Epilogue: The World is Not a Cold Dead Place
On the ridge overlooking Ponyville, Twilight thought about Celestia.
She sat without binoculars this time. Many things were different, but this was the little hill where it had begun, in a way. This had been where she had scanned the empty streets of Ponyville, the day they found the dead. The day she vowed that something had to be done.
The day she knew that she was going to find Celestia.
Twilight did not cry. She had cried many times since the Battle of Canterlot, but… well. She couldn’t say time healed all wounds because it was both true and not true, if you understand. Time made wounds easier to bear, but they were always wounds. Forever and ever, always wounds. They would always hurt to touch.
Celestia was such a wound. It would always hurt to touch the memory of her face or the sound of her voice. Her lessons in foalhood and her letters later. There were some books Twilight knew she would never, ever be able to read again.
But what time does do is transmute pain—new pain on top of old, all of it—into something else. Something like warmth and love and happiness but never quite what you expect when you hear those words. Because it hurt to remember her face and her voice and the smell of her tea and the walks in the gardens. And the taste of paradise. But it felt wonderful to remember, also. Death did not steal the sweetness away. With time it solidified until it was no longer separate from her, some distant past, but something she held in the now and clung to when the world closed in.
Down below, Ponyville bustled. New Ponyville, they were calling it. Sign said so. But it would always just be Ponyville, to Twilight. The tree was there, with no librarian right now. Or not a permanent one. She had made sure they had one for at least the time being. They had rebuilt and built anew, and the town had actually grown a bit. In the distance, had she brought binoculars, Twilight might have seen the apple trees on gently rolling hills and the telltale chimney smoke of Sweet Apple Acres. She might have seen, perhaps, a tiny blue dot as an ex-Wonderbolt soared over the acres on his morning workout, always right before lunch. Had to work up an appetite, he would say with a laugh. To endure his wife’s cooking, he would explain with a low voice before he was clouted over the ear for his insolence, to the delight of listening friends.
She might have seen the spartan building at Ponyville's edge, new and unadorned, where Fluttershy had built her clinic. She might have seen a harried, troubled pegasus who did not sleep well these days, despite her newfound happy purpose.
There stood Sugarcube Corner. The boutique was still a boutique, but Rarity’s name wasn’t on the sign anymore. Not under the “Operated By” part anyway. But there was a new sign with her name near the door now.
Twilight looked forlornly at the Spike Memorial Library for a while longer.
A year. It was surprising all you could get done in a year.
Not that the work was done, not by a long shot. There were whole neighborhoods with so much damage it might take two more years to fully restore. Money was tight, after all. Even with the money that had been seized from the traitorous noble conspirators without an ounce of sympathy or remorse. Those funds had kept a lot of the poorer ponies who had lost homes fed.
They had also opened the route between Manehattan and Canterlot. Messengers ran the roads now, and there would be an honest mail service back up and running within another year or Twilight would eat her introductory alchemy textbook. Which she had no plans to do, as it was moldy and old and she had been the last in a long, long line of owners.
Lady Rarity and her wife had done much for the denizens of the lower tier. In the months of uncertainty, as winter grew colder and colder, it was Lady Rarity who had kept the spirits of the cold ponies high, talking to them and knowing them. And everywhere she went, her iron leg clacking, walked also Rainbow Dash, ready with jokes. Most of them a bit off-color. And all the better that they were—for the old stallions roared and the children loved her colorful mane and her easy smile. And Rainbow had found that she liked them all in return. House Belle had no walls or gates. Ponies moved freely and the garden was open to the public during the day. Refugees came to large outside dinners that Rarity took great delight in. The Imperial stores kept.
And so they had passed into spring. Spring into Summer. Summer into fall. Winter. And now it was spring again.
Amaranth and Ice Shine leaned against each other. They sat on the still damaged wall, looking over the city in repair.
She thought that he was deliciously warm and snuggled closer. Chuckling, Storm covered her with his wing. She smelled a little wild, but she always did, now. He thought also that he smelled the faintest hint of the lunar flowers.
“It’s a beautiful sight, really,” he said softly. His wife made a pleased sound under his wing. “Even without her majesty, the sun goes on. The Archon said it would. I remember when we didn’t believe her, but with Luna…”
Amaranth fidgeted. “Yeah.”
“Are the other Duskwatch sending word still?”
Amaranth hesitated, and then shook her head. “Not really. We got a report in Nightshade HQ last week. I forgot to tell you. It was sort of not really helpful? Terse, blunt. Like only a single page. They hadn’t found anything, weren’t giving up, would be back. Blah blah.” She sighed and hummed into his chest. She knew he liked it. She liked doing things he liked. It was nice to have an effect.
He smiled over her head. “I can respect devotion.”
“Ugh. You are so stereotype boring faithful guard,” she groused.
“You’re not much changed from the strange Nightshade who tells jokes while we all wait to be stabbed hilariously in our beds.”
“And you’re still the one who let the crazy batpony enchantress make you a crazy potion,” she said. She leaned up and kissed his neck. On a whim, she let her fangs gingerly touch the skin beneath his coat and he shivered. She didn’t see his mouth fall slightly open and his eyes close, but she could imagine it. She leaned up a bit more…
And nibbled on his ear. “Busy tonight?” she said casually.
“Well, there’s no dayguard, so you’d think I be free,” he said lightly. “And you’d be right. Maybe I’m always free.”
She stopped short. “You decided to…”
But he shook his head. “I’ll take the commission. It’s boring, and I know how bored you’ll be, but… it’ll give me time at night. It will let me see you more often.” He leaned down and kissed her nose, which always made her laugh. “And that is good.”
“You didn’t have to do that for me,” she said, but inside she loves it.
“I know I didn’t. I wanted to,” he replied. And they smiled into each others eyes, as if it were city enough.
A lot can happen in a year.
The kingdom of Equestria was gone. It really had been for awhile, whatever ponies said. She’d known that right away. When Twilight had woken up in the Palace infirmary a few days later, the awed survivors treated her like a God.
