Chapter 6
Celestia dropped herself into in the seat of the carriage and let out a long, heavy sigh. She glanced nervously at the window, and, with a flick of her horn, pulled the curtains a little tighter.
She hadn’t told Luna why she needed it—how could she?—but, even so Luna had delivered. Their foul-weather carriage, enclosed, with thick glass windows and security curtains installed specially for the occasion, had rolled up to the Golden Oak Library promptly at 4:30. Celestia had managed to calm her nerves enough for the short walk from the front door to the carriage, despite the waiting crowd—that is, before Twilight had put a hoof on her shoulder.
“Travel safe,” she had said. “We’ll be there soon.”
Celestia had looked back at her and begun to tremble. “You… aren’t coming?” she asked nervously.
Twilight shook her head solemnly. “Royal carriage,” she said. “Wouldn’t be proper.”
Celestia had blinked. She knew that. Of course it wouldn’t be right for Twilight and Rarity to ride with her; that was a privilege rarely bestowed even upon the highest dignitaries. But, somehow, this hadn’t occurred to her. Ever since she’d arrived in Ponyville, she could always count on the two of them to be right there beside her. And, to think of having to leave them behind, just when she needed them most...
“We’ll be taking the normal Festival Express,” Rarity had butted in. “We’ll be there in the front row, ready to help however we can.” Her eyes twinkled. “Us, and the rest of our friends.”
Celestia had blinked, and swallowed, and, with only the barest nod to them, had turned to face the crowd.
It was her first public appearance in months, this short little walk. And, even though she knew there were eager screams, and thronging crowds, and flashbulbs popping, and royal guards pressed so close they almost suffocated her—it all felt so far away.
Wouldn’t be proper.
She waited until the carriage began to move, then closed her eyes and sighed. After another moment, she leaned forward and peeked through the gap in the curtains.
* * *
She met Luna backstage, at the foot of the stairs leading up to the platform.
“Tia!” Luna cried, dashing towards her
Celestia froze. She had wanted to wait until after the Festival to meet her. But—
Celestia’s hesitated long enough for Luna to throw her arms around her neck. Celestia felt her skin crawl at her touch, but delicately placed an arm around her anways. “Hey Lu,” she returned weakly.
Luna grinned up at her, then pulled away—and Celestia felt her insides freeze Luna’s arms and chest came away with little streaks of white. “How was… vacation?” she asked uncertainly.
Celestia opened her mouth, at a loss—
—and suddenly, she knew exactly what to say.
“Relaxing,” she lied. “But it was very nice to get away from it all for a while… Just enjoy some time reading, chatting with friends...”
Luna shot her a crooked grin. “Sounds nice,” she admitted. “Maybe I should give it a shot one of these days…”
Celestia let out a little sigh of relief. Luna had bought it. She could deal with the ethical ramifications of lying to her sister later, but for now—
“I’m looking forward to taking back my duties,” Celestia added. “Don’t want to get out of practice, after all…”
Luna grinned a little wider. “Of course not,” she said. She glanced up at the sky, then back down at Celestia. “It’s time,” she said simply. “You’d better get up there… don’t want to be late…”
“I never am,” she replied with a grin.
Luna scurried off, and Celestia turned and took a deep breath. She could do this. She’d done it a thousand times before—just go up and raise the sun, like a big girl—
She mounted the first step up to the platform.
There, three or four steps up, two guards stood flanking the steps. Of course they were there. One couldn’t be too careful, especially with all the recent turmoil…
Celestia swallowed. She couldn’t let them know, couldn’t let them see, that she was different. They were just guards, true—but they would be the first ordinary ponies, outside of Twilight and Rarity, to get a good look at her up-close.
She took another step, closer, and closer, and closer—
They’d see it. She knew they would. They’d see a spot Rarity had missed. They’d notice a streak Luna had rubbed off. They would call for others, and—
—and, to her astonishment, the guards bowed.
Celestia froze. What, exactly, were they doing? Was it a trick? Were they going to whistle for reinforcements, or simply pounce?
Celestia stared at them for a long, quiet moment—long enough for the guard on the right, a pretty white mare, to shoot a furtive glance at her.
And then, Celestia grinned. This was a trick—but it wasn’t theirs.
She was fooling them. Here she was, half-bug, maybe more—and they didn’t suspect a thing.
Celestia held her head a little higher, then trotted right past them. “Carry on,” she said brightly. They saluted as she passed.
