//------------------------------// // Breakfast // Story: Love, or Twilight Learns That Joy Wants Eternity // by Cynewulf //------------------------------// Twilight Sparkle’s first love had been not another pony, but a place. That place was Canterlot, perched proudly along the side of its regal mountain. It had happened suddenly, and struck her in that all-at-once way that only deep and abiding ardor can, and it had happened ridiculously, in perhaps the least grand of Canterlot’s ways. Celestia had decided that the young but overeager young Twilight Sparkle needed to take a break and so, with only a laugh as explanation, the young student had been led out into the street. Watch, Celestia had told her. I am about to show you a great secret, she said. And Twilight had watched raptly as her teacher had worked her magic and become somepony else entirely. Celestia was replaced and in her place stood a smiling pegasus. That was the first time she’d been to Pony Joe’s. Not the first time she had ever walked in the city, of course—not even close. Her parents had taken her shopping, or taken her and her big brother to the park. She had walked to kindergarten, walked to the museum… But there was something magical about the moment she had walked into Pony Joe’s, giddy with delight over a shared secret, and realized that Canterlot could be full of places just like this one, where the sun filtered in beautifully through the blinds to a place clean and well ordered, where everything was in its proper place and there was always a smile waiting for you. That was about the time that a floating spoon rapped against her mug, pulling Twilight Sparkle out of her morning reverie. She startled, looking up to see a smiling Celestia retrieving her spoon and using it to add sugar to another cup of tea. “You were drifting off into yesteryear, it seemed. Something on your mind, dear?” Twilight felt a nice warmth in her chest. Dear. That was new. A lot of things were new. “Just… thinking.” Twilight smiled back, and drank a bit of her coffee. Celestia made a face. “I know, I know, you’re terrible disappointed in me.” “No, simply dismayed that you and my sister are arrayed against me. But I am enough of a strategist to handle the two of you in tandem.” Celestia’s voice was a purr. She’d always liked it. Even before things had… changed, she’d always liked the sound of Celestia’s voice. It could be a lot of things. Maternal. Powerful. Gentle. Reasonable. Regal. She was repeating herself. Twilight smiled and took another sip. “I didn’t sleep well last night. It’s hard to sleep in a new bed, you know? Just a little frazzled. I’ll be fine.” Celestia nodded, and then seemed to think of something. She smiled. “Well, you could always find different sleeping arrangements. Upgrade your suite, if you will” Right. Her voice could also sound inviting in an entirely new way. That was new. So was the way that Celestia leaned over and planted a brief, chaste kiss on her lips. Even something as momentary and simple as that left her heart beating a double-time march. “I, uh…” Twilight blinked, and straightened herself out. “Well.” Celestia beamed. And, shaking her head with a smile, Twilight turned back to her breakfast. “We both know I can’t, Celestia. Besides, I believe it was you who said that you were old fashioned. How exactly did you put it?” Celestia huffed, but they shared a laugh. And others did, as well. Her head buzzed with half-heard voices. Her Court. Another new thing. The Inner Court. The curse and the blessing of the Ageless, the Alicorns. Like trees planted in the soft, rich earth, the ageless alicorn was rooted in something far greater than themselves, and like the tree they became bound. Celestia did not merely shepherd the sun or represent it in the lives of her happy subjects, but she was to a degree, the Sun herself. Or, perhaps, it was the sun that in some way had become Celestia. Twilight did not have a definitive answer on that yet. What she did know was that whatever the exact nature of Agelessness was, it came with… company. Celestia seemed to notice something on her face as Twilight became momentarily lost in the currents, one voice layered over another. A slight touch on her hoof brought Twilight out of the haze like a drowning mare bursting from the water. She blinked, and then flushed. “I’m… sorry. It’s still new.” “Your Court?” “Yes.” She sighed. “I know it’s been a few weeks. I just…” “It’s a lot to take in.” Celestia smiled. “I know it is. Are you sure you’re up to court this morning? Nopony will think less of you—I wanted you to have the freedom to take things at your own pace, so I did not announce your attendance in advance.” Twilight bit her lip and looked away. “That feels like running, honestly.” “You may think of it as a tactical withdrawal, dear.” Celestia had not withdrawn her