> For the Good of Equestria
>  by brokenimage321
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1: Dramatis Personae
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Some are born great, 
Some achieve greatness, 
and some have greatness thrust upon them.


-William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, Act 2, Scene 5






The morning of the funeral, it rained. 
Silver Lining stood hitched to the carriage, waiting. He stood tall and slim, his slate-gray coat matching the clouds above. He wore a thin, clear raincoat over his black suit and matching cap—the uniform of Their Highnesses’ chauffeurs. This morning, he’d taken care to ensure that his suit was sharply pressed and wings were carefully preened—as he did every morning—but he’d even taken the time to polish the brass buttons on his jacket. Today was important. 
Silver Lining looked up into the clouds. The raincoat offered precious little protection against the wet, but it could have been worse; they could be flying today, rather than walking. And the cooler weather would make the job a little easier, too. Not to mention he was eager to try out that friction-dampening charm he’d slipped Corky a twenty for. 
Despite the rain—despite the day—he found himself smiling. 
Without warning, someone kicked him. He yelped, then turned to stare at Whirligig, next to him in the harness.  “What was that for?” he whined.
“Shut up, Sill,” she hissed. “And wipe that stupid grin off your face. She’s coming.” 
He turned to glance up the palace steps. “I happen to quite like my grin, thank you,” he whispered. “I think it’s—”
And suddenly, he fell silent, and the grin melted away of its own accord. 
Down the stairway came a small troop of ponies—palace guards in shining armor, attendants holding out umbrellas—even Princess Luna, subdued, treading the steps carefully. But that wasn’t what made him stop.
What made him stop was Princess Celestia.
She wore a black dress and matching wide-brimmed hat, pulled low. She walked slowly down the stairs—not with of the deliberate grace of a princess, but with the fumbling steps of a child. She walked with her head down, her wings just barely slack, her tail low. Sill wasn’t very good at reading ponies, but if he were to put a word to it, she looked… broken.
Sill straightened up as the entourage approached the carriage. He nodded greetings to Princess Luna as she stepped inside, and, as Celestia began to board, he cleared his throat.
“Highness,” he said, carefully. 
She glanced at him from under her hat—and her expression sent a chill down his spine.
Sill remained rooted to the ground until Whirligig nudged him. “Si-i-ill,” she groaned.
Sill shook himself, then glanced at her. “We’re ready?” he sighed.
“We’re ready.”
Sill nodded, and started pulling. 
They walked in silence for a minute or two, before Sill cleared his throat. “Did you see her?” he whispered. 
Whirligig scoffed. “Of course I saw her,” she said. “Be hard not to.”
“No,” he said. “I mean—did you see her?”
Whirligig paused. “I didn’t,” she said. “But, you know…”
“I know,” he replied, turning to look at her. “But… I didn’t think…”
Whirligig shot him a look.
“I know, I know…” he murmured, looking forward once more. “Keep your eyes on the road.”
She nodded. “We’ll have plenty of time to chat once we’ve gotten to the cemetery.”


* * *


Corkscrew—“Corky,” to his friends—fidgeted. He stood behind his table, filled with glass bottles, wearing a sharp-pressed shirt and dark vest, with a green tie contrasting nicely with his white coat. His vest was a little tight over the belly, but he, at least, stood by the old adage—never trust a skinny cook. Or, in this case, barkeep.  
He sighed, then looked down and, with a glow of magic from his horn, rearranged the bottles for the fourth time. He didn’t like just standing around like this—but, then again, most ponies weren’t exactly in the mood for a drink at the moment. 
He glanced around the reception. The assembled ponies were quiet, subdued—understandable, given the circumstances. True, it was a little unusual for the Palace to be catering a funeral, but, from what he had gathered, the deceased was a close friend of someone important. Maybe even the Princesses. He’d heard murmurs of financial trouble too—mounting medical bills, and on a teacher’s salary, no less—and, well, it was the least they could do to help give her a proper send-off.
On the surface of it, this event was similar to the many others Corky had worked: punch and cookies on the tables, the older ponies standing around in small groups chatting, a few of them alone or in couples, crying—and, of course, the foals and grand-foals running around making nuisances of themselves. But a weight hung over this crowd: he could see it in their faces, hear it in their voices. It seemed they had all known this day was coming—but they were still stunned that it had actually arrived.
As Corky watched, a mare broke off from her group and started walking towards his little table. Corky straightened up and flashed a subdued smile. “Afternoon, ma’am,” he said, his voice cool and professional. “What can I get for you?”
The mare sighed heavily. Her dark dress was somewhat plain—functional, almost—but it complimented her orange coat nicely. Her blonde mane, shot through with silver, had been pulled up into a simple bun. She didn’t look like she had been crying, but she did look tired—as if this was not the first time this week she had lain awake through the night.
 “Whaddaya have?” she asked, the exhaustion in her voice audible, even through her accent.
“We have a very good selection today,” he said, launching into his practiced spiel. His horn glowed, and a number of bottles lifted themselves up. ”Some excellent Bour-doe and Sauterne from Prance; a rose from Ponyville itself—1247, excellent vintage—a zinfandel from Rainbow Falls..."
She sighed heavily. “Pardon, but Ah’m not in the mood for wine,” she said. “Do ya have any hard cider?”
Corky blinked. “Yes, we do, actually,” he said, setting the bottles back down. “By the request of the family, in fact.” He began to search through the bottles, pushing them aside one by one. 
“By the request…?” she repeated. She sighed, and a little smile crossed her face. “Just like her…” 
Corky looked up. “Sorry? Didn’t catch that.”
The mare hesitated, then shook her head. “Nevermind.”
Corky nodded and turned back to his search. “Ah!” he said, suddenly. “Here we are...” He levitated a silver can up from behind the bottles. “Buckwild Apple Cider,” he said, showing her the label.
She reflexively made a face. “Thanks,” she said, “but Ah’m not a Buckwild mare myself. Would ya have anything else?” 
Corky glanced at the can and made a face as well. “Wise choice,” he said, setting it down. He thought for a moment, bit his lip, then glanced around conspiratorially. “If it’s cider you want,” he whispered, “I happen to have something in my personal reserve you might find interesting…” His horn glowed yet again, and a dark bottle levitated from under the table. “Old Appleoosa Select. Hoof-crafted in small batches, aged in oak casks—”
“Sounds good,” she cut in. “I’ll take it.”
“Very good, ma’am,” Corky said with a smile. He popped the cap with a little spark from his horn, poured the bottle into a glass, then pushed it towards her. “You have excellent tastes,” he added, with a note of slight admiration.
“No,” she said, taking the glass, “Ah just know my apples.” She took a long drink, then set it back down. 
Corky watched her for a moment, then swallowed. “My condolences,” he said, quietly, bowing his head.
The mare glanced at him, then looked away.  After a moment, she sighed. “Sugarcube,” she said quietly, “You don’t know the half of it.”
Corky nodded, then, after a little pause, lifted the bottle and topped off her glass. She gave him a grateful look, then took another sip. 
“Ma?”
Corky and the mare turned. A slim, red stallion, wearing a sharp black suit, stood off to one side. “Sorry ta interrupt,” he said quietly, “But we got a train ta catch here in a minute, and Lil’  Jonah wanted ta say bye ta his Momma Jackie ‘fore we go.”
The mare smiled a little. “Tell him I’ll be there in a minute,” she said. 
“Okay, Ma,” the stallion nodded, then stepped away.
The mare watched him go, then turned back to Corky with a sigh. “…how much do I owe you?” she asked.
Corky hesitated. “No charge,” he lied.
The mare looked up at him again. She studied him for a moment before her expression softened. “You know what?” she said, “You’re decent.”
She turned to dig in the small purse she carried, and surfaced with a couple coins. She dropped them in the tip jar, then turned and left, almost missing Corky’s murmured “Thanks.”
Corky picked up the bottle and dropped it in the wastebasket. He really should have charged her; he’d actually been saving that bottle for himself, and Old Appleoosa wasn’t exactly cheap. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it; these ponies were hurting, and, if he could do something to make their lives a little easier—even if it was just a little glass of wine to help ease the hurt—then, that was good enough for him. 
Plus, his manager would kill him if she knew he was serving off-menu drinks. 
Corky straightened the bottles a little, then looked up, scanning the crowd for any more potential customers. He was on his second sweep of the room when the crowd parted a little—and, suddenly, he froze. 
There, sitting motionless in a folding chair in the far corner, was Princess Celestia.
She sat, hunched over, staring at the floor. On the chair to her right sat her black hat, abandoned, and, on the left, an untouched slice of cake. Though she was, indeed, the Princess of the Sun, a gloom seemed to hang about her—and, though many uneasy glances went her way, none dared actually approach.
Corky swallowed. He realized suddenly that this was the closest he had ever been to the Princess. And, if he was honest with himself, this was the closest he ever wanted to get. But...
He glanced down at the bottles around him. He, for one, was quite proud of the wonders a little drink could do—his pudge was more than enough witness of that.
But even he had to admit that a glass of wine wouldn’t be enough to help Her Highness this time.


* * *


Posie was polishing the face of the grandfather clock just off the main foyer when the clock itself struck three. She yelped, glared at the clock, then began polishing harder. Her own face stared back at her in the reflection of the glass—her coat cream, her mane brown, her housekeeper’s dress back and her apron white. Cleaning the clocks was her least-favorite chore: she stood just a little too short to do it comfortably, and had to stand on tip-toe on the top rung of the stepladder to reach all the little nooks and crannies. 
She gritted her teeth. Only three more months of this, she thought, and she was off to Fillydelphia Technical College.
To be fair, the job hadn’t been all bad, but, despite all those things she wrote in first grade, she didn’t want to grow up to do what her mom and dad had done. There was nothing wrong with housekeeping, of course—the pay was alright, and the work wasn’t hard, though the hours were long—but, pardon the cliche, she was meant for something better. Mom had thought she was crazy for wanting to leave the Palace, but Posie could feel herself slowly losing her mind every day she stayed. 
Though, she had to admit—there were certain benefits to working so close to the Princesses…
At that moment, the front doors opened. Posie glanced over, yelped again, and scrambled down from the stepladder she was using. She had been working here for close to four years—and she still hadn’t quite got used to seeing them. 
Princess Luna was first in the door, but she stopped just over the threshold. She hesitated, then turned, looked back, and watched her sister uneasily.
Princess Celestia stepped inside with her head bowed, her eyes half-shut and unseeing, her step slow and mechanical. She stood easily twice as tall as Posie herself, but today, she seemed somehow smaller, almost as if she had collapsed in on herself. She hadn’t aged a day since Posie had first seen her—but, for the first time since Posie had started coming to the palace, all those years ago with her parents, Princess Celestia looked old.
“That was a nice service,” Princess Luna offered hesitantly. “And it was good to see our old Ponyville friends again, wasn’t it?”
Princess Celestia closed her eyes and made a small, noncommittal noise.
Princess Luna bit her lip. “...Maybe we could invite her family over,” she suggested. “I mean, they’re probably still in town, and—”
“No,” Princess Celestia said, her voice trembling.  “Just… no. I’m… I’m going to…”
And, with that, she walked down the hall. Posie bowed as she passed, barely daring to glance up at her. After a moment, Posie looked up again; Princess Celestia had already disappeared around the corner, and Princess Luna stared down the hallway where she had gone, her expression anxious and uneasy.
Posie turned to follow her gaze. As she did, she felt something stir within her. Ever since she was a little filly, her folks had told her about working at the Palace—and about how wonderful it was to work with the Princesses. And, ever since then, she had wanted to work at the Palace, too. Of course, it had turned out to be far from the bed of roses she had imagined—hence the whole college thing—but seeing the Princesses, even as often as she did, still took her breath away. Of course, they were the Princesses—they deserved some respect by nature of their positions, at the very least—but for her, it was more than that. For her, it was a sense of awe. Admiration. Maybe even a little love.
And now, for the first time—empathy.
Posie glanced up at the clock, then down the hall, and back up at the clock. She was being stupid, she knew—she couldn’t just walk away from her responsibilities. Not to mention, she was just a regular pony—she’d never even left Canterlot before. How was she supposed to help?
And yet, all the same, her Princess needed someone. Needed her.
Posie glanced down the hallway again, then sighed. Her Princess needed her—but she needed a paycheck. After only another moment’s hesitation, she climbed back up onto the stepladder and resumed polishing, trying very hard to not look her reflection in the eye.
	

> Chapter 2: The Curtain Rises
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Posie straightened her uniform nervously, then turned and looked over her shoulder. “Come on, you guys,” she hissed. “You promised.” She swallowed, then started walking down the hall. Behind her came Silver Lining, still in his uniform, with his cap under his wing, and, behind him, Corkscrew, his tie missing and his collar undone. Outside, the crickets sang as the stars began to appear.  
Corky glanced out the windows, then back to the others. “What are we doing, again?” he whispered. 
“...Why are you whispering?” Sill whispered back.
Pause. “Seemed appropriate,” Corky responded.
“You guys,” Posie groaned. “We’re going to go check on the Princess.”
Corky swallowed, suddenly uneasy. “Isn’t that, like… the stewards’ job, or something?” He asked nervously. 
Posie sighed. “Maybe,” she admitted. “But she’s hurting. And we can help.” She swallowed. “I think,” she added, unconvincingly. 
“What’s going on, anyways?” Corky asked. “I mean, I know she’s upset, but…”
Posie stopped dead in her tracks, so suddenly that Sill almost ran into her. She turned around and stared at Corky.  “Corky,” she said slowly, “you were there.”
Corky sighed. “Posie,” he said wearily, “I’ve said it a hundred times—I’m down in the kitchens. I’m so far out of the loop that it’s not even funny.” 
Posie’s mouth dropped open. “Sweet Celestia,” she muttered to herself, “Are you really this dumb, or are you trying to be stupid?”
Corky looked back and forth between Posie and Sill. “Are you understanding this?” he asked Sill. “I’m not the one going crazy here, am I?”
“Corky,” Posie hissed, “You’re a good friend, but sometimes I just want to—” she snarled and made a violent gesture. 
“Kids,” Sill interjected warningly. “Don’t make me sit between you two. Posie,” he said, looking at her, “Chill out, please.” He looked over at Corky. “And you,” he added,“Please try not to act stupid.”
Corky huffed, but nodded. Sill stepped back, and looked over to Posie again. “Now,” he said, “let’s try again, shall we?”
Posie took a few deep breaths, then sighed. “Let’s start at the beginning,” she said, testily. “There was a funeral today, right?”
“Right,” Corky answered. 
“And you were there,” she continued. 
“I was at the luncheon,” he corrected imperiously. “I was the acting sous-sommelier.” 
“There was a funeral,” Posie growled through gritted teeth, “after which there was a reception, at which you were the bartender.”
“Hey,” Corky pouted. 
“Posie,” Sill said warningly. 
Posie took another deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Corky,” she said carefully, “Who, do you think, the funeral was for?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Some unicorn?”
“Some unic—?” Posie groaned, then took another deep breath. “Corky,” she said, “That... unicorn… was none other than the famous Twilight Sparkle.” 
“Twilight—” he repeated. Suddenly, his eyes went wide. “That was her?” he gasped. “I thought she was, like a diplomat or something, for all the fuss they were making!”
“Might as well have been,” Sill added, “for all the times she was here, at least.” He chuckled. “I should know—I had to pick her up from the train station just about every time. I mean, her husband would fly ahead every so often, usually with one or two of their little ones, but she always took the train with the luggage.” He smiled. “Not having wings limits your options a little.”
“But no,” Posie butted in. “Not a diplomat. Never held a political office in her life. She was a librarian for a while, got married, taught school for, like, forever.” She hesitated. “And…” she swallowed. “And she was Princess Celestia’s best friend.”
Both Sill and Corky turned to stare at her.
”Didn’t know that,” Sill muttered.
Posie looked down. “Yeah,” she said. “We… we pick up a few things. The cleaning staff, I mean.”
Corky leaned over to Sill. “Isn’t that the job description?” he whispered. Sill elbowed him sharply, and he winced. “So, what does that have to do with us?” he asked Posie, just a touch too loudly. 
“We’re going to go see what we can do,” Posie said, looking up. “The Princess has just lost her best and oldest friend. And she’s… not taking it well.” She turned and began to walk down the hall. “She’s locked herself in her room, and hasn’t come out for hours. That’s not like her.”
Corky nodded. “Makes sense,” he said, drawing a look from Sill. “I mean, she didn’t give us an order for dinner tonight. Not even a note that she wasn’t hungry.” He shrugged. “First I’ve heard of that happening.”
They walked in silence for a few steps before Corky glanced nervously around. “But, uh…” he said, “I mean… she’ll be okay, right? I’m sure this isn’t the first time…”
Posie stopped cold, and, this time, Sill actually did run into her. She turned and stared at Corky. “Corkscrew,” she said, with the slightest tremble in her voice. “My folks started bringing me with them to the palace when I was six years old. I’ve been here, off and on, ever since. And let me tell you—” she swallowed. “—I have never seen her like this. She has been around for a long time, true…” she turned around and started walking again. “But she’s lost her best friend. And you don’t just... get over that. And even if you did…” she peered nervously around the corner. “She, apparently, isn’t.”
Posie swallowed. Just ahead was the long hallway to Celestia’s bedchamber—and, at the head of the hallway, two royal guards. Posie took a deep breath, then walked quickly forward, Sill and Corky right behind her, and walked between the them. As they passed, Posie bowed her head, Sill put on his hat and pulled it low, and Corky nodded a greeting. The guards glanced the three of them, but said nothing.
        Halfway down the hall, Posie hesitated, then turned back and looked at the guards. She let out the breath she’d been holding, then smiled nervously at the others. “I can’t believe they let us through,” she whispered. 
        “Well,” Corky whispered back with a smirk. “We do work here, after all.”
Posie rolled her eyes at him. “Come on,” she said. 
Soon, they stopped in front of the ornate double-doors, decorated with intricate goldleaf and cut crystal. Behind those doors was Celestia’s room. Posie swallowed, hard, and realized she was trembling. She was glad she had brought the others with her—otherwise, she might have turned and fled. 
“Ready?” she whispered. 
Sill nodded. Corky just stared.
Posie turned, took a deep breath, and tapped on the door.
The door had not been closed properly; Posie only tapped twice before the latch clicked free. She jerked her hoof back, and, slowly, silently, the door swung halfway open, revealing nothing but darkness beyond. Posie stiffened, Sill shivered, and Corky ducked behind Sill. For a moment, all was still. 
Posie glanced at the others, then back at the door. The darkness simply stared back at her. Posie swallowed, then glanced back at the other two. “S-shall we?” she whispered.
Sill nodded, the motion mechanical and jerky. “Sure,” he said, his voice hollow. “You first.”
Posie swallowed, then took a hesitant step forward, into the darkness.


* * *


Posie had been in the Princess’s chambers a thousand times—sweeping, dusting, making the bed—but, at night, the room was different. Things unseen cast long shadows that the half-light from the door only partially dispelled. Decorative patterns on the wall and carpet, bright and cheery during the day, turned black and menacing in the gloom. Posie felt a drop of sweat run down the back of her neck, closed her eyes, and tried to concentrate on her breathing. They’re just shadows, Posie, she told herself. They can’t hurt you.
But part of her wasn’t so sure.
After several heartbeats, Posie had managed to calm her breathing a little. She opened her eyes again and looked around. The room was silent. She gulped, then walked deeper inside.
Posie had been here a thousand times—she had to keep reminding herself that—but, she realized, she had never entered while the Princess was present. The darkness wasn’t helping her nerves, but it was more than that now; now that the Princess was in here, somewhere, this wasn’t just another chore—Posie was intruding into her privacy. She was walking on sacred ground—ground on which she wasn’t necessarily wanted.
Posie swallowed. She might not have been wanted—but, she reminded herself, she was needed.
At that moment, she stepped on something. She took a quick step backwards, barely stifling a yelp, and froze. A few panicked breaths, then, slowly, she bent down and peered carefully at it. Lying on the floor, with her hoofmark now in the middle of it, was the black hat that Princess Celestia had worn that morning. Posie sighed, then picked it up, dusted it off, and took the brim in her teeth. She glanced around, looking for a place to hang it.
By this time, her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness. As she glanced around the room, the bed swam into focus. As she stared at it, a dark form, lying on top of the sheets, slowly materialized. And, as she watched, the dark form became—
She dropped the hat, eyes wide.
“Princess Celestia!” Posie shrieked into the silence. 
Princess Celestia raised her head. She lay on top of the covers, still wearing her dress from the funeral. Her eyes were red and puffy, and dark streaks ran down her cheeks. As she saw Posie, her eyes widened. 
Posie dashed forward and took her by the hoof. “Princess,” she repeated. “Are you okay?”
Celestia stared at her. She swallowed, then opened her mouth to speak. 
“I want to die,” Celestia rasped.
Posie jerked her hoof back and stared. Celestia’s lip trembled, then she collapsed on the bed, her sobs echoing loudly in the dark.
 Posie watched her, eyes wide. Slowly, she raised her hoof, and, almost mechanically, began to rub Celestia’s back.
“There, there,” she murmured, her words sounding hollow, even to her, “It’ll all be okay…”
“Okay?” Celestia snapped, whipping her head around. “What do you know about okay?”
Posie shrank back as Celestia stood on the bed, towering over her. 
“Were you there for Discord?” she snarled. “Were you there for the Crystal Empire? For Nightmare Moon? The Sunset Rebellion? The Siege of Canterlot?” She bent low, her eyes blazing. “Then don’t you dare tell me about okay.”
Posie whimpered in fear—and suddenly, the fire went out of Celestia’s eyes. She sagged, and seemed to shrink a little. Slowly, she laid herself back down on the bed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into the sudden quiet. “I can’t get angry like that… I… I’m not a child anymore.”   
Posie finally found her voice. “I understand,” she said. “You’ve been through a lot, and it can’t be easy…”
Celestia was quiet for a long moment. “No,” she replied. “No, you don’t understand.” She shifted on the bed. “No one does.” She swallowed. “Everyone thinks they know me. Who I am. What I’ve done. But no one knows. Not even Luna. Not even Cadance.” She chuckled darkly. “I’ve been on the front cover of every newspaper and every tabloid in the world, I’ve been in paintings and statues going back a thousand years—but no one knows a thing about me.”
For a while, neither of them spoke. Finally, Posie swallowed. 
“Would it… help… if I... did?” she asked, timidly.
Celestia turned to look at her. “What are you saying?” she asked. 
Posie swallowed again. “If you told me a little about those things—I-I mean, about your life, your story—would that make you feel better?”
Celestia stared at her in silence for a long while. Posie swallowed, then looked away—but still, she could feel Celestia’s gaze burning into her.
“...It... couldn’t hurt,” Celestia said, finally. “But… are you sure you want to know…?”
Posie looked up, hope and fear mingled in her expression. After a moment, she set her jaw and nodded. “If it will help,” she said, “then yes.”
Celestia turned away, and bit her lip, deep in thought. Finally, she sighed, and turned to face Posie. “Where you would like me to start?” she asked quietly.
Posie sat on the floor and swallowed. “...at the beginning, I suppose,” she said.
“The beginning,” Celestia repeated. “The beginning… Well, I suppose that the true beginning was…” For a moment, she stared into the distance. 
“The beginning,” she said finally, her voice barely a whisper. “My beginning… was Discord.”
> Chapter 3: The Waste Land
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The sun hung low and red in the sky. Just as it had for months.
Most ponies had fled the mountainside. There was little for them here at the best of times, but now, with the drought and the threatening famine, they would have been mad to stay. And the few that did—well, the monsters had been very thorough before they had moved on.
Now, in the perpetual half-light, the ruins on the mountainside were silent. Silent, save for six ponies, slowly making their way upwards.
They formed a ragged single-fine line, the six. Each of them carried a pair of saddlebags, almost empty, and each wore a number of cuts, bruises, and scars. A few of them had their ribs showing, and at least one walked with a slight limp. 
They were led by a red earth stallion. His eyes were hard and sharp, and he climbed the unsteady rubble barely looking down at his hooves. His eyes were fixed skyward, to a point near the peak of the mountain. Curiously, he wore a necklace—a decorative golden choker, set with a large, red stone cut in the shape of a hammer, matching the design on his flank. In fact, each of the ponies wore such a necklace, each set with a similar stone. And, for all except the leader, their necklaces seemed heavier than they looked.
One of the ponies—a white pegasus mare—broke off from the line. She gingerly stepped forward, spreading her wings for balance on the shifting cobbles, and half-walked, half-trotted up beside the leader. “Cinder,” she said quietly, “Do you think it might be time to stop for a rest?”
Cinder glanced over at her, and shot her a wry smile. “No,” he said, “at least, not a long one. We’re too close.” 
She nodded. “I know,” she said, “but the others are tired—and, well—” she gulped and looked upward, at the ruin close to the peak. “It… it’s big, you know? I don’t know if we’re ready to—”
“Celestia.”
Celestia—the mare—stopped and turned to stare. 
“We’ve come so far, Celestia,” Cinder said. “Just a little more, and we can fix this.”
She looked down—but nodded. “I know,” she said. “But I’m not sure we’re ready just yet… Cob’s leg is still bothering him, and Icy still isn’t used to this altitude...”
Cinder smiled. “Always thinking of everyone else,” he murmured. He reached over and tapped the stone on Celestia’s necklace—a purple stone, in the shape of a sun and rays. “Generosity, indeed,” he said. He thought for a moment, then nodded. “Just a little farther, and then we can stop. But let’s get indoors—I want to spend as much time as possible out of his gaze.” 
Cinder spat the word his. Celestia swallowed nervously. 
They walked in silence for another few minutes before entering a sort of village square. The well in the center had long since run dry, and rubble and debris lay scattered over the white paving stones, but some roofless stone houses still stood, more-or-less intact, around the edge. Cinder immediately made for one of these and poked his head inside. “Good as any,” he called out, and ducked inside. 
Celestia turned back to the group and smiled. “Come on,” she said. “Almost there.” As she looked over them, she found herself counting, one more time, one two three four five. Good. All present. They’d had some close scrapes, but they’d come so far… and losing even one of them now would spell the end of everything.
Celestia sighed. And that kind of cold, mathematical thinking was what got them into this predicament in the first place. These were her friends, not just cogs of some cosmic puzzle.
She led them to the door, then waited as each filed inside, mentally ticking them off as they entered the shack. Cinder was already inside; a blacksmith’s apprentice, he was the one that had first suggested they go chasing after the legends. He carried the element of Loyalty. Next was Ice Dancer, the quiet, scrawny, ice-blue unicorn that had managed to magic them out of a predicament more than once; she was, of course, Magic. Woodwind, the agile, forest-green flyer, always had a song ready; he was Laughter. Corncob, the big, golden stallion—ironically, the most careful and cautious of them all—was Honesty. There was herself, of course—Generosity. And then there was—
A high-pitched scream sounded from inside the hut. Celestia dashed inside, past the questioning looks of the others, and into one of the back rooms. She rounded the corner and skidded to a halt. She stared, wide-eyed at the scene, then sighed. “Harmony’s bones, Luna,” she swore, “You scared me.”
Luna, the last of their group—a little dark-blue unicorn, barely a filly—flinched at her curse. She turned and glanced nervously to the corner of the room. There, under the ruin of a curtain, lay a skeleton, its skull smashed in—and, in its arms, lay a second, smaller set of bones.
The little mare looked back at Celestia, tears welling in her eyes. “S-sorry, Cece,” she murmured. “It’s… just…”
Celestia smiled, stepped forward and gave her a hug. “It’s okay, Lu,” she whispered. “Nothing to worry about…”
Luna—Kindness—had joined the group last, but she was far from an outsider. It seemed that she was everywhere—and that she was always able to help, in her own way. When Ice Dancer set up the protective charms around their camps, Luna was right there with her, helping to fill the gaps. When Corncob had to haul a dead tree back to camp for firewood, Luna helped him carry it with her magic. When Woody sang around the campfire, she harmonized along in her shining soprano voice. When Cinder got discouraged, she was there with a quiet word or two that always seemed to cheer him up. And, of course, she and Celestia—Kindness and Generosity—had quickly become close. Celestia felt strangely protective of this quiet little filly—and she seemed to return the favor herself. 
Celestia held Luna close, and, slowly, she stopped trembling. Another moment longer, and Celestia smiled, then held her at arms’ length.“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go get some sleep.” Luna brushed away a tear and nodded, flashing a little smile.
By the time they made it back into the main room, everyone had more-or-less settled down. Corncob was already out cold, his using his saddlebags as a pillow. Woodwind was spreading a blanket from his bag on a spare piece of stone, whistling nervously to himself. Ice Dancer sat in a corner doing her exercises—making her horn burn as bright as she could, as long as she could, before it gave out, leaving her gasping. Luna watched her for a moment, then broke off from Celestia to go snuggle next to her. And Cinder—
Cinder sat just inside the doorway, in the shade of the wall, staring up at the mountaintop.
Celestia glanced around the little room one more time, then walked over and sat down beside him. She glanced over, but he apparently hadn’t noticed her—he was still staring wordlessly up at the peak.
After a while, Celestia spoke.
“What do you want to do?” she asked. 
At her voice, Cinder jumped a little, then turned to look at her, a question in his eyes.
“I mean,” she added, “when we’re done with… with all this.”
He grinned humorlessly. “When?” he repeated. “I’m still stuck on if.”
Celestia returned the smile. “We will,” she said. “We have the Elements. That should be enough—should be more than enough—to put things right again.”
“Should be,” he repeated with a sigh, then turned back to face the mountain.
He was quiet for a long while—so long, in fact, that Celestia was almost ready to go find a corner of her own to lie down in—when, suddenly, he spoke.
“I want to build a house,” Cinder said. “Try my hoof at farming.”
Celestia glanced at the hammer and tongs on his flank and smiled a little. “Farming?” she asked. 
He nodded. “Farming,” he repeated. “With things in the state they’re in, I don’t expect we’ll really need blacksmiths for a while yet. And—” he glanced down. “And it would be nice to give back a little. Help make things better.”
Celestia nodded, then glanced back up at the mountain. Cinder shifted his weight uncomfortably. “...How about you?” he asked suddenly. “What’s your dream?”
Celestia turned and stared. “My dream?” she asked, hesitant. Cinder smiled a little, then nodded. Celestia sighed, puffing a strand of her pink mane up and away from her face.
“Well, to be honest,” she said slowly. “I… I don’t know.” Cinder raised an eyebrow, but Celestia kept talking. “I mean—I used to be a weatherpony. Back…” she gestured at the blood-red sun. “...well, back when we had weather.” She sighed again.. “I… I suppose I was just planning on going back,” she said. “I mean, I always loved giving everyone a nice, sunny day…”
Celestia glanced over. Cinder was looking away again, She hesitated. “...but… um…” She stretched out one wing, then gently draped it across his shoulders. “...I wouldn’t mind being a farmer, either.”
Cinder glanced over at her and smiled—a bright, genuine smile, the first she had seen reach his eyes in weeks. Wordlessly, he turned back to look out at the horizon, then slowly, almost casually, shifted his weight—just a little—until he was leaning on her shoulder. 
“That would be... nice,” he said, simply. 
Celestia pulled her wing a little tighter, and realized she was smiling, too. And, for the first time in a long, long time—perhaps the first time ever—she felt a strange warmth in her heart, glowing bright as the sun.