Celestia grinned. This was a better prank than when she’d convinced Luna the boogeymare lived in the closet—or the time she’d spooked that magician by dressing up as a Hearthswarming ghost. Everyone in Equestria was here to see her, and, if the guards were any indication, not a one of them would know that anything was different about her.
There were a dozen more steps, and two more sets of guards, but already she could see the sky. She climbed those steps with the practiced grace of born royalty.
And, suddenly, she stood, free and clear, under the morning stars.
The crowd saw her immediately. There they were, gathered above, below, and around her. Earth ponies stood shoulder-to-shoulder with unicorns. Pegasi hovered in the air and perched on clouds, anywhere there was a space. The crowd looked much the same as it had in years past, but Celestia did not allow herself to count them. She just stared out at them, and they stared back.
At first, the cheers were quiet, nervous. In the pre-dawn gloom, only those in the very front could see her. But, as they began to cheer, the ponies behind them turn to look, and the pegasi above them began to do flips and stunts for joy. Soon, the crowd roared like a mighty river—like the ocean itself—at the sight of their Princess.
She had been gone for months. Rumors had flown thick as rain—something terrible had happened to her. Her mind had snapped. She was plotting against her sister. She had a secret family, even!
But here she was, to put all their fears to rest—here she was, the same as ever.
Celestia grinned even wider. I have a secret, she said to herself. I have a secret, and, right now, that makes me powerful.
She raised a hoof and waved, bringing a fresh, crashing wave of cheers. She put her hoof back down, then hesitated—and, on an impulse, spread her wings and took off. Ponies cheered and cried aloud as Celestia swooped over the crowd, letting them feel her presence. Letting them see her. Fooling each and every one of them. She was the same, true—but she was also different. And, given a lifetime supply of Madame Maquillage, no one would ever know the difference.
Celestia wheeled back towards the stage, carefully ignoring the looks the guards were shooting her as she set down. She was the Princess, after all—she was allowed to have a little fun every once in awhile, even at official functions like this. But now, she told herself, as she folded her wings behind her and turned to face the east, now the fun was over with. Now was the time for her to show her true power—to show why she, and she alone, was Princess of the Sun.
Hello, old friend, she thought. Are you ready?
Celestia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Every pony in the courtyard below fell still, and took that same breath with her. It was happening.
One thousand times. Celestia had done this one thousand times. Probably more, in fact; somewhere along the way, she had almost certainly lost count. But every time, it still amazed her—every time, she was awed anew by her own power.
Celestia cleared her mind, slowly shutting down each of her anxieties and fears—yes, even her worries about herself. She could worry about that later. Now, she had to do—to think—to be something more.
Think of a white room, she told herself.
In order for this to work, she could not be herself—she had to be a conduit, a pathway through which the universe itself would have its say. And, as she opened her heart, it began.
Through her hooves, she felt the marble blocks beneath her—and, below them, the earth itself. She felt it move, felt it breathe, felt the rivers and oceans wash across its surface, the trees and the animals and the ponies living and dying and being upon it.
She spread her wings a little—and with them, she caught the air currents. The winds that blew over all Equestria carrying heat, water, dust and rain, birds and pollen and pegasi, everywhere and anywhere they wanted to go.
She raised her head, and with it, her horn. She felt the light of the stars and of the moon, of the dawning sun, and the warmth and power that radiated out from them. She felt the delicate threads of magic that connected all things in a great web of existence—felt them bend and warp and snap and form anew as the world went about the business of living.
And Celestia lit her horn. She grabbed those threads—called on the earth, the sky, the stars, to give her strength and guide her. To help her in the task that had to be done.
And, ever so slowly, the sun began to rise.
At that moment, Celestia almost began to cry. She forced it back down, of course—she had to—but the knowledge that, even after everything, she could still accomplish her single most important duty very nearly overwhelmed her.
But now came the tricky part. Her yearly raising of the sun at the Summer Sun Festival was more than just a show: she had to give the sun enough energy to keep moving throughout the year. She had to check its course, ensure that it would continue moving in its flawless, eternal cycle. And the universe itself would help her do it: all she needed to do was to keep herself open, to keep the magic flowing through her.
One thousand times. Celestia had held the Summer Sun Festival one thousand times. By now, she knew the rhythm—by now, she knew how things were supposed to go. Indeed, except for the fact that this was the single greatest expenditure of magical energy she regularly made, she could almost call the Summer Sun Festival routine.
