The Needs of the Few
With great power comes a great pain in the neck.
Princess Celestia almost chortled as the nascent thought slipped from the recesses of her subconscious and flitted idly through her mind. Her better judgment walled the thought quickly up in her mental gatehouse, preventing the mirth trailing along behind it from escape at what would have been an inappropriate moment
The whimsical thought provided her some relief, but it did not alter the inevitable - several hours at open court always resulted in a sharp, stiff crick in the back of her neck.
Shifting slightly on the posh velvet pillows that made up her perch on the royal dais, Celestia considered the unintended results of her own creation. Dubbing these hours ‘day court’, they were a foil to her sister’s ‘night court’ - both open court initiatives were essentially time set aside for any Equestrian with concerns or troubles to lay them before their sovereigns and seek advice. It had originally been intended as a means to break down the ivory tower that divided Celestia and Luna from their subjects, but the sad truth was that few of the common citizens the initiatives were designed to encourage felt comfortable around the snazzy cadre of Canterlot elite who were always hanging around. Thus the common pony seldom turned out, and day court became a tool for aristocrats intent upon having their own troubles addressed.
Celestia had considered scolding the upper crust for this behavior, but she knew it was merely their cosmopolitan grandeur that made others feel apprehensive - they were not deliberately attempting to block access to the court. As pandering as certain wealthy and influential ponies could sometimes be, she knew her station above them all could not be served were she to play favorites - the elite could no more be turned away than the common, and she could not force humble farmers or small-time shop keepers to approach the court with land disputes or questions about tax rates.
As crown princess, Celestia’s words carried enormous weight. Thus, nearly every single one she uttered had to be expressed with the greatest surgical care. Emotional decisions, just or no, were often beyond her freedom to express.
Truly heavy is the head that wears the crown.
Until she could think up a better plan, the Princess of the Sun sat tall at each instance of day court, regardless of the weather or her state of body and mind. Her duty was to her people, and the irony lay in the fact that while she was their ruler, she was also their servant - a servant required to stand at attention and bend an ear until her neck was in need of a long soak in a warm bath.
“--Your Highness?” A voice snapped Celestia’s attention back to reality. It belonged to a noted architect who graced the red receiving carpet below the dais with his well-dressed presence. Flanking the immaculately-groomed, slightly portly stallion were the usual cadre of royal guards, facing one another in two long lines to the entrance at stiff attention. Celestia had long considered dismissing the guards or reducing them so as not to paint a foreboding image of the throne room. Her advisers had acquiesced to her insistence upon this in every other instance, but she had compromised with them and kept the guard tight during open court. They were only concerned for her safety, after all.
Celestia rubbed her face and blinked rapidly several times, the light shining in a window from her own heavenly body forcing a momentary squint. “Forgive me, Mister Hightower. Would you repeat that last statement?”
The stallion called Hightower - tall indeed save for the presence of his alicorn monarch - cleared his throat with a handkerchief. “My apologies, Your Highness,” He placated, his temper even despite the disappointment Celestia had already visited upon him, “With the utmost respect, I inquired as to whether that is your final word on the matter.”
Celestia recalled the conversation. She shook her head, tousling her everflowing pastel mane. “I am afraid so, Mister Hightower. As much as our nation appreciates the effort various branches of your company have undertaken to explore wilderness outside our settlements and identify new resources for our use, I can neither support nor sanction an expedition into the Everfree forest at this time. That area is simply too volatile and potentially unsafe to justify any decision on my part to allow it to be explored on a formal basis.” She threw him a bone, “If it is any consolation, I’m quite certain you’ll find little arable land there anyway, nor raw materials in sufficient quantity to be worth the risk.”
Despite his blustery countenance, Hightower seemed genuinely disappointed. He bowed his head in acquiescence, “As you wish, Your Majesty. I suppose it’s just as well - Hightower for Hire has yet to establish a presence in the closest convenient community, Ponyville.”
