//------------------------------// // Pandemonium // Story: Second Sun // by Carabas //------------------------------// Sir Stratus of her Solar Majesty’s Dayguard stood at attention outside the closed door leading down to the palace’s basement, a still statue of a pegasus stallion seemingly made from chipped iron. The muffled sounds that came from within the basement didn’t stir him.  He had had his orders. Anypony passing him by could have only imagined the ever-alert vigilance with which he held himself.  This was largely because, in reality, he was playing chess in his head and covertly admiring any maids that wandered past.   A couple of years ago, he had entered the Dayguard as a wide-eyed and idealistic recruit, eager to do his duty to the princess.  In the space of those years, the returning Princess Luna had smacked him in the face with lightning, an Element Bearer had blown raspberries in his face, he’d been turned into a small shrub by the Lord of Chaos, and had been systematically hoofed in the vulnerables by a succession of aggrieved-looking changelings less than a month ago. Now he was still a wide-eyed and idealistic stallion in Celestia’s service, because there were some things you couldn’t change about a pony’s nature absent surgical equipment and a systematic series of sledgehammer blows to their skull, but he’d at least picked up on how to deal with the more boring parts of the job. There was the clop of hoofsteps on the stairs leading up from the basement, and Stratus prepared himself for the routine.  Wait for the door to open, fall in pace behind Princess Celestia when she would emerge, accompany her to her destination and remain with her if no other guards were present.  Simple and boring enough, unless assassins he could heroically grapple with became involved.  Which they never did. The door opened, and Stratus stiffened himself, waiting for Celestia’s great form to appear at his right. Instead, there came the sudden and stinging slap of a wing against his rear.  Stratus spun in alarm, raising his steel-shod hooves in reflexive defensiveness. He found himself looking up at the exceedingly close face of his princess, magenta eyes lazily looking him up and down as part of what could only be described as a leer. A deer caught in headlights would have envied Stratus’s expression in that moment. “Good haunch you’ve got there, my fine guardspony,” purred Celestia, leaning closer.  “A mare could imagine all sorts of wicked things with you standing around.” “…thank you, Your Majesty?” he meeped after a few terrifying moments which he spent fervently wishing that he’d made more of a study of the Dayguard’s protocol manual in the off chance this situation and a response for it had ever been described. “What’s the matter?” said Celestia with a grin that was entirely too licentious for Stratus’s continued good mental health, leaning ever closer until he could feel her breath across the top of his snout.  “You frightened of older mares?” Stratus rummaged frantically in his mind for something that couldn’t be construed as either affirmation or possible treason, and stars above what was even happening, when all of a sudden, deliverance came. “Celestia!” came the magically-enhanced and ear-splitting roar of Princess Luna from the basement’s doorway, hidden by Celestia’s body.  “Attend me!  We have to resolve this situation calmly!” “Please, listen to … our sister,” came the quieter voice of Celestia.  Except that Celestia’s lips hadn’t moved.  “This is a delicate situation.  It has the potential to unravel and cause all manner of -” “Lulu and associated mimsy twerp, rest assured that I love you both like my own flesh and blood, which one of you really and truly is,” the Celestia before Stratus replied to Luna and her apparent ventriloquism-derived self.  “But at the moment, you’re the proverbial piss in my porridge.  Shove off.” She briskly stepped forward.  One wing extended and casually fell over Stratus, pulling him suddenly up and towards her side.  He was pinned there, facing backwards, unable to do more than ineffectually wriggle as the princess broke into a carefree canter. Before him, half-eclipsed by Celestia’s haunch, he could see Princess Luna, looking bewildered and angry enough to lash out.  