Which made it all the more surprising when her horn went out.
Celestia’s eyes widened. For a split-second, nothing seemed to happen. Then, her connection to the universe slipped. The magic began to fade.
Nononono, Celestia thought, panic rising. Think of a white room—white room white room white room—
But another image filled her mind: twisting rivers of fire, coursing past her, threatening to reach up and consume her. Her breathing quickened as the rivers began to burn hotter, the flames leaping higher.
Celestia tried to clear her mind again, light her horn again, but she felt the flames of blind panic licking at her brain. She tried to take a breath, but the air would not come. She wanted to scream, but she could not make herself.
And, suddenly, a single thought, clear and hard and razor sharp, pierced through the fog:
It is too late. The magic has begun. The spell will complete, regardless of where it must find its fuel.
Feed it magic, or burn.
Celestia swallowed, forcing her fear back. She didn’t have time to be afraid, not anymore. She could feel the spell still pulling at her, still dragging at her personal reserves of Alicorn magic, reserves already sucked bone-dry.Those reserves were far smaller than they had been—previously, she had been able to sustain them throughout the whole process, but her reserves had bottomed out less than halfway through. Without access to that magic, she could no longer call on the universe—could no longer use the energy of reality itself to fuel the spell. But it still needed energy—and, if it couldn’t get more, it would consume her.
Feed it magic, or burn.
Celestia gritted her teeth. She was too old, too experienced, too good to let this destroy her. She was the master of the sun—and she would bring it to heel.
Even if it killed her.
Celestia concentrated, and her horn flickered back to life again. She could keep going on pure willpower for a few seconds, at least.
But, though the universe may have cut her off, she was far from done. She still had herself. And that might just be enough.
Celestia threw wide the gates of her mind. She dug deep into her soul, searching out the dead-ends and the corners. Anywhere she could find magic, she seized it and fed it to her horn. She opened reserves of power she didn’t know she had—ancient wells of magic she had nearly forgotten about. Her wings ached as she stole their power to fuel the sun. Her legs began to tremble as she tapped the Earth Pony magic within her.
But it wasn’t enough. She was coming closer, but it wasn’t enough. She dug deeper, frantically searching the corners of her soul for anything she could spare—
Almost as soon as she perceived it, she tapped it. A great, roiling mass of magic within herself. One she didn’t recognize. One she had barely seen before. Any other situation, this discovery would have given her pause—why had she not known about so great, so concentrated source of magic within her?—but now there was no choice: feed it, or burn.
And agonizingly, achingly, she felt the sun begin to turn. She felt it fall into its groove—the path that it had worn for millennia. It wasn’t perfect, of course, but Celestia could feel that, somehow, that the old calculus was satisfied. That the world would go unscorched for a year longer. She had done it.
Celestia doused her horn and dropped her head. She had done it. She gasped for breath, and sweat poured down the sides of her heaving chest.
Why had it been so hard? The thought came unbidden to her mind. It was never that bad before, not even when Discord—
But, even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. And the answer very nearly made her ill.
Celestia suddenly pricked up her ears. Something was wrong. It took her a moment to place it… and, when she did, she jerked her head up, her mouth already dry.
It had taken so long to recognize the sound she heard because, strictly speaking, it wasn’t there. One thousand times she had raised the sun, and one thousand times the crowd cheered for joy as the sun peeked over the horizon.
One thousand times—but on this, the one thousand and first, there was something new:
silence.
Celestia stared. Thousands of ponies stared, not at the sun, but back at her, eyes wide. No one moved. No one spoke.
Celestia looked down at herself, and what she saw almost made her vomit. One half of her body was shining, pristine white—but the other was glossy black, covered in streaks of white makeup.
She must have tapped into her transformation magic. And, though it had gotten her through, it had triggered another transformation. And now, standing there in front of thousands, there could no longer be any doubt what Celestia had been hiding from them all.
Celestia looked up.
“I—” she croaked.
A unicorn in the front row screamed. And suddenly, the gates of Tartarus itself burst.
Ponies scrambled backwards, away from her, tripping over themselves in their fright. Pegasi swooped and dived out of the way—one even tried to make a pass at her, but someone grabbed him and held him back. Unicorns vanished as they teleported away, and more than a few earth ponies ducked behind the stands.