> Chapter 4: Discord
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Celestia woke when she felt Cinder stir beside her. She yawned and stretched her wing—now stiff—before folding it closed. She opened her eyes blearily—and suddenly, she was wide awake. 
The two of them still sat in the doorway, just out of the light. Outside, high above them, its bloated body black against the dying light, soared a dragon.
It glided in wide, lazy circles, searching the land below for easy prey. Its gaze skitted over the little ruin, and Celestia shrunk a little deeper into the shadows.
Cinder stood and watched it carefully, until it wheeled away and began to flap into the perpetual twilight. “...We’d better get going,” he said, finally. “We won’t be safe here until…”
“...until it’s over,” Celestia finished, meekly. 
Cinder nodded. “Right.” He stretched a little, then walked to the other sleeping forms in the hut. “Come on,” he said, softly, nudging each in turn. “Time to get up.”
One by one, the other ponies stood. No one spoke. Celestia watched them as each glanced around nervously, and felt the weight of her own necklace heavy on her chest.
And then, it was time to go. Cinder poked his head out the door, scanned the skies, and stepped out, followed close behind by each of the others in turn.
It wasn’t hard to find the road to the ruins on the peak. It was wide, and paved with white stones that swiftly became stairs. The path was long and steep, and, though no one had come to clear the dirt and stones away for quite some time, it was the only way up. The more they climbed, the narrower the path became, until it was barely wide enough for even one pony to pass. And still, they climbed.
Soon, the ruin itself came into view. Partway up the mountain, a quarter-mile or so from the top, the path suddenly emptied out into a wide shelf. A grand palace had once stood here. Now all that remained were piles of rubble, and a few pillars, and a section of roof. And, under that roof, on an old, broken throne, sat—
“Discord,” Cinder growled.
Discord sat with his back to them, looking out over the countryside. idly playing with a yo-yo. He turned and glanced over his shoulder, and a flash of recognition and irritation crossed his face. “Well,” he purred, “if it isn’t Cinder and the Knights of the Status Quo. Back for another beating?”
Cinder turned and glanced nervously at the others. He swallowed, then turned back to Discord. “Discord!” he roared. “You will pay for your crimes!”
“And still going on with the same old cliches,” Discord responded mildly. After a moment, he shrugged. “You know how it goes,” he said, nonchalantly. “If you want to make an eternal paradise of chaos, you have to crack a few eggs. And if those eggs happen to be upholding the natural order of things...” He yo-ed another yo on his yo-yo. “...Well, I guess you get a different sort of chaos than you were hoping for. I’ll figure something out. Eventually...” He chuckled. “I mean, it’s not like I have anything else on my calendar… or, for that matter, that there is a calendar anymore…”
Celestia stepped up. “Quit stalling, Discord,” she said. “This time, it will be different. The land itself—”
“The land itself is dying,” Discord snapped with sudden rage, yanking the yo-yo back up into his palm with a smack. The six ponies flinched. 
Discord glared at them, eyes burning with hatred—then leaned back a little and chuckled to himself. He took a deep breath, then smoothed back his mane. “The land is dying," he repeated, calmer. "Or didn’t you notice?”
Corncob stepped up on Cinder’s other side. “We noticed,” he said, simply. 
Discord watched them for a moment, then calmly stood and stretched, then turned and casually strolled towards them, hands behind his back. He scanned the six with a careful eye, looking for something he did not see. As he did, he spoke. 
“Ah, Corncob,” he said genially, “Long time, no see! How’s the family?” 
Cob growled. “You know damn well how they’re doing,” he said, his voice low. 
“Ah, yes,” Discord said, “that was unfortunate, wasn’t it? Oh well, ‘there but for the grace of Harmony go ye,’ et cetera.” He turned to Ice Dancer. “And good old Icy. How’s your spellcasting stamina? Better?”
Ice Dancer sucked in a breath, then turned away. Woodwind glanced over at her, then stepped between her and Discord. “What are you playing at?” he asked.  
“Playing?” Discord repeated with a smirk. “I’m not playing at all, Woody.” He thought for a moment, then nodded deferentially. “Of course, it’s natural that you’d make that mistake… Playing is all you seem to be good for, nowadays…” 
Woodwind shrank back as if he’d been struck. Discord, seeming not to notice, continued his stroll down the line. Cinder watched him with rage and hatred in his eyes, but said nothing.  
Discord paused as he reached Luna. He glanced her up and down, then smiled. “You’re new,” he said, before taking a step towards her. She tried to back away, but he reached out and grabbed her by the chin. He lifted her head and examined her carefully, turning her face this way and that, then let her go. “Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?” he asked, with a wry grin.
Celestia growled. “You leave her alone!” she snapped. 
Discord looked over his shoulder at her—and his eyes flashed with some kind of perverse glee. He turned and strolled towards Celestia. She stepped back and flared her wings. 
“Now, now,” he murmured, “no need to be uncivil—”
“You stay away,” she snarled. 
“Come now,” he said, gently,  “I don’t want to hurt you—I just want to make sure you’re not going to do something you’re going to  regret.”
With a smile, he stared into her eyes, his gaze burning into her. As she stared, little bands of color began to spiral outward from his pupils, slowly expanding to fill her gaze. Celestia tried to look away, but his eyes seemed to be everywhere, filling her vision with swirling colors. 
“I mean,” he said, his voice echoing in her skull, “it’s one thing to be self-sacrificing—generosity is a virtue, after all—but you don’t want to go too far, now, do you?”
“Discord,” Cinder said, his voice sounding far away, “What are you doing?”
“Just looking out for an old friend,” he said.
Celestia felt jaw begin to fall open. The colors whirled about her in a mesmerizing dance, everywhere she looked, spinning and shifting, both nauseating and, somehow, beautiful...
 “I mean,” Discord continued, “If you give up too much, you’re going to give away something truly important. Your home, your family—Cinder—”
“Celestia?” Cinder asked, his voice fainter now. “Cece, What’s going on?”
“Cinder, hush. The grown-ups are talking,” Discord said. “Just because something has to be done,” he continued, “doesn’t mean that you have to be the one to do it. There are plenty of ponies who are better than you—smarter, more powerful, better connected—and you have to give them an opportunity to help out, too.”
An open claw materialized out of the churning sea of color—but somehow, it was smaller, smoother, kinder than she remembered it. As Celestia stared at it, she felt her anger, her hatred, begin to melt away. What had she been so worked up about, anyways…? 
“Tell you what,” he said, “I can take it from here. Just give me that pretty little necklace, and I’ll do the rest.”
 She felt her knees begin to tremble, and her wings begin to slacken. Necklace... 
“No! Don’t do it! Discord, what have you done to her?”
“Just give me that necklace,” Discord repeated, “and you can have back everything you’ve given up. It’ll all be better. Everything will be just as you wanted it…” the claw flexed a little. “And all for such a little thing…”
Such a little thing…
She put a hoof to her necklace. He’s right… It’s all so easy… all I have to do is take it off… she slipped a hoof to the back of her neck, feeling for the clasp. Take it off, and everything will be alright...
“No!”
A jolt of pain shot across her face. She yelped as the colors split apart and spun off into nothingness. She stared into the eyes of Discord, his claw outstretched, a smile frozen on his lips.
Cinder grabbed her face with both hooves and turned her to face him, his hoof fitting perfectly into the reddening mark on her cheek. “He’s trying to trick you,” he hissed. “Don’t listen to him!”
Discord rolled his eyes, straightened up, then turned and strolled away. “I try to be reasonable…” he muttered to no one in particular.
        “Nobody listen to him!” Cinder continued. “We can do this! We have the Elements! We can still save Equestria—!”
        “No,” said Discord, almost casually, “No, you really can’t.”
One by one, all six turned to stare. Discord stood with his back to them, thirty or forty feet away, silhouetted in the sunset. 
Celestia stared at him, motionless, and, slowly her eyes grew wide. His claws curved wickedly in the orange firelight of the sunset; his horns, which once looked almost perversely whimsical, were long and sharp. He towered over them, impossibly tall, his ropy, muscled body black against the dying sun. 
Celestia took a step backwards. “We need to leave,” she whispered. “Now.”
Cinder turned to her. “Celestia…?”
“You think yourself heroes,” Discord interrupted, his voice deadly quiet. “You come here to save your world. But you’ve forgotten one thing…” He turned to face them, his expression hard, without a trace of humor. “I am Discord,” he hissed. “Anarch of Equestria, Lord of Misrule, and Prince of Entropy.” He snarled. “And this world is MINE.”
Without warning, Discord made a grand sweep of his claw, and, with a yelp, Cinder shot forward, hooves scrabbling backwards against the stone. Celestia screamed and lunged after him, but he skidded past her too fast, pulled forward by some invisible force. Discord bent down, caught him by the neck, and lifted him from the ground, his legs kicking. With his free claw, Discord reached up and undid the necklace around Cinder’s neck, then tossed it aside. “You’re right about one thing, though,” he mused. “This time, it will be different. This time,” he said, tightening his grip as Cinder choked, “There will be six less insects to bother me—”
Celestia growled and charged forward. As Discord looked up, she spread her wings and lifted off. He swung his free claw her, but she swooped around it, then kicked him square in the jaw.
Discord snarled and dropped Cinder. He raised a claw, burning with purple fire, but Celestia had already flown away. She wheeled around, fire in her eyes, for a second pass—but, as she drew closer, Discord put out the light, dropped to all fours, coiling his long, lanky body. And, suddenly, as she closed in on him, Discord struck.
He launched his body through the air at her, and, before she could even react, he had sunk his teeth deep into her shoulder. As the two of them flew through the air together, he wrapped his body around her like a snake. They landed, hard, and Celestia gasped. 
“That will be enough out of you,” Discord hissed. He squeezed his coils, and Celestia felt the bones in her wings shatter. She tried to scream—but he squeezed tighter, forcing the breath from her lungs. 
“Hang on, Cece!” 
Cinder charged in, leapt over Discord, and kicked him on his other side—but, with a twist of his body, Discord caught Cinder in more of his coils. Woodwind swooped in, slashing Discord across the face with his wing. Discord tried to snap after him with his jaws, but Woody had already danced away. 
Out of the corner of her eye, Celestia saw Ice Dancer run up. She stopped, concentrated, and fired a beam of icy blue at Discord. She felt his coils convulse as the magic burned across him, leaving his fur smoldering. He raised a claw and shot a bolt of purple energy at her, but she yelped and dodged away just in time. 
He hissed in irritation. “Playtime’s over.” he snarled
Suddenly, the pressure slacked; Celestia dropped to the ground, gasping for breath. Discord’s body flowed past her as he surged forward, toward Ice Dancer. Icy shrieked and gallopped away, but it was too late; Discord was almost upon her.
Celestia struggled to her hooves. As Discord’s body tapered off, turning from brown fur to red scales, she lunged. She bit, hard, on the white tuft on the end of his tail, digging in her hooves against the stone. Discord jerked to a painful stop, turned and growled at her, but Ice Dancer skittered away, hiding behind a pillar. Discord glanced between Celestia and the vanished Ice Dancer. He snarled and raised his tail—Celestia dangling precariously from the tip—and, with a roar, slammed it down.
Celestia saw the ground rushing up at her and braced herself—but it wasn’t enough. She crashed down, the stone shattering underneath her. She tried to scream, but the breath had been knocked from her lungs. Through a haze of darkness and pain, she saw Discord chase after the others, snarling and snapping after them. She tried to stand—to go help—but her wings flopped uselessly by her side, and her legs were too weak to stand. 
And, suddenly, Luna was there. She pulled Celestia’s arm over her little shoulders, and dragged her away just as a blast of magic seared across the stone where she had lain.
“You’re hurt, bad,” Luna yelled over the chaos. “Let’s get you out of here.” She guided Celestia away, towards the edge of the ruins.
Celestia hobbled along with her. He’s strong—he’s so strong—
Luna laid Celestia down behind a fallen pillar. she glanced at her broken wings, then bit her lip. “Hold still,” she said, as her horn flared to life. She cast a pale blue glow on Celestia’s wing, and Celestia cried out as she felt the shattered bones begin to slide back into place. 
Celestia gritted her teeth, then peeked over the pillar. She watched for a moment, then ducked as chips of rock rattled off the stone. “He’s not using his magic,” she hissed.
Luna looked up, horn still glowing. 
“He’s using his strength, not his magic,” Celestia repeated. “He wiped out whole armies with his magic… Why isn’t he using his magic…?”
Luna bit her lip, and her horn went out. “We’re not ready for this,” she said, then yelped as another bolt of magic cracked over her head.
Celestia nodded. She’s right, she thought. We need to fall back, and regroup, and—
—And then she saw, lying in the dust, a glint of light. It was a necklace—Cinder’s necklace, with the Element of Loyalty still gleaming in the middle of it. 
Celestia clenched her jaw. “No.” 
Luna stopped. “No?”
Celestia looked her in the eye. “We stick to the plan,” she said. “We end this—or we die trying.”
Luna stared at her, unmoving.
“Come on,” Celestia said, “Help me up.”
Luna seemed to snap awake, then, once again, slung Celestia’s arm over her shoulder. Celestia stood, gritting her teeth from the fresh wave of pain in her wings.
Luna looked up at her. “What do we do?” She asked.
“Find Icy. Get her to help.” She swallowed. “And get Cinder his Element.”
Luna nodded. “I’ll go for Cinder.” Without another word, she ran off, scooped the Element from the dust, and disappeared into the fray. 
Celestia  glanced around, finally spotting a tuft of white tail behind a pillar. She limped after it, but it disappeared back behind the stone. “Icy,” she called desperately, as a purple beam of light shot through the ruins. “Ice Dancer!”
Ice Dancer peeked her head around the pillar, eyes wide and trembling. 
Celestia stopped, breathing hard. “Ice Dancer,” she repeated. “You’re the only one that can end this.” She nodded towards the chaos. “We need your magic to stop him.”
“How?” she pleaded. “I shot at him earlier, and all it did was make him mad…”
“No,” Celestia insisted. “You did more than that. I felt it.”
She looked up. “I did?”
“You did,” she nodded. “But he’s too strong. You can’t hit him like that again—you’re good, but you can’t beat him in a fair fight.”
She seemed to shrink a little. “What can I do?”
“You gotta think like him,” Celestia said urgently. “Look for weak spots. Don’t hit him where it’s fair—hit him where it hurts.” She swallowed. “We don’t need to kill him—We just need to stall. Buy enough time to use the Elements.”
Ice Dancer glanced at Discord—Cob in his coils, Woody in one claw, and firing blasts of magic at Cinder with the other—and back to Celestia. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. “Time,” she repeated. “I can get us time.”
“Good girl,” Celestia said with a smile. “Get to it.”
She nodded, then turned, took a deep breath, and, with a battle cry that would have been funny if it wasn’t so pathetic, charged forward. 
Celestia limped towards the fighting, dragging her wings on the ground, as she watched Ice Dancer. Icy stopped thirty feet short of Discord, concentrated, and fired a thin beam of light that lanced through his arm. For a moment, nothing happened—then, with a flash of cold, even from this distance, a great mass of ice began to form on his arm, locking his elbow in place. Discord yelped and dropped Woody in surprise, who glided down and began to tug at the coils trapping Cob. 
Discord flexed and shattered the ice—but Icy had already fired two more beams, catching his other arm and his legs. A drop of sweat ran down her face, but still, she fired beams as fast as she could—arms, legs, neck, spine—anywhere that bent, Icy froze it, locking him in place. 
By this time, Woody had freed Cob, and, with one of his arms thrown over his shoulder, dragged him back towards Icy. From another direction came Cinder, leaning on Luna, a nasty burn down his side, his Element around his neck. Celestia reached Icy the same time as the rest of them.
Cinder reached up with his free arm and touched Ice Dancer on the shoulder. “Icy,” he said, “stop. We need you here.” 
Ice Dancer, her legs trembling beneath her, gave Discord one last glance. By this time, he lay flat on the ground, buried under a thick mound of ice. She turned and nodded, then took a step back. Together, the six of them formed a circle—Celestia taking the spot next to Cinder—and, one by one, took each other by the hooves. Under the ice, a flash of purple magic, and a mighty crack—but still, Celestia took a deep breath and cleared her mind...
She remembered the first time she saw Cinder, coming up over the rise, and the little thrill that ran through her heart at the sight. 
She remembered sitting by the fire, holding Luna as she wept—wept for what she, and all of them, had lost.
She remembered racing Woodwind through the trees, laughing as he tried to dance around her.
She remembered the snowcloud she’d found for Ice Dancer, and the simple happiness on her face as she sat peacefully in the falling snow.
She remembered swapping stories with Corncob, laughing almost to tears at his simple, earnest wit. 
She remembered—
“He’s coming!” Ice Dancer shrieked. 
Celestia opened her eyes and saw Discord, standing on his hind legs in a cloud of steam and magic in the wreckage of the ice. And yet, she knew, with a strange sort of detached confidence, that whatever Discord did really didn’t matter anymore. 
She felt her hair begin to stand on end, the warm light in her collar growing brighter. She felt her heart expand as her light connected, bound tight, and braided with the others, their hearts knitting into one. She took a deep breath—in perfect sync with the others—and—
—and out of them, each of them, shot a shaft of fire. Their lights arced high into the air, their colors forming a perfect rainbow, then shot back down and slammed into Discord. He threw up his arms, but he could do nothing else—the rainbow light burned into him, shining brighter than the sun. He screamed—but he sounded so small, and so far away…
The light began to fade. Celestia found her cheeks wet with tears. She gripped Cinder’s hoof a little tighter,
And they saw, standing in front of them, Discord. 
Celestia shrunk back—but hesitated. Discord had not moved. 
And slowly, she realized, that he couldn’t. Discord stood motionless—turned to stone. Celestia let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. 
It was over.
> Chapter 5: Hamartia
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	For a long moment, no one spoke. Then, suddenly, Woodwind whooped. “We did it!” he cried. “We got him!” He ran to Ice Dancer and hugged her, laughing, jumping up and down a little. Luna squealed and ran towards the two of them, leaping into their arms. Cob limped forward and squeezed all of them tight, then tried to pull Celestia in as well; she yelped when he touched her broken wing, and he winced an apology at her. 
Celestia sat, and watched her friends laughing, a slow smile spreading across her face. They’d done it. They’d won. They, all of them, had managed to beat Discord back, managed to set things right. 
All of them…
Celestia’s smile melted, and she looked around, concerned. Luna looked up and frowned. “Celestia?” she asked, “What’s wrong?”
Celestia glanced back. “N-nothing,” she stammered, before resuming her search.
By now, the rest of them were staring. “Cece?” Woody said slowly. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Just—”
And then she saw him. She gasped and stood, and the rest followed her gaze. 
Cinder sat alone on the edge of the wide shelf, staring out at the horizon. His head was drooped, and his shoulders slumped.
“Cinder?” Celestia called, taking a step forward. 
He glanced up at her, then quickly looked away—but, in that brief sliver of time, Celestia saw the tears in his eyes. 
Celestia swallowed, then limped towards him. Her wings dragging painfully across the stone, until she stood by his side. “Cinder,” she repeated, “What’s wrong? We—we won, didn’t we? We beat Discord, and all?”
Cinder gave a half-nod. “We did,” he said, slowly. He took a deep breath before continuing. “But…”
 Celestia swallowed, hard, then glanced to the group, now staring at the two of them, frozen. As she watched, Luna wriggled her way out of the group hug, then turned to watch them again. Celestia turned back to Cinder, her mouth suddenly dry. “But…?” she repeated, almost afraid of the answer.
Cinder gestured at the dead valley below them. “But he was right,” he said. “We haven’t changed anything. Haven’t fixed anything. All we’ve done is…” He glanced at the stone Discord behind them, but didn’t finish the sentence. 
Slowly, Celestia shook her head. “No,” she said. “We’ll follow the plan. Give the land back to the unicorns. They’ll pull together another Council, and get the sun moving again, and—”
“And how long will that take?” he snapped. “Do they happen to have a dozen unicorn sages just floating around?” He stood, the tears running down his face. “And even if we survive that long, what happens the next time some big ugly monster rolls through? Are we going to have to do this all again?”
“Cinder,” Celestia said, pleadingly. 
He hung his head. “He was right,” he repeated, his voice thick and trembling. “Discord was right…” He sniffled. “...Knights of the Status Quo…”
Celestia swallowed, a knot forming in her throat. She stepped forward, and, gently pulled him in for a hug.
As she did, their necklaces touched—and a spark of magic arced between the gemstones.
For a moment, they froze. Then Cinder broke into a wide grin. “The Elements,” he almost shouted. “We still have the Elements!” He stood, took her by the hoof, and pulled her urgently toward the others. “Come on,” he said, “One more time.”
Celestia swallowed. “Cinder, what are you doing?” she asked. 
He smiled at her. “We can use the Elements. Use them to make sure that nothing like this can ever happen again.”
She felt her gut twist. “Cinder, I—”
“It’ll work,” he insisted. He turned to the others. “It’s gotta work.”
Ice Dancer glanced around uncertainly. “Are you sure, Cinder?” she asked. “I mean, the Elements are powerful magical artifacts, not toys…”
Cinder shook his head. “Listen,” he said, “The Tree of Harmony gave us the Elements for a reason—to protect this world. We beat Discord, but that’s only half of it—someone’s still got to fix things. And someone’s gotta stop this from happening again, next time something like Discord rolls around.” He looked at each of them in turn. “We can do this,” he said. “Just one more time, and then everything will be okay.”
Luna looked around uncertainly, then set her jaw and stepped forward. “I’m in,” she said, firmly. Ice Dancer swallowed and stepped up beside her, and, with her, Woodwind. Cob thought a moment longer, nodded, and took a step forward as well. Cinder smiled at each of them—then turned back to Celestia.
“Come on,” he said, jerking his head towards the group. 
She shook her head. “This isn’t a good idea,” she pleaded. “We need to—”
“Celestia,” he said, gently. 
Celestia hesitated, swallowed, then looked into his eyes. 
“Cece,” he said, holding out his hoof. “Trust me. We can do this. We have to do this…” he smiled. “...for the good of Equestria.”
Celestia stared at him—and, slowly, she sighed. A smile crept across her face, with only the slightest strain showing at the edges. “For the good of Equestria,” she repeated, taking him by the hoof. 
She stepped forward and took Cob’s other, outstretched hoof. They had just stood this way—what was it, minutes before?—but already, it felt like a lifetime. With just one brief moment of concentration, they had changed so much…
...and, Harmony willing, they would do it again.
Once more, Celestia closed her eyes, and tried to clear her mind. But, it seemed, her mental slate did not wipe completely clean...
She remembered Luna, helping her off the battlefield. 
She remembered Ice Dancer, her magic bringing Discord to his knees. 
She remembered Woodwind, grinning madly as he dodged another bolt of magic. 
She remembered Corncob, rearing and striking for all he was worth.
And Cinder—
Cinder—
She grimaced. Her mind had gone blank. They’d spent so much time together—there were good memories, strong memories there, she knew it. And she needed only one—
And then, she smiled. 
The farm, she remembered. Cinder and I will have the farm. Just the two of us. 
She squeezed his hoof a little tighter.
And finally, we’ll be happy.
As she pictured the little farmhouse, she felt that same, familiar warmth begin to glow in her heart. She felt her light grow, blend, and bond tight to the others. 
But, this time, something was different. This time, there was no arc of fire. No magical beam from on high. Instead, the light inside her began to grow brighter. The other lights began to fuel hers, feed hers, until it burned brighter than the sun. Suddenly, the light began to boil—
—“Cinder!” Celestia shrieked, clutching his hoof—
—and the light exploded.
> Chapter 6: Apotheosis
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Celestia woke. 
She woke slowly, gently—as after a good night’s rest, one filled with peaceful dreams. She felt… good. She had the vague memory of pain, of turmoil—but all she could feel now was peace and comfort. She couldn’t remember the last time she had woken this refreshed.
Celestia opened her eyes. She lay, curled tightly about herself, in the bottom of a circular depression in the dirt—maybe twenty or thirty feet across, and eight or ten deep. She stretched, then glanced up. The sky above her glowed orange—a strange, unnatural orange. 
Someone would have to do something about that.
Celestia stood, and realized, to her faint surprise, that her wings did not hurt. She turned and flapped them experimentally; everything seemed to be in order. 
Something about this struck her as odd, but she was at a loss as to explain why. 
Celestia glanced around her little hole. It was too deep to really see out of, but otherwise not unpleasant. Not a place one would want to spend one’s whole life, though. Well, she thought, glancing skyward, no time like the present.
Celestia began to climb out of the hole, spreading her wings for balance. She stepped out of the hole and onto uneven stone. She took another step, then looked down and frowned; something about these stones seemed oddly familiar. She had been here, once. She… she had some sort of unfinished business. Something she’d left undone. Something she’d left behind.
And, suddenly, the pieces began to fall into place. Slowly, with a growing dread in the pit of her stomach, she raised her head. And, just as slowly, she saw the ruined pillars. The broken throne. The twisted statue.
And four burned, blackened forms, lying still on the tile.
She froze. She knew what she saw—but her brain would not accept it. Surely, those weren’t her four—not the friends that she’d lived and loved and nearly died for. No, that couldn’t be them.
She took a hesitant step forward—and the setting sun glinted off the gemstone around one of their necks. A stone shaped like a hammer.
Celestia froze—then broke into a run. “Cinder!” she shrieked.
        She ran to him and kneeled by his side. She slipped her hooves underneath him, then pulled him close, feeling his skin crack and split under her touch. “Oh, Harmony, Cinder!” she cried. 
        He stirred at her voice. She sucked in a gasp, then whipped her gaze around. “Luna! Icy! Help me!” she called, her voice echoing fruitlessly against the stones. She turned back to Cinder. “Don’t worry, you’ll be okay,” she lied. “I’ve got you.”
        Cinder opened his eyes a crack—and stared. He opened his mouth and tried to say something, but no sound save a gasp escaped his lips.
“Try not to talk,” she urged, feeling a tear run down her cheek.
He did not speak—but he raised a single, shaking hoof, towards her face. For just a moment, she thought that he was going to caress her cheek, one last time—but his hoof kept moving upward, until it touched something protruding from her forehead. 
He touched her horn.
Her horn. 
She froze again—but this time, gritting her teeth, she forced down her shock and surprise. Something had happened—but she could figure it out later. Now, Cinder, her Cinder, needed her. And she could help. She’d seen it done—Luna and Ice Dancer could both heal wounds. All she needed to do was figure out how. 
Celestia gritted her teeth, and concentrated, harder than she ever had before, willing, demanding, pleading with herself. Every shred of willpower she had, she poured into making Cinder better.
Her horn flickered, sending out little sparks of golden light. “See?” she gasped, “It’s working!”
She tried to force more magic, more power, into her horn—just a little more, and it would all be alright. He would be okay. They would have that farm. They would have their happily ever after.
But, even as she struggled, she saw his eyes flutter shut. And, slowly, he went limp in her arms. 
“Cinder,” she pleaded, “hold on!”
But, even as she said it, she knew it was no use. He was gone. And with him, everything she’d ever wanted. 
“Cinder,” she sobbed, pressing his lifeless body against her, “Oh, Harmony, don’t leave me, Cinder.”
She wept into the silence. 