Celestia nodded. “Thank you for coming to me with this concern prior to making a decision on your own. You were correct in assuming that the court would have input to provide.”
Hightower bowed politely, waited to be dismissed, and was escorted out by a guard.
Celestia thought on the ancient ruins that lay at the heart of the Everfree. To her, they were not ancient at all - they were simply home. A home she could not go back to. A small part of her wanted to give support to Hightower’s plan, but she would not allow the desire to see her old home potentially restored affect her better judgment. Colonization of the Everfree would put far too many innocent ponies in danger - were she to support the idea, then the blame for every potential accident or unseemly timberwolf attack would rest squarely on the shoulders of the royal court. Equestrians would look to the ones who gave permission - not the ones who accepted it.
Celestia let out a long sigh and glanced at the position of the sun - if any pony in Equestria could tell the exact time of day simply by a cursory glace at a flaming orb in the sky, it was the Princess of the Sun. Relaxation melted the worn edges of her psyche. Her day would soon end; in her near future, a good book and a soothing cup of tea waited.
The clicking of the heels of the guards nearest the entrance to the throne room drew her attention. There, a pair of guards with spears crossed seemed to be at odds with a small pony. The features of the interloper were blocked by the guards’ considerable bulk.
“At the entrance!” Celestia called, bemused, “What is occurring?”
One of the defending guards turned to glance at his sovereign. Leaving the defense to his mates, he turned and stepped closer to address Celestia properly. “Your Highness, a pony wishes an audience with you.”
Internally Celestia pushed away her thoughts of reading and tea with some regret. “If that is the case,” She inquired, “Why have you barred their entry?”
The guard knew of his Lady’s preference for eye contact when directly addressed, rather than polite aversion. Still, he found he could look in every direction except for hers. “The visitor is...not who they claim to be. We were wary, Your Highness.”
Celestia tilted her head. “And who precisely does he or she claim to be?”
The guard looked uneasy. Cleared his throat. “She claims to be...you, Your Highness.”
Celestia tried again in vain to catch a glimpse of the unknown pony. Whoever it was, clearly they did not share the crown princess’s height, for she could not make them out over the head of the guard who held them at bay. Curiosity overcame Celestia’s sense of caution.
“Show her in,” The Sun commanded.
The guard seemed dismayed, but he quickly saluted, turned back to the door, and set about the task of allowing the newcomer an audience.
The curious pony, her coat a light magenta shade, marched down the receiving carpet waving a foreleg dismissively and looking quite annoyed. She bellowed-
“Forsooth! Alas and alack! Pinfeathers and gully fluff! Whyfor dost you simplesillytons keepest us from our high perch!?”
Celestia examined her latest visitor. She was a mare, but a very young one, such that the princess found herself uncertain if she should think of her as a young mare or an elder filly. She wore, of all things, a propeller beanie cap on her head, and she sported the image of a hoofball and a screw on her flank. The princess’s eyes were immediately drawn to the young mare’s mane - it looked, and flowed, exactly the same as Celestia’s.
The curious pony paused at the foot of the dais and looked up, her mane moving exactly in time with Celestia’s. “Imposter! Is this rebellion!?”
“I...beg your pardon?” Celestia’s brow elevated nearly to the level of her horn. “Do I...know you?”
“Somepony ought to know me!” The mare announced in a shrill voice. “I told them I raise the sun, but that didn’t work, so--” As she spoke, the mare’s mane simply became an exact copy of Princess Luna’s, “--then I told them I raise the moon! But that didn’t work either, so--” As quickly as it had shifted before, the mare’s mane and tail became an exact copy of Twilight Sparkle’s, and her beanie became Twilight’s element, “then I told them I was the jailer! But even that didn’t work, so--” Finally, the mane and tail became Celestia’s again, the beanie returning to normal, “--I told them you are clearly an impostor, and they let me through. So it must be true.”