It had been… distressing, to say the least.
There were no more princesses to lead them. Not in Equestria, and only Twilight could decide what came next. Most of the high nobility were traitors and had been imprisoned. Others were found to be complicit. Those that were left were licking their wounds, cowed, or unpopular. Nobility in general had become something of an unwelcome presence.
So Twilight did what she did best. She organized. Or, rather, reorganized.
The Most Serene Republic of Canterlot was just the city, a few villages (Morningvale rebuilt and bigger now), and a few roads. Farms planted with Imperial aid by grateful refugees. They would be breaking even, foodwise, with Cadance giving Twilight’s fledgeling Republic support for at least two more years. But soon, Canterlot would be growing enough food to never worry about true famine again. Not with how much life had returned to the world.
In the wake of the Shadow’s destruction, earth had rebounded with a vengeance. The dying fields and forests seemed to be bursting at the seems with virility and life. Crops practically raised themselves. But of course, not really. It helped having so many earth ponies in one place, all of them very, very desperate for some nice greenery.
Twilight Sparkle had learned her history well. The Day and Night guards were disbanded, and most of it was discharged with highest honors and the survivors of the battle beats hoofblades into shapes fit more for wheat than flesh. The new Republican Guard was lean, small, efficient, and loyal not to Twilight (though they were devoted) or to any one house but to the ponies of the Republic. She had been very clear on that.
She did no conquering. She would fight no wars if she could. Stalliongrad had sent messengers, and soon they would be welcoming Manehattan into the fold. Rarity had visited them in person and received a hero’s welcome. She’d gone on about the parade for a week. It had been a wonderful return to fom for her, really.
Twilight had visited Las Pegas. The Council had been quite pleased at her political acumen regarding the monument to the fallen Pathfinders and Lunar Rangers who had held on when the south began to go crazy. And she had said, flatly, that she had no acumen in that regard at all. She only had tears, and an earnest gratitude for good ponies. That had been a short and rather quiet meeting.
One by one, the cities would come back to the fold. Fillydelphia was quiet, but without its leaders the cult of the Good Stallion had all but vanished. The great munitions factories were quiet. Soon, Twilight hoped to send a caravan of food and medicine, along with a letter of good will, and her own honest good will.
She cut few deals. She did very little bargaining with the other cities. IF they had a need she could fill, she filled it. When Twilight found a need she could not fill, she found somepony who could fill it. And so the word Archon slipped back into the language of Equestria: Judge and Mediator.
Pinkie and Applejack and Fluttershy lived in the valley. Applejack was married—Pinkie was a bit more excited than Applejack or Soarin’ about the possibly impending children. Which Applejack, of course, while turning beet red, swore up and down were NOT impending. Twilight smiled to think of it. Soon, she would say. You’ll want them. Or you won’t. Either way. But she knew Applejack did want them. And Applejack had already sworn that Twilight would be their Aunt, so there “auntie Pinkie”. So there. Auntie Twilight was in town, and she had a way cooler hat. It was the old archmage uniform, and secretly she loved it. Also secretly, when no one was looking and Twilight felt like she had the energy, she twirled in it.
Rarity and Dash married six months after the Battle of Canterlot. Twilight had assumed that Rainbow was just impatient, but had been corrected: Rarity had decided that somepony was going to have to be the brash one and so all but abducted Rainbow and hauled her off to Ponyville. Eloping. Eloping nobility. Well. It was a brave new world. Her leg still hurt her, sometimes, but she no longer hid her prosthetic. She no longer really was ashamed of it, and Twilight was proud of her. Sweetie had gratefully surrendered control of the house, and she and Scootaloo had moved back out to Ponyville with the Applebloom when the first wave of settlers had left. Twilight heard they were dating. Sweetie and Scoots, that was.
For her part, Twilight spent most of her days in the Palace at Canterlot doing paper work and drafting a document she called, without batting an eyelash, the “Fundamental Orders of the Most Serene Republic of Equestria, as laid out by Twilight Sparkle, High Archon of the Palace and as ratified by the council of the ponies of Canterlot and Equestria”. She also said the whole name every time anypony asked her about it. She was a little excited. It was a rather long document.
And soon, she would be done with it. And then she could go back home, because the Archon would no longer be all but unquestionable. She would be a watchman and a judge, but there would be no more princesses.
The young Lord Rowan-Oak poured out a nice bourbon from his family’s cellars and examined it. His face was hard to read, harder now than it was only a year before. He had to grow up quickly.
“Did you see the statue go up today?” he asks his companion casually, and pours another. This one he does not examine, but passes along.
Rainbow Rays, dressed in silk, took it and smiled. “Thank you. I did see it,” he replied and--without as much of the fuss--drank.
Fable let out a little sigh and leaned back in his mother’s far-too comfortable chair by the fireplace. It had taken him months to move in to her old study. He hadn’t wanted to even think about it at first. Like walking on the graves of the dead, he thought sourly, and then sipped. Damn, but the bourbon was fine. That was good, at least.
“I am saddened I had no chance to know him,” Fable said, his voice low. “Do be a dear and tell me: is it a good likeness?”
Rays rolled his eyes. “Absolutely not. He was like half a meter shorter, for one. They have him looking all serious and noble. Spike liked dumb jokes and he had no idea what he was doing half the time. I liked that about him. He tried, you know?”
“Yes, I know,” Fable said.
“I’m surprised you went to see it,” Rays said. “Seeing as how what he did to your House.” Same goes for me, he did not say for the umpteenth time.
They do not talk of the past much. Probably more than the others who were at the heart of it all, but… it is a difficult thing, reminding a flightless pegasus of when he could fly.
“The damage you and he did was miniscule compared to our good friends in House Iron, my sweet, you’ll be well advised of that,” Rowan-Oak said, feeling a momentary flash of irritation before settling back down. “But, had I a grudge to hold, I would not hold it against a dead stallion. Er, Dragon, I suppose. I think he has suffered enough. I also happen to think that he paid me back a thousand fold.”