* * *


Celestia wept for what felt like hours—but what did that even mean, in a world without time? 
She wept, until, suddenly, she realized that she was no longer alone. Even then, it took her a while compose herself. Finally, she sniffled; she was no longer crying, but the tears were still wet on her cheeks. She felt drained. Exhausted. Like she had cried out everything she was, everything she hoped to be, leaving nothing but an empty shell inside her. 
Finally, she turned—and saw the last person she would have ever expected.
She saw Luna.
The two of them looked into each other’s eyes for a long time, saying nothing. They had both been crying—one more than the other—but they said all that they needed in that one stare. 
After several long minutes of silence, Luna swallowed. A moment of hesitation, and she fluttered her new wings slightly. Celestia stared, then slowly nodded, showing her new horn.
“Well,” Luna said, her voice almost deafening in the silence, “I think that we’re supposed to be the ones to fix this.”
Celestia looked back to the body in her arms. “Can we?” she said, in a tiny voice. 
Luna looked away. “Not everything,” she said quietly. “But some things.” She glanced up again, then slowly walked to where Celestia sat. She put a hoof on her shoulder. “Come on,” she said, gently.
Celestia swallowed. She knew what had to be done—but she didn’t know if she had the strength to do it. 
Slowly, reverently, she laid Cinder down, limp against the stone. His head lolled back, his mouth open and gasping. Celestia shivered and turned away—for just a moment, it looked as if he was still alive—still alive, choking on his own blood, waiting in vain for a powerless mare to save him.
After a long pause, she finally spoke. “I’m ready,” she said, in a small voice.
Luna swallowed. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. 
Luna leaned in and hugged her tight, but Celestia did not move. 
Luna leaned back and took her by the hoof. “Come on,” Luna said. “Time to get up.”
Celestia allowed Luna to help her to her hooves, then followed her to the shelf overlooking the valley. For a long moment, the two of them stood side by side, looking out at the sunset. 
Luna swallowed. “Do you think we can do this?” she asked.
Celestia continued to stare. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice flat.
Luna swallowed. “Might as well try…” she murmured. She glanced at Celestia’s cutie mark, then up at her face. “I think this might be your job,” she said. “Do you want to give it a shot?”
Slowly, Celestia noded.
Luna swallowed. “You, uh…” she paused, then chuckled.“How do I explain how to use your magic…? I guess, you, uh, need to think real hard—”
“I know,” Celestia said. And, strangely, she did.
She planted her hooves. She took a deep breath, then spread her wings. And, simple as the sunrise, easy as breathing, her horn flared to life. 
It glowed brighter, and brighter, and brighter. The air around her began to shimmer with power, and the pebbles at her hooves began to tremble against the stone. Celestia groaned with the effort, a groan that grew into a defiant roar.
Luna took a slow step backwards, eyes wide, her mouth slowly falling open.
Suddenly, Celestia gasped, and her horn went out. The magic dissipated, and the pebbles fell still. Celestia dropped her head, her breathing ragged, sweat dripping down her forehead. 
Luna ran to her side. “Celestia, are you okay?” she asked.
Celestia nodded. It had come so easily. Almost like second nature. 
After a moment, Luna looked up—and gave a little cry. “Celestia, look!”
Celestia glanced up—then stared. Slowly, she raised her head.
For months, the sun had hung motionless in the sky.
And now, for the first time in far too long, the sun was setting. It moved slowly, to be sure, but it was moving. 
As Celestia watched, she felt a fresh tear roll down her cheek. Whatever the Elements had made her—they had made her for this. And they’d given her the tools and the knowledge to make it happen—and make it happen right.
Even if they had taken everything else away.
Luna and Celestia watched the sun in silence for a while, until, slowly, Luna turned away. “Come on, Cece,” she said. “We still have work to do.”
Celestia snapped from her trance, then looked down at her. Wordlessly, she nodded, then turned away from the blood-red sun—now, for the first time in months, really, truly, setting.


* * *


By the time the sun dipped completely below the horizon, four bundles, each wrapped in their own thin, wool blanket, lay in a row at the edge of the shelf. In front of each, a sort of impromptu shrine: Ice Dancer's rusted skates, Woodwind's pan pipes, Corncob's favorite red bandana, and three horseshoe nails for Cinder. Beside them, in a neat row, lay their four Elements, their stones black and dull.
Celestia stared at the four huddled bundles. She tried not to think about what lay beneath them—though her hooves were still dirty with the ash. 
Celestia was numb. She had already cried all her tears. Her sorrow had burned down into smoldering coals. Yet, as she stared at the bundles, she felt a deep, yawning emptiness inside her—a blackness that she wished that she knew how to fill.
Why? she thought to herself. Why did they have to die? She swallowed. Is this some sort of punishment? Because we got greedy? Because we wanted to fix everything, forever?
Or did the Elements need fuel? Did they need to take someone’s wings, and hooves, and horns, before they could give them to us?
And why just us? Why couldn’t it have been everyone? 
She glanced over at Luna, who stood beside the Elements, carefully placing hers in line. And why, she thought, did it have to be Luna? Why couldn’t it have been Cinder, instead?
At that thought, she closed her eyes, and a fresh tear rolled down her cheek. Already, she hated herself for even having that thought. 
“Cece?”
Celestia opened her eyes. Luna stood in front of her. 
“Cece,” she repeated, gently. “I need your Element, too.”
Celestia stared at Luna for a moment, uncomprehending. Then, slowly, she reached up toward her neck. She undid the clasp, then held the necklace in her hoof. For a moment, she wanted to hurl it over the edge—make sure it couldn’t hurt anyone ever again—but, before she could let herself do that, she thrust it toward Luna. 
Luna took it with a nod, then set it beside the others. One by one, she picked them up and dropped them into her saddlebags. She cinched the flap tight, then turned, her mouth open to say something to Celestia—but when she saw the hollow look on her face, she stopped and swallowed. Slowly, Luna walked over to her, then took her in a tight embrace.
“I’m sorry,” she said simply.
They held each other for a moment in silence. Finally, Luna broke away, then wiped a tear from her eye. She turned and looked out at the horizon, at the failing light, and at the first of the blossoming stars. Her mouth fell open, ever so slightly.
“I’d forgotten how pretty the night could be,” she said.
Celesta said nothing.
After a moment of silence, Luna glanced back at her, and her face fell. She swallowed. “Are you ready to head back down?” she asked. 
Celestia turned and looked at the row of blankets. Finally, she nodded. “I think so,” she said.
Luna nodded as well, then turned and walked towards the top of the stairs leading down off the mountain. After a moment, Celestia turned and followed. She found Luna waiting for her; as she drew close, Luna lit up her horn, casting a little beam of light in front of her, then turned and walked down the stairs. 
Celestia began to follow her—but she paused with her hoof on the top step. She turned back and looked, one last time, at the four little bundles on the edge of the shelf—then turned and started down the stairs before the tears could come.
They walked in silence back down the mountain. It was easier than it had been on the way up—but she barely noticed. Her heart and mind were elsewhere. After a short while, they passed through the little village they had stopped at, and Celestia carefully avoided looking at the doorstep where, just a few short hours earlier, she had been so happy. 
Finally, as the sky in the east began to grow lighter, the trailhead at the bottom of the mountain came into view. Surrounding it, in the rock of the mountain itself, stood three or four shallow caves. At the sound of Luna’s and Celestia’s hooves, ponies—mares, foals, and old stallions—began to stick their heads out. When they saw who it was, they filtered out, one by one. As the two of them drew closer, Celestia saw strange looks and urgent glances pass through the crowd—even from this distance, the waiting ponies could see that they had changed. 
Suddenly, she noticed one of the stallions pushing forward through the crowd. He reached the front just as the two of them came to a stop. He stared, wide-eyed, at them both, then dropped to his knees. 
“The Daughters of Harmony,” he breathed.
	
> Chapter 7: Aside
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“...the… the Daughters of Harmony?” Posie asked uncertainly.
Celestia nodded. “Mh-hm.”
Posie swallowed. “Um… what did he mean by that?”
Celestia opened one eye. “Harmony,” she repeated. “The old pagan goddesses. Ever hear the stories?”
Posie slowly shook her head, “No,” she said. “I… I was never very good at history…”
“It’s not history,” Celestia said quietly. “At least, not like that…”
She closed her eye again, then sighed. “Harmony,” she said. “The name for the three goddesses. Each had horns, and wings, and long, strong legs. Together, the three of them birthed the world—mother, midwife, and nursemaid, all three—and suckled it until it grew great and strong. As time passed, they gave birth to more and more—the sun, the moon, the wind, the rain, the plants, the animals—but still, they knew there was something missing. And so, they made the ponies: they gave their horns to the unicorns, their wings to the pegasi, and their hooves to the earth ponies.” She paused. “Those were the stories, anyways.”
Posie nodded carefully. “So, when he called you the Daughters of Harmony,” she said slowly, “he was calling you—”
“Goddesses,” Celestia finished. “We had horns. We had wings. We had hooves. We had defeated chaos and restored order. And we, by ourselves, could move the sun and the moon. What else could we be?”
Celestia paused, then turned and looked at Posie. “Do you have any idea what it’s like?” she asked. “Every word that drops from your mouth is scripture. Every passing wish a divine command. You don’t have servants—you have priests. You don’t have friends—you have worshippers.” She settled back down again. “But we weren’t goddesses, no matter what they said. I was a small-town weather pony, barely out of fillyhood, and Luna—Luna was barely into it. We had no knowledge, no experience. I wasn’t fit to lead a game of tag, much less a civilization.” She sighed, heavily. “And yet…” she said slowly, “it was goddesses they expected. Goddesses they needed. And so… goddesses we became.”
She settled unhappily deeper into the bed. “It wasn’t our choice,” she said, “but there wasn’t much we could’ve done—we had swept in and saved everyone, put everything right—rather literal deae ex machina. Someone was going to put us on a pedestal.” She sighed. “I tried to be a good goddess,” she said. “I taught them the principles of Harmony, as well as I could…” 
Celestia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then began to speak in a low, level voice, as if reciting: “Be loyal to those who have earned it. Be generous with all you have and are. Be kind and honest to all you meet. Laugh, when you can, for time is a gift. And always, always respect the simple, undeniable magic of life itself.”
Celestia fell silent. After a moment, she shook her head a little—and the spell was broken. 
“It helped,” she continued, after a moment. “Ponies always trying to do right by everyone else makes for good politics.” She sighed. “But… I don’t know that helped our image any. They kept on calling us goddesses, even after we asked they stop.” She sighed. “they even re-started the calendar from the date we... transformed. I mean, everything was so out of whack we needed to do something about the calendar—but I would have preferred we kept the things going the way they were. Luna and I finally had to put down our hooves when they started calling our palace a temple. It took a while,” she said, “but, within a generation or two, they seemed to let up.” She hesitated. “Though…” she said, slowly, “I think that’s about when the stories of Harmony started to fade… if we were not Their daughters, did we really need Them around to be our Mothers?” 
She paused, then shook her head firmly. “But if that’s what we had to do, then so be it.” She sighed heavily. “I didn’t want to be a goddess—I didn’t want to be worshipped. And I didn’t want to be a queen—I didn’t want to that responsibility. So…” she shrugged. “We made them call us Princesses.”
Posie waited for her to continue, but she said nothing. After a long moment, Posie swallowed.
“Can I ask a question?” she asked. 
“Mh-hm,” Celestia murmured.
“Was there ever…?” Posie trailed off, then shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t want to pry...”
“No,” Celestia said, looking at her. “Go ahead.”
Posie took a deep breath. “Did you, uh…” She blushed. “Did you ever have a prince?”
Celestia’s eyes snapped open, and she stared. “D-did I—?” she stammered, raising her head.
Posie flinched. “I’m sorry—”
Celestia stared at her, then turned away and collapsed heavily on the bed. Posie bit her lip, mentally kicking herself. Why’d you have to ask that question? Stupid, stupid—
Finally, Celestia spoke. 
“No,” she said, in a tiny voice. “No, there never was a prince.” She swallowed. “When I was young, I would have liked…” She was silent for a moment, then shook her head. “But there wasn’t time. There was so much to do, so much at stake, I didn’t have time for—for things like that.” She heaved a sigh. “And, when things began to calm down, it was… different. I was so much older than the others… I had so much to lose…” She chuckled darkly. “The god-queen of half the world could have any stallion she wanted—but consorting with a mere mortal would ruin her reputation, her standing—everything she’d worked so hard for...” She trailed off. When she began again, her voice was thick. “...no matter what title she picked for herself…”
Celestia sniffled. “They tried to get me to marry someone… to seal an alliance, or just to make sure there was an heir… but, there was so much at risk—so many ponies and politicians to negotiate with—that I didn’t dare show favoritism. If I picked one over the other, what would that do to our little house of cards?” She took a deep breath. “So I had to teach everyone—had to teach myself—to seal my treaties with bonds of friendship. Not blood.” She sighed. “As much as I would have liked to.”
Celestia went quiet. Posie swallowed nervously, but said nothing. She’d said enough.
Finally, Celestia spoke again. “The Palace still gets lonely, sometimes,” she said, her voice level again. “Especially at nights. But…” She swallowed. “...it’s been so long that it doesn’t hurt so much.” She hesitated. “Not anymore.” 
She lay still for a moment, then turned again to look at Posie. “Luna, though…” She swallowed. “Luna came from a big family. A mom, a dad, three or four siblings.” She sighed. “I think a dragon got them, before she joined our little group… Either way, Luna never forgot how happy she had been with them.” She sighed. “And I think that’s what she wanted most of all—to have a family of her own,” She said quietly. “Luna held out hope a lot longer than I did… Up until…” She fell silent, bit her lip, then began again. “She looked, but she was a good girl; if they weren’t in it for her… if they were after her position, or to stroke their own ego…” she smirked. “Well, she was firm, let me say that.” She paused. “That’s one thing that I loved about Luna,” she said. “I was so busy making sure the whole kingdom didn’t end up in a ditch that I didn’t have much time for the little things—for the individual.” She smiled, just a little. “But Luna—Luna could make anyone feel special—like she knew them, and she cared for them personally. And, quite often, she really did.” She smiled for another moment—but then her smile faltered. “But that was just the problem...”
> Chapter 8: Old Friends
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Princess Celestia walked down the corridors of the palace and sighed. It had been another one of those days—the sort that left her exhausted, but didn’t actually make a dent in her to-do list. Always, there was more to do—more ponies to help—more treaties to sign… 
This was the price of running a kingdom, apparently. She was just glad that she had someone to share it with. She had no idea what she would do without—
“Luna?” Celestia asked aloud.
Celestia found herself just outside the Upper Balcony. It boasted a clear, unobstructed view of the western skies—and the moonrise. Luna had always loved astronomy—it’s how she had gotten her cutie mark, in fact—and had asked that a telescope be installed here, though, more and more often, their other responsibilities left little time for stargazing. Now, she only came up here when something was bothering her, when she wanted to be alone with her thoughts. 
And it took a lot to bother Luna. 
“Luna?” Celestia repeated urgently, pushing the door open. “Lu, everything okay?”
Tonight, the telescope remained covered. Luna lay on the cold stone, curled around herself. As Celestia approached, she looked up—and, Celestia saw, shining in the moonlight, the tears running down her cheeks.
Celestia froze, then bent down and took her in her arms. “Oh, Luna,” she murmured “Lu, what’s wrong?”
She had held Luna like this once before—once, when they were smaller. The years had been long, but they had not been unkind; for one thing, they had both grown taller. Luna had always been small for her age, but now, even little Luna stood taller than the biggest stallions. Their manes had grown long, and begun to wave in an invisible breeze—at first it had startled them, but soon they simply came to accept it, along with all the other changes. Luna’s mane had grown darker, and sprouted little flecks of starlight, but Celestia’s remained pink as the day she was born.
And yet, for all that was different, when she held her like this—nothing seemed to have changed at all. 
Celestia felt Luna against her, her body shaking with silent sobs. Celestia hugged her tighter, murmured a little something, then closed her eyes. Slowly, she began to rub her back, and just listened to her weep.
Finally, Celestia heard Luna sniffle. “Cece?” she asked, her voice thick.
Celestia opened her eyes and looked down. Luna looked back up at her, eyes still brimming with tears. “Lu?” she asked. 
“Cece…” she sniffled again. “...how old are you?”
Celestia cocked her head slightly. “Well,” she said slowly, “I’m, uh…” she frowned. How old was she? She’d been nineteen when they defeated Discord… and they’d reunified Old Equestria three or four years later...
After several moments of hurried math, Celestia’s face fell. “...Eighty-seven,” she said, hollowly. “I’m eighty-seven.”
Luna nodded against her. “Seventy-nine,” she murmured into Celestia’s chest. Celestia felt her swallow. “Do you… feel... eighty-seven?” she asked.
“No,” Celestia murmured. 
Luna shook her head. “Me neither.”
They were quiet for a moment. 
“Lu,” Celestia said, gently, “What’s going on?”
Luna pulled her tighter. “...I got a letter,” she said quietly. 
Celestia nodded. “What did it say?”
Luna was quiet again. “French Silk,” she said, finally. “She… she’s gone.”
French Silk. Celestia knew the name—but where…?
Her eyes widened. “Harmony’s bones,” she breathed.
Silky. She had been their hairdresser, helping them get ready for important meetings—but, after a while, Luna had really taken to her, and they’d become close friends. At least, until she’d had to leave Canterlot...
Celestia slowly shook her head. “Isn’t she in her fifties?” She asked. “That’s awful young for—”
“Her eighties.” 
“Her eighties?” Celestia repeated, surprised. Had it been that long... ? How could she have lost track?
Before she even asked herself the question, she already knew the answer. Meetings. Negotiations. Paperwork. Everything needed to keep their crazy experiment running. And somehow, Silky had slipped through the cracks. 
And, Celestia knew, with a burn of shame, she wasn’t the only one. 
“I’m sorry,” Celestia said aloud—but, to who or to what, she wasn’t sure. 
Luna sniffled. “She… she got older, Cece. B-but we’re not.” She closed her eyes, and another tear rolled down her cheek. “We’re not,” she repeated. 
Celestia opened her mouth to reassure her—but realized she had nothing to say. She was right. They should be old mares by now—but she still felt twenty-five. She had lived as long as any pony had a right to—longer, even—but she didn’t have a wrinkle to show for it. 
“It’s like…” she murmured, “...like time has just… just passed us by.”
Luna nodded. “What are we gonna do?”
“Do?” Celestia repeated.
“What… what happens when everyone we know is gone, Cece?” She whimpered.“Back when she lived in Canterlot, we spent every afternoon together… every day I wasn’t busy with… with politics.” She spat the word. “She taught me so much about… about just how to be a pony. And now she’s...” She let out a little sob.
“And now she’s gone,” finished Celestia. 
Luna nodded. “How long until they’re all gone?” She asked. “How long until I’m all alone?” She buried her head in Celestia’s shoulder.  “She was like a sister to me, Cece,” she sobbed. “And now she’s just…” She went quiet again, and her body began to shake once more. 
They held each other like that for a long time, the only sound Luna’s sobbing.
Celestia bit her lip, thinking hard. What could she do? What could she say? 
Suddenly, Celestia smiled. She squeezed Luna a little tighter .”Well,” she said, “Maybe I could be your sister.”
Luna looked up at her, eyes still full of tears. “Huh?” she said.
“I could be your sister—if you want,” Celestia repeated. 
Luna sniffled. “D’ya mean it?” she whimpered.
“Of course,” Celestia said, smiling a little wider. “I mean, we’ve always looked out for each other—and, we’ve known each other long enough, I figure that puts us halfway there, at least.” She hugged her tighter. “And, if we’re going to be in this together, might as well, right?”
“You promise?” Luna murmured. “Sisters?”
“I promise,” she repeated. “For as long as… well, as long as this all lasts, at least.”
Luna smiled. “Sounds good to me,” she said, snuggling a little closer.
Celestia returned the smile, then leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. After a while, she chuckled. “You know… I’ve never had a sister before…”
Luna chuckled too. “It’s not hard,” she said. “You’ll do great.”
“Thanks,” she said. “...Sis.”
	
> Chapter 9: Entr'acte
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The bedroom door creaked further open. “Posie!” came the urgent whisper. “Are you still…”
Both Posie and Celestia looked up as Silver Lining poked his head around the door. When he saw them staring, he laid his ears back. “...oh,” he said.
Celestia looked down at Posie, confusion and hurt crossing her face.
Posie swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she said, “It’s just… we were worried about you, and…”
Celestia sighed heavily and put her head down. For a moment, all was still—and then, wordlessly, she nodded. Pose turned to Sill and jerked her head urgently toward Celestia; head bowed, he snuck inside, and walked up beside Posie. 
“Where’s Corky?” she whispered. 
Sill shrugged. “He left.”
“Left?” she hissed. 
Celestia stirred, and Sill elbowed Posie to be quiet. “Pardon, Your Highness,” he murmured. 
“No.” Celestia whipped her head around, a little too quickly. “No titles. Not tonight.” She swallowed. “Tonight… I just want to be Celestia.”
Sill swallowed, then bowed. “Celestia,” he repeated, the name strange on his tongue. 
Celestia stared at him, then cocked her head. “You were there, at the…” She swallowed. “...t-this morning,” she finished, lamely.
He bowed. “I was. One of your chauffeurs, Your Highness.” At her title, Celestia flinched, and Posie elbowed him. “Celestia,” he corrected himself, still bowed.
Celestia swallowed, then murmured something dismissive. She stared at him for another moment, then spoke. “What’s your name?”
“Silver Lining, Celestia.” he looked up. “Most call me ‘Sill,’ though.”
“Sill,” she repeated. She swallowed. “...thank you for coming,” she said, after a pause.
“Thank you,” he said, not really sure what he was thanking her for.
There was a long silence. Posie glanced uncomfortably back and forth between Celestia and Sill, then cleared her throat. “You were just telling me,” she said to Celestia, with a significant glance at Sill, “about how you turned from a pegasus into an alicorn.” Sill’s eyes went wide, but Posie continued as if she hadn’t noticed. “What did you do, afterwards?”
“Afterwards?” she repeated. She laid her head down. “Afterwards…”
After a moment, she chuckled. “It’s been so long… and there was so much to do… It’s all, just…” she shrugged. “blended together.” 
She thought for a moment. “First,” she said, “We needed to focus on surviving. There were only a few dozen of us, and no more than six or seven able-bodied workers, Luna and I included. With the sun moving again, the weather started to re-assert itself—but I was the only one who even had a hope of corralling it.” She swallowed. “It was… hard. Things got easier after the first harvest, but it was already too late for several of our little group.”
Celestia took a deep breath. “That winter,” she said, “When there was nothing for us to do, Luna and I started to figure out our new bodies. She taught me magic, and I taught her flight. And, though I couldn’t match her spellcasting…” she smiled wryly, “...still can’t, actually… Well, I beat her in every race we flew, so I suppose there’s that.”
She frowned. “It was that first winter when we saw the windigoes.” She sighed. “Equestria was a dangerous place back then—still is, truth be told. We’ve just gotten better at handling it… But windigoes were something different. Something was deeply wrong. We needed to bring everyone together, help unify them again—and then, maybe, things would be safer.” She sighed. “So, just after the spring thaw, we set out.”
She hesitated. “The Kingdom of Equestria had never been large,” she continued.”Just the mountain, a few surrounding peaks, and the valleys in between down to the river. But, Discord had been hard on everyone. Every town, every little village, was struggling on its own—a dozen little kingdoms where there used to be only one, each trying to squeeze a living from the dying earth.” She smiled a little. “Most of them fell to their knees as soon as they saw us. They’d heard the rumors, of course, but seeing literal divinity in your midst…” she sighed. “Or, at least, that’s what they wanted to see…” She swallowed. “Well, that was something else entirely. There were a few that held out, though—but, when they saw what we were able to accomplish together—better weather, more crops, that sort of thing—they came around.” She sighed. “And, so, within three or four years, we finally managed to re-unify Old Equestria.”
She paused, then shook her head. “Three or four years?” she repeated. “Back then, it seemed so much longer—like we’d spent half our lives at it.” She sagged a little. “And, back then, it was almost true…”
She laid back down on the bed and was silent. No one spoke for several minutes. Finally, Sill glanced at Posie, then cleared his throat. “Celestia?” he said. 
She did not respond. 
“Celestia,” he repeated, “would you mind going on? I…” he swallowed. “I think it’s good for you. Finally letting all this out.” She turned to look at him, and he, with a little shiver, bowed. “Pardon me for being so forward,” He said nervously.
She stared at him for a moment, then sighed again. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s hard… harder than I would have thought… but…” she swallowed. “It’s good to finally tell someone. To show them the real me.” She hesitated. “Maybe now, they’ll know…”
Sill, his head still bowed, turned and glanced at Posie, eyes wide. She glanced back at him. Was she saying…?
Before they could continue the thought, Celestia spoke again. “With Old Equestria unified, it was time to start rebuilding. I re-established the weather corps, and, with their help, our crops really started to prosper. Soon, we had more ponies than we knew what to do with—lots of foals, and many more immigrants—ponies from elsewhere who had heard tell of our ‘magical land,’ where the weather was always good, where there was enough for everyone to eat, and where two goddesses ruled with a gentle hoof.” She shook her head gently. “We needed to figure out what to do with all those idle hooves, especially before the little ones started to grow. We still had problems with dragons, back in those days… they were after the crystals in the mines under the old palace, I think… so, we took the biggest, strongest stallions and mares, and we established a group of monster hunters.” Celestia turned to look out the window. “The monsters  that we couldn’t drive off, we killed. And those we couldn’t kill, we captured. At first, we threw them in the caverns and blocked them up… not much use for crystals anymore, not when we were just coming off the brink of starvation… and that worked well, at least until we built Tartarus.”
She sighed. “But still, that wasn’t enough. More workers, wanting jobs, wanting pay, with more coming all the time, and those foals starting to get older and older. So, we started to rebuild the palace.” She closed her eyes. “White stone, gold leaf, stained glass… we tried to find something for everyone to do. And, though some say it’s a little garish—that we should have gone for something simpler, a little more utilitarian—it’s treated us well.” She shook her head slowly. “With all the work to do, many of the workers just pitched a tent here, on top of the mountain, and never left. And, of course, we needed blacksmiths, bakers, and tailors to support them all—and an army of merchants and traders to support them.” She chuckled. “Soon, we had a bona fide capital up on that mountain. The old palace was called ‘Illium,’ but we decided to call the new city ‘Canterlot’—after another old castle from legend, a place of peace and harmony. Luna thought it would set the right tone…” She sighed heavily. “Though, thirteen hundred years has taken the polish off a bit…”
She was silent for just a moment. “While the palace was under construction,” she continued suddenly, “we were still busy. There were more ponies out there, more ponies to help—and more and more windigoes spotted in the winter snows.” She hesitated. “But we had never tried to expand outside Old Equestria before, and we knew we needed something to bind us together, something more than just old borders. So, we drafted the Accords.” She paused, then opened her eyes, raised her head, and turned to Posie and Sill. “Did you learn about those in school? The Equestrian Accords?”
Sill and Posie slowly shook their heads. Celestia widened her eyes in surprise, then, slowly, her face fell. She laid her head back down. “The Accords…” she murmured. “Well, they were important. A bill of rights that guaranteed fair and equal treatment for all.” She shook her head. “Some said it was all pie-in-the-sky thinking, to try and make ponies get along, but I didn’t think so… they were just the sort of things that Harmony would have wanted. The sort of stuff that they should have been doing anyways.” 
Celestia hesitated, then nodded out the window. “You see that flag?” she asked.
Posie and Sill both turned. Just outside the window, barely visible against the budding stars, a flagpole stood on the top of one of the towers. And, hanging limply from the pole in the cool night air was a dark-blue pennant. On it, the Sigil of the Two Sisters—the two alicorns, framing the sun and moon, chasing each other—barely visible in the dark.
“It was around then,” Celestia said, “that they started using that design. We’d been using the old three-part flag for a while now—one section for each tribe—but then, there was us.” She smirked. “We didn’t exactly fit the model anymore. Someone suggested that design, and it became popular—so much so, that I don’t think there are many who realize that it’s not the original Equestrian flag.” She glanced out the window again, then back down. “I wasn’t a huge fan, myself,” she said. “I never really liked the attention, and Luna thought it was kinda corny. But the people liked it, and that’s what mattered.” She took a deep breath. “So, with our palace half-finished, with the ink hardly dry on the Accords, and bearing a new flag, we set out to save the world.”
She stayed quiet for a moment. “It was… harder than we thought,” she said slowly. “It had been a few years… long enough for things to start to stabilize. Long enough for ponies to find their own identities. So, instead of the isolated villages of Old Equestria, we found little city-states. Petty kingdoms of one or two hundred ponies. They’d heard of us, of course—but reputation alone wasn’t enough this time.” She hesitated. “It was... nice... to not have everyone try and worship us, but now we needed to actually work to bring them into the fold.” She sighed. “That first year, just as the snows started to fall, we came back to Canterlot with three new members of the fledgling Equestrian Alliance.”
She chuckled again. “The palace wasn’t finished, of course—but we were pleased to see that the ruling council we left in place was doing a good job. So good, in fact, that, over time, we started to expand their powers. Keep them around, even when we were at home.” 
She smiled. “Pretty soon, we had a system going: Luna would sweet-talk and negotiate, and I would draft the treaties. She was so good at what she did…” she smiled. “You should have seen the miracles she worked—a week or two of her, and she could have even the hardest-hearted old bureaucrat wrapped around her hoof. Of course, I like to think I wasn’t too bad at it, either… but neither of us could have done it entirely alone. And, when winter came, and travel was hard, we always came back to Canterlot.”
She thought for a moment. “During one of our visits home, as the palace was almost complete, Luna requested that the architects draw up plans for an opera house.” She smiled. “She’d always loved music… We must have had half the travelling bards in the world visit at one time or another. I thought it was silly, but she wanted it, and we did need another project, so…” she shrugged. “She must have dragged me to hundreds of shows over the years. I would have just preferred a book—maybe even a few extra hours’ sleep…” She smiled again. “But she wanted it, and it made her so happy every time we went, I didn’t mind too much.” She sighed. “I can still sing some of the songs,” she said. “It’s been a thousand years, but I still know them by heart…”
She was quiet for a moment, then chuckled. “And, of course, it happened again—operas brought actors and musicians—and they brought seamstresses, costumers, artists, composers… And soon, Canterlot was the cultural capital of the Alliance, not just the political one. Ponies flocked to us, especially during the winter theater season. The whims of those few became a guiding star for half the globe…” She smirked. “Which, of course, didn’t hurt negotiations any.”
Sill snorted, and Posie shot him a dirty look. 
Celestia smiled a little, then looked away. “If I can say it… life almost became routine. Leave with the spring thaw… travel wherever there were holes in the map, bring more and more nations into the Alliance, return home with the first snows, spend the winter with parades, operas, and paperwork.” She shrugged. “When the palace was finished, we started having politicians come to us, but even that didn’t change things all that much. We eventually commissioned a second palace—a summer palace, in the middle of a beautiful forest. It was a little more centrally-located, and cooler in the summertime.” She hesitated. “Of course, the fact that we built it directly over the cave of the Tree of Harmony wasn’t coincidence; we wanted to protect it, keep it safe from prying eyes. We actually had the cave blocked before we started construction.” She shook her head. “But, we made the palace with all sorts of secret nooks and crannies. Luna said it was to make it more defensible, but I think she just wanted to have a little fun; either way, I made sure one of those passages led down to the cave. Just in case.” She sighed. “We had commissioned it, so they called it ‘The Castle of the Two Sisters.’” She shrugged. “A little dour for me, but it was appropriate, I guess.”
“We didn’t use it for long, though. Soon, the outlying territories were so far away that it wasn’t practical for them to come to our palace—even the new one—nor for both of us to go. So, we started trading off: Luna would go visit someone for a month or so, do what she could, then return home. Once she got back, we’d spend a few days together, catching up and all that, and then I’d go. Things started to move more slowly, then, but we didn’t mind—fewer successes, but bigger, more important ones. By this time, we were bringing whole kingdoms of thousands, tens of thousands, into the Alliance, and each new victory was cause for celebration.”
“And so,” she said slowly, “we kept things going like that—winter at home, summer split between travelling and ruling, for over a century. It was... hard, not really seeing Luna for months at a time, but we made it work. And, I hate to say it, I almost got comfortable with that life.”
Celestia paused—and her eyes went wide. “And then,” she said, her voice hollow, “Two hundred years after Discord…” 
She tried to hide it, but both Posie and Sill saw the shiver that ran down her spine.

