The Job of a Princess
Sometimes when she left the castle and walked around Ponyville, Twilight heard other ponies whispering about her.
She should have expected as much: after all, she was a princess. Of course ponies would talk about her. And not all of the whispers were bad; in fact, most of what ponies had to say was quite positive. Very few ponies ever said anything negative about her, and even most of the critical comments were completely harmless. Besides, it was not Twilight’s business to care what other ponies said about her. The opinions of her friends mattered greatly to her, certainly, but she knew better than to judge herself based on the murmured criticisms of ponies she barely knew.
What bothered her were those few comments that could just as easily have come from her own mind.
“Look, there goes Princess Twilight. She finally left her fancy castle to mingle with us common folk.”
“What does she do all day in that palace of hers, anyway? Probably just read books and laugh about how she doesn’t need to work like the rest of us.”
“Well if it isn’t the Princess of Superfluousness: the one alicorn who contributes exactly nothing to the wellbeing of Equestria. But I suppose if you’re Celestia’s favorite, it’s fine to be completely useless.”
Those were the comments that made Twilight uneasy. She tried as hard as she could to ignore them, but they would still come back to trouble her thoughts while she vainly struggled to focus on more important tasks. Like reading. Or writing to Celestia. Or spending time with her friends.
Whenever she recalled one of those whispers, Twilight would pause whatever she was doing. A sense of melancholy would threaten to overtake her, and she would stare off into space until something else managed to distract her. Often that something was Pinkie Pie checking to see if Twilight had somehow turned herself into a statue.
But still the memories of those mutterings persisted, reminding Twilight of what certain ponies thought about her. But that was not why she remembered those statements so clearly. Twilight knew why they stood out to her, despite never consciously admitting it to herself.
Those whispers only echoed what she feared most about herself. The whispers gave substance to the nameless uncertainties that floated around her brain, which defied all attempts to nullify them by categorization or banish them by logical thought.
She believed the whispers might actually be true.
Twilight strolled down the lane toward Ponyville’s market, enjoying the coolness of the morning. The air was fresh with the scent of recent rainfall. Overhead, pegasi cleared up the cloudy skies so that the town could enjoy pure sunshine all afternoon. All around town, ponies emerged from indoors to hurry about their daily routines, though some paused to simply enjoy the sight of dew on the grass, lit by a sun still emerging from behind the cloud cover.
This particular morning, Twilight was in no hurry. She had nothing on her schedule all day until dinner with Rarity, so Twilight sought to take advantage of her free time by running a few errands. Then she could look forward to spending a delightful afternoon with nothing to do but sit in the library and read.
She was still deciding whether she would rather reread a Daring Do novel or start a new text on the latest theories in conjuring magic when she noticed something strange out of the corner of her eye. A couple blocks down a side street, one mare sat by herself on a bench, completely oblivious to the bustle of the ponies around her. On a whim, Twilight changed direction and headed toward the lone pony.
As she approached, Twilight identified the mare as Cheerilee. But the schoolteacher did not seem to exhibit her usually cheerful demeanor. Cheerilee sat with her head drooped down, staring at a puddle left by the recent rain. Her usual smile was gone, replaced not by a frown, but by an expression so devoid of life it looked downright miserable. Cheerilee gave no indication she heard Twilight approach but kept her gaze down toward the ground.
After pausing for a moment to decide if she should disturb Cheerilee or not, Twilight chose to at least check on Cheerilee with a simple question. “Excuse me, Cheerilee, are you alright?”
Cheerilee continued to stare at the puddle as she replied, “I’m fine, thanks.”
Twilight hesitated before responding inquisitively, “Are you sure you’re ok? I didn’t expect to find you sitting alone.”
Several seconds passed in uncertain silence. A bit uneasy, Twilight waited patiently to see if Cheerilee would respond. On the one hoof, Cheerilee seemed depressed for some reason, and Twilight did not want to ignore a pony in need. On the other hoof, though, perhaps Cheerilee just needed some time to herself.
Eventually, Cheerilee said quietly, “You’re right. Things aren’t fine.”
“So what’s wrong?” Twilight asked gently.
“Well, I…” Cheerilee looked up briefly before hanging her head again. “No, it’s not important.”
That response worried Twilight, but she still did not want to force Cheerilee to open up about whatever problem she had. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s perfectly fine. I can leave.”
