Predators of Light and Darkness
Celestia had a wealth of experience in finding that which was meant to be hidden. Sometimes it was a small thing like Tenebrous’ nickname, sometimes larger, like the machinations of Canterlot’s nobles. Petty or profound, she sifted secrets from the flow of her subjects lives. And kept them.
She didn’t have that advantage in the desolate wilds past the Everfree, where there were no ponies and the land didn’t speak to her, but she knew how secrets were concealed and defended. She spread her senses wide as she walked through Luna’s night, looking not for what might be hidden but where something concealed would remain unnoticed.
She rippled through the wilderness in a broad wave of orphaned dawn, sending the creatures of the night into confused silence behind her. She did not so much walk as flow, sliding through tall grass and dense trees with the ease of morning light. It had been a very long time since she had truly been outside Equestria, and even the mountains had become unfamiliar. Celestia treasured that newness even if she hadn’t the time to fully enjoy it.
Her course halted at the border of a broad plain, the grasses soft and dark in the moonlight. The accompanying glow condensed back onto her coat in a brief glimmering sparkle before fading away. Celestia regarded the empty, open prairie thoughtfully, and stepped forward with a slow, deliberate stride. Her horn lit and flashed in a brilliant strobe as she bent all her magic on one particular spell, casting it over the innocuous landscape. The empty air itself flickered and began to melt away, grass shivering and vanishing to unveil black hills and spires, a chitin city grudgingly revealing itself.
There was silence where there should have been life, with only a pair of grim-faced sentinels standing silently at the entrance to the hive. There was little expression on their black muzzles as she approached but there was horror in their eyes, the soft blue reflecting the sunlight still gathered about her. They tensed further with each step she took, ready to fling themselves bodily in front of her in a futile effort to stop her approach. But she stopped just short of crossing that line, regarding the changelings in front of her. “Tell your Queen I am here.”
The answering silence stretched out, tense and trembling, while the guards neither moved nor spoke. Celestia waited patiently, knowing that somewhere behind those eyes, near at hoof or far away, was another mind, one nearly as ancient as her own. The wind blew and blades of grass hissed, but no birds flew overhead, no creatures of the forest scurried or chattered in the nearby trees. With the illusion stripped away, the hive and its surroundings were silent as a stone. Or a grave.
Eventually there came the soft tapping of hoofsteps and a foal - or perhaps, a hatchling - appeared through the angled arch and bowed to her. “Queen Chrysalis sends her greetings, Sol Aeturnus,” she said in a thin, piping voice.
“Thank you, little one,” Celestia said, smiling down at the small, fragile representative. It was the sort of gamble Chrysalis preferred, ruthlessly exploiting emotions. It wasn’t at all needed, but if Celestia had come in fire and vengeance, it would not have been enough. “I will speak with her.”
The hatchling blinked up at her. “Of course,” she said, turning and stepping back through the archway. “Please follow me, Your Majesty.”
Celestia complied, her hooves striking odd sounds from the organic floor. The ground itself shivered in terrified ecstasy under her; even as far from her throne as she was, she still carried the love of her subjects with her. Each step sent trembles through the hive, as if she were a careless giant treading on the flat black floor. Lurid green rivulets twining through the ceiling and walls cast soft-edged shadows in faded red, but they illuminated nopony other than Celestia and her guide. The silence inside matched the silence out, and tunnels that should have swarmed with changelings were empty and echoing.
They went down, through abandoned passages and through open caverns, though narrow galleys outlined by spatterings of green. Finally she was led into a great central chamber, and here at last were other changelings, muttering and rustling around the periphery of the room. And in the middle Chrysalis lounged on a black throne, watching through slit-pupiled eyes. “Why, Celestia,” she said in a voice dripping with acid insincerity. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“I’m sure,” she murmured in reply, walking through the chamber to stand in front of the throne. She stood, head tilted slightly, watching Chrysalis patiently.
