> The Castle Canterlot
>  by Honey Mead
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 1



“After the in-depth interviews, background investigations, work history studies, and a grueling battery of tests, I hold a contest to see who can brew the best cup of tea.”


—H.R.H. Princess Celestia, when asked how she chooses her staff.



Her Royal Highness, Princess Celestia Invictus of Equestria, was not in her body. She’d left it behind more than half an hour ago, becoming a glowing mass of gaseous aether, compressed into a vague facsimile of her own body, high above Ioka to facilitate her twice daily task of shifting the whole of the sky, orchestrating the change from night to day. 
Dawn had lost much of its allure over the past millenium, worn down by the extra duties to which she was not well attuned. In the first years, Selene hadn’t been particularly co-operative, stretching Celestia’s patience by playing the petulant foal. After the first decade or so, she’d calmed down, allowing them to share a cordial, if not friendly, working relationship. For the past few days, however, she’d been reluctant to set. Not for any nefarious reasons, quite the opposite in fact, more akin to a filly on Hearth’s Warming Eve.
The stars, on the other hoof, had never warmed up to her. They weren’t all bad. Polaris and a few others did their best to help; but there were so many, and more than a few seemed to go out of their way to make Celestia’s mornings difficult. The key troublemakers, much like Selene, had begun to act differently in the preceding days, huddling back and doing their best to avoid Celestia’s attention. It was all Celestia could do not to tip her own hoof.
After thanking Polaris for her help and bidding her a restful day, Celestia turned away from the empty sky and toward the east, calling out to her other half, waking her from her slumber. 
Goodmorning, Love, Sol said, her words stretching out in a great yawn as she crested Ioka’s rim and cast her first rays across the great disc.
“Hello, Love,” Celestia answered, the light of her aetheric form glowing brighter as she released her restraint now that the stars were off to bed. Her amusement only continued to grow when Sol’s attention dropped straight down to Manehatten and the earth pony clan who had so intrigued her for the past generation. “And how is the Orange Clan this morning? Has Calamity found out about Persia and Valencia?” she asked making no effort to hide her whimsy.
I hope so. That Valencia is a bad seed. Ha, I made a pun! Did you hear that, Love? I punned! Punned? Is that the right word? Sol looked up when Celestia failed to respond, only to find her vibrating as she struggled to hold back her mirth. Is something the matter?
Celestia brought herself back under control, her mirth and brightness waning only enough for her to speak. “Yes, everything is fine. Perfect.”
Sol tilted slightly. My, you are giddy this morning. You didn’t get into the coffee again, did you? I thought we talked about this, Love.
“No, and I will thank you to not bring that up again,” Celestia said, her humor sliding into annoyance. “You’ve forgotten what day it is.”
Hmph! I have not either! How could you even suggest that I would forget that tomorrow is your birthday?
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Love.” Sol gave her a confused look and Celestia continued, “What year is it?”
Sol spun slowly in thought. Hmm… you’ll be… and the calendar changed… Uh-hu… Ah! she said, stopping to face Celestia again. It is the year one thousand of the… No, is it really?
“Mmm hmm.”
Oh, Love, that is wonderful! Sol shouted, vibrating. You must be bursting at the seams! Would that we could hurry the day along.
“Hmm, yes, that would be nice. Alas, there is still much that must be seen to yet.”
Sol spun again as she said, You work yourself too hard, Love.
“I do only what I must.” 
Sol’s golden light flashed a ruddy bronze. You never come up to play anymore.
Celestia’s own glow matched the darker hue and she reached out to comfort her sun. “After today, if everything goes according to plan, I promise that we will hang out more.”
You and your plans, Sol groused, turning back toward Manehatten. One of these days you’re going to miss something and it’s going to bite you in your pretty white flank.
Celestia chuckled as she prepared to return to her own body. “Perhaps, but not today, I think.” 



 — — — TCC — — — 



 Scattered clouds, small white puffs that had escaped the weather team during the night, glowed varying shades of orange and violet in Sol’s rising light. She had barely finished cresting the horizon when Chronicle, Twilight, and Spike exited the castle with purposeful strides as they stepped off the hard, white marble flooring and onto the soft, green grass of the southern hanging lawn. 
Akin to a massive balcony, the courtyard was a three-quarters circle of marble built off the mountain’s sheer face. Thick shrubs and flower beds, lush, verdant, and bright with the flowers of mid summer, ringed the false edge. Two fountains of stone sent streams of water high into the air, a soft cloud of steam floating from the warm water as it was kissed the cool mountain air. Four sets of short, white stone steps led to a second, lower tier where benches abutted the wall, facing out and providing a gorgeous view of unobscured sky. Night or day, it was a favored place to hold smaller parties.
Parked in the center of the lea, an open backed sky-chariot awaited. Gold leaf glinted from its every angle. Two faux wings flared off either side of the single axle. A massive round cut amethyst adorned the front of the carriage, its enchantment allowing the two pegasus charioteers, waiting patiently within the harness, to carry the added weight without difficulty. It was truly a regal way to travel.
Chronicle preferred trains.
The top of Chronicle’s gaze never rose above the shrubbery, ensuring that he missed the skyward display. He had to suppress a small shudder anyway, flicking it out through his tail, but could do nothing to hide his swivelling ears. With most of his attention focused inward, regulating his breathing and maintaining a steady gait, his companion’s words passed over him. It wouldn’t be fair to say that he was ignoring the young mare, even disregarding the redundant nature of her rant. Rather, his ears listened for any cues or keywords that would require a response while he focused on preparing for the busy day ahead.
“... supposed to mean anyway? Makes some friends...” Twilight continued as the trio crossed the lawn. 
Meanwhile, Chronicle thought himself through the talking points of the meetings to come. He did not get far before they were stepping up to the chariot. With a voice calm as a rock and no more emotion, one that had taken years to craft, he said, “Ms. Sparkle.”
“... Dusty old mare’s tales!”
“Ms. Sparkle!” he tried again, adding a little volume and edge. Beside her, young Spike rolled his eyes and waited, tapping a foot on the grass. 
“She’s never just ignored me like that before! I—”
“Twilight Abigail Sparkle!” Chronicle’s voice cracked with more command than he liked, but finally broke her distracted rambling. She faced him, a sheepish grin on her muzzle. Certain that he had her attention, Chronicle nodded and continued in a lighter, if no softer, tone, “It has been my experience that Her Highness does little without strong reasons.”
“I know,” she said, her ears drooping, pawing at the grass.
Chronicle attempted a small smile, though he had little confidence in it. “Might I recommend that you read over her letter again, perhaps there is something you have overlooked.”
“Why isn’t she here, though?” Twilight asked, a slight whine hiding deep in that last word.
“It is a very busy time for Her Highness, as you well know. She will no doubt speak with you after the ceremony.”
“But—”
“Come on, Twilight,” Spike said, stepping up the chariot’s back. “If we don’t get going we’ll be late.” 
Twilight cringed at the last and nodded, following the drake aboard the chariot’s open back. Chronicle watched as a short exchange passed between Twilight and the harnessed Guards until all parties were prepared for the flight. With wings spread, the pegasi started to trot forward, drawing the chariot behind.
“Good luck, Ms. Sparkle,” Chronicle said, waving a hoof as they pulled away. “I’ll see you upon your return in a few days.”
“Bye, Chronicle!” Twilight called back over her wither. Just as they began to lift off the ground, she shouted back, “Oh! Tell Shiny I love him, and that I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye!”
Chronicle nodded, still waving as they began to lift off the ground. For the first time since they’d stepped outside, his eyes lifted, following the shrinking chariot as it rose into the sky and rounded south. He waited, tracking its flight until it was clear of Canterlot’s outer walls before turning away. 
The moment his eyes left the sky and found earth, his hooves took off, carrying him back to the safety of the marble walls. Only once the heavy oak doors had closed did he pause; his eyes squeezed shut as he took in a deep, steadying breath and forced it out through his teeth. After repeating the process three times, he opened his eyes, ready to continue with his day.
The Princess may have been spending the evening away from Canterlot, but that didn’t mean everypony else would be following her to Ponyville. A small army of nobles and dignitaries would be descending on the palace for the Summer Sun Celebration, and, at the end of the day, it was his responsibility to make sure that everything went forward without a hitch. There was much to see to above and beyond his already plentiful duties.
Three steps later and he was brought to a halt by a pair of ice blue eyes wearing the violet and gold armour of the Captain of the Sword. Chronicle had enough time to brace himself before he was set upon by the much larger stallion. He had seen the esteemed captain both in and out of his armour and couldn’t decide which was more intimidating.
“She’s already gone, isn’t she?” Shining Armour asked, more accusation than question.
“Captain Armour,” Chronicle began, focusing on his breathing even as he bowed his head slightly. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Ms. Sparkle asked that I apologize for her sudden departure and to express her love.”
The captain stopped so close that Chronicle had to crane his neck slightly to met his eye. “You couldn’t have held her up so that I could say goodbye?” 
“I apologize, Captain, but Her Highness was insistent that Ms. Sparkle leave at once.”
“Would five minutes have made so much of a difference?”
Chronicle’s ears flickered as he struggled to maintain eye contact. “Again, I apologize, but whether it would have affected Ms. Sparkle’s schedule or not, it would have mine. If there is nothing else, I have a great deal of work to see to this day and it would not do to fall behind.” Shining Armour opened his mouth to respond, but Chronicle continued, “Will that be all?”
Shining Armour bit back his words, stepping aside with his head bowing slightly and let Chronicle pass. He did not, however, leave. Instead falling in at Chronicle’s side. They trotted in silence as they traveled deeper into the palace. 
A three pony wide, baby blue carpet ran down the corridor’s length beneath their hooves, leaving another four hooves of stone bare on either side. Small chandeliers and periodical candlestands provided most of the light before afternoon when Sol’s light would stream in through the western windows.
They soon entered the South Hall, with its tall, arched ceiling, ivory columns and constant hoof traffic. Guards, servants, and maids moved through the wide room, all destined for different sections of the palace. Two pegasi were currently flitting about the tall arches, scrubbing at the set in dirt and dust. Chronicle and Shining didn’t slow their gait as they passed through, both taking the southern exit. It was then, once they passed the threshold, that Shining Armour spoke up.
“I do not appreciate being kept out of the loop, especially when it concerns my sister.”
Chronicle breathed deeply and snapped his tail once before replying, “I understand your concern, Captain. Unfortunately, I am not the pony with whom you need speak on this subject.”
“No,” Armour said, his annoyance clear in his tone, “but you can speak to her on my behalf.”
Chronicle looked up at the other stallion incredulously. “Need I remind you of your rank, Captain. If you wish to speak with Her Highness, you need only say the word, and I shall schedule the appointment.”
“This has nothing to do with my rank or status. I can not go to the Princess to whine about my grown sister being sent off without consulting me first.”
Arriving at a juncture, the two unicorns stopped, and Chronicle turned to face Armour. “I sympathize with your concerns, but might I suggest that you speak to her like an adult. You may find her more amiable to your request than you think.”
Shining Armour shook his head, staring off for a moment before snapping back. “It’s just that, at times, I feel as though Celestia has it out for me. Do you know she had me comparing the most recent surveys of the Everfree Forest with those taken over a thousand years ago? It took me hours just to find them! Did you know that there wasn’t even a forest there back then? It used to be a city. I swear she did it just so I wouldn’t find out about Twily leaving until it was too late.”
Chronicle didn’t notice the slight uptick of his own lips and, fortunately, neither did Shining. “I would not venture a guess as to Her Highness’ purpose. I have been wrong on too many occasions. It is ours to serve at the Princess’ leisure and to trust in her judgment.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“Captain.”
Shining Armour looked down and to the side. “I know, I know. I…” Collecting his composure, the captain re-established eye contact. “I’ll see you around.”
Chronicle affected a small smile. “Good day, Captain.”
He started to turn, only for a hoof to hold him fast. “Thank you, for listening.”
“Of course,” he replied with a small nod.
They parted company there, Shining Armour taking the left as Chronicle took the right. 
Finally alone, Chronicle pulled a pocket watch from his vest. The good Captain had eaten more time than he’d thought. His gait quickened, leveling at just below a canter, any faster would have been untoward for any but a messenger. He passed by many a pony on his way, though none of any standing, fortunately. His path soon led him down two more stairwells and through a number of halls, until he arrived at his destination, his coat sporting a light froth.
Even through the thick, unassuming oak doors, Chronicle could hear the sounds of the eternal battle beyond. Screams of rage and pain overlaid the constant clatter and clang of incivility on the other side. There was no stop, no pause, not even a slight hesitation to the din. It was an epicenter of pure, indefatigable chaos at the very heart of the palace. A maelstrom unfit for even the stoutest of souls.
There was nothing for it, however.
Chronicle placed a hoof on the sanded wood, and, with one final calming breath, he pushed.

> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 2



“The palace kitchens.”


—H.R.H. Princess Celestia when asked which country she most dreaded visiting.



Like a physical blow, a wall of sound struck Chronicle, staggering him and blasting back his mane. The combination of the pressure wave and the overpowering scents from within brought tears to his eyes as his ears folded back in a vain attempt to protect his hearing. He recovered in quick measure, more from experience than any natural ability. Ignoring the primal voice screaming in his head to turn tail and flee, he stepped inside.
It took a very special type of pony to work in the kitchens—the adjective Chronicle prefered was insane. 
As far as he could tell, the kitchens were their own dictatorship that didn’t so much serve the Princess as trade with her. At the top of the hierarchy, such as it was, was De Cuisine, an earth pony whose indomitable will was only matched by her girth. Beneath her, and with no less vigor, was Sous, a lanky pegasus who, if he hadn’t been seen to taste nearly every dish before letting it out of the kitchens, Chronicle would have sworn didn’t eat. The only concession to Equestrian providence were  four gold etched plinths sectioned off by red velvet ropes in a far corner, upon which sat porcelain trays with glass covers, each containing its own unique cake.
Like all well structured countries, the kitchens were divided into provinces, each overseen by a ranking noble, or in this case, Chef de Parties: Sauté, a unicorn mare whose high pitched voice was every bit a match for De Cuisine’s, Poissonnier, a short pegasus stallion from the Marelantian islands, Pâtissier, an earth pony stallion with a personality to match his favored food—dry toast—Garde Manger, the only affable one, Friturier, a pony who always left Chronicle feeling greasy just talking to her, and Rôtisseur, the only griffon—though her barony was sectioned off from the rest with a separate ventilation system for self-evident reasons. Each of these chefs had real names, but for the life of him, Chronicle had never heard them used.
Unfortunately, the structure seemed to breakdown after that. Below the Chef de Parties were an army of Commis and Scum—again Chronicle knew none of their names—who were, in theory, assigned to work under one of the chefs. In practice, however, Chronicle had no idea. Each chef moved through the kitchens like a miniature tornado dressed in a white jacket and toque of varying designs, screaming at and scolding those lower than themselves. Adding to the turmoil were the dishes, pots, pans, and all sorts of culinary paraphernalia that were floated and tossed overhead on their way to… somepony he was sure. It was a miracle that nopony lost an eye.
Chronicle waited at the entrance with his ears folded back and tail half tucked between his legs as he searched for the lesser eye of the storm. He tried not to make a habit of visiting the kitchens; and when he did, he knew better than to approach De Cuisine—a lesson he’d learned years prior. Instead, he sought out Sous, his hierarchical equal of sorts. It didn’t take too long to spot the tall, lanky stallion berating a commis near the walk-in freezer.
It took an effort of will, not to mention strength, to cross the threshold and enter the magical realm of chaos that kept the palace fed. With a stride as sure as he could muster, Chronicle cut a path toward the freezer and his target.
Chronicle didn’t waver as he moved through the mob, nor did he deviate or attempt to dodge any of the other ponies. With dexterity bordering on precognition, the commis and scum danced around him as though he were an obstacle that had always been there, a pillar that deserved no notice. His trot ended beside the two ponies he’d angled for.The upbraiding would not end simply for his presence, so Chronicle was forced to wait until it did. Once Sous finished, the thoroughly thrashed commis disappearing amid his fellows, he turned on Chronicle.
“Seneschal! Of course you’re here. The fish is twenty pounds light. We had to throw out half the celery to rot. Five bags of grain were infested with weevils and had to be tossed and we threw the rest into the freezer just in case, so we’ll have to use oats instead. Nopony ordered white rice, so all we have is brown, and apparently you can’t serve brown rice with the chicken, so Rôtisseur had to change the entire griffin menu because all we have is chicken. Garde Manger is sick and his commis is useless, so, I have to do his job as well as mine. In other words, we are right on schedule. Feel free not to bother next time, not that I expect you will listen.”
Chronicle didn’t attempt to interrupt the pegasus, content to let the scene play out as it had more times than he could count. There was a time when he would’ve tried to ask questions; it never worked out. Likewise, when Sous finished, Chronicle didn’t object to his curt dismissal. The truth was that he didn’t need to put himself through this. The kitchens were almost entirely self-sufficient, and his intrusions could only interfere with their smooth runnings. His visits were for his own peace of mind. Once, he’d left them alone, vowing not to put himself through the stress. He’d almost ruined the Cherry Blossom Festival that year as that seed of worry grew into a full blown panic attack.
When the door closed behind him he sighed in relief, tail shaking out the built up tension and ears limp from exhaustion. He waited there, alone in the hallway, until his heart beat returned to something approaching normal.
The golden pocket watch floated from his vest in a light auburn haze. He had a good hour before his meeting with the ambassador from Hackney, just enough time to check on the preparations in the Great Hall.



 — — — TCC — — — 



Festive Dust let out a wail of abject horror at the two ponies hitched to a cart loaded down with floral arrangements. “What is THAT?”
One of the pegasus mares shrunk back before glancing over her whither at the cart, as though to ensure it contained the same cargo it had when she’d loaded it. “The flowers you ordered, Ma’am.”
Festive’s skyblue cheeks darkened to a shade closer to purple. “Those are not what I ordered! Just… just look at them!” she said, pulling one of the bundles out with her magic and shoving them under the other mare’s muzzle. “Don’t you even know what season this is? Who in their right mind would order tulips and daffodils for a celebration in summer? By the Namegiver! Are those bluebells?” She tossed the offending flowers back onto the cart. “Where are my roses? Where are the peonies and hydrangeas?”
Chronicle was seated back on his haunches, waiting while the Chamberlain continued to berate the unfortunate pegasi. Nothing he could say would help the poor mares. Interference now would only cause her next outburst to be that much larger. Once Festive got started, it was best to let her peter out. Instead, he allowed himself take in the Great Hall and the decorations already in place.
It was beautiful, he supposed. Banners that displayed the rising sun were strung between the pillars separating the hall’s core from the northern and southern wings. Two teams of pegasi were in the process of hanging giant, gold and orange pennants along every wall, each adorned with Princess Celestia’s cutie mark. The two gilded alicorn statues on either side of the raised dais were already bedecked in garlands of white and red roses, while their podiums were covered in some other blue petaled flowers.
As with most public functions, the basic strategy was simple enough. The guests would begin to arrive at one in the morning. Food and entertainment would be available for the next four to five hours while they mingled. After that, around five thirty, everypony would exit to the adjoining courtyard to witness Sol’s rising. 
Chronicle had no intentions of attending for many reasons, not the least of which being exhaustion. Between his meeting with Silver Maison, the planning committee, the finance committee, his daily with the Princess, and the paperwork that had to be finished before nightfall: he didn’t hold any hope of making it out of his office much less to the party. He would be awake for the event itself, however, if only out of habit.
“I’m sorry about that.” Chronicle jolted at the sudden intrusion, turning back to face the Chamberlain. “Can you believe those ponies? Bringing—” She stopped herself, her orchid and fuschia curls dancing as she shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Where were we?”
“We had yet to begin, Mrs. Dust.”
“Really?” she asked, almost giggling. “Goodness, I could have sworn… Nothing for it.” Spinning, she threw out a hoof as though to encompass the whole hall in the sweeping gesture. “As you can see we’ve really only gotten started with the setup, but, barring a few minor hiccups,” she nearly growled, eyeing the cart on its way out, “we are proceeding a little ahead of schedule.”
“Ahead of schedule?”
“I know, right? There’s a first time for everything.” Festive let out a short giggle. “Anyway, we’ll put the dance floor there, of course,” she pointed toward the dais and the portable wooden flooring being constructed by four of her staff. “The orchestra will set up on the dais once they arrive, though that won’t be for hours yet. The buffet will be over there,” her hoof swung toward the southern wing, “with the griffon exclusive food off to the eastern side.”
She started walking north, toward the large doors that led out into the courtyard. Chronicle followed at her side. “Here we’ll have most of the tables and seating with the extras wrapped around the dance floor’s west end. Each table will have a beautiful arrangement of peonies, roses, succulents, hydrangeas, and ferns—if the foals at the floral shop can get their act together,” she said, the last coming more a hiss than words. 
Stopping at the exit, she did an about face, saying, “This, Boss, is what I am most proud of.” With a flourish, she directed Chronicle’s gaze back toward the ceiling and the small white puffs of cloudstuff. “Imagine one hundred firefly lamps strung from the ceiling, hidden amid a storm front of clouds. The first line, above the dais, will be a bright, incandescent yellow, with each subsequent row fading into orange, then red, and finally a line of purple bullseye lanterns at the rear, blasting their color across the back sides of the clouds.”
He tried to imagine it, even closing his eyes to summon the wash of colors, but it did no good. “Very clever, Mrs. Dust. It will no doubt be magnificent.”
“Thanks, Boss,” she said, still grinning madly.
They both turned their attention to the exit. A fuschia glow encased the mighty doors, swinging them open and revealing the battalion of groundskeepers hard at work tending to the lawn. Off to one side, a group of twenty ponies were busy with hammer and nail, constructing a large wooden structure. Neither pony moved to step outside, Chronicle’s head tilting downward slightly. 
“As you can see, we are already building the grandstand for the viewing. Once it’s finished, all of the guests will have a perfect, unobscured view of Sol cresting the horizon.”
Chronicle nodded, put on a small smile, and closed the doors. “Thank you, Mrs. Dust. You appear to have everything well in hoof.”
“Yes, Boss,” she said, nodding, her grin far larger than his.
“No issues worth mentioning?” he asked as his left ear twitched.
“Nope.” 
Chronicle nodded again, his smile slipping into a slight frown. Festive tilted her head to the side a little and began to speak, only for the entrance door to swing open. Both ponies turned to see two wagons full of decorations rolling in with more than twenty ponies in tow. 
“If you’ll excuse me,” Chronicle said as the pair moved toward the newly arrived commotion. “I have a meeting soon and it appears that you are needed. If a problem should arise, do not hesitate to contact me.”



 — — — TCC — — — 



Chronicle scanned the two scrolls he held in his field once again, more to fill time than anything else. The first was from Dashing Quill, Secretary Lady of the Navy, and went a long way to explaining the second, which had been provided only for the sake of completion—naval jargon and cartography were not part of Chronicle’s skill set. He frowned slightly before returning them to the saddlebags at his side and continued to wait in the small cabinet room.
Designed as a reading room, the back wall was dominated by mahogany bookshelves and the hundreds of books that filled them. A chaise longue sat catty corner to the door’s left with a canapé to the right. Chronicle himself faced the entrance, resting upon one of the many cushions centered around a low table at the rooms center. Steam rose from the silver tea pot set out next to a Stones board. Two wooden bowls, filled with polished black or white stones, were stationed on either side of the board with a pair of rods, about twelve centimeters long and two wide, sticking out of the bowls.
A soft knock on the door preceded its opening as a ruby maned colt with a darker cherry coat stuck his head in. “Ambassador Maison to see you, Mr. Chronicle, sir.”
“Thank you, let him in.” The colt nodded and pulled back, closing the door behind him. Chronicle closed his eyes as he took a breath, clearing his mind for the coming confrontation. The door opened.
Ambassador Silver Maison was of average build for an earth pony stallion, though perhaps a little on the small side. His white mane, with a single wide streak of silver, stood in stark contrast to his much darker sepia coat. He wore a tight grey vest about his barrel; the silver chain of his pocket watch barely visible against the fabric.
Chronicle bowed his head slightly, motioning to a cushions opposite himself. “Ambassador Maison, it is good to see you again. I've prepared an oolong, but if you'd prefer something else I can have it brought.”
Silver Maison wore an affable smile, though something was off about it; perhaps the corners of his lips did not curl as much as normal, or a failure to reach his eyes as it normally did. Either way, Chronicle was certain that something was not quite right. “Oolong will be fine, my friend,” Silver said as he took his seat. “I have been looking forward to this game all week.”
Chronicle maneuvered the tea cups in his field and filled them with the dark brown tea.
Meanwhile, the Ambassador’s eyes focused on the wooden board and its burnt in gridlines. After a moment’s thought, he bent his neck to the bowl of white stones, grasped the rod between his teeth and pulled it out. A single stone stuck to the tip until he touched it to the board. The moment the stone and wood connected, the magic disengaged, leaving it at the intersection of two lines. Over the next few minutes, neither pony spoke, each taking a turn to place a stone of their chosen color upon the board, sipping at their tea. It wasn’t until Maison had surrounded Chronicle’s first piece, removing the black stone from the board, that the silence was broken.
“First blood. You know, they say that’s a reliable predictor for the outcome.”
“They?” Chronicle asked, arching his left eyebrow, a motion that had taken five years to perfect—he’d given up on the right. “I'm afraid I am not familiar with those ponies. Are they the same ones who say a watched pot never boils and other such nonsense?”
Chuckling, Maison changed the subject as they continued to play. “You know, I believe this Summer Sun Celebration is my favorite of your festivals.”
“Oh?” Chronicle asked, placing another stone on the board. It was beginning to fill, many of their moves causing the other to remove pieces.
“It’s not something we celebrate back home. At least not nearly to the extent that is done here.”
“A side-effect of having the Goddess of the Sun as a monarch, no doubt.”
“It’s such a carefree holiday. I’ve found the others to have so many expectations attached that, truth be told, I don’t enjoy them all that much, not as much as I should at any rate.” He paused for a minute, considering the board before placing another stone. “You’re still single?”
“I’ve never found much time for romance,” Chronicle replied, using his magic to place another stone, “and being the lesser son of a landless house…”
Maison nodded his understanding of the unspoken. “What do you do with all that free time?”
Chronicle laid a stone, simultaneously removing four of Maison’s. “Paperwork, mostly.”
“You’re pulling my tail.”
Chronicle glanced up from the board and blinked. “Ah. No.”
“Perhaps having two wives isn’t such a bad thing after all,” Maison said with forced mirth, “better than paperwork. I’ll pass this turn.”
Chronicle considered the board. It wasn’t a bad decision; as the board sat, Maison had a clear numerical advantage and none of Chronicle’s choices were particularly enticing. Still, it was place a stone or forfeit the match. Sipping his tea, Chronicle laid his piece and set up Maison’s next move to take it and three more besides. “I think that would depend on how you feel about paperwork.” 
“Tell me, Chronicle, if you could go back and redo it all, would you change anything?”
“I think so, yes. I missed placed a stone four—”
“No, no, not the game. Your life, would you choose a different path?”
Chronicle paused, taking a long sip of his tea to collect his thoughts. He genuinely pondered on the question, though the documents in his saddlebags were never out of mind. 
“No.”
Silver frowned at that, ignoring the game as he stared across the table. “You’re saying that you are completely happy with how your life has turned out? That you have no regrets, no mistakes that you wish you could unmake?”
Chronicle stared into his cup, watching the bits of detritus that had escaped the strainer. He let the question churn in his mind for a bit more. Soon, a memory percolated up, rising into clarity. “Have you ever read the Texts?”
Maison’s frown deepened, his brow furrowing slightly. “I’ve never made a study of them. Why?”
Giving a short nod, Chronicle continued, “When I was first hired on, I thought it would be wise to read them, The Books of Sol at least. Not in search of answers so much as to understand Her Divine Highness as best I could. 
“In the third book, there is a story of the second Siege of Airagos Spire. The griffons were being supplied through a port controlled by ponies unaligned with Unicornia. The locals desired nothing more than to be left alone. To them the unicorns were no better than the griffons, bullies fighting for control of land to which neither had a rightful claim. Her Divine Highness—though she was not a princess at the time—and her generals believed they could shorten the war by raiding the supplies travelling through these lands. The locals, it was thought, would remain neutral, and without the supplies the griffons would be forced to surrender in a matter of months, rather than years. She was… mistaken. 
“That mistake forced her to take a more personal involvement in the conflict. In the end, the war did end swiftly, but it was rather more bloody than it could have been. It was a mistake that should never have happened. Her view had been narrow, you see, she had been so focused on the current conflict, on the lives of her ponies, that she failed to account for what would come after. The relations between Unicornia and the now subdued ponies became far more hostile, leading to regular uprisings and resistance movements until after the Great Migration.”
Maison started to speak, but stopped at Chronicle’s raised hoof. “There is an old saying good judgment comes from experience, and experience comes from poor judgment. Had Her Divine Highness made the correct decision, she would have learned nothing. In later conflicts, larger conflicts, she would not have had the experience to make the right call. Thus, through one tragedy another is avoided.” At this, Chronicle lifted his gaze, staring hard at the ambassador across from him. “It is important to learn from past mistakes, Mr. Maison, better still to learn from the mistakes of others. Perhaps you will relay the story to your Queen. I believe she may find it pertinent.”
Chronicle watched curiously as the ambassador’s posture snapped to attention like he’d been caught sleeping in class, trying to figure out what the teacher had just said. It was as likely as not that he lacked context, but he would resolve that on his own. More important, and less certain, was whether Her Majesty was wise enough to heed the poorly veiled threat. Either way, the message had been delivered and there was little else for Chronicle to do at this juncture.
“Not to change subjects,” Chronicle said, idly placing another stone, “but you will lose in ten moves.”

> Chapter 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 3



“There is a reason I coined the phrase ‘the trappings of office’.”


—H.R.H. Princess Celestia



Chronicle let out a long-suffering sigh that he usually saved for when Princess Celestia was in one of her more mischievous moods. This sigh, however, was directed at a different princess altogether.
It had taken a half-hour to track her down with another fifteen spent waiting around a corner. The whole situation was wholly ridiculous for all parties involved. Unfortunately, he was just a pawn and had no desire to take a seat at the table. So, he followed his instructions and waited.
Chronicle glanced at his pocket watch and grimaced. If it took too much longer they’d be late. The watch slipped back into his pocket as he briefly considered acting. It would be simple. A few steps, an open door, a biting remark—or more likely none at all—and three embarrassed ponies, and that would be the end of it. He wouldn't do it, of course. Only mostly because Princess Celestia had strictly forbidden it.
When the door in question squeaked open, Chronicle first made a mental note to speak with Fitted Sheet about it. Then he peeked down the corridor to spy the young—by comparison—princess standing outside the broom closet checking her mane in a small hoof mirror.
Stepping into the hall, Chronicle let his hooves click extra loud against the floor to ensure she noticed his approach. The Princess started and quickly hid the mirror. At seven paces he stopped and bowed his head. “Princess Cadence.”
Princess Cadence returned the bow with a small nod. If she was worried about having been caught, she hid it well. “Chronicle. What brings you all the way out here?”
“I was looking for you.” Chronicle said, his eyes wandering to the slightly ajar door. Princess Cadence’s rear hoof flinched back, kicking it shut; the muffled ‘oomf’ from inside did not go unnoticed. “Her Royal Highness has asked to speak with you in conference before she departs for Ponyville.”
The huff and eyeroll were about what Chronicle had come to expect from her. “Of course she does.” She motioned with a purple tipped wing. “Well, lead on.” 
The pair trotted away from the small door. Halfway down the hallway, Chronicle had to resist turning around when the door squeaked again as its second occupant failed to sneak out.





