to murder thine own princess. ‘Twould seem we are come to battle, then.”
I hastily readied my defenses, even as my mind scrambled to find some way to defuse the situation. An attack ‘pon her was treason, but sure if I could explain... “Princess Celestia, I—”
Her first strike had been the magical equivalent of a slap across the cheek, intended more to express her displeasure with me than cause any lasting harm. Now that I had blocked and counter-attacked with force sufficient to slay any mere mortal, she did not show nearly so much restraint in her response.
Celestia’s spell tore through my defenses, so unaffected by my shield that I needn’t have bothered casting it at all. When the beam struck me, it lifted me up bodily and slammed me against the nearest wall. As I struck, there was a red-hot lance of pain through my neck; presumably I had struck a torch bracket, wall hanging, or something of the sort.
I fell to the floor bonelessly, any instinctual desire to defend myself utterly quashed by the force of Celestia’s strike. I was quite helpless before her. “Princess ... Celestia, I—”
“No.” Though she was no longer shouting, her voice still radiated a level of fury and power I had not seen since the war. “I have given thee far too many chances to explain thyself. Made far too many excuses for thy behavior. Countenanced far too many evils in the belief that they would ultimately result in some greater good.” Celestia gave a single resigned shake of her head. “No more. Thou hast committed treason ‘gainst the crown and attempted to murder thy Princess. E’en that, I might have been able to forgive, but I cannot forgive thine abuse of Midnight in the guise of training. Despite all thine evils, I dared to hope that she might yet provide thee a path to redemption. More fool, I. She was thy daughter, Sunbeam. Thy daughter.”
I struggled to think of some answer I could offer, but ‘twas quite beyond me. The pain radiating from my neck was indescribable, and made any sort of advanced thought rather difficult. In truth, I suspect the blow had rather unsettled my mind. Rather than focusing on the wrathful Princess glaring balefully down on me, all I could think about was the damnable doll I had intended to bring Midnight. Celestia’s attack had knocked it from my grasp, and it now lay some distance away. At that moment, my pain-addled brain could only focus on the need to reclaim possession of the doll, and I tried to summon it to my side.
Celestia, unaware of the intent behind my spellcasting, naturally assumed I was attempting to attack her once more. A second magical blast struck, dazing me and thoroughly ruining any spellcasting I could have hoped to accomplish. When my vision cleared, Celestia loomed large over me, a single hoof upraised and ready to strike. “Sunbeam Sparkle. For thy treason against the crown, and thy crimes against your daughter and all Equestria, I cast thee out. I strip from thee all titles and honors, and I take from thee thy power.”
Celestia lowered her head, and whispered into my ear. “I gave thee a chance to change thy ways after thou didst slay a child. In my heart I knew it a mistake, but I could not bring myself to admit that thou wert beyond salvation. Now that mercy has cost another child dearly. I’ll not make the same mistake twice.” She put a hoof on my cheek, pressing my head flat against the cold marble floor, whilst she raised the other high above my head.
Her hoof descended with all the force of a hammer. Gilded steel found its mark at the base of my horn, and stars danced before my eyes as I felt rather than heard my horn fly from my skull. The pain which followed that loss is beyond any words. ‘Twas likely a mercy that I lost consciousness for a few moments, stars and anguish giving way to the void and all-too-brief respite.
Despite my considerable pain, I felt an odd sort of pride in Celestia. An Archmagus who can spellcast will not remain a prisoner long, and the existing magic inhibitor rings were not equal to the task of restraining a unicorn of my ability. Still, I had not expected Celestia to have the strength of will to strike off my horn personally. She is normally slow to perform necessary cruelties; perhaps I have had a positive influence upon her after all.
Sadly, that brief moment of clarity as I drifted between oblivion and wakefulness proved entirely too brief. As I regained my senses, my eyes watered from the agony pouring through the shattered stump that had once been my horn. For her part, Celestia glowered down at me as if I were a particularly foul bit of offal stuck to her hooves. She then turned to address somepony who lay outside my current field of vision. “Gale, take this criminal to the dungeons. We will decide her fate later—for now, there is a gravely wounded young filly in need of comfort.”