> Chapter 10: The Messenger
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	It was only mid-morning, but Celestia was already tired. 
She rubbed her temples as she watched the debate. She and Luna, on the advice of their  various advisors, had decided to turn their ruling council into a full-blown parliament, composed of representatives from their various allies and client kingdoms. She knew an assembly like this would make things easier on the two of them, and make the kingdoms themselves happy—but she hadn’t expected it to be so damn boring. 
She tried to focus for another fifteen minutes, listening to the representatives bicker about  taxes on a hundredweight of blueberries (Proposal §392.1.552) before checking out entirely. She didn’t know why she was even there, to be honest—the Parliment basically ran itself, and she never had much to say, anyways. Her main job was to sign or veto the various proposals as they came across her desk, and, more often than not, she signed the laws without looking at them; if smarter ponies than her decided that’s what would be good for the country, then so be it. 
But still: especially while this “democracy” thing was still in its infancy, it would be good to show that the Princess was behind it. And—as much as she hated the politics of it all—she wanted the people to know she was there for them. That she wasn’t some ivory-tower queen, like so many others—that she was real. Actual. Involved. 
Even if, in the day-to-day, she felt more like a figurehead.
At this moment, the door behind her opened, and in stepped Inkwell, her secretary—white coat, black mane, eyeglasses. Impeccably dressed as always.
“Your Highness,” he said with a bow.
Celestia sighed. “I’m… in the middle of something,” she said, half-heartedly. 
Inkwell nodded. “I know. But I thought you might want to know that a messenger’s here to see you.”
She turned. “A messenger? From one of the border kingdoms?”
He shook his head. “No. From the Crystal Empire.”
Celestia’s mouth fell open. The Crystal Empire.
The Equestrian Alliance had spread far and wide; east to the coast, north to the snowy lands of the griffons and the yaks, south to the thick jungles, and west to—well, they were still headed west. Luna was out there now, in fact, wrapping up negotiations with the Desert Confederation. Beyond that, their efforts had failed—not even the most fervent negotiations would convince the yaks to let Celestia or her sister in their gates, or the griffon king to deign to consult with mere grass-munchers. 
But they had heard rumors: an enclave of ponies in the far north, a kingdom of living rock and crystal, oozing with precious stones, a land of eternal summer. The Crystal Empire. Everyone, Celestia included, thought it a legend—even in a land of magic such as theirs, how could such a thing be possible?—but she had sent a scouting party into that snowy waste anyways, bearing an official letter from her. 
She had not expected them to find anything—much less come back with a messenger.
Celestia glanced down again at the debate. It had been more than an hour since she’d been addressed directly, and at least twenty minutes since anyone had glanced her way. They’d be fine without her.
She stood and followed Inkwell out of her little box overlooking the debate floor. As soon as the door closed behind her, Inkwell nodded. “He’s in the Grand Salon, Your Highness,” he said.
“Good.” She started to walk in that direction. “Walk with me, please.”
He hurried after her. As soon as he caught up, she turned to look at him. “Where’s the scouting party now?” she asked. 
“Being debriefed,” he said. “One of them is in the infirmary; seems he had a nasty fall of some kind, twisted an ankle or somesuch.”
Celestia nodded. “Good. I’d like to hear their report after I’ve met this messenger.”
“Very good, Your Highness,” Inkwell said with a nod. 
Another few moments, and they were at the doors to the Grand Salon. Inkwell bowed and stepped away. Celestia took a deep breath, pulled the door open, and stepped inside. 
Celestia almost wished she could still be impressed by the sight; the mid-morning sun shot shafts of light through the great, stained-glass windows, carefully chosen to show the Alliance’s greatest accomplishments—architects, soldiers, and diplomats, each in their own domain, each helping to build something greater than themselves. Around the exterior walls were deep, plush sofas, and sitting cushions lay tastefully scattered on the thick carpet. 
After all, it never hurt to make a good first impression.
For a moment, the room appeared empty. Celestia almost turned to go—but then she saw him. A short, stocky pony, with a dark silver mane and a matching goatee, standing  in the center of the room, examining the windows carefully. And his coat—
Celestia drew in a breath. His coat—a deep magenta, and partially translucent—seemed to reflect and magnify the light from the windows. 
She had thought nothing could surprise her anymore. But this… messenger, was he? … he was a literal crystal pony. A being out of legend.
A being not entirely unlike herself.
Celestia took a step forward, cleared her throat, and bowed. “Welcome to our kingdom,” she said gently, spreading her wings. “I am Princess Celestia. Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
The crystal pony turned to face her, and she saw, for the first time, the scowl graven on his face—which only deepened as he examined her. “My name is Andradite,” he said, rather abruptly. “I serve my Lord and Master, His Brilliance King Sombra IV.” He let the name hang there, as if that completed the whole of his message.
Celestia hesitated, then folded her wings and straightened up. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Andradite. You must have had a long journey; please, make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to eat, or drink, or—?”
“His Brilliance,” Andradite cut in, “finds your proposal of economic partnership and military support most intriguing. He wishes to discuss terms as soon as possible. Are you prepared to come and pay obeisance to him?”
Celestia hesitated. “Pardon my frankness,” she asked, a note of confusion in her voice, “but I feel I don’t understand the question. Please, what are you asking?”
“I am asking,” he replied testily, “if you are ready to accompany me back to the Empire.” 
Her eyes grew wide. “You mean, now?” she asked.
“As soon as possible,” Andradite repeated. 
Celestia froze. He wants me to...? The nerve—!
For a moment, both were silent. Suddenly, Celestia smiled, then bowed again. “I apologize, but such is not possible.” She continued over his slight gasp of alarm. “I am not the sole ruler of my domain, and my sister is away. It will take at least a week to recall her. A meeting of this importance requires the presence of both rulers of our realm, and, as such, I cannot leave until she returns.” She paused, feigning thoughtfulness. “Of course, we will be happy to make you a guest of our hospitality until such time as we can depart.”
She looked up, and saw, to her surprise, frank astonishment on Andradite’s face. “Is… everything alright?” she asked uncertainly.
He stuttered, then spoke. “Y-you, the mythic Alicorn, are not the sole ruler of your domain?”
She shook her head. “No. I share the rule with my sister—also an Alicorn.”
Andradite swallowed. “Then—how do you control of the populace?”
Celestia’s smile froze. “We… we don’t,” she said. “We allow our citizens to do as they please—within reason, at any rate.”
Andradite snorted, and his gruff, impenetrable nature returned. “In any case,” he continued, “His Brilliance requested your immediate presence. He shall not be pleased with this delay.”
Celestia noticed a knot forming in her stomach. “Nor am I. But law and tradition dictate that both of us must be present for dealings of such magnitude,” she lied.
Andradite sniffed. “Very well,” he rumbled. 
Celestia nodded. “I will arrange for a room for you here in the palace,” she said. “Please, make yourself at home.”
Without waiting for a response, Celestia stepped outside—and released a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. “Inkwell,” she called softly, and, immediately, he was at her side. “Arrange for Andradite to stay in the most luxurious suite we have. And make sure his needs—whatever they are—are met. Spare no expense, please.”
Inkwell looked at her over his glasses. “Spare no expense,” he repeated. “Your Highness, if I may—”
“No, you may not.” she replied. “Any other time, yes—but, if even half the stories are true, we can’t risk agitating this messenger any more than we already have. Give him what he wants—and as much of it as he cares for—and, hopefully, this will all work out.” She sighed. “I’ll be in my chambers.” 
He raised an eyebrow. “Your highness, what about the scouts?” 
“Later,” she said. And with that, she stepped away.
The walk to her rooms was not long, but, for the duration, she replayed their conversation over and over in her head. Military aid. Economic assistance. Immediately.
Something was fishy—but, with a kingdom supposedly so large and rich as the Empire was, this was something that the Alliance could not turn its nose up at.
Celestia marched into her room. She grabbed a piece of parchment, a quill, and an inkpot, then laid down by the fireplace. A few sparks from her horn, and a fire sprung up in the grate—but Celestia was already hard at work on a note. 




Lu,

Sorry to be abrupt, but something’s come up, and I need you back here as soon as you can make it. How are negotiations coming?

Love,
C.



Celestia folded the letter in thirds, then folded down the short edges. Ordinarily, she would seal it, but this was urgent. Without another thought, she pitched it into the fireplace. She sighed, then stood. Now, all there was to do was wait…
Suddenly, the fireplace roared, and a folded piece of parchment shot back out. Celestia caught it with her magic and unfolded it. It was the same parchment she had just sent, with her message at the top. And, underneath it, the ink still drying:



Cece,
Just finished! I’m packing now, and I can head out in the morning.  
Things went well! Signing the final draft tonight, and they’ll be flying the flag within two weeks. 
Everything OK at home?
♡, L



Celestia smiled. She grabbed her quill and scribbled a quick response. 



That’s my little diplomat. Good job!
About today: messenger from the Crystal Empire showed up (seriously). King wants to talk about joining, but is less than patient. I told him we need both of us there, and that you’d be a week.



She hesitated. Should she tell her about her suspicions?
After a moment, she shook her head, then pitched the letter into the fire, not even bothering to fold it. 
The reply came quick. Perhaps Luna was sitting at her fireside, too?



Cece, are you intimidated? ☺ -L

	



Maybe a little. 
He’s
There’s something 
I 
You’ll see when you get here. -C






OK. I’ll hurry. -L

	



	Thanks. -C


> Chapter 11: Rubicon
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Five days later, they were on the road.
Luna had flown back on her own, as fast as she could, ahead of the rest of the attendants who were making their way back on hoof. The first thing she did when she landed was to give Celestia the treaty from the Desert Confederacy, all ready to go except for her signature; the second thing was to take a hot bath to clean off the dirt and sweat she’d picked up on her flight; the third was to walk into the banquet hall with a bright smile spread across her face. “Andradite, is it? So good to meet you! Celestia has told me so much!”
Andradite harrumphed into his plate. “Your Highness,” he said in response. “Pleased to finally make your acquaintance.” No one in the room missed the acid in his voice. “I trust we shall not delay our journey any further?” 
Luna’s smile faltered. 
“We have a few more preparations to make,” Celestia cut in, “but I expect that we shall have the carriages loaded by early tomorrow.”
He snorted. “Carriages.” He picked up his fork and stabbed angrily at the roasted vegetables on his plate. “Such will not make it through the mountain passes.”
Celestia bowed. “As you say. What would you suggest?”
“Pack it yourselves,” he snapped. “Like good, honest ponies.”
“Bright little ray of sunshine, isn’t he?” Luna asked, once they had left the room.
Celestia groaned. “You have no idea.” 
And so, the next morning, they found themselves on the road leading North from Canterlot. Celestia and Luna both carried saddlebags with their bedding and their official regalia; behind them, two earth ponies pulled a cart of food and supplies; and, behind them, a half-dozen guards in their royal armor, short spears in sheathes by their sides. 
Luna limped a little as she walked—even a full ten hours sleep hadn’t been enough to let her recover from her mad flight across the plains. Celestia considered taking her bag, but Andradite, who seemed to take offense at any little thing, would have grumbled at such coddling.
And so, they walked.  
For the first few days, still while in Equestrian territory, every stop was a cause for celebration. The ponies they passed, no matter what they were doing, stopped and waved. Some called out after them, and Celestia, at least, always flashed them a smile. But even this seemed only to irritate Andradite further. For every pony that said greeted them, his frown deepened a little, and he walked just a little faster.
One night, while the fire burned down to embers and Andradite snored on his bedroll, Celestia tried massaging Luna’s muscles. 
“Next time,” Celestia smirked, working on a knot in Luna’s shoulder, “don’t let me take you on a walking tour the day after a marathon flight.”
Luna rolled her eyes. “We do what—ahh—we must,” she winced. “So—unh—what do you think we’ll find? When we get there?” 
Celestia hesitated. 
“I didn’t say stop,” Luna added, almost indignant.
Celestia smiled, and went back to massaging. “I don’t know,” she said. “But, if this… Empire is as powerful as it claims…” She shrugged. “Hopefully, they can help us out. And, if not, perhaps we can help them.” She chuckled. “At the very least, I want to see it for myself.”
Luna groaned again, then smiled. “I know what you mean.” She paused. “And… thanks. For this, I mean.” 
Celestia nodded, patting her gently as she did. “I just hope it helps.”
“It will,” came the reply.
The next morning, Luna’s stride was a little easier—but not easy enough. That day, they passed beyond the borders of Alliance territory. Ponies still stopped what they were doing as they passed, but there were fewer waves and a great deal more staring. They knew of the Princesses—who didn’t?—but to see them was something different entirely.
On the third day since leaving the Alliance, the little party reached the top of a low hill. Andradite started down the other side, but Celestia paused, frowning. Luna limped up beside her and stared. 
Below them lay a flat plain, several hundred yards across, bordered on either side by low, rolling hills. Through the center of the plain ran a river, dark blue, flowing deep and fast, crossed by a small, wooden footbridge. 
And, on the other side of that bridge waited a small entourage of crystal ponies—porters, cart-drivers, and soldiers.
Celestia glanced down; Andradite hadn’t noticed their hesitation, and still walked the path towards the river. “Andradite?” she called after him. “What’s going on?”
He turned back and smiled at them—a smile that didn’t quite fit his face. “We’ve reached the Azure River—the edge of our borders.” He turned back and kept walking. “It’s time you enjoyed some proper servants.”
Celestia growled to herself, then spread her wings and took off. She flew over to Andradite, landing lightly in front of him. “Andradite,” she repeated, “Why are there soldiers waiting for us?”
He raised his eyebrows, then looked her up and down. “Because,” he said, as if he was talking to a child, “Now that we are entering Empire territory, you will be escorted by Empire servants. It’s only fitting, after all.” He side-stepped around Celestia and kept walking. “You may send your servants home—after we have unloaded your luggage, of course.”
Celestia opened her mouth to respond—but didn’t know what to say. She turned after him with a pained look, but did not move. Luna landed beside her and stumbled, but quickly righted herself. 
“Did you hear that?” Celestia asked.
Luna shook her head. 
“He wants us to send our servants back. Let the crystal escorts take us the rest of the way.” She swallowed, then shot a glance at the soldiers—each wearing a bow, a quiver, and a short blade. “I’m not a fan of the idea,” she murmured.
Luna shot her a crooked grin. “Come on, Cece,” she said, nudging her. “Quit being paranoid.” She paused, then gave a half-nod. “True, Andradite’s been… difficult… but if he cares about his king as much as he claims, then he wouldn’t let anything happen to us. Besides,” she added, flashing a smile as she set off after Andradite, “we can take care of ourselves. We’re big girls.”
Celestia glared after her, then followed. “I’m not being paranoid,” she muttered.
Celestia glowered as the crystal servants offloaded their luggage into the waiting two-wheeled crystal carts—small and light enough, presumably, to make it over the mountains she could already see in the distance. She eyed the crystal soldiers again—rather heavily armed for a mere peaceful trot through the countryside. Part of her knew that she was, perhaps, being unreasonable—after all, this was a diplomatic visit, and a show of force might be part of King Sombra’s strategy—but a bigger part of her remained unconvinced. In an unfamiliar country, with an unfamiliar ruler, surrounded by armed soldiers, and with no allies save each other…
...well. Like Luna said. They were big girls. And hopefully they would be able to last long enough for at least one of them get away...
Celestia suddenly realized Luna was speaking. She glanced up, ready to answer—but saw her talking to Andradite.
“...So, what’s it like?” she was asking. “The Empire, I mean.”
“The Empire,” Andradite said, puffing out his chest, “is the greatest nation known to ponykind. We work together, in unity and solidarity, for the good of the all.” 
Celestia perked up her ears.
“Really?” Luna asked. “That’s quite impressive.”
Andradite nodded proudly. “Indeed. But the Empire is no stranger to impressive feats. Have you heard of the Spire, Your Highness?”
“I can’t say I have,” she replied.
“The Spire,” Andradite said, somehow puffing out his chest even more, “has been the palace of the Crystal Kings and Queens for the past two millennia—and, more importantly, it is the largest single project that we have ever accomplished. Grown from a single seed-crystal, then worked, in less than a year, into its current shape, it is a marvel of what we can accomplish.”
Luna nodded, impressed. “Seed-crystals,” she repeated. “I would assume…?”
“Indeed,” he replied, cutting her off. “Crystals grow naturally from the ground, wherever crystal ponies dwell—which is good, as they are quite useful, not to mention beautiful. But,” he added, “when we need to, we can grow them ourselves—from seed-crystals.” He smiled. “In fact, it is said that the seed that grew the palace was the largest ever carved—wide as three ponies abreast. And further…”
Celestia narrowed her gaze. She had spent enough time around enough stuffed shirts that she liked to think she had gotten pretty good at separating bluster from substance. And Andradite was starting to sound less like an earnest advocate and more like a travel brochure. 
Her gut began to squirm.
“Highness?”
Celestia glanced down. An orange pegasus wearing crystal armor looked back up at her. He made a little bow, then spoke. “Highness,” he repeated, with the slightest hint of an aristocratic drawl. “We’re fixin' to set out, if you're ready.”
Celestia stared at him a moment. “...yes,” she said, finally. “Yes, I’ll be along in a moment.”
He bowed again and turned away. 
Celestia hesitated. “Guard?” she called.
The pegasus turned back around. “Highness?” he asked uncertainly.
Celestia opened her mouth. There were so many questions she wanted to ask… Can I trust Andradite? Can I trust you? What is your Empire really like? Are we in danger here? Will I have any warning before you stab us all in the back?
Instead, she cleared her throat. “What’s your name?” She asked. 
His eyes widened, and he bowed a little. “Flash Sentry, Highness.” 
“Flash Sentry,” she repeated. She took a deep breath. “My sister, Princess Luna,” she said. “She’s fatigued from the journey. Would it be possible to find a carriage or something like that, so she won’t have to walk so far?”
He shook his head firmly. “No can do. The pass over the mountain’s steep and rocky, and we don’t got nothin' that would be able to go all the way—and even those little carts are gonna have a hard time.” He hesitated, then bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he added. 
Celestia stared at him for a moment, then, slowly smiled. Luna needed something, badly—but, though she was still disappointed, there was something that she liked about this little guard. “Thank you,” she said, returning his bow. “I appreciate it.”
He saluted, then turned to re-join the caravan. A moment later, Celestia followed. 
	
	
	
> Chapter 12: The Valley of the Shadow
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	As the little party drew closer and closer to the mountains in the distance, Celestia noticed that the landscape began to change. First, they were little pebbles in the road; then rocks by the wayside; and, eventually, entire boulders—not stones, like in Equestria—but crystals. Delicate pastel colors, glowing faintly, even in the sunlight. Celestia stopped to examine one briefly, but at Andradite’s harrumph, hurried to catch up. 
As the sun began to set, they reached a small village of wooden homes and thatched roofs. Here, the name of the village—”Mohs”—was carved into a tall, lilac crystal standing by the path. Andradite puffed out his chest a bit. “And finally,” he proclaimed, “We have reached Crystal territory proper. This is one of our more recent colonies, and I think you’ll agree—this is a wonderful little town.” He glanced over his shoulder. “And you will have your first taste of true Crystal hospitality!”
Celestia tried to ignore him. She was having a good look for herself. The townsponies stared wearily after the little entourage, their coats showing only the briefest glimmer. They had a hollow look about them, like something was… missing. And, the crystals—they were beautiful indeed, but more than one of them had sprouted into a building or through a wall. Celestia glanced at Luna, and saw the same, worried look on her face.  
“...yes,” she said slowly. “Let’s enjoy your… hospitality.”
Andradite, for the first time in the trip, consented to let them stay in a tavern. He demanded the biggest meal and the best drink be served for him and the Royal Guests—and, though the innkeeper and his wife brought them gleaming crystal plates heaped with food and crystal bottles of wine so red they shone like rubies in the light—as far as Celestia could see, no money—no gold, no gemstones—changed hooves. She bit her lip. Perhaps this was simply how their economy worked…?
But one thing she couldn’t explain away was their hungry eyes. Not directed at her—but at the mounds of food on their plates. She could feel the weight of their gaze as she lifted her fork.
Celestia took two bites—careful to avoid what looked like chunks of rock-hard crystalline corn—then declared herself full. She rose, slipped a couple Equestrian bits from her bag and slid them under the edge of the plate, then, with a glance and a smile at the innkeepers, she nodded significantly to her barely-touched plate. She stood, then walked upstairs.
Mercifully, their room didn’t have proper bedsteads—she wouldn’t have been able to fit if she’d tried—but instead, a pallet of loose straw. Celestia spread out her bedroll and laid down, listening to her stomach rumble. 
Half an hour later, Luna knocked and pushed her way inside. She raised an eyebrow at Celestia. “Andradite was looking for you,” she said. “He has some kind of music arranged for us. He called it a, um… a flugelhorn?”
Celestia shook her head. “Tell him I’m tired.”
Luna nodded. “I already did.” 
Celestia nodded her thanks. 
Celestia hesitated, then turned and shot a spark of magic at the door, and the bolt slid into place. She sighed, then turned to Luna “Did you notice?” she asked quietly.
Luna laid down on the other pallet with a heavy sigh. “Notice what?”
“The ponies are hungry,” she said.
Luna was silent for a long moment. “Yes,” she said finally, “yes, I did.” 
Celestia closed her eyes. 
“The fields seem to be growing okay, though,” Luna added. 
Celestia looked up. “Fields?”
Luna nodded. “It’s a decent-sized farming community, looks like,” she said. “Didn’t you notice the fields on the way in?”
Celestia shook her head. “No—but did you see the crystals?”
Luna glanced at her. “Crystals?”
Celestia nodded. “Everywhere. Almost looks like they’re eating the town alive.”
Luna went quiet. “What should we do?” she said, finally.
Celestia shook her head again. “I don’t know. But something strange is happening.” She sighed. “I guess we just do what we can—at least until we figure out what’s going on.”