Rays looked away, and then when he turned his face back to his liegelord, it was with a smile. “A toast?” he suggested. “To Spike and Canterlot, and House Rowan-Oak.”
Chuckling, the young Lord raised his tumbler. “To Spike and Canterlot, and to House Rowan Oak, may she produce a thousand bastards worthy of the name.” He emptied the glass and shivered. “By the stars, but that burns.”
Rays laughed. “Don’t drink it so fast.”
Fable coughed and waved a hoof at him. “I shall remember that. Gah, but wine never did this to me.”
“That’s because wine is, to be perfectly honest with you, for pussies,” Rays said and eloquently stuck out his tongue. “Be a stallion.”
Fable gave a grunt and rolled his eyes. “Ugh. You are always uncouth. I would do unspeakable things to you, bondspony, but I happen to like this chair and it has been a long day.”
“Oh, you’ll do unspeakable things later to me, I’m sure,” Rays said.
And Fable simply chuckled.
Rarity and Rainbow walked Twilight to the gate, of course, the day that she finally headed home. They laughed and talked their whole walk, from the Palace to lowest street. Twilight watched how they walked closely together. She saw the looks they gave each other and the ways their lips turned up in shared smiles. It was charming—and above all, it made her happy. She said so. Rarity was beyond pleased. Dash grumbled about being scrutinized.
For her part, Twilight simply enjoyed her friends.They’d survived another winter. The city was better than ever, and Rainbow was on her left and Rarity was on her right and there was something wonderful about it all. A few ponies bowed to them as they passed, and always they bowed back, but for the most part, Twilight and her friends were free to pass unbothered. It was not that they were not recognized. It was that Canterlot had learned when to pass on by.
The trains would be running again. Eventually. For now, you walked, and Twilight thought that she didn’t mind. She’d walked much farther distances, after all. Her pack was light. Just two days food, bread and wine and a bit of cheese. A little water canteen on one side. Rarity had offered to come with her, but Twilight had politely refused. This was her walk, and she would make it. Besides, it had been far too long since she’d been in the countryside.
“Oh, and you will remember to give my letter and my love to the girls, yes?” Rarity asked, her voice like music in Twilight’s ears. Twilight smiled and nodded. It was good to hear Rarity talk. Rarity’s voice was--ha!--like a bell. Dash’s was too scratchy to sound like music, but Twilight enjoyed it also.
“And tell Soarin’ that Spitfire wants to see him when he’s not busy bein’ an earth pony,” Dash said from her other side.
Twilight loved how they had sandwiched her in between them. All of her friends had surrounded her, buoyed her up. Throughout the darkest days of her mourning, Rarity and Rainbow and all the rest had been shoulders to cry on. Even Rainbow had stopped what she was doing to just let Twilight cry. She was bad at combing Twilight’s mane in the way that made her calm down, but the fact that she tried had been enough.
“Yes, yes,” Twilight said.
She did not notice the look of resigned concern that the couple gave over her head.
“And Twilight, dear, we’ll be out there soon,” Rarity went on.
Twilight turned to her with a face that was marked with weary eyes and a wan but genuine smile. “Oh?”
“Yes. Celestia maintained an old property attached to the Belle title as a museum of sorts. A monument to the bravery of my ancestors at Ghastly Gorge. I sent workponies to start renovating it a few months ago. It’s only an hour from Ponyville.” Rarity smiled at her with perhaps her warmest smile, her most reassuring smile. “So we shall be around. I intend to make quite the holiday of it.”
“Be great to see Ponyville and AJ and everybody,” Rainbow said.
Twilight was happy. Happy as she could be, anyway. Had it been a whole year? She lost track of time these days in all of the work. It was good work. She was proud of it. She had laid down her immense power and was confidant that the Republic would survive without her constant guidance… and, honestly, it was really someone else’s job to worry about it for a little while. She would be back. In a few years. Perhaps.
They reached the gate and found that a small crowd had gathered. And in the middle, as it parted, they saw a single pony: a sea-green pegasus with far too many piercings. Her hair with an aggressive undercut, her eyes alight with laughter. A modified griffon long rifle riding on her back and a saddle bag no doubt filled to the brim with vodka and bread and little else.
Tradewinds saluted Twilight. “Privet, Twilight Sparkle. I hear that you are off for territories, yes? Into the great unknown again.” She flashed her wild grin, always there beneath the surface, and then bowed with formality that surprised Twilight and her friends. “I am yours, gospozha Sparkle.”
Twilight giggled. “Well, rise, druzhnik. That’s the right word, right?” she added.
“It is good enough,” Tradewinds said and beckoned. Twilight and the Belle’s stood in a circle with her before the gates. “Thank you for allowing me to follow you. I would have come regardless, but is good to be invited.”
“Dash and I are both glad that Twilight will have some company,” Rarity said delicately, but Tradewinds understood. More information passed over Twilight’s head.
“It’s lovely weather. It will be nice to go home,” Twilight said.
Applejack received her letter gladly.
Twilight’s long-awaited return to Ponyville was the occasion of a party. Of course it was, for Pinkie had set up shop in Sugarcube again and she was very, very insistent.
Suffice to say that it was the best party Ponyville had ever seen, bar none, new or old. Cider flowed freely. Even with the austerity of survival, Pinkie managed to craft culinary perfection from basics. Twilight found that a bit magical, and she made sure she said so.
Every single pony in town wanted to talk to her. Several wanted to talk to Tradewinds--she of course got into a hoofwrestling match. Three of them, actually, to roaring applause as she trounced the strongest stallion in town who wasn’t an Apple. She then promptly ended up trying to drunkenly kiss him. In short, she was well received and it was concluded that the Petrahoofan was as friendly as could be, but perhaps should be kept away from the bar for awhile.
Twilight had changed. But not enough to really be much of one for long parties. Sometime around eleven, she found a table near Sugarcube with her name on it and sat down with a sigh and a tired smile.