hoof, and Twilight smiled at it. “Sorry if I’m dragging your breakfast down,” she said. “Not at all. Your presence brightens my day considerably.” Celestia straightened a bit. “Besides, you are much better company than Luna in the mornings.” Twilight sent her a silent thank you for the segue. “Oh?” “It’s the end of her long watch, and she usually dozes off at least once. She’ll deny it, of course, but it’s rather obvious.” Celestia slouched a bit more, keeping her hoof casually draped along Twilight’s and summoned a small bundle of papers. “She also never has anything much to say when I look over the morning’s docket.” Her smile turned only the slightest bit challenging as her eyes scanned the words. “But I’m expecting a far better performance from you, if you’d like.” “I’d love to,” Twilight said, and the dim voices of her Inner Court all agreed in unison. * Court was a lot of things. Depending on who you asked, it was either a waste of time or a near-sacred continuation of the very heart of governance itself. A sympathetic view might say that in Court, the sovereign stepped down from her ivory tower to reconnect with the realities of the everyday pony. This was the rejuvenation that any leader needed, they would continue, to step down and throw off distance and all but the basest ceremony and speak candidly with others in a way that she could not in other times. And so they might go on and on about the sacred bonds and traditions, but Celestia would have politely stopped listening at that point. She had gotten very, very good at pretending to listen over the years. Few if any ponies besides her sister could hope to catch her at it more than once in a decade. For her part, and she had told Twilight as much, Celestia found that Court was a delightful mixture of the ridiculous and the meaningful. In most ways, it was a very much outdated institution—legislation was no longer written or signed in these proceedings, for instance. Where Court had been the only times in which official government business had been conducted, now the Assembly was more than a merely advisory body and handled much of the day-to-day. The law codes, the regulations, the lower courts… they all operated more or less without her. Celestia did little but encourage and caution, and yet she moved mountains all the same. No, Court was not about the real business of the nation. It was about the personal. Solving the problems that fell between the cracks, the ones that deserved it. Her staff sorted through a thousand petitions a week, and that was after a larger sifting. There were two sorts of petitions that the Princess handled in person, and the rest her seneschal handled with deft grace. The first? The obnoxious but potentially volatile. “Raven, who is next?” Celestia asked. Twilight, sitting beside the pony in question, glanced up at her. Celestia briefly wondered if perhaps Twilight was more capable of reading her than she had suspected, but the look did not last. Celestia repressed the urge to shrug. “Lady Brigantine Rowan-Oak, of House Rowan-Oak, your Highness.” Celestia nodded. Excellent, she thought, wishing she could smirk. This would be a wonderful lesson for Twilight. Her Inner Court agreed—Dusk, the gentler voice, fretted a bit at how Brigantine’s manner might offend her former charge, while Dawn was curious. That was a change, and one Celestia had not yet come to grips with. For so long it had been the four of them: herself, the analytical and cold Dawn, the warm and cheerful Dusk, and the agitated and bellicose Noon. But Noonday had finally relented and grown silent since Twilight had come into her own. Dawn had lost some of her certainty. The others were more used to change within their own realms, but the Sun had been in stasis for such a long time… Brigantine was bowing before her. Celestia nodded to her. The noble rose, and cleared her throat. “That’s out of the way,” she groused. “Right to business, your Highness. I’m here about the contract.” Celestia knew exactly which one she meant. She raised an eyebrow. “And which might that be?” “You know what I mean. The soddin’ defenses for the damn city. Your grace,” she added, in the perfunctory matter one might throw aside a used tissue. “I put in my House’s bid two weeks ago and there’s been no word.” “These things can take time, Lady Brigantine.” Only the matriarch of House Rowan-Oak could growl in a way that was simultaneously annoying and delightful. “With due respect, we both know that only House Rowan-Oak deserves that contract. The work my father did on the fortifications of Canterlot are still a miracle, and he taught me all he knew. No other House can make a place secure like we can.” Or do anything as well as we can, she did not add, though only a fool could fail to read it in her eyes. Celestia allowed herself a smile. The truth