* * *


“Your Highness,” Andradite called.
He was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs as she descended. She had to admit—as much as she was starting to despise him, the early-morning sun did wonders for his coat. “Yes?” she responded. 
He bowed. “A word, if I may.” 
Celestia frowned, but stepped aside as Luna came down behind her. He followed her with his gaze until she rounded a corner, then turned his attention back to Celestia. “Your Majesty,” he repeated, “I believe you dropped these.”
And he held up the bits she had left on the table the night before. Celestia’s eyes went wide.
If he noticed, he did not react. “I know it was an accident,” he said, “but I would hate for you to leave the wrong impression. That meal was given out of the goodness of their hearts, and, if you were to attempt to pay for it—why, it would be simply the gravest insult to their generosity.”
“Of course,” she murmured, taking the bits. Well. That was one question answered. 
“And you will be pleased to know,” he continued, “that the remainder of your meal has been properly disposed of.”
The breath caught in Celestia’s throat. “W-what?” she whispered. 
“It’s an old Crystal tradition,” he continued, almost nonchalantly. “Food prepared for royal lips is simply unfit for common ponies. As such, any remainder is burned after your meal.”
“...burned?” she repeated, still breathless.
“Of course,” he replied. “We wouldn’t want to risk profaning an offering made to royalty, now would we?” he paused, then stretched that same, fake grin across his face. 
“Now,” he began, in soothing tones, “I know this isn’t how it’s done in Equestria, but you must understand—we are a proud and ancient Empire, and we have traditions of our own.” A glint of steel shone through the smile. “And you wouldn’t want to offend our traditions now, would you? You don’t want to risk your negotiations, after all...”
Celestia gritted her teeth. “No,” she replied. “No, I wouldn’t.”
Andradite nodded. “Good,” he said. “I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding.”
And with that, he turned and followed after Luna.


* * *


Breakfast that morning consisted of a similar spread—a positive mountain of food, on almost a full-size serving platter. Celestia actually saw the cook lick his lips as he set it down. Celestia tried, she really did—but she realized, after her fifth bite, that she genuinely wasn’t hungry. The “thank you” she whispered to the innkeeper as she slipped outside was met with a blank stare.
They walked through Crystal territory for two more days before approaching the mountains. Every morning and night, it was the same—too much food, too little hunger, with empty eyes watching her push the plate away. She stayed up one night for one of the flugelhorn performances, but excused herself in short order; she couldn’t stand the weight of the stares.
Finally, they left the last village behind, and found themselves nearly at the foot of the mountains. Another half-day’s walk, and their path began to climb. The road got narrower and rockier as it worked its way upward. Soon, the greenery of the world below gave way to tough grasses and tiny, starlike wildflowers. The trees were thinner, too, the oldest among them twisted into alien shapes by the harsh winter snows. And everywhere, the crystals, growing from the living stone, blue and pink and white, shedding the palest glows across the scene.
As the path changed from dirt to loose cobbles, loose cobbles to flat stone, Celestia, despite herself, began to smile. This country, harsh though it was, had its own, stark beauty;  she almost wouldn’t mind visiting again later on—after the Empire joined the Alliance, of course.
She shook her head at the thought. No. Too early for that. Too many questions, still—and not enough answers. 
Finally—after what felt like hours of chasing switchbacks up the side of the mountain—they reached the crest of the pass. 
As the valley spread out below them, Celestia gasped. Luna limped up alongside her, and her jaw fell open. Andradite, with a vicious smirk, gestured grandly at the expanse below. 
“Welcome,” he boomed. “To the Crystal Empire.”
The valley below stretched for fifty, a hundred miles, a bright, almost emerald, green. Patchworks of farms and pastures lay like a thick quilt wherever you looked. And, in the very center of the valley, shining like a jewel, lay the City.
The City. It was like something out of a dream; at least five or ten miles across, it was perfectly circular, and made entirely out of glowing crystal. And, in the very center, hundreds of feet high, stood a tall, crystal spire, glittering in the joyous sunlight.
It took Celestia almost a minute to find the words. “It’s… beautiful,” she said, finally. 
“It is, isn’t it?” Andradite said—and, for the first time since Celestia had met him, it seemed like he meant it. 
Perhaps it was the view—or, maybe, it was the fact that they could finally see their destination—but the descent was easier than the climb had been. And there, at the foot of the mountain, where the path gave way to a proper, paved road, waited a carriage for them—carved, of course, of glowing crystal, with thick pillows lining the interior.  
“Thank you,” Luna said wearily as she climbed in. 
Andradite nodded. “Of course. Now that we are in the Empire proper, it wouldn’t do to have you walk all that way.”
Celestia frowned a little, but climbed in beside her sister, who, it seemed, was already dozing off. 
Celestia sat quietly for the duration of the ride. Andradite, of course, kept up a running commentary—taking pains to point out the clever irrigation and pest control measures they had taken—but Celestia tuned him out. Instead, she took a deep breath of the clean, fresh, late-summer air—already bearing the slightest chill of winter—and watched the farms roll by: fields of crystal corn and wheat, trellises thick with shining berries, thick root greens and melons. 
And, as she watched, she found her mind wandering. Think of what a kingdom like this could do for the Alliance—a defensible valley, almost limitless fields… why, with all this, we could—
She shook her head. No. She was not here to plunder the Empire. She was here to extend friendship. Help them to join the Alliance, if possible; if not, at least open some kind of trade. Even if she couldn’t convince them to join, it was never a bad thing to be on good terms with such a powerful ally.
Celestia gazed back out at the fields again—and noticed, for the first time, that there were ponies working them. Lines of ponies, pulling weeds, or picking fruit, and—Celestia’s eyes went wide—and ponies in armor watching them carefully. Two or three per work crew. At the sight, Celestia clenched her jaw.
By the time Luna stirred again, they were almost to the city itself. When she finally opened her eyes. Celestia smiled. “That help any?” she asked. 
Luna stretched painfully. “Not really,” she groaned. “But that’s not what’s important now, is it?”
	

> Chapter 13: The Crystal King
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Celestia let out a long, slow sigh. Finally.
Together, while still in the carriage, Luna and Celestia had helped each other with their regalia. After all, it wouldn’t do to look like road-weary travellers; these ponies expected princesses, and princesses they would have.
And, though the cheering crowds lining the streets had been something of a relief—after all the awkwardness along the road, at least—all Celestia wanted was for it to be over. She wanted to talk to Luna. And she wanted to see this King Sombra. She wanted to see the face of someone who would allow his subjects to starve, who forced ponies to work his fields under guard, and who—judging from their faces—forced his citizens to turn out en masse for visiting dignitaries, to line the streets and cheer hollow cheers with fear in their eyes.
They had been given a half-hour or so to clean up. And, though Celestia desperately wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a soft bed, she had to make do with a quick splash of water and some carefully-applied makeup. When the two of them had finished, Andradite—apparently more than just a messenger—led them through the corridors of the Spire to an enormous, gleaming door. Here, he bowed and backed away.
Finally, they would get some answers.
Celestia pushed the door open, and the two of them stepped inside—Celestia proud and tall, Luna doing her best to hide her limp. 
After the gleaming splendor of the city itself, the salon they found themselves in was… well, simple might be the word. Like everything else in the Spire, the room was built of glowing crystal, with three tall, narrow windows looking out over the city. In the center of the room was a low table, plush pillows on the floor beside it. And, standing at one of the windows with his back to them, stood the King.
He stood tall, for a unicorn, at least—but even at his full height, he would barely come up to the Sister’s shoulders. His coat shone, not pink or blue, but a burnished steel, and his dark, wavy mane ran down to his shoulders. He wore a plush cape, scarlet with ermine trim, and a severe steel crown that matched his coat. He turned to face them, and a smile spread across his handsome face.
He bowed his head. “Your Highnesses,” he intoned in a deep, velvety bass. “I am King Sombra.” He stepped forward, then lifted Celestia’s right hoof with his, and gently kissed it. “And you are…?” he asked.
Celestia felt her heart flutter. “P-Princess Celestia,” she stuttered. “And this is Princess Luna. Of Equestria,” she added lamely.
Sombra turned to kiss Luna’s hoof as well. As he did, Celestia bit the inside of her cheek. Quit acting like a little schoolfilly, she chastised herself. You’re here on business. Keep it professional. 
But, all the same: she did have to admit that King Sombra made quite the impression.
“Princesses, you say?” Sombra asked, shaking Celestia from her reverie. “Not Queens?”
Celestia shook her head. “No. We prefer the lesser title. It’s not as… imposing.” 
He nodded. “And there’s no king, then? Or princes?”
Luna smiled a little. “Not as such, no.”
Sombra raised an eyebrow. “Curious,” he said. “A kingdom without a king.”
Celestia smiled wryly. “No more curious than an empire without an emperor, Your Brilliance.”
He froze, then laughed, a warm, rumbling laugh. “Fair point, Your Highness,” he said. He gestured to the table behind him. “Please, have a seat, both of you. You’ve had quite the journey.”
Celestia stepped forward. “Indeed,” she said, lowering herself onto the cushions. “Though it would have been longer without the… hospitality of your citizens.” 
If he heard the edge in her voice, he did not react. Instead, he sighed. “Andradite is known for being rather…” he gestured vaguely. “...difficult. But he has a good heart, at least...” He sat. “...and he’s a good servant, too.”
Luna sat in the remaining spot, but grimaced as she lowered herself onto the cushions. Sombra frowned. “Is everything alright, Your Highness?” he asked.
“It’s nothing,” Luna said, with a little shake of her head. “It’s… it’s been a long journey, as you said.”
“No,” he said firmly, “It’s not nothing. You are my guests, here on important business.” He paused thoughtfully. “...I had hoped,” he said slowly, “that we might be able to get to business right away. But if you’re in no fit shape…”
“But I am,” Luna protested weakly.
Sombra nodded, but continued nevertheless. “Let’s hold off for a day or two. We have the time, after all.”
Celestia raised an eyebrow. “Andradite was rather insistent that we make it here right away,” she said slowly.
Sombra rolled his eyes. “Andradite is not the king,” he said, a hint of steel in his tone. 
Luna let out a long, quiet sigh, and a little smile crept across her face. 
Suddenly, the doors swung open, and in walked three crystal ponies, each dressed in white and carrying a covered tray. These they set down in front of Sombra, Celestia, and Luna, and, at some invisible signal, whipped off the covers and retreated. Thick steam billowed up from the plates, making Celestia smile and her mouth water.
“I’ve had my chefs try their best to recreate authentic Equestrian cuisine,” Sombra said mildly, “And, Princess Celestia, Andradite has informed me of your preference in portion sizes.” He picked up his fork.“I hope you find it all to your liking,” 
The steam cleared, revealing a simple dish of roasted vegetables—potatoes, carrots, summer squash—and plain rice. Artfully arranged—but simple, and, mercifully, in normal-sized portions. Celestia realized she hadn’t found herself so eager to dig into a meal in weeks.
The food was as delicious as promised. Sombra and the sisters chatted a little, mostly small-talk, but they were too absorbed by the meal to say much. After dinner, came dessert (berries and cream), and, after dessert came coffee, and, with it, a small musical ensemble, playing on crystal harps, violins, and cellos. When their performance concluded, Celestia and Luna clapped politely, and Sombra dismissed the musicians with a nod. 
“Well, Princess Luna, Celestia,” he said with a little bow, “I believe that’s all I have for you tonight. If you’d like, my servants can draw a bath for you, but, otherwise, they will show you to your rooms.” He smiled a little. “And don’t worry about tomorrow. I’ll arrange for some entertainments.” He hesitated. “That is, unless you’d prefer to rest...”
 Celestia and Luna then looked at each other. For a moment, they said nothing. Slowly, Celestia spoke. “I think…” she said, “that… entertainments might be… nice.”
Sombra smiled. “Excellent. I will ask my servants to make arrangements, and, if I can find the time, I think I will join you.”
Luna nodded. “That would be most kind of you.”
Sombra bowed again. “Of course. It’s my pleasure.” He stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few things to take care of before I retire. Emery will show you to your rooms.”


* * *


An hour later, Celestia lay in bed, still awake. Emery, a dignified, black-coated mare, had led them to their assigned bedchamber, a luxurious suite towards the pinnacle of the Spire. Luna had asked about that bath, and, within moments, it seemed, servants had appeared holding great ewers of steaming water.
Now, lying in bed, muscles still a little sore, clean of road-dust for the first time in what felt like months, Celestia wanted nothing more than to simply drift off to sleep. 
But her mind would not let her. 
“Lu?” she whispered into the darkness.
“Hm?” Luna replied, sleepily.
“What do you think of Sombra?”
“He seems… nice. A lot nicer than Andradite, anyways.” A pause. “Why?”
Celestia opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came. “...I’m not sure,” she said, finally. “He’s been very gracious, but…” she shrugged. “Something’s not right.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” she said, rolling over. “I can’t put my hoof on it.”
Silence.
“Cece?”
“Hm?”
“Think you might be getting paranoid again?”
Celestia sighed. “No.” A pause. “It’s just… I want to be sure of him before we try to bring the Empire into the Alliance. And I don’t think a stallion like Sombra would hire a servant like Andradite, especially not to go fetch foreign dignitaries.”
“Dunno,” Luna murmured sleepily. 
Celestia rolled her eyes, but said nothing. Finally, she sighed again. “I guess it doesn’t matter,” she said. “As long as His Brilliance agrees to the Accords, it’ll sort itself out. Right?”
Luna remained silent. 
“Lu?” Celestia asked again.
Luna did not reply. After another moment of silence, she began to breathe deeply.
Celestia sighed and rolled over again. Perhaps Luna had the right idea. Just concentrate on getting a good night’s rest, and leave the troubles for the morning.  


* * *


After breakfast—a simple affair of chopped fruit and yogurt—Sombra clapped his hooves  twice, summoning Emery again. “Your Highnesses,” he said, “I know you must still be weary from the road. As such, I have arranged a visit to the local hot springs. My attendants there will see to your needs.”
Celestia glanced at Luna, who had a slow smile spreading across her face. “We’re looking forward to it,” Celestia said to Sombra.
Calling it merely a “hot spring” was an understatement. The Princesses luxuriated in a massive pool—almost a lake—Luna practically gurgling with pleasure. Afterwards, servants toweled them off, and massaged perfumed oils into their coats. Celestia smiled as she watched Luna practically melt under the servant’s hooves, smiling as they finally worked out the kinks that had been plaguing her. 
After they had finished, a new set of servants came in, carrying brushes, combs, and mirrors. They plaited the sisters’ manes in a traditional Crystal Empire style, weaving in tiny slivers of glowing crystal. When the servants gave Celestia a mirror, she took it, then simply stared. After a moment, she turned her head this way, then that. She had to admit, though she preferred to let her mane hang free, there was something to be said for the Crystal Empire style—put up, with tiny lights shining throughout. Celestia found herself smiling in a way she hadn’t done for a long, long time. 
When they left the spa, Sombra was waiting outside in a carriage. He helped the sisters in, murmuring compliments as he did so, and earning shy little nods in return. The sisters made themselves comfortable, and they set off. After a moment more, Sombra began to gently narrate the ride—the history of this or that place, or function or purpose of that building—earning little delighted gasps from Luna. Celestia remained silent, but watched Sombra himself; as they worked their way through the crowded streets, on a slow, lazy circle around the city, she saw the pride in his voice and the swelling in his chest. Sombra—whatever his faults—loved his city. And, it suddenly occurred to her—loved its citizens.
Celestia started. It seemed that, perhaps, they had been wrong—that, despite the problems with his staff, his kingdom would be a valuable—and welcome—addition to the Alliance. 
That evening—after another simple dinner and musical performance, this one a soft flugelhorn band, Luna glanced at her sister. “Well?” she asked simply. Celestia stared for a moment, glanced at Sombra, then nodded.
Celestia took a deep breath, then turned, laid her hooves on the table, and smiled. “Your Brilliance,” she said softly. “You have been a most gracious host—and, with all the effort you’ve made to ensure our comfort—you’ve proven yourself a good friend.”
“Of course,” he rumbled in return. “Any good king would do the same.” But Celestia saw his chest puff out a bit, and a little smile tug at the edges of his lips.
Luna nodded. “We are, nevertheless, grateful.” 
He made a little bow in return.
Celestia hesitated, but pressed forward. “My sister and I would like to extend a formal invitation to you,” she said, “to become a valuable member of the Equestrian Alliance—to allow for greater unity of ponykind, to increase your access to goods and trade routes, and to ensure the happiness and safety of your citizens.”
Sombra was smiling wide now. 
“Of course,” Celestia continued, signalling to a servant, “We do ask, as an act of good faith, that you accept and implement the Equestrian Accords.”
His smile faltered. “The Accords,” he repeated.
She nodded as the servant approached bearing a silver tray, and, on it, a tightly-rolled scroll. “Yes,” she said. “A simple bill of rights, guaranteeing fair and equitable treatment of your citizens. As we said, it’s the very reason why we do this—to ensure good lives for all ponies under Alliance rule.” Celestia offered Sombra the scroll. He took it, cracked the seal, and began to read. “Of course,” she added, watching the creases on his brow deepen, “We also ask that these Accords be integrated, swiftly, into Empire law, in order to show a willingness to cooperate—”
Sombra suddenly rolled the scroll again, revealing a frown. “I apologize,” he said, cutting her off. “I recognize you would like me to sign these Accords tonight, but I would like time to study them in detail before I commit.” He set the scroll aside. “May I give you my response tomorrow morning?”
Celestia hesitated, his sudden change in tone catching her off-guard. “O-of course,” she stammered. “You may have as long as you like—”
“No,” he repeated, firmly. “Tomorrow should do. Your time is valuable, and I would hate to waste it.”
Luna cut in. “We respect your caution in this matter, Your Brilliance,” she said. “We will be pleased to hear from you tomorrow.”
“Indeed,” he said with a nod, then took a deep breath. “Your Highnesses, if you please, Emery will show you to your rooms now. I would like some time to read these in detail.”
“Of course,” Celestia said, standing. “And—thank you for today. It was…” she thought for a moment. “...wonderful,” she finished with a smile.
“Yes, it was...” he murmured absently. 
Celestia stood quietly for a moment, but already, Sombra was deep in thought. Once again, out of nowhere, it seemed, Emery appeared at the sisters’ side—and, with a gesture, led them from the room. Celestia glanced over her shoulder as the door closed, and saw, through the crack, Sombra reading the Accords again, eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

> Chapter 14: Forking Paths
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“Absolutely not.”
Luna stared at the floor. Celestia returned Sombra’s burning glare. “Your Brilliance,” she said evenly, “I encourage you to—”
“No,” he repeated. “These—these Accords of yours will destroy the Empire.”
Celestia stared into his eyes and saw, to her mild surprise, tears forming there. “Please,” she said cooly, “Could you elaborate?”
Sombra unrolled the parchment and began to read. “Accord the first: fair wages for work performed. Accord the second: free and unhindered travel for all Alliance citizens, including my own. Accord the sixth: financial, material, and personnel support for the Alliance monster hunting corps.” He rolled up the scroll and glared at them.
Celestia stared back, a vague panic beginning to build inside her. “Please,” she repeated. “I don’t see—”
“These will starve the Empire,” he snarled. “You will steal the workers away from their due labor, and you will force me to spend what they do bring in on taxes and wages.” 
“I still fail to see the issue,” Celestia said, the panic now clawing frantically at her calm.
“The issue,” he growled, “is that the Empire is not your temperate lowland kingdom. We don’t have the weather at our beck and call. We need every worker possible to grow and harvest as much as we can in the short summer season. If we don’t squeeze the land for every drop of nourishment it will give up, we will die with the winter snows. Don’t you see?” he snapped. “You will force me to let my workers leave when they choose. You will force me to make them work for filthy lucre, not for civic duty and loyalty to the state. These Accords,” he repeated, pounding the scroll, “are a death sentence for myself, and for my Empire. I will not sign.”
His words hung in the air like a death sentence. After a long moment, Celestia turned to stare at Luna, eyes wide.


* * *


“Thanks for this,” Celestia said, shoving the last of her things into her saddlebag.
Luna sighed deeply, then flopped on her bed. “Thank me later.”
“No, I mean it,” she said. “This could be a great opportunity, if it works out.”
“If,” Luna repeated. “Honestly, I’m just surprised that we could talk him into letting either of us stay.”
Celestia sighed. “You’ll bring him around.” She draped her bags over her shoulders, then cinched the belt. “I mean, you’ve done it before,” she chuckled. “Do you remember Iron Plains, how long it took you to get into the place?”
Luna smiled a little. “Stubborn old mule,” she muttered. 
“And Lariat Fork,” Celestia continued. “She refused to sign, too. But you managed to talk her down.”
Luna nodded. “Well… that was a little different...”
Celestia sat next to her on the bed. “Not that different.” She smiled. “I know you can do it,” she said. “This could be really good for us. N-not just us, I mean,” she added quickly. “For everyone.” She hesitated. “I’m a little worried about what’s going on around here… and if we can convince him to stop… well, whatever’s going on...”
“I’ll try,” Luna said weakly. 
Celestia turned and smiled. “If anyone can do it,” she said, “It’s you. You always were the better diplomat.”
“And you the better bureaucrat.” Luna smiled weaky. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Celestia replied. They were quiet for a moment, before Celestia slipped her arm around Luna. “You gonna be okay?” she asked.
Luna looked up. “Like you said,” she smiled, “this could be a great thing for both the Alliance and the Empire. Given the circumstances, I don’t think I matter at all. I know what you mean,” she added, “and, thank you for your concern. But, if this is for the good of Equestria, well—” she shrugged. 
Celestia nodded with a grim smile. “I just want to make sure you won’t get hurt.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl,” she said with a smile. 
“That you are,” Celestia said. After a moment, she snorted. “If His Brilliance continues to be as generous with his gifts as he was yesterday, well—” she smiled. “You might even be better off here than back home.”
Luna chuckled. “True,” she said. “But it won’t be the same without you.”
Celestia shook her head. “Nor will Canterlot,” she replied.
Luna reached up and squeezed her hoof. “Take care of the palace for me?”
Celestia squeezed back. “Of course. Don’t be too long, now. And keep in touch.” She turned to grab her things, but Luna stood up from the bed. Celestia turned back around, and, almost before she could react, Luna had her arms around her. 
“I’m scared, Cece,” she whispered. 
Celestia embraced her back. “I know you can do it,” she said. “But, if things don’t work out, you can always come home.” Celestia patted her on the back. “And I mean it this time. If things get fishy, just cut bait and come back, alright?”
Luna nodded against her. “I’ll try,” she said. 
Celestia smiled. “Good girl,” she said. “See you soon.”


* * *


Celestia, lying on her bed, hesitated. “It took four months,” she said, “before anything really happened.” She sighed. “Luna worked hard on him—hard as she knew how, I think—but even her talents couldn’t make him budge. And, though she tried to make it seem like she was enjoying her time there, I could tell that it was wearing on her. More than she wanted to admit.”
She sighed, heavily. “Meanwhile, I was by myself back in Canterlot. We’d been co-rulers for two centuries, Luna and I. We took breaks for diplomatic visits, but those lasted no more than a month, generally. But this time…” 
She swallowed. 
“After a while, I… I found I was able to get things done so much faster. I didn’t have to talk to her about every little thing. I sent her the laws, the bills, all that, for her to sign… but everything else…” she swallowed. “It was only four months… longest trip by far… but I got used to being sole ruler. And so did the rest of the palace. Fewer and fewer asked what Luna would have wanted. Everything boiled down to me alone.”
She looked up at Posie and Sill. “Do you think it was… wrong of me to… to enjoy it?”
Posie’s eyes went wide. “Do I think…?” She stammered for a bit, then went quiet and looked away. Sill cleared his throat, but did not speak. 
Celestia watched them, a growing sadness in her eyes, then looked away as well. 
“Four months…” she said again, after a pause. “Four months of nothing. And then…”
She hesitated. “We wrote each other,” she said, “almost every night. Me with little updates from back home, she, generally, with complaints about Sombra. But, suddenly, she stopped answering. For ten, fifteen days—no letters.” She looked down. “I… I was on the verge of sending troops in after her. And then, suddenly, she started writing again—and, it seemed, Sombra had finally caved. He was suddenly much more willing to cooperate, and they were making progress, she said. Another three weeks, and she asked me to travel to the Empire to sign the treaty.” 
Celestia fell silent. “If only I had known…”

> Chapter 15: Land of Eternal Summer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Celestia pulled her cloak tighter and gritted her teeth. The snow-white winds howled across the plains, threatening to bury her in ice.
But she would not let them. She had beaten greater foes than this before.
She had come all this way alone. Days, she flew; nights, she huddled in a hastily-erected snow cave, or around a little fire. She had packed light—servants, carriages, supplies, would only slow her down. Something was wrong here, and she didn’t want to waste a second. 
Plus, not packing much to eat meant she could stop by the various crystal villages, pay them good Equestrian bits for what they offered—often, more than they asked. At every stop, she saw more and more hollow faces and hungry stares—and only the barest, almost-suffocated, spark of gratitude at her gold.
The snow had grown thicker as she flew further and further north. King Sombra had been right—apparently, this far north, the weather was harder for the pegasi to keep under control. She had prepared for this, at least; first, she put on a thick, forest-green cloak, with cutouts for her wings; then, as the snows began to pile higher, she raised her hood; and, when flying itself became difficult, she added a pair of goggles. She would have greatly preferred being home by the fire, but such could not be. Her sister needed her, and she would answer.
Celestia had rested at the foot of the pass, using her magic to make a small snow-cave to sleep in, the insulation of the snow above keeping her warm through the night. Then, early the next morning, she flew to the top of the pass—and into the teeth of a screaming blizzard.
Celestia cried out as the wind slammed into her. She began to tumble, but her reflexes took over—her wings flared and trimmed themselves, and she glided, steadily if not gently, halfway down the mountainside before she had to land. She took several deep, gasping breaths, doing her best to steady her nerves. Finally, she looked up—and her eyes grew wide. Wordlessly, she pulled a muffler out of the cloak and up over her mouth and nose as she stared out at the landscape below.
What once had been a verdant field was now bone-white ice, twisted into bizarre and alien shapes by the howling wind, like something out of a nightmare. The path they’d ridden before was long-buried; not a post or marker to be seen. And everywhere, the snow—the blizzard filled the entire valley, snow falling thick, sharp gusts and blasts whipping it into a frenzied, whirling dance.
Celestia stared out at the scene, the cold slowly creeping into her cloak. She could try flying again, but in these conditions that was suicide; the only thing for it was to walk. Walk, and hope.
The journey through the valley was slow. The blizzard never slacked, but Celestia didn’t care. Her Alliance—her sister—needed her, and no storm would stop her. She slept in fits and starts when she needed it, huddled under the snow, and walked when she could. She would surely have lost herself in the storm—were it not for the Light.
The Light. She had noticed it the first—well, to call it “night” would be disingenuous, for here, under the thick black clouds of the blizzard, time had no meaning. But as the light began to dim, she noticed, off in the distance, a faint glow, one that stayed steady until the sky began to lighten again. She set her course towards it, and slowly it grew larger and larger. At first, she thought it might have been the Spire—who knew how much light a crystal like that could give off—but she soon realized it was far too big. But still, its glow was steady and warm—and, whenever she felt like turning around, or giving up, or just lying down in the snow and letting it end—the glow beckoned her onward. 
On the fourth day, Celestia could barely see. Goggles notwithstanding, the snow flew thick and fast, and stung every inch of her exposed skin with a thousand tiny cuts. She gritted her teeth and kept walking. She was almost there—the glow was so close, she could almost touch it—
—and then, she stumbled, and fell into bright, empty space.
She hit the cobblestones hard, and lay in a dazed heap for a long moment. When she looked up, she saw a city street, bathed in warmth and sunshine. The few ponies still in sight carefully avoided looking at her. 
Celestia stood and stretched. Nothing injured, at least not too badly—but snow still covered her thick winter cloak, and her belly still rumbled from several days’ light rations. This was no dream… but what was it?
Celestia looked up and gaped. In the distance towered the Crystal Spire, shining almost bright as day. And, from its pinnacle, stretched a glowing dome, covering the entire city, shining a bright, sky blue, with the flat image of a golden disk high in the false sky. Celestia looked over her shoulder and sucked in a breath—behind her, piled eight, twelve feet high, barely visible against the magic dome, was a solid wall of snow—and there, above her, was the deep trench she had carved through it.
The Crystal Empire, she thought to herself as she slowly turned to face the city. Land of Eternal Summer.
She stared at the dome for several moments, trying to figure it out; whoever—whatever—made this, it was powerful magic. No way any one pony could do this on their own, even for a few minutes…
Well. Whatever was going on, it apparently worked. But now, she thought, there were more pressing questions—like food, and a bed, and Luna—
She took a step towards the Spire—but paused. Here was an opportunity that rarely presented itself. Luna was expecting her, but no one knew when she would be arriving. She, more-or-less, had free run of the city. Why not check it out a little? See if things were really as bad as she suspected? Besides—she was in no fit state to see the king now…
A quick step into a back alley fixed everything. She tied back her mane and did up her tail to hide as much of her identity as she could, then magicked the snow and damp off her cloak. With her wings folded tight underneath she was just another unicorn—an uncommonly tall, not-crystal unicorn, but a unicorn nonetheless.
She had to admit—she rather enjoyed her day of anonymity. A trip to a bank let her exchange her bits for Crystal carats: little low-quality gemstones sliced into flat pieces. With these, she paid for a decent meal at a tavern (boiled grains and mashed roots—two helpings), a long soak in a private bath, and a single room at an inn. From what she could tell, the Crystal ponies were all good ponies: quiet, hardworking, earnest, and appreciative. Anyone would be glad to have them as their citizens… but…
With each carat she spent, she had the same conversation. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t been in town long,” she would ask the merchant. “I was wondering—how do you like it here?”
And, in each case, the answer was “Great!”, or “I love it!”—but with a too-long pause before it. A nervous glance afterward. And always, always, a nervous little tremble.
Celestia was no detective, no journalist, no mind-reader. But, for what it mattered to her, she had all the answers she needed. His Brilliance could make any protestation he pleased—but something was rotten in his kingdom, with or without his knowledge, and that had to change. 
But, that’s what Luna had been negotiating for, right? To save all these ponies? This thought first occurred to her as she lay in her bed that night, legs sticking awkwardly over the hoofboard, the dome overhead speckled with false stars. Celestia frowned, then rolled over. Luna would have worked it out. She was too smart to let stuff like this slide by unnoticed.
  Right?