It really was good. All of it. So many smiles, so much hope. The first harvest of New Ponyville had gone beautifully, considering, and already they were talking about their expectations for the years ahead. The walk really had been good. Long ago, she could have made it in a day, but… well. It was nice to take one’s time. Twilight Sparkle had nothing but time. She was waiting.
Applejack had, of course, been keeping an eye out for her, and glided over to sit at Twilight’s table. Twilight welcomed her and rose to share an embrace.
When they sat back down, it was Applejack who opened the conversation. “Sent the hubby off for somethin’ you might like, sugar. You still feelin’ the road? Took your sweet time, it looks like.”
“I wanted to see it in bloom,” Twilight said softly. “And it was nice. It was like being on the road again.”
Applejack’s eyes clouded for a moment. “You sound happy ‘bout that. I’m surprised.”
Twilight felt a momentary shame. She looked away. “I’m sorry. I just… It’s hard to explain.” She looked back up. “I didn’t like what I had to do. I don’t like the end. But there were moments I liked. Many of them were with you and Pinkie and Tradewinds, around the fire. I felt like we knew what we were doing, then.”
Applejack’s features softened. “Aw, hon, you ain’t clueless now. I’ve been keeping up, you know. Best as I can. Don’t rightly understand some of it.”
Twilight chuckled. “It’s okay, some of the council could say the same, really. I read basically every book in Celestia’s study this year putting together a system that I thought would survive. Nothing’s guaranteed,” she said quickly, and waved a hoof. “Nothing ever is, I guess.”
Applejack reached across the table. Their eyes met. “Twilight…”
“It’s okay. Not yet,” Twilight said.
“When you’re ready. You still…?”
It was an old question already. They had all asked it. Do you still…? Do you still believe it. Do you still hold to the crazy delusions you have. Have you Gotten Over It, really. They meant well. She nodded and smiled. “Not yet,” she said again with a tired smile, and she laid a hoof over Applejack’s reassuringly.
Applejack looked at her with concern, but didn’t pursue it, for behind her came Soarin’ with a precariously perched basket handle in his mouth. He limped a bit still, but only a bit. He would be fine by harvest, Twilight thought.
With a grunt, he put the basket on the table and let out a breath. “Whoa. The ice makes it heavy, AJ. I swear, this better be worth it.”
“Oh, shut your trap, featherhead,” AJ said and pecked him on the lips. “No complainin’. Doctor said you should keep active without too much strain, and I figure it counts. And yes, hell yes, it’s worth it. You doubt my family’s arts?”
He backed away, laughing. “Of course not.”
Applejack huddled over the basket and pulled out a long bottle with her own cutie mark on it. “Happened to find this in the cellar,” she commented, her voice soft and her eyes far off in memory, “the day I moved back. I was still gettin’ over all of Kyrie’s teleportin’ to get us here, and so I was plum tired. On a whim, I went to see if anythin’ was left of our stores, and would you believe that they left the brandy? Fine Apple Brandy, expensive. Our best seller in Canterlot,” she added. “But never in town. Cider’s what Ponyville drinks, and that’s fine by me. But seein’ as how you’re a fancy Canterlot pony…” she smiled back at Twilight. “Want some?”
“Of course,” Twilight said. “Seeing as how I’m a fancy Canterlot pony.”
Soarin’, she noticed, had saddlebags and he produced a few glasses with care. They were rather nice, Twilight thought, and the way that the apple brandy filled them was pleasing to the eye. She was noticing the beautiful things more these days. Slowing down and really, really appreciating them each and every one.
The way that the sun peeked through the curtains. The stars in the night so brilliant. The flow of wine into the glass. Little things. It was a debt she had to pay and a commandment, and she found that the burden was like and the yoke did not chafe.
Soarin’ took a seat beside Applejack and Twilight raised her glass.
“To Ponyville,” she said, and then added with a sort of relief, “to Home.”
“To Home,” they answered. There was a clink of glass on glass, and then they all drank.
“This is wonderful,” Twilight said. “I feel so warm.”
“That’ll do it,” her friend said amiably, tipping her back. “It’s good to see you, Twilight. Know I already said it at least a dozen times, but--”
“At least a dozen,” Soarin’ said.
“It’s good to be back,” Twilight finished. “It’s so good. There were a lot of times I didn’t think I would ever be able to come back.”
They were all silent for awhile. Drinking and watching the party that raged on. It was about Twilight, yes, but it was about more than Twilight. She thought it might be about life. But that was an idle thought.
“Can’t say there weren’t times I didn’t think the same. A lot of ‘em, to be honest,” Applejack agreed. “Do you think about it, still? I mean, as much?”
“I do.”
Applejack seemed to shrink in embarrassment. “I still have dreams,” she said, and Twilight knew exactly the kind she meant. For a moment, she thought she heard the rain coming down in Jannah again. Or even the smoke of Vanhoover’s fires.
Applejack thought about the little village where ponies hid. She thought about the endless plains she had seen in a vision in Jannah, and the ghosts of the ponies who wailed there. She smelled the spices of Valon and felt the streets of Midway’s great ruin’d city.
And Soarin’? Soarin’ thought of dreams. The feeling of sweat clinging to his brow and the warmth of fire. The smell of blood. The sound that masonry makes when it crushes.
They were all quiet again.
Twilight smiled at them both, in the end. “But not as often,” she said, picking the conversation back up and dusting it off. “Not anymore. It’s a new world,” she said firmly.
And the others, her dear friends, smiled in relief. “It is,” Applejack said. “It really is.”
Twilight Sparkle lived again in her library. It was more or less the same--they’d added an extra room on the ground floor and expanded the archives below a bit to accomodate the hoard she’d liberated from Celestia and Luna’s studies.
It had been strange, handling those old books. She had never felt that it was strange because they were not here. Simply… she couldn’t describe it in a way that didn’t sound silly. It was lonely.
