• Published 19th Aug 2017
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The Changing of the Sun - brokenimage321



A great many ponies made a great many mistakes leading up to the Canterlot Wedding. Their biggest was assuming Cadance was the only target.

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Chapter 7

Luna heaved a sigh as the sun began to rise. That was her sign: she was now, officially, off-duty. Ordinarily, she didn’t mind waiting up through the night, watching over her beloved Equestria—she actually enjoyed having a little time to herself—but tonight had been harder than most. Of course, there was the fact that Celestia was turning into that… that thing—which, by itself, would have been enough to shake her resolve—but there were other things, too. Nightmares, as the rumors began to spread. Frightened tears, from both parents and children. Angry whispers in darkened halls.

And she had to listen to all of it.

Well, she thought to herself as she walked through the halls, not all of it. But enough to be worrisome, at least. Thank Harmony Celestia didn’t—

Luna pushed open the door to the Breakfast Salon, then froze, eyes wide.

For a moment, everything was quiet.

“Come in, please,” Celestia said. “Despite the rumors, I don’t bite.”

Luna swallowed once or twice, then gingerly stepped forward, pulled out a chair, and sat. She continued to stare at Celestia, eyes wide.

Across from her sat Celestia, her mane pulled back behind her with a tie. The black changeling plates had spread even further since yesterday morning: now, the plates had consumed the left half of her face, and both her wings were gone. Beside her sat an enormous stack of newspapers and magazines. She had one of the papers spread open wide in front of her, and was reading it intently, a red pencil held crosswise in her teeth. At her elbow sat a lukewarm coffee cup, filling the air with the dark, heavy smell of caffeine.

Celestia glanced up at Luna, frowned, then spat out her pencil. “None of that,” she growled. “I’ve had enough of that look today already. I’m transforming, not dead.” She picked up the pencil. “Don’t look around me, or behind me, or through me—I’m still here. Look me in the eye.”

Luna swallowed, then made eye contact. Celestia wore thin red reading glasses, which magnified her eyes. Her right eye was still its native pink, but the left had turned a fiery orange.

Luna held her gaze for a moment, then shivered and looked back down to the table. “I’m sorry,” she said. She glanced up again, then chuckled darkly. “At least you only resemble someone who tried to destroy Equestria…”

Celestia looked sharply up at her. After a split-second, her shoulders drooped. “...I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Luna shook her head. “Already forgiven,” she said. “It takes a great deal more than that to offend me.”

Celestia returned the smile. She picked up her coffee and sipped at it, then picked up her pencil again and resumed reading. Luna watched her, noticing, for the first time, the growing bag under her one pony-eye.

“How long have you been up?” she asked uncertainly.

Celestia continued to stare down at her paper. “Never went to bed,” she said. “There’s too much to do.”

Luna eyed the newspapers warily. “What are you doing, anyways?” Luna asked.

“A trick I picked up from a friend,” she said. “When your public won’t tell you what they’re thinking to your face…” She leaned forward and circled something. “...figure out what they’re telling each other.”

Luna gulped. “And… what are they thinking?”

Wordlessly, Celestia lit her horn, and several scraps of newspaper floated across the table towards Luna. She took them in her hooves, unfolded them, and began to read the words circled in angry red.

“Monster… can’t be trusted… unstable… traitor…” She looked up at Celestia. “Traitor?”

Celestia sighed. “The thrust of his argument,” she recited carefully, eyes still on her paper, “is that, by revealing I’ve apparently been a Changeling all along, I am complicit in the damages that occurred during the Royal Wedding. There is speculation that I may have even directly aided the invasion. In either case, despite my role as protector, I have allowed my little ponies to suffer.” She circled something else. “Ergo, traitor,” she finished.

Luna took a deep, shaking breath. Celestia had spoken in a cold, almost-academic tone—the sort she used when talking about politics in far-off kingdoms. The voice she used when describing something happening, not to her, but to someone else, far away.

“Celestia,” Luna said carefully, “Is everything okay?”

For a long moment, Celestia was quiet. Luna noticed, suddenly, that her eyes were no longer running over the page.

“Of course they are,” Celestia said, without looking up. “They have to be, don’t they? I’m Princess Celestia. I’m perfect.” Her hooves, sitting on the table, began to tremble. “I can never be sad, or lonely, or sick, or hurt—those are feelings for mortal ponies, not me. And I have to be the same pony I’ve always been, or otherwise the natural order itself collapses, and all of Equestria burns in fire—”

Celestia fell quiet. Luna watched her for a moment, swallowed, then stood. She walked around the table to where Celestia sat, still staring down at her papers.

Wordlessly, Luna reached out and put her arms around her. Celestia flinched under her touch, but Luna pulled her close regardless. She held her for a long moment; at first, Celestia sat, rigid as a statue, but, after a long, long moment, she turned her head and rested it on Luna’s shoulder.

“I’m scared, Lulu,” she said quietly. “I-I don’t know if I can do this…”

“Of course you can,” Luna said with a smile. “You’re my big sister—you can do anything—”

Celestia did not react.

Luna’s smile faltered, and she pulled her a little closer. “I mean it, Tia,” she said. “We’ve done it all. We’ve built a castle, fought gods and kings, saved the world. Crowned a new Princess, even. You ruled Equestria, by yourself, for a thousand years on top of all that. And...” she swallowed “...and you saved me, too.”

