Chapter 1
Every crunch betrayed her on her journey up the mountain, just the auroral hues of her lustrous, tumbling mane made her known on the stark paleness of the mountain's side. She had always struggled with arts of magic, being one to drift to function and chores it might do, as she craved only the most definite purpose in its power, making no fuss of sun raising or her other rituals, letting them bleed to routine and simplicity. Yet, even she recognized how there would be a haunting beauty if she could weave a mortal-mimicking form for herself, as pale and crystalline as the thick waves of snow spilled softly before her.
Her mane was whipped about by blustering winds, filling the troughs she dragged in the ground with each motion, pushing her way about the mountain, forcing herself to advance as the gales brought sharp flecks of ice upon her. Her ascent must be a success, and she could not let a blizzard bring her down when she could battle it. Her wings buffeted away what she could manage, and Celestia kicked at what she could with uncharacteristic ferocity, scattering the powder. Leaping and bounding, she arose with a spastic flap of her wings, sucking in a breath so cold it sent a pained chill down her throat.
Gold light growing upon her horn was faint in the brutal onslaught of stinging snowflakes. She squinted, not daring to allow the freezing pain to get to her damp eyes, and she could not see through the snowy gloaming, her backdrop in this wild-weathered area of the world that made even a goddess like herself feel so dwarfed by her surroundings. She was chilled, too, by having only the violent howl of the wind as company and would not risk talking to herself for comfort; then the cold would pain her throat.
She longed for a sound above that howl, but her ears were flecked with lattices of frost. Her coat was dusted with crystalline flecks, each stacking upon her one after the other. The sister that knew her magic as easy as she breathed was long gone, and Celestia was left to struggle to get any light to bloom on her horn. The rest of the world was celebrating a glorious Midsummer Day, but Celestia was left, here, alone. She was to brave the constant bombardment of ice and the spirals of snow that the dark, brooding clouds threw down upon her. She was to blink her eyes from the frigid sting of snow that weighted heavily upon her and press onward, and after that, she would press onward still. Her feathers were frozen stiff and dripping with powdery, clumpy waterfalls of chilly-stiff snow-bits. They slogged away from her with every hoof step.
Sometimes, Princess Celestia would dare stretch her wings out. They would find themselves piled high with snow upon snow upon snow in minutes, each generously dolloped upon her by whipping wind. Her sides would scream at her, for oh, what a traitor she was to let her wings out and all the warmth ebb away from her, and all because she dared not keep her wings folded! So she would fold them again, because with too much snow on them she risked plummeting muzzle first downward into lungfuls of ice and chilly fear.
The pain would crystallize like the weight of the sticky, powdery snow. The icy vividness of it would make her long for her Canterlot home in ways she could admit to nopony, and ways she wouldn't, even if somepony had been there.
But she trotted on, for this was a trip only she could make. When her magic became enough, she would shake her mane of its snowy burden and leap up upon the heaviest, most solid bank. Then, she would cast out what little light managed to reach into the darkness. A sizzle, a star, and a splash of light would sear away countless snowdrifts. The ground, damp and dead under it all would breath for a few moments. Celestia would use the chance to gallop a few bounds, before downdrafts brought more snow down. The ground would be covered again in just a few moments, and Princess Celestia would have to start up the cycle again. She would spend time evading the worst of the winds in order to better charge her magic, hopping up to where the ground wasn't slick enough that she would slip, and let loose what fire she could.
She lost count of how many times she had been at this when the embers of delight stirred in her stomach. It was a fragile feeling, but it began long after she was ready to collapse and her magic of flame showed there were more rocks under her hooves than anything else. She could barely see in front of her muzzle, let alone the mountain that she scaled. She knew only that she scaled it, and there would always be more to climb.
Snow upon snow, and ice upon ice. Only as Celestia neared the narrowest straits of the mountain's many ledges did they sky at last become more visible. Previously, it was a dark mess of tempests and terror, shadow and tar-black night. Now, that curtain of clouds was receding at last. The sky was starting to show, and with it, all the stars yearning to be seen. They were pinpricks of light in the sky, barely shining through the veil of the storm. Every star in the sky shone brilliantly down on the land battered with snow and mountains buried in all winter had to offer the northernmost corner of Equestria. Only the lodestar had the strongest light enough to be seen as anything more than a fleeting light.
Celestia sighed at least; her destination was before her. She could see not just night she had dragged into being hours upon hours ago, but what it illuminated. Upon the mountain peak was a single stone building, and poking out from its stout walls was a telescope that Celestia came here one night a year to use.
She tilted her head up to the sky, where where she could see the moon's light pouring past all of winter's savage wonder.
"Happy Birthday, Luna," she said to nopony who could hear.