She was alone in the library, and lonely. But she could not say with much heart that she was unhappy. Tradewinds had gotten a job with Soarin’ on the weather team. Ponyville had a new pegasus to nap in its clouds and kick its weather into shape in ten seconds flat. Well, when she wasn’t hungover. Twilight really should tell her to calm down with that. It’s not like it was all the time, but honestly, there are few things as seeing a weatherpony hurtling across the sky with a hangover, groaning about how bright it is the whole length of town. We all adjust in different ways, she thought. She would encourage Tradewinds to keep up her practice with the Griffon long rifle at the edge of the woods. It was something that grounded her strange friend. Twilight thought it was harmless enough.
And she had learned that the world was kind and good, but not always safe.
Twilight found herself humming a song that she didn’t know the words to as she organized books. Or, well, no she found she did know the words. They drifted lazily into her mind, but she didn’t know what they meant. It sounded like the sort of thing one sang quietly to oneself when cleaning. She liked it.
Sometimes, she would be working and a song would float down from some unseen place and rest in her mind until she hummed or sang it. Twilight hadn’t been one for singing before, but she found that it was something new and she liked it. Sometimes, instead of a song, a scrap of verse or a bit of some half-corrupted lore. Little castaways from other worlds. Celestia’s song was still singing within her. Twilight felt it sometimes when she woke at dawn and lay peering out the window to watch the sun rise.
She found that it brought her comfort. It was not a loud presence. There were not two souls within her, after all, but only one. One that was not quite the same color and shape as before, but was still very much her own. She felt different, yes, but not like another pony.
Twilight Sparkle felt like herself, and found it was a nice feeling.
Celestia. Speaking of, she really ought to get started piecing together all of the things she had put in that trunk. It had finally arrived on the wagon from Canterlot and she was rather eager to begin.
Her work before had been for Canterlot--laws and ordinances, systems, checks and balances… but this was very personal. Of course, she intended to publish it for many others. She hoped many read it. But really, it was for Twilight.
Every letter she could find between herself and the princess. Every important letter Celestia had saved for hundreds of years. Every uplifting encouragement and gentle comfort in dark times. Every long treatise on a dozen different subjects. Some poetry she had written in the margins of old history books.
Every little bit. Twilight would create something new, something… lasting. A monument that would outlast bronze, iron, gold and silver. Celestia’s voice was gone, but not lost. Twilight thought it would be lovely when she was done.
She thought Celestia would approve. No, she knew, for Celestia’s approval hummed in her veins and sang in her heart.
Twilight woke from a brief nap in the spring sunlight, in the reading room. She had made sure that the Spike Memorial had a good supply of only the best comfy chairs. It was essential.
Yawning, Twilight carefully placed the book--Celestia’s copy of The Lays of Bell-Toris--on the room’s nice oak table. She stretched luxuriously.
It had been a good few weeks. Every day she saw one of her friends. Rarity and Rainbow had moved into the manor an hour down the road as promised, and visited her twice a week. Applejack came by often. Pinkie had tea with her a lot. Almost every day, actually. She was very insistent. Twilight didn’t mind in the slightest. It was nice to have friends. It was nice to feel loved.
Unbidden a memory--
Well, no, it was the same, wasn’t it? Here were her friends, and she almost thought that Rarity and Rainbow and Fluttershy were there among them, walking beside her. Loyal Rainbow. Beautiful and graceful Rarity. Kind Fluttershy.
“May you live a thousand years,” she said. Why did she feel like she was about to die? What was on that hill? What was this Garden?
--and Twilight stood and walked aimlessly into the center room of the library. She had replaced the pony bust with a model of the new Ponyville. She’d gotten Pinkie of all ponies to help her build it.
Pinkie. She remembered her singing on the road--
Roads go ever ever on,
Over rock and under tree,
By caves where never sun has shone,
By streams that never find the sea;
Over snow by winter sown,
And through the merry flowers of June,
Over grass and over stone,
And under mountains in the moon.
Roads go ever ever on
Under cloud and under star,
Yet hooves that wandering have gone
Turn at last to home afar.
Eyes that fire and sword have seen
And horror in the halls of stone
Look at last on meadows green
And trees and hills they long have known.
Twilight took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
She did not cry much anymore. She would go days at a time without tears in her eyes when she woke. Weeks without remembering Celestia’s face or the taste of her lips. Hours without remembering how she had laid with Luna in Cadance’s dream or the Castle she had played in.
But she felt it all wieghing her down now. She swayed, and righted herself. It was bitter. But it would not wound her forever--oh, it would be there, but she would not be conquered. Celestia had not been conquered, and within her she felt a peace that passed all understanding.
But all around that peace? Twilight felt tears streak down her cheek.
She whispered into the stillness.
“Hail, Mercy,” and heard it in Luna’s voice. “Who are you, Twilight Sparkle?” in her own voice, and did not know why she asked. “Who do you say you are?”
There was a knock on the door. She felt a brief moment of alarm. She knew they didn’t believe her or accept her hopes and faith. They would see her tears and smother her for a week. She quickly swiped a hoof across her face.
Another knock. “Here!” she called. “Come in!”
The door opened.
An alicorn stepped inside. Twilight’s heart stopped.
She was blue and black, a crescent moon on ebony night upon her flank. She was tall, but shorter than the Princesses had been. Her eyes were regal and mirthful and in them shone a light unquenchable. Her lips were curled in a wild smile. Her coat was perfect. She was perfect.
“I have returned, at last,” Luna said, and it was Luna. Her voice… her voice made Twilight’s heart jump to hear. It made her legs weak.
“So you are,” Twilight said softly, barely able to make herself speak at all.
Twilight, trembling, approached her. She touched Luna--every last place where Luna had been wounded, and the alicorn was still all the time. She had been made and renewed. This was no madness. This was the truth made flesh. With a wordless cry, she embraced Luna and kissed her with a year of unspent passion and hope. They fell to the floor in a mixture of agonized memory and ecstatic reunion.