Celestia raised her eyes slightly, meeting Luna’s gaze.

“After all that,” she said, smiling, “what’s a few dirty looks? You’ve done harder things—I know you have. You can do it,” Luna said, shaking her a little by the shoulders.

Luna watched Celestia’s face carefully—and, after a long, silent moment, saw a little hint of a smile quirk at the corner of her lips.

* * *

It happened at two o’clock that afternoon.

Celestia had just finished holding open court. She hadn’t done so in a while, and it was nice to help her subjects one-by-one again. Plus, it was a good chance to let ponies see her. Though she would have loved to do nothing more than hide in her chambers, this was an important opportunity to control the narrative. To allow people to see that, though she was different, she was also the same, still holding court as she always had. Still helping ponies, just like she always had. Same Celestia as ever.

But even she hadn’t been able to deny the looks. Ponies, watching her out of the corner of their eyes. Ponies, heads bowed and eyes averted, even when speaking directly to her. Ponies, too afraid to ask questions, too eager to agree with her to be genuine. She was used to ponies being awed and reverential; she wasn’t used to ponies being actually afraid of her.

Celestia was walking down one of the balconies on the side of the palace, the ones open to the air, when it happened. Her head was down, her eyes half-closed, as she walked, mechanically winding her way around the little knots of guards and courtiers. There was one pony—a little colt—who had come to court, whose face floated in front of her eyes as she walked. He had come, by himself, to ask Princess Celestia if she knew when the Changelings would come back again. She hadn’t known what to say—she’d made up something about how they might not ever come back, but, if they did, she'd fight them—but his gaze still haunted her. Absolute trust, tinged with abject horror. She didn’t want to guess what those little eyes had seen—nor what they had seen in her.

Celestia was dimly aware, somewhere in the back of her mind, exactly how long it had been since she’d slept. She hadn’t really had a good night’s rest in over a week, what with the build-up to the Celebration; she hadn’t slept at all in easily forty-eight hours, with the frantic research of last night, coupled with the anxious wide-awake worrying of the night before. And, even though her gut held a great boiling reserve of coffee and tea, tendrils of weariness still dragged at her mind.

Which is why she didn’t see the hooves flying at her until it was too late.

Someone bucked Celestia straight across the face. She yelped and jerked back, pressing a hoof to her cheek. Instantly, the guards appeared, tackling her assailant to the ground.

Celestia slowly lowered her hoof and stared at it. The bucking hadn’t hurt, not really; it had more startled her than anything. She could tell there was strength in the kick, but it had been a glancing blow, not a direct hit. Someone had wanted to hurt her, very badly—but, for some reason, couldn’t have done it if they’d tried.

Celestia looked up and blanched. “Release him,” she barked.

The guards stepped back, though some of them shot nervous glances at her. At their hooves—and at the point of one or two of their spears—lay a stallion. He wore a rumpled button-down shirt, dirty and stained, with a loose, ragged tie. He hadn’t shaved in at least three days, and had dark circles under his eyes. And he reeked of cheap alcohol.

“You,” he spat, stumbling to his hooves. The guards backed up a little, but thrust a few more spears toward him.

“Let him be,” said Celestia firmly. “He can’t hurt me.” The guards looked at each other, but each of them stood down.

Celestia stepped forward and licked her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said, “Can I help—?”

The stallion turned and tried to buck her again, but he stumbled and collapsed. “ ‘Sall your fault,” he slurred. “Err’thing.”

Celestia stepped forward, despite a warning cry from one of her guards, and slipped a hoof under him. “Here,” she said, “Let’s—”

He looked up at her, fire showing through the haze in his eyes. He took a deep breath, then spat in her face.

Celestia dropped him, and took two or three steps backwards, eyes wide. The stallion simply collapsed on the ground and wept into his arms.

“Rosie,” he sobbed. “And Daydream—those—” he hiccuped. “Those monsters took’m. ‘N’ you let’m.”

Celestia’s mouth suddenly felt very dry.

“No,” she said, “No, I didn’t—”

He looked up at her, his eyes flashing. “You let ‘em!” he roared. “You let ‘em take ‘em, and—and—”

He dropped his head again. “I want m’ life back,” he moaned. “They were er’thing… an’ all I want is to see’m again…”

Celestia took a step backwards and swallowed. She stared blankly at the sobbing stallion lying on the floor. Slowly, she looked up, somehow already knowing what she would see. Every pony in the hall—guards, bureaucrats, officials, hangers-on—stared back at her. Some waited for her to react. But most were watching her the same way they would have watched a caged tiger: warily, waiting for her to strike, wondering if they’d have enough time to get away before she tore their throats out.

Celestia realized, suddenly, that she couldn’t breathe. The weight of those stares threatened to crush her. She had tried to deny it—tried to prove otherwise—but she knew, in that moment, that they would never accept her. Anything she could try, anything she could say, anything she could do—and they would only ever see her as the monstrous Queen of their nightmares.

Celestia took another step away. “I’m sorry—” she choked out.

And still, they did nothing but stare at her.

Celestia let out a little, gasping cry, then turned and ran, the tears already pricking at the corner of her eyes.

They were right. They were right. And there was only one thing she could do.

Go someplace where she would never hurt anyone again.