A Brief History of Canterlot Castle

by Rambling Writer

4 - Framework

Gabion wished Celestia could help them with the whole castle and not just the platform; after merely half a year, the platform was almost complete. It was, contrary to his original expectations, holding together magnificently. Even after repeated measurements, he couldn’t find the slightest dip in it. Another week, give or take, and it would be done.

He walked over the platform one last time for the day, still chewing on the pulpy remains of the last cherry of dinner. Block after block, flawlessly fitted together and hanging over the world. He wasn’t one to abuse the word “sublime”, but just this once, he absolutely meant it. He considered getting the water level out again, but why bother? He’d tested it almost a dozen times over the past week, and it was perfect every time. By now, his “tests” were mostly just ego-stroking so that he could look at the identical water levels in each tube and be smug for his workers.

The platform was so perfect that a large part of him though that cladding it in marble was a waste, covering up some of the best stonework he’d ever seen. But cladding was happening, with the outer blocks being carved to curves to be covered with marble, which would then be magically bonded together to appear as one single, seamless piece. It would look pretty, but it would also look far too clean for Gabion’s tastes, too neat and tidy. Then again, he wasn’t the one having the castle built.

When he reached the current edge of the platform, Gabion leaned over. A straight drop, hundreds of feet down to the bottom of the cliff. Even if it wouldn’t fall, the design was still stupid. He worked the cherry pit in his mouth into position, then spat it out over the edge.

“Somepony down there’s going to be very confused.”

Gabion twitched at Celestia’s voice. For somepony three or four times the size of him, she could be incredibly quiet, on the hoof or on the wing. He hadn’t even felt any vibrations from her steps. But he kept his gaze forward, himself composed, and said, “We could all use a little confusion from time to time. It gets us out of our ruts. This one time, about six months ago, there was a princess who told me she wanted to help build her castle…”

“Oh, come now,” Celestia said, taking a seat next to him. A few strangely colored strands of her mane were hanging out of her bun. “I heard she wasn’t that bad.” She gave him a playful nudge on the shoulder.

“She wasn’t, not at all,” said Gabion. “But I was very confused those first two days.” He looked up at Celestia. “And I imagine she was, too.”

“She was,” Celestia said quietly, but she was smiling.

“And it gave me a new perspective on things.” Gabion looked over the foothills below again. “I probably wouldn’t have considered them otherwise. So I’m grateful.”

Celestia’s wings and ears twitched. “I’ll- be sure to let her-”

“You can stop trying to be coy, we both know you know what I’m talking about.”

“…Then thank you for letting me know.”

Gabion sat next to Celestia, holding his head high so the wind could twirl through his mane. He breathed deeply; the air was unusually clear in a way he couldn’t place. If it hadn’t been for the overhang, the castle definitely would’ve been a place he wanted to live. The atmosphere up here was so peaceful. Unfortunately, that would probably be ruined once Canterlot was completed and ponies moved in.

An immensely powerful pulse of magic next to Gabion made his coat stand on end. In the distance, the sun slid below the horizon. He knew what he’d see, but Gabion still glanced over to take a look at Celestia’s glowing horn. She didn’t look the least bit strained by the effort, regarding the moving celestial body with slightly less attention than Gabion would give a crane-lifted stone.

Gabion forced himself to ignore the implications of that and looked over the foothills again. The sunset had painted them in gorgeous shades of pink and orange and thrown them into sharp relief against the ground, casting long shadows. Beyond, as the plains rolled on, hamlets and villages threw shade of their own, broken up by points of white as their inhabitants lit lamps. The expanse meant it felt like all of Equestria was spread out beneath them.

“Beautiful land, isn’t it?” asked Celestia. She flexed her wings.

“Mmhmm,” was all Gabion could say. It was, but he wasn’t a poet and didn’t think he could do it justice.

“Why do you think I chose this location for the castle?” Celestia asked. “If I can have one of the finest views in Equestria every day… well, why not?”

But Gabion heard something in her voice, something he never would’ve heard a few months ago. It sounded… forced. Like an excuse she’d trot out. She was hiding something. And before he caught himself, he heard himself asking, “Is this really just about the view?”

Celestia’s wings and ears twitched, just a little.

“You could’ve moved the castle back,” continued Gabion, “or made it slightly smaller to avoid going over the edge and still gotten almost the same view.” He looked up at Celestia. “I’m not as good with ponies as you, but I know when something doesn’t fit together.”

Celestia rustled her wings as she stared at the sunset. “No,” she said at last. “Not completely, in any case. It was a way for me to force myself out of my ivory tower and remind myself that I need to care for Equestrians, not simply Equestria.” Her words sounded far more genuine than before. “Performing a job that requires this much cooperation obliges me to engage with more ordinary ponies than any other.” She paused, the wind tugging at her mane, and added, “It prevents me from getting in a rut.”

Gabion looked at Celestia again, but this time, he looked at her. He remembered the ways he’d thought of her: regal, graceful, peerless… She hadn’t been a pony before construction on the castle began, she’d been an ideal. No wonder she wanted to get out and about. She’d been alone in a crowd, surrounded by nopony but principles, for who knew how long. “And… I don’t want to sound presumptive, but was building an entire castle like this-” He banged his hoof on the platform. “-truly the best way to go about that?” he asked.

