//------------------------------// // Chapter V // Story: Relinquish the Sun // by Error732 //------------------------------// A still-shaking Inkstain rejoined Celestia on her way out of the castle depths. The guards returned to their posts in Cocoon's chamber, and Celestia and Inkstain quietly made their way to Celestia's private chambers. These chambers, numerous and large enough for a family or two, had much the same aesthetics as the rest of the castle, save for a few notable details. The ceilings did not hang so absurdly high as in the rest of the castle. The furniture was ever-so-slightly larger than in the rest of the castle, to accommodate an alicorn's size (making for a slightly comical effect when Inkstain, slightly undersized, sat on one of the many couches). Most importantly, the walls were devoid of any retelling in cloth, paint, or sculpture, of the loss of her sister. Inkstain broke the silence as soon as the door closed behind them. "What happened? What did you talk about?" Celestia recounted their conversation as she sat on her bed, luxuriating in of her brief moments of respite. She placed particular emphasis on the spell she had cast to secure their guest. "So what are you going to do?" asked Inkstain. "For now, nothing," sighed Celestia. "But you'll discuss it with the council next time they meet, right?" "I'm not sure." "Why not?" "Because the council, and even more so, the ponies they represent, may not be in a good position to hear about Cocoon. Beyond that, they may not need to." The words were difficult to extract, but necessary, like pulling out splinters. "Equestria's leaders are already in an uproar over the threat of war with the dragons, divided over whether to surrender, fight, or negotiate. The addition of an internal, hidden threat like a possible Changeling invasion . . . it would cause a mass panic, mistrust, stallion-hunts for an invisible enemy." "But we don't know they're our enemies," offered Inkstain. "What if Cocoon is telling the truth?" "What if she's not? And even if she is, even if I believed her every word, we'll have a tough time convincing anypony to calm down about it. Rumor spreads more quickly than fact; even if I personally declared changelings the allies of Equestria, it wouldn't be long before somepony claimed that I'd been impersonated by one of them. "All of that comes before we even consider what we do know about changelings: they feed on the love of others. And in the midst of crisis, love between ponies is one thing we can't afford to lose." Inkstain swallowed her disappointment in the behaviour of ponies. "What will you do with Cocoon, then?" "She'll remain in her cell. If she's lying, those bars will protect Equestria from her; if she's not, they'll protect her from Equestria. Until the dragon question is answered, it's the best place for her to be." The finality of her words invited no reply. Inkstain had calmed since Cocoon's arrival and interrogation, but her somber expression weighed on Celestia's heart. Inkstain's precociousness and disarming affection had made it easy for Celestia to forget how young she was; yet, her present sadness reminded Celestia that youth should not be burdened with the hard decisions of rule, even if she was a confidant of the princess. Celestia rose from her bed and walked over to Inkstain, then nuzzled her. It was a consolation, an apology, and a thanks in as few words as Celestia could muster. Inkstain reciprocated warmly. "I think the rest of the day's business can wait until tomorrow, given the circumstances. Rest, my little pony. I'll see you in the morning." Inkstain nodded appreciatively, tears in her eyes, and departed. The room became very empty, all of a sudden. The loudest sound was Celestia's thoughts, which turned now to the dusk ritual. Celestia trudged to her private balcony on heavy hooves. While Canterlot bustled below her, the Sun simmered overhead, ready to be relieved. She reared up, outstretched her wings, and concentrated. Her hooves left the ground, not from the motion of her wings but from the magic radiating from her horn. She beckoned the Sun to sleep, and, as it recognized her will, it sank in the sky, beneath the mountaintops and out of sight. As its last rays blinked away, the stars awoke, freckles of light looking down at her kingdom from every angle. She pulled on a yet unseen actress. The Moon accepted her invitation, peeked out from behind the Earth, and climbed higher until it occupied the Sun's former pedestal. The grey circle bore signs of its great age, its face pock-marked and rough. Craters disturbed its once smooth terrain. And somewhere, alone on its vast and distant surface, her sister awaited her return. Her task complete, Celestia descended to her balcony. Her eyes lingered on the Moon. "Luna," she said aloud, "I missed you a lot today." The authority and wisdom that colored her public voice were gone; the voice she used now was fragile and soft. A sister's voice. She spoke to her sister about the dragons, about the council, about Cocoon, even the minutae of the castle's daily affairs. When she ran out of things to say, she returned to an earlier topic and stretched its details further. The spaces in conversation that her sister would have occupied Celestia filled with words, as if she was interrupting Luna, preventing her from getting a word in edgewise. "I know it's been a while," she said, after she had retold her day in as many ways as she could, "but if the dragons get their way, this could be one of the last conversations we have for a long time." When Luna did not answer, Celestia lay down on the marble outcropping. "I know I have another big day tomorrow, but I'd really prefer to stay up with you tonight. I know how you always wanted more ponies to appreciate the night." Celestia remained, staring upward. She knew, with a part of her heart that would admit no questions, that Luna was doing the same.