Beside her, there stood another Princess Celestia. Stratus decided that whatever was happening, he wasn’t equipped to meaningfully deal with it, and decided to just start playing chess in his head again until it was all over. “Tia, come back here! Put that guard down!” blazed Luna as she cantered after Celestia, while the other Celestia trailed uncertainly at her hooves. “But he’s pretty, and I wish to keep him.”  A certain amount of skip entered Celestia’s stride as she turned a corner that led down a long corridor leading to the throne room.  “And I doubt what you’ve got to offer is anywhere near as fun as what the throne room has to offer  You don’t have wine.  It does.” “We can discuss this in the wine cellar,” said the other Celestia soothingly.  “We can enjoy a glass or two while we sort this out.  Please consider the consequences if you -” “I refer you to my earlier ‘Shove off’, you bleating non-entity.  I know how I sort things out, and I’ll have none of it.  I’m going to have some fun.”  Celestia maintained a beeline for the oncoming door. “Sister, that is where the delicate political business of the realm unfolds and I forbid thou from going near it in your current state!” “Ooh.  Very authoritative.  Tell me when you find the pony that can stop me.” There came a growl and a flash of darkly-glowing unlight, and Luna flashed into existence before Celestia, stance combat-ready and horn lowered.  “Once more shall I ask before I resort to -!” Golden light flashed, and Celestia vanished. In the next instant, Celestia reappeared in the throne room.  She spun back to face the door, and let loose a blast of magic that slammed into the handle and shimmered across the whole door’s surface, ran onto the walls and stained glass windows, and had swept across the whole vast room in less than an instant. The handle rattled to no avail, with a stream of archaic blasphemy following from the other side of the door shortly after.  A flash of dark blue magic shone past the edges and through the key hole, to be rewarded with a cut off fizzle as a section of wall briefly flashed gold.  More thousand-year-old cursing followed. Celestia turned on her heel to face the throne room.  It was empty but for a handful of supplicants and two guards on either side of the distant throne. “Your Majesty?” said one of the ponies waiting for her attention, a noble by his bearing and the cut of his garb.  A unicorn mare in similarly fancy clothes hovered by his side.  He glanced briefly at Stratus, still held under Celestia’s wing, before returning his attention to the princess herself.  “What’s the occasion?  Are we in any danger?” “Ah, Lord Jet Set, a profound displeasure as always,” said Celestia, wheeling suddenly to face him, leaning forwards into his personal space.  “Family still maintaining the time-honoured tradition of exalting inbreeding to an artform?  Beg pardon, I’ve not been introduced to your lady.  A cousin, I assume?” “… Your Majesty?” hissed Jet Set, growing ever-so-slightly purpler. “I’d ask why you were here, but I’ve concluded in advance that I don’t care about the answer enough to pose the question.  Don’t let the palace doors hit you on the haunch on the way out.  Or do.  That would be funny.” Celestia briskly trotted past the spluttering pair, cast her gaze around and found several glasses and a bottle of wine on a table at the hall’s edge.  Light flashed again and the bottle appeared before her.  She tilted it in mid-air, taking a long and leisurely swig before turning her attention back to the rest of the world. “Good old Trottingham paint-stripper.  You understand the pain,” Celestia murmured.  “Come on then, roll up, roll up.  Which chinless irrelevance wants to be the next to annoy their princess?  Don’t be shy; we technically outlawed capital punishment two centuries ago.  I could only banish you at worst.” “Open this door and undo these wards, Celestia!” came a muffled and unheeded roar from the other side of the door.  “Don’t interact with anypony important!  Let me in!” “You!” said Celestia, waving the half-empty bottle at a stunned-looking pegasus mare.  “You look important, whoever you are.  Regale me with something.” “Um,” said the mare, looking from Celestia to Stratus to Celestia and then to the other supplicants, as if for moral support.  Finding none, she did her best to rally.  “Your Majesty, I represent the Trade Commune for Manehattan.  Silver Tongue.  We, ah, wanted to formally consult with you on the matter of improved regional flexibility for setting tariffs -” “And as if by magic, I find myself not giving a flying feather.  