Prologue: In Which the Sun Laments
The festivities began the moment his petrified form hit the ground. First, Ponyville erupted into celebration, courtesy of a triumphant Pinkie Pie. Cloudsdale followed, and Fillydelphia's parties soon added their energy to the spirit of victorious good will spreading across Equestria. Trottingham, Manehattan, and even frontier town Appleloosa threw all their energy into a festival of merriment that finally culminated in a grand affair in Canterlot itself. The capitol celebrated for almost a week, ponies from all corners of Equestria congregating to dance, sing, and revel in the continued safety of their country.
She did, too, of course. The moment she felt the fiery energy of the sun shift away from him and settle back into its normal patterns a profound, almost numbing relief flooded her. Jubilation swiftly followed, and she participated in the festivities as much as her royal status would allow. For days she surrendered to this joy, and for days, nothing struck her as amiss. It was not until the final ceremony that she felt that first uncomfortable twinge.
She faltered when giving the six saviors their accolades, her voice catching on her congratulations. It was slight, almost unnoticeable, and indeed it seemed that no one caught it. Even when she misspoke a second time, only one filly, her ever-observant faithful student, looked up with mild puzzlement marring the humble triumph on her face. A bright smile reassured both teacher and student, and the rest of the ceremony passed without incident. Only later, when her subjects were totally occupied by a city-wide party, did the twinge return as a pang.
For the better part of an hour Celestia stood on her private balcony, gazing out at her perfect city gleaming under her perfect sun. All that time, the pang would not cease. It grew ever stronger in some deep part of her that she could barely remember, until she had to turn her gaze away from all that had been restored. She could still feel it when she decided to finally return the Elements of Harmony to their vault. Climbing Canterlot Tower's staircase, she tried to ignore it. A part of her was desperate to ignore it, and so it was that only when she reached the top of the stairs, when it became too much to ignore, did she truly pause to examine it.
What was it? What was this twisting, coiling near-pain deep within, settled in a part of her that she'd kept resolutely quiet for so long? Why was it waking? Why was it prickling and pulling at her being with a fervor that only rose each time she tried to quell it? Why?
Celestia frowned, a rare expression on a normally serene face. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the train of thought that was steadily forming there and made her way to the vault. Everything in the hall was as it had always been: stained glass windows depicting a good portion of Equestrian history as she passed them. Why then was a cold nausea steadily rising within her as she carried the Elements towards their resting place? Why could she only barely glance at the colorful windows surrounding her before feeling light-headed? Why?
Her breathing quickened; her heartbeat followed suit. Widening eyes glanced furtively at the stained glass images around her. She knew why. Celestia could not yet say how, but she knew. Even as she puzzled over her discomfort, her ambiguous pain, Celestia knew precisely what she was feeling. She knew it in a part of her that she'd staunchly ignored for eons, in a part that went back to before. She knew it well, but only when she reached out to lock the Elements back in again, feeling for the magical residues from her old spell, could she no longer keep her walls up. The story told by the old energies would not let her, and she gasped with what was almost physical pain as realization that had truly always been hers finally revealed itself. Tears, unbidden and unwanted, clouded her vision as she fought to forget again, to reassert the control she'd held over those old memories, but in the end, she could not. In the end, Celestia succumbed to what had always been, what always would be, and as her gaze fell upon the final window, the newest, the pang blossomed into a fierce hurt.
High up in Canterlot tower, unheard by her merry subjects in the city below, Celestia began to weep.