She had known all along. When Luna vanished and she felt power go out of her and Celestia’s last shard of self doing something, she had known. She had kept the faith when nopony else had believed her. She had known.
“It’s finally over,” she said, weeping.
“It is finally over,” Luna agreed. “I found myself in the Well at Jannah and Celestia’s failsafe, it…”
“I know,” Twilight said.
They sat, heads together, and smiled deliriously at one another. Everything was right in the world again.
“I…”
“I..”
They laughed, and then Twilight went ahead first.
“Welcome home,” she said.
“It’s good to be home,” Luna answered.
They cried again. For everything. Everything that been lost they cried for, but that did not last. The sun was shining and the day was bright. It was all so bright, so beautiful--all things shining. And this was her soul, come back to her at last, out of a hope inarticulate but fierce. This was love made flesh. The world was different, but not all of it. This was the same. The world was different, but it was still and always good.
The night had passed and morning had arrived.
Twilight Sparkle was finally home.
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Grazie mille.
6818244 she died. The shard from the well is a part of Twilight now, but Celestia died to kill the Shadow.
Great conclusion. Glad to see that eventually, things have a happy ending. This was quite the ride, and I'm so happy I was here for it. Amazing story, Cynewulf, truly. Never read anything like it before, and I don't think I'll read anything like it again. This might have become my new favorite story. I'm not sure, but it's definitely up in the top 5, along with Pen Stroke's Past Sins, Eakin's Hard Reset.
How does one react to the ending of what is one of the greatest works of fiction on the site.
Though it was only a year ago when I first found this story, over this year, it has touched my soul greatly. And now that it has come to it's conclusion, I feel, in a way, saddened. Saddened because I know that I no longer have new chapters of this incredible tale to look forward to.
Bravo, good Sir. I say bravo to you, for you have written something grand and powerful.
This was a good story. Though two things really threw me off here. All the shipping all over the place, and spikes death.
Dragon, soemthing able to tear through stone, gets crushed by what is styrofoam to it.
2.5 years 500 000 words! Congratulations Cynewolf ! That finally end!
Personally i dont recognize that ending as "happy end", Poor Celestia, dead again, nobody like Great white alicorn =((( but that story still amazing.
So there nomination:
Best OC: Tradewind!
Best shipping: RariDash( I know you like it!)
Best scene: final talking with Celestia
Crack ship inc: Spike x Applebloom (Really, this is weird )
Night finally Passing, but what you want do next?
P.S. От себя - отличная история с отличным концом. Удачи в дальнейшем творчестве!
I truly believed Celestia would be revived using the shard Twilight had taken.
This ending broke my heart.
This.... This is a terrible beauty. A path from darkness to light as faith is lost and found.
Ok didn't mean to be poetic there... Twilights journey was amazing and held not a few parallels with my own life. Faith lost, looking for a path forward, and the passing of my father.
Thank you for the tears both happy and sad as I walked this path in my memories with her.
Well, damn.
I didn't love it, I didn't hate it.
It made me angry, it made me cry, it made me smile.
At times I was utterly bored, and at others I stumbled over the words in my haste to read them.
I loved many parts, and hated many others.
Truly, a beautiful work.
Congratulations, and... thank you.
There are no words that express how I feel right now. Great work Cynewulf perhaps you should publish this.
6819418 looks like you're in the first chapter. It says next chapter but I'll go ahead and say since it's not a secret: Canterlot.
6819423 it was good to have you along, Neo.
Well, just got done reading. Not usually one for bittersweet endings but, I could say I saw it coming. It was a good ending, and a very good epilogue. Thank you sincerely for bringing us along on this adventure you wrote. I'll remember it fondly, and someday I may give it another read! Best of luck with whatever you plan to do next.
I can't... I just can't...
I have been waiting for you to finish this story Cynewolf since you began writing it, because I know your writing is of a caliber that waiting for each chapter would wreck me. Now I will read your work, which I know will be beautiful, and I will read it relentlessly.
6820699 good luck and godspeed--may you climb to the top
6820527 I lived this. What is it from?
Majestic.
I will say that I do not necessarily like the whole idea of the Crown falling. I've read works from end to end on this site, and there are countless ones where the Sisters either become powerless figureheads or totally give up their titles, and I don't like that development ij any of them; the Diarchy is good because it works.
But, all the same, it doesn't detract much from the story for me.
And this story gets a solid 99/100. The demise of two main characters worked well, even if they were particularly gut-wrenching for me (and the second one, at the end, nearly made me stop reading altogether...Long Live the Sun Princess), and the fact that Luna came back made things a bit better.
I do have a question. Now that Luna is a mortal (she is, correct?) and Twilight is relatively back to normal, will they die? And is there an afterlife that Celestia went to? And will they see her there, after their own ends?
6818948 It broke mine too. I'm sorry. I wanted to change it.
That might seem hollow, but...
I don't plot things out like you would plan a trip or structure an argument. When I am "plotting" it's more like a trance, a nervous hypnotic state. The story and characters decide their own ends and sometimes I don't actually like those ends. I can appreciate them in a literary sense, but they hurt my heart.
I tried to find ways for Spike not to die for a long, long time. Put it off forever. But every alternate road felt wrong. Cheap. Cheating. I believed in his victory.
I knew things could not be the same with Celestia. For Twilight, for anyone. I tried. I really tried. Writing that was hard. I was emotionally attached to the idea of her, aye, but I was emotionally attached to Night's Twilight. I didn't want to do that to her. But in the end, I had to.
6821329 Hail the Sun.
I actually like Celestia more than Luna! In the end I found that the Song sang her death and I could not deny it, say sorry. I would have wanted to spare her if I could have. I happen to really like the diarchy as well conceptually: for me, it is a lot like the Consuls of the Roman Republic--dramatic power coupled with a natural built in check. One sister can stop the other from going to far, and ideally, it would mean more stability.