As Celestia departed, she walked past Midnight’s doll, taking no note of its presence. For a moment I thought to call out to her, but I could not form the words through my agony. It seemed the pain of my injuries and the blows I had taken to the head had brought some strange form of madness ‘pon me, for all I could think of at the moment was the importance of delivering Lady Buttoneyes to my daughter.
Thoughts of the doll vanished entirely as Shadow’s daughter stepped forward, golden eyes glowering at me in disgust. ‘Twould seem she was filled with self-righteous fury—she had always been strangely fond of my daughter. “Get up, criminal.”
Though I was tempted to make some show of defiance, I quickly thought better of it. Gale had always been a duplicitous creature, and in my current state ‘twould not be wise to provoke her. I would not wish to find her in my dungeon cell that night, arranging for me to take my own life in grief or suffer an unfortunate accident. For now, discretion and compliance were the better part of valor. For the moment, survival was my sole priority—one’s lost pride is far more easily recovered than a lost life. A lesson many of rebels learned far too late at Maresidian Fields.
“Was my command unclear? Get up!” Gale snarled.
I tried to comply with her command, but experienced some difficulty in doing so. At first I was not sure as to the cause, and thought that perhaps I was simply having trouble controlling myself on account of the pain from my neck and what remained of my horn. “T—try...”
Gale answered with a discontented snort, clearly having little patience for my efforts, nor sympathy for my current injuries. Likely she thought herself full of righteous anger regarding my daughter’s training accident.
I continued to attempt the task, but met with no further success. I thought to turn my head so that I might have a look at them, but the merest fraction of movement set my wounded neck aflame. ‘Twas a curious thing, how my neck pained me so terribly, yet I felt no agony in any other part of—
Neigh.
Neigh, it could not be.
And yet, the facts could not be disputed.
Gale seemed to be rapidly losing patience in the face of my lack of progress in complying with Celestia’s commands. “If thou art not upon thy hooves within the count of five, I shall drag thee to the dungeons by the tail,” she threatened. “I look forward to the staircases.”
I struggled to speak despite all the pain. “C’nt.”
Gale’s eyes went wide with rage as she misheard my intended word, and an armored hoof lashed out to strike me across the mouth, dislodging several teeth in the process. Being struck with shoes made of thunderforged steel is unpleasant. My teeth were not the greatest concern, though, for the force of her blow snapped my neck about, the movement causing such agony that I nearly emptied my stomach from the pain.
I do not know if I screamed or not, but from the way Gale withdrew a step, I suspect that I must have. Though I pride myself on a resistance to ordinary pains, there are levels of agony which nopony can suffer without comment. I hastened to communicate my condition to her, lest she strike me once more for noncompliance. “Can’ fee ... lgs.”
The pegasus frowned down at me, then leaned forward so that she might hear my words. “Speak up, if thou hast anything worth saying.”
I spat out a broken tooth and a mouthful of blood, and managed something resembling plain and coherent speech. “I cannot feel my legs.”
Gale Kicker was many things, but a sadist she was not. Once my crippling was revealed to her, she assigned two of her stallions to carrying me to the dungeons. The journey was a treatise on pain, with e’en the slightest steps and motions feeling a torture. Gale took note of my anguish, and ordered her soldiers to take some care in my handling. Her compassion has always been a weakness, though mayhaps in this case she simply wished to ensure that I would not expire from my injuries before Celestia had a chance to decide my fate. There was little need to risk angering Her Highness by accidentally killing me when Celestia was likely to make a judgement to the same effect in the near future.
My cell in the dungeons was quite habitable, as far as dungeon cells go. Despite the current state of my horn, they had placed an inhibitor device over what remained of it. ‘Twas absurd, since the device was quite useless now, and if I regained my full powers I could easily reduce the thing to slag, but I suppose it made them feel safer.