> Chapter 16: Et in Arcadia
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The next morning, Celestia woke refreshed and early. Her room had no mirror, so, using a small one from her bag, she carefully brushed her mane and tail, then applied her makeup. She pulled her crown, shoes and collar from her bag and carefully polished them, then, one by one, put them on. She spread her wings, looked for loose feathers, then looked again in the mirror, double-checking everything. She made a little adjustment to her crown and collar, then slipped the mirror back into her bags. She slung her saddlebags over her shoulders again, then stepped to the door and put her hoof on the knob. 
And suddenly, it all came crashing down. 
Celestia began to tremble. She took one, two, three unsteady steps backwards, then sat, heavily on the bed, her chest heaving. Little drops of sweat began to drip down the back of her neck as she stared around her room, eyes wide.
What was she doing? Had she really traveled the hundreds of miles to the Crystal Empire on her own? Into the heart of enemy territory? Could she have been that stupid? And all for what? All because Luna hadn’t answered her mail right away?
And what if she was wrong? What if she had wasted her time—everyone’s time? What if she had come all this way for nothing? What if—she swallowed—what if she really was being paranoid?
Celestia realized very suddenly that all she wanted to do was to go home. Not to Canterlot, or the to Summer Palace, but home—back where she could be a little filly again, with Mom and Dad and Cinder, back where her biggest responsibility was keeping the sky clear, where the biggest risk was a passing rainstorm. Let someone else take the responsibility. Let someone else save the day... 
She grimaced. She was being stupid again. She was a Princess—she couldn't act this way anymore. She was that scared little filly too—and oh, what she wouldn’t give to have Cinder’s arms around her, comforting her, right now—but this was one problem she couldn’t run away from. Ponies needed her. Luna needed her. And she was not going to let them down.  
She took several deep breaths, slowly forcing her fears back into their dark holes. She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that this wasn’t a good idea—that, sometime, she would have to face those fears of hers—but, right now, there wasn’t time. Right now, she couldn’t be nervous, or afraid, or unsure of herself. Right now, she couldn’t be scared little Cece, no matter how badly she wanted to. For her own good, for the good of Luna, for the good of Equestria—right now, she had to be Princess Celestia.
Gradually, her breathing slowed. Celestia listened to herself breathe quietly for several seconds. She swallowed, then gave a little shake of her head—and, suddenly, all was well. Once again, she was the Princess. 
She sat on the bed for a few more moments, then stood. She turned and straightened up the bed with a quick flick of her horn, then opened the door and left the room. She descended the stairs to the main floor with practiced grace, then walked to the innkeeper, carefully ignoring the stares of the patrons.
“Thank you,” she said to the innkeeper, placing her key—along with a healthy pile of carats—on the counter. “I had a pleasant stay—and I appreciate your discretion.”
The innkeeper looked up at her, back down at the carats, then back up to her. “No, I-I couldn’t—” she said, moving to push them back.
Celestia put her hoof down first. “I insist,” she said simply. “You have done me a service, and you deserve to be paid.”
The innkeeper glanced nervously at the carats again, swallowed, then nodded. “You’re welcome,” she replied quietly.
Celestia smiled warmly, then turned and walked for the door. She paused on the doorstep and took a deep breath. She’d fooled the innkeeper, at least; perhaps she was better at being a Princess than she’d thought. She froze, then shook her head again. Come on, Celestia. Can’t think like that. Not today.
After a moment, she looked up, smile intact once more. She glanced around the street, then stepped out into traffic.
As she walked, she marveled. Say what you would about King Sombra, but his city was brilliant. Rather than the dark, cramped, twisted streets of Canterlot, his city was laid out in tight, geometric lines, with the major roads leading like spokes to the center of the city. As soon as she found one of these streets, she turned and began to walk down it, towards the hub. Towards the Spire. Towards Luna and her treaty and King Sombra. Towards whatever else awaited her there. 
It took her several minutes to realize she was not alone. She glanced behind her and saw a small crowd walking after her, some pretending to look elsewhere, some staring openly at her. She smiled, then turned back to face the Spire. She felt the little filly in her heart begin to tremble—but another part of her smiled. Maybe it was wrong of her to appreciate the attention—but still, it felt like a good sign that the citizens weren’t completely terrified of her. 
The Crystal Spire stood as a single, enormous tower, straddling a large, open square on three grand legs. Gathered underneath was a troop of soldiers, wearing steel armor to match King Sombra’s crown. Though some of them stood warily at attention, many others had gathered in small groups, chatting, keeping only half an eye on the passing crowd. But all of them straightened up as Celestia approached. 
She smiled, then bowed. “I am Princess Celestia of Equestria,” she said, loud and firm. “Please announce me to His Brilliance and Her Highness.”
Two or three of the soldiers saluted, and one scuttled off towards one of the doors at the base of the Spire’s legs. But the rest simply stared. Celestia smiled wryly. Seemed this whole Princess act was working.
After several minutes, the guard returned. “Your Highness,” he said deferentially, then stepped aside—revealing four more guards, wearing ceremonial palace armor. Celestia stepped forward, nodded her thanks to the first guard, and committed herself to the belly of the beast. 
The guards led her to a massive, crystalline foyer, with a six-pointed snowflake etched in the floor and two grand staircases that spiralled higher into the Spire. The guards moved to flank the staircases, but were otherwise silent; Celestia watched them for a moment, then walked over to one of the tall, narrow windows. The view was pleasant from up here, with the crystal roofs of the city twinkling in the false sunlight of the dome.
She tried to ignore the small crowd formed around the base of the Spire, staring up at her window. Attention was nice, sometimes—but too much started to smother. Besides—
“Cece!”
Celestia whirled around—then broke into a wide smile. “Lu!” she cried.
At the top of one of the grand staircases stood Luna, smiling brightly and almost glowing with happiness. She practically glided down the stairs, then galloped into Celestia’s waiting arms. “You made it,” she said, kissing her on the cheek. “How was the trip? Did you have to come through the storm?”
“Hi, Lu,” she murmured. “Long—but don’t worry. I made it.”
“I know,” Luna replied, smiling. “And I’m glad. So glad.” She pulled Celestia a little tighter. “I missed you.” 
“I missed you too,” she said, patting her on the back. “But I’m here now. I’m here.”
Luna squeezed her tighter, then finally released her. She wiped a tear from her eye, then gestured. “Come on,” she said. “I was just about to have breakfast.”
Celestia felt her stomach rumble and realized just how hungry she was. “That sounds amazing,” she said.
Luna led Celestia through the Spire, navigating the halls with the practiced ease of experience. She kept up a steady commentary for most of the journey, pointing out beautiful views, interesting tapestries or statues, or just chatting about her time there. Celestia chipped in a little, but mostly just listened. After so long apart, it felt so good to be together again. She had enjoyed her time as sole ruler, but it would be good to share the burden again—perhaps, she could even convince Luna to let her go on an extended diplomatic “vacation” herself... 
As they walked, Celestia began to notice little differences in Luna. There were the obvious, of course: for one, she had started doing her mane in the Empire style—a complicated up-do, with small cuts of crystal and golden ornaments woven in—and, with the little stars already in her mane, the effect was stunning. She wore her makeup a little differently as well, making her look younger, almost more innocent. But most striking were the little details—the tiniest spring in her gait, the little smile lurking in the corner of her mouth, the slightest twinkle in her eye. She was obviously happy about something… it could be the fact that Celestia had finally made it, but… this felt different. Bigger.
Celestia mentally shrugged. If it was that important, she’d find out soon enough. For now, best to just enjoy the moment.
Luna led the two of them to a small solarium on the east side of the Spire, facing disk of the rising sun. Servants were already waiting there for them, with a simple breakfast of boiled oats, candied fruits, and cream, served in discreetly Alicorn-sized crystal dishes. Luna barely took a bite, chattering excitedly about this and that; Celestia spoke only to answer her questions, working her way through first one, then a two, portions of oats. As Luna chatted, Celestia smiled; she’d forgotten how fond she was of simply spending time with Luna. It was almost like old times—just the two of them, exploring a new world together, politics and responsibility far from their minds.
Responsibility…
Luna seemed to notice the sudden change in Celestia’s expression, and she stuttered to a halt. “Rverything alright?” she asked, timidly.
Celestia sighed. “Yes,” she said, pushing away her bowl. “It’s… it’s just that I realized how much I wished this was a simple pleasure trip…”
Luna watched her for another moment, then glanced at her own, barely-touched breakfast. She thought for a moment, then nodded to the servants. In a whirl of cloth and crystal, breakfast disappeared. “And some privacy, please,” she called after the servants, the door still swinging shut behind them. She stared at the door for another few moments, until she was satisfied they had gone, then turned back to her sister with a wry grin. “Politics?”
“Politics,” Celestia muttered gloomily.
“Well,” Luna replied brightly, “I think I can take one burden off your mind, at least…” She stood, walked to the door, and poked her head out; after a few moments, she returned with a flat wooden box, beautifully lacquered and decorated with cut crystal. She sat again, and opened the box, revealing a stack of tightly-rolled scrolls. “It was hard work,” she said, rummaging through them, “but I finally managed to convince King Sombra to sign the Accords—with a few small changes...” she unrolled her scroll, revealing their standard copy of the Accords—filled with innumerable angry red marks. “...but basically the same,” she finished.
Celestia’s mouth suddenly felt very dry.
Luna took a moment to straighten the parchment, then began to read the old, familiar words:
“Accord the First: All residents of the territory represented by the undersigned shall receive fair, equal, and just wages for their work, regardless of age, gender, race, or occupation. Exemption,” Luna added, “The Crystal Empire reserves the right to require its citizens, at times or in situations of need, to labor for the good of the City, in recompense for the benefits afforded her citizens.”
Celestia sucked in a sharp breath. D-did she say—?
“Accord the Second,” Luna continued, without looking up, “All residents of the undersigned territory shall have the right of free, unfettered travel throughout all other Accorded territories. Exemption: The Crystal Empire reserves the right to keep its citizens within its borders for their protection, and to exclude outside travelers for its own safety.”
She continued to read, with nearly every item having an exemption, if not two or three. Each exemption declawed, if not distorted or outright perverted their Accords: the Empire would not send delegates to the Equestrian Parliament, but instead exercise veto power on all its decrees within its own borders. The Empire would not fly the Equestrian banner alongside its own, but instead make signet rings and other trinkets bearing the seal. The Empire would not pay the minimal taxes needed to keep the Alliance running, nor would it send troops to aid its small monster-hunting force, but would, instead, be paid 20% of all taxes collected and have the monster hunters at its own beck and call. 
As Luna read, Celestia’s eyes slowly got bigger and bigger. Luna read slowly but confidently, her voice never changing in tone except where she stumbled over her notes. Did she really not know? Had she lost her head in the flowery language—King Sombra’s own writing, no doubt? Or had she simply gone mad?
Luna finished reading, ending the last exemption, then rolled the scroll up with a smile. “I must say,” she said, “It took a lot of hard work—but Sombra finally saw the light, in the—” She looked up at Celestia and frowned. “Cece?” she asked. “Is everything alright…?”
Celestia was silent for several seconds, her brain frantically trying to marshal her thoughts into words. Finally, she leaned forward, took Luna by the hoof, and opened her mouth—
—and, at that moment, the door clicked open. Celestia looked up to see His Brilliance, King Sombra, striding confidently in. She stared at him for a second before her brain finally kicked into gear. “Your Brilliance,” she said levelly, “You honor us with your presence. However, this is a meeting of strict confidence between—”
“No,” Luna said, pulling her hoof from Celestia’s grasp, “It’s alright.” She gave Sombra a silly little half-smile, took him by the hoof, then turned back to Celestia. “There’s… one more thing,” she said, beaming. “To seal our treaty—I am offering Sombra my hoof in marriage.”
Sombra smiled, then reached up and kissed Luna on the cheek. “And I couldn’t be happier,” he said. A little glow from his horn, and Luna’s scroll floated across the table towards Celestia. “All that is needed is your signature, and this will all be law.”
Celestia stared wordlessly at the two of them. Then something exploded inside her, and she abruptly stood. “Your Brilliance,” she said, her voice trembling. “Your Highness. I appreciate your efforts, but you must already know—I can’t—I won’t—approve this treaty. It is a—a mockery of what we set out to do, and I cannot—”
“Cece?” Luna squeaked. Celestia turned to glare at her, then felt her heart turn to ice: Luna looked back up at her with wide eyes, just beginning to fill with tears. “Celestia,” she repeated, her voice trembling, “Are you—?” 
Sombra leaned over and kissed her again. “I’ll take care of this,” he whispered. “I’ll meet you in the library for lunch?” Luna glanced at him, nodded numbly, then stood, and slowly walked from the room, casting a silent look at the two of them. As soon as the door clicked closed behind her, Sombra turned to Celestia, his eyes filled, not with fear, not with resignation, or not even with determination—but with triumph.
“Well, Your Highness,” he rumbled, a slight note of smugness in his voice, “I believe we are at an impasse. Your sister worked hard to craft a document that would be acceptable to each of us, which you so rudely have declined to sign. But now that you’re here—” he smirked. “Perhaps we can craft something a little more to your liking as well.”
Celestia swallowed. “What are you planning, Sombra?” she asked.
He raised an eyebrow. “No ‘Your Brilliance?’ Such impropriety.” He leaned forward. “I should ask the same question, Celestia. Walking here without an escort through the storm? Spending a day and night spying on my city incognito?" He chuckled. "Wandering around, thinking no one would notice you stand head-and-shoulders above literally everyone else... It’s almost enough to make one doubt your intentions.”
Celestia suddenly had the impression of a noose tightening around her neck—a noose she could neither see nor stop. “I did what I had to,” she said. “Luna needed me, and I got here as quickly as I could.”
Sombra shrugged. “If that’s what you have to tell yourself to you can sleep at night, then, of course. But let me ask: why, then, did you not come to the Spire as soon as you arrived?”
Celestia opened her mouth. “I—”
“And what did you plan to do when you got here, anyway?” he continued. “Her Highness is happy here, Celestia. And what were you going to do? Spirit her away? Convince her of her unhappiness?” He clicked his tongue. “For shame, to hurt your own sister like that…”
“I’m not in the mood for games, Sombra,” Celestia said.
“Good,” he replied, “because I’m not playing.” He put his hooves on the table. “Let me be plain: given your behavior, I can no longer trust you. I cannot allow you to roam the city without supervision. And, as a good host, I cannot, in good conscience, let you leave until the storm clears, which will not be for another month at the very least. As such,” he said, “you will be confined to your quarters until further notice. You will have all the parchment you need to conduct affairs at home, and any equipment you might need to write and send letters, but you will remain a guest of the Crystal Empire until we have come to an agreement.” He leaned forward. “And please don’t test me,” he hissed. “You may be ageless, but there’s precious little evidence you’re actually immortal.” He leaned back. “Is that clear?”
“You’re mad,” she whispered. 
“That is a distinct possibility,” he admitted. “But that has little bearing on the present discussion.” He knocked smartly on the table, and the door opened. The breath caught in Celestia’s throat: the hallway outside was filled with row upon row of armed and armored guards.
“I asked,” Sombra repeated testily, “Is this clear?”
Celestia looked back at him, and realized that he was staring directly at her. “...yes,” she said finally, her voice brimming with anger. “Clear as crystal.”
His lips twitched in a little smile. “Now you’re getting it,” he said. 
	
> Chapter 17: Escape
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Celestia was pacing in her darkened room when the rising moon peeked above her windowsill. She stopped walking and stared at it for a long moment, then nodded decisively. She moved to the door and tried the handle. She was barely surprised to find it locked. 
So, she knocked.
After a moment, the knob turned, and the door opened just a crack. Through the sliver of light, she saw a soldier in crystal armor, his coat a flat orange, rather than the shimmering pastels of the others. When he saw her, his eyes went wide. “Princess,” he blurted out, astonishment in his drawl. “You look like you been run hard and put away wet!”
Celestia’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?” she asked, startled, whatever plan she had forgotten.
He winced, then cleared his throat nervously. “I mean, uh…” he swallowed. “Y-you don’t look so good, Your Highness.”
Celestia sighed. “It’s been a… trying afternoon,” she said, carefully. 
He bowed his head. “For what it’s worth,” he murmured. “I’m sorry how they’re treatin’ ya. It ain’t right.”
Celestia felt a little twitch of a smile at the edge of her mouth. He was a little rough around the edges, this guard, but he wore his heart on his sleeve—there was nothing in his soul that you couldn’t read on his face. 
And suddenly, she made a decision. 
“Please,” she said, “Call me Celestia.”
“Highness?” he said, looking up
She nodded. “I mean it,” she said.
He nodded carefully. “If you please... t-then I will, Highness.” He froze, then shook his head a little. “Ma’am,” he corrected himself. “But, uh, I gotta ask—why?”
“Because I trust you,” she said simply.
The guard stood up a little straighter and puffed out his chest the slightest bit. “D’ya mean it?” he asked eagerly. 
She nodded. “I do.” 
He fluffed his wings a little, and tried to hide his smile.
“What’s your name?” Celestia asked him.
“Flash Sentry, Ma’am,” he said smartly.
Celestia nodded slightly. “That’s right—you met us at the river…”
“Yes’m,” he said. “I remember.”
Celestia glanced again at his flat orange coat. “You’re not from around here, are you, Flash?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I was born here, if that’s what you’re askin’,” he said. “Born and Crystalled. But my folks weren’t. They were skiing in the mountains one day, and His Brilliance hired ‘em to see if they could help control the blizzards.” He smiled. “They couldn’t—but then they had me, so I guess we came out even.”
Celestia smiled a little. “More than even,” she said. Flash smiled a little wider. 
“Were they from Cloudsdale?” she asked.
“No’m,” he said. “Roan Oak.”
“Roak Oak,” she repeated with a nod. “Good ponies there.”
“Never been, Ma’am,” he said.
Celestia sighed. “That’s right,” she said. “I apologize.”
“No apology needed, Ma’am.”
She gave a little smile, which he returned. 
Celestia hesitated, then took a deep breath. 
“Flash,” she said, “You’ve been very good to my sister and I—on both of our visits.” She smiled, then glanced around her room. “As much as can be expected, at least.”
He nodded, blushing a little. “Thank ya kindly, Ma’am,” he muttered. “My Mama did her best to raise me right.” 
“And she did well,” Celestia responded. Flash nodded again, then pulled his helmet a little lower, trying to hide his reddening cheeks.
Celestia watched him for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Flash,” she said slowly, “I think it would be best if you took a break now.”
He looked up at her from under his helmet, worry in his eyes. “Ma’am?”
“I’m in earnest,” she said. “It would work out better—for you and me both—if you found reason to be elsewhere tonight.”
He opened his mouth to object—but, before he could speak, he seemed to catch something in her expression. He closed his mouth and swallowed, then straightened up. “Now, you know I could never leave my post,” he said, “but I do think I might could make a visit to the john—’specially if it’s on Royal orders.”
“Of course,” she nodded in agreement. “I don’t think anyone could object.” Celestia made a little bow. “My thanks,” she said. 
“Just doin’ my duty, Ma’am,” he said, with a sad little smile.
“Still,” she replied, pulling her door shut. 
Celestia leaned against the door and counted to fifty before turning. She walked to the bed, picked up her saddlebags and put them on, then walked to the window. She’d inspected it earlier—a big picture window, made of a single, hard slab of clear crystal, a different hue and cut than the rest of the place. She began to prod at it with her magic, testing whatever seal held it in place, and was surprised to find no obvious weakness. She sighed, braced herself, and concentrated. Slowly, her horn grew brighter. 
The window trembled, and, after a moment’s struggle, the entire pane came free with a sudden crack. Celestia yelped but caught it with her magic; after taking a moment to steady her breathing, she spread her wings and fluttered outside, then gently placed the crystal where it had rested before.
It took her almost a half-hour to find Luna’s room. The Spire was larger than it seemed from the inside, with easily hundreds of rooms—and just as many windows to check. She tried to be subtle—as subtle as a giant flying pony can be—but, whatever she did, it apparently worked; by the time she found Luna, it seemed no one had noticed her.
Celestia peered through the window at her sister. Luna appeared to be asleep, lying in an enormous, plush bed, with thick curtains drawn partway closed. The expression on her face was unreadable from this distance, but her posture was uneasy. The room was very much Crystal, but just as much Luna—little touches like white lilies in a vase and a tapestry of lunar phases showed she’d been here long enough to get comfortable. 
Mercifully, this window opened with a latch—but Celestia had already crossed enough lines for one day. 
So, once again, she knocked.
Instantly, Luna’s eyes flew open, red and puffy from weeping. She raised her head and stared at Celestia for several seconds, then stood and walked over. She opened the window, but did not step back to admit her. “What do you want?” she demanded.
“Can I come in?” Celestia asked quietly. After a moment, Luna sighed, then took a step backwards. Celestia nodded her thanks, glided in, and settled down on the floor. Luna closed the window behind her, then turned to stare at Celestia. Celestia herself said nothing, but simply stepped forward and took her in a silent embrace.
“Celestia,” Luna snapped, pulling away. “What do you want? Didn’t you already make enough of a spectacle this morning?”
Celestia clenched her jaw. “Lu,” she said, gently, “we need to talk.”
“Do we?” Luna demanded. 
Celestia only nodded. Luna sighed heavily, but sat down on the floor. “Fine,” she said. “Talk.” 
Celestia sat down in front of her. “Listen,” she said, “I don’t know what Sombra’s told you—”
“He told me enough.”
Celestia swallowed, trying to keep the tears from coming. “I mean—” She fell silent and grimaced. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go…
Celestia remained silent, head bowed, for a long moment. Finally, she slowly raised her head and smiled. “Lu,” she said quietly. “How long have we known each other now?”
Luna opened her mouth to respond—but, before she could, she seemed to deflate a little. She sighed, then responded, just as quietly, “Two hundred years and counting.” 
Celestia nodded. “And, in all that time, have I ever done you wrong?”
Luna looked down, then shook her head. 
“Luna,” Celestia said, putting a hoof under Luna’s chin and raising her gaze, “Do you trust me?”
A pause—but Luna nodded. 
“Then I need you to trust me, one more time.” 
Slowly, Luna nodded again. Celestia closed her eyes in relief. 
“What should we do?” Luna asked, in a tiny voice.
“We need to go,” Celestia responded. “Something’s going on here, and—”
Luna shook her head sharply. “No,” she said. “I’m not going.”
“Lu—”
“No. Sombra, he—” she swallowed. “...He loves me, Cece, and I love him…” She looked up at her sister, eyes shining. “He needs me. I can’t leave. Not—not without him.”
Celestia froze. Harmony’s bones...
The wheels in her head spun frantically, trying to engineer a response, but nothing was coming. What do you say to that?
Luna studied her face, then shot her a look of scorn and began to turn away. Suddenly, Celestia heard herself speak. “If that’s true,” she said, “then you have nothing to worry about.”
Luna turned back to her, the surprise on her face matching Celestia’s own. 
Celestia swallowed, then spoke again. “If he loves you, really loves you,” she said, “Then he’ll understand. He won’t be mad that I’ll need a little more time to think this through.” She smiled a little. “He might even think more of you for being willing to leave his side to make sure your big sister gets taken care of.” 
Luna rolled her eyes. “How would you know?” she spat. “You don’t know him.”
“I don’t,” Celestia heard herself say, gently. “But… I knew someone, once.”
Luna looked up again, and, for the first time, looked into Celestia’s eyes. She stared for a long moment—and what she saw made her shiver. “Alright,” she said quietly. “I’ll go with you. But—” she glanced out the window, at the dome, and, beyond it, barely visible, at the howling storm. “—where will we go?”
Celestia swallowed, her mind’s eye filled with Sombra’s maniacal grin. “We go out. Into the storm,” she said hollowly.
Luna whipped her head around .”Are you serious?” she asked. “Into that?”
Celestia let out a long breath. “Like you said,” she said with a little grin. “We’re big girls.” She turned to look at the dome in silence for a moment. “How does Sombra do it?” she asked. “Get through the storm, I mean? Surely, he had plans to get me here, otherwise he wouldn’t have let you invite me.”
Slowly, Luna shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “He said once that he could part the storm…” 
Celestia’s eyes widened. “Part the storm,” she repeated. “...I don’t think there’s a unicorn alive who could do that…” 
Luna nodded. “I know. But that’s what he said.”
“...and I don’t think he’ll want to give us a demonstration of how it works,” Celestia replied. She sighed. “Well, there’s only one thing to do—head out into it ourselves.”
Luna looked up at her sharply. “Head out—” she swallowed. “Are you crazy?”
She shook her head. “I made it once before. We can do it again.” 
Luna shook her head. “No, we can’t. Not without the proper supplies, and clothes and—” She looked into Celestia’s eyes, then sighed. “But you won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
Celestia shook her head. “No, I won’t. For this to all settle out, we have to get away from him. And there’s nowhere we can really do that here in the city. You know that.”
Luna nodded slowly. “You’re asking an awful lot of my trust,” she said.
“I know.” Celestia took her by the hoof. “But I wouldn’t ask if I knew we couldn’t do it.”
Luna stayed silent for a moment, then nodded. “Well,” she said, “Let’s get this over with.”
A few minutes later, the window opened again. Celestia, wearing her forest-green cloak and goggles, put her hooves up on the windowsill, then spread her wings, took a deep breath, and flew out. She was followed close behind by Luna, wearing a similar cloak in midnight blue, still creased from where it had lain in Celestia’s bags. She flew up towards Celestia, who was hovering high above, glancing around urgently. 
“There,” Celestia said, gesturing at a point on the horizon, then took off. Luna sighed, exasperated, and followed. 
Celestia halted just before the dome. She could see, dimly, through its barrier, the snow lashing at the shield. She reached out and brushed the shield, gently, with one of her hooves, feeling it give slightly with an odd, electrical tingle before bouncing back into shape. She swallowed, then turned to glance at Luna, hovering just over her shoulder. “You ready?” she asked, pulling up her muffler again. 
Luna glanced over Celestia’s shoulder at the snow beyond, and, after a moment, set her jaw, looked back at and nodded.
Celestia smiled, and took her one more time by the hoof. “Then, let’s go.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned, and, with a mighty sweep of her wings, shot through the dome.
The icy wind slammed into Celestia, tearing through her cloak. The shock wrenched a gasp from her throat. She pumped her wings, trying to pull ahead of the wind but she could barely see anything in the cold, solid whiteness. She felt Luna’s hoof tremble, but she held tight. 
She flew for—she didn’t know for how long, fighting the sky and the snow, eyes straining to see through the blizzard, Luna’s hoof tight in hers. Where is it? she thought. They should have—
 Suddenly, Luna’s grip began to slip. Celestia barely heard her scream over the roar of the wind that grabbed her and flung her aside. She whipped her head about and saw a dark shape tumbling head over heels into the wind. She gritted her teeth, pinned her wings back, and shot forward into a steep dive. She crashed into Luna and wrapped her arms around her as the two of them began to tumble. 
Celestia gripped Luna tight as they fell. She knew she couldn’t stop their spin—but she had to try. She spread her wings, twisting them to try and stall their roll—but it wasn’t enough. “Luna!” she screamed against the storm. “Fly!”
Luna squeezed her eyes shut, then flared her wings. With one, last sickening twist, the two of them straightened out—but they were still falling. Luna looked down and screamed. Celestia gritted her teeth again. She flapped her wings, hard. Their dive began to level out—but, with their combined weight, it wasn’t enough. Still they fell towards the snow. 
And then, she saw it—a flag, stuck in the snow, flapping in the wind. She beat her wings, but it wasn’t enough. They were falling too fast. She pumped harder. Just a little farther—
As the icy snow raced up at them, Celestia closed her eyes and held on tight. 
They smashed into the snow—and broke through.
They fell into emptiness, and landed, hard, in deep, white powder. In seconds, a dozen hooves pulled them free and began to rub them down with towels and throw blankets over them. Luna looked up in astonishment, then turned back to Celestia. Celestia looked up and smiled; they stood in a snow cave, with close to twenty ponies, wrapped in snow robes and blankets themselves, reading charts, manning the fire, and polishing skis. Behind them hung a tall banner, bearing the sigil of the Two Sisters. 
Luna looked around in silence. “This was your plan all along,” she said quietly to Celestia. 
It was not a question.