There's no place in the text for the work I did (for fun, after the Epilogue) of working out how the Republic operates. Fun fact! Luna is still a princess. She respects Twilight's decisions and honestly would have considered divesting some of her supreme exectuive power into others regardless, as she is by the time of night's end heartsick, homesick, bereft, and generally reminded of why she was unhappy about the initial idea of being elected by the Equestrian nobility to perpetual rule. But she's still technically princess. The Princess now works more like a constitutional monarch, but with more power than, say, the UK's queen has. She cannot introduce legislation (neither can Twilight) but she and her biological descendants can veto quite a bit of legislation, and their veto is hard to overcome. (Twilight sneakily continued in her belief in Luna's return by sneaking language to this effect into the looooong articles regarding the office of Archon) Also, she has emergency powers that the Archon does not have, has privileges to act unilaterally in some cases, and can dismiss councilmembers under various causes, mostly for provengross immoral behavior, financial dishonesty, etc. Also, she has the supremity in regards to the Republic's army in the field and within limits enact a state of emergency to compel financing of an army for a short period of time to suspend the council's power of the purse to curtail her, in a way similar to the Dictatorship of the Roman Republic. My models were Rome, Venice, and Machiavelli's The Princeand his commentary on the Republic/Livy.
as for the question at the end, now that I'm done being lame...
That's a good question, Templar. (or as the Saracen says, yon Frank). Where do ponies go when they die? I left the beliefs of the Celestialists and Supernalists mostly vague aside from a general bit on their theologies (if you can call them such) and some homely ritual. Both sects believe that the dead who are not rankly evil go beyond the stars to some other place. Celestialists envision it in terms of rolling hills, green valleys, shade trees and a swift sun--Elysium, basically--where the Godhead which Celestia, the Stars, and the Sun itself are merely avatars of, will be with them forever in happiness. Supernalists think they shall roam the stars themselves, traversing the great spaces between them and dancing their way across the universe (in changed bodies, of course). Both agree that they don't really know for sure what it will look like and there's no real exclusivity there. (I was thinking of the Early Church Fathers a lot when answering this, and some of the early questions posed them, as well as "We see in part..."). Most ponies believe something like this. Luna and Celestia have always suspected that the spirit returns to the Song, but aren't sure. Luna always hoped for reunion and awareness there, and Celestia glumly suggested it might be closer to annihilation, what the Buddhists conceive of in Nirvana.
But you want to know if there is one. Word of God, as it were. I don't know. I know what ponies believe and what alicorns speculate, but I don't know the truth itself for sure. That wasn't sung for me. But I do think that there is a place where ponies go. I think its a happy place, and that any images you would use would fall short and be confused and hazy. But I feel like they do, in this world, and if so, then Celestia will wait for her sister and student/daughter/friend in the clearing at the end of the path.
6819839 It's passed, maranatha and all that.
Thank you, Constant. That was kind. It warmed my heart in the winter cold.
Bravo. The fact that I won't have this piece of art dragging me back to the site to get my fix makes me actually really depressed. This story is incredible.
Shame that Fluttershy seemed to disappear in all the action of this final arc. :(
6823016 There are twice as many Dark Tower references and almost as many biblical ones.
I have a bit of a problem.
6822923 I'm not sure what to do with my life now. I've framed my life in terms of the next Night chapter for so long that I feel rather small and lost without it.
It is a shame. She kinda vanishes after the trauma of Imperial Center.... partially because I realized that I forgot to add something to the Epilogue. Whoops.
But also, honestly, I think the one who suffered the most who wasn't Twi was her. I don't think Shy ever completely gets over the Battle of Imperial Center/Battle of Canterlot
also, so you don't have to reread it, the info I'm adding: Shy opens a small clinic in Ponyville in the absence of a true hospital. She ends up getting training and her clinic becomes a genuine hospital. She writes the doctor from Imperial Center often, and still cares for animals, opening a vet after an influx of medically trained ponies lightens her load at the clinic to almost nothing but administration.
6823053 I never read the entire story, just bits and pieces. This story felt sad and bitter, a haunting lullaby of a dream. And so I treated it as one. Reading a chapter here another here never grasping the full picture. Maybe one day i'll read the entire thing, maybe I won't. It's funny that song you used for this last chapter. I've found myself listening to it lately. The Hobbit & The Return of the King versions are different; one is the beginning the other is the end coming full circle.
As for the after life, well we may never know. Death is a veil we feel, but never know what's on the other side. I like to believe that there is something after, that there isn't simply annihilation afterwards. Really hope, because hope is all that we have.
6823090
I happen to like dreams, myself. There are a lot of them in there.
A beautiful ending to a truly stunning story. Bravo!
6820956
That song is from Guild Wars 2.
6821329
The Song sang them into this life. It's only fair, I think, that it at least points the way to the next place after their mortal bodies die.
I mean, nothing stops us from walking right into this life. Why should something as common as death keep us from waltzing into the one beyond?
Cynewulf, this story kept me up until 3 AM reading the ending. It helped me through a bad night, and I thank you for that. But damn it, what happened to Abdiel after all that? Or did I just miss him in the jumble of words? To be honest I latched onto him more than anyone else, and I still don't really know why.
I've read a ton of fics in this fandom (probably nearing 1000 at this point). But it is few and far between when I read a fic and just have this feeling of satisfaction. Of contentment. When I read a story and get to the end and feel "That's it. That's a solid 'THE END' right there".
This is one of those fanfics. You've done very well with this, Cynewulf. I'm glad I arrived at this story when I did. Bravo.
(But how bout that "Lily's Song" now?
)
6824167 Abdiel the traitor, the bereft lover, the unwilling Judas... Who misses his lovely wife, the smiling storytelling thieftaker. Abdiel left Jannag by his own way and came again to Sarnath and Ulthar and never left again, and he would atone. But it's not my story to tell.
Thank you, Squirrel. I'm glad you stayed with me until the end.
6820956
What 6823619 said. It's from Guild Wars 2. A piano version of it plays during a significant event in the campaign (one that rather parallels what just happened in Chapter XLIX, I might add), and then the version I posted plays in the credits.