Go enthrall someone more deserving.  Your mortal enemy, or a timberwolf, or a corvid berserker, or anything with more tolerance for this sort of thing than I currently possess.”  Celestia made a shooing motion with her hoof.  “Run along now.  Who’s next?” A series of resounding thuds hammered upon the door from its other side, as if somepony with the strength of an alicorn was trying to kick it down.  Jet Set and Upper Crust were making feeble attempts at pulling down the handle on their own side, and sending occasional bewildered glowers back in the direction of Celestia. “Your Majesty, are you well?” one particularly brave guard near the throne ventured.  “You don’t seem … yourself.” “I’m more myself than I’ve been in a good long while, Captain Eyewall.  Why?  Do I not seem the very picture of perfect vigour?”  Celestia shifted one wing, shaking the trapped Stratus.  “Your colleague here should attest to that once I’ve finished this bottle.” “Don’t just run, help,” Stratus quietly implored Silver Tongue’s fleeing back. Celestia lazily scanned the room, stopping when she alighted on one figure in particular.  A goat in silk brocade stood at attention, maintaining nothing short of a heroic stoicism.  Celestia’s eyes narrowed.  “Ah, ambassador.  I was hoping for a chat on the subject of Capra.  And all that recent nastiness along the Asinial border.” “As was I, in the name of the most revered Capricious Crown, your Majesty,” the Capric ambassador calmly replied, bowing briefly.  “I was hoping for a private conference, with all due respect.” “No need!  I have a formal message for the Capricious Crown right now, if you’d care to draft it.” The ambassador raised a brow ever-so-slightly, as he drew out a sheet of paper from a saddlebag and secured a pen in the cleft of a hoof.  “As you wish, your Majesty.” “To His Unfettered Highness, the Capricious Crown of Capra,” Celestia started.  “Withdraw your armies from the Asinial Marches immediately.  Stop bucking around with the peace of Asinia this instant or Equestria shall become involved.  And by ‘become involved’, I mean that I will personally mobilise three – no, four Legions, march over your countryside and sow its fields with salt and your soldiers’ blood, tear your sacred mountains down into rubble, and take you as a trophy.” “Princess?” said the ambassador quietly, still scratching away with the pen.  Celestia grinned her most malevolent grin at him and spread her wings wide as the sun brightened past the stained glass of the windows.  Stratus fell to the floor, freed, and wasted no time in galloping off.  “Please, I beseech you for a private conference on this matter -” “And once I’ve gotten bored of the latest crown in my collection, I’ll pop out each of your gems and give them to taxidermists to use as eyes.  I’ll split your gilted half-arches into shards.  And I’ll melt down your circlet and monde to be reforged into something to keep lonely mares happy.  Or stallions too.  Modern times and all.  Stay away from Asinia.  Love and kisses, Princess Celestia.” The ambassador’s pen had paused over the paper.  His mouth hung slightly open.  “I … ah … your Majesty, am I to interpret this as -” “Hush hush, just copy it down word-for-word like the good little drone you are.  Leave the interpretation of all the subtle nuances and layered insinuations up to the Crown.”  Celestia finished the bottle with one long swig.  “What is the diplomatic parlance again?  Go lose yourself?  Return to where thou spawned?  I’m sure I make my meaning clear.” The ambassador primly retreated.  Celestia threw the bottle at a nearby unadorned window with a thoroughly satisfying clatter of shattering glass, and looked around for another. “More drink, more drink,” she muttered.  “Where in Tartarus did I put that stallion as well?  Ah well.  I’ll find another.” The numbers trying to exit the throne room via the closed door had swelled considerably, pulling at the handle and kicking the wooden surface to no avail.  From the other side, there came another nigh-inarticulate yell from Luna and another series of bucks against the door.  “Tia, thou let me in this instant!” “No drink.  Lost my stallion.  And that’s an astonishingly ugly tapestry,” Celestia grumbled, finishing her scan of the room.  A five-hundred year-old tapestry hanging from the side of the room combusted there and then.  Celestia turned back to the door.  “Had to happen sometime, I suppose.  