“Well?” Chrysalis snapped, her wings buzzing briefly in irritation. “Have you come for vengeance? To crush us underhoof once and for all? To see me cower and beg for my children?” She glared at Celestia. “You don’t frighten me. I bested you before.”
“Did you?” Celestia’s voice was light, amused, and sudden uncertainty flickered behind the narrowed eyes of the changeling Queen.
“Yes.” Chrysalis said flatly, after just too long of a pause. “What do you want?”
“I’m just here to talk.” She offered Chrysalis a small, sad smile. “Rosedust.”
All the emotion drained from Chrysalis’ face and she gazed at Celestia with flat and empty eyes. The soft sounds of the other changelings gathered around them faded into utter stillness, and Celestia stood in a room full of statues. Then, one by one, they left, vanishing into the hundreds of tunnels, until it was only Chrysalis on her throne and the hatchling hunkered down at Celestia’s hooves as if sheltering from an invisible wind.
“I am not that anymore.” Each word was sharp and precise, a shard of diamond driven between them. “Rosedust is dead, along with her flutterponies. There is only us.”
“I was afraid of that,” Celestia sighed. “What were you thinking? There was no need for you to delve so deeply into the heart of the world. Even I risked far too much to bring forth the Elements of Harmony.”
“No need?” Chrysalis laughed, a harsh and angry sound. “You’re Celestia. Sol Invictus. You defeated Discord with your Elements and then went on to sweep away everything that made an enemy of you. You have no idea of how little it takes to threaten those who do not have that power.”
“Perhaps not,” Celestia admitted. “But was whatever you were so frightened of worse than this?” She gestured around at the green-lit underground, hidden away from the sun.
Chrysalis bared her fangs. “Contrary to what you might think, we like what we are. We are proud, clever hunters, preying on stupid ponies. What we do not like is the situation we have found ourselves in.”
“And what situation is that?” Celestia asked quietly.
“Hah.” Chrysalis snorted. “That is not your concern.”
“A situation that drives you to attack Canterlot itself, attack me, and threaten my subjects is very much my concern.” She deliberately turned to look at the hatchling at her hooves, addressing it directly. “Queen Chrysalis.”
The hatchling looked back calmly, and her eyes flashed. Then in a swirl of rancid magic Chrysalis discarded her disguise. The changeling on the throne slumped down into a scarred and aged veteran, no longer the haughty ruler he had played. “What gave me away?” Chrysalis asked sourly.
“Nothing.” Celestia shook her head at the changeling queen. “It was an astounding performance. But you are who you are. I knew there would be something I did not see, so I...guessed.”
“So I’m predictable. Even better.” She stalked away from Celestia, crossing to her throne and putting a soothing hoof on the back of the elder changeling there.
“We are, all of us, trapped by our own natures,” Celestia said quietly.
“Trapped.” Chrysalis snorted derisively. “You, trapped? You’re the center of the most powerful nation to exist, surrounded by uncountable loving ponies, and the sun rises and sets at your whim. “
“Some cages are more gilt than others,” Celestia admitted. “But it seems yours chafes more, of late.”
“Of late?” Chrysalis barked an ugly laugh. “It has been closing in on us for the past thousand years. An Equestria that is so stable and orderly, its emotions so quieted, is barren land for us. Every generation, every year, we have shrunk. Withered.”
“You’re dying,” Celestia finished for her.
“From the moment I was hatched, we all knew I would be the last Queen Chrysalis.” She looked down at the aged warrior slumped in her throne, his breathing too labored even for one of his years. “Any victory was something to dream of. To conquer Canterlot, to drink all that power even just for a short time...”
“You might have survived long enough for us to attack you,” Celestia said quietly.
“And what else could I do?” Chrysalis glared at her, eyes flashing. “Let us simply fade away?”
“You could have asked for help.”
Chrysalis stared, speechless. Her wings trembled. “Would you give it?”
“I can forgive your attacks, but the danger to my ponies...” Celestia shook her head. “I could not.”