was that she had immediately approved House Rowan-Oak’s bid, but the Assembly had been bogged down in a web of last minute contracts. “Perhaps, but I have seen many great ponies. And many who relied to much upon the reputations of those before them. Your father was a skilled noblepony, and a fine engineer when he put his mind to it. But your work has been in munitions, has it not? Primarily, I mean.” Brigantine narrowed her eyes, suddenly wary. Celestia did not smirk. She wished to. She wished to do many things that she never did. She played dice, or so she’d said many a time, with the universe. But sometimes she enjoyed chess as well. Dawn grinned brightly. Twilight will love this when you explain. “So, the honor of House Rowan-Oak means little then?” Brigantine began. “A long history of service, we have, and suddenly it means so little. That’s low, your Majesty.” “Not at all. I hold your House in high esteem.” Celestia shook her head, and reclined slightly. “I simply wish you to convince me that my trust is warranted. A house is not maintained exactly from master to master. I cannot be too quick to decide on something as large and as expensive as the modernization of my nation’s defense. You understand.” She could almost hear Brigatine’s teeth grind. “Of course. Yes, of course. Munitions has been our focus for a decade, that is true. Not only myself, but my engineers have developed an understanding of modern weaponry which no House can hope to challenge. None of the upstart merchant houses can keep step with us. We’re the only bloody ponies in Equestria who know exactly how to take this city down with the least amount of effort. Who better to build it up than the house who can do that? My father’s workshops have been busy, and his knowledge is preserved. Add my own to it, and you have the pinnacle of both the defensive and offensive. I can build mountains and knock them down, your Highness. We can do it for the least, and do the best job. Our resources are greater, our expertise is world-renowned. Rowan-Oaks have been building castles since Equestria was young, and we’re no different.” Celestia hummed. “I’m concerned,” she said slowly. “But perhaps your changed focus has not changed much of your House’s character after all. I will send my Seneschal, Raven, to your compound tomorrow morning to discuss specifics with you, as well as deliver a letter. Will that be satisfactory, for now?” Brigantine blinked, looking for all the world like a bull stopped mid-charge. “I… yes, your Majesty.” Celestia nodded. “Then go in peace, Lady Brigantine. I am glad to have been of service.” The Lady bowed, now mostly recovered, and retreated. As soon as the door closed behind her, Raven coughed politely and said, “My lady, I think you may have pushed too hard.” Celestia hummed. “You may be right. Not even a single witty parting word? I shall have to write more than I intended. When you bear my missive, would you offer her a bit more than we had discussed?” “Of course.” Celestia glanced over at Twilight, and saw her brimming with questions, squirming in her seat. Dawn, Dusk, and Mere Celestia herself smiled together. Immediately, Dawn regained some of her former analytical self, wanting to lecture to her young charge, to give a full account and to impart lessons to be learned from what she had witnessed. Thus it had ever been, and the uncertain Dawn found a warm comfort in the familiarity of teaching Twilight something new. You can’t learn this in a book, Dawn said, grinning—looking for all the world in her mind’s eye like Twilight herself in the middle of the old school labs. But Dawn, and Celestia herself, paused. That phrase had been one that she herself had thought on multiple occasions, varied of course. She had been a teacher perhaps more honestly than she had ever been a ruler—being a Princess was often as much about being a teacher as anything, at least in how she had ruled—but it was not what she needed to be now. Was it? She filed all of those thoughts away for later, before it could blossom into anything worth mental discussion between herself and the Selves which watched behind her eyes. She would have time for that tonight, after she gone to bed. “I’m sure you have questions,” she said, and smiled for Twilight. “Lots,” Twilight said simply. “And I have answers… but first! Lunch. Raven, you’re welcome to join us as always.” Raven smiled a small, knowing smile. “Only if you insist, my lady. I would not wish to come between you.” Twilight opened her mouth to say something and then flushed, and Celestia winked at them both. “I think it will be alright. After all, I do believe proper courtship requires some supervised time together, hm? It has been some time.” “That’s what I’m led to believe,” Raven replied with a straight face, feigning seriousness. “I of course trust you, but Lady