A brief silence ensued, during which Celestia could not help returning the puzzled glances of the nearest guards. On second inspection, she noticed that the newcomer’s eyes, while an attractive shade of purple, were anything but normal - where her pupils should have been, a gray, heliotropic, constantly spiraling swirl pattern persisted. A guard must have noticed the abnormality too because he stiffened and made as if to block the way, but Celestia stayed him with a commanding raise of her foreleg.
“Are you...well?” The princess asked.
“Wells are for wishing,” The mare answered, “But their name is not my name too!” She began to pat herself down with a hoof, “Now where did I put that card...it’s only polite to trade business cards like the Neighponese do...oh!” She brightened, “There, yes!”
Celestia noticed a small index card on her pillow, where there simply had not been one before. She captured it in her magic and brought it to eye level, reading from it aloud-
“Screwball. Have tail will travel. Established circa like a couple months ago, I don’t know. If you’re still reading this you must be Princess Celestia. Hi.” Celesia turned the card over, “I have an important matter to discuss with you. Pay no attention to that mare behind the curtain.”
Celestia looked up, “Curtain?”
A circular shower curtain suddenly presided over the spot where Screwball once stood. The curious pony wiggled her face through the curtain and grinned with a vigorous zeal such that she reminded the princess of Pinkie Pie in full swing. Screwball’s mane had become a curly mass of violet and white that seemed more natural for her.
Celestia considered the impossible effects the mare had apparently generated from nowhere. She noticed Screwball had no horn - instinctively, Celestia craned her head towards a window and shot a quick glance into the palace gardens.
“Oh, he’s still out there,” Screwball commented, noticing the glance. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not nearly on his level. But the fact that I made ya look gives me the warm fuzzies.”
Wary now in her own right, Celestia sought to establish a dialogue. “Very well...Screwball. All citizens are welcome here. If you wish to speak to me, please proceed.”
Screwball banished the shower curtain, which simply disappeared, and didn’t mince words. “My father has been imprisoned. I want you to set him free.”
Celestia’s gaze narrowed, thoughts of all sorts of nefarious creatures that might prey upon a hapless pony entered her mind. “I see. Who or what has taken your father?”
“You did,” Screwball said simply. She pointed out the window, directly to the palace gardens. “He’s out there. Right now.”
Celestia put two and two together. Her blood ran cold, and she gave voice to the obvious.
“You claim that your father...is Discord?”
“That’s right,” Screwball replied easily.
This time, the guards brandished their weapons and stepped forward en masse, stayed only by a sharp, majestic fluttering of Celestia’s wings. The princess couldn’t help the crass snort that preceded her voice. “You can’t be serious. Who are you really?”
Screwball casually meandered over to the window, the guards parting uncertainly for her. When she reached the sill, she gazed out upon the palace grounds and spoke. “I told you, my name is Screwball. Discord is my father.” Without waiting to be asked, she elaborated-
“When Discord escaped from prison awhile back, he did a lot of crazy things. One of them was me. His sudden presence in the Equestria of today, a land he had never before existed in, somehow caused a magic mumbo-jumbo mixture mess that created me.” She shrugged, “Or that’s my theory anyway. I really have no idea what happened, but you’d be amazed what ponies will believe if you convince yourself you know what you’re talking about before you say something to them.”
Celestia considered the preposterous request. The look in Screwball’s eye, coupled with her ability to simply make objects ebb and flow from existence, was undeniable.
“You’re serious,” The crown princess concluded.
“Mmhm,” Screwball nodded without turning around.
“You do realize,” Celestia challenged, “That simply making such a request could brand you as abetting a known criminal.” She softened her tone, “If you have only been alive since Discord last attempted to take over Equestria, I’ll allow for the fact that you may not understand, but what you are asking is impossible.” Pity licked at her words, “...your father is...an extreme danger to our entire nation.”
Screwball muttered something under her breath. Celestia inquired, and Screwball repeated, the mirth gone from her voice.
“...it took me three days to come up with that.”
“To come up with...what?” Celestia inquired
Screwball kept moving until she found herself before the stained-glass window depicting Discord’s fall at the hooves of the current keepers of the Elements of Harmony. She held her hoof out, watching a spectrum of colors dance over her coat as sunlight passed through the glass.