 — — — TCC — — — 



Princess Celestia’s private study was located on the third floor of the castle’s western wing. As part of the Royal Apartments, very few ponies ever made it past the initial guards at ground level, much less to the short hall that lead to Celestia’s office. The white oak door to said study was as simple as they came in the palace. Large enough for Princess Celestia to enter with ease, it lacked all ornamentation and would be easy to pass up as nothing more than a servant’s passage.
Princess Cadence did not bother to knock, much to Chronicle’s chagrin, opening the door with her magic and strolling inside with a lack of reverence that only a teenager should have been able to manage. Chronicle’s tail flicked as he followed close on her hocks, closing the door behind himself.
Much like the door, Princess Celestia’s private study focused on utility over all other concerns. Every bit of furnishing was built of sturdy wood polished to a mirror shine but without a single hint of glitz or gilding. The office was set to face west toward a triplet of full-length windows that filled the room with Sol’s light from afternoon to sunset. Behind the Princess was a small fireplace and mantle, currently unlit, with a few bookcases and a single curio cabinet of nick-nacks along the open walls. Off to one side, a low table supported a golden tea service awaiting her highness’ leisure. Papers and scrolls covered the large desk behind which the Princess worked.
As Chronicle entered, a pair of down cushions were already being moved in a golden aura from around the fireplace to settle before the desk. This office was as much a sanctuary for the Princess as it was a place of work. As such, it was not setup with the intention of entertaining guests. There were exactly seven ponies currently allowed to step hoof inside without an express summons by the Princess—Chronicle knew of only five who’d received such summons; he did not envy them.
The instant Princess Cadence crossed the threshold, she called out in a sing-song voice, “Happy birthday, Auntie.”
It had been during his fifth year as the Princess’ seneschal that Chronicle finally learned the date of her birth, and two hours later he had learned that it was unwise to remind her of it.
“Why thank you, Cadenza, how nice of you to remember.”
Chronicle could not keep the quiver out of his ears at the budding confrontation. Both Princesses wore the kind of smiles more commonly seen on predators fighting over a fresh kill than on ponies. Doing his best to ignore them, Chronicle took his seat and began retrieving the many reports, documents, and proposals that would guide the meeting once the millennia old princesses decided to act like adults.
“Oh, don’t be like that, Auntie,” Princess Cadence said as she finally broke eye contact to settle onto her cushion. “I don’t understand what the big deal is, you’re only—”
“How is Blueblood doing in his new position?” Princess Celestia asked, glancing over a scroll in her magic. “Keeping him out of trouble, I hope.”
“I wouldn’t know. I—”
“Haven’t been back to the Crystal City in over a year?”
“—don’t read the gossip columns,” Princess Cadence nearly growled. “He is neither my foal, nor—”
“Was it five greats or six? I can never seem to remember.”
“As long as you remember to add one more for yourself. So, when are you going to admit that you're Twilight's—”
“Between the two of us, you are a far more likely candidate for that honor.”
“Will you let me finish—”
“Only when you have something worth while to say.” Princess Celestia turned her attention to Chronicle, ignoring Princess Cadence’s attempt to retort and subsequent pout. “Good afternoon, Mr. Chronicle, I hope the day has been treating you well.”
“As always, Princess.” His presence finally acknowledged, Chronicle passed the gathered documents to Princess Celestia. Three thick folders and a small clutch of scrolls were taken by the Princess’ own field while a larger stack of clipped papers slipped easily beneath the already full ‘inbox’ at the desk’s corner. 
Princess Celestia went straight to the scrolls, skimming over them one-by-one before signing and sealing them with her royal insignia. She made it through three of the documents before Princess Cadence spoke up.
“I assume you asked me here for a reason.”
“You know what they say about assuming—Oh sit down, Cadence. You’re old enough to have learned to have some patience.”
“That’s easy for you to say when you’re the one making everypony dance to your tune.”
“You would rather hold the baton?”
“No!”
Princess Cadence’s exclamation hung in the air, seemingly ignored by Princess Celestia as she continued to review the proposal held in her field. In the quiet that followed, Princess Cadence shrank back, embarrassed by her vocal outburst. Chronicle, for his part, kept his peace and waited.
Princess Celestia put the last scroll down and leveled a flat, unimpressed stare at her niece. “That is too bad.”
“What?”
“As you so graciously pointed out, it is my birthday, and, since I will be out of the castle already, I thought it would be nice to extend my absence for a few days.” Princess Celestia paused, seeming to take in the looks of surprise worn by the other two, perhaps noting their subtle differences. 
“That’s great, Auntie…” Cadence began, her head rotated to the right in a motion more common among birds than ponies, “but I don’t see what it has to do with me.”
“Is this wise, your Highness?” Chronicle asked, his voice steady despite his quivering ear and tail. Keeping his eyes locked on a point just to the left of the Princess, he continued, “I mean no disrespect, but Princess Cadence has very little standing among the House of Ladies. All things—”
“WHAT?”
“Cadenza! It is not polite to interrupt when somepony else is speaking. Mr. Chronicle, please continue.”
Chronicle hesitated as he cast glances between the two princesses. “All…” He cleared his throat. “All things considered, they will do their level best to usurp what power they can in your absence.”
“Which is why I have not shared my decision with anypony until now. Do not fret, Mr. Chronicle. I will only be gone for a few days at most. In the meantime, the docket has already been set, and she will have you here to help with any issues that may arise.”
“You can not be serious, Auntie!”
“Oh, I am very serious.”
“No. I won’t do it. You can’t make me! I abdicated—”
Princess Celestia stomped a hoof on the floor, her eyes alight with a baleful gleam. “I allowed you that grace, against my better judgement, in the belief that it was a phase you would out grow. When you founded the Crystal City, I had hoped that you were coming around to the idea of being a ruler. It appears I was far too optimistic. What you fail to realize, niece, is that you are my closest living relative and therefore heir to my throne. If—mother forbid—something were to happen to me, I will not have my little ponies saddled with a ruler who doesn’t know a treatise from a resolution.”
Princess Cadence shrank back, her head dipping below her withers as she glared at the carpet between her hooves.
“Now that we have an understanding,” Princess Celestia continued in a much calmer tone. “You will accompany Mr. Chronicle for the rest of the day and assume all of my legal responsibilities until I return. He knows his job and will be able to guide you through yours. Trust and rely on him, and you’ll do fine.”
Chronicle looked on in utter disbelief, unable or unwilling to process the words that he had just heard. It was patently absurd. There was nothing on Ioka that could possibly even hurt the immortal Goddess of the Sun. He would sooner entertain the notion of Ioka herself perishing than his beloved Princess. Yet, as his eyes searched hers for any hint of mischievousness or humor, he found nothing that she was anything but serious.
“Y-Your Highness?”
The Princess blinked, the unicorn’s shaken voice seeming to blindside her. With only that single beat missed, Princess Celestia’s muzzle relaxed back to her normal matronly composure. “Now, Mr. Chronicle, you need not worry about me. I have no intention of going anywhere for a very, very long time.”
With a careful nod, Chronicle tried to bury the unwelcome thoughts and focus on the tasks at hoof. “Of course, your Highness.” Overtly displaying one of the folders, he said, “Shall begin?”
Princess Cadence groaned as she flopped to the floor with a roll of her eyes.



 — — — TCC — — — 



A short—or long depending on perspective—two hours later, the trio had moved into Princess Celestia’s private quarters. Despite its size, the room could only be described as elegantly cozy. A round bed, easily large enough for four ponies—though likely only two alicorns—sat to the right of a large, unlit, fireplace. Bookshelves and glass fronted cabinets covered most of the walls, the former stuffed to bursting and the latter displaying a myriad of gifts from hundreds of rulers that were small enough not be locked away in a vault. 
Princess Cadence and Chronicle sat near the entrance, doing their best not to stare at Princess Celestia laid out on the collection of cushions, wings open and limp against the floor. Her two hoofmaidens bustled around her, preparing the Princess for the coming celebration. May Breeze, a cheery yellow pegasus with a curly, light blue mane, worked methodically at the Princess’ wings, preening the sail’s worth of feathers at a pace that spoke volumes of her experience. Meanwhile, Juniper, an autumn-orange coated unicorn with a two tone gold and ruby mane, drew two brushes over her monarch’s coat and a third through the not-quite-hairs of her mane—Chronicle had never gathered the courage to ask whether the process was strictly necessary, but based on her grunts and the ever-so-occasional moan, he doubted it mattered.
“What of Ambassador Maison?” Princess Celestia asked.
“He did not seem to know of the latest incursion, but I believe that will change shortly, if it hasn’t already. Whether it will do any good, only time will tell.” 
Princess Celestia waved her unattended wing lazily. “It’s a minor issue for the moment. If the queen truly intends to hang herself, I am more than content to let her. More important to me is the Ambassador himself?”
Chronicle nodded as his quill set about scratching down a few notes. “You were right, I think. There was something weighing on his mind throughout our game.”
“Wait,” Princess Cadence interjected for the first time without a prompt. “Silver Maison?” Chronicle nodded. “Spends every Solsday in the gardens playing with his little fillies. That Silver Maison?”
“So I would assume. Though I don’t personally follow his routine.”
“I saw him just the other day, and I didn’t feel anything wrong with him.”
“You rely too much on your Awareness, Cadence. Not every problem is related to love. Although—” Princess Celestia twitched and hissed as May Breeze plucked a broken feather from her wing before she sighed and relaxed again. “It would be good to rule that out definitively.” Focusing on Chronicle, she continued, “Make sure to formally introduce Cadence and the Ambassador, if at all possible in the presence of his wives. The sooner the better. In the meantime, I want somepony to keep an eye on him. If he gets any worse we may have to take action.”
“As you say.” Chronicle’s quill moved to a small day planner and scratched the note in the margin.
Princess Cadence made a sound, but stopped herself from speaking until Princess Celestia gave her a look and asked her to speak her mind. “I’m just… surprised. Isn’t this a little… beneath your notice?”
A small smile tugged at Princess Celestia’s lips, though if it was from her hoofmaidens’ ministrations or Princess Cadence’s question, Chronicle was unsure. “Do you remember when Lady de Lis passed away two years ago?”
“Yes,” Princess Cadence said, bemused by the sudden change in topic.
Princess Celestia closed her eyes as she continued, “We were quite fortunate that Fleur was both of age and willing to take her mother’s post. I fear this would not be the case were Mr. Maison to become indisposed. Neither of his wives are politically inclined, nor are his daughters of an age to take up his responsibilities. 
“There are indeed no Hackney citizens in Equestria who could readily take his post. It would take many months for the Queen’s court to select a new representative and move them here. What’s more, there is no guarantee that his replacement would share his reasonable mindset. Hackney is enough of a hoofull without having a disagreeable ambassador with which to contend.”
“Speaking of Fleur de Lis and the Prench,” Chronicle said in the momentary pause, “it appears that they have signed a new trade agreement with the Roamans.”
“Oh?” Princess Celestia asked, lifting her head to look toward Chronicle, much to Juniper’s annoyance.
“It’s a sly piece of work, and I am honestly amazed that it passed through the Stable. Most of it is on the up and up, but there is a small section regarding the transportation of Equestrian goods across the Alpanies.” Princess Celestia frowned as Chronicle passed her the relevant documents. “Fine Print found the lines late last night.”
“Clever.” An amused smirk twisted one corner of the Princess’ lips. “Have Subtle Plume draft an official response and have it sent out on the first trade ship sailing to Roam. If you find an opportunity, speak with Fleur on the matter. I am certain she will want to be informed.”



 — — — TCC — — — 



Princess Celestia’s regalia glinted in Sol’s light. Behind her, the royal Phaeton awaited with four pegasi guards hitched to the front. Before her, Chronicle struggled to work through the last of the day’s business while Princess Cadence tried to seem even remotely interested. 
“Has Ambassador Kara come back with a decision?”
“Not as of yet,” Chronicle said, barely looking up from his hooves as he stowed the last brief in his saddlebags, “though it appears she only just received word from Bloodrock this morning. I expect to speak with her sometime before the celebration.”
“Do you have a prediction of the King’s response?”
“He will attempt to hold out and haggle like a common street vendor, as griffons are wont to do, but they will come around eventually, out of necessity if nothing else. It will be the time it takes for another round of talks to pass across the seas before they agree.”
“Very good. Now, I must be off. It would not due to be late for my own party.” Princess Celestia turned to her niece and took a step closer, using a wing to lift Princess Cadence’s chin. “Cheer up, Cadence. It will not be nearly as terrible as you imagine.”
“So says you.”
“So says I,” Princess Celestia agreed with a small smile. She stepped into a familial nuzzle with the younger princess, resting her chin on her withers. Despite her pout, Princess Cadence returned the embrace with no less affection. After they pulled back, Princess Celestia asked, “If there is nothing else?”
“There is one more thing,” Chronicle said, a slight hesitation in his voice and a twitch in his left ear. Princess Celestia looked back at him, her one visible eyebrow raised. “The Reverend Speaker has sent her third request to speak to you this week.” Both Princess Celestia and Princess Cadence rolled their eyes. “You do yourself no favors by pushing the Sisterhood away,” Chronicle continued, doing his best to sound scolding and only mostly failing. “She is no less important than any one of the Ambassadors, more so than most.”
“Her three predecessors managed their duties without more than a single visit in a year.”
“The Sisterhood stagnated and diminished under them and—”
“And wasn’t it lovely.” She said in an almost dreamy voice.
“—and she managed to halt that decline in the one country in which a goddess resides. Her work has been instrumental in repairing our standings within Roam and Espanya.”
Princess Celestia sighed. “You are right, as usual.” Turning to leave, she added, “Cadence please be sure to fit her into your schedule.”
“What?” Princess Cadence gasped, mouth agape.
Princess Celestia gave a flip of her wing and continued to mount the phaeton. “Now, now, you are as much their goddess as I. It will be good for you to get back in touch with the Sisterhood.” Her hoof came down on the deck twice, and the guards began to move, dragging the phaeton behind.
They were just beginning to take off when Princess Cadence came out of her stupor. “Auntie! No! Get back here this instant! Auntie!”
Princess Celestia turned back with a smile. “I’ll be back before you know it, dear. Don’t work too hard.”
Chronicle did his best not to watch as one Princess began to disappear and the other called after her in escalating panic and desperation. Eventually, Princess Cadence puttered out, dropping back to her haunches in defeat. Stepping up to her side, Chronicle placed a comforting hoof on her withers.
“Come, your Highness, there is still much to do today.”

> Chapter 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 4



“Far better to be loved than worshiped.”


—H.R.H. Princess Celestia



Cadence glared at the chariot fading into the distance, or more accurately, the tall white figure riding it. Her wings shifted, the purple tips curling against her sides. It wasn’t fair. She’d had plans. Shiny had finally managed to clear his schedule and set aside three solid days of vacation. They were supposed to be leaving for the Unicorn Range in the morning—by separate means—for three days of ski slopes and hot cocoa. As if that wasn’t bad enough, now she had to deal with the Revered Speaker as well.
Cadence searched her memories of the past week, looking for anything she may have done to anger her aunt. There was nothing that stood out, nothing to justify that level of punishment. They’d only interacted so many times, and everything had been cordial at worst.
Stomping her hoof, she spun in place and marched back into the castle, only to stop halfway to the door. With practiced precision, she performed the breathing exercise she’d developed centuries ago. After two extra repetitions, she calmed and opened her eyes.
With her panic and annoyance set aside, Cadence focused on her next course of actions. If Auntie thought she was just going to roll over and play nice, she had another thing coming. First things first, she needed to speak with Chronicle.
With mild surprise, she realized he was nowhere in sight. Only to chide herself for it. Of course he wouldn’t be standing outside any longer than necessary.
Resuming her course with more purposeful steps than she’d had all day, Cadence made her way back into the castle.
Just as she’d expected, she found Celestia’s senechal just inside with his back to the doors. What she hadn’t expected was the herd of other ponies surrounding him. She recognized most of them, if only by face. A few stood out as the more important of Celestia’s staff. As she approached, Chronicle was updating them on the current state of affairs, primarily Celestia’s sudden vacation. All of them seemed to have been struck dumb, either by shock or worry.
Most surprising to her was Chronicle himself. She’d never claim to ‘know’ the stallion, their relationship never having made it past repeated acquaintance, but his personal quirks were one of the worst kept secrets in the castle. The only signs of his anxieties were the near constant twitch of his tail and left ear as he spoke.
His show of confidence wasn’t cutting it, however, and Cadence decided it would be a good idea to step in. Lacking the sheer physical presence of Auntie, she had to clear her throat to get their attention. Only a few of them noticed her at first, but once one started to bow the rest were quick to follow suit.
“Thank you,” she said, using the regal tone and poise that had been drilled into her since birth. “Now, I know that this might seem a shocking turn of events. Auntie does not make a habit of taking vacations, but this is not the first time she has done so. She will only be gone for a few days at most, and, if everypony focuses on their normal duties, most of you won’t even notice she is gone.”
She watched them as her words sank in. While she didn’t achieve the level of success that Celestia would have, it was enough to waylay the worst of the worriers. Chronicle, after giving her a nod of thanks, turned back to the group with a more stable ear and tail. Hanging back, she allowed him to dictate the marching orders for the rest of the day. Almost every topic that they’d covered with Celestia was repeated as a set of instructions to the pony responsible with written documents passed along when necessary.
At length, the herd dispersed until only Chronicle and Cadence remained.
Cadence put on a proud smile for Chronicle, noting that he’d stopped fidgeting, though he did have to wipe a small amount of sweat from his brow with a kerchief.
“I’m impressed at how well you managed that.”
“Thank you, your Highness,” he said, his neutral tone making her wonder if she’d offended him. “I fear that if you had not come when you did it would not have played out so well.”
“I don’t know about that.”
Chronicle looked up at her and seemed to stutter for a moment before saying. “If we wish to remain on schedule, we will need to get started, your Highness.”
“Of course, Chronicle,” she said with a small nod. Starting forward, she added, “And please, I am not Auntie, do not feel compelled to maintain so much formality.”
Trotting to keep pace, Chronicle nodded as his field rifled through his saddlebags. “Yes, your Highness. Now, we have—”
Princess Cadence’s smile slipped a smidge. “I said you could drop the titles.”
“As you say, your—”
“Chronicle.”
“Yes?”
“Stop it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Cadence glared ahead as she started forward, speaking through clenched teeth, more than a little venom suffusing her tone, “So, Mr. Chronicle, what wonders of bureaucracy shall we be wallowing in today?”
“I do not know about ‘wallowing’,” he said, either missing or ignoring her annoyance, “but there are three committee meetings that I will be attending in her Highness’ absences.” Cadence let out an annoyed whinny. She had no desire to be in the general vicinity of a committee meeting, much less stuck in one. Chronicle’s not-quite disapproving glance did not go unnoticed. “It would be an unofficial presence, purely for observation.”
Cadence’s voice brightened. “You mean I don’t have to go?”
“Her Highness likes to—”
“You will notice, Mr. Chronicle, that I am not Auntie. And that is not what I asked.”
Chronicle’s ear twitched. “No, Ma’am, not as such.”
“Good,” Cadence said with a note of finality. “What about holding court?”
Chronicle’s normally placid expression fell into a solid frown. “Court will remain closed until the day after the celebration as—”
“We will cross that hurdle when it arrives then. What else?”
Cadence glanced down at her aunt’s senechal when he failed to answer promptly. She noted his right ear twitch with some concern. Before she could question it, he spoke up, “Ambassador Kara will undoubtedly seek an audience to negotiate the new trade agreement with Bloodrock.”
“Shouldn’t…” Princess Cadence faltered, “Chancellor Plume? or… Tenpony? be in-charge of that?”
“Tenpenny, and while that would normally be the case, any attempt to pass her off to somepony else will be seen as an insult—”
“Didn’t you just refer to the King as a ‘common street vendor’?”
“In private conference with you and her Highness. Might I remind your Highness that Bloodrock Spire is the largest exporter of diamonds and,” he shuddered a little, “ivory. While these are luxury goods, they are important luxury goods that would cost exponentially more to purchase from any other source.”
“Mr. Chronicle, I have as much experience negotiating trade agreements as you have with astrology. Besides, what were you going to do before Auntie decided to take her holiday?”
“With her Highness out of Canterlot, the ambassador would have accepted speaking with myself and Chancellor Plume. Proceeding with that course would prove unwise as there will be no way to keep her ignorant of you holding court in her Highness’ absence. I promise that it will be a painless and brief experience. Ambassador Kara has little patience for politics.”
Cadence started to respond, only for the words to slip her mind as they turned a corner.
Not twenty paces down the hall another set of ponies was headed their way. Two of them passed under her notice, eclipsed by the third whose color palette was one Cadence had learned to avoid long ago. The unicorn mare’s coat was a pure white that could only be obtained through the long term use of chemical treatments—though the original pink could be spotted at the roots. Similarly, her mane was a rust-red color that also failed to hide the natural blue as the hairs grew out.
Chronicle and Cadence stopped in unison with the trio at ten paces. She hardly noticed the two other ponies give the standard bow that she’d received from nearly everypony since she could remember. Much as she would otherwise, the protocol was there for a reason, and, for some reason she’d never understood, ponies wanted to bow. She’d tried to stymie the behavior once, when founding the Crystal City, and gave up after the first day.
There was no ignoring the Sister, however. Bowing, the mare touched her chin to the floor, her hooves outstretched so that her barrel touched the ground and left her hindquarters up in the air.
Even as the other two started to rise, the stallion opening his mouth to speak, the Sister rode right over him. “Your Serene Highness, it fills me with joy to once again find myself in the glory of your presence.” Cadence successfully held back her groan, but could do nothing to stop her eyes from imitating a runaway wagon wheel. “And Mr. Chronicle,” she continued as she rose, “it has been too long.”
“It is always a pleasure, Revered Speaker. Though I must apologize; her Divine Highness has already left for Ponyville and has elected to take a few days of holiday. However, her Serene Highness, Princess Cadence has agreed to speak with you in her place.” If he noticed the glare Cadence sent his way, he showed no sign.
Blessed Harmony seemed to take it as wonderful news, her ever present smile growing even wider as she stared up at the Princess. “Marvelous!”
Cadence’s grin became manic as realized that there was no escape. “Wouldn’t you rather wait for Auntie to return?”
“Pish-posh. It has been far too long since our last chat.” Apparently confident that she would be followed, the Revered Speaker turned and began trotting away.
With a final baleful glare leveled at Chronicle, Cadence caught up with the priestess.



 — — — TCC — — — 



With Princess Cadence and the Revered Speaker trotting away, Chronicle turned his attention to the two remaining ponies. The first was a young pegasus he recognized as one of the palace messengers.
The colt let go of his put-out expression as he faced forward again. Bowing, he asked if he was needed. Chronicle shook his head and dismissed the colt, who wasted no time in making his exit.
The young mare inclined her head. “Mr. Chronicle, sir.”
She was a unicorn with a subdued violet coat and dull pink mane of neat curls. Certain that he recognized her, Chronicle tried to recall her name, but found his memory stubbornly lacking. “Yes, Miss?”
“Lady Blackwell wishes to extend an invitation to join her for tea.”
Surprised, Chronicle pulled out his watch only to see that it was indeed tea time. It was almost as though the day was hastening toward night and the parties that would follow. Lacking any plans of his own, he nodded his consent, saying, “It would be my pleasure,” and motioned for her to lead the way.
The pair fell into step together as she escorted him to Sunhall. West of the palace, Sunhall was the second center of her Highness’ government. From the House of Ladies to the Fine Arts Commission, every office of governance not tethered directly to the palace was housed on the long boulevard. While her Highness ostensibly ruled Equestria, she took a very horn-off approach whenever possible, allowing her subjects to devise their own governance—within certain bounds. Officially the Offices Public, the compound had quickly become known by the street it was built around.
Chronicle’s tail flicked from side-to-side as they stepped into the early evening sun. His left ear was fast to join once they rounded the street corner and were surrounded by the rush of political aspirants and reporters galloping to finish their work and return home before the festivities could start.
The clatter of hooves and errant voices filling the air were not conducive to private conversation. While Chronicle himself had no issue with this, he could see that his companion was not so comfortable in the extended silence. With his eyes studying the sidewalk no more than two lengths ahead of them, he broke it.
“I apologize, Ms., but I don’t seem to recall your name.”
“That’s okay,” she said with an honest meekness, taking a step closer to avoid another pony heading the other way, “I’m nopony important.”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, careful not to notice the sky beyond, and frowned. “Your name, if you please.”
She started at the sharpness of his tone. “Quick Quill, Mr. Chronicle, sir.”
“Ms. Quill, I would recommend that you forget that phrase.”
“Sir?”
“Everypony is important, Ms. Quill, and if her Highness catches word of your opinion, she will likely make that fact known to you whether you like it or not.”
She didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, opting to let the conversation die with a bowed head.
They passed the center of Sunhall, marked by a large fountain where it intersected Moonhall. As was the norm in Canterlot, it was a marble behemoth. Water sprayed up from the central spout, falling between the statues of the three tribes. Each faced its tribes own Hall. The earth pony, to the north-east, reared up with its left foreleg pointing toward the House of Commons. The pegasus, wings flared as though about to fly off, looked skyward toward the Cloud Enclave’s Cloud Hall tethered to the south. Finally, the unicorn stood proud on all fours, Sol’s light sparkling off the diamonds set in its horn, its gaze never wavering from the House of Ladies at the end of Sunhall.
The House of Ladies was well appointed, but stoic, lacking the palace’s ostentation. White marble built and supported by fluted columns, the building was all squares and triangles with only bas-reliefs above the entrance for ornamentation.
Chronicle’s left ear relaxed as they entered the narrow hallways, barely enough room for three ponies to walk side-by-side. Despite the more cramped quarters, the number of ponies had only seemed to grow, forcing the pair to weave and dodge as they moved deeper inside.
Just like the exterior, there could be no doubt of the richness on display, regardless of the lack of flair. Portraits and busts of previous members were the only pieces of art on display. White walls outlined a solid burgundy carpet.
Though he knew the way, he allowed Quick Quill led them up the three flights of carpeted stairs until they stood outside the Madam Speaker’s office. There she excused herself and slipped through the door, leaving Chronicle to wait in the outer office.
Quick Quill’s desk was small but tidy, a short stack of papers in one corner with an empty tray next to it. Three quills rested in a little jar next to two wax sealed inkwells. A brass name plate at the center displayed her name in a flourish of black engraving. The bookshelves against the back wall were filled with thick tomes of Equestrian laws, procedures, and case studies. Two cushions sat against the wall opposite her desk for anypony awaiting the Madam Speaker’s pleasure.
The door opened again, Quick Quill stepping out and motioning for Chronicle to enter.
The Madam Speaker’s office was far more regal. The desk, passed down from one Madam Speaker to the next, was an exact copy of the Princess’, though an inch smaller in every dimension. Medals and honors adorned the walls, filling every space that wasn’t taken up by rich painting and the two bookshelves behind her desk. Delicate glass figurines were artfully placed on most of the horizontal surfaces, a particularly large replica of the Princess on the left side of the desk.
Madam Speaker, Scribble Blackwell, was a late-middle aged unicorn mare, the first sign of wrinkles hidden behind her light grey coat. Her black mane framed her face, highlighting her magenta eyes. She smiled warmly as Chronicle entered.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Chronicle. I trust the day is treating you well.”
“As well as can be expected.” He smiled, a small uptick of his lips. “The palace does not take holidays after all.”
Lady Blackwell hummed as though he’d told a joke.
The door opened once again to admit Quick Quill with a tea service in tow. A rich, almost spicy, aroma filled the room as the she opened an odd container next to the pot. Though it was not unpleasant, Chronicle’s nose crinkled at the unfamiliar and heady smells.
“Have you ever had Chai?” Lady Blackwell asked.
“Chai?
She hummed. “It is a tea… more or less, from Inponesia. My youngest daughter introduced us to it when she returned from there two months ago, and we’ve all taken quite a shine to it.”
Chronicle nodded absently, paying far more attention to Quick Quill as she boiled the water and milk mixture while adding a myriad of whole leaf spices. Of them, he could only name two, cinnamon and anise. Five minutes of steeping later, the mixture was strained into the porcelain tea pot and two cups poured.
A pleasant tan color, the spice was overwhelming as he took the proffered cup. His uncertainty peaking, Chronicle glanced up at Lady Blackwell. The Madam Speaker graced him with an encouraging smile before sipping her own and humming appreciatively. Tentatively, he followed her lead.
The potent seasoning stampeded across his tongue, half continuing down his throat, the rest jumping up his sinuses. He coughed, covering his mouth with a hoof. “That is—” he cleared his throat, “different.”
“Perhaps it is not for everypony.”
“No. No, its good,” he said honestly. The flavors, strong though they were, sashayed along his tongue. Hot, but not painfully so.”Just, different.”
She smiled and seemed to relax into sear. “I’m glad you like it. Speaking of imported goods, how are the negotiations with the griffons going?”
Chronicle mimicked her posture, easing deeper into the cushion. “Right about where you’d expect…”



 — — — TCC — — — 



It was evening when Chronicle finally made it to his office. To label the space as spartan would be no better than labeling the Canterhorn as a mountain. Barely a closet, it accommodated a desk. The east wall led out to a balcony large enough for three friendly ponies, while a fireplace filled the west. Oddly, a fair number of plush cushions were bunched together before the mantle, their bright reds and golds the only source of color in the drab room.
Crossing the threshold, he paused, inhaling deeply through his nose. A weight seemed to slip from his back as he exhaled, his withers relaxing for the first time that day. His hooves flexed against the stone as his eyes wandered from one wall to the next, taking in the tiny space as a dragon would his horde.
His dalliance didn’t last. Removing his saddlebags and the documents from within, he took his place behind the desk. Quill and ink retrieved, he set to work with a genuine smile on his face.
Time seemed to speed up from there. A number of ponies came and went over the following hours, some bearing paperwork, some taking paperwork away, and a few stopping in to speak on small matters of the palace.
As senechal, Chronicle was an important non-authority. He was both the Princess’ secretary and Chief of Staff for the palace. The latter gave him near absolute control over the goings on within the castle walls. The former, however, placed him in the center of every aspect of governance without granting him any real power to affect it. It all amounted to a veritable mountain of paperwork crossing his desk on any given day.
Chronicle couldn’t be happier.
The flow ebbed to a trickle until finally stopping as Sol slid below the disc, and the holiday officially began. Ponies of all ages congregated in parks, fields, and large indoor spaces. Bonfires, staged hours before, were set aflame, a crackling vigil set to burn until Sol made her triumphant return. Fillies and colts played games in the warm glow, bursting with energy at the mere prospect of staying up all night.
Barely audible, the sounds from the palace’s own party found their way in through his open balcony, the orchestra’s muted chords just on the edge of hearing.
Chronicle stared blankly at the page in his field before sighing and putting it back down. It could wait. He rolled his head, his stiff neck popping loudly in the otherwise shadow silent room. His stretching ended with his head tilted back. His eyes locked onto the ceiling, and he smiled.
“Spellslinger.”
An almost impressed snort came from the darkness gathered at the ceiling. The shadows began crawling away to reveal a pink coated unicorn. Laying up with her hooves tucked above her, she looked down at Chronicle and smiled. Her short, blue mane lay against her neck, forelock hooked behind an ear.
A flash of grey dismissed the gravity spell. Her mane and tail drooped, floating for a half-second before the rest of her followed suit. Another flash and she disappeared, a duo of sharp cracks filling the tiny room.
Two pink forelegs slipped under Chronicle’s cannons a half second later, wrapping around his barrel and pulling him back against her chest.
“How long?”
Chronicle let himself sink into the warm fur even as Star’s rough cheek nuzzled his from behind. “When Tenpenny left, though I knew you were here the moment I stepped inside.”
“How?”
He inhaled deeply through his nose. “Lilacs and nutmeg.”
Chronicle reached back and ran his hoof along her cheek, feeling the twisted clumps where the hairs of her coat stuck out at odd angles, like shadows over her scars. Her weight pressed against his back as she nuzzled into the hoof.
“How long?” He asked.
“Three weeks.”
“Where?”
Star shrugged, her muscles flexing against his back. “You would know better than I.”
He paused to sort through the most recent events. “A privateer boat most like, hunting Hackney pirates.”
She nickered. “I hate sailing.”
A comfortable silence fell as their ritual greeting ended, filled by nothing but even breaths and steady hearts. Chronicle didn’t waste any time worrying about how little time they had before she was off again. It was something that neither of them could control. He could no more ask her to stay than she could ask him to follow. Instead, they savored what time they had together.
The glow of Star’s horn wrapped around the desk’s lower right drawer, pulling it open to reveal a Stones board.
“White or Black?”