I hear you, you blessed little nuisance.” The magic permeating the room vanished, and the door abruptly caved into flying splinters.  The ponies hammering at it flew back screaming as Luna flew in like an avenging god, eyes blazing with an unearthly white fire.  The other Celestia flapped in behind her, wincing and helping the fallen ponies up with her magic. Celestia ignored their entrance, instead fixating on the hipflask that had fallen from Jet Set’s saddlebag.  It appeared before her in a flash, and she sipped appreciatively at it as she collapsed back into the throne. Luna flapped slowly in mid-air as the room’s pandemonium sunk in.  She regarded the terrified supplicants, the scattered wood splinters and glass, the wide-eyed Capric ambassador, the burning tapestry, and finally the alicorn flopped backwards over the throne. “Celestia, what in all accursed hells have thou done?!” “Been myself,” drawled Celestia.  She raised the hipflask in the direction of the other Celestia, winking as she did so.  “And you’re welcome.” “So,” started Applejack as the train wove through the mountains leading to Canterlot, “Why do you think it was Princess Luna that sent the letter rather than Celestia?  Has she ever done that before?” “No, she hasn’t.  I hope Celestia isn’t indisposed,” replied Twilight Sparkle, frowning as she paced from one side of the carriage to the other.   “Luna mentioned another crisis.  Maybe that’s what it is?  Perhaps Celestia’s been hurt, and something about the Elements of Harmony can help her.” “Yeah, maybe.  Or maybe she’s just super-busy with ruling the country, and whatever this crisis is, it’s taking up more of her attention.”  Rainbow Dash, who had managed to contort herself into a comfortable resting position on one of the hard train seats, shrugged.  “This might not be anything special – or, you know, be at the lower end of the spectrum for special when it comes to summons from one of the princesses.” “’The realm is in crisis’ does suggest a matter of some urgency.”  Rarity sat directly across from the pegasus.  “So soon after the whole matter with the changelings and Twilight’s brother’s wedding, as well.  Perhaps they’re the ones at fault, and the princess has been compromised somehow.  Ugh.  That’s not a pleasant thought.” “Chin up, everypony!” Pinkie Pie chirped.  “We’re good at this sort of thing now, remember?  We vanquish evil world-destroying things practically every day before breakfast now, thanks to the Elements.  Though, y’know, not actually before every breakfast since that was just a teensy bit of an exaggeration for rhetorical effect.  Boy, imagine really fighting world-ending threats every day before breakfast.  You’d just get tired.  And hungry.” “Tangents aside, ain’t much use in speculating ‘till we know more than nothing.  Best just to hope it’s nothing serious and to prepare in case it’s exactly that,” replied Applejack, looking out the window at the approaching towers of Canterlot before she turned away with a sigh. Fluttershy said, quietly, “I think I just saw one of the palace’s windows explode.” A moment’s silence followed, terminated by a collective “WHAT?” “And, um, it looks like there’s flames coming out.” The discussion until they finally arrived took on a slightly more feverish tone, with Rainbow Dash repeatedly trying to open a window so she could fly out and take a closer look herself, and having to be deterred from doing so via fervent persuasion, pleading, and eventually the application of Applejack’s full body weight to her lower back. “T’aint nothing personal, sugarcube.  But let’s not have you fly off and make the acquaintance of whatever’s causing that all by your lonesome, hmm?” said Applejack as her personal and family honour were repeatedly called into question by the pinned pegasus beneath her. “Mass teleportation over an extended distance,” muttered Twilight, her anxiety converted entirely into furious calculation as purple motes floated around her horn.  “Approximately four hundred metres in a straight line from the train station to the front of the palace.  Allow margin of error, compensate for inherent gravitational resistance, assume everypony wants to arrive roughly intact …” The train slowed, and then stopped at Canterlot’s station’s platform. “…Now,” breathed Twilight, and the six vanished in a flash of purple light. They reappeared at the front of the palace, and were nearly swept away by the flood of retreating servants and courtiers they found themselves amidst. “Flee!  