“It took me three days to come up with a way to greet you that would do my father justice,” Screwball said softly. “And just as many weeks to get up the courage to even come here.” There was a long pause as she appreciated the colors emanating from the glass draconequus’s defeat. “I wonder if you know what it’s like to just suddenly…exist. No family. Nopony to look out for you. No understanding of what is good or bad in the world. No idea how to be what your father might have wanted you to be.” She emitted a dry chuckle, “The earliest thing I remember doing is floating through the air, nothing but a void in my mind, gibbering like an idiot. I didn’t know what sleep was, what food was, or how to use the bathroom. But I’ve learned a lot since then, all by myself. I’m actually pretty smart, when I think about it.”
“You want to meet your father,” Celestia deduced.
“It’s more than that,” Screwball whirled around, her face barren now of levity. “When I first began to exist, I felt a strong force inside me.” She held her hoof out again, and upon it appeared a daisy, its petals a miasma of impossible colors. “The force of chaos. Of disorder. I felt alive, and I didn’t care about the consequences of my actions. I was insane with glee, and the only thing I wanted was to share the joy of disharmony with others. Maybe that’s all my father wanted too.”
Screwball gestured, and the flower wilted, aging by the second until it crumbled to dust on the frog of her hoof. “I didn’t know who my father was, or that I had a father at all, until he was imprisoned again. I knew the moment it happened.” She pointed at her chest, “A hollow hole opened up inside me, and I began to slowly lose myself. The glee and the joy leaked out of me. My mind began to work differently. Some of you might think that’s a good thing because I’m more like what you would call a ‘normal’ pony now, but I’m becoming less and less of myself every day. The more serious I get. The more I forget how to be me.” She took a breath, “...my life is flowing out of me, because my umbilical cord got cut too early. I can’t imagine how all of you can stand to be so…hollow, all the time.”
Celestia sat silently, sensing the curious spawn had yet to speak her piece. Screwball’s features went ashen.
“Don’t ask me how I know,” Screwball said gravely, her swirling irises constantly spinning, “But I know what’s happening. I’m dying. And so I came here-” She gestured to the ceiling, “To this place. To see you. To ask you to set my father free, so I can live again. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Celestia nodded curtly to one of the guards. The guard hesitated, but a soft murmur of the phrase ‘it’s all right’ from his sovereign set him into action. The Princess said nothing until every stallion-at-arms had taken up a new position in the outer hallway, leaving Celestia and Screwball alone in the throne room. Finally, The Sun spoke.
“Do you understand what you are? And the magnitude of the favor you ask?”
For an instant Celestia thought Screwball would boil over with anger, but the little mare instead cooled into a dank despair. She trotted slowly over to the dais until she was before the princess, and dipped into a low bow, holding it there, her eyes averted. Partially muffled, she spoke-
“I know exactly what I am. I’m a pony. I may be different from most ponies, but aren’t we all different in some way? I have four legs, four hooves, a mane, a tail, and pointy ears. I’m a pony from Equestria, and that means you are my princess. My life has been too short. I want to see things, learn things, and live with other ponies like me. I don’t want to die. I’m asking you to change my fate.”
In all the time Princess Celestia presided over the land, she had never considered her position something to lord over others. If anything she thought herself a public servant; deferred to and allowed authority in return for shouldering a responsibility to the welfare of each and every pony who was born, lived, and ultimately passed away under her rule.
Celestia considered this being - this ‘Screwball’. No matter how Screwball had come to be, this creature was a pony, with as much sentience, free thought, and right to life that any other pony who had ever taken the journey from morning to night. Celestia’s heart leapt at the prospect of helping this wayward being. Acclimating her, educating her, and teaching her the magic of friendship.
Every birth. Every life. They were all causes to celebrate. Thus, shame and guilt threatened to snuff the Sun Princess out as she uttered her next words.