> Chapter 5
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 5



“I prefer to live in the now. What matters planning for tomorrow if you cannot enjoy today?”


—H.R.H. Princess Cadence Invictus



Ambassador Kara cut into the flank of salmon. Clear juices soaked into the seasoning, unlocking the fragrant spices and making her salivate. She eyed the pink chunk of flesh on her fork before snapping it with her beak. The short, high temperature, searing charred the outside and gave it the sharp tang of carbon without ruining the meat by actually cooking it. Swallowing, she decided it was sufficient, though she’d been looking forward to the chicken that they’d been promised.
She sat amid the small collection of other griffins, not quite segregated from the rest of the non carnivorous guests. All around them, ponies were steeped in their own private conversations as they chewed their grass clippings.
It had not taken Kara long to learn to hide the sneer that developed every time she dealt with the ponies, but it had taken years to lose it altogether. That had been a disquieting revelation when she noticed it. In a fright, she’d taken an impromptu vacation and returned to the Aerie. The next few weeks had been spent partaking in every aspect of griffon culture she could dig her talons into. The damage had already been done, however. Her deep-seated loyalty to king and country demanded she report herself, fully expecting to be dismissed from service.
To her surprise, King Phoenixsong praised her for her patriotism and honesty, explaining that it was only natural to feel such after so long, good even. It would only make her that much more effective a diplomat. That she’d recognized the change and reported herself only proved that she was the right griffon for the post. But the King cautioned her to always remain aware of her new perspective, that it not cloud her judgment.
With these thoughts always at the fore, Kara watched the ponies celebrate another holiday. Every week they seemed to invent another excuse for celebration and pageantry. Of this holiday, at least, she approved. At first she had thought it nothing more than an overt display of Equestrian self-importance, Princess Celestia showing off her pre-eminent command of the heavens. Only when the topic had come up in the presence of the Revered Speaker had she learned the truth of the matter, of the short but devastating war of Sun and Moon. The defeat of a great enemy was always a good reason to celebrate.
Now if only they would learn how to celebrate.
Once she had eaten her fill, and made use of the provided breath mints, she left her attendants to begin her rounds. 
Kara despised politics. The game the nobles made of vying for power and influence held no luster for her. Her job was to ensure that Equestria stayed true to their agreements and that griffon interests were not cast to the wayside. That, unfortunately, did not preclude her from playing.
The only joy she found in the whole charade was the way so many of the nobles were never quite comfortable with her presence. She smirked whenever one would unconsciously slip into a defensive stance as they spoke—which only made them that much more ill at ease.
The night dragged. Boredom made the hours roll on slower than Ioka’s great flippers cutting through the great black emptiness beyond. Amid dull music, lifeless dancing, and mind numbing small talk, Ambassador Kara’s only respite came when she fled to the hors d'oeuvres.
“It’s entertaining, isn’t it… like watching a litter of puppies fight over their mothers teets.”
Kara nearly started, looking up from the tiny bits of toothpick speared ‘food’ and noticing the Guard Captain for the first time. That could have been embarrassing.
Igneous Quartz—if she recalled correctly—Royal Guard, Captain of the Shield wore her duty armour, all polished steel save for the gold leaf decorations at her collar and cannons. Kara had idly wondered whether it was battle ready, or merely ceremonial, but never bothered to ask. It had been more than a generation since the Royal Guard had last taken to the field.
An earth pony, Quartz was of a size with Kara, almost able to look down at her even. She did not face Kara directly, her back to the table and eyes favoring the nobles and politicians. Like nearly all the Royal Guards, her coat was pearl white while her mane and tail were a bright royal blue. 
Kara, annoyed by being caught off guard, considered chiding her on speaking so of her ‘betters’, but thought better of it. Though she knew little of Quartz personally, she recognized her type, both from the other pony guards and griffon warriors. Such comments would only receive amused grunts at best. 
“You ponies play at being above the fold,” she began as though simply agreeing with her, before letting out a harsh laugh. “There is only one difference between griffon politics and pony politics.”
The statement left a definitive void that demanded an explanation. Quartz tail snapped against her fetlocks. “And that difference would be?”
“When a griffon hamstrings you, it’s with his own talon, and a limp is the worst you’ll get. Where you see mewling chicks, I see toms and mollys vying for what scraps of power your princess lets fall from her table. Your ladies divy and partition their holdings, making barbed offerings that bind the recipients to them tighter than any family bonds. Those with power gain more, stepping on the backs of their ‘lessers’ to get higher and higher. There’s only one way to the top, being born there.”
Something about her little rant must have gotten under Quartz’s coat, for she wore a sour look as she said, “And the griffons are so much better?”
Kara shrugged. “No, but we are at least honest about it. Your lordlings dangle power over those below them and, just as they are about to grasp it, yank it away again. Your ceilings are no more malleable than ours, we just built ours of wood instead of glass.”
Even with the steady drone of the party, Kara could make out the grinding of Quartz’s teeth. When she finally spoke up, her voice was cold iron. “My mother farmed rocks.”
Kara chuckled and shook her head as the Captain stormed off. Ponies were too easy sometimes.
None of the other ponies proved to be as entertaining as the Captain, too busy vying for favors to provide an amusement. With no other alternative, she was forced to bear the tedium until dawn approached and everyone was ushered outside to witness the sunrise.
Finding a comfortable cloud, Kara and her retinue lounged among the pegasi. Idle chatter followed, mostly focusing on favored sports teams and baseless boasting on their behalf, as they waited.
And waited.
Kara shifted, her wings resettling against her side. She was about to ask for the time when a strangled gasp caught her ear. One of the pegasus guards stared wide eyed, forehoof pointing up at the sky.
“Well, that’s a neat trick,” she muttered to herself as she followed his gaze. 



 — — — TCC — — — 



Madam Speaker, Lady Scribble Blackwell, stared at the tome-thick stack of papers. She’d been told by the Princess herself that there had been a time when law did not require so many words, but, for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine it. For a few minutes she wondered how it had been possible. Certainly, it seemed like a simple concept. That is wrong; the punishment is this. Foalish. Nothing was that simple. Even murder was not so black and white. The demon is in the details, as they say.
Much to her annoyance, however, that wasn’t what was on her mind. Nor the particular minutia of the referendum she was attempting to read. Everytime she brought her focus back to her work, it kept circling around to her conversation with Chronicle.
Celestia was taking a vacation.
The words refused to mesh properly. She understood it on a base level. Of course Celestia was taking a vacation. Out of all the ponies she knew, there were none more deserving of some personal time off. Yet… it felt wrong. Foreign. Celestia did not take vacations. She just didn’t. In Blackwell’s thirty plus years in the House of Ladies, not once had the Princess even spoken of it as a possibility.
Had it been anypony other than Chronicle—especially the princess herself—she would have assumed it was a joke.
That was just the hot-sauces on the cupcake though. The real tangle in her tail was Her Serene Highness, Princess Cadence Invictus of the Crystal City.
Blackwell’s teeth ground together. If there was anypony less deserving of her position… Best not to dwell on such things.
It would only be a few days, Blackwell reminded herself, and Cadence was unlikely to get in her way unless provoked. If she was half the judge of character that she prided herself on being, the princess would do everything she could to stay out of the way, hiding from any real responsibility until the real Princess returned.
With an agitated huff, she let the referendum drop to her desk and leaned back until her head touched the bookshelf. The day had been a long one. She had a job to do after all, holidays be damned. Not that she was getting much work done…
Reaching out blindly, Blackwell’s field encased and tugged on the bell-cord beside the door. It was getting late, and she should have been home hours ago. Her husband and wives were probably getting worried.
A single light knock preceded Quick Quill opening to door. “Yes, mum?”
“Can you fetch me the…” Blackwell trailed off as her eyes came to rest on the wall clock. Only then did it fully dawn on her just how late it actually was. Victory was going to be furious. “Why didn’t you tell me it was so late?”
“Mum?”
“It’s nearly dawn! Surely you have someplace better to be this evening… I know I do.”
“I’m sorry, mum. I didn’t—”
Blackwell waved a hoof as she stood. “There’s no time for that now.” Moving around the desk, she began ushering her secretary back out the door. “I’m already in for an earful when I get home as it is, no need to make it worse by dallying. Go gather my driver and have him meet me out front.”
“Yes, mum. Right away, mum.”
With Quick Quill on her way, Blackwell set about gathering her things and straightening her office. Minutes later, once everything was tidy, she trotted out of the House of Ladies to meet her waiting carriage.
It was Quill and her driver’s distant expressions that caught her eye first. She slowed to a stop and followed their gaze up into the night sky.



 — — — TCC — — — 



Shining Armour, Royal Guard Captain of the Sword, fought a losing battle against the amused grin on his lips. Years of military discipline didn’t stand a chance against the sight before him. 
It had only been fifteen minutes since he’d arrived at the Royal Observatory and joined Cadence on the balcony. She’d already been pacing when he showed up. At first, he’d been concerned that something was wrong. Then she’d started using real words.
He’d seen her like this before, almost always after dealing with what she referred to as ‘political nonsense’, or when Celestia was in one of her moods and chose Cadence as her mark. She was frustrated and annoyed, and she needed to work that out on her own. All he had to do was listen and be supportive. The less he said the better.
“She’s just so infuriating! So perfectly proper and differential as she speaks down to you like an ignorant foal who can’t be trusted to wipe her own nose!” Cadence growled, spinning around and stomping back across the balcony.
That was the most articulate she’d been since he arrived, not that it helped him identify the culprit. There were any number of nobles he could name that acted much the same. It did take Celestia out of the running though, which was always good as far as he was concerned.
“And she knows something too.” Shining’s brow quirked at that. “She kept dancing around… something every time she spoke, like she knew the punchline to some grand joke but refused to share it.” Cadence stomped her hoof as she turned and began another circuit. 
“Cadie,” Shining spoke up for the first time in minutes. Cadence turned to see him with his foreleg held out to his side, inviting her to join him. She slumped and trudge over to flop at his side, leaning heavily against him and burying her muzzle in his neck.
He kissed the top of her head.
“I’m sorry about our vacation.”
Shining sighed, trying to not think about their plans. “It’s not your fault.”
“What are you going to do now?”
Shining shrugged. “Visit my parents I guess. It’s been awhile.”
“Oh,” Cadence said, her gaze falling to the floor.
Pulling his head back, Shining turned and look at Cadence. “Oh?”
“I was hoping that you would, you know, stay here.”
A chuckle rumbled out of his chest and shook the mare in his foreleg as he nosed her ear. “I’m not going anywhere, Mi Amore. Mother and Father are in Canterlot for the weekend.”
“Oh,” Cadence said again, her voice rising up with her head. 
As their eyes met, Shining bounced his eyebrows with a smile that he undoubtedly thought of as ‘sexy’, but could only truly be described as goofy. Cadence had no desire to tell him otherwise and only managed to cover her laughter by otherwise occupying her lips.
Two hours later, Shining’s forelegs held his Princess tight against his barrel as they lay stretched out on the balcony. Neither spoke as they recovered, both focusing more on the feel of the other pressed tightly against their coat.
With his chin resting in Cadence’s mane, Shining idly watched the horizon through the gaps in the balcony railing. As the seconds dragged into minutes, a frown began to form on his lips. Extracting himself, he stood, placing his forehooves on the railing.
“Cadie,” he said, his voice steady despite the uncertainty of his tone. “Cadie. Honey.” 
She stirred, slow to rise and join him, pressing against his side as she did so. “What is it, my love?”
Unable to find the words, he pointed toward Selene. 
Her pupils shrank, jaw falling open. “No.”



 — — — TCC — — — 



A cold breeze ruffled Chronicle’s mane, and he stirred. Rolling amid the pilled cushions, he searched for the missing warmth that had been his protection. Another breeze cut through his coat. 
Something was wrong.
A shiver of panic burned away the fog of sleep, opening his groggy eyes to a room filled with the shadows of night. As the haze cleared, Chronicle forced himself to calm,  working through his situation as best he was able. 
It was still evening, though the exact hour eluded him. He could still feel the warmth and smell the musk Star left behind; she was not long from his side. Standing, he found his vest on the floor and threw it on, buttoning it against the chill.
He blinked and turned toward the balcony.
The doors were open, letting the drapes dance in the cool mountain air. That was odd; he never left the doors open. Without really thinking, he reached out with his magic to close them, only to stop as his eyes fell on his desk and caught sight of the unfinished game of Stones. His field dissipated.
Giving his head a soft shake, he couldn’t stop the building yawn, nor the desire to stretch. The flexing of muscles eased the flow of blood even as it sent his joints popping. There was no getting used to the onset of age. With a soft nicker, he did his best to ignore it and plodded to stand just inside the wafting curtains.
“Star?”
“I am here.”
Sitting with his back to the balcony, Chronicle sighed through a small smile. “Describe it for me.”
“There are no words that would do the justice of your own eyes.” Chronicle did not respond to that, there was no need. “It is beautiful,” she went on. “The stars twinkle, almost dancing even as they remain in their appointed posts. They…” The pause caught him off guard, but not as much as the hardening of her tone. “Bookkeeper, you must see this.”
“Star—”
“Now.”
Reluctantly, Chronicle poked his head through the drapes, eyes never raising from the floor.
“Look up.”
Chronicle braced himself and followed Star’s instructions. Despite his lack of knowledge on the subject, he spotted the discrepancy instantly. Four stars moved quickly across the sky. Their destination was clear, bare seconds passing before they disappeared behind Selene. She flashed brightly, and when she returned to normal, the ancient shadow that had graced her surface was gone, leaving a pure silver orb in its wake.
For only the second time in his life, not a single muscle in his body quaked as he stood beneath the full glory of the heavens. 
A chime sounded from his pocket, his old watch ringing in the dawn that had yet to break.

> Interlude
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Interlude



“We all make mistakes, Twilight. Even goddesses can stumble and fall.”


—H.R.H. Princess Celestia Invictus



Princess Celestia Invictus looked up at Selene and the thousand-year-old shadow across her face. Sirius, Ankaa, Phad, and Antares were moving toward her. 
It would not be long now.
Her gaze fell.
She stood in a clearing of clover and wildflower, just inside the Whitetail woods at the outskirts of Ponyville. It was peaceful at the moment, a faint buzzing of insects punctuated by the occasional hoot of an owl and the scampering of other nocturnal beasts. Her guards she’d left behind in the town proper to await her return. They’d not been happy about her taking a ‘private constitutional’. It had taken more than a little convincing, with just a pinch of veiled threat, but they’d eventually relented. After all, what could possibly go wrong?
Settling into the grass, Celestia stretched out, reveling in the feel of it against her coat, slipping between the hairs to scratch at her stomach and barrel. It was a sensation that she rarely had time for these days, and she intended to indulge herself. 
After a moment’s thought, she rolled onto her back. Her not quite substantial mane pooled beneath her, flowing between the clover flowers like so much-dyed water. With a great ‘thwump’, her wings spread and fell, sending a cloud of daisy seeds up to dance in Selene’s silvery light.
For the first time in almost a century, she allowed herself to truly relax.
Nothing had been left to chance. One thousand years of plots and schemes were finally seeing fruition. A thousand years of subtle and overt manipulations to draw all the necessary strings into place. There had been moments of doubt alongside a few less-than-scrupulous actions that had been… necessary. She took no pride in those, only solace in the outcome they helped ensure. Despite her certainty in events, there had been moments of panic… years in fact. When the Sparkle family disappeared into the Tiaga those forty odd years ago… That had not been a pleasant decade.
There was one thing, however, that she had not been able to decide upon. She’d put very little thought into her what role she herself would play. Everything else was right where it needed to be, where was she supposed to be? 
Hiding would be fairly easy—her mother had proven that well enough. Letting her mana drain away until she held no more than any unicorn would make her all but undetectable. It was the smart thing to do. Everything rested on Twilight and her soon to be friends; Celestia could only get in the way.
That didn’t make it any more palatable. It was one thing to step aside and allow another to take command, quite another to actively hide while others put their lives on the line. No. Celestia shook her head. There would be no running away this night.
Pride, she mused as the stars disappeared behind Selene, was one of the greatest sins.
Her arrival was not heralded by a flash of light or cacophony of noise. It was quiet and subtle, like a shadow moving between the stars. “I think I rather like that.”
Celestia stared up into her polar opposite. Plated in blue armour, Nightmare Moon stood not a hair shorter than Celestia herself. Turquoise and reptilian, her eyes held a mirth that was anything but pleasant. That didn’t stop Celestia from smiling. “Hello, sister.”
Circling the prone mare, Nightmare Moon carried herself with a nonchalance that screamed arrogance. “I must admit, this is not how I imagined finding you.”
Celestia continued to smile as she slowly rose and sat back on her haunches to face her sister. “Of course not. You expected me to come armed for battle, to pick up where we left off a millenia ago.”  Celestia shook her head. “I do not know how the passing of time affected you, but I have grown old, Luna. So very old.”
Without warning, Celestia’s horn flashed, golden light filling the glade for the briefest of moments. Nightmare Moon jumped back into a defensive posture, her horn igniting, ready to fend off the attack she was certain would follow. A small snap, like the breaking of a twig, was all that came.
“It’s a gift, for you,” Celestia said, her eyes trained on the crystal that now hovered between them. “If you promise to keep me company until the outcome is decided.”
While her magic faded, her posture did not. Instead, a gasp nearly tore free from Nightmare Moon’s throat when the object came into focus. Shaped like a droplet of water, the crystal was flawless and clear. “What are you playing at, Celestia?”
It floated closer. “It is your insurance against my interference. All you have to do is promise to stay here, to keep me company.”
Nightmare Moon licked her lips, her eyes glancing at the other alicorn only to snap back to the tear. “You know that this wont stop me. I will still destroy the Elements before your champions can reach them.”
The smile Celestia wore did not falter. “We shall see.”
Uncertainty played across Nightmare Moon’s features. She did not like this. For Celestia to offer up one of her tears… Something was not right. There was little doubt in her mind that her sister would honor her word, but what would happen if she did not take the tear? Grinding her teeth, she reached out with her magic. 
“I promise.”
Celestia smiled and the tear changed fields, shifting out from a golden to azure aura. With far less trepidation than before, she called on her teleportation magic again. A Stones board and short table popped into existence between the sisters.
With a knowing smirk, Celestia asked, “White or black?”

> Chapter 6
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 6



“They [ponies] have always fascinated me. So full of vim and vigor, not unlike ants, carrying an ever growing weight of memories as they march single-file toward Elysium. But when a leaf falls, obscuring their view, they become lost as though everything is different. Panic takes most at these times, uncertainty of action leads to rash action, or worse, inaction. That is what we are here for, my daughters, to guide them around the leaves and show them that, no matter how much the world may seem to change, Harmony does not.”


—H.R.M. Queen Faust Invictus, in conference with her daughters, Luna and Celestia (unsubstantiated).



Star dragged Chronicle through the curtains and back into the comforting smallness of his office. He remained stiff however, legs tense and quivering. She clutched him, holding his head to her chest as she leaned against the wall. Running a hoof through his mane, she whispered comforting words into his ear to calm his racing heart and strangled breaths. 
Her efforts were for naught.
The crushing weight of the sky, now hidden from view, had seized his mind in a vice of fear and refused to let go. He quaked, unable to comprehend the sheer scale of the black expanse. Only a thin veil of magic, like the glass of a snowglobe, tended by the celestial bodies on the other side, surrounded the disc and separated them from what lay beyond. No matter how thick, impenetrable, or eternal it may have been, it was still just a thin sheet of paper against the endless void.
What little of his mind still functioned under that weight focused entirely one, single fact: Sol had yet to rise. 
The night sky remained, pitch, save for Selene and the myriad of stars that surrounded her.
Sol had not risen.
Princess Celestia was never late. Never. Every day she woke her charge at the appointed time, coaxing the light of the world from below the horizon to shine upon the disc.
Princess Celestia was dead.
No! She wouldn’t do that to him. Not like this. No. He needed to think. The Princess was not dead. He anchored himself to that thought. Princess Celestia was not dead. She was alive. Clinging desperately to that unimpeachable fact, he began to structure his thoughts.
Princess Celestia was de… indisposed. How, where, why: none of those mattered. What did matter was ‘What’. What would the Princess want him to do?
Calm, he heard her say. Breathe. Everything will turn out. All you have to do is calm yourself and breathe.
His chest inflated, pulling a large, shuddering breath into his lungs. The second breath came easier, and the third smooth as glass. With the fourth, his eyes opened.
“Bookkeeper?”
“I—I am al—” He shook his head. “Better. I am better.”
Star helped him to his hooves. “Do you know what is happening?”
“No,” he said, turning toward the balcony and the light that was not flowing through the drapes, “but I know who does.”



 — — — TCC — — — 



Shining’s eyes slipped from Selene back to Cadence. “Honey?”
“No,” she said again, breathless but gaining momentum. “No. No no. Nononononono!”
Taking her face in his hooves, he forced her to look at him. Years of experience had taught Shining how to identify the rising tide of a panic attack at a single glance. To his surprise, this was not one. While her breathing was shallower than normal, it lacked the constricted urgency of hyperventilation. There was certainly an amount of fear in her eyes, but it was not so great that she seemed on the verge of fleeing and curling into a tight ball at the same time.
“Cadie,” he said, keeping his voice steady despite his own creeping worry, “what’s wrong?” She just stared at him for a moment with a blank expression, not really seeing him at all. Shining stroked her cheek. “Cadence?”
Like the dawn that hadn’t come, Cadence’s eyes gradually lit up, coming back into focus. “They knew,” she whispered. “Both of them knew.”
She tried to pull away, but Shining held fast. Even if she weren’t the love of his life, he could not simply let her go. He was a Captain of the Guard, and she knew something about what was going on. He was about to ask what she meant when her horn ignited with a soft blue light.
“Never again.”
He barely had time to close his eyes before the distinctive crack and flash of teleportation struck his ears, burnt his eyes, and sent him reeling.
Cursing under his breath, Shining was up and galloping for the stairs in complete disregard for his damaged senses. Easily one of the tallest towers, there was only one way to go while he tried to work out where she would have gone. Not for the first time, he cursed his own lack of ability in abjuration and divination that set tracking her beyond his ken. 
Shining was not as smart as his sister, but, then again, neither were half the professors at Celestia’s school. Long before he joined the Guard, before he’d found his mark, he’d been as much a book worm as Twilight. But where Twilight went in for books on science and magic, Shining had always been fascinated by history, war, and the heroes that shaped them.
When he found his mark and realized what he wanted to do with his life, none of that had changed… merely focused. His study of history shifted to the events and processes that lead up to wars, his study of war moved to the specifics of tactics and strategies, and his idealization of heroes became a study of what to look for in others and how to spot the tremors before a fall.
That said, his—admittedly coltish—fascination with the tools of war had not diminished. One of the first things he did upon his promotion to Captain of the Sword was to visit the Royal Armoury. Like a colt in a candy shop, he’d spent hours walking through the massive collection of arms and armour stored therein—drool may or may not have been involved. It had been near the end of his one pony tour that he’d spotted the only stands hidden under thick canvas sheets. He almost managed to not lift the veils. 
The first one was divine, both literally and figuratively. Celestia’s gold and ruby barding was as much art as it was armour. But, as impressive as it was to see first-hoof, there was nothing surprising about it. Innumerable paintings and reliefs of it adorning Her Highness’ form filled the art galleries and history books to the point that, if anything, seeing it draped so lazily across the back of ponyquine was almost anticlimactic.
It had been the second set that really caught him off guard and spurred an enlightening binge of research that would have made Twily proud.
Hitting the ground floor, Shining turned right.
Galloping down the hallways was probably not his wisest move. The already on edge staff and guests were not put at ease by the sight of the well known Captain rushing hither and yawn. Later he would chide himself for it, but at that moment, Cadence was the only thing that mattered.
It took him almost five minutes to reach the Royal Armoury, the wide open doors confirming his hunch.
History, Shining Armour had learned, was not something to be studied lightly. It required a certain staunchness that most ponies could not muster. The first hurdle to be crossed was accepting that it was impossible to get the full picture. Besides the vile biases that clouded the truth like a thick layer of manure—most all the records written by unicorns—there were dishearteningly large gaps that left entire eras as blank as a newborn’s flank.
Fortunately, those gaps shrunk considerably after the War of the Sun and Moon. Not that that made finding what he’d been looking for any easier. 
Once he’d finally put it altogether, it only made his infatuation with Cadence grow—even if he’d never managed to broach the subject with her.
He found her right where he at once feared and longed to. 
At no point in Shining’s existence would he ever say that Cadence was anything shy of the most beautiful mare he’d ever laid eyes on—both out of honesty and a reasonable fear for his well-being. That being said, it took all of his considerable willpower to maintain his faculties when he turned that final corner.
Sapphires and lapis-lazulis, cut to the shape of hearts, were the anchor points for the joints. Long, feather like plates of rose and pink scale flared out from the gems. So focused was she on attaching the last of the greaves that she failed to notice his approach until he was nearly upon her.
Startled by the sound of his hooves, Cadence stiffened, her wings flaring as she rose to her full height and squared her cannons. 
Shining came to a dead stop, his jaw falling loose from his face.
She appeared as an ancient tapestry come to life. Proud, commanding, a general surveying her troops as battle raged below.
“Your Highness,” Shining said, years of training kicking in while he waged a war against his base desires.
The pure defiance of Cadence's features flashed with hurt, only to twist with disgust, as though a foul tasted had found her tongue. “Captain. I’m certain that your presence is needed elsewhere.”
As though that were enough to dismiss him, Cadence turned her attention back to her armour. Cinching the last greave into place, she draped the next piece across her withers, her magic working the straps.
Shining retreated as though slapped and stared at her with a blank expression, for all of two seconds before an amused grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
“Honey…” he started, waiting for her to look up from her work before continuing, “how long has it been since you wore that?”
“Be careful with your next words,” she hissed with a glare that should have sent him staggering.
A forehoof moved to cover his lips and hide the snickers that he could not contain. “Cadence… Love… Darling… that’s the croupiere. It goes on the other end.”
With delighted eyes, he watched her turn to examine the misplaced armour. He anticipated a blush, and attempt to hide embarrassment at making such a mistake, maybe even an excuse. He expected cute. What he got was her fixing the error and going straight back to work.
This was new, and that just added on to worries that had been mounting in the back of his mind. He could no longer avoid the dragon in the room. The simple act of squaring his shoulders seemed alter him entirely. Captain of the Sword, Shining Armour stared straight ahead, jaw set and tail stiff. “What is going on?”
Cadence looked at him as she thread her mane through the criniere. When she spoke, it was with the dull, distant tone of a professor reciting a particularly boring piece of literature. “On the longest day of the thousandth year, the Stars will aid in her escape, and she will bring about nighttime eternal.”
It took a moment for Shining to respond. The words were distantly familiar, like something he’d heard, or read, a long time prior. Then it clicked. “The Mare in the Moon? That old mare’s tale? My mother used to read that to me before bed.”
“Did you not see Selene? You of all ponies…” Cadence’s derisive tone was like a slap across the face. “Think Shining. Assume for a moment that Nightmare Moon is real. What would that mean?”
“Nightmare Moon…” he started, only to trail off. When it clicked, it was like a the first time he’d cast his shield. “The War of the Sun and Moon!” His face lit up and he barely kept from prancing in place. “Cadie, do you realize what this means?” 
“Vividly.”
He didn’t hear her. “It explains so much! Faust!” He spun around, chasing his tail like his mind chased the train of thought. All the inconsistencies, the minor details that stuck out like the horn on his head, they all came together to reveal an intricate tapestry obfuscated behind centuries of dirt and grit. 
A pair of hooves gripped his cannons and he found himself being stared down by an armour bedecked Cadence. “What it means is that Nightmare Moon is free and Auntie has gone to fight her. Alone.”
His giddiness died. “Then why didn’t she take her armour?”
Cadence turned toward the golden armour still adorning the other ponyquine, apparently noticing it for the first time. 
"But... Why would... Oh, you arrogant, selfish, stupid mare!" 
Stomping a hoof, she released him and turned to a glass display case against the wall. 
"What? What is it?" 
Cadence turned back around, a bastard sword, nearly as long as Shining was tall, was gripped in her field. He recognized the blade immediately. 
Penumbra was not as famous as Coronal Edge—Celestia’s sword—but was no less impressive. From what he’d been able to discover, it was forged some time during The War of Sun and Moon. Despite that, its first recorded use wasn’t until years later when Cadence lead the pacification of the Crystal Valley, the eventual sight of her Crystal City.
Both the name and dark design of the blade always seemed off to him. It didn’t fit with the motif of Cadence’s armour.
She swung the swords a few times, reacquainting herself with its weight and feel. “She thinks she can save her.” At Shining’s questioning looks, Cadence sighed. “Shiny. Sweetie…” her wing brushed his cheek. “Celestia is my Aunt.”