Twilight endured another lengthy silence, hoping Cheerilee would decide to confide to her what was wrong. After a minute of giving no indication of replying, Cheerilee at last turned to face Twilight and began to talk.
“I saw the Cutie Mark Crusaders after school today. I was heading home when they rushed by, carrying some sort of deformed, homemade parachutes. They were yelling about finally getting their skydiving cutie marks.”
Twilight blinked for a moment in surprise. While the adventures of those three fillies were often bizarre and a bit alarming, she failed to understand why Cheerilee would find it so depressing. “So what was the issue?” Twilight asked.
Cheerilee glanced away before responding. “I know that it’s stupid to react like this, but…well, I looked at them and wondered why they were trying something so pointless, something that’s completely unrelated to their actual talents.”
Twilight grinned a bit at that. “Tell me about it. It seems like almost every stunt they try is the exact opposite of what they should be doing to get their cutie marks.”
Cheerilee nodded in agreement. “Yes. And I’ve watched them futilely attempt one thing after another for—well, for a long time now.”
“Eventually they’ll recognize their actual talents and find their cutie marks,” Twilight remarked.
“I know that,” Cheerilee said, rather dejectedly, “but I can’t help but think: what went wrong? I have tried again and again to teach those three fillies that finding their cutie marks is about recognizing who they are and what they are good at. But they never seem to understand. They just run off and try some other equally ridiculous stunt.”
Cheerilee’s voice rose as her concerns came spilling out of her. “So I wonder if the fault is in me. I’m their teacher. I’m supposed to guide these fillies and help them grow up. But if they never learn, if they never grow, have I failed at my task? Have I neglected to fulfill my duty as a teacher?”
Twilight frowned slightly. “Do you doubt your worth as a teacher?”
Cheerilee pondered the question for a moment before responding, “Maybe? I can’t tell. Teaching is what I love to do. It’s part of who I am. But I just don’t seem to be making a difference. My best efforts aren’t enough. So maybe I shouldn’t be their teacher. Maybe somepony else could do better.”
An idea came to Twilight. “Walk with me a minute. I want to show you something.” Twilight turned back the way she had originally come, glancing behind her to invite Cheerilee to follow. Cheerilee hesitated for an instant, but then she got off the bench and started after Twilight.
“Cheerilee,” Twilight said as they strolled, “first of all, you should know that the Cutie Mark Crusaders have told me nothing but good things about you. They value you very highly as a teacher and a friend. After all, didn’t they go to great lengths to find you a very special somepony last Hearts and Hooves Day?”
“Yes, they did,” said Cheerilee. Twilight thought she saw Cheerilee almost smile at the memory. “They made a horrible mess of it, but it was a sweet effort.”
“It was,” Twilight agreed. “Of course, some of the fault was mine. I gave them a book that had a recipe for love potions.”
“That was you?” Cheerilee stopped walking for a second in surprise. “Why in Equestria…?”
“I’m sorry!” Twilight interjected. “I had no idea what they were planning. I thought I was just sharing a fascinating story with them. I should have realized what they were up to when they disappeared so quickly after taking the book—”
“No, it’s ok.” Cheerilee did not seem upset; in fact, she sounded almost amused. “It wasn’t your fault. You had no way of know what they were up to.”
“Thanks,” replied Twilight, relieved. “Anyway, I know you are doing your best with them. I know you are trying your very best to teach them and help them grow into mature young mares.”
“But’s that’s the problem,” Cheerilee countered. Then she sighed. “My very best doesn’t seem to be making a difference.”
“Sometimes the results aren’t immediately obvious,” Twilight said patiently. “Sometimes they take a great deal of time to manifest.”
Cheerilee turned questioningly toward Twilight. “But you would expect to see gradual progress.”
“And there has been, to some extent,” Twilight remarked. Glancing ahead, she noted they were close to the destination she had in mind. “The Cutie Mark Crusaders are beginning to recognize they do have particular talents. Their efforts to learn extra skills with me during ‘Twilight Time’ demonstrated that. Granted, they still tend to seek out strange new ways to get their cutie marks, but some of their efforts are becoming more focused.”
Cheerilee nodded. “Then perhaps I just need to be more patient with them.”
