How to begin...?
Sunlight shone in merrily through the tall windows of the royal dining room. The moon had set; the sun only just risen. The two sisters faced each other near the breakfast table in an unusual stance: Luna, frowning in tired puzzlement, while Celestia looked at the floor and fretted.
“But… I don’t know what to say,” the older sister said.
Luna stared at her, astonished despite her morning’s fatigue. “You? You are at a loss for words?”
“Luna, please. I… I’m serious,” Celestia said miserably. “I know what I want to impart, but every time I try to find the words…”
Closing her eyes, she said, “I tried, on the very day it happened. And what came out was a lecture on what she might have learned, instead.”
Luna raised an eyebrow. “Really.”
Celestia’s head hung even lower.
“Hm,” Luna considered, nodding slightly. “Very well then, write her a letter.”
Celestia’s head snapped up to stare at her sister. “What?”
“Write her a letter,” Luna repeated as she yawned, turning towards her own chambers. “You don’t even have to send it.”
“But...”
“Just trust me, dearest. Write her a letter. The rest will follow.”
Then the door closed behind her, and Celestia was alone with her thoughts.
.
Since then, the sun had risen in the east significantly, though it was still morning. Its life-giving rays streamed happily through the sheer curtains that moved in the morning breeze. They wafted and danced and occasionally flapped, separating the balcony from the private chambers where the Princess of Day sat, staring at the stack of blank papers on the desk before her.
Normally, of course, Celestia was in court by now. But not today.
There were any number of things that were waiting for her to take care of, of course. There always were. But the day’s docket was a relatively light one, and having the morning’s business moved to tomorrow shouldn’t cause too much difficulty. She’d just try to get some extra rest in somewhere, to make up the difference.
And she knew perfectly well how any number of ponies objected to their precious schedules being disrupted. And the more important they thought they were, generally the more they minded.
So, possible repercussions. Politics. All that nonsense.
But… this was important. And surely, she could learn from her mistakes enough to prioritize the ponies she loved over courtly affairs.
Besides which, this had already taken her quite long enough.
And so it was that Celestia sat in her chambers by the fire, staring at the blank parchment on the desk before her, inkwell and quill at the ready. And still, for the first time in many centuries, she was having trouble putting her thoughts into words.
Her beloved sister, of course, had been of exactly no help whatsoever.
Write her a letter. You don’t even have to send it.
Celestia snorted at the blank page. Then sighed.
Intellectually, she knew that Luna’s counsel had always proven itself good in the long run. But that didn’t help when it made no sense at the time. Like now, for example. After all, how was writing a letter supposed to help if Twilight never saw it? Of course she was going to send it. Why else would she write it? What were letters for, if not for sending?
Then again, she had to acknowledge, it was entirely possible that she was stalling.
Picking up the quill in her magic, she quickly scribbled out,
My Most Faithful Student,
and immediately crumpled up the sheet, tossing it into the fireplace. What a terrible way to start a letter to Twilight! Especially after everything that had happened. After all they’d been through. How rigidly, distantly, horribly formal.
Then, she sighed. I’m stalling again, she thought, and set another parchment in the former’s place.
My Dearest Twilight,
Celestia stared at the page, eyebrow raised, one ear flattened. Just how many Twilights did she know, anyway, that this one was the ‘dearest’ among them? How ridiculous.
That page went the way of its sibling, consigned to the flames. It made a satisfying fwoosh as it blazed up and was gone.
Several other rejected pages followed, in quick succession.
Then, almost in a fit of frustration, Celestia quickly wrote,
Dear Twilight,
and then considered the phrase for a moment, before nodding to herself.
Yes.
Much to her surprise, the rest came quickly, the quill almost moving with a life of its own, even as it was held in the glow of her magic.
.
Dear Twilight.
This is a letter that is long overdue, and I hope you will forgive me that lapse, even as I seek to address a far greater one.
That certainly seemed formal, didn’t it? But as I’m sure you’ve noticed over the years, sometimes I wear formality as a kind of armour. And yes, of course I realize that I am your teacher and you are my student, and that some formality is due under such circumstances. But over the years, you have become not merely a student to me, but also a friend. And so I think it a bad habit at this point, protecting myself with such a strange distance from one so dear to me.
I must confess, I’m nervous writing this. I’m nervous because I failed you, as both a teacher and as a friend, and I want to say that I’m sorry.
Please, hear me out.
Friendship, as you yourself have observed in your letters, is neither a kind of love, nor a measure of it. Cadence is the Princess of Love in its many forms, which is certainly not a role I would envy. But while her domain touches on friendship’s shores, and even laps against its sands, friendship itself is its own force. Its own magic. And, its own bond.
Friendship, I think, is best seen as a measure of three components: love, trust, and respect. If any of these three are missing, then whatever the bond being discussed may be, it is not friendship. And if it is ever truly tested it almost certainly won’t last.
This is why, when you were still a little filly and we briefly discussed the subject of pony romance, I advised you that if you ever did wish to marry, to marry a friend. Mind you, I will be the first to admit that I’m hardly an expert in such matters. But I have observed time and time again that love by itself, no matter how passionate or devoted, is simply not enough. At the same time, friendship will often get one through the fires where love alone dies.
(I’m smiling a little as I write this. That’s partly because of the fond memories of you as my young student, and partly because I just caught myself stalling again. Thank you for bearing with me.)
.