“I’m...sorry. I cannot help you.”
The slight measure of hope that graced Screwball’s brow went gray and crumbled. Still she did not look up.
“...you won’t save me?”
Celestia forced the words borne of her higher reasoning out through the straining gap in her heart. “I’m truly very sorry, but for the good of Equestria, Discord can never walk free again. You...must understand,” Celestia paused to collect herself, determined not to bend to her feelings, “The greater good of Equestria would hang in the balance of such a decision. Thousands upon thousands of ponies in every trot of life from coast to coast, not to mention other nations beyond our borders, are in grave danger at the claws of the being you call your father. I truly wish circumstances were different, but as they are, in good conscience, I cannot help you.”
Screwball kept her eyes down. She bit her lip. “My...my life matters. Doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Celestia tasted the bitterness of her words as she released them, “But you are only one pony. To save your life, the lives of everypony else would have to be placed in jeopardy. I cannot allow that to happen. If there were any other way...”
“N-no, no...I understand.”
There was a sharp sniffling noise, but Screwball came to her hooves with a rosy smile. Princess Celestia could not be certain if the expression was forced, but combined with Screwball’s eyes, it looked every bit the merry grin Discord might wear.
“I had to ask, right?” Screwball chuckled, the sound echoing dryly throughout the empty hall. “B-but it’s okay! Really. It was a crazy idea anyway, so really, don’t even worry about it!”
“Screwball--”
But Screwball and her beanie were already halfway across the room in full retreat. “Don’t even worry about me, I’ll be fine! I’m sure there are some books or something I could read, or some magic somewhere that can help me instead!”
“You could remain here,” Celestia offered. “We have physicians who could research the situation and may be able to--”
“Don’t trouble yourself!” Screwball insisted. “If I need anything I’ll come back, I promise! Just...thank you for your time!”
Uttering the final phrase at speed, Screwball sketched Celestia a short bow. At the entranceway she simply vanished, before Celestia could utter another word.
The sun of late afternoon waned through tall windows. Princess Celestia sat alone in her grandiose throne room, reflecting on her own fortitude - again, she had not allowed her emotions to interfere with her duty.
The thought was poor consolation.
* * * * *
For the first time in six weeks, Princess Celestia felt like smiling.
Sailing through fluffy clouds on a bright, clear day, she could quite easily make out both the colors of freshly-painted Cloudsdale rainbows above, and the contours of the earth pony farmlands below. Her wings at rest behind her, she sat tall in the royal chariot of the sun, patiently allowing the pace of her course across the sky to be set by four pegasi guards that drew at the gilded reins. She could have made the trip faster by abandoning the carriage for her own wings, but she wanted this visit to be an official one. Her quarry had to know that the princess came with a decision backed by her royal station.
Reacting to the light chill in the air with a small shiver, Celestia reflected on weeks of miserable memories that were all attached to one small, strange visitor. That young mare, or elder filly, had wanted the one thing nearly everypony else took for granted.
Life.
The decision had been an impossible one at first, but Celestia had no doubt in her mind that Screwball had as much right to life as any sentient being. In pondering this, the Princess of the Sun considered Discord’s crimes. He had never taken a life - never truly harmed anypony that she knew of, other than to make the dose of normalcy everypony required in their daily lives untenable. Had things been different a millennia ago - had Celestia the means to destroy Discord rather than reform him, she knew that she would not have simply executed him. In her mind, no creature great or small ever deserved to die.
Even so, was she justified in locking him away for eternity, with neither trial, sentence, nor the possibility of parole?
Equestria was a different realm. Six individual ponies now controlled the Elements of Harmony, and each of them embodied a single virtue. Thus, each of them could shine brighter in that virtue than Celestia could when balancing all of them. With all her years of life experience, discipline, and her lofty morals, the princess knew that even she was not up to the task of reforming Discord. But things were different now, and if anypony had the patience to truly get through to him, it would be the Element of Kindness. With her friends and their elements by her side to ensure Discord’s attention did not wander back into mischief, it all just might work.