* * *


Luna sat by the firepit, a thick blanket around her shoulders and a cup of tea, untouched, in her lap. Celestia sat next to her, a look of concern on her face. 
“I’m sorry,” she said, finally. “It’s just—”
“You wanted me to fail,” Luna said quietly.“You brought these soldiers here for when we had to run away.”
Celestia shook her head sharply. “No, no, no, Lu,” she said. “I had every faith in you. If anyone could have made it work, it would have been you.” She turned to look into the fire. “Just… the way your letters were, I needed to make sure. Something didn’t seem right, and I didn’t want to gamble your life on it.”
“You’re paranoid,” Luna replied quietly.
“I’m careful,” she countered. 
Luna said nothing. After a moment, she shifted her weight. 
“What happens now?” she asked.
“Now?” Celestia repeated. “Now, we get out of the valley, as fast as we can. It’ll take us several days, but…” she smiled. “These are all good snowponies. I’m impressed at what they’ve done in the time they’ve had—and, with their help, we might be out of here as early as the night after tomorrow.”
Luna didn’t react. Celestia sighed to herself.
“Beyond that,” she continued, “I think it’s up to Sombra what happens next. If I don’t miss my guess, he won’t be happy that we’ve chosen to skip out, but I don’t know what he’ll do.” She hesitated. “I… I’ve taken the step of… of mustering the Alliance’s armies. Just in case.”
Luna looked up at her, her expression uneasy. “Do you think he would?” she asked.
Celestia shook her head. “You’d know better than I would,” she said. “But I’ve known a fair amount of… of his type, and I think it’s best to be cautious.” She had been about to say psychopathic despots, but bit her tongue at the last moment.
“If you think so,” Luna said, still quiet, turning back to the fire.
Celestia frowned, then took a sip from her own teacup.

> Chapter 18: The Calm
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Any other day, it would have been an inspiring sight.
Just south of the Azure River—the furthest border of Crystal territory—stood the Alliance line. Celestia had sent out the call weeks ago, but even she had been astonished at how many had actually come: from where she flew above them, she could see ponies from all across the Alliance: flights of Cloudsdale fighters, armored axeponies from the plains, ice archers from Old Equestria—even lancers from the Desert Confederacy, wearing shapeless brown sandcloaks. 
And yet…
Celestia slowly turned. Just on the other side of the river, standing in long, even rows, stood the Crystal Army. He had done it. She didn’t know how, but he had done it. 
Sombra had parted the storm. 
When he left the city, King Sombra had brought with him a piece of the shield that protected it. A small piece, to be sure—but enough to allow his forces, properly supplied with skis and snowshoes, to cross the icy plains in a matter of days, rather than the weeks they had expected. Celestia hadn’t believed her scouts, and had flown out to see for herself. And still she could barely believe it, even with the evidence right in front of her.
And now, there they stood—thousands of them, in neat rows, all of them shining in the twilight. Behind them stood rows and rows of crystal huts—sown in the ground like seeds as soon as the army arrived, and ready to inhabit within hours, Between the two camps flowed the Azure River itself, deep and fast, crossed only by a small wooden footbridge.
And it was only a matter of time before they figured out a way across.
Celestia dived back down to the ground and landed lightly on a nearby hilltop. There, a dozen generals stood around an impromptu table, arguing over a map. Celestia approached them, crunching her way through the light crust of snow, and slipped into the spot that opened for her. 
She nodded to the assembled officers—captains and generals from all across the Alliance. Some she had requested by name. Others simply showed up with their troops. She had not expected so many, but, if this Alliance was ever going to survive, she had to learn to work with all of them.
She looked down at the map, though she already had it memorized. Two forces, one black, one white, ranged on either side of a river—the whites on the neutral side, the blacks on the Crystal. The only way across the river was that small, wooden bridge, met by a muddy footpath on either side.
“Nothing’s changed,” she said, glancing down at the map. “They’re just… standing there.”
“It is as I said,” blustered Grand Marshall Caballus, one of the unicorn commanders. He puffed out his chest a little, making the insignia of the Old Equestrian Guard shine on his chest. “The Crystals know they can’t cross that bridge en mass, and the river flows too fast for them. They’re only here for show.” He looked up at Celestia. “Your Highness,” he pleaded, “let’s hit them first. Send some pegasi over to ruffle their manes a bit, hm? Give ‘em a taste of what the Alliance can do, eh? That’ll make ‘em slither right  back to their holes—”
“No,” Celestia said firmly, cutting him off. “As I’ve said—we are here to contain, not to conquer.” She reached over and pushed a black figure forward, over the river. “If they try to expand, you have my permission to hit them with everything we have. We must protect the ponies under our care. But until then—” she pushed the figure back. “You have your orders, Grand Marshall.”
He bowed. “Yes, Your Highness,” he said, a faint growl in his voice. 
As Celestia watched him, she felt a faint twinge of sadness. Back in the day, back when he had just been a Captain in the Guard, they had gotten along much better—in fact, he seemed almost starstruck some days. But now…
She shook her head. No. Time rolled on for everyone, and the years were not always kind. To wish otherwise was pointless, at best. 
“In any case,” she sighed, “It’s starting to get dark. Set a double watch before you send everyone to bed.”
Silence. 
“Your Highness?” asked Storm Cell, one of the mares leading the Cloudsdale flights.
“Yes?” Celestia replied, raising an eyebrow. 
“Your Highness—” Storm began, then hesitated. “Highness, they glow.”
Celestia waited for her to continue, but Storm looked down at her hooves. “Your point?” Celestia prompted.
“If they glow at night,” Storm said, “Then… perhaps a single watch will be enough. We could see them coming a mile away.”
Celestia swallowed. “Double watch,” she said firmly. “I hear what you’re saying, but…” She looked over her shoulder at the Crystal forces, still standing neatly in their lines. And she thought she saw, on top of a low ridge on the far side of the army, a dark unicorn. Just standing there. Watching them. “...I don’t trust him,” she finished. “Their king is a crafty one.”
Storm Cell bowed. “Yes, Your Highness.”
She sighed. “Try and get some rest, all of you. And be ready for anything.”
Celestia turned and walked away, followed by a chorus of Yes, your Highness-es. As she walked back to her tent, snow crunching underhoof, she sighed again. Get some rest, she’d told them. She wished she could, but the circumstances wouldn’t allow it; she had too much to manage, too much to command. and, even when she could get a few hours to herself, her mind would rarely allow her a moment’s peace.
And then, there was Luna.
Celestia lifted the flap to Luna’s tent and stepped inside. She hesitated, then sighed. 
Luna lay on her cot, asleep, a thick quilt pulled halfway over her. Her mane was a mess—most of the little lights had even gone out—and next to her, on the cot, lay a half-eaten plate of stew, long cold. She still had dark bags under her eyes and tears dried on her cheeks, and, even sleeping, she looked restless.
Celestia watched her breathe for a moment, then quietly stepped forward. She kissed Luna gently on the cheek, then, with her magic, lifted the plate and pulled the quilt up to her chin. She stepped out of the tent, then returned a few moments later with a damp rag. She bent down and carefully wiped the tears from Luna’s cheeks—making her stir and moan a little—then turned away to look for a manebrush. By the time she found one, Luna had pulled the quilt over her head
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice halfway between a whine and a groan.
Celestia hesitated. “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she said, carefully.
“Go away,” Luna moaned. 
Celestia carefully set down the brush, then sat on the cot next to her. For a moment, she chewed her lip uncertainly.
“Listen,” she said, finally, “About Sombra—”
“Shut up,” Luna snapped, more despair than malice in her voice.
Celestia closed her eyes. “I… I know you miss him,” she said. “And I hope to Harmony I’m wrong… But…” She swallowed, but did not speak again.
Finally, after several long moments, she leaned over and began to rub Luna’s shoulders through the quilt. “Luna?” she said. “I love you. You remember that, right?”
Luna did not respond.
Celestia continued rubbing gently for a while, then stopped with a sigh. She stood and walked towards the tent flap. On the threshold, she paused, then glanced back at Luna.
And, from under the blanket, Luna looked back. She glanced away when Celestia saw her, but, after a moment, turned to watch her again. 
Celestia smiled faintly, then walked out, letting the flap fall behind her.
> Chapter 19: The Storm
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Celestia woke to the sound of bells.
For a few moments, she lay on her cot, trying to remember her dream. She felt like it had been a pleasant one, but you could never tell…
Slowly, she noticed that it was still dark out—too early for the morning bells. And these were not the bells of home—they were too small, too shrill for the Canterlot belltower. 
And then she heard the screams. 
Celestia leapt from her cot and charged outside. She looked around, but all was chaos—smoke and shadow and fire and screaming. Frantically, she reached out and grabbed a passing pony by his collar. 
“What’s going on?” she shouted at him.
“K-king Sombra,” he stammered. “He’s attacking!”
“Where?”
“Everywhere!”
Celestia dropped him and spread her wings. She lifted off into the night sky and flew above the smoke. 
Below her spread their camp, a patchwork of tents dusted with snow, several of them burning. And there was the river, with the shining crystal camp on the other side. Between them lay the little wooden footbridge—and several massive slabs of glowing crystal bridging the water. Crystal soldiers streamed across and into the fighting, just on this side of the river. 
Celestia snarled. Of course. If it took them hours to grow their camp from nothing, it would take minutes to grow a bridge. She should have realized that.
But why the chaos? Why wasn’t there a guard?
Celestia turned and stared at the other side of the camp. There was a battle here, too. Alliance soldiers everywhere, fighting for their lives. But—against who? There was nothing in the darkness…
And, as she watched the fight, her eyes grew wide. 
No, not nothing. In the darkness, little flashes of ruby and jade and amethyst. She gritted her teeth, then swooped closer. With a flash from her horn, two of the combatants froze—an Alliance soldier and one of the shadows. She stepped close and growled. As she suspected—it was a crystal pony, painted in mud and wrapped tight in a cloak, almost completely obscuring his glow. 
Fire in her eyes, Celestia turned to face the Crystal camp. Sombra knew they wouldn’t be watching their flanks too closely, not with his troops shining like stars. So he’d used half his forces to draw their attention by simply standing there, then disguised the other half and sent them around the back. And, when his special forces engaged and drew their attention, then he ordered his army across the river. Caught the Alliance in a perfect trap.
That slippery bastard.
“You!” she snapped, turning to the Alliance soldier. “Get everyone to fall back, closer to the fires. Don’t let them use this darkness against you.” She released him from her magic, and he dropped to his hooves. He saluted, then dashed off. 
“And you,” she said, turning to the crystal pony. She flicked her head and he slammed to the ground; in a flash, glowing ropes and chains bound him tight. “I’ll be back for you,” she snarled.
Celestia looked around and fired one or two more beams, but there was not much she could do here. She spread her wings and lifted off again. This had to stop. Now. And there was only one way she could do it. 
She turned and flew towards the Crystal camp.
It wasn’t hard to find Sombra; he stood on a hill overlooking the battlefield, watching the chaos below. Soaring towards him, Celestia shivered; with the fires below, with the smoke billowing upwards around him, and with the devilish grin on his face—he looked like a nightmare burst free from Tartarus.
She banked past him and fired a beam of light. She watched in astonishment as the beam flew towards Sombra—then ricocheted off the empty air around him. He spun to face her, then laughed. 
“Celestia,” he called. “So nice to see you! Up early, aren’t we?”
“Sombra,” she growled, landing on the bluff. “You’ll pay for this.”
He smirked. “One of us will, at least.”
He lowered his head and fired. Celestia dodged his beam, but barely—she could feel the heat as it sizzled past her.
She snarled, then pumped her wings and took off, but Sombra  was already charging his horn again. She fell into a steep bank as another beam crackled past her, then turned and dived, her horn flaring to life. She shot a bolt of lightning at Sombra. It crackled through the air—but arced over an invisible shield, leaving Sombra untouched. She gaped—but, before she could react, Sombra shot another beam, this one burning into her shoulder. 
Celestia cried out and tumbled. She crashed into the bluff, rolled twice, and lay still. Sombra laughed his deep, booming laugh, and strode towards her. His horn began to glow—but, before he could try anything, Celestia looked up. Her horn glowed, and, with a mighty sweep of her wings, she sent a gale into Sombra’s face.
He braced himself against the wind—and, when he looked up, he saw Celestia winging away into the darkness. He laughed again, his laugh echoing madly in Celestia’s ears. “Better luck next time, Princess!” he roared. 
Celestia felt a tear begin to run down her cheek. How can he be this strong? How?
She gritted her teeth. He was powerful, to be sure—but she was powerful, too. And, even now, she was far from helpless. 
        Celestia landed lightly in the middle of the camp, ponies still scurrying every which way. She took a deep breath, then began to concentrate. Her horn flared to life, glowing bright in the darkness. She threw back her head, screamed, and fired.
        A bright pillar of golden light shot straight up from her horn—one hundred, two hundred feet high—then it blossomed and began to spread, like a blooming flower. The edges of the shield dropped down over the camp, sealing it off in a great, golden bubble. 
“Alliance! To me!” Celestia called. She could feel the Crystals pounding on the shield from the outside, but they were pebbles thrown in a lake—she could feel their splashes, but they were nothing but ripples in her magic. 
        Soon, ponies began to gather. Many were already dirty and bloodied—several were limping, and more than one had to be carried. Celestia glanced around, horn still burning. “Unicorns,” she gasped. “Unicorns, I need your help!”
        A moment’s hesitation, and ten—twenty—unicorns stepped forward. One by one, they stood beside their princess, then fired their own beams. Soon, Celestia’s golden shield was tinged with a dozen shades of color. Celestia sighed, then dropped her own beam—and the shield held.
        She looked back over the crowd. “Where are my officers?” she called. 
The crowd began to part, and the officers and generals stepped forward. “I need you to coordinate defenses,” she said urgently. “Reinforce the fringes of the camp. We need—”
“Princess,” harrumphed Caballus. “What we need is order. The earth ponies can work the defenses, and the pegasi—”
“Harmony’s bones,” she hissed, “I don’t have time for this.” She glanced around the assembled ponies, then pointed at a pink mare in the front row, wearing stripes of a low-ranking officer. “You,” she said. “What’s your name?”
The mare saluted. “Firefly, Second Lieutenant, Cloudsdale Third Wing, Your Highness.”
“Firefly,” Celestia repeated. “You’re General Firefly now, commissioned under the authority of the Equestrian Alliance.” Celestia looked up. “Obey Firefly as you would me,” she called, “And that goes for all of you,” she added to the officers, earning more than a few angry glares.
She turned back to Firefly. her new General stared back at her, eyes wide.  “Get those fires out,” Celestia ordered, “and patch up what wounds you can. Get some defenses up. And, for Harmony’s sake, keep those unicorns fresh. Water, food, whatever they need—this shield won’t last long unless—”
A cry rippled through the army. Celestia looked up and paled. On the ridge overlooking the battlefield, where stood Sombra himself, a light—a bright, white light—shone in the darkness.
And then, something blotted out the stars and slammed against the shield
The unicorns powering the shield flinched. One let out a strangled cry. Several of them stared with wide, unseeing eyes, and one began to bleed from his left nostril.
Celestia whirled back to Firefly. “That shield is your first priority,” she said urgently. “Get more unicorns on it—and rotate them out as they tire. Keep it up for as long as you can.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Firefly saluted again—holding it for just a moment too long. “...Where will you be?” she asked timidly.
“Ending this,” Celestia responded. She turned and galloped away without another word.
As she ran, a snarl crept across her face. Something was wrong. Sombra couldn’t be this powerful—no mere unicorn could.  There was something she was missing. Something she needed to beat him. To save her soldiers. To save her people.
And if there was anyone who could tell her what it was—it would be her.
Celestia whipped back the flap of the tent and skidded to a halt inside. “Lu,” she said urgently.
Luna sat on her cot, huddled against the far wall. She glanced up, then back down, as Celestia called her, but did not respond.
“Luna,” Celestia repeated. “I need your help.”
Silence.
“Luna, ponies are dying out there.” She took a step closer. “I need you to tell me what you know about Sombra.” She continued, not waiting for a response. “He’s powerful—too powerful. Did he say anything to you about… about his magic? O-or a weakness, or…” She hesitated, then fell silent as Luna continued to look at the ground.
Celestia stood there for a long moment, then, with a little struggle, swallowed the lump in her throat. She turned to go. 
“...crystal heart…”
Celestia stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Luna?” she asked. 
Luna looked up. “Crystal heart,” she repeated. “He… he mentioned it, once.”
Celestia turned around. “What does it do?” she pressed. “Where is it?”
“...somewhere in the Spire,” she murmured with a shrug.
Celestia paused, then swooped in and hugged her. “Good enough for me,” she said.
Luna did not respond. Celestia pulled away, then leaned in again and gently kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said simply.
Celestia stepped outside the tent, and, despite herself, smiled. Ponies still galloped about, helter-skelter—but now with order. Purpose. Some carried buckets of water, some wood and nails, and some, walking slowly, carried injured soldiers. Firefly apparently knew what she was doing. 
And then, on the horizon, Sombra’s white light flared again. This time, the shield flexed, bending dangerously inwards. It snapped back into place, but not before the unicorn’s beams wavered, and one went out. 
“Harmony’s bones,” she breathed. This shouldn’t be possible.
“You! There!” she called, pointing to a unicorn with an empty bucket. 
He skidded to a halt, then saluted. “Your Highness,” he responded.
Celestia nodded. “Go tell General Firefly that I want her to set a guard on Princess Luna. No matter what, make sure she’s safe.” She hesitated. “And, if Sombra tries anything, inform Her Highness first.” Maybe that would shake her out of whatever funk she was in.
The unicorn nodded, then dashed off again, back towards the hill. Celestia watched him go, then turned and ran back to her own tent. 
She left her crown, collar, and shoes where they lay, and instead, wrapped her snowcloak around herself, then threw some rations into her saddlebags and slid them on. She dashed back out of the tent, then took off, winging her way towards the north. A few sparks from her horn, and the shield opened to let her pass, snapping shut behind her. As she flew by Sombra, she shot a ray of light at his hooves; he danced backwards, then turned to fire back at her, but she was already gone. 
As she flew into the night, she shot a glance over her shoulder. Fires still sent smoke into the pitch-black night, and she could see more than a few ponies lying still in the snow. She felt a lump form in her throat, but turned away. 
Think, Celestia, she told herself. With Sombra around, there was little she could do here. But if she could somehow stop him—it could save them all. As she thought, a tiny part of her brain began to nag: salvation might be at the Spire, but that was hours away, if not days—assuming she could even make it through the storm.
She gritted her teeth. Yes, it was a long flight—perhaps too long—but she had no other options. She had left a magical shield to keep them safe, but, with Sombra’s bloodlust and his infernal magic, it wouldn’t take long for it to fall. And, when that happened, everyone would die. 
But, if she made it back to the Spire and found this crystal heart… found a way to destroy it, or shut it down... well, then she might save someone. 
Celestia swallowed. Those were unpleasant odds. 
But they were all she had.
> Chapter 20: The Long Road
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Celestia stood at the top of the pass, her chest heaving. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. She had pushed herself harder than she ever had before—even used a bit of her magic to make her flight easier—and she had just barely cleared the first obstacle.
But now, beyond and below her, lay the valley. Lay the storm. Through the snow, she could just barely see the glow—the crystal city, and, in the center, the crystal Spire. Somewhere in there, if she had any luck at all, was the crystal heart—and the only way to save her people.
Straining her eyes to see that far, Celestia realized her lungs were burning, and her wings were already beginning to stiffen. She was no marathon flier. She wanted nothing more than a hot meal, than rest—and the city was still so far…
Celestia then bit her lip until she tasted blood. No. Ponies were dying—too many, on all sides—and she had a chance to save them all.
She spread her wings one more time. She had to do what she could for the good of Equestria—even if that meant losing herself to the storm.
She took a deep breath, then galloped forward, and, pumping her wings, lifted off into the howling gale.
The wind slammed into her, shaking her. She tried to trim her wings, but the air currents whipped past her in an unpredictable frenzy. She strained for the cloud of light in the distance, focusing all her energy on that distant point—but a gust of wind seized her and sent her crashing back to the mountainside.
She lay there, stunned, flying snow piling up around her. For a long time, she didn’t move. It would be so easy to lay here, she thought, to let it all end… the city was so far away, and she was stupid to think…
No.
Slowly, painfully, Celestia stood. She shook the snow off of her, then spread her wings. She took off again, and began to fly—but she had not climbed thirty feet before she knew it was useless. Nothing could survive in a storm like this, much less fly. She glided back to earth before the storm could catch her again, then swore, looking up at the swirling clouds above her.
Suddenly, her eyes widened. She took several deep breaths, then closed her eyes. Her horn flickered to life, and, slowly, a glowing, golden bubble formed around her. She could still hear the storm, but it was tiny, and far away. Celestia smiled grimly; if Sombra, a mere unicorn, had been able to shield an entire army from the elements, surely she, a mighty alicorn, could protect herself. 
She spread her wings and took off again, a spark of golden light against the darkness. At first, she soared high, and almost shouted aloud in triumph—but quickly, far too quickly, she could tell something was wrong. The wind still blew, and, though it could not touch her, it hammered on her little bubble with incredible force. Soon, she cried out—she was tumbling again, and the mountainside rushed up at her with alarming speed.
The snow cushioned her landing, but only barely. She lay on her side, chest heaving, her mouth tasting of blood again. It took several moments for the stars to clear from her vision, and several more for her to decide which way was up.
She lay in the snow, gasping. That was it, then. Celestia was out of tricks. Sombra had beaten her. She had tried her hardest—given everything she could—but this was the end. She couldn’t get to the Spire in time, if at all, and returning to the battlefield would only be a death sentence—if not for her, than for the Alliance. But back at the battle, at least, she could help a little. Here in the storm, she was helping no one.
...and yet…
Slowly, something worked its way up from the bottom of her mind. Memories of times long ago—better times—clicked into place. Painfully, she climbed to her hooves one last time, and looked up at the clouds above. If this worked, she could perhaps save everyone—and, if it didn’t—
Well. Now was not the time to be thinking about that.
Celestia spread her wings, one last time, took a few deep breaths, then rocketed upwards.
She flew, high and fast, pumping her wings as hard as she could. The wind tried to claim her, but she did not let it, forcing herself past the turbulence. Tears began to stream from her eyes, and golden sparks dripped from her horn. She felt the earth, the wind, the sky, claw at her, drag her down—and she roared in defiance.
Sudden darkness—coldness—wetness—and, almost as suddenly—sunlight. 
Celestia cleared the stormclouds with a gasp. The clouds lay below her, a great, white plain. Above her, the sky stretched, a pale, icy blue, the sun a drop of golden light. The sudden silence was almost deafening; after the howling chaos of the storm, all seemed perfectly still. 
Celestia hovered there in the light for a moment, then shook free her scarf and hood, letting her pale, pink mane flow free. After a moment, she turned and smiled at the sun. This far north, it seemed so small and far away—but, nevertheless, it was a comfort.
“Hello, old friend,” Celestia said.
She landed gently on the clouds below her, keeping her wings spread out for balance. Below, the clouds raged and boiled with the fury of the blizzard, but up here, where the wind was quiet, they simply, subtly flowed. Celestia let herself be carried along for several minutes as she caught her breath. 
She glanced up at the sun again, then closed her eyes. Slowly, her horn began to glow. For a moment, the light remained steady—and then it began to spread down along her body, covering her. She took a deep breath of rarefied air, then let it out, feeling the magic flow into, around, and through her. Her muscles softened and strengthened, and the lingering soreness fell away. She would come to regret this, she knew—trading mental exhaustion for physical strength—but, somehow, on the top of the world, with the sun shining down on her, those seemed like problems for another day. 
Finally, she let her magic fade. She glanced up at the sun and smiled again. “Thank you,” she whispered. 
She spread her wings and lifted off. She flapped hard a few times to get above the clouds, and, within moments, could already feel her weatherpony senses returning. She turned and followed the spiral of the clouds with her eye, looking for their center, all the while, her wings instinctively adjusting themselves, catching every bit of breeze, searching out all the little snatches of updraft hidden in the clouds. Finally, at the moment Celestia found what she was looking for—a dark spot in the center of the plain of clouds—her wings caught her a tailwind. Not much of one, but enough to make the flight a little faster. 
Celestia flew on for a long time, alternately gliding and flapping for altitude. Up here, in the silence, it was just the two of them—the sun princess and her charge. As she flew, she felt her heart begin to lighten. Here, in this world of sky and silence, she found it was easy to let things go. To let worries drop. To allow her mind, in the slightest bit, to uncoil the knots she’d tied in it. She no longer felt the weight of her crown. She was just herself. Just Celestia. 
And, after an hour or two of this—just as the sun began to reach the top of the sky—she knew what she had to do. It would be hard—perhaps even impossible—but, if she really believed what she said she did—and if she and her sister really, truly wanted this Alliance to succeed—she could do nothing else. 