“No,” Celestia cried, “please—”
Then, through the crowd, she saw them. Golden armor, pushing through the crowd and charging up the stairs. The Royal Guard. She whirled to face them, already expecting the looks of fear and anger on their faces. Tears welled up in her eyes—and then her guts turned to ice.
There, at their head, strode Luna. Her horn already lit, her eyes hard and sharp.
“Luna—” Celestia choked out.
“Silence,” Luna hissed, planting her hooves and spreading her wings. “What hast thou done to my sister, foul beast?”
“Luna,” she croaked, as the soldiers spread around her. “Lulu, it’s me—”
“Do not call me that!” Luna roared, lightning arcing down the length of her horn. “Do not test Us; you still draw breath only because We know not what thou hast done with her.”
“Luna, I’m right here, you’ve got to—”
Luna’s eyes hardened. “Guards!”
And suddenly, they were upon her. Dozens of ponies wearing golden armor, horns lit, wings spread, and spears at the ready. Luna herself stepped forward, her horn shining a dangerous, icy blue.
“Luna—” Celestia pleaded.
Luna stepped forward and pressed her horn to Celestia’s neck. “Not another word,” she snarled, “or We swear to Harmony, We will—”
“Princess!”
Both of them looked up at the cry—and there, trying to frantically force her way through the line of soldiers, was Twilight Sparkle.
“Twilight,” Luna said gravely, “this is not the time—”
And yet, Twilight pushed her way through. She stumbled, but scrambled to her hooves and ran up to stand between Luna and Celestia—joined a half-second later by Rarity, who had squeezed through the gap she left.
“Get out of the way, child—” Luna snarled, half-turning, her horn still pressed to Celestia’s throat.
“Princess!” Twilight repeated, gasping. “You’re making a mistake. She’s telling the truth!”
Luna’s gaze flicked up into Celestia’s face, the barest hint of doubt showing, before she looked back down at Twilight. “You lie—”
“She’s been with us in Ponyville the whole time,” cut in Rarity. “We didn’t believe it at first either, but it’s true. It really is her.”
Luna’s glare cracked, but only for a moment. She set her jaw again, then pulled her horn from Celestia’s neck. Celestia sucked down a gasping breath as Luna bent down to stare at Twilight and Rarity.
“Thou claimest that this—this thing is my sister?”
Both Twilight and Rarity nodded.
“And thou wouldst swear to it?”
“Cross my heart, hope to fly—” Twilight began.
“And thou wouldst stake thy lives on that?”
Twilight froze. Rarity glanced over at her, then stood a little taller.
“Yes, your Highness,” she said. “Ours, and both of yours.”
Luna looked up into Celestia’s face again. And there, for the first time in many, many years, Celestia saw genuine fear in those eyes of hers.
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Why did I feel like something would go wrong as soon as she stepped out of the carridge?
Really, how do you keep pushing out these chapters of very good quality so quickly? Keep it up, you're gaining even more followers of the story!
8383220
Thanks for the compliments! It really means a lot.
Unlike other authors, I have everything written and edited before I begin posting. Though it's a little more work, it means that I can post a high-quality story in a short timeframe, and that my stories won't stall out in the middle.
For a second, I thought Celestia accidentally set the world aflame.
Yay, the world doesn't literally have rivers of fire? And Twily and Rarity stopped the inquisition.
Everything else though -whistles- time for the storm.
Thanks for writing :)
I knew that the moment she would try to raise the sun, shit would go fubar. I fucking knew it, like when they first found the correlation between magic use and the transformation.
~Crystalline Electrostatic~
14:7_8/23/2017
8383583
You're very welcome!
Well, it could have been worse...
OH NO.
The more magic she funnels, the more her changes progress.
She's about to go full queen in front of an audience.
Aaaand she tapped into her changeling magic. RIP.
Resteroni in Pepperoni, your majesty.
"I ate her."
"THOU ATE MINE SISTER???"
"Only after I ate an entire orphanage."
"FOUL BEAST, YOUR EVIL KNOWS NO BOUNDS."
"Oh, don't worry, I made sure to burn the town down afterward, I'm not a savage."
(etc etc, I don't wanna write an entire bit.)
GOOOOD!!!!
Twlilght and Rarity cam to the rescuse!
Luna, really...would a changling call you lulu????
I get the feeling that this is Celly starting to think like a Changeling Queen.