“I’d say ‘least bad’ would be more accurate,” said Celestia. “There are only so many ways I can leave the throne and not attract suspicion. Believe me, if there had been a safer, easier way for me to mingle, I would have done exactly that, and I never considered doing it this way until I was completely certain the platform could support the castle’s weight. I wasn’t lying when I said the castle would send a message, but there are far more efficient ways to send that message.”

His first instincts on the design had been right. Gabion smirked to himself. “Oh, come on, if friendship was all you wanted,” he said, “you could’ve just told me. You, me, a few nights together a week, just talking… It couldn’t have been that hard.”

“Do you really think so?” For the first time since he’d met her, Celestia’s voice gained the slightest hint of steel. When she looked down at him, her eyes had lost an iota of their warmth. “Answer me honestly. If I’d told you I wanted to connect with commoners, how would you have reacted?”

“I’d-” Gabion caught himself. He wanted to say he would’ve acted the same way as he had in the past few months, but the more he thought, the less likely it seemed. She still would’ve been a princess he needed to please, not a lonely worker who needed help moving stones. He would’ve been her friend because she wanted him to be, not because she was a kindhearted, intelligent pony. “In all likelihood, things… would’ve… gone badly,” he admitted. “Nothing would be real.”

“Precisely.” Celestia was soft again. “I wish it weren’t, but my every action with my subjects is tainted with our differences in…” Her voice trailed off as she searched for a word. “In everything. These… ulterior motives are the only way I can hope to interact with other ponies on an equal plane.”

“Our worlds don’t play nice together,” Gabion whispered to himself.

The sky darkened as Celestia continued lowering the sun. Once the stars were coming out, Gabion stood up and stretched his legs one at a time. Lighting his horn, he turned back to the camp, Celestia close behind. Stone crunched beneath their hooves as they walked across the flat granite plain.

“I’ll miss you,” Celestia suddenly said.

Gabion kept walking for another ten feet before he realized what she’d said. He looked over his shoulder at her. “Me?” he said incredulously. “Celestia, I- I’m just a mason. I’m nopony special-”

“When a lonely pony wasn’t fitting in at her workplace,” Celestia said calmly, “you helped her. When she was doing her job incorrectly, you helped her. You are-” Her voice hitched. “You’re one of the first ponies to truly see me as anyone but Celestia Sol Invictus in… a long, long time.”

Gabion quickly looked forward so Celestia wouldn’t see the blood rushing to his face. “I… couldn’t let you… stay… like… like that,” he fumbled. “I… didn’t… I wasn’t trying to be… special, or… notable.” Was she serious? She would miss him? He’d barely considered what would happen when she was gone. Yet now that he thought about it, it was probably because he’d been wilfully ignorant of the fact that, yes, one day, she would be gone. He’d miss her, too.

“You might be surprised how rare that quality can be,” Celestia said. A touch bitterly? “Many avoid me because they think themselves not good enough to be near me. You didn’t care.”

“You were- a- worker who- needed help.” Gabion winced at his own words. Of course she’d miss him. His own objections were why she’d miss him. It was what she was helping build the castle for.

He knew what Celestia would say before she opened her mouth. “Precisely.”

Gabion swallowed. “Well- I’m- glad to have known you.” In a desperate attempt to break the tension, he said, “Please don’t start breaking the foundation blocks to stay longer. They’re expensive, you know.”

“Of course I know.” A dozen layers of seriousness had dropped from Celestia’s voice. “I’m paying for them.”

They walked. Rock crunched. Lights were coming on in the camp as they continued approaching it.

A wild idea, triggered by the exercise, sprang into Gabion’s brain, and he threw it out on a whim. “If you want to stay in touch,” he joked, “we could be pen pals.”

Silence. Gabion felt his face warm again. Was the joke in poor taste, somehow? Or-

“I think I’d like that,” Celestia said seriously.

Comments

[LEGION55]

Nice.

[Vaguely Demented]

It’s not like he couldn’t visit.

[Giant_Neckbeard]

*Slow clap* And thus why Princess Celestia loves to send and receive letters. It's one of the few ways she can get around her status and just talk to her fellow Ponies, and keep in contact with the rare few who are friendly to her or don't get hung up on titles.

[FanOfMostEverything]

I think this is the maturation of a beautiful friendship.

[redmar]

It's actually quite a good idea.

[Alondro]

Gabion forced himself to ignore the implications of that and looked over the foothills again. The sunset had painted them in gorgeous shades of pink and orange and thrown them into sharp relief against the ground, casting long shadows. Beyond, as the plains rolled on, hamlets and villages threw shade of their own, broken up by points of white as their inhabitants lit lamps. The expanse meant it felt like all of Equestria was spread out beneath them.

This reminds me of what I'd thought would be the best opening scene to an FIM movie, starting a film series off with a stronger re-telling of NMM's return and the Mane 6 getting together, except it'd be Celestia raising the sun at the Summer Sun Festival.

It's that sort of dramatic spectacle that grabs the audience's attention, and at the same time you get the first glimpse of Twilight as a filly... then the opening credits would be narrative imagery going along with the opening credits showing all the Mane 6 in their respective original locations, leading up to the first Rainboom and Celestia coming upon Twilight's immense magic surge.