 — — — TCC — — — 



Star Shimmer disappeared in a flash of magic, rushing off to retrieve the Revered Speaker. He’d break off his own horn if she didn’t know exactly what was going on.
Regardless, Chronicle didn’t have time to wait for the ‘Whys’ or ‘Hows’. If panic hadn’t taken the city yet, it would in short order and the Palace needed to get a bridle on things before they got out of control.
Rushing about the small office, Chronicle packed his saddlebags full of blank scrolls, ink, quills, and any documents that could possibly be needed in the coming hours. There weren’t many; there’d never been a need before.
He moved as quickly as he dared through the palace halls, only slowing to a canter when he neared a turn. He wasn’t the only one. Staff ponies rushed around like he’d never seen before, most with somewhere to go, but there were still plenty that just seemed to be in a blind panic. Only the Royal Guard maintained their detached demeanor, though the sheer number ruined whatever calming effect they may have otherwise had.
Approaching the private entrance to the Throne Room, Chronicle finally pulled to a stop. The two Royal Guards eyed him, but otherwise didn’t react. He gave himself a moment to recover. Straightening his vest and saddlebags, he forced his breaths to slow. With a nod to the guards and a dual snap of his tail, Chronicle stepped inside.
He wasn’t surprised by the raging argument that washed over him, but that didn’t make make him any calmer.
Approaching the throne as he always did, head down and left ear quivering, he took in the scene.
Almost the entire court had already assembled, a veritable herd of Equestria’s leadership and their secretaries. They were crowded together at the base of the throne, already separating into two distinct groups.
“…believe what I’m hearing!” Blackwell was saying, just shy of a shout. “We’re trying to avoid a panic, not cause one!”
“Yes, which is exactly why we need to lock the city down,” returned Snow Blind, Commandant General of the Cloud Conclave. “Without a constant, visible show of calm with which to anchor themselves, the civilians will attach to the largest herd they find. And until Sol rises again, no matter what we do, the panic will only grow.”
To Chronicle’s surprise, the room was not evenly divided. Blackwell—Quick Quill at her side—stood with less than a quarter of the Council’s support, only those few who were inexorably tied to her at her side.
Chronicle scanned the faces, ticking off an unofficial attendance roster. Besides those who had taken their holiday outside of Canterlot, everypony save Princess Cadence and Shining Armour was present. Any other time and he’d have had a private chuckle at their mutual absences. They couldn’t have picked a worse time to for a dalliance.
The two leaders continued to argue as Chronicle took his seat beside the throne and set his bags aside. He floated the collected papers out and spread them out before him. The familiar motions helped to maintain his center, a slice of normalcy in a chaotic situation. Nothing he could do would be enough to make up for the glaring absence at his side.
“…because that is what we’ll be broadcasting to everypony! The Guard is already putting every pony they can on near constant patrol. That will be more than enough to—”
A sharp whistle issued from between Chronicle’s lips, cutting Blackwell off and successfully snatching everypony’s attention. Both his ears quivered under the scrutiny, but he made a show of meeting most the their eyes.
When Chronicle finally spoke, it was with a steady confidence. “In accordance with Royal Edict seven point nine point cee, Martial Law can only be instituted by a non-member of the royal family if all members are incapacitated or otherwise incapable of issuing such an order.”
Whispers broke out amid the crowd as the two principal speakers stared at him, one with a smile of victory and the other with dogged determination. It was the latter who spoke next.
“My eyes may be mistaken, but I see no Princess here.” Chronicle started to respond, but Snow barreled right over him. “And we don’t have time to debate this.” She held up an assortment of papers between her primaries. “There are already reports of small scale disturbances. Things will only nose-dive from here!” She glanced at the gathered ponies, taking special note of the numbers behind her. “I demand an immediate vote for regency.” 
Chronicle groaned as his hoof found his forehead, and the entire Privy Council slipped back into its natural state.

> Chapter 7
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 7

“We are a herd species by nature. Where one leads, others will follow. Even the smallest thread can change the shape of the weave for generations to come.”


—H.R.M. Queen Faust Invictus



“The second greatest threat to Ioka is your mother, and you didn’t think that that was something I might like to know?” That Shining didn’t shout those words was due only to his years of experience, both in the guard and under his own mother’s watchful gaze.
Cadence rolled her eyes. “Honestly, it never crossed my mind.”
“She’s your mother!”
“Who’s been exiled to the Moon for a thousand years.” Shining bristled, more at her dismissive I-shouldn’t-have-to-explain-this-to-you tone than the excuse. “It’s not like you ever asked about her.”
The counter struck out of nowhere. “I… bu…” Shining choked out before rallying to hold the line. “That’s not the point!” 
“You’re right. The point is that she is back,” Cadence continued to press the assault, “and Auntie apparently isn’t going to fight her. So that leaves me. Now,” Cadence struggled against the modified shield spell that was preventing her from teleporting, “are you going to let me go before I make you let me go?”
“No.”
“Shining Artorias Armour! You let me go this instant, or so help me…”
“Or what?” Shining smirked, recognizing a flaw in her defences. “You’ll break my spell? Ha!”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Cadence… Love… Honey, you can’t bluff me.”
She tried to glare at him harder, but Shining’s confident smirk never wavered. It was a rout, the adversary in full retreat, all that was left were the terms…
“But Shiny!” Cadence whined.
The last ditch sneak attack was valiant, but ultimately futile. “No. I can’t let you go gallivanting off. You need to stay here, where I—we can protect you. With Celestia gone—”
He noticed the tactical error too late. In his overconfidence, he’d allowed himself to come within striking distance. Cadence cut him off with a kiss. The embrace lulled him closer as he started to return the affection without thinking. He recognized her magic pouring into him but could do nothing to stop it, his own magic faltering against the onslaught.
When she finally pulled back and they broke apart, Shining was left panting for breath. He heard her apologize moments before she disappeared in a cyan flash.
It was nearly a minute before he’d fully recovered. Growling under his breath, he turned and trotted out of the armoury. “I have got to stop letting her do that!”



 — — — TCC — — — 



The situation in the throne room was going about as well as could be expected. From his vantage point, Chronicle watched herds congeal and divide in a display that only a mathematician or micro-biologist could find fascinating.
Snow Blind’s plan had fallen apart in a spectacular fashion the instant after she spoke. Or perhaps not. It was difficult to ascertain exactly what her long-term plans were, but, for the moment, she’d done nothing but cause chaos and the shouting that accompanied it.
It was an oversight on the Princess’ part to not hammer out an effective means of selecting a regent in the case of an extended, unforeseen absence. Or, then again, it wasn’t, and she fully intended this to be the outcome as a fail-safe to prevent the politicians from ever gaining too much control. Yes, Chronicle liked that explanation more. It was the sort of thing the Princess would do.
Still, it left him in something of a bind. While he had ‘friends’ in the council, and his opinion carried some amount of weight, he lacked an actual voice and the physical ability to make it heard. So he sat in silence, waiting in the hopes that something, anything, would happen to get the ball rolling.
It could have been worse. The Prime Chancellor could have not been visiting family in Vanhoover.
A hint of lilacs twitched his nose, and Chronicle’s back stiffened. 
“Bookkeeper,” Star’s voice whispered in his ear.
Not bothering to glance behind himself, he said, “Please tell me you have good news.”
“She is coming.”—Chronicle sighed in relief—“But,”—only to stop midway through—”she claims that there is naught that she can do.”
Before more could be said, the throne room doors swung open on well-oiled hinges. From his perch, Chronicle could see the Revered Speaker stride purposefully down the long carpet, red-gold robes trailing in her wake. A pair of acolytes, with the same rust red mane and pure white coat, followed at her side.
The others didn’t notice her entrance at first, too caught up in their ‘debating’. It wasn’t until she was less than three lengths away that they started to react. Their voices gradually fell silent. Like a hoof run through a cream pie, they parted to let the Sisters through. While the pegasi only gave the trio space enough to pass, the unicorns and earth ponies bowed their heads in a show of deference.
It was a grudging sort of reverence that the politicians had for the Sisterhood. While some few were devout practitioners, most viewed them as an unfortunate fact of life. A power base which they could never control or circumvent. 
The ‘Bodies Politic’ was a truly odd beast. At first glance, it might seem like a chimera of sorts, with three heads bickering over how to devour its latest meal. At closer inspection, however, it became evident that each head was that of a gorgon, where hundreds of writhing and snapping snakes grew from its scalps, each fighting to guide its own head. Accepting that, the Sisterhood was its heart, with no real say, but vital nonetheless. 
For the Chancellors of the House of Commons, it was a simple matter of survival; affiliation with the Sisterhood brought votes. The Ladies, as best Chronicle had ever reasoned, had it ground into them at an early age, a legacy from ages past. As for the Commanders of the Conclave, they cared little for them. Were it not for the mutual respect given from one leader to another, they would have been expected to go around.
Upon reaching the dais, Blessed Harmony bowed low, touching her horn to the floor—the acolytes acting in mimic. Rising, she ascended the first two steps and turned to face the gathering of nearly all Equestria’s leadership. A fire burned behind her eyes.
“Ladies, Commanders, Chancellors,” she started with a steady, firm tone that gained a harsher, more biting edge with each passing word, “I have never been more disappointed in the lot of you than I am at this moment! For the first time in living memory, Equestria is facing a true crisis, and you, the vaunted leaders of the herds, stand here nickering and neighing while the ponies you are supposed to lead are on the verge of panicking in the streets!
“Each and every one of you has fought tooth and tail to expand your control over our land. Each and every one of you has professed your desire to ease Her Divine Highness’ burden of ruling so vast a nation alone. And what do you do when given the opportunity to show her just how capable you are? You become no better than a pack of Diamond Dogs fighting over glass jewel.
“For years, it has been my advice that Her Divine Highness should dissolve this sham you call a ruling body. A pack of stubborn braying mules the lot of you. But, in her wisdom, she chose to keep you, assuring me that, even in your uselessness, you provided some service of value to her ponies. She told me that there were limits to her time and attention, Goddess or no, and that you lot would fill those voids as they arose.
“Her Divine Highness has seen fit to grant you an unprecedented opportunity to show that her faith has not been mislaid. For the first time in a thousand years, it is up to you to lead the herds without her guiding light, to show her that the example she has set has not been ignored or forgotten.” 
Blessed Harmony closed her eyes and shook her head. “I imagine she will be far more open to my council when she returns.”



 — — — TCC — — — 



While far from a well-oiled machine, the change was impressive. With the Revered Speaker watching over them, they performed arguably better than if Princess Celestia were there in her place. The blinders were off, and the safety net was gone. They all realized that treading water was no longer an option and it was swim toward shore or drown.
Madam Speaker Blackwell, Commandant General Snow Blind, and Vice-Prime Chancellor Second Spring were all doing their best to maintain civil tongues. The subtle jabs and not-so-subtle retorts were bitten back in preference of open debate.
Within minutes, stop-gaps were decided upon and run out to the scribes to be copied and sent out across Equestria by wing, hoof, and curulícum. Most notable was a dispensation for the guard allowing them free-rein to swear in temporary officers until such time as everything had calmed down. Statements were drawn up and sent out to the Criers and the Press to help alleviate the worries of concerned and panicky citizens.
Unfortunately, none of that would hold for long. A day on the outside, Chronicle guessed. 
For his part, Chronicle did his best to direct the palace’s efforts. The highest priority of which was locating the absent Princess Cadence, and by association, Captain Armour.
“Has there been any word from Ponyville?”
Boisterous Banter, the Master Crier, shook her head. “It’s such a small town, they don’t have any official curulícuma, and it will be hours yet before a flier can make it back.”
Chronicle massaged his temple. He’d never been one to worry much, mostly because he was never in a position where it was his responsibility to worry. Before his promotion, he’d been a scribe, and every day had clearly defined goals. After his promotion, it had been much the same. Anything that might have caused him to worry was set aside with the caveat that, ‘Princess Celestia will know what to do’.
He focused on his breathing and silently repeated one of the oldest of mantras he knew, ‘Celestia guide us. Celestia protect us. Celestia shelter us.’
“Ma’am, sir.” A young pegasus mare in royal guard armour stopped before the group, breaking Chronicle from his thoughts. She made a small bow to him before saluting to the captains Gust and Quartz. “There’s a situation at the Griffon Embassy.”



 — — — TCC — — — 



Cadence stood atop her tower staring out into the world. Night blanketed the whole of Ioka. The lights of the city, motes of warmth and color against the dark, were almost beautiful. Closing her eyes, she centered herself.
There had been a time, those first years after ascending, when it took all of her concentration to see the strands of Love permeating the land. Like spider-webs that tethered everyone to those they held dear. Now, it took nothing at all. Just a blink, and there they were.  
Most mages, even Celestia—barring prayers—relied wholly on divination magic to suss out the location of a particular pony. While that served well enough for most, it was notoriously vague in its details. Depending on the particular spell, the information could come in the form of a direction and distance, an image of the surrounding area—particularly useless if said area was in the middle of a forest or sprawling city—or, for those so inclined, map coordinates. There were a few other forms, but they all possessed a singular flaw. None could be used for direct teleportation.
The tendrils of Love were far more precise. Each was a single, point to point connection that could—given the ability to see them in the first place—be followed directly to either end. Very useful when playing hide-n-seek with a naturally gifted teleporter. It required no casting, no extra material such as a crystal ball or map. Most importantly, it would allow teleportation to within inches of the target. Not that it was without its flaws. Save for the few most precious of loves, identifying which cord led to whom was no mean feat.
Love was not so simple as to only touch wives to husbands and parents to children. Friendship was its own type of love, and sometimes, so was hate. Growing and shrinking, sparking and guttering, glowing brightly or black and hollow: it was a tangled mess of cords that bound ponies together, lifting them up when it was pure, and choking them when it ran foul.
Some centuries back, she’d met an adventure. When looking upon her, she noticed a chain of black-iron bound tightly about her essence like so much armour. Cadence took to speaking with her at great length, drawing at the mare’s life story one tale at a time. As she did, one name kept repeating again and again. It seemed, wherever one went, the other was never far behind. The mare had lost count of the times she’d nearly killed, or been killed by, the other. Somehow, despite not being able to step a hoof in the same room as her rival without a brawl starting, they had developed a love so strong that it prevented her from making any other connections. 
It had confounded Cadence at the time, eventually driving the mare away for her incessant prodding. She’d witnessed the same thing on more occasions, though it remained one of the rarer forms of love. Still, it defied her ability to understand or explain. 
Now, as she looked down on Canterlot, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of armour she hadn’t worn in decades at least, she searched for something similar connected to herself.
Clearing away the chaff was no easy task, and Shining, the big galoot, didn’t make things any easier. Like Sol next to the stars, the cable that attached them at the heart nearly drowned out all the others. Pushing it aside, she sifted through the rest. Aunt Celestia and Twilight were the next largest, then their families and the families from her former husbands and their legacies. Finally, after pushing past all her distant friends and family, all her acquaintances, many of whom she could no longer identify, she found it. 
It was a brittle, thorn riddled, ash coated string. She was almost annoyed that it was still there at all, but then, there were some forms of love that truly were hard to kill. Grasping hold as though it were a particularly slimy, unpleasant stalk of asparagus, she followed it to its source.
Or she would have if it hadn’t split in three.
“What?” she shouted into the open air. That was not possible. It didn’t make any sense! 
She grit her teeth and shook it off. There wasn’t time to worry about it; she had an aunt to rescue and a world to save. 
Starting with the rightmost connection, she traced her way to its source with haste. It came as no surprise that it led to a woods on the western edge of Ponyville. Following the central string next brought her right back to Ponyville again, only now off to the eastern side of the small town. Grasping the third and final strand, she started down it, and stopped.
Her eyes popped open.
“Hello, daughter.”

> Chapter 8
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 8

 “Your family is always worth fighting for… even when that means doing everything in your power to stop them.”


—H.R.H. Princess Celestia, 540 ER, excerpt from a speech given on the eve 
of the first battle of the War of the Sun and Moon


“Hello, Daughter.”
No amount of foreknowledge could have prepared Cadence for seeing her mother again. For those first twenty years, Nightmare Moon controlled every aspect of her life. From the first day, when she’d been taken away from her foster parents, to the last, when Celestia had rescued her, Cadence had looked upon her ‘mother’ and felt only fear and loathing. Those emotions had only grown stronger over the past thousand years. Even now, after coming fully into her own, wielding an enchanted blade, and covered from hoof to crown in magic armour, Cadence could not banish the slight quake of her ears nor the lash of her tail.
The years had passed Nightmare Moon by untouched. Not a hair on her coat had so much as faded from its oily black. Her midnight wings, longer and more graceful than Celestia’s, kept her aloft with steady down strokes no louder than a whisper on the wind. Every aspect of her figure stunk of command and power, demanding that any who look upon her bow in supplication. 
With eyes like cracked emeralds, Nightmare Moon smiled, almost beatifically, down at her daughter. 
Cadence squared her shoulders as best she could, her voice carrying with it every ounce of distaste she could force past the tremor. “Mother.”
An abrasive silence ground the seconds into a fine sand that itched and irritated beneath Cadence’s coat as she waited for the… creature that had, through some cruel irony, birthed her to make the first move.
“Well?” Nightmare Moon asked, her tone airy and full of expectation bordering on impatience. 
When Cadence made no reply or sign of compliance, her dark lips tightened into a thin line. Gradually, she hovered closer. Cadence backed away to keep her distance, uncertain of her mother’s intentions and unable to make the first move herself. 
Four platinum shoes clicked against the stone roof as Nightmare Moon touched down, folding her wings to her sides. A foreleg extended out and wide. “Come, Daughter, give us a hug.”
The tension shattered.
“What?!”
Nightmare Moon’s smile might have been an attempt at disarming and amenable, but the sharp fangs ruined it. “I admit this might not be the most opportune time, but after a thousand years, I think a little indiscretion is forgivable.” She beckoned again Cadence to approach.
Cadence recoiled, backing up a step and falling into a low stance, readying herself for action. “No!”
The Nightmare blinked, rotating her head to the right like an inquisitive bird. “What?”
“I said, No!”
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I mean, I’m not going to give you a hug you… you…” Cadence howled in incoherent frustration. Her defensive posture crumbled into aggravated pacing, but always keeping an eye on her mother.
The Nightmare rolled her eye and sighed. “You aren’t a teenager anymore, Daughter. I’d have expected you to outgrow this rebellious streak ages ago.”
“Rebellious streak?!” Cadence verily roared, rounding back to square off with Nightmare Moon once again. “This isn’t—You!” Cadence screamed again. In a swing of cyan magic, she drew Penumbra and leveled the blade at her mother’s muzzle. “What did you do to Auntie?”
“OH! You kept him,” Nightmare Moon cooed, her eyes sparkling with delight as she ogled the quivering bastard sword. “I was so worried that Celestia would’ve had him destroyed.”
“Don’t change the subject!”
“Oh, fie. Celestia’s fine,” she said with a dismissive flap of her wing. “I don’t see why you’re so concerned.” Cadence realigned the sword and Nightmare Moon followed the gesture, her smile growing at the sight of Selene glowing in the night sky. “Ah, I guess I can understand,” she said, turning back. “She is…” —her head snapped violently to the side as her voice fell into an angry mutter— “Will you be quiet! I’m trying to speak with my daughter! Do you have any idea how difficult this is?” —she turned back around and gave Cadence a smile that might have been something approaching apologetic. “As I was saying, Celestia is fat and hap…” —her head snapped back again— “If you don’t like it, you should maybe lay off the cakes!” —and back again— “…and happy.”
Cadence stared at the tall, dark, and deranged mare standing before her. She opened her mouth to respond, but the question never formed properly. Shaking her head, she filed it under ‘things she didn’t want to know’, and pushed onward with more important things. 
“What about Twilight?”
“Who?”
“Twilight Sparkle, she’s—” Cadence snapped her mouth shut and silently cursed herself, but it was too late.
Nightmare Moon’s eyes sparkled, the long slits contracting ever so slightly as her smile grew, showing far too many teeth. “Sparkle? This may prove a greater challenge than I anticipated if the Sparkles have sided with Sister. Regardless, she is fine… for now. Though I doubt that will last terribly long.”
“You will not harm a hair on her head!” Cadence surged forward, all the hesitance from before fading as she brought Penumbra to bear in a wide arc.
Nightmare Moon slid back, more akin to a retreating shadow than a pony, avoiding the whistling tip by inches. The shadows beside her coalesced into a solid mass of pure night. Long and slender, the single-edged sword, held horizontal at her side, was long enough to cleave even Nightmare Moon herself from snout to dock with a single swing. “Be careful with my sword, Daughter. I would be distressed to see you hurt yourself.”
For the first time in as long as Cadence could remember, she bared her teeth at another pony. “If you harm her…”
Nightmare Moon scoffed, stomping a hoof. “You know I can’t make that kind of promise. If she persists in her attempts to thwart my plans, I will have no other option. However, in deference to your desires, I will give her every opportunity to return home before I take a more… personal hoof in matters. But the Everfree Forest has never been a safe place, and I will not be blamed if her own foalishness sees her dead.”
“The Everfree?” After a moment. “Oh.”
“And now you understand. Dear sister and I agreed that a confrontation would serve neither of our purposes.”
“So she is just going to let you win?”
Nightmare Moon rolled her eyes. “You’re joking, right? You should know better than that. Dear sister is as manipulative as ever.” Her horn brightened and a small crystal materialized between them. “She gave me a tear.”
“She WHAT?!” Cadence gaped at the tiny sparkling crystal held aloft by the Nightmare’s magic.
“She gave me a tear, insurance against her own interference. All for a promise that I would…” —her head snapped to the side once again— “How? You cheater!” She stomped a hoof. “No, I can’t prove it! … That makes it no less true. … Whatever helps you sleep, Sister.”
“By grandmother’s mane! What are is going on?”
“Such language!” Nightmare Moon chided, turning back to Cadence, the tear disappear back to wherever it came from. “I expect better of you.” Cadence just glared until she continued, “I have a great deal to accomplish, and I cannot afford to simply sit back and wait for Celestia’s champions to fail before I get started.”
“That doesn’t explain anything!”
Nightmare Moon’s ears fell slightly. “Really, Daughter, you are proving to be quite the disappointment.” Cadence did not rise to the bait and Nightmare Moon’s eyes rolled once again. “Celestia and I are on our third game of Stones. She just ‘won’ her second match. I am also searching our old castle for the Element of Magic. Sister has hidden it there, I am sure. Lastly, I am here, speaking with you. 
“Once we are finished, and you put my old sword away, we will be off to introduce me to Celestia’s old council. Whatever possessed her to allow the peasantry to write their own laws I shall never understand. Then we shall—”
“What makes you think I will help you?”
“I have been trying to be lenient, Daughter,” Nightmare Moon almost growled, the guttural sound all the more disturbing coming from a pony’s throat, “but my patience for your attitude wears thin. Put down my sword.”
“No.” Cadence drew Penumbra back, holding it at the high ready. “You’re bluffing.” 
“I will not ask you again.”
“Well?” Cadence smirked. “I’m waiting, Mother.”
A rod of kinetic force slapped across Cadence's cheek, snapping her head to the side. "I will suffer your disrespectful tone no longer. I am your mother and—" 
“You’re a foal stealing monster!” Cadence shouted, returning Nightmare Moon’s glare. “I would sooner see Equestria burn than allow you to rule.”
Nightmare Moon’s gaze chilled. “So be it.” Tamashi had already cleared half the distance before the last syllable left her lips. The clang of metal and crackle of magics filled the air as the two magic swords met for the first time. “Let us see what a thousand years under Sister’s care has taught you.”
Cadence tried to reply, only for Nightmare Moon to press her assault. Despite the blade’s unwieldy length, Tamashi verily danced about Cadence like a mayfly, darting in and out, sweeping wide, only to turn and strike from a wholly different angle. Within moments, Cadence was forced onto her back hooves, desperately trying to recall her long forgotten training, holding off her mother’s blows by the skin of her teeth.
She managed, if barely, intercepting most strikes and diverting the rest enough that they only skimmed off her barding. Simple kinetic blows occupied any attention she could spare from tracking the whirling blades, countering Nightmare Moon’s magic with her own. Already at the end of her rope, Cadence realized just how foalish she’d been to challenge her mother.
“You have not been practicing,” Nightmare Moon chided her as though Cadence had forgotten a homework assignment. “Your stance is weak. Your blade-work, sloppy. How on Ioka’s great shell did you survive with such pitiable skill? The rawest of recruits would have put you down already.”
Cadence caught Tamashi in Penumbra’s guard, holding it long enough for her to speak. “Then why haven’t you?”
Nightmare Moon turned her strike, bringing the cannon-length grip around to bash Cadence’s muzzle, a spray of red splashing onto the stone floor. “Ignorant welp! I could end you anytime I desired.” She swung, feinted, and turned the sword, striking the other side of Cadence’s muzzle with the flat of the blade. “Had I not witnessed you pass from my womb with mine own eyes I would deny you as my daughter.” 
Cadence tried to counter the next blow, only to find nothing there and stumble before Tamashi cracked across her foreknee, dropping her into a mockery of a bow. 
“You are a disgrace to my name and undeserving of the gifts poured out at your hooves.” Tamashi turned again, the dull edge impacting Cadence’s horn. Her magic failed, and Penumbra clattered to the ground. Magic backlash scoured her mind blank, dropping her to her side as she gripped her head and howled in pain. “Pathetic.”
Cadence was afforded no rest. The pitch blade dug under her chin, forcing her to meet her mother’s gaze. She couldn’t move. Terror like she hadn’t felt since that first night gripped her heart and froze every muscle in her body. Dragon eyes looming over her as she cowered into the depths of her closet, fighting to hold back her tears as the only family she knew were strangled in cords of midnight.
“But you are correct. Even with your sorry showing, I can not spare the concentration. Nor do I hold any desire to see you needlessly harmed. You have a choice before you, Daughter. Either mend your ways and assist me as you are able, or waste your efforts in opposing me. Your choice shall determine my leniency regarding your punishment.” She leaned forward, placing a light kiss between Cadence’s eyes. “Until then.”
And she was gone, like so much smoke on the wind.
The blade disappeared and Cadence collapsed, trembling as tears streamed down her muzzle.

> Chapter 9
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 9



“Silence! I have heard enough of your prattling! You would cast your actions as those of loyal servants? Where was your vaunted loyalty while that… thing ate at her heart and poisoned her mind?! You were her protectors, always by her side, and yet you did nothing! You said nothing! You watched as my sister—! You will find your pardon writ upon the stone that marks your grave.”


—H.R.H. Princess Celestia, pronouncing judgement over Arch-Mage
Silver Flash and the surviving members of the Nightguard.



Chronicle stayed on the peripheries of the Princess’ Cabinet as much out of apprehension as habit. When Princess Celestia was present, he was little more than a secretary. Oh, he had a right to voice his opinion, and the Princess would call on him from time-to-time, but he rarely felt that his voice had any merit. It was a rare thing for him to disagree with the Princess, regardless.
Now, without either princess present, he was the defacto head, and he did not like it one bit. When this was all over, he might finally take a vacation.
The pegasus guard remained at attention after giving her message, ready and waiting to receive her next orders. There was little doubt in Chronicle’s mind as to what was going on. Kara, and griffons in general, were all too predictable. Still, it was Captain Quartz who was the first to speak, her face twisting as though she’d bitten into a bad apple.
“What kind of situation?”
“They are packing, Ma’am.”
“Packing? What do you mean, packing?” the captain asked incredulously.
“They are loading up the ambassador’s private airship with supplies, and—”
Chronicle cursed. It wasn’t loud or forceful, barely a whisper, a hiss between his teeth that happened to carry the name of a particular princess without the addition of a title. Everypony in the small group stopped to stare at him, many with jaws hanging. For one of the few times in his life, he didn’t notice. 
The first to recover was Chancellor Subtle Plume, her eyes going wide when she realized what Chronicle had. Her curse was far louder, but much less remarked upon. “We've got to stop them.”
“Stop them?” Quartz snorted. “If they want to flee, good riddance. For all the good it will do them. Perhaps we shall finally get their stink out of the tapestries.”
Plume rounded on the large, armoured earth pony and stared her down, an impressive feat for a pegasus whose exercise regimen consisted of lifting paper one page at a time. “You blithering idiot! They haven’t agreed to the trade compact yet! If they leave it will be months before we can restart negotiations! Aside from the lost revenue, the Princess’ influence over them is the only thing keeping them out of Prench and Hackney affairs!
“The economic loss alone will spur them into selling their swords to the highest bidder! So, unless you want to be the one to explain why the Queendoms are awash with bloodshed, I suggest you do something about it!”
“And what would you have me do?” Quartz shot back with a sneer. “They have done nothing illegal. Without declaring martial law and closing the airspace, there’s precisely nothing I can do to stop them.”
Subtle Plume smiled viciously. Taking a short step back, she eyed the earth pony captain from head to hoof. “You dislike the griffons, yes?”
“I have no love for them.”
“Good. Come with me.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and trotted toward the exit.
Captain Quartz hesitated for a moment, glaring at Plume’s back before turning to follow. With a loud bark, she ordered three more guards to fall in behind her.
Chronicle watched the quintet leave, an inkling of the Chancellor’s plan running through his head. He did not like it. Plumes’ gambit was just that, and if it failed there’d be Tartarus to pay. Worse still was Princess Cadence’s continued absences. Every pony in the palace should have been looking for her, and she was hardly the stealthiest of ponies. He was beginning to fear that whatever was keeping Princess Celestia from waking Sol had got to her as well.
A hoof on his shoulder made Chronicle jump. Turning, he came face-to-face with Boisterous Banter. She wore a comforting smile, her ears relaxed but attentive. “All right there, Chronicle?”
His confusion gave way as he noticed his own rapid, almost panicked breathing. He started to nod, but there was no point in lying. In no way was he ‘all right’, nothing was right right then. Instead, Chronicle closed his eyes and forced himself to take a few deep breaths until he’d settled himself down, focusing on finding solutions rather than the myriad of problems he faced. 
“Thank you,” he said, once again trusting his voice. “I just need a moment.”
Chronicle stepped back, separating himself further from the on-going discussions and moving back toward the throne. Turning his back on the hall, he tried to imagine that the room was no larger than the space now in front of him. It helped a little.
“Star,” he said in a whisper, not bothering to look for her, “I need you to find Princess Cadence.” There was no reply, but he trusted that his message was received.
Having regained as much of his composure as he could expect, Chronicle turned once again toward the career politicians. From the dais, he could see all of them and wished he could not. With the most immediate concerns taken care of, they’d already begun to falling back to bickering.



 — — — TCC — — — 



Quartz eyed the pegasus flop as she led them out of the castle. Pegasus though she may be, Plume held to none of her tribe’s martial history. It would not surprise her to learn Plume had never held a spear in her life. What the Princess saw in her, Quartz would never know.
It was immediately evident where she was leading them. The griffon embassy was housed in one of the tallest towers at the eastern side of the estate, a good half-hour trot from the throne room, or a five-minute flight by chariot.
The two pegasus guards she’d grabbed from the throne room disappeared into the hanger the moment they arrived without having to be told. They were good soldiers. The silence continued as they brought a chariot out and the rest of them squeezed on board. In seconds, they were airborne, flying toward the griffon embassy, and the private airship dock on the roof.
As the seconds turned to minutes, Quartz found her gaze continually shifting toward Plume. She did not like going into a situation blind, but she’d be damned if she was going to speak first. If Plume wanted to play her little games, fine. She’d better not be surprised when Quartz didn’t dance to her tune.
The chariot circled around the tower, slowly rising until they could come in for a landing at the very top. 
With the sun still absent from the sky, the landing platform was lit up by lamps posted around the rim, casting the flock of griffons in wavering light and shadow. The ambassadors private zeppelin was docked on the far side, tethered down but a good four lengths above the platform. Little more than a pleasure craft, it could carry perhaps twenty ponies, fifteen comfortably. When fully laden, the small engines wouldn’t make it further than Manehatten. Unfortunately, that was as far as would be necessary.
The moment the chariot touched down, Igneous Quartz was off, the other three guards falling in behind as Subtle Plume flitted up to her side. The griffons noticed their arrival, but only a few stopped their work. Five detached from the group, moving to meet them, everyone stopping four lengths apart near the platform’s center.
“What do you want Chancellor?” Ambassador Kara squawked from the flock’s center.
“For you to stop packing and to remain in Canterlot until this blows over.”
“Blows over?” Kara scoffed and pointed an accusatory talon at Plume. “You expect me to believe that this isn’t all a show? I know posturing when I see it, Chancellor.” She smirked. “You aren’t as subtle as you’d like to think.”
Quartz stopped listening. She couldn’t care less for the bickering of puffed up feather brains. When it was time for her to do something, she was certain she would know. Instead, she focused on the griffons surrounding Kara. 
She recognized them, sort of. Griffons all looked the same to her. These ones, though, she’d seen often enough pick them out by size, if not name or face. Kara’s guards, they were all male and larger than the rest, both in stature and bulk. If it weren’t for the scuttlebutt among her own ponies, she’d think they lacked tongues for all the times she’d heard them speak.
“… challenge you.” Quartz snapped out of her thoughts, head whipping to the side to stare at Plume in surprise. What was this air-head up to? “If I win, you remain here, sequestered in the embassy until the situation has been dealt with.”
“And if I win?” Kara asked, giving Plume a questioning glare.
“We let you leave.”
Kara flicked a dismissive claw, starting to turn away. “Which I was about to d—”
“And I guarantee you more favorable terms on the price of Equestrian foodstuffs.”
Kara stopped, seeming to ponder that. A slow smile showed on her beak. “I assume you will be choosing a champion?”
The Chancellor finally met Quartz’s gaze. The Captain understood the look immediately and frowned but nodded. No matter how little she thought of the flop, it was her job to protect her.
“Captain Quartz.”
Quartz turned all her attention to the ambassador. For a second, she was certain that Kara would have one of her bodyguards take her place as she was taking Plume’s. To her surprise, and pleasure, she was wrong.
Kara stepped forward, shrugging off her stole of office. “I accept.”