“Then why did you mention it?” Chrysalis shrieked, the walls of the hive itself trembling from the force of her anger.
“Because I am not ruling in Canterlot right now.” Celestia replied calmly. “It would not be my help you would ask.”
Chrysalis gaped. Her mouth worked soundlessly in pure shock for a moment, then she shook her head as if trying to shrug off a physical blow. When she focused on Celestia again her eyes were narrowed and speculative. “What are you up to?” She demanded.
“Ah.” Celestia smiled, a genuine and approving smile. “I am taking chances.” She stepped toward where Chrysalis stood at her throne, making the changeling queen tense suspiciously. “The past thousand years have not been entirely kind to ponies, either. I have found myself controlling their lives far too closely. Just as you have, I suspect.” She nodded at the changeling on the throne. “They were never meant to be puppets, were they?”
“No.” Chrysalis admitted grudgingly. She looked down at her subject, and her expression softened. “But they are so fragile, and we have lost so much. We need all our strength together to survive. What else could I do?”
“Perhaps nothing. Our choices have always been limited. We are...constrained.” Celestia sighed. “No matter what either of us might wish, if I were the sole ruler in Canterlot your end would be inevitable.”
Chrysalis hissed. “I realize I’m outmatched. You don’t have to rub my face in it.”
“I apologize,” Celestia said, her tone quiet and serious. “I did not intend it that way. I truly am sympathetic to your plight, and despite everything I do not bear you any ill will. I meant to remark that our personal feelings, friendship or animus, pride or shame, have no bearing on what we can do.”
“They have far more bearing for you than for me,” Chrysalis growled.
“That may be true.” Celestia leveled her gaze at Chrysalis. “But we will all run to ruin in the end. The world has changed. We have not and we cannot.” She paused and smiled faintly. “Most of us.”
“And what is the point of this?” Chrysalis burst out. “You might have time to ponder philosophy and be delightfully oblique, but my people are dying. I don’t care if you are savior or executioner but if you are neither then get out.” Green magic flared, battering against Celestia, and she planted her hooves.
Light burst forth from Celestia. It wasn’t just bright. It wasn’t just brilliant. It wasn’t just blinding. It shone through blood and bone and chitin alike, blazing straight through the walls of the hive and the surrounding earth. The pressure of her light alone drove Chrysalis back, sending her stumbling against her throne before the will of the incarnate sun pinned her in place.
There should have been sound, a roaring and thundering to match the relentless flood of power. But Celestia’s hoofsteps sounded in a crystalline silence and her voice was level, impossibly casual to come from such a bright-burning form. “As I said, I will speak with you. Whether you want to speak on polite terms, or under this coercion, is your choice. But we will speak. That is not your choice.”
“All right.” Chrysalis spoke in a hoarse, strained voice. “You’ve made your point.”
Instantly the merciless cascade of light stopped, though here and there it persisted for a few moments, twinkling in the air and the walls like fading embers. The empyrean fire of Celestia’s being calmed, fading back to merely mortal form. The black chitin walls creaked as her will relaxed, the entire room seeming to expand slightly from the release of that pressure. She even held out a hoof to help Chrysalis up, but the changeling queen ignored her as she righted herself with a brief buzz of her wings.
“Very well,” she said flatly, hatred burning in her eyes. “Speak.”
Celestia cocked her head at Chrysalis, holding her gaze. “Listen to me. Not as Queen Chrysalis, but as Rosedust, or whatever is left of her, whatever she’s become.” She waited for the faint nod of assent, more a twitch than a conscious concession. “I cannot help you.” Celestia emphasized each word. “But I can speak with you.”
Drop by drop, the venom leaked out of Chrysalis’ expression, until she looked merely bitter. “I seem to have lost the thread of our conversation,” she said after a moment.
“Then let us try this one,” Celestia said, turning away to examine the aged changeling still resting, nearly unconscious, on the throne. “What are you to your changelings? Mother, ruler? Arbiter of morality, judge and jury?”