By the power vested in the Princess of the Sun, Celestia’s choice was made. The elemental keepers did not yet know of the decision - they would in time, but Celestia had prior business to attend to first.
The chariot set down in a place that did not befit its presence. An outskirt of a rural community, the place had so little presence that Celestia’s trackers initially had trouble even finding it on a map, much less identifying it as their sovereign’s goal. Even the sky, bright as it was, seemed to cast a somber, uncaring eye on such a shabby clearing.
Disembarking, Celestia gave orders for her retinue to remain at their stations and approached a small cottage that sat alone in the center of the clearing. It could hardly be called more than a shack, but the state of repair and good order of the flowerboxes at the windows suggested it was at least still occupied. The impossible colors of the daisies residing in said boxes further suggested that this was, in fact, the home of her target.
Celestia rapped patiently on the door three times, calling out her presence with each gesture. She felt it not at all proper to let herself into the private abode of one of her subjects without due cause, but what she had to say couldn’t wait a moment longer. She had come to right a wrong, and a mere door would not stay her. She eventually pressed her hoof to the portal and pushed it open herself.
“Hello?” She called out, “Is there anypony at home?”
The cottage supported only a single room. Inside, the relatively cozy space had a counter sectioning off a modest kitchen nook, a table and worn sofa set before a fireplace, a few bookshelves...and a pony, fast asleep in a small bed with mismatched sheets.
Celestia immediately quieted, decorum demanding she not wake the mistress of the house. Thus, in a vain attempt to collect her giddy elation, she took to wandering about the place, making minor corrections to things. She returned books to their shelves. Placed an errant dish in the sink. Eliminated a mud stain from an errant hoof that hadn’t properly found the welcome mat.
She took special notice of the hearth. No flames licked within, but the heat and embers were still alive, suggesting the fire had received attention no more than a few hours ago. The days had been somewhat chilly as of late despite the season, and the weakened state of the fire was not atypical for a home with a single occupant, who had likely built it up before taking to a night’s rest.
Her patience spent, Celestia ensorcelled a stool, dragged it over to the bed, and sat. The propeller beanie hanging from the bed post made the occupant unmistakable. Celestia cleared her throat several times, hoping Screwball would awaken incidentally, but finally took to speech.
“Screwball,” Celestia began in her best mothering tone, “Screwball. Awaken, my subject. I have excellent news to share with you.”
The form in the bed did not respond. Her expression was obscured by a thick quilt that was blocking her face up to her hairline, which her position suggested she had pulled over herself.
“Screwball,” Celestia repeated. “I cannot speak to you in your dreams, as my sister can. You must come into the light. You were right, your life does matter. I want you to know that I have found a way to ensure your survival.”
Screwball persisted in whatever fantasy landscape made up her unconscious thoughts. No longer able to contain herself, Celestia reached out a hoof to rouse the sleeping mare with gentle, rocking force, smoothing back the quilt from Screwball’s face as she went.
“My child, please,” Celestia cooed, “Rise so that we might...speak of...”
Gone.
Splayed on her back and capless, the gray spirals in Screwball’s wide-open eyes were no longer moving. Her chest neither rose nor fell. There was still stiffness in her limbs - evidence that her end was no older than that of the wood that once blazed in her hearth. Gone she was, and Celestia knew it instantly. There was no fire. No divine spark of life. This was a pony with no chance of resuscitation through any known means.
“I...n-no I...” Celestia sputtered, “This...n-not yet, this cannot...”
Celestia’s eyes trailed down to Screwball’s quiet chest. There, pinned under crossed forelegs only the deceased could have arranged herself in anticipation of her own death, rested a single, impossibly colored daisy. Accompanying it was a folded scrap of paper.
Celestia took the paper with her magic, parted its folds, and read a scrawl of atrocious hoofwriting that would have made even a primary school teacher feel as though they had failed in their vocation.
I understand, Equestria.
I’m sorry for what I am.