 — — — TCC — — — 



Arch-Mage Star Shimmer stood before the door protecting the younger princess’ private room. The thick, hardwood was not the what gave her pause, rather it was the heavy matrix of ancient runes securing it from unauthorized intrusion. For a brief moment, she considered testing herself against it, pulling it apart so as to keep from setting off any of the myriad of alarms that undoubtedly connected to the nearest guard quarters. It had been years since she last came upon so complete a lock. Most of what she encountered were child’s play, providing no sense of accomplishment from unraveling them.
Unfortunately, Chronicle would not appreciate her spending the extra minutes it would take to fully comprehend the intricate connections and hidden trips. 
It was, she reflected, something of a shame. The ward was likely close to a millennia old, the legacy of a long dead mage. A more sentimental pony might have paused at that thought, allowing a moment of silence to pass in mourning. Star was no such pony.
Prodding the runes with her own magic, she identified the pillar runes that supported the entire framework. Taking hold of the key runes, she attacked them with extreme prejudice, shattering the architecture and making the whole of it crumple in on itself. 
She wasted no time stepping inside, closing and latching the door behind her. Under normal circumstances, she’d have five minutes at a minimum before the guards reached her. Today, with everypony already on edge, it was a complete crapshoot.
Taking the door in her magic again, she constructed a ward of her own. The equivalent of an iron bar, it lacked all intricacy, but, lacking the key/lock mechanism of the previous ward, it would take a much more concerted effort to break. Eight minutes, she estimated, unless Shining Armour or one of the other more powerful unicorns happened to be nearby, then just three.
Cadence’s room was exactly as she expected, given her limited experience with the mare. Were it not for her own blue mane, Star Shimmer could have disappeared amid the over-abundance of pink and puff with no help from her magic.
She began to walk around the room, taking in everything with a single glance as she recalled what she could of the Princess.
Princess Cadence Invictus. Aged, ten hundred years. Niece of Princess Celestia Invictus. Daughter of Luna Invictus, a.k.a. Nightmare Moon. Founder and Monarch of the Crystal City. Occupies the cusp of current culture, refraining from attaching herself too much to any particular style. Married five times, no natural foals. Currently (secretly) seeing Captain Shining Armour. Renounced the Lunar throne, and has shown little interest in…
Star’s internal monologue trailed off, eyes locking on a number of small portraits mounted in brass frames atop the dresser. In the entire room, they were the only items more than a century old.
Each of the five pictures carried an image of Cadence, her dress and the style of her mane marking an easy tell for the age of the image. Seated beside her in each was a different stallion. The newest, only a few generations old, depicted a unicorn with a white coat and blonde mane, an easy pick for Duke Blueblood’s distant ancestor. There were no discernible similarities between the pictured stallions, stretching the gamut of demeanour, breed, and general attractiveness.
Star’s lip twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile. She was hardly one to judge another mare’s choice in mates.
A knock at the door pulled Star’s ears around, muffled voices carrying through her ward. The Guard, no doubt. She could not afford to linger.
She glanced once more at the portraits and almost turned away, only to notice the oldest of them. Taking it in her magic, she studied it a moment. Uhtceare Cloudbreaker, a pegasus, was Cadence’s first husband, married less than a decade after the War of Sun and Moon. 
Star smiled.
Calling forth the necessary runes, Star Shimmer brought her destination to mind, forming as detailed an image of it as she could. It was far, near the outer edge of her limits, but she knew the place well enough.
The runes connected. The spell snapped, and Star fought down a wave of nausea.
Uhtceare’s Point was not a common destination for tourist, rarely even marked on maps. It was little more than an outcropping on the eastern side of the Canterhorn, opposite Canterlot itself. The hoof path leading there made it a long, arduous, and dangerous climb with many uncertain ledges. For those who knew about it, and were willing to risk the journey, it presented an unparalleled view of Eastern Equestria for anypony not gifted with wings.
The view, however, was blocked for Star Shimmer, obscured thoroughly by Princess Cadence’s slouched form sitting at the far edge, staring out over the night cast coast. It was odd, seeing her covered from head to hoof in plate mail, but, given the night’s events, she didn’t consider it all that surprising.
Star’s arrival had not gone unremarked.
“Go away,” Princess Cadence said without turning from the horizon.
“No.”
“No?” Cadence asked, surprised and angered at the curt reply. “I am your Princess, a Goddess, and I command you to leave me in peace!”
“You are a spoiled foal, running at the first hint of responsibility.”
“How dare you!” Cadence screeched, snapping her head around to glare at Star. Getting a look at her face, Star noted the tear carved ravines trailing down from her eyes and the wide bruise just starting to show on her muzzle. “I—” Cadence’s ears fell back, pressing down against her head as she nearly growled. “I know you. You’re…”
“Arch-Mage Star Shimmer of Her Royal Highness’ Order of the Wanting Dawn,” she said without pride or affectation. 
Princess Cadence’s muzzle twisted in a restrained rage. “And to what purpose have you come here? Eager to demonstrate your loyalty to your mistress at last?”
“I care not for your mother’s designs. Your presence has been requested in the throne room, and I am here to see that you attend.”
“How did you know—”
“We are not ignorant of our history. Nor are we accustomed to waiting.” Star Shimmer held out a hoof toward the princess, for all the good it would do.
Cadence stood and turned to fully face the unicorn, spreading her wings in an aggressive show of dominance. Her expression only darkened at Star’s lack of reaction. “I said be gone.”
Star held her gaze, contemplating the different possible outcomes to this confrontation. She’d sooner saw her own horn off than back down. Princess Cadence was a goddess, however, and Star Shimmer was not so foolish as to think she could match her spell for spell if things turned violent. Then again, she wouldn’t have to, depending on her skill and training. More important still was how Princess Celestia decided to view the altercation. Having been on the receiving end of the Sun Goddess’ ire, Star had little desire to repeat the experience.
“I can not do that.”
“That is a direct order from the ruling monarch. As a Dawn Knight, failure to comply constitutes treason, punishable—”
“By summary execution and public defamation of all honors and citations.” Star put on a smile she saved just for such situations. “If that is your wish, Your Highness, I shall gladly accept my sentences, as soon as you ascend the Solar Throne.” Star twitched her still extended hoof. “It would be an honor to accompany you there.”
It was an idle fantasy of Star’s to see that particular expression of anger and defeat on Princess Celestia’s muzzle just once. Unfortunately, that was hardly enough to bring Cadence around. She snorted, turning and extending her wings as though to take off.
As fast as she was able, Star conjured a small gravitational spell, slamming it into place under the princess. 
She grunted at the sudden weight dragging her down, her legs almost buckling at first, straining to keep her upright. 
“I suggest you reconsider this course of action. If you will not attend your duties—”
“You’ll what?” Cadence shouted as she spun quickly despite the spell’s burden. Her horn ignited, carving through Star’s spell like a razor through so much hair. “You’ll do nothing! I am a Goddess, and you are naught but an ant before me!” Penumbra came at Cadence’s call, the heavy blade held high and close. “Step aside or be removed.”
Star Shimmer continued to hold her gaze. Once again, she reconsidered the paths before her. She thought of her duty to Princess Celestia and Equestria as a whole, of her odds of success, and of her estranged daughter and her Bookkeeper. But not once did she consider turning away.
With a dispassionate acceptance, she summoned her own blades, a longsword and stout sword breaker. Whispering a prayer to Celestia, and wishing she’d taken the time to gather her own armour, Star Shimmer slipped easily into a loose battle-stance.

> Chapter 10
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 10

        

“Half measures are for chemists, chefs, and fools.”


—H.R.H. Princess Celestia

        

The incessant wind tugged at Star’s mane, causing the cyan strands to dance just at the edge of her vision. It was a slight distraction, easily ignored. Worse were the thoughts that kept rising up unbidden. Her normally disciplined mind wandered against her will, memories of Sunset and Chronicle peeking along the edges where they did not belong. An itch developed on her neck and along the curve of her stomach, remembering the warmth and pressure—both long gone and recently left.

Try as they might, those conjured sensations remained at her peripheries, failing to pull her attention away from the angry goddess staring her down. The Princess was not so subtle as she thought, not to her eyes. Star could fairly taste the magic pouring from Cadence, knew enough to recognize when thoughts were not her own. It was a cruel trick, to use such tactics, to play a pony's heart against them.

She wondered if it was possible to learn.

All of three lengths separated her from the sheer mountain wall and the treacherous hoof path leading off to the right. Four lengths of pebble strewn stone between her and the princess. The ledge itself narrowed considerably the further it stretched, shrinking from seven lengths against the mountain to a rounded point a half-length behind Cadence’s tail. As far as duelling grounds went, it was quite lacking and played far to the Princess' advantage.

Selene was brighter than she'd ever been in the false night sky, such that seeing each other would not be an issue, but that said nothing for Penumbra. The Princess' magic blade half disappeared against the night sky, visible only where it blocked out the stars. Even were it a normal sword of wood and steel, it’s reach covered half the ledge’s width. Staying clear of its reach would be near impossible here.

Her eyes closed… 

The princess moved first, a short rush and swing, wild and fast. As Star ducked, her mane trailed behind, losing a blue lock to the magic blade. Instinct drove her to lunge, thrusting her sword at Cadence's chest. The magic blow, she saw coming, but her momentum was already set. A hasty shield saved her from a collapsed rib cage, but nothing could hold her to the ledge…

— 

Cadence turned her back, wings opening in preparation of flight. The hastily cast gravity spell left Star's vision swimming, but it worked, holding the princess to the ledge, unable to lift off. Enraged, Cadence broke the spell only to mimic it, bringing Star to her knees, crushing her into the ground. Her right humerus was the first to break…

— 

… Her longsword struck home, caving a furrow into the princess' armoured shoulder and lodged there. Cadence howled in rage, then returned the favor…

— 

… Panting, gulping for breath, Star could hardly stand, her magic flickering as she clutched the ruined remains of her sword. Streaks of silver marred the princess' armor where Star had managed glancing blows. She stumbled, the furrow carved from her shoulder to hip still bleeding despite her magic struggling to hold it closed…

… and opened.

Star relaxed, rising from her defensive posture. Her sword-breaker, unneeded, was sent away. Dipping her head, she knelt before Cadence, eyes trained on the rocks between her hooves. She presented her longsword hilt first to the princess, resting the tip between her second and third vertebrae.

Cadence, for all her earlier bluster, recoiled at the display. “What are you doing?”

“You were correct,” Star said simply, never raising her eyes. “You are a goddess, beyond and above me in everyway.”

“That doesn’t explain anything!”

“If it is your decision to remain here, I can not force you to move. Nor could I prevent you from seeking out your mother in a foalish quest for vengeance. You are free to choose your own course. I am not. I have been charged with the task of escorting you back to the castle to take your rightful place upon Equestria’s throne. The Order does not tolerate failure.”

Cadence stared at her, wide-eyed horror replacing her confusion. Penumbra lowered until the tip nearly scraped the ground as she took another step back. “No.” She tossed her head from side-to-side. “No. You’re insane. I’m not going to…” She took another step back and turned away. “I’m leaving, don’t try to follow me.”

As Cadence’s wings spread, so to did Star’s sword rise. “As you wish. Tell Chronicle that I am sorry.”



 — — — TCC — — — 



Captain Quartz rolled her neck, the loud series of pops making Plume flinch in sympathy. The mare struck an imposing figure, as large as many stallions and every inch of it muscle. And yet…

Plume’s feathers refused to lie still. She barely kept from pacing with worry. From the moment she’d spoken those words, doubt had taken her mind. The nonchalance with which everypony else was treating the situation didn’t help. It wasn’t a surprise coming from the guards, and for Kara… well, she was a griffon, but couldn’t Igneous have shown the least bit of concern or anything other than the cavalier bravado of a filly on her first solo flight? The lives of hundreds, maybe thousands, of ponies and the stability of all the Queendoms were in the balance, not to mention Plume’s own career, and Quartz didn’t even have the decency to at least pretend to be anything but thrilled.

But the worst part, the absolute worst, was that she couldn’t do anything. The talks, the discussions and persuasion, the treaties and correspondences that she’d slaved over for hours at a time, dedicated her life to for the past two years, all of it, was being thrown to the sky. Her part was done, over with, finito, and the torch passed to a pony who was treating it like a game! 

Even the way she removed her armour was cock sure and leisurely, tossing each piece aside until only her peytral remained. When the last clasp was undone, the enchantment over her broke, her white and blue coloration disappearing to reveal the coat and mane she’d been born with. 

Spotty, dark-grey hair covered her from head to unshorn fetlocks. The straight hairs of her mane and tail glistened, an almost translucent silver and white that seemed almost ghostly. The cutie mark adorning her flank was a single large boulder cracked like an egg, crystals like sword blades filling its hollow core.

So freed, the Captain bounced on the tips of her hooves, her grin only growing.

Kara likewise removed her stole of office and stretched, flaring her wings as far as they would go. Relaxing, she took a few more steps forward in a sultry gait.

In concert, they began to circle to the right, eyes locked in studying glares. 

Between the other griffons starting to cheer for their ambassador and the zeppelin's engines priming, Plume couldn’t make out what Kara said to spark Quartz’s ire, but it must have been bad. A wordless battle cry erupted into the air, heralding the earth pony’s bullzerker-esque charge. She reared up at the last, throwing a heavy right-hook. Kara squawked in amusement, lazily leaning back and guiding the swing aside as she rose up on her own hindlegs. The next few seconds amounted to little more than Igneous throwing a few wild punches, each missing its mark entirely until she threw a massive haymaker. Such a wide swing had no chance of landing, Kara easily ducking under it and crouching like a coiled spring ready to explode. And explode she did, right into Quartz’s hindleg buck—her momentum having carried her all the way around.

Only her right hoof connected, but it was enough to lift Kara off the ground and throw her into her own surprise bodyguards. For a moment, Plume thought it was over. After a kick like that, she’d have been lucky to be alive. 

Kara, however, did not see it that way, coughing and clutching her chest even as she regained her balance. It took her a few deep breaths, but soon enough she was staring down the captian once more, a predator’s grin tugging at her beak.

“My turn.”

Like a bolt loosed from a crossbow, Kara launched herself, wings flaring and talons brought to bear. Quartz reared up to match, catching the brunt of the charge with her shoulder and letting the remaining momentum carry her ass over elbows, both crashing hard against the stone ground. But not before Kara’s talons dug into her shoulders, tearing long streaks into her flesh as they separated. 

From there, Plume could neither watch nor turn away. She’d witnessed a duel between two nobles once and left soon after it started. This was nothing like that. All pretense of technique and control was thrown out as it devolved into a reckless brawl. Even the other griffons quieted down as they watched, concern taking hold, but not enough for them to do anything about it.

Igneous, despite her lifetime of training, seemed to have trouble tracking the lighter, quicker griffoness. Every hit that she did land, however, left its mark, racking up more than a few cracked ribs. To her credit, Kara weathered those blows surprisingly well, landing a great deal more that, though they may have less power, took no less of a toll, many leaving nasty red slashes in their wake.

As the fight moved, so too did the spectators, keeping their distance while staying as close as possible, just in case it became necessary to pull them apart. 

Another wild haymaker from Igneous missed it’s mark. If her goal had been to repeat the same trick twice, it was poorly thought out. Kara latched onto the foreleg with talon and beak, digging deep and drawing a pained howl from the earth pony. In a blind rage, Igneous spun, flinging Kara nearly three full lengths away.

With so much distance between them, both paused for a much needed breath, Kara spitting out the small chunk of flesh she’d taken from Quartz’s leg and holding her barrel, while Igneous cradled her wounded leg close to her chest.

Plume saw the look in Igneous’ eyes first, that cockiness from earlier reasserting itself. Surprised, her head snapped toward Kara, noticing what the captain had noticed just as charged. She tried to call out, whether to stop Quartz or warn Kara, she didn’t know, but it was too late. Kara barely had time to squawk before she was bowled over, both disappearing over the rim.

Everyone rushed to the edge, wings spreading in preparation to dive after them, only to come up short. Instead of two rapidly shrinking dots, they found both Kara and Quartz caught in the safety netting surrounding the tower. Kara struggled weakly and fruitlessly, all of her limbs either trapped beneath Quartz’s bulk or hopelessly snagged in the mesh. Still, she protested, at least until Quartz put just a little more pressure on her chest.



 — — — TCC — — — 



Few thoughts flitted across Star's consciousness as her blade descended, all stemming from the lingering effects of Cadence's influence. 

Sunset came first, the plaintive whining of a newborn filly, fading away as her new parents carried her to her new home. The calculating stare of a driven pony, a princess in her own right, unwilling to let any impede her rise to the top of her class. The confident voice demanding acknowledgement of her true heritage, for what little it was worth. And the final argument now two years gone, leaving an odd sense of… not loss, but something more akin to the persistent uncertainty from questions left unaddressed and unanswered.

She understood Chronicle no better. He—

A blade whistled past her ear, steel striking steel behind her head and sending hot shards of metal bouncing off her neck. Her eye rose. Cadence stood above her, glowering down at her as Penumbra finished its arc and came to rest at her side.

“Are you insane?”

Star met the princess with a cold, impassive gaze of her own as she rose. “I am all that Celestia requires of me and nothing more.”

Shaking her head, Cadence spun around, taking two paces away before turning back. “Was that supposed to prove something? Did you think that trying to kill yourself would convince me to go back there?”

The hilt was all that remained of Star’s sword, the blade ending a half-hoof out. A clean cut, the edge angled back, leaving a razor sharp point at the tip. It could be reforged, perhaps, though doing so would be a great waste compared to simply starting from scratch. Still, there was enough left to use as a crude, vicious dagger… were one so inclined.

“Did you hear me? I said I’m not going back there.”

Star glanced up from the hilt. Cadence had not moved, a foreleg hovering, half raised as though she intended to turn. “I understand.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to help,” Cadence continued, starting to pace. “I do. But I would be useless at the Castle. I don’t know how to run a country on a good day, and this,” she swept her wing out to encompass the star filled sky, “is a far cry from a ‘day’ much less a good one.” 

“I understand,” Star repeated, testing the blade against her fetlock.

“My time would be far better spent out there, saving Auntie.”

“Princess Celestia does not need saving.” Cadence stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded, before repeating her previous gesture. “The ladies and lords of Canterlot, however, are in need of a firm hoof to keep them from tearing eachother apart.”

Quick as a blink, Star set the blade to her neck, only for Cadence to rip it from her grasp, throwing it and the other shards off the cliff. “What in Tartarus is wrong with you?”

“When your mother decides to make her appearance, there will be none to oppose her. She will not suffer me to live. I am certain Shining Armour will escape that fate, assuming she discovers what he means to you first. I do wonder who of the council of ladies will willingly bow to her, and how many she will kill before the rest capitulate. That is all assuming she doesn’t demolish the entire palace in a fit of pique.”

> Chapter 11
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 11



“Loyalty is a hiltless sword and duty a cuirass of briars.”


—Ancient Griffon proverb commonly attributed to Emperor Clawdious the Second, 
though a number of sources dispute this claim.



Shining Armour did not gallop down the castle halls; he merely proceeded with all due expediency. With the order for All-Hooves summoning every available guards-pony to the palace and somepony, probably Quartz, deciding to establish constant patrols throughout the palace, moving at any quicker pace was out of the question. Every guard he passed received an appraising glare, Shining ensuring they noticed him but not slowing to return their salutes. He’d lost too much time already, between his rush from the Royal Armory to the Guard Armory and then in having to dress himself—the squires having been deployed to fill the ranks. 

No, he did not run. At no time did more than two hooves leave the ground at once. Nor did his stride stretch beyond his muzzle. He was calm and collected. The image of a Captain of the Guard with some place to be and no time for pleasantries. He was not storming either. Oh, he had a glower on his face, a hard frown he could not cast off. His eyes were set under a furrowed brow and his ears were poised halfway back, true, but he did not storm. 

He wasn't afraid. He wasn’t. He’d faced death before, stood against hydras and bugbears and manticores. The prospect of dying no longer gave him pause, much less instilled any fear. Whatever may come, he was the Princess’ sword and would stand firm. 

So, why did his chest hurt? Why did his hooves start to quake the moment he stopped moving? Why did he still feel like a greenhorn clutching his sword close at the monster’s roar in the dark?

His magic played across the hilt of his sword, tugging it an inch out of the scabbard before slamming it home once more. The act brought some level of comfort; less than a full test of his magic might have, but it was all he could do given the circumstances. 

“Shiny!”

Shining froze, or tried to, his knees locking up without accounting for his momentum and nearly sending himself hoof overhead to the floor. All of his definitely anger and possibly fear kept right on going down the hallway without him and, if he was lucky, wouldn’t be there waiting for him later. In its place, trepidation born of embarrassment welled up. Had he still been a colt, he might have closed his eyes in the hopes that if he couldn’t see her, she couldn’t see him.

Rather than postpone the inevitable, he sucked in a steadying breath and took stock of himself. His cheeks verged on burning but remained white, he hoped. His armor was straight and polished, nice and bright. It took an effort to unclench his teeth, but there was nothing he could do about the unsteady smile or the tilt of his ears. Of all the things he did not need right then… 

He turned around.

Velvet Sparkle, also, did not storm down the palace halls, though it was a closer thing. Her strides were long and carried her with a surety of purpose that could not be taught, and her expression was… He’d witnessed his mother angry a scant few times, and each left an indelible impression. This was not the case, not yet. How long that would remain so, Shining didn't hazard a guess. Despite this, he could not fault the maid for skirting the wall to stay out of her way.

Trailing behind Velvet, with a more easily discerned expression of worry, Comet Chaser gave Shining a forced smile as their eyes met. 

“Mother? Father? What are you—” Velvet threw a foreleg around Shining’s neck, pulling him into a tight hug. His cheeks were no longer white. “Mother, please!”

“Oh, hush.” In contrast to her appearance, Velvet’s tone sounded warm with a small hint of chiding. “I get enough of that from your siblings, you’re old enough to be over all that nonsense.”

Releasing him, Velvet stepped back, making room for Comet to take Shining’s hoof and give it a firm shake. “It’s good to see you well, son.”

“Ditto,” Shining mumbled, glancing between his parents. “But…” he shook his head, forcing ‘Son’ aside in favor of ‘Captain’, “you should be at the manor.”

Velvet huffed, and Comet spoke, “We’re just here to collect Twilight and Spike.”

Comet said more, but he went unheard by Shining. The mention his little sister struck him like a blow to the gut. Twilight hadn't crossed his mind in the past few hours, much less been the top priority where he felt she should have been. Only now did her absence even register. 

A single spark of relief flared when he remember where she was and who was with her, only to die when he remember where she was and who she was with. 

“That’s… not going to be possible.” His words had a predictable effect. First, there was the initial shock of what he’d said, followed by the realization of ‘what’ he’d said. They diverged there, his father receding into fear while his mother's deepening frown spurred Shining to quickly add, “Because she's not here.”

At that, Velvet realigned with her husband. “What do you mean, she isn’t here?”

“She… she's in Ponyville.”  

“Ponyville? Ah… well… that’s not terribly surprising, I suppose.” No matter Comet’s attempt at composed speech, worry played out in the twitch of his ears and tail. “You haven’t heard from her have you, since this whole fiasco started?”

“Comet,” Velvet, on the other hoof, regained her displeased disposition, moving beyond a visible frown to a fully furrowed brow, “I need you to go home and let the girls know that I will be late for dinner.”

“What? Why…” Comet’s ears shot straight up only to quickly press back against his skull. “Now hold on just a minute!”

“That was not a request,” Velvet said, her steady voice a stark contrast to Comet’s rising timbre. 

“Request be damned! If you expect me to scamper back with my tail tucked between my legs while our daughter is—”

“I expect you to have the presence of mind not to argue and raise your voice in public. Go home, Comet. I can deal with this myself.”

“I don’t—”

“Now.”

Comet’s cheeks puffed out as though filling with the words left unspoken until they were sure to burst, their normally blue color tinting a deep-purple. For a second, Shining truly thought he would finally let it all out. He didn't, though, still seething as he said, “Of course, dear.” Shaking Shining’s hoof once more, he made a valiant go at pretending his departure was not against his will. “Don’t be such a stranger, son. You know you are always welcome to stop by for a visit.”

“I know. I will. I promise.” As honest as he meant the words to be, even Shining couldn’t ignore how rote they sounded.

Stepping away with a nod, Comet gave his wife one last hard look before he turned and left. 

Shining watched him go with a rising anxiety. It wasn’t fair to his mother. She loved him, he knew. Never had she done anything to him or his siblings that was not just and well deserved. But even before she became truly infamous, there were times, moments when he was certain that she was a hair’s breadth from murder. He remembered all of those moments, profusely thankful each time that that gaze had never been aimed at him… until now. 

Only once they were alone in the corridor did she speak. “Why is your sister in Ponyville?”

He cringed into an awkward smile on reflex. Nothing about this situation surprised him, for all the comfort that provided. There was nothing he could do about it, however, so he repeated everything he’d been told, little as that was, making sure to express his own disappointment at not being able to see Twilight off. Velvet seemed to dissect his every word, whether searching for a hidden meaning or some iota of dishonesty, he couldn’t tell. And then her scrutiny disappeared. A solid two seconds after he finished speaking, she finally turned away, and Shining let himself relax, if only for a moment.

His attention snapped right back to his mother as her agitated pacing escalated with irate mutterings, a stream of angry epitaphs dancing just within Shining’s hearing. What she was saying, he had no idea. If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn she was speaking some foreign language he'd never heard before, much less understood. Which was horse-hockey. If not intimately familiar with them all, there wasn’t a language on the Disc he hadn’t been exposed to.

“Mother?”

She whirled around to face him once more, her face looking far older than it should, yet filled with an energy he’d rarely witnessed. “Don’t you have any idea what’s going on?”

Stuttering at first, Shining nearly offered a full account of what Cadence had told him. The vehemence in her voice demanded an answer, fairly ripping a confession from his lips, whether he had anything to hide or no. It was like her superpower, one she’d never shied from using on his sisters and himself—the few times he’d managed to warrant its use. The accusation in her tone was perhaps what prompted him to take a defensive posture and bite back his immediate response; though, in retrospect, he would attribute it more to a desire to preserve Cadence’s trust in him. Either way, his voice locked into a decidedly neutral tone as he offered nothing more than a guarded, “I have some.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Still here? Where else would I be?”

“Where you belong. At your sister’s side, keeping her safe!”

His mother’s rebuke shouldn’t have affected him as harshly as it did. It should have been shrugged aside with ease. Instead, it gripped Shining’s throat and pricked his heart. “That… that isn’t fair, mother.”

“You know nothing of unfairness.” 

“I know when I’m being manipulated!” Shining growled through gritted teeth, breaking away from his mother’s gaze. 

It was one thing to know what his mother was doing; it was something else entirely to counter it. He was trapped, caught in his own personal nightmare from which there was no escape. The image of Twilight lost and alone, or worse, caught by Nightmare Moon, haunted him, demanded that he abandon anything holding him back and rush to her aid. To lose her… 

The scrape and clang of armor plates infringed upon his personal Tartarus and snatched his attention back to the real world. A pair of pegasus guards marched down the hall toward him and his mother in perfect lockstep. He did not recognize them right away, such was their armor’s purpose. That was no impediment to his imagination. All of his guards had a family, whether parents, siblings, nibblings, or foals. Some lived close by in Canterlot, or Cloudsdale for most pegasi, many more from as far away as Vanhoover or Manehatten. 

“No. No,” he repeated with a growing conviction, turning back to his mother. “My place is here. I have responsibilities. I can’t go chasing off after Twilight, not when all of Ioka is under threat.”

“And what good are you doing here?” Velvet nearly shouted, loud enough at least for the two guards to hear and one visibly losing a step. “You’re one guard among hundreds. There’s nothing that you can do here that Quartz or Gust cannot do just as well. At least out there you can make a difference!”

“I am the Captain of the Sword, mother. It is my duty and responsibility to protect every Equestrian. I will not abandon all of them for the sake of a single pony! No matter how much they mean to me.”

“I cannot believe I’m hearing this! They don’t need you. Twilight does!”

“I don’t care!” Where those words had come from, he did not know, but they burned. They cut a hole in his chest, left him hollow. He didn’t mean them. Those words weren’t his, weren’t true. But there they were, hanging in the air between them, and if he backed down now… Velvet just stared at him in mute horror, and he bore it for as long as he could. “If there is nothing else, I have duties to attend to.” 

Not waiting for a reply, he continued on his way to the throne room. He moved at a sedated pace, fighting every step not to break into a gallop. Running would do no good, he could not escape himself. Twilight would understand. She would agree with him, have told him to make the same choice. 

Nothing he told himself could make those words go away.



 — — — TCC — — — 



Long Hall leaned back in his chair, forelegs crossed behind his head and hindlegs resting on the desk’s edge. He didn’t need to be there, what with the holiday and all, not to mention everything else that was happening, whatever that actually was. They weren’t even open for business and wouldn’t be until the next day… assuming that ‘the next day’ ever came. Fortunately, his wife was an idiot.

Unfortunately, she was also an idiot.

So, Long Hall did what he did best, kick back, relax, and— 

The door to the small office swung open, ricocheting off the wall with a loud bang and brought to a stop by North Passage’s outstretched wing. Neither pony paid the walls ever expanding dent any mind.

“Why am I not surprised?” North Passage said as he kicked the door closed behind himself.

Long Hall didn’t so much as shift position at his boss/partner’s arrival; it’d taken far too long to get comfortable to ruin it for no good reason. “Because you have an abysmal imagination.”

“First off, that doesn’t make sense. Secondly, just because you’re here doesn’t mean you’re getting paid.”

Closing his eyes, Long Hall gave his wing a dismissive flick. 

“Shouldn't you be at home, you know, with your wife.”

“Shouldn't you be at home, you know, with your cat.”

North rolled his eyes but let the topic drop with a shake of his head. “Why are you here?”

“She invited one of those Sisters to dinner—and don’t you dare say ‘I told you so.’”

“The words never crossed my mind.”

“Yeah, right. And what the hay are you doing here anyways?”

“Ah, you see, there’s this thing called ‘work’...”

“Sounds horrible.”

“... and since I’ve got nothing better to do…” North shrugged.

“See, this is why you should get married.”

“Said the stallion hiding from his wife.”

“Exactly! Then you’d have a less pathetic reason to come in on your days off.”

“Remind me again why I haven’t fired you yet?”

“Because you’re secretly a masochist who loves being belittled by your employees?”

“You’re my only employee.”

“That too.”

Crossing the room, North gave Long a hard shove. “Get out of my chair.”

“But I just got comfortable!”

“Out.”

“Ass.”

“Now.”

Long Hall whined as he rolled out of the chair and North Passage took his place, opening a drawer and pulling out a stack of papers and quill.

Moving to the small table at the room’s center, Long Hall resumed his previous pose. His attempts to let his mind wander and fall into a well deserved nap were not to be. The scratching of quill on paper combined with North’s constant hemming and hawing to himself drove him up the wall and eventually out of his seat. Turning his attention out the window, he stared up at the stars and moon clearly visible no matter the clock proclaiming the pre-noon hour.