Chrysalis took a deep breath, her muzzle wrinkling as if she’d bitten into something unexpectedly sour. “I am their center,” she said heavily. “That was true even...before, but now I am all that keeps them from falling apart. We were always close, and now I hold a piece of all of them.”
“You mean that more than figuratively, don’t you?” Celestia turned to Chrysalis. “It hurts me whenever any of my ponies is hurt, or dies. But for you, something is taken from you.” It was not a question. “And as you’ve drawn them closer, that loss spreads out over the rest.” She shook her head slowly. “How are any of you still sane?”
“Perhaps we aren’t.” Chrysalis bared her fangs. “How would you tell?”
Celestia smiled dryly, sharing the dark humor. “I suppose. So without you, where would they be?”
She eyed Celestia warily. “Lost,” she said after a long pause. “Alone. Severed from each other.”
“Center, indeed,” Celestia murmured. “I do not know what my subjects will be without me, but I suppose I will find out. I have left my dear sister Luna as the official ruler in my absence, but I have not left her alone.”
Chrysalis narrowed her eyes at Celesta, suddenly alert. “Cadenza?”
“No. Cadenza has the Crystal Empire to administer without shouldering Equestria, and besides, she is not a god. Equestria really needs two.”
“Yes...” She hissed it, her slit-pupiled eyes studying Celestia’s face. “Who?”
Celestia raised her eyebrows. “Surely, even here, isolated as you are, you felt it. The birth of a new goddess.”
The changeling queen betrayed no expression at all as she studied Celestia, searching her face before finally shaking her head slowly. “No. I have been too busy to pay attention to anything outside of the hive’s concerns.”
“Ah.” Celestia smiled proudly. “My dear student, Twilight Sparkle, has become the first mortal to don a divine mantle.”
“Twilight Sparkle.” Chrysalis’ ears flattened. “The purple one.”
“Yes,” Celestia agreed. “The purple one.”
“So of the two gods in Canterlot, I have made a personal enemy of one, and assaulted the sister of the other.” There was no humor in her tone. Neither was there despair or anger. It was flat, emotionless, and lifeless as cold stone.
“I would like to believe Twilight is nopony’s enemy. Certainly she is frighteningly effective when confronted with an obstacle, but Nightmare Moon has been redeemed, and Discord walks free, even if he is far more constrained than even he realizes.” Celestia’s expression turned thoughtful. “I’m afraid there was not much left of Sombra but his hunger for the Crystal Heart, but she would be the first to point out that was not entirely her doing.”
Chrysalis made no reply, but her ears twitched, listening to Celestia. The quiet of the room was broken only by the hoarse, steady breathing of the elder changeling, but the mood had turned watchful. Soft cerulean glinted from the spattering of tunnels around the chamber where the others had crept back to watch and listen. Celestia pretended not to notice, focusing her attention on their queen.
“And Luna dreams brighter futures for everypony, more than they would dare hope. She is certainly passionate but I do not believe she bears a grudge against you. Though it is possible she bears a grudge against me.” Celestia’s calm serenity turned sorrowful. “We did not part on the best of terms.”
“Princess Luna, resentful of you? How novel.” The tone was almost mocking, but Chrysalis subsided after a sharp look from Celestia. Her next question was far more serious. “So did Luna - or this Twilight - do what I could not?”
“No, I suggested it. It was in everypony’s best interests for me to be absent for a while.” Celestia kept her tone calm and neutral. “Even mine.”
Chrysalis looked at Celestia for a long, long time, finally shaking her head in disbelief. “I have never understood you,” she said.
“You may never need to.” The corners of Celestia’s mouth turned upward in a faint, ironic smile. “You need only believe me, queen of deception.”
Chrysalis grunted, unamused. “I saw Shining Armor’s memories,” she said. “Your truths are more misleading than my lies.”