The jailers had also placed me within one of the high-security and magically inert cells designed to contain powerful spellcasters. This was a somewhat more prudent measure, given that many magi are not wholly dependent on their horns to practice the art. Active spellcasting required an intact horn, but enchanted items and potions do not lose their power simply just because the caster is crippled, and some magi are quite adept at hiding such items, e’en when stripped bare. That is not to mention that damaged horns do heal over time, though I was unlikely to have the months needed for my horn to completely regenerate.
If nothing else, I was grateful for the fact that high-security cells require solitary confinement. At the moment I was quite helpless, and I had enemies within the dungeons. Not to mention the risks of being an attractive and quite helpless mare in the company of criminals. Though if I were to endure certain indignities, it might at least garner some sympathy from Celestia when she passed sentence.
It was not fitting for things to end this way. Ever since my earliest days in my father’s workshop, I have known that I was destined for greatness. Father often spoke of the day when I would begin my apprenticeship with him, continuing the proud Sparkle family tradition of glassworking. However, I was no mere artisan, I was a mare of destiny.
Once I came into my magic, that fact was undeniable. My parents gave me over to the magi, and I began my apprenticeship. My rise came with the swiftness of a roaring fire, and just as unstoppable. Youngest Archmagus in living memory, and then the unprecedented step of claiming the office of Grand Vizier as well. Supreme magical and political power in Unicornia, answerable only to Celestia herself. Then I guided our nation through the perils of the Lunar Rebellion, forging a new, unified Equestria. When e’en Celestia doubted herself, ‘twas my strength and my vision that saw us through the war.
And now all that was undone. To think, after all I had done to reach the highest pinnacles of power and authority within Equestria, I would be undone by a mere training accident. There was no justice in the world, if such things could happen.
I do not know how long I lay there, discontented with my current situation and lacking any way to better it. Escape was plainly impossible in my current state of disability, and I saw no likely prospects for ending it before Celestia passed judgment on me. E’en if she found me blameless in the matter of Midnight’s injuries, there was still the fact that I had cast an offensive spell ‘gainst her. The law does not look kindly upon those who attempt to harm their rulers.
‘Twould seem my fate was sealed then. An unworthy ending.
I do not know how long I lay in my cell, as I had no way to judge the passage of time beyond the most rudimentary of methods. With little in the way of diversion and a great deal of pain, I found myself drifting in and out of consciousness as the hours passed.
After a great deal of tedium and pain, I awoke to the sound of somepony lightly tapping on the bars of my cell. When I opened my eyes, I found myself face-to-face with my daughter, her wounded foreleg now bound in a fresh cast. I felt a strange moment of vindication at seeing Lady Buttoneyes poking out from within her saddlebag. ‘Twould seem that she had somehow gained custody of the doll since my downfall. ‘Twas a small and meaningless victory, but I took some small bit of pleasure in it regardless.
“Mother.” There was an uncertainty to her voice, as though she were unsure of how to regard me. “I have heard that you were wounded and stripped of your position. There are rumors that Celestia will have you executed. Or exiled to the moon. Or petrified. Or perhaps some combination thereof.”
Wonderful. So my downfall was common knowledge, then. Already the scullery maids and pages gossiped about my doom. I tried to salvage what little pride I could before my daughter’s eyes. “My fate is not yet decided and so long as I yet live there are always possibilities.” Though my situation was undeniably grim, even the slimmest chance of salvation was preferable to certain doom. “And what of thee, my daughter? How farest thou? Is thine injury treated and healed?”
“Temperance the chirurgeon informed me that it shall heal in time.” My daughter paused, her eyes lingering long on my broken horn. “It is also said that your legs are broken, yet they do not appear damaged, and nopony has made any effort to treat them.” She held up her own freshly splinted leg by way of demonstration.
“I am wounded elsewhere, my daughter,” I explained. “Though my legs are unharmed, they no longer heed my mind’s commands.”