“This is starting to get ridiculous.”

“What’s that?”

“This. The whole keeping the Moon in the sky thing.”

North grunted. “Everypony deserves a day off now and then.”

“A day off?” Long Hall turned back to look at his boss still hunched over his desk. “If she wants to take a vacation from being a Princess, yeah, sure, I get that. But this… shouldn’t she have given everypony a little warning?”

“Look. I’m sure she has a good reason for it, and it’s not like there’s anything we can do about it anyways.”

“What if she’s sick?”

“Sick? Princess Celestia, sick? I don’t… Is that even possible?”

“Tartarus if I know.”

“Whatever. The point is that whatever’s going on, I’m sure the big ponies in the palace are dealing with it, and—”

“Riiight, cause those useless sacks of hay could find grass at their hooves without somepony else burying their faces in it. Plus it’s been like, what, six hours now, and they haven’t said a damned thing. We have a right to know what’s going on.”

“If you’re so concerned, why don’t you go marching up to the castle and demand answers?”

“Like that’d do any good.”

“About as much good as you’re doing right now.”

“Yeah, but it takes a lot less energy to pester you.”

North’s forehead impacted the desk. “You’re an ass.”

“Nope, I’m a pegasus.”

“It’s like I’m back in highschool all over again.”

“Speaking of, when was the last time you got laid?”

“Oh, for the love of—”

The door slammed into the wall, the panelling finally giving way, catching the latch and holding the door open.

“Woh, sh—”

Velvet Sparkle marched into the little office, her face a picture of barely contained rage. “I need a flight to Ponyville.”

“Harmony bless it! First of all, we don’t fly outside of Canterlot. Second, it’s a holiday. Third—”

“We’ll take you!”

“Like Tartarus we—”

“Shut up!” North growled at Hall before turning back to Velvet with a too wide grin. “I’m sorry, please meet us in the garage. We’ll be there in a jif.”

Velvet gave a stiff nodded and left. Once she was out of sight, North rounded on Long.

“That’s Baroness Sparkle you nitwit! Are you trying to get us killed?”

“Killed? What?”

“Baroness Sparkle! The Bloody Baroness! She was all over the papers for months! All but exiled from the House of Ladies.”

“And?”

“And you don’t say no to a pony like that! Now get your shit together and let’s go before she decides to burn down my garage!”

“Am I getting paid now?”

“I hate you so much right now."
> Chapter 12
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 12

        

“Even at the height of my adolescent arrogance, I never wanted to be worshipped.”


 —H.R.H. Princess Celestia, recorded in the diary of Captain of the Sword Longshanks
 of the Royal Guard in 570E.R., on the occasion of the tenth Summer Sun Celebration.




Shining knew that the moment he stopped moving he’d start shaking. His legs burned to gallop, to kick and buck, to do, to exert themselves on the world at large. The muscles of his neck and face, too, demanded use, tensing painfully and making his teeth grind. That he could do nothing only fueled his anger and made everything worse.

Everytime he passed a pair of guards, he slowed, leering at them in search of any excuse to lay into them, to scream and shout like a drill-instructor. He didn’t though. His responsibility, his duty was to see to the well-being of Canterlot and Equestria as a whole, and to do that he needed to be in the throne room.

Finally arriving there did not soften his mood. The hall was filled with just about every politician and hanger-on that Canterlot could produce, all divided up into small groups that an outsider could be forgiven for thinking they were holding shouting contests instead of debates. There were at least two in every committee staged in total opposition and preventing the others from making a trivial show of progress. 

It was impossible for him not to listen in as he made his way to raised dais, giving him a fairly good grasp of what was going on and souring him all the more. “What in Tartarus do you think you’re doing?”

The three houses of governance were all represented by the group at the base of Solar Throne. Of them, the House of Commons was in such a stark minority that they’d been all but shoved aside by the other two. The unicorns of the House of Ladies had been able to produce nearly all of its leadership, with Madam Speaker Scribble Blackwell, bristling at Shining’s intrusion, at their head. Opposite them, the Cloud Conclave numbered fewer, but, as was their way, stood in firm support of their Commandant General Snow Blind, who reacted to Shining’s arrival with a smile.

“Ah-ha! Finally somepony else who understands the importance of real leadership experience!”

Blackwell snorted. “Oh, blow it out your tail, Blind. You’re ‘real’ experience has about as much to do with running a country as popularity. The last thing we need is some warmonger trying to—”

“Shut up!” Shining bellowed, earning another withering glare from Blackwell and an annoyed snort from Blind. “I’m putting a stop to this insanity. Right here, right now. The answer is no. This travesty is over and done.”

“Travesty? Who do you think you are, Captain Armour?” Blackwell snarled, her voice dripping venom.

“I could ask the same of you.”

“I am Madam Speaker of the House of Ladies, Scribble Blackwell. It is my sworn duty to oversee the running of the Equestrian government and facilitate such laws as necessary to ensure its continued operation. So I ask again, Captain of the Sword, Shining Armour, who do you think you are to dictate to me what I should or should not do in the pursuit of these duties?”

“I,” he began, rising up and using every inch of his height to bear down on her, “am Shining Artorias Armour, Captain of the Sword for Her Highness’ Royal Guard, sworn to uphold and prosecute Her laws and edicts, and what I see is the beginning of a coup.”

“Look outside, Captain! Have you not seen the sky? It’s nearly noon and still Selene and the stars remain! For the last six hours, Sol has failed to so much as push against the horizon! What are we to make of that? Are we to cower in our homes and hope and pray that we may yet be saved? 

“Celestia is gone, Captain! She is not here! Where, how, and why matter not at all. All that matters is that we are alone! For the first time in our history, we are quite literally in the dark. And what’s worse, we’ve let ourselves be bound hoof, horn, and wing by laws written in the assumption that this would never come to pass. Well, Captain, it has come to pass!

“So, Captain Armour, don’t you dare come here shouting accusations of insanity and treason at me! You might be willing to bury your head in the heather and pray for salvation as the wolves circle, but I will not!”

Blackwell’s chest heaved as she met Shining’s glare with unflinching conviction. Her lips pulled tight over her teeth, nostrils flaring and nearly shaking from head to hoof.

“You can pretty up the words all you like, it changes nothing.”

“And you can hide behind your blind devotion all you like, and it will change nothing.”

“The Princess will return.”

“And until that time, I will do anything I must to ensure there is still an Equestria for her to return to.”

Anger, annoyance, and more than a little pride demanded Shining respond, to point out everything wrong with what they were trying to do. They were traitors, usurpers vying for the throne while the Princess was away. He should stop them. He should arrest the lot of them, lock in the dungeon and… what? Wait? Become through force of arms what they sought through paper and ink? His eyes darted to the golden throne for the briefest moment.

“You tread on treacherous ground, Speaker,” he glanced toward Blind, “Commandant. Take care that you don’t find the edge with your hooves.”

Turning sharply, he left the politicians to their plots for the moment. He did not like it. Not one bit. The mess mortals had made of the Old Queendoms was all the proof he needed that they were not meant to rule, and any pony who thought themselves capable, much less deserving, of sitting so far above their fellow ponies needed to have their heads examined. 

By the time he reached the royal entrance, situated behind the throne, he was too exhausted not to flop down on his haunches. Between the full day of final preparations, celebrating with—then chasing after—Cadence, his mother, and now this, he’d gone through the wringer with almost thirty hours without sleep. He was supposed to be on his way to the Unicorn Range. He was supposed to be on vacation for the next week, hidden away from the rest of the world in a little log cabin, surrounded by snow with a crackling fire, a cup of hot cocoa, and snuggled up against Cadence until they both fell asleep… or not.

“Captain Armour?”

Shining jolted, quickly focusing on the small unicorn stallion staring at him with a face creased by permanent worry. “Yes?”

Chronicle shot furtive glances around before stepping closer and whispering, “Where is Princess Cadence?”

“I don’t know,” he said, sighing and rolling his neck.

“You know more than that.” Shining’s head snapped back to Chronicle, who continued, a tremor entering his voice, “You didn’t mention her to Blackwell at all. She’s supposed to be here. Princess Celestia told her to be here.”

“She…” Shining sighed. “She left.”

“Left?” For a moment, it looked as though Chronicle was going to explode. He didn’t. All his bluster melted away, and he sunk to his haunches, hanging his head. “Of course she did. Do you know where?”

Shining watched the old unicorn and sympathized. Blackwell was right on at least one account. None of them were prepared for this. Faith in Celestia was ubiquitous in Equestria. Everything from the core of governance to the most deluded personal philosophies to the ticking of their clocks took her presence for granted.

What happened to the faithful when their god disappeared?



 — — — TCC — — — 



Tianguan watched the ponies of Canterlot as they went about their day, attempting to act as though it were any other. They failed. A literal shadow hung over the city, all of Ioka really, and they responded in kind, huddling together in small, familial herds, constantly glancing up at the night sky and watching the shadows with weary eyes. Did they truly expect some monster to be lurking there, ready to pounce at the first moment of inattentiveness?

Ignorant foals.

Celestia’s coddling and ubiquitous machinations only accounted for so much. The ponies across the sea were worse. History for them barely extended past the latest imagined slight. That they observed their traditions at all was something of a miracle, and likely only due to the constant badgering by the Sisterhood. A millennia of distance did not excuse such ignorance.

When had the legends of yore become nothing more than old pony tales, relegated to bedtime stories for foals and cast aside like broken feathers?

Bah. They would see the truth for themselves soon enough, as though it was not already evident. And it fell to her sisters and her to prepare them.

From her first step out of the dark alley and into the street, she turned heads. It would have taken more effort to not do so. Her height alone placed her quite literally above even the tallest stallions, only the goddesses themselves matching and surpassing her. She also failed to allow the dour atmosphere to affect her, walking with a confidence those around her couldn’t hope to imitate. 

There was nothing to fear this night or any that would follow. The path of history was set and prophecies fulfilled. There was only to await the full passage of time, and her mistress would be returned, centuries of waiting finally coming to a head.

Every step brought more eyes, more ponies stopping to stare, nudging those nearby, her presence rippling outward until it encompassed the entire street. A subtle shift of her wings enhanced the effect. The charm was not invasive, little more than a whisper in their ears urging those who saw her to pay her heed, to see where she led. It worked like a stitch, drawing more and more ponies to follow in her wake, curious to see what there was to see. 

Her journey was short, leading  down two more streets, ending on the steps of the Notra-Dame de la Chanson. The crowd behind her, now numbering in the hundreds, fanned out at the first step, awaiting whatever would come next.

At the first landing, Tianguan stopped. Before her, the statue of the Namegiver greeted all who would enter her temple. Offerings all but hid the wide base. While there were plenty of gems and coins, most were half finished knittings with needles left in and a rainbow of spooled thread with needles ranging in worth from simple wood to impractical gold. Wings to match her size flared from Tianguan’s sides, accompanied by gasps from the crowd behind her. She curtsied in the old style, bending knee and half shading her head beneath her great wings. Without rising, she brought a wing to her lips, kissing a single feather before taking it between her teeth plucking it. The pain and wound lasted but a moment, healing and passing with only the missing feather, a single drop of blood staining the shaft, and her memory to prove it happened at all. Reverently placing the blood-feather among the rest of the offerings, she rose and faced the multitudes.

Wings still spread wide, arcing over her head, she spoke, her voice carrying for all to hear, “Gather, mortals. Gather and heed well my words. 

“For hours, you have turned your eyes to the heavens in dread. You espy Selene and the stars where you expect Sol alone, and you, in your ignorance, cower, fraught with fear and uncertainty. The powers divine churn before your very eyes and remind you of just how small and powerless you are. And so you should, for you are small and without power.

“All of your lives, the night has filled your hearts with terror. You trembled at what shadow obscures and darkness conceals. And so you shunned the night. You hid from it in your homes and your cities’ false light. 

“Fear no more! Turn your eyes again to the heavens and know the truth. Look with new eyes and see what has been hidden laid bare. Gaze in awe at the wonder and magnificence spread out before you and know that prophecy has come to pass!

“A glorious upheaval is upon you! Rejoice! Rejoice! Fear this night no longer nor those that follow. A new moon has risen and she will guide you forth into a wondrous future!”
	

> Chapter 13
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 13

        

There are only three types of choices: those that must be made, those that must not be made, and the color of the drapes.”


—H.R.H. Princess Celestia




Cadence removed her helmet, her mane slipping out of the back slot and falling back over her neck and face in an unruly mess and blocking her view until her wing hooked it behind an ear. She turned the ancient headgear to the side, examining the small dent left by her mother’s blade a scant few hours prior. The dent and the helm brought forth two very different memories and emotions. Of them, the former was as vivid as a portrait, no matter that both were born more than one and a half millennia ago.

She all but threw the damned thing over her withers in the general direction of Star, saying, “Hold this.” 

Those were the first words either had said to the other since Star manipulated her into returning to the palace to take up her aunt’s throne. Not that she’d been quiet. Cadence hadn’t taken her defeat well. In retrospect, she’d acted like a petulant foal being sent to bed. Star hadn’t so much as moved while she threw her tantrum, letting Cadence do as she would. It was at the apex of her frustration that Cadence noticed her foalishness and cut herself off by teleporting the both of them into her bedroom where they now stood.

A true relic, scholars of history and magic both, along with armorsmiths and warmongers, would have gone to war over the chance to study Cadence’s helm. Protective enchantments, cast during its forging in the latter years of the War of Sun and Moon, saturated its every ounce.

Star caught it in her magic with the disinterest of a bored juggler, holding the priceless artifact as one might a soiled towel. The entirety of her focus remained on Cadence, following close behind as the princess moved to sit at her vanity and examine herself in the mirror. 

Between her fight with the Nightmare—if it could even be called a fight—and the constant wind up on the mountain, her mane was a disaster of knots and uncooperative clumps. Her muzzle was little better, made unpresentable by matted patches of fur where the helmet pressed and shifted. She pawed ineffectively at her appearance with a hoof before giving up and marching into the bathroom, Star following close at her heels.

In conformity with the rest of Cadence’s rooms, her bathroom was warm and plush, and drowning in frills and pink. The sink, where she parked herself, was large as sinks went, with a long-necked faucet craning over the basin and providing more than enough space for the alicorn’s head to fit under it. 

Cold water splashed over Cadence’s head, soaking into the hairs of her muzzle and mane, her shiver. The discomfort of stiff fur and knotted strands dissolved under the rushing water, leaving a dripping wet but smiling mare staring back at her through the mirror. With a dolop of shampoo, she gently lathered her mane, easing out the knots.

Star remained at the door, assuming a stance similar to that practiced by the royal guards on post, but somehow managing an even more convincing emulation of a statue. 

“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” Cadence took Star’s non-response as assent and continued, “What happened between you and Sunset? I never knew her well, but the few times we met, it was plain that—”

“Nothing.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing happened.”

Cadence paused to study the mare, looking for any sign of deception. She found nothing, no twitch in posture or flicker along the few bonds of love she had. Giving up, she dipped her mane under the sink, rinsing it clean.

“Fine, you don’t have to tell me,” she said as she retrieved a towel and began drying off. “There’s no need to lie.”

When Star didn’t respond, she glanced her way again and was not surprised to see that nothing about the grizzled veteran had changed. Still as stoic and lively as a statue. The mare confounded her, as did all such ponies who showed no outward sign of being anything more than a golam. She could see the truth of it, where love bound them to those whom they held dear, no matter how they tried to hide it from the world. It made no sense, but experience kept her from pressing head on.

Finished drying her face and getting her mane to simply damp, Cadence led them back to her vanity and started brushing out her mane, making sure there were no knots before leaving it to dry.

 “I can see them, you know,” Cadence said after a few minutes of silence, “your connections to Chronicle and Sunset.” Her eyes focused on Star’s reflection, watching for any sign of… well, anything. “She is alive, incase you wanted to know. I could find her for you, if you want.”

“No.” 

Star’s respond came so fast that Cadence paused mid-stroke and nearly turned around. “Are you sure? It would only—”

“I am not your mother.”

Cadence’s head whipped around, flinging the brush across the room, already forgotten. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sunset and I are not proxies for you and your mother. Fixing our relationship will not justify your hatred for her.”

“I need no justification for hating that creature!”

Heat radiated off Cadence’s horn, aether sparking from the spirals as random runes jumbled together in an uncastable mess. Star was no more affected by the light show than by Cadence’s glare. They passed over her as a cool breeze through her mane and with less consideration. Such irreverence might have made Cadence more enraged, but instead dowsed the fire in self-conscious embarrassment at how effortlessly Star ensighted her anger.

It took a few repetitions of her calming technique to settle her nerves and release the built up tension before she could retrieve her brush and return to brushing her hair, though far more violently than earlier. Nothing else was said between the two ponies for some time. Star remained silent and motionless, simply watching while Cadence finished with her mane and moved on to makeup.

The princess’ mind buzzed throughout. At the first, she couldn’t push aside thoughts of her mother and her own failures upto that point. Eventually, those thoughts morphed into more constructive paths of consideration. Her plans, such as they were, were short-sighted at best, focusing on only the next step and nothing beyond. She would ascend to the Solar Throne and… do as she saw fit, she supposed. The phrase, what would Celestia do, floated around persistently, but offered no useful guidance. Guessing at how her aunt would act only ever worked with interpersonal issues. In politics, it was a crap shoot. By the time she finished touching up her face and moved to braiding her mane, she had come to one decision at least.

“You will be my Helm Bearer.”

Star didn’t respond with confusion or surprise, or at all really, beyond a small frown.

“It was once a great honor to be a Helm Bearer,” Cadence added in compulsion to defend her decision and help ameliorate the Arch-Mage’s apparent disapproval. “Generals and heroes used to fight duels for the honor of carrying Auntie Celestia’s or my mother’s helm.”

“Honor is an empty currency hoarded by fools at the cost of their lives.”

“Your cynicism never ceases to astound me,” Cadence said, mostly to herself. “Regardless, it is unseemly for a princess to wear a helmet while conducting politics, and carrying it under my myself is out of the question. So, you will perform this duty for me until such time as I deem it unnecessary.”

Star Shimmer’s expression didn’t change when Cadence dipped her head beneath the faucet once more. She didn’t take the opportunity to make any form of silent protestation or rebellion against having her own will cast aside. Such actions never occurred to her. Instead, the left most corner of her lip twitched as though it were attempting to smile.

“As Her Highness commands.”

“More importantly, it’s the perfect excuse to keep you by my side. There will be too many ponies for me to read effectively. I’m not my aunt. You will assist me in that as you are able. We shouldn’t spend much time in the throne room today. 

“Once I establish myself, the goal will be to get everypony not on the Privy council out as quickly as possible and then move to a private conference room where we can formulate a plan with the ponies my aunt trusted the most. How bad was it before you left?”

“It was little better than anarchy. They are leaderless and unwilling to see any among their number as worthy of such recognition. They argue and bicker and nothing gets done.”

“That may not be all so bad.”

“Chronicle appears to agree.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“Captain Quartz and Plume were on their way to intercept the griffon ambassador before she could depart the city and return the the Aerie.”

The locks of Cadence’s mane paused halfway to finishing the final braid. “And how were they to do that?”

“Knowing Quartz, with extreme prejudice.”

Tying off the last braid, Cadence took a moment to examine the finished product. The mare staring back at her was familiar in the same way that a portrait of an ancestor was to a foal who’d inherited their features. Generations had come and gone since the last time she’d seen that mare. Makeup which normally worked to soften her features now did the opposite, giving her muzzle an appearance more akin to granite than fur. Mostly, though, it was her mane, done in the traditional war-braids of the imperial pegasi, that drew her eye. She recalled the last time she’d worn them, when she’d stood above a valley crystals and the beasts that called it home.

They left quickly, Cadence setting the fastest pace she dared. 

“What’s it like?” Cadence asked as they cut through one of the gardens. A distraction to keep her eyes from wandering up to the unmarred face of Selene against her will. “Loving Chronicle, I mean.”

Star gave her a sideways glance. “That seems an odd question coming from you.”

“Being the goddess of Love does not impart a complete understanding of all its variants.” Star made no reply, so Cadence continued, “All types of love have a unique… flavor, I suppose is a good analogy. I’ve seen yours before, but it always, always accompanied by a void once filled by a third. But for you and Chronicle, that is not the case. You love him, and there is some passion there, but…” Cadence searched for some better way to describe what she saw, but coming up empty, finished, “you aren’t ‘in love’ with him.”

“No, I am not.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” Cadence collected herself with a practiced breath. “Okay. Maybe if I knew the beginning, how the two of you started out.”

Cadence’s last words carried an air of expectation, lingering between them. By the time the re-entered the palace, it was plain that Star was not going to respond.



— — — TCC — — —



There are many entrances to the Equestrian throne room. Four of these are used exclusively by the servants and guards, unobtrusively hidden within the architecture to disguise their comings and goings. At the fore, there is the public entrance, the great doors through which all others must pass when seeking an audience with the Her Highness. The last two were twins, regal doors set opposite one another behind the dais and the Solar Throne.

The corridor leading up to the first of those two doors was decidedly plain. Carpeted and candle lit, it could easily be mistaken for a servant’s passage save for the span of its width. So too, the door, when viewed from inside, appeared as plain as any other, exceptional only in its heft.

Cadence and Star arrived at this plain door and stopped. The Arch-Mage stood beside the youngest princess in silence, holding the ancient helm and waiting. The princess was no less motionless, her hoof raised halfway to pushing open the door.

“I don’t want to go out there,” Cadence finally said as her hoof lowered back to the ground. “I don’t belong out there. I’m no politician. The most I’ve ever done is pick between the suggestions from my advisors, and auntie Celly has always been there when I needed guidance.”

Star Shimmer turned a single eye toward the princess who was to assume the Solar Throne and lead the Equestrian nation. She looked the part, yes, tall and stately with the requisite number of limbs plus a horn. If she would lift her neck a little higher and perk her ears a little more, she might even appear regal. 

Perhaps it was the growing fatigue from her return trip and all that had conspired to waylay her sleep, or maybe it was just annoyance at the princess’ continued and persistent bemoaning of her situation. Either way, Star replied with an edge to her voice that many would have called insolent, “And?”

“And? I’m not ready for this.” Cadence threw her hoof in a wide gesture that could have encompassed anything from the door in front of her to the rest of her prolonged life. “This is going to be nothing like governing my city.”

The thought of leaving enticed Star. She owed nothing to the mare beside her. Her oaths were to Celestia, not the throne nor any relative, no matter their divinity. This was not mien, not where she belonged… Star very nearly sighed. 

“How?”

“How? You mean beyond the sheer scale of it all? Beyond the fact that the Crystal City is mine and Equestria isn’t? Beyond how, at the worst of times, everypony in there adores my aunt and more than a few have no love for me at all? How about the fact that I’m going in completely blind with no clear understanding of the power structure or any plans Celestia has in the works that I could utterly destroy without even realizing it?”

Star finally moved, turned to face Cadence head on. “All of which amounts to nothing,” she said with the utter disdain normally reserved for the newest of her ‘recruits. “The only alternative is to turn around and hide. The battle is joined. The enemy is engaged. To flee now is to abandon those depend on you, condemning them. You may be no master statesmare, but you are not so stupid as to be a liability. Will you make mistakes? Yes. But so too will you be a symbol to which your supporters can rally. If all you offer is your presence, then so be it. Or leave. I care not which.”

Turning away, Star disappeared in a flash of magic, her now translucent form nearly indistinguishable in the darkened corridor and impossible to follow when she moved. Only the opening and closing door gave tell of her path.

> Interlude 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Interlude 2

        

“Under the Princess’ gaze, do I swear to faithfully execute the Office of Speaker, and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Equestrian Nation.”


—The Oath of Office for the Speaker of the House of Ladies



The peace that the Revered Speaker had managed to instigate did not last long. Shortly, the battle lines were drawn once more, right down the same lines they always were. The ever-present factions were once more taking hold as topics were discussed and solutions proposed, it was downright normal, all things considered. 

Except, of course, for the dragon in the room. There was no princess. There had never not been a princess before. There were no contingencies for there not being a princess. Rule-by-committee was ‘working’ as far as it went, but it would not last. An empty throne called to be filled. Many could not but see themselves upon that seat, but others… a few particular ponies, went further, imagined how they would do things different… better… at least than those across the battle lines.

The day wore on, time marked only by the ticking clock. Fatigue and the lack of light wore on all and before long the crowd inside the throne room began to thin. There was, after all, only so much that could be done.

It was perhaps an hour before dinner when the tide changed. 

Her Serene Highness, Goddess of Love, Sovereign of the Crystal City, Heir to the Lunar throne, Heir-Apparent to the Solar Throne, and Foalsitter to Twilight Sparkle, Princess Cadence Invictus appeared upon the Solar throne in a sharp crack and flash of magic. She did not stay long, saying only that in the morning, no matter the state of Sol, she would take her aunt’s place until such time as she returned. In the meantime, court was formally adjourned. With that, those who had remained, left, the princess leading the privy council to a private room while the rest simply went home for some much needed rest.

As final as her arrival might have seemed, it came hours too late . The seeds of doubt, already sown, sprouted deep roots, filling heads and dreams with the possibility that maybe, just maybe… 
	
	
	
> Chapter 14
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	
The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 14



“When you are in doubt, hold close Harmony and do what you believe to be right. That is all I, or anypony, can ask.”


—H.D.M. Faust Invictus, The Book of Names



Darkness prevailed over the whole of the disk. A full twenty four hours since the last of Sol’s light had danced across Ioka’s mountains and plains, slipping off the edge into the unknowable beyond. In the sky, there were but the stars and Selene, unmasked, her true face laid bear and all the stranger for it. And how she shined, all silver and white, illuminating the streets like never before, but not enough, never enough. The darkness remained, heavy, oppressive beyond what a mere lack of light could attest, a weight that pressed upon them like… like…

Scribble Blackwell sighed, her sleep addled mind failing, stumbling for but a moment and losing the momentum that had safeguarded her thoughts. The hour was unknown to her, the small alarm clocks with illuminated tines and numbers hidden behind her spouses’ heads. It had to be after midnight by now, for all that meant in a world without a Sun. Later, in the hours to come, these thoughts would coalesce more fully into worries about food supplies and the potential effects on a pony’s state of mind, but for the moment, as she lay in a muddled state surrounded by her loves, they meant little beyond how much she would hate having to wear a watch and finding one that her husband wouldn’t complain about every time he saw it.

The mare half draped across her barrel shifted, a cream foreleg squeezing her ribs while the associated nose, already buried in her neck and mane, tried to nuzzle deeper still. Scribble’s hoof, already cradling her wife’s head, stroked the pale-strawberry locks in search of some distraction for her mind. This, it turned out, was a mistake.

With an groggy murmur, Rosanthum roused unwillingly from the edge of sleep and tilted her head to dig the tip of her horn into Scribble’s cheek. “Last night was bad enough, Inky. Go to sleep.”

The Madam Speak of the House of Ladies, one of the most powerful mortals on the disk, wilted into the mattress, crestfallen and petulant, yet unwilling to risk waking her wife anymore than she had and hoping that that was the last she’d hear from her until morning. Closing her eyes, Scribble listened to the comforting sounds of life filling the room, the sharp yet hushed synchronized ticking of two alarm clocks and the soft breaths of the three ponies that surrounded her, even her second wife’s occasional snore and her husband’s ever present murmuring were welcome, little accents that, after so many years, helped ease her toward sleep. Or should have, would have any other night. In the subsequent minutes that passed like hours, she transitioned from counting sheep, to recalling the first night of her second honeymoon watching Sol set over the ocean, to thinking of nothing at all. 

None of it worked, and restlessness quickly got the better of her, translating into tiny, ineffectual attempts to get more comfortable.

Rosanthum nipped at Scribble’s neck, pinching a tab of skin hard enough to elicit a hiss. “That’s it,” she added immediately after letting go, “let’s go.”

She was already halfway out of the bed before Scribble could grab a hold of her hoof and stop her. Their eyes met in the half-light. In those two seconds that she held on, Scribble silently plead with her wife to stop, to return to bed and let this pass. The look Rosanthum returned dispelled her hope, and she followed, reluctantly slipping from their bed and into the hallway.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Rosanthum said once the door closed and cut them off from their still sleeping spouses, “but I was certain we talked about this.”

She stood at the top of the stairs, paused with her eyes focused on the barely visible stairwell.  Closing the gap, Scribble affectionately bumped her nose into Rosanthum’s hock. The gesture was not appreciated, her wife’s tail snapping against her face as she started down the stairs, Scribble close on her heels.

“Rosa…” 

“No. You promised you wouldn’t do this anymore.” 

“That’s not fair.”

Rosanthum stopped at the bottom of the stairs, spinning to face her, their noses nearly colliding. “Fair?” she asked, her angry tone bridled by her whispering voice. “I don’t give a damn about fair. You promised. You swore to all of us that you wouldn’t do this anymore.”

“And I’ve kept my word, haven’t I? I know I messed up yesterday, and I’m sorry about that, but this,” Scribble waved a hoof over her head, “this is not the same.”

“This is supposed to be our time, Inky. Equestria and Celestia get you all day, but when you are home, I want you to be home. That’s what you promised. No more late nights. No more disappearing into your office all day. No more not coming to bed every other night. No more missing our children’s—”

“I’m doing the best I can! What more do you want from me?”

“I want you to stop paying me lip service and do what you promised.”

And Scribble could not let the opening pass.“But I thought you liked my lip service.”

A dollop of strawberry spread across the cream of Rosanthum’s cheeks, an adorable glow undermining her ire and drawing a silly grin from her wife. There was nothing for it. All Rosanthum could do was throw her head back and whiny in exasperation, stomping ineffectively against the bottom step. With a final snort, she spun around and marched off toward the library. Scribble plaintively calling her name did not slow her at all, hampered as it was by the amusement infecting her voice.

Rosanthum didn’t so much as acknowledge her wife’s existence until they were surrounded by walls of books. A pair of table lamps were set alight, and she was sitting in Scribble’s own wing-back chair. For Scribble, there were only two seats left to choose from, either the long couch adjacent to her wife or the loveseat with the coffee table between them. Her humor flagged quickly under Rosanthum’s glare, nearly driving her to the loveseat, as though the table and distance would offer any sort of protection. Instead, she settled on the couch, drawing into herself as the silence settled between them.

And there they remained, Scribble shifting uncomfortably as Rosanthum all but tapped her hoof until her patience finally snapped.

“Out with it. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“What am I supposed to say?” Scribble slumped and dropped onto her back, stretching across the length of the couch. Her hooves became animated, waving as she spoke in unintended imitation of her father. “The whole disk has been flipped like a bit and no one knows which side will land face up. Celestia is missing, and without her Sol might as well not exist. This was never part of the plan; all of it just assumes that Celestia will be there. We’re all galloping blind! What am I supposed to tell Script? She’s been working so hard—”

“Inky!”

“I know. I know.” Scribble forced herself to calm, her eyes closing momentarily and her lips moving in silent prayers to Celestia and Faust. “The Princess is fine,” she finally said out loud. “She always has been. How could she not be? She has to be.” Her calm started to fracture, and with it her legs waving once more. “But what if she’s not? What if she’s not coming back? I know! I know. I shouldn’t even think such things, but just yesterday the idea that she would be so much as a minute late was unconscionable, and now she’s missed an entire day. An entire day, Rosa! She’s a Goddess for Harmony sake! She supposed to be eternal, as ever-present and permanent as the ground beneath our hooves. That’s what they’ve been telling us since forever. 