Sparkle may perhaps be a scoundrel yet, and it is my sure duty to—” “I am not a scoundrel,” Twilight said. Celestia and her senschal laughed as the Princess rose from her high seat. “Oh? More’s the pity. I do have a weakness for scoundrels.” “But—” “Oh, its quite well documented,” Raven continued, trotting behind her lady as Celestia headed towards the door. “Weren’t you telling me about that one fine stallion, the sea captain?” “Captain is a bit too grand a title,” Celestia said, casting a look back at Twilight, who had just started to move. A wicked impulse to strut while she was ahead occurred to her, and before her better angels could object, she made quite sure that Twilight was reminded of just how impressive she was. Twilight stabbed her salad. Celestia had always taken note of how she did that, just stabbed at the tiny mountain of greens and assorted vegetables as if it were a thing to be subdued. It didn’t really mean anything. She’d just noticed it before and noticed it again. It was strange, what things one remembered. “Okay,” began Twilight, as soon as she had gulped down her food—another thing Celestia had noticed about her as she grew up, that she more inhaled than ate, “so… I read the dossier. House Rowan-Oak has the expertise, historically, and their various business enterprises make them a perfect candidate to handle the job. So why delay?” They had retired to Celestia’s personal suite, and food had been brought up by Mead himself. His reunion with Twilight had been brief but joyful. “I did not, in fact. Raven, could you put some tea on?” “Certainly, ma’am. Shall I choose?” “It is one of your many talents, to always choose correctly, so yes.” Raven smiled and left. Celestia continued. “I approved of her bid almost immediately for the same reasons as you probably would. Brigantine’s House has, over the years, cultivated a collection of business contacts that is fascinating, and they have many high-profile projects under their belts. I actually have no lack of faith in their acumen at all.” “Then why say all of that, about munitions and the passing of time and measuring up?” Celestia sighed. “I went a bit too far. Do you remember when I referred back to her father?” Twilight nodded. “That was a mistake. He was a skillful diplomat and statesman, and he was a fine engineer. He was also a miserable excuse for a pony and a terribly individual. I loathed him. Profoundly hated that bitter, empty husk of a pony.” Twilight seemed… taken aback, that was how Celestia would put it. It occurred to her, seeing the surprise in those eyes, that she had so rarely ever badmouthed anypony in Twilight’s presence before. She was oddly both self-concious and relieved all at once. There was something freeing about letting Twilight see the part of her that was capable of anything remotely like loathing. Raven had returned with a kettle which she deftly placed in the center of the table. “We… long suspected that he was more than merely unpleasant. I won’t elaborate—there’s no need to at the present time—but we could never prove anything. My lady worked hard to do so. She did manage to secure a measure of protection for his family, however.” “Protection?” Twilight turned her curious face from Raven to Celestia and back again. Celestia winced. “I… Brigantine was an only child. I invited her to attend my school. She’s an earthpony, yes, but we teach far more than magic. As you should well know! Though it occurs to me that you were technically in my personal tutelage by the time you had moved beyond lower math and the like. She spent much of her childhood living in the Palace. Her mother I kept in constant contact with.” Twilight bit her lip. Celestia noticed, and waited. Another mannerism of Twilight Sparkle she knew well. “Did… I mean, was he… you make it sound like—” Raven—song sing her to a good reward—chose this moment to intrude. “It was not like what you are trying to ask. He never touched either of them, as far as we could tell. And believe me when I tell you we watched.” Raven was many things. Confidant, secretary, diplomat, occasional babysitter. Spymaster. Friend. Rarely did she allow even the slightest passing shadow of negative emotion to reach her composed features. Celestia had always admired that. “Then why bring it up? Isn’t that a bit… I don’t know, isn’t that a bit cruel?” Twilight asked, and then seemed surprised that she had. Celestia sighed again and looked down at her own plate for a moment. “Yes,” she said. “It was, and I regret it. May I explain myself? Not that it will absolve me—I shall be making this up to her for a while, I suspect. It was in poor taste.” “Explain? Sure.” “Politics is a conversation, one with context. One where context is everything. For an Ageless being, context is a matter of time and simple list-keeping, and I excel both in being