Flee for the love of the vicious and neglectful Creator that made us!” “Abandon all hope!  Abandon the dream of civilisation!  Weep at the wicked fate that saw fit to craft that dream in the first place!” “It’s not natural!  And it’s immoral!  And … and it’s wrong!  Unnaturally and immorally wrong!” “The horror!  The horror!” “What in the name of – get behind me, everypony!”  Applejack stood like a stone column amidst the screaming tide, and set her sights upon the palace doors.  She bludgeoned a path clear for the others obliged to walk behind her. “To your left!” cried out Rainbow Dash, flapping madly above her with Fluttershy by her side.  “It’s clearer that way!” With a grunt, Applejack bulled her way through the panicking mob amidst a flurry of shoves and expertly-placed kicks, escaping into a relatively open space along with the others.  The main doorway into the palace yawned open before them. “Right,” said Twilight with grim determination, more arcane light playing around her horn, ready to be unleashed in an eye’s blink.  She trotted in; the others close at her back.  “Stick close, everypony.  I don’t know what we’re going to find, so assume it’s dangerous.  We’ll try and find the princesses, either one, and find out what’s going on.” “And if we don’t?  What then?” said Rainbow. “Then we look harder.  Come on!” They neared the end of the entry hall, conspicuously empty save for several discarded items and saddlebags on the floor.  Past it, a short stretch of corridor led to a grand room containing a spiralling staircase which, Twilight knew, would take them to the upper levels and to the throne room. Within that room, they stopped short.  At the base of the staircase, two figures stood in deep discussion.  One of them, tall and white-coated and with a mane like the sky in dawn, was immediately recognisable. “Princess Celestia!” Twilight blurted out in sheer relief, immediately galloping forwards.  The princess turned at the shout, happiness breaking across her own face like a sunbeam as well.  The other figure she’d been engaged in conversation with, a bespectacled unicorn with a green-and-teal banded coat, seemed irritated by the intrusion. “My dearest student, I’m glad you could make it,” said Celestia, leaning down to briefly nuzzle Twilight.  Twilight noticed in that moment that Celestia wasn’t wearing her regalia.  No golden tiara, collar or shoes adorned her, leaving her looking strangely naked.  “Luna is currently containing the situation upstairs.  Myself and Professor Stiff Strut here -” the unicorn nodded, “- were discussing the mechanics of the situation and waiting for your arrival.  Hopefully, the Elements can resolve this.” “What is this, princess?” Rarity said, trotting up to beside Twilight. “This would be a textbook example of why dabbling in experimental ancient spellcraft is a horrible idea, to be done only by professionals or the expendable,” said Stiff Strut archly, flicking a violet strand of mane out of his eyes.  “One enters my field of study exalting Starswirl as a paragon of ponykind; one comes through further study to regard him as a moron.” “Peace, professor,” said Celestia gently.  She sighed.  “This may not be entirely easy to explain.  Are you six well-versed in psychology?” Hesitant nods or head-shakes came from five of the six Element Bearers.  Twilight nodded enthusiastically. “Twilight, did you read much of Suspect Focus’s work?” “Suspect Focus?  Only for a historical grounding.  I thought he was generally regarded as a bit of a crank nowadays.”  Twilight pulled whatever she could recall from memory.  “I remember he founded a lot of therapeutic techniques, had some weird ideas about dreams and memories which were largely proven wrong, had that whole idea about the impulse versus the conscience -” “That particular idea was what I was hoping you’d recall,” said Celestia.  “How our conscious selves are merely a compromise between two great facets of who we are.  Our impulsive self, containing all of our immediate aggressions and loves and fleeting fixations.  And our higher conscience, devoted to higher matters of morality and the rules and plans we make for ourselves.” “I remember that.  But why is it important?”  Twilight looked bewildered. From upstairs, there came the sound of shattering glass and a cry of “More paint-stripper!” Celestia smiled a thin smile. “Shall we go meet myself?” she said.