“She’s the cornerstone of our government, our country, our every thought and conception of the world is built upon the… the… the verisimilitude of her being. Our treaties and agreements with every other nation are based on the universal belief that Celestia is as permanent and reliable as Sol, and now?” Scribble’s hooves spread wide before dropping limply off the back and front of the sofa. “Now, who knows what will happen. Our hold over the Queendoms was predicated on Celestia. As if that wasn’t already enough of a mess, who knows how the Zebras and the Griffons will react? The Pegasus Horde is as likely to implode as it is to decide to ‘relocate’ into their neighbors’ territory again. What of the Neighponiees? The Indoponiesians? And none of them count for a stalk of wheat compared to Cadence. Faust save us from the young.”

Throughout her wife’s rant, Rosanthum had remained silent, smiling despite herself at Scribble’s display. Her annoyance had started to retreat back on the stairs, allowing concern to take its place. She held on to it, of course, fully intending on addressing it again at a more appropriate time. For now, however, she slipped from the chair and stepped toward the couch, asking, “Young?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Sitting beside the couch, she nuzzled Scribble’s cheek. “Now why don’t you tell me what’s really keeping you awake?”

Scribble leaned into the gesture, whispering, “I’m afraid. I’m terrified that she will decide we aren’t necessary.”

Rosanthum pulled back, her muzzle twisting skeptically. “Don’t be ridiculous. The Council has been a part of Equestria since Princess Celestia took the throne. She can’t—”

“But she can. Even if it isn’t explicitly written in our laws. Celestia could have dismissed us with a single word and no pony would have dared to stand in her way. Our power exists only because Celestia granted it and nopony has thought to question it, yet. If everypony stopped listening to us we would be nothing more than a group of rich ponies shouting at a deaf crowd. That Cadence is not Celestia makes her no less a goddess. Her authority is innate, and no matter her history, ponies will follow her over us without hesitation. All it will take is the wrong push and it’s all over, and you know how some of my colleagues are.”

“But—”

“But nothing. She’s an alicorn, Rosa. I might be able keep our holdings, but beyond that?” Scribble hooves shifted aimlessly for a moment before curling tight against her barrel.

“She can’t be foolish enough to cast aside what Celestia preserved for so long.” Rosa took one of Scribble’s hooves with two of her own, grasping it tightly between them. “She will see the wisdom…” She trailed off at Scribble’s shaking head.

“No. I can only see her growing frustrated. The phrase is ‘as patient as Celestia’ not ‘as patient as a goddess.’”

Rosanthum’s eyes drifted along with her thoughts, traveling across the room and tracing over the shelf-lined walls and the dimly lit books. “You know,” she said, smiling sadly, “I should be happy about this, you know.”

“Heh. I suppose so. If I were the suspicious type, I’d think it was your plan all along.” Rosanthum’s confusion showed as she refocused on Scribble. “I can see you now, sneaking into the restricted archives, attending clandestine meetings with unsavory wizards, making dark pacts with demons and worse, all just to force me out of my office once and for all. It has your name written all over it. Just like when you slipped Love Potion Number Nine into my tea.”

Rosanthum’s hoof shot to her muzzle in a failed attempt to stifle a snort and hide her blush. “Faust, you still remember that?”

“Remember it? I can still taste it!”

“It wasn’t that bad!” Rosanthum whined, trying to pull her hoof back and hunch in on herself. Scribble was having none of it. Keeping hold of her hoof, Scribble dragged her, protesting all the while, up the couch and into a warm embrace. “How was I supposed to know it didn’t work like that?”

“You mean other than your mother spraying it into her mane every morning?” 

Rosanthum’s plaintive whine only made Scribble’s grin wider as she closed her eyes and sighed. Both fell into an all too brief quiet after that, relaxing into each other’s warmth and comforting presence.

“You can’t let it end like this,” Rosanthum whispered just as sleep began to take her.

“I won’t, I promise.”



 — — — TCC — — — 



Large though the room might have been, it was possessed of a smallness that needled an itch between Snow Blind’s wings and tested her restraint. Such common maladies should have been beneath her, relegated to the undisciplined feather-brains who couldn’t so much as keep their hooves on the ground for more than a minute at a time. Yet, standing as she was, stock still and waiting, she couldn’t set it aside as she liked. Driven on turbulent winds, her thoughts could not escape the world outside, the open skies she hadn’t cruised in far too long. A successful career had done nothing to appease her baser desires.

Laid out before her, asleep… no, not asleep, unconscious, was Captain Igneous Quartz. The brutish earth pony mare looked no less intimidating for her broken, bandaged, and senseless state. Cotton swaths covered her forelegs from hoof to shoulder, with long crosshatching streaks of dark-red stains. Similarly, her torso could not be seen for the plaster cast that stretched from her haunches to collar, immobilizing her every limb in a bid to protect the multitudes of broken and cracked ribs inside. Not taking any chances, the nurses had bound her to the bed with cloth restraints; though, if it came to that, Snow doubted they would do more than delay the mare, but perhaps enough to sedate her once more. To hear the medics talk, Quartz had been a right demon to treat, fighting against every stitch and patch of gauze. Ambassador Kara would likely protest such a tame descriptor, if she was in any condition to speak.

The whole mess left the Commandant General uneasy. On the one wing, all had worked, more or less, and any victory was to be praised. Equestria’s hold over the Griffons was secure—for the time being—and that self-righteous bird had been put in her place. On the other wing, it had been a dangerous and downright foolhardy gambit. Throwing an earth pony up against a griffon… and betting Equestria’s leverage over the Griffon Empire on the outcome? There were no words to sum up the level of stupidity on display. Had the captain failed or the fight taken a deadly turn… the ramifications didn't bear considering. 

“My dame, it is time.”

Subtle Plume. Once upon a time, Snow had thought well of her, a mite soft to be sure, too predisposed toward talk over action, but not a bad sort. So much time spent among unicorns had served her poorly. There were no words to convey the magnitude of this latest disgrace. A pegasus asking an earth pony to fight a griffon in her stead? Had Quartz volunteered there would have been no dishonor in bowing out, but Plume had planned for her to fight from the start, and that went beyond the pale. 

She turned away. Already, thoughts of Quartz and the recent past were being subsumed by what lay ahead. Shear Winds, her secretary, held open the door for Snow and quickly fell in at her side as they trotted out of the infirmary and barracks. 

A cool breeze buffeted her the moment she stepped outside, making her pause. On reflex, her wings lifted from her sides, primaries fanning to comb the currents of air. The itch from the infirmary simultaneously disappeared and redoubled, chuffing the discomfort while braying for her to take to the open skies. Pride held her hooves to the ground at first, born of a deep seeded desire to know that her actions were her own. That pause was nothing else, however, her wings soon carrying her aloft with Shear Winds at her side.

Below them, the budding vestiges of normalcy were only just sprouting under Selene’s silvery gaze as the night shift, more accustomed to the shadowed atmosphere, began their shift like any other night. They were not ignorant of the day’s events, mirroring the skittishness of their day bound counterparts. How could they not? All of Equestria, perhaps Ioka, must be shaken. In a world shrouded by night, where a literal shadow hung over everyone, optimism was at a premium and every glance toward the future: uncertain.

It never should’ve gone unchecked for so long. She did not blame the common pony. Their very nature was that of a terrified herd. Always on the edge of panic, ears sharp for the sound of danger and legs primed to run. Only when a stalwart pony stood at their head could they hope to overcome their base drives and aspire to something greater. Unfortunately, that truth had been forgotten, lost under the Princess’ constant shepherding. Now, faced with the prospect of going on without her, they looked toward their leaders, the plump cowards who played at power under Celestia’s careful eye, as though a sly tongue and sharp wit are qualities enough to rule, much less rule well.

The pair flew over and past patrol after patrol of royal guards policing the grounds. They must have mustered every able body at their disposal to display such a presence. It did her heart good to see it. Why there had been so much resistance to doing the same for the city, and indeed across all of Equestria, she could not fathom. Ponies needed to know, or at least believe, that they were safe, that their leaders were taking action to protect them, come what may. 

Soon enough, the castle grounds were behind them and the Offices Public below. Turning toward Cloud Hall, their course angled too steeply for the hall proper, instead aiming for the squat building of stone to which it was tethered, a concession to their land bound kin, and the ponies awaiting her. 



 — — — TCC — — — 



It had been too good to be true, the peace and quiet that finally settled only a minute ago. With High Admiral Lulamoon back on her hooves and pacing along the far wall, it was only a matter of time before the… discussion was resumed. Nothing short of a royal edict could get her to keep her mouth shut.

At least some of the blame could be saddled on the pegasi and their choice of decorations. Or, rather, the lack thereof. The office was empty of any sort of decor beyond the barest necessities. The desk had an in and outbox, paper, quill and ink, a writing pad and even a stick of sealing wax. There were a pair of chairs positioned before the desk with a small table between them, off to the side where Melee paced, a set of cushions surrounded a low coffee table. And that was it besides the Equestrian and Conclave flags on either side of the balcony doors. No painting adorned the walls, no trinkets on any of the tables, no magazines or books, no certificates or honors on display, nothing to show that the room belonged to anyone. Which was, in fact, the case for every office on the lower floors of Cloud Hall.

Not a single member of the Conclave maintained an office below the fourth story, the dividing line between cloud stuff and brick and mortar. Those first three floors were treated as a sort of common space, owned by none and available to all. Whether the practice was ascribed to laziness, tradition, or vainglory depended entirely on personal disposition.

For the High Admiral, it was the latter, and she made no effort to hide it.

In truth, her presence in Canterlot was something of a surprise. She’d been on vacation for more than a fort’night—scuttlebutt claimed it was a less than voluntary break, though opinions on the cause were split between royal decree and spousal demand—and it was not supposed to end for another. And the isolation showed. Her mane, usually trimmed as close as any seamare’s, had grown a noticeable forelock, just behind her horn, that required continual adjustment to keep from dangling between her eyes, causing her to no end of irritation. Likewise, her fetlocks verged dangerously close to the line between ruggedly handsome and unsettlingly uncivilized. The state of her coat was no better, pocked with whirls and clumps of hair desperately in need of a good brushing, or better, a full spa day. Whether clothing would have helped her demeanour, there was no guessing, but at least she would have been presentable with more than her sword belt to cover her hide.

Not that she was alone in her lackadaisical mein.

Fjord, First General of Her Highness’ Army, could make no statement against her appearance. The ‘right-old-cuss’, as he so enjoyed calling himself, slouched heavily in his chair, rear hooves propped on the desk. Fresh and clean though he himself was, his uniform was far from it. Unbuttoned and untucked, the left side had fallen completely open, dragged off his belly by the weight of medals it sported. His tri-corn cap sat more on his muzzle than his head, shading his face entire, save the tip of his bent nose and the lit cigar clenched between his grinning lips. Even his lapels had been turned up as though to ward off some non-existent wind.

Seated beside him, the recently promoted General Clink might have been seen as following her commander’s lead, by her rumpled and disheveled—if still buttoned—uniform. She wasn’t. Her lack of press was chronic and, when coupled with her age and rank, said quite a lot about her. She was also the only of the four to have refrained from speaking thus far, mostly because she was too focused on the paperwork she’d brought along.

There were two others present, though separated. Pegasi commandants by uniform, neither had stepped into the office, choosing instead to share each other’s company out on the balcony.

Admiral Gracious Spear observed them all from as much of a distance as he could manage without simply leaving, failing to keep his frown from twisting every time his eyes landed on one of his ill kempt peers. His own uniform was meticulously cared for and pressed, tucked in with every medal polished and ribbon as bright as the day he’d earned it. The model of how every officer should carry themselves.

He shared Melee’s restlessness, but not her lack of discipline. He sat with his back against the right wall, positioned to keep both the door and the balcony within sight, certainly not simply to keep the generals between himself and the High Admiral. 

Thankfully, before said mare could start in on another rant, movement from the balcony drew everyone’s attention. The Commandants welcomed Snow Blind with sharp salutes as she landed on the balcony, quickly falling in behind her and her lieutenant. Everyone straightened up at her arrival, save Fjord who might have looked asleep were it not for, at that moment, taking a long draw from his cigar and blowing it out in a stream of thick smoke.

Before Snow could even take a seat, High Admiral Lulamoon stepped forward, brash and discourteous as ever.

“What’s this all about?” she demanded before Snow could even take a seat. Her shift to so aggressive a posture loosed her forelock again, letting it half obscure her right eye where she left it rather than risk losing the initiative. “Today’s been long enough as is. My husband and bed are impatient for my return, and this little cabal is wasting my time.”

Snow’s already sour expression dipped further the moment Melee opened her mouth. “This is far more important than your personal life, Admiral.”

“Says the old maid.”

A guttural snort broke the pair’s staring contest, turning all attention to the still reclining general. “Come now, lass, there's no call to be gettin’ snipey.”

“Blow it out your plot, Fjord.”

And there it was, the same old play on a different stage. There might as well have been a script for the next five minutes for all the variation it had gotten in the years since Gracious began attending such meetings. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on perspective, he saved them all from having to witness it again by reminding Melee that he was there.

“Here we go.”

“When I want your opinion,” she growled, mixing contempt in with her already peaked ire, “I’ll give it to you.” Gracious refused to back down, not from her—never from her—but neither did he offer a retort in kind. Taking his silence as acceptance, she returned her focus back to Snow Blind. “Well? Out with it.”

The two exchanged glares, impatience meeting calm and failing to make the latter break. Just as Melee grew too frustrated to wait any longer and started to repeat her demand, Blind stole the wind from her sails, almost making her physically stumble. “I brought you all here to discuss the safeguarding of Equestria’s future.”

Leaning forward, her interest apparently peaked, General Clink asked the obvious question. “I don’t believe I follow. Is that not a matter for the palace?”

Snow conceded the point with a slight bow of her head and shrugging. “Under normal circumstances, yes. These are hardly normal circumstances, however. The palace is in no state to recognize, much less properly respond to, the looming threat on the horizon. Time has become a finite resource that we can not afford to squander on pointless debates. We must act, and we must do so quickly if we are to survive.”

“Aye, that lot would take an hour to debate the temperature of a fire as it burned the building down around them.” Fjord paused to sit up a little straighter, pushing his hat up enough to look at Snow. “But you’ve yet to say a damned thing of worth yourself.”

Once more, the Commandant General made a concessionary gesture before speaking. “Celestia is gone, ladies and gentle-stallions. She is gone, and we have no way of knowing when or if she will ever return. Ignoring for the moment the immediate concerns of warmth and light and the panic that is sure to come, we must consider how all of Ioka will react, and we must be prepared. How much food can we grow without Sol’s light? How long will our stores last? Just as important, how long before the rest of the disk grows hungry? How many countries already depend on our farms to feed their bloated populace? Ink on a page will have no value to the starving masses. And how long before the greedy grow bold?”

“Faust, this is a waste of time,” Melee said, turning toward the door.

“I was not finished, Admiral.”

“Oh?” she asked, stopping a step from the door and turning. “Well, let’s run through this little fantasy you’ve conjured up. Even if the queens managed to pull their heads out of their plots to notice Sol’s absence, they couldn’t afford to turn their attention away from each other long enough to so much as contemplate launching raids against us. And by the time they realize their collective folly, they’ll be too broken to be a threat. Likewise the griffons will never set sail in force, not with the zebras next door, and when have you ever heard of even a pair of dragons working together for anything more than sex? That leaves the Diamond Dogs who probably don’t even know what Sol is, much less understand what her absence means to the rest of us, and the neighponese could not store enough food to survive the journey. Now, Commandant, if you want to keep playing ‘emperor’ be my guest, but I will not—”

“I commanded your presence for—”

“You command nothing, you over-stuffed windbag!” Melee roared, her face briefly contorting in rage before settling into one of slow, simmering ire. “You can play commander all you want up in the Conclave, but down here you are nothing but a trumped up politician with delusions of grandeur. When was the last time you flew for more than leasure? When was the last time you spilt a foe’s blood, or so much as watched as your soldiers fought and died or listened to the roar of cannons and the whistle of arrows cutting inches from your ear? Oh, that’s right. You haven’t! Now be a good peacock and bugger off!”

Even after so many years, the High Admiral never ceased to surprise. Snow Blind turned a deep cherry-red beneath her coat and shot to her hooves, wings flared and jaw clinched, all but growling like an enraged griffon. The two Commandants behind her reacted in kind, taking wing and hovering halfway to the ceiling, hilts of swords gripped tight, undrawn but showing steel. 

Shear Winds showed no such control. While the others reacted with shock and indignation, he simply acted. A single leap cleared the desk and landed him on the table between Fjord and Clink. At some point between, he loosed a rapier thin hoof-blade from his sleeve, the razor point aimed right between the High Admiral’s eyes, where it met the side of Melee’s own saber with the chime of steel.

A single breath passed in that eerie silence just before the first volley was loosed. Shear Winds was all but quivering, ready to explode into violence any moment. Melee, on the other hoof, looked more relaxed than she had since entering the office, which only made her grin all the more disconcerting. 

“I don’t know you very well, colt,” Fjord said in the following breath, his tone strangely bored, disinterested almost. He had leaned slightly away from the pair, twisting so his back wedged into the chair’s far corner. “But I’m confident in saying that that was the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, ‘I can take this old nag. Look at her, all dried up and well past her prime—’ 

“Fjord!”

‘—And you might be right too. But,” he paused to take a long draw from his cigar, blowing the smoke into the feathery canopy above him, “if you spent a little less time under Blind’s desk you might have learned just how the daughter of a third-wife of a rapidly declining herd managed to become Admiral of the Fleet.” He paused again, this time to scratch the underside of his jaw. “You ever seen a boarding action, son? Hehe, neither have I—never get me onto one of those floating coffins—but I’ve been in enough bar-room brawls to know that adding swords and spears won’t make it any cleaner. Now you’re thinking, ‘This ain’t either of those things. I’m the top of my class, best of the best.’ and you may be right, but you see, Sophia here—”

“I will gut you, Fjord.”

“—Sophia here, well, she ain’t never won a clean fight as far as I can tell, mostly cause she ain’t never been in one. What I’m tryin’ to say is that, despite how much more entertaining it would be to watch her decorate the room with your feathers… ah, who am I fooling, go for it kid.”

Shear Winds didn’t move, or even acknowledge that the general had spoken, keeping his eyes trained on the unkempt unicorn.

“War will come for us,” Snow Blind said, his even tone forced through clenched teeth, “a war unlike any before. It will not be a war of greed nor pride but of desperation. ‘Victory or the plains of Elysium’ will not be rhetoric, but simple fact, and death on the battlefield preferable to the alternative.”

Melee didn’t move her eyes, but somehow managed to convey rolling them through the tone of her voice. “You’re worse than that nut at the cathedral.”

“… lead a dog to a tree,” Snow grumbled under her breath before addressing the whole room. “And the rest of you?”

“Your supposition is not an unreasonable one, and, at the very least, should be discussed,” Clink said. “I am willing to hear what you have to say.”

“Fjord?”

“I think I’ll need a new cigar.”

“Admiral Spear?”

Gracious Spear did not respond right away. His eyes traveled around the room, from the still posed combatants to the seated generals, to the just now landing commandants. Until now, he’d not considered the implications of Sol’s continued absence. If Celestia was truly gone… Even now, that did not sound plausible. Yet here they were. There was Princess Cadence, of course, and she was in Canterlot last he’d heard. By rights, her word was law.

Philosophy did not suit the Admiral. The question of ethics and right or wrong had no place on the eve of battle or the hold of a ship. The captain ordered the crew and the crew did as they were told, anything less was death. And yet… was it not an officer’s duty to remand an unfit captain? Princess Cadence was known to him only in passing. She was a goddess, true, but she was no Celestia. 

Clink likely did not grasp the totality of Snow’s meaning. Fjord knew but did not care. The commandants held too closely to their oaths to consider objecting. And Melee would sooner saw her horn off than take her lead from Snow Blind, or any pony she saw as beneath herself. Gracious Spear understood the implications, could not afford so grievous a misstep, had a conscience that would not let him simply ‘follow orders’, but had spent his whole career learning to swallow his pride. 

Everything Blind had said rang true, and only fools bet on hope.

“It would be best,” he said, refusing to meet Melee’s gaze, “I think, to hear you out.”

“So, you think that would be best, do you, Admiral?” Melee asked in an almost pleasant tone, surprising Spear and tricking him into glancing her way as her saber returned to its scabbard. “Then I leave this in your… capable hooves.” Her smile made his stomach drop. 

No pony tried to stop her from leaving this time. They all watched in silence as she walked to the door and opened it, only to pause  and speak one final time before disappearing into the night. 

“Just remember, colt, that a captain goes down with her ship.”
	
> Chapter 15
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 15



“My sister is the most fiendish Stones player you will ever encounter. In a thousand years I will not be her equal.”


 —H.D.H. Luna Invictus to King Heyreddin of Parmeria


By the ticking of the clocks, morning had come once again, and still Sol failed to appear. In the high city of Canterlot, at the tolling of the fifth bell, when the first blush of dawn should have painted the eastern sky, an army of messengers poured from the castle gates. Within the hour, every citizen of note had received their invitation… their summons. By the seventh bell, when Sol’s light should have long ago coated the world in a warm, honeyed glow, the last of the stragglers entered the throne room, finding what space they could at the rear.

At first blush, the scene might have been seen as a little odd. All present were dressed in what could only be called ceremonial finery. There was no lack for silver and gold or diamonds and pearls, yet the common ostentatious flair was nowhere to be found. Those of military, current or retired, wore their formal uniforms, rank and honors on display. The rest wore suit or dress, clean and sharp and simple. Few so much as whispered to their neighbors, most shifted with a discomfort born not from their garb, tails tucked and still or swaying on their own. The throne room itself lacked any special decor, nothing of note save the long carpet splitting the room in two, leading up the dias to the base of the Solar Throne. 

The dais was occupied by a single plain unicorn wearing a simple jacket and glasses that had grown thicker with every passing winter. Upon Chronicle’s back, balanced there for he did not trust his magic to hold steady, was a the Equestrian Crown, a gaudy circlet of golden spires and precious gems, resting on a plush pillow of velvet—which Celestia had gone to great length to avoid when at all possible.

After the final guest arrived, the great doors were closed, leaving some two hundred ponies to wait under the oppressive shadow of a sunless sky. 

When the doors opened a sparse minute later to the fanfare of trumpets, everypony turned, a few jumped, and all remained reserved. No one cheered as a phalanx of Royal Guards marched in, half on either side breaking off to line the walls while the rest made progress down the long carpet. Not a single hoof struck the floor in half hearted applause as Shining Armor and Star Shimmer followed, the former bearing the weight of Penumbra as the latter did Cadence’s helm. And when the alicorn herself took her first step into view, there was not a single sound beyond the steady march of hooves and the soft scrape of platemail in motion.

All was mute and subdued, lacking only for the choked back whimpers of a funeral procession.

If any found comfort or peace in the pageantry, it was Chronicle, and that only out of desperation. Tradition and Ceremony. The bedrock of all civilization, the foundation on which to build and the blueprints to guide their hooves. When all else was chaos and uncertainty, he knew they would always grant him solid ground on which to stand.

When the guards reached the dias, they stopped and parted, two rows of golden plate and silver spear on either side of the carpet. Shining and Star proceeded up the steps, taking their places on either side of the throne and turning to watch over the crowd. As she passed, Star brushed lightly against her lover, offering the nervous stallion what comfort she could, slowing the quiver of his hindleg, but only just.

At the bottom of the steps, Cadence stopped, her eyes glancing up to Chronicle’s, waiting. With far more care than it should have required, his horn lit and took hold of the cushion, lifting it and the crown for all to see. His eyes closed. He swallowed. Time for a single breath and a hurried, desperate prayer passed, and he began to speak.

The words were not his own, archaic beyond his ken, and tasted sour on his tongue. There were plays he’d seen, wherein the actors made show of such language not spoken for centuries gone by. This was no such display. At best, he reckoned the bases of words he knew, but even those were made meaningless before the oddity of structure and form. Senseless gibberish, only through force of momentum and memorization was he able to carry on until the end.

As he droned, Cadence waited for her cues, listening only for those keywords that meant she could take one more step closer to her Aunt’s throne. She might have understood the recited words, had she the time and desire to parcel through them. At the time of her own birth, such language was already fading from common usage, reserved only for official rites and ceremonies such as these. They held as little meaning to her as the whole charade that demanded their use. Only for Chronicle and Shining’s insistence had she agreed to this farce. A tedious waste she regretted more and more with each passing second.

Finally, she reached the plateau to stand before the Solar Throne, Chronicle’s voice droning through overwrought sentence after overwrought sentence until she could turn around and look down upon her subjects and… frown at the marble-white pegasus stepping from the herd.

Chronicle froze, his field shattering, cushion and crown tumbling to the ground, the latter glittering and flashing in the silver moonlight. It struck with a clang, bouncing down every step before rolling to a stop at the insubordinate pegasus’ hooves. 

The Royal Guards reacted first, closing rank and leveling spears. Those ponies nearest the Commandant General retreated into their fellows, ingracious in their attempts to distance themselves from anypony who drew so baleful a gaze from the Princess, as confused and curious whispers began to circulate.

Snow Blind cast her eyes and ears about, savouring the moment of contact. Soon enough, chaos would ensue, and all her plans would be ruined.  Such was the way of war, after all. But in these first few seconds, she was in complete control, everything balanced so perfectly, waiting only the touch of her hoof.

“My apologies, your… Highness,” she said, grinning almost madly at the vigor coursing through her veins, “but I cannot stand idly by and watch this face play to the end.” 

As she spoke, her bubble expanded, pushing the weak willed foals further from her presence. Upon the dais, Cadence had yet to move, though Shining Armour had made swift movement forward, his long sword half-drawn. The ever timid senechal fared poorly, his eyes rolling back as he collapsed in a heap, only saved from a nasty concussion by the Arch-Mage’s quick intervention, catching him and setting him gently upon the velvet pillow.

She did not need to look away from the stunned alicorn to notice the surreptitious movement among the cowering masses, her co-conspirators pushing against the tide and working their way toward her. A few more seconds and the real work would begin.

“Or, rather, I should say ‘we’.”

So focused on her eminent victory, Snow Blind failed to note the change in the air. The differences between verging panic and burgeoning terror were lost on her enraptured perceptions. She didn’t even notice when her fellow revolutionaries halted their progress and faded back into the anonymity of the herd, their courage sapped in an instant. Her gambit was working better than she’d dared hope, so well that even Cadence’s had dilated with surprise and more than a hint of fear.

Selene’s light had seemed to focus on her, her white coat shining in stark relief against the darkening and bulging shadow she cast just out of view. It had risen, her shadow, like hot pitch seeping through the flagstones, pooling into a great mass of formless black. Writhing and churning, it had quickly taken shape, a horned head rising up as a pair of jet-black wings fluffed and stretched from its side. At last, it stood, towering over the lone pegasus, still unawares.

A single glint of light dashed across the dais and the ponies gathered atop it.

The air screamed in a hushed whisper, and the hollow thump that followed would presage the cold-sweated end to nightmares for years to come.

Limp and lifeless, her body collapsed into the spreading pool of crimson. It was not alone, a number of similar thuds sounding amid the trembling herd as the faintest of its members sought solace in the darkness behind their eyelids.

Cadence quivered in rage and fear, paling beneath her coat with lips parted in a too late warning. Shining Armour’s held his sword between them, a carmine glow seething about his horn as Star Shimmer rose from the unconscious unicorn at her hooves, her countenance unaffected by all that had happened. Below them, the Royal Guard valiantly held their ground, no matter their rattling armor and quivering spears. It was all they could do not to break and run.

Before them all stood a creature torn from the annals of legend, a myth, a demon whose name was only ever whispered in erie tones around campfires. Selene’s silver glow illuminated this monster of shadow and steel, daring any to chance averting their gaze and losing sight of her for even a moment.

All was quiet, frozen in dread anticipation of a future painted in blood and shadow, and filled with silent, hopeless prayers for salvation as her attention and sneer remained on the corpse at her hooves.

“Such is the fate of all traitors,” she said in a whisper heard by all. 

Raising Tamashi, she gave the blade a violent flick, casting off a spray of blood into the huddled masses.

With that, the paralyzing grip of terror ended in a torrent of screams. Individuals turned en masse, pushing and shoving in a panicked rush to be the first to reach the great doors and the false safety beyond. They fought each other, fear and panic quickly turning into pain and violence as the press of bodies began to crush those closest to escape through doors thought would not open.

“Silence!”

That single word struck like the first cannon’s roar, quelling the cacophony of battle in an instant as all eyes and ears turned toward the source. 

“Ah,” the demon smiled, “much better. Now, Kneel.”  

Two hundred ponies, once gathered to witness the coronation of the first new Princess in Equestria’s history, fell to their knees, bowing in supplication to this creature of nightmares. 

She turned to face Cadence, still standing before the Solar Throne, and put on a slightly disappointed frown. “That, my daughter, is the proper way to command the reverence of your subjects, not with this…” she gesticulated toward the dais and discarded crown, “meaningless pageantry. You need not their recognition nor their consent. You are an Alicorn, a goddess, not some puffed up mortal propped up on the backs of the multitudes. Allowing this farce to continue would only encourage more like this one to challenge your rule… if it was yet your time. Now, be a good girl and step aside.”

As the Nightmare spoke, Cadence regained her composure, standing taller and drawing her lips into a tight, thin line. She met the demon’s draconian eyes, her mother’s eyes, refusing to be cowed even as her own eye began to throb with a phantom pain from the long since healed bruise of the night before. Fear and adrenaline pulsed through her veins, driving her to take action, any action. Her foe stood before her, the cause of all greatest sorrows, both past and present. She could end it here and now, victory or defeat would matter little for herself, one would presage the dawn while the other would grant her the peace of the grave. All she had to do was act.

“N-no.” The stutter, no matter how slight, nearly broke her resolve.

Nightmare Moon’s frown wavered under a tremor of amusement, like a mother catching her foal playing with her makeup. “Your time has will come, I promise. But you must be patient. Celestia has made quite a mess of things, and it is my responsibility to clean up after her, not yours. There is no reason to drag this out over long. Step aside and I will see that all is made ready for you.”


“This is not your throne,” Cadence said, or tried to, the words coming out as little more than a strangled wheeze. Swallowing, she drew all her will into ensuring her words came out with a confidence she did not share. “This is not your throne.” Retrieving the fallen crown, she placed it behind her horn. “And this is not your crown.”

Her amusement at an end, the Nightmare’s lip twitched with suppressed scowl. “Useless trinkets. I need no crown or throne. Equestria is mine by right of birth and conquest. You will accept your proper place at my hoof or I will bind you there with shackles and chains.”

“No.”

“Why do you persist in this pointless posturing? I am offering you the chance to make all of this as painless as possible, and yet you stand before me as though the outcome was not already decided. Do you think it matters to me the mechanism of your compliance? I assure you it does not. I will have it one way or the other. The only choice before you is how much pain you will endure to get there, and how many more will lay down their lives for your stubborn pride.” 

Cadence bit the inside of her cheek until the sharp tang of blood curdled her tongue. She could see the ponies framing her mother, all still bowed and cowering. She could see the Royal Guards, all but shaking in their boots, terrified but unwilling to abandon their post. And she could see her Shining Armour from the corner of her eye, defiant in the face of a demon, a fly before a dragon. The reality that she’d been trying desperately to suppress finally broke free. 

The Nightmare was right. There was no hope for them. None save Celestia could stand against her, even Cadence herself would prove only a minor hinderance, a truth too fresh in her mind to deny. From the moment of Celestia’s capture, they’d lost. It was already over and all that had happened had been nothing but theater, a stage play organized for her benefit…

Her brow creased, eyes falling and darting from side to side, seeing nothing but feeling the wrongness of it all. It didn’t make sense. All of this should have happened already. The Nightmare had captured Celestia a full day past. If she’d already been in control, it made no sense that she would wait until now to make her claim. Something was missing, something outside Cadence’s purview. 