long-lived and in keeping lists. Younger, brasher heads advocate for frontal assaults and daring, showy charges. Those things work. They do! But they are exhausting, and often risky. Nothing so cripples a mover in higher circles as an embarrassment. “It’s why I conduct all of my business with the Houses, both minor and major, in private.” Celestia paused a moment to eat, and then continued. “Most would assume that they demand this of me, but it is a courtesy to them. A barbed courtesy, if you will. I preserve the integrity of their reputation among their peers, while also freeing myself from any consideration in regards to how I deal with them. Beyond the everyday considerations,” she added, shaking her head. “Brigantine is… rash. Angry, often. She is an unhappy pony and frequently at odds with everypony she meets, including myself. But she is not a ‘bad pony’ per se. On the contrary, she has much about her which leads me to suspect that if pushed she may be one of Canterlot’s finest inhabitants.” “So you’re trying to push her?” “To an extent. The real cause of the delay was not on my end at all. The contract and her bid must still be approved by the assembly, but there have been legislative delays. But it bears my seal and the matter is more or less already decided. Only the finer details are left for Raven and Brigantine to hash out.” “It will be most unpleasant,” said the mare in question, her tone flat. Celestia grinned broadly. “Oh, come now. Lady Rowan-Oak can be a delight. A vulgar and cutting delight, but still quite refreshing.” “If you say so, my lady.” “But, to continue, Twilight: Brigantine pushes far too much on others. Sometimes, this is not such a bad thing, as she demands only what she herself is willing to give, and in doing brings others into greatness with her. But often she merely bullies. I do not tolerate it, and every opportunity I have to frustrate her attempts to do so, I take with relish. If we are lucky, she will learn that there are better ways to operate. She knows better than to waste the time and effort of my court this way, and she also knows that exactly that message is what I delivered. She has internalized too much of her father’s negative aspect and I wish to exorcise it. And thus, my love, did I overstep. I shall probably have to invite her and her son to the palace at some point soon, if for no other reason than to talk to her in a less combative way.” Celestia watched closely as Twilight brightened upon hearing the word love and she adored the happiness she saw there. Even for one such as she, with many lovers over such a great span of years, the first unsteady steps of love were exciting. Twilight composed herself slightly, but the happiness in her features did not quite disappear. “So, all of that was show, really. The matter was already decided. You were just using it as a vehicle for something else.” “Yes. Simplified, but yes. Much happens outside of the public halls of policy. I have worked to make it less that way over time, but…” she shrugged. “I can only control myself with absolute certainty.” Twilight nodded, looking thoughtful. She rested her chin on a hoof, and Celestia tried not to enjoy thoughtful-Twilight-posing too openly. Lunch concluded quietly and pleasantly, and when the plates had been removed by the quick and dutiful Raven, they had tea for three. Raven tried to excuse herself, but Celestia insisted. She wasn’t quite sure why she insisted that Raven accompany them. She had imagined, what little she had thought about her reasons at all, that her seneschal might be able to help her answer Twilight’s questions. But they had not been so hard to answer, and really Raven’s presence was not strictly necessary. Dusk murmured in her ear, as it were. Perhaps you wish for our Twilight to approve of your friends. Is it really so hard to believe? It’s rather natural. And for Raven to approve of your relationship with Twilight as well. Except she already approved. Didn’t she? Celestia had informed her not long after Twilight had returned home from that fateful visit. If anything, Raven had almost acted as if she were unsurprised. Oh, I think she suspected something. After all, hadn’t you? Dawn chuckled in her ear. I believe Raven approves. And besides, it isn’t like you need a reason to enjoy tea with a friend. Celestia blinked. Fair. She really didn’t, and she did think of Raven as a friend. Twilight seemed to notice. “Celestia? Something on your mind?” “Oh, nothing,” she replied. “Except, of course, whether or not you remembered to bring something nice for L’Engle’s tonight. We have a date, if you remember.” “Oh, I remembered. So did Rarity, apparently. You know, she snuck me a new dress into my luggage? Spike helped her.” The Princess laughed, and found that it was already the best day of court she’d had in a very long time.