“Perhaps,” Twilight agreed, “and you should remember that producing results in their lives is not your job. Your task is to guide and help them, and to trust they will eventually accept your lessons and use them to grow.”
“I just wish it were more concrete than that,” said Cheerilee dejectedly, her head drooping down again.
“So do I,” said Twilight. “Here, I wanted to show you something.”
Cheerilee lifted her head and glanced up at their destination. “In your castle?” She took what might have been an eager step forward, but her voice lacked the excitement of somepony truly interested in exploring the castle.
“Sort of. Follow me.” With a smile, Twilight led the way up the front steps. Neither pony said anything as they walked through immense corridors and ascended grand staircases. The only sounds were the echoes of their hoofs reverberating throughout vast chambers. Finally Twilight swept aside a lavender curtain of fine silk, and the two mares emerged on a balcony.
“Here it is,” Twilight said. The entire town of Ponyville spread out in a splendid array of color before them. Residue water droplets shimmered on every rooftop in the bright sunlight. Above, pegasi were just taking away the last of the rainclouds, revealing a warm sky of brilliant blue. Below, flags and banners fluttered in a slight breeze. All over town, ponies went to and fro as they carried out their daily activities. Flowers bloomed, the windmill turned, and in the distance, Twilight thought she glimpsed a swarm of fruit bats flying over Sweet Apple Acres.
“Uh…you wanted to show me Ponyville?” Cheerilee turned from the vista to give Twilight a puzzled look.
“Yes,” was the simple reply.
Cheerilee turned her gaze back toward the horizon. “It’s a nice view, but I don’t understand. I feel like I’m missing something.”
Twilight contemplated the lively town in front of her as she responded. “I remember from my time as Princess Celestia’s student, I would often watch her raise the sun from her the balcony of her castle in Canterlot. The view there was breathtaking; it felt as though all of Equestria was laid out at your hooves. You could really feel the power and majesty of the Princess at that moment: she was the absolute ruler of all she saw.”
“So you’re saying Ponyville is—”
“Oh, no,” Twilight chuckled. “In fact, I’m saying quite the opposite. From her balcony, Celestia sees her dominion, a realm that is indisputably under her complete authority. But from my balcony? I see the same lively town as before I was a princess. Ponyville is not my empire, and I am not its ruler.
“My kingdom is more nebulous than that. Celestia is the ruler of Equestria, not me. Primarily, I am the Princess of Friendship. My job is to promote harmony and goodwill among ponies. There is no clear way to define my task or measure if I am doing a good job. And believe me, I tried. In the end, all I can do is be who I am—the Princess of Friendship—for the benefit of other ponies. I serve them with my very nature, not with a series of tasks that I can mark off a checklist.
“So when I look out at Ponyville each morning, I don’t see a territory. I don’t see a place. I see the lives of all the ponies who live here, and the wonderful community they have built. I can’t control it, I can’t even understand all of it, but I can do my part to be a friend to each and every pony here in Ponyville.”
As Twilight finished, a solemn quiet descended. The two mares simply stood there, taking in the view of the town they called home. Occasionally, a passing pony would greet Twilight, and she would respond with a friendly wave, but otherwise, neither mare moved. Only after several minutes of thoughtful silence did Cheerilee turn to address her companion.
“That helps, Twilight. It really does. In fact, I think that was just what I needed to hear. Though you know, sometimes you can measure a success in ill-defined jobs like ours.”
“How so?” Twilight looked questioningly at Cheerilee.
“You know you’re doing your job right when a pony tells you, ‘Thank you.’” With that, Cheerilee embraced Twilight. It was a gentle hug, but with a sort of firmness that conveyed profound gratitude and joy. In that moment, Twilight knew that Cheerilee was feeling better, and that her earlier melancholy was gone.
And, for that matter, so was Twilight’s.
Sometimes when she left the castle and walked around Ponyville, Twilight heard other ponies whispering about her.
These whispers never bothered her. Most of them were quite positive, and even the negative ones could still be instructive in helping her understand how ponies saw her. They did not affect what she knew to be true about herself.
Ponies would grumble about how she never did anything. That she was not a “real” princess like Celestia. Twilight did not mind. She knew what her job as a princess was.
Often, her purpose was not to accomplish anything.
Some days, it was to just be there for somepony else. Anypony else.
Anypony who needed a friend.