Celestia had known this would happen. The how didn’t matter, only that she’d known and planned for it. She wasn’t infallible. She made mistakes as all ponies do… but only ever out of ignorance. When the game was known, however… 

Cadence stood up straighter, meeting her mother’s gaze once more. She schooled her face into an expressionless mask, trying her best to imitate Celestia’s disapproving posture and frown. 

“Hypocrite.” The Nightmare’s face scowled, bearing her fangs at Cadence’s pronouncement. “You stand as judge, jury, and executioner over a traitor, proclaiming death as their due while you yourself still live.”

“So, this is your choice?” The snarl faded Nightmare Moon’s muzzle, melting into a narrow eyed frown. “How… disappointing.”

Removing the crown, Cadence paused to see herself reflected in one of the gems. She knew what she was doing, recognized it for the folly that it was. The Nightmare was beyond her abilities. If she lived it would be by what little maternal love her mother still held for her, and when she fell, there would be none to stand against the Nightmare. It was all she could do, however. Celestia was alive, and she had plans, and if they were to have any hope of victory, Cadence needed to play her part and hope it was the part Celestia intended for her.

With the crown set upon the throne, she looked to the Arch-Mage at her side. “My helm.” Star Shimmer did not seem to notice her, staring as she was at Nightmare Moon. “Arch-Mage, my helm, now.”

Star Shimmer’s continued disobedience drew Cadence’s ire and Nightmare Moon’s amusement both. The former grew increasingly frustrated while the latter regarded the upstart unicorn with interest. She did not look particularly impressive at first glance, tougher than the average unicorn mare, certainly, but nothing spectacular. At closer inspection, however, the plethora of whirls and crests of her coat hairs, the ready signs of scarring, were easy to see. The sword and breaker belted to her either flank were not mere decorations, rather the bloody and worn tools of her trade.

In the blink of an eye, the Nightmare understood what this mare, this ‘Arch-Mage’ intended, and she could naught but smile.

“I accept.”

“What?” Cadence’s head snapped to the Nightmare before following her gaze back to witness Star’s acknowledging nod, then back again. “No!” she screamed, violently tearing the helm away her and slamming it into place on her own head before nearly taking Shining’s head off as she drew Penumbra from his back. “She is not my champion! This is my throne, my responsibility! You will fight me!”

With a dismissive flip of her wing, The Nightmare turned her back on the dais, walking to the open space’s far side before facing them once more and responding. “I said nothing about sparing you. If you wish a more public thrashing, I am happy to  oblige. You must merely have to wait your turn.”

Star stepped forward into the make-shift arena, the guards parting as she descended the dais. Cadence made to follow, to grab the mare and save her from her folly. The guards and Shining held her fast, the former closing rank as soon as Star passed while the latter simply touched a hoof to her shoulder and shook his head. Had it been anypony else, she might have lashed out, decrying their senseless adherence to tradition before taking control of the situation by force. Instead, she gaped and fumed, but remained at her post, while silently ashamed by the solace she found in her own duel’s delay.

The longsword sang as Star drew it, quickly joined by the sharper note of her sword-breaker. She did not flourish the blades, holding them steady on either side of her withers. Her every movement was loose but reserved, controlled and exact without wasteful tension. The Nightmare nodded at the sight, a predatory smile just letting her fangs peek between her lips, and mimicked her posture and stance.  

Cadence watched as they turned to obliques and began to move in a meandering circle, each step added to the sense of dread welling up in the pit of her stomach. This was all wrong. Senseless. Star was going to die. She had to know that.  No mortal pony could hope to match an alicorn, much less her mother. 

Helplessness dragged her haunches to the floor, Penumbra’s tip cutting a divot in the marble as she let its hilt rest against her shoulder.

“You do know how to use those, yes? I will be very put out if this proves too short a distraction.” When Star failed to respond, she spun Tamashi in a lazy circle at her side. “Arch-Mage? That is not a title I am familiar with. Tell me, what is an Arch-Mage?”

For the first time since entering the throne room, Star spoke. “When this night ends, I will tell you.”

The Nightmare gave an amused, if derisive, snort. “I think I like you, for a mortal. I would know you before I end your life.”

“I am called Star Shimmer.”

A beat passed where Nightmare Moon’s amusement faded into a tight frown. “Do not vex me. What of your parentage? Who was the first of your line? From what province do you hale?”

“When this night ends—”

“Not,” the Nightmare said with a harsh bite, her ears tilting and brow furrowing, “as amusing the second time. I was inclined to provide you with an invigorating fight before the end, but I am growing less enthused with the idea.”

“This was never going to be a fight.”

“No. No it was—”

“It is a lesson.”

Rolling her eyes, the Nightmare groaned. “Oh yes, of course. A lesson. How silly of me. And what, pray-tell, was that lesson to—”

Only four ponies were tracked the exchange, if it could be called such, most only able to register the sudden dash and tumble. 

Star had launched herself at Nightmare Moon, more jumping that running and closing the distance in an instant. Her sword and breaker had moved in tandem, the former swung in a wide, downward arc aimed for her foe’s neck and the latter was thrust forward, aimed to pierce just above her collar. 

The ploy proved less effective than it might have otherwise. The Nightmare had matched her speed, easily deflecting the smaller blade first, sending it flying out of Star’s grasp, before blocking the sword. Where the two blades met, steel screeched, the greater blade sundering the lesser with ease. Almost as an afterthought, Tamashi had came around again, aimed to take Star’s head from her shoulders. 

Star rose from bruised and bloody knees, her face twisted by pain and annoyance. Blood gushed from the side of her head, staining the soft-pink of her coat a dark cherry-red. She touched the fresh wound, her ear, feeling the raw edge and how it tapered to an unnaturally sharp tip. 

She held up her sword, or what remained of it. Little more than a hoof of blade still protruded from the hilt, the sheared edge glowing orange and hot, a thin streak of black ichor sizzling at the furthest point. With clenched teeth and scrunched eyes, she jammed the hot steel into the wound, her sharp hiss mingling with the wretched stench of cooking meat and burning hair.

Similarly, the Nightmare seemed in a world all her own. She moved as though dazed, blinking and confused. A slow wing tip reached for her collar, brushing it a quarter-hoof above the top of her peytral. Wincing from surprise, her feather came away wet, stained by a few drops of blood. Her blood.

Barely a paper-cut, the wound had already over, gone save for those scant few drops of ichor that clung to her coat. But a wound it had been. A blade, a broken one forged from fire and steel and wielded by a mortal mare, had graced her divine flesh, pierced it however shallowly. Her feather, she brought to her lips, gently sucking it clean of her divine essence as a small spark of her magic removed all evidence of its existence from her coat.

She turned. She gazed down upon this… mortal, this mare who dared to stand before her, to raise a blade against her and to strike her, to wound her, and smiled. Not grinned, not smirked, but smiled. Her lips stretched like they never before, mirth and excitement the likes of which were commonly reserved for foals crinkled her eyes and vibrated through her ears.

“You… That… That was the dumbest… You couldn’t have… But you had to have…” Stomping her hoof, and cracking the marble, Nightmare Moon forced schooled herself as best she was able, but nothing could dispel the pure joy radiating from her eyes. “No pony could react that fast. You had to know, not only that I would sunder your blade instead of simply deflecting it, but also where and… your ear… How? And why? If you knew all that, you had to know how ineffectual it would be. If it was simply to impress me, than you have succeeded most admirably. But I must know. You must tell me.”

“She is the Arch-Mage, Celestia’s personal boogiemare.” All eyes turned toward the throne, toward the alicorn they had come to see take that seat but remained on the dais before it. Cadence did not understand what she felt, the strange awe and fierce pride, the satisfaction of seeing that monster, her mother, bleed, and too incensed to question the wisdom of her words before they left her lips. “You have been usurped, mother. Ponies don’t fear your name anymore, mother’s don’t whisper it in the ears of misbehaving foals, they whisper hers. Arch-Mage Star Shimmer. The Demon Mare. From Hackney to Roam, she is the one who haunts the dreams of Equestria’s foes, without ever setting hoof in the realm of dreams. You are nothing but a half-forgotten myth.”

All the bubbling joy melted from the Nightmare’s face as Cadence spoke. She quivered, visibly vibrating as her every muscle tensed. Her nebulous mane and tail became as maelstroms, writhing storms of hate and rage. And her eyes were violence.

“Give her your sword.” The command, for it could be nothing less, did not waver or burn, was neutral and uncolored by its source, and was all the more terrifying for it. It stuck with the same dull thump of Snow Blind’s head and carried the promise of worse. Cadence failed to react, the full weight of her folly rendering her a living statue. “Give. Her. Your. Sword.”

Mindlessly, Cadence moved the blade from her shoulder, holding the hilt between her forehooves and let her eyes trace it from tip to pommel, truly seeing it for perhaps the first time in centuries. Dark-blue, verging on midnight-black, and nearly long enough to cleave a pony from snout to dock, Penumbra was otherwise unremarkable in appearance, simple and efficient. Such had been Luna’s hallmark before her fall—or so Celestia claimed—when the blade she’d forged refused her touch.

A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, a tiny thing born of amusing—if impossible—imaginings. The irony of how it could all play out was staggering. Just to imagine it: Star Shimmer, the Arch-Mage, besting Nightmare Moon in a duel while wielding Luna’s own sword. The sheer audacity coupled with the almost poetic justice was almost too much to bear. It was ridiculous, of course, fanciful beyond all reason, and yet she could see it… no pony was perfect after all, not even Aunt Celly. A slip, a single mistake… Star had already managed more in a single exchange than she had ever thought possible. Maybe… just maybe…

She let go.

Penumbra teetered, the dark blue blade leaning toward its master, pommel a breath away from her muzzle. Cadence’s eyes snapped to Star, and the sword quivered with something akin to excitement, then, like a pinwheel, tumbled through the air, clearing the line of guards and slamming blade first into the ground at Star's hooves. 

“And I am the theatrical one?” Nightmare Moon snorted. “Well?” she added with a growl, glaring at the mare and the blade. Tamashi became a blur of motion, slicing the air around her before coming to a sudden stop beside her head as her knees bent into a ready stance. “Arm yourself, mortal, that none may say you were ill equipped.”

The broken sword clattered where it was discarded, thrown aside like so much trash. With no more reverence, Star’s field surrounded Penumbra’s hilt and wrenched it from the ground. Tearing free with far more ease than it should have, the blade swung in a wide arc, momentum carrying it to the edge of Star’s influence, her magic flickering, threatening to lose control, before it arced back into a far more controlled flourish that ended with the blade angled down and back in a low ready.

Once more, they began to circle, but only for a few paces. This time, the Nightmare charged. Her attack came in a series of heavy, hacking blows, Tamashi driving down more like an axe than the long, elegant blade it was. Penumbra rose to meet the assault, deflecting each to one side or the other. Sparks exploded where they met, but neither blade showed signs of damage or wear. The speed and power on display forced Star back, pushing her towards Snow Blind’s corpse and the puddle of blood surrounding it.

Her back hoof splashed down and slipped. Her balance taken, she started to fall. Nightmare Moon turned her sword on the upswing, spinning it into position for a downward plunge. The time between the latter's commitment to the strike and the former’s teleportation could never be measured.

A flash of magic preceded the hard crack of air rushing to fill the suddenly empty space. 


Perhaps, if Star had grimaced or gasped as her fall began, something to sell it as true misstep, she could have succeeded. Instead, Nightmare Moon spun her whole body around, catching Star’s thrust with her still down-pointed blade, turning it aside. But the tables had turned, and the Arch-Mage was now on the offensive. 

The duel enraptured all eyes, riveting them to the action they could barely follow as blade struck blade in a flashing web of steel and blood. Neither combatant showed signs of slowing, throwing themselves right back into the fray whenever they had cause to part for even a second. 

Star turned up a wealth of tricks and dirty tactics, everything from stealing a spear from an unsuspecting guard and hurling it at Nightmare Moon’s exposed back to ripping tapestries from the walls to conceal her movements hinder her foe’s. Her efforts proved less than effective, never landing so much as a glancing blow. The Nightmare’s pernatural speed was more than enough to deflect and defeat everything that Star threw at her. Worse, her own abilities were barely enough to keep her from losing her head. She couldn’t truly keep pace with Nightmare Moon’s speed, and though she managed to defend herself exceptionally well, Tamashi still found openings to exploit, spilling her blood in long gashes even if she never quite landed a solid blow. 

She lasted longer than she should have. Despite the Nightmare’s greater speed and skill, Star succeeded in guarding herself from anything more than a flesh wound, Penumbra always seeming to be in just the right place to save her from serious harm. 

It wasn’t enough. 

Every slice cost her, spilling her blood, darkening her soft pink coat with blotches and streaks of dark, cherry-red. Her field-range gradually shrank, forcing Penumbra into a tighter, more desperate form lest it be wrenched from her control. Sweat soaked into her coat where it wasn’t already stained with blood, running in rivulets and spraying from flared nostrils with every breath. 

And still, she never faltered. The blood might as well have been dye, the sweat sprayed upon her by an ocean wave. 

She pulled back enough that Tamashi only glanced across her shoulder before leaping to the attack once more, forcing Nightmare Moon to parry a flurry of thrusts that turned into a low sweep that very nearly took the alicorn’s leg at the knee. Instead of wasting precious time trying to recover from the miss, she allowed herself to roll with the momentum and take another slash across the flank rather than lose it at the hip. If she felt the wounding, she made no show of it, rising back to her hooves and bringing Penumbra to bear.

For the first time, the Nightmare did not move in to attack, instead simply turning to face the unicorn, her own sword low and loose. 

“It is done.” 

“No,” Star rasped, unable to mask the exhaustion in her voice.

“Foal,” she growled, glaring at Star only long enough to add, “I was not speaking to you.” A hard flick cleaned Tamashi of blood as her eyes lost their focus. “I admit that this has been more entertaining than I anticipated… less than I might have expected, but fun.”

Star whipped her head toward the windows and the night sky beyond. Selene had not moved since last she’d looked, still far too large and unmarred by the Nightmare’s prison. The stars glittered in their ancient appointed places. Of Sol, there was no sign, not even a hint of glow from the horizon.

She attacked again, getting three good swings in before being rebuffed and having to jump back to avoid having her head removed from her shoulders.

“Stop being foalish. This contest is over, and I have won. The—” 

Again, Star attacked, only for a blast of pure force to strike her left fore-knee. The sound of shattering bone was overwhelmed by the scream of pain tearing from Star’s throat as she crashed to the floor, Penumbra skittering across the floor. 

Nightmare Moon glared down at her with a scowl before turning toward Cadence and the throne. “The Elements are destroyed,” she said to the room at large. “Celestia’s champions are defeated and powerless. I have won.” To Cadence, she added, “I will not be petty in victory. Step aside, daughter. There is no more need for us to fight.”

The shocked gasps almost went unnoticed by the two alicorns staring each other down. Cadence was the first to look to the cause, Nightmare Moon quickly following.

Star Shimmer stood on three legs, cradling the broken fore to her chest. Her horn flickered twice before the glow took and a matching field wrapped around Penumbra’s hilt, slowly drawing the blade to her side once more. 

“Really?” Penumbra arced through the air and slammed into Tamashi blocking its path toward Nightmare Moon’s neck. “This is getting tiresome.” Annoyance twisted her voice as the blades retreated only to meet again, sparks cascading from where they clashed. “I was trying to be nice, but… no…”

Tamashi faltered. Where its downward arc should have forced Star onto the defensive, it instead swung wide, cleaving through the floor in a spray of marble chips and debris. In the same moment, Star leapt forward, raising her sword high. 

Penumbra, the sword forged by Luna’s own magic, the sword that had rejected her after her transformation, carved an unerring path through the empty air straight for Nightmare Moon’s head, poised to split her in twain.

And for a brief, fleeting moment, Cadence believed it would.

With less than a hoof between her muzzle and Penumbra’s leading edge, Nightmare Moon’s eyes dilated and refocused. The air caught flame as Tamashi slashed through it, fire leaping from the blade in a fountain of orange and red where it stopped, holding Penumbra back a hair’s breadth from the tip of her horn. 

Fear and rage mingled in the primal scream that tore from the Nightmare’s throat as a pillar of rainbow magic swept her away, Star stumbling forward as Tamashi clattered to the floor.
	
> Chapter 16
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Castle Canterlot:
Chapter 16



“[A pony’s life] is like a house, built slowly over the course of their lives and filled with all the things and people they considered important. /  / It can a be truly harrowing experience to take a step back and see what you’ve put into it… and what you’ve left out.”


—Unknown



After only three days absent her light, the renewed weight of Sol’s glory pressed down upon Chronicle like never before. Even in shade, his eyes remained squinted and watered mercilessly. The sky overhead seemed all the more expansive and ready to consume him; the ground less stable beneath his hooves, less guaranteed to fall down. 

But duty was duty, and so he stood his appointed post.

All of Canterlot had turned out. Thousands of ponies filled the palace courtyard, more spilling out the gates to line the road to the city limits. Strangely, that did not bother him over much. Perhaps that part of his brain had simply shut down, too overwhelmed to face reality. 

Or perhaps it was a lingering effect of the adrenaline rush following the arrival of Princess Celestia’s letter. He hadn’t even read the letter, no pony had save Princess Cadence, who promptly set it ablaze and stormed off to Faust knew where. Were it not of the Blessed and her timely intervention, the entire city would have been caught unawares when the Princess returned… with her sister.

It was well into evening when the first strains from the marching band started to reach the palace where Chronicle stood. The roar of the crowd soon followed, washing over them and drowning everything else out… except for the faithful little voice of panic chomping away at the back of his mind. ‘Run!’ it shouted. ‘Flee! Get back inside where it’s safe. Where the griffons don’t fly and the lions don’t prowl.’ It was almost a comfort in a strange way, a way that left his legs shaking and tail snapping. Like Princess Celestia, it was always there, would always be there, howling the same screams, begging the same pleas, a constant in an ever changing world.

And there she was, perched upon the royal phaeton, trailing behind a phalanx of guards and a small army of band-ponies—who might as well have not been playing for the cacophony surrounding them—Princess Celestia Invictus, as regal as ever, smiling down on her little ponies and waving as she slowly passed by.  

While at her side, the unknown, the sister, Princess Luna Invictus—or so Blessed claimed. Small only compared to her sister, this new princess appeared at once to be trying to shrink into obscurity while refusing to admit to any such show of weakness. Her eyes blazed with defiance toward every gaze they met, daring them to question her position. She wore a similar regality to the elder’s, but with a stiffer, more rigid mein. Yet he still couldn’t be sure if the white wing across her back was there to provide assurance or prevent escape.

The Royal Sisters—a phrase that would take him years to get accustomed to—mounted the stairs to a great deal of fan-fair, Celestia nodding to her staff before turning to address the crowd. As though rehearsed, silence fell.

Celestia spoke. She told a story, a heart-wrenching tale a thousand years in the making, of love and betrayal and loss, of hard-fought battles and victories and long awaited reunions. And it was a story. There was truth, enough to hold up to the scrutiny of the masses. Some, like Chronicle, knew the truth, knew that Princess Luna was a prisoner only by a sever stretch of the definition, but they were not likely to speak to the contrary.

And then it was over, and they were back within the cold comfort of ceilings and walls. This lasted all of two minutes before the Princess asked the question he’d been dreading for hours.

“Where is Cadence?”



 — — — TCC — — — 



Princess Cadence had a problem. Had many problems, truthfully, but at that moment, she had one that was glaring at her in all its messy glory while another she could only hear through the door.

“Go away!”

The rapping on her bedroom door returned along with her aunt’s voice. “Not until you talk to me.”

She dropped her weight onto the over stuffed luggage, grunting as she struggled to get it closed enough to run the zipper. “Like you talked to me before dropping all of this onto my back without so much as a hint of warning?” She punctuated the question with elation as the zipper finally forward, locking the little metal teeth in place. 

Her joy was short lived, however. The moment she set the bag upright, the seams ripped, spilling her clothes back out onto the floor. She stared blankly at the pile of cloth for a moment. No thoughts filled her mind, only an empty sort of numbness the likes of which she hadn’t experienced since the last time she’d tried, and failed, to run away from… home? That wasn’t right. She wasn’t running away from home, she was running toward it, back to her own city where she belonged. The Crystal City was her home, not Canterlot, and definitely not that prison her ‘mother’ had disguised as a castle.

“Cadence?” Was that concern for her wellbeing or concern that she’d gone? Both, probably. “I know you’re upset, and you have every right to be. Mother knows I would be furious with her if she’d done to me what I did to you.” There was a pause, just enough time for a sigh too soft to breach the door. “Can we talk, please? Without a door between us.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“I highly doubt that. Either way, I have some things that you need to hear.”

The numbness faded with the resurfacing of her self-righteous justifications. A powerful kick sent the broken luggage flying back into the closet from whence it came, another sending the pile of clothes in right after it. Very carefully not looking at her room, or thinking about how she could have been hours gone, she started toward the balcony.

“I’m leaving, Auntie, and you can’t stop me.”

“‘Can’t’ is a strong word. But, no, I won’t force you to stay. Before you go, however, I want you to consider the difference between asking and ‘asking’, and how much nicer it is to not force the former to become the latter.”

Cadence stopped dead in her tracks. In a purely juvenile display that she would forever deny, she threw a hissyfit, stamping all four hooves and pushing out the highest pitch whine she could muster. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” 

Celestia’s response of, “That’s a silly question coming from you.” only drove her further up the wall. Impotence in the face of the mare who’d been everything but her mother for the overwhelming majority of her life kept her from just leaving, however. It was only as she unlatched the door in defeat that she realized that ‘can’t’ really was a word that should almost never be applied to her aunt. 

The disastrous state of the room went entirely unremarked by Celestia as she entered, not in word nor action, not even when she cleaned off one of lounges and made herself comfortable. Rather than join her, Cadence chose to remain standing, convincing herself that she was more comfortable that way, that it wasn’t merely a petty act of defiance.

“Well?”

“I’m sorry,” Celestia began, managing that infuriating tone of non-regretful regret, “for not telling you what was coming before hoof. You deserved to know.” 

And that was as far as she would go. No justifications or genuine apology, just statements, because she didn’t regret what she’d done. Oh, she regretted some of the consequences, but not enough to admit she was wrong. Not that Cadence cared. That was not what this was about, not even close, and she refused to so much as acknowledge the comment. Her eyes never left her aunt’s, barely repressing the desire to tap her hoof, waiting.

Then, finally, “The Nightmare is gone.”

She lost complete control over her expression, an ugly sneer twisting her entire muzzle. “Right. Wonderful. Can I go now?”

“Cadence!”

“No! Don’t you ‘Cadence’ me! That… that thing—”

“Is my sister and your mother!”

“No! That thing might have brought me into this world, but she is NOT my mother!”

Celestia shrank back, her eyes trying desperately to summon tears that would not come. “I know you are hurting, but that was not Luna.”

“How can you be so blind? Yes it was! There was never any ‘Nightmare’, there was only ever her! She chose to be that thing, to be a monster. No pony forced her into it.”

“She was sick. I know it’s hard for you to see it because you never knew the real Luna. But I did. I knew her for centuries before the sickness took her from me. I watched as it twisted everything she was into that dark mockery of the sister I knew and loved. 

“Now, for the first time in almost two thousand years, I have my sister back, and you… you have the chance to meet your true mother for the first time. She is cured, Cadence. The sickness is gone… but she’s not yet well. It left scars, and… and I know she will never be the same as she was, but…” Celestia looked away, unable to meet Cadence’s eyes for the first time that she could ever recall. “I know this will be hard for you. I know that it will be difficult to see beyond the monster you remember… but I am begging you to try. If not for her sake or your own, then for mine… please.”

Throughout Celestia’s pleading, Cadence’s resolve weakened but never broke. Her empathy extended no further than Celestia but not in the way the elder would have prefered. It was pity, more than anything, for all the false hope her aunt had built into the thought of having her sister back, and despite the thick shield of anger she cloaked herself in, Cadence couldn’t be the one to dispel that mirage. 

It was going to be a long next few years.



 — — — TCC — — — 



Celestia was not above questioning her own actions. She never let herself go so far as to regret them, but she did question them from time-to-time in hopes to learn. Her lack of preparation for her short absence, for instance. The greater amount of her decisions were all but dictated to her by that bittersweet night a millennium ago, when a wish had been granted and family yet unborn was first met. So many pieces had to be put into place… families moved and towns established… library trees planted. Everything else had been guesswork, assumptions derived from implications of what was said, and more importantly, unsaid. 

Her decision to keep it all to herself, to not even let those closest to her know that she had a plan, much less what that plan was, turned out about as she’d expected. Snow Blind was an outlier that she refused to blame herself for. Could she have kept her from that course? Possibly… yes. If she had taken more time to factor in every variable, collected more data and analyzed everything more thoroughly, then, yes, she might have prevented a senseless death. But to take responsibility for another’s actions… to hold herself accountable for every pony who could potentially be saved in hindsight if only she’d done this or that… done that path lay madness and worse. 

No. She was not her mother. She could not so much as glimpse the future, much less read the threads of fate. She did the best she could with what she had, and at the end of the day, letting even Cadence know would have changed how she acted and risked Nightmare Moon deciding to wipe the board of ‘conspirators’.

The only part that made her question her actions was sitting before her in a paper-built imitation of Canterlot. Snow Blind’s little stunt alone accounted for the entire market district, with mansion row being the Queendoms, the lower quarter all of Equestria’s other cities and counties, and Luna’s return the palace grounds. 

All that was to say that, even for Celestia herself, there were not enough hours in a day, and the pony knocking at her door was low on her list of problems she wanted to deal with right then. 

When Madam Speaker, Scribble Blackwell, entered her office, it was with the same rigid pride masquerading as regality that all nobles seemed to learn at a young age. Her red rimmed, bloodshot eyes softened Celestia’s mood a little, but only a little.

Celestia turned the page of her current packet, a two hundred page recovery plan from Los Pegasus—where the extra hours of darkness led to that much more alcohol consumption and ‘celebratory property damage’ apparently.

Somedays she thought she understood why her mother had simply left.

Reluctantly, she her work aside and turned her attention to the pony who’d come to see her.

Her lips stretched into smile number three—patient and motherly with only a hint of annoyance at being interrupted. “Scribble, how nice of you to visit.”

Blackwell did not return the smile or even open her mouth to speak, simply dropping another packet of papers on top of the Los Pegasus plan before seating herself and crossing her forelegs.

It was not a large set of documents, ten pages… perhaps worth three when translated into common Equestrian. The title was all she needed to read.

“That will not be necessary.”

Again, without a word, Scribble produced another document, a single page and laid it on top. This one, Celestia only read one word.

“No.”

Finally, Scribble spoke. “Pick one.”

Celestia leaned back in her chair, the muscles in her back protesting the long delayed change in position. Her eyes traveled to the nearest window and Sol’s fading light. It would be time soon, for Luna to rise, another chance to… “Tell me why.”

“Because I know!” The bite in her voice didn’t surprise Celestia over much, fitting well into the vague script she imagined this meeting would take. “You and everypony else might be willing to bury their heads in the sand, but I won’t do that! I can’t.”

“It’s over, Scribble. Twilight and her new friends succeeded. You don’t—”

“Don’t you dare!” Blackwell snapped, leaping to her hooves. “Don’t you dare make a promise like that to me!” Celestia closed her eyes and barely kept from sighing, wingtips rising to massage her temples. In hindsight, she should have known better. “Stop it! Stop pretending to be a normal pony. You aren’t! You never have been and you never will be!”

She flinched, visibly. “I am a—”

“NO! No you aren’t! You’re a Tartarus damned alicorn! And so is she. And so is Cadence. Everypony else might be able to let themselves forget that, but I can’t! Not anymore. How many of us could she have killed? Answer me that. How much of Canterlot is still standing only because the whim never crossed her mind? How many times have you had to stop yourself? How close have you come to…” She closed her eyes and forced herself to take a breath. “Pick one. I don’t care which.”

With that, Scribble turned and marched toward the door, leaving Celestia more than a little flabbergasted. It was not a new sensation but an old one long forgotten. She couldn’t even recall the last time it had happened, and in that state of confusion, hurt, and—justifiable or not—guilt, she reverted back to those actions most closely associated.  

“The Badlands,” she said, meekly, like a penitent foal taken to task. 

Scribble stopped, magic on the doorknob, and looked back with a questioning tilt to her head.

Celestia stared down at the desk, seeing only sand and ash. “You asked how close I’ve come.”

A question formed on Scribble’s lips, was abandoned, and she shrunk back a half-step. There was fear behind those red rimmed eyes, true fear, as if seeing the pony before her for the very first time.

A bottle of wine was summoned with little thought, a dry Madeira, and two glasses poured. With trepidation in her every movement, like she were humoring an unstable dragon, Scribble returned to her seat, her aura shaking just a little as she accepted the glass. She didn’t drink any, and instead held before her like a shield. 

“So,” Scribble began after several long minutes of silence, and two glasses were emptied by the Princess. “It was just a whim that saved us all?”

“No… and yes.” Celestia released a slow sigh. “There is much that cannot be said… even now. But perhaps… perhaps I have been playing my cards a little too close to my chest.” Another pause. “When they talk of knowledge and power, they never mention the weight of it. It is a terrible burden, isn’t it? To know and be unable to act because to act would only make it all the worse.” The glass swirled in Celestia’s golden magic, threatening to spill at every turn. “I have made mistakes. Snow Blind…” 

She stopped, and the wine settled.

“You say I am not a normal pony, and you are more correct than I would like to admit, yet more wrong than you can imagine. I cannot give you what you want. You should know well enough that a piece of paper can only be a shield if all treat it as such. No, I cannot give you what you want, but I can give you something else. I can tell you what I know. What… I know.

“Would you take up that burden, Scribble? Knowing how it weighs on me. Would you pay the price such knowledge demands with no guarantee of peace-of-mind and the promise that it will at once stifle your ability to act while ensuring those actions will have importance? Would you join me in this, Scribble?”

The Madam Speaker had not so much as blinked while Celestia spoke, and now that the words had stopped coming, she swallowed. Her wine glass, still untouched, she set on the edge of Celestia’s desk, careful not to spill the contents over the vast spread of paperwork. 

“I’ve always loved you,” she said, shakily but not hesitantly. “We all do, I think. I don’t know if there is anything you could tell me that could change that…” 

“But?”

“But my mother is not the mare I thought she was growing up. When I learned the truth, I did not love her any less…”

“I see.”

Scribble stood, then bowed formally, bending her knee and touching her horn to the floor. Celestia gave a curt nod and watched as the mare rose, took three steps backward, then turned for the door. She’d just reached for the latch when Celestia spoke one last time.

“I'll see you next week.”

The door closed. 

For minutes, Celestia sat motionless, staring at the door. Her thoughts were muddled, incoherent things that only left her all the more discomforted. In desperation, she turned to the mounds of paperwork, only to find Scribble’s letter of resignation at the fore. Brief as it was, she could not read it, not a single word. Then it was gone, a small pile of ash sent to join its kin in the unlit fireplace. 

The next few minutes were spent pacing around the office, her eyes never lingering on any one spot for long. A pressure built behind her eyes and pressed up against her chest. She sat down, and stood up, rubbed a shin, and flared and resettled her wings. Finally, when she could fight it nomore, she left, blind to everything as she walked down the corridors to her sister’s room.

Luna would forgive her the few hours loss of sleep.