'Tis a beautiful song. Someone has also made a Luna PMV with it, I believe.
6824509 I'd like to see that.
Oh man GW2. I remember the day the servers opened. Sylvan Engineer, back when engies were more gunslinging badass than nerd--and I was a gunslinger born I was. I was so in awe... And then I looked up...
It's a good memory.
This story has held a unique place in my reading list. No other story had me so confused as to what i felt about it. At times a wonderful dark vision of the fall of civilization. And yet so often not a story being told but rather a poem of each individual's sinking into the horrors around them. Necessitated by the ways the mind does not write is thoughts in stories but in parsed and jumbled connections.
The language, the concepts, the storylines and the delivery are so very different than any other work i have read that i could never decide if i loved it or was just confused by it but i knew i always wanted to read the next chapter.
It took time to see the skill and brilliance of this work because it Truely does not fit into any mold to be easily compared. And i am very thankful that you gave us all the opportunity to see some thing new and incredible.
6825253 no but she sure felt like it.
I do not often leave comments. But this story was well told, and you deserve a thankya-big-big for telling it. It really felt at times like this story was telling itself through you, and that is a high compliment to both you and the story.
Now, at the end: Well done.
6825737 thank you. Gan sang.
I apologize for my outburst many moons ago (back when you killed off Spike) at the time it greatly upset me because I was so invested in the story. I tried to forget about it, I tried to find other stories but I just couldn't let go, that is, until now. Trying to ignore such pain apparently doesn't work, but seeing that you completed the story made me relieved. While I stopped reading after that chapter, I did read the epilogue and I feel like I can finally let go.
I feel like I have mostly myself to blame, this is a very damn well written story it's just not for me but I didn't realize that before it was way too late. Congratulations on finishing. Let me change that knee-jerk downvote back into an upvote.
Celestia dies too? well now I'm really glad I didn't keep reading.
6827137
I ragequit Project Horizons.
I still think that my reasons, over a million words in, were pretty solid. I still have big issues with Somber's characterization and plotting after the midpoint.
But when he finished I read it all again, and found that a great burden was lifted. It is no sin to be distraught and angry over a story. To be honest, good, because I think that story, like Myth, is vital to what it means to be human. I don't trust any man who has never felt the sting of the grave in word or action with money or life.
So... I understand, and I'm glad it could ease that away. Stories are dangerous. For the teller and the listener alike, they are dangerous. I talk about writing them as opening up your chest, handing people a sword, and waiting for a choice. I think that reading is that way too. As I opened to you so you were also vulnerable through investment, and it's hard to let the sense of an old wrong go.
Thanks, also. Good luck out there, friend.
And so the Night has Passed. Its been an amazing ride man, thank you for it.
6828198 It was good to have you along, O Swarthy one
Thank you for literally changing my life. This story touched me deeply. I laughed, I cried, and I sang. It was an emotional rollercoaster. And, in the end, I came out a better person because of it. Thanks for the ride, and thanks for the story. This is now one of my favorite stories of all time.
This was a superbly well written piece of work. You ended it at just the right time. Now what am I going to do? I don't have more chapters of this to look forward to. You've killed me, dear author.
6829382 if you're REALLY desperate you could always help me draft this contract for class!
I enjoyed this and I am a little saddened to see the end of it.
Its been a wild trip.
......I could try and spout words of profound wisdom in an attempt to share how I feel for this story, I could write a poem or another story to capture the feelings I want to show you.....perhaps a song unshackled should leap from my throat to spread my thoughts on this adventure you took me me on...no, that you allowed me to bare witness to....
...and yet the only words I can fall to....
...Thank you.....such simple words in the long run of comments that will undoubtedly come to you through out your life, but they are all I feel I can use when I wish to bridge the gap between me, the honored reader among possibly thousands....to you, the writer of a world I will never forget.
...hmmm, I find myself smilingfrom ear to ear, and in a sad way at the end. Odd, yet correct I suppose.
6829629 it's kind of you to say.
For my part, I was honored to have your art in it.
6830176 It was partially a nod to her earlier difficulties and partially a nod to the neat little trinket Cold in Gardez drew on her horn in the cover art. I kinda liked it.
This is one of the greatest stories I have ever read. I literally have almost no words, almost because I do in fact have something I want to say. This story (and a lot of your other works that I've read) has a style of writing that places it within the top tiers of writings on this sight. Characters who die in this story don't do it in some romanticized style, taking out hundreds of their foes as they slowly get killed (lookin' at you Boromir, you jerk) you bring many characters in who die for literally no reason whatsoever, which just makes the story that much better. The reality of this style of war is clearly visible to the reader (whenever I read the combat scenes it reminded me of WWI trench warfare descriptions) and one of the great truths of life, that people die senseless deaths, is shown.
Allow me to give an example: in any other story Axiom (if that wasn't his name then I must be really tired) would've died in some heroic combat to hold off the encroaching threat to the Alicorn (that was the ship right?), but he didn't and it made his death that much harder and that much more beautiful of a reading experience. The same goes for Spike, one minute he is fighting and winning, and the next he is killed by a mortar to the gate. The simplicity of these two deaths in particular, and even Celestia's, made them some of the most beautiful pieces I've ever read. I read Celestia's last night and I cried for an hour and a half, and very little makes me cry like I did.
Hmm... maybe I had more words than I realized. I'm stopping here before I lose all self control. Summing up: amazing story, great depth, perfect ending. 9001/10 on my rating scale.
A truly great work. a clear and obvious labor of love. your worries of not "sticking the landing" were obviously unfounded. "passing" deserves to be counted among and spoken of in the same breath as the "eternals" and "background ponies" of the world.
this fandom would be a little less colorful and lot more boring without its sad son of the south writing sad stories about sad magical horses.
6832445 I don't know how to express how shocked and genuinely humbled I am that there have been no pitchfork mobs about Celestia's death.