Celestia bowed her head. “I admit it,” she said. “But I make my apologies to those who have been hurt. Do you?”
She got no reply, only a long, steady look from the changeling queen, and Celestia smiled softly. “I will leave you with that question, then. I have my own to answer, and should be about it.” She turned toward the chamber’s exit, her hooves sounding loudly in the quiet. “I know the way out.”
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This chapter is lonely. It needs a comment, so I shall sacrifice my off-topic words to it.
There is barely any comments here.
I shall add to it.
Your worldbuilding. It is delicious.
Wow... So little happens in this chapter, but at the same time so much happens.
Equestrian-Changeling rapprochement, eh? Let it happen.
First: Nice title shoutout to a good series of books.
Second, given the nature of Celestia's quest, having her ask Chrysalis who she is indicates you've added her to your pantheon of gods. How nice, it matches my own perceptions of the character nicely. And her question of whether or not Chrysalis defeated her doesn't answer things either way, in line with your portrayal of Celestia as manipulative (I like to think she did because emotion based magic is serious stuff in Friendship is Magic-- What are the Elements but emotion based magic? Or the Windigo? Even Discord was given his final push to awakening by a schoolyard squabble. The idea that enough love can defeat the Sun itself is hardly out of line with the show's sensibilities. But, well, such magics are conditional and without enough emotion behind her, I wouldn't bet on Chrysalis).
I'm sure you'll get a friendly reception here. Just like how your last interaction with them was amicable.
The warm comfort of the sun hides the fact that it knows neither mercy nor hesitation. What is needed is what shall be.
Somepony hit an old memory. What precisely is that name to her?
What need have changelings for names?
Ah, there's the specifics.
Cages are more in the mind than in the world. The burden of responsibility restrains more strongly than any prison could, when one's duty is so grand and one's habits so old.
'Tis a risk too great for the eternal Protector of ponykind to authorize, no matter the kindness in her heart. And yet, where a protector says no, the protected may say yes, and all be quite correct.
Predator and prey living together in harmony . . . 'tis a brave new world Luna may bring, that has such creatures in it.
Second chances.
They don't ever matter, ponies never change.Dear me, I simply do not know where that came from.Second chances. That's got to have been in some friendship report.
How quickly we go from yelling to compliments.
And yet, you do not apologize nearly enough, or you would learn not to use them so freely. To paraphrase a certain Ms. Gold, the worst thing you can give somepony who is wrong is confirmation.
Oy, I'm talking like this already? I guess you'd best give up hope of getting anything comprehensible out of me for the next few chapters at least. Sorry.
I love your word choice! I've had to Google the definitions plenty of times, but even then it wasn't enough to get on my nerves. As I was searching I found quite a few interesting things, some of them being poems. I'm not sure if you did this on purpose or not but the poems fit rather nicely to Celestia and Luna's relationship (in my opinion), and often times the things I find seem too good to be coincidence.
Then there's the third quarter of the poem and the final two lines, "I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul." The meaning and gravity of these lines are up to the other readers to decide.
But seriously, this chapter had lots of wonderful hidden meanings! (I wonder what else I missed?) Either way, I will be reading on, enjoying the tale as I go!
4706173 While I'd like to think that this particular author has the cleverness to make such references, it's worth noting that the latter name has often been used for Celestia in fics.
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Daetrin's eloquence is rubbing off on us a bit, 'twould seem.
Before this was nixed by the comics, it was a very popular headcanon, and one I can appreciate. In fact, I was going to write something based around the idea myself a while ago.
Yes, Sunbutt, Chryssie handed you your cake flank on a silver platter.
Ah, figured Sunbutt would be the cause of many bad things happening to the changelings.
So... Chryssie is a God too, but instead of eternal life she is eternally reborn. Interesting.
I hope they do make peace, I love Chryssie and her lings. And Luna and Twilight are much more flexible than Caketighs.
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The story seems to imply that Celestia loosing to Chrysallis was intentional. Another one of her "games".