The princess stared for a moment at the page’s blank void that waited below her handwriting. Then, her pen began working more furiously.
.
At Cadence’s wedding rehearsal, you warned all of us. You warned me. And in response, I not only dismissed your cautions, I berated you for them. I reacted to your distress with anger and disappointment, and I hurt and humiliated you in the process. This was not the act of a good teacher, but far more importantly, THIS WAS NOT THE ACT OF A FRIEND, and I humbly beg your forgiveness.
.
Celestia sat silently for a moment, contemplating what she had just written. That shouldn’t have been hard, she thought.
Then, shaking her head slightly, she wondered, Has my pride really become so powerful across the span of time, that such a simple act requires so much effort?
She snorted. Apparently, it had. Well. All the more reason to finish the letter, then, and to leave nothing unsaid in the process.
.
I can almost hear you coming valiantly to my defense. Saying something about how I shouldn’t feel bad, just because everypony else also doubted you that day. That it was Chrysalis’ power, the ability to drain away and feed upon the love of everyone around her, which caused such a failure in judgement.
And, so far as they go, such words would not be wholly inaccurate. After all, she is no mere changeling, but the first and eldest, the most powerful of them all. Their queen, as well as their progenitor. And thus, with everypony’s perceptions fogged by her formidable power, all in attendance fell for her ruse, even your fellow Elements.
But – and here I ask you to indulge me showing my age for a moment – what such a defense does not take into account is that your fellow Elements, even your brother, are young. Something which I am distinctly not. Nor have I been, for a long, long time.
This is important because to the young heart, love burns the brightest among friendship’s three components. It is the easiest to feel, the easiest to see, and sometimes even mistaken for friendship in and of itself.
This is also why, among those ponies who take more than one mate (by whatever name the practice is currently called), new loves can seem more overwhelming and brighter simply because they are new. But as the eyes of one’s heart adjusts to that light, a perspective is gained, and hopefully a new partnership can be woven into the old structure without mishap. I don’t know how often it works out that way, but I imagine that’s the ideal.
(And yes, I know I just mixed my metaphors. I once again claim the privilege of old age.)
Anyway. Your other friends are young enough that, as Chrysalis subtly drained away the love from all the social links around her, it shifted their perspectives. It’s not that they didn’t trust and respect you; they absolutely did and they absolutely do.
But their hearts were deceived by love’s flame dwindling down within them, deceived enough that they momentarily forgot how much they trust and respect you as their hearts were faded into relative darkness.
So, it’s only reasonable that you forgave them so easily. They simply hadn’t the experience needed to deal with the onslaught of someone like Chrysalis. And in your own heart, I think you understood that.
I, however, have no such excuse.
That being said, while I can offer no justifications for my actions, I do owe you an explanation. So please bear in mind that, as I write this, I’m speaking of pure causation.
.
The alicorn paused, blinking away tears. Then, frowning again, she began to write anew.
.
When you accused Chrysalis in her disguise, emotionally I went on the defensive. Foolish, really, but I did. I assumed without question that if there were some enemy in the area, I would be aware of them (which, considering Chrysalis’ origins, was even more foolish of me). So, I took your perception of Cadence as an attack upon my pride. One which I didn’t even realize until later.
Alas, that is the nature of pride, my dear. Left unexamined and unchecked, it undermines the intellect.
And I had over time become so comfortable with the idea of being Princess, of being Right, that I had become not only proud but intellectually lazy. And that combination can often lead to a terrible, blinding arrogance. It certainly did for me.
Thus, I failed to examine or check my perceptions when I heard your concerns, which my respect for you should certainly have led me to do. Nor did I support you, or at least take you aside and ask you what had led you to your conclusions, as I should have with anypony I trust as much as I do you.
Instead, because of my intellectual failing, I made you suffer when your only crime was trying to save us all. When by rights, I should have been your staunchest ally.
And I am truly sorry.
As you are well aware, in Ponish, the words ‘repent’ and ‘repair’ have the same etymological root. And in the spirit of true penitence, I sincerely do wish I could repair the harm I did that day. Fortunately, your own resilience has rendered such a need (for the most part) moot. But in light of all this, the very least I can do is offer you this explanation, however tardy, and hope that we might sit down and discuss the matter
.
Celestia stopped, considering where her thoughts had led her.
She frowned, then chuckled.
Well, really. What was she going to do, anyway, once she’d finished writing it? Send it to Twilight via greenfire, and then forget the matter? Summon her to court and present it to her as a way of dismissing the royal misgivings? Preposterous!
An image unfolded before her mind then, of herself on the royal throne. Explaining her position of apology to the student Twilight Sparkle, while the latter meekly stood at the foot of the dais far below, her presence an act of obedience in accordance to the royal summons.
Celestia frowned.
No. Certainly not.
The Princess of Day glanced towards her door and the hallway beyond it, and the moon-carved door that lay beyond that. Within the shadows that door protected, her sister slept.
Celestia sighed, and lowered her head a moment, eyes closed.
“Thank you, Luna,” she smiled.
She gave her missive a final glance, its ink still glistening slightly in the candle light, before consigning it to the fire that had consumed its fellows. Then, levitating a new, blank page over, she began to write anew.
.
Dear Twilight,
I know this is on little notice, but would you be averse to some company soon? I have something I very much wish to discuss with you, and if you wouldn’t mind I would rather we spoke away from the trappings of royalty…