Goodbye.
Her last words. A life summed up in such brief composition.
Celestia shut her eyes, wadded up the note, and cast it away just as the paper began to dampen with drops from her irrigated cheeks. Her hoof came down on the bed so harshly that she stung herself with the blow.
Hours!!” She cried. “Hours!! Not days, not weeks...hours!” Not caring what her subjects might overhear, she barked at herself, “Your slow conscience let this happen by a matter of hours!!”
Rising suddenly, Celestia gave the rickety stool under her a wicked buck, sending it shattering against a wall and taking a section of the curtains with it. Throwing up her forelegs helplessly, she exploded upon the room with a depreciating side of herself that she never allowed her subjects to see.
“Why couldn’t you have made this decision six weeks ago!?” She demanded of herself, “Or five? Or yesterday? I could have come directly here! I could have postponed the morning defense briefing! Or breakfast! What’s one more day of status quo when it means a pony’s life??”
Celestia bore her lamentations to the ceiling and the sky beyond, but finding no respite in the soft rays of light that passed between the drapes, she collapsed upon her knees before the bed. A knock so heavy it threatened to splinter the door reverberated into the room.
“Your Highness!?” A muffled voice called. “We heard shouting? Are you alright?”
“...leave me,” Celestia muttered.
“Your Highness!” The voice persisted, “We can’t hear you clearly! We’re coming in!”
Celestia could feel the tears pouring down her cheeks - sense the feral sneer on her lips. She thrust her foreleg at the door, as if the gesture alone were enough to nail it shut.
“I said leave me,” She managed to take the edge off of the command while still projecting it, “Return to the palace. I will follow shortly.”
After a short pause, the voice returned, apology in its tone. “I-I...I’m sorry Your Highness, but we can’t do that. By your own orders, princess. We cannot leave a member of the royal house alone in an unknown place without witnessing them to be in good health.”
Celestia’s eyes narrowed, but she fought back the urge to rake her entourage over the hot coals of her self-loathing. They were only doing their job. Her voice softened.
“...very well. Return to your station. I will join you in five minutes.” She added, “Send a flyer to instruct the local authorities to investigate this cottage. Today.”
“Your Highness?”
“Do as I say,” Celestia remarked sternly. Considering the likely reasons Screwball’s cottage could be so far removed from the closest village, yet close enough to still be known by its populace, she added, “Inform them that by upon my order, they will come to this place and see to settling whatever affairs they come upon in an appropriate and respectable way. They will understand when they arrive.”
The voice hesitated. Finally - “Y-yes Your Highness. It will be done.”
In the stillness, broken up only by the distant rustling of leaves and the stubborn ticking of a clock on the mantle that had yet to run down, Princess Celestia found her hooves. She spent three of her remaining five minutes staring down at the corpse of the mare who had lived for less than a year. The mare who, six weeks ago, had come to her for help.
The mare Celestia had turned away, but who left smiling still.
Quietly, Celestia reached out a hoof and passed it over Screwball’s eyes, closing them. She then lit her horn and properly arranged the quilts upon the bed, respectfully covering the corpse’s face. Finally, she laid out the single, multicolored daisy upon the blankets covering Screwball’s heart.
When Celestia spoke, her words spun from her throat like the unraveling tendrils of a complicated web.
“I am sorry, Screwball,” She said softly. “Sorry for what I have done to you. I will not allow this blame to be set upon any shoulders but mine. I can no longer help you directly, but you have my word,” She held a hoof to her lips, bowing her head, “...you have my word that your father will walk among us again. Discord will be reformed. Each of us, and every creature, great and small, deserves a chance. I’m...so sorry you did not get yours.”
Conviction welled behind the crown princess’s decision. Come Tartarus or high water, she would not allow this little pony, who knew the world for such a short time, die in vain.
Celestia turned to march from the room. At the door, she paused to favor the dying embers and the bundle under the covers with a parting glance.
“...goodbye. Among the stars in the sky, never be sorry for the way you shine.”