“I see.” Her gaze turned to something outside of my sight. “That would explain why your food has gone uneaten.”
I had been provided a meal at some point, then? Not that the food would be of any use to me; the other side of my jail cell might as well have been the far reaches of Zebrica. Both were equally out of reach. I briefly wondered if the food had been left so far away because my jailors were unaware of the severity of my injuries, or because of it. Was this mere incompetence, or they thought themselves clever for devising such a cruel taunt? I suppose it mattered little; both were equally deserving of retribution.
To my surprise, I heard a key turning in the lock, and then my daughter entered my cell. So, a mere child could unlock what was supposed to be the most secure jail cell in all of Canterlot? That made it rather more likely that incompetence was to blame for my denied meal. Curse my body for failing me, or I might have made good my escape.
Though mayhaps my condition was precisely why my jailors were so lax in attending their duties. Whether the door to my cell was secured or open was of little consequence when I was quite effectively trapped within the prison of my own flesh. Still, there were possibilities. “Midnight, how didst thou...”
“The guards were drinking, and I am small,” she offered by way of explanation. Not what I had hoped to hear, for I doubt the jailors were so intoxicated that they could fail to notice a proper rescue party. And that presumed that my daughter could rally any of my allies to my cause. As Archmagus and Vizier, my allies were many and powerful. As an escaped criminal and traitor, far less so.
Still, at least my daughter’s presence could provide some small comfort. By this point, I would have welcomed e’en Gale or Celestia. Hateful glares and barbed words would have proven far better than boredom and agony.
Midnight regarded me for some time, then slowly lifted a bowl of plain white rice. The meal she had alluded to, presumably. “You should eat, Mother. I will aid you.” She lifted the bowl with her hooves, pressing it against my muzzle. “I would help more, but—”
“Magic cannot be used within the cell,” I concluded for her. A dungeon cell where spells could freely be cast would hardly have been effective at containing an Archmagus.
With food now hovering beneath my muzzle, hunger called out to me, and I partook of the meal. Midnight silently held the bowl, shifting it about as I ate to aid me in the task. After I finished, she used a single hoof to wipe away a few grains of rice that stuck to my chin, then set the bowl aside and seated herself before me, staring into my eyes and remaining near as still and unmoving as I.
Once ‘twas clear she did not intend to depart at any point in the foreseeable future, I spoke. “Why art thou in this place, Midnight?”
“You are my mother,” she answered quite simply.
I would have made further inquiry on the matter, but the effort of eating and conversing with my daughter had begun to wear upon me, and already my eyes grew heavy once more. ‘Twould seem that my body sought sleep in an effort to heal its wounds. “I thank thee for thine aid, my daughter, but I must rest now. Go to thine own bed, ere thou art seen in this place.”
To my immense irritation, Midnight did not bestir herself. After several long seconds, she answered. “Gale has told me that you no longer have the right to give me commands, or levy punishments ‘pon me for refusing you. As such, I choose to remain.”
Damnable filly. Ne’er before had she openly defied me, but even she now grasped how powerless I was to enforce my will.
After regarding me for a time longer, she moved about, exiting my sight. I heard hooves briefly scramble about, and then felt a barely perceptible shift in the weight of my cot. With some effort and pain, I was able to turn my gaze to Midnight. As I’d suspected, she had joined me on the cot, wrapping my limp forelegs around herself and pressing against my chest. ‘Twas foolish to seek an embrace from me, especially when I was plainly incapable of delivering one.
Once she was fully settled into position, she turned her eyes to mine. “Thank you for trying to bring Lady Buttoneyes to me, Mother. I am sorry you were hurt in the process.”
“Think nothing of it. ‘Twas but a doll.” Truly, I do not even know why I had gone to so much trouble to retrieve the damned thing. To further compound my frustration, I found myself oddly peaceful, looking down at my daughter. ‘Twas not long ere I had no choice but to set aside further contemplation on the matter as slumber claimed me.