* * *


Celestia abruptly dropped out of her tailwind and hovered, uncertainly, above the dark spot—an ugly pucker in the clouds, at the exact center of the storm. As she examined it, she pulled up her scarf and hood—and noticed, to her slight surprise, a tall, thin spine growing out of the center. 
Crystal. She had been right—this storm wasn’t completely natural—it was centered on the Crystal Spire, in the dead center of the valley.
And, somewhere in there was the crystal heart. The key to ending this. 
Celestia glanced up at the sun one last time, then banked her wings. She entered a wide, lazy spiral, turning faster and faster as she drew in closer and closer to the tip of the Spire, lower and lower to the cloud cover. 
She braced herself and broke through the clouds again, back into the gale. A moment of panic—but Celestia let her mind go, let her wings fly the way they knew. And, though she could feel her stomach dropping out from beneath her as the wind threw her about, she, herself, felt calm as that blue sky above. She knew what she had to do. And she knew her wings did, too.
A sudden tingle of magical power, and Celestia dropped through the top of the dome, into the Crystal City. A quick snap of her wings, and she froze, hovering, in midair. From up here, at the very top of the city, it looked quite peaceful—but she knew that, whatever the appearances, there was something ugly buried underneath. She was here to save her people—and, if possible, to save the crystal ponies as well. With all that, she had no time to lolligag.
Celesta turned and glided towards the Spire. As she neared it, she saw a open balcony, halfway up the structure. She landed lightly on the crystal floor, opened the door with her magic, and slipped inside. 
She stood, breathing hard, listening harder, for a long moment. She could hear faraway shouting, and panicked hooves on crystal floors. She grimaced; she had hoped that Sombra had taken his guards with him—but that would be too much to ask, wouldn’t it? 
She sighed, then, with her magic, undid her cloak, folded it, and put it away in her saddlebags. There was nothing for it—she had to do her best, and hope that she could slip by, at least mostly unnoticed.  
She hesitantly walked down the hall, glancing carefully down each side passage. It took her only a moment for her to realize she was in over her head. The Spire was huge—and she’d never quite gotten to know the place as well as Luna. How on earth was she going to find the crystal heart in all this mess?
Suddenly, up ahead, Celestia heard the clattering of hooves. She looked up just in time to see three guards wearing Crystal armor round the corner ahead. They skidded to a halt and froze. 
"It's the Equestrian!" the mare on the left cried.
"Stand down!" the stallion on the right barked at her.
The guard in the middle simply stared. 
Celestia slowly lowered her horn to point at them, glaring. 
For a moment, no one moved. 
Without warning, the silent guard planted his front hooves, pivoted, and bucked the stallion in the jaw, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. At the same time, he bit the mare deep in the neck, down by her shoulderblade. She squealed in pain, and tried to buck him off—but, before she could, Celestia grabbed her in a golden glow and slammed her against the wall. She fell limply to the floor. 
The last guard turned to face her, and she snarled, her horn still glowing. "Get out of my way," she growled. 
"Hold your horses," he cried, reaching up and pulling off his helmet, revealing an orange coat and brilliant blue mane. "It's me, Flash!"
Celesta raised her head. "Flash?" she repeated, putting out her horn. 
"Yes, Ma'am," he said, nodding. "You're after the Crystal Heart, ain't 'cha?" he asked. 
Celestia nodded. "How'd you know?"
"Way I figure," he said, putting his helmet back on, "Only good reason for you to be here right now, with His Brilliance on the warpath 'n' all." He jogged past her. "Now c'mon," he said. "Let's get goin'."
Celestia turned, slightly mystified, and trotted after him. He glanced back at her, then picked up his pace, breaking into a run. Celestia ran after him, her long legs letting her catch up in just a few strides. As she passed him, she grabbed Flash in her magic and set him on her back. He gulped, then sat up and wrapped his arms around her neck. 
"Thank ya, Ma'am," he muttered nervously. 
She nodded. "Faster this way," she said. 
He pointed past her. "Left up here." 
Celestia rounded the corner and kept running. "You know where we're going?" she asked.
"Kinda," he admitted. "I ain't never seen the Heart myself—the older guards said the last Queen kept it out in the open somewheres, but Sombra only brings it out for special occasions. He mostly keeps it hid. But I know there's a part of the Spire he don't let no one into." He hesitated. "Seems like a good place to start."
She nodded. "Works for me." She glanced back at him. "Why are you helping me?" she asked.
"Ma'am?" he asked uncertainly.
"You're a palace guard," she said. "You're supposed to keep ponies like me away from the heart. Why are you helping me?"
He swallowed. "My Mama told me about you," he said quietly. "She told me about when her mama met you. Said it was the greatest thing ever happened to her. Said that you were kind, and gentle, and just wanted to help ol' Roan Oak."
Celestia glanced back at him. He sat on her shoulders, looking down, his expression pensive.
"Sombra ain't that way," he said. "He's a good king, sometimes. But he don't want to make us happy. He wants to make us safe." He paused. "And that ain't always the same thing. Right," he added, pointing. He gripped tighter as Celestia rounded the corner, then spoke again. "Plus, it's like you told my Grandma, all those years ago..." 
Celestia glanced back at him again—and, this time, he stared straight ahead with a hard, flinty glare. He glanced down at her. "...Be loyal to those who have earned it," he finished.
Celestia swallowed, then turned her head forward again, eyes wide.
For the next several minutes, they ran in silence. Celestia followed Flash's directions, not even trying to keep track of where she was. She had the vague impression of travelling upwards—higher and higher, higher than she thought possible—until, finally, Flash called "Stop!"
She skidded to a halt, her chest heaving. They stood in front of a set of ornate double-doors. 
Flash slipped off her back, using his wings to slow his fall. "This is it," he said. "Highest room of the Spire, and ain't one of us ever been inside." He nodded to the door. "Good place to start as any."
Celestia turned and bobbed her head at him. "My thanks," she gasped out.
He returned the bow. "No thanks neccesary, Ma'am," he said. "Just doin' my duty to my people." He looked back down the hallway they'd come down. "Bet half the Spire is lookin' for us right about now," he said. "I'll go distract 'em." He looked back to her and swallowed nervously. "Just... do right by us, okay?"
Celestia nodded. "I will."
Flash nodded, then looked down. "May the Wise Ones keep your path," he said.
Celestia nodded, slowly. "Harmony guide you," she returned. 
Flash bowed one last time, then turned and ran down the hallway. Celestia watched him until he rounded the corner, then she turned back to the double doors. She took a deep breath, then pushed them open.
What she saw made her ragged breath catch in her throat. 
In front of her stretched an almost-spherical chamber. Every wall, in every direction, was covered with crystals of all colors—pinks, blues, greens, golds, whites—all glowing with their own, steady light. Three or four tall windows, spaced evenly around the exterior, looked out on the roofs of the city far below. The floor lay flat ahead of her, inlaid with intricate designs and polished to a mirror sheen. 
And, in the center of the chamber, stretching from floor to ceiling like an ugly sore, stood a thick, black pillar of crystal. Its roots and branches snaked among the crystals, draining the ones it touched of their light, suffocating them with its darkness.
And, in a thick, spherical bulge in the center of the crystal column, shone a beautiful, almost blinding, light.
Celestia stared. Slowly, reverently, she stepped forward, her hooves echoing in the silence of the chamber. She felt a strange desire to look into that light—to see what lay beyond—to stare into the center of the crystal heart. 
She took another step, and another, slowly drawing closer to that beautiful light. And then—

> Chapter __:
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The sun hung low and red in the sky. Just as it had for months.
Celestia looked up quailed, her eyes growing wide. Her lips parted in a gasp of horror. 
“No,” she said.
She stood in the front courtyard of the palace, Canterlot Valley spreading out below her, dry and blasted in the eternal sun. She was not alone. Hundreds—thousands—of ponies filled the courtyard with her, each lean and gaunt, each staring up at her. Some with hunger in their eyes. Some with anger. Some with simple desperation.
“No,” Celestia repeated, backing up a step. She bumped into someone; she looked over and saw Luna, her gaze forlorn and sad. “Luna,” she pleaded. “Tell them—”
Luna gazed at her a little longer, then turned away. 
“No,” Celestia gasped. 
And, one by one, the other ponies turned away, too. 
“Nonononono,” Celestia said hoarsely, glancing around. “Please—!” she shouted. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—I couldn’t—” She swallowed. “Here, I-I can make it better—I can fix it—”
She concentrated, and her horn flickered—but the sun did not move. The world did not change. The world mocked her effort.
“No,” she pleaded to the sun.
As she watched, the ponies began to disappear. Some of them melted into shadow. Some turned to dust and smoke. And some simply laid down and faded away. 
And soon, Celestia was alone. 
“No,” she gasped. “I—It’s not my fault—I tried, I really did—I’m sorry—” She swallowed. 
For a moment, all was still. And then, Celestia began to weep.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be the pony you needed me to be…”
She stood there, alone in the eternal twilight, for a long time. The only sound was her sobbing.


Without warning, a lightning bolt of pain shot up her side. Celestia screamed.
“How stupid do you think I am?” snarled Sombra. 
> Chapter 22: Anagnorisis
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Sombra wrenched himself away from Celestia, and she gasped in pain. She looked up and saw there was blood on his horn. Her blood. It ran down his face and into his eyes, and dripped onto his smiling teeth. She looked down, and felt it more than saw it: under her right arm, a deep, gaping hole, spurting her scarlet lifeblood down her side. 
She tried to gasp—but the air wouldn’t come. She coughed, and spat blood on the crystal floor. 
“Hm,” Sombra said, almost dispassionately. “Lung puncture. Perhaps an artery.” He stepped closer. “By my count, that leaves you less than ten minutes.” He turned away. “Perfect.”
They were still in the crystal chamber—and there, in the center of the room, trapped in the dark crystal pillar, still hung the crystal heart. Celestia pressed a hoof to her side. It was warm and slippery. She was warm and slippery—
“I called you friend, once,” she choked, her voice dripping with rage and betrayal.
He smirked. “Then you really have no one else to blame, do you?” 
She tried to respond—but she coughed again, scarlet leaking from the corner of her lips. She felt her knees buckle, and, slowly, she sank to the floor. Sombra chuckled darkly as she went limp, her mind going fuzzy at the edges.
She found herself staring at the light—the light in the center of the crystal.
...crystal heart…
With great effort, she raised her head a few inches. Her horn flared, and a thin pencil-beam of light shot from her. It ricocheted off the crystal with a sharp pang.
Sombra frowned, then turned to examine the crystal. “Barely a crack,” he said in that same, dispassionate tone. “A noble effort, to be sure...” he glanced down at her, “especially given your current circumstances…” he turned back to the crystal. “but, as you saw on the battlefield, you cannot beat me. Not while the Crystal Heart is mine.”
Celestia groaned, but Sombra continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “The Crystal Heart,” he said. “The figurative and literal heart of the Empire. Every one of my subjects is connected to it.” He began to pace, circling the crystal. “It protects and strengthens my crystal ponies in times of need—and, in return, it pools their magic into a wellspring of power. Power that I can draw on.” He paused. “My mother was a fool,” he added, almost to himself. “Her Highness Amore claimed that the Heart worked best when filled with love,” He sneered. “But love is fickle. It waxes and wanes, and fades at the first sign of trouble.” He grinned wickedly. “Fear, on the other hand—fear is where real power lies. Fear is resilient. Fear grows ever stronger.” He paused. “And fear is far easier to wring from who would keep it from you.”
Celestia coughed again—swallowed—then pushed herself upright. She still felt the blood—her blood—seeping from underneath her hoof. She felt almost like this were a dream—something happening to someone else, far away.
And yet, it was her voice that she heard speak.
“Why,” she croaked hoarsely.
“Why?” he repeated, turning to look at her.
“The treaty,” she croaked again.
Sombra stared at her, then grinned. “If my kingdom is built on fear and force, why waste time negotiating with you and your sister? Simple,” he said, stepping closer. “The treaty was never the point.” He leaned down to look her in the eye. “It was always Luna.”
Celestia’s eyes widened. 
“When you left Luna here to negotiate with me, you gave me all the time I needed to woo her. Convince her I was a good stallion in a bad situation. That I loved her for who she really was,” he sneered disdainfully. “And, with that done, all that was needed was to allow her to convince me to relent on certain things.” He turned to Celestia and grinned madly. “Do you know how proud she was that she talked me down from flat refusal to temporary, occasional emergency powers? And then you threw all that hard work back in her face.” He smirked. “You couldn’t have played your part better if I’d given you the script.”
Celestia moaned. Dark clouds were beginning to gather at the edges of her vision...
“I was never serious about the text,” he added, almost casually. “Half of those provisions were there to infuriate you—and the other half were there to be conceded later, during negotiation. Make me seem like the bigger pony.” He paused. “The only point I would not relent on was Luna. For, you see, when she became the Crystal Queen, she would bear my children. She would bear alicorns.” His eyes flashed. “Even if I had to force her.”
Celestia’s lips parted in a silent snarl. 
“Can you imagine?” he continued, turning to face the crystal. “A generation of gods at my command. With them, we would take your precious Alliance—we would take the whole of the earth. Every single creature on the face of the planet would bow to me, and be chained to my Crystal Heart! And with that…?” He smiled grimly. “Then I could finally keep my people safe the way they deserve.”
Celestia gritted her teeth. Someone had to stop this lunatic—and, while she still drew breath, she had the smallest sliver of a chance…
Slowly, painfully, she began to stand. 
“Don’t bother,” Sombra called over his shoulder. “There’s nothing you can do now. After I’m finished with you, I’ll go back to Luna. Convince her my army only came to save her from her wicked sister—the sister who tried to sabotage my kingdom, and who died horribly in the attempt. We will sign the treaty, just the two of us, and we will be married soon after. All will rejoice.” He turned to her. “And all will bow.” 
Suddenly, Sombra strode to Celestia. He kicked savagely at her left foreleg, just behind the knee, sending her crashing back to the floor. “And why am I taking the time to tell you all this?” he asked. He placed a hoof on her windpipe, then leaned down closer. “Because, Celestia,” he breathed, “I want you to know, as you slip forever into the darkness, that I—mere mortal Sombra—beat you.”
Celestia tried to gasp, but the air wouldn’t come. The darkness closed in again...
“Goodbye, Celestia,” Sombra intoned. “And, if it makes you feel any better…” He ground his hoof deeper into her neck. “You never even had a chance.”
Celestia tried to push him off, but he was too strong. She tried to cry out, but her voice would not come. This is it, she thought, as the darkness took her. My sunset.
Sleep…
Suddenly, the pressure lifted. Celestia gasped a breath, then coughed as her vision began to clear. She looked up, and saw Sombra looking away. She followed his gaze…
...and saw Luna. 
She stood in what was left of a drifting cloud of smoke, magic and ozone heavy in the air. She stared, wide-eyed, at the scene before her—Celestia on the floor, bleeding, Sombra staring back at her in frank astonishment, blood on his horn. 
“I can explain—” he choked out. 
Without a word, Luna’s horn flared to life. She tossed her head, and Sombra slammed against the wall like a rag doll, then fell limp to the floor.
Luna walked to Celestia, her horn still glowing. Slowly, the pain in Celestia's side began to ebb. She could breathe again. She coughed up another mouthful of blood, then spat. She could feel strength returning to her limbs—could feel the wound beginning to close—
“Come on,” Luna murmured, pulling Celestia to her hooves. “Time to get up.”
Celestia wobbled, but stood fast. She draped an arm over Luna and squeezed her affectionately. Then, she turned to Sombra, still in a heap on the floor.
“I was going to offer you peace,” she rasped.
Sombra looked up at her, then rolled onto his stomach. “After you invaded my palace?”
“After I stopped the killing.” Her eyes burned. “But now I see that it will never stop.” She turned to Luna. “The crystal,” she said. “break it.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Sombra snarled from the floor.
Luna looked at her. “Cece?” she asked uncertainly.
“Break it,” she repeated. “I can’t do it on my own, and it’s the only thing that can stop him.”
Luna glanced back and forth between the two of them. She sighed, heavily, then turned to the black crystal in the center of the room. The light from her horn grew brighter—bright as the sun—
“No!” howled Sombra.
—and the crystal disintegrated.
Celestia shielded her eyes. So bright…
When she dared lower her hoof, she stared. Luna gasped, and her horn went out.
Hanging, still and free, in the exact center of the room, was an enormous heart, carved from flawless crystal. It shone with its own pure light, bathing the room in glory. It spun gently on its axis, and, as it turned, Celestia thought she saw, in the reflections playing across its faces, faint images that seemed, somehow, familiar. Scenes from her childhood. From her time as Princess. From moments that, perhaps, had yet to come. She took her arm from around Luna, then limped a half-step towards it, grimacing at the pain in her side. Even from this distance, the Heart was indescribably beautiful… she wanted nothing more than to step close and gaze into its depths...
“You fools,” Sombra snarled. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
As Celestia watched, the Crystal Heart began to spin, faster and faster, until the air hummed around it. Without warning, it rocketed upwards, smashing through the roof of the chamber with a crash that shook bones of the Spire itself.
“You’ve killed us all,” Sombra growled. 
“You’ve lost your power,” Celestia spat. “That’s a far cry from—”
“Cece,” Luna murmured. “Look.” 
Celestia turned to look out the window. For a moment, nothing changed—all seemed as it should be. The world outside was brightly lit by the false noonday sun. Ponies walked the streets and worked the markets, backgrounded by the blue sky of the shield surrounding the city. Only the faintest trace of the blizzard outside could be seen.
And then—
—Celestia’s eyes went wide—
—the dome protecting the city flickered and collapsed.
The howling blizzard swept over the city as the shield crumbled. Ponies screamed and began to run, but the wind was too fast. Within seconds, snow buried the outlying homes. Celestia watched in horror as the curtain of icy darkness swept inwards.
Sombra slammed into Celestia, knocking her back several unsteady steps. “You,” he snarled. 
“Me,” she spat back.
“You’ve ruined everything.”
“You’d already done it before we ever set eyes on this place.”
He glared at her, his eyes burning with hatred. “My Empire was order!” he roared. “My Empire was perfection!” 
“Your Empire,” Celestia countered, “was a sham—a fantasy you’d built on the backs of your people.” She flicked a glance out the window. “And now it’s up to us to save them from your arrogance.”
Sombra snarled. “How can you? You’ve killed them all.”
She shook her head. “You killed them, long ago, when you thought you could use fear to make them safe. And now it’s time for us pick up the pieces.” Her horn flickered to life. “And it’s time to start with you.”
She shot a beam of light at Sombra—a golden yellow cord—and hit him in the chest. He screamed aloud, golden light spreading outward from the impact. 
“You’re no different, Celestia,” he snarled. “I’m not the only one using her.”
“Shut up,” she hissed. She tried to force more power into the spell—but the light still spread too slowly. She glanced sideways. “Lu,” she said, a faint plea in her voice. “I can’t do this alone.”
Luna stepped forward, and glanced between the two of them with a sad little smile. Her horn glowed, and she, too, shot a beam. Her sky-blue light smashed into Sombra, and began to spread across him as well—and, where it touched Celestia’s gold, began to boil. 
Suddenly, Sombra began to laugh.
“You’ll never have the Empire!” he roared.
“I never wanted it!” Celestia bellowed back.
He laughed, and laughed, and laughed, his voice growing louder and higher, until a sudden, blinding flash of light.
Celestia slammed backwards against the wall. For a few moments, she could see nothing but white. As soon as shapes began to swim back into focus, she scrambled to her hooves, horn blazing and eyes wide.
But there was nothing to see. All that was left of Sombra were four hoofprints left in the floor, smoking gently. 
Celestia stared at them for a long moment, before heaving a sigh. Finally, the nightmare was over. Now they needed—
“What did you do?” hissed Luna. 
Celestia looked across the room, to where Luna was standing, eyes wide. Celestia looked her in the eye and opened her mouth to speak, but froze. What she saw in Luna was—to her astonishment—sorrow. Pain. Loss. 
Rage.
“I?” Celestia repeated, hesitant. “We. We killed him.” 
“Killed him?” Luna squealed. “You tried to kill him?”
Celestia glanced her up and down, alarmed. “You helped,” she said, incredulous.
“No,” Luna returned sharply. “No, I didn’t. I thought you wanted to capture him.”
Celestia shook her head. “Prison wouldn’t have helped. He was too far gone.” She began to limp across the room towards Luna. 
“But I could have saved him, Cece,” Luna pleaded. “I know I could have. Why did you—”
“Luna.” Celestia put a hoof on her shoulder. Luna sucked in a gasp and fell silent. “Any other time, I would tell you everything.” Luna looked away, but Celestia put her hoof on her cheek and pulled her gaze back.“You deserve to know,” she said tenderly. A tear rolled down Luna’s cheek, and Celestia looked away. “He had us both fooled, Lu,” she murmured. 
Luna bit her lip.
“Any other time,” Celestia repeated. “But right now,” she said, “there are ponies that need our help.” She glanced out the window. “We need to save them—all of them—from the storm.”
Already, snowflakes were beginning to smack wetly against the window, even at this height. She could see the dim glow of homes and buildings under the snow in the distance, and thought she could still hear the screaming.
“It’s our fault,” she murmured. “My fault. And we need to fix it.” She turned to Luna. “We need to get help,” she said. “Get them underground or something. Can you teleport back to the camp, round up anyone who’s—”
Suddenly, she hesitated, staring out the window. She pulled her hoof from Luna’s face, then took a slow step toward the window behind her. Had she seen that? Or just imagined it…?
No. It happened again. There, on the edge of the city: a light had gone out. Simply disappeared. 
And there—it happened again. One moment, a house was there—and the next, it was gone.
It came again. And again. And again, faster and faster, until entire streets were vanishing, like candles in a storm. 
And suddenly, like a bubble bursting, the Spire itself vanished.
Celestia screamed as she fell into empty space, the wind whistling past her. She opened her wings and tried to fly, but they were too weak to carry her. She plummeted like a stone through the dark and the cold.
She crashed into a snowdrift, already several feet deep. She lay there, breathless, for several seconds, then finally, she sat up and coughed, spattering the snow with crimson. She groaned; her wound was throbbing again. She gritted her teeth, then looked up. After a moment, she stood, and began to glance frantically about at the sudden, great emptiness. 
They were alone. The city—the Spire—the ponies—had simply vanished.
Luna landed beside her, shivering from more than just the cold. 
Celestia glanced at her with wide, unseeing eyes. “Luna!” she cried, “W-we need to do something!” 
“Cece.”
“We’ll go find the unicorns,” she said, faster. “They can use their magic, see what happened—”
“Cece.”
“—o-or we can find the pegasi, see if the villages are still there—”
“In the name of Harmony, Celestia, will you listen to me?!”
Celestia whipped her head around and stared. Luna stood in the snow, chest heaving, her gaze trembling. She shook her head, sending little drops of crystal flying into the darkness.
“Just… stop,” she said. “Give it up. It’s gone. They’re gone.” She swallowed. “He’s gone.” A moment of silence, then she looked away and sobbed. “I—I loved him, Cece,” she choked out. “I loved him…”
Celestia took a deep breath, and her vision seemed to clear a little. She walked over to Luna, then drew her in close. “I know,” she said gently. “I know. And I’m sorry.” 
And she was surprised to realize she meant it.
She pulled Luna tighter and laid her head on her shoulder. Suddenly, something broke inside of Celestia, and she began to weep. 
She had failed. She hadn’t saved the crystal ponies. She hadn’t saved her sister from Sombra—not her heart, at any rate. And now, trapped, hurt and exhausted, in the middle of the valley, no food, no supplies—she couldn’t even save herself.
She had failed, completely and absolutely.
The realization cut her deeper than the wound in her chest.
Celestia hugged Luna tighter, like a frightened little filly, and wept. 
And slowly, subtly, almost so gently that neither of them noticed...
Luna pulled herself away from her grasp.


> Chapter 23: The Curtain Falls
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“It took a week for them to find us,” Celestia said, after a pause. “By that time, I’d gone unconscious. Luna’s magic helped, but she was no doctor, and a wound like that…” She smiled humorlessly. “Well, I still have the scar.” She pulled down a corner of her dress, revealing, just under her arm, an ugly, puckered pink mark. Posie and Sill stared.
Celestia pulled the dress back up, then shifted her weight uncomfortably. “I owe Luna my life,” she said. “Making a teleport like that was impossibly stupid—trying to appear somewhere she’d never seen, someplace she didn’t even know for sure existed. Without the magical beacon of the Crystal Heart, it wouldn’t even have been possible.” She hesitated. “But, Sombra had done it… perhaps Luna decided to try herself…” She paused, then shook her head. “But more important—Lu helped keep me going through the storm… and, when I couldn’t go any farther, she kept me breathing.” She closed her eyes. “Even then, they only found us, huddled in our little snow cave, because she had thought to raise a light before the snow buried us.”
She sighed. “When I came to, they told me what we’d already suspected. Every crystal pony, every crystal building, every... crystal. Just—gone.” 
A moment of silence. Posie swallowed. “What happened?” she asked.
Celestia shook her head. “I don’t know. And the crystal ponies don't, either; for them, the whole thousand years was… was just a bad dream...” She swallowed. “I think, maybe, like Sombra said, the crystal ponies are tied to the Crystal Heart. Wherever it went, they followed. Maybe it was just trying to protect them.” She sighed. “Sombra might have had something to do with it, too—he was crafty enough to try, at least…”
She fell silent for a long moment.
“I could have helped them,” she said, finally. “If only I had been a little more careful… if only I had waited a little longer…” a tear rolled down her cheek. “If only I had talked to her before… before that…” She swallowed. “Then, maybe...”
“No, no,” Posie murmured. “It wasn’t your fault… you couldn’t have known…”
Celestia laid her head back down. 
“I could have,” she said simply. “I could have.”
Celestia stayed quiet for a long time. Sill looked at Posie uncertainly, a question in his eyes. Posie silently shushed him.
Suddenly, Celestia spoke. “It took… two months, I think, before Luna told me she was with child.”
Sil’s mouth dropped open, and Posie’s eyes went wide.
“By that point,” Celestia continued, “we… we weren’t on good terms.” She shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “But certain things can’t be hidden. Not forever.”
Celestia hesitated again. “She had so much darkness in her heart… anger, and guilt, and jealousy… But…” A little smile crept across her lips. “To see her… there, in the sunlight… knowing she was finally going to be a mother…” She opened her eyes and gave her audience a half-smile. “Would the phrase ‘over the moon’ be too much?”
Posie snorted, and Sill rolled his eyes. Celestia chuckled a bit—but soon, her smile faltered.
“When the child came,” she continued, her voice somber again, “she was an alicorn, of course. Luna had been searching for a name for… well, for her whole life, I think. And she finally settled on one she liked—a name taken from an old opera she loved.” She sighed. “She named her ‘Mi Amore Cadenza.’”
“Cadenza?” Sill repeated. “I don’t think I know her… would she be…” Suddenly, his eyes went wide. “Cadance?” he yelped. “Princess Cadance?” 
“Princess Cadance,” Celestia repeated with a nod. “Queen of the Crystal Empire—and my niece. After Luna and I…” She swallowed. “After we fought, I told everyone that Cadance had been adopted. If they’d known I’d done… that… to my sister… and she a nursing mother, no less… well…” she swallowed again. “Things were already hard enough.” 
Sill opened his mouth to speak again, but Posie put her hoof on his shoulder. He glanced at her questioningly, but closed his mouth.
After another pause, Celestia began again. “For those first few months, though… Luna was happy. Happier than I think I’d ever seen her. When it was just the two of them…” she sighed. “I stumbled onto them, once. They’d cuddled together on a window seat in a moment of quiet, then fallen asleep. And, even when they were dreaming, Luna’s smile almost outshone the sun.” She looked down. “Almost.”
After another moment, she looked away. “It… it was only once, though. When Cadance came, Luna... changed. She barely let me see the child, let alone hold her. I wanted so badly…” she swallowed. “I thought that maybe, maybe, Cadance could, somehow, help bring us back together.” She slowly shook her head. “But Luna wouldn’t let her. At first, we stopped sharing meals. And then, when I entered the room, she would leave. Eventually, she began speaking to me only through letters—even though we still lived in the same palace.” She closed her eyes. “And, of course, you already know how all that ended.”
Celestia went quiet, then laid her head back down on the bed. “...in the end, though,” she murmured, “when it was all said and done…” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Sombra won, you know.”
Sill glanced at Posie, then back to Celestia. He hesitated, then coughed politely. “Celestia?” he said nervously. “You... you killed him, right? O-or banished him, whatever? So… um… why do you say he won?”
She didn’t move. “He got exactly what he wanted.”
“What do you mean?”
“He had a child,” she said. “An alicorn. With Luna. And she came to rule the Empire after him.” She shook her head. “She never knew, of course—I think, eventually, she came to believe she was adopted—but still.” She heaved another sigh. “I knew I’d failed as soon as I saw her cutie mark. The Crystal Heart. She’d never seen it, never even heard of it—but there it was, plain as day.” She closed her eyes. “She was destined to rule the Empire before she even knew it existed.”
Something in Posie’s brain finally caught.“No,” she said urgently. “No, Sombra didn’t win. He might have had a princess for a daughter—but she is nothing like him. She’s kind, and gracious, and rules the Empire just like… like…” she gestured. “Well, like you would.”
“Not like me,” Celestia murmured faintly.
Posie gritted her teeth and pressed onward. “You should be proud of her,” she insisted. “With the way she acts—she is nothing like her father. She might be his daughter, but Sombra couldn’t have failed more if he’d tried.”
Celestia raised her head and looked Posie in the eye. Posie quailed; what she saw there was not anger or indignation, but a deep, bottomless sorrow.
“I wish I could believe that,” Celestia said, finally.
She put her head back down and turned away from them. Posie and Sill waited for her to move, to speak, to do anything—but she simply lay there.
Posie swallowed nervously, and glanced over at Sill. True, she had started it—she had asked Celestia to tell her story, after all—but, never in her wildest dreams, did she ever think that this is what she'd get. She'd always thought of her Princess as perfect: she could never be sad, or angry, or hurt, because she was Princess Celestia. She'd been ruling for over a thousand years—nothing in Equestria could even touch her, because, if it could, it would have already ground her to dust. 
But the pony that laid on the bed in front of them was very different. She was the Princess, to be sure—but she was also a scared little filly, one who had never wanted the crown she was forced to bear, who had, for a thousand years, had done her best to do right by everyone. She tried—but, all too often, she failed. And, every time she failed, somepony—many someponies—ended up dead. 
Posie swallowed.
All this—and they were barely getting started.


* * *



To be continued...